Noah glared at the slave, saying defiantly, “Who cares what that quack says? Get away from here, Jake!”
“I won’t do it! If you don’t gimme dat liquor right now,
I gonna tell Miz Charlotte!”
Noah stared at the slave, then suddenly lifted the flask and drained the last few swallows. Tossing the flask to Jacob, he laughed, “There! Now tell her whatever you like.”
The tall slave shook his head in disapproval. He had been with Noah Rocklin since he was sixteen years old. The two of them had suffered together to bring Gracefield to where it was. Now that death was close, the two of them felt a special kinship that went beyond master and slave. Both knew that whichever of them went to the grave first would leave a massive gap in the heart of the other.
Carefully Jake lifted the flask and licked the last few drops of amber liquor. Then he cocked his head and asked, “Marse Clay gonna marry up with Miss Mellie?” When Noah gave him a discouraged look and merely shook his head, a curious light came into his faded eyes. “I reckon she ain’t made no pick yet. You reckon she’s gonna pick Marse Stephen’s boy, Gideon?”
Noah stared at the black face, so familiar to his sight, and knew that no detail of his family life was safe from this one. “Don’t you have enough to do without keeping up with every case of puppy love on this place?”
“No, sah, it ain’t none of puppy love.” Jake shook his head, thinking hard. Anything that touched Noah and Charlotte Rocklin touched him, and he saw trouble ahead. “It gonna be bad if she choose Marse Gideon, ain’t it, Major?”
Noah got to his feet painfully. Leaning on his cane, he moved across the stone walk but turned as he reached the edge of the arbor. His old eyes were filled with apprehension as he said, “Jake, it’s going to be bad no matter which of those boys she chooses!” Then he moved out of sight, leaving the tall slave staring after him, his lips drawn up in a pucker and his brow wrinkled.
“Seem lak a woman ain’t nevah happy lessen she causin’ men trouble!”
The architect of the mansion at Gracefield had given much thought to the exterior grounds and the approach from the main road. A long, sweeping drive, lined with massive oaks and broad enough for three carriages, made a U-shape from the road to the mansion. The curve of the drive made a convenient place for carriages to wait until the balls were over.
Those arriving at the Gracefield mansion were often struck by the majestic beauty of the white frame building with white Corinthian columns across the front and down both sides. A balcony, set off by an ornate iron grill painted gleaming white, ran all the way around the house. Tall, wide windows could be seen on both floors of the house, the blue shutters breaking the gleaming white of the siding. The steeply pitched roof ran up to a center point, broken by three gables on each side, which gave light and air to the attic rooms. High-rising chimneys capped with curving covers of brick added further beauty to the building.
The house seemed to have been constructed for the purpose of formal balls; fully half of the space on the first floor was designated for that purpose. A pair of enormous oak doors opened into a spacious foyer. Upon entering, one’s attention was immediately drawn to the broad stairway that divided the lower section of the house and curved to the right and left at the landing. At the left one could see the library and a large dining room; to the right, the ballroom. Behind these was a wide hallway that ran the length of the house. On the east was the very large, stately master bedroom. Most of the rest of the house was taken up by the kitchen and canning room, which were separated by a covered porch.
The second floor was composed of bedrooms, and in the largest and most ornate of these, Thomas Rocklin was helping his wife, Susanna, with the buttons on the back of her dress. “There,” he said finally, then stepped back and took a careful look at her. “You’ll be the belle of the ball,” he pronounced. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”
Susanna gave him a smile. She was a handsome woman of thirty-nine, only one year younger than her husband. Her auburn hair gleamed in the lamplight, and the green silk dress she wore set off her blue-green eyes. Patting Thomas’s arm lightly, she said, “Thank you, dear. And you’ll be the finest-looking man.” She gave him a quick glance of inspection, pulled his tie into line, and thought that he might just be the handsomest man at the ball. He had the blackest possible hair, with the dark eyes and complexion to match. His bad habits had not yet put signs of dissipation on his face. For one instant, Susanna felt a wave of sadness, and the thought came to her, as it had many times before, I wish your ways were as handsome as your looks!
But she allowed none of that to show on her face. Instead she said, “It’s good to have Stephen and his family for a visit. I wish we could see more of them.”
“Not much chance of that.” Thomas shrugged. “I’m surprised my hardworking brother let himself be pulled away from that factory of his. Must be the first vacation he’s had in two or three years.” He glanced at the lower walnut table close to the massive bed, then moved toward it and poured himself a drink from the cut-crystal bottle. “Stephen’s changed a lot. He’s become a Yankee peddler.”
Susanna opened her mouth to say, “You shouldn’t begin drinking so early,” but cut the words off—he would only be angered by her interference. Instead she said, “I think Stephen came to show off his son. He and Ruth are very proud of Gideon’s career.”
“I suppose so. Do you think you can put up with Ruth’s ways while they’re here?” Thomas gave her a gloomy look, for he had not yet completely forgiven his brother Stephen for marrying a woman from the North. He agreed with his father that Stephen’s decision to move to Washington and go into business was due to Ruth, his wife. The fact that he had done well there did nothing to placate either Thomas or his father. Both felt that Stephen had somehow betrayed his legacy as a Southerner.
“Oh, Ruth’s all right, Thomas,” Susanna said. “And they’re right to be proud of Gideon. He’s in the top 10 percent of his class at West Point, and he’s been asked to stay on after graduation to help train the new cadets. That’s quite an accomplishment.” Then she added with a smile that didn’t quite come off, “Gideon’s quite good-looking, and in his uniform he’ll have every girl in Richmond after him—even if he is a Yankee.”
“Gideon’s no Yankee!” Thomas drank the rest of the liquor in his glass, then came to take her arm. “He’s a Southerner. You can’t take that out of a man. Come on, let’s go to the ball.”
As they came to the staircase, a bedroom door opened. “Ruth, how nice you look!” Susanna said with a bright smile as her sister-in-law emerged, followed by Stephen. “That must be one of those new Washington fashions.”
“Oh, I bought it to wear to the president’s reception,” Ruth said. She was a blond woman of forty-three, with quick brown eyes and a pronounced Northern accent. “President Van Buren thought it was nice, or so he said.” She spoke of the president lightly, but both Thomas and Susanna knew they would hear of President Van Buren’s opinion of Ruth’s dress innumerable times. Stephen’s wife was a ruthless socialite who structured her whole life by the political and social hierarchy that reigned in Washington. Her father had been in the House, and two of her brothers held office in the federal service.
As Ruth continued talking about Washington, Susanna listened but stole a glance at the two men at their sides. The difference between the brothers had fascinated her from the time she had first met them. Over the years she had watched these differences grow. Now she noted again how, physically, they looked very little like brothers. The term “Black Rocklins” fit Thomas very well—as it did Mark—for both of them were dark in coloring. But the other two brothers, Stephen and Mason, were fair like their mother. Thomas seemed much taller than Stephen, though actually he was only two inches over the other’s height. The illusion came from the two men’s builds—Thomas was lean and almost thin, whereas Stephen Rocklin was thickset and muscular. Because of this, Stephen’s five feet ten inches seemed even shorte
r when he stood next to his taller brother. He had fair coloring like his mother, Charlotte, and possessed the only pair of gray eyes in the family. There was a solidness about him, not just physically in the thick shoulders and strong hands, but in the spirit, that impressed all he met.
As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Stephen turned and smiled at Susanna. “I want your first dance, Susanna. If I don’t get that one, these young fellows will never give me another chance.”
Ruth gave her husband a look of irritation. She never liked it when he paid attention to her sister-in-law. She was a quick-witted woman and had long ago realized that Susanna Rocklin and her husband were mutual admirers. Yet she said nothing, choosing to go at once to where the attorney general of Virginia was speaking with Noah Rocklin.
Stephen’s dancing, Susanna thought as the two of them moved over the polished heart-pine floor, is much like the man himself—competent and steady. He had none of Thomas’s flair, on the dance floor or otherwise, but he was a man women and men alike would trust.
“We’ve all missed you,” Susanna said as they swung around in a stately waltz. “I’ve never ceased to be sorry that you moved to Washington. Though it’s only a few miles from Gracefield, it’s like another country.”
“I miss this place. Don’t think I’ll ever get over my longing for the South,” Stephen said slowly. “But Ruth would never be happy here.”
“No, I don’t think she would.” Susanna avoided the subject of Ruth, for it was somewhat of a delicate matter. As was the matter of their daughter, Laura’s, husband, Amos Steele. Amos and Laura had been married less than two years, and none of the Southern branch of the Rocklins could understand why such a sweet girl had married an abolitionist. Tactfully, Susanna said, “Laura’s baby is precious. Isn’t it nice that we both have new grandsons the same age?”
Stephen grinned suddenly, looking much younger. “It’s pretty sad, I think, Susanna. All of us grandparents standing around bragging on each other’s grandchildren, and thinking all the time how much handsomer ours really is!”
“Oh, Stephen! I don’t do any such thing!” Susanna protested. Then, being an honest woman, she laughed ruefully. “You’re right, of course. I guess we all feel that way. But your new grandson is every bit as handsome as mine!”
Stephen said with an unexpected burst of gallantry, “Well, Susanna, any grandson of yours would have to be handsome.”
Susanna was taken aback by his remark. In all the years she had known him, he had never paid her such a compliment. “Why, Stephen, you’re getting positively gallant!” Then she smiled at him, adding, “We’re growing older, aren’t we? At a fancy ball and talking about grandchildren! Let’s talk about children,” she urged. “I don’t feel so old doing that. And let me say first how impressed I am with Gideon. You must be very proud, the record he’s made at West Point.”
“Ruth and I are proud of Gideon,” Stephen agreed, nodding. “He’s going to be a fine soldier.” He lifted his head and glanced over to where Clay and his son were talking, one on each side of Melanie Benton. “Clay is the finest-looking young man here.” Then he looked into her eyes and said seriously, “I heard about the duel. Too bad.”
It was as close to being critical of Clay’s behavior as Stephen would ever come. And he softened the remark at once by smiling. “I hope he doesn’t challenge Gideon to a duel over Melanie. Arms are his profession.”
The remark, lightly made and not intended to be serious, brought a line between Susanna’s eyebrows. “I used to think that the two of them were just joking about their rivalry over her, but it’s serious, Stephen. One of them is going to get a heartache sooner or later.”
Even as she was speaking, Clay and Gideon were enduring some sly teasing over their rivalry. Taylor Dewitt, part of the group of young people that had clustered around Melanie and her two suitors, was saying, “Well now, Cadet Rocklin, looks like you got the inside track on all the rest of us.” He winked at Tug Ramsey, the rotund nephew of the governor, adding,
“I never can get over how a uniform makes a woman blind to real quality!”
“Oh, you hush, Taylor!” Melanie said sharply. “You’ve had too much to drink already.”
“Why, Melanie, there’s no such thing as too much to drink!” Dewitt smiled. “Like there are never enough beautiful women. That’s right, isn’t it, Clay?”
His remark was a sly jab, and not without danger, for though Clay Rocklin believed exactly the same thing, he was touchy about having remarks made on it. Everyone glanced at him with a certain degree of apprehension, the memory of Clay’s duel with Louis Waymeyer vivid in their minds. The fact that Dewitt was a daredevil himself made the situation even more explosive.
Fortunately, Clay chose to ignore Dewitt’s gibe. “You old degenerate!” He grinned at Dewitt. “I resent your remark. It’s an insult to Southern womanhood.” His smile took the sting from his words, and he added, “Cousin Gideon doesn’t need any uniform to attract women. He’s always been a favorite with the fair sex.” Then he turned to Gideon, who was taking all of this in with a faint smile. “Remember Lucy Ann Garner, Gid?” he asked. “I declare, that girl was so in love with you it was a shame!”
Melanie giggled then, for Gideon’s solid features flushed and he looked very uncomfortable. “I remember that, Clay,” she said, nodding, then explained, “Lucy was the daughter of the Baptist preacher who was here a few years ago. She was so taken with Gid that her father had to have a talk with him.”
“I heard he brought his shotgun along for the talk,” Clay said, his black eyes dancing.
“Oh, nonsense!” Gideon stammered. “You two always bring that poor girl up! She was like a sister to me.”
A howl of laughter went up from the young men, and Dewitt cried out over them, “Ladies, look to your honor! When a dandy begins that old story about ‘just being a brother,’ it’s time to flee!”
“That’s right!” Tug Ramsey said, his blue eyes gleaming with fun in his round face. “As Dr. Johnson said, ‘When a man starts talking a great deal about his honor, I start counting the spoons!’” Just then the music started, and Ramsey said, “Melanie, you can’t trust either one of these two Rocklin boys, so I’ll just claim this next dance.”
He moved toward her, but suddenly Gideon was in front of him. “Ramsey, your uncle, the governor, has told my father some of the problems you’ve handed him. I don’t think it would be safe for Melanie to be seen dancing with such a Don Juan.”
He swept Melanie away while the group was laughing at the surprise on Tug’s face, and only when the pair were swirling around the room did Dewitt say in surprise, “Well, I’ll be dipped! I guess ol’ Gid has learned something at West Point!”
“Learned what?” Clay asked at once, his dark eyes following the pair.
“Why, I guess he learned about maneuvering, Clay,” Dewitt answered. “‘Cause I surely don’t see any of us dancing with Melanie!” Catching the look of irritation on Clay’s face, he winked again at Tug Ramsey. “Maybe there is something in a uniform. Guess I’d better go sign up and get me one. Looks like that’s what it takes to get the ladies around here!”
A small young woman who had walked up to the group in time to hear the last of the conversation said, “Taylor, that remark is an insult to ladies everywhere!”
Taylor Dewitt turned to her, a smile breaking across his lips. “I don’t see how you can say that, Ellen. Everybody knows how I revere the ladies.” That brought a laugh from everyone, for Dewitt was a womanizer of infinite proportions. “But it does seem that a uniform draws pretty girls to a man.”
Ellen Benton shook her head firmly. “It’s not what a man wears that’s important. It’s what he is underneath.” Her remark caught Clay’s attention, and he studied her as she carried on a lively conversation with Dewitt. Ellen was Melanie’s cousin, the daughter of Melanie’s father’s only brother. She had come to Briarcliff Plantation after her parents were killed in a steamboat accident in Portla
nd. There was some sort of scandal attached to her family, but what it was no one quite knew. The Bentons never spoke of it. All anyone knew was that Melanie’s father had cut all communication with his brother.
Wonder what her father did to get cut off from the family, Clay pondered, studying the girl. She’s good-looking, but pretty free with men. Ellen was not beautiful in the sense that Melanie was, but she did have large brown eyes, a wealth of dark brown hair, and a fine complexion. And there was a certain quality in her looks and bearing that caused men to turn and stare at her. Yet none of the young men of the county pursued her seriously.
She’s got what it takes to draw men, but none of us is quite sure what to do about it, Clay thought as he watched Dewitt and Ramsey and the others. She’s something else—if she were just any girl, it would be easier to pursue her. But she’s the niece of James Benton, and it’d be a bad mistake to antagonize him.
Suddenly Ellen turned to him. “Clay, ask me to dance.”
“I was waiting for you to settle these callow youth,” Clay answered at once, and soon they were whirling around the room. Several times she brushed against him, and the faint perfume she wore was sweet. She was not a tall girl, and when she tilted her head up to smile at him, he could not ignore the fullness of her lips.
As they danced, he was totally aware of her femininity, yet he was on his guard. Her free ways puzzled him, and he was aware that she was not a candidate for serious courtship. Of course, he was drawn to her physically—but she was, in one sense, a nobody. Despite her uncle’s wealth, there was a cloud over her past and an uncertainty about her future. And she was not a Southern girl.
As the dance went on, Ellen glanced at Gid and Melanie, then looked up at Clay. “I suppose Taylor was right,” she said. “About girls liking uniforms. I didn’t like what he said, but you can’t deny the truth of it, can you?”
“Maybe I ought to join the army.”
“Don’t do that, Clay!” Ellen said quickly, her hand tightening on his. “It may be all right for Gideon, but it wouldn’t be for you.”
Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells Page 2