Songs the Soldiers Sang

by Bette McNicholas

  “How can I help?”

  “I recently purchased a rice plantation on the Cohambee River.”

  “What for?”

  “Monique.”

  George leaned over his plate and whispered, “You’ve heard from Monique? She’s coming back?”

  Holt waited until the servant left the room. “No, not for, but because of Monique. Periodically I used to come across articles in the papers about her performances abroad.”

  “And?”

  “For quite a while now there’s been no mention of her in any of the papers—I’ve been looking.”

  “I don’t understand, Holt.”

  “What if her career suddenly declined?” he gestured with his hands, waving a fork in one. “There has to be some explanation. One day there are rave reviews and her name is linked to every opera house in Europe. Then nothing for months.”

  George raised his shoulder. “So? Maybe she retired. Any explanation seems simple enough.”

  “Perhaps. But I doubt that’s the answer. You don’t gain that much acclaim then drop out of sight. Even if she gave up her career, she’d still be famous enough for newspapers or magazines to write about her. At first, when there was no mention of her, I assumed the war news took precedence. Then, I’d read something about her, only the articles became farther and farther apart. There hasn’t been any mention of her for almost a year now and I doubt she simply vanished from sight.”

  George poured them each a cup of coffee and they returned to the parlor to continue their conversation.

  Holt sat back in the comfortable armchair upholstered in hand-stitched crewel. He felt the muscles in his abdomen tense at the mere mention of Monique. “I’ve got to protect Jacqueline. And now that the war is over and it’s safe to travel, I’m afraid Monique may return to the States and show up on my doorstep one day.”

  “And you bought a rice plantation in order to keep Monique from finding you?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “Do you have any idea how little I know about cultivating a rice field? I need your expertise, George.”

  “What plantation did you purchase?”

  “Winter’s End.”

  “Ah! Ed Winter’s place. Not bad,” George said. He nibbled on his lower lip for a second before continuing, “Damn prime piece of property.”

  “Then you’ll consider my offer?”

  “Depends. What do you want me to do?”

  “Run the place. What else?”

  “Well, sounds promising,” George nodded.

  “Look, George, I don’t want to press you for an answer today. My sister has agreed to bring Jacqueline here and help us get settled. Catherine will hire the household staff and a nursemaid. This way it’ll be easier to break Jacqueline away from my sister. Catherine’s been like a mother to her.”

  “If I accept, do you want me to hire men to work the fields?”

  “Yes. The house needs a lot of work too, George. I trust you to handle everything.”

  “You’re aware it’ll be a long time before we can get a good crop of rice to harvest, Holt. Are you going to have enough capital?”

  “Yes. I’m maintaining my interest in the silver mine in Argentina. It’s quite profitable. I simply won’t physically work for the company. My brother Patrick and Catherine and her husband, after she’s married, will be in charge of the company. And, I also want to offer you a partnership in the plantation.”

  “The offer sounds too good to be true. Actually it sounds too good to turn down. You’ve found your man.”

  Holt smiled and leaned forward to shake George’s hand. “Thanks, friend.”

  “Thank you, Holt. I’ve been going crazy with nothing to do, and no promise of anything for the future.”

  “When I get back to Washington, I’ll have my attorney send you papers to sign. Then I’ll forward money for you to open a bank account. I don’t want my name on any transactions. Put everything in your name or open the account in Winter’s End. I have to isolate myself until I can hire a detective and gather some information about Monique.”

  Holt and George spent the remainder of the morning going over all of the business details and the number of workers George would have to hire to get the house ready for his family. There were men and women available to hire for the house and the fieldwork, which would allow Holt freedom to return to Washington.

  By the time Holt was ready to leave, the rain had finally stopped. He opened the door and with a sly smile, asked, “By the way, where did you and Arielle disappear to last night?”

  George chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d notice. Besides, gentlemen don’t talk. Let’s just say that Arielle is a rather interesting woman and leave it at that.”

  Holt walked away, laughing. “Whatever you say. I’ll see you later for dinner.”

  As he headed back through the city, he became preoccupied in his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how he had managed, but George didn’t bring up Laurel’s name the entire time they were together. He was relieved. This time, he felt his feelings for her may have surfaced and he didn’t have a solution to the temptation being with her caused. The more time he spent with her, the deeper his involvement in her life, the harder he’d fall.

  He was mature now and old enough to devise a simple, rational plan to settle the question once and for all about whether or not her father had survived, help her get settled in her new home and leave her and Washington behind as soon as possible…

  ****

  Laurel woke for the third time that morning. Each time she had trouble forcing herself to get out of bed. The minute she closed her eyes she’d drift off to sleep again. This was the kind of sleep she woke up from feeling as though she hadn’t slept at all. Her dreams seemed real and when she closed her eyes again she’d continue the same dream.

  On this gloomy, rainy day, Laurel’s dreams were of Beaufort—the sand banks and the tall marsh grasses with razor sharp, paper-thin blades that could cut through her stockings. Rectangular streets covered with fine-grain sand; the intoxicating odors of the profuse orange, peach, and magnolia blossoms and the rustling sounds of the swaying palmetto trees.

  Beaufort—an island whose environment permeated one’s senses and enchanted you. Those were the things that had allured her father to settle on its shores.

  Her Grandfather Bray had owned a warehouse in Maryland and several vessels to haul lumber along the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal, and her father had always been expected to carry on his father’s business. But one summer he had accompanied his mother to Charleston to visit one of her cousins; he fell in love with the area immediately because this was where he met her mother and after they were married, he eventually took over his father-in-law’s plantation and remained in South Carolina instead.

  She drifted off to sleep again and in her dreams, Laurel saw her parents. They were a young handsome couple and they doted on her from the moment she was born. She tossed and turned, moaning. She heard her father singing:

  “Or when autumn leaves are falling,

  Sadly breathes the song.

  Oft in dreams I see thee lying

  On the battle plain,

  Lonely, wounded, even dying

  Calling, but in vain...”

  She sat up abruptly, this time and screamed, “No!”

  Arielle, startled by the sudden outburst called to her, “Laurel, what’s wrong?”

  Laurel ran her fingers through her damp hair. “A bad dream.”

  “Sounded more like a nightmare.” Arielle poured and then handed Laurel a cup of coffee. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I don’t know. I remembered this song—Weeping, Sad and Lonely.”

  “I’m familiar with the words, but I don’t get the connection.”

  Laurel stood and wrapped a coverlet about her before sitting back down on the bed. She shivered. “My mother always told me I had a certain gift. Apparently my great-grandmother in Ireland had the ability to predict certain things.”

  �
�And?”

  “I never really believed my mother. I merely regarded what she said to be a great story she used to tell me to keep my attention. Now I’m beginning to be less skeptical. I have these dreams, more like visions, that always end with a song. I think portions of these songs contain messages that are somehow connected with what happened to my father. I find trying to interpret them all quite strange.”

  “I can only imagine. By the way, before I forget, Captain Crowley left this money for you, from Holt for the sale of your silver. The captain said he’d be glad to keep this for you in his safe.”

  “That sounds like a good idea. Did he say whether or not he made arrangements for me to go to Maryland?”

  “He didn’t say. Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I feel this urgency to change my plans and go to Washington first. I think, especially now since Holt was able to sell my mother’s silver, I might be able to afford the train. I’ll talk to the captain as soon as I get dressed.”

  ****

  After Laurel returned from visiting with the Crowley’s she was confined to the stuffy cabin for most of the day, while Arielle was above rehearsing. Mrs. Crowley had lent her a book to read, but after an hour of trying to get interested in the story, she tossed the book aside. She was unsettled and walked out on the deck between rain showers every chance she had. Not until suppertime when she and Arielle left for the dining salon did she realize she had simply been anxious to see Holt.

  But Holt was obvious by his absence. Laurel used all of her willpower to keep from asking George about him. Her body tensed each time the door to the salon opened, and her pulse increased until she was certain everyone around her could hear her heart beat. Her eyes opened wide, then her eyelids closed to hide the disappointment, time and again, because Holt never arrived.

  His name wasn’t even mentioned during dinner until the three of them were finally left alone at the Captain’s table when George offered, “I don’t know what happened to Holt. I’m concerned. When he left my place this afternoon we agreed to meet for dinner.”

  Laurel responded quickly, trying to mask her apprehension. “He probably met some old friends and decided to stay in the city.”

  “Maybe, but I should go into town and make sure nothing happened to him.”

  “I think Holt’s quite capable of taking care of himself, George.” With that, Laurel rose and excused herself for the night, feigning tiredness.

  Chapter Ten

  Washington, D.C.

  Something caused Laurel to open her eyes. Her eyelids closed then fluttered open repeatedly. She sat up and held her head. Why did she feel horrible? Placing a hand on the side of her face, she closed her eyes again and tried to sleep propped up against the wall. Then she remembered.

  The moment she heard Arielle put the key in the lock she closed her eyes, afraid to breathe, pretending to be asleep. She found keeping her eyes closed difficult because Arielle took forever getting ready for bed and she found her own body aching while she fought to remain motionless. Not until Arielle climbed into the bunk above and had time to fall asleep, did she dare sit up and open her eyes.

  She stared across the room and out the porthole at the moonlit evening, filling her mind with questions she wasn’t certain she wanted answered. All questions concerning Holt’s past. She even wondered if she could trust George to give her honest answers.

  How was she to have known, or even suspect, that Holt had been married once? Was the story actually true? Or, did he decide to tell her that in order to keep her at a distance?

  Why hadn’t he had the marriage annulled sooner? Did he still love Monique?

  Would she and Holt still be able to be friends, now that she knew he was divorced?

  The feelings she had for him were deep enough that the temptation to be with him became more daring. She had never felt this way before and she wanted nothing more than to be with him. The constant questions that went through her mind gave her a headache and made her restless.

  He promised he would always be there for her. Did he simply say that in order to keep her from feeling like a complete fool? Did he care for her as much as she did for him? Even if someone told her he had lied about having been married and having a child, she doubted she’d believe their word over his. “Damn,” she mouthed, and wondered if this was what being in love did to you.

  Laurel had a lot of thinking to do. But she soon discovered that she couldn’t answer her own questions honestly. Even if her mother had been alive, she doubted she would have shared her dilemma with her, besides, she knew her mother never would have approved of any relationship with a thirty-year old man, let alone one who was divorced. The subject would be moot, outlawed by church and society.

  She needed to make her own decisions. After all, wasn’t she a grown woman? Then, too tired to think another minute, she decided that for the time being the best solution to her problems was no solution at all.

  She would draw her own conclusions when confronted and would accept whatever happened in the future as fate. Why did she need Holt Flanagan anyway? She had the five hundred dollars remaining after he sold her silver and was reimbursed for her purchases. She would be fine without him once he moved. She convinced herself that her heart would mend, eventually. But did she want to live without him?

  She lay back down on the bunk and tried to sleep. But this time her mind filled with anxiety about tracking her father’s journey. If she had had any doubts that she’d be successful, they vanished, and were replaced with determination and enthusiasm. She was positive she would find him, on her own if need be.

  She played scenes over and over again in her mind—the exciting and perfect reunion, and envisioned the lovely home her grandparents had bequeathed her and being successful operating a popular boarding house or a bed and breakfast. She wrinkled her nose and made a face. She’d have to learn how to bake, but then remembering she’d have Junie to help her, she smiled and let out a sigh.

  Not until nearly dawn did she finally fall into a peaceful sleep, and when she woke again she still felt tired, but the excitement of going to Washington started her making elaborate plans in her head. Yawning, she stretched her aching body and swung her legs off the side of the bunk. She stood, but was immediately tossed back onto the mattress.

  “This can’t be!”

  A grumbled moan sounded from above. “Laurel? What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, get up, quick.”

  Arielle sighed again and shook herself awake. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re moving.”

  “Uh-hmmm.”

  “But how can that be?”

  “It’s morning, that’s why. We’re on our way back to Hilton Head and then to Savannah.”

  “Oh no! I’ve got to hurry. I told Captain Crowley that I wanted to make arrangements to take a train to Washington and leave from Charleston.”

  Laurel dressed as quickly as she could, but the ships swaying hindered her movements.

  “Laurel, if you’d spread your feet apart you wouldn’t sway as much,” Arielle offered, trying not to laugh.

  Laurel dreaded leaving the ship. Something told her Holt wasn’t aboard when they left Charleston and she had hoped to thank him for all his help. No, in truth, she wanted to see him once more. But she was determined not to mention his name to Arielle. She still felt a little ashamed about her own behavior last night at dinner.

  Arielle shuffled slowly over to her wardrobe and heard paper crumple under her feet. She bent down, picked it up and said, “Laurel, here’s a note for you.”

  “For me?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurel’s name was written boldly across the folded piece of now wrinkled paper and she opened it hesitantly.

  Laurel, please forgive my absence tonight. I had some important business to attend to at the last minute. Will meet you in Hilton Head. Holt.

  “I wonder how this got here?”

  “One of the deck hands must have stuck th
e paper under the door while we were at dinner last evening, and when you returned to the cabin, the note got pushed aside.”

  Laurel smiled brightly and left the cabin with renewed happiness to wake Junie.

  When the riverboat entered the harbor at Hilton Head, Laurel and Junie were already standing on the bow, packed and ready to disembark. They had said their goodbyes to Arielle and thanked the Crowley’s for their hospitality. Mrs. Crowley held Laurel’s hand. “Now you be sure and write us and let us know when you find your father.”

  Laurel hugged her again. “Thank you for believing in me.”

  Mrs. Crowley turned toward her husband and took her cape that he held over his arm. “I want you to accept this cape as a gift, Laurel. You’re going to need it for warmth.”

  Laurel smiled as Mrs. Crowley placed the cape around her shoulders. As young boys scurried to secure the lines of the boat to the pier, Laurel looked up and saw Holt waving to them.

  He greeted Laurel when she stepped off the riverboat. “Are you ready to go to Washington?”

  “Yes, but...”

  “I’ve sent a wire home. You and Junie will stay with my mother while we search for your father.”

  “Are you sure she won’t mind?”

  “I’m positive. She and Jacqueline love having company and any excuse to have a party.” Holt took Laurel aside, and whispered. “I think you will have to explain to Junie about Jacqueline before we arrive in Washington.”

  Laurel nodded in agreement, but not positive about how to approach the subject.

  Holt had hired a coachman and a handsome coach-and-four complete with a carriage dog. For the next two and a half weeks they kept to a precise traveling schedule and Laurel thought she had what she considered an unpleasant taste of military life. But neither she nor Junie complained, except when they were alone in their room. Each night, Holt made certain they lodged in only the finest inns.

  Each morning before dawn, they ate breakfast and left the comforts of the inn with a huge lunch basket. Whenever necessary, they stopped at roadsides and rested only long enough to freshen up and stretch a bit while the driver tended to the horses. Laurel finally found the opportunity and told Junie everything about Holt’s marriage and about Jacqueline, late one evening. And, much to her surprise, Junie didn’t make any remarks. That led her to believe that maybe Junie came to the realization that if something happened to her, Laurel would at least have Holt.