Bon Marche

by Chet Hagan

  “Well, I suppose … yes, very well. We want her home, of course, before nightfall.”

  “Of course.” Another bow. “You do me great honor.”

  The young man ran to where he knew, by prearrangement, Beth would be waiting for him.

  “What did they say, Two?”

  “They said yes.”

  She laughed happily.

  “And you owe me five dollars. It was a wager of honor, young lady.”

  “You’re amazing, Two. I would have been willing to bet you much more that they’d say no.”

  “I know.”

  She struck out at him. Playfully. “You’re too damned confident.”

  They hurried to the gelding barn where Charles ordered a black to saddle two riding horses.

  “Where are we going?” Beth asked as the slave held the gate open for them.

  “To a special place.”

  They rode for nearly an hour, their chatter mostly inanities, until they finally came into a large, cool grove of red cedars.

  “This is it,” he said, stopping his horse and sliding to the ground. “My grandfather showed me this place years ago. It’s where he and Mattie spent their honeymoon.”

  “Right here? Out in the open?”

  “Uh-huh. I haven’t been here since I was a small boy, but it’s still as beautiful as I remember it.”

  He helped her dismount.

  “It is lovely.” She gazed about. “And I can see why they chose it for a honeymoon.”

  Charles tethered the horses to a sapling, walking to her, taking her hands and finding a spot for them to sit down. He sank to the ground, patting the earth next to him.

  Beth joined him, drawing up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “You know, I can almost feel them here. There’s an aura about this place—an aura of lovers.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be the romantic.”

  She didn’t comment directly. “I wonder if Virginia and Albert have such a lovely place for their first night together?”

  He chuckled. “Hardly. The Nashville Inn isn’t my idea of a romantic spot.”

  “That’s where they stopped? Virginia didn’t confide in me.”

  “She probably thought you were too young for such things. But I know for certain that that’s where Albert planned to stop.”

  “Isn’t that sad? Why didn’t you tell Albert about this place?”

  “Do you think Virginia would have come here?”

  “No.” She giggled. “Not Virginia!”

  There was a silence.

  “Two?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Why did you bring me here?”

  “Because it’s beautiful. And because I wanted you to see it.”

  “Only that?”

  “Uh-huh. No—that’s a lie. I brought you here because I wanted to be alone with you. Because I want to make love to you.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You’re disarming me, Beth.”

  She leaned over against him. “I didn’t think I could ever do that, Two. You seem so sure of everything. Maybe I shouldn’t have come, because I’m not so sure of everything. But the day … I don’t know … the day just … Well, Virginia looked so happy. Did you see the way she looked at Albert when they exchanged their vows?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was like I was seeing Virginia for the first time.”

  He let her talk.

  “And I thought, will I ever … ever be that much in love? Then I thought of what we had planned … I mean, riding off together … and I was suddenly caught up with—”

  “Desire?”

  “I don’t know. I just wanted to be with you. Alone. With no one else within miles of us. To see if I could feel what Virginia’s eyes told me she felt.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now that I am alone with you”—she gazed about—“in this lovely place, I don’t know what I feel. Part of me is happy. But part of me is frightened, too.”

  Charles took her in his arms. “I certainly don’t want you to be frightened.”

  “I’ve never been alone with a man before.” She laughed lightly. “As a matter of fact, no man except my father had ever kissed me before you kissed me on the night of the dinner.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “No, it’s true. I’ve been very defensive with boys, until now.”

  “And now?”

  Beth shrugged. “I’m here, Two.”

  50

  CHARLES Dewey II three times postponed his return to New Orleans and was finding it difficult to make believable excuses to his mother about why he didn’t want to leave Nashville.

  The Deweys of Bon Marché knew why, of course. He was constantly in the company of Elizabeth Stoker. It became a favorite topic of discussion between Mattie and the elder Charles.

  “Do you think Two wants to marry that girl?” Mattie asked one evening.

  “I suppose I can confide in you—”

  “Charles! Sometimes you’re insulting!”

  “He told me a week ago that he had gone to Brian Stoker and that insufferable wife of his and asked for permission to marry Beth. They turned him down flat.”

  “Why?”

  “The age of the girl.”

  “That’s a most valid point, of course.”

  “Two doesn’t think so.”

  “Do you think he’s being genuine, Charles? Does he love her?”

  Dewey grinned. “If I haven’t forgotten what young love is all about, I’d say that he does. And she him, of course. She dotes on him.”

  A week later, Charles II came to see his grandfather.

  “Sir, is it possible that you could find me a position here at Bon Marché?”

  Charles’s eyes opened wide. “You want to work, Two?”

  The Deweys laughed together.

  “That doesn’t seem to be in keeping with my reputation, does it, Grandfather? But the truth is that Mother has stopped sending me an allowance. She wants me back in New Orleans. I suspect that she’s found a proper French girl for me—a socially proper French girl, that is—and I’m ruining her plans by staying here.”

  “I’m certain that we can employ you in some way,” the elder Dewey said. “I’ll speak to True and Able today and have them find something for you.”

  “Uh … sir … I wonder whether I might impose on your generosity and ask for some kind of advance?”

  “Of course. I can understand that a young gentleman needs a few dollars—”

  “Not just a few, Grandfather. I need enough to buy a house in Nashville.”

  “Buy a house? But why?”

  “So that Beth and I can move into it.”

  The older man brightened. “Then the Stokers have finally given their approval?”

  “No, sir.”

  “But … I don’t understand.”

  Two sighed. “Grandfather, Beth is going to have a baby. In seven months. And we want our own place before it becomes obvious—”

  “Do the Stokers know of this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’ll marry without their approval.”

  “No. We don’t need to be married.”

  “Of course you need to be married. The girl’s pregnant!”

  “Marriage is just an artificial convention, Grandfather. We don’t need it to prove our love for each other.”

  “That’s hogwash!”

  “I didn’t expect that you’d understand.” Two got to his feet, prepared to leave. “But I did think, sir, that I could count on you.”

  Dewey thought for a moment. “How much do you need?”

  “Nineteen hundred. You know that small brick house at the end of Market, the one that stands alone?”

  “Yes.” The young man was talking of the house in which Andrew MacCallum had lived with his bride, Mercy Callison. “Yes,” he repeated sadly, “I know it very well.”r />
  “It’s available again and it seems ideal for us.”

  Charles went to his strongbox and counted out twenty-five hundred dollars. “No one is to know about this.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather. You’re a real friend.”

  “A romantic old fool would be a more accurate description.”

  II

  IN February of 1841 a son was born to Charles Dewey II and Elizabeth Stoker in the little brick house that carried so many memories for the great-grandfather of the baby. And it was only the old man who went to visit them, offering his blessings.

  “I wish, Mattie,” he said a day or two later, “that you’d go see them. They need someone. The Stokers have cut them off, and Mary Dewey has written them a most bitter letter. Those young people are in love and—”

  “I see enough of Two here,” Mattie snapped. “And I certainly don’t intend to make it appear that I approve of this … this … what? I think what they’re doing is sinful!”

  “Oh?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Sin, like beauty, must be in the eye of the beholder. I see them only as young people who may be making a mistake. But what good does it do to condemn them? As a matter of fact, I’m rather pleased with the way that Two has turned around his life. He’s working very hard with the Bon Marché cattle herd. Both Able and True are pleased with his work as well.”

  “So I understand,” Mattie said grudgingly.

  “Go see them.”

  “No, I can’t.” She paused. “Have they named the child yet?”

  “Yes,” Her husband grinned sheepishly, “they’re calling him Charles Dewey the Third.”

  “Charles! They haven’t!”

  “But they have.”

  “That’s the worst kind of insult to you! Isn’t it bad enough that Two, behaving so irresponsibly with this girl, already carries your name? But now … to name a bastard—”

  He patted her arm. “Mattie, dear Mattie, what possible difference does it make in my life? I’ve concluded, after seventy-six years of living, that I shouldn’t waste energy on matters I can’t change. There are so many things so desperately wrong in this world that a simple thing like naming a baby for me seems so insignificant.”

  “But, Charles, a bastard!”

  Dewey smiled wryly. “It’s not the first, is it?”

  III

  TRUE Jackson’s appearance belied his intelligence and his skills. Portly—some might have called him dumpy—with only a few strands of hair running in irregular patterns over his skull, True was not in any way handsome. And his sober demeanor—he was a man who never really laughed at a witticism—at times gave him the look of a dullard. And, while he may not have been witty or glib, he was the possessor of an extraordinary mind, one that led to innovation.

  “I’m afraid I’ve overstepped myself this time, Charles,” he said soberly. “I’ve let my enthusiasm for an idea make me ignore reality.”

  “The futurity, eh?”

  “Yes.” The elder Jackson brother groaned. “I honestly thought that the prospect of a purse of a hundred and fifty thousand dollars would attract every horseman in the state.”

  “I was of the same opinion. Every comment I heard on the idea of a futurity was one of great enthusiasm. I’d even say that your announcement caused a sensation.”

  “Until the money came due,” True replied sarcastically.

  The two men sat in the Bon Marché drawing room. It wasn’t often that True came to Charles. As the nominal general manager of the plantation he had enough confidence to do his job without the need for frequent consultations. Thus, it had been without any participation by Dewey that Jackson had announced the establishment of a Tennessee Futurity—a race in 1843 for the yet unborn foals of 1839. Those foals nominated, for five thousand dollars each, would run as four-year-olds for the “guaranteed” large purse, the first six finishers sharing in the monies.

  It hadn’t worked out well at all. By the end of 1838, when the nominations were closed, only thirty horsemen had been sufficiently intrigued by the prospects of a futurity to pay nominating fees. Indeed, there were fewer than thirty individual horsemen—Bon Marché had nominated ten of its foals-to-be.

  “Some of those who have nominated,” Jackson reported, “have now reneged on their payments. The way it looks now, we won’t have enough horses left to have a decent field answer to the starter.”

  “Two horses make a race.”

  Another groan. “I’m afraid it will be only a little bit better than that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Charles assured him.

  “What does matter, though,” True said firmly, “is that I was injudicious enough to guarantee the purse—”

  “Hmmm.”

  “—and not nearly enough money has come in to pay it.”

  Dewey seemed unconcerned. “Then we must make it up, mustn’t we, when the time comes?”

  “Oh, that’s not the reason I came to see you,” True interjected hurriedly. “I’ve already decided to make up the monies with my own funds. I simply came to you now to assure you that the good name of Bon Marché will not be harmed by my reckless and stupid act.”

  “You proposed the futurity in the name of Bon Marché, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then Bon Marché will stand whatever loss there is.”

  “Charles, I can’t let you do that! You’d be paying for my error.”

  The older man grinned at him. “When Mattie was busy talking up the attributes of the brothers Jackson—before you joined us—she never mentioned infallibility. If you only knew the mistakes I’ve made over the years—”

  “No, I can’t allow it!”

  “The matter is closed,” Dewey growled. “Now, is there anything else you wish to discuss?”

  True hesitated. “Yes, there is. Uh … it’s Franklin. I’m worried about him. Since Albert married and left to take up his military duties, and with Carrie also married and preoccupied with the newspaper in St. Louis, Franklin is totally alone. I’ve asked Able to involve him in the breeding decisions, but Franklin seems not to care—about that or anything else.”

  “Franklin has his interests in the hunt club.”

  “That’s a time killer only, Charles.”

  “And now you wish to assume the guilt for Franklin’s loneliness, too?”

  “No, but—”

  “True, hear me out. Mattie, in her wisdom, saw fit to bring you and Able here to run Bon Marché. You’ve done it admirably. But in doing this job, you’re not expected to assume any responsibilities for the idiosyncracies of the Deweys. You young men are the future of Bon Marché—you and several of my grandchildren, I hope. Franklin is a part of the past. So, too, is this old relic.” He sighed. “Care for the future, Squire Jackson, and leave the past to the dying.”

  “Charles, don’t say things like—”

  “Enough! Get the hell out of here!”

  IV

  CHARLES and Honey sat in a small carriage on a knoll at the edge of a cluster of trees, well bundled against the chill of early October. The sun, just rising over the horizon, was an unappealing dull orange—it looked dirty, somehow—and it cast almost no heat on the partially overcast day. The grasses were browning and the spent leaves on the trees, while still offering some color, were ready to fall to the next stiff breeze. Only the green pines stayed constant.

  “I think this is an ideal place,” Charles was saying, “to see the most exciting part of the hunt. I would think that the hounds will drive the fox across that pasture down below us”—he pointed—“and straight up the rise to that brush growing over the stone wall. He’ll want to use that brush for cover, but the hounds will be too close on his tail for him to stay there. So he’ll race across that small clearing just opposite us there and try to lose the dogs in the woods, weaving in and out among the trees, trying to confuse the pursuers.”

  “But he won’t succeed, will he, Pop-Pop?” Honey said sadly.


  “No, he won’t. Oh, some of the pack will be confused for a moment or two, veering off in odd directions. But the best of the dogs will stay hard on his trail.”

  Dewey stood up in the carriage to continue his narrative. “He’ll be driven out of those woods and down the grade across that small pasture bordered by the creek. At the water, the fox will hesitate. Deciding what his chances are if he plunges in and tries to swim across. Those few moments of indecision will cost him. The hounds will bring him to ground there—and the hunt will be over.”

  “Must it be that way?”

  “I could be wrong about this fox, of course,” her great-grandfather said. “He may not be concerned about the water, plunging right in and maintaining his advantage. If he does cross the stream, then his chances are very good. There are thick woods on the other side, with all manner of wild animals—deer and turkey among them—and the droppings from them will confuse the dogs. The fox will be able to find a hole in which to hide, and the hounds will have lost the day.”

  “I hope this fox likes the water,” the young girl said. “I don’t want to see it killed.”

  Charles studied Honey’s sober face. It was a beautiful one at fifteen. And behind it was a mind that he had come to greatly admire. He took pride in the fact that he had helped mold that mind. This girl, when she became a woman, would be a factor in the world, he believed. She was not only intelligent; Honey Mussmer—or Honey Dewey, as he liked to think of her—had a heart big enough to accommodate everyone she met, and every creature, even the fox, whose very minutes were now numbered.

  “I’ll join you in your concern for the fox,” the old man said. “Now, the most exciting part of a hunt, of course, is supposed to be the horsemanship. If the horses are sound, and the leadership of the hunt intelligent—and we must assume he is, with Franklin as the master—the riders will be hard on the heels of the hounds when they break out into that pasture below us.

  “They’ll slow a bit coming up the hill, of course, and the horsemen will have to edge to their left when the fox and the hounds take on that brush-covered stone wall. The mounts will have lost their momentum and won’t be able to clear the wall. Instead, they’ll have to be content to jump the nearby rail fence. But they’ll make up the lost ground going down the hill, and will be close at hand when the decision time for the fox is reached at the creek.”