Last Cavaliers Trilogy

by Gilbert, Morris

  “I don’t know,” Ketura said slowly. “Mama’s smart, but she doesn’t have much use for mean white ladies. I think she’d just tell you to ignore Miss Bledsoe and get on about your business.”

  “Maybe,” Jolie said, “but even just that might help. I’m so awfully confused.”

  The girls got up and put on heavy dressing gowns and went outside. They had thought that they would go to Amon and Evetta’s cottage and wake her up. But they saw that the kitchen lamps were blazing, so they went to find Evetta there.

  When they went in, they were surprised to see Connie Archer standing over a big pot on the stove, stirring the boiling syrup that gave off the sticky sweet aroma of hot peaches. Two more pots were on the range. Six piecrusts were lined up along the wooden counter on the back wall. Evetta was just shaping up the last one. They looked up as the girls came in.

  “Oh. Hello, Evetta. Hello, Miss Connie,” Jolie said awkwardly. “We didn’t know you were here.”

  “Guess you musta, since you come in,” Evetta said crisply. “Now Jolie, I don’t need you in here twitchin’ around and making me forget every one thing I’m doing. Besides, you girls need your rest. Go back to bed.”

  “But I wanted to talk to you, Evetta,” Jolie said nervously. “Please?”

  “Then talk.”

  Jolie’s eyes slid to Connie Archer, and she fidgeted. A knowing look passed over Connie’s thin face, and she said, “Girls, why don’t you sit down? I was just going to make myself some cocoa. Why don’t I make three cups, and we’ll share? Evetta, would you like some cocoa?”

  “No, thank you, Miss Connie, but you go right ahead and take you a little break,” Evetta said in the warmest tone Jolie had ever heard her use. “Everything’s ready. All’s I got to do is pour up these pies and pop ’em in the oven, and I can do that by myself, thank you.”

  When Connie had poured up three mugs of the warm, creamy chocolate, she brought them over to the worktable and sat down on the stool next to Jolie. “What a great luxury to have chocolate for Christmas! Do you know that the Patricks haven’t even been able to get it for the last couple of months. We all owe Mr. Tremayne a very great debt of thanks.”

  “Yes, we do,” Jolie said dully. “He worked very hard in the last two years to make sure that we didn’t want for anything here at Rapidan Run.”

  “I don’t know him, but I feel as if I already do,” Connie said quietly. “I know that he is a courageous man, because he’s gone to fight in this terrible war. He’s a kind man, because I can see the love you all have for him. He’s a charitable man because we’re all here, all of us. And I know that he’s a generous man because I, a perfect stranger, am sitting here drinking his valuable cocoa.”

  “He’s all of that and so much more,” Jolie said.

  Connie nodded. “I’m sure he is, and I so look forward to the time that I might get to know such a man. But for right now, Jolie, I’d like to get to know you. You see, I’m thirty-two years old now, but I can remember when I was sixteen. It was very difficult. I didn’t understand my place in the world. I didn’t understand what people wanted of me. It seemed I never knew the right thing to do. I had lost my parents, you see, and I felt I had no one in the world to help me. But the Lord sent me someone, a teacher, a lovely woman who didn’t do a thing except listen to me. And that helped me more than anything in this world. So, Jolie, may I be your teacher? It might only be for this one night, I don’t know. But I do think now that the Lord sent me and my family here for a purpose. I think He sent me here for you, Jolie.”

  A moment of profound silence came when Connie’s soft voice faded on the air. Then Ketura breathed, “Oh Jolie, you’ve got to talk to this lady. If you don’t, I will.”

  “No, I–I’ll try,” Jolie said. “I believe you, Miss Connie. But I’m so confused, so upset. I don’t even know if I’m making any sense or not. Somehow I just want to cry, and whine, I guess, and just go on and on about how Miss Leona Bledsoe was so mean to me. But I know that’s childish, and feeling sorry for myself won’t solve anything.”

  “That already shows a great deal of maturity on your part,” Connie said. “Especially for a sixteen-year-old girl. But I’m not at all surprised, Jolie. I’ve only known you for four days, and I’ve already seen that though you may look like a young girl, you have a love in your heart that makes you wise and good much beyond your years. Now, why don’t you just try to set aside all the emotions you feel and tell me what Miss Bledsoe said to you?”

  Jolie was able to do just that. Her account of the conversation was much more coherent than when she had told Ketura. She hadn’t been able to say much more than that Leona had been horrible to her and had made her feel like she was childish and selfish and arrogant.

  But after that cleansing outburst, and particularly after Connie Archer’s soothing, restful assurances, Jolie felt calm and clear headed. She was able to remember the conversation practically word for word and could articulate Leona Bledsoe’s attitude that had made it so much worse than the actual words she had said.

  “We were in the stables, you see, and when she left I thought that she’d made me feel as if I was like the horse droppings she was so careful not to step in. That’s how low I felt,” Jolie finished painfully.

  As Jolie had talked, Connie Archer had kept her eyes fixed on Jolie’s face, and she hadn’t said a word.

  Ketura had murmured, “Oh, no,” a couple of times, hearing the story again.

  Behind them, Evetta was busily making pies and putting them in the oven, but she let her feelings be known several times by derisive grunts. Now she said, “Huh! I’m surprised that hussy knows what horse droppings even is, ’cause she don’t know the upside of a horse from the backside. She’s so scared of ’em she won’t even look at ’em.”

  “She is?” Jolie said with surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Connie said firmly. “But that’s the thing about Leona, you see, that most people don’t realize. She’s frightened. She is frightened out of her wits. And I don’t mean just of horses, either.”

  Ketura said with disbelief, “Miss Bledsoe, scared? I didn’t think she was frightened of anything. She’s so scary herself.”

  “She sure is,” Jolie agreed forcefully.

  Connie studied them. “You really think she is scary? So, you’re actually frightened of her? Like you’re frightened of snakes, or of being in a strange dark place, or of fire?”

  After long moments, Jolie said, “No…no, not like that.”

  Evetta muttered, “Mebbe like the snakes.”

  Connie said, “No, you’re not frightened of her. What you are is intimidated. That’s a very different thing. It’s much easier to overcome feelings of intimidation than it is to overcome true, real fear.”

  “Maybe,” Jolie agreed halfheartedly. “But I don’t know how to keep from feeling like—like—”

  “Like she’s better than you?” Connie supplied quickly. “Like she’s prettier than you, like she’s smarter than you, like she knows Mr. Tremayne better than you, like she deserves more respect, more love than you? That’s what intimidation is. And you can get out from under that easily, Jolie, and you, too, Ketura, just by recognizing what she’s doing. She’s deliberately making you feel that way, because it’s her weapon, and a very weak and pathetic one it is, too. Attacking people where they are most vulnerable is a coward’s tool. And she is a coward, because she is so afraid, and instead of facing her fears and overcoming them, she belittles other people to make herself feel powerful.”

  “But what is she afraid of?” Jolie demanded. “I don’t understand. She is beautiful, she is smart, she is rich, and it seems like men just fall in love with her so easily! What can she possibly be scared of?”

  “All right, let’s consider everything you just said, Jolie,” Connie said, “which is pretty much exactly what you see when you don’t know Leona like I do. Beautiful? Maybe, although I’m not so sure that exactly describes Leona
’s looks. She’s exotic and striking, yes—”

  Loudly, Evetta interrupted, “I think that her face is hard enough to dent an ax handle.”

  A quick look of amusement passed over Connie’s face, and she continued, “And she is extremely intelligent. She’s smart enough to realize that a woman’s looks don’t last forever. She’s only twenty-five now, but for years she’s been using expensive lotions and exotic ointments and bathing perfumes and herbal preparations for her hair and skin.

  “And that brings me to your next point. Leona is not rich. As a matter of fact, she is poor. The Bledsoes have been broke for a long time, and Benjamin Bledsoe was in debt up to the ceiling of their expensive two-story house before the war even started. After that, of course, there was no one he could borrow from. Leona’s had to do without her expensive creams and milk baths for a long time now. Believe me, she’s scared to death. Scared of losing her looks, scared of being poor, scared of having to do without, but mostly scared because now there’s no one to coddle her, adore her, fulfill her every wish. All those men who fell in love with her so easily are gone now.”

  After long moments, Jolie said in a low voice, “I see what you’re saying, Miss Connie, and I guess you must be right about Miss Bledsoe being scared about her looks and being poor and all. But you’re wrong about one thing. All those men aren’t gone. Morgan Tremayne hasn’t deserted her.”

  “No, I know he hasn’t. And I’m not surprised. He strikes me as the sort of man who is very loyal to his friends.”

  “But do you think that’s all it is?” Jolie asked desperately. “He thought about her first, Rosh told me! Morgan sent the carriage just for her! Don’t you think he must still be in love with her?”

  “I don’t know,” Connie said calmly. “He may be. Men can be so blind, so terribly ignorant, when it comes to women like Leona. But even if he is, it shouldn’t make any difference to you, Jolie.”

  “But it does! It’s—it’s everything. It’s what frightens me most of all!” Jolie cried passionately.

  A sudden look of recognition came over Connie’s face, and she reached over to take Jolie’s hand. “I see,” she said quietly. “I will pray about that, Jolie. But I meant what I said. When Mr. Tremayne left, he entrusted you and Ketura and Amon and Rosh and Santo with this place, with his home. He obviously believed you would be faithful stewards. And you have been. You have taken in strangers and cared for us, shared all of your worldly goods with us, sheltered us when we had no home. You have all demonstrated true godly love, for you knew that we could give you nothing in return.”

  “That is what Morgan intended all along,” Jolie said slowly. “I know him.”

  Evetta shoved the last pie in the oven, slammed the door shut, and came to stand in front of them, flour-covered hands firmly planted on her hips. “Well, you don’t know all about him. You didn’t know he made out a new will afore he left to go help Gen’ral Lee. Yes, sir, he did. He left this place to us, to all of us, to my family and to you. He left us equal shares in the farm, but he left the big house to you, Jolie. So the way I sees it, this place is ours, no matter where Mr. Tremayne is, ’cause that’s what he wanted us to know by doin’ that.”

  Jolie absorbed this then said, “So Miss Bledsoe was wrong, after all. I really do have much more right than she does to decide what happens in this house.”

  Evetta sniffed. “Thass right. So you need to quit stewin’ your frilly little britches about whatever bugs crazy white ladies got in their addled brains, ’scuse me Miss Connie, and git back to goin’ about your business.”

  Ketura sighed, “Told you so.”

  Jolie managed a smile. “And it did make me feel better. But it was mostly you, Miss Connie. Thank you so much for helping me,” she said simply.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “But there’s something I’d like to ask you, Miss Connie,” Jolie said, puzzled. “You seem to know Miss Bledsoe really well. But I know she hasn’t spoken one word to you since you all came here.”

  “No, she wouldn’t,” Connie said quietly. “The reason I know her so well is that she—she—” For the first time she faltered and searched Jolie’s and Ketura’s faces as if she were trying to read their minds. Then, with a regretful sigh, she continued, “I suppose I can tell you. It’s a shame, but in these times children have had to grow up much too fast and know terrible things that no child should have to face. Leona Bledsoe had an affair with my husband. That’s the reason why I know her so well.”

  Even Evetta paused in her work and stared.

  Connie continued, “It was in the spring, three years ago, just when we were all realizing that war was coming. My husband was Mr. Lucien Lewis’s personal secretary. Mr. Lewis was president of Merchant’s and Planter’s Bank. I say that Martin and Leona had an affair, but really it—they were only together twice. Leona seduced him, you see, because she wanted him to persuade Mr. Lewis to loan her father money. Martin told her that it was impossible, as he had no such influence over Mr. Lewis. Then Leona tried to persuade him to embezzle money for her.”

  “What’s ’bezzle?” Evetta demanded, still frozen with a spoon in her hand.

  “Steal it,” Connie answered shortly. “It’s funny, I guess, in a way. A man can be seduced by a woman, and it’s as if he sort of gets sucked into that sin slowly, like sliding into a bath that’s almost too hot. But stealing, particularly when you know you would get caught, is quite jarring. Apparently it can bring even the most deluded of men to their senses. Martin knew then what kind of woman she was, and he realized what a terrible thing he had done.”

  Evetta banged the spoon against a pot and then stirred it with repeated dull clangs. “A flyswatter can swat spiders as good as they swat flies.” Somehow they all knew what Evetta meant.

  Jolie asked, “And so Mr. Archer told you? He confessed to you?”

  “No, he didn’t have the chance, really,” Connie answered, and the pain of the memories showed in her face. “Leona told me. I mean, she sent me a note. Hand-delivered, so that she could be sure that Martin was at work so he wouldn’t intercept it. It was a terrible shock, and things were very bad for us for about a year.”

  “That is horrible!” Jolie said compassionately. “So much worse than those stupid things she said to me! Oh, how did you bear it, Miss Connie?”

  “I didn’t bear it at all for a long time. I made Martin pay for it. Every day, all day, I punished him. But finally I realized that I was hurting myself as much as I was hurting him. I forgave him then. It took much longer to trust him again, but finally I did. And I thank the Lord Jesus for giving me that spirit of forgiveness,” she said, tears springing to her eyes.

  “When I told Martin good-bye when he was leaving to march into Maryland, it was the last time I ever saw him. He died at Sharpsburg, and he’s buried there. But we parted with love and sweetness, and I’m so thankful to God. Because that’s what gives me joy, and strength, to this very day.”

  On the night of November 25th, as Jolie poured out her heart to Connie Archer, Morgan Tremayne walked through a hard, cold rain to the top of what was beginning to be called Lee’s Hill. It was not the highest point of the ridge of hills that ran behind Fredericksburg, but it gave the best vantage point for the battle that was coming.

  The Yankees were concentrated directly behind Fredericksburg, to the south for about three miles, just along the Rappahanock River. Lee’s Hill was prominent, as it was a slightly lower prominence and was almost directly in the center of the Union dispositions. Morgan knew that Longstreet’s corps ranged out to his left and two of Jackson’s divisions to his right. He suspected that as soon as General Lee was sure that the battle was to be here, he would call on his most trusted general, Stonewall Jackson, to fortify the line.

  Two days later, Lee became certain that Burnside’s attack was here, no matter how unlikely it seemed to him. He sent for Jackson, who marched his men 175 miles in twelve days. He arrived on December 1st.

  By then Gene
ral Lee, and indeed the entire army, was puzzled. Why did Burnside not attack? His men had been on the field for over two weeks. What was he doing?

  The answer could not have been made known to General Lee by even the best of spies, because even the Union Army did not know why Burnside tarried. He had ordered pontoon boats to build bridges across the river, and somehow the orders had been misunderstood, or not communicated correctly, and then due to the heavy rains and the swollen creeks and rivers the delivery of them had been delayed. Then Burnside had decided to change his attack to a crossing eighteen miles downstream, called Skinker’s Neck. But Lee had anticipated this possibility, and all others, too. Burnside hesitated when he found out that thousands of Confederates waited for him downstream.

  The next few days he seesawed in an agony of indecision. Finally he decided to go with his original plan, to build five bridges across the river and to pour his men into Fredericksburg. He envisioned tens of thousands of men in blue sweeping through the little empty town, across the plains beyond, up the gentle little hills, and overrunning the Confederates with ease.

  But that was not the vision that General Robert E. Lee had, at all. Finally, on December 11th, at 2:00 a.m., the engineers began building their pontoon bridges. They learned, first of all, of the plans Robert E. Lee had for the battle. It was to slaughter every man who tried to cross that river. General Longstreet had posted Brigadier General William Barksdale’s tough Mississippians, including some of the best sharpshooters in the army, in Fredericksburg to delay the Union advance as long as possible. They waited all along the waterfront, behind walls, in rifle pits, in basements, on roofs. When dawn came, the slaughter began. Engineers, using tools to build bridges, were unarmed. The sharpshooters sent them back time and time again, all that morning and into the afternoon. Finally the Yankees brought their artillery down and began shelling the town. That worked until about 2:30 that afternoon. When the Yankees ceased firing the artillery, the sharpshooters came out of hiding and began picking off the engineers again. Eventually Burnside ordered that infantry be rowed across the river in the pontoons. They finally managed to get a foothold on the waterfront and began moving through the town. The Mississippians fought them fiercely; for every foot of ground that they gained, men died. But finally the Confederates were safely ensconced on Marye’s Heights, and the Union Army occupied Fredericksburg.