Memphis

by Sara Orwig

  “Dammit,” he swore, striding downstairs. “Sophia!”

  Mazie came from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. “Major O’Brien, she said to tell you she’d be back in a few hours.”

  “All right,” he said, experiencing a cold fear for her safety. Glancing at the newel post, he remembered the bonnet in her hands when she had come downstairs. While he had been in front talking to Fortune, she had gone out the back to deliver her inflammatory papers. Feeling a panicky sense of urgency to find her before a Union soldier discovered the papers, Caleb paused in the kitchen doorway. “Where’s Henry?”

  “Miss Sophia sent him on an errand.”

  “Do you know where they’ve gone?”

  “No, sir.”

  He left, saddling his horse, feeling a tight knot of fear for her safety. Where should he go? North or south? He prayed that he was in time.

  Freshly printed papers were stacked on the floor and the back seat of the buggy. Covering them were blankets and several packages of material, two sewing baskets, a shovel, a pitchfork, and a scythe.

  Sophia picked up the reins to ride down Washington, turning onto Second Street. She stopped at the back of a tall brick house and knocked at the back door. A servant opened the door.

  “Is Mister Martin home? I’m Miss Merrick.”

  Auburn-haired Edwin Martin and his thirteen-year-old son Aaron came to the door.

  “Mister Martin, I brought the tools you lent my father so long ago. They’re in the buggy.”

  “Fine, Miss Merrick. Aaron, come along.”

  At the buggy, Martin lifted the tools off the blankets, moving aside the packages of material and the folded blankets.

  “Did anyone stop you or question you, Miss Merrick?”

  “No. The Union soldiers I passed on the street glanced at me, but no one asked what I was doing.”

  He handed his son a stack of papers and picked up another. “We’ll get these distributed after dark.”

  “Please be careful. I don’t want anyone hurt.”

  “Damn the Federals. Anything we can do to oppose them is fine with me. I just wish I could—”

  He bit off his words and she saw the worried look in his brown eyes. He had six young Martins to care for and Elmer was only a month old or Edwin Martin would have gone to fight. “You’re needed here,” she said softly and he stepped back.

  “Miss Merrick, everyone will be anxious to get a paper that isn’t under Federal control, but this can’t be safe for you.”

  “So I’ve heard, Mister Martin, and if I don’t get by your house with my papers, you’ll know something has happened. I’ll print copies as regularly as possible.”

  “Your father would be proud of you and your brothers.”

  She nodded and climbed into the carriage. The next house she stopped at was the Weatherbys’, leaving one stack with Morton Weatherby. She also went to Silas and MaryBelle Silvertons’, and MaryBelle insisted she come inside and have some corn bread that was freshly baked.

  Shadows were long by the time she had only two stacks to go and she rode out of town past Federal pickets. To get to the Garners’ house, she had to pass through Nonconnah Bottoms between Coldwater River and Nonconnah Creek. Fourteen-year-old Chadwick Garner was one of her most reliable delivery boys.

  As she rode along, two Union officers on horseback approached. They slowed from a trot, and her pulse quickened when she thought about the three stacks of newspapers in the floor of the buggy behind her.

  The two men moved apart and blocked her path. She was in an isolated area, thick trees closing out late-afternoon sunlight. She slid her hand beneath the folds of her skirt to her reticule, feeling the solid weight of the Colt revolver.

  She tugged the reins and halted facing the men. An officer turned his horse to ride up beside her. He was startlingly handsome with deep blue eyes, thick blond hair, and a mustache. He tipped his hat and even white teeth showed in his smile.

  “Major Dunstan Trevitt, ma’am,” he said in a deep voice. “You’re—?”

  “Miss Sophia Merrick,” she answered, her heart pounding as he leaned forward in the saddle to look at the seat behind her.

  “Looks as if you’re carrying a cargo.”

  She smiled and waved her hands. “Major, just days ago a steamboat brought yards of beautiful material. I’m taking some to a dressmaker and I have some tools to return to a friend of my father’s.”

  “Your father isn’t in Memphis?”

  “He died,” she said, looking down and winding her fingers together in her lap.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” he said, sounding sincere. “It isn’t be safe for you to ride out here alone. There are a lot of soldiers around Memphis now.”

  “Thank you for the warning Major,” she said politely. “As soon as I take the material to my friend and the tools back where they belong, I’ll go home.”

  “Where’s home, Miss Merrick?”

  “On Washington Street.”

  He rode closer and his voice lowered. “We’re far from home, and it’s nice to see a pretty lady. Do you have a beau in this war?”

  “I have some dear friends who are away fighting.”

  He smiled. “You said ‘Miss’, so you’re not married or promised.”

  “No, Major,” she said, torn between telling him he belonged to the side that had killed her brother and being nice to him so he would let her go. She drew herself up. “If you’ll let me pass, my friends are expecting me.”

  He tipped his hat again and waved his hand to the other officer who moved out of the way. As she drove off, she glanced around and saw Major Trevitt watching her and she felt a flutter. If they followed her, she would have to leave Papa’s tools and the packages of material.

  Within minutes she fought the urge to turn again and see what the Union officers were doing, but rode staring straight ahead. When she turned into the Garners’ lane, she glanced over her shoulder and didn’t see any sign of the officers.

  On the return trip they were waiting in the same place. Now her heart didn’t pound with trepidation, because she had distributed all the newspapers. As a precaution, she left the tools and the material. When Major Trevitt rode up beside her, he glanced into the empty buggy.

  “Evening again, Miss Merrick. I think you need an escort home. A lady shouldn’t be out alone. This is a deserted, dangerous spot.”

  “Thank you, Major Trevitt. I know the way home and after all, you are the enemy.”

  He smiled. “Ma’am, I’m never the enemy of a beautiful lady.

  “Thank you, Major,” she said, slightly amazed. She was unaccustomed to men paying her compliments or flirting, but from the moment Caleb O’Brien had come into her life, she had received attention and flattery and it surprised her. She glanced at the Yankee. He was handsome, with thickly lashed blue eyes, a ruggedness to his facial structure that made him interesting. He turned his head, and she was embarrassed to be caught staring at him. He leaned closer.

  “Miss Merrick, may I call on you?”

  She felt caught in a dilemma. She didn’t want him to call, but she didn’t know how to say no. She was unaccustomed to dealing with men and he was a Federal and she was printing a rebellious newspaper. If she said no, would he retaliate?

  “Major Trevitt, we’re on different sides in this war. I think that ends all socializing.”

  “There are some barriers that were meant to be broken,” he said and smiled.

  “I’m afraid that North and South barriers are impossible to surmount.”

  “Not so. You’ve given me a challenge, and I’ll have to prove to you that North and South aren’t irreconcilable. I’m from Kentucky. That’s not so far north.”

  “Major, you could be from Louisiana, but your uniform indicates the Union and that is a world away.”

  “Surely not. I’ll have to prove it to you. It’s a challenge I look forward to. What business was your father in?”

  “My father owned a newspape
r, The River Weekly. It’s closed now. He died shortly after the war started.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, about your father. My family is in Louisville. Memphis is a beautiful city,” he said as they rode past the intersection of Adams and Manassas streets and turned onto Washington. Dusk was settling and light spilled from windows of houses until they reached hers. It stood in darkness and she glanced at the windows. Where was Caleb?

  “Here’s my house, Major Trevitt.” She tugged on the reins, praying he would ride away. Suppose Caleb came to the door? “Thank you for accompanying me home.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Merrick.”

  Major Trevitt swung down out of the saddle and hitched his horse to the post. He held out his hand to help her down.

  She alighted from the buggy. “Once again, thank you, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling at her. “Miss Merrick, I wish you would give me half a chance to make you forget I’m wearing blue.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.”

  He doffed his hat. “And I regret that I couldn’t persuade you that I’m not your enemy. Perhaps I’ll have an opportunity to escort you again. Good evening, Miss Merrick.”

  “Goodbye, Major.” She went inside, moving to the window to gaze out as he rode away. The other Union officer caught up with him to ride beside him and both men turned the corner and were lost to sight.

  “Who’s the Union officer?” Caleb asked from the darkness.

  She spun around. “You startled me!” He struck a match and it flared. His green eyes were fiery. He turned to light a lamp and then he faced her. The faint smell of sulphur hung in the air from the match.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Major Trevitt. He escorted me home, because he thought I shouldn’t be out alone.”

  “Dammit, Sophia! You shouldn’t live alone, you shouldn’t ride around town alone, and you damned well shouldn’t print that newspaper that will get you a prison sentence!”

  She felt her temper rise. “You can stop your swearing, Major. I loathe profanity and what I do is—”

  He stepped forward, gripping her upper arms. She faced him, looking into eyes filled with sparks. “Unhand me!” she snapped, aware he was worried about her, yet angry that he wanted to interfere with her paper.

  “I rode all over town looking for you. Where were you?”

  “I delivered my papers!” she said disdainfully, yet her heart leapt when he said he had looked all over town. Did he care that much? “Papers you don’t like, because they preach against your way of life. Release me, Major!”

  They looked into each other’s eyes and she felt the fiery tug of wills, the sparks that made her shake with fury, and the undercurrent that was always there with him. His gaze lowered to her mouth and her pulse jumped; she felt caught between anger and desire, enveloped in his heated look.

  “Dammit,” he whispered, pulling her to him. His arms went around her and he bent his head, his mouth coming down on hers. She fought him because she was angry with him and his cavalier manner, because she was terrified she was falling in love with him so deeply she couldn’t survive when he left.

  He raised his head. “I’m going tonight.”

  The words fell like a blow to her heart, and she wanted to cry out in protest. It sounded so final. “Where? You’re going to New Orleans?” And the real terror. “Are you going back to battle?”

  “You care?” He frowned, watching her. She gazed back, feeling loss swamp her. Anger drained away in longing. She swayed, standing on tiptoe and he groaned, his head coming down to kiss her again. She felt his fingers in her hair and in minutes the pins went flying, her hair spilling down over her shoulders.

  “Sophia,” he said, all the anger leaving his voice. His hungry tone made her heart lurch, and she pulled back to look at him.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, touching his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her palm and she hurt, wanting him to stay, knowing she did love him and she would never know another man like him, knowing he should go because he couldn’t be part of her life.

  “I’m not going far. I won’t stay here; I can’t risk arrest. It creates risk for you, and any day now, the matrons in this town are going to realize how well I am and how long I’ve stayed at your house. I’ve found a place near Germantown. I’ll come back to town at night.”

  “You’re doing this for me,” she said, feeling awed, staring at him.

  He wound his hands in her hair, his gaze sweeping over her features with a fierce look that made her pulse drum. He bent his head to kiss her, molding her against his body, crushing the breath from her lungs.

  His fingers went to the fastenings of her dress and in seconds he pushed the dress off her shoulders, tugging away her chemise and bending his head to cup her breasts and kiss her. Sophia trembled in his arms, torn between wanting to give herself to him completely and knowing what a disaster it would be.

  His hands were everywhere, moving over her hips, her thighs, at her waist, touches that were ecstasy, that she wanted. She felt wanton, lost, and she tried to cling to reason. She should say no, but she knew he was going back to fighting. She caressed him, touching him, sliding her hands over his back and broad shoulders, winding her fingers in his soft hair. Heaven help her, she wanted more of him. Remembering the moments when he had been nude, remembering nights when she had touched his furred chest, she wanted to feel his body bare against hers.

  “Sophia,” he said, his voice a husky rasp. His fingers slid between her thighs and she gasped at his touch. Stop him now before you end up hurting forever, she screamed at herself. He’ll leave and go to New Orleans, back to the women in his life.

  “I have to stop, Caleb.” She moved away from him and pulled up her dress, holding it in front of her. He gasped for breath as if he had been running.

  “We don’t belong together, you and I. I’ll get hurt and I don’t want to be hurt that way. Just go.”

  He winced as if she had dealt him a blow. He clamped his lips together and clenched his fists and she knew she was doing the right thing. This worldly, experienced man would not fit in with her simple life and he would break her heart.

  He strode past her, his boots loud as they scraped the bare floor in the hall. In minutes she heard the back door slam and she crumpled on the settee.

  He’s gone. I sent him away. I told him to go. Caleb. Caleb, I love you. He’ll go back to the war. Back to Desirée and other women. It hurt so badly. “Oh, Caleb …” she whispered as she put her head in her arms and cried, feeling lost and alone and wishing she hadn’t told him to go.

  The house had never seemed emptier. She couldn’t sleep, finally dozing near dawn and waking to move restlessly through the house. Upstairs she crossed to a window to stare over the treetops. She could get a glimpse of the silver thread of the river in the distance. Where was he? Had he really gone to Germantown and stayed? She didn’t think so. Her head throbbed and she rubbed her temple. It will be better tomorrow, she thought. Maybe days from now it won’t hurt so badly. Yet, she knew it would.

  When Mazie came Monday morning, Sophia had a fire built in the stove.

  “Henry said Major O’Brien left last night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Henry said he’ll be safer away from Memphis, but he don’t look like a happy man. Henry said something is on that man’s mind.”

  “Probably the war, Mazie,” Sophia answered, wishing Mazie would talk about something else.

  “Miss Sophia, I’ve known you since the day you were born. You don’t have a mama or papa and Mister Amos isn’t coming home. You need a man and the major was worried into a fit yesterday when he didn’t know where you’d gone. You’ve had two gentlemen under this roof who’d court you if you’d let them, and I think it’s time you let someone!”

  “Mazie!” Sophia stared at her in consternation. “Both men are gone now. And Major O’Brien is a gambler and a whiskey-drinking man!” Both equal sins in Maz
ie’s eyes who had never touched a drop of liquor in her life and was proud to say so.

  “Both those men were fine men, Miss Sophia. And the major cared for you. And ’sides, he told me how his daddy raised him to enjoy good liquor.”

  Sophia stared in amazement unable to believe she had heard correctly. Mazie was almost as antiwhiskey as Papa had been. Had Major O’Brien won Mazie over to his views on liquor?

  “He’s gone now, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “Someday he might be back. He told Henry he owns land here now. Miss Sophia, you want to end up like old Miz Kressen?”

  Eliza Kressen was a spinster schoolteacher who lived in a small house at the end of the block. She was afraid of the dark and wouldn’t venture out after sundown. She was thin as the porch rail and even Papa had been impatient with her in spite of her loyalty to all his causes. She was scared of everything and often spent Saturdays on the street corners predicting the end of Memphis for its wicked ways.

  Sophia laughed, momentarily amused. “Mazie, I’m not sure a man could have changed Miss Kressen!”

  “Yes’m, he would. Man changes a woman just as much as a woman changes a man. Miss Sophia, if the major comes back, you need to be nice to him.”

  Sophia felt amused, her spirits lifting for a moment because of Mazie’s admonition. Caleb had won over Mazie and probably Henry. A knock sounded and Sophia wiped her hands on a towel and went to the front. Through the beveled glass she could see a man and as she drew closer, she saw the blue uniform. She opened the door to face Major Trevitt.

  “Good morning, Miss Merrick,” he said, doffing his hat.

  “Good morning, sir,” she replied coolly, standing in the doorway with no intention of inviting him inside. Every time she saw the blue uniform, she thought of Amos and of Caleb’s injuries and Will’s wounds. She remembered Shiloh and Private Elwin Crossley and her distaste grew.

  “The army is contacting anyone connected with a Memphis newspaper,” Major Trevitt said courteously. “May I come inside?”

  Feeling reluctant, she ushered him into the front parlor. Settling on the settee and crossing his long legs, Major Trevitt looked at the room. “You have a nice home, Miss Merrick.”