Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Sam, what would we have done without that girl Dulcie?”

  “I don’t know, but she’s got enough gall for ten Caesars!” her husband often replied ruefully. “She’s got us, Ellie! She knows we can’t do without her and she does as she pleases. And there’s not a blessed thing we can do about it!”

  Dulcie continued to argue about the poem and finally threw the magazine down with disgust, just as the door opened and Miss Leona Reed dashed into the room.

  “Raimey, you’re not even dressed yet! Dulcie, why haven’t you helped your mistress!”

  Now as Leona stood looking at the pair, Dulcie showed no fear. “I told her to get ready, but you know how she is. I had to read this old poem to her ten times!”

  “Well, it’s nearly time to go,” Leona snapped; then she shrugged. “Come on, I’ll help you, Dulcie. We have to be at the Chesnuts’ in an hour.” The two girls began at once, and together they were able to get Raimey into her dress and her rebellious curls in some sort of order by the time they heard their father roaring outside the door, “Come on or get left, you two!”

  The sisters scurried down the stairs and were handed into the carriage by their father, who complained, “You two girls will be late for the Resurrection!” as he climbed in and settled himself heavily next to his wife. “Whip up those horses, Job!” he called to the driver, and the matched grays leaped at the touch of the whip. Reed settled down, pulled a cigar from his inner pocket, lit it expertly, then leaned back and looked at his daughters. He was a tall, corpulent man of forty, success written in his every inch. “You look very well. How much did I pay for those dresses?”

  “Oh, Father, they’re old as the hills!” Leona said. “All my good dresses are at home. Mother, we’ve got to go shopping tomorrow. I’m ashamed to wear this old thing to meet the president!”

  Ellie Reed, a calm woman of thirty-three who had smooth brown hair and large eyes, said, “I think President Davis will be thinking of more important things than your dress, Leona.” Then she glanced out the window, took in a troop of soldiers drilling on a field, and began to describe them. “What funny uniforms!” she exclaimed. “They’re wearing some sort of puffy scarlet trousers. What are they, Sam?”

  Reed took a look, then said,” They’re Colonel Field’s Louisiana Fire Zouaves. A bad outfit, or so I hear. The sweepings of the worst of New Orleans riffraff.” He took up the description from his wife without thinking, describing the lean, evil faces under the tasseled hats, which were much like the Persian fez, and the garish colors of the uniforms. It had become second nature to all the family to speak what they saw, creating the world in words for Raimey’s sake.

  Raimey sat upright beside Leona, listening carefully as her father described the troop. She was as aware of sound as a fox, her ears recording the creaking of the carriage, the shout of some man yelling, “Stop that, Craig, or I’ll bust you!” and the slap of the hands of a group of drilling soldiers on their muskets as their drill sergeant called out sharply, “Present—arms!” Deprived of sight, Raimey had developed her other senses to extraordinary degrees. She smelled the acrid odor of tar as the carriage wheeled by a barrel that was smoldering slightly. Instantly she recognized the sharp smell of a blacksmith shop, smoky and vaguely metallic, and over the open carriage came the scent of magnolia—bringing instantly the thought of her encounter with Denton Rocklin.

  Listening to her family describe the bustle of Richmond’s streets with one ear, she allowed the memory of that evening to flow through the other part of her mind. She was gifted with a keen imagination, and her blindness had sharpened even that so that she could recall an event clearly, recreating it quite vividly. As the carriage turned and her father said, “There’s the Chesnut house, Job, the white one with the green shutters,” she had the strongest possible memory of Rocklin’s every word, of the touch of his hand on her waist as they had gone around the floor. She had thought of it constantly since that night, for there had been something in his touch and in his presence that had been different from that of any other young man.

  Now the carriage pulled up, and Leona moved close to her so that as they moved down a brick walk and up three steps, Raimey did not need to take her arm at all. By merely brushing her sister’s gown, she was able to walk into the house, for Leona was able—as were the other members of the family, and Dulcie most of all—to measure distances so that Raimey would not bump into objects or doorjambs. So well did they do this that strangers meeting the family for the first time often had to be told that Raimey was blind.

  “Mr. Reed, Mrs. Reed, come in with your girls.” Raimey recognized the voice of Mrs. Chesnut instantly. The sound of a voice to her was like the sight of a face to others; once she heard the voice of man, woman, or child, she recognized it instantly, no matter how faint it was or how long it had been since she had heard it last. Now she stood there listening as Mrs. Chesnut and her parents exchanged greetings, smelling the fresh wax, listening to half a dozen conversations going on inside a large room off to her left, and sensing the bustle of servants moving busily over the smooth wooden floors.

  “You young ladies come with me,” Mrs. Chesnut said, and Raimey knew by her tone she was smiling. “The officers are waiting for you. I’ve told them that the two most handsome young ladies in Richmond are to be here. Now be on your guard, both of you. You know how these soldiers are!”

  Leona laughed, and as they moved from the foyer into the large drawing room, Raimey sensed the size of the room. She had been told that James Chesnut was a very wealthy planter from South Carolina who had recently moved to Richmond because he was a member of the brand-new Confederate Congress. He was an amiable man, but it was his wife, Mary Boykin Chesnut, who was the magnet that drew the cream of Southern society to her house—even the president of the Confederacy, Jefferson Davis.

  Mrs. Chesnut was not a raving beauty, as several had told Raimey, but she was one of those women whom men liked. She was thirty-eight years old, a small woman with black hair and lustrous dark eyes. Now she said, “Mr. President, may I present our two young guests, the daughters of Mr. Samuel Reed. This is Leona and her sister, Raimey.”

  Feeling a touch on her arm by Leona, Raimey put out her hand, which was taken instantly. Davis’s hand was thin but strong, and he said in a pleasant high-pitched voice, “Where do you find all these beautiful young ladies, Mrs. Chesnut? Your house is filled with them.”

  Raimey felt the touch of a light kiss on her hand; then a woman’s voice said, “Now, sir, be careful! You know I only allow you to kiss one fair hand in the evening.”

  “Oh, Varina!” Davis said to his wife, humor in his voice—an unusual thing, for this new president had little of that quality. “You mustn’t be jealous of two staunch supporters of our cause.”

  Sam Reed spoke up very quickly and rather nervously, for he had a sudden fear that Raimey might speak her convictions against the war on the spot. “Is General Johnson here this evening, Mr. President?”

  “No, but General Lee is here. You ladies will excuse me? I’m sure the gallant officers of our fine troops will entertain you.”

  Raimey and Leona were surrounded at once by several officers, all trying to gain their attention. Leona spoke lightly, laughing at their eagerness, and Raimey spoke with one or two of them. She recognized the instant that one of them became aware that she was blind. He broke off suddenly, his speech faltering, and then he picked up the threads of his thought, speaking more loudly.

  This was something that Raimey had experienced many times, and it no longer troubled her. On the contrary, it made her conversation much easier. But she had never learned quite how to handle the matter of letting strangers know she could not see. She had once said plainly, “I’m blind,” but that had so embarrassed the man she was speaking to that she never repeated that tactic.

  For the next hour, Raimey spoke with several of the officers, mostly of things other than the war itself. But the war was the center of all things now, she reali
zed, and the light voices and the warm ease of the men were somehow an omen to her. For each one who stood beside her, pressing refreshments on her and laughing at the frivolous jokes that ran around the room, was on his way to something dark and grim—something more ominous than any of them seemed to realize.

  Then as she was speaking with a youthful captain, she heard the door to the foyer open and close. A man’s voice, low as it was, came to her, and she recognized it at once as Dent Rocklin.

  She didn’t move and continued to speak with the captain, but she was acutely aware of Rocklin’s presence in the room. She heard him speak to Colonel Chesnut, and as the two of them spoke, she wondered if he would come to her.

  He did come, almost at once. She heard the sound of his boots on the pine floor; then he said, “Miss Reed—?”

  She turned to face him quickly, saying with a smile, “Hello, Lieutenant Rocklin. How are you this afternoon?”

  Her instant recognition of his voice caught Rocklin off guard. He had gone over the strange experience of their meeting again and again. She had gotten into his thoughts, and now he said, “I didn’t know you’d be here this afternoon. It’s good to see you.”

  She nodded, and they stood there talking of unimportant things. As they spoke, he studied her carefully. He realized that though she was not beautiful, she was most decidedly pretty. There was a freshness in her youthful skin, which glowed like translucent pearl. Her eyes were blue, large, and well shaped. There was, he noted instantly, no sign of damage to them. On the contrary, they were quite beautiful, marred only by the fact that they did not focus. Her lips were wide and well shaped, mobile, and firm. The heavy mane of auburn ringlets that hung down her back was beautiful indeed, and the white dress with yellow lace at the throat set off her trim figure.

  There was an innocence about this girl that Dent had never seen before. And Rocklin knew women very well. They had provided a game for him, one that he had learned how to play well. Most women played the game as well as he, but what had worked with other young women seemed wrong and out of place with Raimey Reed.

  For the next thirty minutes he stayed close beside her, sharply observed by Mary Chesnut, who whispered to Raimey’s mother, “Better be careful, Ellie. Denton Rocklin is quite a ladies’ man.”

  The room buzzed with talk and laughter; then Raimey heard the president say, “And this is the daughter of Mr. Reed. Miss Raimey, may I present General Robert E. Lee.”

  “I’m happy to know you, General,” Raimey said and put out her hand, which was taken at once. Lee’s hand was square and very firm. “Only last week I read your account of the action at Cerro Gordo in Mexico.”

  Lee was amused, they all saw. His deep-set eyes gleamed with humor, and he said, “I wish I could have gotten the cadets at West Point to read as easily, Miss Reed. But that must have been dreary reading for a young lady!”

  “Not at all.” Raimey smiled then, the dimple in her left cheek appearing. “But I must confess my maid got very tired of it. I made her read it twice, and she went to sleep the last time.”

  Something changed in Lee’s eyes. He had just realized, Dent noted instantly, that the girl was blind, and Dent spoke up quickly to cover the moment. “My uncle didn’t grow tired of it, General Lee. He was with you when you found the way through the mountains.” Catching Lee’s attention, he said, “That was Lieutenant Gideon Rocklin, General.”

  Lee nodded at once. “A fine officer. Very dedicated.” Then he asked with a slight hesitation, “Will he stay with the Union, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, General Lee.”

  “Well, each of us must decide about that. It’s not an easy choice. Give your uncle my best regards when you write him.”

  Lee and Davis passed on, and Rocklin told Raimey, “My uncle says Lee is the finest soldier on the planet. It almost broke my uncle’s heart when Lee chose to stay with Virginia. It hurt Lincoln, too.” Then he said, “I’ve got to get back to camp.”

  “We’d love to see the camp, Lieutenant Rocklin!” Leona had come up while Lee was speaking, and now her eyes were alert. “Father would like to go, too.”

  “All of you are welcome,” Dent said but added, “There’s not much to see, I’m afraid. Just dull duty and drill.”

  But Leona insisted, and Dent asked, “Would you like to go, Miss Raimey?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. I’ll invite your father.”

  Samuel Reed declined the invitation but offered the use of his carriage and driver to bring the girls home. They left at once, and as soon as they got to the camp, Dent took the young women to meet his staff. Almost at once, Leona was invited to watch target practice, and she left with Second Lieutenant Bushrod Aimes and Third Lieutenant Tug Ramsey. Dent put his hand on Raimey’s arm, saying, “You might be more interested in watching some close-order drill, Miss Raimey.”

  Raimey said, “Of course,” and the two of them walked along the dusty lanes between the rows of Sibley tents. Dent put himself close to her, and she put her hand on his arm at once. The air was still hot, and when they had come to the drill field, Rocklin explained what was happening, watching the movements of the men carefully. Raimey faced the field, the sun making a golden candescent gleam on her smooth cheeks. Listening to the shouted commands, some of them profane when the men faltered, she asked, “Is this important? I mean, when men go into a battle, they don’t keep step, do they?”

  “Not as they do in Europe,” Dent said. “But it’s important for the men to learn to obey quickly.” He saw that she was really interested and said, “Let’s get under those trees, Miss Raimey. This sun is too hot for you.” Fifty yards past the field was a grove of tall pecans, and as soon as they moved under their shade, Raimey asked, “Where’s the brook?”

  “The brook?” Dent had not known there was a brook. Looking around, he said, “No brook, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, it’s over here.” Raimey moved toward the deeper part of the woods, and soon Dent heard it too. “That’s such a nice sound!” Raimey said. “Is it deep?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Dent led her to it, saying, “It’s a pretty little creek. Full of small fish, I’d guess. I used to catch redear perch from one just like it when I was a boy.”

  Raimey said, “I’d love to wade in it!”

  Denton was amused. “Why don’t you? It’s not deep, and it looks cool.”

  “Turn around while I take my stockings off.” He turned at once, a grin on his face. Soon she said, “Now you can turn around.” She was moving, even as he turned, toward the creek, and he stepped forward, afraid she would fall. But she guided herself using the feel of the moist earth and the sound of the gurgling water. Lifting her skirts above her calves, she began to wade back and forth. She made a pretty picture standing there, with the sun coming through the tops of the high trees, flecked and barred on her face as she laughed softly.

  I wish I were a portrait painter, Dent reflected. I’d like to keep this forever. But he realized at once that no painter on earth could do more than suggest the beauty of the scene.

  For ten minutes Raimey walked on the rounded stones of the brook, delighting in the cool water and the smell of old moss. She grew bolder, going down the creek in search of deeper water. Dent followed along the bank and, noting an ebullience in the stream, warned, “Better be careful, Miss Raimey—that looks like a pretty deep pool there.”

  But he was too late, for Raimey stepped into a sudden drop-off, threw her hands wildly around in a vain attempt to gain her balance, then plunged headlong into the pool. Dent cried out and went splashing into the creek in waist-deep water. Raimey came to the surface, her hair plastered to her head, her hat floating downstream, and he caught her by the arm. Then as she gasped for breath, he swept her up into his arms and waded out.

  When they got to the shore, she sputtered and wiped her face with her hands. Then she began to laugh. It was a delightful sound, completely natural and without inhibition. Dent suddenly grin
ned, then chuckled. He knew that any other young woman of his acquaintance would have been horrified at her appearance, but this one didn’t seem to care.

  He stood, holding her for a moment and watching her, when suddenly she realized that she was in his arms. She caught her breath, waiting for him to put her down. When he made no move to do so, she asked with a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, “Are you trying to guess my weight, Lieutenant?”

  A redness touched Dent’s cheeks, and hastily he let her down. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes. It caught me off guard. I swim in the river near our house every day in warm weather.” She plucked at her wet blouse, saying, “But I’ll look like a fool going back to camp.”

  “I’ll bring the carriage around here with some blankets. No one will see you, Raimey.”

  “Thank you.” Raimey had noticed his unconscious use of her first name and smiled. “Let’s just sit in the sun for a little while. Leona won’t want to leave so soon. Is there a sunny spot where we can’t be seen?”

  “Sure. Right over here.”

  Again she took his arm, saying, “Let’s get my stockings. At least I’ll have dry feet on the way home.” Her hand rested on his arm, and when Dent had retrieved the stockings, he led her to a sunny spot at the edge of the field, cut off from the camp by a low rise covered with second-growth timber. “Here, sit on my coat,” he said, stripping off his jacket and placing it on the grass. She sat down and he joined her, facing her two feet away.

  “The sun is nice,” she said, holding her face up, and he noticed that she closed her eyes as she faced the sun. He wondered why and reclined on his elbow to watch her. She was in a good humor, made so, he realized, by the fall into the creek. It had been an adventure, one that took no vision to enjoy, and she was excited and pleased with it.

  They sat there, and the event seemed to have freed some constraint that he had always been aware of. She asked about his duties, then about his home and his family. As he spoke, slowly and casually, her hair began to dry, curling rebelliously so that it became a mass of curls, with red and golden tints in the red rays of the late afternoon sun.