Sin-Sin glared at her and then walked out. Boyd giggled and Tincia laughed. Ernie swelled. She had her troops, by God. Just who would stand beside Sin-Sin when the time came?
Sin-Sin, her ginger cake skin shining and bright, informed Lutie and the others that dinner would soon be ready, and they might want to refresh themselves. Geneva and Nash came through the front door as Lutie, Henley, and Sumner retired to their rooms.
“In time for the fixin’s.” Sin-Sin smiled.
“Thanks, Auntie.” Geneva dutifully pecked her on the cheek. Sin-Sin noted how pale the girl looked. Nash looked peaked himself. Poor babies, she thought, they can’t stay together long enough to warm hands.
Conversation stumbled along. Sumner babbled. Henley said little. Nash and Geneva jollied Lutie, who appeared stricken throughout the meal. When the table was cleared, Henley called for the brandy. His toast was simple: “May we serve our nation, our state, and our house with honor.” Lutie gulped the fiery brandy, which brought tears to her eyes.
“Ready for the evening lesson, Mother?” Sumner asked.
“I read it before dinner. More Judges. More Gideon. More battles. I’d as soon forget it.”
“Well, then, why don’t we go into the peach room and enjoy ourselves?” Henley suggested.
The peach room, small with a black marble fireplace, was Henley’s favorite room. The walls, covered with peach moire silk, glowed in firelight. It lifted his spirits. Sin-Sin sat in the corner on a hassock, and Di-Peachy threw cherry wood on the fire. Ernie June, enthroned in the kitchen, was not part of these gatherings. She fumed, but brought in a devil’s food cake with thick, vanilla icing on it.
“Daddy, tell us about the Harkaway Hunt.” Geneva wanted entertainment even as she unconsciously wanted confirmation of what she had seen on the meadows.
Lutie, never one to back off from telling a story complete with embellishments, started, “They ride at dusk, the hour between the dog and the wolf.”
Henley took over. “So they say. The Harkaways settled in Albemarle County at the time of the Monacans. Now you know the Monacans were a fierce Indian tribe that simply disappeared from these parts. Not a trace of them was ever found, not even on the other side of the Blue Ridge. But before they vanished, the original Harkaway, a man called Randolph, violated the chief’s daughter, a daughter the chief dearly loved. The child was so distraught that she killed herself, and the chief laid a curse on the Harkaways. He said their line would be extinct within three generations. Each male of the line would die a violent death at the hands of a woman, and the clan would ride forever, never to rest and never to capture their quarry.”
“Henley,” Lutie interrupted, “remember when we went to the Indian dances at the burial grounds in 1840? I think those must have been the descendants of the original Monacans.”
“They come through here, big as life, and ast the Coles iffin they could dance.” Sin-Sin contributed to the story. That dance caused a sensation in the county, and now everyone alive in 1840 claimed to have witnessed it.
“But what about the ghosts?” Geneva pressed.
“They ride. I know they ride.” Lutie spoke quietly. “I saw them the night your brother died, and I don’t care what anyone thinks or says about me in this county. I saw them.”
Henley added, sounding as judicial as possible, “Many people have seen them or heard them. I’ve never seen them as has your mother, but I’ve heard the dogs.” He tapped his pipe on the inside of the fireplace. “Of course, one could say I heard any pack of dogs but these gave a mystic tongue, like an old bell.”
“And the chief’s curse came true. Randolph was murdered in his bed in 1746. His wife said she was visiting a friend but everyone knew she did it. Randolph dallied in the Tidewater.” Lutie’s voice fell when she mentioned this.
“I don’t remember this part of the story.” Geneva caressed her husband’s strong hand.
“Well, dear, you weren’t a married woman then.”
“And Casimer, the son, fought valiantly in the Revolutionary War. He was on General Washington’s staff. They say Casimer was the handsomest man west of Richmond’s boundaries, big and powerful with the chest of a bull. He was the one I saw. It couldn’t have been anyone else,” Lutie stated matter-of-factly.
“Why is that, Miss Lutie?” Di-Peachy’s upper lip twitched slightly.
“Had his shirt open. Rode right up to me. He looked like a piece of Italian sculpture.” Lutie enjoyed this part of the memory. “He said, and kindly, too, ‘Death is the tribute we owe nature.’ ”
“He was shot through the head by a woman dressed in black,” Henley continued. “His son, Lawrence, lived to about 1797 when he was killed in a duel over a lady of questionable virtue. But legend has it that she fired at him from behind a tree and hers was the killing bullet. So the chief’s curse held true. Lawrence left no heirs, male or female, and the line died with him. I never met him, but my father remembered him. Said he was a passionate huntsman of both foxes and women.”
“And they hunt with black and tans, a pack started before the Revolutionary War with hounds from the west of Ireland.” Nash held Geneva’s hand.
Sumner said, “I still think it’s a good story for a cold night.”
“Jennifer Fitzgerald doesn’t believe in the Harkaways,” said Geneva.
“Well, anyone who’d marry Big Fitz can be forgiven. She doesn’t have a brain. She has a cerebral tentacle.” Lutie smiled in delicious malice.
The little group gossiped, indulging in mild backbiting and telling of other tales. No one wanted to leave, but Geneva and Nash, desperate for their last night together, finally broke the spell. Lutie kissed her son-in-law and wished him luck. As they walked to the door, Nash sought out Di-Peachy. “Di-Peachy, please look after my wife for me while I’m gone.”
“I will.” Di-Peachy’s almond-shaped eyes glistened. She wasn’t sorry to see Nash go, although she felt sorry for Geneva. It seemed to Di-Peachy that every emotion she had was quickly pulled in the opposite direction by another conflicting emotion.
Lutie lingered by the fire after her daughter left. Time was when recalling the Harkaway Hunt frightened her, but as the years receded, the strange power of that moment would both haunt and illuminate her. What manner of magical events or creatures lurked between our version of reality and the creation of Almighty God, she wondered. Perhaps unicorns, centaurs, and griffins existed side by side with us just like the Harkaways and a tremendous jarring of our ordered existence would open our eyes and we would see them for an instant. Perhaps this war would shake the earth like a mighty earthquake. Who knew what creatures will emerge from the fissures?
“Lutie, I’m going to bed now.” Henley placed his pipe in his pocket.
“I’ll join you, if you like.”
“Yes. I’d like that.”
And so Lutie slept beside her husband, a thing she rarely did now since she reserved these nights, in her heart, for Emil. But Henley needed her, and God only knew when she would see him again. She turned under the covers and wrapped her arm around his sagging but still massive shoulders.
In another bed, down the tree-lined drive to the Chatfield estate, Nash and Geneva surrendered themselves to the night’s sacraments. They made love with as much hysteria as passion, neither one sleeping and each one feeling the first glimmer of dawn as a knife to the heart.
APRIL 17, 1861
Snow covered the mountains which looked like big, sugared gumdrops. Nash felt even more desolate when he saw them. Bumba knocked softly on the door.
“I’m awake, Bumba.”
“Fine.” Bumba discreetly left.
Unfurling her heavy robe, Geneva walked to the window. “This is eternal winter. Maybe we’ll get snowed in and you won’t be able to set foot outside the house. I don’t want to be apart from you.” She grabbed him. She was strong and squeezed the breath out of him.
“I’ve got to get ready.”
Reluctantly she released him, and he p
added down the hall to his dressing room. She flung herself into her own modest dressing room. Ice clogged her water pitcher. She cracked it with a nutcracker hammer. The cold water slapped her awake. She brushed her teeth, washed her private parts, and hurriedly toweled dry. The cold weather was heartless. She walked quickly through her closet, deciding to put on a velvet dress of deep burnt orange. Nash liked her in fancy clothes, and it would keep her warm. She wanted his parting memory of her to be lovely. She combed her thick auburn hair, set it on top of her head, and raced down to the kitchen where Nash was already drinking his coffee. He stood when she entered the room.
“No sunrise shone more radiant than yourself.”
She kissed him again and again, oblivious to the servants around her, each trying to prepare the food or take out Nash’s satchel and one trunk.
He had wrapped a plaid shawl around himself. She took it off. His uniform startled her.
“Where did you get this?”
“Jennifer Fitzgerald organized the women down at Town Hall. They’ve been sewing since April thirteenth, night and day, as I hear it.”
A tartness crept into her voice. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“Because we didn’t want to upset you, darling.”
“I could have sewn the uniform.”
“Geneva, look at the braiding on the sleeve. You’re not a professional tailor.”
“Neither is Jennifer Fitzgerald!”
“The ladies performed the cutting, and the tailors put on the colors, the braidings, and so forth. See, I even have a stripe on my trousers.”
“You look very handsome.” She choked back a sob. The uniform somehow made the war real. “Shall we enjoy our breakfast?”
Waffles and molasses languished on Geneva’s plate. Nash gobbled his food.
“How will I write to you? Where will you be?” Geneva’s voice forced through her constricted throat.
“As soon as we’re quartered, I’ll get word to you. Don’t worry, Geneva. The Yankees aren’t going to attack anytime soon. They’re probably as disorganized as we are.” He paused. “Thank God.”
“Do you know where you’re going?”
“Not exactly.”
Bumba, smart-looking in tight breeches, a heavy woolen jacket, and a cape, came into the kitchen from outside. “Everything’s ready.”
The sound of hoofbeats came through the open kitchen door with the cold. Bumba shut the door. Nash rose, drained his coffee cup, and put it down so forcefully it broke. “I’m sorry.” He was embarrassed at his own nervousness.
“Break it all.” Geneva smiled at him. He threw his arms around her and kissed her with all his might. “I will come home. Don’t worry.”
She hung on to him and sobbed. Bumba turned away. He nodded to the men outside. “Master.”
Nash straightened himself. “Yes, of course.”
Bumba handed him his Remington pistol and holster. Nash strapped it on. He snatched a navy greatcoat from a peg on the wall and threw it over his shoulders. Geneva could see outside the kitchen window that her father and brother waited. “Let me walk you outside.”
He kissed her again, then they pushed open the door.
Sumner smiled at his sister. He, too, was in a uniform. The facings of his frock coat were bright yellow. Henley’s cuffs and collar were a soft blue.
“Little sister, you’ll catch your death!”
She raced over and kissed him, and then turned to her father, stiffly bent over. “Daddy, why are you wearing light blue on your sleeves and collar when Nash and Sumner are in yellow?”
“Theoretically, I’m in the infantry. They’re in the cavalry.”
“Just remember, I’m an engineer in the service of the cavalry!” Sumner burst with enthusiasm.
Geneva lifted her face up to her father, who seemed in his uniform as gray as the sky. “You won’t fight, will you?”
“Only if I have to, sweet lamb. But don’t fret over it. Look at me. I’m fifty. My eyes aren’t too sharp, and I’ve been given strict orders to find and transport provisions. I think I’ll be denied the whiff of gunpowder.” Slight regret laced his deep, resonant voice.
Bumba gave Nash a leg up and then joined Sumner’s servant with the string of extra horses and the two pack mules.
Henley gravely instructed his daughter. “See to your mother. You are her strength now.”
“Yes, Daddy.” She bowed her head. The tears wouldn’t hold back.
“Geneva, we’ll all be back by fall. Don’t cry. This is the most exciting thing to happen to me in my entire life! I wish you could come too!” Sumner thought this viewpoint consoling.
Her eyes glittered. “So do I.” She put her hand on her husband’s boot. Supple, he leaned down and kissed her one last agonizing time.
“What’s to become of us?” she cried.
Nash said gently, “Some things are in the hands of God. We’re like dice thrown on the plains of destiny.” With that he wheeled and trotted away, not looking back. Henley and Sumner followed. Geneva watched until the mist and the snow swallowed them up. Half-frozen, she went back into the house and cried until she thought she’d throw up.
* * *
As the men rode toward town, other men joined them, riding down the long country roads from their estates. Poorer residents of Albemarle County walked toward the train station. Sumner, joyous, chattered with friends, then mindful that he would soon be separating from his father, rejoined Henley and Nash who headed this scraggly, ever swelling column. The sun, pale and loitering, offered no warmth. The snow slowed. Sumner reached in his greatcoat and pulled out Darling Fanny Pan Cake. He cut a plug of this Myers Brothers tobacco and popped it into his mouth.
“Sumner, gentlemen smoke tobacco. They don’t chew it,” Henley chided.
Sumner, now in the army, such as it was, didn’t feel like taking any more orders from his father. “It calms my nerves. Besides, how can I get a light on horseback?”
Henley frowned. “What do you have to be nervous about, my boy? You have no rank, and therefore, you have no responsibility.”
Stung, Sumner replied, “If I earn a rank, I’ll accept it. We all decided to go in as privates.”
Henley couldn’t fathom why most of the sons of good families chose this path. Any man who had attended military school automatically received a junior officer’s rank. Any man formerly in the United States Army retained his rank. In Henley’s day, a scion enlisting could depend upon automatically being granted a lieutenancy. Now it was fashionable to be on the bottom of the heap. He shrugged his shoulders and ignored his son.
Sumner, determined not to let his father whittle him down, pressed on. “I’ll finish this war as a captain, the hard way.”
Henley turned slightly in his saddle to look at the set face chewing his Darling Fanny Pan Cake. “I hope so.” The braid of colonel gleamed on his sleeve and so did the three stars on his narrow collar band. Henley, not a military man, gladly accepted his status as senior officer. He needed weight in order to force some of these tight farmers and sly merchants to comply. He assumed that the government, once settled, would commandeer the railroads. He also needed authority over engineers, switchmen, and the riffraff that ran the trains. Rank was his only protection.
Sumner, so like his sister in many ways, bore no resemblance at all to Geneva when it came to responsibility. Sumner, groomed to inherit a great house and a great stable, dallied with ladies of Richmond. He was happier throwing up a rough bridge over a friend’s creek or dancing all night than learning the rigor of scientific breeding and the management of an estate. Why Henley had to sit on him for three months just last year to get him to go to Kentucky to buy yearlings. Geneva, on the other hand, soaked up horse genealogies. Henley only had to tell her once. Her gift as a rider was the most remarkable talent Henley had ever seen. A pity Geneva was a woman. She couldn’t race, but she could train them at home. That was some consolation. He thought about changing his will before leaving today, but S
umner and Geneva loved one another. He found no fault with his son there. Sumner was a devoted brother. The children would never fight over the disposition of their inheritance. Sumner would care for Lutie if anything happened to him. God knows, the boy loved his mother. Natural, he supposed. Fathers and sons look out the same window but don’t see the same tree.
Nash noticed the sudden pallor on Sumner’s face under his father’s scrutiny. The loud and cheerful arrival of Greer Fitzgerald, Jennifer Greer Fitzgerald’s son, turned his attention away from the Chatfields. Greer rode up and down the line of men, shouting, whooping, slapping hands. He stopped short of Henley and saluted, then rode a trifle more quietly.
When they reached the outskirts of town, Henley bid his son, son-in-law, and friends good-bye. The men assigned to cavalry units, not yet named or numbered, turned north and rode toward Culpeper. Nash grumbled that they could have been loaded on a train; after all, this was 1861. The Culpeper train station was at least two days away, even riding at a reasonable pace.
Henley split off and rode into the town, which was buzzing with morning activity. At the station he handed over his mount to Timothy, one of the young stable boys he had brought along with him, and told him to return home to Lutie. He gave the boy money to buy a large box of sweets for Lutie. Timothy, a reliable twelve-year-old, would spare the candied peaches but demolish the chocolate. Henley, remembering Timothy’s weakness, rewarded him with two dollars to thoroughly indulge himself. The boy, thankful, pressed Henley’s hand and wished him a safe journey.
The small train station crawled with young men in various, ill-coordinated uniforms. Noise bounced off the walls. Henley accepted a few salutes with the air of one accustomed to deference. Their urgency for excitement would be fulfilled within twenty-four hours. Henley knew these boys would be loaded on a train headed for Harper’s Ferry. A secret communication from John Letcher, the governor, informed Henley about this. This was a courtesy due him as one of the senior officers in Albemarle. The legalities and formalities of secession as well as declaring war were not yet on paper, but Letcher, an intelligent man, grasped the importance of seizing the arsenal at Harper’s Ferry. The South’s supplies of ball, cannon, gunpowder, and artillery were nil. Letcher said, “Go.” These boasting, high-spirited young men were going to do just that, unbeknownst to them. The authorities in Richmond tapped out false telegrams declaring the destination of the train as the Portsmouth Navy Yard.
High Hearts Page 6