by Tara Cowan
“You…refer to the fact that…I…have not conceived…” Her voice failed her, and she watched remotely as his expression change to one of horror.
He mouthed her name, his face altered. “No,” he whispered. “No,” he said urgently, going to her and gripping her upper arms. “Of course that is not what I meant!” His eyes seemed to fill, as tears rolled down her cheeks. “You must believe me: it doesn’t matter to me! Shannon!”
“It matters to me,” she whispered shakily.
“I’m so sorry, my darling,” he whispered, searching her face in agony. “Oh, Shannon.”
“I know it is a failure. We…have not spoken of it, but…”
Face broken, he held her for an emotional moment before pressing her gently into the chair. He went down on his knee in front of her, retaining her hands, his white sleeves billowing. “I have not spoken of it because I know it must give you pain,” he said softly, searching her face deeply. “How could you think you have failed me?”
She looked down. “I cannot help thinking that…if I were like Marie…”
He kissed her hands. “You are the only woman I would wish to bear my children, but I did not marry you for that reason, Shannon.”
She breathed shakily, studying him, seeing truth in his eyes. Why didn’t it make her feel easier? Why did she feel so utterly as though she had failed him? She swallowed, then took a steadying breath. “Lizzie…says it is in God’s time.”
He looked surprised. “Does she? Lizzie is very wise.” He kissed her hands again.
She blinked, looking at him hesitantly. “You said…there were…ways in which I had not been satisfactory as a wife?” she asked, swallowing. “Please. Tell me.”
His eyes filled with tears. “No! The ravings of a mad man, Shannon. Forgive me for putting such a thought into your head.” He lay his head against her lap, and she felt his deep turmoil. She stroked his hair. After some time had passed, he said, “I have never argued with Frederick before.” She continued to stroke him, looking into the distance. “All I could think was that his words were your words that you have never spoken, and I…” His voice faded off, lost in the night.
She touched his chin, tipping his head up until he looked at her. “Not those on the end,” she said. “You know that is not true.”
She saw his weary eyes, and her heart seized. “I don’t know what to do, Shannon,” he said. “He is like a brother to me.”
She reached up, smoothing his hair. “Then make it right,” she said. “For my sake and your own.”
John Thomas had been thinking, almost all night, about what Shannon said, that she would be the one to suffer should there be any breach. He knew it for the truth, and he went downstairs, determined to appease like his precious Mr. Lincoln, if only Frederick had not left on the night train.
He was walking through the door of the study when Ravenel also appeared in the doorway, looking haggard and ill, much like Shannon after her bout with influenza. “John.” He looked surprised to see him and did not meet his eyes fully until he came into the room. John Thomas stood a few feet away from him. “I was coming to see you!”
“I was coming to see you,” John Thomas answered.
“We heard you and Shannon arguing,” he said, looking up, face tight in pain. “Not what you said, but…that you were. If I had thought I would create a rift between you, I...”
John Thomas was surprised they had been overheard, and he did not know how to answer him. He finally said stiffly, “I…yes. But we settled it between us.”
“What, that she will live in Massachusetts, and you in Washington? Because that is the way it sounded from our side of the wall.”
John Thomas almost smiled. “You are frightened because you and Marie never argue.”
Frederick looked away, crossing his arms and holding one hand at his temple. “Shannon…did not have a happy childhood. She has told me little, and my parents nothing, but I know it all the same. I wanted her marriage to be different. I didn’t want her trapped in a highbred, loveless arrangement in which she had to look upon her husband’s image in every mulatto who haunted her plantation. When you made your feelings known, I knew her best chance for happiness was with you, all of the foolish words I spoke last night to that regard aside. You are the best man alive, as I have always said, and if you say slavery is wrong, well, I am almost convinced,” he said, giving a small, pained smile.
John Thomas’s lips parted. He had expected all of the apology to be on his side, but Marie had done her miraculous work. “Frederick, I’m sorry I provoked you,” he said softly, earnestly.
“All of the provocation was on my side,” Frederick answered manfully, shaking his head, looking truly worried that he had injured his (as he thought it) gentler friend. “We agreed to leave that subject years ago, and it would appear age has not given us wisdom.”
“No.” John Thomas sank down onto the edge of his desk. “But it is because we are forced to it now. We are being closed in by the times in which we live. I sometimes think that if Shannon and I had married in any other year…” He let the sentence fade, and Frederick looked at him painfully.
“I still think it is possible that we can throw the election into the House. And Jefferson Davis—you know, the fellow from Mississippi?”
“Yes, the Senator. I have met him.”
“He has been proposing a plan to reunify the Democratic Party, and to consolidate it to one candidate. They say Breckinridge is more than willing to step aside. At least if we lost then, it will not have felt so hopeless, as though the South had lost any voice it may have.”
John Thomas hesitated, feeling as though it were wishful thinking on Frederick’s part, but not willing to say so. He hesitated for a long moment, and then felt as though he must add: “But…if there should be any threat of danger,” he said, not wishing to raise the prospect of war, “I should send Shannon north to my family. They will take care of her. That is, I am convinced Shannon could take care of herself. But I do not wish her to have to.”
The ladies were justifiably surprised when they came down to find their husbands more or less in perfect harmony with one another. Things were strained between Shannon and John Thomas, though he was gentle with her. They set it aside for the remaining days, and saw their guests off with regret.
As they stood at the train station, the gentlemen talking, Shannon stood with Marie, clasping her hands, close to tears. “My dearest cousin,” she said, looking into Marie’s sweet, old-world face. The moment was poignant, and both knew the reasons. She bit her lip.
“Be strong and courageous, Shannon,” Marie said softly. She was able to do so, for the station was not crushed with people, it being a Sunday. “You have everything you need within you to see you through any trial which besets you.”
Shannon pressed her lips together, trying not to allow her emotions to overflow. “Give my love to my mother and father,” she said.
“Yes. I will.”
“And write to me when you make it home safely,” she said. “And when you have the joy of holding your little one in your arms. I hope it will know how much I love it, though we are far apart.”
They embraced, Marie whispering in her ear, “Even if there is war, it will be short, and you will be restored to us soon.”
Shannon nodded, stroking Marie’s arm.
As they boarded, John Thomas looked at her. She swallowed, standing next to him. The train slowly rolled away, puffing its smoke in the air and gathering speed until it disappeared in the distance.
Charleston, South Carolina
Chapter Thirty-Five
Adrian sat in the library at his desk, which had been moved by the windows and away from the fireplace. It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and he simply stared into the distance. He’d left Jude upstairs cleaning his room after breakfast and had come down to get caught up on work. But pape
rs lay in front of him unheeded.
He had seen Adeline this morning in the kitchen, pouring her cereal in blue shorts and a T-shirt from some concert with a peace sign on the back, her hair caught up in a multi-colored band. He had offered what they were having, but she had touched her middle at the word eggs and shook her head, giving a polite no thanks and taking her cereal off, presumably to the living room. It was probably a good thing: Jude was onto them, eyes cutting between them. He had noticed the awkwardness, the change in behavior. But luckily, he was too young to put his feelings into solid theories or to think there was any justification for them.
It would be the hardest to keep Jane from being suspicious. And from Jane it was just one step to his mother. He put his elbows on his desk and touched his temples, the thought of either of them breathing down his neck making him want to rip his hair out.
The door opened, and he looked up, seeing his brother. He lifted his brow, straightening, and said with surprise, “Harris.”
Frowning, Harris advanced. “Adrian? What’s wrong?”
He lifted his brows. “Wrong? Nothing. Why?”
Harris sat down across from him, making a study of him. “You looked like you had a migraine, or something.”
“No,” he said, surveying his brother. He was wearing shorts and a light blue polo, and looking refreshed, like he had slept in that morning. “I didn’t know you were coming to Charleston.”
“Mom was freaking out–”
“Mom doesn’t freak out.”
“Okay, whatever the equivalent for her is. –About you on Sunday. She said something wasn’t right with you at the graduation. Dad told her he hadn’t noticed. She told him it was no surprise.”
“Sounds like a fun dinner.”
“You have no idea. She commanded me to come.” He made a survey of him, eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to, but when we talked—Thursday?—you sounded really distracted.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, protesting.
“Adrian, you sounded like you did after the wreck,” he said seriously, and forcefully. “Vague and…distracted.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Have all your stocks plummeted?” he pressed.
“Not to my knowledge. I haven’t talked to my financial advisor lately.”
“Damn it, Adrian, something’s wrong,” he said, slapping the desk. “Mom’s got you being brought up on ethics charges, or Jude diagnosed with cancer—that’s just two of the theories she’s come up with.”
He sighed, touching his forehead again. “Oh, my God.”
Harris gave a slight laugh suddenly. “I know. But she has a point. You’re always the same, Adrian, and it flips people out when you act differently.”
His mind went back to that night at Husk. That was before Adeline had told him about the baby. Strange. But that Harris had noticed distraction on Thursday was no shock at all.
He studied his brother, hesitating. Harris watched him intently. A minute dragged out, and he regretted nearly giving in. But having come this close, Harris obviously had the scent of the kill. He had that keen look: he’d drag it out of him through sheer persistence. “Adeline’s pregnant,” he said finally.
Harris nodded, pulling his mouth down at the corners as though surprised. “I didn’t know she was dating anyone.”
“She’s not.”
There was a pause. Harris met his eyes, drawing his brows together. “Well, it’s not mine, if that’s where you’re going,” he said defensively.
He held his eyes for a long moment, blinking thoughtfully, considering, before saying, “It’s mine.”
For five full seconds, there was no reaction. Then Harris jumped up, saying, “What?!” The look on his face was a good mixture of horror and disgust.
“Lower your voice,” he said.
“What the hell, Adrian?”
He sat back, pressing his lips together, crossing his arms.
“What, have the two of you been having an affair? Obviously—what am I thinking?” He still wore that lip-curled look of shock.
“No,” Adrian said.
“No?” his brother demanded ironically.
“It’s none of your business, but if you must know, we lost our heads that night of that storm. We had to stay in the same room, and…” For the love of everything, he was not talking to anyone about this.
“Something is wrong with you. Since when do you sleep with random strangers?”
Adrian narrowed his eyes, jaw clenching and unclenching. Harris took his head back an inch, an automatic reaction from the days Adrian could still beat him in a physical match. “Are you without sin, Harris?” he asked mockingly. “If you are, by all means, throw that stone.”
Harris held his eyes, slowly loosening his shoulders, sighing. “Yeah, alright. It’s not that: I’m worried about you.” He trailed a hand through his hair, then replaced his hat.
Adrian sighed. “I’m not a monk, Harris,” he said softly, as though he were talking to a child. “There’s no need for you to freak out because–”
“Well, that does freak me out. Just when I think you’re a sciency nerd–”
“Thanks.”
“–I remember you’re actually hotter than me.”
“Who said that?”
“That woman who thought we were gay!”
“Is that still bothering you?”
“You are straying from the point. So yes, when I remember that you’re…you know, passionate, it does throw me off for a minute.”
“For the love of God, I’m not your sixty-year-old widowed mother.”
Harris held up his hand. “Fine. Sorry. But, no, Adrian, it’s about Adeline, too. Do you know she could literally have an abortion without even telling you?”
Adrian sat back, crossing his arms, looking into the distance. “She’s keeping it.”
A pause. “Oh.” There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, he resumed. “Do you know how many rights nonmarital fathers have? Like point five. She could literally take it to another state, and you could never see it again. And there’s very little you could do about it.”
“Damn it, Harris, do you think I don’t know that? But I’m not worried about me.” His voice trailed off. “I’m worried about her.” He fingered the pencil in his hand and said quietly, haltingly, “She feels…slutty or something, I can tell. And she’s not. If I’m not mistaken, she comes from a pretty straight-laced family. This is going to go over badly with them, or at least awkwardly. And she’s scared.”
Harris’s lips parted. Slowly, he sank back into his chair, cooling it a little. He thought for a while, brows together. “Has she told you all of this?” he asked.
“No, she hasn’t even cried,” he said, laughing non-humorously. “She’s handling it amazingly well, under the circumstances.”
Harris’s brows drew together. “But she knows you’re going to be there, right?”
He met his eyes and hesitated again. “Yeah, if she believes me. I think she does. I asked her to marry me, Harris,” he said quietly.
His brows lifted. “Oh.” He didn’t seem to be able to think of anything else to say.
“She hasn’t answered yet.”
“Well, I… I probably would’ve done the same thing,” his brother answered quietly.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean… I mean, if I said anything disparaging about her, it’s only because we don’t know her. I actually liked her.”
He laughed. “I know.”
Harris shook his head, still in shock. “Good God, Adrian. What a freak thing. I can’t believe you’re not more than merely distracted.”
“Adeline doesn’t deserve that,” he said. “The baby doesn’t deserve it. The problem existed whether there was a baby or not. This doesn’t really chan
ge that.”
He nodded. “I probably should’ve said congratulations. You never know what to do, though, when it’s a mistake–”
“We made a mistake, the baby’s not a mistake,” he said firmly.
Harris smiled slowly. “Alright, then. Sorry I yelled.”
Adrian waved a hand. “I just didn’t want Jude to hear. You’re something of a mother figure to him, and–”
“What?” Harris said, scowling horribly.
Adrian lifted his brows. “It’s perfectly normal.”
“It doesn’t sound normal. Oh, my God, have I messed him up? I told you I should never have children.”
Adrian tried to suppress a smile, but when Harris looked at him suspiciously, his shoulders started shaking.
Grinding his jaw, and removing his cap to sling at him, he did so forcefully before slamming out of the room.
Adrian turned off the blender, handing Jude one of the glasses with a banana smoothie in it and saying softly, “Take this to Ms. Miller.”
Jude smiled conspiratorially and held it with both hands.
He watched him go, leaning against the counter. He had heard the Masterpiece Theater trumpet on the TV, something that seemed to be a Sunday night ritual for her. At least it wasn’t football season yet. He wasn’t really sure how this would go down then.
He walked down the little hall and stopped to watch, smiling as she leaned up and took it from him. “Aw, Jude, thank you!” she said sweetly. “Did you make this?”
He shook his head, smiling, shy. He got that from Adrian. Adulthood would take the edge off, though.
“Your daddy did?”
Jude nodded.
“Mmm, it’s delicious,” she said, looking up and meeting Adrian’s eyes as he came into the room, handing Jude his smoothie. “Thanks!” she said with a smile.
