The Beguiled

by Thomas Cullinan

He turned around and stared at me. “I’d like a bit of soap,” said he. “And a comb. And a razor if you have one.”

  “I’ll see if I can find my father’s razor,” I told him. “The comb is easy enough and Miss Edwina Morrow had a small piece of soap last night which she may be willing to part with again today. I’ll send Mattie in with everything and expect you to be ready to receive us in exactly fifteen minutes.”

  “Yes ma’am,” said Corporal McBurney grinning happily. There was no devilment in the expression this time but only boyish pleasure.

  The sun was high now and the cannons were beginning to rumble experimentally in the woods. It seemed the battle was commencing again as I went out to notify the others of the change in our program.

  Edwina Morrow

  Miss Martha came out of the parlor on the morning of that second day and announced that Corporal McBurney had won her over completely and that she was going to throw the house open to him. It wasn’t exactly that, of course, but it did sound as though that might be what she had in mind. What she actually said was—and I’ll swear she was blushing—that she had thought it over and decided that it was only Christian charity for all of us to have our breakfasts with him.

  We were all seated at the dining room table, with Mattie standing in the kitchen doorway, waiting for Miss Martha to come in so she could begin serving what was passing at the moment for human food. Well when that announcement came you might have thought a Yankee shell had fallen on the table the way those proper young ladies leaped up and flew off in all directions, giggling and snickering, and pinning their hair and unpinning it, and demanding “Who has my ivory broach?” and “Who has my mother of pearl necklace?” That was Alice Simms, as I recall, shouting as she ran up the stairs to change her dress.

  The patriot Emily declared that no enemy soldier was going to cause her to change from her customary black muslin—which had been sent by her family when her brother was killed and which she has been wearing as her personal banner ever since, and which has been growing a trifle musty this summer, if the truth must be known, since she has no cologne to sprinkle on it and probably wouldn’t stoop to that sort of frivolity if she had. However, Emily’s declaration to remain in mourning notwithstanding, she was at the dining room mirror as she said the words, pinching her cheeks to raise some color in them.

  Even Miss Harriet was caught up in the excitement and hurried toward the stairs following Alice, Marie and Amelia. I don’t know what sort of beautifying Amelia was planning to engage in, since she always looks like she has been climbing trees in whatever clothes she wears. She had a mourning dress too, sent to her from home, but I believe she fell off a fence or something and ripped it irreparably the first time she had it on. Of course Miss Martha and Miss Harriet wear black almost all the time in honor of their brother. I might say, with no disrespect intended toward dear Master Robert, that the color does nothing for either one of them, but then what color would?

  “Where are you going, sister?” Miss Martha called out now.

  “Only to tidy myself a bit,” said that person, flushing to the roots of her hair.

  “You are tidy enough,” Miss Martha told her. “For Heaven’s sake, Harriet, act your age.” However Miss Harriet continued up the stairs anyway and Miss Martha followed her, announcing to the world that she, at any rate, was not going up to do any foolish primping but merely to look for her father’s razor which it seemed Corporal McBurney had requested. She also mentioned that he wanted some other items which I happened to have in my skirt pocket at that moment, my bar of scented toilet soap and my tortoise shell comb. I had intended to offer them to the Yankee earlier in the morning, but at that time Miss Martha, apparently desiring private conversation with him, had prevented my entrance into the parlor.

  Well anyway I wasn’t about to do a lot of primping and fixing myself in the Corporal’s honor. If I didn’t suit him as I was, he could go and find a better game, as my father used to say. I did decide, however, to avail myself of the present opportunity to slip in and see Corporal McBurney and present him with the toilet articles.

  I was preparing to do this, only pausing in the doorway to smooth my bun a bit, when Marie Deveraux came hurtling back down the stairs, carrying a Bible or prayer book in one hand and some jewelry in the other.

  “Excuse me, won’t you, Edwina,” she said, almost running into me. “I have some personal business in here.” And then rushed into the parlor and over to Corporal McBurney on the settee.

  Well I am not one to listen to the conversations of others but for the life of me I could not comprehend how that child of ten or eleven or whatever she is could have any business of any consequence with a total stranger and enemy soldier. Therefore, since I had legitimate business myself with him, I determined to wait by the doorway until the unmannerly little person had finished whatever it was she had to say. I made no attempt to eavesdrop, but of course that is hardly ever necessary in order to hear the remarks of Marie Deveraux, since she is seldom capable of speaking in anything lower than a shout.

  In this instance, with no preamble, she flung the book on Corporal McBurney’s lap and announced, “There’s something for you. I wanted to bring it to you last night for fear that you might die before morning, but then I thought since you were unconscious you wouldn’t be able to read it anyway.”

  “That’s very logical,” he said.

  “I assume you are a Catholic. I hear that almost the entire population of Ireland is Catholic.”

  “Not quite,” he informed her. “But you’ve picked me out. I was baptized in the faith.”

  “Well then, there’s a Catholic prayer book for you to browse through while you’re not doing anything else. It belongs to my mother and it’s in French but you can probably puzzle out the Our Father and the Hail Mary. You don’t want to go to Confession, do you?”

  “To you?”

  “Hardly. But I could run out on the main road and probably find a Catholic Chaplain with one of our regiments who would very likely be willing to assist you. That is if you feel on the verge of death and can’t wait much longer.”

  “I think I can hold out for a few hours yet.”

  “You probably have done some pretty horrible things in your life and you ought to get your soul in order before anything happens. You have done some horrible things, haven’t you?”

  “I suppose that depends on your point of view.”

  “Well then, examine your conscience while you’re lying there and if you want a priest a bit later, just let me know. By the way, I’m Marie Deveraux.”

  “I’m John Patrick McBurney.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said and came rushing out again, revealing now what she was carrying in her other hand. It was a pair of earbobs and she was trying to attach one in her ear as she hurried along.

  “Just a moment, Miss,” I said, blocking her. “Where do you think you’re going with my jade earbobs?”

  “Oh Edwina,” she said, giving me what she considers her most captivating smile and which she only uses when she is trapped in some misdeed. “Don’t be hateful, Edwina. Everyone is dressing up for breakfast.”

  “Not in my jewelry they are not.” I reached for her but she ducked away. “Where did you get those anyway, you little thief?”

  “Why I merely saw one on the floor in your room.”

  “The door was closed!”

  “The breeze must have blown it open. Anyway I retrieved the one from the floor so that it wouldn’t get stepped on and crushed and then I saw this other one on the stand and I was going to return them both to you, but then I realized that I had no finery to wear for Corporal McBurney’s first breakfast here, and I was sure you wouldn’t mind. . . .”

  “You little devil!” I almost had her then but she dodged around a chair and tipped it over in front of me, almost tripping me.

  “After her, after her . .
. that’s the way,” the Yankee shouted gleefully, pulling himself up on the back of the settee. “Which d’ye choose, ladies and gentlemen, the little brown squirrel or the big black cat? Step up and make your choice, folks, before the bets are closed. The bigger one has the reach but the small one the experience. Oh did ye see that nimble little twist as she slipped away! After her, Blackie . . . after her, girl!”

  “Please Edwina,” the little vixen cried. “You have scads of beautiful jewelry. You don’t need these two old pieces. You’ll wear yourself out, Edwina. I can keep this up all day.”

  “She’s right, Blackie,” said the Yankee. “In an open field you’d have a better chance but in an enclosed place like this you’re no match for her. Ah let her have the trinkets. That pale shade of green don’t suit your raven tresses anyway. Rubies would look better on you, Blackie.”

  I realized then how unseemly I must appear and halted, on the verge of capturing the nasty thing, and let her get away.

  “Oh how beautiful you look this morning, Edwina,” she yelled from the doorway. “You’re all dressed up yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I am not!”

  “Well perhaps you are a bit disheveled now. However I have not seen that gorgeous silk brocade dress on you since last Christmas, if I can remember correctly.”

  “Get out of here!”

  She scampered off howling with idiot laughter. I felt so ashamed of my unladylike conduct that I turned to leave the room myself.

  “Wait a bit, Blackie,” the Yankee said then. “Don’t run off when you’ve only just come. Did you want to see me about something?”

  I nodded and went over to the small parlor table which Mattie had drawn up beside his settee. I put my scented toilet soap and tortoise shell comb beside his pitcher of water and backed away, suddenly embarrassed and not knowing what to say to him.

  “Thank you very much, Blackie,” said he.

  He was reclining again and attempting to clean his fingernails with a Union ten cent piece. His nails certainly needed cleaning. I said so. Those were the first words I ever spoke to Johnny McBurney.

  “They look as though you had been trying to dig a pit with them,” I said.

  “I was,” he said. “In the battle yesterday. When all that iron was flyin overhead, my first thought was to bury myself, Blackie.”

  “And when you couldn’t bury yourself deep enough, you ran.”

  “I did. I surely to God did, Blackie.”

  Was he mocking me by repeating that? His eyes were smiling and his voice was friendly.

  “My name is Miss Edwina Morrow,” I said.

  “Ah yes. Howdy do.”

  “It wasn’t very brave of you to run.”

  “Maybe not. But it was smart, I think.”

  “Because you’re still alive?”

  “Not only still alive, but as an extra reward, I’ve met you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know your name . . . Miss Edwina Morrow.”

  “What have you been told about me?”

  “Nothing besides your name. It’s a lovely name. If I was old Edgar Allan Poe, I’d write a poem called ‘Miss Edwina Morrow.’”

  “Are you sure nothing else has been said about me?”

  “Well, dear girl,” he said, setting to work on his grubby nails again. “I have not exactly been in the proper condition to listen to gossip about anybody. What are you afraid of anyway?”

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “Then what do you care what is said about you?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  The words he used, if said by anyone else, would have convinced me I was being derided, and I paused again, not at all certain that this wasn’t the case. But he looked up at me and smiled—such a warm and friendly smile—and I thought, after all he is a stranger and not even an American. The words and expressions that he uses aren’t exactly our way of kindly speaking, but that doesn’t mean he’s trying to be unkind.

  “I just didn’t want you to start with the wrong impression of me,” I finally said, “before I’d even had the opportunity to talk with you myself.”

  “Then you do care what I think about you.”

  “Not at all! You’re a stranger here, that’s all, and I don’t want you to be misled about me. Otherwise I don’t care a fig what you think.” Strangely enough, even at that point I believe I really did care, but of course I couldn’t tell him that. Then.

  “Well I must make very sure that I’m not misled about you, mustn’t I, Miss Edwina Morrow. Perhaps you’d better set me off on the right foot immediately by giving me a complete and accurate account of yourself. For instance, where do you come from and how long have you been here?”

  “I’ve been here four years,” I said. “And my father’s home is presently in Richmond.”

  “And where is your mother’s home?”

  “In Savannah, Georgia. My parents do not reside together.”

  “Ah, too bad. And how long has it been since you last saw your mother?”

  “If you must know,” I said, “I have never seen her. Or at least I cannot remember seeing her.” I would have been very irritated by these questions, but he had a certain childlike directness which made it seem that he wasn’t trying to bare any of your personal secrets, but only attempting to expand his own knowledge of this strange world in which he now found himself.

  “My father took me away from Savannah when I was quite young,” I went on. “And then we lived in many places afterwards. My father has engaged in many enterprises and has been very successful in most of them.”

  “I’m sure he has been. This is a great land for success. You can smell it in the air. Now take myself, for example. I’ve been here less than six months and just look how successful I’ve become. I’ve seen a good bit of your country. I’ve been promoted in the army, and now I’m enjoyin a grand holiday in the care and company of the most genteel ladies. How much more success would a poor bog-trotter want? But tell me more about yourself, Miss Edwina Morrow.”

  “There isn’t time now,” I said. “The others will be here in a moment.”

  “Well you must come back later then when we can have a private talk. I’d like very much to know you better.”

  “Why are you so interested in me?”

  “Because, Miss Edwina, I think we’re much alike. Something tells me we’re both really out of place here. Me, for obvious reasons. And you, for reasons that maybe aren’t so plain to the naked eye, but all the same I can guess at one or two of them.”

  “What are they then?”

  “One big thing is your looks. The little Frenchie wasn’t lying before when she said you were beautiful.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.”

  “I’ll bet it matters plenty to some of the others here. I’ll bet there’s some here who’re very jealous of you.”

  “Even if that is so, it still makes no difference to me.”

  “Does it matter to you that I agree with the little Frenchie?”

  I paused and thought this over very carefully. Then I told him,

  “Yes, I guess I am glad you do.”

  “Why let me tell you, Miss Edwina Morrow, you’ve got it all over these other girlies here like a bright star floatin over the empty sea. And it’s not only these few here you overshadow. Why I’ve been to some of the largest cities in this world and I can tell you truthfully, you beat the finest female creatures in them all.”

  “Please don’t mock me.”

  “Mock you? Oh my dear, I wouldn’t dream of mocking you. Do you know what your big trouble is, Miss Edwina? You haven’t been praised enough. You don’t appreciate your true worth, because I’ll bet no one has ever told it to you. Isn’t that so?”

  “Perhaps it’s
so.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Miss Edwina Morrow. Be glad you’re not like all the others, even if it does get a bit lonely sometimes. That’s the second reason you’re out of place here, Miss Edwina. I’ll bet you’re the independent sort who speaks her mind and the devil take those who don’t agree with it. Ah that’s the best way to be after all. What one thing do you want most in the world, Miss Edwina?”

  “What do I want?”

  “That’s my question. Did you ever hear of the little people with magic powers in the place I come from? Pretend I’m one of them and that I have the ability to grant you anything you choose. Now what’s your wish, my dear?”

  “Nothing. I don’t want anything.”

  “Oh come now. You must want some little thing. Would you like the war to end immediately and your sweetheart to come back to you safe and sound?”

  “There is no such person. I have no one in the military.”

  “Aren’t you lucky then. Well what else would you like? To see your mother?”

  “No.”

  “What then? Just tell me the first thing that pops into your mind. Quick now . . . have you thought of something?”

  I nodded.

  “Tell me what it is.”

  I told him.

  “And that’s the thing you want most in the world?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then,” he said solemnly. “I’ll have to see that you get it.”

  The others came into the parlor then to have their breakfast and so that was the end of my first conversation with Corporal McBurney.

  Emily Stevenson

  Quite a little ceremony was made of Corporal McBurney’s first breakfast at this school. I must say I was not in complete agreement with the idea at first, considering the flag the Corporal represented. However he was wounded and he was a stranger and if Miss Martha wanted to demonstrate how generous and hospitable we could be in victory, I decided I could not object too much to it.

  Mattie arranged a table for us on one side of the room while Corporal McBurney remained on his settee opposite but at some distance from us. He was propped up with pillows and the settee was turned around so that North and South, as Marie put it, could have an unobstructed view of each other. Conversation was not prohibited. In fact, up to a point Miss Martha tried to encourage it but at first very little of any consequence was said, except for some general remarks about the weather and the garden and conditions at Farnsworth when Miss Martha and Miss Harriet were young.