Child of the River

by Wanda T. Snodgrass

  Damn that Morgan, he mused. He would be the perfect answer to my dilemma. He couldn’t care what his mother or society has to say about the girl. Mrs. Edwards never approved of Morgan associating with the pretty little daughter of the town drunk. There were several young ladies of the gentry who would have been thrilled to have Morgan’s attention. But no, he had eyes only for Dayme. That rascal should have been home long ago. Where the hell could he be? If he were killed in the war, somebody would have known about it by now. He probably thinks that Dayme married Lawrence and just can’t bear to come home. There must be some way to get this burden off my hands. I have to try.

  To ease his conscience about leaving her on the lonely plantation so often, he told the girl about the upcoming party. Dayme was thrilled. “Me? I’ll be guest of honor? When?”

  “Oh, in a couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve never been to a party. I can hardly wait.”

  Benjamin chuckled and rode away on the black stallion.

  Meanwhile, Benjamin and Dayme were spending more and more time together on the remote plantation. They rode horseback, played chess and sang duets. They learned to laugh again. For the first time since she could remember, Dayme was happy. There were times when she studied the man dreamily when he didn’t know she was watching. “I love you,” her heart cried out silently with only her eyes caressing him. Other times she was simply warm and friendly, a pal. Occasionally, she was impatient, excusing herself for no apparent reason and retiring abruptly to her bedroom. This both baffled and intrigued Benjamin. That little tart comes on just so far, he thought to himself one night, and then she runs away. He fantasized what it would be like to make love to her. Molly began to fade from his conscious mind, as well as the promise he made to his friend. Daydreams and lust for his lovely ward replaced them.

  He reflected on the way her curvaceous rump twisted when she ascended the stairs. Not for a minute did he believe her story of chastity during the war. It simply was not plausible that the girl lived two years in a brothel without learning the ropes. Lately, while brooding about the aching desire he felt for the girl, he was jealous. Jealous that other men had bedded her…worse yet, Yankee soldiers.

  She was in the swing when Benjamin emerged with his fishing gear. “Surely you’re not goin’ fishin’? It’s too hot.”

  “It will be hot wherever one is this day.”

  “They ain’t bitin’,” she informed him. “The moon ain’t right.”

  “They’re not’ biting,” he corrected. “The moon isn’t’ right.

  Dayme laughed, “Then why are you goin’?”

  “Because, Miss Smarty, I won’t be fishing on the moon.”

  It was bound to happen and it did. That lazy Sunday afternoon in late June, Benjamin tired of holding the fishing pole with the same drowned worm dangling from the hook he baited two hours ago. A huge yellow catfish swam listlessly near the bank in shallow water completely ignoring the lure. Several times, Benjamin eased the hook close enough to touch the fish’s mouth, but the creature showed no interest. The spotted hound romped playfully with a bullfrog at the water’s edge. The frog hopped out onto the safety of a lily pad and croaked triumphantly. The panting dog whined and looked soulfully at his master, as if to say, “The situation is hopeless.”

  Benjamin rubbed the dog’s back. “I agree, old fellow. It’s useless to even try.” He put fresh bait on the hook and threw the line as far out into the water as possible, then jabbed the pole into the muddy riverbank. He leaned against the tree and pulled his hat down over his eyes to blot out the sun’s glare on the water. Old Duke lay down beside him.

  Suddenly, the dog raised his head alertly and tilted it from side to side before trotting in the direction of the wharf. He met Dayme at the picnic arbor, wagging his tail gleefully. Together, she and Duke started in Benjamin’s direction. “Shh…. Don’t give me away, Duke,” she whispered, grinning impishly. “Let’s slip up on him.” Along the way, she picked a fuzzy white bloom from a vine she called “grandfather’s beard” and smothered a giggle. Ever so slowly, she tiptoed behind the tree and reached around to tickle Benjamin under the nose. As he wriggled his nose and slapped at a phantom fly, she darted back behind the tree with her hand over her mouth to stifle laughter. She waited a minute and tickled him again. This time the hat slid off and deep blue eyes searched as he sniffed the air. Perfume revealed the presence of a lovely prankster.

  Benjamin scrambled to his feet. “You little witch,” he said grinning. “I’ll get you for this.” He chased the girl in hot pursuit through the maze of trees. She darted through the bottomland with the agility of a yearling doe, finally hiding behind a sycamore tree.

  Seeing the telltale pink of her dress, Benjamin slipped up behind her with the stealth of an Indian warrior. “Gotcha!” He pinned the girl to the tree and she squealed like a playful child. Both were laughing so hard that breath came in short gasps until their eyes met. Both abruptly stopped laughing. In that impetuous moment, Benjamin’s hungry lips sought hers. She clung to him as her soft sensuous lips returned the kiss with all the love in her heart.

  Suddenly, he pulled away. “I…I’m sorry. I had no right to….”

  “I wanted you to kiss me, you idiot,” she teased, then pulled back and ran away. The sound of her merry laughter followed the girl all the way to the river, as did Benjamin.

  “Ouch!” Dayme cried, grimacing in pain. “A thorn…I got a thorn in my heel.”

  “When will you ever learn to wear shoes?” He scolded. “What will I ever do with you? How can I make a lady out of a…how many times do I have to tell you? You’re not one of the pickaninnies.”

  “It broke off,” she moaned.

  Benjamin kneeled and removed the thorn with the point of his pocketknife. It was quite painful for she squirmed and groaned as blood oozed from the wound.

  “There’s some turpentine and iodine in my tree house,” he told her as he scooped her up in his strong arms. “It’s a magical place. You’ll see. It was my secret hiding place when I was a lad. Pickaninnies were dassen to come up here without a special invitation.”

  “What does dassen mean”?

  “Didn’t dare, I presume. It was their word.”

  “Why are there strings on these bottles?”

  “My bottle horses, of course.” He fumbled with the latch on the telescope case. “I used to watch steamboats on the river.”

  “Gosh!” Dayme exclaimed. “I can see all the way to the bend from up here.”

  He finished mounting the telescope on the tripod. “See the difference when you look through this.”

  “Oh,” she cried in an awe-filled voice. “I see some baby birds in a nest.

  “Everything is beautiful…the wildflowers, the….”

  A tingle rushed through her body as his strong arms slipped around her waist pulling her to him. “Nothing,” he murmured as his lips brushed her hair, “you can see through that telescope could possibly be as beautiful and desirable as you.”

  “Benjamin, I…” she flustered, her words smothered by a fervent kiss, his lips sliding down to the hollow of her neck. A flame unknown to her engulfed her being. She trembled and pushed him away. “No…. No. I mustn’t. I must go,” she managed to say. “I can’t….”

  “I want you so,” he told her hoarsely. “I can’t fight this anymore. I’m as helpless as a housefly caught in your web. Please…I need you.” He kissed her again, and she melted in his embrace. She moaned softly at a sharp pain. Then stars of sheer ecstasy exploded within her. When the magic was all over, Benjamin lamented as he buttoned his shirt. “Oh Lord, what have I done?” His voice was strained, grieved and apologetic at first, and then it turned cold. “You’ve been tempting me. A man can take just so much. How was I to know?”

  “Will I bleed every time? Does Holly bleed?” Her innocent eyes searched his.

  He stared at the girl in dumbfounded amazement at her naivety. “Just the first time,” he finally mumbled. “You di
dn’t act like a virgin. I thought…I thought”…. Benjamin’s voice was flat, resigned and disgusted. “Mums warned me about pretty little girls like you. I’ll take my medicine. Of course, we’ll be married right away. I have that much honor left.”

  “You think I trapped you, don’t you? You were here, too, Mister.” Dayme spit out the words. “You begged me. I tried to leave.”

  “Yes, but after you got me all worked up.”

  “I did nothing of the sort. You’re the one who planned this rendezvous.”

  Dayme shook with a mixture of emotions. She managed to contain her anger and let her pride take over. “Hold on, Captain. I’m not about to be married because of anything. A girl needs a courtin’ period, you know. Before I marry, my sweetheart must court me proper. Mama told me every girl ought to be courted proper.”

  “Proper-ly, Dayme. Proper-ly.”

  “Oh shaw, who cares?” There was a new lilt to her laughter and a new song in her heart. She felt prettier than she’d ever felt in her entire life.

  “How can I ever make it up to you…to Lawrence? Honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “I don’t belong to a dead man, stupid. I belong to me,” she replied, perturbed. “Go ahead…be sorry if it makes you feel sanctimonious and righteous. I’ll remember this day as long as I live.”

  There was a faraway look in his brooding blue eyes as he brushed her cheek lightly with a kiss. “It mustn’t ever happen again. You deserve a white dress, a good husband. I’m quite fond of you, but I’ll never take my lust out on your innocence again.”

  “Fond? Lust? Is that all?” The girl was stunned and hurt. “It’s still Molly. You still love Molly.”

  “Of course,” he replied crisply. “You knew that. It wasn’t as if you didn’t know. I didn’t rape you, Dayme. It’s not my fault you misrepresented yourself.”

  All the tinsel and magic and beauty fell like ashes to her feet. The words she was hearing made the experience they shared seem shoddy and cheap. She felt used but refused to reveal her inner feelings. The girl managed to keep her composure long enough to descend the tree house steps and wave goodbye. She ran up the slope and only after reaching the security of her bedroom did she allow the contents of a wounded heart to spill over. “Damn him! Damn Molly! I’m leaving this place as soon as this semester is over. I hope he finds the girl of his dreams married to a pig farmer with five little snotty-nosed kids!” Tears streamed down her face as she pounded the pillow with her fists. “Oh, Morgan, please come home. I need you so much,” she muttered. “Benjamin will never…never…never know he made me cry.”

  Chapter 12

  “No. You’re not gonna shame Mista Ben by wearin’ one o’ them floozy dresses you wore in that tavern!” Cassie fussed. “Find you somethin’ in the attic.”

  Reluctantly, Dayme ascended the stairs to the attic behind the puffing black woman. She was pleasantly surprised to find a treasure of beautiful party dresses in a mahogany wardrobe. “Why didn’t you tell me about all these pretty clothes?”

  “Because. These is Miss Bess’s fancy party stuff from long time ago. They’s too fancy for town goin’.”

  Fondling the soft material of a lavender silk dress, Dayme was awed by the sheer beauty of it. “No telling how much this dress cost.”

  “A pretty penny, girl. You ain’t wearin’ it. Mista Ben’d have a conniption fit.”

  The girl laughed. “A what kind of fit?”

  “A conniption fit that’s what. Miss Bess wore that dress to the gov’ner’s ball,” Cassie replied. “Her and Mista John made a handsome couple, they did, leavin’ in the carriage. Here. Try this un.” She handed Dayme a green silk dress. It was delicately draped off the shoulders with an inset of yellowed white lace.

  “Remove this stuffy old lace,” Dayme instructed Cassie as she admired herself in the mirror. “It’ll make me look more sophisticated.”

  “Ain’t doin’ no such thing.” Cassie tone was piqued. “You’ll look sassy enough, Missy. That lace high neck makes you look refined. Make Mista Ben proud. I’ll take that lace off ‘n bleach it with lye soap ‘n vinegar and dry it in the sun. Then, I’m a-sewin’ it right back in.”

  “It’s too big. Can you take in the seams and shorten it?”

  “Sure. I’ll take off a ruffle.”

  The modernistic elite of Vicksburg laughed and loved in the face of war, adversity, martial law and poverty. People can take just so much gloom. The people were hungry for fun and good times, a diversion from the wretchedness of everyday life that existed in the South. Quick to put heavy hearts aside, all anybody had to say was “party” and people gathered from all over Warren County. Life goes on. Wagons and buggies began arriving in the middle of the afternoon. Only a few carriages had escaped confiscation by occupation forces, but horses to pull them were in short supply. All the vehicles were filled to capacity, for many people didn’t have transportation anymore. It was seventeen miles to Larkspur Plantation. The guests were friends and business associates of the Farrington family…former city and state officials, lawyers, planters and business people, as well as some of his old chums from high school days. Not one of Dayme’s acquaintances was invited. Females outnumbered men three to one. Most of the fellows were war veterans. Some leaned on crutches or canes. There were few party dresses. Most of the ladies wore black because it was the cheapest material available. Colorful sashes and hair ribbons cheered up the mourning cloth of the South.

  The guests were most impressed by the pre-war appearance of Larkspur in spite of patched and mended cushions in the great room. The mutilated painting of Mrs. Farrington was gone. A new painting of her by a local artist hung over the mantel. Benjamin’s friend refused payment.

  “It’s the least I can do for your mother,” Roger Methany told him. “She shared food with my family while I was away at war.”

  Nobody was aware that Benjamin paid the former slaves extra money to carry out the pre-war charade. Joe Floyd wore the butler’s black uniform with white ruffled shirt and white gloves as he announced the guests. Rachel, Lucy and Mandy’s oldest daughter, Rosie, wore stiffly starched black and white maids’ uniforms. They served homemade grape wine and fruit punch in crystal glasses on silver trays. Lazarus, Ike and Luke parked vehicles and cared for the animals. Mose and Rufus fried catfish and roasted quail strung on iron spits over a pit. Logan carried trays of food to the outdoor tables while Cassie sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, carrot sticks and crisp decorative radishes. The older Negro girls scooped out watermelon, cantaloupe and honeydew melon balls, adding chunks of golden peaches and plums. The fruit was served in carved watermelon shells. Not one item was purchased extra for the occasion. That’s what a “starvation party” was…make-do. Honey sweetened tea cakes were in abundance.

  “Mrs. Elms, meet Miss Dayme O’Malley, the plantation school teacher and my house guest. Dayme, Mrs. Elms is our former state congressman’s widow.”

  The lady smiled sweetly as Benjamin kissed her hand, but her eyes turned cold and the smile evaporated when she mumbled, “How do you do” to Dayme.

  Benjamin’s male friends accepted the girl with warmth and friendship, along with a few of the women. Others were coolly polite. A couple of society damsels downright snubbed her although they were especially cordial to Benjamin. He was one of the most eligible bachelors in Warren County.

  Lawrence Barnes’ sister, Mrs. Marcus Alverson and the ex-Mayor’s daughter, Eva Hope Borsch barely spoke, but Dayme pretended not to notice. Her heart was singing. It was her first real party, and nothing or nobody was going to spoil it for her.

  Some of the men brought hard liquor. It was a custom in those hard times to bring one’s own brew. There was plenty of wild grape wine and Benjamin’s jug of brandy, as well as fruit punch for the ladies. Benjamin resisted the urge to splurge. He wasn’t ready for his countrymen to find out about the money. They were having a hard time. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to blotch his dead mother’s memory in the community.
/>
  From the onset, Benjamin realized the party idea was a mistake. Better, indeed, to take the girl to church. Society doesn’t accept the lower class all that easily. The men in the stag line were far too attentive to Dayme, most especially Baxter Johnston, one of his high school rivals. Even Baxter’s sister’s husband, James Calloway, kept cutting in to dance with the girl. It didn’t take Benjamin long to figure out why the men were giving his houseguest the rush. It was her blemished reputation. It infuriated Benjamin. He was unaccustomed to the twinge of jealousy when he watched the girl in Baxter’s arms. The glib-tongued man wasn’t all that handsome. Oh, he had a courtly, polished manner, but for the life of him, Benjamin couldn’t see what there was about Baxter that set women all a-twitter. Taking mental inventory of the eligible bachelors, he decided that no one there was good enough for the girl.

  Dayme was not unaware of the jealous darts from Benjamin as she waltzed past with Baxter, and she was pleased. Fond indeed! She thought as she reveled in antagonizing him. I’m the most popular girl here.

  The volunteer pianist was Mort Whitmore, a young man who lost a leg in the war. He played many of Stephen F. Foster’s old songs. The songwriter’s death in 1864 had prompted a revival of his tunes. The waltzes especially were quite popular with the partygoers.

  “Please, Miss O’Malley,” Peter Webster urged as he leaned on a crutch near the piano. “Mort and I insist you sing.”

  Knowing it would call attention to her tavern background, Benjamin would have preferred that Dayme didn’t sing that night, and he whispered it aside to her. She knew how hard he had tried to erase her past, and yet she consented. She told him she had nothing to hide. A hush fell over the crowd during her rendition of “Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming”. In response to showers of applause and shouts of “Encore” from the men in the crowd, the girl replied good-naturedly. “One more, but only one more. People want to dance. This is not a recital.”