Violet

by Greenwood, Leigh

  That's what came from letting women think they knew something about wars and history. They couldn't see past their emotions.

  "Not even Robert E. Lee could have ended that war in a single battle," Jeff said. "Feelings ran too deep. It could only have been fought as it was, a bloody slugfest where one side knocked the other down time after time until one was too weak to stand up again. The Union army was twice as strong, had unlimited resources, blockaded the whole South. Still, it took four years. Lee couldn't have changed that by himself."

  "People would have listened to him. If he had remained loyal to his oath, others would have."

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  He hated it when people tried to tell him what the South should have done, how it should have behaved, how it should be ashamed of what it did. He especially hated it when the person telling him was a Yankee.

  "You didn't live in the South. You don't have any notion of how we think, how we feel, how we can feel honor bound to give our lives for something we believe in."

  "Honor!"

  She made the word sound like a curse.

  Beth opened the door to the hall. "Are you all right, Miss Goodwin?" They both ignored her.

  "You don't understand what that word means," Violet said. "There's nothing honorable about fighting a war for a dishonorable reason."

  "You're so narrow minded you can't see anything except what you want to see. You may think I'm wrong, but a million Southern men believed enough to risk their lives and everything they had. Thousands lost their lives. Thousands more were left maimed and cut up like me, and all because Lincoln thought we ought to stay one country. Maybe we should, but was it worth so many lives?"

  "I think I'll look in on the girls," Beth said. She tiptoed across the hall, giving the combatants a wide berth.

  "You're so bigoted you couldn't see the truth if it hit you in the face," Violet continued. "You're so busy feeling sorry for yourself, thinking the world owes you a lifelong apology, you can't see that losing your arm is just one of the things that happens to some people in life. You could have been dead."

  "I would have preferred it."

  For the first several months, they had kept him restrained. He had threatened to take his life. What they didn't understand -- what he didn't understand until years later -- was that his will to live was too strong. His father may not have given them much, but every one of them had his indomitable will, his absolute certainty they were right. He might have to die, but he wouldn't give up. His father had been wrong. He wasn't a coward, and he would never take a coward's way out.

  "Look at you," Violet said. "You think you've suffered, but you've been brilliantly successful even without that arm."

  "I would trade every bit of it for my arm."

  "There's no use dwelling on the loss of that arm. It's time to put it out of your mind."

  That's what everybody who never lost so much as a fingernail tried to tell him. They didn't know what it was to be stared at, pointed out, pitied, cross-examined. People wouldn't allow him to forget if he tried.

  "I have, as much as common sense will allow."

  "Is that how you justify hiding in your office and working around the clock? All it's gotten you is plenty of money and even more self-pity."

  "I--"

  "You've retreated into yourself. You've turned making money into a way of compensating for your arm."

  She was wrong there. He'd turned it into a way of compensating for his sense of failure as a soldier, his feeling of being only part of a man. Only it never seemed to work. No matter how successful he became, how much money he earned, it was still there.

  "I make money because it's what I do for a living. I also make money so the family can return to Virginia."

  "So you can go back rich."

  "You can't expect us to want to go back poor."

  They couldn't. It would be the same as admitting the people who drove his father out had been right.

  "That's not a worthy goal," Violet said. "You family has so much money now, having more is pointless. What have you done to help any of those poor maimed men you're so concerned about? Have you offered them medical care, artificial arms, helped their families get back on their feet while they struggle to care for their disabled loved one?"

  "Have you?"

  He had to turn the question back on her. He didn't dare face it himself. He had never considered doing anything like that. To do so, he would have had to come to terms with his own loss, and he hadn't been able to do that.

  He'd been back to Virginia only twice. He'd seen the destruction of land and property, even human life, but he'd been unable to face the destruction of the human spirit. He'd repurchased Ashburn. He'd bought up several of the farms that surrounded it, always paying more than the property was actually worth. He told himself he was helping by giving some people the means to start over again.

  But he was still avoiding the real issues, and he knew it.

  "No, I haven't," Violet said. "Until I came to Denver, I was too busy taking care of my brother, then my father. But my uncle left me a mine, which is supposed to be worth a fortune. There's some trouble over it -- I have a lawyer working on it for me -- but when I get my money, I intend to do everything I can. Massachusetts men died and were maimed, too, you know."

  "If those men had minded their own affairs, if they hadn't tried to force their ideas down our throats--"

  "There's no point in continuing this conversation, Mr. Randolph. We are not likely to agree on even the smallest point. I suggest you return to your pile of papers. There must be several thousand dollars that have escaped your grasp while you've been wasting your time talking to me."

  She turned and disappeared into the room with the girls before he could respond. Which was just as well. He couldn't think of anything to say he wouldn't have had to apologize for afterwards. And feeling as he did right now, he would have choked before he apologized to that woman.

  She had attacked him where he was most vulnerable. He had always been uneasy about some of the reasons for the war. Trying to ignore them didn't work. Violet's bringing them up and throwing them in his face merely made the situation worse.

  It revived all his anger at men like his father who didn't understand that honor was something more than pigheadedly keeping to one side of an issue just because you'd declared that's where you were going to stay. Honor required that you be right. Too many lives hung in the balance.

  She had reminded him of the futility, the cruelty, the brutality of war, of the men who had lost their lives, who had suffered more than he, all because some men were not willing to compromise, were not willing to look for other ways to solve their problems.

  She had brought back into the center of his consciousness a battle he had fought with himself and never won, the conflict between his love for Virginia and all it represented for him, and his dislike for the war that had destroyed it.

  Damn the woman! She had thrown him back into the hell he'd been trying to escape for fifteen years.

  * * * * *

  Violet wished she had somewhere to retreat until she stopped shaking, but she couldn't think of any place where Jeff couldn't follow her. Beth and the girls eyed her curiously when she walked into the room. She had to smile, pretend everything was normal, but she was sure hers was a strained smile. Her control was stretched dangerously tight.

  "Is Mr. Randolph going to come back?" Essie asked.

  "Maybe after dinner," Violet said. "He's busy right now."

  Busy wanting to wring her neck. She shouldn't have attacked him, but she couldn't remain quiet when he spouted such rubbish. Maybe he believed everything he said -- she couldn't answer to that -- but not everyone in the South had the same sense of moral justice. He probably did fight purely for the right to secede. He was the kind of idealist who could do something like that. When it failed, he would have had a difficult time adjusting to the failure of his ideal.

  "Are we going to talk
about our reading?" Juliette asked.

  "Has everyone finished?" Violet asked. Only the twins and Corrine raised their hands. "I think we need a little more time."

  She shouldn't have attacked him personally. She could tell he hadn't been able to put the war behind him. Her brother had felt that way. His life stopped the minute that twisted piece of metal entered his body and tried to tear up everything inside him.

  But Jeff hadn't given up. He simply refused to forget. Violet wouldn't have cared about that. It would be unreasonable to ask anyone to forget something as momentous as a war, being disabled, being a prisoner. However, it hadn't ended his life. She couldn't understand why he still let it weigh him down.

  "I'm bored," Juliette announced.

  "Me, too," Aurelia chimed in.

  Violet glanced at Corrine, but the girl didn't say anything.

  "Can either of you help Essie with her math?"

  "I can," Juliette volunteered.

  "Me, too," Aurelia said.

  "Will you help them, Corrine?" Violet asked. Corrine was older. She was good at arithmetic and could be relied on to keep the twins from doing anything outrageous.

  "Yes, Miss Goodwin."

  "Then the four of you can go into the dining room. You can use one of Beth's tables, but you must set it properly when you're through working."

  "Yes, Miss Goodwin," they said together.

  "And I want you to return to your seats as soon as you're done. Study period is not over until six."

  "Yes, Miss Goodwin."

  The room settled into quiet, and Violet's thoughts soon returned to Jeff, where they always seemed to be these days.

  She had guessed some time ago he used his work as an escape, a way to hide, but she was beginning to suspect there was more to it than that. He hated war as much as she did. He had said it was a stupid, ineffectual way to settle a dispute, yet he had fought in it. She didn't understand that. Robert and her father had believed in the war. They had supported Lincoln's position from the first. She had argued with both of them, but they had discounted everything she said because she was a woman who "didn't know what she was talking about." Exactly the same phrase Jeff had used.

  Yet there was something behind his words, something he probably wouldn't admit to himself much less to her, that robbed them of some of their sting. She couldn't help but wonder what it was.

  "Miss Goodwin!"

  "Yes, Betty Sue."

  "I'm bored, too."

  * * * * *

  Violet discovered she had no taste for beef stew. It was a good thing Jeff hadn't asked her to share his dinner. She wasn't the least bit hungry.

  She hadn't expected him to invite her tonight, not after the argument they'd had. In fact, she had memorized what she meant to say to decline his invitation. She ought to be relieved. It would have been awkward at best. Nevertheless, she was disappointed. There was a great deal of difference between being able to refuse an invitation and not having it extended in the first place. She might be a terrible Yankee, but she had her pride.

  It was about all she had, she thought, as she stared at the cooling stew. She didn't have any money. She had no prospects for a job outside the walls of the Wolfe School, and she had just alienated the one man who was powerful enough to help her get both. All because she couldn't forgive the South for destroying her family.

  She was just as bad as he was. She accused him of holding on to the past. So did she. She had no visible wound, no empty sleeve to wave in people's faces, but she had her memories to keep her anger warm and alive. And when the South seemed much to insubstantial to hate, she could focus on Robert E. Lee.

  Wouldn't you know he would end up being one of Jeff's relatives? She didn't know why she was surprised. Lee had to be related to somebody. Lots of people, if she could judge from the size of most Southern families. She could have run across his relatives just about anywhere.

  But she had run across one of them here, and he'd been the first man to attract her interest since Nathan Wainwright asked her marry him.

  That was stupid, too. Jeff had made it abundantly clear he would never marry any woman who'd set foot out of the South. Fortunately she wasn't in love with him, at least not yet, but she liked him a lot. And it was the kind of like that leaned in the direction of marriage.

  Just her luck to fall for a man who hated everything about her, past and present.

  "Miss Goodwin, can I go see Mr. Randolph now?" Essie asked, breaking into Violet’s thoughts.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jeff watched as Essie started her last problem. He couldn't understand why the child had so much trouble with arithmetic. She ought to be good at it. Harold Brown certainly had no trouble understanding the principles of addition and multiplication. At the rate he was applying them, he would soon be one of Denver's richest men.

  And Essie, his only child, one of Denver's greatest heiresses.

  Jeff's work lay in front of him, scattered and largely ignored. He hadn't been able to think of anything but Violet since their argument. At first he was so angry he never wanted to speak to her again. He didn't even want to think about her.

  But of course he couldn't think of anything else.

  The intensity of her anger had surprised him. She had constantly needled him with her gentle criticism. At times he was certain she was laughing at him, but she had always seemed in control of herself.

  Then she took the gloves off and landed him a facer right in front of a room full of gaping girls.

  "Is that right?" Essie asked as she held her paper up for him to see.

  "Exactly. Now why can't you do that all the time?"

  "I don't know."

  "Yes, you do. Tell me."

  "I don't like my teacher," Essie finally said. "She scares me."

  "What does she do?"

  "She glares at me. I can't think when I'm scared."

  "Are you afraid of Miss Goodwin?"

  "No. I like her. I like Juliette and Aurelia, too. They're my friends."

  "Do you think you could do your arithmetic for Miss Goodwin?"

  Essie looked as though she were weighing her answer.

  "It would make her happy," Jeff coaxed.

  "Would it make her stop making those funny sounds?"

  "What funny sounds?"

  Essie seemed reluctant to explain.

  "You have to tell me, Essie. It might be important. If you don't, I'll have to ask Miss Goodwin."

  "No!" She looked so miserable he felt sorry for her.

  "Did you do something you weren't supposed to do?"

  She nodded.

  "What?"

  "It's all Betty Sue's fault. She's a mean old cat. I hate her."

  "What did you do?"

  "Betty Sue said mean things about my daddy, and I was crying. Priscilla -- she's the girl who sleeps in my room -- told me if I was going to cry, I could sleep in the hall. But it was dark in the hall. I was scared. Miss Goodwin told us she always sleeps with her door open so she can hear us if we need her, so I went upstairs."

  "To sleep in Miss Goodwin's room?"

  Essie shook her head. "Outside her door. But the floor was hard, and I couldn't sleep. I'd stopped crying by then, so I went back downstairs to my bed."

  "What about the strange noises?" Jeff prodded.

  "She talked funny. Not like she does all the time. Like she was upset about something. She wasn't crying, but she kept making funny noises like she wanted to cry."

  "Did she call out a name?"

  "I forgot."

  "Was it Jonas?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did you ever hear her make those funny noises again?"

  "No."

  Jeff glanced at his watch which he kept lying on the table. "You'd better gather up your books and run downstairs. It's almost bedtime."

  "Will you help me tomorrow?"

  "Your father will be here tomorrow. I bet he'd like it if you asked him."

  "Daddy never likes to help me."
>
  "Ask him again. People change their minds sometimes."

  "Daddy doesn't."

  "Even your father. Now run along. I don't want Miss Goodwin coming after you. She's liable to take a switch to me for keeping you up so late."

  Essie giggled. But she gathered up her things, pulled Jeff down so she could give him a kiss, and ran off downstairs.

  Jeff touched his hand to his cheek. He wondered what it was about Essie that made her so unafraid of him. Even his own nieces wouldn't have thought to kiss him goodnight.

  Kids wouldn't be so bad if they were all like Essie. Of course they weren't. No point in him thinking about it. What kid would want a father without an arm?

  This place was getting to him. First he started inviting a Yankee female to dinner. Now he was thinking about kids. Next thing he'd be thinking about marriage.

  Well, maybe it was time for him to consider it. But not until he went back to Virginia. Only in Virginia would he find a woman who could even begin to understand what he'd gone through.

  And that included Violet Goodwin.

  * * * * *

  Jeff wasn't aware of the noise until it stopped. He listened intently but heard nothing. He glanced at his watch. 2:37 am. The building had been quiet for hours. Violet and Beth had gone to bed before ten. The girls earlier. Monday would be a school day.

  Monday would be the day the quarantine ended.

  Maybe he hadn't heard anything. Maybe Essie's talk about strange noises had planted the idea in his mind. Violet or Beth could have turned over in their bed or mumbled in a dream. It certainly wasn't anything he should concern himself with.

  2:51 am. This time he was certain he heard a whimper, a faint moan. Less than fifteen minutes had passed. He paused. The figures in his head gradually lost their grip on his concentration and slid from his thoughts. What could he do if something was wrong? Even if she did cry in her sleep, it was probably best he leave her alone.

  Besides, the noise might have come from Beth's room.

  Jeff tried to go back to his work, but part of his mind kept listening for the sound again. He wondered if he was imagining things. He'd heard nothing the previous nights.