by Day Taylor
Dulcie slapped his hand. "Ohh! Still your same charmin' self, aren't you. Captain!" Her eyes flashed, raking him the length of his uniform. "Haven't you anythin' to wear besides that blue suit?"
He grinned. "Your temper didn't wash away with the dust, did it. My arm, Miss?"
"Do I dare risk havin' you push me dov/n the stairs?" But she took his arm, with Lucius trailing behind.
They talked politely in the cool, dim parlor until the sun went down and the shutters were opened. Then Jem said, "Captain, you've never had time to look over Moss-rose before. Would you like to see my setup?"
Adam rose inmiediately. "It would be a pleasure, Mr. Moran."
Chattering, Dulcie and her girl cousins moved from the parlor to the cooler veranda.
"Where did you find him?" Gay sighed ecstatically. "He's beautifuir
**Well, but he's more than that," Dulcie said.
"What, then?"
Words like compassionate and brave raced through Dul-cie's mind. None seemed adequate. "Noble," she said, then blushed hotly. "Oh, do let's talk about somethin' else! He certainly didn't come here on my account. He ships cotton for Daddy, and that's all"
Millie said, "Dulcie, when you blush like that, the back of your neck goes all red like a turkey's."
"Well, Millie, then just look down at your fingernails. To me they look all black, like a Minorca hen's."
Millie stuck her tongue out at Dulcie.
"Oh, Millie, stop!" said Jenny. "What if you freeze that way?"
Jeannie said diplomatically, "Dulcie, tell us again about tomorrow."
Millie, forgetting her pique, asked, "Who-all's comin'?"
Dulcie smiled at her. "Just nearly everybody in the county, Millie. Plenty of boys just the age you like."
"Oh, it's goin' to be so excitin'! How many proposals do you think will happen? Tournaments always inspire the men!"
The morning threatened rain, but by ten o'clock the sun was shining on the elaborately decorated tournament ground. Jem had spared nothing to welcome his daughter home and to put on a rousing display for Captain Adam Tremain, whom he already acknowledged as a possible suitor.
A month of slave labor had gone into building the stage for the small acts and band concert, and the stairstepped stands for viewing the different events of the tournament itself. Over the viewing stands and the three pavilions, one of each regimental unit represented, stretched a sunshade of broad stripes of Confederate gray and gold. As they had at that other tournament, now nearly a year ago, pennons and ribbons of every color fluttered in the warm July wind.
But everything was different now, Dulcie mused. Old swains had married; younger girls^ than she were wearing shiny new wedding rings and shyly hiding their prompt pregnancies. Now there was the war.
She missed familiar faces: the Acton boys, Cedric Whit-aker, Todd Saunders, all serving under General Beauregard up in Virginia. Soon Glenn's company, the Savannah True Grays, .would join General Johnston. Leroy's Rough and
Readies, and his brother, Conroy's, company, the Invinci-bles, were spoiling to get into the war before it was over.
The ages-old tournament was infected with a martial spirit. As the preliminary parade passed the stands, there was Glenn in his very proper gray uniform with the gold braid down the trouser legs; Leroy Biggs, Andrew Whitaker, and Lyman Matthews in their fringed buckskins, slouch hats pinned up rakishly on one side; and Conroy Biggs and Arthur Redgrave in gray with scarlet sashes dripping like blood from their waists. Each represented his regiment and would compete against the other regiments.
Addie Jo Acton squirmed in her seat as Glenn doffed his hat to her. "Oh, Dulcie, isn't he fine? I'm so proud of him I"
Dulcie smiled at her. "You're goin' to be a very happy bride next weekend, Addie Jo."
"I hope we'll be invited to your weddin' soon, Dulcie," she said kindly. "Has he proposed yet?" Though she was too polite to point to Adam where he sat beside Patricia, Dulcie knew whom she meant.
"He's here on business with Daddy," Dulcie said, wondering if the back of her neck had turned red.
"Oh! Is that why he isn't competin?"
Dulcie was annoyed. Addie Jo almost seemed to be purposely stupid. "I don't know. Oh, look, the magician pulled a rooster out of his hat."
"He's just one of the servants. He had it there the whole time."
Strong with trumpets and heavy with drums, Jem's hired brass band offered a stirring rendition of "Bonnie Blue Flag." Then the trumpeter, with a special long silver trumpet, blew fanfare for the first event.
The units raced through the decorated arches, spearing the bright brass rings with their lances. Leroy won the honor of choosing the queen.
"Seein' how I'm elected cap'n of my regiment, it seems^ to me I deserve the greatest pleasure of pickin' out our Sovereign o' Love an' Beauty," Leroy began. "As y'all know, my lovely wife, who used to be Camille Whitaker before she improved her station"—^he shot an impish grin at Granddad Whitaker, who rose and good-naturedly shook his stick at him—"my wife is easy the prettiest girl in seven counties, maybe even eight, if I could name eight of 'em." His audience laughed with him. "But so happens Camille
tol' me this mawin', now, Leroy, don't you go choosin' me up for queen, 'cause I don't wanta git up outa my rockin' chair today." A slight, uneasy titter stirred Jem's guests. Camille was a bride of three months, but her pregnancy was obviously older.
"An' I ain't pickin' Miss Dulcie, though she mighta been my second choice. She's already got a feller. One who ain't got the guts to compete against real men." He smiled contemptuously at Adam. 'So, friends and neighbors, I'm namin' purty li'l Addie Jo Acton to be Rulin' Sovereign o' the 1861 Confederate Tournament!"
Cheers greeted his speech. Addie Jo was a favorite; and wasn't she soon to be a bride, and this her last chance? Then there were more cheers, mostly from the men, as Leroy daringly kissed the queen.
Glenn chose Gay as the queen's lady. She went radiantly down to stand by the throne. Arthur Redgrave chose Millie, and suddenly Dulcie was left sitting alone.
It seemed no one noticed but herself. She picked up her skirts, ready to go elsewhere; but Adam was there beside* her, large, male, and protective. "Pardon me, Miss, do you allow yourself to be seen with outcasts?"
Dulcie laughed, mostly in relief that he had rescued her from the same fate. "Adam, why aren't you out there com-petin'?"
"Is that where you want me to be?"
"They'd let you join one of the teams."
"Look at them. Except for a few, they're young boys. Do you want me taking advantage of weedy youngsters like Waite Price?"
Dulcie giggled. "Knowin' Waite, he'd probably trick you and throw you over the roof."
Adam laughed. "Is that what it takes to please you? Perhaps it's worth risking a broken neck."
"Adam . . . don't." Dulcie shuddered.
"At last, an honest expression of feeling! The lady does not want the brave seaman to injure himself."
"Don't flatter yourself. Captain. I could hardly care less."
"Should I believe that, Dulcie?" He stared at her until she was forced to pull her eyes away from the crowning of the queen and look at him. She had so little will of her own when he was near. She felt herself swaying toward the sparkling blue of his eyes and the tender set of his
mouth. "If I should be wounded honorably upon the field, would you tend me? Stay me with flagons? Comfort me with apples?"
Dulcie, recognizing the words from the Song of Solomon and remembering what came after, dropped her gaze. It was unfair of him to make love to her in public, and in such a way. "Adam, please don't tease me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing?"
Looking out over the sunny field where the pennons flew, she said quietly, "I think you ought to be out there."
"To save my Southern honor? Or yours?"
"To save my father's pride. You're his guest, not mine. And not a planter in the county will want to do business with a man who won't risk hi
s hide in harmless tournament games."
"I didn't realize there were so many blockade runners to choose among."
"There are enough. Oh, Adam!" she said in exasperation. "You know what I mean!"
"I'm beginning to get the idea."
When the guests left the viewing stand and began drifting toward the house and the barbecue pits, Adam walked with Dulcie toward the little knot of people clustered laughing around Jem and Patricia.
Dulcie's cheeks were burning with indignation. Couldn't Adam see how people felt about a—a coward?
Leroy's raucous voice cut into her thoughts. "Beggin* yo' pahdon, Cap'n-—I did hear you're cap'n of a ship, didn't I?"
"You heard right."
Leroy punched him on the arm. "Sorry to be laughin', Cap'n. Just seems there's an awful lot o' funny people made into cap'ns these days. Anybody'd think we was desp'rate or somethin'."
Adam, still smiling, looked Leroy's fringed buckskin uniform up and down. "They might at that."
Leroy's face grew red. "I take that as an insult, Tre-main."
Adam looked grieved. *T thought I was being agreeable. My apologies, Mr.—?"
"Cap'n Leroy Biggs, o' the Rough and Readies. Seems to me, you bein' a officer, you'd join in the fun. Less'n youah scared o' competition. That bein' the case, I can
see you don't wanta look like a damn fool in front o' Dulcie. Hit home with that'n, didn't I, Cap'n?"
"Oh, Leroy, don't be such a boor!" said Dulcie.
"You let her do all youah fightin' fo' you, Cap'n? Wouldn't s'prise me if you spread that story about bein' a blockade runner yo'seff."
The muscle worked at the side of Adam's jaw; his eyes narrowed. Deliberately turning his back on Leroy, he offered Dulcie his arm. "Shall we have a cool glass of shrub, Dulcie?"
Behind them Leroy said, "One kind o' skunk I purely hate is a coward, ain't that right, Lyman!"
Dulcie stiffened. "Are you goin' to let them say—"
Adam imprisoned her hand under his arm. "Keep walking, Dulcie."
"But they're insultin' you! You just can't let them—"
"They're playing a game, and I don't care to play, that's all."
"But a challenge—"
"A challenge has to be worth takin'."
Dulcie was bewildered. Brave men fought when challenged. No one ever questioned the worth of a challenge. Honor was to be defended at all costs.
Her cousin Robert Tilden was at the refreshment table. Robert was twenty-two, swarthy and dark-haired, with a waxed moustache that curled up to points. He was a member of a Zouave army company in New Orleans. Today he wore the high-necked red Garibaldi smock, belted with a sky-blue sash over full-cut blue breeches that tucked into shiny black boots.
On a visit to New Orleans at the age of fourteen Dulcie had briefly fallen in love with her good-looking cousin. She was quite certain Robert would not have walked away from Leroy's taunts. She smiled at him fondly, glad of a respite from her disturbing doubts about Adam. "I declare, Robert, no one but you could make those baggy britches look stylish!"
Robert's white teeth flashed. "You'll turn my poor head with your flattery. Cap'n Tremain, we missed you out on the field. I'm afraid the Savannah True Grays are over-supplied with boys and short on men. I hear you're orginal-ly from New Orleans. I figure two New Orleanians should even the odds for them. Would you care to join us tomorrow?"
Dulcie felt herself cringe. But Robert's smile was genu-iae; so was Adam's.
"Thank yon. Perhaps I will. Captain Biggs also extended an invitation."
To Dulcie's amazement the men laughed easily together. Robert, whom she'd known all her life, was no stranger to a fight. And she had seen Adam's temper flare over less. Aboard the Tunbridge he'd disposed of Toby Dobbs without hesitation. But both of them seemed to take Leroy's slur on Adam's courage as a joke. What did they see that she was unable to?
Dulcie could not help remembering the lavish ballrooms in the Castle duBois. Her own home was as beautiful in its way tonight, softly lit by lamps and candles reflected in gilt-framed mirrors. Yet she realized she was looking at it with detachment. Perhaps her year in Europe had removed her from the self she had been before.
More likely, Adam Tremain had made her look at herself and question the desirability of a prearranged life. Only now did she realize she wanted none of it. He had made it impossible for her to live the contented social life of her mother or dream the limited domestic dreams of Camille Whitaker Biggs.
By first intermission Dulcie felt old and very mature. The young belle was gone, as were the courtiers. Aside from Adam and Glenn she had hardly danced tonight with a male over the age of sixteen. Glenn's seriousness became him now, in spite of his constant talk of Addie Jo. Dulcie was half-amused, half nettled: after all, Glenn had grown up in love with her.
She walked in the garden with Andrew Whitaker, who claimed her for the next dance. "Miss Dulcie, I want to apologize for my brother-in-law. He ain't scarcely mo'n half-tamed anyway, an' there's not a gentleman here who's not ashamed o' the way he's baitin' yo' daddy's houseguest.'*
"Captain Tremain can take care of himself, Andrew, but thank you."
"Me'n Leroy's friends, but many's the times I've hauled off and fisted him good. He just loves a fight, an' he's gonna make a fine soldier—if one o' his friends don't kill him first on account o' his mean mouth."
"What about you, Andrew? Are you anxious to get into the war?"
"Yes an' no, Miss Dulcie. I never backed off from a fight yet, but somethin' about this one makes my stomach clench up. I ain't jes' positive I'm gonna get back from it."
Dulcie felt her blood go suddenly cold. War and death went together, but not for men like Andrew or Glenn or Adam. "Of course you will, Andrewl What silly talk!"
He produced a grin. "Jes' in case I don't, could I kiss you now?"
She hesitated. It wasn't proper, but Andrew was nice. "All right, but on my cheek. And no hands!"
Andrew laughed. "You sho' know how to plumb ruin a good thing, Dulcie!" He leaned forward, his hands behind him, and kissed her softly on the mouth.
As Andrew drew away, Adam said pleasantly, "Excuse us, please." Gay, clinging to his arm, said nothing. Wide-eyed, Dulcie watched them pass.
"Miss Dulcie, I'm truly sorry," Andrew whispered. "I wouldn'ta done anything to make him think ill of you.'*
"He seemed happy with Gay," she said flippantly.
Andrew grinned. "You promised me the next dance. That way some big tall ship's cap'n can't take exception when I got both arms around his girl."
"But I'm not his—"
"No, but you're a-gonna be." He swept her onto the floor, giving ker no chance to reply.
She danced with Andrew and giggled at his jokes. Robert came up, tremendously attractive in a muted plaid coat and trousers, and swung her off her feet in a reel. Leroy, quite drunk, appropriated her for a waltz. He could hardly walk, yet he danced as lightly as ever. But whoever held her, her eyes constantly sought and found Adam.
Adam, she observed resentfully, was the belle of this ball. Not enough that his wine frock coat, pale gray trousers, and ruffled shirt fit him as though they were molded to his body. Not enough that one glimpse of him made every woman aware of her sex and his. Not enough that his ways were endearing him to every female from fluttery-lashed Millie to old Grandmother Whitaker. Not enough that he had made her long to be with him. It wouldn't kill him to ask me for one dance, she thought almost tearfully.
The long intermission was nearly over before he came up to her. "May I get you a cup of punch, Dulcie?" His expression was unreadable, almost dangerously neutral. Was he angry still? Or did he not care?
"Yes, please, Adam."
They strolled onto the front veranda. "Are you enjoyin' the dance?"
"Of course." He smiled down at her. "Aren't you?"
Something in his voice made her look at him, then quickly away. "Yes!"
In his silence her fib stood out boldly. Adam took her hand
in his.
There were others nearby, couples strolling toward the gardens and the folly. He had nothing to say to her, for the intermission ended and they were alone, and he had not uttered a word. Yet, there was a union in their silence. Her jealousy eased. Perhaps now she could stand seeing him dance with other girls and not feel diminished by it
"Dance with me, Dulcie."
Her heart leaped with gladness. "I'd—I'd like that."
They whirled over the smooth lawn to the strains of "Wait for the Wagon." His eyes never left hers. They were laughing, then came the applause. Waite and Phil leaped into view, clapping. "Bravo! Bravo!"
Dulcie was annoyed. Waite said, "Robert says you'll be on our team tomorrow. Captain."
"We need somebody that can get outa his own way better'n Glenn!"
"You think I can, that it, boys?" Adam asked lightly.
"Sure," Phil piped. "Anything'd be an improvement over what we got."
Adam laughed heartily. "One thing all your family seems to believe is that no man should be allowed to think too highly of himself."
The tournament resumed in the morning mist. When the long silver trumpet blew, Jem announced the javelin throw.
The contestants had shed yesterday's finery. Most wore riding breeches and soft shirts. Dulcie quickly decided that Robert was nearly as handsome as Adam, that Leroy was nearly as well built. Adam was wearing breeches of a warm earthy brown, that fit snugly over his flat belly and narrow hips, stretching across his powerful legs and buttocks. His shirt, damp in the mist, clung to his chest, sleeves rolled up to reveal thickly muscled forearms. His hair curled riotously, making him look younger and more rakishly masculine than ever. Dulcie couldn't tear her eyes
from him, nor could she ignore the intriguing pictures of him that flashed through her mind.
Gay poked her. "Why are you blushin'? What happened? I didn't see anythin'."
"There was nothin' to see!" Dulcie tried to watch calmly as Adam took his position on the field. He picked up the javelin, testing its balance, flexing his arm, getting the feel of the instrument in his hand. Then he ran, his powerful legs setting a rhythm, torso turning, arm out, his chest thrust forward as he hurled the spear out toward the markers. Dulcie could barely sit still as Glenn's team became victors on the strength of Adam's and Robert's throws.
