In the ballroom a small dais had been erected, upon which was seated the orchestra. Every plantation musician from miles around had been ruthlessly poached by Joshua and the result was a very passable collection: a pianist, two violins, a cello and a trumpet. Mattie knew that they could play well together, for they had done nothing but practice in the back yard for the past forty-eight hours; she knew by heart every note of every piece they were to play during the evening.
‘Miss Mattie?’ She turned to find Joshua at her elbow. ‘If you and Mister Johnny are ready? We can start the dancing whenever you care to.’
Mattie glanced around a little nervously, alarmed to discover herself unprepared for the small responsibility of taking such a decision. What in God’s name was the hothouse atmosphere of Pleasant Hill doing to her? ‘Do you think it’s time?’
The level of sound was deafening. Some people still sat at the table, others stood in groups, talking, arguing, laughing. The children had long since been taken home or packed off to bed in the small building known as the garconnier, a guest-house with three bedrooms upstairs and two down, which stood a hundred yards or so from the house, well away from the noise. Two busy house servants, neat and smart in white jackets and black trousers, were replenishing glasses. As Mattie stood undecided, a group of young men came in from the front porch, where no doubt they had been savouring Logan Sherwood’s excellent cigars, and his even more excellent whisky. The tall, fair figure of Bram Taylor was one of them. ‘Damnation to the Yanks, I say!’ His voice was far too loud, the words a little slurred. He ignored the half-hearted attempts his companions made to quieten him. ‘One Southerner’s worth any ten of them factory-broke hirelings! We’ll make ’em eat their own –’ The end of the sentence was cut off abruptly as a large red-headed young man with admirable presence of mind clapped a hand across his companion’s mouth.
‘It’s time, Ma’am.’ Joshua’s deep voice held a thread of amusement, and as Mattie glanced at him she caught in that intelligent, normally impassive face a sudden and unguarded gleam of laughter. And again there was that uncanny and unnerving likeness to Johnny. For the first time since the disaster of their first meeting, she smiled at him openly and without embarrassment, sharing his amusement; and was surprised at her pleasure when, as openly, he returned her smile.
‘Thank you, Joshua. I think you’re right. If you’ll find Mister Johnny for me?’
Mattie and Johnny opened the dancing, waltzing together as the onlookers clapped. As young men around the room claimed their partners and stepped onto the floor, she looked up into her husband’s face. He smiled down at her. ‘You’re enjoying our party?’
‘Yes. Very much.’
He grinned. ‘It isn’t Bath, I’m afraid.’
She laughed aloud, aware of his arms about her, aware of the perilous depths of her feelings for him. Trying not to remember Lottie Taylor’s lovely, vivid face. Trying not to care that there was not, yet, a baby. ‘So far as I’m concerned that’s something to be thankful for!’
She danced with Russell, who made her laugh so much that she fell over her own feet, and with good-natured Will, who tried hard to concentrate but spent a greater part of the time gazing over her head to where Cissy danced with the large redheaded young man who had silenced Bram Taylor’s intemperate tongue. She sat out with Robert, who declared himself so bad a dancer that anything was better than braving the floor with him. His conversation was light and quite scurrilously funny as he gave her potted histories of the families in the room. ‘I don’t believe a word of it!’ Mattie said, glad that he could be so light-hearted, wondering if – hoping that – he had perhaps come to terms with his own personal demon now that the choice was apparently to be forced upon him.
‘Which just goes to show,’ he said, bending over her hand with an entertaining show of gallantry, ’what exceptionally good taste in women my young brother has. Though what on earth a clever girl like you ever saw in him is way beyond me.’
She had drunk just a little too much wine, she knew it, though the feeling was far from unpleasant. As the evening wore on and the evidently quite genuine goodwill towards her of most of these people – Johnny’s friends, neighbours and relatives, most of whom had known him all his life – was borne upon her she felt herself relaxing. Despite the talk of war, her heart and her spirits were lifted. This, after all, was her wedding party; and of all the celebrations that had gone before, this was, she realized, the one that mattered. This was her family, these now were her neighbours and her friends. She moved from group to group, joining in the talk and the laughter, accompanying an elderly gentleman in the shabby splendour of a long-tailed, velvet-collared coat that must have come out from England at least fifty years before, onto the dance floor for a remarkably spritely reel. Restoring him to his obviously astounded wife, she slipped into the empty dining room. It was cool and quiet. The tall windows had been opened to allow the flow of air. She walked to them, stood for a moment breathing deeply, savouring the freshness upon her hot face. She felt just a little dizzy, and quite alarmingly happy. Soft in her velvet slippers, she stepped out onto the porch.
The two figures at the opposite end of the wide, shadowed veranda did not notice her. Lit by the flaring torches that had been set about the house, they stood in a world of their own, neither touching nor speaking, simply looking at one another, the girl’s brown, shining head thrown back, ribbons streaming from her curls across her shoulders and down her back, the man, tall, broad-shouldered, dark, looking down into her face as if no other sight in the world would ever satisfy his eyes.
Mattie stood as if struck to stone; and stone, suddenly, was her heart, heavy and cold.
Johnny lifted a hand very slowly, his eyes still not leaving Lottie’s face. Mattie could see the tears now, gleaming in torchlight. In a gesture more tender, more terrible, than she had ever seen, her husband touched the girl’s cheek gently with the back of his curled fingers. For the briefest of seconds her small hand came up to cover his then, wide skirt swaying at the abrupt movement, she stepped back a little, away from him, pressing herself against the balcony railings as far from him as she could get, shaking her head despairingly, her eyes still clinging to his. Johnny dropped his hand and threw his head back in a sharp and savage movement of pain, his throat and jaw clenched against sound.
‘Johnny – oh, Johnny, please!’ The girl pushed herself away from the rail and stepped into his arms, her hands reaching to pull his mouth down to hers.
Mattie stepped back through the film of the curtains into the dining room. She felt as if every last drop of blood had drained from her heart and from her body. She was trembling, ice cold; her stomach had curdled to nausea.
‘Miss Mattie?’
She looked blindly towards the sound of the voice.
Joshua took two swift strides, caught her shoulders, held her upright. ‘Miss Mattie! What is it? What ails you?’ As he spoke the curtain billowed. He looked towards it, then back at Mattie. Mattie stood as if deaf, dumb and sightless. Satisfied that she could stand alone, his hands dropped from her shoulders. Watching her still, he moved lightly to the window.
Within a moment he was back, his hands firm on her arms, his voice soft, fierce and steady. ‘Go back to the party, Miss Mattie. Go find Mister Robert. Dance with him.’
‘I – can’t.’
‘You can. You must. Miss Mattie, listen – look at me.’
With an effort she tried to focus her eyes upon his face. He spoke rapidly and urgently, his face intent as he willed her to understand. ‘No-one must know they’re out there! You hear me? No-one! It’d mean blood – blood and death – Miss Mattie! Listen!’
‘I’m – listening.’ Listening but not understanding.
‘There’s bad blood already between Mister Johnny and the Taylor boy – they’ve both been drinking. Given half a chance they’ll be at one another’s throats. Miss Mattie, think!’
She blinked, her eyes focusing at last. ‘You mean, Bram T
aylor would try to – to kill Johnny if he thought –’
‘Nothing’s more certain. There’d be murder done, one way or another. Miss Charlotte never could keep control, of herself or of others.’ His low voice was savage, then again urgent; she felt his hands tighten, as if he would shake her. ‘Miss Mattie, think what could happen – think of the scandal – think of the family –’
Think of the family. Think of my marriage. What marriage? Think of the child, of the child that I want so much, and that never comes. Is it my fault? Think of Johnny, dead, the red blood of his treacherous, lying heart seeping into the red earth of this cursed land –
Joshua was still talking; but his face was softer now, his quiet voice compassionate, persuasive. ‘Miss Mattie, please! It doesn’t mean anything! It doesn’t! Give him a chance to explain. Go back to the party. I’ll get Mister Johnny in, before anyone else sees them. Apart from anything else, if his father finds out he’ll have his hide in strips.’
‘You think that should bother me?’ Mattie was shocked at the venom in the words, in her low, shaking voice.
‘No. But the trouble that could come from this should. You’ve not had an easy ride, Miss Mattie. I know it. But believe me, if you throw a fit now and create a public scandal it’ll do nothing but make things worse. For you and for everyone. It’s in your hands, Miss Mattie. I’m asking you to go back to the party. Go to Mister Robert. Tell him if you have to, though better not – but no-one else! Please, Miss Mattie?’
The shock was wearing off. The chill was ebbing, to be replaced by a pain and rage worse than she had ever felt, even at the death of her father. ‘Very well,’ she heard herself saying, suddenly composed, aching to hurt someone. ‘I’ll go. And I won’t tell anyone, certainly not Robert. What do you think I am? The silly child you people seem intent on making me? Don’t worry, Joshua. I’ll safeguard your precious, unflawed – contemptible – family honour.’ She held his eyes for a moment, letting her own ask, as openly as words, You? You speak of their honour? and was bitterly rewarded by a subtle but unmistakable answering flare of anger, quickly veiled, in his. Somewhere a new Mattie noted that Joshua was not, perhaps, quite what Joshua purported to be. ‘I’ll protect my husband’s worthless hide. Just don’t tell him, you hear? Don’t let him know that I saw them.’ She lifted angry, defiant eyes tp that face so like, yet so unlike, Johnny’s in which now she saw suddenly an unexpected and wholly unwelcome sympathy. ‘Leave me that pleasure at least.’ She wrenched herself away from his supporting hands, put her hands to her hair, turning from him, composing herself. Then with no backward glance she walked out through the door and back to her wedding party.
* * *
The trials of the night were not quite over. At midnight those revellers, young and not so young, who were still on their feet insisted upon escorting the happy couple out onto the back porch and up the stairs to their rooms amidst showers of rice and dried flower petals, and much ribald advice. It had been easy enough to avoid Johnny until then; not easy at all to prevent herself from snatching her hand from his when he took it, from slapping his face with all her strength when he asked, solicitously, above the racket if she were tired. As they left the hall, running the gauntlet of arched and lifted arms, she caught Joshua’s eyes upon her, impassive once again.
Their rooms were quiet; a small fire burned in the grate of the sitting room, the bed was turned down. Every other room in the house had been turned virtually into a dormitory for overnight guests but, given the nature of the celebration, it had been agreed, to Cissy’s disgust since she and Will were sharing their rooms with a family with three small children, that the newlyweds’ rooms should be left to them. Both Lucy and Johnny’s man, Shake, had been given the night off from their private duties to help the overburdened house servants. Johnny, still a little breathless, loosened his cravat. ‘Some party!’
‘Yes.’
He glanced at her. ‘You tired, honey?’
‘Yes.’
‘That ain’t surprisin’.’ His laughter, Mattie thought, was strained. She turned her back on him. She was tired. Bone tired. Tired, she thought, almost to death. She did not want to look at him, to talk with him, to touch him. She had gone beyond fury to a hurt and a misery so deep that she felt nothing would assuage it.
‘You want me to help with that?’ She had reached behind her to the tiny buttons that fastened the back of her dress.
‘No,’ she said, too swiftly, then realizing that in fact she could not manage on her own, nodded. ‘Well, yes, please. If you would. Just these top ones. I can manage the rest.’
He undid the buttons neatly and, without touching her, retreated to the fire. Suddenly she understood. Tonight he no more wanted her than she did him. The thought brought nothing but relief.
‘Hon?’ His voice was tentative.
‘Yes?’
‘There’s – well, there’s a game goin’ on over in the big barn – I wondered – you bein’ so exhausted, an’ all?’
‘A game?’
‘A card school. Poker -’ He watched her, warily.
She shrugged. She knew it to be true. She also knew that Bram and Lottie Taylor had left for Macon with a family everyone called the ‘Macon Joneses’ with whom they were staying, an hour or so before. ‘Go on over. I don’t mind.’
Johnny was gone with an alacrity that might, under other circumstances, have been wounding. As it was, she endured his peck on the cheek, nodded at his injunction to sleep well.
After he had left Mattie undressed, slipped a warm woollen gown, loose and belted, over her nightdress, and lay for a long time on the bed, eyes wide and staring into the lamplit shadows. Then, with the sound of revelry in the house below at last beginning to die down, she sat up abruptly, rummaged in the wardrobe, slipped her feet into a pair of stout shoes and opened the outer door. The yard was deserted, the kitchen quiet at last, the fires still glowing through the open door. Swiftly she slipped down the stairs and out across the packed dirt yard.
Jake heard her coming from fifty yards off. ‘Sssh!’ she whispered, fiercely, as he bounded about her, tangling her in his chain, making it impossible to free him. ‘Be still, you great stupid animal!’
The dog quietened a little, more because his long, rasping tongue had found an interesting taste of salt upon his mistress’s face than for any reason of discipline. With diligent, loving enthusiasm he worked to clean it off. ‘Jake, stop it! And quiet! That’s right. Good dog. Here.’ She tied a length of rope around his neck. ‘Now, do behave, or you’ll choke yourself – or someone will hear us – there – that’s better.’
Mattie never discovered if Johnny ever knew that she spent that night curled upon their bed with her arms about the huge dog, safe in his uncomplicated devotion, her face buried in his warm and comforting fur. Her groom, in company with a fair few of his friends, drank himself into a stupor over a cut-throat game in the barn and slept it off in the straw until daylight.
Chapter Seven
Any attempt to celebrate Christmas in a normal or wholeheartedly festive fashion that year was out of the question. In common with most of the rest of the state, indeed with most of the rest of the country, the talk around the Sherwood table was of nothing but the timing of the inevitable secession and the now apparently equally inevitable coming war. In such circumstances the celebration of birth, the promise of peace and the hope of salvation came a very poor second. At Pleasant Hill, too, there was an added uncomfortable dimension, as there must have been in many homes up and down the land as a course of events was set in train that could so easily set brother against brother. As the others, with blithe and perilous eagerness, made plans for the troop to enlist as a body the moment that war became certain, Robert remained inflexibly silent. Against the ever more edgy banter of his brothers and through a couple of blistering interviews with his father, he stubbornly held out; he would not fight. He believed in the Union and he believed in democracy; it was not his opinion that secession and war could
serve either cause. No-one, including Robert himself, mentioned his views on the institution of slavery.
Cissy it was who, with typical lack of discretion, voiced most flatly the inevitable consequences of such a stand. On the fourth day of the new year the family sat at table discussing the seizing by state troops of the arsenals in the Southern towns of Charleston and Mobile, and the fact that young Edward Packard, to his Sherwood cousins’ envy, had likely been with the Volunteer Militia who the day before had marched into the massive brick fortress of Pulaski at the mouth of the Savannah river, taking it for the South without firing a shot. Cissy regarded Robert’s closed, attentive face with bright and challenging eyes. ‘You can stay silent or you can talk till you’re blue, Robert,’ she said, suddenly, ’you must know there’s not a soul round here but‘ll think you’re showin’ the white feather iffen y’all don’t go off with the others.’ She cast a defiant glance at the faces about her. ‘Who’d blame them? After all, just about everyone’s talkin’ about goin’.’
In the silence that followed, Logan Sherwood folded his napkin very neatly, laid it by his plate. Looked up. ‘Well,’ he said, easily and quietly, ‘we all know how to deal with anyone who ventures such an opinion, do we not?’
‘Sure do, Pa.’ Will came as close to a disapproving scowl as ever seemed possible with him as he looked at his young wife. ‘We sure do.’
‘I’m only sayin’ what people’ll think.’
‘People,’ Logan said, mildly, ‘may of course think whatever they wish. But should anyone choose to voice any such thought about any one o’ my sons I for one would take it very – personally.’ His disconcerting, light gaze moved again round the table. Johnny and Russ, mouths full, nodded vehemently.
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