The Crossed Sabres (2 page)

Spencer Grayson had found this sample of Southern fire-eating printed in the Charleston
Mercury,
and had brought it on his latest visit to Belle Maison. The family had sat down to the evening meal, and were halfway finished when they heard the sound of a horse coming at a dead run. Sky Winslow glanced out the mullioned windows, then grinned at Tom, saying, “Your friend Spence is here, Tom.” He was a smiling man of sixty, with strength in his face and upright figure. He was one-fourth Indian, and that heritage was revealed by his olive skin and high cheek bones. “I may have to ask him to pay rent if he stays around here much longer.”

Patience Winslow giggled. At the age of sixteen she was not the beauty that her sister Belle was, and there was an impish streak of humor in her. “Funny how fond Spence has gotten of you lately, isn’t it, Tom?”

Tom colored, turned to her and said, “Pet, you keep quiet!” He had been teased about the competition for Marlene Signourey that had heated up between Spence and himself. It had been a joke at first, for the two had often competed for the favors of the local girls. But this was different, as both of them had sensed. The beautiful young creole had gotten into the blood of both men, and though his family didn’t realize it yet, Tom was determined to marry her.

Belle was smiling at Tom, for she enjoyed the rivalry. At the
age of eighteen, she was considered by most to be the most beautiful girl in the area. In her bright red taffeta dress, she made Pet look like a dowdy sparrow, and even Marlene could not match her for beauty. Now her eyes were bright with mischief, and she asked innocently, “Marlene, isn’t Spence taking you to Richmond for the President’s reception tonight?”

“Yes, he is,” Marlene nodded. She was wearing a purple dress, one which only a woman with her spectacular coloring would dare to wear.

Tom flushed, saying, “I thought I was taking you.”

“Oh, I forgot, Tom,” Marlene said. “But we can all go together.”

“Spence will
love
that,” Mark Winslow grinned. He was, at twenty-one, the oldest of the Winslow boys. Winking at Dan, his seventeen-year-old brother, he added, “He’s our token Yankee, so we’ve got to be charitable, don’t we?”

Spence came in just in time to hear the last remark, and grinned broadly. He was looking fresh, his cheeks glowing and his eyes bright. Waving a paper, he took the seat that Sky offered, and said, “Let me read you a sample of good old southern charity.”

“What’s that paper?” Sky asked.

“The Charleston
Mercury,
” Spence answered. “It’s part of a journal written by an overseer from a plantation near New Orleans. Listen to this—”

He read the crude account of the overseer, then laughed with just a trace of malice, adding, “Now
there’s
Christian charity for you!”

“Come on, Spence,” Mark protested. “You can’t judge the South by one illiterate overseer.”

“That’s right!” Tom nodded. “Have you read any of the northern newspapers? They’re calling out for blood.”

Sky listened as the argument ran around the table, and finally said, “Let’s eat our meal. I’ve heard enough war talk for a time.”

This was his way, they all understood, of taking the pressure
from their guest, and Tom was glad of it. After the meal, he got to Marlene as fast as he could, saying, “Why are you letting Spence take you to the reception?”

“Oh, Tom, don’t be angry!” Marlene pouted attractively, patted his cheek, then whispered, “Afterward, you can bring me home. I’ll tell Spence it’s too far for him.”

“All right.”

Marlene avoided his attempt to kiss her, laughed and ran away to her room. She spent the next hour getting ready, with Pet coming to “help” her. As she dressed, Marlene listened with amusement to the young girl’s patter. Finally Pet asked, “Which one do you like best, Tom or Spence?”

“Oh, I like them both,” Marlene smiled as she worked carefully at plucking her eyebrows.

“But you must like one of them best!”

“Why, I don’t like to say. They’re both fine young men, aren’t they? But you probably think Tom is the nicest.”

“Well, sure!” Pet nodded emphatically. Then she frowned and pondered a thought that came to her. “Which one would you rather marry?”

Marlene laughed at the girl, saying, “They’d both make good husbands, wouldn’t they?”

“But Spence will be going back to New York, Marlene. Everyone says he’ll join the Yankee army. You wouldn’t marry a Yankee, would you?” She pronounced the word
Yankee
with distaste, and Marlene smiled at her.

“He has a fine family, Pet. Very rich.”

“Well, we’re rich, too,” Pet stated with indignation.

Marlene finished her eyebrows, then came to slip into her hoop. “Help me with this, Pet,” she said. The two of them worked at the dress, and only when Marlene was examining herself in the mirror, did she answer. “Yes, your family is well-off, Pet, but have you thought that you might lose it all—if the South loses the war?”

Pet stared at the young woman as if she had uttered a vile obscenity. “That’s crazy!” she protested. “How could we
lose? Everybody knows that one of our men can whip six Yankees!” She was disturbed by the conversation, and could not find a way to express what was going on in her mind. Finally she said defiantly, “Anyway, getting married is more than money!” With that she flounced out of the room, and Marlene laughed softly under her breath.

Finally she gave herself one more inspection, then nodded, pleased with her appearance. She left the room and found Spence downstairs waiting for her. “Come along, we’ll be late,” he said, then winked at Tom who was standing with his back to the wall. “Don’t wait up for us, Old Boy,” he said cheerfully.

When they were in the buggy headed for town, Marlene chided him, “You shouldn’t have made fun of Tom like that, Spence.”

“Do him good,” Grayson laughed. “He needs a little humility.”

“I told him he could take me home after the reception—”

“That’ll be the day, sweetheart!” Spence grinned. He reached out and pulled her close beside him with a strong arm. “Tom’s my best friend—but not where you’re concerned!”

They arrived at Richmond to find the city packed. Spence parked the buggy at a livery stable and they had to practically push their way through the throngs to get to the center of the city. When they got to the square, Spence said, “Let’s go up on the balcony of that hotel. This is too uncomfortable.”

He led her through the lobby, bribed a grinning bellboy to let them use the balcony, and stood there looking down on the square. It was late afternoon, and the air was hot, but that in no way discouraged the crowds below. There was a holiday atmosphere about the affair, as though beginning a war were no more than beginning a hunting season.

They arrived just in time to witness the presentation of a battle flag to a new company that was being formed. This was a common practice, the flag usually being made by one having a heart interest in one of the volunteers. When the flag was
completed, there was a presentation, usually at a dress parade, a banquet, a religious assembly, or a mass meeting especially for the ceremony. In most instances oratory flew high, and as Miss Idelea Collens offered the colors on a bunting-draped stand, Spence and Marlene got a full sampling of it:

“Receive then, from your mothers and sisters, from those whose affections greet you, these colors woven by our feeble but reliant hands; and when this bright flag shall float before you on the battlefield, let it not only inspire you with brave and patriotic ambition of a soldier aspiring to his own and his country’s honor and glory, but also may it be a sign that cherished loves appeal to you to save them from a fanatical and heartless foe!”

Spence laughed softly, saying in Marlene’s ear, “What nonsense!”

“Oh, Spence, be quiet! She means it!” Marlene allowed herself to lean against him, saying, “Look, that sergeant is going to receive the flag.”

A color-sergeant had advanced with his corporals to receive the flag, and his response was high-flying indeed: “Ladies, with high-beating hearts and pulses throbbing with emotion, we receive from your hands this beautiful flag, the proud emblem of our young republic. To those who may return from the field of battle bearing this flag in triumph, though perhaps tattered and torn, this incident will always prove a cheering recollection. And to him whose fate it may be to die a soldier’s death, this moment brought before his fading view will recall your kind and sympathetic word, he will bless you as his spirit takes its aerial flight. May the God of battles look down upon us as we register a soldier’s vow that no stain will ever be found upon thy sacred folds, save the blood of those who attack thee or those who fall in thy defense. Comrades you have heard the pledge, may it ever guide and guard you on the tented field! Let its bright folds inspire you with new strength, nerve your arms, and steel your hearts to deeds of strength and valor!”

A wild yell of exultation rose from the crowd, and since every eye was on the platform, Spence took the occasion to draw Marlene close. She protested, “Oh, Spence—!” but when he released her, she was flustered, and pushed him away, saying, “You’re awful, Spencer Grayson!”

“No, I’m just in love with you,” he said, and tried to embrace her again, but she pulled away, an arch look in her dark eyes.

“I didn’t come here to be kissed by you in full view of all Richmond,” she pouted.

“Well, we’ll just have to find a better place,” he answered, and then they left the balcony and went to supper. He had made reservations at the Elliot, the finest hotel in Richmond, and it was well he did, for every table was taken. During the meal he kept her entertained—something he did well, for he had made a study of pleasing women. He was one of the finest-looking men in the room, his handsome features and tall stature drawing admiring glances from many of the ladies. The reception didn’t begin for an hour, so they drank more wine than was proper, and by the time they arrived, Marlene was a little unsteady.

But she recovered quickly, and soon they were moving about, noting that the cream of the newly birthed Confederacy was gathered under the roof. The new president, Jefferson Davis, was a tall Mississippian with austere features, but his wife, Varina, was a beauty!

For over three hours the pair enjoyed the music, managing to slip outside to a convenient garden while the speeches were being made. Finally, Marlene said, “Spence, I’ve got to get back to Belle Maison.”

“You sure you want Tom to take you home?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s too long a trip for you.”

“All right. I’ll go find him. You wait here.” He disappeared into the crowd, and Marlene waited until he returned. “He decided not to come,” Spence reported. “His brothers came,
but they said Tom stayed home to pout. Now, you’ve got to let me take you home.”

She smiled, but was put out with Tom. “Well, if he doesn’t care any more than that—”

They left the hotel, walked to the stable and were soon on their way back to Belle Maison. Marlene had had too much to drink, and giggled a good deal. When they got to the house, Spence pulled the buggy to a halt, and for some time they sat in the wagon, laughing and being foolish. He kissed her more than once, but finally she said, “No more, young man! I don’t trust either one of us tonight!”

He protested, but when she insisted, he got down and helped her out. The house was dark, and he said as they approached the porch, “They’ve probably locked you out.”

A voice spoke so unexpectedly that both Spence and Marlene started.

“No, the door’s not locked.”

Tom had been standing in the shadows, and now he came forward. The moonlight revealed the anger on his face, and he said at once, “It’s late Marlene. Go to bed.”

Spence had a wicked temper, and Tom’s sudden appearance caused it to flare. “You get tired of spying on us?”

“Go back to town, Spence. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’ll go when I get ready!”

“Do as you please then,” Tom said shortly. He had gone to town, but it had been an unhappy decision. He had tormented himself with the sight of Spence dancing with Marlene, and then had discovered that they had left. He knew that Spence had devised some way of getting Marlene to let him drive her home. Ordinarily he would have laughed at such a thing, but he was too much in love with Marlene to do that. He had left at once, taken a short cut and arrived at Belle Maison filled with anger. He felt betrayed and wanted to avoid a scene.

But he had a temper of his own, and answered wickedly, “Spence, get in the buggy before I do something I’ll regret.” He stepped forward and took Marlene’s arm, but as he
turned, Spence’s fist caught him on the neck, and he staggered to the side. At once he was caught by a blow on his cheekbone that drove him to the ground, and he rolled once, then came to his feet. Given his choice, he might have tried to talk to Grayson—but he had no chance, for the other man was driving at him, striking out with all his strength.

Tom slipped the punch, knocking it aside with his arm, and caught Spence with a terrific right hand high on the head. It stopped the other man as suddenly as if he had run into a piling, and as Spence’s eyes went blank, Tom dropped his hands, saying, “Let’s stop this foolishness—” But he was stopped when a blow caught him in the mouth. He tasted the salty tang of blood, and then was forced to fight back as Grayson came at him like an animal.

The two of them threw blows that struck and drew blood, and Tom was driven across the grass by Grayson’s superior weight. He caught one glimpse of Marlene, her hand over her lips and her eyes bright, but then he saw no more. Grayson was taller and stronger, and at first he drove Tom with his powerful blows. Finally, when Tom refused to go down, Spence began to huff, drawing up great gasps of air. Tom stayed away, and the power of his blows began to tell.

Both men were bloody, and Tom knew that his body would be bruised for days where Spence had hammered on his ribs. But there was a blind anger in him that matched that in Spence, and the two of them struck again and again. But it couldn’t last, and finally Tom caught Spence with a hard right hand just over the eyebrow. Tom felt his hand collapse and knew he’d broken a bone, but it was the end of the fight, for Grayson went down and lay absolutely still save for his chest that rose and fell rapidly.