Читать книгу The Reluctant Bridegroom - Shannon Farrington - Страница 11
ОглавлениеHenry still could not believe the news.
The president has been assassinated! How can this be? And shot during a performance at Ford’s Theatre? His wife seated just beside him?
He didn’t know what sickened him more—the thought of the slain leader or the fact that less than forty-eight hours ago, he had shaken hands with the perpetrator of the crime. The ride to the train station with John Wilkes Booth replayed through his mind over and over again.
“Rest assured, my name will make all the papers.”
Indeed it had, for now every press was churning out the details.
“He leapt from the president’s box...”
“...from the stage he shouted to the crowd...”
“Wielding a blood-smeared dagger, he then fled...”
A Federal manhunt was now underway. Those suspected of aiding Booth were quickly being rounded up. Henry nervously wondered if the provost marshal would soon come calling for him.
I drove him to the train station... I shook his hand...
Fellow councilman George Meriwether nudged Henry, jolting him back to the business at hand. “Your vote, Nash,” George whispered.
Fearing bloody reprisal in the wake of the president’s death, the mayor had suggested that saloons be closed and the entire city police force be put on alert. Henry agreed.
“Aye,” he cast.
The measure passed. With business concluded, the council then dismissed. In a daze, Henry slowly made his way home. Is it really true? Is the president really dead, or is this some horrible nightmare from which I will awake?
But every step he took toward home dripped with reality. Already the church bells were beginning to toll. They would continue to ring until noon. The patriotic bunting that had draped the government buildings all week in celebration of victory was now being replaced by black crepe. Flags were lowered to half-mast. Nearly every person he passed on the street wore a grief-stricken or confused expression.
Henry didn’t know whether to weep or clench his fists in anger at the enormity of the country’s loss. While he hadn’t voted for Lincoln, or agreed with all of his policies, he had believed the president truly wanted what was best for the nation. In the end, Lincoln had wanted peace, and had died just as it was achieved. What a cruel and senseless conclusion to the man’s life.
What will this mean for our country now? he wondered.
Upon reaching home, James, his manservant, met Henry at the door. Already he wore a black mourning band on his upper left arm. Taking Henry’s greatcoat and hat, he said, “You had a visitor earlier. I told him you weren’t here.”
“Who was it?”
Before James could answer, Henry’s father stepped from the parlor. “That’ll be all, James.”
Henry shot his father a disdainful glare as James exited. He didn’t like how Harold ordered his servants about.
“You could have let him answer,” Henry said.
“You’d better be grateful that James didn’t ask your visitor to stay.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Detective J. E. Smith is the one who paid the call.” His father offered the calling card for proof.
Fear slowly snaked its way up Henry’s neck. He’d had dealings with this particular provost marshal detective before. Last year, a city council member had been investigated on accusations of bribery and extortion. The man was not guilty, and eventually his name was cleared, but not before his entire life had been turned upside down by Smith and his men.
Does Smith know of my encounter with Booth? Henry wondered. Is that why he came to see me?
Harold was well aware of the interaction with the detective, and he knew the fear it stoked. He added fuel to the fire. “You’ve another matter with which to be concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
He encouraged Henry toward the study. On his desk was a copy of the day’s paper. Picking it up, his father explained, “A man by the name of Lewis Paine is now under arrest for the attempted murder of Secretary of State William Seward. They say he spent time here in Baltimore.”
“I never shook his hand,” Henry said, more for the easement of his own mind than that of his father.
“No,” the older man conceded, “but you did grasp the hand of his hostess.”
“His hostess?”
“Apparently this man was a boarder at the house on Eutaw Street as recently as last month.”
“You mean the Branson Boarding House?”
“I do.”
Harold tossed him the publication. Henry quickly read. According to the Free American, twenty-two men and women from the Branson Boarding House had been taken into custody by the provost marshal and were presently being questioned for possible involvement in Lincoln’s death and the conspiracy to murder Secretary Seward.
The paper also noted that this was not the first time the boardinghouse had been under scrutiny. As Henry read the next paragraph aloud, a chill spread through him. “Miss Branson, a former volunteer nurse, was questioned in September 1863 by the provost marshal. She was suspected of helping a rebel prisoner, Lewis Thornton Powell, also known as Lewis Paine, escape from the US General Hospital here in Baltimore. No charges were filed then.”
“And you visited that same boardinghouse,” his father reminded him, “listening to that same woman complain about Federal soldiers prowling about her door.”
Henry raked back his hair. His mind was racing. Those soldiers saw me enter. The boarder in the parlor saw me, as well. He probably heard our very conversation.
He told himself he hadn’t done anything wrong—certainly not anything illegal—but he knew that didn’t matter now. The nation had just endured four years of war. Suspicion still ran high. Henry had entered the home of a Southern sympathizer. That was all the proof some men would need to declare him guilty.
I’ll be linked to the scoundrels who conspired to kill the president and his men. God help me, he thought. What do I do now?
“You need to keep your wits,” his father reminded him. “You need to protect yourself.”
Anxiety pulsing through him, Henry made the mistake of asking how.
“Van der Geld’s daughter. The man has the army in his pocket, you know. You can use that to your advantage.”
Henry immediately dismissed the idea. He’d already made the mistakes of listening to the complaints of rebel sympathizer and shaking hands with a murderer. He wouldn’t make another by marrying a woman he did not love, even if her father did hold considerable sway over the authorities of this state.
“No,” he said flatly. “I told you, I don’t want any part of that.”
His father scowled. “When are you going to learn that this is the way it is done? Crowns are won or lost this way.”
Henry had no desire for a crown. He never had. He told his father so. “I only want to do what is right.”
“Right or wrong has nothing to do with it. It’s about power...about how much of it you have over your enemies.”
“I don’t have any enemies.”
At that, his father laughed. “I wouldn’t tell Detective Smith that next time he comes calling. You had better claim a few enemies—namely John Wilkes Booth and the rebel army.”
Again Henry raked his fingers through his hair. Of course he wanted Booth brought to justice, but Lee and his army had surrendered. The men in gray were no longer his enemies. Some, in fact, like his brother-in-law, John, never had been. Henry grieved the loss of life their war of rebellion had brought, but he didn’t want retribution. He wanted restoration. He wanted to be part of the reconstruction efforts, to see his nation, his state, his city healed.
His father eyed him shrewdly. “Detective Smith will return. Just what exactly are you planning to tell him?”
“I will tell him the truth.”
“The truth will earn you a jail cell.” Harold reached for the paper and quickly flipped to another article. “The actors from Ford’s Theatre are already there.”
“What? Why? What did they do?”
“They were there that night, and Booth was there. Son, the president has been assassinated. Mark my words, this nation won’t rest until every last person connected to Lincoln’s death, no matter how trivial the role, is brought to justice.”
All Henry could offer in response to that was silence. He knew his father was right, and although he believed the truth would eventually prevail, he wondered just how long it would take.
How long must I sit in a jail cell before Detective Smith believes my encounters with Booth and Maggie Branson were purely coincidental?
He had seen what prison could do to a man. He’d visited returning veterans who had been held captive in rebel prisons. Many were starved, sick, withered.
Would a Federal prison have the same effect on me? Could I endure it?
And more important, what would happen to Kathleen and Grace if he were imprisoned?
They’ll end up in the care of the man standing before me. The man my sister rejected as a guardian. And he will not offer them any affection or comfort. Henry was certain his father would ship Kathleen and Grace off to a home for foundlings at the first opportunity.
James came to the door. “’Scuse me, sir, but Delegate Van der Geld and his daughter are here to see you.”
Henry sighed heavily and once more raked his fingers through his hair. Not this...not now...
“An opportunity presents itself, son,” his father said. “If I were you, I’d make the most of it.”
I’m not you, Henry thought. I’ll never be you.
Despite his anxiety, he was determined to stand on the truth. As his father exited the room, Henry looked at James. He was still waiting for an answer. The delicate business of rejecting Miss Van der Geld was now the least of his concerns, but the matter had to be settled.
“Tell Delegate Van der Geld that I’ll see him.”
James nodded.
“And please tell Sadie to serve Miss Van der Geld some refreshments in the parlor.”
James nodded again. He turned, only to have Henry call after him. “And James...”
“Yes, sir?”
“I wish to see Delegate Van der Geld alone. Please see to it that my father is occupied elsewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
James had barely left the room before the elder statesman made his entrance. The man’s very stance commanded authority. His hawkish look and confident voice could wither a weaker, inexperienced man, especially a man with something to hide.
But I’ve done nothing wrong, Henry reminded himself. Lifting his chin, he stared Van der Geld square in the face.
The men exchanged formal pleasantries before Van der Geld said, “Sir, I would presume you are as distressed by today’s developments as I.”
“Indeed,” Henry said. He noted the small framed portrait of Lincoln pinned to the man’s frock coat. “It is a black day for our nation.”
Van der Geld nodded. “One that makes your proposal all the more pertinent.”
My proposal? Henry stopped him there. “Sir, I must tell you here and now, whatever my father may have said to you—”
Accustomed to keeping the floor, Van der Geld did not allow him to finish. “Unity is necessary to maintain the peace. With such perilous times upon us, surely you see as well as I the necessity of proceeding with the wedding in haste. Our city needs uplifting news. It is no secret that your father and I take different views. The joining of our families, a uniting of opposite parties for the good of the land, will show the people of Maryland our willingness to work together...compromise...goodwill...”
Henry would have been tempted to roll his eyes at the obvious stump speech had Van der Geld’s tone not suddenly changed. All evidence of goodwill vanished when he then spoke of John Wilkes Booth.
“And that traitorous rebel scum! As for him and his coconspirators, I agree with what Vice President Johnson said concerning rebels—‘arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors.’ Rest assured, Councilman Nash, I will do everything in my power to bring such men and women to justice. The provost marshal is already dragging them in. I daresay the jails of this city will soon be bursting at the seams.”
A rock lodged in the back of Henry’s throat so tightly he could not breathe. Van der Geld had never proceeded cautiously when it came to suspicions of disloyalty, and it was obvious he would not tread lightly now. In the past, the man had been in full support of citizens being dragged from their beds simply because they had spoken against such tactics or knew someone who had served in the rebel army.
And what would he advocate for the man who not only had a brother-in-law who served the Confederacy but also had shaken hands with the president’s murderer? “Arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors”?
Henry felt sick to his stomach. Van der Geld continued on, now promising that he personally would not rest until Booth and all those connected with him got what they deserved.
“They will suffer for their actions! Indeed they shall!” Suddenly he stopped. His hawk-like expression softened. “But I digress,” he said. “We are here to discuss matters of life...”
Henry swallowed. Life... My life is now devoted to raising those two little girls. They are dependent on me. Marianne depended on me. I can’t let her down.
“This marriage will serve as a positive example,” Van der Geld insisted. “The future of our state depends upon such goodwill...”
Future... What future will Grace and Kathleen have if their uncle is convicted as an accomplice to the murder of the president?
Henry couldn’t stand the thought of them being shunned or scorned, unable to be placed in a proper home. He might not be the father they deserved, and he might not know how to care for them as wisely as he should, but Henry was determined those little girls would be protected.
“We’ve had our disagreements, for certain,” Van der Geld said, “but I know you to be a man of your word. I know you will take good care of my daughter.”
His daughter... Surely this man is as concerned for her security and happiness as I am for Grace’s and Kathleen’s. He wouldn’t wish to see her husband carted off to jail.
“I have it on good authority that the president’s funeral train will pass through our city in a few days. Thousands will attend. I think that would be the perfect opportunity for you and Rebekah to be seen together in public. Then, when our beloved president is finally laid to rest, we will conduct the marriage ceremony.” The man stuck out his hand. “What say you?”
Images of moldy holding cells and interrogation rooms at Fort McHenry flashed through Henry’s mind. Marriage to a woman he did not love would be a prison all to itself but surely more bearable than the former, especially when he thought of Kathleen’s and Grace’s tear-stained faces. His heart told him not to give in to such fears. He was a man of faith, and up until now, he had done nothing wrong. Shouldn’t he trust that God would work all of this out? Shouldn’t he believe Kathleen and Grace would be all right?
But Henry found he had not the courage to pray. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was shaking Theodore Van der Geld’s hand.
* * *
Rebekah waited nervously in Councilman Nash’s parlor while her father visited with the man. The news of President Lincoln’s death had barely had a chance to register before her father summoned her to his own study and told her to make herself ready. In light of the national tragedy, they would pay a call on Henry Nash. Her father was apparently convinced her marriage to the man would ensure the continuation of the Union.
How that was, she could not say. Henry Nash was no great supporter of the president. He was no war hero. Rebekah had no respect for men who had shirked their responsibility to the nation. The only men she despised more were those who had owned slaves.
And remnants of such a loathsome past remain in this house!
A Negro manservant had taken her coat and bonnet when she had arrived. A young maid then followed, bringing tea and scones. Rebekah couldn’t help but feel for them. What must they have endured?
But her thoughts then quickly turned to herself. What must I now endure?
Unable to swallow any refreshment, Rebekah left her tea and walked to the window. Beyond the glass lay a world of green, lush vegetation kissed by the April dew. As she stared out at the garden, the idea of escape again crossed her mind. If I could find the back gate, I could run away...away from my father, away from Councilman Nash...away from everything...
But she wasn’t given the opportunity to flee. At that moment, the two men stepped into the room. Rebekah turned to see the familiar look of smug confidence on her father’s face. Obviously he had secured another political victory. She dared look then into the face of her father’s newest ally.
He looked scared.
For one irrational second, she flattered herself with the idea that he was frightened of her. In reality, however, she knew it was probably more that he feared she would reject his proposal, and then whatever contract he had secured with her father would be null and void. Anger welled up inside her. Rebekah wanted to tell the councilman she was not a commodity to be bought and sold, but indeed, she knew she was exactly that.
She remembered her father’s instructions. She was to accept this man’s proposal with eagerness. Or else.
He nodded to her in a most formal matter. “Good day, Miss Van der Geld,” he said.
She responded in kind. “Good day, Councilman Nash. Thank you for the tea.”
He nodded again, cleared his throat. He was definitely unsettled, but whether that had to do with the proposal he was about to make or the fact that her father obviously intended to listen to it, she was not certain. Theodore stood guard, ready to offer Rebekah a disapproving glare or stern rebuke should the opportunity warrant one.
She swallowed hard, stole one more glance at the beckoning garden. Evidently her suitor noticed.
“The garden belonged to my mother,” he said. “Would you care to take a turn in it?”
Would she? While escape might not be possible, she could at least flee her father’s demanding presence for a few moments. “Yes,” she said, “I would enjoy seeing the garden. Thank you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father nod. It was the closest thing to affirmation she had ever received from him, yet she felt no joy. Councilman Nash offered his arm. Rebekah dutifully accepted. Together they stepped outside.
The garden was a good size, with gravel paths and wrought iron benches. English ivy covered stately brick walls. They were beautiful, but they were walls nonetheless, meant to contain. From one prison to another, she thought again. Immediately she let go of her soon-to-be fiancé’s arm.
The man took to pointing out the various flowers. “There is forsythia, and here are several varieties of daffodil, I believe.”
When he made reference to the jonquils, Rebekah nervously blurted out, “They need dividing. Without room to grow, they will not bloom.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she cringed. What made me say such a thing? He did not ask for my opinion. How will he respond to such impertinence?
“You are right,” he said. “In fact, the entire plot needs tending, but I am afraid I haven’t the time or the skill to make it what it once was. Have you much interest in horticulture?”
The question as well as the conciliatory tone shocked her. They also intrigued her. The councilman appeared genuinely interested in her answer. “Yes,” she said guardedly. “I do.”
He offered her just the hint of a smile. While Rebekah would not call him exactly handsome, he was at least pleasant in appearance. Nut-brown hair framed an angular face. His eyes were sky blue. “Then no doubt you could tell me to which class and order each plant belongs,” he said.
“Only a few of them,” she admitted. “Though I have wished to know more, I have not had much time to study such.” Father won’t allow it. He thinks the pursuit frivolous.
He nodded as if he understood. “There are many things that we may wish to do but that our present duties won’t allow.”
Rebekah immediately took offense. Surely your duties are not as constrictive as my own. You are free to come and go as you please... You are not being pawned off at another’s whim.
“I have a copy of The Florist’s Manual somewhere about this house,” he said. “If you like, I shall ask James to find it for you. He knows this house better than I.”
Though the offer was again intriguing, she couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of James. Noticing, the man asked,
“Have I offended you?”
“It is not the offer of the floral guide that I find offensive,” she said. “It is the idea of continued slavery.”
Councilman Nash’s eyes narrowed. He immediately frowned. “James was never my slave. I retained his services when I took possession of this home, when my father first moved to his new home in Annapolis.”
Retained his services? Rebekah blinked. “Then he...didn’t belong to your father?”
“I don’t like to think of him as belonging to anyone, but to answer your question simply, no. He did not.”
Oh. Feeling foolish and fearing what might come next, she hurried to explain. “I assumed that since your father voted to keep slavery legal in Maryland—”
“I am not my father, Miss Van der Geld.”
Rebekah lowered her eyes. While his voice had not the same bite as her father’s, she plainly heard the firmness in it. “No, of course not. Forgive me. That was wrong of me to—”
“There is no need for forgiveness.”
No need? She dared reclaim his gaze. His look was charitable, his tone soft.
“But since we are dealing with assumptions,” he said, his tone softening further, “is there anything else about me that you question?”
Anything else? There were a thousand things, but Rebekah didn’t know where to begin.
“You’ve probably been told by someone along the way that I never served in the army,” he said.
“I have.”
He nodded as if he had expected such an answer. “The truth is, I did serve, but I was never given a commission. I was part of the balloon corps. In the army’s eyes, I was still considered a civilian.”
“Balloon corps? As in hot-air balloons?”
He nodded again. “Yes. Although ours were filled with hydrogen. They were used for reconnaissance. We provided tactical information to the commanders on the ground.”
“You mean the position of the rebel army?”
“Yes.”
“But didn’t your brother-in-law serve—?”
“In the Confederate army? Yes, he did. He did what he believed was his duty. I did mine.”
He was not the first man from Maryland to be pitted against his own family. Rebekah couldn’t help but feel a measure of pity toward him. “That must have been very difficult for your sister.”
“It was.”
“And yet she named you the guardian of her children?”
“John was killed at Monocacy Junction, a battle in which I had no bearing. Marianne also knew I was not personally at war with her husband, any more than John was with me.”
They had reached one of the benches. He invited her to sit. A shiver ran through her as she claimed a place as close to the edge as possible. He claimed the opposite side. An awkward silence now prevailed. She and Councilman Nash were not here to discuss the war, or even his extended family. There was another matter to be resolved.
“Miss Van der Geld,” he said. “I won’t trouble you any longer. I’m certain your father has spoken to you. While he may consider this matter concluded, this moment only a formality... I do not. I should very much like to know what you think of all of this.”
Rebekah was stunned. What I think of all of this? Was Henry Nash giving her the opportunity to refuse?
“Your father has given his consent, but all that means nothing if I have not yours.”
“My consent?” she asked.
“Of course. It is your future you are deciding...not that of your father.”
My future? Yes! Yes, it is my future! Suddenly she felt as though she’d found that elusive back gate, and freedom stood just beyond it. The councilman is granting me leave to escape! Like a butterfly in flight, she could go anywhere she wished!
As exhilarating as the feeling of freedom was, however, she realized it was not truly within her reach. Whatever flight she might take would be very short-lived. Her father would recapture her. And then to whom will I be assigned?
“You seem at a loss for words,” Mr. Nash observed.
“I am afraid I am.” What else could she say? What could she do? She was trapped.
Suddenly the door to the house opened. A little girl, four or five at the most, came charging down the path.
This must be one of his nieces, Rebekah thought.
The child froze the moment she saw a stranger in the garden. Rebekah’s heart immediately went out to her as she recognized the look on the child’s face. Rebekah knew it all too well. It was a look of loneliness, of fear.
Apparently the councilman recognized it, also, for he spoke to his niece with a tender voice, welcomed her forward. “It’s all right, Kathleen. Come and meet my friend, Miss Van der Geld.”
Friend, not fiancée. Again Rebekah noted the choice he was granting her.
The man held out his hand toward the child. She crept closer. Rebekah couldn’t help but notice the family resemblance. She had the same blue eyes, but whereas her uncle’s hair was slightly curly, hers was completely straight.
Rebekah offered her what she hoped was a disarming smile. The little girl gripped the leg of the councilman’s trousers.
“It’s all right,” he assured once again as he slid his arm around her protectively. Watching, Rebekah’s throat tightened.
“There’s a man in the parlor,” Kathleen whispered, although the tone was loud enough for Rebekah to overhear.
A man, she thought. My father. Had the child had some sort of encounter with him? That would certainly explain her fear.
“Yes, I know about that man,” the councilman said. “He hasn’t come to take you away. You need not be afraid.”
Rebekah heard the unspoken promise. I’m here. I will protect you. What was it like to receive such an assurance? What is it like to be nurtured? Loved?
Henry Nash then turned to her. “Kathleen has only very recently come to live with me.”
“I see,” Rebekah said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the hitch in her voice. “And I understand you have a sister.”
The girl stared at her.
“Her name is Grace,” her uncle offered.
“Grace,” Rebekah repeated with a smile. “What a beautiful name, as is Kathleen.”
The girl didn’t return the smile, but her grip on her uncle’s trousers loosened slightly. Rebekah took that as an encouraging sign.
The back door opened again. This time the young maidservant appeared. She hurried down the gravel path, stones crunching beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Henry. I was puttin’ the baby down to sleep, and when I turned ’round, Miss Kathleen was gone.”
“It’s all right, Sadie,” he said, and the expression on his face told Rebekah he truly meant that. It was a far different reaction than her father would have given.
Councilman Nash looked again at Kathleen. “Go inside with Sadie, pretty girl. I’ll be in to join you after a while. When I come, I will read you a story.”
He calls her pretty, Rebekah thought. He promises to spend time with her. Such declarations were unheard of in her home. This is the man my father insists I must marry?
Kathleen slowly moved away from her uncle and took the maidservant’s hand. After they had returned to the house, the councilman said, “She doesn’t remember much of her father—he had very little leave during the war. But she misses her mother terribly.”
“I imagine she must,” Rebekah said. “How old is Grace?”
“Eight weeks.”
Eight weeks? Then she is an infant. A helpless infant. Rebekah wondered how he was managing the feedings. Had he employed a wet nurse or did the baby drink from a glass bottle?
“Marianne died giving birth to Grace,” he said. “The children were then shuffled from one neighbor to the next until one of them finally contacted me.”
Rebekah’s heart squeezed. Poor little things. “Did you have to travel far to collect them?”
“Virginia.”
In other words, to enemy territory. He had risked his safety for them, yet acted as if the danger had been of no importance. “This has certainly been a difficult time for your family,” was all Rebekah could think to say.
“Indeed.”
After another long silence he said, “Miss Van der Geld, I know this is no ideal situation...”
No, it isn’t, she thought, but she realized she could do a lot worse than Henry Nash. Granted, she did not know him well, but she sensed a humility, a gentleness about him. That was something her father had never possessed.
“I will make you this promise,” the councilman continued. “Should you choose to become my wife, a surrogate mother to my nieces, I will care for you, provide for you and encourage your personal pursuits. I will do everything in my power to make your life a comfortable and happy existence, and I will never treat you with anything less than respect.”
He did not use the word love, but few men she knew did. In twenty minutes’ time, Henry Nash had bestowed upon her more kindness, more liberality than her father had in all her twenty-three years. While she certainly did not love this man, she could respect him.
On that basis, she accepted his proposal.
