“Do you think we’re going to war?”
“We haven’t a choice, have we?” She opened and closed her Bible again. “I’m frightened, Sumner, in a way that I’ve never been frightened before. I’ve felt desolation and grief. But those were personal sorrows, sorrows that come to everyone when God wills it. They test us, but this is different. This is the sorrow visited upon a people.”
“We’ll win and that will be the end of sorrow.”
“We’ll win and the dead will still be dead!” Lutie stood up. Although much smaller than her energetic son, she seemed much taller. “Sumner, I’ll be goddamned if I want someone telling me how to live. People like Thaddeus Stevens up there in Washington have the grotesque bad manners to meddle in our affairs. And I’d fight if I could, but don’t ask me to celebrate this war or any other war. I will never understand, not even on the day I die and meet our Saviour, why people can’t let one another alone. Live and let live, that’s my motto.”
“Are you sure your mother won’t mind that we missed her reading this morning?” Nash asked as he and Geneva rode across the rolling meadows.
“She knows we haven’t much time left, and after you all go, she and I will do nothing but spend time together. Mother has her ways, but she’s fair.”
“We’re going to church, so that should satisfy her.”
Geneva slowed Gallant, her 16.2-hand, steel-gray gelding to a walk. She stuck in the saddle like a burr. Long legs gave her an advantage, but it was Geneva’s hands that made her a superb horseman. She could feel the slightest change in her fingertips, and she possessed that rare ability to make the horse want to please her. By the time Geneva was ten, Henley realized that the gods had granted her a gift with horses. He stopped worrying about her after that. She could ride horses that would kill other riders. She encouraged the timid, calmed the wild, and bent them all to her will.
Nash Hart had known Geneva since they were small, but as he was six years older, he didn’t pay much attention to her. Shortly after he graduated from the university, he noticed her on a hunt. He fell in love with her on that day. Gawky and lacking in feminine graces off a horse, she was transformed into a graceful, mesmerizing person on one. He courted her with poetry until he discovered Di-Peachy had to explain it to her. He squired her to the dances and parties in the county. He accompanied her to church as much to please Lutie as Geneva. He applied himself to winning over Henley, who viewed any male in the vicinity of his precious daughter with suspicion. More, he seriously began studying equine husbandry. Success with horses enhanced anyone’s reputation throughout the South, and breeding horses wasn’t grubby like trade. He’d slit his wrists before he would lower himself or his family name to trade. Still, money had to be made somehow, and this offered hope. He could write poetry in his spare time. He thought it best to keep that to himself.
Sunlight flooded the undulating meadow, fresh with spring grass. “I think of this meadow as the place where the rainbows fell,” said Geneva.
“What a beautiful expression, my love. You’ve a bit of the poetess in you.” He leaned over in his saddle and kissed her. Geneva decided not to tell him Di-Peachy said that years ago. She wondered if not telling him was the same as lying. It was such a little thing.
APRIL 15, 1861
Cloudy and cool, the day depressed everyone who hoped that yesterday’s warmth was a sign that spring had arrived at last. Sumner and Nash checked their tack.
“I’m taking extra stirrup leathers. They’ll break before anything else.” Sumner squeezed the soft, thin, well-worn strips of leather.
“I haven’t heard anything about firearm specifications, have you?”
“No. I’m taking two pistols, one rifle, and one saber. Put the ammunition on a pack mule, I guess.”
“I don’t have a saber.” Nash stroked his chin.
“Maybe you can buy them at camp.”
“What a mess! Do you think the Union is as mixed up as we are?”
“Since most of the senior officers went with the South, I’d say they’re all beshit and forty miles from water.”
Nash laughed in agreement. “Hard on the women though—running the farms without us.”
“They’ve got the servants. Besides, we’ll be home before the frost’s on the pumpkin.”
“What if the servants run off?” Nash’s right eyebrow twitched.
Sumner dropped the blanket in surprise. “What are you saying? You lost your mind? These people will never leave us! They belong to us! They belong to Chatfield!”
“Some do and some don’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Everyone’s a little different from everyone else. Some of them are going to shoot out of here on a dark night and run like a scalded dog.”
Sumner faced Nash, who disturbed him with unwelcome worry. “You know, Nash, I am beginning to realize there’s a lot about you that I don’t know.”
Nash and Geneva attended Lutie’s evening lesson which was 6 Judges: 11-25 and 4 James. Geneva read the lesson tonight. Lutie took faint heart in the story of an angel of the Lord appearing to Gideon at Ophrah and telling him he could drive out the Midianites. When Gideon says, “If now I have found grace in thy sight, then shew me a sign that thou talkest with me.” She again plunged into worry. She’d prefer a heavenly sign herself. She was fixing to send off a son, a son-in-law, and a husband. Her brother had already departed as well as her brother-in-law. A sign would do nicely. Still, Judges offered hope. James, chapter 4, with its admonishments against adulterers, seemed tactless in light of her prior experiences. Henley displayed no discomfort during the reading. That was all very well until Geneva reached the part that said, “Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.”
Lutie cried, “I don’t want to hear about vapours. I want to hear about life everlasting!”
“Mother, that’s what it says. It’s today’s lesson.”
“I don’t think much of today’s lesson, and I fully intend to take up this disturbing matter with Father Manlius.”
Sin-Sin, who had been dozing in the rear of the room, awoke and said, “Amen.”
Lutie took this to mean her own logic was so moving that even Sin-Sin vociferously agreed. She turned around and bestowed radiance upon Sin-Sin who bestowed it right back.
After the lesson, Lutie and Sin-Sin strolled down the hall together. Sin-Sin wore a dime on a string around her ankle to keep cramps out of her leg. These fluctuations in the weather and the cold dampness drove her wild.
“How’s your leg, Sin-Sin?”
“Fine,” Sin-Sin lied. She’d never admit one of her cures failed.
“Ernie June fretted herself sick today with her rheumatism.”
“Too bad the rheumy don’t leave her legs alone and go infect her mouth.”
Lutie giggled. “Sin-Sin, we’ve come out of our Bible reading, and you display no charity for Ernie June. What kind of Christian does that make you?”
“A smart one.” Sin-Sin tapped her head. “I don’t never hear the name Ernie June in the Good Book. When I does, I’ll consider it.”
Steam moistened Geneva’s nostrils as she gulped her hot chocolate. Expensive and delicious, Geneva preferred this luxury to jewelry, but Lutie assured her that as she grew older, she’d develop a taste for stones. Nash sat across from her in his worn university chair. She slumped down in the rolling arms and cushy seat of a fat chair stuffed with horsehair.
“The Maupin boys joined the infantry. Turners, too. The five Huff brothers signed for the artillery.” A slight tone of excitement snuck into his deep voice.
“Jennifer Fitzgerald informed Mother that everyone she knows is sewing uniforms.”
“What color, I’d like to know.”
“Homespun, I suppose.” Geneva savored another rich swallow.
“That makes sense.” He exhaled. “Little else does. I’d feel better
about going if I knew you were with child.”
Geneva’s eyes got bigger. “Nash, don’t say such a thing. You’ll come home, and we’ll have lots of babies. I’ll throw them like litters. It might take me a while, you know.”
He appeared puzzled. No, he didn’t know. Was the advent of children yet another female mystery? “I’ll attend to that each and every day.”
She smiled. “I have little doubt on that score, but I’m not always on time. In fact, I can go months without my friend. There’s no rhyme or reason with me about that, but Mother says it’s just because I’m young. My insides will settle down later, I suppose.”
“You look lovely in your dress and shawl tonight.” His eyes glittered.
“You knocked back a whiskey. Anyone looks good then.” She teased him.
True, he indulged, but he was working up his courage to tell her about the day after tomorrow. Somehow the prospect of war seemed easier than this.
“Stone sober, I would find you equally alluring.” He crossed over to her chair, bent low, and brushed his lips across her hand. Then he turned her hand over and ran his tongue along her palm. “You have a long lifeline.” He licked her palm again.
Geneva felt a rush of blood to her temples. Nash held her hand in his left hand, put his right behind her head, and kissed her. “I like seeing you in long dresses. I like imagining what’s underneath.” He bit her neck. “Let’s go upstairs.”
In the firelight he slowly undressed her. First he removed the shawl and twirled it around her shoulders. Then he unfastened her dress from behind. When the dress was open, he put his hands on her shoulders and moved the dress downwards so the fabric hung around her waist like petals. He performed the same motion for her silk chemise. He kissed the line of her neck down to her small breasts and then down to her navel. He reached under her petticoats and touched her inner thigh. Then he peeled off the dress and the petticoats, layer after layer. He thought his cock would rip right through the fabric of his trousers.
“Under the covers,” he said breathlessly.
He propped the pillows up against the headboard, leaned against it, and placed her on him while he sat upright. He pulled the blankets around her shoulders, then he slid his hands under her buttocks. He liked to feel her tight little ass. As Geneva kissed him, she ran her fingers through the thin line of hair between his pectoral muscles. When Nash came, he had visions of a volcano erupting. It couldn’t be this good for other men, he thought. Nothing could be this good.
Cuddling under the covers, he kissed her nose and her eyebrows and her earlobe. He’d avoided telling her as long as he could. “Honey, we’re mustering in the day after tomorrow.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“The infantry fellows are going to catch a train on April seventeenth, and we’re supposed to leave, too.”
“Where are you going?”
“No one knows or maybe no one is telling because there might be Northern spies about.”
“Does this mean Sumner, too?”
“Yes. I’ll take Bumba, of course. He’s happy to go. We’re taking two mounts each, plus a pack animal and a horse for Bumba and Sumner’s man.”
“Why don’t you take Big Muler? He’s near to seven feet tall. He’d be worth his weight in gold.”
“I wouldn’t take Big Muler to the corner store. He’s surly. Besides, Bumba wants to go. He’s been my sable playmate since childhood. I can rely on Bumba.”
“Do you think I’ll have trouble with Muler?”
“If you do, talk to Sin-Sin. She’ll walk on down here and put the fear of the Lord in him.” True enough, no one messed with Sin-Sin. “Actually, I think Di-Peachy has a bit more to worry about concerning him than you do.”
“What do you mean?”
“The boys up at your father’s stable were laughing about him. He’s laid claim to her. Says if another man touches her, he’ll kill him.”
“She doesn’t want any man, Nash. She told me she’d die before she’d be the slave of a slave.”
Nash frowned. “Di-Peachy better come down off her high horse. A woman’s got to have a man.”
“And a man’s got to have a woman.” Geneva nibbled his upper lip.
“Yes, thank Jesus!” He kissed her hard.
Geneva lay on top of him, her head between his breasts. “I think I’ll die without you.”
For a terrible moment he thought he would cry. He couldn’t give way. She needed him to bolster her. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, if I have to walk every step of the way. I love you, Geneva.”
She held him and sobbed.
He never felt more rotten or more loved in his life.
APRIL 16, 1861
Golden bubbles popped in the cast-iron pot. Boyd, Ernie June’s fourteen-year-old daughter, called to her mother.
“Corn’s boiling.”
Ernie leaned over her daughter’s ear and whispered low so Tincia, her other helper, would not hear. “Keep stirring, slow down the boil, no big bubbles. And I want you to stir in a handful of sugar and a pinch of cinnamon.” She grabbed the expensive, refined sugar and threw it in. Boyd plucked some cinnamon between her fingers and added it to the delicious smelling concoction. Being a political creature, Ernie June then spoke louder for Tincia’s understanding. “Girl, don’t never want to hear you talkin’ ’bout cups and measurements. That don’t make a good cook. That make a chemist.”
Corn pudding, favored by Sumner, would grace the table tonight. She’d heard the news, the men were leaving tomorrow. Well, Ernie would play her part. Boyd carefully stirred the pudding, and Ernie returned to her two other ovens. One was a huge hearth. She stepped down into it. On either side of the hearth were long bread ovens cut into the stone. With an efficient crew, Ernie could keep the bread ovens humming enough to feed over one hundred guests on special occasions, such as Geneva’s wedding. The floor of the hearth Ernie kept in hot ashes. One of her secrets was burying vegetables in the hot ash and then hours later retrieving them. A small, new iron stove also functioned. Ernie thought this wood-burning stove good for coffee, but to her way of thinking, no great cook would dream of roasting meats in such an oven. The griddle was an improvement over the old method, yes, she would admit that, but meats needed an open fire, the flavor controlled by the wood chips and spices mixed into the fire. Ernie passed these practices on to Boyd as though administering holy sacraments. Boyd, plump already, displayed her mother’s appetite for culinary distinguishment.
Ambition coursed through Ernie June. As cook of an important estate, she too had power, but not enough. One obstacle blocked Ernie’s ascension: Sin-Sin. As long as Sin-Sin lived, Ernie couldn’t get around her, she could only hold firmly to her number-two spot. Sin-Sin owned Lutie as much as Lutie owned Sin-Sin. The fact that Sin-Sin bore a child that died drew the two even closer together. Hearing the little girl’s pitiful whimpers as she tossed on her straw pallet was the only time Ernie felt pity for Sin-Sin. When the child finally left this earth, relieved of its terrible suffering, Sin-Sin smeared white ash on her face, made pots, and refused to cry. For one week she kept to her cabin, firing her kiln like a woman on fire herself. Ernie June lost no time in taking over Sin-Sin’s duties. Sheer ugliness drove Sin-Sin back to life. She washed her face, walked in the back door of the house, and took over. Sin-Sin’s husband died of the same suffering some seven years before the little girl. It was a tiredness, an evil in the blood. Ernie wished Sin-Sin would get it. But Ernie would outmaneuver Sin-Sin in the long run. She knew that, because she had two children and Sin-Sin had none. Boyd would inherit both her mother’s cooking ability and position. Braxton, her oldest son at twenty-two, marked sums when he wasn’t at the stables. Henley perceived the young man was good with numbers and taught him to keep books.
With both her children in the house or stable and not in the fields, Ernie expanded slowly. She’d worked too hard to hang back. She ate the same food the master did and so did her children. She never stood in line on Sa
turdays for the rations: four pounds of wheat flour, one pound of sugar, one pound of coffee, a peck of corn meal, four or five pounds of pork, a quart of blackstrap molasses, tobacco, and all the potatoes and vegetables one could grow in his own garden. Ernie June would never, ever bend over a patch behind her cottage. That was for field niggers. If the master ate quail, so did Ernie June. Not one carrot passed through the kitchen but what Ernie June did not decide its fate. She was consulted each time a pig, sheep, or cow was slaughtered.
Yet her greatest power, her left-handed authority, came when she distributed riches from her kitchen to the other servants. Ernie June was courted hotly by every black soul, save Sin-Sin and Di-Peachy, on that property, all four thousand acres of it. Sin-Sin knew what Ernie did, but she couldn’t cross her on this. Sin-Sin had sense enough to turn a blind eye. However, after such distributions, Sin-Sin would wear Lutie’s keys around her waist to remind everyone that she, Sin-Sin, held ultimate power. Ernie hated the jingle of those keys. Like a sixth sense she knew when Sin-Sin was wearing them instead of Lutie. Lutie’s gait, light and skipping, rang down the hall. Sin-Sin walked like Napoleon. Someday, someday before she died, Ernie would wear those keys on her belt. And when the mistress designated her, no one, no one would meddle with Ernie June.
Ernie untied her neckerchief and wiped her brow. It was eighty degrees in the kitchen and forty-two outside.
Sin-Sin majestically strolled through the door to the main rooms. “Ernie June, this is a sad supper for the family. Let’s keep our feelin’s to ourselves tonight.”
Pure D hate shot through Ernie. That conniving bitch, coming into her kitchen, telling her that this is a sad night, as if she’s a dandelion, but too dumb to know it, and then ordering her how to act. “You tends to your business, Sin-Sin; I tends to mine.”
High Hearts Page 5