CHAPTER 1
March 1866
Philadelphia, PA
Ben McKenzie gripped the edges of the oak bureau and stared at himself in the beveled mirror. A bead of sweat glistened on his brow. Perpetual dark circles underscored his eyes.
Piano music drifted up from the parlor he’d vacated minutes before. Dressed in yellow silk like the first flower of spring, Olivia Edmondson would likely be surrounded by admirers as her nimble fingers slid across the keys. But surely, she’d notice his absence all the same. After all, they’d agreed their fathers would announce their engagement this evening.
He shouldn’t have allowed himself to be nudged into a proposal. Not yet. He had no business making a promise when he had another promise long overdue.
Ben loosened his royal-blue cravat from its tight bind on his throat. His head throbbed. Stupid of him to think today would be the time to cut back on his medicine. Medicine? That’s what the doctor called it, and so did Olivia and his family. He knew better.
His bones seemed to grate against one another like nails on a chalkboard. Twenty-two hours since his last dose. Maybe if he only had a few drops, half a teaspoon full of laudanum, it would be enough to make it through the evening.
His hand shook as he picked up the small bottle from the lace doily.
Every pore in his body stretched forth in anticipation of the sweet taste of the brown liquid on his tongue. No. He flung the bottle to the floor. The glass clunked on the tightly woven carpet and rolled against the desk leg. His breath caught as he waited to see if the stopper would hold or if the liquid would ooze out. When it held, the crest of his tension eased back a notch.
Curse the doctor who’d ever given him the first dose of the tincture of alcohol and opium.
Lying there exhausted beyond endurance in that hospital cot in Wilmington, with his legs knotted with scurvy and curled beneath him and his stomach as useless as a shriveled prune, Ben had been willing to swallow any concoction the nurses offered. He’d been deaf to the hiss of the serpent which slithered its way into his veins.
Ben’s fingers curled into a fist atop the bureau. A whole year he’d been home. Regaining his health. Working for his father. Courting Olivia. But falling short of everything he’d vowed to do when he’d hobbled out of the hell on earth that had been Andersonville.
How could he expect to get a grip on his need for laudanum and bring an end to the war in his soul if he didn’t show himself a man by keeping his promises?
His chest squeezed as if someone had tightened a vise around it. He strode over to the window and threw up the sash, desperate for fresh air. Beyond the barren maples and winter-dead lawn, the western sky glowed orange above the tree-topped ridges. Maybe freedom lay somewhere out there. He had to getout of the house and away from Philadelphia. He couldn’t marry. Not yet. Not until he set things right.
He stared down at the bottle still lying on the carpet. Surely, half a teaspoon wouldn’t hurt. Just enough to abate his symptoms until after he went downstairs and set matters straight with Olivia.
With leaden feet, he walked over to the desk, bent down, and picked up the bottle. His palm tingled against the cool glass. He could almost hear the hiss of the serpent eating away at everything he had been. This is how it’d been last time he’d abstained. Except he’d made it for a whole week. Then he’d given in for one sip, followed by another, and another…until the fetter was fully fastened again.Dear God, no. Don’t let it be so.
He marched back to the window, opened the bottle stopper, and drained the contents onto the bushes below.Lord, help me to be the man You’ve called me to be.He slung the bottle as hard as he could.
“I’ve got to talk to you.” Ben pressed his hand to Olivia’s arm and guided her away from a circle of ladies clothed in a colorful array of silk, satin, and taffeta.
Olivia’s tiered silk skirt swished against the floor as she moved beside him. “I thought you’d gotten lost, my love,” she whispered from behind her fan. A web of lace daisies confined her carefully coiffured hair. “I played Chopin, and you missed it.”
“I heard every note.” He nodded to her mother as they passed.
“You two hurry back, now.” Cheeks rosy, Mrs. Myrtle Edmondson beamed at them. Scattered streaks of gray highlighted her curls. A woman willing to feed any stranger at her door, but likely to throw anyone who disappointed her daughter into a social dungeon. “Mr. Edmonson is warming up for his speech.”
His sister, Evelyn, walked up to her with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and shot Ben a puzzled frown. Just like Evie to discern his mood.
Across the room, Ben’s father glanced up from his high-back leather chair where he sat amongst a cluster of business associates. The war had aged him—gray at his temples, deeper creases at the corners of his eyes, and a paunch above his trouser waist—yet still he poured himself into his newspaper company, from dawn to dusk, determined to leave a legacy to the only son he still claimed and the grandchildren to come. An unlit cigar wiggled beneath his heavy mustache as he tapped his silver pocket watch and shot Ben a knowing look. To him, the engagement was another step toward installing Ben as a full partner in hisPhiladelphia Sentinel.
“Can’t this wait until after dinner?” Olivia followed Ben through the French doors. “I was ready to tell Mrs. Palmer about my plans for my wedding dress. Hers last year looked like a hand-me-down.”
“It can’t wait.”
Cool evening air drifted in as he led her onto the white-columned side porch. The sunset was now a rosy pink capping the stunted peaks of the Alleghenies. From the yard, crickets and katydids chirped their melodies, while someone’s fiddle rendition of “Lorena” floated out from the parlor above the hum of chatter.
Romantic. Only, that was the opposite of what he was looking for.
Carrying herself with perfect poise, Olivia inhaled and curled her gloved hand around his bicep. “You impatient boy. If you wanted a moment alone with me, all you had to do was ask. No need to make it sound so serious.” She pivoted in front of him. Her lips parted in expectation.
He stuttered to a halt. Four years ago on this very porch, he’d kissed her for the first time. A young officer home on furlough from war, under the spell of spring and the most charming belle he’d ever met. He didn’t even know that man anymore. “It’s not that.” He took a step back. There was no easy way to say it. “I…I need to postpone the engagement.”
