by John Jakes
The soft, quiet statement sent another shiver chasing down his spine. He recognized the cruelty in the words because he was tainted with a cruel streak himself.
Serena stared straight ahead. “Guess it must have been true about Mama. But Catherine didn’t have to say it. That’s the point—she said it.”
“Did she ever say it to you?”
“Yes indeed. After I overheard the conversation with Papa, I marched right in to see her—she’d been helping herself to that wine she takes on the sly—and we went at it for the best part of half an hour. She called Mama that filthy name right to my face!”
“Well, I’m beginning to understand why you and Mrs. Rose don’t get along too well,” he said with a humorless smile.
Her teasing had a wicked undertone. “Why, Jeremiah Kent, you’re quicker than I thought!”
Stung, he retorted, “Thanks for such a kind compliment.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to anger you.”
She raised her head, pecked his cheek. Her lips felt warm and moist.
“Truly I didn’t.”
To cover his awkwardness, he batted at another fly buzzing near his ear. The pines were growing darker, suffused by the sun’s deep red. It seemed too early in the day for sunset, he thought, though it was almost December. Back home in Virginia, there might have been a light frost by now.
Serena perked up a little. “I won’t have to fret about Catherine forever, though. She’ll go to her grave eventually and I’ll be free of her. I’ll have a good husband—”
He was relieved to have an opportunity to drop the subject of Serena’s stepmother. In a lighter tone, he responded, “Got one picked already?”
She shook her head. “But I know what I want. A man with some money. Money he’s willing to use to make more money. Papa’s father and grandfather had the knack. They knew how to buy up land. Increase the crop yields. Papa bought a little more acreage for Rosewood, but he was happiest just standing still. He kept the place almost the same as it was when he inherited it. I want a man with bigger ideas. One who won’t be content sitting in an office going over books—or reading ghost stories for excitement in the evening. I want a man who can run Rosewood right!”
Jeremiah grinned. “You’re talking as if it’s already yours.”
“It will be when Catherine dies—same as with that California gold mine you spoke about. With Rosewood and my husband’s money, we’ll be able to build a really big place. Travel, too. Into Savannah to the Pulaski House. Maybe to Europe. I’ll find a man like that. I know I will. I know because I can offer a man a lot—”
She gave him an almost brazen smile.
“Rosewood and some other nice things. Provided he treats me right”
“I”—he was almost afraid to speak—“I think it’d be grand to treat you right. Take you places—I mean it’d be grand for that husband you’re talking about.”
Disappointment: “Oh.”
“Now what’d I do?”
“Nothing. Guess I had the wrong idea.”
“What idea?”
“For a minute I had a notion you might be talking about yourself.”
He couldn’t help blushing. “Oh, no. You’re older than I am.”
“But you’ve been to war! That ages a boy pretty fast, I’m told.”
He was at a loss to explain her sudden warmth except for one reason he’d been trying to forget: the Thanksgiving Day conversation about how he and his brothers would be wealthy men when Jephtha Kent passed on.
He’d always been aware in a vague way that his father would leave him a considerable amount of money. But he’d hardly ever dwelled on the consequences of the inheritance: what he’d do with it, or how it could make him important to others. Now, for almost the first time, he began to understand.
With the realization there came questions. How much money would be his? Thousands of dollars? Millions? He couldn’t comprehend millions, except that it must be a devil of a lot.
It would be good money, too. Gold, not cheapened Confederate paper.
Millions!
He was a bit overcome by the thought—then disgusted by the realization that he’d been right about the reason for Serena’s changed behavior. He wanted to let her know he was aware of the reason. Something held him back—perhaps the way she squeezed his arm again as the wagon creaked deeper into the hazy shadow of the pines.
Tell her you know!
He faced her but still couldn’t say it, overcome by the bold, almost inviting way she was gazing at him. Smiling—
Lord above, she was a beautiful girl! That was the problem.
Leaning near again, she whispered, “I imagine a boy becomes pretty experienced in a war, doesn’t he; Jeremiah?”
“Y-yes,” he said, not knowing how to respond to the obvious meaning of the question. “In only one day at Chickamauga, I learned how to stay alive.”
She made a moue. “I meant experienced in other ways.”
His tongue felt stiff. “Women—things like that?”
“’Course.”
“Well, I suppose—yes, it’s true,” he lied. Aware of the immorality of speaking to a female about the unspeakable, he still blurted, “How about you?”
“Jeremiah, that’s not a proper thing to ask a girl!”
But she was pleased.
Blushing again. “I—I was just curious.”
“Decent young ladies don’t do such things—and if they do, they don’t discuss them!” Tormenting him with her sly smile, she peered down the track and thrust out a finger. “Isn’t that your cache?”
Jeremiah squeezed his legs together to hide the stiffness, furious at her for leading him on, yet thankful at the same time that she hadn’t permitted things to go further. Something in his mind kept warning him:
Leave her alone. She’s too deep. Too devious.
And she’s not innocent—
A part of him longed to believe she was. He was frightened anew by the intensity of that yearning.
“I said, isn’t that your cache?”
He nodded, dry-lipped. He just didn’t know how to handle a girl like Serena Rose.
The mules meandered into the little clearing, all but dark now. Awkwardly, he separated his arm from hers, guided the mules to a stop.
“We’ll unhitch ’em and tie ’em, and I’ll fork out some of the fodder Leon and I brought in. Then you can give me a hand pushing the wagon out of sight.”
He spoke very quickly to cover his flustered feeling. He looped the reins around the brake handle and climbed down.
Serena slid to the side of the wagon where he stood. She bent over, her bosom touched by dull red light seeping through the pines. She looked down at him, her tongue licking slowly over her upper lip. She extended her arms. “You’ll have to help me.” He reached up, too eagerly. She stood, suddenly appeared to stumble or lose her balance—no accident, he was sure. Crying out, she tumbled on top of him.
Chapter IX
Red Sky
i
THEY SPRAWLED ON THE ground. He started to roll away, his neck prickled by a burr, only to feel her hand on his chin.
She pulled him close, so close they were lying side by side, thighs touching. Her hand slipped to his cheek.
“Jeremiah, you listen to me. The day you showed up, I thought you were just a boy. I was wrong. You’re a grown man.”
Her mouth came nearer.
“If you want, you can kiss me.”
He did—tentatively. All at once she pressed both palms against his face. With tantalizing slowness, she caressed his lips with her tongue.
Then she moved her body tighter against his, giggling again, this time because of the feel of his bigness.
“Here, here!”
She guided his hand, closed it on her breast. His fingers were clamped so tightly, he thought he could detect lace beneath her faded dress.
“Maybe I could give you lessons like the ones my mama gave. But you were in the army. I ’spose you d
on’t need them—”
Another kiss, harder, deeper.
“You’ve probably had lots of girls.”
And another. Her wet mouth slid up over his cheek. The tip of her tongue teased his skin.
“You probably don’t even like me much because of the foolish way I treated you the first couple of days.”
They lay in almost total darkness. Over her shoulder, he glimpsed the mules’ ears twitching away flies.
Get away! he thought. She’s all tangled up inside. About her real mother, and her stepmother—and she doesn’t give a hang for you. It’s that money she found out about—
“Jeremiah, Jeremiah,” she murmured, beginning to move her left leg beneath her skirt. The leg rubbed slowly, languorously against his. “Do you like me any at all?”
“A lot, Serena—a lot.” The feel of her leg turned him so rigid he hurt.
“You’re not fibbing to me?”
“No. No.”
All at once he knew they wouldn’t stop. Knew it as surely as he knew his name.
She’d had other lovers before, or at least there was reason for suspicion. The way she talked. The practiced touch of her hands. And he didn’t want his first experience to happen with a soiled woman. Despite the way soldiers bragged, no decent man wanted that.
Yet something perverse in him refused to call a halt to the kissing and fondling. He wanted to discover how experienced she was. And answering that question would answer a larger one: How did a man behave with a woman? Any woman?
Her lashes were soft on his cheek as she clasped his wrist and tugged. Somehow her skirt had hiked up.
“You can feel me if you want.”
He did, pressing hard against the cotton underclothes until she moaned. He almost yelled when she put her hand on him in a way he’d never imagined any woman would be so bold as to do. She kissed his ear, murmuring. “You’d be a good husband, I’ll bet. A fine husband.”
He tried to comprehend all the implications of that astonishing word. They were too many and complex. And now wasn’t the time. He flung a leg over her hip—
Instantly, she rolled her head to the side. He saw red light reflected in her pupils.
“What’s wrong, Serena?”
“Just wait a minute.”
“But I thought—”
“Wait a minute!”
Fury then: “Damn it, I thought you wanted—”
“’Course I do! I want it as badly as you! Just calm down a little! I noticed the sky all at once—” She struggled to sit up. “What time is it?”
Still frustrated, he growled, “How should I know? I don’t own a watch.”
“Look over there. The sun’s down but the sky’s all red.”
He jumped up, realizing what it might mean.
He ran to the west edge of the clearing. He could see little through the pines except the seepage of scarlet light that encompassed almost half of the hidden horizon.
Jolted back to his senses, he swallowed. “Serena—” He wiped his face. “That’s not sun—that’s fire.”
“Dear God!”
She scrambled to her feet, knocking bits of weed from her skirt and raking two burrs from her red hair.
“Is it the soldiers?”
“I don’t know. We’d better hurry back.”
He was angry about the interruption. She sensed it, and raised her head to give him an almost chaste kiss on the lips.
“Yes, we’d better. I’m sorry. There’ll be times later—”
“Will there?”
“If you want it.”
No, I don’t! There’s something tangled and wrong about—
The loveliness of her face overwhelmed him. “I do.”
He slipped his arms around her waist for one more fierce kiss. Then they set to unhitching Bess and Fred, hurriedly tying them on long tethers and forking out fodder. Finally, shoving and straining, they rolled the wagon tongue first into the brush.
They couldn’t conceal all of it. The back still jutted into the clearing. Jeremiah pulled out his knife and whacked off pine boughs to cover most of it. He smelted smoke now, drifting out of the west.
He checked the lean-to where the household items had been stored, then caught Serena’s hand and raced toward the track. They ran through the dark of the pines, stumbling in weedy patches, their faces lashed by branches not seen soon enough.
The smell of smoke grew stronger. The red glare in the night sky brightened.
ii
As they hurried up the lane between the slave cottages, he breathed hard, pain stabbing his chest because of the long run. His bandaged leg ached. Serena clung to his arm, barely keeping pace.
He grew aware of a stir and buzz on the porches of the cottages. An infant bawled. He heard a palm strike. The baby shrieked louder. He groped for Serena’s hand and practically dragged her toward the house.
Probably not one buck, woman, or youngster was sleeping tonight. He sensed rather than saw them sitting or standing in small groups in the darkness—whispering and pointing at the glow in the west.
Twice he heard laughter. Some of the nigras weren’t frightened at all. The red sky was a signal. Jubilee!
When he and Serena started across the rear piazza, a figure bolted from the shadows and ran at them. Serena screamed.
iii
Jeremiah whirled her behind him—then breathed easier, recognizing Leon’s hulking shoulders.
“Marse Jeremiah?”
“Not now, Leon.”
“Yes, you got to listen! Price—he’s gone.”
“What?”
“That’s right. Nobody seen him since just after you drove off in the wagon. He must of run away when he heard the Yanks was so close.”
“We’re better off rid of him.” Serena declared.
Jeremiah gestured her silent. “Did you tell Mrs. Rose?”
Leon shook his head. “Didn’t want to upset her. Things bad enough already.”
He grimaced. “If we’re lucky, Price is on his way to the blessed freedom of Linkum land.”
“Marse Jeremiah, we ain’t that lucky. I bet he’s hidin’ out in the pines, plottin’ mischief.”
A shudder rippled across Jeremiah’s back. He tried to sound unworried. “Thank you for warning us, Leon. Come on, Serena. Hurry!”
iv
They ran straight through the house and out to the drive, where he’d heard voices and glimpsed a spill of lamplight.
Holding the light, Maum Isabella looked surprisingly composed. So did Catherine. The same couldn’t be said for the wispy woman in faded bombazine who was seated in the hooded chaise.
The women swayed from side to side, sweaty faced and fanning herself with a kerchief. Jeremiah would have chuckled at the woman’s expression, except that he knew she was fearfully frightened.
Next to her sat a haggard Judge Claypool. Two scruffy nigras, each lugging an old portmanteau, stood immediately behind the chaise. As Jeremiah and Serena approached, Claypool exclaimed, “—not staying a moment longer!”
“Where are you going?” Catherine asked.
“Savannah. Nell has a sister there. If you have any brains, you’ll get out too.”
For a moment Catherine Rose didn’t reply. She turned slightly, acknowledging the presence of Jeremiah and her stepdaughter. Her gray, fatigue-shadowed eyes remained calm until she noticed Serena’s mussed shawl, dusty skirt, and tangled hair.
Catherine said nothing. But she gave Serena a steady, knowing look. Her face seemed to sadden, then firm again as she returned her attention to the judge. “No, Theodore. We’ll stay.”
“I swear to God, Catherine”—the old man snatched his wife’s kerchief and swabbed the perspiration glistening in the white stubble on his chin; the abrupt movement shifted his coat, revealing the holstered horse pistol—“you have no idea of how many there are. Hundreds. Thousands! All around Louisville. On foot. On horseback. In wagons—the damn wagons are loaded with stolen furniture! Why the hell does an army
need furniture? I saw soldiers carrying chicken coops, others leading livestock. They’re taking everything! And some of the stragglers—why, you’ve never laid eyes on such scum!”
“Theodore,” she broke in, “this is my home, I’d rather try to defend it than leave.”
“Same thing that witless Clive Jesperson said ten minutes ago!”
“Clive Jesperson is right. If we leave, everything will be gone for certain.”
“Well, it’s your decision. But you’d better get rid of any wines and spiritous liquors because I hear the Yanks want alcohol almost as much as they want food.”
“I’ll take your advice, thank you.”
“Ought to take all of it and get out!”
Claypool noticed Jeremiah watching him with disapproval. He blurted, “Nell’s heart isn’t strong. I’d stay, but I don’t feel it’s fair to risk—”
“We understand perfectly,” Catherine put in, saving him from humiliation. She turned to the ragged blacks. “Floyd—Andrew—you look after Judge Claypool and his wife. Go on now, Theodore. We’ll be fine.”
Finally, Mrs. Claypool spoke. “You’re foolish, Catherine. Foolish! God be merciful over your mistake.”
Claypool was almost incoherent with frustration. “Isn’t the Almighty she needs to beg for mercy—it’s General Sherman! Giddap!”
He lashed the reins over the back of his horse, nearly tumbling his panicked wife into the drive as the chaise lurched forward and took the curve with its right wheels lifting off the fine-crushed stone. A moment later the chaise was rattling down the lane toward the highway, the two blacks with the portmanteaus running and puffing behind.
Jeremiah heard the gate open. Someone disturbed the bell rope. The bell tolled once. The mournful echo was a long time dying.
Slowly, the carriage noise faded in the broad band of darkness lying on the land. At the upper edge—treetop level—the darkness shaded from maroon to vivid scarlet. The light shifted constantly, glimmering feebly in one quarter of the sky, intensifying in another. Smoke blew, blurring the distant trees. The wind carried the stench. It came most strongly from the left, from heavy woodlands through which the highway curved torturously before breaking into the open in front of Rosewood.
