Yankee Bride / Rebel Bride

by Jane Peart

  "My son?" Garnet shook her head. Then, with sudden awareness, she explained, "Oh, Jonathan is not mine. He is my nephew. My husband's brother's child."

  "I see." Devlin hesitated a moment. "Your husband—"

  "Is dead. Captured. Wounded. Killed." The words came out in staccato.

  "I'm sorry." Devlin looked truly distressed.

  As if he had been too abruptly brought back to the present, Jeremy Devlin took a second to reply. "Yes, indeed, I wouldn't miss it. Again, I beg your forgiveness for my intrusion today . . . perhaps it was wrong of me to come, to stir up unpleasant memories—"

  "Not at all, Mr. Devlin. It gave me the opportunity to thank you again for the service you rendered us during a very . . . difficult time. I remember especially your extraordinary kindness in bringing Bugle Boy back to Jonathan."

  "How is Jonathan? I imagine he has grown into quite a lad."

  Garnet's voice was tinged with sadness caused by the long separation from the child she loved so much.

  "He is with his mother's family in Massachusetts now. I haven't seen him in nearly three years," she said, and in spite of herself, her voice shook.

  "I'm sorry," Devlin said, shaking his head. "Again I seem to have brought up a painful subject. Dare I ask your forgiveness once more?"

  Not trusting herself to answer, Garnet merely bowed slightly.

  The conversation shifted and to her surprise Garnet found Jeremy Devlin to be delightful company, intelligent, interesting and an amusing raconteur as well. She discovered there was often a mischievous twinkle in those usually serious eyes. At one point she heard herself laugh at something he said, and realized with amazement that it had been a very long time since she had laughed.

  He worked for a New York publishing firm and would be going to England in the fall to make contacts with some writers and publishers there.

  "How wonderful," Garnet sighed. "I'm green with envy! I've never been to Europe—or anywhere but to visit relatives in Charleston and Savannah. Nowhere exciting or foreign, for that matter."

  "But you're still so young! You have your whole life ahead of you—to travel, go places, do many things—"

  "Young? I feel a hundred years old." Garnet made a comic face, then laughed a little self-consciously." And I suppose I'll spend the rest of my life right here, traveling back and forth between Montclair and Cameron Hall!"

  "Not necessarily," Jeremy paused. "Is there any reason you should remain here instead of living with your mother at Cameron Hall?"

  "My mother-in-law is an invalid and my father-in-law . . . Well, he just never has quite readjusted since the war . . . They both depend on me," she told him, wondering why she was confiding so much to this virtual stranger. But it seemed comfortable and natural.

  "Things change, you know. Nothing ever stays exactly the same. The time may come when you feel you can leave," he said.

  "If Malcolm came back—" Garnet began, then flushed. Jeremy looked puzzled, so she went on. "Malcolm is the oldest son, the heir. He was expected to take over the plantation, but—the war, and personal tragedies—" She hesitated. "Afterward, he went West to California and until . . . I mean, my obligation is here"

  Jeremy Devlin called twice more before leaving Mayfield with his sister and niece, but not before he had asked Garnet if he could correspond with her during the summer.

  When he rose to leave, she had given him her hand to say good-bye and he continued to hold it as he said, "If I should be able to come back to Virginia before sailing for England in September, may I call again? And may I write to you?"

  Although Garnet was tall, he towered over her and the pressure of his hand was firm on hers as she tried to withdraw it.

  "Why yes, of course, Mr. Devlin, I should be pleased—"

  chapter

  36

  EVEN WITHOUT the classes she taught at Cameron Hall Academy, the summer was a busy one for Garnet, supervising the house, Sara's care, the produce from the gardens of vegetables and fruit from the orchards to be canned or made into jams and preserves.

  Gradually summer became early autumn. A lovely haze hung over the hills and the sun turned the yellow maples to gold. Along the drive the giant elms formed an arch of russet and bronze and the Virginia creeper blazed crimson as it clung to the sunny side of the house.

  On a beautiful September afternoon two letters were delivered to Garnet at Montclair, and she took them out to read them in the walled garden known as the English bride's garden.

  The first was written in a bold, angular hand and she knew almost before she opened it that it was from Jeremy Devlin.

  They had spent most of two delightful days together in June after school closed. His sister had taken Malissa to the Springs, but Jeremy had remained in Mayfield. He had driven out each day to Montclair to visit Garnet.

  Thinking of him now, Garnet read his letter with a ripple of anticipation. He would be returning from England within a few weeks and wanted to come to Montclair if she could receive him.

  Garnet felt her cheeks grow warm with pleasure as her eyes skimmed again the line he had written: "I can assure you it will be the high point of my trip, something I have been looking forward to since June."

  As she read the letter through a second time, a mental picture of Jeremy Devlin came vividly to life. He was different from any man she had ever known. He had a quality of gentle strength combined with keen intelligence and an amusing wit. Although his manner was reserved, there was a special quality of warmth. She would be glad to see him again, she thought, as she refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

  The second letter was a mystery. The envelope was of cheap paper written in a laboriously childish handwriting. When she opened it, she was surprised and touched.

  "Dear Missy Garnet. Many times I been wishing to rite to you but did not have the oppertunity. I have got two little chilren, a boy I named after Miss Rose's fine boy Jonathan James. James is after my husbin. Now a baby girl I named Lorena Rose. Lorena from the pretty song Miss Dove used to sing on the piano, do you remember? My husbin Jeems is working in the Mill here. I do laundry for some folks. We all doin well and in good health. Praise God. I larned to read more and now rite when my boy started school. We send our best love to you all. We hope all there is fine, too. TILDA"

  For some reason tears came into Garnet's eyes as she finished reading this letter. How proud Rose would have been to see the results of all her efforts with Tilda. Obviously Tilda was still bettering herself, growing and learning.

  One crisp fall morning not long afterward, Garnet was working in the garden.

  She was cutting the last of the chrysanthemums, tying up the stems, when a shadow fell across the ground from behind her and she sat back on her heels, looked up into Jeremy's smiling face.

  "I didn't expect you so soon!" she gasped. "I never heard your carriage drive up!"

  "I couldn't wait any longer to see you!" He held out his hands and helped her to her feet.

  "But I'm hardly suitably dressed to receive company!" she said, looking down at the rough cotton pinafore she had on over an old calico dress with turned-up hem, and putting her hand to the battered straw hat tied under her chin with faded ribbons.

  "You look beautiful to me!" Jeremy laughed but his eyes were serious.

  Garnet felt flustered and quickly retorted,

  Although flattered, Garnet retorted lightly, "They say 'beauty is in the eye of the beholder.' Mr. Devlin, I suggest you have your eyes checked!"

  "I've been told I have perfect vision," he replied with a straight face even as his eyes were amused. He held out his hand to her and together they strolled toward the veranda, where they sat down on the steps shaded by the leafy elms.

  Feeling his eyes still upon her, Garnet brushed back the strands of hair that curled in tendrils around her forehead.

  "I declare, I must look a sight—" she said rather self-consciously.

  "Not at all," Jeremy said quickly. "I meant what I said.
You are beautiful. I just want to look at you, they way you are—I've thought of nothing else since June."

  Amazed at his frankness, Garnet stared at him.

  "I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said that. But it's true. I came especially to tell yo—to ask you—" He halted then rushed on, "I suppose I should have led up to this with traditional etiquette, written it in a formal letter first,but I couldn't—I had to come, see you again, tell you in person." He reached for Garnet's hand and said simply, "I love you, Garnet. I think I have from the first time I saw you."

  "But . . . we hardly know each other!" she exclaimed.

  "I feel as if I've known you forever. You've been in my heart and mind for a long time. I've carried an unforgettable picture of that beautiful, brave Southern lady for years. I could not get you out of my mind. You've haunted my waking hours and been in my dreams ever since the first time I saw you." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I can still see you standing in the doorway in the moonlight. The porch was shadowy, and you held a candle in one hand, your hair all about your face . . . your lovely face with the light on it—" He stopped. "Do I sound like a fool?"

  She shook her head.

  "I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything unless you want to. I guess I just had to tell you. I couldn't leave without telling you. Perhaps I rushed into this, perhaps I should have waited. . . . It hardly seems the right way but . . ." Another pause. "I had no real hope of ever seeing you again. Then I did not know you were free."

  He reached over and took her hand, gently removed her gardening glove, and raised it to his lips, kissed it.

  "I would like to do so much for you, Garnet. I would like to love you, care for you, take you traveling, show you the world . . . give you the world. Do you think you could care for me . . . in time?"

  Garnet was breathless, stunned by all Jeremy was saying. She jumped to her feet, his hand still holding hers. He stood, too.

  "I've frightened you, haven't I? I'm sorry." He sounded upset. "I've blundered when I wanted to be so careful. Have I ruined everything?"

  Garnet shook her head, glad that the wide-brimmed hat hid her face. When at last she found her voice, the words tumbled out.

  "Yes, I suppose I was frightened. I never thought, never guessed."

  Long ago Garnet had lost her assurance that any man was hers for the application of a few flirtatious wiles. Life had been too difficult, too full of responsibilities during the last few years, to think anything would ever be different. Now this stranger, this man of strength, intelligence, vigor, had come into a life she had come to accept and offered her a chance, a choice . . . the world!

  "Then, you will think about what I've said? I may hope? . . . Oh, Garnet, there is so much more I want to say—"

  Her voice was so low he had to bend to hear her reply.

  "Yes, Jeremy."

  "May I come again this evening?" he asked. "May we talk more later?"

  She nodded.

  "I do love you, Garnet," he said earnestly.

  She stood motionless as he left. She heard his boots crunching on the shell drive and she watched his tall figure mount and disappear down the drive.

  He came earlier than expected and sheepishly apologized. "I found myself too restless."

  Garnet, who had been ready and watching the drive for his arrival, smiled and led him into one of the two smaller parlors. There was a fire glowing in the marble fireplace. They sat on either side of the twin loveseats and for a long moment neither said anything, just watched the flames rising in red, blue, gold pyramids while the applewood logs snapped, scenting the room with pungent fragrance.

  Finally it was Jeremy who spoke. He was watching the play of firelight on Garnet's face when he said, "Forgive me for staring."

  "You'll make me uneasy," she said but she smiled and handed him his tea.

  The room was still, with only the sound of the crackling fire on the hearth and the wind rising outside in the autumn evening to accompany the cadence of their beating hearts.

  "Have you thought about what I said this morning, Garnet?" Jeremy asked gently after a while.

  "Yes, I have. And I should have told you right away, Jeremy. I am not free"

  He sat forward in his chair, set down the teacup, clasped both hands in front of him, leaned toward her anxiously.

  "You mean, there's someone else?"

  Immediately Garnet thought of Malcolm. Had she really given up all hope of him? She was sure she had. Yet, should he suddenly come home, what then? But that was not what she meant when she had told Jeremy she wasn't free. How could she leave Montclair, abandon Sara and Clayton Montrose? They were so helpless, living out their days in a kind of relentless despair, reliving the days of glory that were gone and would never return. They were pitiable, but Garnet was bound by her pity for them.

  Jeremy's intent gaze drew her and she had to look into his truth-probing eyes searching her very soul, delving into the secrets of her heart.

  "Not in that way," she replied slowly, then tried to explain to him about the Montroses.

  "I understand. But if you should marry, they would have to make the necessary adjustments, wouldn't they? Surely, they did not expect a young, vibrant, beautiful woman to remain a widow forever . . . to stay here with them?" Jeremy frowned.

  "Five years ago I would never have imagined something like this happening. I never thought of marrying again—" except to Malcolm, Garnet had to add silently and truthfully.

  "Five years ago we did not even know each other," Jeremy reminded her. "Now, everything is different."

  Impulsively Garnet asked him. "Have you ever been in love?"

  Jeremy smiled slightly. "Before now, you mean?"

  She nodded.

  "Yes. I was engaged to a lovely girl before the war. We'd known each other most of our lives. I did not think it fair to her to marry her, not knowing if I'd come back, or worse still, how I might come back. But she died. Consumption. She had always been delicate." His eyes were leveled at Garnet as he said, "We were both very young." He repeated, "Very young."

  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to make you sad."

  "You didn't. It's all part of my life just as your marriage, your loss is part of yours. Everything we go through becomes part of what we are. Sorrow either strengthens us or embitters us, don't you think?"

  Garnet looked at him and felt his strong faith, his courage and optimism flowing through her. For the first time in years she felt the stirring of hope. Maybe, after all, there was a new beginning possible. Before she could explore it further, Jeremy got up, came over, and knelt beside her. Their eyes were level. They were only inches apart, and then he kissed her very tenderly.

  She closed her eyes as he kissed her again, this time responding instinctively to the gentle insistence of his lips. Then, slowly the kiss ended and she opened her eyes again and dazedly looked into those deep-set loving ones.

  In a strange way Garnet felt she had waited all her life for such a moment.

  Later, they walked to the door, hand-in-hand. The time for parting had come.

  "I will write as often as I can," Jeremy told her. "When I come back, perhaps you will know how you feel and whatever we need to do, we can do."

  There was still so much unsettled, so much unresolved. This had all happened with such amazing swiftness Garnet's head reeled with it.

  "I do love you. I know we can be happy together," Jeremy assured her.

  Happy? Is happiness really attainable, to me, to anyone? Once have believed in the "happily ever after" of fairy tales. But she had been stripped of romantic illusions by the reality of her life. She wasn't sure she believed in happiness any more.

  That night after Jeremy left, Garnet stood at her bedroom window and gazed out at a scene she had looked at a thousand times. But this night had a dreamlike quality. Montclair and its surroundings were wrapped in a kind of magical light, the moon shimmering down through the trees, enveloping everything in an unbro
ken peace.

  She knew a life with someone like Jeremy would be entirely different from anything she had known before. He was northern born, bred, educated. He was cultured, well-traveled, worldly, urbane, sophisticated. He was also mature, considerate, gentle. A different kind of man from her experience.

  She had been married to a boy—Bryce of the boyish charm, the sweet, easygoing manner. He had loved her in his fashion and, in the end, she had cared deeply for him.

  She had hero-worshiped Malcolm, dreamed about him, imagined, and fantasized a romance. But now she realized she had never really loved nor been loved by any man.

  Jeremy Devlin was offering her just that, a second chance at life, a second chance for love, the possibility of a new kind of happiness. And now that he had returned from England, he would demand her answer.

  Garnet turned away from the window, took off her robe, and got into bed. But an hour later, by the striking of the big grandfather clock downstairs, she was still wide awake.

  Maybe it was the moonlight streaming in the window that was keeping her awake . . . maybe. She moved restlessly, shifting her body so that the milky glow of moonlight would not be in her eyes. Why was she sleepless after such a long, eventful day? Was it just the moonlight? Or was it the disturbing thoughts of Jeremy Devlin?

  He loved her, she thought in some wonder. Perhaps he had first fallen in love with an imaginary woman, a vision held in a romantic, misty dream. But now he must see something in her that attracted, compelled.

  But did she love him? Enough to marry him? Garnet knew she would have to find the answer in her own heart.

  chapter

  37

  THAT WINTER seemed especially long to Garnet, a parade of gray days brightened considerably by the flow of letters that arrived regularly from Jeremy Devlin in England. They became for her a window to a world she could only imagine. Jeremy wrote of the interesting people he met in the literary circles in which he traveled, of attending theater and lectures, dinner parties, and weekends at country manors. It all seemed a million miles from her own isolated existence at Montclair.