The Lady and the Officer (2 page)

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Thanks to the Virginia Civil War Trails of Richmond and the U.S. Department of the Interior—National Park Service for a plethora of maps and research information, and fabulous vacations.

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Thanks to the countless authors of history that I have pored over for years, including Shelby Foote, Bruce Catton, Edwin Bearss, James M. McPherson, and Brian Pohanka.

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Thanks to Philip LeRoy, who loaned me his copy of
Killer Angels
by Michael Shaara. The Pulitzer Prize-winning novel opened the eyes of this history lover to the wonders of historical fiction.

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Thanks to Donna Taylor and Peggy Svoboda, who read the rough draft of this novel years ago and encouraged me to keep at it.

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Thanks to the Western Reserve Historical Society, Cuyahoga Valley Civil War Roundtable and the Peninsula Valley Foundation of Ohio and GAR Hall, whose appreciation for Civil War history has kept my passion alive locally.

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Thanks to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour; my lovely proofreader, Joycelyn Sullivan; my publicist, Jeane Wynn; my editor, Kim Moore; and the wonderful staff at Harvest House Publishers. Where would I be without your hard work?

Contents

Books by Mary Ellis

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Discussion Questions

About the Author

The Quaker and the Rebel

O
NE

 

Cashtown, Pennsylvania

L
ATE
J
UNE
1863

G
entlemen, please take heed to what your horses are doing to my flowers!” Madeline Howard spoke with the indignation that simmered after two long years of war.

Four blue-clad officers paused in their conversation to gaze down on her wilted ageratums and hollyhocks. The flowers were trampled almost beyond recognition beneath their horses' hooves. The soldiers offered faint smiles of regret and then resumed their postulating and pointing, affording her as much attention as they would to a gnat.

Except for one officer, who straightened in his saddle. Tugging gently on his reins, the man guided his mount out of the flower bed toward the road. “Good afternoon, miss. General James Downing, at your service. I apologize for the damage.” He tipped his hat and then turned his attention back to the others.

“Madeline Howard, General.
Mrs.
Howard.” She marched down the porch steps. “If you would kindly move your meeting to someone else's yard, I shall be forever in your debt.”

A thin, gangly officer mounted on a sorrel mare was quick to retort before the general could reply. “See here, madam. In case you're unaware, the war has come to the fine Commonwealth of Pennsylvania with the arrival of Robert E. Lee's infantry. Unfortunately, your posies are of no importance to the Union Army—”

“I'm well aware of the war, sir. My husband died on the banks of Bull Run Creek, leaving me alone to run this farm.” Madeline settled her hands on her hips with growing indignation. “Those Rebs you're chasing marched through last week, stripping every ear of corn from my fields and every apple from my orchard. They stole my chickens, killed my hogs, and led my milk cow away on a tether. They took every bit of food from my kitchen and larder. So if I request that you not trample my flowers for no apparent reason, I would think you could oblige me!” Madeline
completed her diatribe with a flushed face and sweating palms. After months of privation, she had finally lost her temper.

Silence reigned for several moments as the officers stared at her in disbelief. Then General Downing addressed the wiry, haughty officer. “Major Henry, you will order the troops to remain within the confines of the road so as to not needlessly damage civilian property.” Along the highway, enlisted soldiers trudged in formation toward town, raising a cloud of dust that would linger for days.

Saluting, the major and the other officers spurred their horses and rode off, leaving Madeline's garden empty but ruined.

“Please accept my apologies, madam. And I thank you for your husband's sacrifice to our country.” General Downing pulled off his leather glove and extended his hand to her.

“Thank you.” Temporarily flummoxed, Madeline reached up and gave his callused fingers a quick shake.

“I will do my best to protect your town from further harm.” He held her fingers and gaze far longer than necessary… or proper.

Tugging her hand free, she retreated backward so quickly she trampled the few remaining blooms missed by the horses. She felt a flush climb her neck as she picked up her skirt and ascended the steps. Pausing in the shelter of her porch, she looked back at the man who still sat watching. He bowed a second time, replaced his glove, and galloped away, adding another cloud of dust to the heavy air.

Madeline retreated inside and slammed the door, not pleased with her behavior. She wasn't a woman who normally became flustered in the company of men. Remembering the trampled flowers under her feet, she shook her head. At twenty-six years old and widowed for the last two, she had no time for silly flirtations or coquetry. When her wits returned, Madeline went out to her stable to check the animals. The din of artillery shelling all morning had made her mares skittish. If it hadn't been for quick thinking last week, her beloved horse stock—Tobias's pride and joy—would now be in the hands of the enemy. She stroked their sweaty flanks and scratched their noses, trying to calm them with soft words and a gentle touch.

Her own fears were another matter. Widowhood had inspired a
determination to keep her husband's livelihood flourishing. War had created a constant demand for the horses she had bred and raised from brood mares. Although she would never become wealthy, the bills were paid. Tobias would have been proud of her.

Tobias. It seemed so long ago when he marched off proudly with the Sixth Pennsylvania Volunteers. He died at a battle the papers were calling First Manassas—first because a second unsuccessful battle was fought at the same loathsome place. He died before she'd grown used to the idea that he was a soldier. Madeline had missed him fiercely during the first year. Now, with the responsibilities of a farm, endless chores filled her hours, allowing no time for grief. She couldn't remember a day she hadn't fallen into bed exhausted. Usually, though, a sense of satisfaction accompanied her fatigue, so she persevered.

The marauding Confederates had taken everything she had, all but her beloved horses. The moment she spotted ragged butternut uniforms on the road, she had hidden her horses in a nearby cave—a place known only to her and the neighborhood children. Today, while her mares munched hay from their bins, Madeline stood in the barn doorway and watched wave after wave of boys in blue march toward the center of Cashtown. The war had come to Pennsylvania soil. What would happen to her sleepy little community?

J
UNE
30

“Reverend Bennett?” Madeline called the man's name through an open window because no one had answered her knock on the door. From every indication, her preacher and his wife were both home. Laundry fluttered on the line, the barn door was open, and the back door stood ajar to catch the breeze. As she'd ridden her mare through the town square and down cobblestone streets, she'd seen very few people—nothing like the way things usually were, with friendly neighbors hanging over picket fences or milling on the church steps Sunday mornings. “Reverend Bennett!” This time she hollered his name in an unladylike fashion.

The middle-aged preacher's face appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Howard. Come in, come in. Why are you out and about on a day like today?”

“I hoped to hear something of what is going on. Because it's been so hot, I rode my mare instead of driving the carriage. I tied Bo to your water trough in the shade. I hope you don't mind.”

The reverend lowered himself onto an upholstered chair. “Of course not. Please sit and make yourself comfortable. I was referring to the commotion on the roads, not the heat. With so many soldiers afoot, my wife insists we remain below in the cellar. So you haven't heard the news?”

Madeline sat on the edge of the couch and shook her head. “All I know is that I've seen troops on both sides moving for several days. First the Rebs stripped my farm, and now our boys in blue are stirring up the dust.”

“Everyone appears to be headed to Gettysburg. Entire brigades of cavalry have been spotted, along with long caravans of wagons. And all those poor boys marching in this heat.” He fanned himself with a folded newspaper. “Many of my neighbors are scared. They packed up their possessions and left.”

“Where were they going?” Madeline asked, sounding childish. The fact she had no nearby relatives to offer shelter undermined her confidence in her ability to wait out the war on her farm.

“North, east—anywhere away from what's about to happen. But the time to leave is long past. It's no longer safe to travel. Rabble-rousers follow every army. You must stay with us until this ordeal is over. There most certainly will be a great battle.”

“No, Reverend. I couldn't possibly stay. I need to tend Tobias's horses. If I'm not home, who knows what will happen to them?” She rose to her feet, regretting her decision to ride to town for news.

“All right, but at least come below and share a bite with Mrs. Bennett. She worries about you alone on your farm.”

Madeline loved the preacher's wife like a dear aunt, so she followed him down the rickety steps to the cellar.

Later, after arriving home safely that evening, she relaxed and rocked serenely on her front porch. Lamplight from the kitchen window illuminated the handiwork of a spider. The thin gossamer strands weren't organized into a web, but were tiny trapezes strung between porch rails.
Madeline stared, mesmerized by the insect's artistry. As she waited for the spider to reappear, the glittering yellow eyes of some creature peeked from the shrubbery. She felt no fear, only mild curiosity. The opossum issued a high-pitched squeak and then crept off toward home.

Heat lightning danced and shimmered over dark hills. The faint report of gunfire miles away was soon drowned out by peepers and cicadas. The frog-and-insect summer symphony soothed Madeline's nerves with its familiarity. The war, although close at hand, was far from her mind that night. Her thoughts drifted to a tall Union officer with silver glints in his hair and sparkling white teeth beneath a black mustache. Strength and power seemed to emanate from him. For the life of her, Madeline couldn't remember why the situation in the garden had so vexed her. They were
silly flowers
. She had lost much more just days ago. She'd lost her entire world a mere two years ago. For the first time, Tobias's face was replaced by that of another man. General Downing was on her mind as she replayed their conversation over and over.

“Foolish woman,” she muttered. Rising to her feet, she peered up at a sky studded with bright stars. The moon had already finished its nightly path when she climbed the stairs to her room. She undressed without lighting a lamp, donned her long cotton gown, and slipped beneath cool sheets. Forcing away thoughts of the general, she quickly fell asleep and slumbered fitfully… until the scrape of a rusty latch roused her senses.