you did not see him?”
“He did not ask to see me.”
“Of course not,” her mother said. “A proper gentleman would seek to speak only with your father, but you should have been gracious enough to greet him. Your father is very disappointed that you did not.”
Disappointed. How often Rebekah heard that word? He was always disappointed with her in some way, and he always let it be known. What punishment would she receive this time?
“I am sorry, Mother. Truly I am. I am just so—” Dare she say it? What good would it do to admit she was afraid?
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “You do not wish to marry him, do you?”
Hope sparked inside Rebekah. She understands! Perhaps there is a way out of this after all! Perhaps she will speak up on my behalf! “No,” Rebekah said. “I don’t. I don’t love him!”
“Of course you don’t,” her mother said expressionlessly. “You must learn to do so.”
The spark died. I must learn? “Mother, how can I—”
Susan stopped her with an upturned hand. “This is the way it is done, Rebekah. This is the way it was for me, for your grandmother and for her mother before her.”
And you are miserable, Rebekah desperately wanted to say. Just once, won’t you intervene?
Her mother stood and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “Things will go much easier if you simply accept this,” she said. “Your father has firmly decided the matter. He will not change his mind. Now wash your face and come downstairs. You know how he dislikes tears.”
Yes, I know. They only make him angrier. Resignation washed over Rebekah in suffocating waves. So this is to be my lot in life: a politician’s wife. I must mind my tongue, create an appropriate home and play the gracious hostess at all gatherings, just like you. And as for the children, his nieces and however many more may come in the future... I must manage them accordingly, for the voters will be watching.
Anger roiled inside her, and so did hurt—two emotions she realized she must master. Rebekah had seen what those same feelings had done to her mother. For twenty-four years, Susan Van der Geld had pined for the affection of a hard-hearted man. Continual disappointment had withered her, and as a result, she’d grown cold and aloof to her own children.
Rebekah steeled her resolve. I will not do so. I will not let him change me. I may be forced to give Henry Nash my life and my youth, but I will never give him my heart.
* * *
Henry did his best to forget all about Rebekah Van der Geld as he rolled toward the Baltimore Harbor. Long before her father and his had stirred up such trouble, Henry had intended to spend the day visiting his constituents.
He hoped sticking to his original plan would take his mind off the unfinished business with the Van der Gelds. He made his rounds along the wharf. Then, upon reaching Eutaw Street, he stopped at the Branson Boarding House. Two Federal soldiers stood idly by the front steps. Henry acknowledged them, then knocked on the door. The proprietor’s daughter, Maggie, a young woman of about twenty or so, answered. Henry had spoken with her once before.
“Good afternoon, Miss Maggie. Is your father home?”
“I’m afraid he is not,” she said, “but may I help you?”
Henry explained why he had come. When Miss Branson learned he was willing to listen to her complaints, she invited him inside. A boarder had taken up residence in the formal parlor, so she offered Henry the dining room. Once they were seated, she wasted no time.
“Can you do anything about those soldiers?” she asked.
“Which soldiers, miss?”
“The ones outside. There are always two or three roaming about. Martial law hasn’t been good for business, you know.”
Miss Branson’s family, as well as many others, had been forced to contend with the presence of scrutinizing Federal troops since the beginning of the war. Most of the soldiers Henry had encountered were honorable peacekeepers. There were always a few bad apples in every barrel, though, and knowing that, he was concerned for Miss Branson.
“Have the soldiers been harassing you?” he asked.
“Indeed so!”
He listened as she recounted a host of irritants, none of which, however, crossed the bounds of illegality or impropriety. Thankfully, it seemed the men were simply an unwanted nuisance, a sentiment shared by many in the city.
“Their presence drives away potential boarders,” she said. “They make it appear as though something treasonous is going on in this house. The war is over. They should move on now.”
“I should think a great many changes will be occurring in the future,” Henry said, “although I wouldn’t expect the troops to vacate anytime soon. I will speak to my fellow council members about your concerns, however.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I would appreciate that. I will let my father know you called.”
“Please do, and tell him that if he has any other concerns, he should contact me.” He handed her his card.
Miss Branson smiled. “Thank you, Councilman Nash. My father will be pleased to know you stopped by. He voted for you for city council. He hopes you will run for state legislature.”
Henry appreciated the compliment. Wishing Miss Branson a good day, he stepped outside. The soldiers she had complained about were nowhere to be found. Satisfied, Henry continued on.
He visited several other citizens that day. Some were cheering General Grant’s victory. Others were anxiously awaiting the return of sons who had joined the Confederate army and were currently being held as prisoners of war. All, however, seemed eager to put the war behind them.
As he returned to his carriage, he caught sight of a familiar face. Henry was fond of the theater, and one of his favorite actors, John Wilkes Booth, was just about to cross his path. He’d had the privilege of meeting the man early on in the war at a social gathering.
“Mr. Booth,” Henry called out, “How good to see you again.”
It took the actor a second, but when he recognized Henry, he smiled. “And you, sir. Are you managing to keep the local leadership in line?”
Henry only laughed. “Are you in Baltimore for a performance?” He wasn’t aware of any such productions, but perhaps as busy as he’d been with his nieces, he had simply failed to notice the advertisements.
“No,” Booth said. “I only came for a visit.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Henry said, remembering. “You are from Maryland, aren’t you? Harford County, is it?”
Booth nodded as if pleased he knew such a detail. He reached up and shook Henry’s hand. Two women made eyes at the debonair, mustached man as they passed. Booth noticed them, smiled somewhat flirtatiously, then returned his attention to Henry. “As of now, I am on my way back to Washington.”
“Oh?
