Love, Come to Me(16)

“Without mercy?” Lucas Caldwell echoed humbly. “But shouldn’t we try to—”

“Man is made pure by war, scourged of shiftiness and putridness,” Emerson stated flatly. “In some ways, war is good for man. That—and the rightness of our beliefs—is why I encouraged our young men to fight.”

Suddenly a new voice cut through the air with deceptive softness. “You’re wrong . . . sir. Man is robbed by war . . . of his humanity.” All eyes turned to the corner, where Heath Rayne still sat with deceptive laziness threaded through his posture. One side of his mouth lifted in a mocking echo of his usual smile. “Easy,” he continued even more gently than before, “easy for a man like you to tell the young ones to fight, when you’re too old to tote a rifle and your son is just a babe. Easy to throw them into the lions’ den when they’ll believe anything that’s wrapped up in the flag.”

A low rumbling of voices grew after the initial shock had faded away. Lucy twisted her hands in her apron, clenching the folds of it tightly as she stared at Heath. She was filled with sympathy and acute fear for him. She understood why he couldn’t keep quiet any longer, but she was afraid that he had just bought himself trouble at doubled value. No one dared to tell Emerson, one of Concord’s most beloved and respected men, that he was wrong. And no one, least of all a Southerner, implied that Emerson was a coward. Oh, what have you done to yourself? she wailed silently, wishing she could turn back time and stuff a handkerchief in the stubborn Confederate’s mouth before the words had been said.

“War is a test of man’s integrity,” Emerson said, his elderly visage pale with what could have been either anger or upset. “An apprenticeship. By subjugating the Rebels, the North proved its moral integrity. It was worth the loss of our men, every one of them.”

“That’s right, Mr. Rayne.” Daniel plunged into the fray, his mustache barely moving as he spoke stiffly. “Good men, who died because of Southern arrogance, starting with the secession of South Carolina and going right on through—”

“South Carolina seceded,” Heath interrupted, “because you toed a line and dared us to step across it.”

“As I said,” Daniel cut in with a small half-smile, “Southern arrogance. The fact is, South Carolina did step across that line, with the full support of the rest of your people, even though you all knew what would happen if you did. And now we have good Northern men lying in graves—”

“Yes, and twice as many Southern graves—” came the swift rejoinder.

“Graves of uneducated Rebels. As Mr. Emerson once said, the whole State of South Carolina is not worth the death of one Harvardian,” Daniel sneered, and then fell silent.

Heath’s face paled. His eyes glittered with a full draught of the pride that had kept his people fighting long after their cause had been lost. But his hands, formerly clenched into hard fists, relaxed and loosened. “Lot of good men in South Carolina,” he pointed out, and then he smiled oddly. “Even a few who were Harvardians . . . Mr. Collier.”

And with that, he left amid an uproar of raised voices, the orderly discussion becoming a tumult of people wanting to be heard. Lucy fled through the kitchen and out the back entrance of the building, nearly tripping over a cement dismounting block as she crossed over to the side of the street. “Heath . . . stop. Wait, please . . .” He stopped and then turned slowly to face her, his expression wiped clean of emotion. The branches of the bare elm trees cast streaks of shadow across his face. “You were right,” Lucy said breathlessly, her eyes dark and troubled. “A lot of what you said was right—but you’ve got to be careful about what you say. You know how they feel up here about the war, and how they feel about Mr. Emerson. No one ever tells Mr. Emerson outright that he is wrong.”

“Someone needs to.”

“You’ve only seen one side of him tonight. You don’t understand what a good, kind man he is. You should see him stopping to talk to little children, and pitching in to help whenever it’s needed, and doing so much to benefit the town. He is kind and benevolent, and the most loyal—”

“Please,” Heath snapped, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “No lectures on him.”

“The point is, he is the most beloved citizen of Concord. My Lord, if you sat and thought for hours, you couldn’t have come up with a better plan for making them want to run you out of Concord—why, Daniel and his friends—”

“If they do, it’s nothin’ to you, honey,” he said, his voice light and unconcerned, his jaw rigid. Suddenly he seemed so alone, so terribly alone that Lucy felt a sharp ache of compassion she couldn’t hold back. She reached out and laid her small hand on his upper arm in a soothing gesture. Under her fingertips the muscled surface was smooth and hard as steel, shaking slightly with the force he exerted over it.

“What are you doing here?” she asked softly, the sound of her words a sweet hum in the stillness of the night. “Why have you come so far away from where you belong? You should be at home with your family, with people who care for you—”

“No,” he interrupted suddenly, jerking away from her touch. A laugh caught in his throat. “Don’t playact with me. It’s not helping.”

“I’m not playacting. You helped me once. I wish I could help you.”