“For heaven’s sake, Channing, you act as if you’re facing your executioner! I’m on your side, I tell you. But I need to ask you an important question, before I go ahead with my plans.”
He took a swig of his drink, some of his color returning. Then he nodded. “Ma’am?”
“You love my daughter, don’t you?”
The question obviously came as a pleasant surprise. He fumbled for words, before he finally stammered, “Why, of course! More than anything—more than life itself. I’d do anything, anything to make her happy.”
Melora smiled and nodded. This was the answer she wanted to hear. “Do you love her enough to marry her?”
Now it was Channing’s turn to smile—a boyish grin that transformed his entire countenance. In reply, he set his glass down and went to hug Melora.
“Are you offering your daughter to me?”
Embarrassed suddenly by Channing’s embrace, Melora stepped away and flashed her eyes at him in a way that reminded him of Virginia, when she was in a flirtatious mood.
“I don’t believe I need to make that offer. It seems to me that she has made her intentions perfectly clear for some years now. What I’m asking is, are you willing to marry her this very night?”
Channing was struck dumb by the question. His charming smile grew wider and wider. Then he threw back his head and laughed—a full-throated, deeply male sound that made Melora think of nights when her own husband was close and especially amorous, with the onset of spring.
“I would marry Virginia anytime, anyplace. I’ve thought of little else these past years. All the time I was at West Point, my classmates counted the days until graduation. I counted the days until Virginia and I could wed. Since then, I’ve been counting the hours until this war comes to an end, so that I can rush back to Swan’s Quarter and make her my own. When I rode up here today, I never dreamed …”
“You aren’t dreaming, my boy. I mean what I say. The two of you will be husband and wife before this evening is over. I’m sick to death of all her mooning about. Watching her makes my own heart ache with her pain. And for what reason must you wait? Because her father is a stubborn mule of a man who can’t see what’s perfectly obvious to all of us.”
“Ma’am?” Channing once more missed her meaning.
“Men!” she said with a sigh. “The obvious fact is that this war could go on for years. Years in which Virginia could be raising your child, instead of acting and feeling like an old maid auntie.”
Melora could hardly believe her eyes. Her words actually brought a blush to Channing’s face. He pulled at his collar, as though it had suddenly shrunk, choking him. This big, handsome, battle-toughened officer looked like a boy caught necking with his girl. Then the truth dawned on Melora. Somehow, somewhere, Virginia and Channing must have found a way. Channing must believe, from what Melora was saying, that Virginia was already in a family way, which she was certainly not. Melora thought through her next words carefully.
“I’ve seen it happen to girls more than once—they retain their virginity too long and they begin to think and act like shriveled old maids. I refuse to allow that to happen to my own daughter. I demand that she be properly wed immediately, if you are willing, Channing McNeal.”
“Oh, Miz Melora! I’m more than willing!” He grinned and nodded, until his hair fell over his suntanned forehead.
“Fine, then! After supper. We’ll surprise Virginia. Not a word. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am!” Again he bobbed his head.
“Go make yourself presentable, then, son. Supper will be ready shortly.”
Channing caught Melora in his arms again and gave her a wet smack on the cheek.
“Go on with you!” she cried, laughing at his exuberance.
He went, as she ordered. At the door, he turned. “Miz Melora? Thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your daughter. You’ll never be sorry, I promise you.”
“No,” she said solemnly, “I don’t believe I ever will be, Channing. Not if you love her as much as she loves you.”
“More, I’d venture.” His voice was husky, choked with emotion.
“Then you have my blessing.”
Up in her room, Virginia had bathed and was already donning the fragile gown of satin and lace that she had always expected to wear on her wedding day. She felt slight regret, thinking that when the time finally came for her and Channing to be wed, she would not be dressed in the same gown her mother and grandmother had worn before her. Still, tonight was special. And her mother was right; she had little else to wear. Most of her clothes—those that hadn’t been pilfered by passing troops—were threadbare or far too tight. Such luxuries as needles, thread, and fabric had gone from scarce to unobtainable, these past months. She might have made new dresses from old, had she not cut up so many frocks to use for her Sunday House quilt. Yet who could have guessed that a labor of love for her hope chest would seem like an extravagant waste, such a short while later?
Mammy Fan scurried in just then to help Virginia finish dressing and to do her hair.
“Sorry I’s late, Miss Virginia. But I brung news. Whoppin’ big news!”
Virginia smiled at the thin, ebony-colored woman who had taken care of her from the moment of her birth. As the self-appointed head of the slave grapevine, Fan always had news.
“If you’re going to tell me that Mother is planning a party for tonight, I know that already.”
Mammy Fan pinched her face up in a frown and shook her chignoned head. “’T’ain’t that, Miss Virginia. This ain’t got nothing to do with no party. See? I was down to the edge of the woods, digging roots from Polly’s spring tonic, when them sorry-lookin’ Yankees come ridin’ right up the lane. They ain’t seein’ me, so they just keep a-talkin’, big as you please. Braggin’ to beat all, like Yankees does.”
The servant paused dramatically, as she always did, before imparting the really important details of any story.
“And?” Virginia prodded.
“And I heard ’em talking about Colonel Swan, your own daddy. ’Cording to them, Swan’s Cavalry was at the big fight t’other side of Winchester yesterday. Them bad boys in blue come here, special, to do damage ’cause the Colonel shot some of their men. They claimed they was bent on burning this place down and killin’ ever’thing that moved, hereabouts.”
Ice ran through Virginia’s veins when she heard this. Channing had indeed arrived in the nick of time.
Then another thought crossed her mind. She turned and gave Mammy Fan a level gaze. “Have you told my mother about this?”
Her mouth full of ivory hairpins, Fan nodded. “Um-huhm.”
“And what did she say? With my father and brothers as near as Winchester, surely she wants to ride in to see them, now that the fighting is over.”
Mammy Fan eased the last pin into Virginia’s hair, before she answered. “Miz Melora say that she got special plans for this night. She say, tomorrow be plenty soon to take the wagon to Winchester—safer too, she say.”
This all seemed quite odd to Virginia. She could think of no reason why her mother would delay a reunion with her husband and sons. However, safety could be a factor. The Yankees were still in retreat, probably on all the roads for miles around. As long as the women stayed at Swan’s Quarter, they were fairly secure. But unescorted, traveling through the countryside, they could encounter all sorts of danger.
“Mister Channing be lucky iffen the Colonel don’t ride out here and catch him on the place. Look at what happened last time he come for a visit.”
“You know about that?”
“Ain’t nobody on the place don’t know, Miss Virginia. Nobody ’cepting Miz Melora and Miz Agnes and little Miss Roslyn, I reckon. Yankee spy!” She chuckled and winked. “Mister Channing ain’t no spy, no more’n I’s a lily-white plantation mistress.”
Now Virginia was truly worried. What if her father did come? He would certainly make every effort to see his fa
mily. And if Channing’s friend, Captain Jacob Royal, had told Rodney about his daughter’s birth, there would be no keeping her brother away.
“Mammy Fan, you must do me a favor. But no one can know—no one here at the big house.”
The servant gave a quick nod. “Ain’t no need to ask. I done done it, Miss Virginia. I got all six of my boys out to the woods. Iffen the Colonel and your brothers turn in at the lane, we gone know before they reaches the swan pond. I don’t want nobody shootin’ Mister Channing again.” She winked at Virginia once more. “’Specially not this night!”
Before Virginia could ask Mammy Fan what she meant, the wiry servant flitted out of the room, headed for the back stairs.
Virginia sighed. How she wished she could blink her eyes and make the war go away. Life at Swan’s Quarter had been so good, so sweet before April of 1861. Even her separation from Channing, while he was at West Point, had had its bright moments, when his love letters arrived, when she and her mother worked on plans for their wedding, and especially when Channing had come home for holidays. Then their love for each other had seemed all the more precious for the time they had been apart.
But separation during wartime was entirely different. Not knowing where Channing was or when she would hear from him, not even knowing if he were alive or dead, from one day to the next, was a special kind of torture.
She swept a hand over her eyes, as if she could brush away all worrisome thoughts. Channing was here now. She would enjoy having him with her for now. Tomorrow—who knew?
She left her room quickly, eager to be with her lover again.
The evening was grand. Virginia’s mother had ordered Polly and the other house servants to bring out the damask, the silver, the crystal. Their feast might be meager, but it would be served in high style. “In style befitting this happy occasion,” Melora Swam had whispered to Polly, her chief co-conspirator.
All through supper—fried chicken, beans flavored with the last of the bacon, and yams—Virginia kept gazing at Channing, wanting to pinch herself to believe that she wasn’t simply having another of her lovely dreams.
Melora had seated the two of them side by side. She pretended not to notice when Channing slipped his hand under the table, time after time, to touch Virginia’s. She recalled Jedediah taking the same liberties, when they were young and so much in love that their longing seemed likely to consume them both with its heat and fervor. She simply smiled and daintily ate her chicken.
Agnes joined them at table, once she had nursed little Roslyn and turned her over to Mammy Fan. Rodney’s wife looked paler than usual and far too thin. She was suffering, Melora knew, from a malady that afflicted all the women at Swan’s Quarter—indeed, all the wives and sweethearts throughout Virginia and the South: too little to eat, too much to worry about, and, most devastating of all, little or no physical love.
“Have you seen Rodney at all, Channing?” Agnes’s tone begged for his answer to be in the affirmative.
He shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Agnes, but no. Actually, it’s probably for the best that I haven’t, given the current unpleasantness.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured, staring down at her plate, only picking at her food.
“I did hear, though, that Swan’s Calvary is in Winchester. Perhaps Rodney and the others will stop by for a visit.”
Agnes looked up, her eyes glittering with hope. Melora Swan’s expression changed. Fear suddenly darkened her features.
The mistress of the house motioned to Polly. They had a whispered conversation, which none of the others could hear. However, Polly was smiling and nodding, and Virginia did hear her mention Mammy Fan’s name. After that, Melora relaxed visibly. Virginia realized in that moment that her mother was giving up time she might have spent with her husband and sons, so that Virginia and Channing could be together. She had never loved her mother more.
“Have you heard from your family, Channing?” Melora was a master at polite, dinner table conversation. All through the meal, she had refused to allow grim talk of the war to intrude and dampen their spirits.
“As a matter of fact, I had a letter from my father only last week. The whole family is ensconsed in a spacious chateau on the outskirts of Paris. They seem to be adjusting to and enjoying their new way of life. Can you imagine my father turning his hand to the culture of vines? He swears that once he returns to Virginia, he will have the finest vineyards on this side of the Atlantic.”
“A marvelous idea!” Melora exclaimed. “I’ve heard that Thomas Jefferson did quite well with his vineyard at Monti-cello. If he could make his own wine, why can’t we?”
“Have Hester and Auguste married?” Agnes asked.
“Indeed! A lovely ceremony, Father said, in the old cathedral of Nôtre Dame. He suspects that Hester is already in a family way, although she and Auguste have yet to make the announcement.”
“And your dear mother?” Melora asked, wistfully, missing her girlhood friend.
“She is well, I’m happy to report. In a postscript to Father’s letter, she sent her love to you, one and all. It seems she, too, has taken to French country life. She’s learning to paint with oils. She has met a young artist named Claude Monet, who says the only way to catch the true light of nature is to paint in the open air. They often roam the fields and lanes together, setting up their canvases out-of-doors to create their masterpieces.” Channing finished with a chuckle, obviously less than convinced of his mother’s talents and amused at the thought of her becoming friends with some bizarre young Frenchman.
“Laugh, if you will,” Melora scolded gently, “but Letitia has talent. I have seen it in her delicate needlework. Anyone who can handle a needle with such authority can certainly match that dexterity with a brush.” Now it was Melora’s turn to chuckle. “As for her young protégé, perhaps your father is spending too much time with his vines.”
“Mother Swan!” Agnes gasped.
“Don’t get yourself in a state, Agnes, dear. I’m only jesting. Letitia is far too much in love with her husband to have her head turned by some callow young swain.” She couldn’t keep herself from teasing her daughter-in-law just a bit more, as she added, “Still, they do say that the French air does something to a woman.”
Channing laughed. “Not my mother! I’ve heard her say time and time again that it took her too long to tame the wild Scotsman she married to ever want to go through that process again with any other man. No, Miz Melora, my parents are lovingly comfortable with each other.” He squeezed Virginia’s hand under the table. “That’s the way I hope my wife and I will be someday.”
Melora noted Virginia’s deep blush. “I have a feeling you’ll get your wish, Channing, my boy.”
“I only hope we get to wed before we reach that age of loving comfort.” Virginia had said almost nothing throughout the meal, but she longed so to be Channing’s wife. All this talk of weddings and babies made her ache clear to her soul.
She met Channing’s eyes and felt something deep and strong simmer between them. It seemed almost as if a bond, a silver cord of belonging, bound them already. She was everything but his legal wife.
He squeezed her hand again. At that moment, she felt tears spring to her eyes.
Dear God, don’t let me weep now! Virginia prayed silently. In answer, God sent her mother to save the day.
“I’m sorry we haven’t any dessert tonight,” Melora said, as she crossed her knife and fork to signal the end of their meal. “Shall we all adjourn to the parlor. I have decided to open the Colonel’s last bottle of French brandy for the occasion. I trust you’ll all join me in a toast to a swift conclusion to the war and a safe homecoming for all our family and friends.”
Virginia, Channing, and Agnes all murmured their approval, even though they knew that Melora Swan’s toast was an impossible wish. Already, several of their neighbors had been reported dead or missing—heroes on the battlefields of Bull Run, Manassas Junction, Sh
iloh. And one unfortunate member of Swan’s Calvary had been killed in a duel with a fellow officer, as graphically recounted in a letter from Rodney to Agnes some months earlier.
As the others filed out of the dining room, Melora remained a moment for another whispered conference with Polly.
“Yessum! Right now! By the time you all’s had your brandy, we be ready.”
“Thank you, Polly.” Melora smiled and hurried to join the others in the parlor.
When she entered, Agnes was seated by the front windows, gazing longingly down the lane, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of Rodney riding home. Channing and Virginia were at the Bible stand, perusing the entries that recorded family records of births, deaths, and marriages going back almost two hundred years.
“Interesting reading, isn’t it?” Melora said. “Think of all those lives and the secrets that went with our ancestors to their graves. Sometimes I like to make up stories about them and imagine what they must have been like in life.”
“I think the empty lines are far more fascinating,” Virginia said. “When I read these pages, I try to imagine which lines will be mine, and my children’s.”
Channing squeezed her hand and whispered, “We’ll take up a lot of those lines, by and by, darlin’. I promise you that.”
Juniper, the butler, passed a silver tray with tiny crystal snifters of brandy, each filled with no more than a thimbleful of the Colonel’s precious liquor. Virginia noticed, as she took her glass, that Juniper’s white gloves were spotless, but mended many times over. Was there nothing at Swan’s Quarter that had gone untouched by this war?
Melora raised her glass. “Shall we have our toast now?”
The others turned toward her, ready to hear her plea for the brevity of the war and the safe return of loved ones. She surprised them.
“On this very special occasion, I would like to propose a toast to two very special people.” She smiled at Channing and Virginia. “To my only daughter and her only love. From this night forward, may you live together happily for many years, with deep understanding, true affection, and comfortable love.”
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