Whippoorwill

by R. L. Bartram

  “I requested an extended leave of absence,” he told her. “So, that I might attend the ball.”

  “I’m so very glad you did,” Ceci heard herself say.

  “So am I,” he confided with a smile.

  His eyes engulfed her, penetrated her, laid her soul bare. She felt naked in front of him. It both terrified and excited her. She’d entered unknown territory, full of danger and wonders. A part of her wanted to stop, to retreat, but she felt compelled to go on.

  She gazed at him, until the ice in her glass melted. It was as though she stood outside herself, watching this man and this woman make polite conversation, conscious only of a desperate burning need. Her soul ached, wanting him. Wanting him to want her.

  The cicadas began to rasp their evening song, as the sun yielded to the soft Louisiana twilight. Ceci looked up with a start, as if waking from a dream. “My goodness,” she blinked, “where’d all that time go?”

  Trent rose to his knees, drawing her up with him. “Ceci, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say all afternoon,” he told her urgently, as if his opportunity to do so dwindled with the fading light.

  “You don’t have to keep apologising for taking advantage of me,” she interrupted. “When Hecubah sent you away, do you have any idea how hard it was for me to watch you go?”

  “I only know how hard it was to leave,” he confessed.

  “I think about you all the time,” she opened her heart to him. “Your beautiful eyes, your silky hair, your handsome face.”

  His chest swelled. “So, you think I’m handsome?”

  “First thing I noticed about you,” she flirted.

  “You can’t find any fault at all,” he pressed her.

  “No – Well,” she paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. “There’s just that little kink on the bridge of your nose. Is that natural?”

  “No,” he seemed to choose his words carefully. “It was broken when I was a boy.”

  Her eyes softened in sympathy, then suddenly widened in realisation. “God almighty,” she yelped, “it’s you.” She fell backwards, sitting heavily on the grass, one hand clasped against her breast, the other clamped over her mouth.

  “There it is at last,” he exclaimed, as if he’d finally reached the destination he’d always been searching for.

  “I knew I recognised them blue eyes,” she stared aghast. Then a thought occurred to her. “When ‘d you know it was me?”

  “The night of the ball,” he admitted.”

  “All that time and you never said,” Ceci was incensed.

  “I tried to tell you before,” he protested.

  Ceci wasn’t listening. “That’s despicable,” she knelt up, thrusting her hands onto her hips. “You are so mean. Why, I think I’ll go back into the house right now and never speak to you again.”

  Ignoring her tirade, he caught her round the waist, dragging her into his arms. “Am I to have no compensation for my injury?” he demanded.

  She pressed her hands against his chest, looking up at him, her eyes smouldering. “What kind of compensation d’ you have in mind?” she asked, her voice like warm honey.

  “You are of French extraction?”

  “You know that I am.”

  “Then kiss me in the French manner,” he told her.

  She gasped, the blood throbbing in her veins. “Oh, you are wicked, sir,” she barely breathed.

  “Are you?” he persisted, tightening his hold on her.

  She hesitated, her breath quickening, the desperate burning need driving her on. She surged up, cupped his face in her hands and pressed her open mouth against his, caressing his eager tongue with hers.

  His hand slipped up her waist, stroking her breast, then moved on, his fingers plucking feverishly at the buttons of her dress.

  Suddenly, there was a loud cough.

  “Good Lord, Hecubah,” Ceci sprang away. “You move softer than a cottonmouth.” She scrambled to her feet, hurriedly fastening her buttons.

  “That looks like ample compensation for any man,” Hecubah observed drily. “Unless that man wants his nose broke twice in one lifetime. Or,” she added pointedly, “he wants to ruin the girl he loves.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Trent responded soberly, rising to his feet. “It’s late Ceci,” he told her, bending to retrieve his jacket. “I should go.”

  “Oh, no, Trent. Don’t leave,” she implored, reaching out to him.

  He pressed his fingers to his lips and waved a kiss towards her. “I’ll come back in the morning,” he promised. “You can invite me to breakfast.”

  “Oh,” Ceci groaned, as she watched him fade into the twilight. “I hate you,” she snapped, rounding on Hecubah.

  “Cool down, girl,” she warned, “or I’ll throw you in the bayou.”

  “We weren’t doing nothing,” Ceci sulked.

  “Sure didn’t look like nothing,” Hecubah objected, reaching up and fastening a button Ceci had missed. “Now quit your pouting and help me clear up this mess.”

  They gathered up the picnic and started back to the house, still bickering.

  “What happened to your promise? Didn’t I tell you to save yourself for marriage?”

  “I’ll be an old maid by then.”

  “Kissing in the French manner. Where’d you learn that?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Have you bin taking any of them books your daddy keeps on the top shelf in the library?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes ma’am,”

  “I’m gonna count them, you know.”

  ***

  As good as his word, Trent returned in the morning. They ate breakfast together on the veranda, enjoying casual, if somewhat subdued, conversation, under the ever-watchful eye of Hecubah.

  “I has some things to do in the house,” she told Ceci, placing a tray of lemonade on the table. “I’ll be just out back if you need me. For anything,” she added emphatically, casting a stony glance at Trent.

  “Hecubah is very protective of you,” he observed, after she’d left.

  “She raised me from a girl,” Ceci told him. “She’s like the mother I never knew.”

  He cast a wary glance back into the house.

  “Are you afraid of her?” she asked, amused by his behaviour.

  “Hell, yes,” he admitted. “She looks at me like I’m the devil incarnate.”

  Ceci leaned closer. “She thinks you’re a rascal,” she whispered.

  “And what do you think?” he asked seriously.

  Ceci drew a breath to speak, then paused. “I think you were, as a boy,” she remarked eventually.

  “Ah, yes,” he agreed guiltily, aware of what she was referring to.

  Ceci sat back in her chair, her head on one side, regarding him earnestly. “You and them other boys was horrible to me,” she recalled. “Always teasing, picking on me. You especially. You was always bothering me.”

  He looked down, running his hand across his chin, deep in thought, before looking up again. “As I told you, I live in Boston, but I used to spend my summers at my uncle’s house.” He smiled in recollection. “I ran wild with those other boys all summer long. Whenever the catfish wouldn’t bite, or we couldn’t find a dog with a tail long enough to tie a tin can to, I’d say, let’s go find Ceci Prejean. She’s always good for some mischief.” He paused to sip his lemonade. “At first, I thought you were a boy, despite that long yellow hair and those freckles. The way you ran. The way you climbed trees. You were better than any of us with a slingshot.” He paused again, running his tongue over his lips and sighed. “When I realised you were a girl, I always wanted to be around you, whether the catfish were biting or not. I looked for you all t
he time. I’d have done anything to make you notice me.”

  “Oh, my Lord,” Ceci put her hand on her breast. “You were in love with me.”

  Trent shrugged self-consciously. “I didn’t understand what it was at the time. How could I? I was only fifteen, but I guess that’s what it was.” He looked straight at her. “One day, I decided to do something about it.”

  Ceci raised her hand to her mouth, stifling a gasp. “Now I remember,” she cried, eyes widening. “I remember what happened that day. You sneaked up on me. You grabbed me and you kissed me. Why, I was so surprised, I lashed out.”

  “And broke my nose,” Trent finished for her.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she put her hand gently on his arm.

  He covered it with his. “I deserved it,” he admitted. Then his face clouded a little. “My father was furious. He said my uncle didn’t look out for me properly. Didn’t protect me from the wild girl. He never let me come back.” He clicked his tongue. “I missed those summers, but most of all, I missed that wild girl. I missed Ceci Prejean.”

  “I never realised,” Ceci shook her head. “If only I’d known how you felt. I wonder what would have happened?”

  “I guess we’ll never know,” Trent gestured vaguely. He took another sip of lemonade. “When my parents received the invitation to the ball,” he continued. “I just had to come. I had to know if it was the same Ceci. At first I wasn’t sure if it was you,” he admitted. “You were all grown up, wearing a dress, ribbons in your hair, but when you stood in front of me, I knew you were that wild girl I tried to kiss all those summers ago.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” she smiled softly. “Still stealing kisses.”

  “For a moment, I thought you’d recognised me,” he told her. “I had to act quickly. I was afraid all you’d remember was that foolish boy and reject me out of hand. I couldn’t bear to lose you for a second time.”

  “I could have slapped your face on that veranda,” she pointed out.

  “I know,” he agreed, “but by then I felt you probably wouldn’t. I saw the way you looked at me as we danced. When you returned my kiss, I knew I was right.”

  “In that case, why didn’t you tell me, when you came to the house?” she stated the obvious.

  “That’s exactly what I was going to do,” he assured her. “Until Hecubah came in. Then again, yesterday at the picnic. I was waiting for the right moment. Then you went and remembered all by yourself.”

  “Yes, and when I did, you made me kiss you in the French manner,” she reminded him flirtatiously.

  He allowed himself a broad smile. “I didn’t hear you complaining,” he countered.

  Ceci leaned closer, taking both his hands in hers, her eyes large and sultry. “That’s because I wanted you to know,” she purred, her voice as soft as thistledown. “That I’m still good for some mischief.”

  Chapter Six

  “Quit mooning around, girl,” Hecubah told her. “He ain’t bin gone more than a month.”

  “Only a month,” Ceci sighed. “It feels like forever.”

  “He got to do his soldiering,” Hecubah reminded her. “He’ll be back in the fall.”

  “That’s even longer,” Ceci would not be appeased.

  Hecubah picked up a thick wad of envelopes, tied with blue ribbon, from the dresser. “He writes near every day.”

  Ceci sighed again. “It ain’t like having him with me.”

  “Is that so?” Hecubah eyed her doubtfully. “Then why am I hearing all them gasps and moans coming outa your room most nights?”

  “Hecubah,” Ceci shrieked, mortified, her cheeks flaming crimson. “Are you listening at my door?”

  “I don’t have to stand at your door,” she replied bluntly. “I can hear it clear down the hall.”

  Ceci’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson. She lunged forward, snatching the pack of envelopes from Hecubah’s hand. “Have you been reading Trent’s letters?” she demanded suspiciously.

  “I wouldn’t dare,” Hecubah retorted, eyes wide. “I don’t want nightmares.” She fixed Ceci with a cool stare, eyebrows raised. “I don’t know what that boy’s writing to you, but I sure hope they don’t see it at West Point. They’s liable to close the place down.”

  “Can we please change the subject?” Ceci begged, pressing the back of her hand against her hot cheek and fanning herself furiously.

  “You need a distraction,” Hecubah advised. “Something to take your mind off things. What if I went downstairs and persuaded your daddy to let us go into town? You can spend some of his money. How’d that make you feel?”

  Ceci’s face lit up instantly.

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah observed, “I thought that’d be your answer.”

  “Oh, Hecubah, ain’t these just the prettiest things you’ve ever seen?” Ceci sighed, drawing the delicate lingerie over the back of her hand.

  “I can see your hand right through them,” Hecubah stared.

  “They’ll be wonderfully cool to wear,” Ceci pointed out, trying to sound entirely practical.

  “Is that all there is of them?” Hecubah frowned.

  Ceci cast her a pained look. “They’re the latest fashion, from Paris.”

  Hecubah was unimpressed. “Girl,” she snorted. “They does a lot of things in Paris, we don’t do in Louisiana.”

  “Oh, Hecubah, sometimes you sound so old,” she chided.

  “All right, all right,” Hecubah threw up her hands. “I’ll let you buy a few pair, just so long as you promise me, that the only chance Trent Sinclaire will ever get to see them, is if he spots them hanging on the washing line, not hanging on your behind,” she finished pointedly.

  Ceci paused, running her eyes over the underwear, then glanced back at Hecubah. “I’ll know I’m wearing them,” she remarked brazenly.

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Hecubah reaffirmed. “Just so long as he don’t.”

  They spent another hour in the store. Hecubah wondered if Ceci intended to bankrupt her father.

  “Hecubah, just look at this,” Ceci ran over to her, holding a long garment of white satin.

  “Ain’t you got enough nightgowns?” Hecubah asked wearily.

  “It’s not for me, silly,” Ceci told her excitedly, holding it up to her. “It’s for you. There,” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I knew I was right. It’s just your size.” She took Hecubah’s hand and placed it gently on the material. “Here, feel. Ain’t it just so soft and silky?”

  Hecubah began to run her hand across the fabric. “Girl, what is it with you and transparent clothing?” she asked absently.

  “Sheer,” Ceci corrected her, offering a tenuous distinction. “You ain’t going to wear it in public,” she pointed out, her voice soft and persuasive. “You put it on in your room, stand in front of the mirror, look at yourself naked under it. Lay on your bed, feeling wicked.”

  “Honey, you is wicked enough for both of us,” Hecubah commented vaguely, still preoccupied with the nightgown. “Mind, it is pretty though.”

  Ceci allowed herself a smile of satisfaction. “We’ll take this as well,” she told the store clerk.

  Hecubah looked up with a start. “Girl, you is making my blood boil,” she told her, wafting her hand in front of her face. “Let’s go and find ourselves a cool glass of sarsaparilla.”

  They left the store laden with bags and packages and continued down the busy street, until a woman’s scream brought them to an abrupt halt. They found themselves standing at the mouth of a long alleyway. At the far end two carts were placed back to back. A black man, manacled and chained, stood in one of them. In the other was a black woman, similarly chained, her face a wreck of tears and grief.

  “Must have been an auction,” Hecubah muttered darkly.

  The blac
k woman clung to the man, her hands clawing at his arms. It took the strength of two men to drag her off him.

  “Come away, child,” Hecubah tugged at Ceci’s arm. “You don’t need to see this.”

  Ceci followed, too shocked to resist. They pressed on in silence, until they came to a public bench, in the shade of an ebony tree.

  “My feet are hurting,” Hecubah complained. “Let’s set awhile.”

  “Was she that man’s wife?” Ceci asked, as soon as they’d sat down.

  “Probably,” Hecubah shrugged.

  “Then why’d they split them up?” Ceci frowned.

  “The man that bought her, didn’t want him. Simple as that,” Hecubah replied dismissively.

  “Will she ever see him again?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Ceci chewed her lip, haunted by the anguished face of the coloured woman. “I’ve spent my whole life around slaves” she realised, “and I never questioned it once.”

  “You were born to it, child,” Hecubah patted her knee. “You know no other way.”

  “Now, I see it for what it is.” Ceci glowered. “It’s a vile practise and we should be rid of it.”

  Hecubah’s hand darted out, touching a finger to Ceci’s lips. “I admire your sentiments, honey,” she told her, in a hushed voice. “But, it’s best not to go shouting them around. Leastwise, not in this town.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be a slave,” Ceci voiced her thoughts. “Can you?”

  Hecubah remained silent, her expression answering for her.

  Ceci’s mouth fell open, she clamped her hand over it, the colour draining from her face. “Oh, God, no,” she cried. “Hecubah, please tell me it aint so.”

  “On the plantation, I lives like a free woman, even gets a wage,” Hecubah told her. “I think and behave, like a free woman and everyone accepts and believes it, but the fact is, I’m a bought slave.”

  “Why, on earth, did you never tell me?” Ceci sobbed.

  “Didn’t find no reason to,” Hecubah replied flatly. “You aint even nineteen, you didn’t need to know. I wouldn’t have told you now, if I weren’t afraid you’d stumble on the truth.”