The Beguiled

by Thomas Cullinan

  Nevertheless I had enjoyed my first visit with Corporal McBurney, had very much wanted to make a good impression on him and thought right after our first long conversation that I had managed to do so. But then later I began to have some doubts about it. I should add doubts of that kind are very usual with me.

  I felt at first that he had understood, as no one else around here ever had, the rather troubled and perhaps troublesome person that I am. I am not always the easiest person in the world to get along with, but I did feel that Corporal McBurney might possibly be someone who—even if he did not know all the reasons for my bitterness—would accept me the way I am with maybe the hope that affection might improve me. It might well have, you know. It really might have done so.

  In any case, after he had been here for a day or two I began to wonder if “understanding” was the word he would have used himself in describing his appraisal of me. In a foolish outburst I had mentioned my regard for him to the other girls and I was in dread that one of them, Emily or Alice perhaps, might have gone back to him with a distorted or, bad enough, even true version of the incident, and that then McBurney and my fellow student might have had a great laugh over silly misunderstood Edwina. I began to think that “understanding” was not the way he would have put it at all. “Seeing through me,” I thought, is more likely the way he would describe it—seeing through a shallow, prideless person who is so eager for friendship that she is willing to undergo the most personal questioning and accept the most flippant and direct comments about herself and then presume the whole thing has been complimentary.

  And so I avoided him. I hadn’t made up my mind to stay away from him permanently, but for the time being I felt that I couldn’t afford to throw myself at someone who, seemingly, needed my company much less than I needed his. He had everyone in this house fawning on him and I made up my mind I was not going to stand in line and hope for crumbs of his attention.

  Oddly, it began to seem that by ignoring him, I had aroused his interest in me. Although I had no conversation of any length with him for some time after the first one, I began to find him watching me and approaching me at every opportunity. I did not cut him or act unkindly to him on these occasions, or at least I never meant to do so, but I didn’t encourage him either. When he spoke to me, I answered briefly but courteously, and when he stared at me, I smiled. However, because at that time I was afraid to trust him, I kept my distance from him.

  Then on the afternoon of his first dinner with us, I was going over my lessons in the library when I noticed the volume of the collected works of Shakespeare was not in its customary shelf. We were not studying Shakespeare at that time in class but I am very fond of the plays and I quite often browse through them at odd moments of my own.

  I remembered that I had left the book in the parlor some time before—on the very day, in fact, of Corporal McBurney’s arrival—and so I assumed that it would still be there, since no one else here shares my interest in the Bard, with the possible exception of Miss Harriet. Therefore I came across the hallway to the parlor and had my hand on the door before I remembered who might very likely be inside. I entered anyway and found him on his settee engaged in profound discussion with our child of nature, Miss Amelia Dabney.

  I told him what I wanted but Amelia decided at once that the book was only an excuse to enable me to visit with McBurney. Well, perhaps it was in part. He had been on my mind constantly, awake and asleep, and I can’t deny that part of me—perhaps a very great part wanted very much to be near him.

  And that side of me received its wish. After Amelia had fled the room in a tearful huff, I stood for a moment quite close to him as he attempted to press the book into my hands. We said nothing for a long time but only stared at each other. After a while we dropped the book and he kissed me. Very gently.

  “I missed you,” he said.

  “Did you?” I asked him. “Very honestly, did you?”

  “On my honor. On my life.”

  “I missed you, Johnny,” I said. “I missed you very much.”

  Then he kissed me again, still gently, but for a much longer period this time. Then we sat on the settee and didn’t speak again for quite a while.

  “I’ll be leaving here soon,” was the next thing he said. “I’ve made up my mind. The old one has suggested that I’m fit and ready for travel and I’m sure she’s right. I don’t want to go away from you, and I don’t suppose she’d throw me out if I offered her a stiff argument, but I’ve too much pride to stay on when I’m not welcome.”

  “I don’t want you to leave, Johnny, but I don’t blame you,” I told him. “I’ll go with you.”

  “To where? You couldn’t go back to the regiment with me, though I’d be the envy of every man in the Army of the Potomac if you did. But I can’t make a camp follower out of you, which is the name they’d give you, and I couldn’t prevent it.”

  “I’ve had bad names put on me before now,” I said. “I wouldn’t care how they labeled me, as long as you thought well of me.”

  “I will always think well of you, Edwina Morrow. You’ll be at the top of all my thoughts until my dying day. But it still would gall me to have others thinking ill of you, and I can’t fight General Grant’s whole army over it.”

  “No you can’t,” I said, smiling at that, “though I wouldn’t require it of you. It would be like trying to carry water in a broken jug, as I have found out for myself. Everyone in this house thinks ill of me and I’ve never been able to prevent it by fighting with them, though I can’t deny there may be better means. Anyway why do you need to go back to your Army? Couldn’t we just go off together somewhere else?”

  “Would you have me listed as a deserter?”

  “Perhaps you’re listed as one already. The armies exchange lists of prisoners, don’t they? So your own people would know by now that you haven’t been killed or captured.”

  “It might be too soon yet for any lists,” said Johnny. “I might still be considered missing for a long time yet, like the honorable Robert Farnsworth, who, I understand, has not been heard from since the first battle in those woods. Anyway that whole area has been so burned over now, there must be thousands of fellas in there from both battles who’ll never be identified.”

  “You could be missing forever then. You would never have to be found. You could go anywhere in the world you liked. You’d really never have to go back to your own army at all.”

  “If you must put it that way, I don’t suppose I would.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought of it, Johnny. It’s not dishonorable to think of it. In fact Emily Stevenson has said you mentioned that you might be willing to change your allegiance.”

  “Perhaps I did say that. I try to be agreeable you know.”

  “You must never be that way with me, Johnny. You must always tell me exactly what you think about everything . . . and me in particular.”

  “You know what I think about you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I love you.”

  “Please, Johnny . . . you can take that back if you like. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it. Please, Johnny, don’t ever say that to me until you mean it.”

  “I mean it, my dearest. I swear it. I won’t ever lie to you, Edwina. I know exactly how I felt about you from that first day I talked to you, but I was afraid to say anything then for fear you’d walk away from me and never let me near you again. I’m only telling you now because I have to leave here and there may be no better chance. I realize I’m not good enough for you, Edwina.”

  “That’s not true. You don’t know how untrue that is.”

  “Well I wasn’t being humble about it. O’ course I feel I’m as good as any man in the world, but if you’re the sort who’s concerned about family connections and past history, my ancestry for the past hundred years or so is not strictly royal blue. There’s probably a few highwaymen an
d picklocks in there who ended their careers on the gallows or in the ditch, but on the other hand, if you want to go back a thousand years, I think I might produce a few kings. Course as all the world knows, every man in Ireland is descended from kings.”

  “Don’t joke about it, Johnny. You don’t really care about the past?”

  “I couldn’t care less, my sweet Edwina. I’ll be honest about it. I don’t want to go away from you, and I don’t want to go back to the Union Army, or any other. I’ve had enough of war. It’s not my quarrel and I want no more of it. Do you think any less of me for that, Edwina?”

  “I think more of you, if that’s possible,” I answered, “because of your sincerity. I don’t want you to go back to the war either. I think the whole thing is insane and at this point I don’t much care who wins it. And I would die myself if anything more happened to you. You can say it again, if you like, Johnny.”

  “I love you, Edwina.”

  “I love you, Johnny,” I said. “And I will never lie to you. I may not be able to bring myself to confess everything freely to you for a while yet, but I will answer any question. The last time I came to you I was unwilling to talk about my past life, but I am ready to do so now, if you ask me. Is there anything you’d like to ask me, Johnny?”

  “No,” he said. “I told you I wasn’t interested in the past. I’m only concerned about the future . . . our future.”

  “All right, Johnny,” I replied, accepting it. “Then you mustn’t go back to your regiment. I forbid you to do so. You’ve done more than enough already for a cause that isn’t your own. Now what you must do is go to Richmond. I’ll give you a letter of introduction to my father, and he’ll help you get out of the country . . . to England or Ireland or wherever you want.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I’ll follow you someday, if you still want it.”

  “Of course I’d want it. But how would I ever get to Richmond . . . alone and in uniform?”

  “You needn’t wear your uniform. I’m sure Miss Martha will let you keep those clothes of her brother’s.” Miss Martha had given him an old suit of Robert’s a few days after his arrival.

  “And the money to get me to Richmond?”

  “I’ll take care of that, too . . . somehow.”

  “You say your father can get me passage back across the water. How would he manage that? Is he in contraband?”

  “Yes . . . I’m sorry to say.”

  “There’s no reason to be sorry about. It’s a respectable profession—to be supplying your country with the things they need and can’t get otherwise.”

  “And making a big profit . . . and banking it abroad?”

  “Nonetheless it’s an honest kind of thievery and I say more power to him. But why are you sure he’d be willing to help me? He doesn’t even know me.”

  “He knows me. And I think it would be of interest to him that I might be following you someday across the ocean.”

  “Does he want to be rid of you that badly?”

  “Perhaps he does.”

  “He must be a great fool then, beggin your pardon.”

  “It’s all right. You see he knows me much better than you do.”

  “He couldn’t, if he doesn’t prize you above all else on earth.”

  “Thank you, Johnny. If you never say one more nice thing to me, I am most grateful to you for that.”

  “I’ll say so many nice things day and night for the rest of your life, that you’ll go mad from the ring of my voice and will beg me to scold you or curse you just to break the monotony.”

  “Johnny . . . is it your intention . . . do you mean you’d want to marry me, Johnny?”

  “To be sure. I was raised a good Christian. Do you think I’d propose to live with you in sin?”

  “Hold me, Johnny,” I said, shamelessly. “Hold me.”

  “There is one thing though,” he said after a moment. “I’m not entirely sure I’d want to go back to the old land. I’d rather go someplace completely new—where a man might have half a chance of making a decent home for himself. I think I’d like to give your west here a try. I’d like to see what lies beyond them westward rivers. They say there’s plenty of free land for the taking out there. Would you be willing to have a look at something like that with me, Edwina?”

  “I’ll go anywhere you go,” I answered, “as long as you want me. If you want to go to the free territories, I’m sure my father can arrange that too.”

  “O’ course I’ll think about it very carefully,” he said. “I won’t come to any snap decisions. I’ll study it for a while to find out what’s best for you. That’s the most important thing.”

  “What’s best for both of us,” I said.

  “All right. Have it your way.”

  I think that was almost the end of our conversation that afternoon. Anyway we did no talking for a while although we didn’t part immediately. That didn’t happen until ten or fifteen minutes later, after old Mattie had come in to announce that “Corporal McBurney is being invited to dine with the ladies this evening.” I gathered that Mattie didn’t exactly approve of this decision of Miss Martha’s.

  Mattie, in fact, was never in favor of any unnecessary association between the Farnsworth household and Corporal McBurney. I think if she had been in charge of this place, Johnny would have had a very short convalescence here during which time the parlor door would have been kept securely locked against all unauthorized visitors.

  Of course if she had her way, a similar policy would probably be adopted toward me. In a school operated by old Mattie, I should very likely be served my meals and lessons in a room apart from everyone else. As is evident to all, Mattie doesn’t exactly approve of me either, but that is another story.

  Well she left the room immediately, but even that brief encroachment on our privacy had put me in an evil mood—my usual mood some people would say. Anyway I began to have my customary doubts about the likelihood of anything good ever happening in my future.

  “You can take back everything you said,” I told Johnny. “I’m giving you another chance.”

  “I don’t want to take anything back, my dearest,” said he. “On my life I’ve meant every word. Don’t you trust me, Edwina?”

  “Yes . . . yes, I trust you,” I said. “And that puts you in a very special category, Johnny McBurney, because for a long time I haven’t been trusting anyone.”

  “Then if you do have faith in me, why the frown? Why mar those lovely features with a tight mouth and a wrinkled brow and a pair of squinty eyes, the way it’d be thought you were trying to stare into every dark corner of my mind to see if there wasn’t one little bad thought about you tucked away there somewhere.”

  “I know there isn’t any such thought, Johnny. It’s not what you feel about me now. It’s what you might feel about me in the future . . . when you know me better.”

  “I know you well enough now and my feelings about you will never change.”

  “You don’t know everything about me. . . .”

  “For pity’s sake, what is there to know? I know you have a short temper, so have I. I know you have a sharp tongue, so have I. We’ll murder each other very likely before the end of our first week together. Now for the love of the saints come away from it. I know all I need to know about you, all I want to know.”

  “If you’re sure, Johnny,” I whispered.

  “I am absolutely sure, my sweet Edwina.”

  And that, I guess—if you can reduce such things to solitary moments—was the happiest moment of my life. It wasn’t a very long moment, but it was a nice one while it lasted.

  I realize, of course, that much of my misery has been my own doing because I have always been so suspicious of everyone around me, and so quick to take offense, sometimes with very little provocation. However when I left the parlor on that afternoon,
I was determined to change my ways. My fortunes had turned from nothing to more than I could ever hope for. Nothing could hurt me now, I thought. I was sure at that moment that the terrors I have always suffered were gone and would never return.

  And so I would make a great effort now to be nice to those around me. Even if I was rebuffed, as I was sure I deserved to be, I wouldn’t care. I had Johnny McBurney, I said to myself, and nothing could ever make me unhappy again.

  My resolutions lasted me until I was halfway up the stairs. Then I met Alice and Emily coming down and with a very few words they sent me back to my accustomed state of mind.

  “Good news, Edwina,” Emily shouted. “We’ve decided that it’s time for Corporal McBurney to become better acquainted with us.”

  “And for us to become better acquainted with him,” yelled Alice as they went past.

  “What do you mean?” I called after them. “What are you going to do?”

  But they went on down the stairs and into the dining room without answering me. I continued up the stairs and met Amelia at the top. She had recovered from her fit of temper and was quite radiant as she informed me of the plan they had devised to keep Corporal McBurney with us. They had decided they would be so nice to him and shower such attentions on him that he would never agree to leave us, no matter what Miss Martha might have to say on the subject.

  I knew this was ridiculous because if Miss Martha had really made up her mind to get rid of Johnny, she was certainly not going to be thwarted by the plotting of a lot of silly girls. If she had so desired, she could have made things so unpleasant for him and the rest of us that McBurney would have been on the road before sundown and, selfishly, I’ll admit, I would have preferred that consequence than to run the risk of losing his affection in a competition with some of the others here.

  Of course I am speaking now of the situation as it existed on that afternoon. The situation changed very much after that day and there came a time when McBurney himself stated that nothing anyone here could say or do would make him leave before he was ready to go. Whether that was true or not, I suppose, is open to argument.