Victoria shuddered in remembrance and brought herself back to the present. The kindness and fair treatment that Wesley bestowed upon the Negroes in his care was just one more thing for her to love about him. Mr. Brennan then handed a small envelope to his overseer. It was probably a small amount of money, a Christmas bonus, another standard gift, though probably not as large as usual since the Brennans had not harvested a crop this year.
The families returned to the music room after the slaves had been dismissed to their own celebrations. Samantha played Christmas carols and hymns quietly on the piano while Thomas assisted occasionally and turned the music sheets for her. The parents sat together playing at cards which left Wesley and Victoria to sit together as unsupervised as they could hope to be, save for the few times that they may manage to sneak off together like they did back in October.
“I’ve one more gift for you,” Wesley told her.
“You do? What is it?”
Wesley held up a finger, signaling for Victoria to wait a moment. He left the room briefly, leaving Victoria to stew in her curiosity, and returned with a large, flat rectangular object wrapped in butcher paper. Wesley held the package behind his back as he stood in front of Victoria. “I meant to give it to you this morning, but it was somehow misplaced and not put with the rest of the gifts. I hope you like it.” He shuffled nervously, making Victoria even more curious to know what it was. He finally held the package out to her. It was so heavy that he had to help her hold it up. ”Open it,” he urged her.
Victoria clapped her hands giddily and then proceeded to peel the paper back gently. Wesley grew impatient in his excitement to see her reaction, but he allowed her to take her time, if that is how she wished to open the gift. Finally, the gift was revealed. It was a landscape painting featuring a large estate. Victoria tilted her head curiously from one side to the other as she observed the painting that Wesley still held up. “It’s lovely,” she murmured. “Is it a Wilson?”
Wesley chuckled softly. “No it is a Brennan.”
Victoria’s scrutinous eyes rose up to his face from the painting in awe. “Someone in your family painted it?”
“Yes, actually it was me. This is our family estate back in Ireland.”
“So talented,” Victoria mused. “You whittle figurines; make the designs for your family’s plantation, and now I have discovered that you paint as well?”
“Yes, what can I say, I am good with my hands,” he grinned teasingly at her.
Victoria pierced her gaze upon him, pursing her lips with suspicion. She didn’t understand it but there was something about the way that Wesley had said those words that made them sound almost lewd. She decided to let it slide and continued admiring the painting. It was as she had pictured it, an estate surrounded by deep green vegetation with the gray sea far in the background.
“I wanted to give you this because I wanted you to see where I come from,” Wesley continued. “I want to take you there someday,” he admitted to her hurriedly. “I want to show you my home. Then take you to hunt for the little people, show you where they live, and show you some fairy rings. Ireland is beautiful, you know. I’m sure my painting doesn’t do the land any real justice. The climate is much cooler there than it is here too. Say you will go there with me someday?”
Victoria’s heart swelled with joy. “Of course I will.” She could see that it was important to him for her to learn to love his homeland the way that he did. He was proud of his heritage and wanted to share it with her. Something troubling crossed her mind, “But Wesley, is this the only painting that you have of your home? I don’t want to take it from you. You should have it to gaze upon should you ever begin to miss your home.”
Wesley placed the painting on a table near to them and took both of Victoria’s hands in his. “If you have this painting in your possession, then I know that it is safe. I hope that one day what is mine will be yours too. This is just giving us a bit of a head start in that area.”
Victoria didn’t get a chance to respond as a shrill shriek from her younger sister permeated the room. Samantha flounced up beside her. “Oh that is lovely, Wesley! That will look great over the fireplace in your room, Tory!”
Victoria saw Thomas give his brother an apologetic look. It was obvious that he was supposed to be in charge of keeping Samantha distracted in order to give Wesley and Victoria some alone time. Victoria chuckled silently to herself. The poor guy really didn’t know what he was getting himself into with her sister. The elder couples then joined their children to see what the hubbub was all about. Mr. and Mrs. De’Muerre oohed and awed over the painting and the talent of Wesley. The subject then changed to the lives of the Brennan family prior to crossing the ocean, which left Wesley and Victoria unable to finish the private conversation that they had begun.
After a quick noon meal, the joint celebration came to an end. The De’Muerres had to return to their own property in order to present their gifts to their own Negroes and dismiss them to their own celebrations. The goodbyes were hasty, but sincere, though very public, which was unfortunate for the young couples who gazed longingly at each other as they bid farewell. They each knew that it would probably be after the New Year before they saw each other again, but they each promised to continue writing, as Thomas and Samantha had also taken up the practice.
Chapter Eight
The New Year came and went and on January 27, 1861, the lives of the citizens of Louisiana would be changed forever. A rider surprised a cluster of geese as he thundered up the driveway that lead up to Mossy Oak Manor’s big house. Jonah led the messenger into the informal dining room where the family sat eating their breakfast. “Good morning, sir, ladies. I have come to inform you that the convention was successful yesterday in seceding Louisiana from the Union,” the messenger informed them.
The women gasped and Mr. De’Muerre shouted in triumph. “Yes, we can now continue on without those blasted Yankees interfering in our business! Damn, Lincoln Lovers!” Mr. De’Muerre spit his distaste. “Good riddance.”
The messenger bid the family good day and then continued along on his route making his next stop at Caherbrennan. The Brennans’ reaction echoed that of the De’Muerre women. They had no wish to fight. They simply wanted to live their lives in peace, which is why they had moved to America. They knew that this succession would lead to war and they were right.
Trouble was brewing, though it would take longer to reach Louisiana. Little changed for the De’Muerres and Brennans in the following months as they planted their vegetable gardens and prepared the fields for cotton planting. Fruit trees had begun to blossom by March and the rain fell frequently. The couples continued to write to one another every day, learning more about each other as the time passed. Their feelings grew and their intentions became more serious. Unfortunately, things would soon come to pass that would put a hold on any real plans that they would wish to make.
It was March 6, 1861, when a messenger once again galloped up the cobblestone driveway of Mossy Oak Manor. His horse reared up in front of the De’Muerres’ front porch. Butler Jonah opened the door and a small boy ran out to take the messenger’s horse. The messenger came into the foyer. He demanded loudly and authoritatively to speak to the men of the house. He was escorted to Mr. De’Muerre’s study and Mr. De’Muerre joined him shortly. They were enclosed for a long time before emerging and respectfully shook hands goodbye.
Mr. De’Muerre called his family together in the sitting room. His face and tone were grave. “My dears, we are going to war with the north. It is official.” This was the news that the women had been dreading. “All men of age are expected to enlist, if they have not already joined up with a unit. It is the honorable thing to do, of course. They need at least one hundred-thousand volunteers.”
“Oh daddy, no!” Samantha shouted and grabbed her father in a hug. She clung to him in a manner that she had not done since she was a young girl.
“Don’t worry child, I am too old, but as for othe
rs…” Mr. De’Muerre shot a fleeting look toward Victoria. Victoria knew what he meant; Wesley and the rest of the young men that Samantha and she knew; all the boys that they had grown up with, they would all be expected to go enlist in the army and fight in this war. This blasted war. She knew that all the men had been talking about it for over a year now. Many of them were excited to go off and fight. They wanted to prove their worth. Victoria had no romantic notions of war heroes, though. She would much prefer that they stayed here working on their farms, or in the banks, and other businesses. Stay here where it was safe. She didn’t want the men that she cared for risking their lives while trying to prove that they are the better man. She didn’t care if they bested the Yankees. She knew that there were real politics being fought over as well, but she did not understand how there could not possibly be a more civilized way to handle this.
Samantha and Mrs. De’Muerre grabbed for Victoria as she sank to her knees as the weight of it all pulled her to the floor. They assisted her to the settee. The family sat together listening to Mr. De’Muerre as he divulged the details that the messenger had provided to him. It was as Victoria had feared. She was happy that her father would not have to enlist and Mr. Brennan would not have to enlist either. Though, they could if they wanted to. Victoria did not see her mother allowing her father to go off and do that though. Not too long into the day, the De’Muerres heard a carriage pull into the drive. It was the Brennans.
Victoria shot up from her seat and rushed out to greet Wesley. She threw herself into his arms and they embraced as if it were their last moment on earth, with little thought of propriety. It wasn’t a lustful embrace, just a need to be together, to know that they were there together and not separated. Mr. De’Muerre cleared his throat. “Shall we invite our guests in, Victoria?” Victoria allowed Wesley to peal her out of his arms. He took her hand and she escorted him and the rest of the Brennans inside.
Victoria hadn’t spoken since Mr. De’Muerre had announced that the country was at war and as the two families sat together, she remained silent, holding on to Wesley’s hand for dear life. It was as if she feared he would disappear if she let his hand go. She needed to hold him to prove to herself that he was really there. She tried to pay attention to what was being said. She tried to follow the political jargon and war strategies that the men were speaking, she knew that this was important information, but she couldn’t. All she could think was that Wesley would be leaving and there were no guarantees that he would come back.
Victoria caught the tail end of something. It broke into her thoughts as she recognized what had just been said. “A week? One week! They expect you to leave in one week? Well that… That’s no time at all. How can they do that?” Victoria tore her hand out of Wesley’s and looked at him accusingly. It wasn’t his fault. She knew that, but who else was there to look to for answers? Who would answer for the loss of men? Who would answer for the families that would be broken apart?
Wesley did his best to pacify her. “They need us to begin drilling as soon as possible. The sooner we are trained the sooner we can win the war. The sooner I can come back home to you, Mavourneen.”
Mr. De’Muerre and Mr. Brennan exchanged a look as Victoria began to pace back and forth, wringing her hands frantically continuing to proclaim that there wasn’t enough time. Mr. De’Muerre pulled a bell cord and Hannah appeared. “Hannah, will you please make some tea and serve it to the ladies on the porch? I think it would be good for them all to take some air. All this talk of war must be tiresome for them, after all.”
“Oh what a good idea, dear. Thank you. That was very considerate of you,” Mrs. De’Muerre simpered. Though the conversation was not boring to her at all, she knew that this was a well-played tactic on Mr. De’Muerre’s part. Samantha and Victoria did not need to hear these things. Victoria was already far too worked up. It would put her health at risk to become too upset.
A week later, the De’Muerres and the Brennans met to see Thomas and Wesley off. They stood there at the dock where the newly recruited Confederate soldiers boarded onto the ferry to be shipped off for training. Men and women stood about saying their goodbyes, families were being torn apart and each were hopeful that they would be reunited soon. Fittingly, it was raining drearily. It was not a heavy down pour, just a slow, steady drizzle.
God is crying too, Victoria thought as she tried to wipe tears from her cheeks. Her tears ran down her face to mix with the raindrops.
“Don’t cry Mavourneen. Don’t let this be how I remember you. I need you to be brave for me. I won’t be able to focus and concentrate if I am worried about you,” Wesley wiped the tears from her cheeks.
Victoria nodded and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. He was right. She didn’t want this to be the last picture he had of her in his mind. She handed him a heavy, bulky envelope. It held a letter that she had written to him the night before and a small photo that had been taken with the latest wet-plate photographic processing technology. Wesley kissed the package and placed it in his inner breast pocket. He took her hand in his and they walked back to their families.
Samantha and Thomas stood close by also exchanging a tearful goodbye. The ferry’s whistle sounded once more warning that it would soon be departing. Wesley and Thomas hugged everyone one last time. When Wesley got back to Victoria, she sighed shakily. “So this is it then.”
“Yes, it’s time for me to go, but only for a little while Mavourneen. Be tough, my little Southern Belle.” He placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to board the ferry without looking back. Thomas followed closely behind him. Wesley dared not peek back at Victoria. He didn’t know that he would have the strength to stay on the boat if he did, so instead he walked to the far side of the steam powered battle boat and faced the spread of the Mississippi River bank. He gripped the railing with a vice-like, white-knuckle grip. He breathed deep, refusing to allow any tears to fall. He didn’t need the men around him to see that. He had told Victoria to be brave and now he must be as well. “Only for a little while,” he repeated to himself.
Thomas had stayed on the other side of the ship with the clustering of his new brothers in arms to wave goodbye to the gathered crowd as the ferry left the dock. When the ferry had travelled up the river far enough that the faces could no longer be seen, he set out to find his brother. Wesley still stood gripping the railing. Thomas stood beside his brother and patted his back with brotherly affection. The boys stood there quietly understanding and sympathizing with the emotions that each was experiencing without speaking a word, in a way that only men can do. After a long time had passed, Thomas squeezed Wesley’s shoulder and they turned to wander the ship.
The Brennan boys and the rest of the new recruits were headed up to Monroe to join up with the 28th Louisiana infantry commanded by Colonel Henry Gray. They would spend several weeks training and drilling with the militiamen who had already joined up and began training when Lincoln came into office. Many had known from that moment that war would be inevitable and they had begun to prepare. The Confederates had no doubt that they would lick the Yanks in a mere few months. They had right on their side. They were more honorable than the Yankees were. They were fighting for their state’s rights. They were braver and stronger, and could fight better.
That was the boastful nature that filled the conversations of all the recruits on the ferry as they made their way to the camp. Wesley and Thomas stayed together as they made their rounds introducing themselves to their new comrades. Thomas and Wesley were not the only two that were related on board. There were many groups of families that were enlisting together: brothers, cousins, fathers and sons. Thomas and Wesley had already met a number of the men at different social gatherings in the past. They laughed and joked together as they recollected upon the parties and the memorable moments from each. Each new soldier appeared to be high in spirits, ready to face the Yankees and perform their duties.
Wesley knew, however, that for many it was a mask. Not a
ll felt as brave as they let on and many were already homesick as they ferried further and further from their homes and families. Laughs were too forced, eyes were too shifty, and voices cracked slightly as they discussed where they were from. Some men suffered from seasickness too. They clung to the side of the ferry for dear life much in the way that Wesley had been earlier, but, unlike Wesley, they hung their head over the side, retching foul bile into the water.
The smell on the ferry began to grow so strong that it would make anyone sick. The smell of hundreds of men, some who probably wouldn’t be able to tell you when the last time was that they had bathed, mixed with the smell of tobacco products, chamber pots, river water, and whatever it was that the kitchen was concocting, created the most foul stench imaginable. The trip would take about three days since they would have to stop at a few more ports to pick up recruits, guaranteeing that the smell would only continue to worsen.
The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series Page 9