Always (4 page)

Billy was a jovial, redheaded Irishman and just about the biggest, handsomest man Emily had ever met. He sometimes let her help load fresh paper into the press for printing, and he never failed to acknowledge her, which was more than she could say for most adults.

Billy grinned and ruffled her hair as he passed. “Well-and-a-day! There she be! Me sweet
mavourneen
, Em-il-ee!”

Emily could muster little more than a tongue-tied gurgle in response. Billy addressed every female from the age of two to eighty-two in a similarly flattering manner, but that didn’t squelch the flush of pleasure that rose to her cheeks when he called her his sweet
mavourneen
.

Emily waited until Billy stopped to talk to one of the compositors up front before making a break for the back door. Seconds later, she was safely outside and rounding the rear corner of the building to the alley between the print shop and the dry goods store next door. As she’d known it would be on a warm spring afternoon such as this, her father’s office window was propped open. Pressing her shoulder blades against the brick wall next to it, Emily strained to hear the conversation passing within.

“What did you say your name was, son?”

“Ross Gallagher, sir.”

“Gallagher, Gallagher... Wouldn’t be related to the Gallaghers on Chestnut, would you?”

“No, sir. I live with Mr. and Mrs. Brenner west of town.”

“The Brenners? Why, they’re neighbors of ours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How is it you came to live with them?”

“Well, uh, my ma died a year ago, sir. Mrs. Brenner was my ma’s cousin.”

“I see. They have a nice-sized farm. I reckon they could find plenty of work for a young fella like yourself.”

“They have six boys of their own, all grown, and I’ve already talked with them about it, sir. Except for planting and harvest, I could work every day after school and most Saturdays.”

“Uh-huh. How old are you, Mr. Gallagher?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

“You have any experience in printing?”

“No, sir, but I sure would like to learn the business.”

“What makes you think you want to learn the business, Mr. Gallagher?”

“Well, sir, I’ve always had a desire to write, and I know that the newspaper business is where many fine writers learn their craft. Besides, it seems like a good thing to spread the truth and speak out for what you believe is right, and...”

Emily’s shoulders sagged. Jiminy pats! This was worse than she’d imagined. Ross Gallagher, in his own awkward, adolescent vernacular, was spouting the Gospel According to Nathaniel Winters. How often had her father waxed eloquent at the dinner table over freedom of the press and educating the public on the important moral issues of the day?

After Ross concluded his speech, there came a lengthy pause. A very bad sign.

“I like the way you think, Mr. Gallagher, but it’s a long way from errand boy to editor.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

“New York City, sir.”

“Is that right? You know, as a boy, I apprenticed for four years with the printing office of John T. West on Chatham Street in New York. You ever hear of them?”

“No, sir.”

“I got to know a young journeyman printer while I was there. At that time, he was quite a bit older than you are, son, but you remind me of him. His name was Hod Greeley.”

“Greeley? You can’t mean Mr. Horace Greeley of the
New York Tribune
?”

Her father chuckled. “That’s right. Well, I suppose you got yourself a job, Mr. Gallagher. You’ll start out making deliveries, cleaning up, and running errands. Understand?”

“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”

Emily didn’t need to hear any more. With a silent groan, she slid down the wall to her haunches, not giving a deuce about the dirt that smudged the short hem of her calico dress. She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut.
Dad blast it!

Emily knew her father well enough to realize his outward bluster was just that. Outward bluster. Inside, he was really just as squashy as a big old mud pie. He had never had any sons of his own, and now that there would be an industrious, eager-to-learn youth on the premises, Nathaniel would take him under his wing and pass on what he knew of his beloved newspaper business. Emily had seen it happen often enough in years past, but it hadn’t mattered to her back then. Now it mattered a lot. Now it was
her
turn!

Jealousy bloomed full and bright and green in her chest. She knew it wasn’t right, but it was there just the same. And she knew that there was only one way to make that feeling go away. Make Ross Gallagher go away. If her father wouldn’t do it, well, by darn, Emily would have to.

*

1865

Remembering, Emily ran her fingers over the cover of her old sketchbook. On impulse, she flipped it open to the middle and caught her breath. Before her was the face of the boy who had come to work in her father’s shop all those years ago. If she had opened it to any other page, she might have found a landscape sketch or perhaps a rough, half-finished drawing of a squirrel.

The pencil sketch was crude, the work of a child’s semi-skilled hands, but it was impossible not to recognize Ross as he had looked to her then. The tousled, shaggy brown hair, those dark, shining eyes, that dimpled smile. Tentatively, Emily ran her index finger along the faded lines of his jaw. Her own childish scrawl trailed across the bottom of the page
: I love you, Ross Gallagher. I will love you always.

With tears burning her eyes, she flipped the sketchbook closed and flung it back into the wooden crate. Always hadn’t been such a long time, after all.

Chapter Three

It was hot and muggy, the kind of day when the clouds are steel gray and hanging low. Not even the hint of a summer breeze tickled the oak trees that lined the city street next to the Episcopal church cemetery.
Perfect day for a funeral
, Ross thought. The only thing missing was the rain, and he reckoned that would come too before the day was done, but by then, Nathaniel Winters would be well and deeply buried in the welcoming brown earth.

The Reverend Mr. Carpenter, a tall gentleman of fifty-odd years, stood at the foot of the pinewood casket. “For as much as it hath pleased Almighty God, in his wise providence, to take out of this world the soul of our deceased brother...”

The sight of that casket brought upon Ross a profound, chest-constricting sense of loss. It was true that it was he who had allowed their correspondence to lapse during the war, but before that, Nathaniel had been more of a father to him than anyone, certainly more than Sam Brenner. Even though the Brenners were family, Ross had never felt like more than a hired hand growing up on their farm.

Ross didn’t blame them. By the time he arrived on their doorstep, orphaned at thirteen, the Brenners were too old to take on raising another child. They’d already raised a brood of eleven of their own, but they were pure, down-to-the-bone Pennsylvania German stock. Their sense of Christian duty dictated that they take the half-Irish youngster into their home.

Ross tugged at the uncomfortably stiff choker collar of his shirt. He wore a somber suit and crepe armband in deference to the man who was being laid to rest today, but he’d spent almost four years in Union blue, much of that time with the uniform in tatters on his back. He was still having a hard time getting used to formal civilian dress.

His fiancée, Johanna, nudged him, a subtle cue that he was being impolite. Ross stopped tugging at his collar and gave her a sideways glance. Curvaceous, honey blond, and blue-eyed, Johanna Davenport Butler looked as lovely as ever. Her clear complexion shone radiantly from beneath the brim of her bonnet.

Ross shifted his attention, his gaze sweeping through the gathered mourners to find Emily. She stood between her mother and a close friend from childhood, Reverend Carpenter’s daughter, Melissa. Emily’s black veil was lifted, and her head was bent, her gloved hands clasped in prayer. She hadn’t yet spared Ross a glance, even as she passed in the church aisle on her way to the front pew. And it wasn’t because she was too immersed in her own grief to have noticed him. Ross knew this like he knew the beat of his own heart. He knew it because he knew Emily as well as he knew himself. Oh, yes. Emily was as aware of his presence as he was of hers. She was ignoring him on purpose.

Reverend Carpenter concluded the service, and, after a moment of respectful silence, the crowd began to disperse.

“Let’s go,” Johanna whispered, casting a discreet glance in the direction of the grieving family.

“No, wait. I think we should say something.”

Johanna’s reply was cut off as Ross felt a solid slap on his shoulder. “So, Gallagher, I heard you were back. You look pretty damn good for a dead man.”

That singularly annoying voice from the past caused Ross to turn and face Karl Becker’s lanky six-foot frame. He was golden blond and angular, and his hazel eyes glimmered with impudence. He wore a silk top hat and a stylish black frock coat over matching trousers. Except for a few lines around his mouth and eyes and the mahogany cane upon which he rested his weight, he hadn’t changed from the devil-may-care youth of their schooldays.

Ross knew that Karl had joined the Union army sometime after he had, but they hadn’t fought in the same regiment. Now, it took great effort for him to muster a few polite words for his old friend. The last time they had seen each other, Karl had been nursing a broken nose, courtesy of Ross.

“Good to see you again, Karl. How have you been?”

With a nod of his head, Karl indicated the cane he carried. “Except for this bum leg, I’m doing quite well.” His gaze shifted to Johanna. “And you, Mrs. Butler, are looking ravishing, as always.” Without waiting for a reply, Karl looked back at Ross, his tone mocking. “You’ve done well for yourself, Rossy, but then, I never had any doubt you would.”

As penniless youths, they had both had lofty ambitions. Judging by Karl’s stylish attire, he looked well on his way to attaining them. Ross absorbed his old friend’s candid observation dryly. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I didn’t realize you knew Nathaniel so well.”

The corners of Karl’s mouth lifted. “Oh, it’s not Nathaniel I came for, it’s Emily. I heard she was back in town.”

Knowing that Karl was goading him, Ross didn’t take the bait. Instead, he held his old friend’s challenging gaze and forced an acidic smile. It had been over Emily that their boyhood friendship had disintegrated. Ross had suspected that Karl’s intentions toward her were less than gentlemanly, and he wondered now if Karl meant to pick up with her where he’d left off.

“It was thoughtful of you to come,” Ross said evenly. “I’m sure Emily will appreciate it.”

 “I’m sure she will.” Karl’s smug tone was so teeming with innuendo it made Ross want to bust his nose all over again.

Flicking his gaze to Johanna, Karl lifted his top hat. “Good day, Mrs. Butler.” To Ross, he winked. “See you around, Gallagher.” And, with that, he ambled toward the line of mourners that had formed to offer condolences to the family.

“Son of a bitch,” Ross muttered under his breath.

Johanna sounded awestruck. “Well, I’ll be dipped. Imagine that. Karl Becker, of all people.”

“I thought he moved away.”

“Yes, but I heard he’s back,” Johanna replied. “He’s gotten a clerkship to study law under David Stauffer on King Street.”

Ross absorbed this grimly. If Karl was back in town, perhaps it was a good thing Emily was returning to Baltimore.

Johanna tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

Ross was reminded of the exchange Karl had interrupted. “No, I think we should say something.”

“Most everyone else is just leaving, Ross.”

“But there are some people stopping to say a few words. Probably those who haven’t had a chance to pay their respects during the last two days.” Ross gave her a pointed look. “I think we fall into that category.”

Johanna straightened the black felt bow to her bonnet. An unnecessary gesture. Her bow was as elegant and perfect as everything else about her. “I don’t know if it’s the proper thing to do. You know how Nathaniel Winters felt about my father.”

“And that’s precisely why Malcolm sent you to represent him,” Ross countered.

“I don’t want to cause trouble.”

“It’s Emily, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be silly. Emily has nothing to do with it.”

Deciding to end their impasse, Ross grasped her above the elbow and steered her toward the line of people by the closed casket. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Johanna allowed herself to be led without another word of protest, most likely because she could think of no way to disentangle herself from his firm hold without causing a scene.

The receiving line moved quickly, and it wasn’t long before Ross reached out to shake Henry Miller’s beefy hand. Henry had married Karen Winters shortly before war broke out. While Ross had fought in Pennsylvania’s Fiftieth Regiment, Henry had served three faithful years in the Seventy-ninth.

“How are you doing?” Ross asked.

Henry shrugged. “As well as can be expected. It’ll take some time to get used to not having him around.”

“That’s true for a lot of us,” Ross said.

Henry nodded politely at Johanna. “Nice of you to come, Miz Daven—uh, I mean, Miz Butler. Sorry.” He’d caught his slip too late. He flushed with embarrassment.

Johanna smiled graciously. Technically, she was a war widow, having been married a scant month to John Butler, the son of a wealthy mill owner. The illustrious John had been an early casualty of war. Rumor had it that he’d accidentally shot himself in the foot, developed gangrene, and died before ever getting the chance to distinguish himself on the battlefield.

“That’s quite all right, Mr. Miller,” Johanna assured him. “By the end of June, my name will be Gallagher, and then we’ll all have something new to get used to.” She inclined her head to peer up at Ross. “Isn’t that right?”

Ross gave her a warning look. This was not the place to discuss their impending nuptials.