And One Wore Gray

by Heather Graham

  When he was gone, she would be bereft. It would be worse than it had been when she learned Gregory had died. She had learned to stand alone, and now she was going to have to learn that bitter lesson all over again.

  He couldn’t go, not yet. He was well enough to help with the animals, or in the house. He was certainly well enough to make love. But he was not yet recovered enough to make the dangerous and difficult trip through enemy lines. He had to see that.

  But he wouldn’t, she knew. It was time he made his move, whatever came of it. A feeling of dread settled over her.

  Maybe she would still have tonight.

  She slipped out of bed and walked over to her window and looked down into the paddock in front of the barn at the back of the house. He was out there, fixing a broken hinge on the gate. He moved as if he would lower his hat against the rising sun, and then he seemed to realize that he no longer wore his magnificent hat. She smiled, and bit lightly into her lower lip, wondering if she hadn’t gotten just a bit carried away when she’d burned his hat.

  After all, Beauty Stuart had ridden after General Pope’s army just to retrieve his hat and cape. Daniel Cameron must have been very attached to his hat.

  He looked up suddenly, as if he sensed that she was there. He waved to her. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  “The gate is all right now.” He looked around and shrugged. “I replaced a few rails in the fencing for you, but there’s not too much that I can do about all the bullet holes.”

  She looked down at him and lifted her shoulders in a small shrug. “No, not now,” she said. “Would you like breakfast?”

  “The coffee is already on,” he told her. “I’ll be right in,” he added.

  Callie stepped away from the window and moved back into her room. He was leaving. He was trying to repay her in some way for what she had done for him.

  She dressed quickly, simply, in a muted blue plaid cotton that buttoned to her throat. The day might well be warm, but she welcomed the long sleeves on the dress, anything that might put some distance between them and give her the dignity she would need to let him go.

  When she was dressed, she surveyed the length of her hair, thick and curling over her shoulders and down her back. She picked up her brush and worked through it vigorously, then twisted it into a severe knot, which she secured with pins. She was determined on a look of staid respectability.

  He had not been here very long. Not quite a week. Why did it feel as if he had changed her whole life, as if things could never be the same again?

  She heard the back door close, and she hurried down the stairs. He was in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee, ready to hand her one when she walked in. His eyes rode over her. Blue, endlessly blue. She thought that there was anguish in them, and despite herself, she was glad of it. He had torn her world in two. He hadn’t made her question her own loyalties or her beliefs, but he had forced her to see the face of the enemy, and she realized all too painfully that they were one people. And that it was possible to love and agonize despite their differences.

  “Callie—”

  “You’re leaving today,” she said softly. “Tonight.”

  She nodded, sipping her coffee.

  “Last night, when we found that boy …” He paused, shrugging. “Callie, they’ll have reported me as missing by now. I don’t want that kind of news getting back to Virginia. My sister and my sister-in-law would be devastated.”

  “And your brother?”

  “It might take longer for the news to reach Jesse,” Daniel said. He cocked his head, reflecting. “And then again, the news might already have reached Jesse.”

  “That’s right,” Callie murmured. “He and Beauty went to school together.”

  Daniel smiled. “That’s right,” he said softly. “Callie, I can’t let them mourn for me, or go through the anguish of wondering.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “I’ve tried to—to do what I can around here.”

  “You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Other than my life,” he said lightly. He set his mug down, walking toward her. In seconds, he undid all that she had done to keep her facade of composure. He pulled the pins from her hair, letting them fall to the ground. The knot unwound into a wild mass. He lifted her hair from her back and spread it out over her shoulders, watching his handiwork as it streamed down her back. “What I do has nothing to do with owing you, Yank,” he said very softly. “It has everything to do with not wanting to leave you.”

  She still needed to keep her distance. She stood still, not protesting his touch, but not giving in to it either. “Duty calls. I understand.”

  “My God, do you?” He demanded, suddenly fierce, his voice trembling. His hands locked around her shoulders and he shook her so that her head fell slightly back. She raised her eyes to his, cool still, as if she calmly awaited his words. She was anything but calm, her heart racing, her blood seeming to seethe and boil.

  “You can’t possibly understand. I would give everything to forget the war and stay here with you. I’m sick to death of dead men, of blood, of heroes in tattered jackets and bare feet. I’m weary of camp fires, and orders, and trying to learn new and better ways to kill my enemy. I would give everything …”

  His anger suddenly faded as she stared silently into his eyes. He shook his head. “I have to go back. I am fighting for something. I can’t explain it to you. I’m fighting for the river. I’m fighting for the bricks and pillars of my home. I’m fighting for those hot days in summer when you can hear the chanting from the fields and quarters. For the rustle of silk, for the soft tone of a drawl. Maybe I’m fighting for a dying empire, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s my empire, and right or wrong, I must defend it to the last.”

  She felt that she could move at last. She reached up and stroked his cheek. His lips came down upon hers, nearly brutal in all that he demanded. When he raised his head at last, she was shaking. Her lips were swollen from his passion.

  Her heart was lost, her resolve shattered.

  “You cannot go until nightfall,” she whispered.

  His eyes touched hers with their fire, and he swept her up into his arms. Callie reached up, winding her arms around his neck, meeting his gaze. He started for the stairway.

  She rested her head against his chest. “I knew that you had to go. But I could not let you go. Not without being with you one last time.”

  “I could not go without having you one last night,” he whispered huskily.

  He started up the stairs, his arms tight around her. But even as his long-legged gait brought them upward, they were both startled from the intimacy of their private world by a hard knocking upon the door.

  Daniel stiffened instantly. Panic swept quickly through Callie, then she managed to control it. “Let me down, quickly, Daniel.”

  To her amazement, he did so. She raced up the stairs herself, with him fast behind her. From the hallway window, she looked down, but the eaves over the house shielded their visitor.

  The knocking sounded again. Tense, Callie held still. She could hear Daniel moving away from her now, walking toward her brother Joshua’s room.

  She knew that he was going for his sword.

  “Frau Michaelson!”

  She heard the deep, slightly accented voice and she let out a quick sigh of relief. Daniel was back in the hallway, watching her, his sword hilt held tightly in his hand.

  “Who is it?” he demanded.

  “It’s all right,” she said quickly.

  “Who is it?” his voice was tense.

  “It’s just Rudy Weiss—”

  “And who is ‘just’ Rudy Weiss?”

  She hated his tone when it became so imperious. She hated him when he became so cold.

  “He is my neighbor. A Dunkard.”

  “A Dunkard.”

  “He’s one of the German Baptist Brethren who worship in the little white church that must have been in the middle
of your battlefield,” Callie said quickly.

  “That could make him an ardent Yank or a southern sympathizer. Which is he, Callie?”

  “He’s neither!” Callie replied irritably. She lifted her hands with aggravation. “There isn’t even a steeple on their church, these people believe in such a simple lifestyle. They want no part of the war, they don’t want to hurt anyone. They lead very strict, religious lives. I’m not even sure that Rudy approves of me, but he is a caring man, and he knows that I am alone. He has come to see to my welfare, nothing more.”

  “Frau Michaelson?”

  They heard the voice again, rising, concerned.

  Callie spun around, heedless of Daniel’s staring at her. She hurried down the stairs and opened the door.

  Rudy Weiss, white-haired, white-bearded, a man who looked as if could have been close to one hundred years old, but still tall and agile and very dignified, awaited her with anxiety in his powder-blue eyes. But once she had opened the door, he smiled.

  “So, you are well. I was getting very worried. The place, it was loaded with soldiers, jah?”

  “Yes, Herr Weiss. There were many soldiers.”

  “You were not hurt?”

  “No, no, I wasn’t hurt at all.”

  “And none of the soldiers have disturbed you? If you are worried, we will take care that you are not alone.”

  “No, no, thank you,” Callie said quickly, then she asked anxiously, “Your wife, your family, were any of them injured?”

  “Nein, nein, we are well,” he said. He continued to stand on her porch, then said worriedly, “There is a friend staying with you, then?”

  Callie froze, staring at him. He lifted a hand, palm up, and explained. “Karl, my oldest son, saw a man feeding your chickens.”

  Callie exhaled, “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter. She didn’t have to say anything. She hadn’t realized that Daniel had followed her down the stairs until he stood by her, offering his hand to Rudy. “Daniel Cameron, Mr. Weiss. Yes, I am a friend of Callie’s.”

  Rudy nodded gravely, surveying Daniel. “Well then, perhaps you can stay on a bit longer, Herr Cameron.” As Daniel frowned he continued, “There is a bit of news. Grave excitement in the North.”

  “The war … ?” Callie said.

  “The war—it goes on,” Rudy said. He slipped a newspaper from his pocket, handing it to Callie. “I do not usually bother with the affairs of others,” he said to Daniel. “Mein frau insisted this might be important for Callie, for she lives here alone.”

  “What is it?” Callie said, for Daniel was taking the paper from her and scanning it quickly.

  “President Lincoln has issued a … a preliminary e-man-ci-pa-tion pro-cla-ma-tion,” Rudy Weiss said, speaking very carefully, and very slowly.

  “Emancipation proclamation?” Callie repeated, trying to take the paper from Daniel. He wouldn’t allow her to do so. He was avidly reading every word in the article.

  “By God, he’s gone and done it!” Daniel exclaimed.

  “It frees the slaves,” Rudy said.

  Daniel swung around, laughing hollowly as he stared at Callie. “No, no, not exactly. It frees the slaves—in the states that are in rebellion! It frees the slaves in the South, not in the North, not in the border states! This is rich, really rich. Oh, God! Do you know what this means!”

  Callie wasn’t sure that she did know what it meant, not the way that Daniel seemed to understand it. He released the paper to her at last and sank down into one of the upholstered chairs in the parlor, staring straight ahead at nothing.

  Callie looked back to Rudy Weiss, who remained on her porch.

  “Your friend, Herr Cameron, understands,” Rudy said softly. “The slaves are freed as of January third, next year. The slaves in those ‘states in rebellion.’ Hen-Cameron knows. The southern men will not consider any proclamation of Lincoln’s as law in their Confederacy. But the slaves will want to be free. They will begin to escape. Many of them will be hungry, and they will come north, looking for food, looking for jobs, looking for ways to be free. Many may become desperate. That is why mein frau is so anxious for you, Callie. She says that you must take care if these people come this way. Myself, I told her that you must take care with the soldiers too. Some men are good, and some men are evil, no matter what the coloring of their skin or their clothing.”

  Callie nodded, moistening her lips nervously. Daniel was watching Rudy, and Rudy, his old eyes very bright, was watching Daniel. Daniel rose and walked back to the doorway. “You take care, too, Herr Cameron,” Rudy said quietly.

  “I will. Thank you,” Daniel said.

  Rudy knew damned well that Daniel was a Reb soldier, Callie thought. And he didn’t care. If he was a friend, he was a friend. And a friend who needed to be warned, it seemed, for Rudy turned then to leave, saying over his shoulder, “There’s still a troop of soldiers camped just south of us, in a cornfield. They seem to be watching the roads.” He stopped, and looked up at the sky. Then he looked back to Callie and Daniel. He wrinkled up his nose, then shook his head sadly. “There is still the stink of death about us; the creek still seems to run red with blood. It is a sad thing, this war. A very sad thing.”

  He left them, walking down the walk, then out and across the road and into the field that faced Callie’s house.

  Daniel watched until he was gone, then his fingers suddenly crumpled over the newspaper. “This is rich. Damnation, but this is rich! Your Mr. Lincoln is no fool, Callie.” He threw the paper across the room with a sudden fury that brought Callie’s eyes to his, wide with amazement.

  “You told me that you’d already freed your own slaves!” She exclaimed. “If the South doesn’t recognize Lincoln’s authority, what difference does any proclamation make?”

  Daniel turned his fury on her, swirling around with his teeth clenched. “I’ll tell you what difference! Slaves will be escaping by the dozens, hundreds—maybe even thousands! And some of them will be dangerous. But that’s not the crux of it. Don’t you see what Lincoln has done?”

  Startled and hurt that he could direct his fury so wrathfully upon her, she retorted with a sarcastic and passionate anger of her own. “Yes! Yes, I do! He’s freed a lot of people who were in bondage! I see exactly what he’s done!”

  “He’s done more for his war effort than any general he’s ever had!” Daniel snapped back. “Don’t you see? Europe will never recognize the Confederacy now. And England! England who takes our cotton by the balefuls but looks down her regal nose at our ‘institutions’—she will side now with Lincoln, surely. There will be no help for us anywhere. My God, but I have always said that he is a painfully smart man!”

  Callie felt a fluttering in her heart as she grasped the things that Daniel was saying. The Confederacy had hoped for supplies, for funding, from Europe. The Confederacy had been desperate for recognition. And perhaps the Reb government had almost achieved it.

  But Lincoln had circumvented that. The English despised slavery. And Lincoln was no longer fighting a war just to preserve a Union. He had created a noble cause, a cause for humanity. The war had taken on another dimension. Passion everywhere would truly be aroused.

  Daniel was laughing. “You’ll note, Callie, that slaves in Maryland are not freed. President Lincoln would not dare test the loyalty of his border states any further. Oh, it is rich, I say. It is a death knell!”

  He stared at her as if she had sounded that knell herself. She felt as if her breath were leaving her. He was challenging her, accusing her—awaiting some response from her.

  “What would you have me say!” she cried out. “I do not believe in slavery. If Lincoln can bring the South to her knees and end this war with such a proclamation, then I must be glad!”

  He exploded with an oath, his fingers clenching into fists at his side. “Do you know what he will do eventually in Maryland, Callie? He will see that the slaves are freed here, but it will be with some type of compensation for the owners
.”

  “So he is not a stupid man!”

  “No, he is not a stupid man at all!” Daniel spat out. “It is only to us—” He broke off, and she didn’t miss the handsome but bitter twist that curved his lip. “I keep forgetting,” he said softly. “There is no ‘us.’ You are ‘them,’ or ‘they’—the enemy. And to think—-I had almost forgotten!”

  “Yes!” she cried passionately. “I am the enemy! And you should not forget it! You told me once that no man should ever forget his enemy. Your private died for hesitating before he could shoot a friend. Don’t forget your own lessons, Colonel!” she reminded him. She gasped, backing away as he took a sudden, menacing stride toward her. “Oh!”

  He stopped, his features taut, his shoulders and his body ramrod stiff. “Damn you!” he grated out. He turned about, straight as steel, and started for the stairs. He paused, his back to her. “Enemies, madam, until the day that we die. I will be out of your house as hastily as I can manage!”

  Callie stared after him, furious, shaking. As he disappeared past the upstairs landing, she felt her anger begin to fade.

  He was going to leave her when he was still so furious. They might never talk again. So much for love! So much for the hunger, the need, and all the passion that had flared between them. So much for his whispers that he could not leave without having her again.

  Then damn him, her pride cried out. Let him go! If he wished to see her as the enemy, then so be it! She would not apologize if her side—after defeat and humiliation and death—was finally beginning to see signs of hope. She would not say that she was sorry for her beliefs when she knew in her heart that she was right.

  Daniel knew, too, that slavery was wrong. No man, black or white, should be owned, body and soul, by another. He had freed his own slaves. He was angry because Lincoln wasn’t just a ‘long drink of water’ as political opponents had labeled him. The backwoods lawyer from Illinois might prove to be one of the greatest men of their time. Daniel saw it, and he was angry because of it.

  Alone upstairs, Daniel plucked a pillow from the bed and hurtled it across the room. It felt so good that he picked up the next pillow and threw it too.