They Call Her Dana

by Jennifer Wilde

  “You look tired,” I said.

  “I am,” he admitted. “I’ve been traveling in these clothes. I need to freshen up and change, and then we’ll talk and have lunch.”

  “And you’ll rest this afternoon,” I told him.

  Robert shook his head. His thick auburn hair was slightly tousled, giving him a curiously vulnerable look.

  “I can’t, Dana. I’m going to have to spend the entire afternoon with Len, going over business matters.”

  “But—you’re only here for the one day,” I protested.

  “I know. I’m sorry. We’ll have a lovely dinner tonight and a nice visit afterwards. Don’t be downcast. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.” He curled his arm around my shoulders, leading me into the foyer. “It’s wonderful to be back,” he said, “if only for a brief time.”

  “It’s wonderful to have you back.”

  He looked down at me with fond gray eyes. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You’ve missed me?”

  “Very much,” I said.

  It was true. The loneliness, the lethargy, the sense of isolation and emptiness that had pervaded my days had vanished the instant I saw him, and I felt alive and aglow and secure. Robert smiled again and then turned as Herman came in with the bags. Maudie bustled into the foyer, petticoat acrackle, and began to snap orders, telling Herman to carry dem bags straight up to Mister Robert’s room, telling Robert he done looked done in an’ he was havin’ a hot bath immediately an’ no argument about it, telling me to go on about my business, I could have him back soon as he was presentable again.

  Robert brought me several small gifts, as he always did: three new novels, exquisitely shaped chocolates in a box covered with pale blue satin, a delicate and lovely yellow lace fan embroidered in white silk. I toyed with the fan as we lunched in the small, screened-in alcove on the side verandah. The crabmeat salad was delicious, the baked ham pink and tender, the flat round hush puppies crisp and golden and marvelously tasty, but I ate very little, feasting instead on his presence and the pleasure it gave me. Robert talked about his business dealings—cotton, lumber, real estate—and told me about the sawmill he had bought in Georgia and the timberland he had managed to acquire in Alabama, and then he paused and looked at me and smiled and said he must be boring me terribly. I shook my head and told him I was fascinated, as, indeed, I was, and he smiled again and poured himself some more iced tea.

  “And what have you been doing?” he inquired.

  “Reading, resting, taking walks. Last week young Leroy and I went fishing with bamboo poles. He caught five catfish and I got quite muddy and Maudie was outraged. She said it ‘wudn’t fittin’ for a white gal like me to go traipsin’ along the levee with a nigger boy.”

  Robert chuckled, and I told him about Laura’s letter and told him how much I looked forward to seeing her and Michael. Robert said he was sorry he wouldn’t be here to see them himself and added that he would speak to Len and Maudie and see that arrangements were made to make their visit a pleasant and comfortable one. He finished his tea and we left the alcove, strolling around the verandah to the front steps. His carriage was waiting, Leroy standing by to perform his job as footman.

  “It’ll be late when I get back,” Robert told me. “I’m sorry about this, Dana.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “See you at dinner. We’ll have a nice visit then.”

  The afternoon seemed interminable. I went down to the river walk and sat in the gazebo and listened to the humming buzz of the bees and finished the Balzac novel, and then I wandered around, restless, finally returning to the house around four. I answered Corey’s letter and wrote to Ollie as well, and it wasn’t quite five when I finished. I sealed the envelopes and set them aside and then sat gazing into space, thinking about Robert. I had indeed missed him, and seeing him again made me realize just how much he meant to me. No, I wasn’t in love with him, but I was drawn to him, strongly drawn, and there had never been anyone whose company made me feel so … so warm, so secure, so safe. It was as though we belonged together, that curious force binding us. Was it possible we had known each other in another lifetime? I sighed, wondering how it would all end.

  Robert returned shortly before seven. I had bathed and washed my hair and was in my bedroom when I heard the carriage coming up the drive. Dinner would be served at eight in the formal dining room. I brushed my hair until it shone with lustrous blond highlights, and then I put it up, arranging it in a French roll on the back of my head. I fastened a creamy white magnolia with tiny coral veins on one side, above my right temple and, sighing, stood up, the skirts of my white silk petticoat billowing softly. The gown I had selected was coral velvet, simple and elegant, with narrow off-the-shoulder sleeves, a low-cut bodice and snug waist. The full skirt spread out in sumptuous folds over the layers of my petticoat, making a soft, musical rustle as I stepped over to apply a dab of perfume behind my ears.

  The sun had gone down and candles were glowing in the hallway as I left my room. As I moved slowly down the gracefully curving staircase I felt a curious premonition, a feeling that came over me all at once and was as real, as intangible as the air around me. Something was going to happen tonight, I knew, and I couldn’t say how I knew it. The feeling persisted as I moved across the foyer and stepped into the spacious drawing room done in shades of white and pearl gray and soft blues, sumptuous Boulle furniture with its exquisite marquetry adding rich, gleaming browns and golds. Candles burned in the crystal wall sconces, and a gentle evening breeze caused the long blue brocade draperies to billow softly. Robert hadn’t come down yet. I longed to pour myself a drink from one of the decanters on the Boulle side table. I didn’t. I stepped over to one of the windows and gazed out at the hazy purple-gray sky and the shadows thickening on the lawn like folds of black velvet.

  “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

  He stood in the doorway, looking resplendent in formal attire: shiny black pumps, black breeches and frock coat, elegant white satin waistcoat embroidered with white leaves, white silk neckcloth. His auburn hair was perfectly brushed and gleaming darkly. A quiet smile played on his lips, and his smoke-gray eyes gleamed with fond appreciation as he looked at me. What a splendid man he was, I thought. He was everything a woman could want, and I realized that I wanted him. I wanted him to step across the room and take me into his arms and caress me and kiss me until I was delirious, until I forgot everything but the rapture I knew he could summon from my senses. All those needs I had repressed for so many weeks seemed to surge to the surface, tormenting me, crying out for physical release.

  “I just came down myself,” I said demurely.

  Robert moved across the room and took up one of the crystal decanters. He asked if I wanted a drink. I shook my head. He poured himself a brandy. How attractive he was, that mature face full of character and strength, those smoke-gray eyes full of wisdom, a little sad. He was a compassionate man, but there was a tough, ruthless quality as well. A man didn’t attain Robert’s power and position without it, and it made him all the more appealing. I didn’t love him, no, I still loved Jason, but I felt strangely close to him and I sensed that he could, with time, make me forget all about the past. I sensed he could make me happy as well.

  “I love this room,” I said quietly. “Such beautiful Boulle.”

  Robert lifted a brow. “You know furniture?”

  “I know a little about it. I certainly recognize the work of Boulle. The pieces you have here are the finest I have ever seen. You have so many beautiful things at Belle Mead, each perfect of its kind.”

  “I wanted only the best at Belle Mead. I wanted it to be a special place, full of beauty and harmony.”

  “It is certainly that,” I told him.

  Dinner was announced. Robert escorted me into the formal dining room with its elegant Chippendale sideboard, table and chairs, its walls hung in mulberry damask. Crystal and silver gleamed in the candle light,
as did the Spode china with its exquisite gold, mulberry and indigo patterns. How perfect it all was, I thought as the turtle soup was served. I remembered the swamps and cornbread and greens with bacon grease served on the rickety wooden table in the kitchen. That was reality. I remembered Ma, her lined, weary face, and I had the feeling she was with me now in spirit, watching me, warning me. Why should she be warning me? The soup bowls were removed, the salad brought in. It was wonderful, but I ate very little of it. Yes, Ma was here with me. Why should I feel her presence so strongly tonight?

  Robert was watching me. I couldn’t just sit here, a prey to completely irrational feelings. I smiled. I asked him about the Spode china, and he told me it had been crafted by Josiah Spode himself at Stoke on Trent in the early 1780’s. The damask on the walls here in the dining room had been hung especially to complement this particular set of china, he added. The breast of chicken cooked in orange sauce was served, along with the vegetables, and I ate enough to be polite and managed to keep the conversation going. Robert talked about the creation of Belle Mead and the expert help he had had in choosing the furnishings and appointments—he had known nothing about furniture and china and such, he admitted. It had taken a number of years to create the atmosphere he wanted. I told him he had the perfect place now.

  “There is just one thing missing,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I think you know, Dana,” he told me.

  He looked at me, and, yes, I knew. I lowered my eyes, toying with my wineglass. Our plates were removed and dessert brought in, a light chocolate pudding with sweet whipped cream. I didn’t eat mine, but I did take a cup of coffee. Ma was here, I could feel her presence still, and the curious premonition I had felt on the stairs returned. I felt peculiar, felt I was in the grip of forces I could neither explain nor understand. When we had finished our coffee Robert suggested we go out on the verandah, and I readily agreed. Fresh air was just what I needed.

  It did help. I felt better almost at once, and I wondered what could have come over me there in the dining room. The sky was a misty black now, shimmery with moonlight, and moonlight bathed the lawns, intensifying the shadows spread by the oak trees. We strolled slowly along the verandah for a while, both of us silent, and then we paused. Robert folded his arms across his chest and leaned against one of the slender white pillars, and I stood at the banister, looking out over the silvered, shadowy lawn. There was a mild evening breeze. The oak boughs creaked gently. Crickets made raspy music beneath the steps, and an owl hooted in the distance. It was all so serene, so lovely, like a dream that had to dissolve.

  I could feel Robert watching me. I turned to face him.

  “Feeling better now?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Was it so obvious?”

  “You merely seemed—a little distracted.”

  “I was thinking about the past,” I said.

  “I have the feeling it wasn’t very pleasant.”

  “It wasn’t—most of it wasn’t. You don’t know anything about me, Robert. You know Dana O’Malley, the successful actress. You—you don’t know the girl who grew up in poverty, who had no education, who—”

  “I know you,” he said quietly, “and I know that the past is not important when two people—when two people feel kinship with each other.”

  “You—then you feel it, too?”

  “I have from the first,” he told me.

  Robert stood up straight and, unfolding his arms, thrust his hands into his pockets. The owl hooted again, closer this time, and I heard a swooshing flutter of wings. Robert looked at me with solemn eyes.

  “My meeting Jason Donovan in Atlanta was no accident, Dana,” he said, and his voice was solemn, too. “It was very carefully planned. Donovan thought he was using me. Actually I was using him—to get to you.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  A faint smile formed on his lips. “You wouldn’t,” he said. “I saw you once, Dana—you wouldn’t remember. There’s no reason why you should. It was here in Natchez. I had gone down to the docks on business, and a steamboat had just come in. I was going back to my carriage. I happened to look up. I saw you standing at the railing of the steamboat, looking down. Our eyes met, and I felt—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I felt I knew you. I felt I had known you for a long time.”

  I had never mentioned that morning to him before. I said nothing now. So it had not been just me. Robert had felt the same thing I felt, and he remembered that morning as vividly as I did.

  “You reminded me of—of someone I once knew,” he said, “but that wasn’t enough to explain the feelings I had. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I’m not a reader of romantic novels and I don’t believe in love at first sight, but something happened that day, something I couldn’t explain. Try though I might, I couldn’t forget you, couldn’t get you out of my mind.”

  Wisps of cloud passed over the moon, and the silver rays streaming over the banister were replaced by shadows. I could barely see him now, but I felt the power of his presence, and for some reason it seemed even stronger in the semidarkness. His voice was deep and calm as he continued.

  “Several months passed. One day I happened to be in Augusta, Georgia, and I saw your picture in the newspaper. It accompanied an article about the play that had just opened in the theater there. I recognized the picture immediately and when I went to the theater that evening and saw you perform, I felt that same—that same kinship, and I finally knew who you were.”

  “Augusta, Georgia,” I said, casting back in memory. “We did Lord Roderick’s Revenge there. I played Cora. You—you were in the audience.”

  “I had to meet you, but I didn’t want to go backstage. I didn’t want to be just another Stage Door Johnny chasing after a very popular young actress, so I began to investigate. I discovered that Donovan had written a play and wanted to have it performed at the National in Atlanta, discovered that he was leaving for Atlanta shortly thereafter.”

  “You went there, too,” I said.

  “I went there, too. I spoke to the people at the National, told them that I was backing the play and would make up any losses on their part. They agreed to take it—and then I ‘accidentally’ encountered Donovan in the hotel bar and let him sell me on the idea of financing The Quadroon. He never knew I had already arranged things with the National.”

  “I see.”

  “You all came to Atlanta. Rehearsals began. The production was mounted. I stayed in the background. I had learned that you and Donovan were very close, and I didn’t want to try to take you from him—”

  He hesitated, and as he did so the moonlight came pouring over the banister again and I saw his face. His expression was grave, his eyes dark and full of feelings I understood all too well. He stepped closer to me and placed his hands on my bare shoulders.

  “I didn’t want to play that stock figure, the Other Man, and I didn’t want to alarm you or—or possibly alienate you. I realized that I was much older than you, and I realized that I hadn’t Donovan’s fire or looks or magnetism. I decided that my best chance was to win your trust, win your friendship—and do nothing to frighten you off.”

  “You were biding your time,” I said.

  “Exactly. I was waiting for the right moment to tell you how I feel, and that moment has come.”

  I waited, looking up at that grave, handsome face.

  “I love you, Dana,” he said.

  “I—know. I’ve known for some time.”

  “And?”

  “I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “You—needn’t say anything just yet.”

  His hands were warm and heavy on my shoulders, and his fingers massaged my flesh and his eyes held mine there in the moonlight and sensations sprang alive inside me and I wanted more, much more. I wanted comfort and solace and tenderness. I wanted strength to lean upon, and I wanted release. I trembled under his hands and he pulled me to him and the strength was there. He curled an arm
around my waist and I looked into his eyes and the tenderness was there. Drawing me closer, he curled his other arm around the back of my shoulders. Sensations quickened within. I found comfort in his strength and solace in his nearness, and all that remained was release. My whole body craved it urgently now, and I clung to him as he parted his lips and tilted his head. He hesitated for an instant, and that instant seemed an eternity. When he finally kissed me, my senses reeled. It had been so long, so long. I had been so lonely. His mouth caressed mine, indescribably tender, firm, too, demanding the response I was so ready to give.

  His arms tightened around me, holding me closer still, our bodies pressing together, flesh against flesh, bone against bone, separated only by thin layers of cloth, and his mouth continued that sweet plunder. I ran my palms over his back and up over his broad shoulders and finally wound my fingers into his hair and clasped the back of his head, drawing him to me. I felt his muscles tightening, felt the tension in his body, felt his own urgency mounting, and for several infinite moments both of us were bound by urgency and lost in the splendor, and then, abruptly, he pulled back, breathless.

  “No,” he gasped.

  He released me. He stepped back. I thought I would fall. I thought my knees would give way. I caught my breath. Moments passed and control came and my heart stopped pounding and my breathing grew normal. Robert’s chest heaved. His hands were curled into fists. Several more moments passed before he could speak, and then his voice was strained.

  “Not this way,” he said. “I don’t want an affair with you, Dana,”

  I didn’t trust my own voice. I didn’t speak.

  “I’ve waited—all these months I’ve waited—and I want it to be right. I love you, Dana, and I want you—I’ve wanted you since I first saw you standing there at the railing of the steamboat—but I don’t want another mistress. There’ve been—” He took a deep breath, hesitated, and when he continued his voice was controlled, calmer. “There have been many beautiful women and I have enjoyed them all, but you are different, Dana.”