‘’Your father died over a year ago, ‘’ he returned with a growl.
She lifted her chin and her eyes were bright and cold. “I still grieve for him. And for my home.”
Her home. Drayton’s eyes grew every bit as cold as hers at the reminder. She would not forget. And she had not forgiven him for his part and probably never would forgive him. She would wear her bitterness like a banner, announcing her hatred to his friends before she even gave them a chance.
“Janette, would it be possible to finish another gown by tomorrow night?” His eyes remained locked with Ambrosia’s as he spoke, and he felt a certain satisfaction at the anger that flared in them at his request. “Some thing bright and fashionable, like the other women are wearing?” Ambrosia actually winced at that.
“I-I do not know-” Janette responded, tapping a forefinger to her pouting lips. “Even if I were to work very hard... if I were to drop everyzing else... ‘’
“I will not wear it, Drayton.” Ambrosia’s tone was so sharp that Madame’s eyes widened in shock.
“You are my wife,” Drayton returned slowly, his voice edged in steel. “You will wear what I tell you to wear. If I have to bind you hand and foot and dress you myself.
To Madame’s astonishment, Ambrosia squared her shoulders. “That is exactly what you will have to do.” Madame held her breath. Drayton’s frown went black, and for several moments the room was so fraught with the clash of their emotions that the French woman stepped backward and cringed. She was certain that Drayton would strike his wife, and he would be perfectly justified in doing so. Madame had never seen a woman display such blatant disrespect for her husband’s authority before.
To Madame’s total bewilderment, Drayton suddenly turned away from his wife. “Finish the black dress for tomorrow, Janette,” he ordered softly.
She tried to conceal her shock as she gave him an uncertain nod. His eyes were on his wife again, and his voice sounded calm, though the strain of keeping it so showed clearly on his face. “I yield to you in this, Ambrosia, but only because it is too late for Janette to begin another gown. I warn you now that in the future I will not be so likely to make concessions.” He paused, his eyes holding hers as if to emphasize what he had said.
“I will send Sheba for you in an hour or so,” he went on curtly. ‘’I suddenly recall some unfinished business I must attend to.”
Without another word he left the shop, leaving Ambrosia and the stunned Frenchwoman staring after him.
Chapter 25
The house was vaguely familiar to Ambrosia, though she did not really remember the last time she had been there, attending a party for Ledger and Melissa five years before. The odd feeling of familiarity coupled with Drayton’s stiff restraint made her feel uneasy from the moment she stepped inside. She did her best to ignore the scores of curious eyes which suddenly riveted on her, the hushed comments that buzzed behind the fancy fans as the ladies noticed her gown. She met the onlookers with a look of defiant courage as she stood beside her husband. It was a look Drayton had come to know well. She nodded a cool greeting to Colonel Beam, who came forward to take her hand. “I had a feeling you’d be facing the vultures tonight,” she heard him say to Drayton. “You’ve caused quite a sensation, you know.”
Drayton had no chance to respond, for Mrs. Sickles, a rather plain Italian woman dressed in a hideous yellow gown, came forward. Ambrosia nodded but did not return the woman’s smile. In the hours that followed Drayton introduced her to a hundred officers and their wives, to treasury officials, to men who worked for the Freedman’s Bureau. Many of the faces were familiar from her work at Maggie’s; a few of the women were openly hostile, curiously eyeing her gown and asking themselves what on earth Drayton Rambert saw in her. But none seemed so threatening as Carolyn Craig, the pretty brunette who had obviously been Drayton’s favorite these past months, the same girl Ambrosia had seen with him at the market. Ambrosia attempted a dignified posture of indifference when Carolyn leaned forward to finger Drayton’s collar, exposing a generous view of her breasts. Ambrosia pretended not to notice the way Carolyn smiled up at him, giggling and chatting. She told herself she did not really care, but relief flooded her when her husband made an excuse and led her off toward another group of soldiers. At least he had spared her the ultimate humiliation by offering the woman no encouragement.
For a time it appeared that Ambrosia would survive the evening without incident. Though she scarcely said a word to the ladies who attempted to draw her into conversation and coldly refused all invitations to dance, Drayton adeptly managed to steer her away from Carolyn all but once, and to avoid anyone who might broach a topic any more controversial than the weather. But when Mrs. Sickles accosted him and insisted he bring his bride to the private parlor to meet a few of her husband’s closest friends, Drayton had no ready excuse and reluctantly complied. Mrs. Sickles chatted happily as she led them into the room, introduced them to her husband and the others, and saw them seated comfortably near the general. They were there only moments when the conversation took an ominous turn toward politics, but Drayton could think of no graceful way to make a quick exit.
It began with talk about the “courageous leadership” of Thaddeus Stevens, the man who had effectively crushed South Carolina’s hopes of quick reentry into the Union. In accordance with President Johnson’s plan for Reconstruction, ten Southern states under their provisional governors had held elections and framed new state constitutions repudiating secession and affirming the abolition of slavery. Though many Southerners then naively supposed that Reconstruction was complete, the nightmare was only beginning. The radical Congress which met in Washington in December of 1865 refused to seat claimants sent by any of the new Southern governments, and worked diligently to replace the President’s plan with a much stiffer, much more demanding method of Reconstruction aimed at breaking the strength of the Southern Democrats. Included in the Congressional plan was the mandatory ratification of the Fourteenth amendment, which conferred citizenship on Negroes and disqualified from public life any person who had ever taken an oath to support the Constitution and subsequently supported secession.
Drayton was relieved when Ambrosia clamped her mouth shut and lowered her eyes. In the face of such a heated debate, no one seemed to notice her tightly clenched fists or the slight flare to her nostrils that clearly showed her agitation.
“It is ridiculous to place power in the hands of the same men who caused the war! Any man who held public office before the rebellion ought to have been loyal to his country and rejected the idea of secession. Any who supported it are traitors and they will always be traitors.” The man’s face was a familiar one to Ambrosia, as well as his fancy clothes and blustery manner. He was a carpetbagger, like thousands of others who had come here in the past year, anxious to rape the prostrate South as she lay helpless from the ravages of war.
“Why, in heaven’s name, did we fight for four years if not to liberate the Negro and to insure his rights as a citizen?” asked a balding Sergeant Lane.
“Come, come! You can’t mean to give an ignorant field hand the right to vote!’’ This comment from one of the wives.
“Not ignorant for long,” the carpetbagger corrected. “The bureau’s working hard to educate them.”
“Yes.” Colonel Beam nodded wryly. “They’re being taught-to vote Republican.”
“As well they should,” the carpetbagger retorted, ignoring the laughter Beam’s remark had generated. “They ought to know which side their bread’s buttered on. We’re trying to help the colored get what they’ve got coming to them, after all the years of bondage. And we won’t let these highfalutin white folks off the hook for their crimes just because they took an oath. Anyone who would fight a war to keep an entire race in chains is totally without conscience.”
“But if you disqualify those men who held office before the war, and take into account the number of
men who died, who is left? Who will pick up the pieces of this sorry, battle-scarred land and rebuild it? Who will rule?’’ demanded Beam.
“The freedmen will rule,” returned the carpetbagger, “and they’ll do a damned good job of it too.”
There were several outraged gasps at that, resulting both from the man’s coarse choice of words in the presence of ladies and the radical viewpoint he had expressed.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cooed a sweet, indulgent voice. Ambrosia’s eyes lifted at the sound, and she faced the pretty, smiling face of Carolyn Craig. She had entered the room just moments before and she was intent on becoming the center of attention. “None of us really knows all that much about the Negroes,’’ she said softly, meeting each pair of gentleman’s eyes with a sweet, captivating gaze. ‘’Who knows if they are able and competent, as some tell us, or shiftless and ignorant, as others say? I mean, none of us has ever actually lived with any of them’’-her eyes hardened, though her smile and tone remained innocent”-except perhaps Drayton’s bride.” She turned to Ambrosia and gave an expectant lift of her brow. “Do tell us, Ambrosia, did you actually own slaves?”
Ambrosia cringed inwardly at the woman’s use of her familiar name, but her face was perfectly calm. “Yes.” Carolyn feigned shock and a murmur of disapproval went up from the crowd. Then suddenly all was very quiet.
“Well, tell us! Were you forced to beat them often?” Carolyn smiled at her own cleverness. “Do you think them competent enough to hold public office?”
Ambrosia laced her fingers primly at her waist and seemed at ease. “The Negroes I have known have been at least as intelligent as the Northerners who are so anxious to put them in office,” she responded coolly. “If there is one thing I’ve learned from you Yankees, Mrs. Craig, it’s that ignorance is not limited to any one race.”
The murmurs of indignation stirred the otherwise silent room.” And what of those who supported the rebellion?” Carolyn pressed, sensing that this woman would easily condemn herself with a few more rash statements.
“Yes,” interjected the carpetbagger. “What of those who aided in the slaughter of thousands of loyal Union men? Men like your husband? Do you think it fair to let them off scot-free, demanding nothing more than the taking of a simple oath of loyalty?”
Ambrosia’s eyes burned with indignation. “I know of not a single man who has been let off scot-free,’’ she returned sharply. “Most have suffered far worse than anyone here could even imagine. If you think otherwise, then you know nothing of the destruction of those four years, of the burning and looting and-’’
‘’Are you saying that the Rebels have suffered enough?” the carpetbagger cut in incredulously. “That you believe an oath erases all their crimes?”
Ambrosia lifted her chin and purposely ignored the hand which suddenly gripped her arm. “I believe,” she began, avoiding the warning in Drayton’s eyes, “that the taking of such an oath is the greatest crime of all, sir. To swear allegiance to one’s enemy is an unforgivable crime of betrayal-a betrayal of conscience, a betrayal of loyalty to one’s self.”
“Do you mean that you have not taken the oath?” Carolyn burst out in a shrill voice. Her eyes flashed with excitement.
Ambrosia met Drayton’s eyes and saw them narrow with barely restrained temper. But she never even considered sidestepping the question for his sake. She was glad of the opportunity to remind him what she was. “I am proud to say that I have not,’’ she announced succinctly. Several women in the room blanched and waved their fans or lacy handkerchiefs furiously before their noses. The men stood aghast. A Rebel in their midst! A woman who refused to take the oath! Who actually referred to them as the enemy! General Sickles rose with a dark scowl and met Drayton’s eyes with a look that spelled trouble. Carolyn saw that look and could not hold back a triumphant smile. Drayton’s bride could not have done a better job of hanging herself, of ruining her husband’s position with the army in Charleston.
Nothing more was said as Mrs. Sickles graciously directed her guests to the music room, where the daughter of a colonel on the general’s staff was persuaded to show off her skill as an accomplished pianist. Drayton took the opportunity to mouth regrets to the host and hostess and effect a hasty departure. He did not receive any argument.
Drayton’s eyes were hard and impassive as he stared straight ahead. His lean, gloved hands gripped the reins tightly as he guided the buggy through the streets. A brief, sidelong glance told Ambrosia that he was still terribly angry. A tiny muscle near his temple twitched erratically as he struggled to restrain himself, and his teeth were clamped hard on a long, unlit cigar. Let him be angry, she told herself. She had been a reluctant intruder at that party anyway, forced to play out a pointless, nerve wracking charade. She had not deliberately sought a forum to publicize her beliefs. But she had not backed away from a confrontation, and she had not been willing to lie, just to win the approval of Drayton’s friends. If he had expected her to do that, then he fully deserved to be disappointed.
He pulled back hard on the reins and brought the buggy to a too-quick stop before the house. Ambrosia braced herself and stole another glance at him, wondering if he would behave tonight as he had the evening before, after the altercation at the dressmaker’s shop. What little conversation they had shared at dinner and afterward had been polite, yet stilted and false. Neither had spoken of the incident that weighed so heavily on their minds. When they retired he had turned away, leaving her to stare at the broad, sinewy muscles of his back until she fell asleep.
Ambrosia averted her eyes when Drayton lithely slipped from the buggy and turned to assist her, but she could not keep a frown from tugging at her brow when she felt his hands encircle her waist. She reminded herself that she ought to be relieved, even grateful for his anger, his coldness. There was security to be found in keeping him at arm’s length. She was already frightened enough by the power he held over her.
She lifted her chin and strode haughtily toward the house, aware that he followed close behind her. He nodded brusquely to Sheba but did not pause, did not even say a word until they were safely in the confines of their own room. Ambrosia took a seat at her vanity and gazed absently at her reflection. She removed the ornamental net from her hair and ran her fingers nervously through the long, black strands that fell about her shoulders. Drayton stood beside her, staring at her for a long moment as he removed his gloves. All at once he slapped them hard against the vanity. Ambrosia winced. His voice rang sharply in the otherwise silent room. “You can’t forget for a single moment, can you?”
Without turning to face him, Ambrosia met his eyes in the mirror. They were threatening, accusing, like chips of polished sapphire. She swallowed hard and looked away.
“You don’t even want to forget, do you?” he flung at her. “You enjoyed humiliating me tonight, enjoyed flaunting your arrogant Southern heritage in front of their noses!’’ He let out a short, frustrated sigh and turned away, running a hand roughly through his hair “I’ve tried to understand you, to understand what you’ve lost, to be patient with you. But you’ve built a wall around yourself that doesn’t let patience and understanding inside. You despise me for breaking through that wall once, don’t you? You hate me because I know that you were in love with him, because I saw how much he hurt you.”
Ambrosia’s face tensed, her lips trembling violently. He met her eyes in the mirror again, his nostrils flaring. “Sometimes I think you actually feed on the memories of what’s happened to you. You don’t want anyone to pity you or even to care for you. You just want to be left alone so you can draw some perverse pleasure from your bitterness and your hate, don’t you?” He gripped her shoulders hard and spun her about roughly to face the accusation. “Don’t you?”
“Yes!” she screamed at him, her eyes every bit as hard as his. “Yes!” she screamed again. “Did you really expect me to forget? Did you really think I would ever f
orgive you for what you did to my home? I despise you even more than the rest of them-you and your little acts of charity. I hate you more every time you touch me!”
Suddenly there was a desperation in his eyes, the look of a man grasping, groping, fighting for something to hold on to. “My God...” he whispered.
He released her slowly, his eyes still searching, still not wanting to believe what he saw. And then his face hardened, and he turned away and was gone.
Chapter 26
Drayton’s hand poised uncertainly above the letter he’d just written for a long moment before his mouth set with determination and he hurriedly affixed his signature to the document. He tossed the pen aside and leaned back in the chair, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. It had taken him all night and half a bottle of whiskey, but the decision was finally made. He was going home.
Home...the word still held too many memories for him, ghosts of a past he had run from for six long years. But there would be no more running. There was a child to consider now, a child he would not see born in the midst of hate and destruction, a child whose future must be secure. And there was no security in his present situation. If anything were to happen to him here, Ambrosia and the child would be alone, with no one to turn to. Besides, Ambrosia would rather starve than turn to anyone for help.
Drayton vented a sigh as he rose to cup his hand over the chimney of the desk lamp, extinguishing the light with a quick breath. He gathered up his things and left his office, placing the letter of resignation in the center of the corporal’s cluttered desk on his way out of the building. The cool moist air of morning might have felt pleasant on his face as he mounted his impatient stallion and reined in the direction of the house, had he not felt so defeated. He had been so sure that he could reach her, so certain that it was only a matter of time and patience and love. In desperation and need, he had used his superior strength and his knowledge of physical love in a pathetic attempt to reach her, to make her care. But the brief, physical release he felt after imposing his will, or after seducing her, only ate away at his pride and degraded him as a man in his own eyes. He had been a fool to believe that she would ever care for him. The truth had been in her eyes last night, and what he had seen there had forced him to face reality. There would be no reaching her; and he was no longer sure he wanted to.
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