Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “That would be delightful,” Ceci smiled, making use of her fan. “The room has become quite warm.”

  “Then may I suggest we retire to the veranda and take advantage of the night air?” With a glass in each hand, he presented his arm to her.

  They slipped through a gap in the draperies and out onto the veranda. The sky was velvet black, shot full of brilliant stars. Cicadas chirruped from the silhouettes of cypress trees, as soft nocturnal breezes, laden with the scent of jasmine and lilac, sighed through their branches.

  Trent placed one glass on the balustrade and offered Ceci the other. She began to remove her gloves to accept it, but in doing so, dropped one. Trent placed the second glass on the balustrade and stooped to pick it up. Ceci held out her hand in expectation, but he merely folded the garment and slipped it into his breast pocket.

  She gasped, taken aback, her arm falling to her side. “Why, Mr Sinclaire,” she began to bluster. “You forget yourself.”

  Indifferent to her protest, he reached out. Taking her by the nape of her neck, he slipped a hand about her waist and drew her towards him, lowering his lips onto hers.

  Ceci was transfixed. The touch of his lips kindled a fire within her. She embraced it, surrendering to it completely, entirely at his mercy, until he chose to release her.

  “Please, call me Trent,” he invited.

  She trembled from head to toe, her heart racing, her breast heaving, the fire unabating. “Very well,” she breathed compliantly, reaching up to return his kiss. “Trent.”

  “Ceci.”

  Startled, she jumped back. Celeste was standing on the veranda, eyeing them both suspiciously.

  “I hope it ain’t your intention to monopolise my sister, Mr Sinclaire,” she enquired stiffly.

  “My apologies,” he inclined his head, moving aside.

  “You’re neglecting your other guests,” she told her, catching Ceci by the hand and leading her from the veranda.

  Ceci followed, managing a desperate glance across her shoulder. Trent remained on the veranda, framed against the stars, watching her watching him.

  “You didn’t have to pull so hard,” she complained. “I was merely enjoying a glass of lemonade on the veranda.”

  “So, I saw,” Celeste replied knowingly. She glanced down. “Where’s your other glove?”

  Ceci averted her eyes, raising her fan to cover her blushes. “I must have lost it,” she mumbled.

  The ball continued well into the small hours, but by now there was little about it that Ceci could appreciate. Under the constant scrutiny of her sister, all she could do was go through the motions. She danced with other, anonymous men, gliding aimlessly across the floor, sometimes catching a glimpse of Trent. Every time she did, she sighed and her partner would smile, believing it was for him.

  “You didn’t have to stand over me for the rest of the night,” Ceci whispered peevishly, as her guests filed past, making their farewells.

  “I just wanted to make sure, you didn’t drink more lemonade than was good for you,” Celeste retorted scathingly.

  In Louisiana, it was customary for a gentleman to take a lady’s hand and touch his lips against the back of it, before leaving her company. Bringing up the rear, Trent appeared determined to flout convention. Grasping Ceci by the wrist, he turned her hand over, dropping a kiss into her palm.

  “Thank you for an unforgettable evening,” he smiled confidently, his eyes teasing her senses.

  Ceci drew back her hand, speechless.

  “I declare,” Celeste glowered, hands on hips. “That boy’s the very devil.” She glanced at Ceci, gazing longingly after him. “Then again,” she recalled with a sigh. “So was my husband, when I first met him.”

  “Sun’s coming up and you still ain’t tired,” Hecubah groaned. “Not even after all them men bin dragging you around the floor, like a sack of taters.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever sleep again,” Ceci responded airily.

  “I’ll remind you of that when you got bags under your eyes,” Hecubah warned. “It’s that boy, ain’t it?” she realised. “Trent Sinclaire.” It wasn’t much of a guess. “And what about the others?”

  “Why, I doubt if they’ll be wanting to call,” Ceci remarked dismissively. “I made no good impression on any of them.”

  “Oh, honey,” Hecubah snorted, “they’ll be wanting to call. You can rely on that.”

  “I’m quite sure you’re wrong,” Ceci insisted.

  “Child, when bees find pollen,” Hecubah advised her. “They don’t leave until they get it all.”

  “All right, maybe one or two then,” Ceci conceded grudgingly. “But I bet you a dollar they don’t all come back.”

  ***

  “I can’t believe it,” Ceci stared at the pile of calling cards littering her bed like confetti. “They all come back.” Her eyebrows rose, as she looked down at the large silver coin resting in her palm. “As well as some that weren’t even invited to the ball.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah acknowledged, “word gets around when there’s a good thing going.” She darted forward, snatching the dollar from Ceci’s open hand.

  “I was saving that for candy,” she pouted.

  “Candy’s no good for your teeth,” Hecubah cautioned, admiring the coin. “Your figure neither,” she added absently, breathing on the dollar and polishing it on her sleeve. “Which, by the way, is the reason they all come back.”

  “Just to look at my figure?” Ceci eyed her doubtfully.

  “Looking’s only the first part,” Hecubah replied, still preoccupied with her prize. “Then comes the touching and the kissing, but from what Miss Celeste tells me, I guess you already knows that.”

  Ceci’s eyes went wide, her face reddening. “Hecubah, please,” she squirmed.

  Hecubah pressed the coin to the centre of her chest. “I think I’ll have Joshua drill a hole in this,” she mused to herself. “So I can wear it like a medal.” She glanced back at Ceci. “Mr Trent’s card among all them?”

  Ceci looked away. “No,” she shrugged.

  “You disappointed?”

  Ceci’s shoulders barely twitched. “I think I’ve been foolish.”

  “Not necessarily,” Hecubah contradicted. “You see, some boys don’t bother with calling cards. They just turns up unannounced.”

  It took Ceci a moment to realise what she was saying. “What?” she shrieked. “Are you telling me he’s here now?”

  “Bin pacing the morning room this last half hour,” Hecubah remarked casually.

  Ceci leapt off the bed. “Oh, Hecubah, I could swat you,” she fumed, dashing to the mirror, desperately trying to make herself look presentable.

  “Girl, it don’t hurt to keep a man waiting,” Hecubah informed her calmly. “And this boy’s so full of himself, he deserves to be taken down a peg or two.”

  Ceci wasn’t listening. Satisfied with her appearance, she grabbed her shawl and flew out of the door.

  Hecubah looked back at the coin. “Yes sir,” she nodded, “just like a medal. Lord knows, I’ve earned it.”

  Ceci paused from her headlong dash, catching her breath in an effort to regain her composure, before sauntering into the morning room. Despite her feelings for him, she didn’t wish to appear too anxious.

  Nevertheless, the very sight of him made her heart flutter. “Why, Mr Sinclaire,” she acknowledged, trying to sound nonchalant. “This is so very unexpected.”

  Trent was immediately sceptical. The colour in her cheeks contradicted her cool exterior, suggesting to him that she fostered emotions she had elected to conceal. He was more than happy to play her game. “Forgive my intrusion,” he responded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I felt compelled to come.”

  “Compelled?” Ceci
’s eyes widened.

  “And apologise,” he completed his sentence.

  “Apologise,” she faltered.

  “Yes,” he continued earnestly. “For my conduct. For taking advantage of you at the ball.”

  “Oh, I see,” she turned away, her lips taut. “You regret your actions then?”

  He came up behind her and laid his hands lightly on her shoulders. “Should I?” he enquired tentatively.

  She turned to find herself caught in the hypnotic gaze of those pale blue eyes. Like a moth before a flame, she was drawn to the heat and the danger. “Why, Mr Sinclaire,” she breathed. “I believe you are trying to take advantage of me again.” It wasn’t as if she didn’t want him to.

  “And if I am?” he challenged softly.

  Her breath quickened, the colour rising in her cheeks again. “Then I think I shall walk out of this room and never agree to see you again,” her voice lacked conviction.

  “Is that what you’re going to do?” he persisted.

  Once more she found herself trapped in the blue of his eyes. They drew her in, draining what little resistance she had. He seemed so self-assured, so certain of her. She could feel that fire beginning to burn within her again. She knew she should be angry with him, but it merely added spice to the mixture. She lowered her eyes, wringing her hands in agitation. “No,” she admitted.

  As far as Trent was concerned, the game was over. “Ceci, there’s something I have to tell you,” he began, just as Hecubah appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray of china.

  “I thought you and Mr Sinclaire might like some tea,” she smiled pleasantly, placing the tray on the table.

  Tea was the last thing on Ceci’s mind. She prayed that Hecubah would just leave the tray and go, but it wasn’t to be.

  “Shall I pour?” Clearly Hecubah intended to stay.

  The mood had vanished, evaporating like morning mist under the summer sun. There then followed an hour of the most tedious conversation Ceci had ever endured. All she and Trent could do was glance at one another across the table, as Hecubah chattered incessantly about one trivial topic after another. At one point, she considered strangling her, or rendering her unconscious with the tea tray, but before she could put any of these plans into action, Hecubah suddenly changed the subject.

  “I hear you are attending West Point military academy,” she remarked to Trent.

  “That is correct,” he confirmed politely.

  “You hope for a career in the army?” She continued innocuously.

  “Yes, I do,” he responded, flattered by her interest.

  “Doubtless, you have a very fine uniform,” she drew him in.

  “I have a uniform,” he agreed, a little perplexed.

  “I’m sure Ceci would love to see you in it,” she presumed without asking.

  Before Ceci could intervene to the contrary, the heel of Hecubah’s shoe caught her sharply across the shin, making her gasp. “All right,” she winced, fearful of another assault. “Yes, I would.”

  “There,” Hecubah declared, “you see. I’m sure you’re not the kind of man to disappoint a lady.”

  “Certainly not,” he assured her. “But I would have to send to New York for that.”

  “That’s what I thought,” she continued divisively. “I hope you’re not going to keep a lady waiting,” she concluded, leaving him little choice.

  “In that case, I shall see to it at once,” he complied.

  Hecubah’s smile broadened. “You is so very gracious, sir.” She rose, forcing him to do likewise, much to Ceci’s dismay.

  “Oh, no, Trent,” she moaned, “you don’t have to go now.”

  “I think it’s best I should,” he told her, glancing at Hecubah. “But if I may, I’ll come back when I have my uniform.”

  “Of course,” Hecubah agreed, before Ceci could answer. “We’ll arrange a picnic in your honour. Allow me to show you to the door.”

  “What’ d you do that for?” Ceci stormed, when Hecubah returned. “You almost crippled me, and why’ d you make him send all the way to New York for his uniform? That’ll take ages to arrive.”

  “Exactly,” Hecubah agreed unreservedly. “It’ll give you both time to think, cool your heels for a spell. I told you before,” she reminded her, “that boy’s too full of himself. Needed taking down a peg or two. I could see you weren’t gonna do it. Honey, you has got to make a man work for your attention. That way he’ll appreciate you, instead of taking you for granted. If he loves you as much as you think he does, he’ll be glad of a chance to prove himself.”

  “He was just about to do that, before you barged in,” Ceci pouted.

  “No,” Hecubah was adamant. “You were about to fall into his hand, like a ripe plum. Mercy, child. Where’s your self-respect? You got your reputation to think about.”

  All Ceci could think about was Trent. “I don’t care about my reputation,” she snapped.

  “Well, I do,” Hecubah snapped back. “You can’t go throwing yourself at the first man who comes along.”

  “He ain’t the first man,” Ceci objected. “What about all them other boys who called?”

  “They weren’t trying to jump on top of you as soon as they arrived,” Hecubah pointed out.

  “It weren’t like that,” Ceci sulked. “He ain’t the same as them others. There’s something about him. I feel as if I’ve known him all my life.”

  “That’s just your imagination playing tricks on you,” she warned. “Your heart ruling your head. Don’t deceive yourself.”

  “I aint deceiving myself,” Ceci remarked wilfully. “And I don’t need a chaperone.”

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah narrowed her eyes at her. “I knows what you need,” she threatened, “and you is liable to get it, if you don’t start acting like the lady I taught you to be.”

  Suitably admonished, Ceci thought it wiser not to provoke her any further. “You mentioned a picnic.”

  “What about it?”

  “Are you going to be there?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you can faithfully promise me to behave yourself in that boy’s company.”

  Ceci thought about it. It was a tough condition to meet. “All right,” she eventually agreed, “I’ll behave.” She crossed her heart with one hand and crossed her fingers on the other.

  Chapter Five

  “Is he here?” Ceci asked eagerly as Hecubah entered the day room.

  “Oh yeah,” she nodded.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Ceci chaffed. “It’s been almost two weeks. How long does it take to ship a uniform from New York? How does he look?”

  “Like that Christmas tree we set up in the hall last year,” Hecubah grinned. “I don’t think that uniform was designed with the Louisiana climate in mind. He must feel like a boiled tater by now.”

  “You’re cruel,” Ceci scolded, “he don’t deserve this.”

  “Yes, he does,” Hecubah was unrepentant. “At least he asked for permission to call this time,” she pointed out. “He’s learning already.”

  “Give me a moment to get out on the veranda,” Ceci told her. “Then bring him out.”

  “This way, General,” Hecubah ushered Trent onto the veranda.

  Ceci’s heart gave a lurch when she saw him standing there in his uniform. He looked so tall and handsome. She was almost glad that Hecubah had played this trick on him. “Why, Mr Sinclaire,” she cried, laying a hand on her breast. “You look so dashing.”

  He nodded, flashing her a self-conscious smile.

  “Is you hot, Mr Trent?” Hecubah began to snigger.

  Ceci couldn’t help herself, the woman’s laughter was infectious. She pressed her hand to her mouth, attempting to stifle her mir
th.

  Trent bore their derision in silence, clinging valiantly to the remnants of his dignity.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ceci gasped, catching her breath. “You must be so uncomfortable.”

  “I draw solace from your amusement,” he responded wryly.

  Ceci took a moment to compose herself. “I have prepared a picnic for us yonder,” she pointed across the lawn. “I can offer you iced tea and fancies, which we may enjoy in the shade of that willow tree.”

  Trent relaxed visibly. He advanced, offering his arm to her. “It would be my pleasure,” he smiled.

  She guided him down the garden and across the lawn, to an old willow tree, its broad ancient bole casting a wide shadow across the grass, where she had laid out the picnic.

  “It looks delightful,” he complimented her, unconsciously tugging at the collar of his tunic.

  “It weren’t my idea,” Ceci indicated the uniform.

  “I know,” he shrugged philosophically. “It’s my own fault for under-estimating Hecubah.”

  “She won’t be joining us,” she told him. “So please feel free to remove your jacket, if it would make you feel more comfortable.”

  He inclined his head in appreciation, took off his tunic and laid it aside.

  Ceci watched discreetly, her eyes devouring him, her pulse beginning to quicken. “Let’s take advantage of the shade,” she invited him to sit down. “It seems to be getting warmer.”

  She sat opposite him on the blanket, arranging her skirt in a wide circle around her. She knew he was watching her, his eyes dancing over her body. Her heart began to pound. She felt herself wilting under his gaze, barely able to admit to herself that she liked it. She reached down, grasping the jug of iced tea. The chill of it, against her hand, made her gasp, returning her to her senses. “How’ d you manage to travel so quickly between here and Boston?” she asked, offering him a glass of tea.

  “I didn’t return to Boston,” he explained. “I’m staying with my uncle. He has a house nearby, on the edge of your plantation. I used to spend my summers there when I was a boy.”

  “Why, I think I know that house,” she recalled vaguely. “How is it that West Point can spare you for so long?”