Boz and Washington recognized and hailed him as he climbed down from his quaking mount. The black men were attempting to plow a trampled field. Washington guided the plow; Boz pulled it in place of a horse. That spoke of how completely the farm had been stripped.
He found Gus in the kitchen, listlessly churning butter. Her plain dress, its color gone in repeated launderings, fit her tightly at the waist; she was plumper than he remembered. Haggard, too, especially around her blue eyes.
"More than half the townspeople ran away when the Yankees came," she said after she got over the surprise of his arrival. "A good many who stayed took in enemy wounded. I did. I had one captain here, a polite fellow from Maine who was covered with bandages but acted very lively. He refused to let me help change the dressings. I had Boz watch him. He wasn't hurt. The bandages were borrowed from someone else. I have no idea how he got them, but he must have put them on and run away to avoid fighting. I turned him out and replaced him with a pair of real patients. New York boys. Irish — sweet and gentle and never in battle before. One left after eight days. The other died in my bed." She resumed the slow, tired churning.
"I don't know why we hang on here," she said, sighing. "Stubbornness, I guess. And if I left, Charles wouldn't know where to find me. Have you — have you seen him?" That catch in her voice said much about her emotions.
"Once, before the spring campaign heated up." Seated at the sun-drenched table with a cup of tasteless imitation coffee, he described Billy's escape from Libby.
"Remarkable," she said when he finished. "But Charles would do that. The old Charles." The odd statement puzzled Orry. "I imagine he hasn't had time to ride up this way. Have you had any further word from him since the escape?"
"None. But I'm sure he's fine. I watch the casualty rolls carefully. I haven't seen his name." There was no reason to add that many of the dead and lost were never identified.
His encouragement lightened her mood a little. "I can't tell you how startled I was to see you on the back porch — Reverend Manchester. You do fit the role."
"Ah, but the reverend is protected against worldly emergencies — and Yankees." He showed her the knife concealed in his boot. "I also have a used but serviceable navy Colt in my saddlebag. Let me tell you why I'm here, Augusta. I need your help — that is, I need the help of one of your men, to escort Madeline to Washington."
Weary astonishment: "Washington? Have you forgotten which side we're on?"
"No, but I must get her out of Richmond, and with Grant entrenching all around Petersburg, it will be much easier and safer to send her to my friend George's home in Pennsylvania, where my sister is — the one married to Billy Hazard — than back to South Carolina."
He explained more of his plan. She readily agreed to help, even insisting that Boz accompany him back to Richmond to assist Madeline with her packing. After Orry ate some stale bread and homemade cheese — the invaders had graciously allowed Gus to keep one milk cow — he and the freedman prepared to leave. "You ride first while I walk," Orry said to Boz. "That nag can't carry two of us."
It was hot. He fanned himself with his hat, then shook Gus's hand. "I'll bring Madeline back as soon as I can prepare the documents she'll need for safe conduct. It may take as long as two weeks."
It took less than one because of continuing pressure from the highest level. Although the department was inundated with work — the news from Georgia was bad; Sherman had advanced to a position near Marietta and at any hour might assault Joe Johnston's Kennesaw Mountain entrenchments — Benjamin wanted Orry to set everything else aside and concentrate on his wife's departure. Seddon told Orry he personally sanctioned it.
The Mains and Boz set out for Barclay's Farm at the end of June, while the war news continued to worsen. Davis, a burned-out man, informed the papers that he had sent Retreating Joe Johnston all the reinforcements that could be spared. Now, whatever happened at the doorstep of Atlanta was the general's responsibility, the general's fault. At the same time, Davis tried to persuade journalists and the public that because Grant had neither crushed Lee nor captured Richmond, the Virginia situation was improving.
No one believed him.
The Reverend Manchester once again traveled to Fredericksburg with Scripture, knife, and .36-caliber navy Colt. He and his companions rode in an old buggy whose cost Orry didn't care to think about. For replacing a broken axle, the wheelwright had charged five times the prewar price.
On a Wednesday, the second-to-last day of the month, Orry and Madeline said good-bye on the front porch of the farmhouse. The weather was appropriate to the occasion. To the northwest, onyx clouds tumbled and spun, speeding over the gutted land through a strange pearly sky. The wind picked up. The first spatters struck the dust of the dooryard. Orry could hardly think of all he must say in a short time.
"— once you're in Washington, use some of the greenbacks to telegraph Brett."
"Yes, we've gone over that, darling. Several times. Boz will see me safely to one of the Potomac bridges — I'll be fine." She touched his face. "Somehow you must send me news about yourself. I'll worry constantly. At least you haven't said anything more about that mad idea of field duty."
"Because I've done nothing about it. There never seems to be time." There was deliberate deceit in the answer, the words chosen and arranged to allay her fear. He hoped she didn't see through the trick. He added quickly, "I'll send a letter by courier when I can."
She came closer, strands of wind-loosened hair blowing around her strangely sad little traveling hat — a sort of cap with a single black-dyed aigrette, which the wind bent and nearly broke. Tears filled her eyes.
"Do you know how much I'll miss you? How much I love you? I know why you're sending me away."
"Because it's unwise for you to stay in —"
"Thousands of other women are staying in Richmond," she broke in. "That isn't the reason — though I love you more than ever for pretending it is. You've been protecting me." Dust blew around them; the landscape whited out in the glitter of lightning. "Your superiors believe Ashton's accusation. Don't bother denying it; I know it's true. A War Department official married to a Negress — that's intolerable. So I must be gotten rid of. Except for missing you so terribly, I'm not especially sad to leave. I've never been happy as a lady-in-waiting at a court of bigots."
She gave him a quick, intense kiss. "But I do love you for trying to spare me the truth."
The clouds burst, the rain roared down. Tall and bleak as some Jeremiah, he glowered at her. "Who told you?"
"Mr. Benjamin, when I chanced to meet him on Main Street day before yesterday."
"That slimy, dishonorable —"
"He didn't say a word, Orry."
"Then how —?"
"He cut me dead. Saw me coming and crossed the street to avoid me. Suddenly I understood everything."
He flung his arm around her, wracked by wrath and sorrow. "God, how I hate this damn war and what it's done to us."
"Don't let it do anything worse. To give your life now would be squandering it for nothing."
"I'll be careful. You, too — promise me?"
"Of course." Shining confidence returned to her face as they huddled on the porch, which had grown dark. "I know we'll come through this and be back together at Mont Royal sooner than either of us expects."
"So do I." He eyed the rain beating on the great raw stumps of the vanished trees. "I must go."
"I'll wait until it lets up a little."
"Yes, good idea —" He was wasting time on commonplaces. He swept his arm around her again and kissed her for nearly half a minute, with passion. "I love you, my Annabel Lee."