Unwilling Warrior

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “Well, he couldn’t argue with me, could he?” Catherine looked proud of herself as she sat down in an armchair.

  “Thank you for standing up for me, Catherine.” Words couldn’t describe Valerie’s appreciation.

  “Well, now you know, I do carry some sway. I’m just as important as anyone else.”

  “Of course you are.” Valerie pulled in her chin, somewhat taken aback by the response.

  Just then Robert traipsed in with a wooden game board in his hands. One side was peppered with holes. “This is a game I invented.” He set it down on the coffee table. Next he removed some pegs and a set of dice from one pocket and a small square of paper from the other. He explained the rules. “Who wants to play?”

  “I will,” Valerie said. Feeling more lighthearted than she had in some time, she was up for having a bit of fun.

  Everyone else said they’d give it a try as well, and soon they traded laughs and giggles as they answered history questions and inched their pegs toward the goal line.

  Then suddenly a ruckus at the back of the house caught their attention.

  “It’s Clint.” Emily stood and picked her way around Robert and Catherine, who sat on the floor. Pastor Elliot was already on his way to see about the commotion. Mrs. Elliot followed both of them.

  Valerie waited, trying to act calm and natural, but inside her heart raced. If Clint just came home, then Benjamin wasn’t too far away.

  Emily’s delighted squeals wafted into the parlor, causing Valerie to wish that she could greet Benjamin the same way.

  Someday. The word came from deep inside, and yet she didn’t trust its source. Her emotions were in such a tangle, loving one man but being forced to marry another, trusting God or fleeing New Orleans for a housekeeper position.

  Emily and Clint walked in. “We’re going upstairs to deposit Clint’s things.”

  Smiling a hello, Clint carried the baggage and followed Emily up the steps.

  “I don’t suppose she’s going to play anymore.” Disappointed, Robert pulled out Emily’s peg.

  Valerie grinned at the child. And then Benjamin entered the room. A week’s growth of whiskers covered his jaw, increasing his rugged good looks. Catherine walked over and gave him a friendly hug that he seemed to tolerate, although his gaze stayed on Valerie.

  Catherine followed his line of vision. “The future Mrs. James Ladden.”

  Valerie couldn’t completely subdue her wince.

  “We invited the couple for dinner tonight. A pity Valerie’s fiancé left early.”

  “A real shame.” Sarcasm weighed on Benjamin’s words. He sent her a nod. “Valerie.”

  “Hello, Benjamin.”

  He set down his bags, and Catherine helped him shrug out of his coat.

  “How was your trip?” Valerie asked.

  “Very productive.”

  “Any leads on finding Luke?”

  He shook his head. “None.”

  Valerie felt his disappointment.

  “Did you see any fighting?” Robert wanted to know.

  “No.” Benjamin’s smile worked its way through his beard. “But I’ve put together a photograph book. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure!” The boy shot up off the floor.”

  “You ladies are invited to look too.”

  “We’d love to.” Catherine caught his arm. “Oh, and Cousin Rebecca sent a telegram saying Leah gave birth to a baby boy. Mother and child are doing fine.”

  Benjamin let the news digest. “I guess that makes me an uncle.” A slow smile spread across his face before he let out a joyous whoop.

  His reaction tickled Valerie, and she laughed. Then he smiled into her eyes. She stared up into his.

  “About those photographs?” Catherine’s voice sliced between them.

  “Right.” Benjamin bent over and took a bound volume out of one of his bags. He carried it over to the dining room table, where he opened it and sat down. Robert was quick to pull a chair in beside him and Catherine claimed the other seat next to Benjamin, so Valerie peered over his shoulder.

  “I worked on this all week.”

  She began wondering. Was it part of his assignment for the colonel? If so, how could he be showing it off?

  “This is a personal project.” He answered her musing. “Many of these pictures I took when Valerie’s father gave us a tour of New Orleans’s port.”

  Page after page, Benjamin told stories behind the photographs. Pastor and Mrs. Elliot came in and sat down, and then Emily and Clint joined them around the table. One picture in particular caught her eye.

  “May I see that one on the left?”

  “You may.” He handed it to her.

  Valerie recognized her father and the man with whom he stood. The pair obviously didn’t know their picture was being taken because the camera only captured a side view of each man.

  “That’s a ship your father commissioned some time back,” Benjamin said. “It’s being retired soon, but the vessel’s said to have run the Union’s blockades dozens of times in the last year.”

  “Oh, I didn’t notice the ship. I was looking at my father and Captain DeMere. He’s a Frenchman.” Valerie searched her memory, as it’d been awhile since she’d seen or heard of him. “I believe he’s an important naval officer now that the war’s begun.”

  “DeMere?” Clint held out his hand in a nonverbal request to see the picture.

  Valerie gave it to him, and he studied it.

  “Do you know the captain’s first name?”

  Valerie gave it a moment’s thought. “No. I can’t remember.”

  Clint slid the photograph across the table to Benjamin. “There’s a man named DeMere who’s an officer under Farragut.”

  “Farragut? That Southern traitor!” Robert became incensed. “He was born in the Confederate States of America, but now he’s a Yankee.”

  “Settle down, son.” Pastor Elliot worked to hide a grin.

  Valerie saw Clint staring hard at Benjamin. Realizing she’d placed her hand on Benjamin’s shoulder, she slowly removed it.

  But his distracted gaze made it clear that was not what bothered Clint. “Remember what we talked about a few days ago, Ben?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did our, um, client get that same print?”

  “Sure did.” His voice rang with a note of regret. “Just tonight, in fact.”

  “What does that mean?” Valerie asked.

  “Let’s hope it means nothing.” Benjamin turned the page of his photograph book, and despite her curiosity, the topic changed with it.

  ***

  Ben looked at the amount of money Colonel LaPorte had paid him and felt half tempted not to accept it. True, he’d done what he’d been hired to do, but he sure didn’t feel very good about it. He’d violated his oath to stay neutral in this war, and his compromise hadn’t produced any new leads regarding Luke’s whereabouts.

  “You two men have done some fine work here.” Colonel William LaPorte flipped through the photographs in front of him. His silvery mustache wiggled thoughtfully as he peered through his spectacles at each albumin print. “Fine work indeed.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Clint said, sitting to the colonel’s right at the dining room table.

  Ben sat to the older man’s left. “Will these images help your cause?”

  “Yes, yes, I believe they will.” He peeled away his wire-framed specs and narrowed his gaze at Clint, then Ben. “But I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “Oh?” Ben narrowed his gaze.

  “I’ve suspected Edward Fontaine of furtive behavior for some time now. He’s made some rather interesting remarks at his gentlemen’s club.”

  Ben could well imagine. The man did love his scotch.

  “And now, thanks to you both, I’ve obtained hard evidence.” He held up the photograph of Mr. Fontaine and Captain DeMere.

  Ben winced.

  “So I called it correctly,” Clint confirmed. “DeMere is one of Fa
rragut’s men.”

  “Your camera uncovered the truth. Fontaine has been supplying Union gunboats with food and water and relaying privy information in exchange for his ships being allowed to pass into open waters. His actions have led to the capture of several Confederate vessels. Some of our most highly skilled captains have been killed.” The colonel leaned forward. “I can’t thank you two enough.”

  Clint coughed.

  Ben shook his head in disbelief. “Colonel, you’ve known from the start that the Fontaines are friends of ours.”

  LaPorte sat back again. “If it will ease your conscience, I have an eyewitness account and sworn testimony that states Mr. Fontaine stayed aboard Union ships for days on end before returning to shore. This picture of him and DeMere backs that testimony up.”

  Ben glanced at Clint and sensed his partner felt the same prickles of unease working their way up his spine.

  “The Fontaines’ neighbors, Arnold and James Ladden, are involved as well. Both Ladden men are being arrested for treason as we speak. If charged, they’ll face the death penalty.”

  Ben wasn’t concerned about the Laddens, especially after hearing Emily’s suspicions regarding Valerie’s fat lip. The Confederate Army would likely treat Ladden better than Ben ever would. Regardless, he couldn’t imagine what her father’s arrest would do to Valerie. “What about Edward Fontaine?”

  “We’ll catch up to him—him and his daughter.”

  “His daughter? Valerie?” Ben wagged his head. “No. She came home from boarding school less than a month ago. She’s been mourning her mother’s death. Valerie is not involved, sir.”

  “Perhaps not, but . . . ” He glanced from Ben to Clint and then back to Ben again. “How can I be certain?”

  “If your evidence is merely circumstantial,” Ben said, “couldn’t our witness on her behalf be enough?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. Both your close proximity to the family and the fact Miss Fontaine is Edward’s daughter and betrothed to James Ladden will put questions in the minds of my superiors.” Regret appeared to tug at his features. “I must issue arrest warrants.”

  “Sir, can I get you to reconsider?” Everything inside of Ben went taut. He couldn’t fathom the emotional distress Valerie would suffer at the hands of Confederate soldiers as they hauled her off to prison. “Valerie knows nothing about her father’s involvement with the Union Army.”

  To his credit, the colonel considered his remark. “I like you two men. I believe you’re honorable. So, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. First, I’m going to finish writing up some other reports and have my lunch. By the time I actually deliver the arrest warrants, it’ll be—” He peered at his pocket watch and pursed his lips. “—nearer to evening.”

  That means I’ve got about six hours. Ben stood and extended his right hand. He wasn’t about to waste even a minute. “A pleasure doing business with you, Colonel.”

  All right, Lord, show me what to do next.

  Fourteen

  Valerie paced the length of her bedroom. After seeing Benjamin last night, she knew now more than ever that she couldn’t marry James. It didn’t matter that he didn’t feel the same intense feelings for her as she did for him. It had even crossed her mind that he still loved Gwyneth Merriweather. Regardless, Valerie knew she loved Benjamin and always would.

  But even if she set her feelings aside, marriage to James would mean a life of enduring abuse. Emily was right. She had to talk to her father. Please, God, let him understand.

  Leaving her room, she made her way downstairs. She hoped James wasn’t about. He usually showed up around midmorning. She spied Adalia in the parlor. “Do you know if my father’s at home?”

  “Last I saw him, he was in his study, dearie.” The maid shook her head. “He’s acting awfully peculiar.” Her expressive gaze sent a forewarning to Valerie.

  Somewhat daunted, she approached the library. “Father?” From the hallway she could see the heavy drapes were drawn. It was unusual for this time of day.

  In what mind-set would she find him?

  Peeking around the corner, she saw the scores of leather-bound books that neatly lined the walls. Two large brown leather chairs seemed to squat in front of the long, polished writing desk near the hearth. No fire burned within its brick confines. But where was her father?

  “Are you in here?” Valerie stepped into the room. It reeked of whiskey and stale cigars. “Father?”

  She heard a moan and whirled to find him slumped in a chair behind his desk.

  Drunk again!

  “Father, let me call Ephraim.” Valerie wondered if the slender valet was even physically capable of getting her father upstairs.

  “No . . . Vincedupe . . . send . . . fovince . . . ”

  “Who? What?” Valerie sent a gaze upward at such slurred, nonsensical speech. “Enough, Father; get on your feet. I’ll try to take you upstairs myself.” She had little doubt that she possessed more muscle than the slight-of-frame valet.

  Lord, give me the strength. She moved toward her father and took hold of his right arm, tugging her father upward. He was dead weight.

  “You might at least try to cooperate.” She clenched her jaw in aggravation.

  He groaned in reply.

  And that was when she saw it—the dark, oozing, red stain on his white shirt. She saw his right hand was covered with the same substance. She drew back at the putrid smell of dying flesh. Her insides rolled. She recognized the scent of gunpowder too.

  Oh, God, no! A scream erupted from her as Father crumpled to the floor. All she could do was hold on to his arm to ease his fall.

  “What’s goin’ on in here?” Adalia sounded breathless as she ran into the room.

  “Send for the doctor!” Valerie knelt beside his unconscious form. “My father’s been shot!”

  ***

  “Since you’re the brains of this operation, now what?” Clint looked exasperated as he almost jogged to keep up with Ben’s long-legged strides across the yard. “I don’t want to say I’m going to have to quit—”

  “Then don’t.” Ben halted. His mind was in a whir, wondering what he’d do with Valerie. “We both feel called to document the war. I have to find Luke. That much hasn’t changed.”

  “But Em’s with child, and she—”

  “Let’s send both her and Valerie to Jericho Junction.” The words flew out of Ben’s mouth before he realized the idea had even formed in his head. It gained momentum by the second. “They’re friends, they’ll make good traveling companions. My family will look after them until we get home.”

  “Home?” Clint frowned. “I never thought of settling in Jericho Junction, although when we visited last fall I thought it was a fine little town.”

  “You’ve got awhile to think on it, Clint. Meanwhile, Emily will be safe there.” He arched a brow. “Doesn’t it beat sending her to stay with some distant relative?”

  “Point taken.” Clint rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. “But if Valerie is wanted by the Confederate Army, it won’t be safe for Em to travel with her.”

  Ben walked a few paces on the LaPortes’ wide lawn to a tree where someone had carved a set of initials in its trunk encompassed by a heart. He thought of how Valerie said she loved him.

  Only a week ago he didn’t feel like he had a right to reciprocate because he couldn’t offer her the sort of lifestyle to which she was accustomed. He’d been afraid—afraid because of Gwyneth’s reaction to Jericho Junction and his family’s simpler ways. Now, however, Valerie stood to lose her home and every monetary thing she owned. She faced censure from friends and neighbors. She faced the possibility of harsh treatment from LaPorte’s troops. Loving her, Ben felt compelled to offer his name and the protection that went along with it. How could he not? And Jericho Junction was a far sight better than the alternative.

  Lord, is this Your will?

  Slowly he turned to face Clint. “What if Valerie’s name wasn’t Fontaine anymore?”

  �
�She’ll travel incognito? Brilliant.”

  “No, no . . . something more.” Ben’s mind went back to last night when Em told him about Valerie’s lip and her notion to leave New Orleans for some questionable housekeeping job. He thought of how Valerie left boarding school. He kneaded the back of his neck. Lord, there’s only one thing I can think of to make her stay put, and I might even be underestimating her here.

  “Are you talking about marriage?”

  “I sure am.”

  “Then she wouldn’t have to lie and worry about slipping if interrogated. Her tickets would be purchased under the name McCabe.” Clint tipped his head. “But are you positive? Marriage is a big step.”

  “I love her.” Ben turned and faced his friend. Peace filled his being. “I’ve never been more positive of anything in my life.”

  ***

  “Adalia has sent for the doctor. He’ll be here soon.” Valerie secured the pillow beneath her father’s head. He still lay on the floor in his study. Valerie hadn’t wanted to move him until the physician examined his wounds. He seemed to be bleeding from multiple places. “Father, how on earth did this happen?”

  “James was at the club last night . . . wanted more money.”

  “More money?” Disgust for the man filled her being. “I’m not prize enough?”

  “James is a greedy man, ma fille, and I saw him for what he was last night. I told him he’d marry my daughter over . . . over my dead body.”

  “So he shot you?”

  “The authorities went after him.” Father’s breathing became labored. “But he escaped. I somehow made it back home.”

  “Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

  “Because . . . I leave for France . . . in a week.”

  Valerie gave a sad wag of her head. “Father, you can’t travel in your condition. In fact—” She hated to state it. “Father, your wounds look severe. You might die.”

  “I’m a good man, ma fille. I have done some good things for the United States. Noble things. Brave things.”

  A curious frown puckered her brow. “United States?”

  “I can’t support the Confederacy.”