Cheryl Reavis - Harrigan's Bride

“Don’t,” he said after a moment, and she looked at him.

“I see the second thoughts running rampant, Abby. I don’t have any. I want you to put yours aside.”

“I’m afraid, Thomas.”

“Not of me, I hope.”

She shook her head. “No, not of you. Of being…” She gave a quiet sigh. It was so difficult to put into words. If she were well, she wouldn’t have all these misgivings. If she were well, she would have at least a fighting chance of keeping him from resenting her and a marriage he’d wanted no part of.

She sighed again. If she were well, there would be no marriage in the first place.

“I’m cursed with a conscience,” she said finally.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way, Abby.”

She realized immediately that he was teasing her. “Thomas, you’re not taking this seriously.”

“Of course I am—”

Someone rapped sharply on the door. “Chaplain’s here, sir!” a voice said on the other side of it.

“We’re worrying La Broie,” Thomas said. “Can we put him out of his misery?”

“He’ll just have to bear up,” she said. “I have a question.”

“It’s very improper for me to be in here, you know. Didn’t you see your landlady’s face when I came in here alone and shut the door?”

“My landlady will have to bear up as well.”

“Abby, we have to have this ceremony right now.”

“But we haven’t discussed…anything.”

“You’re alone in the world and you’re ill. And I’m going into God-knows-what with Burnside. We could discuss all manner of topics until kingdom come, but it would still come down to those two things. We have to concern ourselves with the present situation. Nothing else. We can’t worry about what might come along later.”

“Sir!” La Broie said, rapping at the door again. They both ignored him and the burst of rowdy laughter from Thomas’s groomsmen.

“Have you sent word to her?” she asked Thomas quietly.

He didn’t pretend not to know who she meant. “That wasn’t necessary,” he said after a moment.

“Not even to keep from being rude?”

“No.”

She watched him closely, trying to decide if that was really the case.

Yes, she decided. It wasn’t necessary for him to tell his former fiancée anything. And perhaps that was yet another reason why he wanted this marriage to take place.

“Your mother and grandfather? Do they know what you’re doing?”

“No,” he said again.

“Why not?”

“Because I anticipated this. Your uncertainty. It’s better if they know later, after it’s done.”

“I see. They’d disapprove that much.”

“I don’t know if they would disapprove or not. The point is I don’t have the time or the inclination to hear opinions, one way or the other.”

“You and I have nothing in common,” she said. “Besides the dire consequences of your bringing me across the river—and Guire.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Have you or have you not read Emerson?”

“Only because you insisted.”

“That’s not the point, either. You know his work. We’ve had some most interesting discussions about Emerson. And if I said George Tockner you’d know precisely who I meant.”

She tried to interrupt. The fact that she could recognize the name of a hallowed Harvard professor signified nothing as far as she was concerned. “Thomas—”

“And William Cullen Bryant,” he continued, undeterred. “You’ve read his work.”

“I’ve read Walt Whitman, as well, but I doubt anyone would see that as a basis for a marriage.”

That remark certainly got his attention. “You’ve read Walt Whitman,” he repeated, as if he wanted to make absolutely certain he had this right.

“I have,” she said.

“ Leaves of Grass. ”

“That was the title, yes. Your Mr. Emerson approved of the work, I believe.”

“Never mind that. How the devil did you get your hands on a copy of Walt Whitman?” he asked—demanded—and she tried not to smile. She found him entirely adorable when he was discomposed.

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is the advisability of this marriage.”

“What matters is that I can see right now it’s going to take all my effort to keep you in hand. Leaves of Grass, indeed.”

“Thomas—”

“My sergeant is going to perish at the door,” he interrupted. “Can we not get on with this and save him—before it’s too late?”

“Can you make me one promise?” she asked.

“What is it?”

“Can you promise not to forget that I gave you the opportunity to escape?”

“And may every other Rebel I meet from here on out do the same,” he said elaborately.

She gave a sharp sigh. “And I was worried about me not being in my right mind.”

He laughed and leaned closer.

“Now, Abby?” he whispered, teasing her again. “Will you give me leave to open the door?”

She didn’t answer him.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said, serious suddenly. “I give you my word on that.”

His word meant a great deal to her. “All right,” she said finally. “Go open the door. Save La Broie and me both.”

Thomas left her to fling the door open. A number of people stood gathered in the hallway and kitchen beyond, most of whom were straining to catch a glimpse inside the room. There would have been a great rush to gain admittance were it not for Sergeant La Broie. He allowed Gertie to enter, and then Mrs. Wilson, the dour lady of the house, who had clearly come out of duty rather than desire. It was the first time Abiah had seen her in person. Heretofore, the woman had only existed in the form of the verbal admonishments constantly repeated by Gertie and the household staff. Mrs. Wilson was full of don’ts. There was no doubt that she ran a tight ship; she was making an inspection even now to see if Abiah and Gertie had done any injury to her domain.

Not one but three army chaplains followed Mrs. Wilson into the room. All three came to stand around the bed. Abiah glanced at Thomas, who winked.

Ah, well, she thought. Given the apparent magnitude of the scandal precipitated by Thomas’s rescue, they had best have the matrimonial knot firmly tied. The chaplains introduced themselves—Brothers, Hearst and Holmes. It was clear that they had already decided among themselves who exactly would do what when. The Reverend Brothers began the proceedings with a lengthy prayer. Abiah was grateful for the opportunity to close her eyes. She was very tired suddenly, and had to concentrate hard not to show it.

Someone knocked on the door. The Reverend Brothers prayed on. Finally, after the third knock, La Broie went to open it, and after a brief, whispered conference with whoever waited on the other side, he accepted an envelope of some sort and closed the door.

The prayer continued. Abiah opened her eyes enough to watch with interest as La Broie discreetly passed the envelope to Thomas, who glanced at it and put it into his pocket.

“If you would join hands, please,” the second chaplain—Hearst—said as soon as the prayer ended. He opened the small leather book he carried and adjusted his spectacles, looking around sharply at another outburst of raucous laughter from out in the hall.

Thomas moved the chair closer to the bed and sat down, so that he could take Abiah’s hand more easily. Hers was trembling, and he looked at her sharply when he realized it.

“I think they would both approve, Abiah,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Miss Emma,” he said. “And Guire.”

She looked at him a long moment, then nodded.

The Reverend Hearst cleared his throat. “May we continue?”