| Brent was still at the table, slouched back in a chair, looking pleasantly sated as he pushed the last bite of a flapjack around a plate of syrup.
Travis scowled at him and he returned a smug grin. “Your flapjacks beat all, Miss Amy,” he drawled. “I’m surprised Lottie would even let you step foot in her kitchen much less teach you her secrets.” Amy smiled a little. “Mama didn’t think I ought, but it looked fun and I like learning new things and we don’t have so many to help as in the old days. Besides, it wasn’t Lottie. It was Travis’s Evie taught me.” Travis’s scowl turned into an eager smile. “Then let’s have ‘em! If I had to tell one thing I miss about home, ‘sides the folks of course, it would be those flapjacks of hers.” It took only a few minutes for Amy to fry up a plateful of golden hot cakes and set them in front of Travis. He shoveled in a mouthful and then winked at her. “Mmmmmmm. Evie taught you right. Evan George know about this?” Brent guffawed. “Maybe that’s why he was making eyes at her at the depot when we all first went off to war.” Travis grinned at the memory. The depot was filled with leave takings, with fathers and mothers and wives and sweethearts and children all smiling and crying and hugging. Over the brass strains of “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” it was hard for the boys with new brides on their arms to hear those last tender farewells. Travis and Brent and Wade looked proud and handsome in the uniform of the 14th Virginia Infantry, Company D, The Chesterfield Central Guards. Carrie, having been Mrs. Talbot for all of three days, was clinging to Brent’s arm, looking up at him with tears of pride and tenderness. Travis knew Sarah would have little tenderness for him this morning. He had just the night before withstood her emotional pleas for them to be married before he left. Now she was pensive and calm, coolly offering her cheek for his kiss. When he turned to tell Amy goodbye, he noticed someone was watching her. “Don’t look, Amy, but you have an admirer.” She glanced behind her and then snapped back around, her cheeks reddening. “Evan and Amy,” Wade teased. “Amy and Evan.” “You hush, Wade. You know I never so much as spoke to the likes of him!” Evan George was standing on the other side of the platform. Like most of the enlisted men, he wore his own clothes and brought his own rifle and carried his few other possessions rolled up in the blanket that would serve as his bed. His worn-looking mother and five rabbity sisters were at the station with him, but Travis didn’t see his pa anywhere. That was no surprise. “Rich man’s war, poor man’s fight,” Elam George had said around town, thrusting out his belligerent cleft chin. “I don’t see no use in throwing away my boy just so’s some rich folks can keep their darkies.” His other son, Ezra, was lame and not able to be much help around the plot of land the family half-heartedly sharecropped, so it was little wonder he didn’t want sturdy Evan going off to war. His lack of sympathy for the Cause didn’t make him any more popular with folks than he had already been. He couldn’t have been less popular. Out of all the Georges, only soft spoken, deferential Evan was spared the disdain of Petersburg society. Like the slaves, the tradesmen, the other small farmers, he was looked on as merely a part of the human machinery that made their lives pleasant and easy. He was spared their scorn and their notice. Travis had noticed him from across the platform. For an instant, their eyes met, then Evan ducked his blond head and turned to talk to his mother. Travis finished off his flapjacks and turned in his chair. “Hey, Amy, maybe you make another batch of these next time Evan’s home and he’ll come calling on you.” Amy’s face paled. “Evan was killed almost two months ago.” Travis sobered. “We saw him in town a couple of months ago, didn’t we, Brent? When we were bringing those dispatches from the Captain.” Brent nodded. “His unit was waiting to be moved out west, I heard.” Amy laughed faintly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, I guess you two think I’m quite the silly child now.” Travis gave her an understanding smile and got her to sit at the table beside him. “You’re just all in, that’s what’s wrong, and worried about Wade, too.” “It’s not as if Evan was one of our friends or anything,” she said, her face coloring, “but he was fighting for The Cause like all the rest of our county boys.” “Don’t you fool yourself, Miss Amy,” Brent said. “No matter how the generals talk, it’s Evan George and his like keeps our army going. He may have only been the best of a bad lot ‘round here but, if he was like the enlisted men in our outfit, he was a big part of what we’ve been able to do yet and I thank him for it. God rest him.” They sat silent for a moment, then Amy cleared her throat. “I’m sorry about Pol, Travis. I know you and Wade loved him.” “Thank you, Amy. That’s kind.” “Where’s Cass? He’s not– He didn’t–” “No, he’s fine yet. I left him with my unit while I was bringing Wade home. There aren’t enough good horses these days and they needed Cass, and I couldn’t see hitching him to a wagon anyways. It’s strange, though, thinking of one of them without the other.” Travis traced his fork through the congealing syrup on his plate and then smiled suddenly. “Remember when you came down to the pasture with me to see them right after they were foaled? When Wade’s pa and mine first gave them to us?” Amy smiled, too. “They were pretty, weren’t they? Pure white and as like as two peas. I never did know how you and Wade knew which was which.” “And you and Sarah wanted us to name them ‘Ice’ and ‘Snow.’” Sarah had refused to go with him that day, hadn’t wanted to get “all mussed and horse smelling” when she was expecting callers. He didn’t bring that up just now. Besides, Amy hadn’t minded at all, and they’d had a pleasant afternoon. “Well, really, Travis, if you two hadn’t have been studying the Greeks and the Romans in school back then, you never would have lighted on such outlandish names.” “But who wouldn’t have been struck by Mr. Macaulay’s poem about the famous twin warriors, Castor and Pollux? So like they were, no mortal Might one from other know; White as snow their armor was, Their steeds were white as snow, Never on earthly anvil Did such rare armor gleam, And never did such gallant steeds Drink of a mortal stream.” “‘Earthly stream,’” Brent corrected. “Old Brentwood made us all learn that one when we were studying on the Trojan war and the Argonauts and such.” “But in the stories,” Travis said, “ it was Castor who died.” They fell silent, and the crow of a rooster announced the morning. Brent roused himself. “Much obliged for the fine breakfast, Miss Amy. I guess Carrie and the baby will be up and about by now. I’ll just get home and give them a surprise.” Amy took the hand he offered. “You won’t recognize Frankie. He’s quite the little man now.” Brent grinned. “He was a year old this spring. I expect he’ll have taken over the planting and such for me by this time.” He pushed back his sun-bleached hair and shoved his kepi onto his head. “Don’t you forget our train leaves early day after tomorrow, Travis.” “You all taking the train back?” Amy asked. “What about the wagon?” “When the quartermaster let me have it, he said some of the boys would be wanting it for a supply detail or some such once we were down here,” Travis explained. “I didn’t listen all that well at the time, but I expect they’ll come get it the next day or so.” “I’m sorry you have to go back so soon. I was hoping you could spend a little time with your pa and us home folks. You know Evie will want to spoil you a while.” “They need every man of us now, Amy. Gettysburg wasn’t too kind to us, I’m afraid, and thinned our lines a mite.” “But the rest of the 14th is camped outside of town here. Won’t you be joining them?” “Likely will in time. For now, me and Brent are ordered back up to Martinsburg.” He dredged up a smile. “But we’ll whip those Yanks yet, don’t you worry on that account. You just see to Wade for us. And, uh, tell Sarah I’ll be back this evening.” Amy nodded and Travis put on his own cap. “Coming, Brent?” *** “Don’t be weary, traveler Come along home to Jesus” As she sang, Evie wrung out a snowy clean sheet, stretched it over the clothesline and then stretched herself. Now that Travis and Titus were gone to war, the wash was less than half what it had been, but she’d have welcomed more work to do so long as her boys came along with it. “My head get wet with the midnight dew Come along home to Jesus Angels bear me witness, too Come along home to Jesus” She stretched up to hang another wet sheet, wishing for another inch or two on her not-quite-five-foot frame. She didn’t want to bother Marse James about having the line lowered. Besides, Titus had often offered to fix it for her, but she always told him if it were any lower the sheets would drag the ground and she’d only have them to do over. Micah had always teased her about her height, telling her she could walk under a baby lamb and not muss her hair. But he had called her his little brown dove and all manner of like sweetness, too. She didn’t know if she missed him more or less when she saw his image walking around in Titus. The boy sure hadn’t gotten his height from her or his light hazel eyes. He had Micah’s fiery temper, too. That had been plain from his first breath up through their last talk before he left two years ago. They had been right in this spot, Titus sitting at her feet as she took sun-warmed laundry off the line. “You want me to stay a slave my whole life, Mama? That it?” “I ain’t saying free ain’t better than slave. Ain’t saying I don’t pray the Lord let us all free one day. I’m just saying I been a slave longer than ever you have and I seen lots of masters, and I bless God He set me down here. And set you down here with me. You ain’t never knowed a whippin’ I ain’t give you with my own hands. You ain’t never and you ain’t gonna.” “You can’t say that, Mama. Ain’t no way to be sure of that. Not in this life.” “Marse James ain’t like that and you know he ain’t.” “And when Marse James dies?” “Then we belongs to Marse Travis.” “And supposin’ he dies, too? Then we likely gets sold south, who knows where? And you know they ain’t never gonna let us stay together.” “Then, that happens, we trust God to look after us still.” “God!” Titus snorted. “They white God! What’d He ever do? Maybe He did set us down here where it’s some better than other places, but how about them folks out in the fields, worked till they drop, beat to a inch of they lives, maybe past that? What about them? Why He set them down in places like that?” “I don’t know that, boy. I just don’t know. But I do know God never told any man to beat another or take his family from him or work him past what he can do or feed him slops the pigs won’t touch. And any man who does will have Him to answer to one day.” “One day? Mama, what about now?” “Now we pray God sends us a Moses and lets our people go.” “And work for Marse James for nothing.” “We get plenty to eat, a snug house to live in, warm clothes and, more than all that, I get my boy with me. It’s more than a lot of folks get in this world, black or white. Plenty of white folk, women and children, too, works long and hard in them cotton mills just to keep they body and soul together. Why should I hate Marse James, boy, when he ain’t been nothing but good to me?” “He keep you a slave, mama. How that’s being good to you?” “You listen to me, Titus. I was born a slave. It may be the good Lord won’t see fit to set me free some while yet. Maybe not till I stand before His own face. Till then, I got to live in the world I was set down in. I got every right to be glad when somebody, anybody, treats me kind.” Titus snorted. “You ever seen a woman with her child sold away from her?” Evie demanded, turning his sullen face up to her. “Have you?” “I heard it told enough.” “Well, I seen it! It almost was done to me!” “You ain’t never told me that,” he grumbled. “P’raps not, but it’s so. I told you I belonged to Mister Benjamin Ablewhite back when you was born. It appears Missus Benjamin Ablewhite didn’t much care for noticing as how my child’s eyes wasn’t so black as she liked to see, and she thought sure Marse Benjamin had some part in your makings. I can’t say that it weren’t so ‘bout some of the other slave children born ‘round that time but, God’s truth, your daddy was Micah like I always told you, and we was married before God Hisself by Marse Benjamin’s old ‘Postle, nearly three years before you came. “I swore blue to Miz Ablewhite that was so, but wouldn’t hear me. She told Marse Benjamin either he sell us both off right then or she was going back to Charleston and her money going with her. Next I know, you and me both on the block. All that time I hear the white men talking ‘bout needing a cook or a housekeeper, but not no baby child. Or, the worse ones, saying they like to see a slave gal proved to be a good breeder. I was glad then your daddy was dead and didn’t have that grief on him.” Titus drew his breath hard and his hazel eyes were red with hatred. “I saw it all around me that day, boy. Women begging for they little ones until they was stopped of a sudden with a whip or a blow, and the children screaming for they mamas and you crying, too, to hear ‘em. It ‘bout ran me crazy not knowing what to do, and I prayed hard and fast, I ain’t lying. Then I seen Marse James looking at me, asking did they have any slaves what could tend a new baby. “He was in mourning, but that was more told in his eyes than his clothes. The man there showed him some of the women and then came to me. Marse James asked me my name, polite like, and, for one, didn’t ask to see my teeth or feel my body to see was I sturdy enough for his liking. He ask me could I cook and keep house and how old were you and could I feed another little one, born just two weeks before. “I told him I could do all that and more, would he buy us both. He paid near a thousand dollars for us, ‘most twice what any of the others brought when they was sold that day. Poor Marse James, he had his grief then. He took me over to the house, showed me the room he meant us to have, give me his keys, and then put his hungry mite of a baby boy in my arms. “‘I’ll have to depend on you now, Evie,’ was all he said, and then he shut hisself up in the parlor with his missus all laid out for burying the next day. It took awhile, but that mourning finally left him. The kindness never did, and I weren’t about to make him sorry he picked me that day. And if you can’t see something to thank him for out of that, you ain’t seen enough of what slaving is like for most folks.” “It ain’t right, Mama. It ain’t right and I ain’t gonna sit quiet for it.” “And what do you think you gonna do if you free, boy? Sit on your trifling behind the day long? A man got to work to eat and don’t think you gonna find no boss more fair than Marse James, free or slave.” “I don’t need no massa nor no boss, Mama. I want what’s my own and that’s all.” She looked down her nose at him. “And how you gonna get what’s your own? Steal it?” “You got no right to say that to me.” “Then how?” “I’ll work. Like any man.” “For a boss, I ‘spect.” He grinned a little then. “Yeah, Mama, for a boss. For a time.” She sat on the ground beside him and hugged him in her arms. “Your mama couldn’t be no prouder of you for wanting better than we got. But don’t think it gonna come easy. Free or slave, you gotta work, you gotta sweat, you gotta earn your way. And the better you do, the less some folks gonna like it. I ain’t just talking white folks neither. Some of our own won’t like to see you make something of yourself, but you go do it anyhow. God give you a strong body and a quick mind and neither of them was just for show. Whether He set you free or keep you here, you use both of them to do what He made you for. I can’t ask no more.” Titus pulled a long blade of grass from the ground and chewed it for a while, watching the dusky sky in silence. “I’m going, mama,” he said finally, and he took a quick glance around the empty yard. “The battle’s bound to take me north sometime and then I’ll just keep on.” “Titus, no!” She, too, glanced around the yard. “Do you want to die?” Her voice was little more than a fierce whisper. “Or do you want to get beat near to death and then brought back here in chains? You think you can just walk off from a whole army?” “I don’t know how I’ll do it exactly, but I’ll know my chance when it come.” “Titus, you can’t–” “Mama, I will.” He took both of her hands. “I got to. I know you wants me to stay here and wait till the Lord see fit to let me free. Maybe that His way for you, but not me. All’s I can hear is His sweet freedom calling. This might be all the chances I get.” “And what about Marse Travis?” He tossed her hands into her lap and pushed himself to his feet. “Marse Travis.” He curled his lip in disgust. “Marse Travis have to black his own boots then, I ‘spect.” He cursed Travis and Evie jumped up and slapped him across the mouth. He stepped back from her, pressing his fingers to the quick swelling in his lip. “He already have everything else. Why should he have my mama, too?” Evie’s mouth was tight and her black eyes snapped as she looked up at him. “First off, boy, you use the name of God like that again where I hear it and I’ll skin you out!” Titus hung his head. “Mama, I–” “Second thing, you are my child. You the only one. I love Marse Travis, ain’t no secret, but you are my own flesh and your daddy’s too, and ain’t nobody got more of my heart ‘cept my own Lord.” “I’m sorry, Mama.” “Now, I ain’t asked about Marse Travis except to know what you think he gonna do if you walk off from him one day.” “I don’t know, Mama. I just don’t know.” “I know it ain’t been easy for you, honey, growing up alongside him and seeing him have everything you want and having next to nothing yourself, but you can’t say he ain’t been good to us both a long while now, too. I don’t like to see you hating him now.” “I can’t help it, Mama. Not when things is like they is.” She hugged her arms around him again, squeezing hard. “If you set to go, I ‘spect you’ll go. If it’s God’s voice you’re hearing call, I ‘spect He’ll look after you right enough. I just don’t like the notion that, unless they carry you back here in chains, I won’t never know did you get to freedom.” “I’ll send word somehow.” He lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug, laughing softly. “I’m gonna see the north star, Mama. It’s so bright, I can almost see it now.” She held him with all her strength, letting her tears soak into the rough wool of his jacket. Then she let him go. “Where to go–” Her voice quavered and, blotting her eyes on her apron, she began the verse again. “Where to go I do not know Come along home to Jesus Ever since He freed my soul Come along home to Jesus” She wrung out a tablecloth and hung it next to the sheets, wondering as she did every day where her boy was and if he’d yet made good his bid for freedom. He’d been home with Travis back in June and it was obvious then that, even as a soldier’s body servant, his travels had taught him much about the world outside Petersburg. He hadn’t lost any of his determination, though, and she expected she’d eventually get word from him. Somehow. “I look at de worl’ and de worl’ look new Come along home to Jesus I look at my hands an’ they look so too Come along home–” “They look the same to me.” She caught her breath at the voice and then felt two familiar arms enfold her. “Marse Travis!” She turned to him and he hugged her again. “Oh, Marse Travis, you’re home! Are you hungry? Titus bringing your things? You had your breakfast yet? I can make you some of my flapjacks if you’ve a mind.” “I was just up to the Palisades and had ‘bout more than I could hold.” “You went there first? Before you saw your pa? ‘Course you’d be wanting to see Miss Sarah.” She laughed softly. Then, seeing his somber expression, she grew wary. “Where’s Titus?” “I had to bring Wade home. He was hurt bad at Gettysburg.” “Lord help the lamb, but where’s Titus?” “I think Titus’d want me to give you a message.” Travis smiled a little. “He’s seen the north star.” “Great God of mercy,” she breathed and then she put both hands over her mouth and her tears came afresh. “Oh, don’t be angry at him, Marse Travis. Please, don’t be angry.” Travis knit his brows and shrugged. “After Wade was hurt, I’m not sure exactly when, he just slipped off. It’s been nearly a month, so I expect the patrollers didn’t get him. I think I’d’ve heard if they did.” He let out a deep, weary breath. “Anyhow, I wasn’t going to send anyone after him.” “Thank you for that, Marse Travis. He didn’t mean no harm.” “Well, don’t you fret over it, Evie. It’s done and over. I thought we treated him tolerable well here, but I guess I didn’t know much at that.” She squeezed his hand as if she would press understanding into him. “A man, any man, want to be free.” He clasped her hand in both of his own and she thought for a moment that he was going to ask her something, but he only nodded. “I suppose he does at that. Things are changing, ready or not.” “You come on inside, honey,” she told him, caressing his tired face. “Your pa’s over at the bank now, but he’ll be home this afternoon. You rest till then.” *** The sun had sunk behind the military hospital in Poplar Lawn Park when Travis woke. He looked around the room with its familiar gray-blue wallpaper and the mirror frame his mother had embroidered before he was born. This was his room here in his father’s house. His house. His home. The evening breeze nudged the tasseled curtains and brought the long-familiar sounds of Adams Street to his ears. Next door, Mrs. Winston’s cook was banging pots and pans and singing at the top of her lungs as always. When she had first come to work there, when Travis was still a small boy, he had wondered at the lilting unknown language of her songs and why anyone but a Yankee would have an Irish cook. Now her songs were as much a part of his memories as Evie’s, even if her rough brogue was as opposite the honied warmth of Evie’s voice as were the two women’s skin colors. All of it together was part of this place. Part of home. He nestled deeper into the bed. It was wide and soft and clean and he had no desire to leave it, but the smell of ham and gravy and Evie’s light biscuits changed his mind for him. He stretched into a sitting position and pushed himself off the edge of the bed. After another thorough stretch, he took a minute to wash his hands and face at the basin by the window and then went down to the kitchen. “I thought the smell of supper might get you up out of that bed.” Evie smoothed down his damp hair. “I see you already cleaned up. Your pa’s at his desk. You run tell him it’s ready if he care to come set down.” She took a hot biscuit from the basket by the stove and insisted he take it. “To tide you over till your pa come sit.” Travis wandered out of the kitchen, through the dining room and down the hall to his father’s study. “Pa?” He tapped on the mahogany door and then pushed it open wide enough to stick his head inside. He loved this room, maybe better than any other room in the house. This was his father’s room, lined with the books he had carefully collected over his lifetime, books that held the wisdom of five continents and several hundred years. Just now, his father was pouring over his ledgers, no doubt trying to calculate the effect of the Confederacy’s galloping inflation on the holdings of his bank. “Pa?” “Well I thought I heard you stirring up there. Come in.” Removing his spectacles, James Markham came from behind his desk and hugged one arm around his son’s shoulders. Like his hair, his eyes were gray as winter sky, but there was only warmth in them. “Glad to have you home a while, boy. Have a good rest?” “Evie says supper’s on when you’re ready,” Travis said around a mouthful of biscuit and his father chuckled. “If you’ve left any for me.” Travis managed a slight smile and the arm around his shoulders tightened. “Tell me about Wade, son.” The buttery biscuit in Travis’s mouth was suddenly dust dry, and he had to swallow hard to get it down. It was a moment before he was able to answer. “I guess Evie told you he was hurt. He’s bad off, Pa. A shell came down right where he and Pollux were. Broke Wade’s back when he got rolled over. Brent had to shoot Pol. I guess his back was broke, too.” Again Travis’s throat tightened and he made a vague, helpless gesture with his hands, and his father pulled him close, just as he had when Travis was a very little boy. Travis stayed there for a moment and then pulled away. “It’s been more than a month since Wade was hurt. Since Pol went. You’d think I wouldn’t be such a baby over it by now. Guess being home softened me right up.” “There’s no shame in grieving for a friend,” James told him. “Even the four legged kind.” “I know, Pa. It’s just everything is–” He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked over to the window, his back to his father. “Sarah’s broken our engagement.” “She has?” “She says she’s afraid I’ll end up like Wade. Or killed.” “She’s scared, son. And upset with what’s happened to Wade. She’s young and hasn’t had much hard times to live through, but she’ll come around. Be patient with her and see if she doesn’t.” Travis nodded, a quick, jerky motion, but did not turn around, did not speak. “Are you scared, Travis?” “Marse James?” “Coming, Evie,” James called and then went over to the window and put his arm around Travis once more. “We’ll talk about this some more after supper, son. You and Sarah have had an understanding a long while now and you know she has her ways. Be patient and see if she doesn’t reconsider in time.” In time? Travis bit his lip and followed his father into the dining room. A young man wearing a flamboyant Zouave uniform and sporting impressive blond sideburns was lounging in one of the chairs, waiting for them. “Good evening, Mr. Markham.” He jumped to his feet with an engaging smile. “Evie said you wouldn’t mind if I stopped to take supper with you.” James paused almost imperceptibly and then shook his hand. “Of course not, Cameron. You’re always welcome. How’s your father?” “Put out with me as always, sir.” The young man laughed and then shook Travis’s hand as well. “Heard you were home, Travis. Thought maybe you could stand a little cheering up and I’m just the fellow for it.” Travis gave him a crooked smile. “Good to see you, Cam. What are you doing home?” Cam shrugged. “One thing and another. Due back to my unit day after tomorrow though.” “You boys had best sit down or Evie just might just throw our supper out.” “No, sir, Marse James,” Evie said as she brought in a platter of ham and sweet potatoes. “Prices these days and things you just can’t get no more, I’d be selling this fine meal to those as would appreciate it.” “I wish you’d come on over to our place, Evie,” Cam told her as he took his place. “Ma’s had five or six cooks the last three years or so and none of them can hold a candle to you. You wouldn’t have to put up with such thanklessness with us. Mmmmm, those sweet potatoes are an absolute poem.” “You go on with your sweet talk, Marse Cam,” she chided, but she served him an especially juicy slice of ham. “Snake,” Travis muttered, but Cam just grinned back at him and asked Evie for extra gravy. Dinner was pleasant enough. Cam was always entertaining, and the swaggering brashness Travis often found grating seemed tonic to him this evening. By the time their plates were empty, he was surprised to realize he was actually in good spirits. “We’ll finish our talk after you and Cam get through visiting,” James said after he had excused himself from the table. “That all right with you, son?” “Sure, Pa. That’ll be fine.” “In trouble?” Cam taunted once Travis’s father had retired to his study. “Not with Pa anyhow.” “Sarah?” “Nothing more confounding than a woman.” “Bah. Your problem is you take ‘em all too serious.” “And I suppose, having achieved the vast age of twenty-five, you’d know all about that.” Cam grinned. “How about we go see what trouble we can scare up with the boys?” “My pa wants to talk to me and then I ought go see Sarah. That is if she’ll see me.” “What are you wearing there, boy? Breeches or pantalettes?” “You should talk,” Travis retorted, sneering at the baggy pantaloons of Cam’s uniform. “I swear, when you do get to where you can sprout chin whiskers, they’ll come in iron gray.” “I got plenty of chin whiskers,” Travis growled. “Well, I don’t wonder you keep ‘em shaved close like that. Bad enough you act like an old man. Don’t need to be looking like one, too.” “Let me be, Cam. You know I never was much for your sort of fun.” “Well, at least when my time comes, tomorrow or fifty years from now, I’ll know I did some living. Better to regret what you did do than what you didn’t, I always say.” The image of Wade lying pale and still flashed before Travis’s eyes. “What’d you have in mind?” “Nothing much,” Cam assured him. “Just wander down to Gereck’s, see who’s in town, have a little harmless fun.” He tucked Travis’s arm under his own and led him to the front door. “You come along with your old Uncle Cam.” Evie stuck her head into the room. “You going out, Marse Travis?” He wasn’t sure whether or not he heard disapproval in her voice. “Tell Pa I’ll have that talk with him in the morning, will you?” “Why don’t you gentlemen stay here and visit? I can fix up some brown betty for you.” “Evie, you do know how to turn a man’s head,” Cam drawled as he put on the tasseled fez that was the emblem of his regiment. “Maybe we should stay after all, Travis. It’d be just like when you’d come home from school and Evie’d fix you sweets for learning your lessons like a good boy.” He grinned and Travis grabbed his kepi and his jacket from the rack by the door. “Tell Pa,” he said once more and then he followed Cam into the night. *** Gereck’s was crowded as always. Strategically placed near the Petersburg Railroad Station, it was a favorite haunt of many of the soliders that packed the town. Even the wounded sometimes “escaped” their hospital wards and stole over to Gereck’s to get a drink or find some feminine companionship. Travis had been there a time or two, but it wasn’t a favorite of his. Most nights, it was loud and filled with the stench of cigar smoke and stale whisky. The last time he’d been here, he’d been embarrassed to see Amy’ father there, too, squabbling with another man over a poker bet, his beaklike nose red with drink. Bondurant hadn’t referred to it at the barbeque held at the Palisades a few days later, and Travis never did know if that was because he was too embarrassed to mention it or just had been too drunk to remember. A glance around the room told Travis that Bondurant wasn’t there this particular night. Neither were many others he recognized. Apart from a couple of county boys he hadn’t seen since he’d enlisted, a few business acquaintances of his father’s, some older men from around town, the place was crowded with strangers swept into Petersburg by the war. Travis and Cam found a table near where half a dozen men were playing cards. One of them was Royal Wilkins, the brother of one of Sarah’s friends. Travis gave him a nod when he glanced up, but Wilkins never noticed. His eyes had turned narrow and dark when they fixed on Cam. Cam only grinned a little, coolly meeting Wilkins’s gaze until, urged by his friends, Wilkins went back to his game. Travis looked from Cam to Wilkins and back to Cam. “You kick his dog or something?” Cam chuckled and took a swig of the whisky one of the girls had put in front of him. “Well, Sunny’s a right pretty girl, if you ask me, but old Roy seems to think any man who says ‘How do?’ to any sister of his ought better follow it up with ‘I’d be honored, Miss Wilkins, if you would consent to be my bride.’” Cam emptied his glass. “Come on, Travis. It’s hard enough to get good liquor these days without you letting it go wasting.” “I never asked her to bring it.” “What’s it gonna hurt? You get back to camp and there won’t be much but chicory and branch water. Might as well take a smile or two while you can.” “Maybe so,” Travis allowed and he took a quick drink, grimacing in spite of himself. Cam snickered at him and told the girl to bring the bottle. “My pa always told me if you raise a horse you teach him to carry his saddle and if you raise a man you teach him to carry his liquor.” “Maybe so.” Cam scowled. “Well, you’re about as cheery as burial detail tonight.” “I guess I can’t get all this with Sarah off my mind.” “Eh, never take a woman’s no as her final answer.” Travis swirled the amber whiskey in his glass and took another sip. It didn’t seem quite so bitter now. “That’s what Pa said. More or less.” “There now. Would your Uncle Cam steer you wrong?” “She seemed pretty certain.” “Because you’ve been so blasted tame with her, boy!” Cam gave him an encouraging shove. “She can’t turn you down if you go back to her and show her how much you want her. Women may say they want moonlight and magnolias, but they’re just as human as we are. She knows you love her. Give her a taste of what she’d be missing if she lets you go.” “She likely won’t even let me talk to her now, Cam. How can I–” “You’ve got to cut past all that. Climb up to her room, make her come out to you, make her want you like you want her.” Travis took another drink, ready this time for the bitter bite of it down his throat, and there was a sudden daring in his eyes. “You mean just climb up on the verandah and call her out there in the middle of the night like this and–” “You’ve told her enough how you feel about her. You’ve got to show her. Who knows when you’ll be home again? Or if?” Travis tossed back the rest of the whiskey in his glass, hardly a grimace mixed with his bold smile. “What’s the worst she could do? Tell me she never wants to see me again? She ‘bout did anyhow.” “You mean to marry her, don’t you? Then I don’t see how even her own folks can find anything to fault in it.” “Lots of folks elope these days, don’t they? It’s not like I’m some scallywag who wants to compromise her.” Cam filled Travis’s glass again. “Exactly. *** Travis shinnied up the old oak that shaded the big house at the Palisades, then pulled himself over the wrought iron railing that edged the wide verandah. That was her door, Sarah’s door, the third from the end, the one that had long been a fixture in his young imagination. He went to it and, drawing a deep breath, tapped softly. “Sarah?” He was answered with utter silence, even the summer whir of the cicadas seemed somehow hushed, and he knocked again. “Sarah, it’s me.” There was a hurried rustling from inside the room, then the door opened a crack. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “You know you shouldn’t come here! Aunt Emmaline–” “Please, Sarah, I have to talk to you.” She opened the door a fraction wider and he could see the fearful uncertainty on her face, in her dark eyes. “We don’t have anything else to say, Travis. The war is still there. Nothing has changed.” “No, nothing’s changed, the war’s still there, but there’s something I want you to think about.” He seized her hand and pulled her out to him, pulled her tightly against him, and covered her mouth with a fierce, possessive kiss. She shoved him away. “Travis Robillard Markham, you’re drunk!” “I am not drunk.” “But you’ve been drinking. Oh, Travis!” “Just a little.” “But you know how it’s been with Uncle Rousse–” He saw that there were tears in her eyes and he took both of her hands to soothe her. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I promise I won’t ever do it again if you don’t want me to.” “Can’t you see? This war is ruining everything. Even you.” “Not everything, darlin’. Not us. Not us together.” He drew her close again, gently this time, and she nestled her head against his chest. For a long while, he merely held her, then he felt her arms go around him, felt her hands stroking down his back. “Things can’t ever be the way I wanted them to be now, Travis honey, I told you that already. I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s all spoiled and it’s best we leave it at that.” He knew she meant to console him as she had before, with her words and with her caress, but more keenly than ever he was aware of her soft warmth against him, aware that she was wearing only her night things, aware that her every touch heightened that awareness and intensified the tide of passion building inside him. “No,” he murmured. “It’s not spoiled unless we let it be. Marry me, Sarah. I’ll make you happy you did.” “I can’t, Travis, I can’t. I could never bear to marry you and have you come back like— like Wade.” He held her closer. “Sarah.” The whisper of her name was a warm breeze across her cheek. “Marry me, Sarah. Marry me. I don’t want to die, but I could bear even that if I knew what it was to love you even just once.” He kissed her until she was limp in his arms. “Marry me,” he breathed. “Sweet Sarah.” He kissed her again, kissed her until, in spite of her determined words, her arms went around his neck and she yielded to him. For a moment. “No,” she sobbed, pulling away. “I won’t. I won’t. I don’t love you, Travis. I never loved you and I won’t marry you.” She touched her fingers to his cheek as she said it, the gesture making the words all lies. He seized her hand and kissed it, kissed her wrist and her forearm. “No, Travis.” He kissed the inside of her elbow and her soft upper arm. “No, Travis!” He put his mouth over hers again, but this time she shoved him away. “No, I won’t marry you. Never kiss me like that again. I can’t bear it.” “Sarah!” She shook her head, her eyes wide with pleading fear, then she bolted back into her bedroom and shut him out. “Sarah.” In two days he would go back to the war, back into hell. He might never return, might never know his precious Sarah’s love. Not ever. “Travis?” He turned, startled. Amy was standing at the latticed French doors that led to her room, dressed only in her nightgown and a white silk wrapper. “Pardon me, Amy,” he said with an embarrassed flush, forcing his breathing to slow. “I guess I’d best go now. Good night.” “Travis, I’m so sorry. About Sarah, I mean.” She looked embarrassed, too. “I couldn’t help hearing. It’s a good thing Mama’s room is at the other end of the house.” He tried to smile. “Well, I guess that’s that.” “You should marry her, Travis. Now.” “I can’t!” He went over to her, stepping just to the threshold of her room, and lowered his voice. “She won’t ever marry me now. She’s afraid.” “Poor Travis.” Amy’s blue eyes were all sympathy and she put her soft hand on his arm. “If you were mine, I would want whatever time I could have with you before I had to let you go.” “I didn’t use to think so, but now I know we may never have another chance. Why doesn’t she understand? I’ve loved her so long, waited for her so long—” “I was just thinking of Wade. Never going to be right again. He loves Livie something fierce and now he can never marry her. He can’t ever know what it is to love her, sweet and tender the way a man loves his wife, with his body and with his soul.” Twin tears of pity sparkled in her eyes, answering the disappointed ones in his. Before he knew it she was in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her warm, trembling body clasped close to his. “I’m so afraid, Travis. This war will take everybody, just like it has Wade, and we’ll all be left alone. We’ll be old before we’ve even known what it is to be young and have only our wasted opportunities left for memories.” She felt good against him and he held her closer, knowing he should not, just enough whisky and hurt in him to make him not care anymore. He realized they were sitting on the bed now, but she still clung to him, not seeming to notice. Just being here, just the forbidden idea of it, added fuel to the fire that was already pumping through his blood. “So many of our boys will never come back again,” she whispered against his neck. “Oh, Travis, I can’t bear to think what it will be like for them and for all those left behind with no one.” “Amy—” She looked up at him, her parted lips quivering, her face flushed with tears, and her wrapper fell from her shoulders. “Amy,” he murmured again, and, unable to stop himself, he kissed her, kissed her as he had never kissed any woman before. He heard her soft gasp of surprise and expected her to struggle away from him, maybe slap him, but she just sat there, trembling still. “Oh, Travis,” she breathed, her eyes wide, and he kissed her again, all his senses tangled up in the taste and scent and feel of her, that intoxicating femininity he had only imagined with Sarah. With a sudden urgency, her arms went around him, pulling him tightly against her thinly-clad body. He pressed her back against the pillows. A faint warning sounded inside him, he knew he should not have gone even this far, but the warning was quickly drowned out by the scorching rush he felt at the touch of her so soft flesh, drowned out by the memory of Amy’s tearful words. . . .only our wasted opportunities left for memories. His kisses grew deeper, hungrier, and she clung tightly to him, closer and closer until he couldn’t, couldn’t stop. *** He sat on the edge of the bed, stopping his ears against her grating sobs, and all he could think of was Sarah. There would be no Sarah after this. Not for him. One reckless moment had destroyed that dream. He was cold sober now. Amy sobbed again and he picked her crumpled wrapper up off the floor and handed it to her, not looking at her. “Get dressed.” She turned away from the hollow sound of his voice, her shoulders shaking under the sheet. “Go away, Travis. Just go away.” “Get dressed. We’ll drive into town and get married. We can be there and back before morning.” He stood up and began to button his shirt, but she did not move. “Well, get dressed!” he snapped, then he drew a sharp breath and blinked back the tears that stung his eyes. Now was no time for regret. He would have years and years for that later on. “Get dressed,” he repeated, forcing his voice to be calm. Her tousled hair half concealing her face, she struggled into her wrapper and got out of bed, then reached for the dress she had worn that afternoon, the demure little sprigged muslin. The demure little white sprigged muslin. “Not that one.” Startled, she dropped it, and he knew her look of shame must match his own. “I’ll— I’ll get a buggy and be back in a few minutes.” Again he forced calmness into his voice. “Be ready.” They were silent all the way to town, and he kept his eyes on the dark road ahead so he wouldn’t have to look into her pleading, remorseful eyes. The ceremony was brief and grim. She wore a modest gray morning dress and prim white gloves. He wore the rumpled coat he had taken from her floor. The justice of the peace stumbled sleepily through the vows, then Travis gave him $5 of his near-worthless money and put Amy back into the buggy. Before midnight, they were back in her bedroom. Dawn found them still there. She had finally fallen asleep, a forlorn little heap of gray linen, but he only sat there in the straight-backed chair waiting for the sun to rise. What will I say to her father? What will I say to mine? Dear God, what will I say to Sarah? God, please, please, please— It was as near to a prayer as he could manage, a plea to be returned to yesterday’s freedom, but that could not be. He was a scoundrel, a thief of innocence, a defiler of virtue— hers and his own. Sarah, I was going to wait for you. I meant to wait forever if I had to. “Oh, God.” He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to forget the girl that lay on the bed. His wife. His wife! “Oh, God,” he groaned again and Amy sat up, a guilty, fearful look on her wan face. “Travis?” He lifted his head, looking at her in dull silence until her blue eyes again filled with tears. “Travis, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She looked so pitiful, so helpless, so innocent still, and his anger was suddenly drowned in a new surge of shame. “Amy.” He sat on the bed and put his arm around her. “Amy, please—” “Oh, Travis.” She pressed her face against his shoulder, shaking with sudden sobs. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” “Please, Amy, don’t cry.” He stroked her hair, his trembling hand smoothing the golden wisps that had escaped the heavy knot at the nape of her neck. “It was my fault. I knew I should have stopped, but I just didn’t—” I just didn’t want to. I just didn’t care! He shook his head. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I took advantage of you and I always thought I was a better man than that.” “You’re the finest man I know, Travis,” she said fiercely, then she hid her face again. “Not many men would have felt obliged to marry me after– after–” “I hope I’m man enough at least for that, even if I am a scoundrel.” “I’m the one who’s bad. I’ve ruined both our lives.” “Don’t think that.” “But I’ll be a good wife, I promise I will. I won’t ask you to love me, but I’ll be good to you, Travis, and, when you come home, I’ll be waiting for you. I know– I know you love Sarah–” “Amy–” “I know you love her now, but I was always fond of you, Travis, you know I always was, and, after awhile, you’ll forget about her and–” “Amy,” he began, then he saw he had hurt her with his harsh tone and made himself speak gently again. “Amy, if you want there to be even a chance for us together, you must never talk to me about Sarah again. I can’t ever have her now, I know that, and I’ll try my best to do right by you, but if I have to think about losing her…” “All right, Travis.” He could hear the pain in her soft reply, knew he should try to comfort her, but he didn’t have the strength for it now. In a few minutes, she would be called to breakfast and he would have to go down and talk to her parents, then to his own father. He couldn't think of anything else just now. CONTINUED IN A DINNER OF HERBS ~~ COMING SOON! COPYRIGHT 2005 ~ DeANNA JULIE DODSON |
| A DINNER OF HERBS |
| Chapter One ~ Part Two |