Shadow of Dawn (12 page)

“I see.”

Even in the dim light she could see he was
displeased, but at last he smiled and said, “Well, have a pleasant
trip, Catherine. I’ll be waiting for you when you return.”

When he’d gone, she stuffed the letter and
the pass into her reticule, went across the hall to get Andrew and
led him by the hand down the stairs. He already had on his coat.
She stopped in the hall and pulled on her cloak, remembered to get
the lunch basket from the kitchen, then guided Andrew outside and
into the waiting carriage. The sun was just coming up, spreading an
orange glow over the sleeping city.

“I’m glad you’re going with me,” she said, as
they started on their way. “It’s good for you to get out of the
house once in a while.”

He nodded but did not reply. He sat in a
corner far away from her, as though afraid to touch her. It
occurred to her that she had frightened him with her talk of having
a baby. She should have waited. Obviously, he was not ready for any
physical contact at all. She wasn’t sure that she was, either.

Catherine stared thoughtfully out the window
as the journey went on in silence. Could he possibly be angry with
her? Had he detected something in Clayton’s voice that led him to
believe Clayton cared for her? She wished the two of them had never
met. She thought about the drug she had seen in Andrew’s room and
wondered if he was even now under its influence. She had heard
awful stories about people who got into the habit of taking
laudanum.

A soldier in a crisp gray uniform stopped
them at the edge of the city. He looked at their identification and
waved them on, stifling a yawn. At first the road stretched wide,
abounding on either side with carefully planted dogwoods and Judas
trees, then it narrowed and the countryside became a series of
rolling hills, completely surrounded by forest as they climbed
steadily into the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Catherine’s heart pounded. Her sense of
foreboding grew stronger and stronger, and she realized it was
because she did not trust Bart. If the information she carried were
indeed vital to General Lee, wouldn’t it have been entrusted to a
soldier? Of course, Bart was probably right when he said no one
would suspect her of carrying such a message.

And what if everything was just as Bart had
said? Failure to deliver the letter could result in Lee’s failure
to win the upcoming battle.

“What’s the matter?” Andrew said, his
whispering voice making her jump. “You’re very quiet.”

“I…I was just thinking.”

Could she trust Andrew? Assuredly, she
trusted him more than she did Bart. But she said nothing.

They were not stopped again, and long before
noon they reached the outskirts of Charlottesville. She glanced out
the window at the rows of houses nestled among the hills. Her palms
began to sweat.

“Andrew,” she said suddenly, “I don’t know
what to do.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s Bart. He asked me to carry a letter to
a man, a Lieutenant Hadley. He said it’s a supply list for General
Lee, and I suppose a date and time of delivery. The more I think
about it, though, the more I…I just don’t like it. I hate to say
it, but I don’t trust Bart. But what if he was telling the
truth?”

Andrew listened and seemed to grasp the
situation. “Don’t hand over the letter.”

Her heart gave a sickening lurch. “Yes, but
he said it was essential that Lee get the information, that he
needs the supplies. It could cost him the battle.”

“I see.”

The carriage rolled to a stop. Peering out
the window she saw they had drawn up to a small, white frame house.
A curtain moved at the front of the house and she knew someone had
seen them.

“What do you think would happen,” she asked,
her throat dry, “if we just leave? Is there any way we can find out
if Bart was telling the truth? Shall I open the letter?”

“It probably can’t be deciphered without a
code. The question is, who are we giving the information to? I
suggest you go inside and meet this Lieutenant Hadley, and trust
your instincts. I’ll go with you. I can sense things sometimes.
I’ll either nod or shake my head to let you know what I think. But
it’s your decision.”

“All right.” She got out of the carriage with
legs that shook. He climbed out after her, accepting her guiding
hand, and they went up the bare earth pathway to the front
porch.

The door opened before she could knock and a
man stood there in what appeared to be a brand-new Confederate
uniform. He fit Bart’s description of Lieutenant Hadley. His eyes
were small and close together, and she didn’t like the way they
lingered on her torso. He had an oily-looking moustache and his
smile revealed teeth stained with tobacco juice. She saw him give
Andrew a startled glance.

“Who is this man? Why is his head
covered?”

“My husband is blind. Lieutenant Hadley, I
presume?” she asked.

He bowed pompously. “Your humble servant,
madam. You have come regarding the gates of hell?”

“I…yes.” Catherine’s gaze flicked around the
room. The wallpaper was peeling and there was little furniture. A
musty smell met her nostrils, as well as a small whiff of bourbon
from Lieutenant Hadley’s breath.

Oh, God, she prayed, help me know what to
do.

What would he do if she refused to give him
the letter? He looked quite capable of taking it by force; in fact,
he would probably like nothing better than to search over her
person for it. No, he did not seem the sort of man who would be
chosen for such an important task.

She glanced at Andrew, touching his hand, and
saw him give an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She took a
deep breath.

“Sir, I’m afraid the letter was taken from me
on the way.”

His eyes went at once to her tight-fitting
bodice, where obviously nothing was concealed, and then slid to the
reticule that dangled from her hand. He seemed to decide it was
large enough to contain the letter.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said
politely, “but if you’ll hand over that—”

Andrew moved forward and the man took a quick
step back.

Andrew whispered, “The letter was taken from
her by an officer. She was fortunate to have been released at all.
If you want it back, you’ll have to collect it yourself. Come,
Catherine.” She took his arm, getting a glimpse of Hadley’s enraged
countenance, and they left the house. The driver seemed unaware of
anything amiss and turned the carriage back toward Richmond.

“You did the right thing,” Andrew said. “Give
me the letter. I’ll see to it.”

Trembling all over, she did so and he put it
in his coat pocket. He sat next to her this time, not touching her
and not saying another word. Only after they had put several miles
behind them did she begin to relax.

But then she saw Andrew straighten as though
he were listening. She listened, too, and heard the sound of
fast-approaching horses behind them.

A
shot rang out. The
carriage jerked to a stop, pitching Catherine forward. She saw
Andrew plant his foot against the opposite seat and felt him grab
her arm to stop her from plummeting into the other side of the
carriage. She had little time to ponder his unexpected strength
before the door was pulled forcibly open.

“Well, well, a lady and a blind man,” came an
unpleasant, nasal voice.

An arm thrust out and a hand closed around
her wrist, wrenching her forward. She knew Andrew was getting out
behind her.

The driver lay on the ground, not moving. A
pool of blood ran from beneath his head. Dazed, Catherine looked at
the three men before them, two of them holding their horses and one
still mounted. They were rough looking, and though armed with
pistols and sabers, all wore dirty civilian clothes rather than
uniforms.

Bushwhackers, she thought, feeling a sense of
relief that it was not Lieutenant Hadley with a handful of
soldiers. But her relief was short-lived.

“Why have you stopped us?” she demanded,
surprised that her voice did not quaver.

One of the men guffawed. “Whoa, that’s quite
a temper you have there, miss, to go along with that red hair.” “I
like red-headed women,” said the man standing beside him. “Say,
what’s the matter with your friend there? He don’t seem too
sociable.”

“Please,” she said, trying to hold herself
erect and aloof, “just go ahead and take our money and go.”

“Well, well.” The first man sidled closer to
her. “Let’s not get in such a hurry, perty woman.”

Catherine pressed close to Andrew, taking one
of his gloved hands in hers. She could feel him standing rigid and
tense, as though poised to move.

The man on the horse called out, “I say let’s
kill him and put him out of his misery.”

“Why bother to kill him—least just yet,”
answered the first man, who was no longer smiling. He reached out a
grimy hand and grasped Catherine’s shoulder. “He can’t see
nothin’—”

The man grunted in surprise as Andrew dropped
his hand on the dirty wrist and spun him away from Catherine. At
the same time he reached inside his coat and withdrew a pistol, the
movement so swift it was almost a blur. He kept a grip on the man
and pointed the pistol at his head.

“Throw down your weapon and get off that
horse,” he said, his voice strong but muffled behind the cloth.

The mounted man stared but did as he was
told.

Catherine stumbled back against the carriage,
gaping.

“Drop your gun,” Andrew said to the second
man.

The bushwhacker’s hand moved slowly for his
gun, then suddenly clawed it free and aimed at Andrew. Her husband
fired, the sound ringing in Catherine’s ears, and she screamed. The
man had just begun his descent to the ground when the first man
took advantage of the diversion and punched his elbow in Andrew’s
ribs, simultaneously closing both of his hands around Andrew’s
pistol.

Catherine watched helplessly as the two men
struggled for the gun. The man beside the horse obviously deemed
prudence better than valor and retreated behind the animal as the
pistol waved wildly, finally leaving Andrew’s hand to sail
harmlessly through the air and land under the carriage.

He isn’t blind…but how can he see what he’s
doing with that thing on his head? Catherine thought, stunned by
what
she
was seeing.

Andrew and the first man had engaged in
hand-to-hand combat while the third watched with cautious interest
from behind his horse. Suddenly the first man was down, felled by a
fierce blow to his jaw. Andrew sprinted toward the third before
that one could retrieve his gun, which had been thrown a short
distance away. The bushwhacker made a quick, frantic movement, and
when his horse shied away Catherine saw with horror that he held a
saber in his hands.

Andrew stopped abruptly, reached down, and
jerked the saber from the scabbard of the unconscious man on the
ground. At the same time he shrugged off his coat and let it
fall.

Catherine stared as the two blades clashed
together with an ear-ringing clang. Andrew’s skill and strength
continued to astonish her. His muscles undulated beneath his shirt;
his wrists and arms moved with fluid grace and power; a fencing
master could not have dueled with more finesse and sureness of
foot.

Obviously desiring to end the matter, Andrew
surged forward until the bushwhacker fell to his knees with a look
of sheer panic on his face. Andrew knocked the saber out of the
nerveless hand and, stepping forward, banged the hilt of his own
saber against the man’s head, sending him toppling to the ground in
ponderous repose.

Her husband stood still for a moment,
breathing heavily, his black shirt torn and streaked with sweat. At
last he turned his head toward her and she felt that he was looking
at her.

“You can see,” she said faintly.

For another long moment he did not move. Then
slowly he tossed down the saber, reached behind him, and loosened
something behind his neck.

He was taking off the scarf.

“No,” she gasped involuntarily, stepping
backward against the carriage. “Don’t, Andrew—”

Her breath abruptly halted. The man who stood
before her was not Andrew Kelly, but Clayton Pierce.

***

She had fainted, for the first time in her
life, and she woke beneath a tree with something soft under her
head. She sat up, looked down and saw it was Andrew’s coat. No,
Clayton’s coat. She raised her eyes and saw him some distance
away.

He had driven the carriage to the far side of
the road where the shoulder gave way to a steep drop into a dense
growth of trees. He had already unhitched the horses and put on the
saddles and bridles that were kept in a compartment under the seats
for emergencies. As she watched, he walked behind the conveyance,
put both hands underneath it and gave a mighty heave, muscles
straining beneath the torn cloth of his shirt. It rolled off the
shoulder; she heard the sound of branches breaking and rustling,
then a crash.