Kary, Elizabeth (13 page)

Even
through her weariness, Leigh recognized the invitation and the acceptance it
represented. For a moment she stood speechless in surprise, then turned toward
the ladder to the loft above. Her foot was on the first rung when she heard the
Bickerdyke woman speak again.

"You'll
do, Leigh Pennington," she said softly. "You'll do."

A
deep, warm glow of satisfaction swept away Leigh's exhaustion, and with it came
an understanding of the bluff woman whose cause she was now pledged to share.
This morning the hostility she had sensed had been nothing more than the
protective instincts of a mother for those in her charge. Now Leigh had proven
herself; she was one of them, a nurse.

Leigh
smiled as she answered. "Thank you, Mother Bickerdyke, and good
night."

November 15, 1861—Cairo, Illinois

This
warm
Indian summer day was to be Leigh Pennington's last in Cairo, and she wanted to
remember the overcrowded little town at the junction of the Ohio and
Mississippi rivers as it looked now: with the muddy, rutted main street nearly
passable, with the new buildings sporting their fresh coats of paint, and with
a feeling of bustle and excitement in the air. The cobalt-blue sky dusted with
pale whips of clouds and the fresh breeze blowing in across the Mississippi
heightened her appreciation, and Leigh knew she would rather think of Cairo
this way than as it had been in the thick of summer, steaming and rank with
heat and humidity. After four months of hard work in Fort Defiance's hospital
tents, she was going home to accept an appointment to the Army Nursing Corps
and a coveted position in St. Louis's newly opened City General Hospital. It
was only the time she had spent under Mary Ann Bickerdyke's tutelage that
qualified her as an Army nurse, and in spite of the hard work, the long hours,
and spartan living conditions, Leigh was not sorry she had come.

The
days, weeks, and months in Cairo had passed, each with a striking similarity to
the ones that preceded it: with breakfast, lunch, and dinner to cook and serve,
with cleaning and caring for the men to fill her days, and with endless mounds
of clothes and sheets to be laundered in the evenings. Though the work got no
easier, Leigh learned to take it in her stride, growing stronger and more
confident, making the transformation from St. Louis belle to a military nurse
with an ease that surprised everyone but herself. As Leigh learned new skills
and polished old ones Mother Bickerdyke had been infinitely patient, Mary
Safford ever encouraging, and Delia Dobbins always willing to lighten her load
with her quick humor and ready laugh. No, Leigh was not at all sorry she had
come.

Beside
her Delia chatted ebulliently as they maneuvered through the crowd. They had
left their duties at the new military hospital early with the excuse of doing a
bit of shopping, but in truth it was more the wish to spend their last
afternoon together that motivated the two young women to plan the unaccustomed
outing. During the months they had spent together in the sweltering confines of
the hospital tents and in the loft where they lay whispering their dreams in
the dark, a rich, deep friendship had grown up between them, based in their
shared experiences and mutual respect. In Delia, Leigh found a sweet,
uncomplicated friend whose infectious laughter and innate gaiety made light of
the most difficult tasks and most horrendous experiences. And in Leigh, Delia
discovered the close female companionship her life on the isolated Illinois
farm had denied her. Their friendship had become a precious and satisfying
thing, and both of them faced the wrench of parting with the conviction that
somehow, somewhere they would work side by side again.

They
had just emerged from the millinery shop onto the rickety board sidewalks that
hemmed Cairo's main street when Leigh heard someone call her name. Surveying
the throngs out to take advantage of the fine weather, she noticed a tall man
striding purposefully toward her. In that instant, it was only by the utmost
strength of will that Leigh managed to stifle the urge to turn and run. She
could not help but notice the way the autumn sun caught the golden lights in
his deep brown hair or the unrestrained pleasure that sparkled in his pale eyes
as he approached her, and brilliant color rose in her cheeks. Hayes Banister
and the words he had spoken on that night so long ago had been very much with
her in the months since she had left St. Louis, and the sight of him now sent a
confusing mixture of emotions coursing through her.

"Hayes!"
she exclaimed quite breathlessly. "Hayes, whatever are you doing in
Cairo?"

Banister
grinned and ignored the question, catching her in a bear hug and covering her
half-open mouth with his own. There was in the greeting a spontaneity and
welcome that spoke of past intimacy and of far more familiarity than they had
ever known. For a moment, Leigh was too stunned to struggle, then the indignity
of being kissed on a street corner in broad daylight by a man she hardly knew
suffused her and she pushed Banister away.

"I
knew it had to be you!" he declared delightedly, before she could utter a
word. "No one in the world has hair quite that same color."

Leigh
was as undone by his words as she was by his greeting. "I'm surprised you
have any memory at all of what color my hair is!" she snapped, then
flushed again, appalled that her sarcastic reply had sounded like scolding.

"Sometimes
I surprise even myself at how well I remember everything about you."

His
dimpled smile went crooked and wry at the admission, but there was an
undercurrent of seriousness in what he said that surprised Leigh. His kiss had
been too unexpected and sudden to elicit much of a response, but the tenderness
in his voice sent a treacherous warmth swirling through her. Striving to regain
her composure, Leigh cast about for something to say. "Goodness,
Hayes," she finally managed, "I never ever expected to see you again,
much less here in Cairo."

"And
all along I've thought another meeting between us was inevitable," he
replied, pouting, though his eyes shone with suppressed mirth.

At
the memory of how she'd sent him away, Leigh's cheeks went a deeper shade of
scarlet. How could he be so glib and sure about what the future might hold when
she was still at a loss to explain the past?

Sensing
that his teasing had gone awry, Banister's smile faded, and he gestured to the
black-haired man at his side. "Leigh, may I present Nathan Travis. Travis,
this is Miss Leigh Pennington, lately of St. Louis." Leigh had been so
flustered by
Hayes Banister's sudden appearance that she had been totally unaware of anyone
else on the street, but now inbred good manners took over. She completed the
introductions almost by rote.

"And
may I introduce my friend Miss Delia Dobbins. Delia, Mr. Travis and Mr.
Banister."

With
the familiar footing of correct behavior to steady her, Leigh felt more in
control and turned a curious eye on Banister's companion. Mr. Travis was nearly
as tall as Hayes, but not as broad, his raw-boned body all coil and cable.
There was the same stark strength in the man's jaw and cheekbones that there
was in the rest of him, and his straight brows and hawk nose were equally
severe. Still, his might have been a handsome face if it were lit with a smile.
But judging from the narrow, sober mouth and the intensity of his coal-black
eyes, there seemed no likelihood of that.

Abruptly
Banister addressed Leigh, seeming content to let the newly introduced Travis
and Miss Dobbins fend for themselves while he satisfied his own curiosity.
"Tell me, Leigh, what on earth are you doing in Cairo?"

"I
believe I asked you first," she reminded him tartly.

Hayes
shrugged in resignation and began to explain. "I brought the
Barbara
Dean
down last night with a load of spare parts for the ironclads stationed
here at Cairo," he told her. "Since the contracts for the boats were
awarded to James Eads last August, he and I have been working in partnership on
the construction at his shipyard just south of St. Louis in Carondelet."

The
arrival of the first of these strange-looking vessels in mid-October had caused
quite a stir in Cairo. Even Leigh and Delia had taken time to climb up on the
levee and watch it steam majestically down the river to its anchorage opposite
Fort Defiance. Nor had the procession of six more of the boats aroused less
interest. They were odd craft, to be sure, looking, with their steeply canted
sides and hinged gunports, like giant metal turtle shells riding low in the
water. Yet for all their peculiarities, they were impressive, innovative, and
sinister looking.

"You
mean you've been working in St. Louis all this time?" she asked.

Hayes
nodded. "For the past three or four months."

"And
since you didn't know I was in Cairo, you must not have gone by our house, not
even to retrieve your hat," Leigh reasoned aloud, piqued that he hadn't
made any attempt to see her.

"Well,
I have been rather busy," Banister defended himself with a grin.
"James promised delivery of those infernal ironclads in just sixty-five
days. We've had nearly four thousand men working in shifts around the clock to
get even the first one done in time. I've been literally eating and sleeping at
the shipyards. This is the first time I've been away from the place since the
contracts came through.

"Besides,
I wasn't at all sure you would see me if I called. Would you have, Leigh?"
he inquired as one of his impressive dark eyebrows quirked upward.

Leigh
lowered her lashes demurely. "I don't know that there's any point in
discussing it, Hayes. Even if you had come to call, I wouldn't have been home
to receive you. It's a shame about your hat, though; it was a fine piece of
goods, as I remember."

"That
brings me back to my initial question," he put in. "What are you
doing in Cairo?"

Briefly
she outlined her reasons for leaving St. Louis, the satisfaction of being able
to use her skills, and the vindication of having secured a position with the
Army Nursing Corps at last.

"Damn
fools!" Banister muttered under his breath when she was through. "At
least I'm glad they've finally seen fit to avail themselves of your services.
No one has more to offer to those sick men than you do, Leigh."

His
confidence in her was warm and nourishing, just as the memory of his words had
been in the long, barren, difficult months since that night on the porch in St.
Louis. She smiled at him softly, imagining how surprised Hayes would be if she
confided that she had found infinite solace in what he'd said. She would not
tell him, of course, but that made the charm no less potent and Leigh no less
grateful for his confidence. He had unwittingly given her a strong talisman
against disappointment and despair, and her unspoken appreciation knew no
bounds.

Hayes,
standing beside her in the autumn sunshine, saw a subtle change in her face: a
slight turn to her lips, a tender light in her eyes that made him ache with
mingled desire and confusion. Leigh Pennington was a warm and beautiful woman,
but even as he watched her, wanting to hold and touch her, he was intensely
aware that she was promised to another man.

"When
do you expect to be back in St. Louis?" he inquired, turning from the
potential danger in his own thoughts. "Perhaps I'll stop by someday soon
to see about my hat, now that I know you'll receive me."

"Don't
presume too much from one chance meeting, Mr. Banister," Leigh warned,
smiling archly. "Actually, I plan to take passage tomorrow since I must
report to City General Hospital on Monday."

"We're
planning to leave for St. Louis tonight," Hayes offered. "You'd be
more than welcome to come with us. Can you be ready by then?"

Leigh
was not at all sure she liked either the way Hayes Banister was prepared to
reorder her life or the prospect of being alone with him on a steamboat.
Thankful that she had a valid reason, Leigh refused him. "Oh, Hayes, I
appreciate your offer, but I'm going to be on duty at the hospital all
night."

"Well,
I suppose we could wait until morning—"

"Oh
goodness, no," Leigh protested in a flurry. "A riverboat captain
could hardly delay his departure for the sake of a single passenger."

Hayes
surmised the reason for her refusal, and the corner of his mouth tipped down
derisively. "Since I own the
Barbara Dean,
I can't imagine
that the captain would object."

"What?"
Leigh mumbled in surprise.

"I
own the
Barbara
Dean,
out
of the Banister Shipyards in Cincinnati, built as much with my own hands as
time and the shipwrights would allow. I own four steamboats, but she's the
cream of the crop." His pride in the riverboat was evident, and he
extolled her virtues and idiosyncrasies as if she were a favorite child.
"I'd been living aboard in Cincinnati, so when I came to St. Louis she
came, too. We
contract for short runs by day, and she's what I come home to at night, though
I've spent precious little time aboard her since August. So you see, Leigh, we
can easily accommodate your schedule." His tone was light but obdurate.