“A Yankee!” Angus moaned and waved the pistol precariously.
“I love him, Daddy, and I want to marry him.”
Both men stared at Roberta, much agog. But the father, never having denied his child before, could only consider that this was the least he could do for her, to see the marriage performed posthaste.
“Get your pants on.” Angus commanded sharply, pointing the pistol at Cole threateningly. “Make yourself decent for the parson.”
Cole glanced about him, and the pandemonium in his head burgeoned. No sign of his uniform! “It seems I am without proper attire.”
Angus’s reddened face darkened to a raging purple. “Where have you hidden them?”
“Ask your daughter,” Cole suggested calmly.
The older man’s eyes seemed to protrude as he strangled on several combined curses. He had to mightily restrain himself from falling on the Yankee and beating him to a pulp. The strong uncertainty of whether he could accomplish this was all that held him at bay. Irately he looked to his daughter who stammered and shrugged in confusion.
“Al’s britches are in the pantry,” Leala stated as her husband turned to her for wisdom. “Otherwise, there are no other clothes but yours.”
“Never!” It was more a reluctance to have the girth of his belly and the shortness of his stout legs contrasted to the Yankee’s tall, lean torso that made Angus voice a strenuous objection.
“Al won’t mind,” Leala said sweetly, then glanced hesitantly toward the captain. “After Jedediah fetches the parson, perhaps he might stop by the captain’s quarters for more suitable clothing. Al will be needing his clothes in the morning.”
“I fear if I am without my clothes, madam, I am without a key to my apartment.” Cole was not in the mood to be charitable or accommodating.
“Uh—I’ll take care of that, Mama,” Roberta offered. “Why don’t you go get Al’s britches, and I’ll talk to Jedediah.”
His brow furrowed, Cole watched the daughter follow her mother out. Something nagged at him about the way her long, dark hair flowed around her shoulders. He remembered a time of struggling, as if from the bottom of a dark pit, or up from a pool of water; Al—and the stable! Cole rubbed his aching head. It just wouldn’t come together. There had been a woman in the dark, then an eager body beneath his, answering his passion with a vivacity that had brought him searing, unforgettable pleasure. Why couldn’t he equate that woman with Roberta?
When Leala returned, she handed in Al’s damp britches, and disdainfully, Cole took the proffered garment.
“Now get dressed,” Angus demanded.
Despite the threatening gun, his throbbing head, and the fuzziness in his brain, Cole managed to don the pants. Besides being uncomfortably wet, they were short, snug across his hips, and blatantly flaunted his manhood.
“They’ll do,” Angus said, waving away Cole’s doubtful expression with the bore of the Colt. “Let me assure you, sir, we’re not having too many witnesses to this affair, not if I can help it.”
Jedediah was sent to rouse the parson, and even managed to beat the latter back, despite having to travel to the Pontalba Apartments and back again. But Parson Lyman had never been known as a speedy man. Indeed, he was much of a procrastinator, and had it been Angus Craighugh out to fetch him, he might have pleaded a timely wait to get himself organized. But since the message was carried by Jedediah and that one seemed somewhat in a dither, Parson Lyman thought it best not to delay too long. Still, dawn was lightening the eastern sky before he arrived to perform the service. By that time, Angus was chomping anxiously at the bit and Cole was modestly garbed in the uniform Jedediah had been sent for. It was a full-dress uniform, one Cole reserved for formal occasions or inspections. But whatever its use, it served him better than Al’s britches, which he left hanging reflectively on the urchin’s doorknob.
The ritual proceeded with rigid formality for all but Roberta who waxed gleeful and ecstatic. When the final words were spoken, sealing them in wedlock, it was she who threw herself in Cole’s arms and presented a generous kiss upon his lips. Having gained her end, Roberta forgot the means and, in high spirits, clutched Cole’s arm and stayed close to his side.
Into the midst of her gaiety intruded the sharp, heavy rap of a fist upon the door. Dulcie, sniffling in her apron, answered the door and ushered a cavalry sergeant into the parlor. The man nodded a brief, curt greeting, then, catching sight of Cole, gave a sharp salute.
“Your hat, Sergeant,” Cole reminded him tersely. His head still hurt, and he felt in dire need of a good night’s sleep. “There are ladies present.”
The sergeant’s neck reddened above his yellow kerchief, but he swept the offending item from his head before he spoke again. “Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” the trooper pressed on. “We have orders to search every house we can. Confederate sympathizers, dressed in our uniforms, broke into the hospital early this morning and helped some rebels escape. No telling where they might be hiding out, sir.”
Cole’s brows raised sharply. “Was anybody hurt?”
“The C.Q. sergeant and the guard. The band was led by a man dressed as a doctor, and they took only those prisoners who could walk. It looks as if they got away clean, sir.”
“I have spent the night here, Sergeant, and I have not been accosted by any rebels. However, it would be advisable to search the carriage house and stables. Somebody might be hiding out there.”
“Yessir!” The sergeant paused a moment and grew uneasy.
“Well?” Cole demanded.
“All officers and men have been recalled and are to report at once to their duty stations, sir.”
“See to your duty, Sergeant,” Cole instructed. “And when you are ready, I’ll leave with you. I believe I am without a mount.”
The man saluted stiffly, spun on his heel, and hurried out, his saber sling slapping against his thigh.
“I think it’s just too disgusting for words!” Roberta angrily stamped her foot. “Just married! And here you are running off to that stinking old hosptal!”
Cole half turned and raised a brow at her, but said none of the things that came to mind. He excused her ire as disappointment. But there was a war going on, and she would do well to acknowledge that and remember he was not his own free man.
“Mama?” The daughter pleaded, turning for support to that one.
“Captain Latimer must go, Roberta,” Leala spoke firmly.
“Daddy?” Roberta’s voice was plaintive now.
Angus would stand much relieved to see the Yankee gone and could yield his offspring no solace. “Work before pleasure, my dear,” he prattled, then bit his tongue as the parson shamed him with a look of mild reproof. Red-faced, Angus cleared his throat sharply. “Let the captain be on his way.”
“Ooooohhh!” Roberta wailed. “You’re all against me!” She whirled and fled, sobbing with such volume that even from her room, her cries could still be heard.
Alaina came sharply awake, her exhausted sleep shattered by the harsh weeping. The sounds of masculine voices and movement in the front yard disturbed her further, and she ran to the window to look out. Several Yankee troopers had dismounted before the house, and a sergeant was gesturing about the grounds as he barked instructions. Her first frightened thought was that Cole had found out who she was and had summoned them.
Someone had thrust Al’s ragged garments in her room, and she found the britches hooked on the doorknob. She donned them quickly, smearing dirt over her face and through her hair. She hastened to the head of the stairs, but paused as Dulcie, coming into the foyer, threw a meaningful frown upward, jerking her head toward the parlor. Accepting the warning, Alaina jammed the floppy hat on her head and made a cautious descent.
On the threshold of the parlor, she leaned casually against the doorframe and tried to keep her eyes away from Cole. He was resplendent in his uniform and most handsome despite the scowl that drew his brows together. She was very curious as to how he had gotten his
clothes.
“What’s all the fuss ’bout?” she asked innocently.
“Al! Don’t you ever bathe?” Cole snapped in exasperation.
Alaina snorted. “Might ketch yer kinda vermin if’n I did.”
“Mind your manners!” Angus barked, betraying his own lack of patience. “There has been enough disaster heaped upon us this morning without tempting more.”
“Disaster?” Alaina scanned the faces present, paused on Cole’s tensed features. “What disaster? All I did was bring him here after—”
“You what?” Angus railed, coming out of his chair. “You! You brought that Yankee here? To my house? Do you know what you’ve done?”
Alaina shrugged helplessly, glancing briefly toward Cole whose attitude of stiff restraint made her all the more confused. Worry puckered her brow as she tried to explain. “He musta got hisself drunk and robbed, then dumped in the river. I jes’ fished him out. I didn’t know where else to bring him, him bein’ in his johns and all.” She looked at Cole and fussed. “Don’tcha know they’s some streets what ain’t safe? Even for a highfalutin Yankee captain?”
Angus growled in rage and stepped menacingly forward, but Leala caught her husband’s arm.
“Go easy, Angus. The child did nothing more than we might have done.”
“Bah! A Yankee?” Angus groaned. “You could have let him drown.” In his mind, Angus fixed the source of all his woes. His eyes burned with his wrath as he glared at Alaina who scuffed a foot uncertainly against the rug while he continued to berate her. “You brought that Yankee to this house the first time, too.” He fed on his own righteous rage. “If it weren’t for you, you little tramp, this marriage would not have—”
“Angus!” Leala gasped in horror at her husband’s conclusion. Angus mumbled in frustrated disgust and stomped out of the room, making his way with ponderous tread to his bedroom.
“Marriage?” Alaina was even more bewildered now. “What marriage? Who?—You!” She stared at Cole, a sick feeling of horror welling up within her. Carefully she asked, “You been leadin’ some gal ’round on a string?”
“Not until this morning,” Cole muttered.
Leala’s cheeks flamed with hot color as she tried to explain. “Captain Latimer and Roberta were—ah—found—together this morning. Angus thought it his duty to send for Parson Lyman.”
“My gawd!”
The minister’s coffee cup clanked loudly as he set it down firmly on the saucer. This lad was far too young to be allowed such freedom with language. He would speak with Mrs. Craighugh on the subject of the boy’s tutelage immediately.
A sound of running feet left Leala gaping at the empty doorway where Alaina had stood only a second before. “Was there something amiss with the boy? He left so quickly.”
Parson Lyman rose. “The lad fled in much of a dither, I fear. He seemed most embarrassed by what happened here last night.”
Cole’s brows came together in confusion. He could have sworn he saw tears start in the gray eyes before the boy whirled. “Perhaps it’s time somebody told Al the facts of life,” he muttered. “He seems unusually naive.”
The pastor scowled in disagreement. “You’d never guess it from his language.”
Leala could not bely them, but she sought to temper their judgment of Alaina. “We must make allowances,” she bade them. “Only last night Doctor Brooks dropped by to tell us that—uh—Al’s oldest brother is on the missing list and presumed dead. Both of Al’s parents are gone, the middle boy, and now the older brother, too. There has been much of grief and pain for that poor child.”
Cole rubbed at his brow as if he sought to soothe away the persistent ache that throbbed there. He could better understand the lad’s tears now, and Al had a right to them. The boy had lost so many of the ones he loved.
Alaina sat in her room and further strained the sorry condition of her hat, twisting it in anguished hands against the need to cry out. Sobs racked her body, but she had to choke them back. She could hear Roberta’s wails of disappointment piercing the heavy walls of the house, and she longed to give vent to her own bitter hurt. But many questions would be raised by a chorus of bawling females.
There was no question in her mind what had happened. Roberta had vehemently vowed that she would marry Cole, and Alaina groaned within herself, knowing she had witlessly trussed him up like roasting fowl for the woman.
Cole’s voice came from the front yard, and Alaina rose and went to stand beside the French doors. The sun was climbing over the treetops in the east, and the sky was a vibrant hue of fuchsia. Her eyes followed Cole as he moved about in the yard below. After a moment’s discussion with the sergeant, he took a trooper’s horse, swung into the saddle and departed the Craighugh estate. As he rode away, Roberta ceased her caterwauling, and then, in a moment, the squeak of her bed betrayed where she would spend the greater part of her day. Leala’s weary footsteps marked her passage to her bedroom, and the house grew quiet. There would be no opening of the store today.
Chapter 13
MIDMORNING found Alaina finished with a leisurely bath that had been free from even Dulcie’s attention. The housekeeper was understandably petulant and uncommunicative. She didn’t like the idea, any more than her master, of a Yankee in the family. The house was strangely silent, and Alaina could guess the events of the early hours had unduly wearied the Craighughs.
With a ragged sigh, Alaina laid out the black gown she had worn too often for her age, tossing beside it the black-veiled bonnet, high-heeled slippers and corset. She could not bring herself to return to the hospital this morning. Instead, she would go and see Bobby Johnson put to rest, since his own loved ones could not be there. At his graveside, she would pass a silent tribute and a moment of mourning for her brother. Then, as before, she would put the sadness behind her and carry on.
She made so bold as to have Jedediah bring about the Craighughs’ carriage and fine-spirited horse, for there was small chance the family would be using them before noon. Several blocks away from her destination, she left Jedediah with the buggy and, lowering the dark veil over her bonnet, walked the rest of the way alone. At the cemetery a long row of whitewashed brick “ovens” stood ready to receive the caskets. It was in these three-tiered kilnlike tombs that the dead were laid to rest.
Alaina halted near the end of a row of tombs, her heart suddenly lurching within her bosom. Cole Latimer stood with the burial detail, and the sight of his tall, lean form made her feel suddenly faint. Though other men were close about him and similarly dressed, she saw only him, for he had become as familiar to her as anything she could name. But there was no reason for dismay, she chided herself. If he noticed her at all, he would never associate her with Al beneath the covering of her veil, nor with the woman he had made love to in the night, for he believed that to be Roberta. Yet the quaking in her limbs could not be stilled.
Biting a trembling lip. Alaina gathered courage from an unknown source and mingled with other black garbed women, many with young children at their skirts. She wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible while the burial proceedings were conducted. There was a long line of simple pine caskets, all neatly draped with Union flags. For some fallen soldiers, this was only a temporary resting place until their kin could claim the bodies or the war was over.
The chaplain finished his prayers over the first coffin, and the detail, at a command from Captain Latimer, pushed the box into the chamber, then moved to the next. Under the present stricture, the only way Cole had been able to attend Bobby Johnson’s funeral was to volunteer to be in charge of the burial detail, definitely not one of the more popular chores.
He was still several ovens away from the private’s coffin when he glanced around and saw a small, slim woman pause before it. She wore the black of mourning, and after bowing her head in a brief prayer, she tenderly placed a small nosegay of flowers on the head of the bannered box. In some puzzlement, Cole watched the trim figure quickly withdraw into the shadows of
a huge oak where she remained as the procession drew nearer. Though he roweled his memory with cruel spurs of will, he could put no face or name to the woman, yet there was an elusive familiarity about her, something about the way she moved with a bold, almost boyish grace.
As the burial detail made ready to put away Private Johnson, Cole turned, intending to exchange a word with the strange woman. But the chaplain, seeing the direction of the captain’s eye and the comeliness of the figure it rested upon, tugged at his sleeve to hurry the proceedings along.
“Come now, Captain,” the man chided. “Duty first, you know. These men deserve our attention for this moment. Time enough for condolences later.”
As the chaplain drew Cole back, Alaina let out her breath slowly in relief. Her present costume was enough to disguise her from a distance, but she was not willing to yield Cole the benefit of close scrutiny.
The flag was removed and neatly folded. Cole replaced the flowers, and the pine coffin, with its meager remembrance of beauty, was slid into its niche. Cole excused himself, but by the time he pushed through the men, the slim, black-garbed woman was well down the path and was hurrying farther away. He hastened his long strides, compelled to follow by reasons unknown even to himself.
Alaina glanced anxiously over her shoulder, and her heart thudded anew as she realized he was coming after her. She waited until she passed the gate of the cemetery, then she lifted her veil and let her feet fly. Indeed, she was so intent upon reaching the carriage before Cole caught up with her, that she failed to see the small, darkhaired man in her path until too late.
“Mon Dieu!” Jacques DuBonné cried angrily, stumbling back from the collision. “Watch where you go!”
Somewhat dazed, Alaina put a trembling hand to her brow to steady her reeling head. It was then that Jacques noticed the petite and curvacious figure in black and was struck by the enchanting beauty of her face. He repeated the expletive, this time in a tone of admiration, and his gaze warmed with interest as it moved boldly over her soft curves. It was rare to meet a beautiful woman who, by her diminutiveness, made him feel so large and manly.
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