Scarlet Leaves

by Sonya Birmingham

  Silky draped her arms about his neck, feeling his smooth, starched shirt beneath her fingertips. "Y-You're not going to"she started to say Petersburg, but bit her lips and instead said"that place today?"

  He laughed low and soft in his throat. "Nope, I'm going to spend the whole day with you."

  Pleased with the gesture, she hugged him tightly, then eyed the little cake that had undoubtedly cost him a pretty penny. Sugar being such a rare commodity in the South now. she knew it had been made with molasses and would be somewhat heavy, but to her it was the most beautiful cake in the world.

  After kissing her lightly, Taggart stood so she could get out of bed and put on her slippers. She watched in amazement as he went to her wardrobe and retrieved the burgundycolored velvet bonnet he'd bought her in Charlottesville. "Wear this today," he ordered, settling it on her head and tying the long taffeta sash under her chin. "I think it's the prettiest bonnet you have, and this is a day for a pretty bonnet if I ever saw one!"

  Never missing a step, he began waltzing her about the bedroom in her nightgown and the plumed bonnet, humming the "Blue Danube Waltz" as she tried to keep up with him. "We're going to have a wonderful morning," he promised, taking her through a dramatic dip and making her giggle. "We'll visit Daniel; then we're going to the American Hotel for lunch. After we're finished there, we'll buy you a fan, the most gorgeous fan in Richmond."

  "A fan? Whatever for? It isn't summer."

  He threw her a look of mock surprise. "Why, my dear," he drawled, mimicking the voices of the fine ladies she'd seen in the lobby of the Spotswood, "carrying a fan has nothing to do with the weather. You simply cannot be a Southern belle without a fan. It would be shockingly improper to appear without one, don't you know."

  Taggart looked down at the saucy little bundle he held in his arms, still warm from a night of sleep. Damn if the little heller hadn't done it, he thought with a glow of pride. In the space of nine days she'd quickly learned everything he'd presented. And what a pleasure it had been teaching her, he thought, recalling some of her wry comments about Richmond society and social conventions in general.

  First he'd worked on her deportment. He'd taught her how to reply to greetings, tilt her head when they passed acquaintances, and give the slightest hint of a curtsy when meeting an elderly person or someone of rank. Second, he'd polished up her English, but he hadn't tried to eradicate all her mountain colloquialismsand he didn't want to. Peppered through her speech, they gave it a tangy, refreshing character, and provided her with a strong sense of individuality.

  Yes, the lady lessons had proved highly useful, for besides introducing Silky to city life, they'd kept her so busy she hadn't asked as many questions about Petersburg. Now that his work was just beginning, for her to know what was going on would be disastrous, and he had to keep her curiosity at bay at all costs.

  They drank coffee and ate their cake; then when Delcie knocked on the door he disappeared into his room, only to reappear after a decent interval to escort a fully dressed Silky from the hotel.

  After the morning he'd outlined, he hailed a hackney and asked the driver to take them to a city park, bisected with gravel paths overhung with giant trees whose last leaves boasted a final show of color. There, beneath bowers of gold and scarlet, in the deserted park, Silky walked down the paths, escorted by Taggart, who gave her humorous advice as they strolled along.

  With warm satisfaction, he looked at her walking beside him, her taffeta skirts rustling crisply under her wool mantle. In essence, all his efforts had been to give her faith in her natural confidence and presence, so she could walk into Dr. Cooke's mansion and hold her own with the aristocratic guests. Looking at her today, he was sure he'd accomplished his mission.

  ''That's it, Fancy Pants, you look gorgeous, but hold your head a bit higher," he advised in a playful tone, firmly gripping her elbow. "Act like your blood is the bluest in the South."

  Silky looked at his dancing eyes and raised her nose high in the air. "Blue, sir? Only creepy-crawly things have blue blood. My blood is red and I'm dang proud of it, too," she responded without missing a beat.

  Taggart tilted his head back and laughed. "I can see," he said, "that I may have given you the manners of a plantation belle, but I haven't changed your rebellious heart one whit."

  "No, and you never will."

  Taggart walked backward in front of her, then stopped and, taking off his hat, bowed low. "Damn, I do believe you have it. The walk, the talk, the look. If I do say so myself, you're smashing. Everyone in Richmond will be at your feet."

  Silky laughed, loving the look of pride she noticed in his gorgeous eyes. What a fantastic day she was having with him; how wonderful it was not to see that dark look on his face as he prepared to leave for Petersburg! A sense of accomplishment rose within her that she'd come this far, that she'd pleased him, and now had a minimum of the social graces. With a sense of elation, she realized she wouldn't embarrass him, and in her heart of hearts she had to admit she yearned to be a lady so she might have a chance of fitting into his elegant family after the war.

  Later, when they were in the hotel, Taggart unwrapped the beautiful fan he'd bought her, and as she sat on the bench at the foot of her bed, laughing at him, he instructed her in its use.

  "Fans are not simply for fanning," he advised her, snapping it open and gazing at her over its top. "Fans are for flirting, sending messages"he folded it together"and beating off overzealous beaux." He walked to her and, bowing low again, presented the gift. "Now you try it."

  Silky paraded about the room, looking over the top of the fan, fluttering her eyelashes, but when he approached her for a kiss, she snapped it shut and smacked him on the arm, making them both laugh. "I do declare, sir, if you insist with this impertinence l shall ask my brother to call you out. He's a dead shot, and when you're lying on your funeral bier stiff and cold as marble, I shall not cry for you."

  They talked the rest of the afternoon, Taggart giving her last-minute advice about subjects to be avoided in conversation, the treatment of older ladies, the leaving of calling cards, and the fine points of table etiquette. He touched on every aspect of being a Southern lady, even to the way she should arrange her hoops when she sat down, which confirmed her suspicions that he'd had bountiful experience with the fair sex and their complicated undergarments.

  That evening they enjoyed a succulent dinner, once again in the dining room of the Spotswood. As they sat drinking their after-dinner coffee in the tiny demitasse cups, Silky felt Taggart's pleased gaze upon her.

  It was all worth it, she thought with pride. All his lessons and lessons and more lessons had given her a confidence about people of consequence she didn't know she had. Of course, she wasn't really like one of the fine women she saw in the hotel who were true ladies, but she wasn't just a little mountain girl now, a little nobody who didn't have an idea how to act around fine folks.

  At first she'd been embarrassed that she was so ignorant, but Taggart had persisted and made learning so much fun, she'd finally relaxed and realized being a lady was just about as easy as buttering a warm biscuit. He'd taught her how to dress, and speak, and dance, and even how to flirt, she thought, imagining how surprised the folks in Sweet Gum Hollow would be if they could see her spreading her gorgeous fan, then sinking into a low curtsy, her silken gown blossoming out about her like that of a princess.

  Taggart extended his hand and she reached out and clasped it, feeling his strong fingers curl about hers. "Will I do?" she whispered, permitting her gaze to play over his bronzed face.

  He gave her a look that spoke volumes, a look that sent her blood racing, a look that made her proud just to be sitting across the table from him.

  "You bet," he answered quietly. "You bet you'll do."

  Chapter Twelve

  "You knows, missy," Delcie remarked, sweeping a brush through Silky's hair in long, relaxing strokes, "I's done decided you is about the prettiest little thing in Richmond whether your hair be u
p or down."

  Silky laughed and looked at the girl's reflection in the vanity mirror. "I'm glad you think so," she replied, tying her wrapper closely about her. "I'm just wondering what Dr. Cooke's guests will think about me tonight."

  "Oh, they's gonna like you real fine, especially the gentlemens," Delcie promised, a sly smile rolling over her face. "One look at you and they's all gonna fall out in the middle of the floor with big grins on their faces." She chatted on happily as she worked, talking about everything from the conditions in the shantytown to her and Jim's love life, leaving out few details about either subject. After she'd brushed Silky's hair until it glowed with red highlights, she pinned it back to cascade over her shoulders in loose waves, then teased little curls out about her hairline. When she'd secured the last hairpin, she stood back to admire her work, then softly commented, "Somethin' has been ridin' my mind, missy. Can I ask you about it?"

  Silky turned, looking at Delcie's questioning face. "Of course, what is it?"

  "Well," file girl ventured, hanging her head, then gazing up once more, "I knows you and Lieutenant Taggart ain't cousins, 'cause he don't look at you like no cousin. It's writ plain as day in his eyes when he looks at you. He's your man, ain't he?"

  Silky felt blood sting her cheeks, then remembered she had nothing to be ashamed of. "That's right," she began slowly, almost relieved the subject had been opened. "He is and we're handfasted. As soon as the war is over we'll be married."

  Delcie studied her with soft eyes. "That's fine, missy. I understands these things. Sometimes folks just have to do the best they can, just like me and Jim is doin' right now."

  With one secret out, Silky felt compelled to tell her another, not wanting to deceive her new friend, for whom she had a real affection. "I'm not ... not what you think I am," she confessed in an apprehensive tone. She leveled a gaze at the girl's understanding lace. "I'm not a lady like you thought I was when you first saw me with the lieutenant. He's been giving me lady lessons for the last couple of weeks. I-I guess you knew that already, though."

  Delcie gave a throaty chuckle. "Well, I knows somethin' has been goin' on. And some of the things you says make me think you ain't been raised in no big house. But it don't make no difference where you comes from, or what you knowsyou is a lady, a fine lady. One of the finest ladies I ever seed. Missy, you got real feelin's in your heart, and that's what makes you a lady"she picked up a parasol and, twirling it over her shoulder, paraded about the bed"not some fancy foolishness like this that don't amount to shucks."

  She looked so funny larking about with the parasol and fluttering her eyes that Silky had to laugh, and Delcie started laughing too. Making one last outrageous face, the girl tossed the parasol aside and surveyed her with a kindly gaze. "Don't you worry, missy; everything you tell me be as safe as a babe in his mammy's arms."

  With a swish of her calico skirt, she put her hands on her hips and sashayed to the tall wardrobe. "Now let's quit talkin' and decide what you's gonna wear to that fancy dinner tonight," she suggested, pulling out several silken gowns and placing them on the bed. "I's gonna fix you up so pretty them gentlemen's eyeballs will pop right out of their heads."

  Thirty minutes later Silky stood in front of the mirror, amazed at what she saw. Delcie had dressed her in Taggart's latest purchasea lovely lavender tulle-over-satin dinner gown. An off-the-shoulder shawl collar revealed the perfection of her throat and shoulders, its cotton lace flounce repeated in her short sleeves. A single pink silk rose nestled in her hair and was echoed by one pinned just beneath her creamy cleavage. Draped over a chair, a black taffeta cloak gleamed in the lamplight, ready for Taggart to settle it about her shoulders.

  Was this refined young lady in the lavender gown with four ruffled petticoats the same girl who'd once raced through the leafy mountain hollows wearing buckskins? For an instant another reflection rippled before Silky's eyes, and she remembered looking into a pool of crystal-clear water as a girl. Even now she could smell the damp earth and grass and wildflowers, then quick as a shooting star the memory vanished. With a surge of relief, she sighed deeply, realizing she'd always be that same mountain gift whether she wore satin or buckskins. Nothing had ever turned her heart from the mountains and nothing ever would.

  She walked in a circle, observing her reflection. "Do you think Taggart will be pleased?" she asked, a wave of unease surging through her now that it was almost time for him to arrive and dress for the party.

  Chuckling deep in her throat, Delcie pranced across the room and fluffed up the gown's lacy flounce. "Missy, if he ain't pleased, there's bound to be a few spokes missin' from that man's wheel." She pressed her lips together. "Ummumm, you be prettier than a princess in a book. Why, you be pretty enough for old Jeff Davis hisself!"

  Silky tugged on her soft kidskin gloves; then her lashes swept up to meet Delcie's worried gaze. "Now what's wrong, missy?" Delcie asked. "You looks kind of pale like.

  Fact of bein', you is white as a catfish belly. Somethin' else 'sides lookin" fine is botherin' you, ain't it? Go on now, tell me what it is."

  Experiencing a flash of heat, Silky snapped open her beautiful fan and waved it furiously. "l don't have any more idea than the man in the moon what those fancy folks are interested in," she answered, slowly walking about her bedroom to absorb her nervousness. Her hands trembling, she stared at Delcie's compassionate face. "I'm just a country girl, plain and simple, I don't know how to talk about anything but crops and horses and home cures. What will I say, Delcie? Lordamercy, what will I say?"

  The girl's brows furrowed bemusedly. "Just say whatever come to your head. City folks bein' so set in their ways, you's bound to be refreshin' as a cool breeze." She tapped her foot. "They's gonna 'preciate a lady with firm opinions. I knows they will."

  Silky studied her, fighting the doubt rising within her. "Are you sure about that?"

  A smile lit Delcie's face. "NoI's not sure," she replied, saucily tilting her head to the side, "I's positively, absolutely, tee-totally certain."

  Silky clutched Taggart's hand as their hackney inched its way about a semicircular drive filled with clattering carriages, then stopped in front of Dr. Cooke's mansion, whose windows sparkled with welcoming light. "Lordmercy," she breathed, gazing at the two-story edifice with white columns, wide verandas, and a high, sheltering portico, "that's the biggest house I've ever seen. Just thinking about going in there makes my bones feel all loose and wobbly."

  Taggart blessed her with an encouraging smile. "Don't worry. You'll do fine."

  He exited the carriage and helped her down, and, her heart beating a little faster, she let her gaze float over him. After receiving the invitation, he'd had a Confederate dress uniform tailored for him, and this evening she was privileged to see her hero in gray at last. His handsomeness tore at her heart, for he towered over the other men in the noisy driveway, and his air of command turned feminine heads, making the ladies whisper behind their fans as to the identity of the new arrival in Richmond.

  Silky felt numb with apprehension as he escorted her up the mansion's steps and toward the open door, which shone like a rectangle of orange light. All about her rose the sound of heels on marble, the swish of satin, and the laughter of gorgeously dressed women. Once they were inside the large foyer, warmth and the strains of lilting music rushed over her. Tall, dignified, and radiating Southern hospitality, Dr. Cooke shook hands with Taggart, then smiled and bowed before her. "I'm so glad you could come to our little affair, my dear," he said, kissing her hand. "Your sweet face will brighten our evening."

  She acknowledged his words, and after a servant had removed her cloak, Taggart escorted her into the drawing room filled with elegant couples, the men in gray uniforms trimmed with shining buttons and fanciful loops of soutache braid. And how beautiful the ladies looked in their crinolines, bright as tropical flowers. Their hair smoothed into sleek chignons, they wore gossamer shawls shot with golden threads, and lovely taffeta sashes, and from their wrists dangle
d spectacular fans of swan's down on velvet cords.

  Silky moved her eyes over the elegant mahogany furniture, soft Oriental carpets glowing with color, and dazzling chandeliers. Before, she'd only seen pictures of mansions like this in her books, and now she was a guest in such a place, she thought with a thrill of excitement.

  "Try this," Taggart suggested, lifting two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and handing one to her.

  Tasting the bubbly wine, she looked at him with gratitude, but still felt weak and shaky, as if her legs might buckle beneath her. "I can hardly believe this is happening," she stated, permitting her gaze to circle and occasionally pause on the colorful group that to her comprised the aristocracy of the Confederacy.

  Taggart clasped her elbow and began guiding her through the murmuring crowd. "Yes ... actually it is happening," he allowed with a chuckle, "but you're going to enjoy it, so smile."

  "I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "My lips are stiff."

  "Well, nod, then."

  "I wish I was in the mountains," she murmured, stiffly nodding at an elderly lady in passing. "I wish I was anyplace but here."

  Taggart put his hand on her back in a comforting gesture and, sipping champagne, they mingled with the laughing crowd, discovering most of the guests were connected with Chimborazo. Everywhere glorious frocks floated past them with a silken rustle: watered taffetas trimmed in rosebuds; cream-colored satins boasting a dozen flounces; velvets dripping with Chantilly lace.

  Taggart escorted Silky to a quiet alcove and, cupping her chin, looked at her with sympathetic eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

  "Do you want to know the truth?"

  A faint smile catching the corner of his mouth, he nodded.

  "My heart is thumping around like a frog under a pot."

  Before she had time to collect herself, a captain approached and bent low over her hand, kissing it. After an introduction had been made, he gazed at her kindly and asked, "And how do you like Richmond, Miss Shanahan?"