by Tara Cowan
“You’re welcome.” He and Jude sat on the couch, and it wasn’t long before his traitor son was absorbed in the show.
“Can we turn it up, Ms. Miller?” he asked, sucking his straw vigorously.
“Yeah,” she said, looking like she had been waiting for the opportunity. “I have trouble understanding them, too.”
Great. Nothing more was said until it went off, and both, having been glued to the TV until the scenes from next week played, finally looked up. He tapped his phone on the coffee table and saw that it was ten o’clock.
“Up to bed with you,” he said to Jude, kissing his hair. “Brush your teeth. For real this time.”
“You tuck me in?” he said sweetly, arms around his neck.
“Yeah, I’ll be up in a little while.”
“Okay,” he said, going toward the door in his little blue pajamas.
“Night, Jude,” Adeline said, smiling like she thought he was cute.
“Night,” he said, running along.
Adrian waited until he heard him running up the stairs before he looked at Adeline. “I want some pajamas like his,” she said. “Very 1920’s posh.”
“My mom,” he said. He glanced at her empty glass. “Does milk bother you?”
“No, not yet,” she said. Her bare feet were on the coffee table, putting her impossibly beautiful legs on display. “Only really pungent smells, so far.” No more fish or eggs for them. He cast his mind back over the things he had eaten this week, surprised at the number of things they had eaten which were kind of strong.
He studied her for a long minute. “You know I feel like a real asshole about your room, right?”
She laughed suddenly, seeming to be very amused, blue eyes twinkling. “It’s no more than you deserve. You thought you would show me, didn’t you?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Let me move your stuff down to the second floor.”
“No,” she said firmly. “We’re starting on the guest bedrooms very soon.”
“Then take mine.” She met his eyes. “I’ll move up there,” he hastened to add.
“How is that going to look?” she said, raising her brows. “Are you prepared for your whole family to know about this yet?”
He hesitated. “I told Harris.”
She flushed, reaching up to do that hair-twirly thing with her finger. “Oh!”
He studied her. “Sorry if–”
“No, that’s perfectly fine,” she said. “What did he say?”
A moment’s pause. “He said congratulations.”
She lifted her brows, looking relieved. “Oh. That’s good, then.”
“He won’t tell anyone. We can wait as long as you like.”
“Yeah, okay, that’s good.”
He sat back, noticing that her hair was pinned up, all of her makeup off. “Who is your doctor?” he asked, trying to sound off-hand, like he wasn’t trying to interfere.
“It’s Women’s Health Group—I think it’s Dr. Jay. Do you know anything about him?”
“I’ve heard good things,” he said, narrowing his eyes in the distance in thought.
“They got good reviews, so I’m hoping I like them.”
“Well, if you don’t, you can change,” he said.
“Yeah.” She studied him. “Do you have any idea when I might be due? I did one of those online calculator things, but I don’t trust it.”
“Oh.” He sat back, calculating. “I would imagine around the second week in January,” he said. “Maybe the tenth?”
She lifted her brows. “That’s exactly what the calculator said. How did you remember how to do that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “We studied it—it’s been awhile, but I remember the basic calculations.”
She looked like she was a little scared of him, which made no sense to him. But women weren’t always easy to understand. He glanced out the door, thinking Jude should be finished. He looked back at her, almost hesitating. “So if I don’t see you tomorrow, I guess I’ll meet you over there at ten on Tuesday?”
She nodded, looking a little nervous. “That sounds good.”
He nodded in return, getting up. “Goodnight, then.”
Washington, D.C., October 1860
Chapter Thirty-Six
Shannon immersed herself ever more into Washington society, until there was not a senator, senator’s wife, Secretary, or famous congressman that she had not met. She had met President Buchanan and been unimpressed, as well as Vice-President Breckinridge, whom she liked, and privately supported. She attended ladies’ teas and brunches, called upon the reigning dames, and was called upon in her turn.
Today, she lay in bed, however, having endured a humiliating examination which Dr. Smith did little to alleviate. The sun was shining outside, and her chamber, with all of its blues, was lovely. She tried to think of those things, or of the man’s brown coat, his tightly clipped gray beard, anything to occupy her.
“You say the pain is not constant?” he asked as she covered herself.
“No.”
“And it is only during intercourse?”
She moistened her lips, unable to meet his eyes. “Yes.”
He was an older man, perhaps sixty, and, while he was reportedly a good doctor, his bedside manner was abrupt and direct. “Would you liken it to the pain you felt on your wedding night?”
Shannon looked up, feeling herself flush. She touched her hair, looking away. “I am an avid horsewoman, Doctor. I did not know that pain.”
He looked skeptical, which caused her to flush. “Is your husband rough with you?”
Shannon took a shaky breath. “No, he…he is very gentle,” she whispered, mortified.
His white brows drew together as he seemed to be thinking, perhaps at a loss. “You have been married how long?”
“Since December. Ten months.”
“No miscarriages?”
“None.”
“Has the pain been present from the beginning?”
“No. Only the past two months, and intermittently. That is, not always.”
“Are your courses regular?”
“Yes. Very.”
He sighed. “I confess myself at a loss, Mrs. Haley. I have heard of such ailments, but usually they are more persistent, with other symptoms present. Sometimes these things have no real cause, and pass. We shall hope that is the case with you. I would recommend abstinence for at least two months.”
She nodded, keeping her head down. “Please send your bill to my name. I would prefer my husband not know.”
He shrugged, gathering his bag. “As you wish. Send for me if the problem worsens.”
“Yes,” she said, sinking back against her pillows with a sigh once he had left, lifting her hands to her burning cheeks.
The teacup clinked as it was placed back in its saucer. Shannon was returning Mrs. Greenhow’s call at her elegant home. They sat in a large parlor, the wallpaper beige and heavily patterned, the carpets rich. “Well, you have become quite popular, my dear,” Mrs. Greenhow said in her soft, elegant voice.
“Yes, I suppose, through your support, ma’am.”
“Do you find the young gentlemen difficult to fend off?”
A few circumstances came to mind. She smiled, however, and said, “You are forgetting that I am from Charleston, ma’am.” She thought suddenly of Seymour Christian.
“Who is the belle of Charleston now you are not there?”
“I suppose my dear friend Miss Middleton. She evades marriage more heartily than I did. I have no doubt she will make a splendid match. She writes me of her suitors and keeps me vastly entertained.
Mrs. Greenhow smiled. “The Middletons have always been a pretty family. I daresay she does take very well, with her wealth and family name. I am glad to have Florence settled. I worry for Gertrude
and Leila. To say nothing of Little Rose.”
“Little Rose has a few years yet to worry about her come-out, ma’am,” Shannons said, smiling. She had met the delightful imp, who had all of seven summers behind her, and sharp eyes, like her mother.
Mrs. Greenhow smiled. “What is the climate in Charleston, my dear? Does your mother say?”
“Tumultuous. It is as though they are collectively holding their breath until the election.”
“My dear, what will your situation be, should there be a secession?”
“I must follow my husband. I believe my family knows that, though we don’t speak of it. And perhaps once things settle down, the Union will accept that there must be two countries, or more, and let them leave of their own free will. Sometimes I think it will be for the best anyway.” She thought suddenly of John Adams, and couldn’t think why she almost teared up.
“My dear…” Mrs. Greenhow pressed her lips together. “I believe our sympathies are as one. But you and I know what they do not in the South: these people will never accept the secession of any state. They believe states lack that authority and that it is tantamount to treason.” She dusted the crumbs from her biscuit into her plate. “Mr. Lincoln will be elected. Some of the states will secede. And our best hope, therefore, is for a short war.”
Shannon moistened her lips, trying not to show the disturbance of her mind. “It would…seem so odd to be cut off from the South. To…to not have access should I need it. It makes me feel as though I cannot breathe.”
Mrs. Greenhow looked sympathetically at her, reaching for her hand and pressing it, saying nothing.
After some time had passed and Shannon had been staring across the green, her thoughts lost in a tangle, Mrs. Greenhow said in her soft voice, “What do you miss most about being down there?”
Shannon looked at her. “My family, of course,” she said softly. “John Thomas thinks I miss the way of life, and I suppose I do—slavery, being waited upon hand and foot, the richness, the society, our friends. But I… There are other things, too.” She looked at Mrs. Greenhow, her eyes suddenly wistful. “The moss, and the trees… They feel like home to me. And just before it rains, there is a smell in the air, sweet and earthy.” She pressed her lips together. “I miss that, too.”
Shannon sat on the sofa with John Thomas in the study on the first night it was cool enough to light a fire. It crackled and cast shadows, and its smell reminded her of cool nights at Harmony Grove. They had planned to go to the opulent National Theatre but had decided against it when rain had threatened.
John Thomas had begun teaching her naval signs and commands, and they spent some forty-five minutes on that before Shannon began to grow restive. “What is this knot?” she asked, very near to him, pointing to the picture of the book he held in his lap. His arm was around her waist, hand playing with the sash occasionally.
He studied it for a moment. “That is a Fisherman’s Bend.”
“Can you do it?”
“I think so.”
“I wish to try it with my hair.”
He laughed. “I thought you were serious!”
Her eyes danced. She smiled, tucking her feet up and leaning against his shoulder. “I am, naturally. Enough for tonight.”
“Very well,” he said, laying the book aside, a smile in his voice. “Do you wish to go into the sitting room?”
“No, I like it here,” she said.
He looked down at her, love stirring in his expression, and their lips touched. “Me too,” he whispered. He kissed her again, and she turned so that she might have better reach. His movements were slow, and gentle, and agonizing. Her hand shook as it explored his jawline. The kiss deepened, and, just when she knew the next thing to happen would be for him to sweep her into his arms and hope none of the servants saw as he carried her up the stairs, she pulled away. He looked surprised, and justifiably so, his arms still around her but loosening as he met her eyes.
She touched his chest. “Do you mind if…we just…stay and talk? I am a little tired tonight.”
His brows lifted. “Yes, of course,” he said, barely above a whisper. “You are not ill?” His eyes searched her face closely.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I am well.” She settled against him, staring into the fire.
The election was two weeks away when Shannon heard the knocker, and, thinking it to be a caller, since it was her day to be at home, set her book aside. She had already had four that morning, one set consisting of Mrs. Greenhow and Mrs. Phillips, the other two bearing only the slimmest of pretexts, obviously hoping for friendship and entre into Washington society, which amused her, queen of her townhouse.
Mrs. Hensley appeared at the door. “Excuse me, ma’am. There’s a caller at the door, but she won’t give her name.”
Shannon lifted her brows. “Good heavens, what a mystery! Do you think she intends to assassinate me?”
“No, ma’am. She’s tall and pretty-like. Speaks like you do.”
Shannon’s brows drew together, and she stood. She crossed the room and walked down the little hall until she was in the foyer. And when she saw the elegant stranger in travel clothes, she gasped. “Elizabeth!” she exclaimed, going forward. “I hoped it was you.” She extended her hands, and Miss Middleton took them, eyes twinkling. “Oh, but what are you doing here? Tell me nothing is wrong at home!”
She smiled in her calm, elegant way. “Nothing is the matter. Won’t you invite me into your parlor? I declare, you’ve forgotten all of your manners, Shannon Haley!”
“Yes, indeed, come,” she answered, taking her hand and leading the way, her brows pinched. She was still feeling a little shaken as she ordered the housekeeper to bring refreshments.
“Now, you must tell me,” Shannon said as soon as the teacakes and lemonade had arrived. “What on earth brings you to Washington? And alone!”
“I am not alone. I accompanied Papa. He has gone to the Capitol and instructed me most severely to take my maid with me if I went out.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” Shannon said, laughing. “Is it something about the election?”
“Yes. Papa was a delegate to the conventions, you know. The Legislature sent him to gather what information he could and report back, on the general feeling and such, in case…” She moistened her lips.
Shannon’s lips parted, knowing she meant in case he needed to speak at a secession convention. She did not speak for a moment, for she was at a loss for words. Elizabeth, regal as ever, calmly withdrew her hand. “Oh, Shannon,” she said softly. “What was I thinking? It can do you no good to have ties with me. Lieutenant Haley may not even wish for me to enter the house.”
Shannon took her hand as she started to stand, saying, “No, my dear friend. My ties with you are old and deep, as anyone may know. And my husband would never scorn any friend of mine.”
“Still, I ought to have thought of it. I know you will be scrutinized very much should… should there be any breach.”
“I may withstand a little scrutiny. And you mustn’t think I do not support the cause of the South Carolina legislature and your father. I do. Most heartily.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, turning her head away. Not a hair of her elegant brown coiffure was loose, and her posture was perfect. One young gentleman had once told them that the two of them made an extremely pleasing picture. “Shannon, I’ve been thinking… Your letters proclaim your love for your home and…all of our ways. But Lieutenant Haley will hardly feel the same.” She pressed her hand, meeting her eyes. “I do not think you should feel guilty for supporting him in whatever he does.”
Shannon withdrew her hand. “Perhaps some girls are so spiritless. But I? No, to think of such a thing is unbearable, Elizabeth. If there should be war, I must remain in Washington, and I could never wish for his ill, but…support a Northern victory I will not.
”
Elizabeth studied her calmly for several moments. “I think it will cause a breach in your marriage,” she said bluntly.
Shannon looked away, taking a breath and pressing her lips together. “Elizabeth, should you ever be married–”
“Yes, I know. I shall tell you that I will ask if I ever desire your advice. Meddlesome of me, wasn’t it?”
Shannon smiled, releasing her breath. “Very meddlesome. I am scheduled to attend a dinner tonight. Shall I cry off and host you and Mr. Middleton instead?”
“By no means! Papa means utterly to neglect me and have dinner with some senators. I shall go with you to this dinner. Will Lieutenant Haley be accompanying us?”
“Yes, if they release him soon enough. That has rather been in question lately, however, for they seem to need him more and more.”
Elizabeth lifted her brows but did not respond. “We shall see if he recognizes me. I daresay he shan’t.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
Shannon laughed. “Of course he will recognize you. You were a bridesmaid in our wedding.”
“We shall see!”
On the day of the election, John Thomas was on duty until midnight, for reasons he could not, apparently, divulge, and so Shannon spent the day with the Middletons at the hotel. She knew her husband would go and cast his vote, and the thought of his choice made her ill. Mr. Middleton, always kind and fatherly, kept her well distracted with cards in the elegant sitting room.
It had just turned dark when fights began to break out in the streets, and, going to the window, Shannon looked out and saw such a scene of confusion that she felt herself to be in California rather than the nation’s capital. Men were drunken, tossing their beers and screaming, shouting at one another from across the street and ending up in fisticuffs with no concern for the hazard of carriages rolling through the streetways.
Shannon heard a movement and saw Elizabeth coming to stand beside her. She reached to take Shannon’s hand, the dread in her eyes matching that in the pit of Shannon’s stomach.
“Do you think Lieutenant Haley is in danger?” she asked kindly. John Thomas, having, of course, recognized her, had gone out of his way to make her feel welcome, not batting an eye when she told him her reasons for being in Washington.