Songs the Soldiers Sang

by Bette McNicholas

  Turning toward Holt, she asked, “I’d like to take a stroll on deck and take in the cool air. Would you care to join me?”

  “My pleasure,” he answered, helping Laurel rise from her chair. “Excuse us,” he said, addressing George and Arielle.

  Holt escorted Laurel to the opposite exit. “Old Junie’s outside the other door, but I think she relaxed her watchful eye tonight because she’s too occupied showing off her new clothes and probably smiling at everyone who passes by.”

  “Holt, that’s terrible.”

  “Not as terrible as what you did, at least I’m honest.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He smiled down at her and shook his head. “You’re trying to tell me you didn’t suggest this stroll on deck to give George and Arielle time to be alone?”

  “No, I didn’t, but now that you mention it, what a good idea. I really only wanted to ask you about the silver.”

  “I’m going to meet George tomorrow and we’re going to see about selling the silver. And, I’m still not convinced you didn’t plan to leave those two alone.”

  “Well, perhaps I planned the stroll for us to be alone,” she teased. But the moment the words were released from her mouth, she realized she had made a mistake. The pleasant, tender look on Holt’s face suddenly turned somber.

  “Laurel—”

  “No, Holt,” she interrupted, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so bold and I have no right to tease...after all you’ve done for me. My behavior was not appropriate. I appreciate all you’re doing to help me look for my father and value your friendship.”

  “Don’t apologize, Laurel. I’m not going to deny that perhaps under other circumstances, there couldn’t be more between us than friendship. But I need to tell you something important. You deserve that much. This subject, however, is very hard for me to discuss, but it’s important for you to know because I don’t want you to be hurt.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Holt. This is about someone named Jacqueline, isn’t it?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Ah! You did hear?”

  “I pretended not to because I thought you’d tell me about her when you decided the time was right, and I didn’t want to spoil our time we have together.”

  “Her?” he asked, looking puzzled. “Who do you think Jacqueline is?”

  “Your fiancée, perhaps?”

  “No, Laurel. Jacqueline’s my daughter.”

  Laurel wanted to run to her cabin, but that would mean passing Old Junie and right now she couldn’t hide what she felt from anyone. She had no idea until now, how deep her feelings for Holt had become in such a short time. She had hoped her feelings were a mere infatuation, but now she wasn’t convinced. “Your daughter? That means you’re married or divorced?” When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Did she pass away?”

  “No.”

  “You’re still married?” Laurel turned her back to Holt and grasped the ship’s railing until her knuckles were white. He stood close behind her and placed his arms on either side of her, locking her in a semicircle against the railing, his lips pressing against her hair. She wanted desperately to be alone. But she was trapped.

  “Laurel, promise me you won’t turn from me until I’ve explained. Then if you still want to go, I’ll release you.”

  Laurel turned slowly toward him and listened as he poured out his story of his unhappy marriage, the birth of his daughter and how Monique made his life hell by going off to Europe and refusing to divorce him. He admitted that deep down he continued to love her and hoped she’d return. But after a couple of years went by, he came to accept the stark realization that she truly never loved him.

  “I’ve been able to obtain a divorce without her knowledge, and that’s why I’m moving out of Washington. I’m convinced that she’ll come back one day and want to take Jacqueline away from me and I won’t let that happen.”

  The tenseness in Laurel’s body began to abate and her heart ached for him, making her feelings for him grow even deeper.

  “Laurel, there can never be anything between us, except friendship. I only ever wanted to help you. I never thought...for eight long years, I’ve avoided becoming involved with anyone whom I thought I could remotely begin to love. I didn’t mean to mislead you or for anything to happen.”

  “Nothing has happened, Holt,” she said. “Simply because I allowed myself to get swept away by a romantic moment, doesn’t mean we can’t continue to go on being friends.”

  “Laurel, you’re still young and very beautiful,” he said, brushing his fingertips over her face. He looked deeply into her eyes and continued. “Every minute we spend together will only make parting more difficult when the time comes to say goodbye. I won’t pretend that I couldn’t return those feelings.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she fought back the desire to throw herself in his arms. She didn’t want him to see her desperation. She didn’t want to lose his friendship. “Holt, I promise not to make any demands. I understand the difficult position I’ve put you in, but please don’t turn from me. I need your help and your friendship.”

  Holt drew Laurel close to him, and she buried her face in his chest, while he stroked her hair. Her body began to shake and he knew the news he gave her wasn’t the cause.

  “How long have you been holding in all this distress and grief? I should have been more observant. You need to rid yourself of the despair the war caused you. You can stop pretending you’re happy and that everything will turn out all right. You shouldn’t have had to suffer alone and you don’t have to go on putting on a false front. And I promise I won’t leave you now or ever. God, help me, but I can’t leave you this way. As long as you need me, I’ll be here for you.”

  Laurel pulled away and accepted the handkerchief Holt handed her. “I cannot tell you the relief I feel now, knowing there is someone to talk to about the anguish we felt and the torture and suffering we witnessed.”

  “Then, why don’t you tell me all of the problems you encountered? I want to share those memories with you and help you forget them.”

  She looked at him and a whimper escaped her throat. Holt dabbed the tears away and then leaned down, lightly, but tentatively kissing her lips and then he stepped back and stared at her. And she knew at that moment, he felt the same passion for her as she felt for him.

  She sniffed and tried to smile, but dispelling the pain wasn’t easy—the pain of knowing their love was taboo in the eyes of her Church. She took a deep breath and continued with her story. “We not only had to keep a step ahead of the Union soldiers, Holt, but there were marauding parties of men and guerilla bands everywhere.”

  “You were fortunate to be able to elude them, or did you? Is there more you’re not telling me?”

  “No.” She lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know how we escaped being accosted. God had something to do with that is my guess. Junie on the other hand is convinced that she protected me,” she answered with a little chuckle.

  He kept a hand on her back, holding her, giving her strength, and as the words began to pour from her lips, she felt her body begin to relax against his chest. He pressed his lips against her hair, sending chills down her spine.

  “We stayed in hovels with wide planks on the floor and the earth beneath us was visible and the ceilings and walls were sometimes not plastered. For a while we were without shoes, but then some wounded Confederates joined our refugee camp in the woods, this was toward the end of the war,” she gestured, “and one man made us shoes from tanned squirrel skins. Most of us hadn’t eaten meat in ages and Junie cooked up some great stew with the animals they shot.”

  Holt was silent for a moment and then he said, “No matter what happens from now on, no matter where you are, I will make sure you know how to find me. Don’t ever go without food or shoes again. I will help you.”

  Even with the pain and confusion in her heart, Holt’s words brought her comfort. She knew how wrong loving him would be; her religi
on and society both would forbid such a liaison. One thing she knew for certain, she would defy every moral code to be with him, he only had to say the words.

  “Are you finished crying? I’ve never known anyone who cries as much as you. I hope my daughter doesn’t do that when she gets older.”

  “Does my crying bother you?”

  “Not in an annoying way, but you break my heart when you cry.”

  “Sometimes I cry when I’m happy, too.”

  “Great! We should walk around the deck at least once, for appearance’s sake,” Holt offered her his arm.

  She slipped her arm through his and he placed his hand on top of hers and held her tightly. Even though their fate was uncertain, Laurel felt an inner-peace that she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  She was confident Holt was strong enough to walk out of her life when the time came, but she doubted she’d have the strength to do the same if she had to make the choice. She was only eighteen, and at thirty, she knew he believed he had to be the responsible one.

  “What a mess I’ve made of my life,” he said, “except for Jacqueline, she is my most precious possession.

  “The words, if only Monique were dead, echo in my mind over and over again. I hate those words and the feelings that Monique erupts in me like a volcano. I was as much at fault as Monique, but now can’t keep from hating her. Those thoughts become more prevalent every time I look at you and think of what might have been and what a wonderful wife and mother you will be one day to some fortunate young man.”

  “Don’t, Holt. Don’t say any more. Let’s try to forget this evening ever took place.”

  He nodded and didn’t say another word.

  “Look, there’s Junie. The poor dear, she’s fallen asleep. Doesn’t she look wonderful?”

  “Yes. She’s thrilled with her new clothes. I don’t know how I’m going to handle the both of you,” he laughed. “She’s a lot of woman.”

  Laurel poked Holt in the arm, laughing. “Should we wake her?”

  “Yes, it’s getting chilly, and she might catch cold. Let’s walk her to her quarters.”

  “Junie, Ol’ Junie,” Laurel called, shaking her mammy’s arm. “Wake up.”

  “Oh my,” she replied, shaking herself awake, “I must’ve dozed off. Dinner ovah?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Holt said, offering her his arm, “may I have the pleasure of escorting you to your cabin?”

  “Hmph, den what’re your plans? I ain’t leavin’ you alone with Miss Laurel. Youse too handsome and she’s not sperienced enuf to be with no Yankee gambler.”

  Laurel and Holt laughed together at Junie’s words.

  “You can trust me, Junie,” Holt said, “Miss Laurel is safe with me because it’s you I’m after...”

  “Hmph,” Junie answered, sleepily. She looked up at Holt and once again he winked devilishly at her.

  “Youse sure I can trust you?” she asked, smiling.

  “Tonight. You can trust me for tonight only.”

  “Youse a devil, Major Flanagan!” Junie said entering her cabin laughing.

  Turning to Laurel, Holt asked, “Do you want to go to your cabin or would you like to go back and join George and Arielle?”

  “I think we’d better go back to our table, especially since I’m the one who suggested Arielle join us for dinner.”

  When they entered the dining room they saw that their table was empty and the glasses had been cleared. Arielle and George were nowhere in sight.

  “I told you they were perfect for one another.” Laurel laughed.

  “What have I gotten myself into?” he asked. “You’re not only a manipulative, strong-minded woman, you even predict the future. And to think that when I first saw you, I thought you a mere waif.”

  “A waif?”

  “Yes. I was in the Army headquarters the day you went to see Sergeant Lang.”

  “That was you?”

  He nodded. “The one and only.”

  “Well, that makes us even. I thought you were a cavalier and a rogue when I first saw you, which I might add is a lot better than what you really are—a Yankee and a riverboat gambler.” Her smile teased him.

  “I confess. I’m all of those things, Laurel, and more. You’d best be careful.”

  Chapter Nine

  Charleston

  Early the following day, Holt gave Captain Crowley an envelope with five hundred dollars to give to Laurel from the sale of her mother’s silver.

  By the time he finally left the riverboat, the weather had turned colder and a heavy westerly wind assaulted and stung his recently shaven face. He pulled the brim of his hat low on his forehead and raised the collar on his greatcoat. What he had planned to accomplish was important. He refused to turn back. Cursing under his breath for having forgotten his gauntlets, he pushed his hands deep inside his pockets and moved automatically toward his destination.

  Palm trees bent dangerously toward the ground, threatening to snap. Spanish moss, skimmed along the street like tumbleweeds in a desert. Thick dark gray clouds moved fiercely across the sky, warning him that he would soon be pelted with rain.

  Meeting Street. The carved words on the wooden signpost loomed in front of him. He stopped and looked at the ominous and imposing edifice of The Charleston Theater with hatred. Even if he tried, he knew he couldn’t resist taking one last look. As he approached the theater, one of the front doors sprung open.

  An elderly man pushing on a broomstick emerged. Holt managed a slight smile, tipped his hat, and entered the theater. Midway down the center aisle, he paused. A pre-storm brilliance lit up the sky and shone through the spaces where frosted leaded windows once graced the beautiful building, now in disrepair.

  The stage floor was splintered and layered with dust. The faded red velvet curtain hung in mid-air, and the loosened gold fringe, now in sections, swayed like a fan, swirling dust balls in the beam of light shining through one of the windows. Seats were no longer neatly aligned and the large crystal chandelier left a gaping hole in the ceiling and now laid unceremoniously on top of several rows of broken chairs.

  Wall sconces were still attached, but most hung sideways or upside down. Holt shook his head and smiled when he thought of the man outside sweeping the brick walk in what he considered a futile attempt to maintain appearances, as if it were opening night.

  His mood swiftly darkened. What happened to all those years? The interior of the theater seemed to have suffered the same destruction as his dreams. Even after all the harsh words they had had, he still hoped Monique would have changed her mind about leaving once Jacqueline was born. At that point, their marriage may not have been perfect, but he was willing to give her all the freedom she needed in the pursuit of her career in exchange for being a mother to Jacqueline. He had hoped in vain. After Jacqueline was born, Monique refused to even look at their daughter and for that alone he no longer could forgive her.

  Turning, he hastened his step to leave, but as he stepped into the lobby, a chunk of plaster from the ceiling crashed in the aisle behind him and caused his pulse to quicken. Once he opened the doors and heard them close behind him, he was relieved to be outside, even though the rain now blew from all directions. The maintenance man was nowhere to be seen.

  With his head lowered against the pelting raindrops, he hurried on his way to meet George. Poor drainage caused the streets to flood, and his boots became soaked in a matter of minutes. Fallen pine needles and leaves stuck to the soles and he struggled to maintain his footing.

  Holt shook his head in amazement when he reached his destination. Ever since George had returned from the war he had been living in a summer cottage that belonged to one of his cousins—a cottage that was larger than most of the mansions in Georgetown. He entered the front gate and walked under the trellis canopy interlaced with dead vines. Lifting and dropping the heavy brass doorknocker loudly, he began to remove his coat.

  When George opened the door he immediately got splashed with the excess rai
n Holt shook off of his coat. “Couldn’t you afford to hire a carriage?”

  “Let me inside and save your caustic remarks,” Holt said, laughing. “When you said cottage, I had something a little smaller in mind.”

  “My cousin’s wife is from England and she was homesick, so...” George gestured.

  The cottage was built in the English Regency style; a symmetrical brick house with a hip roof and a huge chimney on one side. The architecture was a simple informal style without the classic lines of the more popular Georgian colonials. The rooms were sparsely furnished, but the colors were bright, giving the home a cool, airy appearance for the summer months when the family would be in residence.

  “Why aren’t you living on the family plantation and helping your father?”

  George pointed to his empty sleeve. “I needed to get away from everyone. Especially their pitying glances. I suppose I could eke out a living working on the plantation. But,” he shrugged, “there’s very little family money left and it will take several years before the fields begin yielding a profit large enough to support all of us. So, here I am, courtesy of my Yankee cousins, living off my pension.”

  Holt sat down in front of the fireplace and began to remove his boots. “Have you made any plans for the future?”

  “What future?”

  “How would you like to work for me?”

  “In Washington? No thanks,” he answered, shaking his head.

  Holt chuckled. “No. I’m resigning my commission in the army soon and pulling out of the family business.”

  “Why? What’re you going to do?”

  A male servant interrupted their conversation to announce that breakfast was served. When Holt raised an eyebrow, George explained, “I have to retain a personal servant. There are still some things I haven’t mastered doing with only one arm.”

  Holt placed a hand on George’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, and there’s no need to apologize. However, that brings me back to why I came to see you.”