Authors: Gilbert Morris
Davis shook his head stubbornly. “Any way I try, it’s going to be a risk, Thad. Can you get me some civilian clothes—and enough money to buy a horse?”
“I reckon so, but what—?”
“I’ll get off the train and change clothes. Then I’ll walk until I can find someone who’ll sell me a horse. After that, I’ll make my way cross country until I get back to the North.”
Thad bit his lip, thought about it, and said slowly, “It’s your say-so, Davis. But it could get you in a bad fix.” He studied Davis for a moment. “I’ve got the cash in our room. I’ll give it to you tonight. You can pick up some clothes at a store in town—but the party won’t be over until late tomorrow night.”
“Be a good time for me to leave,” Davis nodded. “Everybody will be busy here. I’ll leave a note for you, telling them I got a quick call to rejoin my unit.”
They slipped into a side door to avoid the crowd, and as Davis wrote a note, Thad pulled a pouch of gold coins out of his coat pocket. “The last of Owen Morgan’s money,” he said, handing it to Davis. “Guess this will cover it.”
Davis felt awkward but took the money. He looked at the youthful face of the man who had risked so much for him. He struggled for words, then gave a rueful laugh. “I owe you too much, Thad. No way I can ever pay you back.” He put out his hand and gripped Thad’s, saying, “God bless you, Thad!”
Novak studied Winslow’s face. “Something’s different about you, Davis. You’re not all filled with hate—like when I first met you.”
Davis smiled. “That’s right. I don’t know how to explain it, but the hate’s gone. That’s something else I owe you, Thad. If I hadn’t come here, I think I’d have carried it with me all my life. I may not see you again—but I’ll get word to you somehow when I get back.”
“Maybe you’ll run into Hale and Ezra,” Thad smiled. “Now, guess we’d better get down. I’m the victim of this party, you know!”
They went down the stairs and found the house spilling over with guests. Davis had to be introduced to the Winslow boys, and he shook their hands soberly as if they had not met before.
Afterward, he stayed in the background, which was not difficult, for the rooms were crowded. Long tables loaded with food and drinks flanked one side of the room, and the house servants dashed through the crowd, constantly carrying china dishes and cut crystal glasses. He saw the Chesnuts, and as usual Hood was there keeping his eye on the young woman he was courting.
A small group of musicians took their station at the far end of the room, and soon the room was filled with sprightly music. Couples spun around the room, the gray uniforms of the soldiers serving as a foil for the brilliant colors of the women’s gowns.
Davis stood beside the fireplace, watching the smooth dancing of the couples over the polished floors. The women looked like proud dolls scissored from colored paper, with hoopskirts as wide as the front door. They pointed their toes
and flirted with their bright eyes, spinning around the room like flying feathers. To Davis it seemed they all had the same voice—lazy Southern voices, thick as honey.
The men were the remnant of Southern gentry. He knew, though it did not cut his heart as it did others, that they were but a faint echo of what had been when Sumpter fell. Many like them—proud, handsome, daring—lay under the soil at Bull Run and Antietam, at Gettysburg, and half a hundred other spots of bloody ground.
He watched as Belle went to stand beside her mother at the punch bowl. As always, she was wearing black. Even from where he stood, Davis could see that no other woman in the room was half so beautiful. Time and again an officer would approach her, ask for a dance, and receive only a smile and a shake of her head. Davis saw Beau Beauchamp approach her and say something. She hesitated, but shook her head again. He remained beside her, his face flushed, but eager.
Finally Davis heard Sky’s voice calling for quiet, and looked up to see him standing with Thad and Pet. The music stopped, and the murmur of voices trailed off. “Welcome to Belle Maison, all of you!” Sky said. He bowed his head at the enthusiastic applause that followed his words, then held up his hand for quiet. “My wife and I have the pleasure of announcing the engagement of our daughter Patience to Lieutenant Thad-deus Novak of the Richmond Blades!”
A deafening cheer erupted, and for some time the young couple was so overwhelmed with hearty congratulations that further speeches were impossible. Finally Sky got the floor long enough to say, “If every father were as proud of his daughter as I am, it would be a better world. I can’t think of a man in the world I would trust her to than the one who holds her hand. That’s my speech. Now let’s hear from you two!”
Thad swallowed and looked around the room. “I’m getting the most beautiful and sweetest girl in the world!”
Pet blushed at his words. She was wearing a pale blue gown of pure silk, with dark blue trimming at the bodice
and around the skirt. A pair of sparking red rubies adorned her ear lobes, and a matched pendant hung around her neck. She was more beautiful than anyone had ever seen her. “I’m so happy!” she said. “I—I wish all you girls here could find a husband!”
Laughter sprinkled through the room, and several men grinned at the young ladies, who pretended not to notice. The music began again and Davis went to congratulate the couple. For the next hour he watched the dancers until he felt as if he had done his duty. Passing out one of the doors leading to the large court on the east side of the house, he crossed the flagstones, headed for the back of the house, intending to enter that way.
He was startled when a voice said, “You’re leaving early, Owen.”
Turning quickly, he saw Belle standing in the shadows. Her black dress made her difficult to see, but her pale face glowed with the reflection of the full yellow moon rising over the trees.
“We seem to spend a lot of time in the evenings on porches,” he said, coming close to her. “No swing on this one, though.”
She leaned back against the house as though she were exhausted. “It’s so sad, isn’t it, Owen?”
“Sad? The party?”
“Yes.”
“Why, I think Pet and Thad are having a wonderful time. She looks so beautiful.”
“Yes—and so vulnerable!” Belle moved away from the wall, turned and gazed at the moon. “Next week he may be dead.”
Davis fixed his eyes on her pale face, wondering at the sadness in her voice. “That’s true—but it’s always been true, Belle. It always will be. Every man and woman have to risk that. What did Bacon say? Oh yes: ‘He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune.’ ”
She came closer to see his face better. “What does that mean, Owen?”
“Why, if a man doesn’t have a wife, she can’t hurt him. He can’t lose her. But I’ve never liked the alternative.”
“Not having anyone to love?”
“That’s right. A man—or a woman—can get pretty badly cut up by someone they love. But the only other way is to be a hermit. Build a wall around yourself and say to everybody, ‘Keep out!’ ”
She mulled that over—her expression changing from sadness to bitterness. “Some of us need walls!” she defended.
“No, I don’t believe that.” He shook his head. “What most of us need to do is knock the walls
down
—not build them up.” The look of poignancy on her face touched his heart, and he asked, “Belle, what’s wrong? You hinted at it the other night, and now all this about walls.”
She started to leave, but he caught her arm. She bit her lip, uncertain as to what to do—run or stay. She relaxed and moved to the railing. “Owen,” she began, “when you first came to the hospital, your spirit was almost as hurt as your body.”
He blinked in surprise. “That’s right, Belle!”
“You hated me, didn’t you?”
“I—ah . . . !” He paused, realizing he couldn’t tell her the truth.
“I think I know,” she went on quietly. “You heard about the time I was in Washington. It’s been in all the papers. Did you read about the trial?”
“Yes, I did, but—”
“Then you know what I did—that I prostituted myself.” She dropped her head and began to tremble. “Well, it was true—what the papers said I did. And I don’t blame anyone for hating me.” She lifted her eyes, soft with pain as she murmured, “You couldn’t despise me any more than I do myself, Owen.”
“Belle—it’s not like you think!” he said, but he saw the self-loathing, and without a thought put his arms around her and drew her close. She was struggling to keep from weeping,
her head pressed against his chest. “Belle, that’s not why I hated you. I was a fool! What you did was for your country. No man could ever fault you for that!”
She drew back hastily. “No. You’re just being kind. No man would want me after what I’ve done. He could never forget!”
Davis shook his head, but just as he was about to speak, footsteps sounded to their left. Both of them stepped back quickly. Davis began talking at once about the food. Belle was just able to wipe the tears from her face when Beau Beauchamp rounded the corner of the building. He saw them instantly and stopped dead.
“Perhaps,” Davis went on, “it was those oysters, Miss Belle. I didn’t eat . . .” He paused, looked at Beauchamp, and said, “Oh, Captain—Miss Belle is not feeling well. She got so faint I thought the fresh air might revive her—but it’s probably something she ate.”
Beauchamp looked perplexed, and would have spoken, but Belle broke in, “Beau, I feel—terrible. Would you please tell my mother I’m going to bed?”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” Davis offered. “Perhaps you’d help her to her room?”
Davis spun around and left, and Belle touched her handkerchief to her face again.
“Are you very ill, Belle?” Beauchamp inquired. “I can get Dr. Malone to have a look at you.”
“No—I just want to lie down, Beau.”
He escorted her to her room, and came back to speak with Rebekah.
“Lieutenant Morgan told me,” she informed Beau. “I’ll go see her.”
“She didn’t seem ill earlier,” Beauchamp commented.
“I guess it
was
the food,” Davis replied. He moved away, but felt the eyes of the big officer follow him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THE END OF THE MASQUERADE
Davis pretended to be asleep when Thad entered the room that night. After the young man’s breathing grew slow, Davis reviewed the scene with Belle. He would be gone from Belle Maison within a matter of hours, and the fact that he would not see her again disturbed him.
How could the deep bitterness he had held for the girl vanish so quickly and so completely?
he wondered. He wrestled with this until he fell into a fitful sleep, leaving him more tired than when he’d gone to bed.
He washed his face, dressed, and went downstairs to find a small crowd eating breakfast from the long tables in the ball room. Belle was not there, but Sky Winslow motioned him over. “Have something to eat, Morgan.”
“Guess I could have something,” Davis said. He consumed a portion of bacon and eggs and two biscuits. As they ate, Winslow spoke of the future of Belle Maison. It was evident that the man’s heart was at the plantation, not in politics.
When they had finished, Davis asked, “Do you know where Thad is this morning?”
“He left to go to the stable, I think. Mare is about to drop her foal.”
Sky moved across the room to speak to Colonel Barton, and Davis went outside. He headed toward the stables, where he found both Thad and Pet, along with Dooley Young.
“You shore do look better than you did last time I saw you, Lieutenant!” Dooley exclaimed. “I never thought you’d make it to Richmond alive.”
“Almost didn’t,” Davis replied.
Dooley squinted at him, and bobbed his head in surprise. “Had it in my mind you was a smaller man—but I guess you was all shrunk up with the mullygrups.”
Thad broke in quickly, “This mare is sired by Dooley’s best stallion. We figure to make a million dollars racing her colt—if he ever gets here.”
“Mind if I hang around?” Davis asked.
“Glad to have you,” Thad said, adding, “This mare is going to be slow, I reckon.”
His words were prophetic, for by noon the mare still hadn’t delivered. When two o’clock came, Davis said with a significant glance at Thad, “Like to take a little ride, Thad. Think I might borrow a horse?”
Thad nodded toward the bay gelding tied under a large oak.
“Take mine, Lieutenant. He’s already saddled.”
Davis hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks—for everything, Thad.”
He swung into the saddle and rode toward the house. Tying the gelding to the hitching post, he started into the house, but stopped when Rebekah appeared at the side of the house and called his name.
“What is it, Mrs. Winslow?”
“I’ve got to talk with you. Come this way.”
He followed her, mystified—and was even more confused when she walked to his room and entered. He followed, and she said, “Close the door.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Rebekah looked at him and said quietly, “You’re not Owen Morgan.”
Davis blinked, caught off guard. He was totally unprepared for such a possibility, and couldn’t think of a reply. His heart began to race. Finally he asked, “What makes you think that?”
“Because I know who you really are.”
“Who am I, then?” he asked steadily.
“You’re Davis Winslow.” She spoke with an iron certainty, and he decided the masquerade was over.
“How long have you known?” he asked, looking at her curiously, yet strangely without fear.
“I’ve been uneasy about you for a long time, but I didn’t know who you were until today.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Last night you mentioned something about my sister Louise.”
He nodded slowly as he recalled the incident. “You told me about her when I was here with my grandfather.”
“Yes. When I finally figured out where I’d seen you, I went to your room to face you. I checked through your things—and I found this.”
She removed something from her pocket and held it toward him. He took it and nodded. “I thought it would be safe to keep it. Looks as if I was wrong.” It was the small Testament his grandfather had given him. The inside page was inscribed to Davis Winslow and signed by his grandfather.