Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  Clay moved one of the empty cracker boxes close to the fire, where Chantel had already placed hers. He watched her. He had never known a young woman like her before. She was the most curious combination of tomboy, toughness, sweetness, and world-weary innocence. At seventeen she was still coltish, with only hints of the grace that would surely be hers in full womanhood. He reflected how tender and gentle she had been when he was helpless, but as soon as he had come to his full senses and regained some of his strength, she had immediately withdrawn from him. She had been polite, but she didn’t stay in the tent when he was resting or seek out his company in any way.

  She glanced at him, and he could see that his scrutiny was making her uncomfortable. “Did you tell me you just turned seventeen, Chantel?” he asked casually, dropping his gaze.

  “Last month I’m seventeen years. And you, Mr. Tremayne, how many years are you?”

  “It’s a coincidence, I believe. My birthday is in February, too, so last month I turned twenty-five.”

  “And you don’t have a wife,” she said with elaborate casualness.

  “No, no wife.”

  “Why not?” she asked, coming to sit by him. “Don’t you like women?”

  Clay laughed shortly. “Oh yes, Chantel, I like women. I like them a lot. It’s just that I never found a woman who could put up with my wicked ways.”

  Her mouth tightened. “So. You are a wicked man?”

  “Guess I am.”

  “Why? How are you so wicked?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he answered with a wry half smile. “Just too lazy to be good, I guess. I’m the black sheep in all of my family, so I can’t blame my heritage or my upbringing. What about you, Chantel? You’ve never said anything about your family.”

  “Ma mere and ma pere are dead. Now Jacob is ma grandpere,” she answered shortly then jumped up. “The stew, it is done. Are you hungry?”

  “The smell of that stew has been making me hungry since I opened my eyes.”

  She brought him a bowl of steaming stew and a big wedge of corn bread. “I make corn bread. Grandpere loves it. Do you like it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I surely do. Thank you.”

  Jacob came into the little campsite. He usually took a walk at twilight to be alone and pray. “If this were a restaurant, the aroma of that stew would bring in a full house,” he announced, seating himself on one of the cot mattresses against a tree.

  Chantel hurried to plump the mattress behind him so he could settle in comfortably. “You’re hungry, Grandpere? You want me to bring you some stew?”

  “You take such wonderful care of me, daughter,” he said. Jacob found another box and sat down.

  Chantel brought him stew and corn bread then fixed her own bowl of soup. Clay noted that she sat down near Jacob, cross-legged on the ground, instead of returning to her seat on the cracker box by him.

  Sighing, Clay got up and moved his box closer to them. He took another bite of stew then said tentatively, “Even though I’ve been utterly at your mercy for two weeks, I know we don’t know each other very well. But may I ask you two a personal question?”

  “Of course,” Jacob answered.

  “What—would you please explain about your family? I mean, how did a German Jew get to be the grandfather of a Louisiana Cajun?”

  Jacob smiled. Chantel looked amused but didn’t smile. “We are not related by blood, Mr. Tremayne,” Jacob answered. “But the Lord has done a wonderful thing in uniting us in affection. And the story of how we met is going to sound oddly familiar to you.”

  Jacob told Clay all about how Chantel had found him, so deathly ill, and had nursed him back to health. Chantel kept her eyes downcast, steadily taking a bite of stew then a bite of corn bread. He finished by saying, “And so you see, Mr. Tremayne, she has not only been your savior; she also saved me.”

  “You saved Mr. Tremayne, Grandpere,” Chantel said.

  “No, Chantel,” he said gently, “you saved him and me. God sent you to save us. It’s just that simple.”

  “That’s an amazing story,” Clay said. “We both have amazing stories, Mr. Steiner, of our guardian angel.”

  “I am no angel, me,” Chantel said impatiently. “And I keep telling you, Grandpere, the good God never told me to go look for you or for Mr. Tremayne. He doesn’t tell me things like He tells you.”

  “Me neither,” Clay agreed.

  “Pah, He talks to both of you all the time,” Jacob argued. “You just don’t listen. Both of you are running away from God. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m too old, and I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be so young and full of yourself that you don’t have time for God. But you will. One day He will catch up with you, Chantel, and you, too, Mr. Tremayne.”

  Clay and Chantel exchanged glances as if to say, He’s very old, after all. At least that was what Clay’s meant.

  Jacob noticed and first frowned darkly, but then he was amused. He was generally a very good-humored man. “Anyway, speaking of catching up to you, Mr. Tremayne, I would like to ask you a question. No, don’t look so disturbed. I quite understand that you don’t wish to talk about your recent experience. It’s just that I was curious about your future plans.”

  Clay looked troubled. “I don’t have any. I did, but somehow, since I was…injured, and I’ve been here with you and Miss Fortier, I just haven’t felt like following through with what I had originally intended to do. You’ve both been so good to me, and I find that I am rather reluctant to—to—”

  “To leave us?” Jacob suggested. “That is good, Mr. Tremayne, because you see, that is God talking to you. I know, I know, you don’t hear a great booming voice from the heavens or a whisper in your ear, but it is God leading you all the same. So please, Mr. Tremayne, we would like to invite you to stay with us for as long as you would like.”

  Clay’s eyes rested on Chantel. She nodded, and again Clay was reminded of the contradictions in this mercurial girl. “Please stay with us, Mr. Tremayne, if you would like to.”

  “I would,” he said with relief. “For a little while. But there is one problem.”

  “What is that?” Jacob asked.

  “Where were you planning on going?” Clay asked. “This is the main north-south road out of Richmond. Were you traveling north or south?”

  “We were on our way to Richmond,” Jacob replied. Seeing Clay’s face darken, he went on casually, “But there is one wonderful thing you will find about being a peddler. You can go wherever you wish whenever you wish. Perhaps we may go south instead.”

  “But I thought we were going to buy supplies in Richmond, Grandpere,” Chantel said, mystified.

  “I don’t think Mr. Tremayne wishes to go to Richmond,” Jacob told her gently.

  “Ohh,” Chantel said solemnly, studying Clay’s face.

  “It might be awkward for me at this time,” he said reluctantly. “If possible, I would like to find out something before I return. I was thinking that perhaps I could find the last two weeks’ Richmond newspapers in Petersburg. They would tell me what I need to know.”

  Jacob nodded. “We passed through Petersburg two days before we found you. I can stock up there just as well as I can in Richmond. With the railroad junctions there are many warehouses where I can buy supplies wholesale. We’ll go to Petersburg then.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Clay said with relief. “And thank you, Chantel, for saving my life and now for inviting me into yours.”

  Even by the dim light he could tell that she blushed as she dropped her gaze. “You’re welcome, Mr. Tremayne.”

  “You’ve allowed me to call you Chantel,” he said lightly, “and I feel that you know me well enough now. Won’t you please call me Clay?”

  She hesitated, then a trace of a smile moved her mobile mouth and her eyes lit up. “All right then. You’re welcome—Clay.”

  Chantel drove the wagon very slowly, because even though they had waited for two more days, Clay couldn’t ride Lightning for long periods at
a time. Sometimes he would lie down in the wagon, and sometimes he would sit up in the driver’s seat with her while Jacob took a turn resting in the wagon. During one of these times, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clay running his hand over the back of his head, over and over again.

  “Does it hurt, your head?” she asked.

  “It’s better. I get better every day. It’s just that I can feel a lot of little places back there, especially when I wash my hair. They’re starting to itch.”

  “Don’t scratch them, They’re where the little pellets were,” Chantel warned him.

  “I can’t believe Jacob didn’t shave my head to get to them,” he murmured. “But I’m glad he didn’t. Ruining my manly beauty and all.”

  Chantel smiled to herself but said nothing.

  They traveled until late afternoon. Clay was riding Lightning while Jacob took a turn driving, and Chantel sat beside him. Clay said, “It’s getting late. We’d better start looking for a place to camp.”

  “I see a house up there with lights in the windows,” Jacob said. “It looks very welcoming. Perhaps the Lord is giving us a sign.”

  “It’s a little late to be calling on people, isn’t it?” Clay asked.

  “We’re peddlers, not rich cotton planters,” Jacob said complacently. “We don’t have to go by such rules.”

  “Ah yes. I forgot,” Clay said with an odd look on his face. It was, after all, the first time he’d been a peddler.

  They pulled up into the yard and saw a man and a woman peering out of the curtained windows. Jacob got down while Chantel and Clay stayed near the wagon, watching.

  Jacob knocked on the door and was met by a tall, lanky man with blue eyes and red hair. He looked suspicious until he saw Chantel, the peddler’s wagon, and Clay holding the horses. Then he asked in a pleasant tone, “Good evening, sir. Are you having some trouble?”

  “No, no, thank you, sir. I am Jacob Steiner, a peddler. Although it is late, I saw the lights, so warm and welcoming, of your lovely home and thought perhaps you and your wife would like to see some of my goods. I have hard-to-get spices, dress goods, canned foods, tools and knives, pots and pans, kitchen utensils, and many other things you may find of interest.”

  “I see,” he said, considering. “Well, Mr. Steiner, my name is Everett Sloane, and you are welcome in my home. And…?” he made an inquiring wave to Chantel and Clay.

  Jacob motioned them over and made proper introductions. “Please, come in, come in, all of you,” Sloane said. As they came in, a thin woman just a little shorter than her husband entered. She had brown hair and kind brown eyes. “This is my wife. Anna, I’d like you to meet Mr. Jacob Steiner, his granddaughter, Chantel Fortier, and their good friend, Mr. Clay Tremayne.”

  “Please come in,” Anna said. “As soon as we saw you drive up into the yard, I knew we would have good company for a pot of hot coffee, and I put the kettle right on.”

  “Her coffee’s terrible,” Sloane said, his blue eyes dancing. “But at least it’ll be hot.”

  She was already returning to the kitchen, and she threw back over her shoulder, “You won’t have to worry about it, since you won’t be having any, Everett Sloane.”

  They settled in the Sloanes’ sitting room, a comfortable room with overstuffed chairs, two rocking chairs set by a pleasant fire, a horsehair sofa, and two side tables. One held an open Bible, the other had a stack of books, including The Farmer’s Almanac, Virginia Crop Reports 1850–1855, Common Diseases of Cattle, and surprisingly, Great Expectations by Charles Dickens and Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen.

  Jacob nodded approvingly as he took his seat on the sofa. “I see the Word is well read in your house, Mr. Sloane. That is a good thing, a blessing upon a house.”

  “Yes, my wife and I are Christians, Mr. Steiner. Er…you aren’t from these parts, are you?”

  “No, I am Jewish. I come from Germany originally. But God blessed me exceedingly, and I have come to know the Lord Jesus as my Savior. In my travels it is always heartening to meet others of His flock.”

  Anna came in with a large tray with a coffeepot, plain stoneware cups, and cream and sugar. She set it on a side table and said, “I’m not much of a one for standing on formalities. I’d feel better if you all came and fixed it the way you like it.”

  “Anna, Mr. Steiner here is one of God’s chosen people,” Sloane announced. To Jacob he said, “Pardon us, Mr. Steiner, but we’ve never actually met a Jew. And I wasn’t aware that there were any that were Christians, too.”

  “They are few and far between,” Jacob said.

  Seating herself beside Jacob on the sofa, Anna said with interest, “A Jew? A Christian Jew? Why, that is very interesting. There are so many things I’d like to know about Jews.”

  “You’re welcome to ask me anything you like, Mrs. Sloane,” Jacob said placidly.

  “Well, then, the first thing I’ll ask is if you would all do us a great honor and stay the night with us,” she said, beaming. “And the next thing I’d ask is—Mr. Stein, could you, as a Jew, eat ham for breakfast?”

  Jacob laughed, an old man’s creaking, wheezy laugh that still was delightful to hear. The rest of them grinned along with him. “Why, Mrs. Sloane, when the Lord Jesus died for me, He set me free from burdensome rites and rituals. And I have to tell you that eating a thick slab of fried ham for breakfast is one of the greatest freedoms I’ve known!”

  Jacob told them of growing up in the synagogue, of living in a Jewish family, of the richness of his heritage, of how their lives revolved around their history and their beliefs. He brought Judaism alive to his listeners.

  Even Chantel, who had often heard Jacob speak of these things, got much more of a sense of what it meant to be Jewish than she ever had before.

  “Although it is true my kinsmen don’t know the Lord Jesus,” he finished, “we, as Jews, learn much more of the great Jehovah, or Yahweh, than is usually taught Christians.”

  “Do you speak Hebrew, sir?” Clay asked with curiosity.

  “Oh yes, we are all taught Hebrew,” Jacob answered, his eyes alight. “It is my second language. English is only my third.”

  Apparently he had forgotten that he had hosts, for Clay requested, “And do you have a Hebrew Bible?”

  “Oh, I would love to hear the Word read in Hebrew,” Anna said. “I’ve always been curious as to how it sounds.”

  “Chantel, would you fetch my Hebrew Bible?” Jacob asked.

  She slipped out of the room and soon returned with a big leather-worn book. She had always been fascinated by the book, wondering at the words written in a language she did not understand.

  Jacob read the first five verses of Genesis to them.

  Clay murmured, “So that’s what it sounds like. It’s rich and very beautiful.”

  They were silent for long moments, the Old Testament sounds echoing in their thoughts.

  Finally Everett Sloane roused and said, “And so, Mr. Steiner, I understand that you may have a few items I’m in need of out there in your wagon. I’d surely like to have a new whetstone. If Anna would be nice to me and make me some tea every once in a while, I might be persuaded to buy her some cloth for a new dress.”

  “We’ve been out of tea for months, and you know it,” Anna retorted. “But I’ll take the material for a new dress anyway, particularly if you have any sprigged muslin.”

  “Oh, we do,” Chantel said, jumping to her feet. “A pretty light green with little pink flowers, it is, Mrs. Sloane, and it will look so pretty on you, yes.”

  Clay and Chantel went to the wagon to fetch bolts of fabric, some tools, a selection of whetstones, and some newly sharpened glittering knives, both kitchen knives and hunting knives. Jacob had taught Chantel how to sharpen knives, and she was an expert cutler.

  They talked and looked at much of Jacob’s goods and finery. Everett Sloane did buy a whetstone and the green sprigged muslin for Anna. As a gift, Jacob gave Anna a slim, white leather lady’s New Testament, an
d he gave Everett a new hunting knife. “And so that peace may rest upon this house,” he said solemnly, “I give you both a tin of Earl Grey tea.”

  Clay traveled better the next day, staying on horseback for most of the time. Still, it was early evening when they had reached the outskirts of Petersburg. They decided to camp and go into the city early in the morning.

  “What do you want for supper, Grandpere?” Chantel asked as she considered the supplies they had.

  “Mm…how about ham and eggs?” he asked mischievously.

  True to her word, Anna Sloane had prepared them an enormous breakfast of smoked ham slices, fluffy scrambled eggs, griddle cakes, bacon, little boiled potatoes, biscuits, redeye gravy, white gravy, and a delicious apple conserve, her own recipe. Jacob had eaten three slices of fried ham and a big pile of eggs. Anna had sent with them an enormous smoked ham and a dozen fresh eggs.

  “Again? You really do love that ham, don’t you, Grandpere?” Chantel said, giggling. Clay watched her curiously, for he could honestly say that he had never seen such a light, girlish expression from Chantel.

  They feasted—again—on ham and eggs and biscuits slathered with butter and Anna’s apple conserve.

  After they ate, Jacob said he was tired and was going to bed early, and he retired to the little tent. In the field where they had camped, the grass was so thick and deep that Chantel and Clay had simply laid down a couple of horse blankets by the campfire to sit on.

  The night was cool. A thousand fireflies lit up their campsite. Their ethereal lights delighted Chantel. “I’ve never seen so many,” she said softly. “It’s like being in the stars, they twinkle and shine so.”

  “I haven’t camped out since I was a young boy,” Clay said. “I’d forgotten how very beautiful spring nights can be. So much better than smoky card rooms and stinking saloons. You always feel kind of…soiled, I guess you’d say, afterward. This is clean and fresh and makes you feel healthy and strong. No wonder I’ve recovered so quickly.”