When the Splendor Falls

by Laurie McBain

  Leigh had questioned him about their route, and what would happen to both the cargo and the ship when they reached the North? She knew that Confederate blockade runners, when captured by the federal authorities, were thrown into prison, their cargoes confiscated and auctioned, their ships taken into port and sold, the Stars and Bars replaced with the Stars and Stripes on the mainmast.

  Adam had just grinned, saying that only happened if a runner got caught. He knew the coast too well, the U.S. Navy was easily duped, their tactics known to every captain who knew North from South on his compass, and who time and time again ran the blockade with no more than a seagull being any the wiser, and besides, The Blithe Spirit was too swift a lady to get caught by federal guns.

  He was going to put them ashore in New Jersey. He had often made port in a sheltered cove up around Toms River, waiting for either a storm to blow itself out, or a federal frigate or sloop to disappear over the horizon. Where better to hide than in the enemy’s camp? He’d told Neil about the place, and Neil had promised someone would be there to meet them. Then, and only then, would he put them ashore and set sail. He would be in Nassau, selling his cotton, and The Blithe Spirit, before they reached New York, he bet Leigh, holding her close for a moment. He had quickly looked away, claiming the salt spray was already beginning to sting his eyes, even if they were still in port.

  The money from that sale would, for now at least, pay the taxes on Royal Bay and Travers Hill. He didn’t think Blythe would mind, even if she had loved to sail aboard The Blithe Spirit, calling the ship her third sister.

  And Adam had been right. He and his captain had known the Atlantic coastline, with its maze of uncharted coves and inlets, and late one moonless night, they had dropped anchor in a secluded cove. Adam hadn’t seemed nervous until then, perhaps fearing that Neil hadn’t gotten in contact with his friends, or that they hadn’t agreed to help his reb cousin and his family. Leigh had watched him pacing back and forth on the deck, then he’d glanced over at her almost assessingly, and Leigh knew that he was counting on the fact that she was now Neil Braedon’s wife—that would assure their safety.

  He’d signaled twice, then waited. Then he’d signaled again, but only once, and he had waited again. Then he’d signaled twice again, pausing, then signaling three times. He’d waited for what seemed an eternity, before an answering sequence of lights had flashed from the shore.

  Before she could hardly voice her farewells, she, Althea, Guy, and his hounds, Noelle, Steward, Lucinda, Jolie, and Stephen had been lowered into a boat and rowed ashore. Then their menagerie, accompanying the boat when it returned to shore with their trunks, had been lowered rather unceremoniously into the cold waters; but so close to shore had Adam anchored The Blithe Spirit that even the short-legged, disgruntled Pumpkin, who had now been nicknamed “poop off” by the crew, which meant “small cannon,” or so they swore, Damascena, her long Thoroughbred legs treading the water easily, and the cow, showing some interest for once, had made it safely to shore.

  Leigh still shook her head in amazement at what had followed next. A very soft-spoken, elderly gentleman had introduced himself to her as a friend of Neil Braedon’s, then he had made his introductions to the rest of her family, remaining in conversation with Adam Braedon for some minutes, then he’d quickly escorted them into several carriages. They had waited for a few moments while Adam had remained by one of the carriages, holding his daughter close for one last time before handing her through the window of the carriage. Leigh had touched his hand briefly, meeting his eyes, then he had smiled and waved the coachman on. Leigh had glanced back once, but Adam had already disappeared from sight.

  After that, it had all seemed like a dream. Through the night they had journeyed, until eventually they’d arrived in New York. Their trip across the North had been as smoothly run as any military campaign, for not once had they been harassed, hindered, or detained in their journey to Kansas, where they would begin the last part of their trip to New Mexico following the Sante Fe Trail.

  She’d always thought Virginia had too many railroads, but she’d been amazed at the countless and seemingly endless lines of track crisscrossing Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. Traveling on railroads with names like Pennsylvania Central, Cincinnati & Zanesville, and Ohio and Mississippi until finally reaching St. Louis and the Pacific railroad that carried them into Missouri.

  Throughout their exodus, they had been met with civility, and kindness; by the men who’d seen them, including their menagerie, aboard each train as they’d made their way across the states of the Union; and by the families who had taken them into their homes and offered them hospitality, and friendship, when the trains had been delayed, or they’d been kept from boarding because of a troop train commandeering the rails as they sped toward yet another battle, or they’d been sidetracked because of a train bringing the wounded and dying home.

  Leigh had felt some of the pain and anger draining out of her. She had come to accept these people as being no different than her own. They were families who had suffered painful losses of loved ones, whose sons, husbands, brothers, and friends had died. Their lives had been altered forever, the same as hers, yet they could open their homes and hearts to her and her family, who were Southerners.

  Leigh rested her head on her bent knees, staring out on the sunny slopes, the wildflowers a rainbow of color that dazzled the eye, and suddenly the horrors of the war seemed far away, like a fading memory.

  “Miss Leigh! What’re you doin’ up so early? You been sittin’ there long, honey? Why, you must be half-frozen. You haven’t even got your slippers on an’ that girl hasn’t lit the fire in here yet, an’ I thought that Jassy was slow-footed. What’re you doin’ up before the sun? Now you get back in bed an’ drink some of this sweet chocolate I brought you,” Jolie said, setting the tray down on the bedside table.

  “Just remembering, Jolie, and dreaming a little. That’s all,” Leigh told her, turning away from the bright sunshine beyond the windows.

  Twenty

  Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;

  Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh, hear!

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  “Never knew this world could be so big,” Jolie said, shaking her neatly braided head in disbelief as she plumped up the pillows on the bed. “I don’t like them mountains none. Feel like I’m bein’ watched all the time,” she added. “It’s not natural, honey. There’s strong spirits ’round here. An’ they’ve been ’round a long time. I’m not sayin’ they be good, not sayin’ they be bad, but they be mighty powerful. Most people don’t know ’bout them, but I’ve got this feelin’.”

  “Your big toe hurting you again? Sit down and have a cup of chocolate with me,” Leigh said, patting the bed invitingly, for Jolie’s big toe had been hurting her more and more of late.

  “Been talkin’ to that woman out back, always shuckin’ corn. Never seen anybody as old as her. One of the Ancient Ones,” Jolie said reverently. “She’s got the feelin’. Says the harmony’s gone. A wicked magician’s disturbed the balance. Points that gnarled finger of hers to the sun, then to the mountains, the sacred ground, then makes these strange drawings in the sand. Like stars that’s been scattered into the dust and broken apart. It’s a bad omen. The stars, where they’re the milkiest in the night sky, they’re the backbone of the world. She knows, missy. An’ the maize harvest wasn’t good this year, she said. When you haven’t corn fer the table, it’s a bad day.”

  Curling up beneath the warmth of the blanket and coverlet, Leigh stared through the window at the mountains, which never failed to beckon her, then back to Jolie’s figure. There was something comforting about Jolie with her warm coppery skin, which was faintly scented with an aromatic mixture of her favorite herb oils. Although Jolie claimed it wasn’t her place to smell fancy, Leigh was always tantalized by a hint of something sweet rising from her flesh, as if she’d blended a drop or two of fragrant rose oil into the lotion. Sometimes…Jolie and T
ravers Hill—they just seemed inseparable. To think of one brought memories of the other. And there was nothing more familiar to Leigh than the printed calico gowns Jolie wore with the starched and pressed collars and cuffs, and tied around her narrow waist an enveloping apron of snowy white linen, which had been very handy for drying away a tear or wiping fingers stickied from the sweets she had tucked into one of the voluminous pockets; and there always had been a treasure or two hidden deep inside when Leigh had been growing up.

  Jolie drew a deep breath. “Now what would your mama think if she could see me perched on this bed like I was gentry? Shame on you, missy,” she scolded, but one of her hands tugged on a long strand of Leigh’s chestnut hair affectionately. “You’ve been talkin’ to Steban? That ol’ man doesn’t ever believe me till it’s almost too late, then he moves those old bones of his fast enough to set them rattlin’ up a storm. An’ even he says he’s never heard thunder so loud in his life, ’course, it’s made him deaf, since he doesn’t listen to me, if he ever did, an’ it’s goin’ to take some cracklin’ lightnin’ strikin’ him dead before he does,” Jolie said, placing the tray over Leigh’s lap and clucking her tongue as she ran her bony finger along the top of the table, leaving a winding trail through the fine red dust.

  “Hmmmph! Jus’ wiped this clean yesterday. Miss Beatrice Amelia would be fit to be tied with all this dust. Wouldn’t stand for her house not bein’ tidy. Your mama was that proud. Never know who’s comin’ callin’, she always said. What’re you doin’ up so early anyways?” she repeated softly, eyeing Leigh closely as she poured her a cup of the thick chocolate. “Isn’t that fancy fella comin’ ’round, is it? I don’t care for him none,” she said, pronouncing harsh sentence on the unfortunate gentleman in question.

  “Luis? No. Gil and I are going to ride up to the north slopes,” Leigh confided, her voice full of anticipation. “The snows are melting and one of the shepherds is out of food. He can’t leave his flock, so we’re taking the supplies to him. I haven’t been that far up the slopes yet…not into the high country,” Leigh said, her gaze drawn again to the mountains.

  “I don’t like it. It’s not safe with them savages sneakin’ ’round. Reckon that lil’ Luis will be mighty upset if he thinks he’s goin’ to find you here. But he’s not the one I was thinkin’ ’bout. Was thinkin’ ’bout that no-good Mister Boyce. Don’t care for the look in his eye none at all. Shifty, that’s what it is. Like a coon that’s been treed by hounds an’ is tryin’ to get himself outa a tight spot without losin’ any of his striped tail. Reckon he hasn’t seen all those stub-tailed coons I have, or he’d watch his step real careful like. Never seen a body strut like that Mister Boyce. You’d think he thought he had somethin’ other men don’t, an’ it’s not proper wearin’ breeches as tight as he does. ’Spite them airs he tries to put on, trash is trash, you can’t hide it, same as them Canbys. Well, he’s no gentleman, an’ I’ll tell you this, he’s no Coast aristocrat neither, even if he says he’s from Charleston. Only way he come to Charleston was by sneakin’ off a ship like a rat. Reckon he’s kinfolk to that no-good Creole fella your Gran’pappy Leigh shot in that duel? Hasn’t fooled me none with his honey-tongued ways, an’ if he calls me mammy one more time, I’m goin’ to forget I’ve a Christian soul an’ let him have a dose of one of my potions like you did the good reverend that day.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose, Jolie,” Leigh reminded her…although, now that she thought about it…

  “Hmmmph! Figure that’ll keep Mister Fancy Pants busy mindin’ his own business so he’ll stay outa ours. So you just keep away from him, y’hear me now, Miss Leigh.”

  Leigh nodded obediently, thinking no one had ever fooled Jolie. She’d always been as keen-eyed in sizing up a person as Sweet John had a horse. “It’s trying to keep a proper distance from his hands that is the problem,” Leigh said, remembering the way Courtney Boyce’s hands always lingered a little too long when grasping her hand in greeting, or when placing her shawl across her shoulders, his fingertips just managing to touch bare skin.

  “He’s been takin’ liberties with you, honey? You remind him you’re married, an’ even if you weren’t, he wouldn’t be good enough for you. I declare, thinkin’ he could put his hands on a Travers! Wouldn’t even let him set foot on Travers property. Your papa would’ve shown that vermin off his land fast enough, an’ with his whip crackin’ close behind. But if he keeps troublin’ you, honey, you tell me or Mister Nathaniel.”

  Leigh hid her smile, wondering which of the two Courtney Boyce would prefer having to face, and she suspected it was not Jolie. “I think our Mr. Boyce is more interested in Señora Alvarado. She seemed flushed when they came in from the courtyard the other night. He can’t seem to keep his eyes, or his hands, off her.”

  “Hmmmph! I don’t think she’s been slappin’ them away none either. I saw her straightenin’ that bodice of hers.”

  “He seems harmless enough, if a bit annoying,” Leigh said, and somewhat generously, for she was almost thankful Courtney Boyce was around to interest Diosa. “He reminds me of some of Guy’s old friends, they used to flirt as easily and as frequently as they emptied their juleps. Courtney Boyce is no different, he thinks every woman expects such attentions from him. It’s just his way,” Leigh said of the South Carolinian gentleman who was staying at Alfonso Jacobs’s ranch, having arrived in New Mexico less than a year ago. Claiming that a debilitating wound suffered in battle kept him from the fighting, he had left the South and gone into partnership with Alfonso Jacobs, whom he’d met during the war. There were times when they saw very little of him, for he often traveled into Texas and Mexico on business. Odd, however, that he never seemed to suffer from the wound; his riding and shooting, dancing and swaggering unhindered by it.

  “Hmmmph. Hate to see that sweet Miss Camilla taken in by the likes of him, but s’pose he reminds her of Charleston, an’ her still grievin’ for Mister Justin she needs to laugh, an’ Mister Nathaniel, good man that he is, isn’t one for small talk. Not like your papa was. An’ you should see the way that lil’ Miss Lys Helene takes to her heels when that Mister Boyce comes into the room. An’ he won’t have nothing to do with me, missy. Figure he deserves that fancy woman, an’ all the trouble that’s goin’ to come with her,” Jolie declared. “Steban says she’s always watchin’ him real strange like. First time she set eyes on him I thought she was goin’ to up an’ faint. Makes him uneasy, it sure does, ’specially her knowin’ Steban’s name before anybody ever said it, an’ sayin’ it in that funny way of talkin’ that she has. Steban’s scared that she’s put the evil eye on him. But when she turns those eyes on me, I jus’ stare her down like a fox after a chicken, an’ it shames her, it does, into actin’ proper. Though, how a woman who smokes like a gentleman can be considered proper, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of such a thing ’cept in places where ladies an’ decent folk don’t go, an’ I heard rumors ’bout them places, but never been myself,” she added quickly, still scandalized by the scene of Señora Alvarado sitting so ladylike in the parlor while she deftly rolled the cigarrillo she was fond of smoking, holding the cigarette to her lips with a delicate pair of golden pincers so she wouldn’t get tobacco stains on her pale hands.

  “Reckon ol’ Jolie knows what’s goin’ on behind those dark eyes of hers. Can’t fool me. She’s a bad one. Now, Mister Gil, he sure is a nice young man. Real polite. Miss Camilla’s done a fine job raisin’ that boy of hers. Doesn’t remind me any of that brother of his,”she said with a sniff.

  No, Gil was nothing like his brother, Leigh agreed. Gilbert Rene Braedon; Gil to anyone who wished to remain friends with the lanky sixteen-year-old who was determined to prove himself a man in as short a time as possible.

  “What’s this?” Leigh asked, picking up a sprig of pine, its pungent scent drawing her attention to where it lay beside her napkin.

  “Ever…green, missy. It’ll bring you a long, healthy life, so you wear it. Tuck it in yer waistband,”
Jolie said matter-of-factly, as if it were something most people did everyday without question. “S’pose though, that brother of his isn’t all that bad, after all, he did help us get out here,” she added, but somewhat grudgingly. “An’ these folks of his be real good people, even if they’re not from Travers Hill. Sometimes I still can’t believe we’re here, Miss Leigh, wherever here is,” Jolie muttered, avoiding glancing out the window as she walked to the dressing chest and began to sort through Leigh’s underclothing.

  “I’ll show you the map in Nathaniel Braedon’s study so you’ll know exactly where we are and how far we traveled from Virginia,” Leigh offered, and not for the first time.

  But Jolie, as she usually did, just shook her head, and vehemently. “Don’t want to see any map! Don’t want to know how far we’ve come,” Jolie said over her shoulder as she pulled out a fresh chemise. “Sure you couldn’t have found a better dressing chest than this thing? Not near as fine as that furniture in Miss Althea’s room,” she complained, throwing a pair of pantalettes over her arm.

  Leigh glanced around the bedchamber, pleased with what met her eye. She was very comfortable in here, and it offered the best view of the mountains rising in the distance, and at least Neil had never shared this room with his first wife. Althea and her children were sleeping in Serena’s room—the room next to this one—and the room Serena had slept in alone. It was a larger room, and Camilla had thought Althea and her children would be more comfortable in there than in one of the smaller rooms. She’d graciously offered to move some of the finer furnishings into this room, but Leigh had politely declined, wanting nothing that had belonged to Serena. Camilla had sighed, glancing around the room, then shrugged her shoulders in despair and declared that Neil had never been particular about the room, having spent so much time at Riovado.