She still didn’t like the idea of his company, but she did need to apologize for her behavior at the funeral. And if spending the evening discussing his new job or whatever else he is now involved in will lift Mother’s spirit, I should do my best to comply.
“For Mother’s sake, then,” Elizabeth said.
Trudy offered her a gentle smile. “I’ll help you dress, if you like. I’ll roll your hair for you.”
Elizabeth appreciated the offer. Tonight’s supper made it impossible for her to go about in her gown and morning robe or even a cotton wrapper, but the thought of putting on that black taffeta dress again made her tremble. She had not worn it since the funeral.
In tune to her thoughts, Trudy moved toward her. “It’s only David, Beth. He won’t be expecting witty conversation.”
Nor will he offer it, she thought, for he had always been a quiet man, seemingly content to observe life rather than participate in it. So unlike his brother. “He probably won’t stay long, will he?”
“No. Probably not.”
* * *
By the time the supper hour approached Elizabeth was properly dressed, and Trudy had managed to roll her mangled mass of unruly red curls into a low conservative bun.
“Shall we now go downstairs?” her sister asked.
Hiding a sigh, Elizabeth complied and followed Trudy to the dining room. Their mother had set the table with their finest dishes, minus the silver. The wall sconces were glowing. A vase of freshly cut daffodils was on the table. Trudy fingered one of the bright yellow petals and smiled once more.
“I picked them earlier this evening,” she said. “They just opened.”
“That was kind of you,” Elizabeth said.
Her sister was well aware that daffodils were her favorite flower. She appreciated the gesture, but all she could think of was the last time there had been food and greenery in this room.
We covered the table with pine boughs. People hovered about speaking in whispered tones. David kept staring at me, looking as though there was something he desperately wished to say but could not bring himself to do so.
The kitchen door creaked, and her mother stepped into the room. Elizabeth noted her face looked a little brighter than it had the past few weeks.
“The table looks lovely, Mother,” Elizabeth said.
Jane Martin set the soup tureen on the table, then kissed her cheek. “I am pleased that you approve.”
The doorbell rang, and Elizabeth’s stomach immediately knotted. She knew exactly who was now standing upon her front porch. Since Trudy had run to the kitchen to fetch the bread, Elizabeth’s mother urged her to the door.
“That’s him, Beth. Please, welcome him while I see to the last of the food.”
Her knees felt weak. She had no idea what she was going to say when she opened the door, but forcing her feet forward, Elizabeth went to greet him.
Elizabeth slowly opened the door. Even with the civilian clothing and chin whiskers, his resemblance to his brother stole her breath. The same nose, the same forehead, the same smile.
David appeared to be just as taken aback by the sight of her.
Yes, she thought. I look dreadful.
Being too much of a gentleman to actually say such a thing, he quickly removed his hat. “Hello, Elizabeth.”
“David...”
He hesitated, as though he wondered if he should greet her with a kiss of the hand or a brotherly peck on the cheek. He did neither. He just stood there, the awkwardness between them very apparent.
Finally, she had the presence of mind to step back and invite him inside. As he crossed the threshold, she offered to take his hat.
“Thank you,” was all he said.
Elizabeth laid it on the table and tried desperately to think of something to say to him. It was no use. All her thoughts revolved around Jeremiah. Just when Elizabeth felt tears gathering in her eyes, her mother stepped into the foyer. She cheerfully embraced David.
“How good it is to see you again. Trudy tells me you have taken a job with a newspaper here in Baltimore.”
His face brightened. “Yes,” he said. “The Free American.”
“Oh? I’m not familiar with that one. Is that one of the penny presses?”
He chuckled slightly at her mother’s question. “We aim to be a penny press, but I suppose as of now we’re more a halfpenny.”
“Well, with you there, no doubt it will grow to be as big as...as...” Her mother was searching. “What was it you and Jeremiah were always reading?”
“Harper’s Weekly.”
“Yes. That was it.”
Elizabeth winced at the mention of Jeremiah’s favorite paper. David even pronounced it the same. Hahpuh’s Weekly, as if there were no r’s in a Massachusetts man’s alphabet. “Congratulations,” she managed, forcing herself to enter the conversation. “I supposed, though, you would return to your position in Boston. You mentioned that quite often when we worked together.”
The smile he had given her mother faded. A look of uneasiness took its place. “My job at the Journal was only as an assistant,” he said. “I didn’t get to do much writing. Here I will.”
“I see.” She tried to think of something else to say but came up empty.
After another long pause, her mother directed them toward the dining room. “Well, won’t you join us, David? Everything is on the table.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
They moved to do so. Trudy also welcomed him with a hug, while Elizabeth stood silently by. As soon as her mother offered David the seat at the head of the table, however, it was all she could do to keep from crying out. No! That’s Jeremiah’s seat!
He had claimed that position on the very last evening they had dined together. Elizabeth could remember every detail. He had been the one to ask the blessing. It was his fingers that brushed hers when the serving dishes had been passed. Now David said Grace and offered her bread and butter. The pain cut so deep it was all she could do to remain at the table.
“Tell us about your reporting,” Trudy insisted. “Have you been given any interesting assignments?”
He told them about an article on the former provost marshal, but Elizabeth was only half listening. What route the conversation then took she could not say, but all of a sudden she heard David ask, “Have you heard from George?”
Elizabeth looked up just in time to see her mother and sister exchange hesitant glances. Evidently certain that David’s question was one of brotherly concern and not a reporter’s inquisition, her mother then answered.
“I’ve not heard from my son since the summer.”
“Not since Gettysburg,” Trudy added.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Elizabeth’s eyes returned to her plate, her throat even tighter than it was before. Her brother’s letters had been few and far between since he’d joined the Confederate army, but he had always managed to send word. The more time that passed, however,