Three Books in One: A Covenant of Love, Gate of His Enemies, and Where Honor Dwells
Page 22
Rena hesitated but then came into the room, saying, “You stay here, Buck!” She came to stand stiffly in front of the table, and when she saw the deep gash, which was still bleeding freely, she gasped.
“It’s not all that bad,” Clay assured her. “I got lots worse than this on board the Carrie Jane.” He poured the lye solution into the cut and gritted his teeth while it burned into the wound.
“I’m—I’m sorry!” Rena whispered. She edged closer, her face pale at the sight of the wound.
“Don’t worry about it,” Clay said quickly. “I’m glad you’ve got a good fellow like Buck to take care of you. He thought you were in trouble, and he helped the only way he knows how. He may not like me very much for a while, but I’m glad you have a friend.”
“He’s the best friend I have,” Rena said. She watched as he rose, went to a chest, and took out a shirt. When he tried to tear it, she asked, “Are you going to make a bandage out of that?”
“It’s just an old one.”
“I can do that,” Rena said. “I always help Grandmother make bandages out of old underwear.”
Handing it to her, he smiled. “I can’t do much with one hand. Maybe you can use my knife, since we don’t have any scissors.” He fished out his knife and managed to get it open. While she cut the shirt into narrow strips, he put more antiseptic on the cut, but actually was watching the girl. She looks like Ellen did when she was younger, he decided. But there was a delicacy in Rena that her mother had never had. Rena was slender, like the Rocklins, and already her girlish figure was beginning to become more womanly. She had a beautiful face with deep brown eyes and long eyelashes, and her lips were rosy and expressive. I’m a stranger to her, Clay thought. She’ll be a woman soon, and I’ve missed out on it all!
“I can bandage your hand, if you like,” Rena said diffidently. “Last year Buck got a bad cut on his paw and I bandaged it all the time.”
“If you’re a good enough nurse for Buck,” Clay said, smiling, “you’re good enough for me!” As she took his hand carefully and began to wrap the strips of cloth around it, he saw that her skin was so fine it was almost translucent. When she tied the knots firmly, he lifted his hand and admired it. “Why, Rena, that’s a professional job! Maybe you ought to consider being a nurse. You’d do fine at it!”
“I’d rather be a doctor,” she said firmly. Then she blushed. “I know there aren’t any women doctors, but I used to pretend to be a doctor when I was a little girl.”
“Well, someday there will be women doctors, I expect,” Clay predicted. “And I don’t see any reason why you can’t be the first one.” Seeing her fertile imagination beginning to work, he added, “I’ve got a book somewhere about medical work in Africa. May be a little dull for you—?”
“Oh no, I like dull books!” she exclaimed, and seeing his smile, she blushed again. “I mean, I like all kinds of books, not just stories.”
“You do?” he asked with mock surprise. “Well, that’s odd—because I do, too. Spend half my money on books!” That was true enough. He had not been much of a reader as a young man, but the long voyages of the ship had been made endurable only by books, and he had collected many fine editions. He waved at a box that had come by train from Washington. “Maybe you’d like to help me unpack all those. Might be some you’d like.”
Rena said quickly, “Can I really? I never get enough books!”
Two hours later Clay looked over the pile of books scattered on the floor and table, than glanced at Rena, who was sitting cross-legged, deep into one of his travel books. He said, “Rena, does your mother know where you are?”
A startled look came into the girl’s eyes, and she scrambled to her feet. “Oh, I forgot! I’m supposed to be gathering the banty eggs! Grandmother will kill me!”
“Maybe I’d better go along and take the blame,” Clay suggested. He got to his feet, and Buck rose at once, still alert, his eyes fixed on Clay. The three of them made their way to the house, where they found Susanna upset and exasperated. She started to chastise Rena, but Clay said quickly, “Take it out on me, Mother. I kept Rena so busy working on my books, that’s why she’s late with the eggs.”
Susanna saw the thankful look Rena shot at Clay; then her eyes fell on his hand. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
“Just a little cut, Mother.”
“Come in and let me see it.”
“No need for that.” Clay winked with a conspiratorial air at Rena. “The doctor’s already taken care of it.” He gave his mother a smile, adding, “Rena’s going to help me arrange all my books as soon as I get a bookcase. That all right with you?”
Susanna felt a thrill of joy in her heart at the sight of the two. “Yes, Clay, that’s fine with me!”
Taylor Dewitt, keeping his eyes on the door that separated the bar from the restaurant, was paying only slight attention to Bushrod Aimes. The two men met often at the Harley House; it was the focal point for the planters who came to Richmond. The bar was only half filled, for it was still early afternoon.
Bushrod, who at thirty-eight was a prosperous planter, had been telling Taylor about a new horse he’d bought. It didn’t take long for him to see that the other was paying no heed. “Might as well talk to a tree as you, Dewitt!” he grumbled. “What’s eatin’ on you?”
“Thinking about Clay Rocklin.”
He was not alone, for the return of Rocklin had been a staple item of gossip for three weeks. There was plenty to gossip about, too. Ellen Rocklin had been a fixture in Richmond for years. She still had that aura of sexuality about her, but she was a discreet woman. She had managed to keep her standing as a respectable woman intact, so that she still had entrance into the lower echelon of Richmond high society.
“Wonder if Ellen will go back to him?” Bushrod asked aloud, echoing what had been on most people’s minds. Then he shook his head, answering his own question. “I don’t think so, not after the way he’s acted. She’s got too much pride for that!”
Taylor knew Ellen better than his friend, and a sardonic look swept his face. “Not sure about that, Bushrod. Ellen likes her fun, but she’s gettin’ a little long in the tooth.”
“Why, she’s about the same age as you, Taylor—or me, for that matter.”
“Well, we’re not getting any younger. Clay’s not either. He’s what? Thirty-eight or thirty-nine, isn’t he? Wonder what he’s been doing all these years?”
“Nobody knows, but he came back with money. Bought back all the paper his father had on Gracefield, with plenty left over—”
“There he is now,” Dewitt interrupted Aimes, then straightened up in his chair as Clay Rocklin came into the room and headed toward them at once. Both men got up, and Taylor put his hand out to greet his old friend. “Clay! Why, you look great!”
“Hello, Taylor, Bushrod.” Clay smiled at the pair, shook his head, and said, “You two sure you want to be seen in public with a reprobate like me?”
The question made both men feel a little uncomfortable, for although neither had voiced it, each had thought that it might be embarrassing to pick up their old friendship with Clay Rocklin. Taylor, however, grinned suddenly. “Maybe we’ll be a good influence on you.” Then some of the old memories of his good times with this man came back, and he suddenly threw his arm around Clay’s shoulders and said, “You old bandit! By the Lord, but I’m glad to see you!”
The three sat down, and as soon as a white-coated waiter took their order, Clay said, “Go on and ask me.”
“Ask you what, Clay?” Bushrod lifted his eyebrows at the question.
“Ask me where I’ve been, how much devilment I’ve been into, how much money I brought back with me, if I’m going back to Ellen, and if I’m going to behave myself!”
Both Aimes and Dewitt broke into laughter. “You are a caution, Clay Rocklin!” Bushrod said finally. “Haven’t changed much, have you? You look good, Clay! How come you’re still lean and tough while ol’ Dewitt and me are getting fat?”
Both men were thinking that Clay had become a different sort of man. He looked older but was still smooth-faced and hawk-eyed. It was his manner that was most different. Clay had always been reckless and forward, but now there was a solid quality about him, and assurance emanated from him.
Taylor said, “Everybody wants to know about you, Clay. Tell us what you want us to know. But first, I apologize for the way I let you down.” He shook his head at what was a painful memory. “When you plugged Duncan Taliferro in that duel, I came down on you too hard.”
“Forget it, Taylor.”
“No, I was so blasted self-righteous! Then right after that you went off to Mexico and got in another mess. I always felt like if I’d not been such a self-righteous prig, it might have made a difference.”
Clay shook his head, stared fondly at Taylor, but said, “When a man’s bound and determined to make a fool out of himself as I was in those days, he’ll do it one way or another. So forget it. Now let me tell you about what I’ve been up to, and what I’m trying to do. Then you won’t have to go to Benson’s Barber shop to get the gossip ….”
He told them as much of his story as he thought wise. He told them he’d come back with some money and was trying to help his father make it over a difficult time. And he said bluntly, “Ellen wouldn’t have me back, so I’m staying in the old summerhouse at Gracefield. My children don’t like me much, and my father thinks I haven’t really changed. My mother forgave me before I even got here, but she’d forgive Judas and Attila the Hun. End of story.”
Both men knew there was more to it than that, but they accepted it as what Clay wanted to have known. “Glad to have you back. Now maybe we can have some fun,” Bushrod said.
“Well, not the kind we used to have,” Taylor said with some regret. “All three of us are married and have children. Still, Clay, we get together with Tug Ramsey and some of your other old friends and have a friendly poker game every week.”
“Friendly!” Bushrod cried out. “Call it that if you like, but it’s the biggest bunch of cutthroats since Captain Kidd was in business!”
The three men sat there, and Clay relaxed. He had missed these men. It had been years since he had had anything even close to the camaraderie this group had enjoyed. He drank the frosty mint julep placed in front of him, then another, and finally Bushrod said, “Going to need you, Clay. Things are going to get tough around here.”
“I thought they already were.”
“If Lincoln gets elected next year, it’ll mean a war,” Taylor said evenly. He sipped his drink, then added, “We may as well get ready to fight, for the North isn’t going to give us any choice.”
“Why, it won’t come to that, Taylor!” Clay said at once. He had heard such talk but didn’t believe it could ever happen. “They’ve got a little sense up North! When they see it’s going to mean a war, they’ll lower that blasted tariff and give the South some freedom from the pressure.”
“No, we’ll have to fight,” Bushrod insisted doggedly. Then he said something that Clay was to get sick of hearing. “Any Southerner can whip six of those Yankee boys!”
“Besides, England would like to see the Union divided,” Taylor said. “And she needs our cotton to run her mills. The North wouldn’t dare risk another war with England when she comes in on our side!”
Clay listened carefully but finally said, “Well, I didn’t come home to fight a war, but to save Gracefield if I can. And I didn’t know until I came here how much I missed you fellows. Thanks for taking me back.”
Both men protested that it was too early for him to leave, but he laughed, saying, “You rich planters can loll around swigging mint juleps all day, but us poor workers have to be in the fields. I’ll be at that poker game on Thursday. I can use some extra cash, and I could always trim you two!”
He left the Harley House, feeling better than at any time since coming back to Virginia. Several people hailed him as he went into Dennison’s General Store to pick up supplies, but several more whom he recognized ignored him. He loaded his supplies, then reluctantly drove to the small rooming house where Ellen stayed most of the time. It was a large home, a mansion, really, that had been built by J. P. Mulligan, a prosperous stockbroker. But Mulligan had lost his shirt in the depression and, after blowing his brains out, was discovered to have left his widow, Harriet, nothing but debts. She had more fortitude than J.P. and made a good living renting out rooms to the better sort of clientele.
Clay was met at the front door by the landlady, and she smiled at him. “Clay! It’s good to see you! Come in.” She was a tall woman of fifty, plain but with a warm manner. “I’ve thought about you often. It’s good to have you home.”
Clay nodded, warmed by her friendliness. “I was sorry to hear about J.P., Harriet. I always liked him.”
“Thank you, Clay.” She hesitated, then said, “Ellen isn’t here now. She left an hour ago. I’m afraid she won’t be back soon.” She was not a devious woman, but there was a strange hesitancy in her manner that puzzled Clay. Then he suddenly realized the woman knew something about Ellen that she didn’t want to mention. Nor did he want to hear it.
Clay nodded. “Could you give her a message for me?” He wrote a quick note, saying only, “Ellen, here’s the cash you asked for. Clay.” Putting both the note and the money in an envelope, he handed it to Mrs. Mulligan, bid her good-bye, and left the house. For the rest of the afternoon, he drove around Richmond, taking care of business matters. It was three o’clock when he turned the buggy toward the edge of the city.
It was a perfect June day, not too hot, but warm enough so that he removed his coat. The clouds scudded across the skies in huge, billowy masses like moving mountains, and the countryside was alive with wildflowers. He looked down at his hand, smiling as he thought of Rena. She had come to his place the next evening, and the two of them had sat up until Susanna sent Maisie to get her. It was the one gain he’d made, so far as the children were concerned. David and Lowell were so dominated by Dent that they had come to feel it a weakness to show any warmth to Clay. Dent himself used every opportunity to show his insolence.
Clay’s father had shown no sign of bending. Clay took every decision to him and received only a gruff approval for most of them. His mother said little, but her smiles kept Clay going, and he had become a good friend to many of the slaves—especially to Fox, the mulatto son of Damis. At the age of eighteen, the young man was far and away the brightest of the help. Though he had been standoffish with Clay at first, when he saw that the new master was fair, he had become invaluable. He not only knew the practical things about actual farming—such as when to plant and when to hold off planting—but he had been trained to do some of the bookwork for Thomas. This irritated the overseer tremendously, and he had become the implacable enemy of Fox.
Clay let the horse pick his own pace, and it was almost dark when he came to the small store where the poor whites did most of their buying. It was called simply Hardee’s Store by most. The Rocklins did a little business with Lyle Hardee, a transplanted Yankee from Illinois, but his prices were higher than those of the larger stores in town. However, Clay remembered that Susanna had asked him to bring some quinine home, and he remembered it only as he saw the store. Hitching the horse to the rail, he walked up the steps and met a woman and two children who were coming out. All of them were carrying large sacks, he saw. The woman had turned to lock the door, and Clay asked, “Can you let me have a little quinine before you close?”
The woman turned quickly to look at him, then hesitated.
“Sorry to be a bother. Guess it can wait,” Clay sa
id, and he turned to leave.
“No, it’s all right.” Unlocking the door, she went in, saying, “You and Toby wait here, Martha. I won’t be long.”
The only light in the store was a tiny flame in a single lantern, so that Clay could see almost nothing. Then she turned the wick up and turned to him. “How much quinine do you need?” she asked. The lamplight threw its amber glow over her face, and he saw that she was a young woman. Young and very attractive. So attractive with her enormous eyes and beautifully shaped lips that he said tardily, “Why—I don’t know.” He laughed ruefully. “That sounds dumb, doesn’t it? How much would you think a lady with a large house and a hundred or more slaves might use?”
“A quart.” Her manner was assured, but she stood there examining him, as though waiting for him to add to the order.
Her self-possession brought a slight sense of embarrassment to Clay, which was unusual. Her lips were full in the center, and as he watched, the edges of them curved up in a half smile. Her eyes smiled, too, he saw. “I’m Clay Rocklin,” he said suddenly. “I’ve just come back. Guess I’ll be seeing you here from time to time.”
Still she watched him, and he could see a strange expression in her eyes, which appeared to be green. “Will that be all?” she asked finally.
“I guess so.” Clay watched her as she took a very large glass jug from a shelf, then an empty bottle from beneath the counter. The jug was heavy, and she had trouble holding it. “Here, let me help you, ma’am,” he said quickly. He reached over the counter, took the jug, and added, “Just hold the bottle for me, if you will.”
She held the bottle, and when it was full, she put the cork in it. Then she took the jug, put it back on the shelf, and turned to say, “That’ll be a quarter, please.”
He fumbled in his pockets, coming up with no change. Then he discovered that he had no small bills. She stood there watching him as he searched, then said, “I’ll trust you for the quarter, Mister Clay.”