by Debra Diaz
Genny was practically frantic as the baby seemed to hang suspended, only half its purplish gray body visible; she clamped hard on her self-control and tried to appear as composed as Ethan did. He worked deftly, moving the cord, sliding his hands upward to gently bring down one little arm, then the other. Now only the head remained. Ethan told Genny where to apply pressure, urged Beth to bear down, and at last the lusty cries of a newborn son filled the room.
Ethan examined the baby, cut the umbilical cord and handed him to Genny, who bathed him slowly because she was afraid he would slip out of her hands, and wrapped him in a soft blanket. Then she laid him beside his exhausted but smiling mother.
“You can go down and wait for me, if you like,” Ethan told her. “I won’t be much longer. Tell Jim everything’s fine and he can come in now.”
She found Mr. Simmons sitting at the kitchen table with his hands over his head. He looked at her dazedly as she repeated Ethan’s words, then shot to his feet and raced from the room.
The birds were beginning to cheep and sing as she stumbled out onto the porch and practically fell into the swing. She looked up at the fading moon and the pale light that diffused over the horizon. Her head lolled back against the back of the swing, and she dozed. Then she heard the front door open and close, and footsteps crossed the porch. She straightened and saw Ethan sitting on the steps, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
He nodded, without looking up.
“Doctor,” she said hesitantly, “is it always like that? Having a baby, I mean.”
He turned his head and glanced at her, seeing the fear in her eyes. “No,” he said kindly. “Although, having a baby is not for the faint-hearted. Some doctors don’t mind giving a woman chloroform, or some other kind of anesthetic drug — though I don’t do it unless it’s absolutely necessary. But what happened today is rare, Genny.”
A silence fell between them, warm and strangely peaceful. Genny began to swing gently back and forth as they both watched the sun rise. She didn’t want to move; she’d never been so tired in her life. But at last Ethan got to his feet and walked over to her, holding out his hand. She gave him her own without hesitation.
“Let’s go home,” he said.
* * * *
The present amicability between herself and the doctor didn’t last very long. Too often a tension sprang up between them, the origin of which she was at a loss to know, and no sooner had he complimented her for the way she’d assisted with Mrs. Simmons than he was reprimanding her for being rude to a patient.
It was, to her way of thinking, a justified rudeness. Mrs. Edna Thorpe was a cold, unfriendly woman whose first words to Genny were, “Where is Elvira? I want Elvira” —meaning, of course, Dr. Carey’s former assistant. This hadn’t sat well with Genny. Her attitude thereafter to Mrs. Thorpe was one of frigid politeness. On the day in question, Mrs. Thorpe had stalked into the office without an appointment and announced that she “must see Doctor at once.”
“What seems to be the trouble, Mrs. Thorpe?” Genny inquired sweetly.
Mrs. Thorpe stared at her as if she hadn’t heard, and repeated, “Tell Dr. Carey I am here to see him.”
Genny’s smile became rather fixed. “You may not be aware, Mrs. Thorpe, that Dr. Carey has other patients besides yourself, and on occasion is extremely busy. It’s customary to make an appointment before barging, I mean, coming into the office for a consultation. Unless, of course, it is an emergency.”
She then turned away and inspected her fingernails.
Mrs. Thorpe’s breath escaped in an agitated whoof. “Why, why you impertinent minx!”
Genny’s temper soared and her dislike triumphed. She rose with dignity. “And you, madam, can either make an appointment to see the doctor, or you can leave.”
Mrs. Thorpe turned an alarming mottled red, stalked past Genny down the hall and flung open the first door she came upon. She never knew that her neighbor, Mr. Sanders, was sitting on the examination table in nothing but his underwear, making an earnest but vain attempt to cover himself with his bony arms. Her eyes fell blazingly on Ethan, who stared at her in amazement.
“I won’t have it!” she railed in clarion tones. “I shan’t be subjected to such insults and sarcasms!”
Ethan took Mrs. Thorpe into another room and closed the door so that Genny couldn’t hear what was said, though she strained her ears. Presently Mrs. Thorpe made an icy departure, followed soon after by a meek Mr. Sanders. Ethan didn’t appear until late in the afternoon when the last patient had left the office.
“All right,” he said mildly, “let’s hear your side of it. What did Mrs. Thorpe say to you?”
Genny told him, full of righteous indignation, so she couldn’t believe her ears when Ethan said, “You were wrong, no matter how much she deserved it. Don’t let it happen again.”
“But — but you should have heard her! Besides, she didn’t have an appointment —”
“You should have consulted me. Mrs. Thorpe has a disease of the arteries. You just about threw her into apoplexy, and I don’t think you really wanted to kill her, did you? I don’t think she’ll be back, but if she is I want you to apologize to her.”
“I will not apologize to that — that sanctimonious bag of wind!”
He said sharply, “That’s enough. In this office you will do what I tell you to do,” and left to go to the hospital.
Genny spent the remainder of the evening sulking in her room. She needn’t have bothered, however, for Ethan didn’t return until long after she went to sleep. She had decided she would be discharged before she would apologize to Mrs. Thorpe, even though she didn’t believe that Ethan would go so far as to do that. But that, too, proved a needless worry, for Mrs. Thorpe promptly found herself another doctor whose assistant had a properly humble disposition.
CHAPTER NINE
Explosions of firecrackers and merrymakers in the streets marked the arrival of the Fourth of July. Genny went to a picnic on the town square with her church friends and planned to go to a ball that evening, escorted by her new beau, Jack Boone. (Charles Spencer had joined the ranks of her discarded suitors.) Jack was shy but pleasant, quite different from Charles.
She’d bought a new dress with her carefully hoarded money, and spent an hour on her hair. She hoped that Ethan would see her before she left, for she felt a need to put him in his place, and it would be most gratifying to see his eyes light up with admiration. He would be forced to compliment her on her appearance. Once he’d been snared by her beauty, she would call forth all the flirting instincts she’d held in abeyance and he would be like clay in her hands.
After sashaying down the stairs, she wandered expectantly through the corridors, only to learn that Ethan had been called to the hospital to perform an emergency surgery. She felt vaguely disappointed, and it somehow spoiled the rest of the evening.
Jack called for her punctually and they drove to the home of Josephine Hawkins, with whom Genny had become friends after meeting her at church. The young lady lived with her parents in a huge yellow house adorned with gables, turrets, verandas and fretwork; the lawn was cluttered with statues and birdbaths and gazebos. It was a new style that Genny didn’t like, much preferring the subdued elegance of Ethan’s house.
She had just finished a dance with Jack and was waiting for him to bring her a dessert from the refreshment table when she overheard a group of matrons talking in the corner. She only half-listened until a name was mentioned that struck her as forcibly as a slap in the face. She began to edge closer to the group in order to hear them better.
“…Not the first time — bad reputation — always visits the — ” That was all she could hear, and the women trailed off in whispers, with much head-shaking and pursing of lips.
Surely, surely they had meant some other Malone. They couldn’t have been talking about Slade Malone. Not the one she knew! He lived hundreds of miles away, and no on
e in this room could possibly know him.
But, why not? He’d certainly been to Knoxville.
Genny looked about her at all the blandly smiling faces, the flirting girls, the too-loud laughter of the men, the gossiping matrons. For a moment she felt as if she weren’t a part of them at all, as if they had somehow receded into another world, and all at once that desperate longing for something was so heavy upon her that she felt as if she might begin to sob.
Jack returned with the dessert. She ate mechanically, inquired of the time and requested that Jack take her home, which he did promptly, offering her a very proper handshake as he bade her goodnight. Valerie must have already retired, for the house was dark as she made her way up the stairs. She struggled out of her clothes, flinging them helter-skelter about the room, pulled her nightgown over her head and climbed into bed. But sleep did not come.
She tossed restlessly from side to side. What if Slade Malone were in Nashville? If they should meet, what would he do, what would he say to her? Was she in danger? He couldn’t have followed her here. It had to be just coincidence that he’d decided to visit Nashville. But maybe she should stop going to so many parties…
Hours must have passed when she finally got up. She couldn’t stand the hot room one more minute. Far off, some ill-mannered person was still shooting firecrackers. She listened at the door for a moment. Hearing nothing, she opened it and hurried down the hallway. She needed a cool drink of water, or better still, the lemonade she knew Myrtle Mae had left in the pantry.
She had reached the foot of the stairs when she heard a rattling at the front door, and it opened and shut quietly. Her startled eyes met Ethan’s. One side of his face remained in shadow; moonlight from the study windows struck the other side, making it gleam like polished bronze. His eyes, intense and piercing, glittered a silvery gray.
She jumped like a rabbit and began to run back up the stairs.
“Genny!”
She stopped, and slowly turned. He had moved to stand by the stairs, his hand resting casually on the balustrade.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, staring up at her.
She was painfully aware of her tousled hair and rumpled nightgown. This was not how she’d planned to get his attention … but she most certainly had it now.
“I was going to get a drink of water,” she said with dignity, completely forgetting about the lemonade.
He advanced a couple of steps. “How was the ball?” he asked lightly. “Has your Mr. Boone popped the question?”
“I — I —” She could only think how improper it seemed to be standing there in her nightclothes, conversing with such nonchalance it might be an after-supper chat in the parlor.
He came up another step. He mustn’t come so close. She couldn’t breathe. One bare foot lifted and retreated, back one step.
Unexpectedly a shrieking sound erupted in the street just outside, followed by an ear-splitting explosion. She jumped again, and felt rather than saw Ethan’s body tense. His hand clenched down on the balustrade and his body bent forward; for a moment she thought he was going to throw himself on her. She stood frozen, her hand at her throat.
He straightened almost at once and, after a short pause, said, “Sorry. Those firecrackers sound like — ” He stopped. Another moment ticked by. She couldn’t see his face clearly now, but a change had come over him. No longer light-hearted, he almost seemed like a stranger. But, oddly, she felt no fear of him.
“You’d better go back to bed,” he said. When she didn’t move, he said, “I’ll bring you a glass of water.”
“No!” she replied, in a low but fervent voice.
“I’ll leave it beside your door. Now, if you want to preserve your virtue, madam, go back to your bedroom.”
She couldn’t tell if he were teasing or not, but she needed no further urging. She waited until she heard his footsteps pass her room and the closing of his door from far down the hall. When she opened her own door, a tall glass of water stood on the floor. She picked it up and closed the door.
She drank the water slowly and thought about what he’d said. A thrill of purely feminine triumph went through her.
At last, she thought contentedly, at last she had the upper hand.
* * * *
Summer passed into fall. She saw little of Ethan, except at the office, and there was little time for conversation between them. He never mentioned the night on the stairs, and she couldn’t very well do so without seeming forward. Things weren’t working out quite the way she wanted.
But, when she really thought about it, she didn’t know what she wanted.
In September, he left Nashville to attend a reunion of his former regiment in Memphis. When he returned he was unusually quiet, and when she asked him what was wrong he said only that a friend of his, his former commander, was very ill and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do for him. Then he changed the subject and became, for a while, his former teasing and ironical self.
One night, in late October, a telegram came to the house. Agnes received it at the door, carried it into the dining room where everyone was eating supper, and with a combination of gravity and anxiety on her face, presented it to Ethan.
Ethan read the telegram silently, his hand absently smoothing the front of his coat. Then his hand stopped abruptly.
“Bedford Forrest died today,” he said. “In Memphis. They want me to come.”
“I suppose you’ll be leaving right away,” said Geoff.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Ethan. Good old Bedford. What was it he used to say — I’ll get there first with the most.”
Ethan smiled. “Yes, and he usually did get there first, though not with the most. He made the Federals think so. You going with me, Geoff?”
“I think not. I don’t feel up to it. Please give Miss Mary my condolences.”
Ethan gave him a swift look, then turned his attention to Genny. “You’ll have some time off, Genny. I’ll have Dr. Howard cover for me at the hospital, and you can refer any emergencies to him. Just put a sign on the office door to the effect that I’m attending a funeral and I’ll be back in a few days.”
He excused himself and left the table, his supper half-eaten. Valerie looked after him sadly.
“Were they very good friends?” Genny asked.
Geoff answered thoughtfully, “Yes. Though Forrest was twenty or so years older. Ethan was close to all the Forrest brothers. Jeffrey was nearer our own age. Ethan was with Jeffrey when he was killed — died instantly, shot in the neck. They say Forrest stopped everything, knelt beside him and wept like a child, bullets flying all around him.”
“Was that when Ethan was shot?” Genny asked, remembering some mention of his being wounded.
“No. Ethan was shot after the battle of Shiloh.”
Genny noticed that Geoff’s eyes had taken on that strange, inward look, and knew that he was going to talk, talk as if compelled by some inner force. Valerie saw it, too, and stared down at her hands clasped in her lap.
“I was mostly unconscious, then, but I heard about it. That’s all they talked about in the convalescent ward at Corinth. That day, I mean. The things that went wrong. You see, we thought we’d won the day before. But during the night, the Yankees got twenty-four thousand fresh troops. We had no more men, not much ammunition. We made an effort, sure, but — ” He gave an eloquent shrug.
“Forrest and his cavalry were covering the retreat. The Yanks didn’t even try to follow us until the next day. Then, at a clearing on the Corinth road, Forrest spotted them coming for us. Our side had only about three hundred and fifty cavalrymen. There were about five times as many Yanks.
“They say Forrest yelled and they went charging toward the Yanks and scared the blazes out of them. But Ethan got hit by a Springfield rifle and fell off his horse. His horse was shot, too, I think. The Yankees were retreating but Forrest didn’t stop — charged right after them. Then he looked back and found out he was by himself, bec
ause our boys had seen how many of them there were and pulled back.
“So, he found himself surrounded by Yanks all bent on either killing him or taking him prisoner, and his horse got shot and his saber was going every which way. Then he got shot, and he whirled his horse around and cut his way out. He grabbed one of those Yanks by the collar, pulled him up on his horse and used him as a shield. Then when he got far enough away, he dropped him. He galloped right on up to his men and they got away. That horse made it all the way to Corinth before it died.”
Geoff stopped, shaking his head. “Sherman used to call him ‘that devil Forrest’. I’ve never understood what drove him.” He looked up, straight into Genny’s eyes. “What drove any of us.”
“What happened to Ethan?”
When Geoff didn’t answer, Valerie said, “He ended up in the Corinth hospital, too — for a while. Neither he nor General Forrest stayed down for long.”
When Ethan had left, the house seemed very empty. Genny was surprised to find that she missed him. She missed him ardently. Somehow this seemed different from his other absences. She kept remembering the way he’d looked when he read the telegram.
On the day he was to return, she went outside and sat in a rocker on the front porch. The autumn twilight was full of long blue shadows, blending into a deep mauve and gray sky streaked with purplish clouds. The rocker creaked gently and the faint sounds of children playing drifted from far down the street. A bird shot upward out of the giant oak tree that stood in front of the house and careened off into the dusk.
Her heart began to race when she heard the brisk clip-clop of horses’ hooves, and she craned her neck to see who was coming. A cab drew up to the edge of the road. It stopped and Ethan got out, paid the driver, and started up the driveway, his valise held in his right hand.
Without thinking she got quickly to her feet. He looked up and saw her, paused, and kept on walking. He mounted the steps slowly and took off his hat. She could think of nothing to say, and fought a perplexing urge to throw her arms around him.