That seemed to rein them both in, if only for the moment.
They scowled at each other, tense, still. I thought about Tim’s words. Was he right? Did Pinkerton want me for himself after all, despite his long marriage, despite never laying a hand on me? It seemed impossible, but why else would he react so fiercely? His wife had suspected us, had warned me away. What if she was right?
If that was the case, there was no telling what our punishment might be. Real fear clawed its way up my throat.
With a glance at the closed door, Pinkerton hissed, much more quietly, “You both stay put until I decide what to do with you.”
“Whatever you decide,” said Tim, his voice velvet over steel, “know this. You can’t make me stop loving her. No matter what you do. And more important, you can’t make her stop loving me.”
“She doesn’t love you, you fool.”
I was surprised to find myself saying, “Yes, I do.”
I had many doubts—whether Tim was really in love with me or just the woman he thought I was, whether our love could survive in peacetime after being forged in the fires of war, whether marriage was the right path for us at all—but I didn’t doubt that I loved Tim Bellamy, all the way at my core. Standing next to him, under assault, it seemed to me I could never have felt any other way.
Stopped short, Pinkerton thumped his cane against the bed frame. I flinched at its loud report. Then he turned to go.
As he passed me, he said quietly, “I thought better of you.”
As much as I wanted to respond with the same words, I knew snapping back at him would only make things worse. As if things could be worse; as if the world weren’t already in tatters.
All I could do was say, “I’m sorry, Boss,” as he left the room.
At least he had the presence of mind to shut the door softly behind him instead of slamming it, just in case the wrong ears nearby were listening.
When the boss left, the air went with him. It was deadly silent with just the two of us there. We looked the same from the outside—same people, same day, same clothes—yet everything felt different.
Tim said, “Sorry?”
I took a look at his beloved face. He looked stricken, hollowed out. Did he think I was taking Pinkerton’s side over his? The last thing I could bear was anger between us two.
“Sorry it’s come to this,” I said, turned, and threw myself into his arms.
He resisted for a moment, holding himself still, but then relaxed into me, and we held on for dear life.
? ? ?
Three days later, we received word of our fates. A messenger brought two papers, not just one—a bad sign from the start. The only good news would have been conveyed in a single message to both of us. Different messages meant different orders.
We stared at our twin telegrams from E. J. Allen, both reading in silence, then looking up. I knew whatever happened, my heart would be broken.
My telegram said:
STAY PUT
The extravagance of the extra letters was like a slap in the face. He did not want me to miss his seriousness.
I looked at Tim. His blue eyes had gone cold, resolute. He was holding part of himself back again. Although I didn’t know the exact wording of his telegram, I knew the thrust of it.
“When do you leave?” I asked.
He folded the telegram into a tight square and creased it with his fingers. It disappeared into a pocket of his trousers. “Tomorrow morning.”
I was unsurprised. “He at least gives us that, then.”
“He gives us nothing but what we take. It’s only temporary, Kate. He can’t keep us apart forever.”
Only one question remained. “Where?”
“Richmond.”
I felt like a weight had been dropped on my chest. For a moment, I convinced myself I had heard wrong, that there must be some other city that sounded almost the same, but my false hope didn’t last long. I could fool others but never myself.
“Good God,” I said, tears already wetting my lashes.
He reached out to fold me against his chest, and the last of my resistance was gone. I dropped my telegram to the floor. I closed my eyes tight and surrendered to his embrace.
“Shh, shh,” he said. “It’s hardly more dangerous than here.”
“No! It’s far worse! He’s not—you don’t think he’s”—I forced myself to say the worst—“trying to get you killed?”
He shook his head. I could feel it above me. “Maybe. Whatever he wants, it’s all the same. We’re the best he’s got, Kate. He’s not going to sacrifice the country for a petty jealousy.”
“You really think he’s jealous?”
“Unfortunately, I do.”
I couldn’t agree, but neither could I disagree, not with the thought of Pinkerton’s fury so fresh in my mind.
“Though I suppose I’m biased,” said Tim. “I don’t see how anyone could know you and not love you.” He pulled back a moment, cradling my cheek in his hand. He shot me a rueful smile, but I couldn’t return it. I couldn’t muster the humor.
He went on, “Anyway, right now, I suppose it doesn’t matter why. I know how to follow orders.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Don’t I? If he says it’s what the country needs, whatever his motives, I’d bet money he’s not wrong. I’ll go to Richmond, as he commands, and meet up with Hattie—he says she’s already there—and we’ll do everything we can to finish this godforsaken war.”
“I need you here.”
“You want me here.”
“Yes. I want…” Then my words finally failed me, and I pressed my face up to his for a kiss. Even in our sadness, the spark of passion was there. The fire had not gone out.