Cheryl Reavis - An Unexpected Wife

“What is it?” she asked. She knew him to be a straightforward and painfully blunt man—it was the main reason Max relied on him so. But he was having some difficulty saying whatever was on his mind now.

“You’re...sure you don’t know this man?”

She was so surprised by the question that she could only stare at him. Then she realized that he was considering every possible explanation for the man’s being here and that he actually wanted to make certain she hadn’t missed her train in order to keep some kind of secret assignation. If she hadn’t been so cold and so upset, she might have been offended. Or she might have laughed.

“I don’t know him, Sergeant Major Perkins,” she said evenly.

“All right then,” he said.

“I’d appreciate it if you hurried,” she said in case he had any more questions he wanted answered.

“My plan exactly, Miss Kate.”

“No, wait. I need a telegram sent to my parents. Say I’ve been delayed. Could you do that, please?”

“Yes, miss,” he said.

She expected him to leave then, but he didn’t. He was still looking at her in that sergeant major way he had. Not quite what her brother called a “sack and burn” face, but still...arresting.

“There is one other thing,” he said. “My responsibility is to Colonel Woodard. I will do whatever is necessary to maintain his position and his authority in this town.”

“Yes, all right,” Kate said.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said—which wasn’t quite the truth. She understood that he made certain that her brother’s life ran as smoothly as possible and that he wanted her to know something about that duty, which he felt was important. She just didn’t know what that “something” was.

She had to turn away from the strong gust of wind that filled the hallway when he finally left by the front door. The man lying at her feet didn’t react at all. She gave him a backward glance, then hurried upstairs to pull two of the quilts off her own bed because she didn’t want to take the time to look through cedar chests for extra ones. He didn’t seem to have stirred when she returned. She folded the quilts double, then knelt down to cover him, hesitating long enough to look at his face again before she went to light more lamps in the downstairs. One of his hands was outstretched, and she carefully lifted it. She could see the scarred knuckles, feel the calluses on his palm as she placed it under the quilt.

It was so cold on the floor. She couldn’t keep from shivering, and she had to bite down on her lip to keep her teeth from chattering. For a brief moment she thought she saw a slight movement from him as well.

No, she decided. He wasn’t waking. He was just cold. He had to be as cold as she was.

“I must learn how to build a fire. In a fireplace and in a cookstove,” she said out loud as she got to her feet. “And that’s all there is to it.”

She went around lighting as many lamps as she could find—she did know how to do that, at least. She had no expectation that Perkins would return quickly, and after what already seemed a long time, she began to pace up and down the hallway in an effort to keep warm. She didn’t know what time it was—only that it was nearly dark outside. She thought there had once been an heirloom grandfather clock in the foyer, but it, like the rest of the hall furniture, had become a casualty of the war, and Maria hadn’t wanted another one. In this one instance, Kate thought she understood her sister-in-law’s behavior. Some things were far too dear to be replaced, especially if all the replacement could ever be was a reminder of what had been lost.

Kate kept her eyes on the man as she walked the hallway, but she let her mind consider what she was going to tell Max about her being here instead of Philadelphia. After a time she decided that she wouldn’t tell him anything. She would say the same thing to him she’d said to Perkins. She hadn’t missed her train; she just didn’t get on—and that was all these two representatives of the military occupation needed to know.

She suddenly stopped pacing. This time she had no doubt that the man had moved. She took a few steps closer because she couldn’t tell for certain whether or not he was beginning to wake. If he tried to get up, if he seemed threatening in any way, she would do what Perkins said. She would run to her room and lock herself in.

She could tell that his eyes were still closed, and she took some comfort from that, but after a long, tense moment, he began stirring again. He gave a soft moan and turned his head in her direction.

“Eleanor,” he said.

* * *

Am I wounded?

He tried to open his eyes and couldn’t. He needed to get up, but he couldn’t do that, either. He could hear the voices swirling around him. Women’s voices.

“Move aside!” he heard one of them say. She must have been some distance away. There were sharp-sounding footsteps coming in his direction.

“You!” she suddenly barked. “Get the parlor and the kitchen fires lit! This house is freezing!”

“Yes, ma’am,” a young-sounding male voice said.

“The kitchen first!” she said, still yelling. “We need hot water and heated blankets! Now!”

He could hear the scurrying of a heavier set of footsteps, and then a different woman’s voice.

“That way,” she said kindly, and the scurrying continued past him down the hall.

“Have you made no preparations whatsoever?” the first woman demanded.

“No, Mrs. Kinnard, I have not. I don’t expect he’ll be staying.”

He struggled to make sense of what he was hearing.

Mrs. Kinnard? Acacia Kinnard?

It couldn’t be her. Acacia Kinnard was...was...

He couldn’t complete the thought.

“Indeed, he will be staying,” this Mrs. Kinnard said. “You cannot put Maria’s brother out for all your thinking you’ve won the War. Shame on you, Robert Markham!” she suddenly barked. “Shame!”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” the younger woman ventured.

“Of course he can hear me! Robert Brian Markham! Where have you been!” Mrs. Kinnard demanded. “What would your dear sweet mother say! And poor Maria—if you’d bothered to come home, she might not be—”

Her voice suddenly drifted away, lost in the blackness that swept over him.

Chapter Two

Married to a Yankee, Kate thought. If Robert Markham had come home, as was his duty, then his sister might not have married a Yankee colonel. She was surprised that Mrs. Kinnard had stopped short of actually saying it.

Sergeant Major Perkins’s plan to “take care of all this” left a great deal to be desired, in Kate’s opinion. Her opportunity for solitude had completely disappeared when he’d returned with a number of soldiers, two hospital orderlies and Mrs. Kinnard, the indisputable Queen Bee of Salisbury Society. Mrs. Kinnard had an impeccable Southern pedigree, and she had used it to all but appoint herself head of just about everything, including the Confederate military wayside hospital down near the railroad tracks during the war. Mrs. Kinnard’s word was still law in all matters not under the direct supervision of the United States Army, and, Kate suspected, in some of those, as well.

“Excuse me, Miss Kate,” one of the hospital orderlies said.

She—and ultimately Mrs. Kinnard—moved out of the way so he could kneel down and assess the man’s condition. It occurred to her that Robert Markham was going to have every bit as much trouble pacifying Mrs. Kinnard as her brother did.

“Is the doctor coming?” Kate asked the orderly.

“Just as soon as we can find him, Miss Kate,” he said.

Kate stood watching as he uncovered the man and began to examine him, looking for a reason why he had fallen to the floor, she supposed.