by Diana Ballew
“Trinidad,” Eden began, “before we pack I’d like for the two of us to talk for a moment.” She sat on the bed and gestured for Trinidad to take a seat in the chair.
“Yes'm,” she replied softly.
“I'm not sure how to say this, so I'm just going to try my best. The Major...Rayce, I mean, has told me the two of you are siblings, and,” she paused, seeking acknowledgment in Trinidad’s eyes, but the servant continued to stare blankly at the floor. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that I know you have his best interests at heart. I want you to know, I do, too.”
Trinidad slowly peered up, meeting her gaze.
Eden frowned, surprised to see tears pooling in the servant’s large brown eyes.
“May I speak my mind, Miss?”
“Yes...yes of course.”
“He’s my brother, and I love him as only a sister can. But he be a prideful man, and he does not always listen when he should.”
Eden found herself creating a mental checklist.
Prideful? Check.
Arrogant? Check.
Self-absorbed? Check.
Doesn't listen? Check.
She smiled. “Yes, I know he can certainly be hard-headed.”
Rayce had told her about Trinidad’s ability to see things, to know certain events ahead of time. She thought back to the night she heard the servant weeping and pleading with him in the parlor.
“Do you mean he doesn't listen to you, Trinidad? Do you know of something that could cause him harm?”
Trinidad sighed, and Eden watched as the pooled tears, filling her eyes, began dripping down her flawless brown cheeks.
“Yes, Miss. I tell him what I see. But like dust on his coat, he brushes me off. But he knows I be right.”
“What are you right about, Trinidad? Tell me, is he in danger?”
“Yes, I sense danger, and the dreams I have are very real. I told him, and he say it is nonsense because he don't want it to be true. Now I feel the time draws near.”
Trinidad pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of her calico dress and dabbed her eyes. She turned her gaze toward the picture of Captain Reginald Hampton over the mantle and jutted her chin forward. “There. Do you see the man, the one in the painting?”
Eden cast her gaze toward the captain’s portrait. “Yes.”
Trinidad rose from the chair. “Come, please, and look closer.”
Puzzled, Eden frowned and followed the woman to the mantel.
Trinidad gazed wistfully at the portrait. “He, too, was a prideful man. Look in his eyes, Miss. Tell me, what do you see?”
Eden placed her hand on her chin and searched the painting. “Well, let’s see. I see...a handsome face...dark eyes—”
“No, Miss.” Trinidad took Eden's hand in her own. “Now, take your time and look closer...deeper.”
Eden wanted to laugh. She had no idea where this nonsense was going, but intrigue pressed her forward. She narrowed her eyes and searched the painting closely. The man was certainly fine looking, and the Hampton family resemblance was striking to this very day, but what was it she was supposed to see?
“Deeper,” Trinidad repeated.
She focused on the delicate stokes of the brush on the thick canvas.
“Deeper still, Miss. You must go deeper. Look in the captain’s eyes.”
Eden gazed into the captain’s dark eyes, absorbing herself within the richly tinted oils and the soft, artistic brush strokes made with unhurried hands. Moments later, the captain’s mysterious eyes locked with hers.
Trinidad suddenly grasped her firmer, tighter, freezing Eden in place as the walls of the room thinned to dark shadows. The portrait drew her in, deeper...deeper, the captain connecting with her so she no longer looked into his eyes. She was immersed, as though she were part of him and witnessing a scene as it unfolded before him.
In the vision, Eden could see the young captain as he watched from the tall, third-floor window looking out upon the James River. She saw the rolling, green tobacco fields and sprawling lawn joining the shore and wharf below. A tall, wooden ship flying a British flag high upon the main mast departed the dock. She watched as burly men scrambled with the thick lines and heavy canvas sails. And as each cream sail dropped and filled, catching wind on the brisk current, she felt the captain’s stabbing anguish build. As though she and Captain Hampton were connected through time, she felt his unbearable pain to the point of near madness, as he waited for Faith’s eventual return.
Trinidad's hand tightened, and Eden thought she would cry out. In a flash, the vision was gone, replaced by a tormented, echoing cry coming from somewhere in the back of her mind. What she saw next was a soldier on the bloodied ground attempting to speak as he writhed in pain in the bronzed arms of a tearful, handsome young man who cried out, “I'm so sorry, father!”
“Enough!” She wrenched her hands from Trinidad’s firm grasp and slammed her eyes shut. “Enough. I can’t watch anymore.”
Eden groped for support and stepped back, almost losing her balance. “Trinidad, I don’t know what that was, but don’t ever do that to me again.”
The servant guided her into the chair and crouched down. “The Hampton men be cursed, Miss. They all be cursed, and this curse cannot be broken until the pain in the captain’s soul is healed. I tell you, hurt runs deep in the walls here and in each Hampton man. I show you this, because you must know. You must believe me.”
Eden took in slow, shallow breaths, trying to steady the frantic beat of her heart. “I don’t understand any of this. What is it you want me to do?”
“My dream haunts me, Miss. The major will be in great danger.”
“Tell me your dream, Trinidad. I want to know.”
Eden admitted it all seemed farfetched, but some unearthly power grabbed hold of her when she stared into the eyes of the captain. There was no denying Trinidad possessed some kind of power, something unique and perceptive others did not.
Trinidad closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “My dream be always the same. I see thick woods of green at sunset. A soft mist, like wet cobwebs, rises over the water next to the major. I see tall oaks in swamp water and snakes swimming around the thick tree trunks and hanging vines. I smell the pine and wet earth. He looks for a way back, but the path has disappeared. He turns to face the water again, but it has turned red...with blood. He looks for something and reaches into the water, but the water has turned thick and black, and he can no longer move. He calls out for help, but the water grows darker, thicker, until he is pulled in deeper and swallowed in death.”
Eden slowly shook her head. “Well, what do you suppose it means?”
“It’s hard to know dreams, Miss. The mind plays games. But I know in my heart he be in danger. The dream will reveal itself. That I am certain.” Trinidad paused and searched Eden’s eyes. “You love Rayce, do you not?”
Eden smiled. “Yes...I do. But you already know that, don't you?”
Trinidad rose to her feet and extended her hand to help Eden from the chair. “Let me pack your bags, Miss. I know with my whole being, this trip is your destiny.”
“My destiny—that sounds so serious,” Eden teased, trying to lighten the moment.
Trinidad’s eyes narrowed into dark slits. “Serious, indeed. If you love him, Miss, you must help him, for he and the man in the portrait are one and the same.”
Chapter 15
Richmond, Virginia
June 1862
Feeling as though she were boiling with the unbearable heat of summer, Eden blotted her neck and slowly trudged up the porch steps. She opened the door and called, “Eliza, I’m back.” Groaning as she sat on the cushioned foyer bench, she sluggishly removed her boots and massaged each aching toe.
“I thought I heard you return, Miss Eden,” Eliza said from the top of the staircase.
“How’s Aunt Martha doing? Any better?”
Eliza shook her head. “No, she’s still feverin’, and such. The pneumonia’s got her good.”
Eden gazed down at the worn leather boots she’d just removed. Having just spent a grueling morning on her feet at Chimborazo Hospital, she couldn’t bear to put them on again. She picked up the boots and plodded up the hardwood stairs in her stocking feet.
“Lawd, Almighty, Miss, you look dog-tired today.”
Eden waved a limp wrist, “I’m fine, Eliza. I’m going to my room to freshen up. I’ll be back to relieve you in just a bit.”
She tossed the boots in the corner of her room and stood at the washbasin examining her face in the mirror. “My heavens, I’m as gaunt as a starving waif,” she murmured, angling her chin from side to side for a better look.
After dipping a cloth in cool mint water, she lifted her braid and soaked her neck, washing the hospital grime from her face and chest. She placed the cloth around her neck and closed her eyes.
Was it really any wonder why she looked so thin and pale the last weeks? Between caring for Aunt Martha and tending the soldiers at the hospital, she’d had little sleep. The sickening sights, sounds, and foul odors made the reality of war come to life with vivid and disgusting detail, and as each day went by without a word from Rayce, her stomach turned into tighter knots.
Lord knows, from the moment she arrived in Richmond, nothing had gone as imagined. The pleasant capital, with its sense of refined elegance and grace, had been replaced by a city in turmoil. The soft sounds of rustling silk and gentle southern drawls now mingled with the noise of loud-mouthed ruffians and war-weary, disabled soldiers. Women of the night, gamblers, and thieves filled darkened alleys and once cozy side streets, while the steady stream of locomotives rolled into depots at all hours, brimming with wounded soldiers heading to hospitals, big and small. Meanwhile, straddling the nearby Chickahominy River, the Yankees sat like spiders dressed in blue, waiting for the best time to strike.
She heard footsteps clomping up the porch, followed by a swift knock at the door. She patted dry with a linen towel and sighed. “Now what?”
“Hello, Eliza,” said the familiar deep voice. “How’s she doing?”
Rayce! She ripped the cloth from her neck and dropped it in the water. “And I look such a fright!”
Tugging the ribbon from her braid, she darted to the vanity and brushed her hair in a panicked flurry. Hearing him downstairs talking to Eliza sent a surge of renewed energy right up her backbone. Regardless of Trinidad’s warning, never once had she allowed herself to imagine Rayce wounded on a battlefield or hospital bed, or worse, carried home feet-first in a pine coffin. But her daily work at the hospital brought home the reality of how their new love could be shattered in the blink of eye by a swift bullet or the plunge of a bayonet. Diseases ran rampant, like filthy scampering alley rats, going from soldier to soldier. The illnesses took the lives of the men with such ease it left her wondering why God chose to place them on the earth in the first place if they would have to die in such misery.
He’s here...and he’s safe.
“Miss Eden?” Eliza called, knocking on the bedroom door.
“Uh...yes?”
“Major Hampton’s paying a visit. I told him you was here, and he asked to see you.”
“I’ll...I’ll be right there,” she called, assessing herself in the mirror. Rather than pin her hair up in an appropriate daytime chignon, she decided to wear it down and long to her waist, the way he liked it.
Rayce is here!
She grabbed her bottle of magnolia oil, dabbed a dot behind each ear and across her throat, and donned a clean, pretty dress.
As she descended the steps, she saw him standing at the bottom near the entry door, leaning on the banister while talking to Eliza. When he saw her, he stopped in mid-sentence and stared up as she walked down the staircase.
For a brief moment, Eliza looked confused, but within seconds, dawning comprehension led her to seek swift refuge. “I have a lil’ something to tend to in the kitchen. Back in a jiffy.”
Rayce smiled, his dazzling white teeth contrasting fiercely with his deeply bronzed skin and gray jacket.
“Now, what a surprise.” He extended his hand as she reached the bottom step. “I came to see my aunt and discover you’re here, as well. I must say, I planned on giving you a verbal thrashing for putting yourself in danger coming here, but then I find you...” A single raven eyebrow rose as he slowly appraised her from head to toe, and continued, “I find you looking positively good enough to eat.”
She felt as giddy as a young girl in his presence, and the flush rushing to her cheeks was proof.
Eliza entered with glasses of cooled sweet tea. “Thank the Lawd Almighty for keeping that cellar as cool as a melon in the mornin’ on these hot summer days.”
Rayce cleared his throat. “Shall we have a seat, Miss Blair, and catch up?” he asked in a formal tone.
“Why, yes, of course, Major Hampton.” She fanned out her skirt, sat on the horsehair divan, and laced her fingers together across her lap.
Eliza set the silver tray down and left the room, shaking her head. “You two ain’t foolin’ me none,” she muttered, ambling off toward the back of the house. “Not foolin’ nobody one bit.”
“Eliza's always been a wise, old soul.” Rayce scooted in and pulled her close. He took a handful of her hair spilling across the back of the divan. “My God, woman, I’ve missed you.” He smoothed her long bangs from her forehead and gently kissed her lips.
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, Rayce, I’ve missed you so much, too.”
He breathed in deeply, inhaling the magnolia oil dotted across her throat. She sensed his instant arousal, but now was not the time.
She took his hand and stood. “Let’s check on your aunt, shall we? I know she’ll be pleased to see you.”
“How is she, Eden?” he asked, his voice solemn as he followed behind her up the long, narrow staircase.
“I think she likely would have died had I not come. This is too much for one person to handle.”
They reached the top of the staircase, and she squeezed his hand. “I cannot promise anything, my love. I have done all I can. The rest is up to your aunt...and God.”
Rayce’s breath caught in his lungs the moment he entered the room. The elderly woman lying in bed, fighting for her life, was his mother’s sister—his favorite aunt. Each time he thought about the possibility of losing her, it was like a knife in his chest. The older woman had always been healthy, jovial, and energetic, and she had loved him unconditionally his entire life. Unlike the look of sorrow he found whenever he gazed into his mother’s eyes, Aunt Martha’s blue eyes always glowed with love and understanding. He took a seat next to her in the bedside chair and reached for her hand. “Aunt Martha?”
She lay in her bed asleep, the fluid inside her lungs rumbling between shallow breaths. At the foot of her bed lay a rainbow of colored quilts he remembered her stitching over the years. She opened her eyes, trying to focus on the face calling her name.
“Rayce...my dear Rayce.” With a shaky hand, she gingerly fingered her crocheted sleeping cap. “I’m afraid...I’ve been better, my dear boy.”
“What can I do for my sweet ol’ girl? You name it and it’s yours.”
She squeezed his hand and coughed. “You can start...by giving me...a sip of...brandy.”
“Let’s sit her up,” Eden said.
They propped her into a sitting position and wedged the pillows behind her back.
Aunt Martha looked at the two of them, and a small smile tipped upward at the corners of her mouth. She coughed and pointed to her dresser. “There...my flask.”
Rayce uncapped the flask and poured a small amount of brandy between her lips. All of his life his aunt had regularly indulged in brandy and other sweet spirits. The funny thing was, she was the only one who thought it a secret.
“Thank you, dear.” Her eyes brightened to a lighter shade of blue. “Yes, there is something...you can do for me, my boy. But if I know you...you’re not going to like it.”
/> Clearly, some privacy between them was in order. Eden placed her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to gather some fresh water and cloths.” She headed toward the door.
Rayce caught Eden’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you.”
When he finally ventured down the steps, Eden welcomed him in the parlor with an embrace. They sat on the divan and drank the sweet tea Eliza had set out.
“I hear the cannon fire every day now, Rayce, and it scares me to death. Even the windows here rattle and shake. How long can you stay?”
“Honey, I wish I could stay longer, but I leave at first light—perhaps earlier. I think it’s likely we have most of the night, though.” He drew her close, and the words just spilled from his mouth, “Sweetness, I must have you tonight.”
She gazed into his eyes and smiled. “I think such an arrangement can be had. I’ll have Eliza stay with Aunt Martha tonight.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I’m taking you out for a proper supper.” He frowned and rubbed the small of her back. “You’ve grown thin since I’ve been away. Perhaps, afterwards, we can go to my room at the hotel for some privacy.”
She smiled. “I’d like that.”
He ordered Eden the finest meal the restaurant had to offer, ignoring their overinflated prices thanks to the Federal blockade, but she did little more than pick at her stuffed pheasant and vegetables. Afterward, they went to his room at the five-story Spotswood Hotel, with its lovely, ornate iron façade greeting them as they entered.
“Are you all right, Sweetness? It’s not like you to pick at your food. Frankly, I’ve always admired that about you. I find the Southern rules you women are expected to live by in order to catch a husband absurd. If a woman’s hungry, she should eat.”
She sighed and waved her hand. “I’m fine. I have you here now, don’t I?”
“You most certainly do.” He removed her cloak and draped it over the chair. Instantly, the scent of her magnolia perfume drifted into his nostrils. He pulled her into his arms, and the swell of her firm breasts pressed against his chest sent a jolt of heat straight to his torso. “Lord, woman, you smell wonderful,” he whispered against her throat.