Whispers of War

by Naomi Finley

  “Makes me miss my mama when he git to talkin’.”

  I glanced at Tillie and noticed the tears pooling in her eyes. I stepped down from the chair. “I know you miss her. We all do.”

  She glanced at the babe. “I sho’ would have loved for her to meet her grandbaby.”

  I bent and stroked the baby’s wooly crown. “She would’ve loved him. He is such a delightful baby.”

  “Pete and Davis all de family I got now.”

  “You always have a family here. I’ve never had much family myself, but I believe that loved ones don’t have to be blood, they can be grown in your heart too.” The statement sounded hypocritical to my own ears. After all, family didn’t keep each other in bondage.

  “Sometimes, Pete gits to talkin’ ’bout his pappy, and I wonder ’bout mine. Is he still alive? Mama would never speak of him. Pete says his pappy is a medicine man and dat he made de long journey across de Atlantic from Africa.”

  I walked to the armchair and picked up the popcorn garland and held it out for her to take an end before returning to my position on the chair. “Does he ever speak about his mother?” I asked.

  “Said she died some time ago.”

  The thought of death soured in my mouth. When a loved one dies, it’s the ones left behind who endure the void of their departure. I often thought of my son and pictured him alive and healthy, and at times when life seemed impossible, I daydreamed of him roaming in a beautiful place with my parents, happy and full of life, blond and blue-eyed, with the deep dimple etched into his cheek like the one his father bore. Believing in something more after death, and faith that one day we’d be together again, gave me the courage to endure.

  A quietness fell between us, and I reached to loop the popcorn garland around the tree.

  “Do you mind handing me the cookies?” I referred to the shortbread cookies cut into bell shapes and threaded with ribbons. Heels clicked across the floor, and from the corner of my eye I saw an extended hand. “Thank you.” Without turning, I reached for the cookie, and froze as my fingers touched a hand much too large for Tillie’s. “What…” I glanced over my shoulder, and my heart skipped. Standing beside me wearing a huge smile, his stormy gray eyes dancing with glee, was Stone Armstrong.

  “What, sister, don’t I get an embrace?” He spread his arms wide.

  “Well…I—”

  He wrapped his arms around me and swung me off the chair in a massive embrace. My feet dangled in midair. “It’s great to see you.” He placed a kiss on my cheek before setting me down.

  Winded, I grinned at him. “You’re here!”

  “All six feet of me.” He looked dapper in a tan suit with his gleaming dark hair combed back, not a wisp out of place. He was the sort of man whose good looks made a woman take a second glance.

  “I’m delighted. We didn’t know when to expect you. Bowden is in town, but should return in time for the evening meal.” I gripped his hands, my heart soaring. “This will be a Christmas to remember, indeed. We have so much to talk about. Won’t you help Tillie and me finish decorating, and then we will have a seat and catch up? I want to know all about your travels.”

  “I am at your service.” He bowed at the waist.

  Davis started to cry. Tillie lifted the babe and bounced him on her hip to still his cries. “I sorry, Missus, he hungry.”

  “No worries, you go and take care of him. Mr. Armstrong and I will finish up here.”

  “Thank you, Missus.” Tillie curtsied.

  Stone offered her a half bow. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.”

  She blushed. “You too, sah.” Her words were barely audible. She whirled and hurried silently from the room.

  Stone and I continued trimming the tree with cookies before attaching candles.

  “No plans to settle down?” I said.

  “None yet. There’s a whole world to see out there.” He gestured at the window. “With my profits from the sale of the plantation I hope to expand my travels, now that I’ve tied up my affairs in Texas. Enough about me. Bowden wrote that you’ve found your sister and that her family owns our old estate.”

  “Yes, you must meet her. She’s lovely. We are very different, but—”

  “I don’t think the world could handle another Willow Armstrong.” Merriment reflected in his eyes, reminding me of my husband. “Not the meek and obedient sort of woman, now, are ya?” A grin spread.

  I jutted my chin out and playfully glowered at him. “And thankfully I have a husband that admires me for my opinions.”

  “I don’t think he had a choice. The fool has been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

  I smiled. “You oppose?”

  “On the contrary, I think you make a great companion for him. You have a smart head on your shoulders.”

  His view that intelligence was not the sole territory of men was one of the things I admired in my brother-in-law. Along with his love for adventure and his mission to live a life free of the strictures placed on gentlemen of the South.

  “Your business sense in running this place frees him to make amends for what eats at his soul. I’ve never agreed with Grandfather’s and Bowden’s views on slaves, or the South as a whole. It is the reason I left here to start with. Christian folk manipulating scripture in a way to make owning slaves right.” He shook his head in disapproval. “One man shouldn’t tell another man where he can go. It is a human’s right to feel the ocean breeze on their face and to wander the beauties of the world. Each time I return here, I’m reminded of why I left.”

  His bold viewpoints remained as harsh reminder that Bowden and I defined what he detested about the South. Livingston was my home, my heart, and deeply intertwined with my essence. If war did come and the people of Livingston scattered, a piece of my soul would go with them—a reality I wasn’t sure I could face. Despondency settled in me.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He gripped my shoulders, compassion alight in his eyes.

  Intent on focusing our time together on more civil matters, I placed the last ornament. “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer not to speak on the flaws of the South.”

  “As you wish.” He inclined his head.

  “Will you join me for some fresh air in the garden? Mammy makes the most delicious lemonade. Perfect tartness with a hint of honey and spiciness.”

  “Spiciness?” he said, intrigued.

  “A secret she threatened me with.”

  “Oh, well, then, we can’t have that.” He smiled and offered an elbow. “It sounds splendid.”

  “What part? Spending time with me, or the lemonade?” I said, slipping my fingers into the curve of his elbow.

  He chuckled. “Why, the lemonade, of course.”

  I laughed and said, “It’s good to have you home.”

  The promise of a memorable Christmas season hung in the air.

  MISS SMITH STOOD BEHIND THE counter, peering at a ledger with a pencil gripped between her teeth. She glanced up as Bowden and I walked into the general store.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Smith,” I called out cheerfully.

  She removed the pencil from between her teeth and regarded us over her spectacles. “Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong.” An awkward smile registered on her usually stern face.

  I strode to the form showcased in the storefront window—which held the most exquisite ruby gown I’d ever laid eyes on—and removed my glove to touch the fabric with appreciation.

  “I compliment you on your admirable marketing skills, Miss Smith,” Bowden said. “This gown caught her eye from across the street.”

  Ruddiness brushed Miss Smith’s pale cheeks and throat at the compliment. “I purchased it from a designer in New York. I thought the ladies of Charleston might enjoy it for the social season. Perhaps for the Livingston banquet. As usual, all the ladies are whispering about the event.”

  “Whispers of excitement, I hope.” I ran my fingers over the wide lace cuffing the extravagant puffed three-quarter sl
eeves. The holiday frock was lovelier than it had been in the catalog.

  “Oh yes, an event Charlestonians look forward to.” Her shadow overtook me as she walked to the window. “Isn’t the shade extraordinary? A rare color to find, but perfect for the banquet.”

  “And you’re not lacking in your sales pitch, either, I see.” Bowden shook his head with amusement before walking off to meander around the store.

  “I sent you an invitation,” I said, “but I haven’t received your reply. Won’t you join us this year?”

  “No, no. I thank you for the invite, but crowds and feigning cheerful greetings to the uppity folks of Charleston isn’t my idea of enjoyment. I’d much rather spend my evening reading about Mark Antony and Cleopatra,” she said. Then her eyes widened. “P-please don’t take any offense. Sometimes the words come out before I can catch them.”

  I laughed. “No offense taken.” She looked out over the busy streets, and I wondered if underneath all the frostiness lay a woman yearning for love. “Very well, but won’t you join us Christmas morning for breakfast? No one should be alone on Christmas.”

  Uncertainty flickered on her face. “Perhaps. I’ll think about it and let you know.”

  “I hope you do.” I glanced at the gown. “It is beautiful.” I turned over the price tag.

  “Should I wrap it for you?”

  “Not today.” I walked away from the gown before weakness took over. “I’m looking for a gift for a small child. A boy. Nothing too elaborate, but something special.”

  “I think I may have just the thing.” She marched to the back of the store, where a small selection of toys lined one shelf. Rising on tiptoes, she reached for a box of tin toy soldiers with painted red trousers and blue coats and hats. She handed me the box. I looked at the little soldiers and smiled as I thought of Sailor playing on the parlor floor.

  The chime over the door signaled the arrival of a new customer. I didn’t look up, my attention fastened on the gift.

  “Please excuse me.” Miss Smith touched my arm before moving off to greet her customer. “Hello,” she called out.

  I’d walked a step or two, eyeing the limited options on the shelf of toys before I stopped at the sound of Lucille’s shrill voice. “Why, Willow, is that you?” Lucille said, blatantly ignoring Miss Smith’s greeting.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and compressed my lips before pivoting slowly to face her. “Lucille, how are you?”

  At her side was not Edwin Meyer, her fiancé, but none other than Corwin Peacock, the son of a wealthy rice planter from Beaufort and the sole heir of his parents’ fortune—the man with whom she was having an affair, a behavior that was no longer a rumor but a fact. I’d witnessed the pair locked in a kiss after Sunday service. Corwin peered down at her with sickening admiration, like she was a possession he’d sought to acquire all his life. Had she no shame? Parading around town as though she wasn’t promised to another…why, she had more guts than a wanted man strolling into a sheriff’s office.

  She was adorned in tiers of ruffles and lace, and her head bobbed like a chicken’s as she walked toward me. Lucille Peacock. I rolled the name on my tongue. Yes, satisfactorily fitting indeed.

  Lucille’s gaze moved from me to Bowden, who squatted beside a burlap sack of brown sugar. “Bowden! Why, I didn’t even see you there.” She smoothed the bodice of her gown and veered toward him.

  Bowden rose and backed up slightly. “Miss Carter. How do you do?”

  “Fine, thank you.” She regarded him through lowered lashes, all the while leaning in to enhance the low cut of her bodice. “I wanted to ask you why I hadn’t received my invitation to attend the Livingston banquet.” Her exaggerated pout sickened me. She had no self-respect and, indeed, no respect for others. Her lover stood back, watching with the gaze of a lovesick buffoon.

  “Well, I don’t know. That’s women’s business.” Bowden glanced at me over the top of her head, his eyes pleading for rescue.

  My eyes burned into the back of her head. Why, I’d slap the flirtation right off her pretty face.

  “But don’t you have the final say?” she said, her voice heavy with seduction. “You’re just what Livingston needed after poor Mr. Hendricks died.” She rested a gloved hand on his arm. “A gentleman who’s man enough to oversee the place. With women, hired hands, and a slew of niggers running the plantation, they were sure to run it into financial ruin.”

  Bowden straightened to his full height, and his expression turned angry. “My wife managed quite well. Her skills at running a plantation have proven to be outstanding, and give me leave to attend to affairs at the docks.”

  I strode to my husband’s side and glared at the woman.

  “Oh, Willow,” she said with a smile that never went past her lips. “I’d forgotten about you.”

  I bet you did, you two-bit harlot. My hands balled into fists in the folds of my gown. “Are we done here?” I looked up at Bowden.

  “Indeed.” His voice was deep with relief as he encircled my waist with his arm.

  “Good day, Lucille.” I swerved to get by her gown and we said goodbye to Miss Smith.

  “Why, I ought to pluck every hair from her head,” I fumed as we stepped out onto the boardwalk.

  Bowden nodded at passersby. “Don’t let her get to you. Women who behave in as poor taste as Miss Carter does are hardly worth getting riled up about.”

  He was right. I inhaled, trying to shake off the exchange with Lucille. The spirited singing of nearby carolers helped quiet my agitation. A crowd had gathered to listen to them. “Let’s join them, shall we?”

  “Must we?” Bowden groaned.

  “What better way to rid ourselves of the stench of Lucille?” I gripped his hand and pulled him to the edge of the street, waiting for an open carriage to pass. The passengers drew my eye. Mr. Barlow tipped his hat as he, Isabella, and a woman I’d not seen before rode by with trunks strapped to the back of the carriage. The lovely blond woman, with delicate features and high cheekbones, captured my attention. She had arrived. Miss Pippa, Isabella’s friend from England.

  “Will we be crossing today?” Bowden asked as we stood unmoving on the edge of the street.

  “Did you see her?” I gawked after the carriage.

  “Mrs. Barlow’s friend?”

  I nodded, excitement pounding in my chest. “Wasn’t she lovely?”

  He frowned. “I know that look. Need I remind you—”

  “No, you don’t,” I said, cupping his elbow as we crossed the street.

  “Women,” he grumbled to himself.

  But I didn’t care. Not even Lucille could dampen my mood or the plotting in my head.

  As I joined in the contagious euphoria of the carolers, I schemed how I’d meet Miss Pippa and get a feel for her. If she was as beautiful inside as she was on the outside, I’d ensure Ben took his head out of his work long enough to notice her too.

  AS MARY GRACE BUTTONED THE back of the muslin gown we had chosen for the evening, I listened to the sound of carriages arriving and the chatter of guests. In previous years I’d dreamed of the banquet and awaited it with anticipation, but guests at Livingston no longer filled me with excitement. My stomach had churned all day.

  After discussions with Bowden on the wisdom of withholding Lucille’s invitation, I’d grudgingly delivered an invitation myself. She had squealed and danced about before showering me with unwanted kisses. I bristled at the memory.

  “All finished.” Mary Grace stood back.

  I turned to inspect myself in the looking glass. The blue gown nipped my waist and emphasized my cleavage, leaving me feeling exposed and uncomfortable.

  “Always a vision, but I had something else in mind for the evening,” Bowden said.

  Surprised, I turned to find him standing on the threshold with a large white box in his hands.

  “Too revealing?” I said self-consciously. “The trendsetters of Europe are wearing this design.”

  He strode to the bed and s
et the box down before opening it and peeling back the parchment inside.

  My heart jumped as I caught a glimpse of the ruby fabric. “You, didn’t!”

  He smiled, pleased with my reaction, and removed the jewel-toned gown that had been displayed in the window of Miss Smith’s general store. Mary Grace released a breath of excitement.

  “But won’t people think it’s too extravagant in times like these?” I inched forward to touch the fabric.

  “This is an evening of celebration. Besides, can’t a husband spoil his wife?”

  “A deed you’re guilty of more often than not.” I peered up at him with teary eyes. “Thank you.” I rose on my toes, and he threw the dress on the bed and captured me around the waist. We shared a tender kiss.

  “You’d best hurry and get into it. We don’t want to keep our guests waiting.” He cupped my cheek in his hand. I smiled and dabbed at my tears. “I’ll be right outside.” He strode to the door and left the room.

  Mary Grace squealed and raced forward to feel the dress for herself. “Magnificent. I bet Queen Victoria doesn’t have one so grand.”

  I laughed, turning for her to unbutton me. “I doubt that. She probably has so many that the appreciation for beautiful things becomes dull.”

  Once dressed in the new gown, I spun to look in the looking glass, and happiness strummed in my chest. The neckline rested just above my cleavage and provided a peek-a-boo effect with the modesty I preferred. Tilting my head, I ran my hands over the skirt of the gown. The richness of the color and the grand sleeves were decadent, while the simplicity of the embellishments gave the gown a classic feel. The dress would certainly receive Whitney’s approval, and I delighted in the fact. I slipped on elbow-length gloves and walked from the room with a quick goodbye to Mary Grace.

  Bowden was pacing the corridor and spun around at the clicking of my shoes. He froze, eyes wide, and stared in admiration. “You look as beautiful as I’d imagined.”

  I grinned and twirled in a full circle for his inspection, the rustling of the fabric filling me with pleasure. Bowden laughed at my delight. I walked to his side, and he held out an elbow. “Shall we? I can’t wait to show off my wife to our guests.” The gold flecks in his blue-green eyes gleamed in the light from the corridor chandeliers.