Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga)

by Gilbert, Morris

  Paul watched the two glide across the floor to a waltz tune. “They look nice, don’t they?” he said to Luci, and she nodded.

  “Clay’s very handsome. What a shame he’s tied to that woman!”

  Just then the waltz ended, and someone cried, “Let’s have ‘Dixie’!”

  The lively strains of the song began, and as it played on, Paul heard someone giggle and say, “Oh my! Look at that!”

  Curious, he turned just in time to see Frankie enter the room—and he wanted to run to her and hustle her out of sight!

  “Great day!” he exclaimed before he could stop himself. “Luci…she looks…hideous!”

  Almost choking on a giggle, Luci quickly laid a sympathetic hand on Paul’s sleeve. “I tried to get her to let me help, but she insisted on doing it all herself.” Luci put just the right amount of regret in her voice, but a light of triumph glowed in her eyes. Oh, this was perfect! She had planned this moment from the time she had tried to get Paul to send the girl away and he had refused. Now let him see what a pitiful thing she is! she thought, and she looked around to see that almost everyone in the room was staring at the girl.

  Frankie had not even looked at herself in the mirror. She had followed Paul’s instructions and trusted Luci, so she had no idea of the picture she presented. The dress that Luci had given her was too large for her and was a terrible shade of purple that made Frankie’s clear skin look almost gray. The effect was terrible, and the makeup was worse. Luci had painted Frankie’s face with layers of rouge, giving her the appearance of a woman of the streets. Her beautiful hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that made her face tight, and the huge cheap imitation gems that hung from her ears made her look like a clown.

  When she first entered the room, Frankie had been paralyzed with fear. She had stopped abruptly, searching the room desperately for Paul’s face…and then became aware that people were staring at her.

  And then…then she heard the laughter, the giggling of the women and the guffaws of the men. Heat rushed to her face, and a shocked, sick feeling hit her and washed over her in waves.

  They’re—laughing at me! The thought came like a bolt of lightning, and she suddenly began to tremble. Her eyes swept the room, but she did not see the looks of compassion in the eyes of Clay Rocklin or of Rena. What she did see, with sudden focus, was the wretched look on Paul Bristol’s face. She did not know, sadly, that it stemmed out of his miserable disappointment on her behalf. Instead, she interpreted it as shame because of her. Paul was ashamed of her!

  As the laughter grew louder, Frankie suddenly uttered a cry of pain, then whirled and ran out of the room. She reached the outside door, opened it, then ran into the night. The moon was clear, throwing silver beams over the fields and trees, but the distraught girl didn’t see the beauty of it all. She heard someone calling her name, but the shame that filled her like agony drove her to run faster. She reached a grove of pecan trees, standing tall like sentinels in the silvery night, and fell at the foot of one of them. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and as she pressed her face against the rough bark, hot tears ran down her cheeks.

  She began to shake violently. And then the sobs came, racking her body in hard waves. Sobs that released the pain, grief, and shame that she had kept buried inside since the first moment she had realized she was not what her father wanted…or what Davey wanted…or what Paul wanted. Slowly she sank down to the ground as the tears that she had had under control since she was a little girl fell onto the earth.

  A tall, rangy hound came from the house, his nose quivering. He advanced to within ten feet of the weeping girl, studied her curiously—then opined that it was not hound-dog business by returning to continue his nap under the porch.

  CHAPTER 16

  ROAD TO SHILOH

  Paul got up an hour before dawn, dressed, and went downstairs. Hearing a sound in the kitchen, he entered and found his mother standing at the cookstove pouring a cup of coffee. She turned to him, said, “Good morning,” and then picked up the heavy coffeepot. “I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

  “Don’t want any. Just coffee.” As he sat down, she brought the mug of coffee and sat down across from him. Taking a cautious sip, he watched with bleary eyes as his mother drank her coffee but said nothing. Still, he figured she noticed how unsteady his hands were. That, combined with his glum expression and bloodshot eyes, would be enough to tell her he had had too much to drink at the ball.

  Indeed, Marianne was aware of all those things, just as she had been aware of Frankie last night when she entered the ballroom, and aware of the laughter. Now she fixed Paul with an intent stare and said, “Paul, what in the world possessed you to let Frankie come to the ball in such a terrible state?”

  “Now, Mother, don’t you start on me!” Paul’s voice was tense, and he glared at her angrily. “It wasn’t my fault. All Luci and I wanted to do was to help the ridiculous girl.”

  “Oh, I see,” Marianne said, raising her eyebrows. Well, I’d be willing to bet that the only help Luci gave that poor child was to dress her up in that awful rig and paint her like a clown, she thought. Marianne was well aware that Luci did not like Paul having Frankie around. Now she was fairly certain young Miss DeSpain had chosen this way to humiliate a woman she perceived as some kind of threat.

  Marianne took another sip of coffee, longing to point out the obvious to her son, but she knew better. She had learned long ago about dealing with Paul. He was, for all his outward polish, extremely sensitive—especially to criticism from her. So she sipped her coffee and let the moment go…for now.

  Paul himself had been so disturbed by the incident at the ball that he had slept very badly. His mother’s silence now only increased his desire to justify himself. He set his coffee cup down with a bang and said, “I should have been more careful! But Luci said Frankie wouldn’t let her help with the dress and getting ready. Who would have thought she’d make such a mess out of it?”

  “Well…from what I’ve heard of Frankie’s life, she hasn’t had the chance to learn the things other girls pick up, Paul. Actually, if anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have made sure I was there to help her.”

  Paul got up and paced the floor nervously. “I had a blazing row with Luci after it happened. I ran outside to find Frankie, to try to talk to her.” He gave a frustrated snort. “Couldn’t find a trace of her anywhere. It was like she up and disappeared! When I came back to the house, Luci lit into me for leaving the party. I was pretty shaken up, so I just got mad and walked out.”

  “A lot of people noticed that you were gone,” Marianne said. “I’m sorry the party was spoiled.”

  “I don’t care about the stupid ball, Mother,” Paul said forcefully. He stopped and put his hands on a chair, leaning on it. “I’m worried what this has done to Frankie!” At his mother’s surprised expression, he hurried to explain. “I mean, it’s going to be hard to work with that girl now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she packed up and left. Matter of fact, she may have done it already!”

  “No, I checked last night. She came in after everyone else was in bed.” Marianne shook her head. “She’s pretty tough, Paul.”

  “Well—that was a brutal thing last night,” he muttered. “I wanted to take a whip to the whole bunch of jackals. How they could treat her that way…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened up. “I’m going to work. When Frankie gets up, will you talk to her?”

  “You’re the one to do that, son.”

  He stared at her, certain there was some special meaning behind her words and trying to understand it. With a sigh, he finally said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He walked to the door but turned and gave her a grimace. “Do you think you’ll ever get me raised, Mother?”

  Marianne rose and went to him, laying her hand tenderly against his cheek. “Oh yes. God gave Blossom and me a promise about you the day you were born. Your time will come, Paul. I’m sure of it.”

  He stood there looking down at his
mother, thinking of all the years he had caused her pain and grief. “How do you do it?” he murmured. “All these years, and you never give up!”

  “Love is like that, son,” Marianne said quietly. “It never changes, and it never gives up. When I get upset with you and want to give up, I remember that God has never given up on me! And then I know that it will be all right.”

  “Frankie said something like that once. I told her I didn’t believe it. But…when I think about how you’ve never thrown me off, it makes me think both of you are right.” He suddenly leaned down and kissed her cheek, then left the kitchen. Stumbling through the darkness, he went at once to the laboratory, built a fire, and threw himself into his work.

  When Frankie opened her eyes that morning, she prayed the night before had been a dream. But she knew in her heart it had not.

  She had crept into the attic room after one o’clock, relieved to find that Rena was not there. She’d stayed in the woods for hours after running away from the party, coming in only after all the carriages had left and the lights in the house had gone out. Stripping off the hateful dress, she had thrown it with disgust to the floor, then washed her face with soap and cold water until every trace of rouge was gone. A powerful desire to run away had come over her, and she had had to struggle to force herself to put on a nightshirt and crawl into the bed.

  She had been exhausted, weak from weeping, and emotionally drained. Even so, sleep had evaded her as time and again she relived that terrible moment when the whole assembly had turned to stare at her—and laughed! Burying her face in the pillow, she had willed herself to think of something else, with no success.

  For what had seemed like hours, she struggled as anger rose like a burning flood in her. It was her! Luci! She did it on purpose. I hate her! She had been angry before, plenty of times, but never in her life had she known she possessed the depth of fury that had risen in her at that realization. Tossing in the feather bed, she’d wanted to scream out, to beat the floor with her fists. Strangely enough, though, there was no anger in her toward Paul Bristol. After all, he had been the one who insisted she attend the ball. He had been the one she’d been trying to please.…

  No, it was all Luci’s fault. Paul wanted me at the ball. He didn’t have anything to do with humiliating me! In fact, she’d felt almost certain that it had been his voice calling her name repeatedly as she lay in the pecan grove.

  Tormented again and again by the memory of the event, she had thought she was going insane. Then, finally, relief had come—but in a most unexpected form. She had been lying on her back, fists clenched so tightly that they ached, tears of mortification trickling down her cheeks, when she suddenly thought of Sol Levy. She remembered asking him once how he stood the jeers and taunts that came from some who hated Jews. He had given her a gentle smile, then said, “Frankie, that’s their problem, not mine. I can’t do anything about the way they feel, but I can let Jesus Christ do something about my feelings!”

  Until that moment, Frankie had not understood that statement, but as she lay there, she realized a little of what the old man had meant. She was no more able to control her feelings than a ship could control its movement when tossed by a fierce storm. If help came—if she ever would be able to rid herself of the bitter hatred that had settled in her heart for Luci DeSpain—it would not be her doing. God would have to do it! Knowing this, she had tried to pray and finally had drifted off to sleep.

  Now as she awakened in the darkness, she felt the anger and shame of the night before rising in her. With a sound of disgust, she threw back her covers, rose, and dressed. Better to be up and busy than lying in a bed letting such things build up. She put on a pair of gray wool trousers and a warm shirt with blue checks, then pulled on warm wool socks and short boots. The act of putting on her own clothes gave her a good feeling, and she left the room and moved down the stairs. But as she walked down the hall toward the outer door, Marianne Bristol came out the kitchen door and spoke to her.

  “I’ve got some biscuits made,” she said. “Come on and help me eat them.”

  Frankie didn’t want to talk to anyone but could not refuse. Soon the two were at the table, eating and drinking coffee. Marianne spoke of the new calf that had come, of the war, of spring…but she said nothing of the events of the past evening.

  Frankie slowly relaxed and managed to eat a little. Smiling at Paul’s mother, she said, “I think we’ll be leaving pretty soon, Mrs. Bristol. I guess your son told you about it?”

  “No, he didn’t. Where will you be going?”

  “Well, Mr. Bristol says that since General Grant’s taken Fort Donelson, he’s sure to push on south. General Albert Sidney Johnston’s waiting for him, and there’s going to be a big battle somewhere around in Tennessee.”

  “There’s going to be a battle here, from what Clay says,” Marianne said. “All our spies say that McClellan’s on his way to attack Richmond.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s what everyone says. I don’t see what Mr. Bristol wants to go running to Tennessee for, but I reckon that’s what he’ll do.”

  The two women sat there talking about the war, and finally Frankie felt secure enough to speak of the party. “I-I’m sorry I made such a mess of things last night, Mrs. Bristol.”

  Marianne saw that the girl’s fists were white as she clenched them around her coffee mug, and she longed to comfort her. “It was terrible for you, Frankie,” she said. “Nothing is worse than being humiliated, is it? I’d rather be deathly sick for a month than to be terribly embarrassed. Once when I was a little younger than you, I was in a wedding. Oh, I was so proud! Mama got me a new outfit, and it was beautiful! All pink taffeta!”

  “What happened?” Frankie asked when the woman stopped speaking, her eyes thoughtful as the memory came.

  “Oh, it was frightful! I had on a pair of pantaloons that came down to my ankles and just peeped out from under my skirt. It was my job to walk down the staircase, carrying flowers. The bride was to come right behind me, of course. Well, I practiced walking down that staircase for weeks! And when I heard the music and started down in front of the bride, it was the most exciting and proudest moment of my life!” Marianne’s eyes glowed as she spoke, and her lips curved in a smile.

  “But I hadn’t taken two steps when the string holding up those pantaloons came untied. I felt them slipping down, but it was too late! They went down around my ankles, and I went flying, head over heels! My head hit every stair, I think, and all the guests got a good view of my new underclothes!”

  “How awful!”

  “Oh, it was, my dear.” Marianne nodded. “As I went somersaulting down those stairs, I prayed that I’d die, but no such luck. I hit the last step and sprawled out with my face up, and all I could see was Mary Jane Jennings, the bride. She was up at the top of the stairs, and she was crying! I didn’t blame her, of course. Here was the moment she’d lived for all her life, ruined!”

  “Oh, Mrs. Bristol!” Frankie whispered, tears glinting in her green eyes. “What did you do?”

  “Do? Well, I got up, and I was crying, of course. All I wanted to do was get away from there. I started running, blind from my tears, but I didn’t get far! My father came down the stairs quick as a flash. He caught me, hugged me, and whispered in my ear, ‘Daughter, you’ll take harder falls than this one in the years to come. But you’re the daughter of Noah Rocklin! So you’re going to go back up those stairs, and you’re going to come down them like a queen!’”

  “Oh, how wonderful!” Frankie’s eyes grew large, and she asked, “Did you do it?”

  “Do it? Of course I did! I am the daughter of Noah Rocklin.” Marianne nodded emphatically. “My father looked around at the guests and said, ‘We’ll have a thirty-minute intermission right now. Go get something to drink, and when you come back here, be ready to see my daughter float down those blasted stairs like an angel!’”

  “What a wonderful story! How you must have loved your father!”

  “I stil
l do,” Marianne said quietly. Her eyes were misty as she added, “Christians never say good-bye, Frankie! My father and I will be seeing each other again soon, no matter what happens.” She sipped her coffee, and her voice grew soft. She knew that a traumatic experience such as Frankie had gone through could leave very painful emotional scars on a young woman. And she had the feeling that this particular young woman didn’t need any more scars! She prayed for wisdom, then said, “I’m sorry you had to go through that embarrassing business about the dress last night.”

  Frankie flushed, the color rising to her clear cheeks. She raised a hand to one burning cheek—a gesture that made her seem even younger than she was—then said, “I…shouldn’t have gone.”

  Frankie was sitting on a pine deacon’s bench made by one of the slaves. At her words, Marianne rose and moved around the table. Sitting down beside the young woman, she put her arm around her and looked into her eyes. “I wish my father were here,” she said. “He’d say, ‘Frankie, you’ve had a nasty fall, but I want you to get up and run at the problem. Don’t let it control you! You’re young and strong and have a great life ahead of you. Just don’t you quit!’” Marianne saw the tears rise to the girl’s clear eyes and, without planning to, put her other arm around Frankie and drew her close.

  Frankie fell against Paul’s mother. She had thought that she was cried out, but Marianne’s kindness, and the motherly feel of her arms holding her close, was more than the girl could take. She clung to Marianne, burying her face on her breast, and let the tears flow yet again. A broad maternal smile came to the lips of the older woman, and she held the girl, rocking her back and forth as she would have done with a small child.

  Finally Frankie drew back, saying, “Oh, Mrs. Bristol, I’m so sorry! I’m not usually such a crybaby.”

  “Tears have to be shed,” Marianne said. “They turn bitter if you don’t get rid of them. Nothing like a good cry to clean a woman out.”