Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  Frannie said, “Oh, Colonel Lee, I simply must show off my new mare, so I don’t want to disappear into your lovely forest. May I ride her over on the other side of the spring?”

  “I want to show mine off, too,” Deb said. “May we ride them over there, sir?”

  “Of course, if you feel confident of controlling them,” Robert answered. “They are both very handsome, I must say.” Admiringly he stroked Frannie’s mare. Her coloring was distinctive, a uniform silvery gray, which was rather unusual. Deb’s horse was a dark chestnut, almost a mahogany-red color, with dramatic black points. Both mares had small neat heads and petite alert conformation.

  Edward murmured, “Oh, I don’t know, Frannie. You’ve only had them for two days.”

  “Father, we’ve been riding since we were four years old,” Frannie said lightly. “And besides, Mr. Tremayne’s horses are so well trained and behave so admirably, I’m sure there won’t be a problem.”

  “All right then.” He relented.

  Morgan turned and said to the black boy in a low voice, “Go with them, Rosh, and bring them up to the barn when the ladies are through with them.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and handed the reins of both his horse and Tremayne’s stallion to Morgan. Then discreetly he followed the ladies around behind the gatherings of partygoers and the tea tent.

  “Those are your horses, Mr. Tremayne?” Robert asked, puzzled.

  “They were until two days ago, sir,” Morgan answered good-naturedly.

  “I bought them for the girls,” Edward said. “Both of them love to ride, and I admit I’m proud of them. They are excellent equestriennes.”

  “They are,” Morgan agreed. “It makes me very happy to know when my horses have good owners.”

  “Come,” Robert said, “I’ll walk with you to the barn. In the back is a lean-to roof where we’re tying up the horses.” He loved horses. Everything about them interested him, and he wanted to talk to Morgan. “Edward, will you walk with us?”

  “By your leave, Robert, I would like to go visit with Mrs. Lee and Aunt Fitzhugh. And, I admit, have a nice cup of tea. Mr. Tremayne, would you mind taking care of Rutherford?”

  “Not at all, sir,” Morgan replied, taking the reins of Mr. Fitzhugh’s horse.

  “Go on then, Edward. We’ll join you shortly,” Robert said, and he and Morgan turned toward the barn.

  Morgan Tremayne was glad he was getting an opportunity to look over the horses of all of those present. In his business, it was important to know what horses people liked and thus bought.

  Eyeing the stamping, snorting stallion behind them, Robert asked, “And so you are in the business of selling horses, Mr. Tremayne?”

  “I have a horse farm, and yes, sir, for the last two years I have done well,” Morgan answered.

  “That great brute behind us is one of your horses, I take it.”

  “Yes, sir. This is Vulcan. He’s my prize sire. The mare is from my farm, too.” Vulcan tossed his head so far that Morgan almost lost all of the reins he held.

  Hastily Robert said, “Here, Mr. Tremayne, perhaps I’d better take Edward’s horse.” After fumbling around until the reins were straight, he went on, “I assume Vulcan is acting up because of the mares.”

  Morgan rolled his eyes. “Sir, for Vulcan this is not acting up. This is fairly calm for him.”

  “Really? You must have spent many hours training him, if he’s this manageable around mares. He’s quite a striking horse. If you’re selling his bloodline, he must be very good advertisement for you,” Robert said shrewdly.

  “Yes, sir, he is, when he behaves like a civilized horse,” Morgan said. “That chestnut mare that Miss Deborah is riding? Vulcan is her sire, by a fine brood mare named Bettina that I have. In my opinion, their offspring are the best of my breedings.”

  They went on talking as they watered the three horses then tied them up in the shady lean-to. Morgan quickly checked the other four horses there and saw with satisfaction that they were geldings. Vulcan wouldn’t be too pleased with his company, but at least there were no other stallions. Morgan knew that Vulcan would almost certainly start a fight if there were.

  Robert led Morgan back under the great spreading live oak tree where the lawn chairs had been placed for the older people. Robert said, “Mary, I want you to meet Mr. Tremayne. He is a friend of Edward’s. Mr. Tremayne, this is my wife, Mary.”

  Morgan bowed over her hand and said all the usual pleasantries.

  An empty chair was next to Mary, and she motioned Morgan to sit down. “Welcome to Arlington, Mr. Tremayne. I’m so pleased that you came today. Edward was telling me that you sold those two excellent mares to him for Frannie and Deb.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it was my distinct pleasure to be able to provide the Misses Fitzhughs with what I believe to be superb saddle horses,” Morgan said enthusiastically. “And I was just telling Colonel Lee that it always gives me great pleasure to sell my horses to someone I know will be a good, caring owner.”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, Edward was telling me that you flatly refused to sell any of your horses to one of the planters in your area. It seemed you found the care they would receive was not up to your standards.”

  Awkwardly Morgan said, “Um—er—I apologize, Mrs. Lee, but you caught me quite off guard. I wasn’t aware that the details of that little incident were generally known.”

  Her mouth curled upward in a small smile. “All of northern Virginia is like a small town, Mr. Tremayne. Generally everyone knows everyone else’s business. I understand that you are from Fredericksburg?”

  “No, ma’am, I have a horse farm outside of Fredericksburg, about ten miles west on the Rapidan River. My family is originally from Staunton, in the Valley.”

  “And how did you come to these parts, sir?” Mary asked politely.

  “My mother inherited a townhouse in Richmond, and the family travels there quite often, because we have many old friends there. Actually, I inherited my farm from a great-uncle on my mother’s side. She was a Carter, and my property was in the Carter family for almost fifty years.”

  Mary’s face lit up. “Oh, is she one of the Richmond Carters?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why, then you’re family, Mr. Tremayne! Please, you must tell me all about your mother’s family. And your father’s, too, for since you are surely my cousin I must hear all about this new connection.”

  Her delight and interest was obviously genuine, and Morgan readily began to explain his mother’s genealogy. They had not been talking for very long when Morgan saw out of the corner of his eye that the Misses Fitzhughs had come up to them and made their curtsies to Mrs. Lee.

  As it was unheard of for children to interrupt their elders, she kept talking while the girls stood patiently waiting. “…and later I shall determine if you and my husband are actually third cousins or third cousins once removed,” she finished thoughtfully then turned to the girls. “Good afternoon, Frannie, Deb. You both look lovely. Are the riding habits new?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” Frannie gushed. “Father bought us horses, saddles, tack, spurs, and riding habits. Which do you prefer, Mrs. Lee, my blue one or Deb’s green one?”

  But Mary ostensibly knew these two girls too well to fall into that trap. “In my opinion, that deep shade of blue particularly complements your complexion, Fran, and that dark green flatters yours, Deborah.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” they said in unison, though they obviously were dissatisfied with Mrs. Lee’s diplomacy.

  “Anyway, Mrs. Lee, we wondered if we might steal Mr. Tremayne,” Deborah said mischievously. “Everyone wants to know all about Serafina and Delilah, and also we were hoping that he would get Vulcan to do his tricks.”

  “Just who, pray tell, are Serafina and Delilah?” Mrs. Lee demanded, her brow lowering.

  “That’s what I named the mares, ma’am,” Morgan said hastily. To the girls he asked, “You aren’t going to name them? They’re very intelligent, you k
now. They would catch on quickly.”

  “No, no,” Fran replied. “We like their names. So, Mr. Tremayne? Will you come meet everyone and tell them about Serafina and Delilah? And then will you and Vulcan please perform?”

  “I’ll be glad to talk horses with anyone anytime, ladies. But I doubt very much that Mrs. Lee wants a circus starting up at her nice party.”

  “I gather that Vulcan is that great black horse you ride, Mr. Tremayne? And he does tricks?” she asked curiously.

  Morgan grimaced. “Well, I would say that he shows off when he wants to. If he doesn’t want to, then he just balks and sulks.”

  Mrs. Lee laughed.

  Morgan thought that she had a very youthful laugh for her age. He couldn’t quite tell how old she was, because he could see that she was sickly. He only thought that she looked older than Colonel Lee.

  Mrs. Lee said, “As a matter of fact, Mr. Tremayne, I was telling Colonel Lee just awhile ago how much I wished to see a circus. So please, if Vulcan agrees, I would love to see you perform. I assume that the drive will do?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Morgan said resignedly. “We don’t require three rings.”

  “Hurrah!” Deborah cried. “Please go ahead, Mr. Tremayne, and get Vulcan. We’ll introduce you to everyone after.”

  Morgan went to the barn and untied Vulcan, who showed his annoyance at being crowded into a lean-to with other lesser horses by irritably chewing on his bit. Morgan checked the saddle, the cinch strap, and the bridle, to make sure they were secure. Then he led Vulcan out onto the plantation drive.

  To his bemusement, most everyone at the party lined the wide gravel road. He saw Colonel Lee standing behind Mrs. Lee, and realized with a start that she was in a wheelchair and had evidently wanted to come have a ringside seat.

  He stopped in the middle of the drive and stepped in front of the prancing horse. He put his hands on both sides of Vulcan’s head, just under his ears, and stepped very close to him. “Listen, Vulcan. I know you’ve never performed for a crowd before, but there’s no reason to be nervous. Just do what I’ve taught you, okay? Okay?”

  To Morgan’s relief, he bobbed his head enthusiastically, as if he were saying, “Yes.” It meant that Vulcan was in a good mood. He hoped.

  He swung up into the saddle easily and sat motionless, the reins slack, for a few seconds. Vulcan shifted, bobbed his head again, then stood perfectly still.

  Morgan steadily pulled the reins back tight. Under him the horse rose until he was in a picture-perfect rearing stance. Morgan heard “Ooohs” from the crowd. Vulcan pawed the air once, twice, then came back down in a collected stand. Then he began his gaited trot.

  It had taken Morgan many, many hours to teach Vulcan this tightly choreographed gait, and this time Vulcan did it perfectly. He lifted his right hoof, brought it up until it almost clapped against his chest, then kicked it out smartly. It was a proud gait, and Vulcan arched his neck while holding his head perfectly straight. Morgan reflected that he had never done so well. Perhaps he ought to have an adoring crowd all the time.

  Morgan reached the crossroad then pulled on the right rein. Vulcan made a sharp about-face and landed, still in his gaited trot, heading back up the drive smoothly. When he reached their starting point, Morgan pulled on the left rein then pulled on both simultaneously. Vulcan turned, reared again, then came back to a show horse stance.

  The crowd applauded and shouted. Mrs. Lee was smiling with delight.

  Morgan dismounted, said another word to Vulcan, then led him to stand in front of Mrs. Lee. “He does one more trick sometimes, Mrs. Lee,” Morgan said. “I hope he shows you the proper respect now.” Morgan bowed, and after a second, Vulcan tossed his head, bent his left leg back, and bowed.

  Mary Lee said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Tremayne. I will never forget this day.”

  Morgan did meet everyone, all fifty-seven of them.

  Soon after Fran and Deborah Fitzhugh started introducing him, they got sidetracked and disappeared when he was dancing with Miss Mary Custis Lee. He thought the Lees’ eldest daughter was charming and vivacious, and he soon found out that all their children were warm and gracious, much like Mrs. Lee.

  Colonel Lee was certainly a courteous, gallant gentleman, but in many ways he stood apart. Part of it was that Robert E. Lee had an innate reserve, and part of it was that he inspired such a great deal of respect that it bordered on awe. At least that was the way Morgan saw him, but he could see that Lee laughed much more when he was talking to his family, so he could tell that he was much more approachable to his wife and children.

  Morgan had danced with Mary Custis, Agnes, and Anne and had just finished a vigorous Virginia reel with Milly when he begged a chance to have a cup of tea.

  As he was heading to the tea tent, Colonel Lee fell into step beside him. “I find tea to be so much more refreshing than coffee in warm weather,” he remarked pleasantly.

  “I agree, sir.” A jolly-faced black woman served them tea in fine china cups.

  Lee took an appreciative sip then said, “Mr. Tremayne, will you sit with me for a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  They went to two lounge chairs that were set apart from the ladies and settled into them. “That was quite a performance you and your horse put on, Mr. Tremayne,” Lee said, his eyes lit with amusement.

  “Thank you, sir, but it is Vulcan that does the performing,” Morgan said. “He just allows me to sit on his back while he shows off.”

  Lee nodded. “He is spirited, I can see. A fine stallion. And really, Mr. Tremayne, that is what I wanted to talk to you about, your horse farm and your horses. You see, I am considering buying a horse, maybe two.”

  Morgan blanched. “Oh, sir—Colonel Lee—please don’t think that I put on that show just as a…a…vulgar sales pitch! I assure you—”

  Lee held up one hand, shaking his head. “No, Mr. Tremayne, that is not what I think at all. If it were, I certainly shouldn’t be interested in buying anything from you. No, I have been talking to Mr. Fitzhugh, and he gives you the highest recommendations. Truthfully I have been thinking of buying a good saddle horse for the girls, and now that Rob is sixteen, I think he’s ready for his own horse. So I would like for you to consider if you have any three or four-year-olds that would suit.”

  With vast relief, Morgan said, “Sir, I have eight three-year-olds that would suit.”

  “Good,” Lee said, settling back in the comfortable chair. “And I will tell you, Mr. Tremayne, that Mrs. Lee would never allow me to buy a horse from a stranger. But she has assured me that you are either our third cousin or third cousin once removed, so she has given me permission to purchase two horses from you. In fact, I think that if she were still riding, she would try to buy Vulcan from you.”

  Morgan grinned boyishly. “Colonel Lee, I will never sell Vulcan. But I would give him to Mrs. Lee.”

  A small smile lit up Lee’s face. “Don’t tell her that, please, Mr. Tremayne. It’s better for all of us if she doesn’t know.”

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIX

  Morgan Tremayne pulled Vulcan to a stop to look up at his house. He had named his property Rapidan Run Horse Farm, for the house was plain and functional and not nearly grand enough to warrant a fancy name like so many of the large plantation homes in Virginia. Still, he felt a sense of deep pride when he surveyed the house, prettily situated on a rise above the Rapidan River, the manicured grounds cool and green under sheltering oak trees. The house rose above, a two-story rectangular box set on its end. The windows were exactly spaced above and below, and a modest gabled pediment was above the front door. The only nod to any whimsy was that the clapboard house was painted red.

  Morgan had inherited the farm four years ago, on his twenty-first birthday, and he had been surprised and somehow pleased to see the faded red paint on the house. In the next two years he had enlarged the barn, added stables with fifty boxes, a carriage house, and two servant’s
cottages. He had painted them all red.

  “Let’s go, boy,” he said to his horse and rode up the small hill by the path that led to the back door.

  On this glorious spring morning in June 1859, the double doors to the detached kitchen were propped open, and even before Morgan rode into the yard he could smell pies baking. He had a keen sense of smell—in fact, all his senses were sharp—and he guessed a peach pie and a cherry pie.

  His servant Amon hurried out of the paddock as he dismounted, and at the same time Amon’s wife, Evetta, came out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. Both of them started talking at once as they neared him.

  Amon said, “That there little filly outta Dandy is just as sweet as she kin be, Mr. Morgan. Not like her daddy—”

  Evetta said, “You been wandering out in that Wilderness again like some wild man in Borneo, I guess, and without breakfast, too—”

  “—’cause I see he’s been running you, that Vulcan devil, ’stead of you ridin’ him—”

  “—which you need breakfast, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t I told you ten thousand times to eat something—”

  “—Even Ketura could break her, she’s so nice and polite—”

  “—my peach pie and cherry—”

  “I knew it!” Morgan said, grinning as he handed Vulcan’s reins to Amon. “I could smell those pies all the way in the Wilderness. You say the little filly—is it that pretty dappled gray one you mean?”

  “Yes, sir,” Amon said.

  Morgan nodded. “I want to come see her work out. Go on and tend to Vulcan, Amon, and I’ll come out to the paddock as soon as I’ve had some coffee. Er—can I have some coffee, Evetta?”

  “I suppose so,” she said ominously. “Since I made a big ol’ pot of it for breakfast.”

  Over his shoulder Morgan said, “Just coffee right now, Evetta. I’ll make up for it at dinner. I’ll have a peach pie.”

  He went into the house and upstairs to his bedroom, shrugging off his black frock coat. It had been chilly in the predawn when he had left for his morning ride. He quickly washed his hands and face and combed his thick auburn hair. He was by nature a neat and tidy man, though he was neither a fop nor was he finicky.