That long winter of 1861 passed uneventfully. There were no further visits from either Swan’s Cavalry or Channing McNeal, although almost every week, soldiers arrived, begging food, shelter, or simply a moment’s respite from the horrors of the war.
“We’ve been lucky,” said Melora, as she stood on the veranda one day in May, watching a troupe of Rebs ride down the lane, leaving Swan’s Quarter in peace once again. “So many of the houses hereabouts have been torched. Only the good Lord knows what would become of us if we lost the roof over our heads.”
Virginia, dressed in her brother’s clothes, stood next to her mother. She wasn’t watching the Yankees; she was staring at the swan pond and frowning. The old cob was nowhere to be seen this morning. His mate seemed restless and anxious, flapping her wings and bobbing her long neck. Virginia knew it was foolish, but she always worried more about Channing when the male swan was missing.
“Well, I’d best go in and see how Agnes and little Roslyn are this morning. The baby has been so restless these past few nights that Agnes hasn’t been sleeping.”
“Has Agnes thought of giving Roslyn a dose of Polly’s spring tonic? You always used to make us take it this time of year, Mother.”
Melora Swan smiled brightly at her daughter. “What a good idea! I’m sure Polly can mix a light dose that will make Roslyn feel much better. Thank you, dear, for reminding me. You’re going to make a wonderful mother someday.”
Melora hurried off to find Polly, leaving Virginia alone with her thoughts.
“A wonderful mother,” Virginia repeated, with a sigh. How she had hoped! But there could be no doubt. She was not carrying Channing’s child. “Will I ever have that opportunity?” she wondered aloud.
Her attention was soon diverted. She heard shots ring out in the distance. She shaded her eyes against the sun’s glare to get a better view of the road beyond the tulip poplar. Sure enough, a cloud of dust rose in the distance.
“Horses, heading this way.”
She backed toward the door, her gaze still fixed far down the lane. “Mother!” she called. “Someone’s coming. They’re almost at the pond already.”
“Blue or gray?” Melora called out the question she always asked.
“I can’t tell, but I’d guess blue, since I heard them exchange fire with our departing guests.”
Melora came rushing onto the veranda. Except for that one day when Agnes had just given birth, she never allowed Virginia to greet arriving Yankees. As the war dragged on, she grew more nervous each time enemy forces approached.
She came through the front door just in time to hear Virginia cry, “Oh, no! The apple orchard’s on fire!”
“Get in the house, Virginia!” her mother ordered. “Quickly! And stay out of sight.”
But it was too late. The rough-looking Yankees were already dismounting at the foot of the steps. Both women scanned the dusty uniforms, searching for the officer in charge. To their fear and dismay, there was no one of rank with this ragtag group of men.
“Looks like you just had company.” A big man with a dusty black beard and a gap-toothed grin addressed Melora Swan. “Well, they won’t be coming back no more, not all of them anyway. We shot two of the bastards right out their saddles—damn Rebel scum!”
Melora clutched her throat, trying not to cry out. Standing in the shadows near the door, Virginia felt her blood run cold. She had yet to see the real war. But even talk of shooting and killing turned her weak with fear—for her father and brothers and, of course, for Channing.
“We’re parched as dry as tinder, lady. How about sending your boy there for something to wet our whistles? Whiskey’d be good.”
“We have no spirits on the premises.” Virginia winced at the arch tone in her mother’s voice, afraid she might anger the man. “Our water here is sweet and cool, better to quench the thirst than whiskey.”
All the men grumbled and cursed. The man who had been doing the talking started up the stairs, all the while scowling at Melora.
“You got quite a mouth on you, lady.” He waved one thick, dirty arm toward the orchard. “All water’s good for is putting out fires. But I think it’s too late to save your apple trees. You be nice and polite to us soldier-boys and we might not torch your house.”
When Melora’s face blanched, the men behind him guffawed. One, who could have been no more than in his teens, yelled out, “But then again, we might anyway, eh, boys?”
Melora turned and nodded to Virginia. “Fetch some water for them. Quickly!”
Before their previous guests had departed, the Confederate officers had taken tea on the veranda with Melora. Without thinking, Virginia grabbed the beautiful English silver teapot from the table and ran through the house to the well out back. Along the way, she warned the household that their new arrivals were less than friendly.
When she returned only minutes later, the teapot filled with water, the six men were on the veranda with her mother. They were circling her, taunting her, making frightening threats.
Virginia slammed the door behind her and all eyes turned her way.
“Here’s your water.” She tried to make her voice sound deep and manly. It was no use.
The leader of the group, the one who had been doing the talking, snatched the silver teapot from Virginia. They passed it around, tipping the spout to drink directly from the elegant vessel.
When it was empty, the rough soldier shoved it back at Virginia and ordered, “More!”
She heard a soft gasp from her mother. Virginia hesitated, the teapot in her hand, wondering what was wrong. She didn’t realize that, in her haste to fetch the water and warn Agnes to stay hidden, her father’s cap had slipped, allowing one long, blond curl to fall to her shoulder.
“Well, will you lookee here, boys? This ain’t no lad, after all.”
As the big man moved in on Virginia, Melora stepped between them. “I want you to go this minute! You may camp down beyond the gate, but you are to leave my property.”
The rude fellow only laughed at Melora. He reached over and snatched the cap off Virginia’s head. “Damned if you ain’t a beauty! Come here, gal.”
He reached out and grabbed Virginia about the waist, pulling her toward him.
“You leave her be!” Melora shrilled. “My daughter is untouched and promised to a brave officer in your own army. Leave now! I’m warning you.”
The men all laughed and gathered in closer, shoving the distraught Melora aside to move in on Virginia.
Virginia felt her face flaming. This was a different sort of heat from the sweet warmth she felt when Channing touched her. The bearded man’s hand on her waist burned her, hurt her, revolted her. She could smell his unwashed body and the foul odor of his breath.
“Ain’t she a nice piece, boys? And, hell, if she’s engaged to one of our own, well, it’s all in the same army. Share and share alike, I say.”
The other men whooped their approval, yelling obscenities and encouragement. The boy in his teens called, “Just leave some of that for me, boss. I ain’t had me a good piece of tail in I don’t know when.”
Now the rude soldier was toying with her, teasing her—fingering the rough shirt she wore, pulling the shirttail out of her belt, tugging at the waist of her brother’s trousers. Each time he touched her, Virginia felt her cringing fear turn more toward dangerous rage.
“How ’bout a little kiss, girlie?”
When he leaned down, pulling her hard against him, something in Virginia snapped. She swung her arm with all her force, striking the brute in the head with the heavy silver teapot. He stumbled backward, lost his balance, and went crashing, head over heels, down the veranda steps. He lay there, moaning, blood oozing from the gash in his head.
Waving the dented teapot triumphantly over her head, Virginia let out a cheer—her own Rebel yell.
Melora came to her and quickly closed her arms around her daughter. She was weeping, but without tears o
r sobs.
The click of metal made both women look up. They found themselves staring into the barrels of five rifles and five mean faces, ugly with rage.
“We ought not to shoot ’em yet, boys,” the second-incommand said, with deadly calm. “I say we haul the both of them inside, have at ’em, then tie ’em up and burn the goddamn house down around ’em.”
Melora prayed silently for a bullet. Virginia was too numb to pray. These men were about to kill her mother, probably Agnes and little Roslyn, too, and it was all her fault. She should have held her temper.
“Please leave now,” Melora begged. “We’vedone nothing to you.”
“Oh, yeah?” the Yankee snarled. “I happen to know your man’s off fighting for Jeff Davis right now. And I hear tell you spawned a passel of stinking Rebs that are riding with their old man. You call that nothing, woman? Well, I call you a traitor, and traitor’s fair game.”
“I’ll go with you!” Virginia cried. “But leave my mother alone.”
The men exchanged glances, all the while keeping their guns trained on the two women.
“That ain’t no kind of deal,” said one of the other men. “Hell, I bet we could stay here for a week and never have the same woman twice. I seen them slave cabins back of the house. I bet they got wenches back there that ain’t even been busted yet I say, we take these two, then help ourself to every last bitch on the place. Then bum the house down!”
“No!” Melora cried. “Are you animals? Think of your own mothers, your daughters, your sweethearts. Think how you would feel if…” Her voice broke in a sob.
Virginia watched the men closely. One or two of them looked away as if Melora’s words had struck a nerve. The moment passed, however.
“Hell, ain’t no Rebs going to threaten my ma or sisters!” the youngest soldiers exclaimed. “I’m from Pennsylvania, and there ain’t a Rebel alive who’ll ever set foot that far north and live to tell it. I say, this place is ours, along with everything on it”
A tense silence followed. The men were thinking over their next move. The women were thinking over their next breath, wondering if they would live to draw it
Suddenly, the thunder of hooves sounded on the drive. A loud shout split the silence. “You men there! Halt! Put your weapons down. Whoever harms a hair on the heads of these ladies will answer to me!”
Virginia couldn’t believe it “Channing,” she breathed.
“God bless him,” her mother added.
The men lowered their rifles and backed off.
Captain Channing McNeal dismounted and growled, “Who’s in charge here?”
All the soldiers on the veranda pointed mutely to the inert figure with his face in the dirt and blood clotting in his tangled hair.
“This Rebel slut about kilt him, sir,” the youngest soldier said.
Virginia watched Channing’s eyes narrow. For a moment, she thought he meant to shoot the fellow or beat him senseless. When he spoke, his voice was as cold as the pond in the dead of winter. “I want you off this property, immediately.” Channing poked their leader with the toe of his boot. “And take this trash with you. General Nathaniel Banks’s troops are now in full retreat from Winchester. You will find and report to your unit commander at once. Now, get out of here, before I shoot the lot of you!”
“Yessir,” they all mumbled, offering him half-hearted salutes.
Channing and the two women stood in frozen silence, until the men had loaded Virginia’s victim back on his horse and headed at a good trot down the lane.
Melora was the first to move. She threw her arms around Channing’s neck, sobbing, “Oh, thank God! Thank God! Channing, I couldn’t have been happier to see my own dear husband ride up. You saved us.”
Not until Channing could extract himself from Virginia’s clinging mother, could he take his love into his arms.
“Darlin’,” he whispered, “I’ve missed you.”
She realized, when she went into Channing’s arms, that he was trembling as much as she was. They both understood what a close call it had been.
Their first kiss, after so long, was a wonder.
“I want to marry you,” Channing whispered. “I can’t wait until after the war.”
Overhearing his words, Melora said, “You should have been married before all this foolishness, the same day as Rodney and Agnes. I’ve had my fill and more of bad times. We’re going to celebrate.”
Virginia glanced at her mother. Melora’s face had gone from abject misery and fear to a brilliant smile.
“Both of you, clean up,” she told them. “Then we’re going to have a party. One to beat all!”
With that, Melora Swan swished her skirts like a girl and swept into the house, leaving Virginia and Channing to wonder exactly what she had in mind.
Chapter Sixteen
From the moment Channing banished their tormentors and took Virginia into his arms, she felt as if this were all a dream. Everything around her took on a look of unreality. The swan pond mirrored perfect silvery clouds on its surface, distorted only by the heart shape formed when the old cob affectionately bowed his neck toward his pen. The tall tulip poplar shimmered in its leaf frock of dazzling spring-green. Even the air seemed cleaner, purer, softer, perfumed with wood violets and the first budding clover. The gentle breeze that caressed Virginia, as she stood encircled by Channing’s arms, swept away the last of her fears, leaving behind only the richness and fullness of her love for this man.
“Channing,” she whispered, “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
He kissed her ever so tenderly. “Believe it, my love!” he answered.
Holding each other—touching, kissing—they savored each moment of the dying afternoon, lost in their own feelings and emotions. Locked away in their own enchanted world, they remained oblivious to the stir of excitement inside the big house.
The sun had slid far down the sky, by the time Melora Swan opened the front door and called them back to reality. “Channing, you’ll want to wash up before dinner. You may use the guest bedroom. Virginia, you come with me.”
“Must I?” Virginia protested mildly, still staring up into her lover’s dark eyes.
“At once! There’s much to do.”
Channing smiled down at Virginia. “Go with your mother. She’s right. I’m all dusty after my ride from Winchester. I’ll see you directly, darlin’.”
“You won’t leave?” Panic edged Virginia’s words.
“Channing isn’t going anywhere,” Melora answered for him. “Polly’s in the cook house, preparing a special supper. And after we’ve eaten. I’ve a surprise in store for the two of you. Now, do come along, Virginia.”
The besotted young woman stole one last kiss from her lover, before she followed her mother inside.
“Why did you make me leave him, Mother? He won’t be here long, and I want to spend every single moment with him.”
“Take a look at yourself in the hall mirror, dear, and you will understand why I drew you away.”
Virginia glanced toward the tall glass over the petticoat table. She uttered a small cry of dismay. She was dressed in her brother’s clothing, her shirttail untucked, her face smeared with dirt, and her hair looking much like a crow’s nest.
Melora laughed at her daughter’s expression. “I’ll say this much for Channing, dear If he can love you in your present state, he must, indeed, have given you his heart—totally and without reservation. Go up to the attic and fetch the gown we hid under the floor.”
“My wedding gown?”
“It’s the only decent thing you have left to wear. I’ll have Mammy Fan press it, while you bathe. This is one night you will not wear britches. I mean for my lovely daughter to look like the true lady she is. After this dreadful war is over, we’ll get you a new gown—one from Paris—for your wedding.”
Virginia hugged her mother, then hurried to do her bidding. Her heart fairly sang as she climbed
the stairs. She took no note of the gleeful gleam in Melora’s eyes.
Melora felt a great weight lift from her heart, as she watched her daughter go. She was about to undo a great wrong. She had felt guilty, since the night of the botched elopement. Surely, she could have thought of some way to keep Jedediah from ruining Virginia and Channing’s wedding. Coupled with that heart-wrenching pain, Virginia had been forced to endure the happy scene on the day that Rodney and Agnes had married. This should have been Virginia’s own wedding day. Nor had Melora missed the look of envy on Virginia’s face the day her niece was born. She knew that her daughter was wishing that she were giving birth to Channing’s child.
“Well, that’s all in the past,” Melora mused aloud. “Damn this war!”
She had had quite enough fighting. To her way of thinking, it was high time Virginia and Channing got the happiness they both longed for and deserved. The Colonel might pitch one of his roaring, storming fits when he heard, but his wife had ways to deal with his towering rages—effective ways, loving ways.
When Channing stepped through the doorway, Melora motioned him to her. “Please come with me to the library. I’d like a word with you.”
Melora smiled at Channing, but she could tell from the puzzled expression on his face that he had no idea what she was about to propose. No doubt he thought that she meant to reinforce her husband’s edict that these two young people stay at a distance until the war was over. Well, she certainly had a surprise for him—for both of them.
Channing strode into the room quietly. Every muscle in his body seemed tense when Melora turned and looked at him.
“Do relax, Channing. There’s no need to be nervous with me. I may not be on the same side as you in this War of Northern Aggression, but we do share identical views, where it really counts.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t understand.”
Without asking if he wanted a drink—he obviously needed one—she poured a tumbler of bourbon and handed it to him. “I want to talk to you about Virginia.”
This statement drained the color from his face.
Swan's Way Page 26
