It was Eugenia’s first outburst in some time, and it took Patrick aback. Warren continued to eat.
“I think it was kind of Amelia to see to Hattie, since the girl is too sick to enjoy the holiday,” he said calmly.
“Yes, indeed, but…”
“Well, isn’t that what Christmas is all about?” he said, boldly interrupting her.
“Certainly, Patrick, you are right,” she agreed awkwardly, only to appease him. She shot me a look of disgust as Patrick went back to eating.
Patrick had come to my defense and put Eugenia in her place. That was no easy task. Not even Daddy knew how to put Eugenia in her place.
Warren, who was most often a quiet, unobtrusive guest, sensed what an accomplishment that was, and raised his brows with amazement, all while still eating. I tried to hide my beaming smile, not to let Patrick see how my heart raced hearing my name on his lips.
After we finished, I instructed everyone to gather in the parlor to open gifts before leaving for church. Eugenia was losing patience with me, but she held her tongue to indulge me.
I handed the gifts out one by one and sat back on my heels, watching each person and studying their expressions.
Mammy and Hamilton were easy to please, Jacob was amused, and Warren was thankful. Eugenia gave me a genuine thank you and carefully folded the paper back around the hair pin.
Then I looked toward Patrick. I was excited when he finally turned my way and gave me one of his handsome smiles. “Thank you, Amelia.”
I knew there wasn’t a gift for me, and I didn’t mind. I’d received my gift the night before. Not only the brooch with my own mother’s image painted on it, but the kiss Patrick and I shared, even though in his letter of apology he dismissed our kiss as nothing more than a drunken man’s mistake.
“I ask for you to please forget it ever happened, Amelia. I became confused in my mind from the alcohol. For a moment I forgot who you were to me. It shall never happen again,” the letter read.
On our way to church, I sat beside Patrick in the buggy and across from Eugenia and Warren. I gazed out onto the day. It was hard to believe we were at war. Though there were reminders every day of the war, some days, in a sunny late morning when the birds were chirping and the subtle winds were blowing through the dewy air, it was easy to forget about the war.
We gathered in our familiar pew, and Patrick stood between Eugenia and me, with Warren to my left. I shared my hymn book with Patrick, and as the procession began, I sang out loud and proud, the way I had when I was a little girl.
Patrick glanced toward me, singing along, and then looked back at the book. When he was beside me, standing tall, it was like having Daddy with us again. And from the contented curved smile on his lips, I could see that he enjoyed my singing as much as Daddy once had.
When we knelt down to pray, I inched closer to Patrick, almost snuggling up to him. I felt him tense up. I discreetly peeked out of the corner of my eye to see his jaw twitch a little; his lids were shut tight and he kept his hands clasped together in prayer. I smiled to myself and concentrated on my prayers. When we were instructed to rise, I turned my attention to the reverend.
Once again, he gave an amazing, inspirational Christmas sermon, leaving our spirits lifted through difficult and troubling times.
“Jesus will see us through our affliction, and we pray that your husbands, fathers, and sons will soon come safely home. Lord, hear our prayer.”
As if Jesus had come here to Savannah after services on that very Christmas to answer our prayers in person, when our buggy stopped before the mansion, there on the gallery stood Daddy.
~ ~ ~
~ Seventeen ~
“I don’t believe it!” Eugenia cried. “Thomas, you’re home!”
She fell into his arms, unaware that he could barely hold himself up, made apparent to me by the way he held onto the side rail of the gallery. A cane fell beside him. Daddy held her for a moment; kissed and then parted. Warren assisted me out of the buggy, while Patrick hurried to greet his father for the first time in many years.
“Patrick, son, how have you been?” Daddy greeted him with a stiff handshake.
“I’ve been well. How have you fared, Father?” Patrick asked, with obvious concern. It was then that Eugenia noticed the cane and Daddy’s pained expression.
“Thomas, what happened? You’ve been wounded!”
I strode up the steps with Warren trailing behind.
“I was wounded in the leg. Luckily, they didn’t have to amputate.” His face was grave from the recent ordeal.
I approached him cautiously, recalling how our last few times together had been unpleasant and uncomfortable; Daddy eased my fears by calling to me. “My Amelia, how are you?”
I threw my arms around him. I had missed him more than I realized and was so grateful he was home.
“I am well, Daddy,” I sniveled.
I noticed then that Mammy was waiting in the wings, watching and listening. I was certain that she wanted to run to Daddy, just as we had. But she was left to stand with Hamilton in the shadows, prepared to wait on her master as the slave he had purchased her to be. He didn’t even look her way.
Eugenia and Patrick guided Daddy into the parlor. Once he was seated, he looked curiously over at Warren for the first time.
Warren extended his hand and greeted Daddy. “Hello, sir. My name is Warren Stone.”
Daddy started to rise, but Warren insisted that he stay seated.
Daddy listened as Warren told the story of how I’d found him lying in the woods.
“Your daughter saved me from certain death. I am grateful to her and your kind family for allowing me to stay on.”
Daddy appeared somewhat confused. “Why haven’t you returned to your regiment?”
“He doesn’t remember anything prior to me finding him,” I chimed in. “It’s called amnesia, right?” I looked to Warren for confirmation.
Warren seemed unusually nervous in Daddy’s company. “Yes, that’s what the doctor called it.”
“Warren has been helping us rebuild after the tornado,” Eugenia told Daddy. “We lost just about all the slaves.”
“And Mr. Boyd, where is he?”
“He’s dead,” Patrick said. “Days after the storm.”
“Thank heaven Patrick arrived when he did. We have been fortunate to have him in your absence,” Eugenia said as she took hold of Daddy’s hand. “It was the next best thing to having you here.”
Daddy looked over at Patrick. I could see that Patrick was waiting for a sign of gratitude, a gesture of appreciation.
“Tell us, Father, what has the war been like? Do we stand a chance?” Patrick asked. We were anxious to hear his prediction of what the future had in store for the South.
“It has been a grueling ride back. Come, Eugenia,” he said abruptly. “We’ll talk more this evening.”
They left together, passing Mammy along the way without give her a glimmer of acknowledgment.
It was a less-than-perfect reunion. I could see that Patrick was disappointed. Warren was uncomfortable, and I perplexed. Patrick hurried off before I could have a chance to talk with him, and Warren waited in the wings for me.
“Will you come walk with me?”
“I have chores to attend to, Warren,” I said sharply.
“Please do me this honor. We will take a short walk; I promise not to take too much of your time.”
I could see the desperation in his eyes and reluctantly agreed. I wanted to chase after Patrick and console him. He was obviously hurt that Daddy wasn’t exceptionally pleased to see him, the way he should have been after so many years.
Warren and I strolled down to the river. All the while, my mind was elsewhere.
I followed Warren’s lead and sat beside him under the willow tree. Tall herons walked along the shallow marsh, and frogs jumped merrily along from lily pad to lily pad.
I wasn’t certain how long we sat before Warren spoke. All I could think
about was Patrick’s sullen face, and I hadn’t heard a word Warren said until he snapped me out of my thoughts. “Amelia, aren’t you listening to me?”
“What? Yes, why of course,” I stammered, turning my attention to him.
“What is on your mind? Are you thinking the same things as I am?” he asked in a soft voice.
I couldn’t reveal how I was longing to be with Patrick, how I thought about him day and night. To no one, not even Hattie, could I disclose such a secret.
Warren waited patiently for me to answer while I turned my gaze onto the river; watching one particular frog whose eyes were fixed on a fly hovering around the edge of the lily pad.
Warren cleared his throat and shifted, inching closer to me. The frog was intent on eating the fly, its stare unwavering.
“I plan to leave Sutton Hall tomorrow.”
“What?” I couldn’t keep from watching that frog.
“Amelia, look at me,” Warren insisted.
I pried my eyes from the frog, which fascinated me, and with mild annoyance looked to Warren.
“My memories have begun to come back.”
That got my attention.
“Your memories? You can remember all the events before I found you lying in the woods?”
Warren gave solemn nod. “Well, not all of them. Only certain memories.”
I turned and faced him, eager to learn where he’d come from and what had led up to the day he fell wounded in the woods.
Warren picked up a broken twig from the ground with his hand and began to scrape the sharp end in the hard, dry dirt. He lowered the brim of his hat to hide his eyes from me and began to divulge the details of his previous life.
“The first memories to come back are somewhat foggy, I must admit. They are of my home town. I am from North Carolina. I have a much older sister, Molly. I was staying with her and her family before I joined the Confederate Army. Her husband, Paul, and I left on the same day in late spring. He and I were assigned to the same battalion.”
“How wonderful you can remember your family,” I said and continued to sit patiently as he spoke. He spoke as if he was still trying to put all of the pieces of the past together and in order.
“I don’t recall anything prior to living with Molly, though.”
“That’s all right, Warren. You will in time. Now think back; think hard about the day you came to Savannah,” I placed my hand on his. He let go of the stick and allowed my hand to fall into his. I could feel him trembling, obviously struggling to recall the events in great detail.
“I can remember walking and walking all the way from North Carolina. We marched for days on end, with only meager amounts of water and barely any food. It was only every third day we finally set up camp. Conditions were crowded and foul. And as the temperature rose, some of the soldiers became ill. But that wasn’t the worst of it,” he continued. “There were snipers along the way and frequent small skirmishes with the North. Paul was killed by one of the snipers. We were crossing a small bridge and were almost at the other side when Paul fell to the ground. The bullet hit him straight in the heart. I was enraged. He was my sister’s husband and the father of five little girls. Now she was a widow and the children fatherless.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible!” I gasped. Warren was forlorn; I could see how much he cared for his sister.
He cleared his throat and let go of my hand, then leaned his head against the tree and closed his eyes. The cool breeze from the river blew, causing the long strands of my hair to dance around his face. The herons had walked on, and the frog had found its way further down the river’s edge, as if to leave us alone. I gazed at Warren. Though he didn’t make my heart race and fill my stomach with dozens of butterflies, he certainly was a man who could easily steal a girl’s heart.
Warren’s lids opened, revealing fury in his eyes.
“The rest of the tale is rather gruesome. I’m uncertain if I should reveal it all to you,” he confessed and stood up.
I jumped up and grabbed hold of his hands.
“You must tell me!” I cried. “After all, I have seen you fallen, wounded, and half dead. I’m not afraid, Warren. Please tell me what happened next!”
He sighed and nodded. “All right, then.”
I urged him to sit back down.
“Minutes after Paul died, I set out to hunt down the Union sharpshooter who took his life. It was dark, and there was no moon that night to guide me. I stole away without permission, and I didn’t care. I was able to track the soldier, and day after day I followed him. He thought he was hidden as he perched up in the forest trees and stayed motionless for hours on end, waiting for a Confederate to cross into his line of fire. He never knew I was there. He wasn’t aware that I was now the hunter and he had become my prey. I watched him kill two more men during that week. I was sick over it, Amelia, I truly was. But I had a mission to accomplish, and nothing and no one would stop me until that man was dead. As dead as Paul was.
“Finally I had my chance. We had made our way into Savannah and down the river. The day was scorching. I stayed hidden behind a thick oak tree not far from where he waited in hiding. When he came down to take a drink from the river, I closed in on him.”
My eyes opened wide with anticipation and I held my breath as he described the attack.
“I ambushed him and sent him toppling to the ground. I didn’t want to kill him right away; I wanted him to beg for mercy first.”
“It all sounds so terrible,” I gasped.
“It was. Something inside me snapped, and I couldn’t wait to watch him die. However, he had other plans. He was an experienced soldier, and I wasn’t prepared for the fight he put up. I threw several punches to his face, but he was strong, and he grabbed hold of me and pinned me down. That’s when I looked into his eyes and knew beyond a doubt that he was going to kill me if I didn’t kill him first. I tried to reach for my knife, but couldn’t. As soon as I was able to maneuver out from under his hold, I laid another blow to his face. He returned the punches, and just as I went to grab for my knife to plunge it into his gut, he snatched it from me and stabbed me over and over.
“The man ran off, but not before I was able to reach my musket, which lay on the ground near to where I’d fallen, and I fired it at him. I’m not sure if I got him. I was bleeding and only caught a glimpse of your plantation through the forest. With my hand pressing into my wounds to stop the blood, I staggered on, but soon collapsed. Then I woke sometime later to see you standing over me. I thought I had died and gone to heaven, Amelia. I truly did.”
“I am glad to have found you,” I said and patted his hand. “Now you’re all right.”
“That’s why I must leave. I have regained my memories. I should return to my battalion and confess everything. They may just consider me a deserter and for that, the punishment is severe.”
“You can’t leave,” I cried.
Warren’s eyes widened in excitement as he sensed the desperation in my voice. I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. I saw how jealous having Warren here at Sutton Hall made Patrick. I couldn’t help but want to make Patrick distraught and agitated. I needed to flirt with Warren to make Patrick see how much he truly wanted me. As improper as it was, and as many times as I cursed myself for my forbidden dreams, I didn’t care.
Warren eagerly waited for my confession of love for him. After all, why else would he believe I didn’t want him to leave? I wondered if I could pull off such propaganda and lead him into staying. Little did he or anyone else realize, I was madly, insanely in love with Patrick Garrett Arrington.
~ ~ ~
~ Eighteen ~
At supper that evening, it was apparent what kind of mood we were all in. Warren was predictably elated, delighted that I had begged him to stay, believing me when I told him that I would grow to love him in time.
“Do you mean it, Amelia? Is it true you have the kind of feelings for me that I have for you?” he asked before we left the edge of the river.
It pained me only slightly to lie to Warren and to share a lie before my own family. But what could it hurt to have him believe that he and I would be together someday soon? And what harm did it do to have him stay at Sutton Hall? Warren was an asset to have around, in many different ways.
Eugenia was obviously relieved that Daddy was home, but she maintained a worried frown. She was clearly distraught over Daddy’s injury.
“Please, Thomas, let Hamilton fetch the doctor to look at your leg. Just to make sure,” she pleaded.
“There is nothing to concerned about. I’m fine. It just needs time to heal. Soon I’ll be walking again.”
Patrick looked as dashing as ever. He was freshly shaven, groomed to perfection, as always, for supper. Though he didn’t greet me that evening, I did notice him looking my way when I allowed Warren to move his chair closer to me. Then he became discontented and cleared his throat before turning his attention to Daddy.
“This war, I predict, will drag on. There is no end in sight, I’m afraid,” Daddy said. “The battles are few now, but will escalate. The North plans to choke us, and we must do everything in our power to keep them from defeating us. Our way of life can’t survive without slaves. Though we have lost most of them for now, if we win this war we will have them back, and our plantation will be up and running again. Without the slaves, if the North succeeds in their plan to have them free, we will lose everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve,” Daddy said wearily.
“Why do you sound so hopeless, Father? I believe that with a flourishing Confederate army and substantial navy we have every hope to win this war,” Patrick replied.
Daddy put down his fork and turned to Patrick. The two were much alike in their convictions, so much that I could see how easy it was for them to clash. Most men agreed with Daddy; few ever challenged his views.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 16
