by Ann Rinaldi
"Oh please, Sis, don't look at me at supper, please."
She didn't.
WE DID THINGS together like that, all the while we were growing up. We stole cookies from the pantry and ate them in our room at night in the dark. We told each other ghost stories in my bed, with the sheets over our heads, when we were supposed to be asleep. When the grownups were talking and laughing downstairs in the back parlor and we were supposed to be abed, she showed me a place she had discovered on the floor in our room, under the rug, where a trapdoor opened and the floor underneath was so thin you could hear every word said downstairs distinctly. She had a knack for intrigue, which, she said, she got from her father, the ship's captain.
One day Sis Goose took me into Amelia's room and we did each other's faces over with the face and lip rouge Amelia sometimes wore when her beau took her out. I can't imagine what Ma would do if she caught us. She was down in the quarters, helping to deliver a baby.
It was Gabe who caught us. He leaned against the doorjamb. "Well, you both look like tramps I've seen in New Orleans," he said.
We stood, stunned. We'd learned what a tramp was from Gabe's pamphlet. "You going to tell, Gabe?" Sis Goose asked.
"Tell who? Ma or Amelia?"
"Both."
"Love to tell Amelia. But no, I won't if you all take it off right now and promise not to do it again."
We promised. We kissed him. I wondered if he'd become friendly with the tramps in New Orleans.
WE WERE like sisters, Sis Goose and I, but we couldn't trade clothes because she was older and because she became a woman first. And then, at social gatherings, she started attracting the attention of young men. She was almost white, with just a hint of honey color, as if she'd stayed in the sun too long, and her complexion enhanced her beauty, added something to the clothes she wore. All the young men wanted to dance with her at balls and weddings. Oh, they danced with me, too, but that was part of the social scene, to be polite.
Pa said it was up to Granville and Gabe to keep their eyes cast in our direction. They were always watchful of us at gatherings, of course, but there was one occasion where Gabe had to come to Sis Goose's defense.
It was at a dance held after a morning's hunt. Of course, the women didn't go on the hunt. We languished about and lingered over breakfast; we displayed our musical skills; we rode for three or four miles. The men returned and after a lavish dinner there was dancing. The musicians were playing a waltz. Brit Borden was about the only young man of the planters' class who couldn't hold his liquor, and it was a mortal sin for a young man not to be able to hold his liquor.
He was dancing with Sis Goose, who was fifteen and looking like an angel in her blue gown with a hoopskirt.
I was dancing with Rutherford Burnet, who was sixteen and dying to go for a soldier, as my brothers had done. Both my brothers were home on leave, both dancing, both wearing their uniforms. But when the music ended, Brit wouldn't let Sis Goose go.
He held her and, right before everyone on the dance floor, kissed her. It all happened so fast. Gabe released his dancing partner and strode across the floor and grabbed Brit by the shoulder and dragged him from the room, past the glass doors and onto the lawn, where he commenced to whip him good.
"Leave my sister alone," I heard him saying. "You touch her again and I'll kill you."
Ma and Pa were watching. So was a tearful Sis Goose. Ma held her, with an arm around her shoulder. Pa said nothing. Just nodded his head in quiet approval.
From the ground, Brit spoke between spitting out blood. "She's not your sister, not the way I've seen you looking at her tonight, Holcomb. Why don't you admit it?"
It was the last thing he said before passing out. Granville had to pull Gabe off him. Never have I seen Gabe so angry. Oh, he didn't come away unscathed. He had a cut on his forehead and his knuckles were all bloody. And his lip was swollen. Later we found out, too, that he had a fractured rib. Granville had to bind it up.
But something happened that night. Lines were drawn across the starlit sky. Gabe's namesake, the angel Gabriel, blew his horn. I heard it inside me.
After that, Gabe started to treat Sis Goose differently. While he'd pull my hair or tweak my nose or still sit me on his lap, he regarded Sis Goose like a porcelain doll that might break. He'd nod and smile at her. Compliment her with as few words as possible, like "Pretty dress" or "Did you make this cake? Best I ever had."
I'd catch him staring at her when she wasn't looking. And I got scared.
When he left to go back to his post, all dressed up in his captain's uniform, he pulled me aside. "Take care of her."
"Well, I can't beat up Brit Borden like you did."
"He won't come within a mile of her, don't worry. Just..." and he closed his eyes and drew in his breath, "take care of her."
I could have teased him. But he looked so miserable I took pity on him. "I will," I said.
He nodded his thanks and kissed my forehead. "Good girl," he said.
I felt like one of his puppy dogs. And I knew, next to Sis Goose, that's how I'd feel from here on in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONE OF the things I dread most in my life is having to go and visit Aunt Sophie with Sis Goose. But one of the best things to come out of it is that, about a week before I go, Pa invites me into his study for a talk.
Now, if I've made Pa sound like a groundhog hibernating in his room, I've done him a disservice. He does come downstairs when the sky is blue enough, as he says, and attends to things in his study or even down at the quarters.
For any of us to be summoned before Pa is a privilege. We seldom are in his company, except at supper on a "blue-sky day." And then Amelia and I have to wear our best, copying Mama. And the boys, even if just in from the barn, must be freshly shaven and wearing their whitest of shirts and good jackets and shined boots.
Pa will not allow any troublesome matter to be discussed at supper. If matters are troublesome, he takes them, with Granville and Gabe, into his study after the meal is finished.
So to be invited into his study is special. Pa doesn't waste words.
Even my brothers feel like this. Although sometimes for them to be invited into Pa's study means they have done something to arouse his ire. Or I have, and he is holding them responsible.
Pa has a few iron rules for his sons. One is no dueling. The practice is outdated, yes, but there still is an occasional duel in Texas.
Another is to reverence Mama and their sisters and, indeed, all women. Which means they must never go to the quarters for their pleasure with women.
Pa is hard on the boys. Nevertheless, Gabe always tells me: "Listen to him, he's been around a long time. His advice is valuable. And don't ever sass him or you'll hear from me."
Now this visit to Pa's study was in preparation for my just-before-Christmas visit to Aunt Sophie's with Sis Goose. As if the matter had not been discussed and beaten to death already by Amelia and my brothers.
"You're a diplomat," Gabe told me about the visit, before he left to go back to Fort Belknap. "It's up to you to keep things even between Aunt Sophie and us, or we'll lose Sis Goose."
He stood before me. "That's what I'm supposed to tell you. What I am telling you is to remember that Aunt Sophie is a vulture in a hoopskirt. A black buffalo pawing the ground and getting ready to attack me. Remember that."
"Mama says she's planning a trip to England and wants to take Sis Goose along."
Gabriel gripped my arm then. "Don't let her, Luli. We can't allow that to happen. Say Sis Goose is sickly."
"But that would be lying."
His brown eyes bored into mine. "Then lie," he said.
I KNEW THAT Pa's ire was aroused by the subject of Aunt Sophie, too. Pa was too independent to allow a woman to push him around. Still, he respected the fact that in all legality Aunt Sophie owned Sis Goose, even though all the slaves were really free. Like the man in the barn had tried to tell us. Like we already knew.
"I'd try to convince her
to free the girl, except that free negroes are considered a threat in Texas," he said to me once. "She'd be in more danger than she is now."
I never really thought of Sis Goose as being in danger. But she was, it seemed, no matter which way she turned.
"So this will be the Christmas visit then, hey?" Pa had asked me.
"Yes, sir," I said.
I got the impression that he was a little uncomfortable around me lately.
"You're growing up," he said, and it was almost an accusation.
"Yes, sir." I called him "sir" because the boys did. And because it was Southern tradition. I don't know what Amelia called him and I didn't care.
Amelia was his pet, his first little girl, and he doted on her. The fact that I was a girl mattered, yes. But he seemed to expect more from me than from Amelia. It was as if he did not want the second girl to be a pet but a responsible woman.
"No more romping in the hayloft with Sis Goose, is it?" His eyes went over me. I was wearing my best calico and my boots were shined to perfection. Pa liked perfection.
"No, sir, we don't do that anymore."
He scowled. "You don't let that woman and her husband treat Sis Goose like a no-account servant," he said to me. "You know what I mean by that."
"Yes, sir."
"She's nothing but a grungy Comanche in disguise."
"Yes, sir." Inside I was laughing. I was pulling up weeds and throwing stones.
"If they try, you have my permission to take the girl and go out into the stable and get your horses and come home. It's a day's trip. You can do it. Take your gun."
"Yes, Pa, I will."
He looked at me again, studying on me, trying to figure out just what kind of a person I was. And was I up to his standards. Pa had high standards.
"Good then. You know what I want. If Gabe were here he'd take you and fetch you home. But he's off fighting Indians again. Damned rascals won't stay put and mind the rules. I have no patience with anyone who won't mind the rules."
"Yes, Pa."
"As it is, your mother has made arrangements to have someone meet you at Shelby's Corners and escort you from there."
"Who?"
"All in good time. She'll tell you. Off with you now. Go on."
I was standing there stupidly, waiting. For what? I knew for what. For him to extend an arm and offer to enfold me to him. Sometimes he would do that. But not always. It depended on the mood he was in.
I curtsied and he nodded his head in approval. Then I left him there with his books and his accounts and his newspapers. Maybe he'd come out for supper this night and maybe not. I hoped the sky would stay blue enough.
WITH MAMA, I know she loved all her children, and that included Sis Goose. But somehow I always got the feeling that she favored the boys. "My boys," she'd call them, and she doted on them, worried for them, and still scolded them when the occasion warranted it.
The boys, so much taller than she was, took it all good-naturedly and teased and praised her on occasion. I know they loved her, but this isn't anything a man discusses with anyone: how he loves his mother.
I do know that she had a great influence on their lives and that they would go to her before going to Pa to ask for something. Sometimes she sent them straight to Pa. Other times she granted their wishes herself, wanting to spare Pa from some insignificant concern. I know the boys told her about the black man in the barn and how they sent him on his way. I don't think Pa ever knew about that.
After my audience with Pa, I was called to Ma. She had gestured that Sis Goose and I sit down at the kitchen table and have a cup of coffee before we left.
Ma had her own supply of real coffee beans that Granville had brought home for her after one of his running-the-blockade trips. She never asked him how he got it. She didn't want to know. But she saved it for special occasions.
Hot coffee! How good it smelled! "I think this is what we're really fighting the war for," I said jokingly. "And not the slaves."
Quickly I knew I'd said the wrong thing. From where Ma stood in the corner of the kitchen, peering into a butter churn at the fresh cream Molly, the servant, was going to churn, Ma gave me a look that would turn the cream sour.
She scowled and gestured with her head to Molly.
Not to Sis Goose, I minded. But Molly.
Mama didn't consider Sis Goose a slave. And she wouldn't stand for any claptrap from anybody who did.
That look demanded an apology, I knew. But to whom? I just lowered my eyes. "Sorry, Mama," I said.
"It's that kind of thoughtless talk that's going to get you in trouble with Aunt Sophie," she said. "And then she'll accuse me of raising a little hoyden. And I do so want you girls to make a good impression on this visit. She's entertaining a very special guest."
Aunt Sophie always had special guests. She had turned their plantation, Glen Eden, into a social mecca. "You'd think she was Mrs. Lincoln," Pa had once said.
"Who's she entertaining this time?" I asked.
"Rooney Lee." Mama came over to the table and sat down opposite us, and I poured her a cup of coffee.
"General Lee's second son," she explained. "He rides with Major General Jeb Stuart. He's recovering from a leg wound he got at Brandy Station. Uncle Garland knows the Lee family and invited him to Glen Eden to recuperate."
My eyes were wide with wonder. "What is his rank?"
"Major general," Mama said. "Be kind to him, you two. He's lost two infants and his wife. And he's recently been a Federal prisoner. For nine months. He was just released eight months ago."
"Don't you remember?" Sis Goose said. "Mr. Porter told us all about the Lee family."
Mr. Porter was our tutor. He was away now for the winter break.
"Still, a real live major general. We'll get to talk to him, Sis. And find out what the war is about."
Mama sipped her coffee. "Why don't you just ask your brothers," she said dryly. Then she got up. Mama could not suffer fools gladly, and when I acted like one she was disappointed in me. Like Pa, she wanted to make me a strong, right-thinking woman. She tolerated no nonsense about boys, no unnecessary infatuation with clothes. The last thing in the world that she wanted me to be was a southern belle.
She herself had never had the chance to be one. Coming from the same plantation in Virginia as Aunt Sophie, she hated her sister's southern-belle ways and was determined to lead a useful life. And she had. She had worked hard with Pa to make our ranch successful. "A true man wants a partner," she'd told me once. "Not a gussied-up doll without a thought in her head."
Without her ever saying it, I knew she was disappointed in Amelia, who was a genuine southern belle. And she'd made up her mind she would succeed with me. So she let me ride astride, allowed Gabe to make me the best shot in the county (after him and Granville). She allowed me to clean my own gun and saddle my own horse and, since I was a toddler, to pad around after my brothers.
"Now," she said, "Major General Lee is riding out this day to meet you girls a quarter of the way to Glen Eden. He'll be waiting for you as soon as you get to Shelby's Corners. Remember, he is an honorable man from an honorable family. Make a good impression. And don't stare at his right hand. The tips of his fingers are missing."
"From what?" we both asked.
She smoothed down her white apron, without which she would not be seen during the day. She adjusted the kerchief at her neck and patted her brown hair in place.
"From when he was eight years old and went into the stable alone, disobeying his father. A horse bit them off. Come on now, it's time. Finish that coffee. Don't waste it."
We both gulped the rest of our coffee.
Mama held me, both hands on my shoulders, an arm's length away. "You'll do," she said. "Remember to offer to play the piano, and don't get puffed up about it. If Major Lee asks you to dance, remember yourself. And be gentle in his company. Don't ask questions of him. Just listen. Sometimes a man just needs to be listened to."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you have the homemade jellies and embroidered cloth I'm sending along?"
"It's all in my saddlebags, Ma."
She held me and kissed me. I could feel her heart beating. And I thought that God was good to me to give me such a mama.
Then she did the same to Sis Goose. And for the first time I didn't envy Sis Goose her looks. After all, her mama had died on a steamboat and she'd been handed over to people like a bale of cotton.
We set off. With some good riding we'd be at Shelby's Corners in less than an hour.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"MISS LUANNE HOLCOMB, I presume. I'm William. Fitzhugh Lee, your humble servant. You can call me Rooney, like my sisters do."
He took off his gray hat and gave as courtly a bow as one could while sitting astride a silver stallion.
"I'm Luli," I said. "And this is my almost-sister, Rose Smith."
"People call me Sis Goose," she said.
I saw Rooney's eyes go over her for just a second as a man's eyes go over a woman to take her measure. Then he put his hat back on his head. "And are you surviving as a goose in the courthouse full of foxes?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yes. No one has devoured me yet," she flung back.
I was glad to see that Rooney knew his Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit stories. It made this big, formidable-looking man, in his major general's uniform, less frightening. The uniform was the same tired gray as Gabe's, except that his looked as if he didn't have a woman to look after it. I'd given Gabe's a good brushing off many a time. And had one of the house servants press it.
We brought our horses up to his and set out together down the road to Glen Eden. "Who would call a pretty thing like you Sis Goose?" Rooney asked.
"My father," she replied.
"Ah yes, fathers tend to do that. My elder brother is named George Washington Custis Lee. More of a title than a name. Pa always called him 'Boo.' My father nicknamed me Rooney. I've heard, from your aunt Sophie, Sis, of the exploits of your steamboat-captain father. Well, I'm sure he means you to be a survivor. I see you two ride astride and not sidesaddle."
