by Nan Ryan
“Let’s go,” he said, leaning close. Laurette nodded.
Together they slowly sank back away from the crowd, being careful to attract no attention. When they were several yards away, they turned and ran. Laughing and out of breath, they raced across the sprawling lawn. When the hotel and the lighted dance pavilion had been left far behind, they picked their way down the bluffs, not stopping until they were almost to the water.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I kissed you?” Ladd asked as they carefully stepped out of the trees and onto a large, flat boulder jutting out some twenty feet above the calm waters of the bay.
“Five and a half hours,” she said, recalling the afternoon’s last sweet kiss before they had returned to the hotel.
“Well, that’s too long,” he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her.
With the moonlight washing over them and the romantic music from the dance pavilion softly drifting down over the bluffs, they made hurried love, only half undressing. Afterward they adjusted their clothing, climbed to the top of the bluff and dashed across the manicured hotel grounds. They hurried up the steps of the Grand with only three minutes to spare.
As they passed the gentlemen’s lounge with its oak-and-damask walls and constant haze of blue cigar smoke wafting out into the hallway, they heard loud voices.
Curious, they paused to listen.
“…and you, sir, are an ill-informed fool if you think the South will ever back down!” They recognized the deep, strong voice of Ladd’s father, Douglas Dasheroon.
“I’m sure you won’t,” replied a man whose accent was distinctly northern. “You’re all so spoiled and pigheaded down here, you won’t be happy until there is a war. A war which the South will most certainly lose!”
At that arrogant statement a host of voices raised as shouting matches erupted between the visiting Easterners and native Southerners. Most of the gentlemen had imbibed too much Kentucky bourbon or sparkling champagne and emotions were running high.
Listening in horror, Laurette clung to Ladd’s hand, a worried frown on her face. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the very real possibility of approaching war. The prospect of such an occurrence chilled her blood.
Ladd, the love of her life, was now seventeen years old and would leave for West Point early next month. If war came, he would surely be called on to fight.
Their cherished time together, their perfect, carefree summer, had ended. Bright and early tomorrow morning, Ladd would leave for West Point.
It was his last night in Mobile.
His last night with Laurette.
The Dasheroons were hosting a big going-away gala for their only son. The party—food, drinks, music—was held on the smooth grassy banks of the Mobile River downtown. At least two hundred guests were in attendance. Everyone who had been invited was there.
Wishing they could spend this last night alone, knowing that they could not, Ladd and Laurette laughed and talked and pretended they were having a marvelous time sharing the sumptuous spread with old friends and family.
After the meal, all the gentlemen were eager to talk with Ladd, to give him advice and to wish him well. Laurette sat quietly by with the Parlange twins. But she hardly heard what Johanna was saying. She was watching Ladd with pride, straining to hear what he was saying, longing to be in his arms.
Her heart began to pound when finally she heard Ladd say, “Father, Mister Howard, gentlemen, with your permission, I’d like to take Laurette for a walk in the moonlight.”
The young lovers were barely out of sight before they were kissing, holding each other, declaring that they were going to miss each other terribly.
“I want you so much, Lollie,” Ladd murmured as they clung to each other and fought for breath. “Let me make love to you one last time.”
Her heart racing, wits scattered, she breathlessly protested, “Ladd, we can’t, you know we can’t.”
“Yes, we can,” he said as he gripped her hand and anxiously led her farther away from the laughter and the music.
In minutes they were ducking into a dark, willow-enclosed spot along the river where even the full harvest moon could not penetrate. Blackness enveloped them. The kind of absolute darkness where you could not see your hand before your face.
“Ladd,” Laurette whispered, “I can’t see you.”
“But you’ll be able to feel me,” he said as he took her in his arms and kissed her.
When his heated lips left hers, Laurette sighed, “Yes, oh yes.”
Without another word they anxiously undressed, and when they were naked Ladd drew Laurette up against his tall, lean body.
“Feel that?” he asked as he thrust his pelvis forward against her, his erection pressing insistently against her belly.
“Yes,” she whispered, “I feel it, I feel you. I want it. I want you.”
She sighed softly when he turned her about so that she was facing away from him. He leaned her back against him. He wrapped his arms around her, bent his head, kissed the curve of her neck and shoulder and murmured, “You taste good.”
She replied, “You smell good.”
He raised a suntanned hand, placed the tip of his forefinger against her soft lips and said, “Lick my finger, Lollie.”
She put out her tongue, licked his finger, then sucked it when he popped it into her mouth. When he removed the moistened finger, she told him, “You taste good, too.”
“Mmm,” Ladd murmured as he lifted her soft, rounded breasts in his hands. She squirmed against him. “Feel good?” he asked as his wet forefinger circled, teased and gently plucked at her nipples.
“Like heaven,” she sighed and asked no questions when the forefinger of his other hand came up to touch her lips. She automatically licked and sucked on it.
And seconds later, in the thick, black darkness that concealed them, she felt that dampened finger touching her between her legs, toying, arousing, setting her on fire. She sighed and writhed and became so incredibly hot she knew that if he didn’t stop she was going to climax.
As if he’d read her thoughts—or perhaps her responsive body—Ladd quickly turned her about to face him and, bending his knees slightly, wrapped his fingers around his hard pulsing flesh and placed just the smooth tip up inside her. He then lifted her off the ground, clasped his wrists beneath her bottom and coaxed, “Get comfortable with it, then slide all the way down onto it, sweetheart.”
Laurette did just that. Clinging to his wide shoulders, she slowly, surely, impaled herself upon him. Both gasped with pleasure at the completion. And then they made love. It was the strangest, most seductive, most satisfying lovemaking they had ever experienced.
While the party in his honor was in full swing a few short yards away, Ladd stood with his bare feet apart, his hard male member buried deep inside Laurette, the twin cheeks of his brown buttocks flexing as he thrust rhythmically into her. Laurette’s slender legs were wrapped around Ladd’s back, her arms around his dark head. His mouth was at her breasts, licking, nibbling, sucking.
In total darkness they made hot, desperate love of a kind that was brand-new to them. Incredibly arousing. Totally abandoned. Shamelessly animalistic. And the sensational experience was made all the more thrilling because they could not see each other, could only hear and smell and taste and feel.
When their shared release came, Ladd had to quickly cover Laurette’s mouth in a silencing kiss so that everyone at the riverside party wouldn’t know what they were doing.
After the totally fulfilling loving, the two of them sank weakly to the grass and struggled to catch their breath. When their heartbeats had slowed and the perspiration had began to dry on their naked bodies, Laurette clung to Ladd and said, “Don’t go, Ladd. Don’t go off to West Point tomorrow. There’s a war coming, you know there is. If you go to the academy, I will never see you again.”
Ladd’s arms tightened around her. “Of course, you’ll see me again,” he reassured her, “war or no war. We’re getting
married, remember. We’ll spend the rest of our lives together.”
“But what if you—?”
He interrupted her. “I won’t get killed, I promise you.” He kissed the crown of her golden head.
“Then what if you forget me,” she asked, “find another girl and—?”
“Lollie, Lollie,” he said, calling her by the name only he ever used, “I could never love anyone but you. Never. I wouldn’t want to live if I couldn’t have you. Even when we are apart, you’ll still be with me. You are always in my heart.”
“Oh, Ladd, I love you so much.”
“And I love you. Just promise me that no matter what happens, you will wait for me.”
“I promise,” she vowed, kissed his chest and added, “I’ll wait forever for you, Ladd.”
“I know you will, sweetheart,” he said. “We’d best get back to the party.”
“Yes,” she agreed, then said once again, “I will wait forever.”
Eleven
On Friday, the twenty-first day of September, 1860, seventeen-year-old Ladd Winston Dasheroon arrived at West Point on the Hudson.
Shading his eyes against the strong morning sunlight, Ladd stood at the railing of the slow-moving steamer as it approached the levee, thoroughly awed by his first glimpse of the United States Military Academy.
His heart swelled with patriotic pride as he gazed at the buildings scattered on the lofty palisades above. Ladd was well versed in the history of the prestigious academy. He knew that some of America’s finest men had graduated from West Point in its fifty-eight years of existence.
To think that he was now going to be a part of that long gray line was exciting and uplifting beyond belief. At the same time, he was anxious. His father, graduate of the class of ’35, had warned him that discipline was strict and the academic courses difficult. Douglas had cautioned that Ladd would have to study hard and would have to tolerate—with equanimity—harsh treatment from some of the upperclassmen.
“Duty, honor, country,” Douglas had solemnly stated. “Those words dictate what you ought to be, what you will be.” He had smiled then and added, “Don’t worry, Ladd, you’ll make it at the Point. After all, you are my son.”
When the steamer pulled into the landing, Ladd was overjoyed to see the smartly uniformed Jimmy Tigart standing on the wooden wharf, smiling and waving.
“Jimmy!” Ladd exclaimed excitedly as he hurried down the gangplank.
“Laddie,” greeted Jimmy, holding his arms open wide.
“Lord, it’s good to see you,” said Ladd, grabbing Jimmy in a bear hug. “We all missed you this summer. Why didn’t you come home on your furlough?”
Patting Ladd’s back affectionately, Jimmy said, “I had no home to come to. Remember mother moved back to Kentucky last winter to be with her relatives. So I had no place to stay.” Jimmy released Ladd and stepped back, still smiling sunnily.
“No place to…?” Ladd shook his dark head in disbelief. “For heaven sake, Jimmy, you would have stayed with us. You know you’re always welcome at Dauphin Way.”
“Well, that’s very kind, but actually I was pretty busy this summer. A lot of things going on here.”
“Oh?” Ladd’s dark brows lifted quizzically. “A pretty girl perhaps?”
“Make that plural. Pretty girls,” Jimmy corrected with a conspiratorial wink. “They’ve got some beautiful women in New York. I’ll have to introduce you around and—”
“No, thanks,” Ladd said with a negative shake of his head. “There’s only one girl for me.”
Jimmy Tigart waited a couple of heartbeats until he was sure his voice would hold no emotion, then asked, as casually as possible, “How is little Laurette?”
“All grown-up, Jimmy,” Ladd said, “and more beautiful than ever.”
Wondering how the exquisite Laurette could possibly be any prettier than the last time he’d seen her, Jimmy said, “She’ll always be little Laurette to me.” Then, quickly changing the subject, “Let’s go. I’ll show you around.”
“Thanks, Jimmy,” Ladd said, lifting his valise.
“At the Point, it’s Cadet Lieutenant Tigart, Ladd. Not Jimmy.”
Ladd smiled. “Lead the way, sir.”
The two old friends started up the steep path that wound toward the flat dusty plain above. In minutes they reached the highlands upon which rested the forty-acre plateau above the Hudson. The river was now far below, making its slow, steady way between the palisades.
It was a lofty, rocky, majestic point and Ladd was immediately struck by the thought that no one could have chosen a more fitting place for the academy’s location than this starkly beautiful plateau high above the Hudson.
The morning was pleasantly warm, but not hot. The sky was a deep cloudless blue. On the plain, where boy officers would soon pass in review, members of the post band were setting up their instruments and music sheets on a wooden platform. One lone trumpeter was warming up, the sound carrying on the still, clear air. Ladd felt a great sense of exhilaration, a deep pride knowing that he was to be part of this respected tradition. He would, he hoped, measure up. He wanted to be a model cadet.
Just like Jimmy.
As he and Jimmy fell into step and crossed the dusty quadrangle, Ladd commented that Jimmy should be really proud of the fact that he had excelled at the academy, was near the top of his class.
Ladd immediately noted the minute tightening of Jimmy’s firm jaw as he replied, “The Point is one of the few places on earth where the standing of an individual is dependent strictly on merit.”
Ladd nodded. “Yes. That’s way it should be and—”
Tigart interrupted and looking Ladd in the eye said, “Here the son of the poorest and most obscure man has an equal chance to compete with the son of the most powerful and richest man in the country. Birth, avarice and connections have no effect on determining promotion or punishment at the Point.”
Struck by the chilly tone of Jimmy’s voice, Ladd was momentarily taken aback. He had never known Jimmy to be the least bit envious and had certainly never thought of his friend as anything other than an equal. Had Jimmy been harboring some deep-seated resentment all these years?
“Listen, Jimmy, I—” Ladd began, but again Jimmy cut him off.
“We’re here,” he announced, a few feet from the front door of a building.
Cadet Lieutenant Jimmy Tigart ushered Ladd into the dormitory known as Old South. On the third and top floor, Ladd was directed into a small, spartan room where two other plebes were unpacking.
When the boys saw the upperclassman, they automatically snapped to attention, chin in, chest out.
“At ease, plebes,” said Cadet Lieutenant Tigart. Then to Ladd, his half-cocky, easygoing disposition back in place he added, “I’ll leave you to get acquainted. You need anything, let me know.”
Nodding, Ladd said, “Yes. Sure. Thanks again, Jimmy…ah, Cadet Lieutenant Tigart.”
Ladd and his new roommates quickly became friends. Short, scrappy, dark-haired Thomas Little was a Nashville, Tennessee native, and the fair, blond, slim Vance Granger was from Macon, Georgia. By sunset, Ladd felt as if he had known both Thomas and Vance all his life.
As classes got underway and the three plebes became accustomed to the rules and regulations of the academy, Ladd saw little of Jimmy. He was disappointed, but not surprised, since Jimmy was an upperclassman. Still, the expression he had seen in Jimmy’s hazel eyes when Jimmy had stated that a poor man’s son could do as well as a rich man’s here at West Point haunted Ladd. Troubled him. Stayed in the back of his mind.
Ladd was firmly resolved to be a good student. He studied long hours each evening, determined to keep up, to be in the top of his class. It was not easy. In this first year the plebes had to struggle with algebra, geometry and trigonometry, as well as history, French, Latin, literature, philosophy and chemistry. A bright boy, Ladd soon mastered his studies and he also easily adjusted to the rigors of life at West Point.
As
expected, Ladd and his fellow plebes were looked down on by the upperclassmen, ordered about. They were ‘animals,’ ‘reptiles,’ ‘beasts.’ Most took it in their stride, knowing the derision was part of the tradition of the Point. Like most of his fellow plebes, Ladd was unbothered by the meaningless scorn and mockery.
But, from the first week he had arrived, he had continuing trouble with Gilbert LaKid, a large, ugly, sadistic upperclassmen who for some reason had singled Ladd out for rough, constant hazing.
The big, beefy upperclassman took great pleasure in causing problems for Ladd. Ladd attempted to stay out of LaKid’s way, to avoid him, but often found it impossible. Every where Ladd went, LaKid showed up and immediately began ordering Ladd to drop and do a hundred push-ups. Or to stand at attention outdoors for hours on a cold, rainy night while holding a full pail of water in each hand. To reclean his room after cleaning it a half dozen times. To repress his uniform, repolish his shoes. The needless tasks sapped much of Ladd’s strength and took up his precious time.
Ladd came to despise LaKid. He was dedicated and eager to prove himself, so he silently endured. He had been brought up to embrace noble values, to abhor cruelty, to fight injustice and never to whine at his lot in life.
And, he always had something to look forward to. The high point of his day was mail call and the sweet letters from Laurette which he eagerly read and reread.
After lights out he would lie awake in the darkness, listening to the night sounds, envisioning Laurette’s lovely face: her high cheekbones, pale skin, her luminous eyes. He would daydream of the time he would graduate with honor from the Point and return home in glory to marry his golden-haired angel.
Back in Mobile, that golden-haired angel was totally lost. Laurette missed Ladd so much it was like a constant physical pain. The separation was far worse than anything she had ever experienced or imagined. She had known that she was deeply in love with Ladd; now she realized that he was everything to her. Her entire universe. Without him, life would have no meaning.
As lonely as she was without him, Laurette did her best to put on a brave face around her parents. She was wise enough to know that if she revealed the true depth of her suffering, they might well suspect that she and Ladd had been too close. Had been intimate.
