War brought about many changes and touched many lives, and Holt dwelt on the difference in changes brought to him and Laurel. She was without a family and home, her financial situation tenuous—a southerner who would soon be making a life in the North. He had a daughter, a family, and wealth. But circumstances were forcing him to move. His life was a lonely one and living in the heart of the south would not be easy for a man who had served in the Union Army.
Going to Charleston awakened feelings deep within him, feelings he thought had been laid to rest long ago. Monique was an unpleasant memory, still...
And while he hoped Laurel enjoyed pleasant dreams, he gambled the night away with a vengeance.
Chapter Seven
Charleston, South Carolina
Laurel awoke early the following morning and once again she was in a quandary over what to wear. She decided on a solid gray dress that was pale and faded, but not as old looking as one of the print ones. Arielle had left for a few minutes, and returned to the cabin holding up a blue wool cape with a fur-lined hood.
“Here, Laurel,” she said, placing the cape around Laurel’s shoulders. “Mrs. Crowley wants you to wear this. Although it’s a beautiful sunny day, the winds are strong, and she doesn’t want you to catch cold.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly wear anything this fine. What if something happens and I ruin the material?”
“Will you stop worrying? Besides, you don’t want to hurt Mrs. Crowley’s feelings do you?”
“Of course not,” she answered. “You’ve all been too kind to me, I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“There you go worrying again.” Arielle tied the fur-lined hood under Laurel’s chin, smiling at her. “How do you plan on catching Major Flanagan for a husband if you aren’t looking your best?”
“Arielle! I have no such intentions. What a terrible thing to suggest. Besides, he’s older than I am, and I doubt he’d be interested in someone like me.”
“Now why do you think that?”
“I’m young, scrawny, poor as a church mouse and have no talent.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Catching him wouldn’t be such a bad idea either. Why don’t you give this some thought? Now run along before he tires of waiting for you. I know I’d never keep him waiting.”
“You’re impossible, Arielle.”
Laurel’s cheeks were still warm from her conversation with Arielle when she reached the deck where Holt waited. The moment she caught sight of his uniform, she wanted to turn and run, but instead stood rooted to the spot. “I don’t believe…” she whispered.
“You didn’t know? I apologize. I assumed you knew I was an officer in the Union Army.” He approached her and continued, “Last night I mentioned that I had connections with the War Department. That’s where I work. I live in Washington…” He turned his head away from her.
She heard him curse under his breath, before he turned back around. “I’m to blame. I was thoughtless, Laurel. I’m truly sorry. I thought you knew.”
“Then you’re a—a dolt, Major Flanagan. I sat there last night and poured my heart out and openly told you about destroying the cotton. Do you think I’d have told you that story if I had known?”
“What difference would that have made?”
“Your uniform represents nothing but painful memories. How can you dare have the nerve to walk down the streets of Charleston? Don’t you know how intense the hatred is that these people feel for Yankees? Do you have to remind them by parading around in your uniform?”
“Laurel, I have news for you. I didn’t start the damn war. And, Northerners have suffered, too. Men were injured and killed on both sides and women in the north also ended up homeless with no husbands left to support them. Pain and death don’t discriminate—they know no boundaries like the Mason-Dixon line. My offer to help you is sincere. And, whether you realize this or not, and whether you like it or not, you’ll be safer with me as an escort. I don’t recommend your walking around the city alone. You’ll love meeting my friend, George. He’s a rebel through and through,” he concluded, offering her his arm, although the expression on his face made it quite clear that he was angry.
Changing her attitude and thickening her accent, as a means to apologize, she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and said, “I shall be considered an outcast and my association with you, Major Flanagan, will cause tongues to wag as far south as Atlanta.”
“And what of my reputation?” he mocked, placing his hand on hers. “Surely word will reach the streets of Washington and echo through the chambers of the Capitol. We’ll be as notorious as Louis the Fifteenth and the Marquise de Pompadour.”
“Then I’ll risk my reputation. Besides, I’m taking Captain Crowley at his word—he said you were an honorable person. But,” she drawled thickly, smiling at Holt, “I am evuh doubtful, taking the ahm of a gambler as well as a Yahnkee!” Her words seemed to break the ice and put their relationship back on track.
Holt smiled and helped her down the plank and when she reached the ground, he stared at her momentarily before continuing their walk, giving a slight shake of his head.
Once again, that certain something about Holt—those blue eyes, the charm—made Laurel forget that a few months ago he was the enemy she’d spent four miserable years eluding. Her need to be with him was greater than the need to pour out her feelings of mistrust and hatred for the North. She wasn’t foolish enough to blame those on any one person, and especially not Major Flanagan.
The way he stared at her a moment ago was a little frightening. Exciting, but nevertheless, frightening. She couldn’t interpret the meaning behind the look, but now he was smiling again and inexplicably she felt a sense of great joy. As much as she hated to admit it, he was extremely handsome in his full dress uniform.
She snatched glances of him while they walked and noticed for the first time that he wore the uniform of a cavalry officer. The brim on the right side of his hat was turned upward with a thick white plume decorating the opposite side. He was immaculately dressed from the gold-fringed epaulettes on his shoulders, the brass buttons, the red silk sash adorning his sword, the three-quarter navy blue jacket, the light blue tight-fitting trousers, right down to the highly polished black boots.
As they neared the main part of the city of Charleston, they were silenced. The paths of ashes and rubble the fires laid through the major portion of the city were starkly evident. Holt held Laurel’s arm as they climbed over the piles of debris strewn everywhere. The area appeared as though the cleaning up had begun and then suddenly halted. People were busy going about the business of the day. But nowhere was there any evidence anyone was in charge of restoring the city’s splendor.
Laurel paused and looked up at Holt. “This reminds me of how Columbia looked after Sherman’s men torched the town.”
“How did you end up there?” he asked, concern furrowing his brow. “You should have known the capital would have been targeted.”
She shrugged and closed her eyes for a moment before speaking. “We traveled with a group of refugees and someone had a relative who worked at the university hospital. We stayed in a basement of one of the buildings and felt safe for a while. When the news reached us that Sherman was on the march toward the city, we weren’t terribly afraid because we were told that he had promised not to enter the campus or the hospital.”
Laurel shook her shoulders and shivered before continuing. “That particular evening, some of the servants had gone out and looted the stores, and brought back a lot of food—food we hadn’t seen in quite some time. Even though we knew looting was wrong, we were concerned that we’d be stuck there during Sherman’s occupation and we took the opportunity to stock up on food. We decided we shouldn’t feel guilty of any wrongdoing because the food was Southern; food the soldiers couldn’t confiscate.”
“How long were you able to remain in Columbia? Weren’t you in any danger? The Union kept detailed records on the progress of the war and whi
le I’m certain the government was aware women and children escaped the Sea Islands, I don’t recall reading anywhere or being informed of the fact that you were homeless and scattered all over the state of South Carolina.” Shaking his head and looking distressed, Holt extended his hand and helped her across a few piles of debris that sat in their way. “What happened after the soldiers took over the city?”
“Our stay there ended rather abruptly, needless to say. We were awaken in the middle of the night by loud noises and went outside to see what had happened. A building or a home was afire on the other side of the campus, we couldn’t be sure. But in a matter of minutes the wind gusted and the flames danced in different directions. Drunken soldiers ran up and down the streets yelling.”
“What were they yelling?”
She shrugged. “We had no idea, but something stirred the troops; I suppose liquor played a part. I hope they didn’t intentionally mean for things to get out of hand, but the wind moved the flames from building to building and the next thing we knew, they were headed toward us and the soldiers entered the university’s campus. I can still smell the burnt timbers and see the refugees, like me and Junie, standing in the middle of the yard freezing as we watched the college burn. Someone or something set the hospital on fire and the small staff of nurses and doctors tried to get the patients out, but there were a few that they didn’t reach in time, men who couldn’t walk out on their own. They burnt to death.”
Tears clouded her vision and Holt handed her a handkerchief. “I hadn’t heard about this dreadful tragedy, Laurel. There are too many horrific events in war that will haunt all those who lived them. I can’t imagine how frightened you must have been.”
“We all were. While the soldiers were now busy destroying the buildings, we vanished in the mayhem and left the city in ashes behind us, under the cover of darkness. Don’t remember Junie ever moving that fast.”
“I don’t know what I can say, Laurel. To admit that I feel guilty won’t erase the years you had to live that nightmare. I am sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.’
Laurel smiled through her tears and hugged his arm close to her body. “I’m sorry, too.”
When the street housing The Charleston Theater, stood in front of them, Holt stopped abruptly and stared. Gaunt shadows were cast from the empty shells of the buildings that once stood on either side of the theater, but the exterior of the theater remained untouched.
Laurel looked up and caught Holt’s expression. She wondered what caused the troubled look on his face. The slight glint of concern that he exhibited for her minutes ago was quickly replaced with a stern and bitter look.
“Holt, are you not feeling well? Would you rather return to the ship?”
“No.”
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No,” he barked. Then he looked at her and said, “I apologize. I didn’t mean to be abrupt. Perhaps some day I’ll tell you about this place, but not now. This is one memory I try not to think about often. Let me see General Sullivan’s address again.”
“I know something is bothering you, Holt. Why can’t you tell me?”
He stared at her for a moment, apparently taken aback. “Your sensitivity to my mood is unexpected. You caught me off guard. I guess I’ve never had a woman for a friend. I offered my friendship to you because for some unknown reason I was drawn to you and truly want to help.”
“Why am I so different from other women you’ve met?”
“You’re not the kind of woman I usually escort to events. Truth, Laurel, you’re the kind of woman I avoid.”
“Is that an insult?”
He laughed. “No, not at all. For such a young woman you have been through a tremendous struggle in your lifetime, a true victim, yet a survivor of the war. With all your problems and the fact that you’ve become impoverished and with the exception of your mammy, are alone in the world, you still have the ability to laugh.
“The horrors of fighting in the war haunt me to this day. All I ever wanted to be in life was a soldier. The newspaper stories about the Mexican War lured me into that career. I never thought my training would lead me not only to fight against my fellow countrymen, but also my friends from West Point. I was sickened by the civil strife in this country, and can’t wait to return to Washington and resign my commission.”
Laurel ran her hand down his arm. “I’m sorry, Holt. I didn’t mean to force you to recall those painful memories. I know what they’re like.”
They continued to walk side by side, but in silence. When they entered the residential area known as the Battery in Charleston, they found a stark contrast to the devastation in the business district. The homes along the waterfront, with the exception of some minor damage from stray cannonballs during the siege of Fort Sumter, still maintained their beauty and grandeur.
Laurel couldn’t hide her enthusiasm for the waterfront. Even the sound of the water breaking along the beach thrilled her. “How I’d love to walk barefoot along the shore,” she remarked. “Maybe on the way home…”
As she and Holt walked beside the stonebreaker wall, she pointed to the beautiful gray and white seagulls flying high above the swaying palm trees. “Nature had been my home during part of the war. But at the time, I hadn’t been free to enjoy the true beauty of South Carolina.”
Each time she looked at Holt, he smiled at her. They were together, yet he seemed to be aware of her need to be alone with her thoughts, and his sensitivity touched her heart.
They crossed the street away from the shore and walked down a side street that sloped and curved into a hidden entrance way. Laurel laughed and hung onto Holt’s arm as she picked up speed going downhill, trying desperately to maintain her balance. The walk leveled and ended in front of a dark green wooden gate causing her to come to a sudden stop. Holt held onto her until she steadied herself without crashing into the gate.
A wooden plaque hung on the rusty hinges and Holt grabbed the sign and rubbed off the dirt. “This is the place, Laurel,” he said, “Brigadier General Thomas Sullivan. Does his name sound at all familiar?”
“No, I can’t recall my father even mentioning him, but,” she shrugged, “I never saw him again after he came home for mother’s funeral. What can I lose?”
Holt held open the gate for Laurel to enter. Once inside the enclosed entranceway, Laurel noticed a tree that had been planted too close to the house, planted years ago, but now overpowered the cottage. Fallen blossoms and dead leaves completely covered the courtyard and crunched under their footsteps. The property appeared to have been neglected even before the war began.
As Holt knocked on the door, Laurel wrung her hands nervously, silently rehearsing what she was going to say. He placed a hand gently on her lower back and whispered, “You’ll be all right.”
The few minutes they stood waiting for someone to answer the door seemed like an eternity. Her heart pumped wildly, while she listened to someone fumble with the lock on the other side. Finally, the door opened slightly and a weary female voice inquired, “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Holt replied, “we’re looking for General Sullivan?”
“I’m Mrs. Sullivan,” the woman answered, opening the door more fully, “perhaps I can help you. My husband really isn’t well enough to receive visitors.”
“Mrs. Sullivan, my name’s Laurel Bray, and this is a friend of mine, Major Flanagan, he’s trying to help me locate the whereabouts of my father. My father served with your husband during the war and may have traveled home with him on furlough in August of sixty-one. My father hasn’t been seen or heard from since and I’d like to ask your husband some questions regarding my father’s disappearance.”
“Please, come in. I can’t promise you much hope,” she said, shaking her head sadly, “my husband isn’t very talkative these days.”
“We appreciate your allowing us to speak with him, Mrs. Sullivan.”
Holt extended his hand to Mrs. Sullivan, saying, “If you think my unif
orm might upset your husband, I won’t mind waiting outside.”
“Come in, Major, I don’t think that will make any difference. He probably won’t even notice the color of your uniform.”
Laurel and Holt followed Mrs. Sullivan through the darkened rooms of the cottage. The house smelled of mildew and every chair and table was cluttered with stacks of books and newspapers. Laurel wondered why anyone would live with all the shutters closed against the bright sunshine, then Mrs. Sullivan offered, as though she had read her mind, “My husband spent a lot of time in prison and ever since he came home, he prefers to live in the dark. You’d think he’d prefer the complete opposite.”
Knocking and opening a bedroom door, at the same time, Mrs. Sullivan said, “Tom, you have some company. A lovely young woman named Laurel Bray and a friend of hers, a Major Flanagan. Is the name Bray familiar to you?”
General Sullivan reached over and turned up the lamp to look at Laurel and Holt. “Come closer, young lady, and sit here where I can get a good look at you.”
Laurel obeyed and sat on the chair next to the bed, folding her hands on her lap. “My father is Francis Bray and he served under General Beauregard during the war. I understand that you came home on furlough in August of sixty-one, General. My father did, too, and I wanted to know if by any chance did he meet up with you to return to your unit? I haven’t heard from him since he left Beaufort, and I was hoping you could help me.”
“He did. I remember Francis very well, miss,” he answered, and then he picked up a book lying on the bed and began reading.
Laurel looked at Mrs. Sullivan, bewildered. The elderly woman nodded at Laurel and gestured with her hands for her to continue. “General, are you saying that my father did meet you?”
The old man placed his book upside down across his stomach and looked at her strangely. “That’s what I said. Are you hard of hearing, miss?”
A smile escaped Laurel’s lips and she placed her hand over her mouth and coughed timidly. “Can you tell me what happened after that, sir? Do you remember?”
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