The Intrepid Mrs. Bishop

Chapter 1

Sunday, November 2, 1862

"Now, Miss Amanda, when the major knocks on the door, you just let Tom answer," Molly said. "A fine lady like yourself doesn't need to be answerin' her own door."

"I've done it thousands of times," Amanda pointed out. "I'm not to proud to open my own door."

"No, ma'am, you aren't, and well we know it, but this is a special day, and this time, just let Tom answer."

"Very well."

The longcase clock in the parlor struck a quarter to the hour of two, which meant that Matthew Davis would be knocking on the door at any moment. Amanda shifted in her chair, smoothed her taffeta skirts, and tried to look cool, calm and collected, but without much success. She fussed with her hair, caught back in a chignon on the back of her neck, smoothed the black lace collar on her gown that was her main concession to being in half- mourning, and forced herself to take deep, calming breaths. In- out- in – out…

At the sound of a knock on the door, she almost jumped up, but subsided when McGuire, dressed in his best uniform with his corporal's chevrons gleaming on his sleeves, came through from the dining room where he'd been helping Molly set the table for Sunday dinner.

"Good afternoon, Major," Amanda heard him say. "Congratulations on your promotion, sir."

"Thank you, and the same to you. Amanda tells me that you've appointed yourself her striker."

"Aye, sir, that I have; with winter coming on, there will be plenty of wood to be chopped and ashes to be hauled out, I'm thinkin'."

"Indeed."

McGuire stepped aside and Matthew, looking much less worn than he had the previous day, stepped into the room in his second-best uniform. Amanda rose to greet him, thankful that the fingerless black lace mitts she wore concealed the perspiration on her palms.

"Good afternoon, Matthew," she said formally, although what she really wanted to do was run into his arms and be embraced.

He crossed the room in three long strides, took both of her hands in his, and bent to kiss her on both cheeks.

"So formal," he teased as his breath, scented with mint, brushed her cheek. "Are we going to be on our dignity today, or can we just be Matthew and Amanda?"

The kisses and his words were all the encouragement she needed to drop the formality; she put her arms around his waist, tucked herself under his chin, and sighed happily.

"Now that's better," he said, as he kissed the top of her head. "As much as I'd like to stand like this all day, my sweet, I want to see the full effect, so …"

He gently urged her to step back, took both hands in his, and cocked his head to study her gown. It was made up in gray taffeta striped with russet brown, the perfect fabric for the autumn months, with jet black buttons on the bodice and pleated accents on the long sleeves. He dropped her hands and made a twirling motion with one finger, and she rotated completely to show him the back, the movement causing the skirts to sway. As they did, they revealed black kid slippers to match the black lace collar.

"Beautiful," he said, as he took her hands in his again. "I'm so glad I'm the first one to see you out of blacks, Amanda, well, except for the people at your church today."

"I didn't go. The church has been a hospital since right after Second Bull Run, so we've been holding services in the Manse, and only a few of us will fit in the parlor. I stayed home and knitted socks. I've been knitting socks ever since you left, in fact."

"Have you? And how many pairs of socks have you knitted?"

"Five. It would have been more, but that was all the yarn I could find. It seems that you're not the only man with a great need for new socks, Matthew."

"I'm all right for now; I have two pair that don't have any holes at all, in fact."

"Oh? And how did you manage that?"

"Took 'em off a graycoat that didn't need 'em anymore. Not off his feet, just out of his pack. I draw the line at stripping dirty socks off a dead man's feet unless I'm desperate, which I wasn't at that point. So now, with the ones you knitted, I'll have a clean pair of socks for every day of the week."

"Yes, you will."

"Did you ever get your gown from Madame Dumont's?"

"Not yet. It's for the holidays, so I told her there was no hurry. I've been for several fittings, though, and she said it should be ready about the middle of this month."

McGuire appeared in the doorway. "Sir, ma'am, dinner is served," he announced.

"May I take you in to dinner, Mrs. Bishop?" Matthew asked, offering an arm.

"I would be delighted, Major Davis."