North and South Trilogy

by John Jakes

He helped her up. Her bodice clung to her body, revealing the tips of her breasts through layers of wet fabric. She shook a shower of droplets from her parasol and giggled.

  “Your uniform’s a sight. I suppose I don’t look much better.”

  “Well,” he replied in a grave way, “at least now you’ll remember your visit to St. Louis.”

  “How could I forget St. Louis when you’re here?”

  Said lightly, it nevertheless carried an undertone of seriousness.

  Their eyes held. He pressed toward her through the shallows, circled her waist with both hands, and pulled her to him. Her wet, sweet mouth roused him all the more. Her lips parted. She pressed herself close.

  Presently he whispered, “For a proper Southern girl, you don’t worry much about appearances. Here we are kissing in broad daylight—”

  “I don’t care if the whole state of Illinois sees us. I love you, Billy. I’ll never love anyone el—” Over his shoulder she noticed something that instantly banished romance. “The boat!”

  He had to wade into deep water to retrieve it. He pulled it well up on shore and anchored the bow line under a heavy rock. He slapped his wet cap against his trousers as he rejoined her, glad for the distraction the boat had provided. It had helped him calm down a little.

  He took her hand as they walked toward the cottonwoods. Immediately, he felt a renewed pressure in his groin. The enforced celibacy was just too damn much. He glanced at Brett, and her eyes seemed to be saying the same thing.

  He showed her the two rows of pilings at the upper end of the wooded shoal. The forty-foot space between the rows had been refilled with sand and stone, the outer faces of the dike built up again with ramparts of brush.

  It had been a hard, dirty job. Billy had labored at it all summer, positioning the barges, sinking new pilings, dumping stone, swatting insects, and dealing with the quirks and quarrels of his hired civilian crew. Most of the time he had worked without his shirt. His back had repeatedly reddened and blistered, but now his skin was a dark nut color, the repairs were done, and he could show them off with pride.

  “Ice damaged the dike at the south end of the shoal, too. We’ve been repairing that. We’ll be finished in another two or three weeks.”

  “Then what will happen?”

  “I’ll be transferred.”

  “Where?”

  “Wherever they need engineers. One of my workmen asked why I had to spend four years at West Point to learn how to load rocks on a barge. I was hanged if I knew the answer. But it’s good, useful work, and I’ve enjoyed it. I’ll be glad to do the same kind of job somewhere else.”

  She nodded. They were strolling arm in arm through the rustling cottonwoods. The sky had turned a brilliant deep blue; Billy always thought of it as the color of October. Some cumulus clouds drifted overhead. The sinking sun tinted them hot orange. The contrast with the sky was striking and, to his way of thinking, romantic.

  “I don’t care where Í go,” he resumed, “so long as I’m near you.” He stopped, turned her toward him, held her forearms. “I want to marry you, Brett. Soon.”

  “I feel the same way. It seems like we’ve been waiting a century. Do you know I’m twenty-one already?”

  “I’d forgotten. Why, you’re practically ancient.”

  Despite the joke, he too had been aware of his age lately. At twenty-four, a man was ready for responsibilities. “I can take care of you properly now. I’ve been saving half my pay every month, so—” He cleared his throat. “What would you think if I spoke to Orry while you’re both here?”

  She hugged him. “Oh, please do.”

  “I want to be sure I approach him at the right moment—”

  She gave him a gentle smile. “You’re always so cautious and careful. I don’t think there will ever be a right moment anymore. The world’s in such turmoil—”

  “But I’m not certain Orry likes me. What if I speak to him and he’s still angry with George?”

  “He’s all over that.” Again she crushed against him, whispering, “I’ll go out of my mind if we have to wait much longer.”

  “So will I.”

  “Talk to him tomorrow. Or tonight!”

  “All right. I’ll do it as soon as I can, I promise.”

  It had a firm, emphatic sound that concealed his inner doubt. He felt like a general who had finally committed his troops to battle. They kissed again while the orange clouds floated above the Mississippi in a sky so lovely it seemed to deny even the possibility of trouble in the world.

  Orry found St. Louis a lively and energetic place but ill-mannered, bumptious. Raw as the unpainted lumber of many of its buildings. He felt very much the elegant South Carolinian as he and Billy strolled along the riverfront on the morning following Billy’s trip to Bloody Island.

  Orry was carrying an expensive walnut cane he had just bought as a souvenir of his visit. He swung the cane forward in a little circle, then in a circle the other way. They passed a dozen noisy Negro stevedores loading crates on a barge. In mid-channel a huge sternwheeler churned northward toward Des Moines. Passengers lined the rails, waving. Orry watched the vessel with admiring eyes; he had fallen in love with steamboats, which seemed to him like elegant floating palaces.

  Billy cleared his throat. His light blue trousers still bore signs of the soaking they had received. Orry knew what was coming and wished he could avoid it.

  “Orry, I appreciate your willingness to talk to me.”

  The taller man twirled his cane and tried to joke. “Nothing novel in that. We’ve been talking to each other for years.”

  “Yes, sir, but this is important. It concerns Brett.”

  Grave again, Orry nodded. “So I assumed.”

  A wagon piled with cotton bales went by. The mule’s shoes rang on the cobblestones. The men strolled another ten seconds without speaking. Sometimes Orry thought Billy too cautious—an ironic contrast to his older brother. He did regret that this interview was taking place just now, although anger with George had nothing to do with the feeling; in fact, he held himself responsible in large part for what had happened at Lehigh Station. At the proper moment he would dispatch a letter to George and try to patch things up.

  From a café on the left drifted the delicious aroma of coffee; from a saloon came loud voices and the smell of sawdust. Out of the corner of his eye Orry noted Billy’s apprehensive expression. To make it easier for him, Orry spoke first.

  “You’d like permission to marry Brett.”

  Billy practically exploded with relief. “Yes! I can take care of her now. Not lavishly, but she’ll never want, I promise you that. I think my prospects in the Army are excellent. I’ll be leaving St. Louis soon—”

  “Do you know where you’ll be transferred?”

  “I’ve asked to be assigned to one of the Federal forts in the South. Fort Pulaski in Savannah. Fortress Monroe. The ideal post would be Charleston. I’ve heard about some plans to repair the harbor fortifications there.”

  “Well, Brett would be happy to have you closer to Mont Royal.”

  “Sir, we don’t want to just visit any longer. We want to marry.”

  The statements were more than a bit brusque. Pausing at the head of a busy passenger pier, Orry faced the younger man, frowning.

  “I understand that, Billy, but I’m afraid I can’t give my permission.”

  Billy’s eyes flickered with resentment. “Why not? Do you think I’d be a poor husband for Brett?”

  “I expect you’d be a fine one. It has nothing to do with your character.”

  “What, then? Have you changed your mind about the Army? Do you think it’s a bad career?”

  “No, and I’m sure you’ll do well. Or you would in ordinary times. Alas, these times aren’t ordinary. The country’s riven with trouble. The future’s uncertain, if not downright grim.” He let out a breath and told the rest of the truth. “Especially for two young people who come from different sections.”

  “You mean bec
ause I’m from Pennsylvania and Brett’s a Southerner, you think we can’t get along?” With quiet strength, he added, “Don’t judge us by what happened between you and George.”

  Orry held his temper; he was able to speak calmly. “Brett told you?”

  “She did.”

  “Well, I can’t say my decision is entirely unrelated to the quarrel, but not in the way you think. Your brother and I haven’t fallen out permanently. He’s still my best friend. At least I hope he is. However, there’s no disputing one fact: George and I quarreled over issues that are all but unavoidable these days. The same issues could put immense pressure on you and my sister. Suppose this crazy secession talk led to some concrete act of hostility. How would it affect the Army? Specifically, how would it affect an officer with loyalties both to his government and to a Southern wife?”

  “Seems to me you’re searching pretty hard to find objections.” Billy’s voice had an edge on it now.

  So did Orry’s as he countered, “I am explaining my reason for saying no.”

  “Are you withholding your permission permanently or just temporarily?”

  “Temporarily. Believe me, I’d be glad to have Brett marry a Hazard. But not until the future is a bit more clear.”

  Billy stared him down. “What if the two of us should decide to marry without your blessing?”

  At that, Orry’s expression chilled. “I don’t think Brett would do such a thing. Of course you’re free to ask her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Billy said with a nod. “I believe I will. Excuse me? I have some business with my clerk.”

  His eyes unhappy, Orry watched the younger man’s stiff back move away down the waterfront.

  That night, in the parlor of their hotel suite, Brett said, “I was disappointed by the answer you gave Billy.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “A little while ago, when I went downstairs. He’s convinced you dislike him personally.”

  Orry slapped the arm of his chair. “That isn’t true. Apparently I failed to make myself clear to him. I just want to think it over awhile longer. As you know so well, people are taking sides in this country. Your background and his would very likely force you onto opposite sides. I wouldn’t want you involved in a marriage with that kind of pressure.”

  “Seems to me it will be my marriage.” She stamped her foot. “Seems to me I should be the one to decide.”

  “Don’t talk like Ashton,” he snapped, striding to the window. There he turned. “If you’re going to defy me, tell me straight out.”

  “I told Billy I couldn’t do that. At least not while there’s a chance you’ll change your mind.”

  The threat was faint but unmistakable. Her decisiveness induced a sudden and unexpected melancholy—perhaps because he tended to forget that she was already an adult, in charge of her own destiny, and it took an incident like this one to remind him that his guidance was no longer needed or wanted. To remind him as well of how swiftly time went by, working its implacable changes.

  Gazing from the window, he watched another paddle-wheeler churn south on the Mississippi. Sparks trailed upward from the smokestacks, vivid in the dark but quickly gone. Like a man’s ambitions. A man’s dreams.

  He didn’t want to be guilty of denying happiness to others because it had been denied to him. That was a wretched and selfish way to behave. The possibility tempered his resolve somewhat, filled him with a desire to make peace. With her and with Billy.

  He walked to Brett and clasped her hand.

  “I like Billy. I know he’d care for you. But marriage is a commitment for a lifetime”—ah, wouldn’t Madeline be proud of you, said an acid voice in the darkness of his thoughts—”so you ought to be very sure of your feelings.”

  “Orry, I am! I’ve known Billy for years. I’ve been waiting for him for years.”

  “Will it hurt to wait a little longer?”

  All the light had left the parlor. They could no longer see each other clearly. She uttered a soft, weary sigh.

  “Oh, I suppose not.”

  He’d won. Not a victory. Merely a reprieve.

  The night was even more unhappy for Billy than for Brett. Sleep refused to come, and he was troubled by depressing thoughts about Orry’s rejection; sectional animosities and the possibility of a war; even by memories of a nearly incomprehensible warning from George. A warning which he had just remembered. It involved some crazed Army officer who hated all the Hazards, God alone knew why. His brother had even suggested the officer might pose a threat to him, somehow.

  Well, he had neither time nor inclination to take that kind of thing seriously—or even remember it on any occasion except a gloomy one like this. No, not when he had Brett to fret and dream about.

  Three days later, on a Thursday, Billy saw the visitors aboard an eastbound train.

  Orry had said little to the young officer after their near quarrel. Now, standing beside their coach, he realized this was his last opportunity to go beyond cool, empty pleasantries, to make Billy feel better.

  He grabbed Billy’s hand to shake it. That helped disarm him. Then Orry surprised him by smiling.

  “I think you and Brett could weather almost any storm together. Just give me a month or so to convince myself, eh?”

  “You mean we can—”

  Orry raised his hand to interrupt. “No promises, Billy. I didn’t close the door; I’m sorry if you thought I did. Like you, I’ve always been cautious. Ask your brother.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Beaming, Billy took and pumped his hand. Then Brett hugged her brother.

  Orry left the young people whispering, their foreheads close together. His conscience was salved, but he felt no better about the future as he climbed aboard the train.

  52

  SCREAMING WAKENED HIM, A woman’s screaming, loud and shrill. Orry rubbed his eyes. The train was standing still. People were running along the aisle of the coach. One tall man bumped the dim coal-oil lantern hanging at the end of the car. The lantern swung wildly, throwing distorted shadows over the walls.

  On the seat across the aisle, Brett was waking. Orry stood, trying to make sense out of the confusion. Outside, the woman continued to scream. A curt male voice silenced her. From the vestibule Orry heard the conductor:

  “They want everyone off. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m sure no one will be harmed. Please hurry. Watch your step.”

  The conductor struggled against the tide of people pushing toward him. He called to Orry, Brett, and a few others who had been doing their best to sleep sitting up. “Please hurry. Everyone must go outside.”

  Still not fully awake, Orry wondered if all this commotion was necessary. Surely it was just some minor accident. He tugged his big silver watch from his waistcoat pocket. He thumbed it open while Brett crossed the aisle, stepped past him, and raised the window blind on a rectangle of darkness.

  The watch showed half past one. That meant it was already Monday morning. Monday, October 17. Early Sunday, they had left Wheeling on this B&O express for Baltimore, where Orry was to purchase several thousand dollars’ worth of shipyard equipment for Cooper. He had the long list of specifications in his luggage.

  Brett leaned against the window and cupped her hands around her eyes. Suddenly she jerked back, her face white.

  “I saw a man walk by outside. He had a musket.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  He leaned past her and looked out. Dim in the distance, a few lamps gleamed. He felt reassured by signs of civilization. Suddenly a hand closed on his shoulder from behind.

  He whirled, ready to strike. It was only the conductor.

  “Please, sir, get off the train.” The man was in a panic, practically begging. “I am the representative of this railroad. My name’s Phelps. All passengers are my responsibility. Please do what I ask until we get permission to proceed.”

  “Permission from whom?” Orry’s voice was stronger now, his sleepiness gone.

  “From th
e armed men outside. They have control of the station. They say they have also captured the Federal Arsenal and Hall’s rifle works. They strike me as exceedingly determined.”

  Somewhere a gun exploded. Brett, startled, uttered a soft cry, then looked up and down the car. “Everyone else has gone. We’d better do as this gentleman asks.”

  Orry’s mouth grew dry. He felt tense, instinctively alarmed as he often had in Mexico. He followed Phelps to the head of the car, only then thinking to ask the obvious question:

  “Where are we?”

  “Harpers Ferry. Last stop in Virginia before we cross the river to Maryland.”

  Preposterous. This was nickel-novel melodrama, being performed in the middle of the night for reasons that were as yet incomprehensible. Yet an undercurrent of fear persisted. Brett was behind him, clutching his hand as he followed Phelps into the cold, damp air.

  He moved down the iron steps, his field of vision widening. Lamps hung from the roof beam of the platform. Their light revealed five armed men, four white, one black. Down to the right, other men with revolvers and carbines were herding passengers into a small, drab building next to the platform.

  To the left Orry spied another figure. He was sprawled on his back near an empty cart. A baggage handler, Orry guessed. The front of his tunic was splotched with blood.

  Orry helped his sister down the last step, then moved in front of her. Phelps confronted the armed men.

  “I demand to know when you will permit this train to continue to its destination.”

  The conductor’s words were stronger than his voice, which had a crack in it. The black man tucked his carbine under one arm, walked up to Phelps, and struck him in the face.

  “You in no position to demand anything, mister.”

  The conductor rubbed his cheek. “Do you realize the penalty for interfering with the United States mail? When word of this atrocity is telegraphed to Baltimore—”

  One of the white men interrupted. “The wires east and west of here are cut. You go put the lamps out in all the cars, then get inside with the rest. You have your choice of the depot or the hotel right next door.” Evidently the hotel was the small, drab structure.