Chantel felt a sudden pang and said, “I will miss your family. I will even miss you, too, sir. I will. Even if you are a general.”
Suddenly Jeb laughed. His laugh, like the man, was big and rollicking and seemed too large for the room. La Petite stirred and opened her eyes. Jeb picked her up and swung her around, as he still did Flora sometimes. She squealed with delight.
His command had indeed been changed to the cavalry, and he had received promotion first to full colonel and then to brigadier general. Now he was commanding the 1st Virginia Cavalry. Ever since this had happened, Jeb had been happier and jollier than ever before.
“Jeb, you are going to make that child dizzy and give her a sick stomach,” Flora said with mock sternness. “Just because you’re the best officer in the Confederate Army doesn’t mean you can mistreat the children.”
Jeb walked over and put his hands on Flora’s shoulders. “You always think I’m the best soldier in the world.”
“Because you are,” Flora said firmly. “Everyone knows it.”
“All of this ‘everyone’ you’re talking about doesn’t include my men. They think I’m a slave driver.”
“I think you are the best cavalryman and the best officer, Jeb,” Flora said. “You never get tired. You’re so strong and active. Most men wear out at the pace you drive yourself.”
“Well, when they decided to join the cavalry, that’s what they signed on for.” He moved toward Chantel, fishing in his pocket. “Miss Chantel, I don’t know what we would have done without you.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and held it out to her. “Here. I added a little extra to your wages.”
“You don’t have to do that, General Stuart,” Chantel said. “I like your family, and Miss Flora has been a good friend to me.”
“You’re worth every penny of it. Now, you be sure and come back and see us all. Especially the children. They’ve grown very attached to you.”
“Please do visit me, Chantel,” Flora said sincerely. “You’ve been a good friend to me, too.”
“I will do that,” Chantel promised. She had only stayed with the Stuarts that first week, while Flora recovered from her illness. After that she had come every other day, bringing supplies and food, cooking staples, taking care of the children, and giving Flora a rest. She had no belongings at the Stuart home, so she said her good-byes and left.
She reached the main street of Richmond, which was, as usual, swarming with all sorts of activity. The streets were clogged with wagons being brought in and others that were outward bound, filled with supplies to be carried to various points of the Confederacy. The air echoed with the noise of people shouting and talking, and even the curses of the mule skinners came to her loud and clear. She had often wondered why mule skinners spoke in such rough language but had given up trying to figure it out.
Suddenly a man stepped in front of her and stopped her. “Well, I know who you are. You’re the woman that took up with Clay Tremayne.”
“Let me pass.”
“Just a minute, missy. You’re a right pretty girl. You may have been Tremayne’s woman, but you need a real man like me. I’m Ed Howard.”
Suddenly things came together. “You are one of the men who shot Clay.”
“Sure am. I’ll do it again, too, if I get a chance. Come along. You and me will go have something to drink.”
“Leave me alone!” Chantel tried to pull her arm out of Ed Howard’s grasp, but he held it tightly and laughed at her efforts. She slapped at him, and her hand made a red outline on Howard’s face.
“Why, you little cat!” he snarled and started to shake her.
But then his wrist was grasped so tightly he grunted involuntarily. He turned and saw that Morgan Tremayne was holding him. Morgan was not a big man, but he had a wiry strength, and his mild blue eyes were now hot with anger.
“Let go of me, Tremayne,” Ed said, grunting, writhing a little in the awkward postion. “What do you care about this little bit of sauce?”
“Apologize to the lady,” Morgan said, and twitched his hand just a bit.
Ed Howard cried out as the pressure on his hand grew intense. “Leave it, Morgan. You’re breaking my fingers.”
“You need to learn some manners,” Morgan said. “I said, apologize.”
Charles Howard came up behind Morgan. He had a cane in his hand, and Chantel saw him swing it and cried, “Look out!” But it was too late. The cane struck Morgan in the back of the neck, and he fell forward.
Both men laughed, and Charles said, “So, this is Clay’s little piece. That’s right, little lady, I want to have a word with you, too.” Both brothers started toward her.
From down the street, Sheriff Asa Butler had seen Charles knock Morgan down, and he had hurried to stand in front of the brothers like a big wall. He put his hands—they were wide and powerful—on both brothers’ chests and shoved them so hard they staggered. “Back off, you two.”
They both started yelling at Butler, but he made a quick cutting motion with his hand, and they shut up. “So, lemme get this straight. Morgan hurt your dainty little hand, Ed. And you, Charles, you’re kinda getting in the habit of sneaking up on people and hitting them from behind, aren’t you?”
Charles’s face turned a deep crimson, but then he said rather sulkily, “C’mon, Ed. Waste of our time anyway.” They went strutting down the street.
Chantel said, “Thank you, Sheriff.”
“You be careful, Miss Chantel. If these two bother you anymore, you just let me know. You look kind of shook up, Morgan. You all right?”
Morgan had gotten to his feet during this exchange. He rubbed the back of his neck where Charles Howard’s cane had hit him with the force of a hammer. “Aw, guess I’m all right, Sheriff. Probably have a good headache tonight though.”
Butler considered him. “You know, Morgan, I could arrest Charles Howard for assault. If you want to press charges.”
“I think our two families have tangled enough,” Morgan said drily. “Thanks, though, Sheriff.”
The two men shook hands, and the sheriff walked back down the street.
Chantel said to Morgan, “You tried to help me. Thank you very much.”
“I wasn’t enough help,” Morgan said. “I sure am sorry that I couldn’t keep those swine from insulting you.”
“Well, you tried, and that’s what counts. You’re a much better man than them, you,” she said disdainfully.
Morgan made a little bow. “I’m Morgan Tremayne, ma’am.”
“Yes, I heard the sheriff. You’re Clay’s brother?”
“I am. He’s told you about me?”
“Not really,” Chantel said. “Mr. Tremayne, he doesn’t talk much about his family or his past.”
“But he’s told me about you,” Morgan said. “When I was walking by, I heard what Ed Howard said. I knew you must be Chantel, the angel that saved my brother’s life.”
Chantel shrugged. “I must go back to camp now. Ma grandpere will be waiting for me.”
“There’s going to be a celebration at the fairgrounds tonight. There’ll be some food and music and fireworks and speeches. I don’t like the speeches much, but the food will probably be pretty good. Would you go with me?”
Chantel considered it then said carelessly. “Yes, I’ll go with you, Mr. Tremayne. But only if ma grandpere comes with me.”
Morgan grinned. “Your grandfather is welcome to come, too, Miss Fortier.”
“Our wagon is at the camp. You’ll ask for me there. Any of the soldiers will know.”
“I’ll come about five o’clock. That’ll give us plenty of time to get there for the food.”
“All right, Mr. Tremayne.” She was interested in Morgan Tremayne. He didn’t look like Clay, except maybe in their stances and the way they walked. But she had been impressed by the way he had so quickly defended her from Ed Howard’s unwelcome attentions.
Making her way back to the wagon, Chantel found Jacob sitting on a box staring out into s
pace. “Hello, daughter. How were Miss Flora and the children today?”
“Ver’ well. Colonel Stuart came home. He found a woman to help take care of his wife and baby, a live-in. What are you doing, Grandpere? You look funny when I come up, like you’re wondering about something.”
Jacob shook his head and chewed his lower lip. “I can’t figure God out.”
Chantel laughed. “I don’t think anyone can figure God out. If you could figure Him out, He wouldn’t be God. No?”
“No, He would not be,” Jacob agreed, “but it doesn’t stop silly men like me from trying to figure Him out. Anyway, what would you like for supper? What about we go see if the butcher on Front Street has barbecue today?”
“We don’t have to. There’ll be a lot of barbecue at the celebration, I think.”
“What celebration?”
“The celebration at the fairgrounds tonight. I met Clay Tremayne’s brother. Morgan is his name. He asked me to come, and I told him I would only come with him if I could bring you. Will you come, Grandpere? Because I won’t go if you won’t. And there will be fireworks,” Chantel said, her eyes sparkling. She had never seen fireworks until they had come to Richmond.
“Fireworks,” Jacob considered, “and barbecue. Of course I will come.”
“Good. So, Grandpere, what is it you are worried about? About the great God?”
Jacob frowned. “You know, Chantel, in the Bible there are so many cases of men, and women, too, that God told exactly what to do. You take Moses, when he saw that burning bush. God said, ‘Moses, you go to Egypt. You’re going to deliver My people.’ No question about it. Moses argued a little bit, but he knew what God wanted.”
“You still worried about what we’re going to do?”
“Well, I’m too old to fight. I’m no good with mechanical things. I couldn’t work in a factory; I’m too old for that even. But you know, Chantel, I’m still certain that God has brought us here. You and me.”
Chantel said sturdily, “Then we wait. That Scripture you read to me from the book of Revelation last night…it was what God said to one of the churches there. He said, ‘I have set before you an open door and no man can close it.’ When God opens a door, we will go through it. Yes?”
“You have turned into a very smart and sensible young woman,” Jacob said. “Yes, indeed, we will wait, and a door will open. I’m so glad you’re with me, daughter. You’re such a blessing to me.”
“Thank you, Grandpere,” Chantel said, a little embarrassed, as she always was with any expression of affection. But she knew, deep in her heart, that she loved Jacob Steiner as much as any granddaughter ever loved her grandfather.
“Hello, Clay,” Morgan said, coming up to pat Lightning’s nose.
Clay looked up from his grooming. “Well, hello, Morgan. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to come and talk to you. I’ve been worried about you, Clay.”
Clay put down the currying brush and gave Lightning one last rub. “I’ve got some coffee over here.”
The two men went over to the stove inside the stables. Clay picked up a battered coffeepot, found two mugs, and filled both of them up. “So what is it that’s worrying you now, Morgan?”
“Clay, you know I don’t like to interfere in your personal life, right?”
Clay simply nodded in response.
With some hesitation, Morgan finally said, “I just met Miss Chantel Fortier.”
“Did you? And what did you think?”
“Well, she looks strange in that men’s garb, but she seems like a lady anyway, and a nice one.”
“So how did you meet Chantel?”
Morgan told him about the run-in he’d had with the two Howard brothers. “I didn’t even see Charles until he knocked me down with his cane. I think they might’ve commenced with a beating, but Sheriff Butler showed up just in time.”
Clay grimaced. “I guess I’ll have the Howard brothers on my back for the rest of my life. Sorry, Morgan.”
Morgan shrugged. “I didn’t do it for you, Clay. I did it for Chantel. And by the way, I asked her to go to the celebration with me tonight.”
“And she agreed?” Clay said with surprise.
“Yes, she did. Why are you so shocked? Some people think I’m the brother with the looks in the family,” Morgan said, punching his shoulder.
“Not at you, you handsome devil,” Clay said, grinning. “At her. I didn’t think Chantel was much for letting men escort her around.”
“Well, she did say she wouldn’t come unless her grandfather did,” Morgan admitted. “So I kinda doubt she’s smitten with me.”
Clay shook his head. “I kinda doubt she’s smitten with men much at all. And maybe especially Tremayne men.”
Morgan gave him a sharp look. “Is there some reason for that, Clay? Something I should know about?”
“No, Morgan,” Clay said with a hint of sadness. “It’s over and forgotten.”
Morgan showed up at exactly five o’clock, and Chantel introduced him to Jacob.
“I’m glad to know you, young man,” Jacob said and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet Clay’s family.”
Morgan shook his hand. “I’m happy to know you, sir.”
Jacob looked mischievous as he said, “Thank you for inviting me to go with you two young people. I wouldn’t go, but Chantel promised me that there would be barbecue.”
“Oh yes, sir, I’m sure there will. There always is at a Southern feast,” Morgan said. “Lots of eating and drinking and making merry.”
“And fireworks, yes,” Chantel said happily.
Traveling through the growing throngs of people in wagons and on horses, Chantel, Morgan, and Jacob soon arrived at the fairgrounds. As Morgan escorted her toward the attractions, Chantel quickly became aware of people staring at her, as they always did. It was beginning to make her uncomfortable, and she began to think that perhaps her breeches and men’s shirts were reflecting on her much more scandalously than simple skirts and blouses might. After all, her hunting and fishing days in the bayou were long gone—as were the days when breeches could hide her figure.
But soon she forgot her worries. There were lanterns strung all along the fairgrounds, and many torches on long poles stuck into the ground. And indeed the fireworks were splendid. The cadets from the Virginia Military Institute, who were there training the volunteer companies as they formed, fired off their cannons. The artillery show made a delightful rolling roar, with spectacular flames spitting from the cannon mouths.
Also, there were not one, but three barbecues—a steer, a pig, and a goat. Jacob gleefully ate some of all three, along with tastes of many of the side dishes supplied by the merchants of Richmond. “If only they could find a way to put this potato salad in a can,” he mourned. “I could sell hundreds of cans of this.”
A band played marching music, and patriotic songs were sung, and there were speeches from various politicians. President Jefferson Davis was there, and Chantel was fascinated by him. He was the most dignified man she had ever seen. His face was hawklike, his cheeks sunken in, and one of his eyes seemed to have a film over it. He was not an inspiring speaker, but people listened respectfully and cheered loudly when he finished.
Finally the speeches were over, and the band started playing dance music. Morgan asked her to dance.
“No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I don’t dance.”
“But why not?” he asked.
“I never learned those fancy dances, me. All I know is a zydeco.”
“What’s a zydeco?”
“A Cajun dance.”
“Well, we don’t have to dance. We can listen to the music.”
Jacob said, “Now that I’ve eaten, I think I’m going to go on back to the wagon and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll bring my granddaughter home, Mr. Tremayne?”
“Yes, sir, I will. I will see she gets home safely.”
As soon as Jacob left, Morgan said, “He seems like a fine man. St
range, isn’t it? I mean, your grandfather being a Jew and a Christian.”
“Ma grandpere, he is wonderful,” Chantel said softly. “I don’t care if he is Jewish and Christian.”
A group of cavalrymen walked by, splendid in their new Hussar jackets and cavalry sabers. All of them wore brogues, with their pants tucked into their socks, except for one—Clay Tremayne. He grinned when he caught sight of them and came over. “Hello, Morgan, Chantel,” he said. “You’re staring at my boots.” Clay had new cavalry boots, thigh-high, polished to a sheen.
“Trust you to turn out like a dandy, even in uniform,” Morgan said.
“I think they look nice, me,” Chantel said. “General Stuart wears these boots.”
“Chantel to my rescue again,” Clay said. “Are you having a good time, Chantel?”
“Oh yes, I love fireworks. And Grandpere ate so much barbecue and potato salad it made him sleepy.”
“For such a small man, he sure can put away the food,” Clay said. “It’s a good thing you’re such a fine cook, Chantel. Morgan, I’ve been thinking. Since Mother and Father are here in town, don’t you think they’d like to meet Chantel and Mr. Steiner?”
“I think that’s a very good idea, Clay,” Morgan agreed. He turned to Chantel. “Clay’s told the family—finally—about what happened with the Howards and how you and Mr. Steiner saved his life. How about having supper with our family tomorrow night?”
“I was asking her, Morgan,” Clay objected.
“What difference does it make?” Morgan argued. “Either one of us—”
“Never mind, you,” Chantel said, amused. “If ma grandpere will come, I will come.”
“He’ll come,” Clay said firmly. “I’ll tell him that we’re having supper at Wickham’s.”
Clay had not told the whole story to his family until they had come to Richmond, as almost all of the prominent citizens of Virginia had, to find out about the organization and plans for the coming war. Although he had not mentioned names—out of consideration for Belle—of course his parents had already heard of the scandal. Clay had told them of how sorry he was that he had behaved so badly and had even excused the Howard brothers. “You know, once I thought about it, I’d probably do the same thing if some lousy dog had treated the Bluebells that way.”
Last Cavaliers Trilogy Page 55
