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.
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