The Sword (5 page)

Her face still averted, watching the peaceful stream wander by, she answered quietly, “That is true, Lieutenant. That has been my plan. I mean, it is my plan.”

“I see.” He was quiet for a moment, his piercing blue eyes gazing into the distance. “How soon?”

“Next month. Around the fifteenth.”

He roused a little. “Oh? Oh well, that gives me plenty of time.” He was teasing her again.

She looked up at him and made a prim face. “Plenty of time for what, sir?”

“Plenty of time for my plan.”

“And what, exactly, is this plan?”

“Just because you told me your plan,” he said jauntily, “doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you mine. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not yet? Then when?”

“Maybe … mm … maybe when you start calling me Jeb.”

She sniffed and tossed another flower into the water. “It will be some time then. I only met you yesterday.”

“Was it?” he asked intently. “Seems like I know you already. Seems like I’ve known you for a long time, Flora.”

She was so enthralled with his words, and his nearness, that she never even noticed he called her by her given name. Nervously she stood, brushing her skirt, and somehow stumbled just a little.

He took her arm, presumably to steady her, but somehow she took a step, and he took a step and then they were standing close, facing each other. She stared up at him, directly into his piercing eyes, as he slowly searched her face almost hungrily. Very slowly he put his hands on her waist, and his fingers met in the tiny span. Flora felt the warmth from his hands spread through her, an oddly heavy sensation that made her catch her breath. He made a very slight move, lowering his face closer to hers, but then she saw a clear reluctance cloud his eyes and tighten his mouth. And suddenly she knew, as women sometimes did, that he was afraid to embrace her, afraid to make such advances too soon, afraid he would offend her, afraid he would frighten her away.

But Flora was not frightened, not at all; and she did not want him to be either. “May I …,” she said softly, almost imperceptibly moving closer to him.

“What?” he asked in a deep voice.

“May I … touch your beard, sir?” she asked, smiling a little.

“Yes,” he answered abruptly. His hands tightened on her waist until he almost hurt her.

Slowly she reached up and buried her fingers in his thick cinnamon-colored beard. “It’s very soft,” she said.

He stared at her, his eyes suddenly dark and brooding.

With one finger, she traced the outline of his beard up to the thick mustache, smoothing it a little, and then touched his lips. “So warm …,” she murmured.

He kissed her then. She could tell how difficult it was for him to restrain himself, because his hands on her waist were urgent, but his kiss was light, a mere brushing of his mouth against hers.

Then he lifted his head, and with an obvious effort dropped his hands and moved away from her. “I’m—I’m sorry,” he said in a guttural tone.

“I’m not,” Flora said lightly. To give him a few moments to recover himself, she bent to pick up the remaining flowers, still lying on the fallen log. She herself was deeply stirred and realized that already this man had a power over her that she had never
imagined could exist. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she commanded her mind, her emotions, and even her body back under control. With careful movements, she rearranged the flowers back into a tight little bouquet and turned back to him.

He had recovered, all right. He was watching her, again with the joyful merriment that seemed to emanate like an aura from him. “I’ve never known a woman like you. I’ve sure never known a lady like you, Flora.”

“You may call me Flora,” she said primly. “But for my part, I shall still address you as Lieutenant Stuart.”

“You won’t know my plan until you call me Jeb, remember?” he teased, taking her arm, lightly now but with a slight air of possession.

“I may already suspect more of your plan than you realize, Lieutenant Stuart,” she said airily. “But it may be that now you don’t know mine.”

“That’s probably all too true,” Jeb agreed. “What man was ever such a fool to imagine he knows what a woman’s thinking? Not me.”

They slowly walked back to the field, where the horses were well in sight, grazing. Flora and Jeb walked right up to Juliet, who stood obediently and let Flora take the reins.

Curiously she watched as Jeb reached in his pocket then called out in a clear ringing voice, “Ace! C’mere, boy!” He whistled, a clean, loud, boyish sound on the still hot air. Alertly the horse lifted his great head then set out at a gallop straight for Jeb, coming to a sliding stop just in front of him. Jeb chuckled and pulled a little packet tied with string out of his pocket. Quickly he untied the string and emptied the white granules into his hand. “Sugar,” he told Flora. “Works every time.”

“Yes, I can see that it does work very well for you, Lieutenant Stuart,” she said sweetly. “Every time. We had better be getting back. In spite of what you may think, sir, I have not utterly lost my sense of propriety. We’ve been gone for almost two hours, and that is quite long enough, considering.”

Jeb stepped up to her, again put his hands around her waist,
and bodily lifted her up to set her on her saddle before she could protest. “You could never lose any sense of propriety, Miss Cooke. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, you’re just about perfect. And so, since tomorrow will be our second ride, perhaps it may be for three hours?”

“You truly are very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she demanded, a little flustered.

“Am now,” he said, swinging up into his saddle. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Yes—yes. Tomorrow.”

F
lora dipped her hand into the milk-glass jar, got three full fingers of the rich cream, and started applying it to her face.

Ruby came to the dressing table, snatched up the jar, and set a corked bottle down in its place. “Here, you needs to put this on yo’ face, Miss Flora.”

Suspiciously Flora picked up the bottle. It was colored a dark purple, and she could barely see a thick substance coating the sides as she turned it back and forth. “It looks like bacon skimmings. What is it?”

“It’s Mam Dowd’s Anti-Freckle Skin Lotion. You know, Mam Dowd, down to town, that makes all the herbs and potions and cosmeticals for white ladies?”

Flora uncorked it and held it up to her nose, then yanked it away. “Good heavens, it smells like rancid bacon skimmings, too!”

Stubbornly Ruby crossed her arms. “Now you just put that on your face, Miss Flora. You out riding in the summer sun all day ever day, with that pretty white skin. You got to cover it with some pertection.”

“I’m not going to get freckles. Give me back my Essence of
Gardenia cream, Ruby. It’s protection enough.”

“Hit says in Levitican that if youse got spots youse has to go outside the camp,” Ruby said with an air of triumph. “And that was for sure talkin’ about freckled white ladies.”

“It’s Leviticus, and it was talking about—Oh, never mind what it was talking about! Give me back my cream, Ruby. If I put that grease on me, I’ll likely slide off my horse. And after one whiff of that, Jeb would turn and run away at a gallop.”

With a dire frown, Ruby put the jar of cream back on the dressing table and quickly whisked the bottle into the bosom of her shirt. “Listen at you, callin’ him by his give name already! And you barely knowing him a month!”

“It’s been a little over a month and a half,” Flora retorted.

“Mm-hmm. And you ridin’ out all over the countryside with him most every day. What does that tell me, Miss Flora? You lettin’ him take some liberties?”

Flora stopped rubbing the cream into her skin, and her gaze went to a far-off distance.

Since that very first time they had ridden out together, and Flora had dared to touch Jeb and invite him as she had, they had both known the powerful attraction they had for each other—and they had both been wary ever since. For Flora, even though she had not quite realized it at the time, it had been a test for her. She already knew that she was attracted to Jeb Stuart—to his jovial personality, his humor, his ready laugh, his avid attentions to her—but she had not really understood what it was like to feel passion for a man. And in those few moments, and in that brief kiss, she had come to know passion, deep passion, and had comprehended in some way that this tremendous rush of feeling was what men found so very difficult to control. But women could. And Jeb did.

From then on they had held hands sometimes, and Jeb often took her arm. One twilit night on the veranda he had kissed her very lightly again, to say good night. But they had been very careful to keep a certain distance from each other. Flora did admit to herself that she reveled in Jeb’s touch, and sometimes she deliberately took
off her gloves—that perennial, eternal must for a well-brought-up young woman—just so she could feel his rough, heated hand. Jeb knew when she felt this way, she could tell, and she could just as certainly sense his reining himself in, holding himself back, only giving her as much as she asked for, as much as she was ready for.

She smiled dreamily. “Maybe I’m taking some liberties with him,” she whispered to herself.

“Whut’d you say?” Ruby said suspiciously. She was behind Flora, putting a final polish on her riding boots.

“Nothing.”

“Well, the scriptures say dat a woman what lets a man take liberties is gonna end up in the pit!” With righteous vigor she polished away.

Flora laughed. “I don’t think so, but neither Jeb nor I are going to end up in the pit. And yes, I call him Jeb and he calls me Flora because we’ve given permission for each other to use our given names.”

“Right out of the pit,” Ruby said grimly. “With you knowin’ him less’n a month.”

“I believe this is what is termed ‘a circular conversation.’ All right, Ruby, I’m ready. Please help me with my boots.”

With a final defiant rub, Ruby knelt down to help pull on Flora’s boots. They were fine, black knee-high leather boots, handmade by a boot maker in Baltimore especially for Flora, and the fit was so close that Flora could neither get them on nor pull them off by herself.

“For—such little—feet as—you got—these boots sure is—hard to git on.” Ruby grunted as she pulled up on the uppers to get Flora’s foot into the boot. Finally she got the right one on and went to work on the left one. “But—hit’s a mighty—good thing—that you got—such little feet—’cause white ladies—don’t s’pose to have—big feet.” She stood up and looked Flora up and down with satisfaction. “You is such a tiny lady, no wonder Mr. Lieutenant Jeb throws you around like a little kitten.”

Ruby had caught them once, when Jeb had come to fetch her for a ride. Her father had been at headquarters, and Jeb had picked
her up, swung her around, and then tossed her onto the saddle. He did this often when they were alone, but this time Ruby had seen them, and she had been holding it over Flora’s head ever since. “I’m of a mind that the colonel might not like to think that Mr. Lieutenant Jeb is jugglin’ his daughter around like some clown in a travelin’ fair.”

“You’re not going to tell him, Ruby …,” Flora said, her cheeks reddening. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Well …”

“You can have that magenta silk petticoat you like so much, Ruby,” Flora said with inspiration. “I don’t like that color much for me, but it would be wonderful on you.”

Ruby’s eyes lit up. She had longed for the petticoat ever since Flora had received it along with some dresses she had ordered. “Well, I’m not one to be carryin’ no tales; in the Proverbs it says talebearers will be backbit. So thank you for the petticoat, Miss Flora.” Hurriedly she disappeared into Flora’s dressing room to find the treasured article.

Flora was wearing her navy blue riding habit, trimmed in light blue. As it looked so much like the cavalry uniforms, Flora had bought a wide-brimmed felt hat and had trimmed it with some of her father’s gold military braid and a tassel. Now she crammed the hat on her head, cocked it to a jaunty angle, pinned it securely, and hurried downstairs. It was almost three o’clock, and Jeb was never late.

Her father was in the parlor, gravely pacing before the empty fireplace. He looked up as she came in. She hurried to kiss him. “Hello, Papa. You were so quiet I thought you were taking your afternoon nap.”