Their drunken stupors went on all night. They hollered it up while drinking, smoking, and playing cards. By the third night, Eugenia had enough of their breaking her crystal glasses and finally spoke up.
I left Warren to see what the matter was downstairs. The swelling had diminished greatly, and he was almost able to care for himself.
“Thank you for all your help. Your kind, loving hands have made me well.”
I couldn’t look his way.
“You are a beautiful mother to be. Though my days are numbered, it is good to know you will care for our baby long after I’m gone,” he said before he drifted off to sleep again.
“You men have no shame! Look what you have done to my home. It’s in shambles!” Eugenia shrieked, picking up the broken glass.
“Come now, Mrs. Arrington,” Colonel Smith chuckled and picked up a piece beside her foot. “No need to get huffy. Drink with us.”
I watched as he tugged on the seam of her skirt and lifted it up to catch a peek underneath.
“How dare you!” she snapped and kicked his hand away. All the men roared with laughter and poured more wine.
“There, there, calm down, dear woman,” he crooned and went to embrace her. Eugenia’s face turned beet red, and she tilted her head away in disgust as he tried to kiss her. “How long has it been since your husband was here to show you some affection? Months perhaps? You need me as much as I need you.”
“Get off me!”
“Don’t tell me you don’t like it!” he flared and held her so he could place quick pecks on her cheeks.
Eugenia began to panic as Sergeant Byron held her arms back to allow Colonel Smith to fondle her.
“Leave me alone this instant! Stop it!”
“I see where your daughter gets her figure from,” he murmured between lustful, drunk kisses.
Eugenia tried to fight the men off, but they soon overpowered her. Even Phineas was in on the dreadful act. After he noticed me watching in horror, he nudged me back before closing the pocket doors and said, “They’re just having fun. No business of yours. Go run along now.”
Eugenia’s panicked howls and the soldiers’ contemptuous laughter were muffled once the doors were closed. I stood in the foyer, frozen. I wanted to run for Hamilton and have him save Eugenia from the men, but I knew they would kill him if he interfered. Warren couldn’t help. Mammy, Hattie, and I were useless against them. There was nothing I could do, and it pained me as an hour went by and the doors remained locked.
Finally they opened the doors, and I stepped undetected into the shadows of the night. Sergeant Byron and Corporal Phineas left snickering, heading to the kitchen, no doubt to scrounge for something to eat. Next the colonel came out, tucking in his shirt. He staggered toward the kitchen with his cigar in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
In between booms of thunder, I crept into the parlor. Eugenia sat on the floor, disheveled, clutching her clothes and attempting to cover herself, quietly weeping. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to tell her I understood, but I couldn’t find the nerve. I was too afraid of the rejection, the hostile feelings she harbored for me, and the animosity she never let go.
It was pitiful to watch her try and dress herself, knowing what had just happened to her.
It took two days without rain for the water to recede. But the roads were thick with mud, and broken trees blocked the road to Savannah. Warren was grateful to have more time and made the most of our days by pleading with me to try and escape with him. It would have been possible, as Colonel Smith was now preoccupied with Eugenia. The other men wanted to make an attempt at leaving, but the colonel wasn’t finished having his way with her.
“Tomorrow. One more day,” he would say, excuse himself, and let himself into Eugenia’s room. I hadn’t seen her for days. She kept herself away and no longer screamed when the colonel came to her.
I was sick to my stomach and wanted the nightmare to end. But how? How would this all end without major bloodshed? It seemed that everyone was ignoring our quandary. Sergeant Byron kept himself occupied by playing solitaire, and Corporal Barrows caught up on much-needed sleep. The two of them simply ignored the repeated rape.
Mammy and Hattie stayed clear of the mansion, and it was best that way. When Warren was well enough to walk he was tied up in his old bed until the soldiers could make the trip to Savannah.
Somehow, the men trusted me not to do anything foolish and jeopardize my own life, my unborn baby’s life, and the lives of others. I was so weak with fear - they were right.
“Untie me. We can escape before anyone knows we’re gone,” Warren begged.
“They will kill Hattie and Mammy. And Hamilton and Eugenia. I will never let that happen,” I replied flatly.
“Who’s to say they won’t kill them anyway?” he retorted, his eyes fiery and fixated on me.
“They won’t.”
Warren was becoming frustrated with me, and before he could pressure me anymore, I left as he called after me.
Emotionally drained, I wandered down the hall, lost in my own thoughts of how I could have changed events, wondering if anything would have made a difference. What if I had left Warren to die in the woods? Would that have been the right thing to do, knowing it would have prevented all this turmoil? If only I hadn’t become lovers with Patrick. Then I wouldn’t have been wandering the streets of Savannah and ended up in the bed of Perry Montgomery and carrying his child.
I was woeful, spent, and tired of living one day to the next. When I came upon Eugenia’s rooms, her door was open and I looked in. She was standing by the open windows - the shutters were now pulled back - staring blankly out at the early night sky. She just stood there, staring off, not blinking once. She was in her nightgown, her hair down and messy. I’d never seen her with her hair down. She appeared younger, and I couldn’t help but gaze at her and think of Daddy. He truly loved Eugenia. He would be shattered to learn what had happened to her.
Somehow she sensed I was there and turned my way. Before she had the chance to admonish me, I scurried away. I needed rest; I needed dreams to take me away. I planned to drink some of Eugenia’s powders, just enough to doze off. It had been days since I’d had any sleep.
I quietly stole down to the foyer - I needed a glass of water and tip-toed past Phineas, who was sleeping soundly on the settee in the parlor, and Sergeant Byron, who was engrossed in a card game with Colonel Smith. The sound of gunfire and cannons going off in the distance had become routine, and the men didn’t even lift their heads in interest.
I was well past the front door and barely into the dining room when a sudden barrage of bullets came through the windows of the parlor, shattering glass everywhere and sending Colonel Smith flying off his chair and onto the ground, where he landed with his blood pooling around him. Phineas instantaneously shook off his sleep, jumped up, and grabbed his musket, only to be shot straight in the chest. Sergeant Byron had little chance. A bullet blew off half his face. I screamed and prepared to run to the kitchen and out the back door when all the doors to the mansion were kicked open and a flood of Union troops charged in.
~ ~ ~
~ Thirty-five ~
To my disbelieving eyes, Patrick Garrett Arrington stood commanding his troop as they stormed in, bellowing out orders. “Everyone disburse. I want every inch of this place searched!”
Armed Union soldiers whizzed by me, and I would have fallen down if Patrick hadn’t taken me aside into a corner, away from the chaos. I almost didn’t recognize him as a Union soldier. I was stunned, which mirrored his expression.
Patrick gazed down at my belly, and then lifted his eyes up to mine. His eyes looked hurt and vulnerable - but for only a fleeting moment.
“Warren, where is he?” he said gruffly, refusing to greet me as the brother he was or the lover he had been. He offered no explanation for why he was there as a Union soldier.
“He’s upstairs,” I choked.
“How many are there?”
/>
“How many what?” Tears were stinging behind my lids now.
“Confederates,” he snapped. “How many are there?”
“Only the three. I don’t understand!”
“The mansion is clear, General Arrington,” a soldier boldly announced. “The prisoner is being held upstairs in one of the bedrooms.”
“Good. Bring the civilians to the ballroom.”
“Yes, sir.”
Things settled down once Sutton Hall was thoroughly inspected. The bodies of the Confederates were quickly removed, and I was sickened by the sight of blood splatter all over the walls.
Patrick ushered me to the ballroom without a word. I persisted in begging him to explain, but he remained aloof and treated me as if I were a stranger.
“Patrick, please explain what’s happening!”
“Do not call me Patrick. You may refer to me as General, if you insist on addressing me,” he snapped.
I forcefully stopped and spun around, throwing my arms about him and crying onto his chest. “Thank God you’ve come back. I have missed you so!”
Patrick stood unyielding, stiff, and unemotional.
“Sir, they are all in the ballroom,” another soldier announced.
“Come, Amelia, move along now.”
I stared up into his eyes, looking for a sign, any sign, of fondness or affection for me. I stared long and hard, wanting to believe I saw a glimmer of love in his eyes, but they quickly turned dark and disturbed. He boldly ushered me forward. My heart sank; my exhilaration at seeing Patrick again was instantly stifled. He wasn’t anyone I knew. The man was a complete stranger with the face of a man I had once loved so dearly.
Eugenia hastily dressed and stood in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by soldiers who lingered about. Hattie, Hamilton, Mammy, and our other workers were inside as well, standing around looking bewildered. I went over and stood next to Eugenia.
“Have you seen him?” I asked. “Have you seen Patrick?”
“Patrick? What do you mean have I seen Patrick?”
“He is here, with the Union army. There, over there,” I explained, pointing over at him.
He gathered his men, and they all went silent, waiting for him to speak.
“I don’t comprehend,” Eugenia gasped.
“Let me all have your undivided attention. I am General Arrington. My troops and I have come to claim the Arrington plantation as property of the United States, under the orders of Commander Greyson. Sutton Hall remains on lockdown: No one enters, or leaves without my permission. Colonel Warren Stone of the Confederate Army is our prisoner of war and will remain here until the military police arrive to escort him to Savannah.” Patrick cleared his throat, took a sip of the water he was offered, and continued. “The slaves of Sutton Hall are granted freedom, if they wish to go.”
“My God, what is he saying?” Eugenia mumbled under her breath. “How can this be? Why is the son of Thomas Arrington a Union officer? He was a Confederate naval officer.” Eugenia shook her head, perplexed, trying to make sense of it all.
“The remaining civilians are to keep to their personal quarters for the duration of the Union’s siege on Sutton Hall. We expect the Confederates to come for their own, and when they do, we will be ready for battle.”
Eugenia had very little fight left in her. She did, however, manage to muster up some of her old self and confront her stepson, right there in front of all, for everyone to hear.
“Patrick Garrett Arrington!” she shouted across the room.
“Yes, Mrs. Arrington!” he shouted back.
“How dare you, the son of a Confederate, the son of Thomas Patrick Arrington, betray your country and dishonor your own family? How dare you step foot into Sutton Hall wearing the disgraceful uniform of the Union Army and renounce the home that bears your ancestral name!”
“For all to hear, I am not as my father before me, and I reject my relation to the Arrington family. My love, loyalty, and duty I surrender to my president and the battle to win our war!”
Cheers and applause echoed throughout the ballroom - so loud it was deafening. The energy from the room was powerful; the roar of their excitement began to overwhelm me. Suddenly, I was having difficulty breathing, my fingertips went numb, and my legs began to shake. It the room was spinning. Eugenia noticed my distress and reached to hold me up, just as my legs gave out and the room want black.
I woke in the middle of the night, confused as to whether the day’s events were all another strange dream . . . or was it true? Was Patrick Garrett really here? Did he save us from the evil soldiers while denouncing the Arrington’s, and worst of all, me. As the sleep wore off, I realized it was no dream. I peered out the windows to see that the Union Army had us barricaded in. Patrick was down below, talking around a fire pit with his men. He stood out among them, and it was clear that he was their leader in every way, from the stripes on his uniform to the way he stood tall and proud, resilient and confident. I remembered his impressive Confederate uniform. I still couldn’t believe he had turned to the North.
I stood watching him, and he must have sensed me there, for he gazed up to my window, but ignored my presence and quickly went back to conversing with his company.
The door to my bedroom was locked. I called to be let out and the soldier guarding my door answered. “Miss, you can’t leave your room without an escort,” he said.
“I’m hungry. I missed supper,” I explained and went to move past him. He held up his hand and said, “Sorry, miss, strict orders.”
“Then escort me to the kitchen.”
Without word, the man followed behind me, acknowledging with a subtle nod the other soldiers who were posted in front of every bedroom door. Sutton Hall was no longer a quiet inoperative plantation. There was conversation filling every room, and comings and goings out of every wing of the mansion. There must have been a hundred soldiers occupying Sutton Hall! The blood stains in parlor were being cleaned from the walls to the floor, and I shivered just thinking about what had happened.
Though it was the middle of the night, the mansion was bustling with activity. In our small kitchen, two soldiers were sitting and drinking coffee when Patrick entered from the back door. His entrance reminded me of earlier times, and I nearly wanted to run into his arms, but he quickly let me know he was there for business only - nothing personal.
The kitchen was crowded, and he edged past me and my pronounced belly, only briefly glancing my way. I wanted to have him open his arms and love me again, but I knew better. Once upon a time Patrick Garrett Arrington’s eyes had looked on me with only adoration, but now I saw nothing but hatred.
He continued to ignore me for days on end. On occasion, when we were in the same room, most often during a headcount, Patrick chose to look away from me, avoiding my pleading stares, acting as if I were the enemy.
If indeed our eyes did meet for a mere moment, his gaze shot daggers through me, straight to my heart. His anger frustrated me, and as time crept by, ever so slowly I began to resent him and what we had shared. Obviously, I must have meant nothing to him, for if he had even an ounce of love for me his eyes would have shown it; somewhere behind his icy stare I would have seen it. But there was nothing there . . . until one late evening when he summoned me to Daddy’s office.
A Union officer led me straight to him, where he sat behind Daddy’s desk reading over some papers. When I was announced, Patrick didn’t lift his eyes from the paper, only motioned for me to sit and then dismissed the soldier. “You may wait outside the office.”
I hastily sat down and crossed my arms over my large bosom, resting them on the top of my belly. My gown flowed loosely, gracefully cascading over me. My hair was long and fell down to the curves of my waist. Amazingly, I felt pretty, even in my condition.
When his eyes lifted up and settled onto me, a scowl came to his handsome face, which made me angry.
“What is it you wish to see me about General?” I said condescendingly, emphasiz
ing the words, General.
Once alone, my half-brother wasn’t his usual confident self. Instead, he fidgeted with his pen and tensely cleared his throat several times before speaking.
“I need a full account of what happened here at the plantation, beginning with the Confederates’ arrival and including the details of Warren Stone’s capture and the days that followed.”
Patrick thought I would willingly cooperate, grant him his request, and give everything he wanted. But I was not going to oblige. I sat in silence.
“These details are crucial. You must have overheard important conversations, witnessed things. These facts are of value to the Union.”
“And you believe for one moment I care?” I spat, just the way Eugenia would have.
He was taken aback by my imperious tone and quickly became impatient with me.
“I insist that you tell me. It is clear that you are involved with Colonel Warren Stone, in every way,” he said with a subtle hint of angst in his deep voice. He stood and began to pace the floor, unable to look my way.
“I will tell you nothing Patr . . .” I stopped to correct myself. “General.”
“Fine then,” he snapped. “Lieutenant!”
The soldier entered Daddy’s office.
“Bring Mrs. Arrington down for questioning!”
“Wait!” I jumped up. “Leave her be.”
Patrick’s eyes narrowed onto me and he stepped closer. He dismissed the lieutenant. I didn’t want Eugenia, as much as we shared nothing but a deep abhorrence for one another, to have to personally reveal the horrid details of her ordeal with Colonel Smith.
I sat back down and composed myself as he eased back into Daddy’s chair and puffed on his pipe. I hated the way he sat nonchalantly as I spilled the details of our terrifying days as hostages, including the brutal whipping Hattie had suffered and the repeated rape of Eugenia. “They were horrible men,” I sobbed between sentences. “Shooting them dead was less than they deserved.”
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 28