This Time Forever

by Linda Swift

  Clarissa gasped and flushed with embarrassment at her husband's indiscreet reference to her condition. Josiah's reaction, however, left no doubt of his elation.

  "My dear, what great news." He beamed at her, then immediately rose, and tapped his wine glass with a spoon. "Silence, please." When the lively conversations around the table had ceased, he continued. "I have a wonderful announcement to make tonight. I just this minute learned that my eldest son and his beloved wife are expecting their first child." He beamed at Malcolm, then Clarissa. "And so I propose a toast," he raised his glass, "to the next generation of the Wakefield family."

  Amid a chorus of exclamations and good wishes, the toast was drunk, and Clarissa smiled in acknowledgement as Malcolm looked pleased with himself. Well, why shouldn't he? she reasoned. His contribution had been made and now it was she who would carry and birth the next Wakefield heir.

  "You are so blessed, dear girl," crooned Josiah's twin sister Jane Forsythe who, with her husband Basil, was seated directly across the table.

  "Yes, I am," Clarissa agreed with sincerity as she accepted a generous serving of pecan pie topped with whipped cream and picked up her fork.

  Basking in the approval of the Wakefield men on either side of her, the remainder of the sumptuous meal passed in a blur of happiness for Clarissa, her thoughts wandering even as she made appropriate responses to the talk around her and with effort ate a few bites of dessert.

  There had been bleak moments of despair since she came to Whitehaven when waves of homesickness swept over her and she wanted nothing so much as to be back at Mimosa Manor with her beloved family. She had even wondered if her hasty courtship and marriage had been a terrible mistake.

  Clarissa had been sent to Chattanooga last spring to visit her father's cousin for the express purpose of seeking a husband and fortuitously Malcolm Wakefield, at the urging of his father, had been looking for a wife. They seemed well suited and the absence of a grand passion such as she'd read about in novels was too trivial to concern her; she had expected that to come later on when they grew to know each other better. The important thing had been Malcolm's willingness to pay her father's debts in return for an heir to his family's considerable fortune.

  Clarissa sighed as she brought another bite of pie to her mouth. She had kept her part of the agreement and was pregnant to prove it. And Malcolm hadn't touched her in a physical way since she missed her monthly time and her pregnancy was certain. In fact, he now spent most of his waking hours at Fleur-de-Lis, the Townsend plantation outside Rossville, riding and hunting with Sylvester. But tonight, she knew that he was proud of her and that she had earned the approval of his family as well. It was worth a bit of discomfort to achieve even this. And maybe things would be better now.

  When the meal was over, the ladies returned to the drawing room to chat over demitasse while the male members of the family followed Josiah into the library. Opening a box of his finest Havana cigars, he distributed them around the semicircle surrounding the fireplace as Luke offered a tray filled with glasses of bourbon.

  "So, you are to be a father, are you?" Basil Forsythe asked as he clamped Malcolm's shoulder with one hand.

  "So it seems, Uncle Basil." Malcolm lit up his cigar and took a bourbon as he tried to appear nonchalant.

  "I've surely failed in not encouraging Nathan to marry," he looked at his son affectionately, "but none of our local belles have caught his eye so far, and even his trip abroad was not productive in that sense." He paused for a moment, then added with a smile, "Perhaps there's a solution to the problem now that Clarissa's lovely sister has joined us."

  "I've little need for a wife if there is going to be war, Father," Nathan protested.

  "That's all the more reason to produce an heir to Cedarhurst," the elder Forsythe countered.

  "I don't think it will come to war, Basil," Josiah said with authority as he took a cigar for himself and placed the box on his large mahogany desk.

  "Don't be too sure, uncle," Nathan cautioned. "Secession is a serious matter."

  "But only South Carolina has taken such a foolhardy step," Sylvester pointed out.

  "Others will follow," Basil told him. "Why, ever since that Stowe woman stirred up the country with her damned book about slavery, our states to the North have felt a moral obligation to interfere in our way of life."

  "I agree, Uncle Basil," Talmage took a hasty puff on his cigar, then went on. "Even that fiasco at Harper's Ferry would probably not have happened if she hadn't incited those men to violence with her tearful rhetoric."

  "Really, gentlemen, you're giving the dear lady undeserved credit. The Dred Scott case had far greater impact than Uncle Tom. But it's not a question of slavery so much as the right of states to decide what course they'll take on matters that concern them," Nathan looked around the circle, then continued. "And not just states, but territories, too. I tell you, we're sitting on a powder keg with a burning fuse that grows shorter every day. Our friends in Europe are very uneasy, and we should be, too."

  "What I'm uneasy about is that backwoods buffoon who'll soon be in the White House." Josiah tilted his glass, drank deeply, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "And to think we allowed it to happen by fighting among ourselves."

  "But Lincoln favors slavery where it already exists, Father," Talmage argued. "There'll be no need for the sesesh movement to spread."

  "I wish that were true, son," Josiah shook his head, "but I'm not sure the South can tolerate the situation as it now exists. Our whole economy is based on the institution of slavery and even though we don't require a large number of slaves to run Whitehaven as Sylvester and Basil do for their plantations, I uphold their right to do with their property as they see fit."

  "Well said, uncle," Nathan set down his glass and applauded. "We need men like you in the White House."

  "Then who would produce the steel for your war, young man?" Josiah asked with raised eyebrows.

  "Good question," Basil nodded. "And it's my belief that we will soon need more steel."

  "If the rabid abolitionists would come and see for themselves what good care we take of our slaves and how contented the darkies are, there'd be no cause for war," Malcolm beckoned to Luke who stood near the doorway and he came forward with another tray of drinks. "Am I right, Luke?"

  "Yes, suh, Masta."

  "And if my father made you a free man this very night, you'd stay right here at Whitehaven, wouldn't you?"

  There was only the slightest hesitation before the black man answered again in a low voice, "Yes, suh, Masta."

  "But if more states secede and war does come," Sylvester paused to emphasize his next words, "we Sons of the South will make quick work of the Yankee bastards."

  Malcolm's eyes lit up. "Perhaps a war wouldn't be so bad after all. We four," his eyes swept his three young companions, "could go into battle together."

  "And come home heroes," Talmage added, catching the excitement of his older brother.

  "In spite of the present turmoil in government and elsewhere, I tell you war won't come. It's unthinkable," Josiah added with an air of finality that brooked no disagreement, then drained his glass and stubbed out his cigar. "Well, gentlemen, enough talk of politics and war. It's Christmas Eve, and we must rejoin the ladies. Lydia promised to play so we can sing carols."

  Together the older men, then Malcolm and Sylvester, and finally Talmage and Nathan, left the book-lined room with its heavy scent of bourbon and cigars, putting aside their diverse thoughts of gloom and glory.

  Lydia was already seated at the pianoforte when the men entered the drawing room, the folds of her purple striped silk gown spread gracefully around her. She lifted her head and frowned at Josiah. "Just in time, Father. We were about to begin without you."

  "I see your impatience hasn't improved with marriage, my dear," Josiah said with an indulgent smile, "but I suppose it would be a miracle if Sylvester could accomplish in two years what I couldn't manage in more than twenty."r />
  Ignoring her father's teasing, Lydia called to her brother, "Come and lead us, Malcolm. I'm sure your baritone can camouflage any false notes I play."

  "You mean I'll make up in volume for what I lack in musical quality, don't you, Lydia?" He went to stand beside the pianoforte and beckoned to the others. "Gather round, now."

  "Shall we begin with 'Silent Night'?" Lydia asked and without waiting for Malcolm's reply, began playing the melody.

  Soon the collective voices of the group were lifted in song and one after the other, familiar carols were suggested and sung until finally, they fell silent. Luke appeared with trays of Madeira and rum-soaked fruit cake and while they refreshed themselves, Clarissa surreptitiously watched as Talmage and Nathan competed for her sister's approval. Angeline appeared flushed with excitement and it was obvious that she was enjoying the attention of her enthusiastic admirers.

  It was near midnight when Nathan and his parents said their goodbyes, Nathan lingering as long as propriety would allow in taking leave of Angeline. Standing in the open door beside her sister, Clarissa saw that snow was falling, the large white flakes already covering the ground with white.

  "Oh, look, Malcolm. It's snowing. I love to walk in the snow." She took a step onto the portico. "Will you come with me?"

  "Stop behaving like a child, Clarissa," Malcolm took her arm and pulled her back inside, "and remember that you're carrying one."

  Clarissa silently joined the others in the hallway just as Lydia spoke to Angeline.

  "I hope you haven't found us too boring this evening?"

  "Oh, no, Lydia. It's been great fun. I've had a wonderful time."

  "Then you don't regret missing the holiday parties at your own plantation? And leaving all the young men to mope at your absence?"

  "We never have parties..." Angeline stopped and looked to Clarissa in confusion.

  "What my sister means to say is that our step-mother is a Quaker and we lived a very simple life at Mimosa Manor."

  "I see." Lydia's eyes swept Angeline's made-over gown. "More reason that you should brighten our holidays with your charming presence." She turned toward her husband and took his arm. "It's quite late. I think we should say goodnight now."

  Lydia, Sylvester, his mother and sister were staying the night at Whitehaven and they, accompanied by the elder Wakefields, went upstairs to bed as soon as the others had gone.

  Only Malcolm, his brother, Clarissa, and her sister remained.

  Looking at her husband, Clarissa nodded toward their siblings and smiled. "Shall we play the part of chaperones for a little while longer?"

  "It's late," he answered curtly. "I'm sure your sister is tired from her journey. And you should go to bed, also."

  "Of course, Malcolm. I only spoke in jest." For the sake of the others watching, she extended her hand. "Are you coming up now?"

  "Not yet. I think I'll have another of the old man's cigars before I turn in." He pecked her cheek perfunctorily. "Sleep well. Good night."

  "Good night, Malcolm," she whispered. "Merry Christmas."

  Talmage walked with them to the stairs, then with a last lingering glance at Angeline, turned and followed his brother to the library.

  "Oh, Clarissa," Angeline whispered when they had reached the landing, "this was the most exciting night of my life. My head is just spinning from all the compliments I've received."

  "More likely it's spinning from the Madeira," Clarissa answered wryly. "Our step-mother would be having second thoughts about sending you here if she knew about that."

  "I drank only a little of it, really." Angeline grimaced. "Though the red wine at dinner was delicious, not at all like I had imagined alcohol to taste." She shook her head, lost in thought, then went on. "It's no wonder our father—"

  "Not one word more about that," Clarissa said sternly. "It really is very late, and you must be tired, although with the excitement of traveling and the party, you probably don't realize it."

  "Yes, I do need to sleep. Nathan is coming back in the morning and take me for a drive to see the city." At Clarissa's slight frown, she added, "His mother will accompany us." Angeline sighed. "Isn't he the handsomest man? And such wonderful manners. And he seems to be very interested in me, don't you think?"

  "It appears so," Clarissa agreed. "But Talmage was very attentive, too."

  "Yes, he was. And he's quite handsome, also. Just imagine, two prospective husbands before I've even spent one night at Whitehaven!"

  "I'll send Polly to help you get ready for bed," Clarissa promised, "and tomorrow I'll ask if you can be given the service of one of the Wakefield slaves. Good night, Angeline. Sleep well."

  The two sisters embraced warmly, grateful to be together again after months of separation. When Angeline closed her door, Clarissa stood for a moment in the quiet hallway. The scent of pine and candle wax rose from below and she inhaled deeply, then suddenly overcome with nostalgia for the remembered holidays of her childhood, she brushed away her tears. She was a married woman now who would soon have a child of her own, as Malcolm had so pointedly reminded her. It was time to put away childish things and think of the future. She took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders, and went into her own room and awoke the sleeping Polly.

  Long after Polly left her, Clarissa lay in the high four-poster bed, thinking about her life these past few months. It was true she had come to Chattanooga to find a husband, just as Angeline was doing now. And Malcolm Wakefield had been the most suitable man who offered her marriage. But she'd expected him to be kind and gentle; instead, he seemed to take pleasure in hurting and humiliating her.

  Unable to sleep but not wishing to wake Polly, Clarissa finally pulled on a dressing gown and crept down the stairs to the kitchen to get a glass of milk. The house was colder now with the fireplace embers banked, and she shivered as she debated ringing for one of the downstairs servants.

  Nearing the library, Clarissa heard voices and assumed Malcolm and his brother were in there. Curious to know why they were still up at this late hour, she determinedly opened the door. For a moment the two people on the sofa were unaware of her presence, grappling and groaning crude obscenities, their half-naked bodies entangled. Then her shocked gasp penetrated their absorption and Malcolm shoved the woman away and stood, swaying slightly as he pulled his trousers together as best he could, considering his turgid condition. Even in the shadows, she recognized Lydia's maid.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled.

  Her anger rising, Clarissa shot back, "I might ask you the same thing!"

  He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand before he said with calculated coldness, "What I do is none of your damned business."

  "I am your wife," she reminded him evenly.

  As they were speaking, Ruane had rearranged her clothing and now tried to slip past them into the hallway. "Stay." Malcolm stopped her with a single word, then turned his attention back to Clarissa. "Surely, even you are not so naïve as to think a man's needs can be satisfied by the likes of you. This is the custom of a Southern gentleman, married or not, so you may as well get used to it. I've got you pregnant. That ought to keep you and my father happy."

  The sly smile on the face of the beautiful quadroon who stood in the shadows increased Clarissa's rage. "I don't have to endure this humiliation."

  "No?" Malcolm lifted one eyebrow. "Only if you want your baby to have a home. Now, go to bed—unless you'd like me to send your sister packing and see your father in prison for his debts."

  With a strangled sob, Clarissa turned and stumbled up the stairs, knowing that her husband was not making idle threats. She crawled into the empty bed and lay trembling with furious rage at the terrible knowledge of her helplessness. And finally, in the early hours before dawn, she fell into an exhausted sleep, cradling the pillow from the still-empty side of the bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Oswego, April 1861

  Philip sat in the drafty railroad car as it slowly made its way acr
oss the wooded fields of central New York. Snow still covered the ground and the bleak landscape reflected his own state of mind.

  The debacle at Fort Sumter four days ago had blown apart his careful plans as surely as the shells fired from Confederate cannon had shattered the security of the army's ammunition depot. Damn the cocky new Confederacy which used the slightest provocation to test its military prowess and damn the bungling government bureaucrats who had provided the opportunity.

  Now the nation was at war, and he'd had no choice but answer the president's call to arms. And unless the insurrection was quelled more quickly than he thought possible he would be practicing medicine in a tent instead of a traditional hospital in Oswego, binding the wounds of soldiers instead of ordinary citizens. The thought was not a pleasant one, and Philip closed his eyes and made a concerted effort to get a much-needed nap before the train arrived in Oswego.

  A few hours later when the train stopped, Philip roused from a restless sleep, retrieved his portmanteau, and made his way into the crowded railway station. Young men in a variety of uniforms, surrounded by family and friends, waited to board the outgoing trains which would take them south to Syracuse and on to Washington where troops were said to be drilling on the Capitol grounds.

  "Over here, Philip," Edward shouted above the din and Philip turned in the direction from which his brother's voice had come.

  Dodging around the milling people, the two men reached each other and shared a warm embrace.

  "Welcome home, little brother."

  "Thank you for meeting the train, big brother," Philip answered and again picked up his portmanteau and followed Edward outside, turning up the collar of his great coat against the sharp wind.

  As they reached the carriage, Edward smiled apologetically. "Forgive the lack of a welcome committee, but the constant flow of incoming news required that Virginia stay near the wireless. Father and Thomas are conferring with government representatives about production at the iron works and of course, Mother and Dorothea are preparing for this evening's celebration of your homecoming."