The Handsome Road

by Gwen Bristow

  She had Bertha make her a new dress of sea-green velvet obtained from a blockade runner at sixty Confederate dollars a yard. To trim the bodice she ripped some of the lace from her wedding dress. Mutilating her wedding dress gave her a pang sharper than any the war had yet cost her. She had put it away carefully in vetivert and tissue-paper, so that if she ever had a daughter it could be her wedding dress too; whatever the fashions then, this gown was so exquisite any girl would love wearing it. She had begun to suspect that she was going to have another child, and when she cut into the lace it gave her a pain in her throat that made her want to sob, for this child might be a girl and now she was cutting her wedding dress away from her. It was the first time she had ever realized how precious one’s little secret dreams could be and how painful it was to destroy them.

  But she did not tell any of this to Denis, nor confess to him that the lace on her ball-gown was not new. He had seen her wear the dress only once, and then had been aware of her only as a cloud of bridal loveliness without noticing the details of her costume sufficiently to recognize the lace on the green velvet. She did not even tell him she had any reason to think baby Denis might be about to have a little sister. Why she was silent about this she was not even sure herself; she simply had an inarticulate feeling that he must have no cause to be concerned about her when he went back into battle. No matter what it cost, she must give him as her last and most desperately fashioned gift the picture of the pampered darling he wanted to remember.

  So she went beautifully to her ball in her sea-green velvet trimmed with lace from her wedding gown and pinned at the bosom with the medallion that had baby Denis’ daguerreotype on one side and a lock of his hair on the other; and never since the foundation of Ardeith was a more brilliant ball given there. Most of the gentlemen were in uniform, and there were several with empty sleeves or their arms in slings, and one or two who could not dance because they walked with crutches, for although they were not included in the conscription laws most of the men she knew had been drawn into the army by the same gallantry that had put Denis there. The ladies paid the wounded men particular attention, and pretended it was not awkward to polka with a man who had only one arm. Jerry was there in uniform too, for he had just joined the army and was going up to Vicksburg with Denis. He had been married to Sarah Purcell a month before. Ann was dancing with Sarah’s brother Hugh, himself on furlough, when she suddenly noticed how magnificently all the ladies were dressed. Like her own, their gowns must have been un-patriotically procured from the blockade runners, for there was no other way to get such materials nowadays. There were men who talked angrily against the feminine passion for finery, which made it so profitable for the blockade runners to bring in silks and velvets that they did not bring the necessities of which the poor were in such dire need, and when she thought of this Ann smiled sardonically, half forgetting the music her feet were following. Did they really think it was mere love of display that made women go decked thus absurdly over the ruins? There had never in the history of the country been such mad gaiety as now. Ann knew this was true of the South, and she suspected it was true of the North as well. She had heard the phrase “laughing one’s self to death,” but it had never occurred to her that there were times when people actually did it.

  “May I say, Miss Ann,” said Hugh Purcell, “that I’ve never seen you more charming than you are tonight?”

  “Thank you. I’m so glad your furlough lasted long enough for you to come.”

  “I’ll be going back next week,” said Hugh.

  “Where?”

  “Port Hudson.”

  “My father is at Port Hudson,” said Ann.

  “We need great soldiers like Colonel Sheramy at the river forts,” he told her.

  “But they’re sure to hold, aren’t they?” she asked. “There’s no chance of the Yankees’ getting past Port Hudson and Vicksburg?”

  “Oh no,” he returned with assurance. “We’ll hold the river.”

  She thought, “And that’s all you’ll tell us. Maybe it’s just as well you think we don’t know any more than that.”

  But her own nerves were beginning to get taut, and she was glad when the dance with Hugh ended. She looked around for Jerry. He was always so honest; maybe she could talk to him about what she was thinking. She found him standing between the piano and a window, watching the ball with a look of ironic amusement. In his uniform he looked uglier than ever. That trim outfit seemed designed to emphasize strong regular features like Denis’, but a badly-made man in Confederate gray simply looked grotesque.

  “Are you having a good time?” she asked him.

  “Delightful.” The corners of his mouth were quivering with grim amusement. “You are a consummate hostess, my dear, the flower of Southern womanhood—”

  “Please stop that!” she pled in a voice just above a whisper.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Then what do you want me to tell you?”

  “Oh—something resembling the truth.” She closed her hands tight around the ivory sticks of her fan. “I’m getting a little bit desperate, Jerry.”

  He gave her a slow smile and moved nearer the shadow of the window-curtain. The music covered their voices. “All right, you’re being a very noble fool and you deserve a medal. I never saw Denis having a better time.”

  “Then—you do think it’s right, don’t you?—all this.”

  “Of course, honey.”

  “Jerry,” she asked suddenly, “am I giving this party just for Denis? Or is it for me? Do you think I’d have been different if I hadn’t married Denis?”

  He looked up and down at her great velvet skirt, the lace on her bodice and the flowers in her hair. “I can’t answer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why, because you would have married Denis. I mean, if it hadn’t been Denis it would have been somebody else like him. I don’t believe this nonsense about the impossibility of falling in love but once; a woman can fall in love a dozen times, but it’s always with the same man.”

  Ann bit her lip. Her hands were around the fan so tightly that its sticks hurt her fingers. The waltz-music came to an end. She lifted her eyes to his.

  “I’m afraid I can’t reason that out. Or maybe I’m in no state to think very well. It’s about midnight. Shall we start moving in toward supper?”

  “Forgive me?” Jerry asked smiling.

  “For what? Please let’s go to supper.”

  Jerry stood aside for her to pass between him and the piano. “You’re nervous as a witch,” he whispered. “Be careful.”

  She became very busy again. In the supper-room she went about deftly, seeing to it that the older ladies had chairs, tactfully edging back those who had filled their plates so as to make room for the others, and managing to distribute the inadequate supply of gentlemen so that there should be no obviously neglected groups of girls. “This is what I was born for,” she said to herself; “this is the only thing I can really do well. It’s a crime to require anything else of me.”

  “May I bring you a plate, Miss Ann?” asked Hugh Purcell at her elbow.

  She flashed her famous hostess-smile at him. “Thank you, but not yet. I can’t stop that long.”

  “But you should take some refreshment. Here—a minute’s pause anyway.”

  He took two glasses of champagne from the tray Napoleon was passing and held out one to her.

  “The South, God bless her?” he suggested.

  “The South, God bless her,” Ann echoed obediently. She had a sudden feeling that none of this was real, or that if it was she was watching from a great distance and it had nothing to do with her. But the champagne had an invigorating effect and she was glad he had suggested it. Setting down the glass, she went off to corner one of the Alan Durhams and make him take care of the St. Clair girls, reflecting that the Durham family had very little imagination, the way they persi
sted in naming so many of their male members Alan. There was another Durham cousin sitting quietly in a corner by himself. He had one leg and a cane, a reminder of the defense of New Orleans. Ann glanced around for some nice girl to amuse him. She thought of Sarah, who was her favorite; but no, it would not do to give a mutilated man to a girl when her husband of a month was just before going up to Vicksburg. Cynthia Larne came up to her. “Are you looking for somebody, Ann?”

  “Yes,” Ann said, “I—” She hesitated, glancing down at Cynthia. Cynthia was nearly fourteen, a thin, wiry young girl with a pale face and a heavy cloud of black hair. She would never be pretty, but she had a quiet dependability about her that Ann had begun to admire. “Cynthia,” she said in an undertone, “do you think you could help me out with that Mr. Durham who’s lost a leg?”

  “Why of course,” Cynthia returned with cool assurance. “What shall I talk to him about?”

  “Anything but the war.”

  Cynthia smiled a little. “I see. All right.”

  Ann took a breath of relief. The rooms were crowded, and the closeness was giving her a headache. Grimly she ordered her nerves to be quiet and went on about her work of being hostess. Now and then one of the gentlemen offered her a glass of champagne, and she was glad of it; she had no time to eat and was becoming aware of a jittery exhaustion that was growing harder and harder to fight. She gripped herself after she had taken champagne with Bertram St. Clair. She must be careful, for that stuff was insidious, and this was Denis’ last party. No matter how she felt it would not do to let her famous charm give way now. She began again.

  “Have you tried the jellied chicken, Mrs. St. Clair? Oh, but you must—my cook is very proud of it and I’m sure she’d run away to the Yankees if we left any behind us. Napoleon, will you fetch some of the chicken, and some wafers? How do you do, Dr. Purcell? Thank you, I’m feeling very well indeed, no need of your ministrations. I’m so glad you like the cakes—have you tried a piece of that fluffy chocolate one? It goes very well with coffee. Miss Valcour, may I present Lieutenant Chauncey? The lieutenant’s from Virginia, down here doing something important and mysterious about the river defenses.”

  At last she got herself to one side and stood still, watching them—the flowers and lights, the billowing flounces and white shoulders, the shining epaulettes, the crutches and scars. “I wonder how many of them will be alive a year from now,” she thought. “And I’ve got a child in the nursery upstairs and I’m sure I’m going to have another one. Imagine any woman’s having the cruelty to bring children into a mess like this.”

  She saw Denis, his fine head and shoulders visible as the center of a group of flowered coiffures. He caught sight of her, and let a smile flicker in her direction. She lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips in a little secret gesture.

  As her hand moved down she touched a flask on the sideboard. Almost automatically her fingers closed around it. Then all of a sudden Jerry was beside her.

  “Stop that, Ann.”

  His voice was low, but so sharp and stern that she looked up at him in astonishment. “Stop what?”

  “Getting drunk,” said Jerry.

  “Why—”

  “Come in here,” said Jerry tersely. He drew her through a nearby doorway into the back study. Ann stood staring up at him, surprised and resentful.

  “Jerry, I’m not drunk! I’ve never been—”

  “Look here,” he said. “I know the signs. You’ve been pouring down champagne all evening. You were just about to start again. Stop it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ann exclaimed. “I’m shaking all over as it is, trying to get through this—”

  “Yes, I know.” He was suddenly very gentle as he put his hands on her shoulders.

  She sank down into a chair. “Jerry, I’ve been going through fire and brimstone in my mind. If I don’t do something I’ll go to pieces.”

  “Do you think you’re the only one?” he asked her almost fiercely. But as if afraid to voice his thoughts he added more quietly, “I’m not going to read you a lecture. I just wanted to warn you. And by the way.”

  “Yes?”

  “Er—be rather specially nice to Sarah, will you? She doesn’t like my going.”

  “How can she? I don’t see why you’re going. You don’t have to. I wish to heaven Denis had had sense enough to stay out of it. Maybe father was different—he’d been in the army already, and Mexico—but not you and Denis!” She was talking vehemently, finally turning loose what she had not said to Denis in these past weeks. “Why do you suppose they exempted men like you from conscription if it wasn’t to save the sort of people who are really important to civilization—the sort who have culture and ideals —and—everything?”

  “We won’t be able to save ourselves forever,” Jerry returned shortly. “Besides, it—gets you. I can’t explain. Let’s go back.”

  Ann got reluctantly to her feet.

  It was after four in the morning when they said goodby to the last guests. Denis went to the door to see them out, and came back to meet her in the hall. He pulled her into his arms.

  “Darling, it was a grand party!”

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?” Ann agreed.

  “I never enjoyed anything more in my life. Look at this house!”

  She glanced around at the gay disorder. “It doesn’t matter. The girls can clear up tomorrow.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “Practically dead,” she returned laughing.

  Denis did not know her hands were tight fists, buried on either side of her in the folds of her green velvet skirt. “It takes a lot of doing, a party,” she added.

  “I know it does, sugar. You were a dear to have it. Come on then, let’s go to bed.”

  “I’m so sleepy,” she murmured.

  “Let me carry you up. Put your arms tight around my neck.”

  “Can you?”

  “Try me and see.”

  She laughed. Denis hoisted her up. “How do women walk with so many clothes!” he exclaimed as her skirts billowed around them both. He added, “You looked mighty pretty tonight.” She held to him as he mounted the spiral staircase. At the head of the stairs he paused, and she turned and kissed him, feeling his arms tighten adoringly around her as their lips met.

  Afterwards she thought she would always remember Denis like that, mounting the stairs with her in his arms for their last night together. She was glad he had gone from her in such splendid strength. For she would always have that memory of him, and she grasped it like a changeless refuge when Vicksburg had fallen and they learned that Denis had been killed during the siege.

  2

  It was not until July, after the fall of Vicksburg, that they learned of the death of Denis, for during the siege no word could be had from the garrison. To Ann the news came hardly as a shock. It was merely an intensifying of the pain of loneliness that had been growing upon her ever since he went away. It had been like living on an island, with no news from outside but the vaguest rumors; and now Denis was gone too, Denis to whom she had looked to stand between her and everything she did not want to face. She felt deserted and full of terror. She had one child and was shortly to give birth to another, and the thought of her children, defenseless but for herself in a world gone mad, frightened her to the limit of endurance. If there were only somebody she could talk to, she wished frantically, but she discovered to her surprise that there was nobody she knew well enough. She had never needed other people very much, and so she had never gone to the trouble of establishing intimate relationships.

  Certainly not with Denis’ mother. Not long after Denis left, the government had asked for the use of Frances’ town house as a military headquarters and Ann had felt duty bound to ask Frances and Cynthia back to Ardeith, but during the months that she and Frances had occupied the same house their acquaintance
ship had never ripened. Now, watching the courage with which Frances was facing the loss of her son Ann admired and envied her, and wished with all her heart for an offer of support in her own trembling weakness. At night when she was alone she lay in bed with her hands pressed over her eyes, thinking, “If she would only come talk to me!” But Frances did not come, and Ann did not dare to seek her. Frances went about with her face white as a bone, so silent and stricken that Ann ached to go to her, but the thought of being repulsed was more than she could bear, so she could only emulate Frances’ silence and lock herself in her own room to shed her tears.

  But she astonished herself by the decision with which she acted. With Vicksburg fallen and the Federal fleet no longer divided between two forts, she suspected it could not be long before Port Hudson must go too, and then the army would come swarming down the river unchecked. She got Cynthia to help her, and working in the hours between midnight and dawn for secrecy they buried the more important pieces of silver in the gardens and set out nasturtiums and oleanders above the treasure-troves. Other valuables they hid in the vault, and one night they moved a set of portable wine-shelves across the door leading down to the vault from the wine-closet so it would look as if there were only another solid wall at that side. The effort left Ann so exhausted that she crumpled panting at the foot of the staircase and finally crawled up on her hands and knees. Cynthia, who was doing the best she could with a dogged obedience that roused in Ann more admiration than in her present weariness she could express, whispered scared protests.

  “Ann, I don’t know much about ladies in your condition, but I’m sure this is bad for you. Couldn’t we get somebody to help us? We can trust Napoleon.”

  Ann shook her head. In her present state she was afraid to trust any Negro. The fieldhands were drifting away from the plantation, and though the house-servants had stayed on this far, she was unsure whether that was from loyalty or from their inbred contempt for joining the field-hands in anything. She hardly remembered getting into bed. As soon as she lay down, sleep dropped over her like a blanket.