Beverly Jenkins

by Night Song

What a party they were having at Sophie’s downstairs. There were fiddlers for dancing, good drink, good food—really good food. Cara knew, for she’d help set out the buffet. Everyone was having a wonderful time—everyone except her. She sat at the desk in her room on the second floor, the strains of the celebration drifting up through the wooden planks beneath her. The music distracted her, making her tap her toe instead of grading the children’s essays. She finally gave up, stood, and stretched.

  She’d stayed away from the celebration for a number of reasons, most important her grandfather. Union soldiers were responsible for his death. Although the men downstairs had played no part in the tragic event, she couldn’t bring herself to go down there. Seeing the blue uniforms brought back memories of the land she’d never walk again, the grandfather who’d been lost to her, and the nightmares that still haunted her from that terrible day.

  The second reason she wouldn’t go downstairs was Virginia Sutton, head of the school board, and her morality clause. Virginia owned everything of note in Henry Adams—the bank, the mercantile, the grain exchange. She’d made it plain the day Cara came to town and interviewed for the teaching position that she was reluctant to hire such a naive and inexperienced young woman. Virginia had said flat out that she was concerned about Cara’s unmarried state and her possible influence on the children; she insisted Cara be held to the highest standards of morality and conduct enforced through a clause written into her contract. Sophie termed the clause nothing less than Virginia’s way of making sure Cara had no fun at all, but Cara had signed without a murmur of protest. Not only had she needed the job, she wanted it. There was nothing she liked more than teaching.

  Because of the clause, though, Cara had to be very cautious about her every social contact, especially if unmarried men were to be present. Chase and his soldiers presented lots of problems for her—especially Chase, whom she’d learned was staying in Sophie’s boardinghouse. But even the most innocent encounter could be misconstrued—by Virginia Sutton, if no one else.

  The sounds of laughter and conversation brought a smile to her face; the music seeped into her pores and caused her body to sway to its tempo. She felt lighthearted, younger than she had in ages. It was a strain to hold back, not to join the party and enjoy herself . . . enjoy the company of the most handsome and intriguing man she’d ever met.

  She’d tried to rid herself of memories of Chase Jefferson, and after her first few weeks in Henry Adams she’d pretty much succeeded. He was a soldier, a drifter, an adventurous man with no roots whom she’d known for less than a day. She’d decided she was a fool to let such a rogue capture her imagination. And that had pretty much been the end of that. Until today.

  Well, there was nothing for it. He was here now. And the question she had to answer was how she was going to handle him.

  Chase continued to be amazed and touched by the numbers of people who’d turned out to honor the Tenth. The food had been delicious, his men had been feted and toasted. In the adjoining room, the fiddlers were sawing away, and Chase noted how relaxed his men appeared to be. It would be hard to adjust to the trail again after all this.

  Chase was only half listening to the gushing young woman seated by him. She appeared next to him the moment he’d entered the room, and introduced herself as Mae Dexter, daughter of the mayor, and one of the women who’d handed him flowers during the parade. Chase hadn’t had the heart to tell her he didn’t remember her, but he’d promptly accepted her invitation to share dinner with her and her father. While politely enduring their company, Chase spent most of the evening scanning the crowd for Cara Henson. He’d yet to see her and was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined her that afternoon.

  “Are you listening to me, Sergeant Jefferson?”

  Mae’s question cut into his thoughts. Although her tone had been one of playful hurt, Chase heard the impatient undertone and gave the young woman his full attention.

  “Are you married, Sergeant Jefferson?”

  “Maebelle!” exclaimed her father, turning from a conversation he’d been having with one of the elders sitting to his left. “I apologize, Sergeant,” the mayor said, shooting dark looks at his only child. “Maebelle sometimes forgets she’s still a child.”

  “I am not a child, Papa,” she protested petulantly. “I’m almost sixteen.”

  “No harm done, sir,” Chase replied, trying to smooth the waters. “I can answer the young lady’s question. No, I’m not.”

  When she sighed unashamedly in relief, Chase couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “I’d like the honor of dancing with your daughter, Mayor Dexter, if I may?”

  Father looked first to Chase and then to his daughter. He grudgingly gave his permission, but not before cautioning Mae to mind her manners.

  Out on the floor Chase realized he’d made a serious error in his choice of partner. Mae’s only topics of conversation were Mae, Mae’s new dresses from St. Louis, and Mae. Chase doubted she’d spoken three intelligent words all evening. If he had to stand up with her all night, it would be a long one.

  As if she’d read his mind, Sophie claimed him at the end of the dance on the pretense of Chase needing to meet someone. Sophie spirited him away from the pouting young woman and led him into the crowd.

  “Thank you,” Chase said earnestly as he and Sophie sought solitude behind the closed door of her well-furnished office. “I thought I was going to be stuck with her all evening.”

  “Well, Mae may be brainless but she’s damn persistent. Here—” and she handed him a brandy.

  Chase swallowed the fine liquor slowly, then sat back and relaxed. “So, how’ve you been?”

  They spent the better part of an hour catching up on lost time. When they’d last seen each other, the Civil War was still being fought, Chase had been a growing but already handsome eighteen-year-old, and Sophie, one of the most sought-after quadroon women in New Orleans. She’d run a very elegant and exclusive house of pleasure back then, and her beautiful, multiracial girls had been in great demand by generals and businessmen on both sides of the country’s conflict. Sophie, Chase, and Asa Landis, now the town carpenter and for more than twenty years the love of Sophie’s life, had all been members of the Union Army. They served in the shadowy intelligence network headed by Harriet Tubman, the general.

  “So why haven’t you and Asa jumped the broom?” Chase asked her as the reminiscing continued.

  She smiled. “I’m too old to get married, and so is he. Besides, I like things just as they are.”

  Chase remembered she’d always been independent. Her being so free-minded often had caused problems, not for Sophie, but for those who expected her to conform. Asa had called her not independent but outrageous the morning she rode through the streets of the city at dawn on horseback, as naked as the fabled Lady Godiva. One of her patrons had bet she didn’t have the nerve to do such a thing, and that was all it had taken. She’d done it and, if Chase remembered correctly, had received a new carriage and a matching pair as payment.

  “What are you thinking about?” Sophie asked.

  He smiled, then spoke, “That morning you rode naked through New Orleans to win the bet.”

  She laughed. “Asa was so mad. We argued for three days afterward. Told me ladies didn’t do that kind of thing. I told him the day I turned into a lady, he could bury me.”

  “What happened to the girls?”

  “Oh, some went North; a few came West. Lost touch with most after I closed the house in ’68.”

  “Did Asa come West with you, or did you find each other again out here?”

  “We came together. When he got back from the war, things were fine until the last troops pulled out and the Redemptionists took over . . . It was awful.” She paused, shaking her head, her eyes sad. “The killings started during the elections of ’78. I wanted to leave, but you know how proud Asa is. He said we should stay and fight, especially after Washington refused to intervene. ‘We didn’t fight the war just to hand back the vote, Sop
hie,’ he’d say.”

  “But you finally convinced him.”

  “No. I finally drugged him and smuggled him out of New Orleans.”

  “You . . . drugged him?”

  “Had to. They’d’ve killed him. He was too well-known, too vocal. Those sack-wearing, cowardly bastards were dragging men from their homes and murdering them right in front of their terrified families. Asa would’ve been just one more dead Republican. I was not going to give them that satisfaction.”

  Chase had seen that same terror throughout the South. The escalating attacks had been one of the reasons he’d joined the army. It provided him with a legal right to carry a sidearm and protect himself. “You drugged him?”

  “When he woke up twelve hours after I convinced him to have one of my toddies, we were well on our way here.”

  “You know, Sophie, after all these years you really ought to let him make an honest woman out of you.”

  “I’m fifty-two years old. I don’t need the blessings of a government that can’t even uphold the Constitution.”

  Chase nodded. Hard for him to believe she was over fifty, but in reality he knew it had to be true because he’d turned thirty-five in April. And, no, she didn’t have the voluptuous figure that had prompted men to challenge her to ride naked on horseback any longer. Still, her cafe-au-lait skin, her beautiful face held the radiance that had inspired more than a few sonnets.

  “Enough about me,” Sophie said. “What did you do after Appomatox?”

  “Worked with General Tubman on the Carolina Sea Islands for a while, then joined the army in ’67.”

  “How’s it been, the army?”

  “Rough in a lot of ways. Some of the officers, like that dead bastard, Custer, refuse to command Black troops. In some places, though, the army gives you a chance to be as much a man as times will allow. Many a time we’re respected for the job we do. Most settlers don’t care what color we are as long as we escort them safely through the territory, build roads, and find new sources of water. Most, I said, not all. Some would rather be attacked by Apaches than have a Black soldier assist them in any situation.”

  “What about the regular troops, any trouble with them?”

  “Depends on the individual. The Rebs that came back to Texas after the war hated everybody in Yankee blue, whether their skin was black or white, so troopers wound up protecting one another’s backs. The white troops call us ‘brunettes.’ Some of our men are offended by the term, others aren’t.”

  “Well, Chase, everybody here appreciates you, believe me. You fellows make Black folks all over the country proud.”

  A polite knock on the door interrupted them. Sophie called entry, and Cara stuck her head around the door. “Sorry to bother you, but someone said—” Cara stopped abruptly when she spotted Chase.

  “Come on in. You told me this afternoon that you and Chase have already met. Sit with us and talk a spell, Cara.”

  Chase stood, and his heated gaze traveled slowly over the demurely dressed woman who’d been in his thoughts every minute since he’d seen her on the street. Finally, he said to himself. Up close she was as beautiful as his memories had painted her. Honey-brown skin, soft, lush mouth. Her eyes, fringed with long, thick lashes, were still a dazzling tawny brown, almost feline-looking, and they held him with the same intensity they had back in Topeka. “I see you made it to the Valley,” he told her, realizing his words were inane, but he longed to hear her sweet, husky voice again and didn’t mind making himself seem silly, if he could get her to talk.

  “Yes, I did. How was your trip to Texas?”

  “Long.”

  “I’m sure the memories of the dinner with your fiancée were a comfort.”

  “She wasn’t my fiancée,” he said truthfully. He’d wanted to wring Laura Pope’s spoiled little neck for that lie, especially when Cara took off angry.

  Cara looked into his face. Not his fiancée? She felt a great relief. They stared at each other. The power of his gaze caught her by surprise. She turned her attention from his mischievous eyes to Sophie. “I—I have some letters to write and the music is distracting, so I’m going to go over to the school.” It was a lie of course. She’d intended to enjoy Sophie’s company, but Chase was having such a strange effect on her, she felt she had to get away for a little while.

  “Are you coming back later?”

  “No, it’ll probably take me most of the night to finish. I’ll just sleep on the cot in the back of the school.”

  Sophie looked worried. “Cara, there’re a lot of strangers in town. Maybe you wouldn’t be safe sleeping there tonight.”

  Cara appreciated the concern. “I’ll be fine, Sophie, and I’ll bolt the door. Besides, there’s no school tomorrow, and I can use the free time to do some cleaning. The floors need to be mopped. I can also wash those windows I’ve been trying to get at all spring.” Cara felt as though she was rambling and blamed it on Chase’s presence.

  “Well, promise me you’ll get someone to walk you over there.”

  “Sophie, I’ll be fine and—”

  Chase interrupted, seizing the opportunity. “You have a penchant for trouble. Better let me escort you.”

  Cara turned on him, intending to decline the offer, but Sophie forestalled her. “Good. Thanks, Chase. I have to get back to the goings-on. ‘Night, Cara.”

  And before the word “wait” could be formed by Cara’s lips, the big woman, amazingly fleet for her size, was out of the room.

  Cara, temporarily at a loss as to how to disengage herself from Chase, opted for politeness. “Sergeant, thank you for your offer, but now that Sophie’s gone, I can tell you frankly that you don’t have to accompany me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’ve seen the way you take care of yourself, remember?”

  Cara would rather not.

  “And,” he added, “Sophie’s right. You never know who you might run into on your way. Wouldn’t do the Tenth’s reputation any good to have a woman’s virtue tampered with while we were in town.”

  Cara’s efforts to keep the exasperation from showing on her face failed completely. “Very well,” she said, her tone grouchy. “I have to go up and get my bag. I’ll return in a moment.”

  The May sky was as clear and bright with stars as any Chase could remember. He looked down at the silent woman who kept pace at his side. “How was the trip out here from Topeka? Any problems?”

  “No. Tedious though.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “Yes, I do. I have some fine students and—”

  He stopped. “Students? You’re the schoolteacher?”

  Cara, who’d also stopped, answered with a chuckle, “Yes, why do you sound so surprised? I graduated from Oberlin, and I’ve taught before.”

  “I just never thought of you as a teacher. Seamstress maybe, but not schoolteacher.”

  “Why not?”

  “Every teacher I had was either a grumpy man or an old hag. And you, Miss Henson, aren’t even close to either. . . .”

  Standing on the dark walk, Cara looked up into his eyes and saw all the things that had turned her inside out the last time they’d met: his handsomeness, his maleness. This man could make a woman break every code she’d ever lived by. For someone as earnest and inexperienced as Cara, it could spell disaster. “The schoolhouse is just a bit farther along,” she said and started to move again.

  They walked the rest of the way in silence.

  When they came to the small stone building, the former church that served as the school, Cara thanked him for the escort and turned away. But he refused to be dismissed so easily.

  “You’d better let me go in first. Wouldn’t want you grabbed by something in the dark.”

  Cara looked up at the rakish face and refrained from pointing out it was he she was most worried about. Instead, she took the key to the padlock from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to him without argument. While he went inside, she waited patiently for him to find the lant
ern, light it, and say she could enter safely.

  Once in, Cara stated, “Thank you, Sergeant. I can manage from here.”

  Chase took his time. He looked over the classroom with its neat line of pews and desks. Student work was nailed on the walls. In the corner sat an old black pot-bellied stove that would be fired up when the weather turned cold. He fingered a globe and opened a dog-eared text. “You really like teaching?”

  “Very much,” she said, placing the carpetbag that held her belongings on her desk.

  Chase leafed through a few more pages of the book before replacing it on the neat stack at the end of a pew. “What kind of things do you teach?” he asked, looking directly at her.

  Cara wondered if he’d meant the question to sound so provocative. “I teach history, arithmetic, penmanship. The basics. Sergeant, you have to go. I—I have a morality clause in my contract, and if Virginia Sutton finds out I’m here with you—”

  “Who’s she?”

  “President of the school board.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Then she wouldn’t approve if I came over there and kissed you, would she?”

  Cara felt as though she’d been hit by a stagecoach. She finally managed to croak a reply. “No. She wouldn’t.”

  “And what about you? Would you approve?”

  “I’m not going to answer that,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re making sport of me, and—”

  “No, I’m not, schoolmarm. I’ve wanted to kiss you since that night I lit into you about Benson Worth, remember? It was your gift, I think you called it, that got to me.”

  Cara wondered how to slow this speeding train. “And was Private Worth court-martialed?”

  “No. He received thirty days in the stockade. He’s up in Minnesota with the Ninth.”

  Chase let his gaze linger a few moments longer on her tawny beauty. He didn’t want to compromise her reputation, but he didn’t want to leave her, either. He chose the honorable option. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “It is to me.” He walked to the door. “Put this bolt on after I leave, Cara.”