by Jane Peart
“Yes, indeed. Aunt Honey’s picking me up in her carriage. We don’t want to miss the raffling off of the aunties’ quilt.”
“Good! You’ve worked so hard, you certainly deserve a bit of pleasure,” Aunt Josie said decisively, putting on her bonnet.
JoBeth was amused that sometimes Aunt Josie spoke to her mother as if Johanna were still a young girl. Maybe that was the price her mother paid for coming back to live in Hillsboro with a member of her family.
Not for the first time, JoBeth wondered what would have happened to them all if instead, Johanna had decided to stay in Millscreek Gap among her husband’s people. What would their lives have been like, hers and Shelby’s? Shelby might have become a farmer like Uncle Merriman, their father’s younger brother. She certainly would never have met Wesley! But she could hardly imagine that.
“Come along, JoBeth. Don’t stand there dawdling and daydreaming. We must be on our way. So much to do—,” Aunt Josie said over her shoulder as she swept out the front door.
JoBeth glanced at her mother, who rolled her eyes in affectionate understanding, then JoBeth followed her aunt out to the waiting carriage.
When they reached the town hall, where the bazaar was being held, the place was abuzz with women’s voices and the swish of their skirts as they bustled about. A cacophony of sound echoed in the vast building. People were issuing directions for the setting up of booths, the draping of bunting all around. Hammers banged as signs went up, and a large muslin banner hung from the rafters, declaring in gilt-edged lettering such heart-quickening words as “For Our Glorious Cause” and “For Our Gallant Men in Gray.”
Aunt Josie was greeted by everyone. Mrs. Herndon, a portly lady in pink and mauve taffeta, the grand chairwoman of the event, rustled up importantly to lead her through the of maze of cardboard boxes, unfurled crepe-paper streamers, stepladders, and clusters of women busily erecting and decorating their individual booths. JoBeth tagged behind.
“We always look forward to you Logan girls outdoing the rest of us!” Mrs. Herndon simpered. JoBeth stifled a giggle at the referral to her elderly great-aunts by their maiden name and as “girls.”
“As my own dear mama used to say, the Logan sisters do the finest needlework in town!” Mrs. Herndon said effusively. Then, gesturing with a flourish to a flimsy wood frame, she said, “Now here we are, Josie. I hope this position suits you? It is just to the right of the entrance door and will be the first thing anyone sees! I’m sure you will be sold out long before any of the other booths.” She smiled at Aunt Josie, but her smile did not include JoBeth. Startled by this obvious snub, JoBeth wondered why not. Mrs. Herndon had known her most of her life. JoBeth had gone to school with the Herndon children, Billy and Maryclare. Slowly she understood. Mrs. Herndon was a neighbor of the Spencers. So of course she knew about Wes! Her son had joined Lee’s army of northern Virginia. By ignoring her, Mrs. Herndon was expressing her disapproval of JoBeth’s allegiance to Wes.
Realizing that this might be the general feeling of many of the ladies working at the bazaar, JoBeth, her face flaming, immediately went behind the booth. There she busied herself unpacking one of the boxes. Maybe she should have been prepared for that kind of treatment. JoBeth bit her lower lip as she bent over the boxes, wishing she could develop a hard shell. As it was, she couldn’t help feeling hurt. More for Wes than herself. She laid some quilts neatly on one of the shelves, thinking, I hope some Yankee women are doing for their soldiers what we’re doing for—She’d started to say ours to herself, then stopped. A bleak, hopeless feeling washed over her. She remembered what she and Shelby had talked about. A divided heart! That’s what I have! No wonder it hurts so much.
JoBeth was sure that her aunt had been too preoccupied to notice Mrs. Herndon’s deliberate coldness to her. Determined not to let her wounded feelings show, she began winding crepe-paper streamers around the spindly poles of the booth. Soon their booth was transformed into a bower of ribbons and clusters of flowers.
“Oh, that looks lovely, JoBeth!” Aunt Josie praised her, adding, “You certainly have your mother’s artistic touch!”
For the next hour, they worked steadily, arranging, rearranging, setting out the lovely handmade items. Several of the other women working in various booths came by to admire and compliment them. Having been alerted by Mrs. Herndon’s behavior toward her, JoBeth tried to act busy so as not to embarrass her aunt if any of the ladies refused to acknowledge her. She kept reminding herself that most of them were probably mothers who had sons off fighting and were sick with worry about their safety, so she tried to understand and forgive their resentment.
By the time they had placed the last patchwork pillow and agreed on the best angle to show off their favorite quilt, the bazaar had opened and people started streaming through the hall. From the size of the crowd, it appeared sales would be brisk. Most people seemed to first make the rounds—circling through the giant hall, admiring all the booths, browsing, getting an idea of all that was available—and then turn around and proceed to buy.
After two busy hours, Aunt Josie collapsed on one of the stools provided for the sales force. “Mercy me, JoBeth! I’m about done in! Do me a favor, darlin’. Like a good child, run along over to the food booth and get us each a bit of lunch. I heard tell they’ve got all manner of good things to eat, and I’m simply famished. I think we could both use a restoring cup of tea and a sandwich or two.”
“Of course, Auntie,” JoBeth agreed. “You just sit and rest. Now, don’t do another thing till I get back, hear?”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to!” her aunt laughed as she waved a pleated newspaper as an improvised fan.
JoBeth made her way through the crowded building to the refreshment booth. A long line of people was stretched out in front. It looked like a long wait to be served. Resignedly she took a place at the end. Others joined the line behind her, among them four chattering young women. Seemingly oblivious to anyone else, they were making no effort to keep their voices down. It was impossible not to overhear their conversation, and suddenly JoBeth began to catch some of it.
“The nerve of her—”
“She must think nobody knows—”
“Most likely doesn’t care—”
“It’s absolutely brazen, I think.”
“With almost everyone here having somebody—brother, father, husband, sweetheart—serving!”
“It’s outrageous, if you want my opinion.”
“I should think Mrs. Herndon would have asked her to leave—”
“Or to not even come in the first place!”
“She could hardly do that! After all, the Cadys and the Breckenridges and Judge Hayes are all her relatives—”
“Even so—it’s the principle of the thing!”
JoBeth’s ears tingled, her cheeks burned. They were talking about her! She was the subject of this spiteful conversation. For the second time that day, the gossip about her and Wes that must be circulating hit her. Her heart hammered so loud, she wondered that people standing next to her didn’t hear it! It even alarmed her with its banging. What if she fainted?
Should she turn around and confront them? Or just never let on that she had overheard? Her impulse was to whirl around, face them. But what could she say? How could she honestly defend being here at a fund-raising for the Confederacy when the man she loved was considered the enemy? All this raced through her mind. Her fists clenched. Part of her wanted to escape, even if it meant going back to her starving aunt empty-handed. Undecided, she debated. Then JoBeth heard her name spoken by several male voices.
“Miss Davison!”
“JoBeth!”
Dazed, she turned to see Will, Blakely, Ted Hamlett, and Curtis Channing! Within a few seconds, she was surrounded by four attractive, gray-uniformed officers. As she looked on in amazement, Curtis made a sweeping bow to the nonplused girls, the very ones who had been talking about her, and said in his most ingratiating manner, “I am sure you lovely ladies will give w
ay to us”—he gestured grandly to his companions—“being that we’re all heroic soldiers honorably defending your lives, homes, and country. Will you allow us to slip in line here? Yes, I was sure you would, seeing as we must soon be away again to the battlefields.”
JoBeth glanced at him in astonishment. There was laughter in his eyes, a bold sureness of his own powers to persuade. Like magic, the disconcerted quartet stepped back and made way for the four officers. There was an amused ripple of laughter from others in the line, and looks of approval at the men. Someone was heard to say, “That’s our rebels for you.”
Escorted by the four, JoBeth moved up the line. Beside her, each handling two plates apiece, they quickly had them piled with sandwiches, frosted cupcakes, slices of pie. Blakely wheedled a tray from one of the booth ladies and loaded it with steaming mugs of fragrant tea to take back to the quilt booth.
Out of the corner of her eye, JoBeth saw the four indignant deposed gossipers staring at her with open envy. However, knowing that her companions’ food purchases had totaled up a nice sum for the benefit’s coffers, she walked off with her head high. Certainly, she thought, by the end of the afternoon other booths would find their cash boxes filled with the young officers’ money as well.
Back at the booth, after consuming the delicious delicacies they’d brought back, the four men persuaded Aunt Josie to allow JoBeth to be their guide among the myriad booths. That way, they said, they could spend more money for “the glorious cause.”
If unfriendly eyes followed her progress as she guided the good-looking cavalry officers from booth to booth, JoBeth knew they could not argue with the fact that the four were clearing out great quantities of the merchandise displayed.
JoBeth was ironically amused by all this. Underneath, however, the overheard comments still stung. But she thought it a small sacrifice on her part—Wes had made the much harder one.
In spite of the constant chaperonage of his three fellow officers, Curtis had a chance to whisper in JoBeth’s ear, “Do I qualify for the honor of taking you to the ball tonight?”
Looking at his armload of pot holders, doilies, china bud vases, knitted scarves, and other miscellaneous purchases, JoBeth widened her eyes and exclaimed dramatically, “I should hope so.”
Chapter Eleven
That evening, JoBeth got ready for the ball, with both her mother and Aunt Josie hovering like bees around a favorite flower. Each had suggestions to complement her appearance. Johanna got out her point lace scarf and insisted JoBeth wear it, draping it over the shoulders of her hyacinth blue velvet gown. JoBeth was just securing a high-backed comb into her swept-up hair when her aunt left the bedroom and returned, carrying a jewel case.
“Here’s something that will set off your gown,” she said, opening it and taking out amethyst-and-pearl earrings and a matching pendant on a gold chain.
“Oh, Auntie, they’re beautiful!” JoBeth exclaimed. “But I couldn’t!”
“Of course you must. I’ll hear no argument. They’ll be perfect,” her aunt said firmly. “Here, let me fasten this around your neck.”
Persuaded, JoBeth then slipped the earrings in while her aunt clasped the pendant’s chain. Both Johanna and Aunt Josie murmured approvingly at the result of the added jewels.
“Thank you both!” JoBeth smiled, touching the lace then the earrings with her hand. “I feel like Cinderella in her borrowed finery and jewels.”
“Except it won’t all disappear at midnight!” Johanna laughed.
“Let’s hope not!” declared Aunt Josie in mock alarm. “That set was Madison’s wedding gift to me!”
Downstairs, Curtis, splendid in a dress uniform and polished black boots, waited for her. The gilt epaulets and the golden swirls on his sleeve cuffs gleamed against the fine gray broadcloth coat, the tasseled yellow silk sash a bright slash of color at his waist.
Curtis had brought a wrist corsage of hothouse violets for JoBeth to wear. As she held out her wrist for him to tie the purple and lavender satin ribbons, the admiration in his eyes was open and unabashed. It made her a little breathless.
Uncle Madison handed Curtis JoBeth’s dark-blue velvet cape, and Aunt Josie said with satisfaction, “My, what a handsome couple you make!”
Catching a glimpse of herself and Curtis in the hall mirror, JoBeth felt elated and excited. It was a heady moment, and she needed to defuse it. She whirled around, shook her fan playfully at her aunt. “Oh, Auntie, you’re prejudiced. But thank you.” She slipped her kid-gloved hand through Curtis’s offered arm. Then, kissing her mother, she said, “Thank you all, and good night.”
“Have a lovely time!” her mother’s voice followed them out into the crisp December night.
As they entered the ballroom, which was adorned with a random mix of Christmas decorations and patriotic symbols of the Confederacy and brightly illuminated by candles in brass wall sconces tied with gilt ribbons, the band was playing.
JoBeth felt her heart lift at the sound of the music, the slide of feet upon a floor sanded and waxed for dancing, the sight of whirling colors—cerise, orange, green, gold, pink—and the ballooning skirts of dancers circling. The gaiety of the atmosphere was irresistible. Suddenly all JoBeth’s underlying sadness melted magically away. She was caught up and into it all. Curtis held out his hand to her and swept her out among the dancers.
Curtis knew every type of dance and executed each with finesse. His skill spoke of much practice and social experience. JoBeth had never felt so light on her feet as he guided her expertly in several intricate maneuvers so that she never missed a step. During the first part of the evening, she danced with many partners—with Blakely, Will, Ted, and a half dozen others. Many were hometown boys she knew and had grown up with but hadn’t seen much of in the past several months. Most were in uniform, on leave, or coming or going to some military post or service. Although this was a military ball and had been given to honor and aid the cause, strangely enough nothing was mentioned about the reason for it all. For once in what seemed forever, the war was not the main topic of talk. Gaiety seemed the order of the evening, and JoBeth gratefully entered into it. She found it almost easy to forget what had been constantly on her mind for months. She slipped back into what had once been natural—carrying on banter of a light, silly kind. In fact, she had almost forgotten she was very good at it.
When intermission was called, Curtis led her to a table at which Blakely and Will and the girls they were escorting were already seated. When Curtis and JoBeth joined them, it made six crowded around it. JoBeth knew the two other girls, Trudie Hartman and Flavia Bates. Of late they had pointedly excluded her from the social occasions that previously she would have been invited to attend. Tonight they were conscious that she was accepted as part of the group they were with, and they were superficially polite. However, most of their attention was turned to their escorts as the two girls flirted with fluttering eyelashes and fans, giggling at the twins’ outlandish jokes and flattery. Since Curtis was devoting his full attention to her, JoBeth hardly minded being ignored by her former friends.
When the music began again, a childhood friend, Kenan Matthews, came over from another table to ask JoBeth to dance. She excused herself from the others. Kenan had also been a friend of Wes, and for the first time all evening, she was asked about him.
“I realize how hard that must have been for Wes—and for you, too, JoBeth,” Kenan said when she told him Wes was now in the Union Army. “Wesley Rutherford was the most idealistic, most honest, person I ever knew. Although I disagree with his decision, I admire him for his integrity.”
“Thank you,” JoBeth murmured, feeling her heart swell with pride at hearing these rare words of praise for Wes.
When Kenan returned her to her table with a courteous bow, she found that the other girls had left for the ladies’ “refreshing room.” The three men had been joined by cousin Ted, and although they had all risen and politely acknowledged her return, they resumed what appeared to be a heated dis
cussion.
Curtis was saying, “I can’t see what all the fuss about slavery is about. My father has a lumber mill down home and has about twenty men working for him there, and out at my granddaddy’s farm there are people who have been on the land as long as I can remember and before. They all seem happy as can be. You should hear them singin’ out in the fields—”
JoBeth experienced a sick sensation, a rush of blood to her head. The drastic contrast between Wes’s long, agonizing soul-searching and Curtis’s casual offhandedness about the same subject struck her like a blow. Her fingers clutched her little fan so tightly that she could feel the edges of its spokes.
Just then Curtis, as if aware of JoBeth beside him, seemed to lose interest in the conversation. He leaned toward her, smiling, and said, “I missed you.” Then, lowering his voice and with his appealing little-boy grin, he said, “Let me have your dance card. I’m putting my name on all the rest.” Disarmed, she handed it to him.
Watching him scrawl his name through the line of dances still left on her card, JoBeth knew she shouldn’t blame Curtis for his attitude. Wes had even understood that. Like so many Southerners, he was only speaking from what he knew, what he had grown up with, never having learned any other opinion. Why should she expect any more from this charming man than an evening of flattering attention? With his graceful manners, his wit and good humor, it was impossible not to like Curtis Channing—and it would be easy to fall in love with him.
Back on the dance floor, Curtis said, “You know I go back day after tomorrow. This has been too—” He checked himself, as though he would have used a stronger way of expressing his frustration. “This has been way too short. At any other time that you and I might have met, we would have had a chance to get to know each other better—spend long, leisurely afternoons strolling, swinging in a hammock under the trees, playing croquet on the lawn, going riding. There are so many things I can think of I’d like to do with you.” There was amusement, affection, in his eyes as he looked down at her. Then quite suddenly his eyes darkened. “I hate that we’re missin’ all that, Miss Johanna Elizabeth Davison.” He spoke her full name as though he delighted in each syllable. “This has been one wonderful two and a half days.” His hand on her waist tightened as he circled and then reversed in the final strains of the waltz. “Days I shall never forget.”