They Call Her Dana

by Jennifer Wilde

  I wondered why. I knew he was in love with me, knew he found me desirable and wanted to sleep with me, and I knew as well that he had a great deal of experience with women—potent sensuality clearly smoldered behind that proper facade. Why, then, did he continue to bide his time? He treated me like a demure young virgin, knowing full well I wasn’t. When was he going to make that move both of us knew must be inevitable? I wondered and I wondered how I would react when he finally made it. That curious bond I felt was ever present, like a silent current of communication flowing between us, and I felt wonderfully secure in his presence. I found him sexually appealing, too—there was no question about that—but did I want an affair with him? The best way to get over a man is to get another man, Laura had said. I had taken her advice and I had indeed gotten over Charles Etienne, only to be hurt again just as badly. Robert would never hurt me, I sensed, and no, I wasn’t a demure young virgin. I would probably sleep with him when he made that long-delayed move, but … was it what I wanted? A wide range of conflicting emotions assailed me when I thought about it.

  But Robert had not made his move. A warm and genial host, he had taken me for several pleasant drives in the open carriage, showing me Natchez and its environs, the gracious homes, the gardens, the town itself with its shops and air of sunny indolence. There had also been a memorable meal in Natchez-Under-the-Hill, an infamous area crowded with brothels and taverns where brawls and stabbings were a common occurrence. Robert had been hesitant about taking me there, but, amidst the squalor, there was a dilapidated eating establishment that just happened to serve the best seafood in the South. He had kept his arm around my shoulders as we alighted from the carriage and went in. I was intrigued by the colorful surroundings and agreed that the seafood was indeed wonderful, even if it was served on chipped platters by a scowling waiter who looked like he would slit a throat without blinking. I longed to see some more of the area, but Robert hurried me out to the waiting carriage as soon as he had paid the bill. As he handed me into the carriage, his frock coat flapped open for an instant and I saw he had a pistol thrust into the waistband of his breeches. I had no doubt he knew how to use it—and with deadly accuracy. I enjoyed the outing immensely, and Robert was amused by my enthusiasm, saying he really shouldn’t have taken me to the notorious district. I told him I wasn’t quite the fragile flower he seemed to think I was. He chuckled and patted my hand, saying no more as we returned to the respectable part of town.

  One evening in June we had gone to dine with Len Meredith and his wife Arlene in their modest but charming home. In his midthirties, Len was Robert’s lawyer and business manager, with offices here in town. Tough, efficient, extremely cool-headed, he handled all of Robert’s business and financial affairs, and I pitied anyone who tried to outsmart him. Formidable though he might be in business, he was quite engaging socially, witty, good-humored and exceedingly hospitable. Arlene, alas, was a sweet and timid young woman so intimidated by Robert’s wealth and my fame that she could scarcely open her mouth. At Robert’s request, Len called on me at Belle Mead once or twice a week to see how I was and ask if I needed anything. I enjoyed his calls a great deal, for he was as attractive as he was personable and clearly approved of me, claiming I had a very good influence on his employer.

  Plucking one of the honeysuckle blossoms, I pulled the end off and put the blossom to my lips, tasting the sweet honey taste that enraptured the bees, and as I did so I saw a steamboat in the distance cruising slowly up the river like a miniature wedding cake. I wondered if it would dock at Natchez like the one I had been on two years ago. I remembered that morning so clearly, remembered seeing Robert standing there on the dock and the long, searching look we had exchanged and the curious force that seemed to draw us together and bind us. Had it been a premonition of things to come? Even though I had never laid eyes on Robert before, I had somehow sensed that he was going to play an important part in my life, and it had come to pass. Just how important a part was he going to play? As important a part as you allow him to play, a voice inside said, and I left the gazebo in a quandary.

  I moved along the neat, well-kept river walk, the breeze lifting my skirt, toying with my hair, and then I turned back into the gardens and headed back up toward the house. Hollyhocks, iris, phlox, a dazzling variety of flowers grew all around in wild patchworks of color, but I was immune to the beauty now as I moved up another level and passed under one of the trellises. I saw his face, the slightly twisted nose, the dark, quirkily slanted eyebrows, the moody gray-green eyes and, try though I might to banish the image, it persisted as always. During these past weeks I had made a valiant effort not to think about him, had tried to forget the past and ignore the pain inside and, to a certain extent, I had succeeded. You must go on, I told myself. You must go on. You must forget him. I did forget, sometimes for an hour, sometimes for several hours at a time, but then it would catch me unawares, like now, and I would see that handsome face and feel the jabbing pain that was every bit as strong as it had been the night he told me good-bye and stepped out of my dressing room.

  I loved him. I couldn’t deny that. I loved the son of a bitch, son of a bitch though he was. He was volatile, temperamental, unreasonable, demanding, bossy, stubborn, impossible, but … he could be so vulnerable, he could be so warm and funny, he could be so loving. He was in Atlanta now, mounting Lady Caroline, and I felt another sharp jab of pain as I thought of the play opening with someone else in the lead. You don’t need him, I told myself. You’re better off without him. Forget him. It’s over, and you’ve got to go on, just as you did before.

  “My, you look very thoughtful this afternoon.”

  The voice startled me, and I looked up to see Len Meredith approaching me, tall and sturdy with sunlight burnishing his thick dark blond hair. Impeccably attired in gray breeches and frock coat, sky-blue waistcoat and white silk neckcloth, he had strong, clean-cut features and somber blue eyes that I knew could glow with warmth, as they did now. A smile curled on his wide lips. Many people found Len formidable, even intimidating, and there was no doubt he could be tough and unrelenting in business dealings, but I knew his other side and liked him very much.

  “Len,” I said. “I—didn’t see you coming.”

  “Is that sadness I spy in your eyes?” he inquired.

  “I was—was reading a novel. It had a very sad ending.”

  “How sensitive you women are. Arlene’s the same way. She actually weeps over a sad book, weeps, sobs, wipes her eyes and then vows it’s the most wonderful story she’s ever read.”

  “How is Arlene?” I asked.

  “She’s fine. Looking forward to seeing you again.”

  We both knew that wasn’t true, but Len was invariably polite. We moved up three flat white marble steps to another level. There was something very reassuring about his presence. I felt better already.

  “Maudie told me you were out here. I just thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

  “I’m doing fine, Len. Maudie and the others are taking marvelous care of me. I’m deplorably pampered, waited upon hand and foot. If you want to know the truth, I long to put on an apron and help Tilda with the chandeliers.”

  “She’d be horrified,” Len assured me. “You don’t enjoy being a lady of leisure?”

  “It was lovely for the first couple of weeks but—one gets into the habit of working. I’m not the lady of leisure type, I fear. I’d rather be cleaning the windows than lolling on a sofa with a cool drink.”

  Len chuckled. “You’re quite a remarkable young woman,” he said. “I can see why Robert is so taken with you. By the way, I have a message. He’s going to be back tomorrow. Just for one day and night, alas, but after the next trip, he’ll be back for several weeks.”

  “Just for one day and night?”

  I was terribly disappointed. Len heard it in my voice.

  “You’re extremely fond of him, aren’t you?” he said.

  “Extremely,” I replied.

&nb
sp; “I’m glad, Dana. He needs someone like you.”

  The great house cast cool blue-gray shadows over the back patio. We moved across it to the back verandah, shadier still. A lazy gray cat snoozed contentedly on the banister near one of the graceful white columns. Baskets of fern and ivy were suspended from the ceiling, their leaves moist from a recent watering. Wide French doors stood open, leading into the hallway. I could hear one of the servants humming inside as she leisurely did her chores. Robert had given all his “house Negroes” their freedom years ago, and they were all devoted to him, none more so than Maudie, who ran Belle Mead like a bossy but cheerful sergeant major.

  “Robert has worked hard all his adult life,” Len continued. “He’s devoted his life to making a success, becoming someone of note, and he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. Now he has everything he’s ever dreamed of having—wealth, power, position—and I fear he finds it’s not enough.”

  “He needs someone to share it with, you mean?”

  Len nodded. His blue eyes were somber again. I could see that he was devoted to Robert, too, and fiercely loyal. Len, I knew, was a native of Natchez who had shocked and disappointed the local folk by going off to a Yankee university. After taking his degree from Harvard law school, he had had rough going when he returned to start a practice in his hometown. He had become “Yankeefied,” the locals felt, was too hard, too bright, too ambitious, but Robert had been impressed by the young man’s zeal and determination and had turned some of his minor business transactions over to him. In less than a year Len was handling all Robert’s business, working for him exclusively and making a very handsome living.

  “He’s in love with you, you know,” Len told me.

  “I—know,” I said.

  “There have been a lot of women in his life,” he said, “as I am sure you know, but—you’re special. I have never seen him treat a woman like he treats you. Usually he—”

  Len hesitated, afraid that he might have gone too far.

  “Usually he puts them up in some fancy apartment and sleeps with them. Is that what you meant to say?”

  “More or less. You—he respects you, Dana. He wants to do right by you. I think—” Again he hesitated. “I think he might even want to marry you. I’d like to see that.”

  “You’d like to see your esteemed employer marry a notorious actress and be ostracized by all the local gentry?”

  “I’d like to see him marry one of the finest young women I have ever met,” he said, “and as for the local gentry—they’re not nearly as stiff-necked and snobbish as your New Orleans breed. Most of their ancestors were pioneers who sweated and toiled and lived in log cabins as they hacked away with axes, turning overgrown wilderness and mud flats into the Natchez you see today. They’re consumed with curiosity about you and dying to meet you—can’t wait for Robert to give a ball and introduce you. I have no doubts they will take you to their hearts immediately.”

  I made no reply, and Len smoothed a palm over his thick blond hair, clearly still worried that he may have gone too far. I gave him a reassuring smile and asked if he had time to come in for refreshments. Len shook his head, looking relieved.

  “Afraid I can’t, though I appreciate the invitation. I have mounds of papers to go through and a cutthroat cotton broker to best. Are you sure there’s nothing you need?”

  “Quite sure,” I told him, smiling again. “I enjoyed seeing you, Len. Do give my best to Arlene.”

  Len promised he would do so and, nodding politely, went on around the verandah to the front of the house where his horse was waiting. I stepped through the French doors and moved down the wide corridor toward the front foyer. The interior of Belle Mead was as simple, as gracious as its exterior, large, sunny rooms opening one into another, each beautifully appointed with exquisite furniture. The front foyer was huge, done in yellow and white and gold, a glittering chandelier suspending from the high ceiling, a graceful white spiral staircase curving up to the second floor.

  “Here you is!” Maudie exclaimed, bustling into the foyer. “An’ dat Mister Len goin’ off without takin’ any refreshments! I done had Libby make up a pitcher of dat limeade he likes so well, an’ I set out a plate of macaroons an’ almon’ cakes, too!”

  “I’m sure they’ll keep,” I told her.

  Maudie gave me an exasperated look. Not quite as tall as I, she was plump and rotund, her shiny brown face as round as a pumpkin. Invariably attired in black linen dress, crackling violet petticoat and violet bandanna turban, Maudie was a dynamo, full of energy and vitality. Bossy and imperious with the other servants, she was nevertheless warm and good-humored and had a deep and booming laugh which could be heard throughout the house several times a day.

  “I’se gonna give him what-for next time I sees him,” she told me. “Ain’t no need-a him rushin’ off like that, downright rude I call it. An’ you, missy! You done look all tuckered out. Nap time, I think. I’se gonna draw the drapes in your room and you is gonna take a nice refreshin’ nap. All dat gallivantin’ around in th’ gardens ain’t good for a gal, an’ all dat sunlight will sure nuff spoil your complexion.”

  “You’re a tyrant, Maudie.”

  “I don’t rightly know what dat means,” she retorted, “but I’se sure it ain’t flatterin’. Mister Robert done told me to take good care-a you, and dat’s exactly what I means to do. You’se gonna have a glass of iced limeade and then you’se gonna have your nap, and I ain’t takin’ no lip about it.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Tyrant you may be, but you do mean well.”

  “I mean for you to mind me, missy, dat’s what I mean. Oh, I almost forgot about dese here letters.” She pulled two crumpled envelopes out of her pocket, handing them to me. “Done arrived right after lunch, they did. Ain’t neither of ’em from Mister Robert—I always recognize his writin’.”

  “Thank you, Maudie,” I said, studying the envelopes.

  “You go on an’ read dem dere letters,” she ordered, “an’ then you get on up to your room. I’ll have your limeade waitin’ an’ everything ready for your nap.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Lip,” she grumbled, shuffling off. “Dat’s all I get around here—lip! An’ what’s dis tie-runt I’se supposed to be? Tie-runt indeed! I knows my job an’ I’se gonna do it and ain’t no one gonna stop me—”

  I carried the letters into the large library with its French windows looking out over the oak-shaded side lawn. Sunlight streaming in made bright pools on the polished hardwood floor with its rich Persian carpets and gleamed on the rows of leather-bound books filling the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Sitting down in one of the overstuffed chairs, I opened the first letter. It was from Corey and full of wry, loving comments about life with the ever-exasperating Adam and news about the forthcoming season at the Jewel. By popular demand she was going to reprise her Duchess of Malfi and, in addition to a new comedy, they were going to do Shakespeare’s Anthony and Cleopatra. Adam was going to look divine in short tunic and breastplate, she confided, but she was worried about her final scene. They wanted her to use a real snake, just a tiny grass snake, harmless as could be, they claimed, but “Honey,” she wrote, “there ain’t no way!” She inquired about my health, sent her love and said she looked forward to hearing from me soon.

  The second letter was from Laura, now Mrs. Michael Prichard, and it was a brief, hastily written missive informing me that she and Michael were back from Texas, in New Orleans now, and planning to come visit me in Natchez for a couple of days before going to Atlanta. She had such things to tell me, she confided, the ranch was incredible, Michael’s parents were lovely, and she had learned how to shoot, had shot a rattlesnake and seen only one Indian. He hadn’t tried to scalp her, had, instead, attempted to sell her a very smelly blanket. There were marvelous adventures to relate, and she couldn’t wait to see me so that she could relate them at length. They would be arriving on the twentieth and trusted I would roll out the red carpet.

 
Setting the letter aside, I stood up, elated at the prospect of seeing her again. How I had missed her. I happened to look at the calendar and realized with some dismay that they would be arriving this coming Friday, only four days from now. I could barely contain my excitement as I left the library and moved up the curving staircase. Robert would be here tomorrow, Laura and Michael at the end of the week. The pervading lethargy of the past weeks melted away as I stepped into the dim, shadowy bedroom. I didn’t take a nap. I pulled open the drapes and let the sunlight come pouring into the room and planned what I would wear for Robert tomorrow, how I would entertain Michael and Laura when they arrived on Friday.

  It was well after ten when Robert reached Belle Mead the next morning. I was on the front verandah, watching the carriage come up the oak-lined drive and stop before the wide front steps. Nimble as a monkey, young Leroy leaped down from his perch to open the carriage door, and a dignified Herman came shuffling out to take care of the bags. Robert alighted, looking rather weary in a rumpled cream linen suit. He’s been working much, much too hard, I thought. He said something to Herman and patted Leroy on the arm and then looked up and saw me standing there in my yellow silk frock. He smiled and the smile lit up his eyes and he looked like a much younger man then. I had the impression he wanted to bound up the steps and crush me to him. He didn’t. He gave another instruction to Herman and then came up the steps with his usual quiet dignity and took my hand, telling me I looked quite lovely this morning.