Cinda held her close, patted her shoulder. “There, dear; there!” And she said reassuringly: “Things happen more quickly in these times, darling. Dolly’s all right.” She laughed a little. “She ought to be smacked, of course, but she’ll be all right. And she’s a grown woman, you know.”
“I hate it,” Tilda insisted. “But if I scold her, she’ll just hate me!”
“Why not go visit her? Go see this young man. I expect he’s just as nice as he can be.”
“You always make things seem all right, somehow.” Tilda’s tears came in a flood. “Oh, Cinda, I love you so! I wish we could be together more. I need someone to talk to. I’m so lonesome, sometimes.”
“You can always talk to me.”
“Do you think I ought to tell people about Dolly?”
“Of course! Don’t go out of your way, but tell all your friends.”
“I haven’t any friends.”
“Nonsense!”
“I haven’t!” Tilda insisted. “People don’t like Mr. Streean.” In a burst of helpless confession she cried: “Oh, I wish I’d never married him, Cinda. Sometimes I wish I’d never been born.”
“There—now you’ve got that off your mind you’ll feel better.”
“You all just despise him. And so do I.”
“People don’t despise you, though,” Cinda assured her. “You’ve made a place for yourself. I’m real proud of you.”
Tilda’s tears no longer flowed. “I know I’ve tried awful hard,” she admitted. “Sometimes I do feel as if I amounted to something.” And she said in a low tone: “Cinda, when I first knew that about Papa and President Lincoln, I thought it was pretty awful; but now I’m sort of proud he’s related to us. It’s just simply crazy, I suppose; but after all, he’s President. I sort of feel as though I wanted to live up to him.”
Cinda said quietly: “I’ve been proud ever since I saw him in Washington.”
Tilda kissed her again. “And I want to live up to you, Cinda,” she said softly. “I’m awful proud that you’re my sister.”
When Captain Pew next came to Richmond, Streean brought him to the house. “He knows Dolly’s husband,” he told Tilda. “So you’ll want to ask him a lot of questions.”
He left them together while he went to his room, but Tilda’s question was not about Lieutenant Kenyon. “Captain Pew,” she asked in a low tone, “did Dolly go with you and Darrell to Nassau?”
She saw in his eyes what might have been uneasiness, but he evaded her question. “Oh, I haven’t seen Darrell for several months.”
She brushed that aside. “Then did Dolly go with you?” And when he hesitated, she said: “I’m not blaming you if she did. She’s headstrong and impetuous, and she’ll do anything to get her own way. I know she wanted to. Did she?”
He said, after a moment: “Well, yes ma’am, she did.” She saw in him a deep embarrassment, and some sullen anger; and an apologetic desire to justify himself was plain in his next words. “On the train, on the way down there, she teased me to take her along. You know she can drive a man crazy with her teasing. But I told her no. Then she managed to come aboard, the night of our farewell supper. We always invite everyone in town, and she just mixed in with the crowd. She wore Darrell’s clothes, ma’am.” There was no question of the anger in him now. “She told me afterward she’d brought them along on purpose. She pretended to be going to the Plains just to get away from Richmond, but all the time she meant to make me take her to Nassau.”
“Couldn’t you have put her ashore?”
“She hid in my locker, ma’am. I was on deck till after we slipped through the blockading steamers, about daylight next morning. Then I went below and there she was, rolled up in one of my coats, asleep on my bunk! It was too late to put back.”
Tilda, thinking of Dolly’s shameful masquerade, remembered a night long ago when the child had dressed in Darrell’s things and slipped out of the house to mingle with a celebrating throng on Richmond’s streets. It was a long time now since Richmond had had anything to celebrate. “But you did bring her back to Wilmington?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I kept her on shipboard in Nassau. We anchored in the harbor and lightered off our cotton, and she didn’t leave the ship. And I brought her back. She wanted to go ashore at Nassau, but I wouldn’t let her; so we didn’t part on very good terms.”
Tilda heard Redford Streean descending the stairs. She whispered: “Don’t tell Mr. Streean, please.” And then, aloud, as Streean appeared in the door: “Lieutenant Kenyon sounds perfectly charming.”
“He’s a fine young fellow,” Captain Pew agreed.
Tilda wanted to be alone, but she was afraid that if she tried to walk her trembling knees would not support her; so she sat quietly while the two men fell at once into talk of business. Streean said: “Our venture into the passenger trade fell through.”
Captain Pew nodded. He said that Mr. Hyman, when he came aboard the Dragonfly at Wilmington, balked at the sum demanded for transporting him and his family to Nassau.
“I was moderate enough,” the Captain explained. “Ten thousand dollars per passenger, and there were only six of them. But our friend burst into a harangue, and I tossed him off the ship.” He added frankly: “I thought he’d pay, once he saw I meant it; but he called down a thousand curses on my head and led his party away.”
Streean laughed. “He wishes by now he’d paid your price. He came back to Richmond and they went from here to Staunton and tried to go down the Valley and through the lines that way; but some bushwhackers stopped them and took everything he had, a lot of jewelry and gold, over two hundred thousand dollars altogether.”
“He’d have had a cheaper trip with me,” Captain Pew commented. He said that the cargo which the Dragonfly brought in for Colonel Northrop showed a profit beyond their best expectations. The two discussed new ventures. With gold at thirty for one, and prices rising every day, it was impossible to go far wrong. Anything you bought would presently show a profit. Streean said a ham had sold at auction that day for three hundred and fifty dollars, and sugar was ten dollars a pound.
“And if Sherman takes Mobile, the price will go up like a skyrocket,” he predicted.
Captain Pew said the trade with Nassau was at a peak. “The Governor has begun to enforce the Queen’s proclamation, so blockading cruisers can’t anchor in British waters unless they’re in distress. They chased the Hansa from Stirrup’s Cay till she jettisoned seventy bales of cotton and ran inside the reef at Six Shilling Channel. Three blockade-runners made Nassau the day they chased the Hansa, and twelve of us in January. The Fannie and the Wild Dayrell made two trips. And eight more came through in February. The Pet was captured off Wilmington, but the others all got through.” He added, smiling: “The big sensation in Nassau now is the Governor wants an investigation of the way Mr. Powell is running the hotel.” He hesitated, looking at Tilda, and Streean asked:
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Oh, there’ve been complaints.” Captain Pew spoke evasively. Clearly, her presence put a curb upon his tongue; and Tilda, hoping she could walk steadily, left them.
Next day, seeking any comforting, she went to tell Cinda Dolly’s escapade; and as she repeated some of the things Captain Pew had said, she remembered his manner and spoke of it. “I never saw him like that before,” she said. “He’s usually so—well, so sure of himself. I can’t describe it, but it was as though he expected to be accused of something, and was ready to—well, to deny it, I suppose!” Cinda nodded, and Tilda added: “I suppose he knows he should have brought her right back, but probably he couldn’t do it in broad daylight with the Yankee steamers there, and he thinks we’re blaming him. But he acted —Cinda, if I didn’t know nothing ever scared him, I’d think he was scared!”
“I can’t think of anything, except perhaps his own conscience, which would frighten the bold Captain Pew.”
“I don’t think he has much conscience,” Tilda confessed; and her own
words frightened her. Dolly had been for days alone with him aboard the Dragonfly.
Before February ended she had another letter from Dolly, and she opened it with eager fingers; but it was brief and hurtful as a blow.
Dear Mama, I had your letter but you dont need to be so mealy mouthed and hypocritical because you know perfectly well I wouldn’t have married Bruce unless I thought I had to marry somebody but I didn’t and Im simply furious and you dont need to ask me about Darrell because I havent the faintest idea where he is and I dont care, and as for Captain Pew I dont ever want to hear his name again as long as I live you dont need to worry about me Im a respectable married woman now and I can take care of myself perfectly well.
Dolly
That letter was like a thunderstroke crashing in Tilda’s ears, mercifully rendering her for a while insensible to pain. From any thought of Dolly she took refuge in anxiety for her son. Tony did not know where Darrell was, nor did Captain Pew, nor Dolly. Dolly was lost; but where was Darrell? Where was Darrell now?
10
February-March, 1864
SADNESS had never left any visible mark on Vesta, and if sometimes she still wept for Tommy it was secretly. There were tears enough in the world; she would not add her own. Rich hours with her baby were a sweet delight; the household responsibilities that Cinda put in her hands gave her no leisure for wistful sighs; she was busy, and she was young, and healthy active youth laughs easily. Through this winter and early spring she began more and more to enter into the social gaiety, a little forced, with something desperate about it, which Richmond people would always remember as the last brightness of a dying flame. Gentlemen competed for first honors for hospitality. Mr. Trenholm, who was said to own more blockade-runners than any man in the Confederacy, and to be one of the wealthiest men in the South, kept open house every Saturday evening. His old Madeira was the best in Richmond, and no one ever declined an invitation to his dinners. Mr. Benjamin, the Secretary of State, was always a guest; and most people believed Mr. Trenholm would soon replace Mr. Memminger as Secretary of the Treasury. Mr. Macfarland, the president of the Farmers’ Bank, was another who gave lavish entertainments. He had been politically ambitious till Mr. Tyler defeated him for Congress; but he could still plan delightful balls and socials.
And hostesses won an equal fame. Cinda seldom attended any elaborate entertainments, but she had planned to go to see the performance of The Rivals at the home of Mrs. Ives, early in February. When the time came, however, she had a wretched cold; and though Vesta urged her to ignore it, Cinda said:
“No, Honey. When I have a cold, people can’t hear themselves think in the same room with me. Sneezing and coughing, I’d be the real Mrs. Malaprop. You come home and tell me all about it.”
Vesta had contrived for the occasion a new dress, put together out of odds and ends of resurrected finery. The skirt was of white-barred organdy with a flounce of black lace around the bottom, and a wide black sash with a bow in the back; the waist was charmingly puffed, and trimmed with lace-edged ruching.
“And a flounced muslin petticoat, Mama! See!” She made Cinda admire her ingenuity. “And all out of scraps. I just threw all the old rags I own in a heap and took things at random and put them together any old way. Tell me how clever I am!”
She departed in a happy excitement, and after the performance she went with the others to Mrs. Ould’s to a midnight supper, so it was late when she came home. Old Caesar, bearing a candle, since gas was short and people used no more than they must, sleepily admitted her. When the door opened Vesta saw a scrap of paper on the floor and picked it up. It was a note from Rollin.
Wanted to see you, but the house is dark, so I know you’re all asleep, and I must take the morning train. Sorry.
Rollin.
Vesta was sorry too. She and Rollin had been friends so long. He must be just returning from his furlough. She tiptoed upstairs, but Cinda was awake and heard her and called her in. Vesta protested: “Heavens, Mama, you ought to have been asleep hours ago. How do you feel?”
“Oh, I’m lots better,” Cinda assured her. “June rubbed my chest with hot mutton tallow mixed with sassafras and turpentine till I thought I was afire, and then made me drink a glass of hot lemonade and brandy, and pinned a cold compress around my neck and tucked me in. I got rid of the clammy thing as soon as she was out of the room, but I wasn’t sleepy. I’ve been watching the moonlight.” The night was bright outside her windows. “Was it fun, darling?”
“Wonderful!” Vesta lighted Cinda’s candle, using three matches before one burned long enough to touch the wick. “We still haven’t learned how to make matches,” she said laughingly. “I’d almost forgive the Yankees everything else if they’d send us some good matches again. Mama, Rollin was here tonight.” She showed Cinda his note. “This was tucked under the front door. I wish I’d been here.”
“He didn’t ring or I’d have heard him and kept him till you came. I like Rollin.”
“So do I.” Thinking of Rollin made her remember Dolly. “I wonder if Dolly’s back from Nassau.”
“Oh, bother Dolly! Tell me about tonight,” Cinda urged. “Unless you’re sleepy.”
“Heavens, I’m too excited to be sleepy. It was such fun, Mama.” The embers on the hearth were still warm. “Here, help me out of this dress; I mustn’t muss it, even if it is a hodgepodge.” In her petticoat, a quilt around her shoulders, she sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed, her tongue rattling. “Mrs. Clay kept us all just screaming, and Connie Cary was the loveliest thing you ever saw. Mr. Harrison just simply gawped at her!”
“Was he in it?”
“No. Connie was Lydia, and Mrs. Clay was Mrs. Malaprop, of course; and Lee Tucker was Captain Absolute, and Mr. John Randolph was Sir Anthony. Oh and Major Brown was Sir Lucius. He had the most marvellous brogue! Connie’s brother was Fag.”
“I suppose everyone was there.”
“Oh yes, from President Davis down. The house was jammed. The stage was at the end of the parlors. Secretary Mallory says they did it as well as Drury Lane or any real theatre, and he’s seen it dozens of times. Mrs. Drew said Mrs. Clay was as good as any Mrs. Malaprop she’d ever seen. Mrs. Ives filled in, in the afterpiece, and she borrowed Ruby Mallory’s new hat that came through the blockade from Paris only last week, a huge black leghorn with black plumes. That hat just made everybody gasp. Connie had the most perfect dresses you can imagine. Mrs. Clay had on a brocade, and she was just simply festooned with lace, and jewels and plumes in her hair.” Vesta doubled over with laughter at the memory. “Her hair was piled mountain-high, and she told us between the acts that to get it high enough she’d rolled up a pair of her black satin boots and then pinned her own hair on top of them. Oh, and the funniest thing was when Bob Acres—Major Ward was wonderful—was getting ready for the duel, and General Hood said, loud enough for everyone near him to hear: ‘I believe that fellow’s a coward.’ I guess he’d never seen The Rivals before.”
“Sam Hood’s a nice boy,” Cinda declared. “I hope nobody laughed.”
“Oh no, but it was really the hit of the evening.” Vesta smiled. “General Hood attracted attention again, later on, after the performance. Mr. Blanding from Lynchburg said General Pendleton had told him that the Yankees lost forty-eight thousand men at Chancellorsville, and fifty thousand at Gettysburg. General Hood said it wasn’t true; Mr. Blanding said General Pendleton had it from General Lee, and that General Lee knew it from secret official Yankee reports; and General Hood said the statement was as unreliable as General Pendleton’s reconnaissance at Gettysburg. He was angry, but I suppose you can’t blame the poor man. After all, he was wounded there.”
“They shouldn’t talk war at a party.”
“They didn’t mean to be heard, I’m sure,” Vesta explained. “But their voices rose.”
Cinda said: “I was sure Mrs. Clay would be good in her part. I’ve heard she went to a costume party in Washington before the war as Mrs. Partington, and ma
de a sensation; and of course Mrs. Malaprop’s the same sort of thing.”
“It was loads of fun,” Vesta said happily. “But I do wish I’d seen Rollin. It would almost have been worth missing it.”
“What did Connie wear?”
“Why, one dress was a white muslin, with a lace cap and blue ribbons, just as sweet as could be. But the prettiest was a pale blue brocade petticoat and bodice with a train of pink moire and a fichu of Mechlin lace and a wreath of pink roses. She looked good enough to eat—and Mr. Harrison looked as though he’d like to eat her.” She laughed again. “She told me her shoulder will be black and blue for days where Mrs. Malaprop pinched her! And ‘Lissa Temple had her hair done a new way—three rolls on each side of her head running from the front to the back, big ones on top, and then smaller ones, and then little ones over her ears. ‘Cats, rats, and mice’ we called it, teasing her; but it looked ever so stylish. But of course Hetty Cary carried off all the honors, even without being in the performance. The gentlemen were just standing on their heads! Honestly, Mama, she’s so lovely it’s sinful, and so nice you can’t possibly envy her. She wore a dotted Swiss blouse with perfectly enormous puff sleeves, all caught in by a black velvet bodice laced across here—” Her rapid gesture with her fingertips made her meaning plain. “And a thin black ribbon like the lacing, tied in long bows at her throat, and tiny black lace across the top of the bodice. And her skirt was dark brown, with a brocaded panel in front, and she wore a perfectly lovely black lace shawl. Really, she was a picture!” She sighed and said again: “But I’m sorry I missed Rollin. Do you suppose he saw Jenny?”
“You like Rollin pretty well, don’t you, Vesta?”
“Of course!” Vesta lay down, her head pillowed beside her mother’s. “He and Tommy were such good friends, Mama.” Her voice was soft.
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