The Loyal Heart (21 page)

Perhaps it didn't matter. Maybe she didn't really need to know how much he sacrificed for the cause. But as she looked at both
men and saw how unwaveringly proud they were of him, of how much they'd believed in him, she couldn't help but feel justified.

She'd wanted Phillip to be everything she'd believed him to be. And, it seemed, he was.

She was just about to thank Captain Monroe for making the long journey to meet her face-to-face and tell Phillip's whole story when she realized the question that had been hounding her had just become more complicated than ever. Perhaps the captain could help after all.

“Robert assured me Phillip was not a traitor, and now I know how false that rumor has been. But if no one knew about his undercover missions except for a very few select group of people . . .” She paused.

Captain Monroe nodded. “Yes, that is correct.”

“Then there was no basis at all for the rumor. So who wants me out of this house so much that he would make up lies and threaten me with these letters?”

Captain Monroe exchanged glances with Robert. “That's a very good question, ma'am. Believe me when I say I aim to find the answer to it very soon.”

“We'll discover what has been going on, Miranda,” Robert said quietly. “I will not leave Galveston without knowing you are safe and secure once again.”

Robert's words were reassuring. But they also filled her with a new sense of dread. Robert Truax wasn't planning to stay in Galveston. And what's more, he never had.

He'd come here for a mission. For Phillip. That was all.

Lieutenant Robert Truax's house, West Texas
Christmas Day 1866

T
HE CAPTAIN
'
S ARRIVAL WAS A WELCOME SURPRISE
,
BUT
not a completely unexpected one. Once Robert's brain took a moment to register that he was actually seeing the captain and not some apparition from his many dreams and nightmares of the war, he drew himself up to an almost-forgotten military posture and inclined his head.

He had to remind himself that their army days were gone and therefore he shouldn't salute.

“Captain Monroe. Welcome,” he said in a crisp, concise voice. “Happy Christmas.”

Captain Monroe's clear blue eyes filled with an unfamiliar glint of amusement. “Happy Christmas to you, Lieutenant. Stand at ease now, man. We're not in the army any longer.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Robert relaxed his stance. But he still felt awkward. Part of him wanted to hug his captain, the other part of him wanted to present the calm, relaxed stance he'd been so known for back when they directed their men at camp.

He settled for being direct. “What brings you here, sir?”

Devin rested his left hand on the doorjamb. “Well, I was first hoping that you might invite me into your rather grand home.”

Feeling worse than foolish, Robert stepped back. “Forgive me. It's bitterly cold out. I shouldn't have kept you standing in the elements so long.”

Captain Monroe stepped through the door. “I've stood in worse, soldier,” he said as he passed. “I believe we both have.”

“Yes, sir.”

They'd shared three Christmases together. One in Tennessee, another in the wilds of Pennsylvania, the last in a flimsy wooden barracks in a prisoner-of-war camp.

That Christmas spent on Johnson's Island in the middle of Lake Erie had been bone chilling. Nothing could compare to that.

Robert closed the door with a firm clap and promptly turned the deadbolt. As he did so, he prayed to wrap his head around the fact that it was time to sound smarter than he was acting.

Luckily, his maid, Marisol, strode forward and held out her hands to Devin. “Take your coat?”

Captain Monroe blinked, then unfastened each button with care. After handing his wool coat to Marisol with a word of thanks, he looked at Robert. “You have servants now?”

Robert couldn't determine if his captain was impressed with his improved financial situation or taken aback that he'd hired people to do things he could easily do himself.

But perhaps the why of it didn't even matter.

“Sir, this is Marisol,” he said. “She and her husband, Stan, live in a cabin on my property. They were looking for some work and, well, you know me . . . I need all the help I can get.”

“Yes, I reckon you do, Robert.” He directed a small smile at
the maid, who was a good ten years older than either of them. “I hope you and Stan keep him in line, ma'am.”

“We try, but it can be a challenge at times, sir,” she admitted with a sparkle in her eyes. “Most days the hardest part of my day is reminding Mr. Robert that I am here to help him . . . and not the other way around.”

“I'm not that bad, Marisol.”

“Bad enough, Mr. Robert,” she teased. “Now, may I serve you both some food?”

“Please do. Gracias.”

“It's nothing,” she said as she parted. “I'll bring it to you in the library, sirs. Stan's got a good fire going.”

Captain Monroe had watched the interplay with thinly veiled surprise on his face. “It seems you are surviving fairly well these days.”

“It does seem so. My work for the railway has proved profitable.” Robert chuckled as he led the way down dark stained maple hardwood floors into a small room off to the side. His pride and joy, his library. For a man who'd grown up with next to nothing, the very fact that he had enough books to need a place to store them was amazing.

Sure enough, Stan had built a roaring fire in the stone hearth. That, with the pine branches Marisol had found and arranged on the mantel, gave the room a warm and Christmasy air.

Weeks ago, he had admitted to Marisol that he'd never actually celebrated a true Christmas. She'd taken his admittance to heart and had practically begun baking Christmas treats and decorating in the next breath.

“Have a seat, sir. Or, if you'd prefer, please warm yourself in front of the fire.”

Captain Monroe walked right up to the fire and held out his
hands without a trace of artifice or self-consciousness. “Even after all this time, I still can't pass up the chance to get warm.”

“I find myself doing that fairly often too.” He shrugged, then said in a rare bit of honesty, “Old habits, I guess. Some blessings are too wonderful to ignore.”

Captain blinked. “There you are.”

“Pardon me?”

“Between your fine clothes and servants and fancy house, I was wondering if the man I fought beside at Gettysburg was still under there.”

Robert barely refrained from tugging at his collar. “He's still there, sir. Just a little more polished and a whole lot more comfortable.”

“That's a good thing, Robert. Don't be embarrassed about the gifts you have received.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Leaning back, Captain Monroe stretched his arms, then exhaled with a contented expression. After a second's pause, he focused on Robert. “Now, I suppose you are probably wondering to what you owe this honor of a visit.”

“I figured you'd be ready to tell me in your own time. Even if you came all this way to simply wish me Happy Christmas, I wouldn't have been surprised.” And that would have been the truth too. Robert held the captain in such high regard, he was fairly sure he could do just about anything.

“Though that thought might have crossed my mind, I did come for a reason.”

There was a new, unfamiliar wariness in his captain's tone. Robert tensed. “Yes, sir?”

“I have something to ask you, but I'll wait until Marisol and Stan get us settled.”

Robert turned with a start, realizing that his commanding officer had done it again. He was able to set him off without any difficulty at all.

“Shall we set everything on the card table, sir?” Stan asked when he entered the room.

“Yes. Yes, that will be fine. Stan, this is Captain Devin Monroe. He was my commanding officer in the war. We served together . . . and were imprisoned together as well.”

“Sir,” Stan said. “It's an honor.”

“It's good to meet you too,” Devin drawled.

“Will that be all then, Mr. Robert?” Stan asked.

“Yes, thank you. And, please, close the door when you leave.”

Without another word the man did as he asked. Turning toward the table now heaping with food, Robert thought an explanation might be in order. “This is corn tortillas, refried beans, and steak with peppers. Marisol, being originally from Mexico, has a way with food like this.”

“It looks good. A real fine Christmas meal.”

“Yes, sir. Gives a man a lot to be thankful for.” Robert didn't know if he would ever take a full plate for granted. He hoped not.

After he said a quick blessing, they ate. Once again, his captain looked like he enjoyed every morsel, taking in each bite as though it might be his last.

As Robert watched without trying to look like he was watching, a slow, sickening feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. Was his captain sick? Did he guess he was dying or something?

Afraid to know, his appetite left him. He picked at his food and started mentally reminding himself not to embarrass himself or the captain.

After a few moments, Captain Monroe set down his fork,
wiped his mouth with the bandanna on the table, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Good food, Robert.”

“Thank you. I'll let Marisol know.”

“You've got a nice life now. Prosperous. Good fire. Help. Excellent meal.” He eyed him carefully. “None of those things are to be taken for granted.”

“No, sir, I do not. Since this is the first time I've ever had such things, I don't take them for granted at all.”

“Are you happy?”

The blunt question took him off guard. “I am happy being warm and clean,” he said. “I'm happy not being a prisoner and not being hungry.” Most days, that was enough.

“Ha. So you've developed some simple needs.”

Robert couldn't resist smiling. “I've always had rather simple needs. They've just never been met.”

“Point taken.” Captain Monroe shifted, looking slightly uncomfortable. Then he fastened his clear blue eyes on Robert and spoke again. “I'm here about Miranda Markham.”

And just like that, all feeling of contentment vanished. “Yes, sir?”

“Robert, I want you to go check on her.”

Even the thought of such a thing made him uncomfortable. “Why?” Remembering Phillip's constant concern for her, he grasped for a reason. “Is she unwell?”

“I fear so.”

“What happened?” he asked, growing more concerned. “Did she get that influenza? Did she get hurt? Is she injured?”

“No, nothing like that. I have heard she is having a difficult time. Uh, emotionally.”

“She is still mourning.”

“Yes. But I fear there is more.” He paused, then said quietly,
“From my contacts around Houston, I have learned that she has become something of a recluse. Some even fear that she will take her own life.”

Robert rose to his feet. “That would have devastated Phillip. She was the reason he fought so hard to live.” Maybe knowing there was a love like Phillip and Miranda's had given all of them a reason to live.

Even for Ethan Kelly, who'd received a letter just weeks before their release that his Faye had decided to marry someone else.

“I agree. Hearing that she is on the verge of giving up is difficult. It also doesn't make sense.” Instead of standing up again, Monroe simply leaned back and stretched out his legs. Looked at him hard. “I worry that something else might be happening to her. After all, how can a woman who stayed strong throughout a long war suddenly give everything up?”

“I don't know.”

Captain Monroe leaned forward. “Will you go see her? Will you go to Galveston Island, call on Miranda Markham, and stay with her for a few days? Maybe even a few weeks?”

“Stay?”

“She has turned her home into a boardinghouse. I hear the rooms are rarely filled,” he said in his off-hand way. “I imagine you would make her very happy if you were to stay for a week or two.”

This request was getting harder and harder to bear. “You want me to stay with her that long?”

“I'd like you to,” he said easily, but Robert heard what was blatantly unsaid. It was more of an order than a simple request. “She could use a friend, I think.”

“Do you think she'll welcome a friendship with one of her husband's comrades?”

Devin stared at the fire. “Perhaps you don't need to mention
that you knew Phillip. It's been my experience that some friendships form best when there is little baggage attached. You might be able to ascertain she will be all right, then quietly leave. I don't think she needs any reminders about the war.”

“You don't think she'll recognize my name?”

“She might . . . or she might not,” he said slowly. Looking back at Robert, he said, “You have always thought quickly on your feet, Lieutenant. I'm sure you'll know how to present yourself when the time comes, just as I feel certain you will keep the exact nature of your service to the C.S.A. to yourself.”

Before he realized what he was doing, Robert pulled back his shoulders. “I would never discuss my missions.”

“Of course not,” Devin said lightly. “Beg pardon. After all, it's not like you've decided if you are going to see Miranda.”

“I will go,” he said. He took care to keep his voice casual and contemplative, though there had never been any question of him visiting Miranda Markham. “I have been thinking about leaving my job with the railroad and finding something new.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

“But why me?”

Captain Monroe stilled. Stared at him directly. “We both know that answer, Robert.”

Robert didn't do him the disservice of pretending he didn't understand what he meant. He'd been mesmerized by Phillip's love for his wife, and everyone at the camp had known it. He'd often gone to sleep wondering what kind of woman Miranda Markham was. Now, it seemed, he was going to find out.

They were still sitting in silence ten minutes later when Marisol stepped into the doorway. “Coffee, gentlemen?”

Devin got to his feet. “Thank you, but no. I should be going.”

Robert stood up as well. “But it's Christmas. And it's getting late. It will be dark out soon.”

“Indeed.”

“I wish you would consider staying, sir. The area around here is not very forgiving at night. Especially not in the winter.”