Beloved Enemy (12 page)

A
sickening lump formed itself in the pit of Rob's stomach. While he had no fear of personal danger, Julia's safety loomed as a paramount importance to him, despite his vow to forget her.

“What about Miss Chandler, sir? I fail to see what help she can give. As a matter of fact, I have not pursued our acquaintance. The young lady and I were too much—” He groped for the right word. “Our politics are at opposite poles. I realized that a continued friendship would lead to grief.”

Lawrence sat back in his chair. “Ordinarily, I would never presume to dictate the social affairs of my men, Major Montgomery, but we are not living in civilized times. I am asking you to resume your friendship with Miss Chandler, and entertain her with all the formidable powers of that charm of yours.”

Rob opened his mouth to protest, but the colonel held up his hand.

“Hear me out, Major. My reason is far from frivolous. We must place you in a position to be captured by Colonel Mosby. You will be apprehended while at the home of a known Southern loyalist. I am quite certain that Mosby's
men will have no trouble locating the address. They probably know it already.”

White anger overcame Rob, and he leaped to his feet. “Julia Chandler is an innocent young woman, sir! To use her trust for such a nefarious purpose is a callous act.”

Lawrence folded his hands together as if in an attitude of prayer. “Indeed, Major. War is also a callous act, and it turns us into beings that we are not by nature. Families tear each other apart like hunting dogs over a fox. Brothers kill brothers in the name of patriotism, and friends betray each other with a smile—and a kiss.”

Rob gritted his teeth. “It sickens me to use a sweet young woman for such a devilish purpose. Isn't there some other way?”

Lawrence shook his head; he would not meet Rob's eyes. “None that we can use so quickly, and time is of the essence. Your countrymen languish in hell, Major Montgomery. They pray daily for release,” the colonel whispered. “Your President wants them out, and General Grant needs them desperately.”

Closing his eyes, Rob wished that he were back home in Rhinebeck. The Hudson would be frozen hard by now, and he could skate up its winding course halfway to Montreal, leaving the war with its bloody maw and gut-wrenching decisions far behind him. The air was crisp and clean in the wilderness of the North Country.

“Major?” Lawrence's voice shattered his daydream. “Will you do it?”

Rob swallowed down the bile in his throat. “Yes, sir,” he replied in a hollow tone. His conscience screamed reproach. “While I loathe the idea of Miss Chandler's involvement, I understand the reason for it. I pray that she, too, will understand it eventually. May God forgive me for such a breach of trust.”

Rob lowered his eyes to hide the deep regret he felt grip his heart. “When do you want me to see her?”

 

Claypole watched as Montgomery returned to his desk. The man looked as if he had been whipped, taken down a peg or two. Scott chuckled to himself. Then he shunted aside his personal feelings and chewed over the possible reasons for Montgomery's hangdog look. There had been no raised voices behind the colonel's door, so Claypole presumed that the New Yorker had not been reprimanded for some military misbehavior.

There was something in the wind, he knew it. Perhaps it could be used to his benefit.

He stretched in his chair, then got up and sauntered around the maze of desks and filing cabinets until he reached Montgomery's area. He noted that both the major's hands, the good one and the bad, were hidden under the desk. Montgomery stared at his inkwell with a grim look that would make a weak man shiver. Claypole had no qualms about disturbing the major's dark musings. In fact, he relished the idea of irritating this pompous son of old New York.

“Seems like the world landed hard on your shoulders, Rob,” he said in a companionable voice. “You look like a man who might be in need of a drink.”

A muscle jumped along the major's jawline. He didn't give him the common courtesy of looking at him. “It's only past eleven, Claypole,” he rumbled. “Too early in the day.”

Claypole forced himself to laugh in a pleasant manner. “Never too early for a medicinal tot.”

Montgomery closed his eyes. “Go away, Claypole.”

Though the major was often morose, he was never this touchy. His behavior confirmed Claypole's suspicions;
something big was in the wind. He refused to give up in spite of Montgomery's rebuffs. If he could only lure him to a saloon. A few shots of whiskey might loosen the major's tongue.

He leaned over Montgomery so that his voice wouldn't carry. “If you are in need of a sympathetic ear, I have two for you. Misery is—”

The major's glare froze the rest of Claypole's offer on his lips. “Leave me alone! I am already bound for hell without your help.”

With a stiff smile pasted on his face, Claypole backed away. He held up his hands, palms out. “No harm intended,” he lied. Then he returned to his own cubbyhole where he watched Montgomery.

A few minutes later, he saw the major take out some of his personal note paper from a side drawer. He dipped his pen into the ink bottle, then began to write furiously across the page. Claypole nodded to himself. Writing to home again. From the look of things, Claypole guessed that Montgomery had received new orders that were not to his liking.

 

The rattling of her bedroom doorknob in the middle of the morning caught Julia unawares. Hettie had already cleaned the room and taken away the nighttime slops. Carolyn was at her French and drawing lessons with Madame DuSault on Wolfe Street. Julia rose when her parents swept into the room. By the set look on her mother's face and her father's downcast eyes, Julia instinctively knew that this unexpected visit did not bode well for her. Perhaps they planned to exile her to Strasburg in the Shenandoah Valley to live with Mother's elderly Aunt Charlotte.

Julia forced her lips to part in a smile. “Good morning, Mother. Good morning, Papa. This is a surprise,” she
added truthfully. Behind her mother's back, Papa returned a wan smile.

Mother seated herself on Julia's chair before she gave her daughter the full brunt of her attention. “I do hope that this past week's solitude has been instructive, and that you have now learned the virtue of obedience,” she began in a haughty tone.

Julia refrained from the temptation to point out that she had always been the obedient daughter, and that it was Carolyn who needed discipline. Why stir up another storm? From the expression on her mother's face, Julia knew that anything she said would be interpreted as disrespectful. She pressed her lips together.

Mrs. Chandler smoothed out her gray watered-silk skirts, then continued, “I have just received the most delightful letter from your cousin Payton. Despite your skylarking and unbridled behavior, he has graciously agreed to make you his bride—immediately.”

With a gasp, Julia stumbled backward against the bedpost. She gripped it lest she collapse under the weight of this dire announcement. She glanced at her father, but he would not meet her eyes. Julia masked her inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness.

“This is hasty news, Mother.”

Mrs. Chandler gave her daughter a slow, feral smile. “So it is, and not a moment too soon. Marriage will do you a world of good. It will give you the discipline and maturity you so obviously lack. There'll be no more gadding about town and dragging our family's name in the dust behind you.”

Mother, with her love of drama, had blown the episode of the ball all out of proportion. But the situation could have been a lot worse, if Major Montgomery had not been a gentleman.

“Payton says that he will obtain a pass from the provost marshal in Richmond, so that he may come through the lines to get you. He expects to arrive in Alexandria in a few days. I have already contacted the sexton at St. Paul's. You and Payton will be married there two weeks from Saturday.” Opening her fan, her mother waved it back and forth as she elaborated her plans.

“Since it is wartime, as well as the bald fact of your infamous conduct, the service will be small. Family only. Carolyn will stand up for you and I am sure that Payton will produce another witness, if necessary. Afterward, a small wedding breakfast here. We do not have the where-withal of the Winsteads. Then you and Payton will return to Richmond on the afternoon train.” She frowned to herself. “Of course, you will have to make several station changes. I hear that some of the rail lines are torn up. You may have to spend your wedding night in Fredericksburg.”

Julia gulped for air. The whirlwind of Clara's plans made her head spin. “Mother, you have given me no time. How can I possibly marry a man that I have not seen in years? What if I dislike him? We will need some time to get to know one another again.”

Mrs. Chandler continued to fan herself as if she had not heard a word. “You can wear your blue taffeta morning dress. It suits your coloring quite nicely. And I suppose you will have to wear Grandmother Lightfoot's pearls. Family tradition and all that, but I want them back before you leave this house. No sense in losing them on the train, is there?”

Julia swallowed down the scream that hovered in her throat. Her cherished vision of teaching classrooms full of eager children dissolved. “Papa?” she implored her father.

He gave her a sweet, sad look before he shook his head.
“Your mother is right, my child. In these unsettled times, we are fortunate to find you a proper husband—a man who is willing to overlook your lapse in behavior.”

Julia's distress veered sharply to anger. “Of course Payton is willing to overlook anything that I might have done, since he knows that I will be inheriting my legacy soon. It's my money he's after, not me. He was always greedy when he was a boy. Once I caught him searching through Carolyn's little purse for spare change.”

“Hold your tongue, Julia!” Two bright red spots appeared in Mrs. Chandler's cheeks. “How dare you utter such filth! My aunt would turn in her very grave if she heard you accuse her grandson of thievery. Payton is a fine gentleman, well set up with a large plantation, livestock, servants and fine furnishings. He has no need for any more money, though of course, we are giving him something to take you, now that you have soiled your reputation—and ours!”

She shook out her handkerchief and began to wail loudly into it, though Julia suspected that her mother's eyes were bone-dry.

Leaning her head against the cool wood of the bedpost, she felt exactly like a rabbit caught in a narrowing mesh trap. “I had no idea you hated me so much, Mother,” she murmured under her breath.

“Hate you!” her mother caterwauled. “When all I have ever done is work hard for your benefit? Good schooling, pretty clothes, music lessons! Oh, Jonah,” she beseeched her husband. “What a serpent we have nurtured in our bosoms! Such ingratitude! I am awash with sorrow. Oh, dear! Oh, my heart!” Gripping her chest, she held out her hand to her husband. “I do fear that I am having palpitations. Take me to my bed.”

Julia's father helped his wife to her feet, muttering his
usual soothing nonsense. Hettie, who had been listening in the hall, took Mrs. Chandler's arm. Feeling strangely unmoved, Julia watched in silence as Hettie helped her mother down the hall. Then she said, “Papa, I am truly sorry, but I cannot marry Payton Norwood. I want to teach in a school.”

Her father didn't look surprised by this admission, merely sad. “I don't know what to say to you, Julia. Your mother is set on this match. For the sake of her health, I cannot overrule her. Perhaps your reluctance is unfounded. Payton may have grown up into a good man. Do not judge him until you have seen him again. As for teaching school, I am afraid that is impossible. You were reared for the life of a plantation mistress. You must forget that idea, Julia. It will only make you unhappy.”

Then he left, without allowing her one more word of protest.

 

In the waning light of a January afternoon, Rob loitered on the corner of King and North Royal Streets near Alexandria's Market Square. He pulled his woolen scarf tighter around his neck while he scanned the crowd of late shoppers, hoping that the Chandlers' maidservant was among them. His perfidious note to Julia burned inside the pocket of his greatcoat.

Before leaving Washington at midday, Rob had visited Mr. Chandlee's card and stationery shop inside the elegant Willard Hotel with the idea of buying a peace offering for Julia. He had chosen a gilt-edged book of Shakespeare's sonnets for her when his conscience reprimanded him. How could he betray her trust again with a pretty present, while he used her friendship for a coldhearted purpose? At their meeting in her garden, he should keep himself as aloof as possible, and pray that Mosby's men captured him
quickly. The less time he spent in Julia's seductive company, the better it would be for both of them.

Rob stamped his feet to encourage his sluggish blood to warm his near-frozen toes. Yesterday's
Washington Evening Star
reported that this winter was an unusually cold one. And he intended to spend most of it inside the dank walls of Libby Prison! He must truly be fortune's fool.

“My, my, my,” squealed a high-pitched feminine voice behind him. “Look, Mama! I do believe that we have stumbled upon the handsomest officer in the entire Federal Army. Good afternoon, Major Montgomery.”

Puzzled, Rob turned to confront two well-dressed ladies swathed in colorful velvet cloaks, fur hats and muffs. It took him a few moments before he recognized the hostess of the New Year's Ball and her daughter. Then he touched the brim of his hat with his good hand.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Winstead, Miss Winstead. It's a bitter day to be out and about,” he remarked, casting a furtive glance over their shoulders in search of Hettie Perkins.

Mrs. Winstead tittered. “So it is, Major, but we had a few errands to run.”