The Reluctant Bridegroom
Shannon Farrington
Conveniently WedMarriage for any reason but love was once unthinkable to Maryland councilman Henry Nash. But when an innocent encounter with a criminal puts Henry’s reputation in jeopardy, he’ll make any sacrifice to maintain custody of his orphaned nieces.And an alliance with a powerful politician’s daughter could secure the little girls’ future. As long as gentle Rebekah Van der Geld never hears the rumors surrounding her new groom…Refusing her father’s choice of husband wasn’t an option for dutiful Rebekah. But Henry’s kindness is a happy revelation, and she’s quickly falling for his adorable nieces—so she allows herself to hope this unconventional arrangement could become much more. But can it survive a shattering revelation that puts their new family in danger?
Conveniently Wed
Marriage for any reason but love was once unthinkable to Maryland councilman Henry Nash. But when an innocent encounter with a criminal puts Henry’s reputation in jeopardy, he’ll make any sacrifice to maintain custody of his orphaned nieces. And an alliance with a powerful politician’s daughter could secure the little girls’ futures. As long as gentle Rebekah Van der Geld never hears the rumors surrounding her new groom...
Refusing her father’s choice of husband wasn’t an option for dutiful Rebekah. But Henry’s kindness is a happy revelation, and she’s quickly falling for his adorable nieces—so she allows herself to hope this unconventional arrangement could become much more. But can it survive a shattering revelation that puts their new family in danger?
“You are my wife. I want you to be happy.”
The look Rebekah gave him made his pulse quicken. Was this what being in love felt like? If it was, he wanted to feel more of it.
“Now tell me,” Henry said, “what else are you fond of? And don’t give me an answer you think I want to hear.”
“I should like to learn more of your work with the council,” she said.
“What else?”
“And I would like to learn more about this trial. Did you know that one of the accused conspirators is a woman?”
His heart slammed into his ribs. “Yes.”
Of all the things he and his new bride could discuss, she had chosen the one topic he so wished to avoid.
“Oh, listen to me,” Rebekah then said. “I’m prattling away... You’ll be sorry you ever asked of my interests.”
“No, I won’t,” he said. It was the truth. He wanted to learn her, win her, love her. What he didn’t want was for Rebekah to open the paper one morning and find the names of Mary Surratt and John Wilkes Booth listed beside his own.
SHANNON FARRINGTON and her husband have been married for over twenty years, have two children, and are active members in their local church and community. When she isn’t researching or writing, you can find her visiting national parks and historical sites or at home herding her small flock of chickens through the backyard. She and her family live in Maryland.
The Reluctant Bridegroom
Shannon Farrington
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
There is therefore no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit.
—Romans 8:1
In memory of Jessica Kathleen
Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him.
—1 Corninthians 2:9
And in honor of my wonderful editor Elizabeth Mazer, without whose patient guidance this story would not have been possible.
Contents
Cover (#uc311bed7-e335-53ee-86d0-d97ada954cc6)
Back Cover Text (#ue25ecc36-f057-557e-8b7c-be982ec3c890)
Introduction (#u0ef48126-78e6-54f6-bb88-15594ab07b4d)
About the Author (#u79243fa3-c038-502c-8426-8b4a2fedb514)
Title Page (#u057fcc71-d7dc-5518-afbc-c01214c8518d)
Bible Verse (#uf1100136-34f0-5e56-bc21-2ac268732831)
Dedication (#u44e7ffc6-36a5-5d02-a7d6-eda9ef4fe869)
Chapter One (#u4eda2e2b-3e72-52cf-8d2e-42df3a050546)
Chapter Two (#u34ab4f2f-8167-5525-9d7b-14ce01688ab3)
Chapter Three (#u4b636c20-88b7-5486-9852-e26ad9be4f02)
Chapter Four (#u806031ca-5019-5e5f-81e7-db853d17705d)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_0caa7b8b-73b5-532d-9939-0ea7a96510f9)
Baltimore, Maryland
1865
What is he doing here? He has never visited our home before.
Rebekah Van der Geld watched from her position behind the large oak tree as her father’s chief political rival, State Delegate Harold Nash, stepped from the porch and came down the front walk. The graying widower looked quite pleased with himself, as though he had just secured some grand victory.
Few men ever smiled after leaving her father’s presence, and yet this particular legislator was whistling happily as he stepped through the front gate and headed up the street. He had just passed her next-door neighbor’s home when Fiona, Rebekah’s maid, spied her behind the tree.
“There you are, miss,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you! You must hurry! Your father wants ya!”
Rebekah’s stomach immediately knotted. She brushed her clothing. “Am I presentable?”
Fiona twirled her about. “There’s mud along your back hemline,” she said, “but I daresay you haven’t time to change. Perhaps he won’t notice.”
He will notice, Rebekah thought, and he will be angry. She knew, though, there was nothing she could do to remedy that now. Her father would be even angrier if she didn’t come straightaway.
Resigning herself to the inevitable, Rebekah hurried inside. The door to the study was ajar, but she knocked upon it just the same. She had been told more than once never to step into the room without her father’s permission.
“Enter,” he commanded.
Drawing a quick breath, Rebekah did so. Her father was standing at the window, hands clasped behind his back. Theodore Van der Geld was not a particularly large man, but his stern voice and iron hand were enough to intimidate most everyone with whom he came in contact, especially his daughter.
Rebekah positioned herself near his desk just so, hoping he would not noticed her soiled dress. “You wished to see me, sir?”
“Indeed,” he said without turning around. “The time has come for you to wed.”
Wed? The air rushed from Rebekah’s lungs. Had she heard him correctly? If she had, then just whom was she supposed to marry? She had no suitors, at least none of whom she was aware. No young man had dared come calling for fear of facing her father.
And yet as shocking as this announcement was, deep down she had always known her father would orchestrate her marriage. He had arranged everything else in her life, and every decision he made was filtered through the lens of his own political benefit. Having become a successful state legislator, he now wanted to be governor.
Apparently he is going to hand me over to some well-connected gentleman in order to support his campaign. But whom?
Then she remembered Harold Nash’s unprecedented visit, and the smile on his face as he walked away. A sickening feeling swept over her. Oh no! Surely not!
The man was more than twice her age, and up until today, her father had despised him. Harold Nash had voted against President Lincoln, had vehemently defended slave owners’ rights all throughout last year’s constitutional convention and had worked to delay outlawing the detestable practice of slavery for months.
And to be given to such a man! Rebekah feared her knees were going to buckle.
“You will marry Henry Nash,” her father announced, turning to judge her reaction.
Henry Nash? Rebekah struggled to process this news. So I am to be handed over to the delegate’s son? While the man was closer to her age, she felt little relief at the prospect. To marry him was to become not only a wife but immediately a mother, as well. The man had recently taken charge of his two orphaned nieces. Word was their father had fallen in battle while serving the rebel army, and their mother had died in childbirth.
None of this makes any sense! Rebekah thought. Why was her father so insistent on this match? Henry Nash had strong ties to the Confederacy, and her father had once called him a self-serving coward because he had not held office in the United States Army.
“Father, I don’t understand...”
She should have known better than to question him, for the moment she did, Theodore Van der Geld stormed out from behind his desk. His eyes were wide. The veins in his neck were bulging.
“I do not expect you to understand,” he shouted. “I expect you to obey! I expect you to do your duty!”
Rebekah immediately lowered her chin, stared at the floor. She dared not raise her eyes. She knew what would happen if she did.
When he spoke again, his voice had softened slightly. It was the same tone he used when addressing a crowd of potential voters. “Your marriage to Henry Nash will take place within the next few weeks,” he said. “The ceremony will coincide quite nicely with our nation’s victory celebrations.”
The long, desperate war between the states was finally drawing to a close. The nation had been preserved, but all Rebekah could think of now was her own impending union. Terror overwhelmed her. Yes, she wished to marry someday. She also wished for children, but most important, she wished for love. How was she to love a man she barely knew?
Please don’t make me do this! I don’t want to do this! But she knew her father would not listen to her pleas, let alone grant them. He waved her away like a simple servant. “Go to your room.”
Rebekah went obediently, knowing that in his mind, the marriage had been firmly decided, and she was powerless to alter his decision. Her only hope was that Henry Nash would somehow change his mind.
* * *
“You agreed to what?” Henry’s jaw literally dropped when he heard the news. “You told Theodore Van der Geld I would marry his daughter? Why on earth would you do such a thing? Why on earth would he even suggest it?”
Harold Nash, a shrewd man at best and conniving at worst, simply smiled. “The man wants to be the next governor, and he knows he can’t win the office without our help.”
“Our help?”
“Yes, by gaining the confidence of those who supported me in the past and those who will support you in the future.”
Henry groaned. Now he saw the truth of the matter. His father wasn’t running for reelection, but that didn’t mean he was finished with his political scheming. Ever since Henry had expressed a possible interest in campaigning for his father’s seat in the state legislature, Harold Nash had taken it upon himself to become his political advisor. “So you orchestrated all of this?”
The veteran politician laughed. “Of course not. Van der Geld did, but I am smart enough to recognize an opportunity for your advancement when it is presented.”
“By mortgaging my future?”
“You want to have a say in what goes on in this state, don’t you?”
Of course Henry did, but this was not at all how he wanted to go about it. Deal making and deal breaking, flattery and false alliances had led to war. After four years of killing, peace was finally within reach. Richmond had fallen. Lee and his army had surrendered. The nation, however, had to be reconstructed carefully, and so did his own state.
Although Maryland had not declared secession, there were many in the state who had chosen to fight for the Confederacy. As a Baltimore city councilman, Henry had dealt with his share of people, both prounion and sympathetic to the South, who were hot for revenge. Loved ones had been lost, property damaged, dreams destroyed.
There is still a lot of healing to be done.
Henry had worked hard to ensure that his reputation as a councilman was that he was fair and trustworthy. He held his office honestly and kept it that way by maintaining an open, forthright dialogue with the mayor, his fellow council members and the people of his city. His yes was always a yes and his no a no. He was determined to go about matters the same way should he win the bid for state delegate.
If I decide to run for higher office, I don’t need to form an alliance to do so, especially not with my father’s chief political rival. Henry told his father so.
Harold shook his head. “You are too young to realize what is at stake here,” he said. “Too young to comprehend fully the advantages of securing such power. Theodore Van der Geld is an Unconditional and you could have considerable influence over him.”
The Unconditionals were the members of the National Union Party, and they had been a thorn in his father’s flesh since ever since they managed to gain control of the statehouse. While Henry’s father had been in favor of preserving the Union, he had not thought Washington should use any means necessary to do so.
Like his father, Henry had opposed many of the tactics employed to keep Maryland in line the past four years. He had been against the closing of newspaper presses critical of Washington, against voters being denied the right to vote simply because they were suspected of having Southern sympathy.
Henry wished to correct such wrongs, but marrying Rebekah Van der Geld and trying to use my position as his son-in-law to sweet-talk her father toward my side of the aisle is not the way to go about it. “I want no part of this,” Henry said adamantly. “I earned my seat on the city council by honesty and hard work. If I decide to run for the state legislature, I will get to Annapolis the same way.”
And it was a big if. He wasn’t so certain he even wanted to run for the state legislature, at least not now. Henry had much more pressing matters on his mind. His sister Marianne’s death had hit him hard, and now he had the task of caring for her children. Henry knew almost nothing of being a father, and that which he had witnessed from his own, he did not wish to repeat.
The older man’s face lined with disappointment. “You won’t get to the state capital by shaking hands and talking about your war record. You can’t tell all those grieving fathers that while their sons were bleeding on the battlefield, you were floating well above it.”
Henry resented the inference. He was no coward. He had done his duty with his military service. He had served as honorably as any other veteran. While it was true he’d never made a valiant charge, his service as an aeronaut in the balloon corps, scouting the positions of the rebel army, was just as valuable—and within artillery range, just like any other man.
“You didn’t want me serving in the first place,” Henry said, “and now you think I wasn’t brave enough?”
“It isn’t a matter of what I think. It’s what the voters will think.”
Henry was just about to respond to the mocking comment when footsteps in the hall caught his attention. The door to the study suddenly burst open. In flew his four-year-old niece, Kathleen. Her face was red and tear streaked. Henry was fairly certain of the cause of her distress. Since coming into his home, she had cried repeatedly for her departed mother.
Kathleen froze upon sight of her grandfather, instantly sensing she was unwelcome. Henry went to her immediately. True, his life had been turned upside down with the arrival of her and her sister, but the last thing he wanted was for his niece to feel unwanted. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?” he asked as he bent to her level.
Kathleen’s chin quivered. “I want Mama.”
Henry’s heart broke for her. “I know you do.” He pulled her close, gently patted her back. As he did so, he could feel his father’s disapproving gaze.
Henry wasn’t certain if it was because the man thought such displays of affection were improper or if, deep down, he resented the fact that Marianne had chosen Henry to be her children’s guardian and not her own father.
Hannah—his cook, and now temporary governess—came into the room. In her arms was a tiny blanketed bundle, Kathleen’s little sister, eight-week-old baby Grace.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Henry,” Hannah said. “She got away from me while I was feeding the baby.”
“It’s all right, Hannah. Tell me, have you any spice cake left?”
“I do.”
“Then I believe this young lady would benefit from a slice.” His niece looked up at him, eyes still cloudy with tears. “Go with Hannah, pretty girl. I’ll be by directly to see that you are settled.”
Kathleen slowly took Hannah’s hand and turned from the room. Henry watched them go. He was thankful the ploy of sweets had worked. He wasn’t certain what he would have done if it hadn’t. But such measures will work for only so long.
“And there’s another reason,” his father said when the little girl had left the room.
“Another reason for what?”
“To wed Van der Geld’s daughter.”
Henry sighed. “Father, if I want help with my nieces, I’ll hire a suitable governess.”
“A governess isn’t going to get you to the statehouse.”
Henry shook his head, his patience wearing thin. “I’m not going to discuss this any further. I will speak to Van der Geld myself, tell him I want nothing to do with this.”
This time his father grinned, but Henry knew full well it was not an expression of joy. “You go right ahead, son,” the man said. “Do it your way. I’ll be here when you change your mind.”
Henry wanted to give a snappish reply, but he held his tongue. He is my father. He deserves my respect if for no other reason than that.
Leaving the study, Henry went to the kitchen. Kathleen was pale, but at least the tears had dried. Hannah had her at the table, a slice of spice cake in front of her. His cook kneaded bread dough for the evening meal.
How the woman managed, Henry was not certain. Surely she must be exhausted. He was, after all. It had taken him only forty-eight hours trying to manage glass feeding bottles and complicated rubber tubes before becoming so. To make matters worse, Grace cried incessantly and refused to take milk from the contraption.
Wise in the ways of motherhood, Hannah had abandoned the tube and metal mouthpiece for a soft rag. Grace sucked milk out of the bottle from that. It was messy and still somewhat cumbersome, but at least it worked. The goat’s milk temporarily soothed the baby’s stomach, but her heart was another matter. Hannah’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Sadie, sat at the table beside Kathleen. She was steadily rocking Grace, trying to quiet her tears.
Henry sighed. Hannah must have heard him. “Don’t you fret, Mr. Henry,” she said with an expression akin to pity. “It won’t always be this way.”
How I hope she is right. For all our sakes. “We’ll think of something,” he promised her. “I’ll find us help.”
“The good Lord will see to all our needs,” Hannah said. “We just gotta trust Him.” She punched down her dough. “You goin’ out on business today?”
“I’m afraid I must. There is a matter to attend.”
“You gonna visit folks, too?”
She meant his constituents. From time to time he called on returning veterans, local merchants and others to see how they were faring. Most citizens welcomed him, and even those who were wary of public servants usually warmed once he heard their complaints.
“Yes, but I won’t be gone long.” He cast another glance at Kathleen. She was poking her cake with her fork.
“Like I said,” Hannah replied, “don’t you fret. We’re gonna be just fine. You go on and do what you planned.”
Henry drew in a breath. How appreciative he was of the woman, of her assistance and understanding. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Henry.”
Leaving the house, Henry headed off to put the matter with Theodore Van der Geld and his daughter to rest. While traveling to the stately home, he went over in his mind what he would say. Henry didn’t know whether or not Miss Van der Geld had been told of the arrangement. He certainly hoped she hadn’t.
If she had, he seriously doubted she would be heartbroken by the change of plans. Still, Henry wanted to be gentle. She may not like the idea of a union with a virtual stranger any more than I, but I am still refusing her, and no one likes to feel unwanted...
Henry knew firsthand the misery such feelings could bring. While his mother, Eleanor, had married his father for love, believing he felt the same, it soon became apparent that Harold Nash had been interested only in her social standing and family fortune. When Henry’s mother realized this, the life drained out of her. She had died on Henry’s fifteenth birthday. Marianne had been twelve.
Were it not for his interest in public service, Henry doubted he’d have much of a relationship with his father, if any. He did his best to honor the man as Scripture commanded, but he refused to be like him, especially when it came to selecting a wife.
Henry believed in love. For him, marriage was a lifelong commitment of mutual respect and affection, not an opportunity to advance one’s political career. He wasn’t going to court a woman until he was certain he was prepared to give her his heart.
Arriving at the Van der Geld house, he knocked upon the front door. An Irish maidservant answered, only to inform him that the state delegate was not home.
For a moment, Henry was tempted to ask for the daughter but decided that would be unwise. If she did know of the marriage proposal, requesting to speak with her without her father’s presence would paint him as a much too eager suitor.
And if she does not yet know, there is no reason to trouble her.
He handed the maid his calling card. Henry didn’t like leaving matters like this. Miss Van der Geld was liable to get hurt.
But there is nothing I can do for the moment.
So he left the house, determined to return at a more opportune time.
* * *
Rebekah had heard the man’s voice coming from the foyer. Terrified by the thought that Henry Nash had actually come to pay a call on her, she crept to her room and closed the door behind her.
If I stay hidden, she told herself, I won’t have to face him.
From her sanctuary, she could no longer hear the conversation on the floor below, but she could make out the sound of Fiona shutting the door. Knowing Councilman Nash had gone, Rebekah moved to the window and watched him walk toward the street.
At least he has the decency not to insist upon seeing me while Father is out, she thought.
She tried to take comfort in that fact, but his sense of social propriety did little to quell her anxious spirit. She might not have had to face him today, but the moment was surely going to come.
Reason told her that things could be much worse. At least Councilman Nash was a churchgoing man. In fact, they attended the same church, and from what she’d observed of him there, he appeared to have a pleasant disposition.
But then so does Father when he is in public. In private it is an altogether different matter.
Her stomach began to roll. Her breath quickened. I can’t do this! I won’t do this!
It wasn’t as though she was against marriage itself. Three of Rebekah’s closest friends had been recently married. Julia Stanton, the daughter of a prominent local physician, had married her beloved Samuel Ward, a history teacher who was somewhat below her station.
Emily Davis had been raised as a supporter of states’ rights, and yet her parents had offered no arguments when she’d married Dr. Evan Mackay, the Union army surgeon she had once despised.
Elizabeth Martin had gone to work as a newspaper sketch artist after the death of her fiancé, Jeremiah Wainwright, then fell in love with his brother, David.
Rebekah’s father claimed that all three were foolish matches and her friends would soon regret their decisions. Yet she knew how happy they each were. She could see it on their faces. They basked in the glow of men who truly loved and respected them. Rebekah longed for the same.
Yet I am to be given to a man who scarcely knows me. One who most likely is more interested in an alliance with my father than with me. He seeks to further his own political career, and I will be expected to further his legacy. I do not love him, yet I will be expected to raise his sister’s children and bear him more.
She paced the floor. There must be some way out of this...somehow...
The clock ticked on, yet Rebekah found no solution. Hopelessness pressing upon her, she sank to her bed. She was still there when her mother came to see her later that afternoon. Susan Van der Geld floated into the room in a cloud of gray silk and claimed the chair across from Rebekah.
“I understand that Councilman Nash came by the house today,” her mother said.
Rebekah pulled herself into a proper sitting position, smoothed out her skirt and wiped her eyes. “He did.”
“And you did not see him?”
“He did not ask to see me.”
“Of course not,” her mother said. “A proper gentleman would seek to speak only with your father, but you should have been gracious enough to greet him. Your father is very disappointed that you did not.”
Disappointed. How often Rebekah heard that word? He was always disappointed with her in some way, and he always let it be known. What punishment would she receive this time?
“I am sorry, Mother. Truly I am. I am just so—” Dare she say it? What good would it do to admit she was afraid?
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You do not wish to marry him, do you?”
Hope sparked inside Rebekah. She understands! Perhaps there is a way out of this after all! Perhaps she will speak up on my behalf! “No,” Rebekah said. “I don’t. I don’t love him!”
“Of course you don’t,” her mother said expressionlessly. “You must learn to do so.”
The spark died. I must learn? “Mother, how can I—”
Susan stopped her with an upturned hand. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah. This is the way it was for me, for your grandmother and for her mother before her.”
And you are miserable, Rebekah desperately wanted to say. Just once, won’t you intervene?
Her mother stood and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “Things will go much easier if you simply accept this,” she said. “Your father has firmly decided the matter. He will not change his mind. Now wash your face and come downstairs. You know how he dislikes tears.”
Yes, I know. They only make him angrier. Resignation washed over Rebekah in suffocating waves. So this is to be my lot in life: a politician’s wife. I must mind my tongue, create an appropriate home and play the gracious hostess at all gatherings, just like you. And as for the children, his nieces and however many more may come in the future... I must manage them accordingly, for the voters will be watching.
Anger roiled inside her, and so did hurt—two emotions she realized she must master. Rebekah had seen what those same feelings had done to her mother. For twenty-four years, Susan Van der Geld had pined for the affection of a hard-hearted man. Continual disappointment had withered her, and as a result, she’d grown cold and aloof to her own children.
Rebekah steeled her resolve. I will not do so. I will not let him change me. I may be forced to give Henry Nash my life and my youth, but I will never give him my heart.
* * *
Henry did his best to forget all about Rebekah Van der Geld as he rolled toward the Baltimore Harbor. Long before her father and his had stirred up such trouble, Henry had intended to spend the day visiting his constituents.
He hoped sticking to his original plan would take his mind off the unfinished business with the Van der Gelds. He made his rounds along the wharf. Then, upon reaching Eutaw Street, he stopped at the Branson Boarding House. Two Federal soldiers stood idly by the front steps. Henry acknowledged them, then knocked on the door. The proprietor’s daughter, Maggie, a young woman of about twenty or so, answered. Henry had spoken with her once before.
“Good afternoon, Miss Maggie. Is your father home?”
“I’m afraid he is not,” she said, “but may I help you?”
Henry explained why he had come. When Miss Branson learned he was willing to listen to her complaints, she invited him inside. A boarder had taken up residence in the formal parlor, so she offered Henry the dining room. Once they were seated, she wasted no time.
“Can you do anything about those soldiers?” she asked.
“Which soldiers, miss?”
“The ones outside. There are always two or three roaming about. Martial law hasn’t been good for business, you know.”
Miss Branson’s family, as well as many others, had been forced to contend with the presence of scrutinizing Federal troops since the beginning of the war. Most of the soldiers Henry had encountered were honorable peacekeepers. There were always a few bad apples in every barrel, though, and knowing that, he was concerned for Miss Branson.
“Have the soldiers been harassing you?” he asked.
“Indeed so!”
He listened as she recounted a host of irritants, none of which, however, crossed the bounds of illegality or impropriety. Thankfully, it seemed the men were simply an unwanted nuisance, a sentiment shared by many in the city.
“Their presence drives away potential boarders,” she said. “They make it appear as though something treasonous is going on in this house. The war is over. They should move on now.”
“I should think a great many changes will be occurring in the future,” Henry said, “although I wouldn’t expect the troops to vacate anytime soon. I will speak to my fellow council members about your concerns, however.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that. I will let my father know you called.”
“Please do, and tell him that if he has any other concerns, he should contact me.” He handed her his card.
Miss Branson smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash. My father will be pleased to know you stopped by. He voted for you for city council. He hopes you will run for state legislature.”
Henry appreciated the compliment. Wishing Miss Branson a good day, he stepped outside. The soldiers she had complained about were nowhere to be found. Satisfied, Henry continued on.
He visited several other citizens that day. Some were cheering General Grant’s victory. Others were anxiously awaiting the return of sons who had joined the Confederate army and were currently being held as prisoners of war. All, however, seemed eager to put the war behind them.
As he returned to his carriage, he caught sight of a familiar face. Henry was fond of the theater, and one of his favorite actors, John Wilkes Booth, was just about to cross his path. He’d had the privilege of meeting the man early on in the war at a social gathering.
“Mr. Booth,” Henry called out, “How good to see you again.”
It took the actor a second, but when he recognized Henry, he smiled. “And you, sir. Are you managing to keep the local leadership in line?”
Henry only laughed. “Are you in Baltimore for a performance?” He wasn’t aware of any such productions, but perhaps as busy as he’d been with his nieces, he had simply failed to notice the advertisements.
“No,” Booth said. “I only came for a visit.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Henry said, remembering. “You are from Maryland, aren’t you? Harford County, is it?”
Booth nodded as if pleased he knew such a detail. He reached up and shook Henry’s hand. Two women made eyes at the debonair, mustached man as they passed. Booth noticed them, smiled somewhat flirtatiously, then returned his attention to Henry. “As of now, I am on my way back to Washington.”
“Oh? Then may I offer you a ride to the train station?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He climbed inside the carriage, and Henry urged his horse forward. They chatted about the theater. Booth had taken time off due to illness but was planning to return to the spotlight very soon.
“I am very pleased to hear that,” Henry said. “I have enjoyed your performances, especially Julius Caesar.”
“Ah, yes,” Booth laughed theatrically. “Beware the Ides...”
The traffic grew heavier as they neared the Camden Street station. Family members waiting for loved ones clogged the road, and those who would soon be passengers were hurrying for the ticket windows. Henry pulled up as close as he could to the station so Booth could disembark.
The actor smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.” As Booth started for the train, he couldn’t resist calling after him. “Your next performance, sir...what role will you play?”
Booth looked back and offered a proud smile. “You’ll soon find out,” he said. “Rest assured, my name will make all the papers.”
Henry couldn’t help but laugh at the man’s answer. He would look forward to reading the reviews.
But for now, I have more pressing matters...
He needed to get home. Hannah would have supper on the table soon, and he didn’t want Kathleen eating alone. Henry hoped his niece would sleep well tonight, for his sake and hers. More than once since her arrival, she’d woken crying for her mother.
As he made the turn on to Charles Street, he thought again of Rebekah Van der Geld. Tomorrow was Good Friday. Henry planned to approach her father following the church service and request a private meeting with him. He did not wish to prolong this matter.
He wanted to observe a quiet Easter Sunday with his nieces—prayer and perhaps an egg hunt with little Kathleen. A restful, peaceful day with no unfinished business hanging over his head—that was exactly what he needed.
* * *
On Friday morning, silent and somber, Rebekah filed into the church pew just as she had done every other time the sanctuary doors were open. Immediately following her were her younger brothers, Joseph, Austin, Gilbert and Teddy. Their mother then claimed her place. Last, Rebekah’s father took up residence beside the aisle. As usual, they had arrived a good fifteen minutes before the service was scheduled to begin.
As a child, Rebekah used to think they did so simply because her father was eager to attend worship. When she grew older, however, she realized the truth. He came early because he wanted to be seen by his fellow parishioners as they arrived. He wanted the voters to take notice.
Inwardly she sighed. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been on display. I’ve been told what to wear, where to stand, what to think and what to say. Once again, here she sat, polished, pristine, every bit the exemplary charge of a would-be governor. Inside she cried out for freedom.
What would happen if I suddenly caused a scene? What if I had the audacity to bolt to my feet and declare to my father that I most definitely will not marry Henry Nash or anyone else he thinks will be of advantage to him? What if I then run for the door and keep running until I leave the city long behind?
Rebekah again sighed, knowing full well that no matter how much she wanted to flee, she would not do so. She would not dare disrespect her father. She knew the consequences such behavior would bring.
Her mother’s words echoed in her ears. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah... Things will go much easier if you simply accept this.”
Behind her, the congregants were arriving. Rebekah wondered if Councilman Nash was one of them. She did not turn to see. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was eager for his attention.
Her father had not spoken to her about the impending marriage since he had first called her into his study, although she knew he was well aware that Councilman Nash had tried to speak with him. Her mother’s disclosure that Rebekah had disappointed him by not greeting Mr. Nash was evidence of that. Rebekah wondered if her father would speak with the man after the service today. Would he require her to speak to him, as well? Her stomach knotted at the thought. It was troubling enough to deal with such matters in private, but here, in front of everyone?
At precisely noon, Reverend Perry, her minister since infancy, stepped to the pulpit and began the service. Rebekah wished to focus her attention on the hymns and prayers, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate. Even the agonizing details of Christ’s trial and crucifixion failed to pierce her thoughts. Her mind was just too full.
Just as she feared, the moment the service dismissed, Councilman Nash came to her father. Rebekah dared not look in their direction, but she strained to hear their conversation. She knew they were discussing her. Even at the far end of the pew, she could catch words in snatches.
“Out on business...my apologies...time to discuss... Saturday morning...”
Beside her, six-year-old Joseph, fidgety as always, had taken to tapping his fingers on the pew railing in front of him. Rebekah stilled his hands at once, hoping both to save him from a stern parental rebuke and to hear what else she could.
It was to no avail. Her father had concluded the conversation. Councilman Nash stepped back, allowing her father to lead his family from their pew. Heart pounding, Rebekah chanced a glance in the man’s direction as she moved into the aisle. He nodded to her. The expression on his face was hardly cold or disapproving, but the look was still a far cry from loving.
Rebekah did her best to maintain her composure, although inside her emotions were swirling. She could tell herself that she’d protect her heart from hurt, that she’d accept her lot, but the pain of imagining a loveless union still stung.
She followed her family to the foyer, down the steps and then outside. While Teddy and Gilbert mounted their horses, Rebekah climbed into the barouche alongside Austin and Joseph. Her mother and father claimed the seat facing opposite them. The open-air carriage offered a good view of their surroundings. It also allowed them to be seen.
At her father’s command, their coachman, Brooks, urged the horses forward. The carriage began to roll. The family traveled the length of two blocks in silence. Then her father spoke.
“Councilman Nash plans to pay a call tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock,” he said, leveling his stern gaze on Rebekah. “I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly.”
You mean you expect me to accept his formal proposal, she thought, and do so eagerly.
Her eyes drifted to her mother, silently appealing once more for her intervention. Susan simply looked aside.
“Is that clear?” her father asked.
“Y-yes, sir,” she said, giving him the answer he expected. “I will do so.”
He nodded curtly to her, then commenced smiling and waving at the potential voters passing by on the street.
Rebekah swallowed back her tears. I must face facts. There is no changing the circumstances. Tomorrow I will become engaged to a man I do not love. I will go from one prison to another, and I must bear it with endurance, strength and fortitude.
Much to her surprise, however, the encounter with Mr. Nash was delayed, but in a way she never would have imagined. When Rebekah woke the following morning, she learned the man himself had postponed the meeting due to urgent official business with the city council. The nation was in mourning and accordingly, Rebekah’s father immediately ordered his entire household to put on black.
President Abraham Lincoln was dead.
Chapter Two (#ulink_82e7f7a3-8715-5dd5-827c-980f9dd65581)
Henry still could not believe the news.
The president has been assassinated! How can this be? And shot during a performance at Ford’s Theatre? His wife seated just beside him?
He didn’t know what sickened him more—the thought of the slain leader or the fact that less than forty-eight hours ago, he had shaken hands with the perpetrator of the crime. The ride to the train station with John Wilkes Booth replayed through his mind over and over again.
“Rest assured, my name will make all the papers.”
Indeed it had, for now every press was churning out the details.
“He leapt from the president’s box...”
“...from the stage he shouted to the crowd...”
“Wielding a blood-smeared dagger, he then fled...”
A Federal manhunt was now underway. Those suspected of aiding Booth were quickly being rounded up. Henry nervously wondered if the provost marshal would soon come calling for him.
I drove him to the train station... I shook his hand...
Fellow councilman George Meriwether nudged Henry, jolting him back to the business at hand. “Your vote, Nash,” George whispered.
Fearing bloody reprisal in the wake of the president’s death, the mayor had suggested that saloons be closed and the entire city police force be put on alert. Henry agreed.
“Aye,” he cast.
The measure passed. With business concluded, the council then dismissed. In a daze, Henry slowly made his way home. Is it really true? Is the president really dead, or is this some horrible nightmare from which I will awake?
But every step he took toward home dripped with reality. Already the church bells were beginning to toll. They would continue to ring until noon. The patriotic bunting that had draped the government buildings all week in celebration of victory was now being replaced by black crepe. Flags were lowered to half-mast. Nearly every person he passed on the street wore a grief-stricken or confused expression.
Henry didn’t know whether to weep or clench his fists in anger at the enormity of the country’s loss. While he hadn’t voted for Lincoln, or agreed with all of his policies, he had believed the president truly wanted what was best for the nation. In the end, Lincoln had wanted peace, and had died just as it was achieved. What a cruel and senseless conclusion to the man’s life.
What will this mean for our country now? he wondered.
Upon reaching home, James, his manservant, met Henry at the door. Already he wore a black mourning band on his upper left arm. Taking Henry’s greatcoat and hat, he said, “You had a visitor earlier. I told him you weren’t here.”
“Who was it?”
Before James could answer, Henry’s father stepped from the parlor. “That’ll be all, James.”
Henry shot his father a disdainful glare as James exited. He didn’t like how Harold ordered his servants about.
“You could have let him answer,” Henry said.
“You’d better be grateful that James didn’t ask your visitor to stay.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Detective J. E. Smith is the one who paid the call.” His father offered the calling card for proof.
Fear slowly snaked its way up Henry’s neck. He’d had dealings with this particular provost marshal detective before. Last year, a city council member had been investigated on accusations of bribery and extortion. The man was not guilty, and eventually his name was cleared, but not before his entire life had been turned upside down by Smith and his men.
Does Smith know of my encounter with Booth? Henry wondered. Is that why he came to see me?
Harold was well aware of the interaction with the detective, and he knew the fear it stoked. He added fuel to the fire. “You’ve another matter with which to be concerned.”
“What do you mean?”
He encouraged Henry toward the study. On his desk was a copy of the day’s paper. Picking it up, his father explained, “A man by the name of Lewis Paine is now under arrest for the attempted murder of Secretary of State William Seward. They say he spent time here in Baltimore.”
“I never shook his hand,” Henry said, more for the easement of his own mind than that of his father.
“No,” the older man conceded, “but you did grasp the hand of his hostess.”
“His hostess?”
“Apparently this man was a boarder at the house on Eutaw Street as recently as last month.”
“You mean the Branson Boarding House?”
“I do.”
Harold tossed him the publication. Henry quickly read. According to the Free American, twenty-two men and women from the Branson Boarding House had been taken into custody by the provost marshal and were presently being questioned for possible involvement in Lincoln’s death and the conspiracy to murder Secretary Seward.
The paper also noted that this was not the first time the boardinghouse had been under scrutiny. As Henry read the next paragraph aloud, a chill spread through him. “Miss Branson, a former volunteer nurse, was questioned in September 1863 by the provost marshal. She was suspected of helping a rebel prisoner, Lewis Thornton Powell, also known as Lewis Paine, escape from the US General Hospital here in Baltimore. No charges were filed then.”
“And you visited that same boardinghouse,” his father reminded him, “listening to that same woman complain about Federal soldiers prowling about her door.”
Henry raked back his hair. His mind was racing. Those soldiers saw me enter. The boarder in the parlor saw me, as well. He probably heard our very conversation.
He told himself he hadn’t done anything wrong—certainly not anything illegal—but he knew that didn’t matter now. The nation had just endured four years of war. Suspicion still ran high. Henry had entered the home of a Southern sympathizer. That was all the proof some men would need to declare him guilty.
I’ll be linked to the scoundrels who conspired to kill the president and his men. God help me, he thought. What do I do now?
“You need to keep your wits,” his father reminded him. “You need to protect yourself.”
Anxiety pulsing through him, Henry made the mistake of asking how.
“Van der Geld’s daughter. The man has the army in his pocket, you know. You can use that to your advantage.”
Henry immediately dismissed the idea. He’d already made the mistakes of listening to the complaints of rebel sympathizer and shaking hands with a murderer. He wouldn’t make another by marrying a woman he did not love, even if her father did hold considerable sway over the authorities of this state.
“No,” he said flatly. “I told you, I don’t want any part of that.”
His father scowled. “When are you going to learn that this is the way it is done? Crowns are won or lost this way.”
Henry had no desire for a crown. He never had. He told his father so. “I only want to do what is right.”
“Right or wrong has nothing to do with it. It’s about power...about how much of it you have over your enemies.”
“I don’t have any enemies.”
At that, his father laughed. “I wouldn’t tell Detective Smith that next time he comes calling. You had better claim a few enemies—namely John Wilkes Booth and the rebel army.”
Again Henry raked his fingers through his hair. Of course he wanted Booth brought to justice, but Lee and his army had surrendered. The men in gray were no longer his enemies. Some, in fact, like his brother-in-law, John, never had been. Henry grieved the loss of life their war of rebellion had brought, but he didn’t want retribution. He wanted restoration. He wanted to be part of the reconstruction efforts, to see his nation, his state, his city healed.
His father eyed him shrewdly. “Detective Smith will return. Just what exactly are you planning to tell him?”
“I will tell him the truth.”
“The truth will earn you a jail cell.” Harold reached for the paper and quickly flipped to another article. “The actors from Ford’s Theatre are already there.”
“What? Why? What did they do?”
“They were there that night, and Booth was there. Son, the president has been assassinated. Mark my words, this nation won’t rest until every last person connected to Lincoln’s death, no matter how trivial the role, is brought to justice.”
All Henry could offer in response to that was silence. He knew his father was right, and although he believed the truth would eventually prevail, he wondered just how long it would take.
How long must I sit in a jail cell before Detective Smith believes my encounters with Booth and Maggie Branson were purely coincidental?
He had seen what prison could do to a man. He’d visited returning veterans who had been held captive in rebel prisons. Many were starved, sick, withered.
Would a Federal prison have the same effect on me? Could I endure it?
And more important, what would happen to Kathleen and Grace if he were imprisoned?
They’ll end up in the care of the man standing before me. The man my sister rejected as a guardian. And he will not offer them any affection or comfort. Henry was certain his father would ship Kathleen and Grace off to a home for foundlings at the first opportunity.
James came to the door. “’Scuse me, sir, but Delegate Van der Geld and his daughter are here to see you.”
Henry sighed heavily and once more raked his fingers through his hair. Not this...not now...
“An opportunity presents itself, son,” his father said. “If I were you, I’d make the most of it.”
I’m not you, Henry thought. I’ll never be you.
Despite his anxiety, he was determined to stand on the truth. As his father exited the room, Henry looked at James. He was still waiting for an answer. The delicate business of rejecting Miss Van der Geld was now the least of his concerns, but the matter had to be settled.
“Tell Delegate Van der Geld that I’ll see him.”
James nodded.
“And please tell Sadie to serve Miss Van der Geld some refreshments in the parlor.”
James nodded again. He turned, only to have Henry call after him. “And James...”
“Yes, sir?”
“I wish to see Delegate Van der Geld alone. Please see to it that my father is occupied elsewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
James had barely left the room before the elder statesman made his entrance. The man’s very stance commanded authority. His hawkish look and confident voice could wither a weaker, inexperienced man, especially a man with something to hide.
But I’ve done nothing wrong, Henry reminded himself. Lifting his chin, he stared Van der Geld square in the face.
The men exchanged formal pleasantries before Van der Geld said, “Sir, I would presume you are as distressed by today’s developments as I.”
“Indeed,” Henry said. He noted the small framed portrait of Lincoln pinned to the man’s frock coat. “It is a black day for our nation.”
Van der Geld nodded. “One that makes your proposal all the more pertinent.”
My proposal? Henry stopped him there. “Sir, I must tell you here and now, whatever my father may have said to you—”
Accustomed to keeping the floor, Van der Geld did not allow him to finish. “Unity is necessary to maintain the peace. With such perilous times upon us, surely you see as well as I the necessity of proceeding with the wedding in haste. Our city needs uplifting news. It is no secret that your father and I take different views. The joining of our families, a uniting of opposite parties for the good of the land, will show the people of Maryland our willingness to work together...compromise...goodwill...”
Henry would have been tempted to roll his eyes at the obvious stump speech had Van der Geld’s tone not suddenly changed. All evidence of goodwill vanished when he then spoke of John Wilkes Booth.
“And that traitorous rebel scum! As for him and his coconspirators, I agree with what Vice President Johnson said concerning rebels—‘arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors.’ Rest assured, Councilman Nash, I will do everything in my power to bring such men and women to justice. The provost marshal is already dragging them in. I daresay the jails of this city will soon be bursting at the seams.”
A rock lodged in the back of Henry’s throat so tightly he could not breathe. Van der Geld had never proceeded cautiously when it came to suspicions of disloyalty, and it was obvious he would not tread lightly now. In the past, the man had been in full support of citizens being dragged from their beds simply because they had spoken against such tactics or knew someone who had served in the rebel army.
And what would he advocate for the man who not only had a brother-in-law who served the Confederacy but also had shaken hands with the president’s murderer? “Arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors”?
Henry felt sick to his stomach. Van der Geld continued on, now promising that he personally would not rest until Booth and all those connected with him got what they deserved.
“They will suffer for their actions! Indeed they shall!” Suddenly he stopped. His hawk-like expression softened. “But I digress,” he said. “We are here to discuss matters of life...”
Henry swallowed. Life... My life is now devoted to raising those two little girls. They are dependent on me. Marianne depended on me. I can’t let her down.
“This marriage will serve as a positive example,” Van der Geld insisted. “The future of our state depends upon such goodwill...”
Future... What future will Grace and Kathleen have if their uncle is convicted as an accomplice to the murder of the president?
Henry couldn’t stand the thought of them being shunned or scorned, unable to be placed in a proper home. He might not be the father they deserved, and he might not know how to care for them as wisely as he should, but Henry was determined those little girls would be protected.
“We’ve had our disagreements, for certain,” Van der Geld said, “but I know you to be a man of your word. I know you will take good care of my daughter.”
His daughter... Surely this man is as concerned for her security and happiness as I am for Grace’s and Kathleen’s. He wouldn’t wish to see her husband carted off to jail.
“I have it on good authority that the president’s funeral train will pass through our city in a few days. Thousands will attend. I think that would be the perfect opportunity for you and Rebekah to be seen together in public. Then, when our beloved president is finally laid to rest, we will conduct the marriage ceremony.” The man stuck out his hand. “What say you?”
Images of moldy holding cells and interrogation rooms at Fort McHenry flashed through Henry’s mind. Marriage to a woman he did not love would be a prison all to itself but surely more bearable than the former, especially when he thought of Kathleen’s and Grace’s tear-stained faces. His heart told him not to give in to such fears. He was a man of faith, and up until now, he had done nothing wrong. Shouldn’t he trust that God would work all of this out? Shouldn’t he believe Kathleen and Grace would be all right?
But Henry found he had not the courage to pray. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was shaking Theodore Van der Geld’s hand.
* * *
Rebekah waited nervously in Councilman Nash’s parlor while her father visited with the man. The news of President Lincoln’s death had barely had a chance to register before her father summoned her to his own study and told her to make herself ready. In light of the national tragedy, they would pay a call on Henry Nash. Her father was apparently convinced her marriage to the man would ensure the continuation of the Union.
How that was, she could not say. Henry Nash was no great supporter of the president. He was no war hero. Rebekah had no respect for men who had shirked their responsibility to the nation. The only men she despised more were those who had owned slaves.
And remnants of such a loathsome past remain in this house!
A Negro manservant had taken her coat and bonnet when she had arrived. A young maid then followed, bringing tea and scones. Rebekah couldn’t help but feel for them. What must they have endured?
But her thoughts then quickly turned to herself. What must I now endure?
Unable to swallow any refreshment, Rebekah left her tea and walked to the window. Beyond the glass lay a world of green, lush vegetation kissed by the April dew. As she stared out at the garden, the idea of escape again crossed her mind. If I could find the back gate, I could run away...away from my father, away from Councilman Nash...away from everything...
But she wasn’t given the opportunity to flee. At that moment, the two men stepped into the room. Rebekah turned to see the familiar look of smug confidence on her father’s face. Obviously he had secured another political victory. She dared look then into the face of her father’s newest ally.
He looked scared.
For one irrational second, she flattered herself with the idea that he was frightened of her. In reality, however, she knew it was probably more that he feared she would reject his proposal, and then whatever contract he had secured with her father would be null and void. Anger welled up inside her. Rebekah wanted to tell the councilman she was not a commodity to be bought and sold, but indeed, she knew she was exactly that.
She remembered her father’s instructions. She was to accept this man’s proposal with eagerness. Or else.
He nodded to her in a most formal matter. “Good day, Miss Van der Geld,” he said.
She responded in kind. “Good day, Councilman Nash. Thank you for the tea.”
He nodded again, cleared his throat. He was definitely unsettled, but whether that had to do with the proposal he was about to make or the fact that her father obviously intended to listen to it, she was not certain. Theodore stood guard, ready to offer Rebekah a disapproving glare or stern rebuke should the opportunity warrant one.
She swallowed hard, stole one more glance at the beckoning garden. Evidently her suitor noticed.
“The garden belonged to my mother,” he said. “Would you care to take a turn in it?”
Would she? While escape might not be possible, she could at least flee her father’s demanding presence for a few moments. “Yes,” she said, “I would enjoy seeing the garden. Thank you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father nod. It was the closest thing to affirmation she had ever received from him, yet she felt no joy. Councilman Nash offered his arm. Rebekah dutifully accepted. Together they stepped outside.
The garden was a good size, with gravel paths and wrought iron benches. English ivy covered stately brick walls. They were beautiful, but they were walls nonetheless, meant to contain. From one prison to another, she thought again. Immediately she let go of her soon-to-be fiancé’s arm.
The man took to pointing out the various flowers. “There is forsythia, and here are several varieties of daffodil, I believe.”
When he made reference to the jonquils, Rebekah nervously blurted out, “They need dividing. Without room to grow, they will not bloom.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, she cringed. What made me say such a thing? He did not ask for my opinion. How will he respond to such impertinence?
“You are right,” he said. “In fact, the entire plot needs tending, but I am afraid I haven’t the time or the skill to make it what it once was. Have you much interest in horticulture?”
The question as well as the conciliatory tone shocked her. They also intrigued her. The councilman appeared genuinely interested in her answer. “Yes,” she said guardedly. “I do.”
He offered her just the hint of a smile. While Rebekah would not call him exactly handsome, he was at least pleasant in appearance. Nut-brown hair framed an angular face. His eyes were sky blue. “Then no doubt you could tell me to which class and order each plant belongs,” he said.
“Only a few of them,” she admitted. “Though I have wished to know more, I have not had much time to study such.” Father won’t allow it. He thinks the pursuit frivolous.
He nodded as if he understood. “There are many things that we may wish to do but that our present duties won’t allow.”
Rebekah immediately took offense. Surely your duties are not as constrictive as my own. You are free to come and go as you please... You are not being pawned off at another’s whim.
“I have a copy of The Florist’s Manual somewhere about this house,” he said. “If you like, I shall ask James to find it for you. He knows this house better than I.”
Though the offer was again intriguing, she couldn’t help but stiffen at the mention of James. Noticing, the man asked,
“Have I offended you?”
“It is not the offer of the floral guide that I find offensive,” she said. “It is the idea of continued slavery.”
Councilman Nash’s eyes narrowed. He immediately frowned. “James was never my slave. I retained his services when I took possession of this home, when my father first moved to his new home in Annapolis.”
Retained his services? Rebekah blinked. “Then he...didn’t belong to your father?”
“I don’t like to think of him as belonging to anyone, but to answer your question simply, no. He did not.”
Oh. Feeling foolish and fearing what might come next, she hurried to explain. “I assumed that since your father voted to keep slavery legal in Maryland—”
“I am not my father, Miss Van der Geld.”
Rebekah lowered her eyes. While his voice had not the same bite as her father’s, she plainly heard the firmness in it. “No, of course not. Forgive me. That was wrong of me to—”
“There is no need for forgiveness.”
No need? She dared reclaim his gaze. His look was charitable, his tone soft.
“But since we are dealing with assumptions,” he said, his tone softening further, “is there anything else about me that you question?”
Anything else? There were a thousand things, but Rebekah didn’t know where to begin.
“You’ve probably been told by someone along the way that I never served in the army,” he said.
“I have.”
He nodded as if he had expected such an answer. “The truth is, I did serve, but I was never given a commission. I was part of the balloon corps. In the army’s eyes, I was still considered a civilian.”
“Balloon corps? As in hot-air balloons?”
He nodded again. “Yes. Although ours were filled with hydrogen. They were used for reconnaissance. We provided tactical information to the commanders on the ground.”
“You mean the position of the rebel army?”
“Yes.”
“But didn’t your brother-in-law serve—?”
“In the Confederate army? Yes, he did. He did what he believed was his duty. I did mine.”
He was not the first man from Maryland to be pitted against his own family. Rebekah couldn’t help but feel a measure of pity toward him. “That must have been very difficult for your sister.”
“It was.”
“And yet she named you the guardian of her children?”
“John was killed at Monocacy Junction, a battle in which I had no bearing. Marianne also knew I was not personally at war with her husband, any more than John was with me.”
They had reached one of the benches. He invited her to sit. A shiver ran through her as she claimed a place as close to the edge as possible. He claimed the opposite side. An awkward silence now prevailed. She and Councilman Nash were not here to discuss the war, or even his extended family. There was another matter to be resolved.
“Miss Van der Geld,” he said. “I won’t trouble you any longer. I’m certain your father has spoken to you. While he may consider this matter concluded, this moment only a formality... I do not. I should very much like to know what you think of all of this.”
Rebekah was stunned. What I think of all of this? Was Henry Nash giving her the opportunity to refuse?
“Your father has given his consent, but all that means nothing if I have not yours.”
“My consent?” she asked.
“Of course. It is your future you are deciding...not that of your father.”
My future? Yes! Yes, it is my future! Suddenly she felt as though she’d found that elusive back gate, and freedom stood just beyond it. The councilman is granting me leave to escape! Like a butterfly in flight, she could go anywhere she wished!
As exhilarating as the feeling of freedom was, however, she realized it was not truly within her reach. Whatever flight she might take would be very short-lived. Her father would recapture her. And then to whom will I be assigned?
“You seem at a loss for words,” Mr. Nash observed.
“I am afraid I am.” What else could she say? What could she do? She was trapped.
Suddenly the door to the house opened. A little girl, four or five at the most, came charging down the path.
This must be one of his nieces, Rebekah thought.
The child froze the moment she saw a stranger in the garden. Rebekah’s heart immediately went out to her as she recognized the look on the child’s face. Rebekah knew it all too well. It was a look of loneliness, of fear.
Apparently the councilman recognized it, also, for he spoke to his niece with a tender voice, welcomed her forward. “It’s all right, Kathleen. Come and meet my friend, Miss Van der Geld.”
Friend, not fiancée. Again Rebekah noted the choice he was granting her.
The man held out his hand toward the child. She crept closer. Rebekah couldn’t help but notice the family resemblance. She had the same blue eyes, but whereas her uncle’s hair was slightly curly, hers was completely straight.
Rebekah offered her what she hoped was a disarming smile. The little girl gripped the leg of the councilman’s trousers.
“It’s all right,” he assured once again as he slid his arm around her protectively. Watching, Rebekah’s throat tightened.
“There’s a man in the parlor,” Kathleen whispered, although the tone was loud enough for Rebekah to overhear.
A man, she thought. My father. Had the child had some sort of encounter with him? That would certainly explain her fear.
“Yes, I know about that man,” the councilman said. “He hasn’t come to take you away. You need not be afraid.”
Rebekah heard the unspoken promise. I’m here. I will protect you. What was it like to receive such an assurance? What is it like to be nurtured? Loved?
Henry Nash then turned to her. “Kathleen has only very recently come to live with me.”
“I see,” Rebekah said, hoping he hadn’t noticed the hitch in her voice. “And I understand you have a sister.”
The girl stared at her.
“Her name is Grace,” her uncle offered.
“Grace,” Rebekah repeated with a smile. “What a beautiful name, as is Kathleen.”
The girl didn’t return the smile, but her grip on her uncle’s trousers loosened slightly. Rebekah took that as an encouraging sign.
The back door opened again. This time the young maidservant appeared. She hurried down the gravel path, stones crunching beneath her feet. “I’m sorry, Mr. Henry. I was puttin’ the baby down to sleep, and when I turned ’round, Miss Kathleen was gone.”
“It’s all right, Sadie,” he said, and the expression on his face told Rebekah he truly meant that. It was a far different reaction than her father would have given.
Councilman Nash looked again at Kathleen. “Go inside with Sadie, pretty girl. I’ll be in to join you after a while. When I come, I will read you a story.”
He calls her pretty, Rebekah thought. He promises to spend time with her. Such declarations were unheard of in her home. This is the man my father insists I must marry?
Kathleen slowly moved away from her uncle and took the maidservant’s hand. After they had returned to the house, the councilman said, “She doesn’t remember much of her father—he had very little leave during the war. But she misses her mother terribly.”
“I imagine she must,” Rebekah said. “How old is Grace?”
“Eight weeks.”
Eight weeks? Then she is an infant. A helpless infant. Rebekah wondered how he was managing the feedings. Had he employed a wet nurse or did the baby drink from a glass bottle?
“Marianne died giving birth to Grace,” he said. “The children were then shuffled from one neighbor to the next until one of them finally contacted me.”
Rebekah’s heart squeezed. Poor little things. “Did you have to travel far to collect them?”
“Virginia.”
In other words, to enemy territory. He had risked his safety for them, yet acted as if the danger had been of no importance. “This has certainly been a difficult time for your family,” was all Rebekah could think to say.
“Indeed.”
After another long silence he said, “Miss Van der Geld, I know this is no ideal situation...”
No, it isn’t, she thought, but she realized she could do a lot worse than Henry Nash. Granted, she did not know him well, but she sensed a humility, a gentleness about him. That was something her father had never possessed.
“I will make you this promise,” the councilman continued. “Should you choose to become my wife, a surrogate mother to my nieces, I will care for you, provide for you and encourage your personal pursuits. I will do everything in my power to make your life a comfortable and happy existence, and I will never treat you with anything less than respect.”
He did not use the word love, but few men she knew did. In twenty minutes’ time, Henry Nash had bestowed upon her more kindness, more liberality than her father had in all her twenty-three years. While she certainly did not love this man, she could respect him.
On that basis, she accepted his proposal.
Chapter Three (#ulink_ab73e21c-3036-564c-852a-25227e445e98)
Henry could not sleep that night. His conscience would not allow it. As he stared long and hard at the ceiling, the visit with Miss Van der Geld replayed over again in his mind. He had spent more time talking with her in one hour today than in all the years he had sat across the aisle from her in church.
She was quite a combination, a mixture of timidity, presumptiveness, austerity and elegance. Her dark blue eyes and the set of her mouth reflected suspicion, but they were also capable of displaying interest and affection. He had seen the latter when she’d spoken to Kathleen. She was taken with the child at once. For that, shouldn’t I be grateful?
When his own father had learned of the proposal, he’d said he was proud. “You are finally using every advantage to further your own well-being. You won’t regret it.”
Won’t I? He already did. Henry was intrigued by his betrothed, but he was not in love with her.
Wrestling with the bedsheets, he rolled to his side. If I had any honor, I would tell her the truth. Then I’d march down to the provost marshal’s office and tell Detective Smith what I know concerning John Wilkes Booth.
But his father’s warning echoed in his ears. “This nation won’t rest until every last person connected to Lincoln’s death, no matter how trivial the role, is brought to justice.”
He remembered Van der Geld’s words, as well, the ones that had ultimately caused him to shake the man’s hand. “They will suffer for their actions... ‘Arrest them as traitors, try them as traitors, hang them as traitors!’”
Henry’s guilt consumed him. I am hiding behind an innocent young woman, using her name to protect my own. I have become the very thing I swore I’d never become. I am no longer a public servant. I am a self-serving politician, just like my father.
Kathleen’s cry pulled him from his bed. Snatching his dressing robe, Henry hurried to the child’s room. Hannah and Sadie were already there. Hannah was cradling a now whimpering Kathleen, while Sadie rocked and cooed her startled infant sister.
The young maid looked as spent as Henry felt. Going to her, he took charge of the baby.
“I’ll go warm some milk for them both,” she said.
“Thank you, Sadie.”
It took only an hour or so to settle the children back to sleep, but you’d have thought the ordeal much more lengthy for the way they slept come morning. Though it was Resurrection Sunday, and Henry had hoped to take them both to church, he decided to let the children remain abed. Sadie, still sleepy herself, volunteered to keep watch over them.
Henry wasn’t the only one operating in mind-numbing confusion that morning. Although it was supposed to be the most joyous day of the Christian calendar, the mood of the service was somber. Men whispered newspaper details of Lincoln’s murder among themselves. Even women, who typically paraded new bonnets and laces this day, remained in black.
When the preaching began, Reverend Perry did his best to remind everyone that Christ had risen and because of that, one need no longer fear the grave. It wasn’t the grave that Henry feared. It was the path leading up to it. He believed because of Christ’s sacrifice his eternity was secure, but for some reason he couldn’t quite believe that same sacrifice capable of giving him protection, or provision for his nieces, this side of Heaven.
He prayed for forgiveness, for a cleansing of guilt, yet even amid his pleas his mind kept wandering. Here I sit like a pious worshiper, while the US Army combs the countryside for John Wilkes Booth and the rest of his accomplices. Where will the investigation lead?
The members of the Branson Boarding House were still detained. Henry was certain the army was giving the house quite a going over, looking for leads to other potential suspects. He hoped they would not find the calling card he had left there.
And if they do?
Loyalists everywhere were calling for swift execution of all those implicated in the president’s assassination. Is my own future to consist of a military tribunal and a hangman’s noose?
He glanced across the aisle. His soon-to-be father-in-law sat attentively in his pew, looking very much the self-proclaimed guardian of all that was noble and right. If Henry’s indiscretion became public knowledge, would the man be willing to overlook such in his son-in-law, or would he seek justice, as well?
The service now ending, Henry stood for the closing hymn. Once more he glanced across the aisle, this time looking at Miss Van der Geld. Her black bonnet, however, hid her face from view.
When her family filed out of their pew, Theodore Van der Geld stopped to inquire of Henry and his father. Miss Van der Geld stood silently at the end of the family line.
“Are you gentlemen attending the veterans’ ceremony tomorrow?” Van der Geld asked. It was to honor those returning from the war.
“I won’t,” Harold Nash said quickly, “but my son will.”
Henry had already agreed to be the city council’s representative at the event last week, but he had the impression that even if he hadn’t been committed to going, his father would have wanted him there anyway.
It isn’t a campaign stop, he thought, but he wouldn’t argue the point here in the house of God.
Van der Geld looked pleased. “Rebekah will be there, as well,” he said.
“Is that so?” Henry replied, gauging her response. There was that suspicious look again. Was it directed at her father or him?
Has she planned to attend the ceremony, or has she been told to do so? Was she told to accept me, as well?
He did not have time to ponder the thought further. Van der Geld closed the conversation and led his family away.
The following morning, Henry’s fiancée was standing on the platform alongside her other family members while her father, Mayor Chapman and a representative from the provost marshal’s office made their respective speeches to those on hand. Henry watched her from his position in the crowd.
He had brought Kathleen and Grace with him, wanting to give Hannah and Sadie a much-needed break and hoping the fresh air would do the children some good. Grace thankfully slept in his arms. Kathleen, recognizing Miss Van der Geld, tugged on Henry’s sack coat. “The lady,” she said.
He nodded but said nothing more. As speeches honoring fallen Union soldiers continued, Miss Van der Geld herself spied the children. The somber set of her jaw melted to an attractive smile. When she was freed from her position on the platform, she and several other women circulated the crowd. They presented the veterans’ female relatives and sweethearts with fresh flowers, a token of gratitude, an acknowledgment of the sacrifices they had made while the men had been away at war.
Their paths soon crossed. Grace, now awake, wiggled fitfully in Henry’s arms. Unable to lift his hat properly, he bid Miss Van der Geld good day.
She nodded formally to him but eyed Grace with a look of fondness. Then she smiled again at Kathleen. “She is just as pretty as her big sister.”
Kathleen offered the barest hint of a smile. “Pretty flowers,” she then said, having noticed the bouquet of jonquils in Miss Van der Geld’s arms.
A look of uncertainty darkened the woman’s face for the briefest of moments as she stole a glance in her father’s direction. He was still on the platform, speaking privately with those gathered around him. Turning back to Kathleen, Miss Van der Geld’s smile returned.
“These flowers are for ladies whose fathers or brothers or sons served in the army.”
Kathleen’s eyes immediately widened. “My daddy was in the army!”
“Yes, I know,” Miss Van der Geld said as she presented Kathleen with a jonquil. “And here is another for your sister. Since she is so little, will you take care of it for her?”
Kathleen nodded solemnly as if she considered the act a sacred duty. Henry was touched. His niece, thrusting one hand into the crook of his elbow, pulled the flowers close with the other and sniffed.
“You are very kind,” he said to Miss Van der Geld.
She lowered her eyes as if she were uncomfortable with the compliment. “It was only right,” she said.
Movement behind her caught his attention. Her father had exited the platform and was now shaking hands with the veterans. A few feet behind him was a man in a charcoal-colored greatcoat. Henry recognized that flat nose and pensive glare from anywhere. It was Detective Smith.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, for the man was maneuvering through the mass of former Union soldiers, coming in Henry’s direction.
“...today, as well.”
He realized then Miss Van der Geld had said something else to him. Shifting Grace from one arm to the other, he tried to refocus. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
She offered him a shy smile, innocent and pretty. “I said, they should be honoring you today, as well.”
Henry was again touched. Rebekah Van der Geld was a lovely Christian woman, one who deserves the truth. Once more the call to confession rang through him, but he quickly squelched it. He told himself that in this moment, the truth would do more harm than good. Detective Smith was drawing closer.
Henry forced himself to look only at Miss Van der Geld. “Again, you are very kind,” he said.
“It saddens me, though, to think our soldiers’ homecomings are held under such dreadful circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“The president...”
That rock lodged again in his throat. “Ah, yes...”
Her father then approached. The moment he noticed Kathleen’s flowers, he frowned. Thankfully Henry’s niece was oblivious to the fact. Still captivated by the jonquils, she was humming to herself. It was the first time he had heard her do so. Henry wanted to take pleasure in this, but the situation would not allow him to do so. Detective Smith had stepped from his field of vision. Henry couldn’t locate him anywhere. Would the state delegate’s arrival be enough to keep the detective from approaching Henry and his nieces?
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Councilman Nash,” Van der Geld said, his face now reflecting an expression of cordiality. “I know you will be attending President Lincoln’s funeral procession. Will your father attend, as well, or will he be returning to Annapolis?”
“We will both attend,” Henry said. “Like you, my father is waiting until after the procession to depart.”
Pleased, Van der Geld nodded and smiled. “I hope your father and I may have a chance to speak with one another. Thousands are likely to attend the president’s viewing.”
Henry couldn’t help but notice the look on Miss Van der Geld’s face just then. Had she, like him, picked up on the unspoken meaning of her father’s words? Thousands were likely to attend the president’s viewing. Thousands of potential voters. Van der Geld wanted the public to see he was making nice with his chief rival.
That’s the only reason he has any interest in me or my father, Henry thought.
Van der Geld was apparently eager to finish his rounds. “Come, Rebekah,” he said. “I’m certain Councilman Nash has other matters to attend to. We mustn’t keep him.”
She nodded respectfully, then bid Henry and the children farewell.
Henry couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. It was becoming obvious to him that she had been groomed to be a sturdy, silent wife, one who would never even think of causing inconvenience to the man to whom she was bound or to the father who had arranged it. He despised himself for being part of such a plot. How can I continue to go along with this?
But he already knew the answer. There was an eight-week-old baby girl in his arms. Her four-year-old sister was standing beside him, and Detective Smith was still somewhere in the crowd.
* * *
Lincoln’s funeral train arrived in Baltimore on Wednesday morning. The weather matched the somber occasion. A cold rain poured down, yet, just as Theodore Van der Geld had predicted, thousands turned out to view the elaborate procession. The president’s coffin was removed from the train at Camden Station, placed in a rosewood hearse, then pulled by four horses through the city. Nearly every person who held a position of authority in Baltimore—military, political or clerical—followed the remains.
Henry and his fellow council members were no exception. They were placed just behind Governor Bradford and then the aspiring governor, Theodore Van der Geld. Henry drove alone in his carriage. The children were at home with Hannah and Sadie, while Harold and Miss Van der Geld were to meet him at the Merchant’s Exchange Building. It was there that the late president’s body would be available for public view.
It took nearly three hours to cover the short distance. Lining the cobblestone streets were grief-stricken faces. Sprinkled among them were those wearing various expressions of anger. Many were armless or legless Union veterans looking as though they would gladly sacrifice what remained of their bodies in order to capture those responsible for the death of their beloved commander-in-chief.
Henry shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat. He believed Booth and those complicit in his crime should be punished, but those who had nothing to do with the horrible deed should not be caught in the wake.
Yet am I not doing the very same to Miss Van der Geld? Sentencing her to a life of unhappiness, bound to a man who does not really love her?
Guilt surged through him and he decided right then and there to figure out some other way of protecting himself and his sister’s children. To avoid embarrassing Miss Van der Geld, he would go through the charade her father expected at the Merchant’s Exchange. He would not cause a scene, but before the day was through, he would end this matter once and for all.
I’ll speak with Miss Van der Geld before I speak with her father. I’ll tell her that it isn’t right for me to expect her to become mother to my sister’s children and that it appears to me that she may not have been given full choice. I will free her and face whatever consequences come.
His carriage crept forward. At the turn to Caroline Street, Henry spied that familiar charcoal greatcoat. His heart skipped a beat when he realized Detective Smith was waving him down.
God help me, he prayed as Smith commandeered the seat beside him.
“Dreadful rain,” the man mumbled crossly.
“Have you been standing in it long?”
“You could say that.”
A chill ran down Henry’s spine, but it had little to do with the cold downpour. Smith’s answer was vague. He knew exactly why. The detective had been working the funeral route.
“I appreciate you giving me a lift,” Smith said.
I didn’t, Henry thought. You stopped me. “Are you going to the Exchange?”
“Perhaps.”
Neither man said anything more for several moments. Rain continued its thunderous barrage while the president’s body continued its journey. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Smith scouring the crowd.
He’s still working, he thought.
Henry knew he needed to acknowledge the fact that Smith had attempted to pay him a call. If he didn’t, it would bring further suspicion upon him. Swallowing hard, he hoped his voice remained steady.
“I understand you wished to see me the other day,” he said. “I apologize for not being at home. I had—”
“—business with the city council. Yes. I know.”
Henry swallowed once more. What else do you know? “Was there something particular you wished to see me about?”
“Not now,” Smith said.
Not now?
As the carriage continued its plodding pace, Henry could feel the man’s eyes upon him. The regimental band was playing a funeral dirge. Henry felt as though it was being played not for Lincoln but for himself.
The last thing Henry wanted to discuss was the manhunt for Booth, but he realized any normal, loyal man would be curious about the investigation.
“Are you looking for him?” Henry asked. He did not need to elaborate. Smith would know exactly to whom he was referring. “Do you think he’s here in Baltimore?”
“He was here,” Smith said, now eyeing the crowd. “That I do know. Just hours before the assassination, trying to recruit more conspirators.”
Henry’s grip on the reins tightened. His horse threw back its long golden mane in protest.
Smith turned from the crowd and looked directly at him once more. “But why should that be any business of yours right now, Mr. Councilman?” he said, voice devoid of any expression, any way to read his mood. “Haven’t you other matters on your mind?”
“Have I?”
“Taking a bride? I should say so.”
In spite of turn in the conversation, Henry felt no relief. “How did you know of that?” he asked. “We’ve yet to announce the engagement publicly.”
“I make it my business to know such things,” Smith said, and he gestured toward an upcoming lamppost. “Let me off here.”
Henry slowed to do so, and without further word, the detective disappeared into crowd. The man’s words haunted him. “I make it my business to know such things.”
Henry couldn’t help but wonder just what else Detective Smith had uncovered.
He obviously suspects something. But what Henry couldn’t figure out was why the detective didn’t simply ask him what he wanted to know. Is he waiting to see where else I might lead him?
He told himself Smith would get nothing. He was no conspirator. He hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not as far as it pertained to President Lincoln.
* * *
Rebekah stood silently in the place reserved for dignitaries and family members as President Lincoln’s coffin was carried inside. A great sadness welled up inside her. She had never met the president, although she had always wanted to do so. Her younger brothers Teddy and Gilbert had been given the privilege once, when their father had traveled to Washington on business.
Rebekah had asked to go, as well, but her request had been denied.
“Politics is no place for you,” her father had said, but what he’d meant was, it was no place for her unless it served his purpose. If he needed a lady to hand out flowers or nurse wounded soldiers so his family could be known for assisting the war effort, then she was called upon.
Otherwise I am expected to keep out of the way. Be seen but not heard, she thought.
The president’s coffin was opened. The mourners began to file past, first the generals and military commanders and Governor Bradford, then her father and the rest of the state legislature. Each displayed a stone-like, somber face of dignity.
How ironic, she couldn’t help but think. Some of those same men had despised the president. Have they undergone a change of heart or are they simply seizing an opportunity to be present in front of voters?
Rebekah then spied Councilman Nash. He had not voted for the late president, either, but the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth revealed he was clearly troubled by his death. He passed Lincoln’s casket respectfully, then came to where her mother, her brothers and now her father stood. He greeted them formally, but with the same heartfelt expression still on his face.
She studied him. He was taller than her father, with a strong build. While she still would not call him handsome, there was something winsome about his face, something honest, tender.
He certainly cares for his two young charges, and he is kind to the servants employed in his household. The question, however, begged to be asked. But is that simply what he wants me to think?
Rebekah wanted to believe him a good, caring man, one who would always treat her and the children in his care with kindness, but she knew firsthand how deceiving appearances could be. Once more her promise to herself came back to her.
I will not give him my heart. I will share it with the children, but I will not allow him the opportunity to wound me.
The councilman approached. “It is a black day,” he said.
“It is indeed.” After a moment of awkward silence, she then asked. “How are the children?”
“Well, thank you. Or, rather, as well as they can be, given what they have just gone through.”
She nodded in agreement. At least he is attuned enough to realize such. Little Grace had looked so fragile, so restless when she’d seen her. Even a baby knows when something isn’t right, and as for Kathleen, what emotions lie behind those vivid blue eyes? Does she know the circumstances surrounding her parents’ deaths? Was she present in the house during her sister’s birth? Rebekah sighed. For all her upcoming marriage would be lacking in love between herself and her husband, she hoped she’d be able to bring a measure of peace, of happiness to the children.
Councilman Nash claimed the place beside her and offered his arm. Rebekah hesitated to take it at first, but knowing that her father was watching, she did so. She then returned her attention to those coming to pay their last respects.
State Delegate Nash entered the room. After making his way past the casket, he came to where Rebekah’s father stood. The bitter rivals shook hands, exchanged words, then stood shoulder to shoulder so the rest of the room could witness their unity.
Sickened by what she considered a display of political grandstanding, Rebekah chanced a glance at the man beside her. Their eyes met only briefly, but he looked exactly as she felt.
He, too, knows what it is like to be the child of an ambitious man, she thought.
The councilman turned his attention back to the queue of mourners. So did she. The heartbroken public was now filing past the slain leader.
The hour passed in strained silence. Then the president’s body was prepared for the northbound train. Citizens who had not made it inside in time for the viewing, or those who simply wished to continue the pilgrimage, would follow the horse-drawn hearse to Northern Central Station. Lincoln would lie in state in Harrisburg, Philadelphia, and a host of other stops before reaching his final resting place in Springfield, Illinois.
“Are you going to the train station?” her fiancé asked her.
She’d been told by her father that she was to go only if Councilman Nash did so. “Are you?” she asked.
“No.”
“I see,” she said. “Neither am I.”
Both her father and his were remaining, as well, evidently to make certain the lingering citizens had opportunity to speak with their state representatives if they so chose. To Rebekah’s surprise, many did. They came expressing their appreciation that in a time of national tragedy, the two rivals could put aside their differences for the good of the nation.
When the news began to circulate of their engagement, the councilman suddenly looked very uncomfortable. The news held no joy for her, but he had instigated this event. Why, then, was his jaw so tight? Why was he tugging at his tie?
“Are you unwell?” she asked.
“This day should be about President Lincoln,” he muttered.
“Indeed.”
He looked as if he were about to offer something more but hadn’t the opportunity. Rebekah’s friend Elizabeth Wainwright and her husband, David, came then to greet them.
Apparently the councilman was well acquainted with the couple, who both worked at a local newspaper—Elizabeth as a sketch artist and David as a journalist. He asked them about their recent time spent in Washington.
“We were there to cover General Grant’s return from the war and Lincoln’s celebratory speeches,” David said. “We had no idea we’d be witnesses to his assassination.”
Rebekah gasped. “You were at Ford’s Theatre?”
Elizabeth nodded grimly. “We were seated in the second row. John Wilkes Booth landed on the stage right in front of us.”
Rebekah felt her fiancé’s arm tense. She wondered if he was imagining the horrific scene just as she was. “To come that close to such an evil man...” she said to her friends. “What did you do?”
Elizabeth exchanged a sad glance with her husband. “At first I thought it was part of the play,” she said. “I had never seen Our American Cousin performed before.”
“But I had,” David said, “and I couldn’t figure out why they had added gunfire and an additional character to the scene. I recognized Booth right away. I had seen him act.”
“I could tell he had injured himself leaping from the presidential box,” Elizabeth said. “He limped as he ran from the stage, but I still didn’t recognize what had actually happened until someone shouted that the president had been shot.”
“We realized then,” David said, “that we were no longer witnessing a theatrical production, but an act of murder.”
Rebekah drew in a shallow breath. She thought of her time spent serving as an army nurse. She’d seen the cruel damage a bullet could do to many a soldier, but she’d never witnessed a shooting actually take place. Cold chills ran down her spine. “What did you do?” she asked.
David told her how panic had erupted, and described the devastating scene that followed when the president was carried away. Elizabeth shuddered at the memory. Rebekah watched as David slid his arm protectively around Elizabeth, steadying her, offering unspoken encouragement. His wife drew strength from the action. The two of them seemed fashioned for each other, complete.
How Rebekah longed for the same. Yet I stand beside a man I barely know and will have little opportunity to learn about before I am bound to him for life. A shiver again ran through her.
The councilman must have felt it, for he laid his free hand atop hers. The gesture was not as intimate as the comfort Elizabeth had received, but the touch was gentle and conveyed compassion. Rebekah allowed herself to look into his face. Dare she think he would not always be a stranger?
The councilman turned back to David. “Will you return to Washington?” He asked.
“No. Our editor wishes us to remain here, to cover the effects the assassination is having on the city.”
“I see.”
“In fact,” David said, “if I may be so bold, I’d like to interview you. It would be good to have a councilman’s perspective.”
“I don’t know how much help I could be...”
Listening, Rebekah marveled. Her father would never turn down an opportunity to get his name in the paper, and yet Henry Nash humbly hesitated. She was so struck by the difference that she couldn’t help but smile. When he gave her one in return, her heart quickened.
Elizabeth pulled her aside.
“I believe you have made a very wise match, Rebekah,” she whispered.
“You do?”
“Indeed. Henry Nash is a respectable, honest man. David has told me so.”
“He knows him well?”
“He’s met with him several times. According to him, the councilman is a committed public servant. He has a true heart for the people of Baltimore.”
A true heart... Rebekah couldn’t explain the feeling that flittered through her own heart upon hearing those words. Yes, she was still nervous about becoming a bride, and she was still resolved to guard her heart carefully, but was it possible—might she indeed one day have the kind of marriage of which she had always dreamed, one grounded in love and mutual respect?
It seemed almost impossible...and yet she desperately hoped so.
* * *
The moment he saw her smile, Henry felt as though a dagger had been run through his chest. He knew he’d given Miss Van der Geld all the indications that tenderness lay at the root of this match on his part. He had held her hand. He had smiled at her. He was slowly convincing her that he wanted her, when in reality what he truly wanted was the protection her father and his connections could offer him and his sister’s children.
And he was more and more certain he was going to need that assistance. Detective Smith had entered the room. After circumspectly navigating the lingering crowd, he once more singled out Henry. As soon as the reporter and sketch artist bid their farewells, Smith stepped forward.
“So this is the lovely bride,” he said.
The detective was eyeing his fiancée in a way that any gentleman would not like. Henry protectively threaded her arm through his. Though disinclined, he introduced them.
“May I present Miss Rebekah Van der Geld...”
Smith nodded cordially. She very promptly thanked the man for his dedication to duty in locating John Wilkes Booth.
“Rest assured, miss,” Smith said. “Booth and every other traitor who dared conspire against our beloved late president will soon be brought to justice.”
Every traitor... Henry’s collar felt even tighter than before. He dared not tug at it again, however, for fear Smith would read something into the gesture.
Theodore Van der Geld then came to them. Smith acknowledged him with a nod.
“Rebekah, I am leaving now,” her father said. Then he turned to Henry. “Councilman, would you be so kind as to escort my daughter home?”
A blush immediately colored her cheeks. Henry wasn’t certain if she appreciated the request or was disconcerted by it. Likely the latter. A carriage ride unchaperoned? So Van der Geld trusts my character, but she does not. Wise girl. He drew in a shallow breath. Tell her, his mind insisted. Tell her you’re doing this to save your own skin. Tell her before she gets hurt.
Detective Smith was watching the entire exchange with a look that made Henry even more uncomfortable. What should he do? If he spilled the entire story here and now, he’d embarrass Miss Van der Geld in front of everyone. She deserves better than that.
“Well,” her father said. “Off you go.”
Henry was not in the habit of taking orders from others, but not knowing what else to do in the present moment, he offered Rebekah his arm. “Shall we?”
The blush on her cheeks darkened, but she allowed him to lead her toward the building’s exit. Outside the rain had stopped, but puddles covered the cobblestone.
“If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch the carriage,” he said.
“Oh, that isn’t necessary. I don’t mind walking.”
So they started off. Henry had to resist the urge to look behind him, to see if Smith was following them.
“I cannot help but think of Mrs. Lincoln,” Rebekah said. “Of the pain she must be suffering. Her entire world has been turned upside down.”
Henry forced himself to focus. “I have heard she will remain in Washington for the next few weeks, until she is better able to make the journey back to Illinois.”
“Her heart must be broken.”
“Indeed.”
“I wonder if she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him.”
“I suppose not,” he said. And neither do you.
She looked up at him. Henry saw a myriad of emotions reflected in her eyes. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear. He couldn’t take it any longer. Stopping in his tracks, he looked her square in the eye.
“Miss Van der Geld, there is something that I need to tell you—”
A passing news boy clipped his confession short. “Extra! Extra! New conspirator named! Right here in Baltimore!” A crowd rushed to devour the details of the latest suspect’s fate. Most of them had already pronounced sentence.
“There’s another one to hang...”
“...and it can’t happen soon enough.”
In his haste to grab the latest edition, a particularly bullish man was barreling down on Miss Van der Geld. Henry pulled her aside and shielded her from contact. Secure in his arms, she was close enough that he could smell the lavender water she had combed through her hair, close enough that he could feel her trembling. When she looked up at him, however, eyes wide with innocence and fear, Henry did not see her. He saw Kathleen.
Her future and that of her sister’s is still so uncertain.
“You were saying?” Miss Van der Geld asked.
Henry drew in a breath, once more letting anxiety override his conviction. Steering her away from the burgeoning crowd, he said, “It isn’t important right now. The streets aren’t exactly safe. I’d best get you home.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_923837b7-0214-5c9b-a2d0-ba1111f4e7ae)
Five days later, alone in his study, Henry scoured the latest edition of Harper’s Weekly. The front-page article, entitled “The Murder of the President,” featured a full formal sketch of John Wilkes Booth. He looked poised and polished, much like he had the day Henry had offered him a ride.
Revulsion tempted him to toss the paper aside. Fearful curiosity, however, kept him reading. The article gave an overview of Booth’s family, acting career and known associations. “His companions have been violent secessionists,” the publication read, “and there are doubtless many others involved to a greater or less degree in his crime.”
Henry’s heart beat faster. The article went on to describe just how the assassin had carried out the murder, citing evidence of deliberate preparation. Details included everything from a small viewing hole bored through a door panel to the seats in the presidential box, which “had been arranged to suit his purpose,” either by himself, or “by some coconspirator.”
He read further. “The villain succeeded in making his escape without arrest. In this he was probably assisted by accomplices...”
Henry laid the article aside and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew full well what would happen to those accomplices if they were caught. The local papers were reporting on the vast number of believed conspirators currently incarcerated in the Washington city jails.
Next he picked up the Free American. “As the search for Booth and his fellow conspirators continues, authorities turn their eyes toward Baltimore.” The paper for which David Wainwright and his wife worked spelled out what Detective Smith had hinted at during the funeral processional and what the paper boy had proclaimed loudly from the street corner. A man by the name of Michael O’Laughlen, a twenty-four-year-old Baltimore engraver and former Confederate soldier, had been arrested.
“According to authorities,” the paper said, “O’Laughlen was visited by Booth here in the city the day before the assassination.”
Breath quickening, Henry read on. “O’Laughlen insists in a statement that Booth did indeed come to Baltimore to convince him to join his plot, but he told the actor he wanted no part of any such activity. He then told Booth to leave...”
Henry was fully aware of what Booth had done then. He climbed into my carriage, and I drove him to the train station. It is only a matter of time before Detective Smith realizes this.
Or did the man already know? Was that why he’d boarded Henry’s carriage the day of Lincoln’s funeral procession? Does Theodore Van der Geld know, as well? Anxiety chilled his blood. It wasn’t only the thought of his potential political protector turning against him that caused it. It was the memory of Rebekah Van der Geld’s eyes the day he had sheltered her from the crowd.
What will Miss Van der Geld think if she learns her fiancé is a lying conspirator? Henry then wondered if his indiscretion could jeopardize her freedom. As the national outrage over Booth’s actions continued to grow, everyone from the stable owner who’d sheltered the actor’s horse to the widow who owned the boardinghouse where he had met with fellow traitors was now in custody of the authorities.
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