He drained his glass before responding, “Lazy, only because there’s nothing to do. Drunk, because it’s the only way I can stand being around you. As for being a coward…” He laughed harshly as he stretched out his leg, wounded in battle at Bull Run the previous summer, leaving him with an awkward limp and unfit for battle. “I didn’t get this running away from the fighting, my dear. I was headed straight into it. I can hardly be called a coward.”
“You’re a coward not to be in New Orleans right now,” she lashed out, “trying to hold off the Yankees, like your father is doing, instead of hiding here and drinking yourself into a stupor.”
He reached for the bottle and poured himself another drink. “New Orleans is lost. Only a fool would stand and fight now. That’s why only women and children are left. The men have taken off to regroup or fight elsewhere. As for my father, he’s staying because he declared neutrality a long time ago.
“But you can be sure,” he added with a snicker, “he’ll be among the first to sign a loyalty oath. Father always thinks of money, first, and he’ll want to establish himself as a trustworthy physician for the Union forces and their families, so he won’t be relegated to prison duty.”
“Well, it’s time you started thinking about money, too,” Claudia snapped. “The white overseers went off to war, and the Negroes taking their places aren’t competent. Elton won’t come out of his grief long enough to do anything about it, and I need some help running things.”
Suddenly struck by curiosity, Raymond asked, “Why do you never refer to him as your father?”
Coldly she replied, “Because he isn’t.”
“That’s absurd. Both he and Twyla raised you like their own daughter. You were even treated better than Anjele, and you know it.”
Claudia bristled in defense. “They promised your parents you could marry their firstborn daughter, and if they’d thought of me that way, I wouldn’t have had to chase after you, would I? And the truth is”—she walked over to tower above him, so he could feel her wrath as she glared down at him—“you’d still be pining for her now, if I hadn’t told you the truth about what a whore she is. You’d never have married me, would you?”
He saw no reason to lie. Perhaps once upon a time he would have. In those early days, when he’d been so angry to learn of Anjele’s immoral behavior he’d allowed himself to be manipulated into marrying Claudia, he would have prevaricated to spare her feelings. But he’d quickly realized the mistake he’d made and discovered she was even a bigger bitch than he’d ever dreamed possible. His had been a miserable existence ever since, and if the truth be known, at the time he’d gone into battle, he really hadn’t cared whether he lived or died. “No,” he said finally, firmly, matching her contemptuous gaze with one of his own, “I damn sure wouldn’t.”
In a flash, she snatched the glass from his hand and threw the whiskey in his face. “Bastard! I hate you! Stay here and rot, for all I care.”
She fled from the room and ran down the hall, down the curving stairway and all the way into the study where she was surprised to find Elton.
He was leaning back in his chair, staring out the window, lost within himself.
“I’m surprised you aren’t at the mausoleum. In fact,” she added sarcastically, “I’m surprised you haven’t moved in there with her coffin.”
Elton ignored her.
Suddenly, she could take no more and slammed her palms down on the desk and unleashed the fury she’d been holding inside. “Listen to me! You’ve got to stop feeling sorry for yourself. People die. Life goes on. And you’ve got to come out of this and start helping me look after things around here. New Orleans is falling, and you need to go see whoever is in charge of the Union army and let them know BelleClair stands with them.”
He remained silent.
“You don’t care, do you?” she accused incredulously. “When Twyla died, you gave up. You don’t care about BelleClair, and you don’t care about me.”
He glanced up at her then, frowning. She was a mean and selfish girl. He’d not seen her shed one tear over Twyla’s passing. He felt sorry for Raymond for having married her, and he cursed himself for being so weak as to allow her to move back into the house.
Still, he said nothing.
“Maybe I need to ask Dr. Duval to send you away to an asylum,” she threatened coolly. “Maybe you belong in one of those places where they put crazy people, because I think you’ve lost your mind.”
At that, he was driven to defend himself. “I am quite sane, Claudia, but if you want to be close to the Yankees, why don’t you move back to New Orleans—if Ida Duval will let you live with her,” he added tartly.
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” She gave her head an insolent toss. “This is my home, whether you like it or not, and I won’t see it destroyed because of your weakness.”
“There is nothing to be done. What will be, will be. My slaves know they’re free to go whenever they choose. They choose to stay, because they know here they’ll be fed and clothed and have a roof over their heads. When the Yankees come, I’ll assure them we offer no resistance. Now get out of here.” He waved her away in disgust. “Go back to New Orleans, or somewhere, but get out of my sight. You’re a disgrace to your mother’s memory, the way you’re treating me.”
Claudia breezed out, head held high, waiting till she was in the hallway before calling back, “She wasn’t my mother, and you aren’t my father!”
Elton wasn’t stung by her words and hoped she remembered them after he was gone, so that when the will he had rewritten after Twyla’s death was read, Claudia would know why he’d left everything to Anjele.
Anjele.
His heart ached at the thought of the daughter he loved and missed so much. The decision for her to remain in Europe had not come easily. He needed her with him now, more than ever. Never had he felt so alone. But it was best she stay where she was. The future of BelleClair, and Louisiana, and of all the South, for that matter, was unknown.
His face tightened as he thought of the hidden plates that would be quite valuable to the Confederacy. All he had to do was wait till things calmed down a bit after the takeover of New Orleans, and he’d find a way to get the plates to the proper people.
Soon, he mused, templing his fingers and staring through them, he could make his move.
Claudia slumped into a wicker rocker on the front porch. Maybe she should go into New Orleans herself and pledge BelleClair’s loyalty. She would have to wait awhile, of course, till things settled down and the Union authorities took complete control.
Long ago she’d decided she really didn’t care who won the war, so long as BelleClair survived. If the North won, the slaves would, no doubt, be freed, but they’d have to find work somewhere. She could give them their precious freedom on paper, but if they didn’t want to starve, if they wanted a roof over their heads, they’d work for whatever she offered to pay. BelleClair was prosperous. She could afford it.
She had also decided to take over, little by little, even before Elton died. And that, she mused with evil satisfaction, wouldn’t be long, the way he was withering away in his grief and misery.
As for Raymond, she vowed he would soon learn his place. No matter she’d realized he was a weakling, she wasn’t ready to let him go. For a time, when they had begun to have fights and drift apart, she’d feared he would leave her. But as time passed, it became obvious he was clinging to her for security, because his parents weren’t at all happy over the marriage and had let him know he was on his own financially.
They’d moved in with the Duvals after their marriage, but within a week Claudia had insisted they find somewhere else to live. She couldn’t stand Ida, and the feeling was mutual.
Twyla wouldn’t hear of her moving back home, saying Raymond had made it quite clear he wanted to live in the city, and she should obey her husband’s wishes. So she had moved into a hotel and rented an entire floor and charged the bill to his father. Raymond then had to start selling off his valuable horses to support them, and Claudia worried about what would happen when the money ran out. Fortunately, Twyla solved the problem by dying, and Claudia began making plans to move back into the mansion before Twyla was even cold. And now, by God, she swore with gritted teeth, nobody was going to make her leave—even the Yankees, because she intended to make her peace with them as soon as possible.
The sound of horses approaching brought her to her feet. Shielding her eyes with her hand against the glaring late-afternoon sun, she groaned when she recognized Ida Duval’s buggy, moving fast. It was obvious something was wrong, and Claudia went back into the house long enough to call to Kesia to go and tell Master Raymond his mother was coming.
Ben, the Duvals’ driver, reined the horses to a stop and leaped down to assist his mistress in alighting. With Ida was her personal maid, Flossie, who began handing bags to Ben.
Claudia stiffened with the realization that it looked as though Ida was moving in. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Yankees!” Ida raced up the stairs, calling for Raymond.
Claudia was right behind her. Who did she think she was, showing up this way, uninvited, commanding her servants to bring in her luggage? “Of all the nerve…”
But Ida didn’t hear her. Raymond and Elton both appeared at the same time—Elton running from his study, and Raymond hobbling down the stairs with his cane.
“Mother, what is it?” He held her at arm’s length, searching her face.
“Yankees!” she repeated and tore from his embrace to breeze into the parlor adjacent to the foyer. Making herself at home by flopping on the sofa, she brusquely ordered Kesia, hovering nearby, to bring her a cool lemonade, and only then did she share her dreadful news. “All over the city. Moving in. Taking over houses. Throwing people out on the streets. Terrible. It’s just terrible.” She began to fan herself frantically with her lace handkerchief.
Raymond attempted to soothe her. “Mother, we knew this was going to happen. You’ve got to get hold of yourself.”
“I didn’t think they’d be throwing people out of their homes,” she wailed, leaning back and closing her eyes and moving her lips as though in frenzied prayer, then glanced about wildly and cried, “As I was leaving, I actually saw them raising their flag over City Hall. Can you imagine? And the whole town is in an uproar. Total bedlam. No one knows what’s going to happen next. I knew I had to get out of there.”
At that, Claudia cried, “Why did you come
here
?
We certainly have enough problems of our own without your adding to them.”
Raymond winced and whispered, “Claudia, please…” Then he limped over to sit beside Ida and ask, “Where’s Daddy? Why didn’t he come with you?”
With a scathing glance at Claudia, Ida responded to Raymond, “You know your father. He’s going to stay in his office, in case he’s needed, and goodness knows, he already is. I stopped by to tell him I was leaving to come out here, and he was going mad, treating everyone from looters being shot by storekeepers to women fainting.” She looked at Elton, remembering. “He said to tell you if you need him later, you know where he’ll be.”
Elton knew what Vinson meant, and he had no intention of going to St. Louis cemetery for their clandestine meeting. Not now. Not ever.
Ida talked on about the nightmare situation, and when she was spent, asked Elton, “Which rooms shall I take?”
Before he could respond, Claudia gasped, “Surely you don’t think we can allow you to move in here. Why, this isn’t a hotel, for heaven’s sake. If word gets out we took you-all in, next thing you know, it’ll be said BelleClair is offering shelter to those running from the Yankees, and I won’t have that. You’ll have to leave.”
“Why, she’ll do nothing of the kind,” Raymond was quick to protest, turning to Elton for support. “Don’t you agree, sir? Families need to be together at a time like this.”
Elton shrugged. It made no difference to him what any of them did. “I’ve got to go make my rounds.” He walked out, head down, shoulders slumped.
“He hasn’t made his rounds in weeks,” Claudia sneered. “And if it weren’t for the overseers, even unfit as they are, nothing would get done, and who’s keeping an eye on them? Certainly not you,” she accused Raymond.
He spread his hands in a helpless gesture and said, “I’m no planter, Claudia. You know that.” He struggled to stand, leaning on his cane for support. “I’m going to show Mother to her room now.”
“I told you, I don’t want her here,” Claudia frostily repeated. “We aren’t taking in fugitives.”
Ida wailed in protest. “I’m not a fugitive. I just want to be with my son. What’s wrong with that?” Tears began streaming down her cheeks and she hated herself for it. The last thing she wanted was for this hateful, spiteful girl to know she had the power to make her cry.
Raymond was getting madder by the minute. “Claudia, you’ve no right to act this way. And I’ll remind you this is now my home, too, and my mother is welcome here.”
Claudia lifted her chin in contempt. “I didn’t feel welcome in hers. That’s why I left.”
“That was your decision. She didn’t ask you to leave.”
“Didn’t ask me to stay, either.”
Ida knew she could stand no more. It was bad enough, being in the midst of a war, sharing the grief of friends whose sons had already been killed in battle. Witnessing the fall of her beloved New Orleans had been heartbreaking. But now, to be treated so rudely by her daughter-in-law was more than she could bear. She forced her trembling legs to stand. “I think I will be getting back…” she began, but Raymond wouldn’t hear of it.