She could almost hear the rest of the sentence, though it remained unspoken...and he didn’t come back. Her heart ached for the little boy. Tenderly she stroked his dark hair. It was the color of coffee, just like her employer’s. “The war is over now, Charlie,” she said gently. “No one is enlisting anymore.”
The sound of approaching hoofbeats drew both their attention back to the window. “Well, here’s Mr. Carpenter now,” she said.
Charlie stretched to the glass, pressed his nose against the pane. “He looks hungry,” he said.
No, she thought, he looks frustrated. His visit to the Federal garrison must have been less than satisfactory.
“I’ll get him some tea!” Charlie proclaimed.
Trudy was touched by his eagerness but thought it wise to rein it in. “Let’s give Mr. Carpenter a moment to settle.” The last thing she wanted was for him to think they had been waiting by the door, eager for his return. The boy, however, waited just long enough for her employer to dismount. Then he tore away from the window.
“Charlie!” Trudy moved to catch him but it was no use. Mr. Carpenter hadn’t even time to step completely into the building before Charlie had commandeered a cup of hot tea, raced back and held it up to the man.
His left eye brow arched. He looked at the boy, then at her. A frown came over his face. Trudy’s heart withered inside, partly for Charlie’s sake, the rest for her own. Does he think I prompted the boy’s actions? That somehow I’m trying to soften up his stance on children?
He looked back at Charlie. “No, thank you,” he said.
Trudy noted the heartbreaking expression on the boy’s face as he lowered the cup. Even though she knew it would only increase Mr. Carpenter’s perturbation, she stepped in.
“I think what Mr. Carpenter means is that he appreciates your tea, Charlie, but would rather you give it to your mother instead.”
She looked back to her employer. His hard expression softened. Apparently he realized how his words had come across to the little lad. “Yes,” he said quickly as he leaned forward on his cane. “You see, I had a meal in Larkinsville. In fact...” He reached into his pocket, drew out a biscuit. “Here. I couldn’t finish this. You take it.” He then offered Charlie an awkward smile.
The boy was thrilled and quickly accepted the biscuit. With a smile of his own he tottered back to his mother. Mr. Carpenter then returned his look to her. His eyes were dark and probing. Trudy couldn’t quite decipher the emotions she saw in them but she could read a storm brewing, not one of anger necessarily, but something...
“I didn’t put him up to that,” she said bluntly.
The man blinked. Given the confused expression now on his face, Trudy decided it best to be completely forthright. “I am sorry for any inconvenience I have caused you in coming here, but I promise you my scheming days have ended.”
He drew in a breath, hesitant to acknowledge the former feelings to which she was referring. She knew, however, he understood. She could read that in his eyes.
“It’s over and done with now,” he said. “I have made my position clear. If you will accept it then we will speak no more of it.”
Accept that he never wanted a family, that he didn’t want her? She would be lying to herself to say his rejection didn’t still sting, but yes, she had accepted it. “Very well,” she said.
He offered her a curt nod in return.
Remembering Robert, Trudy then told him about the information she had taken down for the paper. “I laid it on your desk,” she said.
“Excellent,” he said. “I’ll wire the notice next time I return to Larkinsville.”
She wanted to ask him how today’s venture had gone, but she knew him well enough to know that if he had received good news from the garrison commander, he would’ve proclaimed it. If the news was discouraging, he’d stew on it for a while, until he figured out a way to remedy the situation. So with no further business pressing, Trudy turned and went to check on Charlie and his family.
Give her marks for candor, Peter thought as he watched Miss Martin walk away. And for grit. There was no doubt she had put in a long, hard day. Her face showed it, as well as her clothing. Her stained cotton skirt was sweeping the floor. The back of her apron was tied in a lopsided bow. It was stained, too. No doubt it had come loose on her more than once and she’d stopped whatever she was in the middle of in order to secure it. He wondered then why he noticed such details.
I’m a journalist, he told himself, and in truth, I admire her work ethic.
She was fast becoming his right-hand man—or woman, rather. The paper currently in his hand, the one she had given him, bore testimony to that. Not only had she gathered Robert Smith’s physical description and basic information for publication but she had also thought to include a personal note, something only Smith and his wife would have known—his pet name for her, Chickadee.
Peter would have thought to ask something of that sort but it surprised him that Miss Martin had. She was definitely staff material—efficient, free-thinking...but it comes at a price. He stopped that thought, reminding himself then that the matter had been settled.
Still his mind betrayed him. In another time, in another place, he told himself. He was nearing forty. A man at his age with his physical limitation and lack of gentlemanly polish didn’t get that many looks.
Shoving the thought away, he went in search of Reverend Webb. Unfortunately he’d have to tell him how futile his efforts with Lieutenant Glassman had been today and prepare him for the unlikelihood of any real help from the man or his soldiers in the future.
He found the preacher at the well, a bucket of water at his feet. Jack Zimmer was with him. This time so was his wife. Darkness was falling but Peter could see how awkwardly the woman’s clothing hung on her frame. Mrs. Zimmer wasn’t dangerously thin like some of the other women he had come across in these parts, but he wondered what her shape had been before Philip Sheridan’s army had set fire to the land.
Peter nodded to her and her husband.
“Ah, Peter,” the reverend said, releasing the pump handle. “How was your venture into Larkinsville? Have you returned with good news?”
Peter blew out a breath. “I’m afraid not. The lieutenant has no idea as to the whereabouts of the rest of our supplies.”
The reverend’s dark mustache drooped. Beside him, Zimmer kicked the dirt beneath his worn-out shoes. “I told you, you ain’t gonna get no help from him.”
“What about another shipment?” the reverend asked, as usual doing his best to look ahead to possibilities. Peter hated to dash his hopes but he had to be frank.
“Wiring for supplies isn’t the problem,” he said. “In fact, I did that today. Getting them here without having them...intercepted...is.”
Zimmer nodded affirmatively. “That lieutenant is too busy protecting the carpetbaggers to care about the real citizens of Virginia.”
The reverend sighed. “That may be, but we will just have to keep praying.” He picked up bucket and turned for the church. Peter watched him go. He wouldn’t discourage the man from praying—that, of course, was his job.
But more is needed than prayer, he thought. Zimmer’s right. Lieutenant Glassman isn’t going to be much help. I’ll have to concoct some sort of scheme of my own to make certain this second delivery arrives safely.
He’d