by Diaz, Debra
Catherine took her friend’s arm and got to her feet, giving a gentle pull.
“Then what are you waiting for, if you can’t live without him? Marry him, for heaven’s sake! Take what precious time you have together, because whether you marry him or not he’ll still be going back to the army.”
Delia allowed herself to slowly rise. She stood there, sniffing. “Maybe you’re right.”
“We can’t live in fear, Delia. We just have to…to accept things and try to make the best of them.”
“I will live in fear, I can’t help it! I’ll live in fear of reading the newspapers and the casualty lists, and I’ll live in terror of getting a telegram or a letter. I’ll imagine the most horrible things, Catherine!”
“I think…I think we’re all afraid. But we can’t dwell on it or we’ll surely lose our minds. Listen…I was helping in the hospital some before Andrew came home, and I may go back to it. I need to keep busy, and Mrs. Shirley sees to Andrew. Why don’t you go with me, after Marcus leaves?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Catherine. I couldn’t stand it. I visit in the hospital sometimes and the smell always makes me sick. Disinfectants, and blood, and—everything. Besides—” Fresh tears threatened. “We just decided last night that I should move back to Lexington and open up Marcus’s old house. Oh, I’m going to miss you, Catherine!”
Catherine absorbed this news with a quick pang of regret, but gave her friend a hug, saying lightly, “It’s all right—it’ll be fun to visit each other. Now your face is as red as a lobster. Let’s get some cold water up here right away, and goodness, it’s time to get you dressed!”
Within moments, the room came alive with bridesmaids, servants, and frantic activity. Assisted by her mother and Catherine, Delia put on her satin gown, ivory-colored and trimmed at the waist with a nosegay of orange blossoms. Finally the time came for everyone to take their places at the top of the stairs. Catherine held tightly to her bouquet and looked down to see a large crowd seated in chairs just below. Off to one side stood the pastor, the pale-faced bridegroom and his attendants.
The first notes of the processional music began. Catherine made her way slowly, silently praying she wouldn’t make a misstep and tumble down the stairs to land in an inglorious heap before the guests. And there were so many!
Suddenly her heart jumped into her throat and she almost tripped. She put her hand out toward the railing to steady herself and continued down the never-ending staircase.
Clayton Pierce! What was he doing at Delia’s wedding?
The ceremony seemed to take forever. The minister droned on about the sanctity of marriage, but Catherine heard none of it. Her heart thudded in her ears and her hands and knees shook. When she had seen Clayton, he had looked directly into her eyes and again she felt something like a bond with him. She tried to explain it to herself and couldn’t. There was something connecting them which she could not define but knew in her soul wasn’t right.
No, it wasn’t right that her pulse should quicken whenever she thought of Clayton. It wasn’t right that she should care whether or not he thought her beautiful. It wasn’t right that she found him more exciting than she had ever found Andrew.
“And what God hath joined together,” said the minister, “let not man put asunder.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The wedding over, people smiled and laughed and began moving into the huge dining room for the reception. Clayton had disappeared. Catherine talked with some of her friends, then saw Delia’s mother beckoning to her and followed the older woman into the parlor.
Late afternoon sunlight poured into the room through the windows, from which the draperies had been removed. A rectangular standing mirror was situated at a point where it would catch the most light. The effect was almost dazzling.
Clayton emerged from a room under the stairs, which he was apparently using as a darkroom. He had removed his coat and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. The bride and groom stood just beyond the camera, talking in low voices. Delia’s younger brother, Justin, seemed to be assisting Clayton, following his instructions with speed and efficiency.
Clayton’s presence seemed little less dazzling than the sunlight. Catherine stood with the four bridesmaids and watched him. The girls were all younger than she; none was married and she could see from their whispering and giggling that they were quite taken with Mr. Pierce. He appeared not to notice but concentrated on the challenging
task of getting the newly married couple and two sets of parents in one photograph.
As they moved into place, he said, “Some of you have never sat for a photograph before, so I’d like to explain briefly, ladies and gentlemen, how this works. There’s a plate that my able assistant has prepared with chemicals, making it very sensitive to light. In a moment he’ll bring it out in a plate holder and place it in the camera.
“When everyone is ready, I’ll expose the plate, and light will be projected onto the lens of the camera to form the image. It’s important that no one move—try not to even blink—during the exposure time. It should only take a moment or two. Then the plate will be carried back to the darkroom for development. Do you have any questions before we get started?”
No one had any questions but everyone looked nervous. Clayton talked and joked with them as he directed how and where each person should stand, until they visibly relaxed. He bent over the large, box-shaped camera. Justin removed the exposed plate as Clayton inserted another one.
“Miss Delia has requested a picture of her attendants,” Clayton said. “Mrs. Kelly, how nice to see you again. Come and stand here, please. Ladies, if you’ll step this way.”
The blushing girls, including Catherine, lined up across the room. Clayton adjusted the camera.
“Mrs. Kelly, if you’ll stand in the middle, please. The second young lady from the left, will you turn slightly to your right?”
In the two or three times in her life Catherine had posed for photographs, she always felt foolish staring into the lens of a camera, but never more so than at this moment. At last it was over and Clayton excused himself to go and attend to the developing of the plates.
The young girls scurried off together, still giggling. The bridegroom and his bride exchanged a tender moment with their parents, and Catherine discreetly left the room and walked down the hallway. She could see the great dining room, its table loaded with crystal dishes, food, a tall white cake and a bowl full of bright red punch. People glanced at her and smiled and some of them who had heard about Andrew asked to be remembered to him and promised to visit when he felt up to it.
She made her way into the dining room. A young man who had courted her when she first came to Richmond brought her a glass of punch. She was quickly surrounded by some of her friends from church. There seemed to be people everywhere—and she had never felt so lonely.
She noticed that one of the side doors stood partially open to let fresh air into the room. The afternoon sun was fast disappearing. She asked one of the servants to bring her shawl, and after throwing it carelessly over her shoulders she made her way across the room and through the doorway. The cold air was bracing and she followed the little bricked path.
A trio of steps led into a sunken garden, circular in shape and surrounded by a dense row of shrubbery. Like the path, the walkway around the garden was bricked, with a profusion of white chrysanthemums occupying its center and giving off an exquisite scent. Wooden benches fitting neatly against the trimmed hedge completely encircled
the garden.
Tears came into her eyes. In a moment she would be squalling like Delia. She was a fine one to lecture Delia…coming out here feeling sorry for herself!
She sat down on one of the benches and looked up at the sky. Hues of purple and scarlet streaked the deepening blue, while the fading rays of the sun bathed everything in a roseate glow. The vast, painted canopy of the sky seemed to spread to the edge of the world. Beneath it she felt lost and insignificant.
She
thought, bewildered, What is wrong with me?
She should be inside, mingling with the guests, sharing in the happiness of Delia and Marcus, but the very thought of having to appear happy and vivacious made her sick at her stomach. Maybe she felt lonely because Delia’s marriage meant their close relationship would be coming to an end. She had seen it before…friends got married and moved away, babies were born, and suddenly there was little time for old friends.
Maybe she hadn’t yet accepted what had happened to Andrew. Certainly it had been a shock, and would require a period of adjustment. Or maybe…
She heard footsteps approaching. She dabbed swiftly at her eyes, hoping whoever it was would go away.
“Mrs. Kelly?”
Her heart sank down to her toes. She half turned and looked up at Clayton. “Yes?”
He had put his coat back on and now stood looking at her with concern. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. It…it got stuffy in the house.”
With a pang of alarm she noticed her nose was beginning to run. She sniffed and turned slightly away. Clayton stepped forward and wordlessly handed her a handkerchief.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierce.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No, thank you.”
“At least let me escort you back inside. Would you like me to take you home?”
“No,” she said, more sharply than she intended. “I mean, I really should be inside. I only meant to stay out here for a moment.”
He did not reply and she felt he was reading her mind and discovering the exact nature of her malady, which was certainly more than she was able to do herself. She tried to think of something to say.
“Are you a friend of Marcus’? I confess I was surprised to see you here tonight, Mr. Pierce.”
“Please call me Clayton. No, I don’t know either the bride or the groom. I’m acquainted with Miss Delia’s brother. He has some training in photography and has assisted me once or twice. He suggested hiring me for the wedding. There seems to be a shortage of photographers these days.”
“Oh,” she said. “I suppose many of them have joined the army.”
He ambled slowly around the little area of flowers, his hands in his pockets. “I take it, from what you said the other night, that you think I should be in uniform…fighting battles rather than just writing about them.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Mr. Pierce—I mean, Clayton. I’m sure you do risk your life being with the soldiers on the battlefields. And at least you’re preserving something for history in your articles and photographs.”
“I don’t think people will particularly enjoy looking at some of those photographs. If anything, maybe future generations will be touched by the reality, by the horror of war. This war should never have started.”
She sat up straighter, staring at him. “What do you mean? How can you say that after everything they said about us, calling us seditionists and saying we should be exterminated—”
“That’s just it,” he said softly, looking up at the sky. “I’m afraid we will be exterminated. Do you realize the North has three, perhaps four times as many men, more ammunition, more food, more everything?”
“What does that matter? I agree that war is a terrible thing, but it would have been cowardly to back down after they’d insulted us, and after Mr. Lincoln sent troops out to subjugate us.”
He turned toward her with a low laugh. “You are a true daughter of the South.”
“And pray tell me, sir, if you are a true son, or an illicit one and not worthy to be called a Southerner!”
She heard her own words with dismay, but as before when she had spoken her mind, she could not regret it. She wanted to know exactly where he stood.
He came to stand before her. “Believe it or not, I’m just as southern as you are, my dear Mrs. Kelly, and just as proud to be called one. Do you mind if I sit down?”
She moved her skirt to make room for him. Though she was not cold, she drew her shawl more securely over her shoulders, then tucked his handkerchief into the sash at her waist.
Clayton sat next to her, the sleeve of his coat lightly brushing her arm as he settled himself on the hard wooden bench. “If you’ll permit me, I will try to explain my feelings, which may have seemed to you rather ambiguous. You see, I was present in the Senate chamber, in the reporters’ gallery, last year when those famous speeches were made. The place was packed with spectators and yet there was no noise, only a brooding silence, until the men began to speak.
“One by one the senators renounced their allegiance to the United States. One by one, they proclaimed their state’s withdrawal from the Union. Far from being a frenzy as has generally been believed, it was the most sorrowful scene I have ever witnessed.
“There was no doubt these men loved the Union, but still they left no doubt that they believed the South had been wronged. They believed that the federal government intended to destroy our right to function as independent states.”
“And what did you believe, sir?”
“Everyone has been wronged in this affair,” he replied thoughtfully. “This war has been a long time coming, and I believe it will be a long time before it’s over…even after the last cannon is fired. I wonder if this country will ever recover from it.”
“I can now understand your decision to fight with words rather than arms, Mr. Pierce—I mean, Clayton. You’re very persuasive. Perhaps if you had been on the Senate floor you could have made a difference in the outcome.”
He shook his head. “No. The fire-eaters had done their damage. The situation had so disintegrated that bloodshed seemed to be the only solution. All we can do now is pray that Almighty God will get us through it.”
“What do you mean…about fire-eaters?”
“I mean the men who got us into this war, from the signing of the Declaration of Independence on down to the present, men from both North and South struggling for control, yelling about slavery but offering no solution, yelling about states’ rights and secession without examining all the alternatives. They made loyalty to the Union mean disloyalty to our own state, leaving us with no choice but to fight.”
“That’s just how our General Lee felt,” she said softly, “when they offered him field command of the United States Army. We’ve all heard how difficult it was for him to resign his commission. But his loyalty was to Virginia.”
Clayton nodded. “His home, his children, his heritage. How can any of us be blamed for wanting to defend those things? And yet there’s more to it than that, more than will ever be written in the history books—”
He stopped abruptly and she said, “Do go on.”
But he stood up again, saying in a lighter tone, “Forgive me for waxing eloquent, my dear Mrs. Kelly. Your obvious devotion to the cause inspired me. May I prove my gallant nature by forgiving your insinuations and asking you to dance?”
Catherine became aware of the music floating out upon the still night, accompanied by the sounds of swishing skirts and the rhythmic scraping of booted feet. “Oh, I couldn’t,” she said quickly.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” he replied. “Or it will be difficult to forget how greatly you have offended me.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that he was joking. Her lips curved in a small smile. “I don’t think it would be appropriate to dance with you, Mr. Pierce, when everyone knows about Andrew. I hope you’ll understand.”
“ ‘Everyone’ doesn’t have to see us. Come, it’s only a dance.” He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her up. Before she could react, he put his arm around her and began to lead her in the waltz. She drew off her shawl and held it in one hand. She realized suddenly that he had made her forget her feelings of despair, for the moment.…
Because of the confining space they had to stand quite close and move slowly over the walk and around the little plot of flowers. They were hidden from any prying eyes by the tall hedges. Catherine’s head
was spinning, not because of the small circular movement, but from the many fragmented thoughts that raced across her brain, none of which she could seem to catch and comprehend. Her feet moved automatically, but he was an excellent dancer and kept her in perfect rhythm.
