Brides of Ohio (5 page)

Entering, she saw that May, Ruth Decker’s oldest daughter, was behind the counter. The girl was a little younger than Katherine and looked at her with wide eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Decker,” Katherine said in her kindest, sweetest voice.

The girl nodded.

“Is there any mail for Mrs. O’Neal this morning?”

May shook her head.

“Well, thank you kindly.” Katherine turned away reluctantly. She was almost at the door when a small voice stopped her.

“Are you going anywhere else in town today, Miss Wallace?”

She looked around, surprised that May had actually spoken to her, and stared at the girl for a moment or two. “I have some shopping to do at your parents’ store,” she said finally. “Why?”

The girl bit her lip and wrung her hands. “Folk are out of sorts today. You’d be better off heading home.”

Katherine tilted her head and stared at the girl. “Whatever for? What’s happened?”

“P–President Lincoln …,” May stammered. “They say … they say he’s dead.”

Katherine could feel the blood rush from her face at the young woman’s words as she stared at her.
Oh Father, no!
“How? When?”

“I don’t know. Pa got the message over the telegraph early this morning.”

“Then I must speak with him.” Katherine turned to leave.

“Oh Miss Wallace, you shouldn’t.”

Ignoring May’s plea, Katherine left the post office and rounded the corner. She all but flew into Decker’s Dry Goods. A crowd of people had gathered, mostly men, but here and there a farmer’s wife stood sobbing into a handkerchief. Oblivious to all, she made her way to the counter behind which stood Mr. Decker. “Oh Mr. Decker,” she said breathlessly, “what has happened to the president?”

Mr. Decker, a gray-haired man with a long face, gave her a stony look. “Why should you care, Miss Wallace? He wasn’t your president.”

Katherine stood there for a moment, ready to protest with all her heart, until she noticed the dead silence in the room. She turned to see those gathered giving her hard, long stares. Catching sight of Elijah Carr, she felt her knees go weak.

He glared at her. “You’d best be on your way.”

“But the president …”

“He’s not your concern, secesh!” Carr’s voice was loud and harsh.

“There’s no need to speak to her like that, Elijah,” someone said from the rear of the store. “After all, Mrs. O’Neal trusts her.”

“And I don’t,” Carr shot back. “For all we know, she knew the man who murdered President Lincoln.” He stepped forward and towered over Katherine. “Your pa owned one of those big fancy plantations. You were quite the Southern belle, I hear. You ever meet John Wilkes Booth?”

Katherine felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She swallowed and began to stammer. “I—I …”

“Not sayin’, eh? Well, maybe you’ll be able to tell the county sheriff.”

“No,” she breathed. “I—I never knew him. I don’t want any trouble.” She backed away from Carr, and her eyes darted around the store.

Near the back, she caught sight of Adele Stephens’s black dress. The young widow’s eyes were red, and she held a white handkerchief in her hand.

Katherine stared at her and tears began to well. “I’m so sorry,” she muttered before leaving the store as quickly as she could.

Her tears and the bright sunshine temporarily blinded her, which was why she all but ran over the young man walking down the boardwalk toward the store. She gave a little cry as strong arms grasped her own as they collided.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed in surprise.

Katherine looked up into a pair of soft green eyes, which were intently surveying hers from beneath the broad brim of a Union slouch hat. Dark blond hair curled slightly at the collar of his jacket, and while she was uncertain of his rank, she had seen enough Union soldiers on her way to Ohio to know he was an officer. In spite of a thin, unkempt beard, he was quite handsome. And quite tall.

A tear escaped and slid down her cheek.

His brow furrowed in concern. “Are you all right, miss?”

Katherine merely nodded in reply. In light of her reception in the mercantile, she had no desire to open her mouth and give away her undesirable origins to—of all people—a Union officer. She could only imagine the look on his face when he discovered she was a Southerner. Looking down, she struggled with the strings of her reticule, searching for her handkerchief.

The young officer released her. “I suppose it is a day for tears.”

Catching the sad note in his voice, she looked up quickly, realizing he was referring to President Lincoln. She nodded once more.

He tipped his hat. “May God help us all, North and South,” he said gravely.

His comment caught Katherine completely off guard, and she stared after him for a moment as he walked away. He stepped into the mercantile, and she walked out of town surprised to be hearing such a thing from a Union officer.

D
aniel rode Scioto out of Ostrander with a considerably heavier saddlebag. Coffee, tea, crackers, even some candy—everyone in town was so glad to see him and so sorry over the loss of his mother, he was lucky to get away without one of Mr. Henderson’s purebred sheep in tow. A small smile touched his lips.
What a sight that would have been.
But the humor he normally would have found in the picture faded quickly. Too much had happened for him to laugh over anything right now.

General Grant had only been too happy to discharge him once Joshua had explained the situation. The great man had shaken his hand, offered his heartfelt condolences, and thanked Daniel for his service. Joshua had helped him pack and ridden with him back to Petersburg, where the army had a military train depot. The whole trip back to Ohio had been uneventful, a blessing that gave Daniel time to process the news of his mother’s death. He reflected, prayed, and read parts of the battle-worn Bible he had preserved and protected through the war. His mother had been one of the most faithful women he had ever known; that she was alongside her Lord, he did not doubt for a moment. But he would miss her kind and gentle presence for a very long time.

Yet just as he was beginning to come to terms with his mother’s passing, his world was once again shaken. Upon arriving in Marysville that morning, a town in the adjacent county west of Ostrander, he decided to ride Scioto the last nine or so miles. The horse had ridden most of the way up in freight cars, and Daniel knew his mount would be eager for exercise. He was just tightening the girth on his saddle when a general uproar erupted outside and within the telegraph office. The news quickly ran up and down the streets that President Lincoln had died—killed by an assassin’s bullet. Daniel initially found it very hard to get specifics. All of Marysville was in complete turmoil. Eventually he learned of the terrible crime John Wilkes Booth had committed—the single gunshot to the back of the president’s head, the wild leap onto the stage at Ford’s Theater, and the escape somewhere into the Maryland countryside.

He had ridden to Ostrander in a daze. Daniel had been a great admirer of Abraham Lincoln, and by the end of the trip he still could not believe his president was gone. Lincoln had been a good and just man who, like Daniel, abhorred slavery. As Scioto loped along, he pulled his leather glove off and flexed the hand the great man had once clasped.

When Lincoln had traveled from Springfield, Illinois, to Washington, DC, on the way to his inauguration in 1861, he made stops in several cities, including one in Columbus, Ohio’s state capital. Daniel, then a student at Ohio Wesleyan in Delaware, had made the trek down to see him. Long lines of people stood in the statehouse’s grand rotunda waiting to meet the future president. The instant their hands touched, Daniel had been doubly glad Lincoln had been made president. Like his father, Daniel took his first impression of a man from his handshake. The firm, strong grip of Lincoln’s hand confirmed all the good things he had heard about the president-elect. No one better could have led the country through the war. And no one better would have led it down the road of peace.

He brought Scioto to a halt.
I don’t understand, Lord. What will happen to the country now?
It took Daniel a moment or two to quell the feelings of grief and anger that welled up before he nudged his horse forward.

He looked around him as he rode, and the beauty of his home state surrounded him like one of his mother’s quilts. He felt some of his grief and weariness recede. Elm, ash, oak, and maple trees rose like giants on either side of the road. And mixed in with them all, particularly close to the creek, were buckeye trees.

Daniel had carried a buckeye nut in his pocket throughout the war. Some folk thought carrying one was good luck or could ward off whatever ailed the bearer, but he had never held to such silly notions. To him the small brown nut with its large round white splotch was a reminder of home. He pulled it out now and looked at it. In the fall, when the nuts fell from the trees, it had been all-out war as he and his brothers pelted each other with them. But they had always been careful never to bring one near the livestock or the dinner table. While they might be good food for squirrels, the nuts were poisonous to most animals and to people.

Jonah had taken a buckeye with him, also. He had carved his initials in it.

Daniel had laughed at him. “Afraid someone will take it?” He’d chuckled as he watched his brother carving at it with his pocketknife.

Jonah had soberly glanced up at him before returning to his work. “If something bad happens, they’ll know it’s me.”

Grimly, Daniel put his buckeye back in his pocket and looked around some more. The spring sunlight danced down through freshly bloomed leaves, and bright rays of light hit new grass as it poked up through last year’s fallen leaves. Squirrels darted and played, running partway up a trunk and, seeing him, dove back into the underbrush. And far back from the road, where the trees grew thicker, Daniel caught sight of a buck with a full rack of white antlers. Even the dust Scioto’s hooves were kicking up was wonderfully familiar—plain brown dirt. No more red Virginia clay, which refused to wash out of his clothes.

At length, Mill Creek Church came into view. He stopped out in front and gazed at the little brick building for a moment before dismounting. He tied Scioto to the graveyard fence, and as he looked out over the rows of gravestones, he stared in surprise. Kneeling over his mother’s grave was the same young woman he had bumped into in Ostrander. He quietly came up behind her and saw she was arranging flowers on the mound.

“There you are, Mrs. Kirby,” she said, leaning back. “Pretty as a picture.”

He wasn’t sure which surprised him more, her presence or her accent. Who was she, and why on earth was this young Southern woman placing flowers on his mother’s grave? He was about to ask when she spoke again, still unaware of his presence.

“We still haven’t heard anything from your son, ma’am. Mary’s so worried. She wrote him almost a month ago.” She rose and brushed the dirt from the skirt of her dress. “God willing, Daniel’s all right. I’ll keep him in my prayers.”

Daniel couldn’t help but smile at her kindhearted gesture and spoke without thinking. “Thank you.”

With a shriek, she whirled around and stood face-to-face with him. Well, almost face-to-face. He hadn’t realized how petite she was earlier. Other than that, it was hard to forget such a pretty face. Granted, she wasn’t the Southern ideal of beauty with flashing blue eyes and honey-blond hair, but she did remind him of a picture of a simple English maiden in his copy of Bullfinch’s
The Age of Chivalry.
There was an appealing sweetness to her face with its pert little nose and soft lips. Auburn hair peeked out from beneath her brown, low-brimmed bonnet, and she was staring at him with a large pair of the most incredible eyes he had ever seen. They were a kaleidoscope of green, brown, and amber.

“Daniel?” she asked in surprise. She looked down, her cheeks suddenly red. “Do excuse me, Captain. …”

“Major,” he gently corrected.

She winced.
“Major
Kirby.”

He gave her a long look before suddenly remembering a portion of his aunt’s letter he had merely skimmed over, being so preoccupied with the news of his mother’s death. She had spoken very highly of a young woman who had come north with her from South Carolina. “Are you Miss Katherine Wallace?”

Her eyes remained wide as she nodded. “How did you know …?

He gave her an apologetic smile as he removed his hat. “My aunt mentioned you in her letter. I’m very sorry I frightened you.”

“That’s quite all right, Major Kirby. I’m … very glad you’re home safe. Mary’s … been so terribly worried.”

He frowned and regretted he hadn’t at least sent them a telegram before he left. “I’m afraid I received Aunt Mary’s letter right as the siege at Petersburg ended. There was very little time to do anything. Then General Lee surrendered. …”

“Of course! I … I understand perfectly, Major Kirby.” Although her voice shook, it was gentle and reassuring. “And I’m sure Mary will as well.”

Daniel looked at her curiously. She had to be one of the very few daughters of the Confederacy he had met who had not instantly hated him on sight. A Southern woman’s zeal for the cause was almost legendary. He had been spit on, snubbed, and bad-mouthed any number of times. And unlike other young ladies he’d met, Northern or Southern, she made no attempt to flirt with him. In fact, judging by the way she stumbled over her words, she seemed painfully shy.

“I hope—I hope you don’t mind, sir,” Katherine said, rousing him from his thoughts. “I thought flowers might cheer your mother’s resting place.”

He stepped forward to look at his mother’s grave. “Aunt Mary saw to the headstone,” he stated.

“Yes, they put it up just a few days ago.”

He saw the flowers Katherine had arranged were a small spray of purple violets, the sort that bloomed near Mill Creek this time of year. He turned back to see she had edged away a little to give him some privacy.

“Thank you for seeing to Ma’s grave. Violets were always her favorite.”

“There was n–no time”—she quietly stammered, her face flushing red once more—“for me to get to know her well. But she seemed like a very kindly Christian woman.” Her eyes softened. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”