Songs the Soldiers Sang

by Bette McNicholas

  “Hmph,” Junie snorted. “Dats cause I was dare!”

  Laurel responded with a grin, and Junie remarked that she felt good seeing her smile.

  Taking the combs out of the sides of her hair, Laurel let the curls fall freely as Junie helped her out of the drab gray dress.

  Junie frowned. “It’s shameful that youse reduced to wearing clothes that hide your beautiful figure.”

  Laurel shook her head in dismay. She was aware Junie worried about her and wondered if she’d ever be able to find a man worthy of her in her mammy’s eyes. Laurel climbed the ladder to reach the top bunk, and asked sheepishly, “Will you be all right tomorrow, Junie, while I go to Mossland?”

  She knew how Junie felt about her going to Beaufort. But she was determined to do all she could to try and find her father.

  Laurel twisted and turned, trying to fit her body comfortably into the lumps of the mattress, but she didn’t complain. She dared not. Old Junie had fought with her about which bunk to take, and this was one of the few times she had ever won an argument with her.

  Junie lowered the wick on the kerosene lamp and responded. “I be all right da minute I sees yo’ back on board dis boat.”

  “Not this boat, Junie. Remember, we’re going to travel on the Carolina Queen. Captain Crowley said he’d send someone for us in the morning.”

  Junie sighed. “What fo’ yo’ goin’ back dare, chile, ain’t gonna be nothin’ but heartaches. We should jest go on t’ the house in Maryland your grandparents left ya.”

  “I know that and I understand why you don’t want to go with me. But I have to go and see if someone there might know something about Daddy. Maybe I can find Reba and Paul.”

  There was no response.

  Laurel felt sorry for her mammy, but she had an innate sense that her father was alive. She hadn’t considered herself a superstitious person before, but lately there were recurring dreams in which her father called out to her for help, dreams in which she heard him singing.

  These dreams and the songs sometimes haunted her every waking moment.

  Her fatigued body was motionless lying in the bunk, but the anticipation of arriving home kept her heart pumping rapidly and her mind vivid with memories.

  Sleep never came…

  Chapter Three

  Washington, D. C.—1865

  Holt Flanagan rode his stallion onto the small island of Analostan, which sat in the middle of the Potomac River, to have one last look at the mansion that had once been his home. The Confederates had occupied the land during the war and used the plantation for a hospital and a recruiting station and when they deserted the premises, left the land in waste. But he had been long gone by that time.

  He and his daughter were about to embark on a new life and move on a plantation in South Carolina. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, remembering that day they moved off the island. He couldn’t believe seven years had passed…

  He had kissed Jacqueline, an infant at the time, on the forehead, and escorted her and his sister into the waiting carriage before stepping away.

  The heart-rending departure was a vast difference to the boundless joy he felt when he and his wife first moved into their home. Muttering under his breath, he watched the caravan of carriages carrying the servants that day, along with the heavily laden wagons of furnishings leave for their new home in Maryland.

  Tossing his jacket over the saddle, he stood ramrod straight and recalled with bitterness how he felt watching the accumulation of his life disappear over the causeway. He continued to stare until the carriages became mere specks, leaving only a trail of dust in their wake.

  Tears clouded his vision, and his troubled mind filled with painful memories. Lowering his head, he put his hands in his pockets, and began to walk about the grounds of the Greek mansion, now in ruins, that stood in the center of the island.

  “Damn you, Monique,” he cursed. Bitterly, he scanned the mansion from its domed roof to the glass-enclosed solarium, taking in every last cinnamon-colored brick, as if the mansion itself had been personally responsible for his unhappiness.

  At the time, saying good-bye to their home was more difficult than he had imagined. The happiness and hopes life had once promised were forever shattered.

  He yanked a late-blossoming magnolia from a branch and raised the white flower to his face. He remembered one particular evening long ago, when Monique stood seductively close to him, taunting him, while he pinned a huge blossom in her flaming red hair.

  He was young when he first met Monique—right after graduation from the United States Military Academy when he visited his classmate, George Fleming, in South Carolina. He forever cursed that evening at the Charleston Theater. The beautiful young French soprano who had been hailed as The Rage of the South was indeed lovely and desirable…and he’d fallen hard. God, how could I have been that blind?

  Holt crushed the now brown-tinged blossom in his hand with all his strength. He threw the broken pedals to the ground, but the scent remained. He ducked under an oak tree, his six-foot-three-inch frame no match for the lowly branches, and rubbed his hands on his shirt, but the sweet smell lingered—like the memory of the woman herself.

  Back then he’d been a young man with his future planned. An up-and-coming military officer.

  An image. That’s all anyone had seen and that’s all he had been to Monique. Underneath the gilt and gait he’d been a vulnerable, unknowing twenty-one-year old. But Monique was a sensual nineteenth-century siren, as corrupt on the inside as she was beautiful and captivating on the outside. He knew that now. But now was too late to save his family. Reflecting upon his youth and the mistakes he made didn’t ease the anguish in his heart.

  He recalled walking into the theater. Halfway down the aisle, her beautiful, lilting soprano voice captured his attention. Monique Simon was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her red hair sparkled with highlights, and her almond-shaped green eyes shone with emotions as she sang.

  When she took her bows before the intermission that fateful evening, he raised himself slightly out of his seat and made certain she noticed him. When she returned to the stage, he fixed a piercing stare on her until he was sure she felt self-conscious. He smiled the moment he realized she found concentrating on the notes more and more difficult. How smug and immature he had been.

  She returned his gaze, and he was confident she would find him irresistible. He knew she would wait for him at the end of the performance. He was not disappointed. That night was the beginning of their intense whirlwind romance.

  He remained unyielding in his pursuit, like a soldier on the battlefield. Several weeks later, they eloped and were married by a justice of the peace, and after they returned to Washington, they were married in the Church in a private ceremony and his mother held a reception in her home to celebrate the occasion.

  Holt loved Monique and spoiled her shamefully—showering her with jewels and furs. He was proud to show her off at parties and attributed her with being the core of his blissful life.

  He believed their first month together was idyllic. He spent most of his time with Monique and was too happy and too much in love to realize that she demanded and maneuvered the attendance he gave her.

  When she begged him to resign his commission in the army to go into the family business with his older brother, she conveyed to him how lonely they would be without family and friends if they were transferred to a faraway post, and he couldn’t argue the point. She was European and had traveled and visited all the major capitals during her life. How could he possibly expect her to adjust to life on a dangerous army post out west? She stressed that remaining on the coast to be near the larger cities was important to her operatic career. He didn’t think her requests unreasonable. He compromised and secured a position in the War Department in order to remain in Washington. He merely feigned an interest in the investing company his brother continued to run after the death of their father, for Monique’s sake. Yet, all he eve
r wanted to be was a soldier.

  Now, in anger, he booted a stone lying in his path. In retrospect, his life with Monique ended quicker than their relationship had begun. He wondered, as he had many times during the past years, if the beginning of the end started the night Monique begged him for a place of their own.

  “Monique, this is our home. We have the entire third floor to ourselves. Surely, my mother and sister aren’t in the way.”

  “No, darling,” she purred, “I’m in the way. Your mother and sister are wonderful. I simply feel that this is their place, not mine. After all, Holt, this was your mother’s home before your father died. You and your sister grew up here.”

  “But they love you, Monique...”

  “I know, but if we had a home of our own, they could have this place to themselves, like they did before we were married. I could be mistress of our home without worrying about hurting your mother’s feelings trying to run things my way.”

  She teased and cajoled him and made love to him until he agreed to look for a special place for the two of them. Once again he couldn’t argue her point, and once again she had used her best weapon—sex—to achieve her goals. He grimaced, remembering.

  He walked up the broad brick steps of the mansion and pushed open the double doors leading to the entrance hall. Once inside, he looked into the empty drawing rooms on either side of the foyer. His footsteps echoed hollowly behind him, then boomed through the eerily deserted building. This house had been intended for Monique—one of her many requests.

  At the time, he considered them fortunate to have been able to obtain Analostan Island, a paradise of an estate in the middle of the Potomac River, below the mouth of Rock Creek. From high above the banks on either side of the river, the plantation had always been viewed with envy.

  Flowering trees and aromatic shrubs shaded the island from the hot summer sun, and the breeze from the river blew through the mansion to keep them comfortably cool in the sultry heat of summertime in Washington.

  There were ample provisions for living a quiet isolated life on the island. The rich alluvial soil provided them with vegetables, fruits, and even nuts, which were used to make their own coffee. Turkeys, ducks, geese, and other livestock, were abundant; and the river contained a generous variety of fish and terrapin.

  The overseer and servants and their families lived in separate dwellings on the seventy-acre island, away from the mansion, enabling Monique and Holt to spend much of their time alone.

  Monique seemed delighted with the estate, the privacy, and most of all, the wondrous view of the Capitol on one end and Georgetown University high on the cliff above at the other end. A beautiful and secluded place where she gave private concerts and dinner parties for friends. For a time, the estate had been a home filled with love and happiness, until that day he had planned to take a business trip with his brother to South America. Everything changed and their lives together fell apart.

  They had recently learned that Monique was pregnant and she suffered from morning sickness. The constant nausea made her miserable, and he regretted having to leave her, even for a short time. He’d tried to tease her out of her misery. “You won’t be sick forever, my love. Soon, you’ll be too preoccupied worrying about the weight you’re gaining, and by then the nausea will have subsided.”

  Monique wasn’t amused. She looked dreadful. Her hair, once thick and shiny, appeared limp and lay flat against her scalp, and dark circles dulled her eyes. That was the moment he began to sense that she wasn’t happy about having a child.

  “What’s wrong, Monique? Aren’t you happy?”

  “I’ve been very happy. But I don’t want to have a child. Not yet anyway, darling.”

  Darling was one of the many words that were elongated by her speech. He used to love hearing her words of endearment as well as her accent, but now he hated everything French.

  “You’re out of sorts. You’ll feel better soon, I promise,” he told her. He kissed her tenderly and held her close, smiling. “I’m going on this trip for us. I’m trying to take an interest in the family business. I’ll bring you something special from South America. Perhaps an emerald to match your eyes.”

  Monique pulled away from his embrace and began to walk around the room. He watched her suspiciously as she wrung her hands in an obvious attempt to find the right words. Then in a bitterly accusing voice said, “An emerald won’t change the fact that I’m going to have a baby. How could you have been so clumsy?”

  He struggled inwardly to remain impassive and repress his shock. He gazed at her in a new light. Maybe if she had noticed even a slight hint of anger in his eyes she would have remained silent. Instead, she misunderstood his outward calmness and was foolish enough to think she could easily handle him.

  She spewed, “I won’t have this baby. Do you understand?”

  The muscles in his throat tightened as he remembered his words to her. “Don’t ever speak such thoughts. I won’t tolerate your doing anything to prevent our child from being born. Is that understood?”

  She nodded and he felt relieved. He wasn’t able to believe she meant what she had said. Looking back, he wondered how he could have been so gullible.

  But at the time, the guilt of abandoning her in her misery weighed heavily upon his conscience, not to mention the harsh words that had been exchanged between them. By the time he reached New York, he had made up his mind and told his brother to handle matters in Argentina without him. He had a more pressing situation at home he wanted to resolve. Monique needed him. At least, he thought she did.

  He returned to Washington immediately, only to have the anticipation of his surprise homecoming dashed, when he discovered no one knew where Monique was.

  “Where did she go?” he yelled, to the cowering servant when he discovered Monique had gone out alone. “You know she isn’t experienced driving a carriage, not to mention the fact that she’s with child.”

  “She didn’t say, sir. I begged her not to go. So did the groom. I stood outside and watched her reach the Virginia shore safely, then I saw her cross the bridge and head toward Georgetown.”

  Holt tore through the mansion, and headed out the door. He mounted his steed and nudged its flanks with his spurs, traveling at breakneck speed to reach his mother’s house. He didn’t bother to stop; his carriage wasn’t parked out front. He then had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach and prayed to God, he wouldn’t be too late.

  He rode furiously toward the shantytown section that lay alongside the banks of the Potomac, between Georgetown and the District of Columbia. His fear and anger escalated as he drove his horse to a full gallop.

  When he approached the area near the canal, he gagged from the overwhelming stench from the open sewer, the canal itself, and the nearby tannery. How could she come here looking to abort our baby?

  The moment he spotted their carriage, he dismounted and hitched his horse to the back of their coach. He crashed through the door of the tiny dwelling, dingy with peeling paint, and the force threatened to collapse the lopsided roof of the overhang.

  Startled, Monique jumped and turned toward the door. The rest of the color in her pale cheeks drained the second she discovered him standing there.

  “Holt,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “What are you doing here?”

  He didn’t answer. He grabbed her hand and pulled out the packet she attempted to stuff into her reticule.

  “What is this?” he asked the old woman standing near Monique.

  “Powder t’rid the lady o’ the baby,” she rasped, apparently disgusted not only by his intrusion, but also the lost promise of payment in gold.

  His grip was hard as he escorted Monique out of the shack and lifted her onto the seat of the carriage. With one agile leap, he sat beside her and grabbed the reins. Except for her sobbing and the jingle of the carriage chains, they rode home in silence.

  Although he considered himself a fair-minded and even-tempered person, he was livid at the m
oment, and even the servants scurried when he entered the house with Monique who promptly pulled away from him and flew up the stairs. Holt followed directly behind, not caring that his spurs tore into the carpet. When he slammed the bedroom door hard enough to cause the windows to rattle, she shuddered.

  “Do you think so little of me and our unborn child that you would do such a horrible thing? What kind of a person are you? You didn’t even bother to discuss this with me.”

  “Don’t you see?” She pleaded. “Having a child will ruin my figure and my career. I want to travel and return to Europe to continue my studies in voice.”

  “And you couldn’t sacrifice a year of your time...

  “Now that I’ve established a reputation in America, I’ll be in demand in the finest opera houses in Europe. But people will forget me in a year. Let me do this first, Holt. There’ll be plenty of time to have children.” She beseeched him to agree.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before we were married when I talked of nothing but having a family? Why did you let me buy this mansion if you weren’t planning on living here and raising a family? And, why in the name of hell didn’t you say something before you became pregnant?”

  “I didn’t think. I never got pregnant before...”

  Her confession struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he discharged his words with the same high-tension electricity. “This baby will be born. And from now until its birth, you’ll be guarded like a prisoner if need be. After you’ve recovered from childbirth you’ll be free to go wherever you wish and free to do whatever you please. A divorce will be yours for the asking.”

  “I hate you,” she rasped. “I hate you. I hate you…”

  The words still stung him like the rush of venom after a snake’s bite.

  The look of pain that must have shown on his face only spurred her to continue. “Ohh, you’re handsome enough and I enjoyed being seen with you, but I didn’t marry you because I was madly in love with you. Ha! You were easy to dupe. I was after your money. Not you,” she screamed. “I only wanted money and the opportunity to become famous.”