When Paul came into the house an hour later, she went to him at once, and he put his arms around her and kissed her. She held him tightly, saying, “Oh, Paul, I’ve been worried sick!”
He kissed her again, then teased her, “I’m fine, but I figure it only does a woman good to worry about her man. Now come on down to the laboratory. I’ll show you some of the plates.”
Ten minutes later the two of them were studying the plates. Paul had laid them out on a table, and at once Luci exclaimed, “Oh, how clear these are!”
“I had to throw quite a few away, but we got a pretty good selection.” He watched her as she picked up the plates to study them closely. She was a beautiful girl, well able to stir a man’s blood…but Paul was hesitant to broach the subject he knew she most wanted to discuss: their wedding.
“Oh—how awful!” Paul looked at her, startled from his thoughts by her dismayed exclamation. She was staring at the picture of the pile of arms and legs outside the surgeon’s tent. It had been one of the clearest plates of all—so clear that a wedding ring was plainly visible on one of the hands.
The sight of it brought back the memory of the men’s screams, and he repressed a shudder. “Awful, isn’t it?”
Turning to face him, Luci put the print down, saying, “Why in the world did you take a picture of that?”
“It was there, Luci,” he said with a shrug. “A product of this war. People need to know what it’s costing us.”
Luci was horrified. “President Davis didn’t send you to get pictures like this, Paul! He wanted you to take pictures that would make people feel good about the war, make them support it!”
“Well, we got some of those, too. Here, look at these.” Paul showed her the pictures that he and Frankie had made the night before the battle. “See how happy they are? Smiling and laughing—” He broke off, his voice growing hard. “Now a lot of them are in shallow graves…or in hospitals, missing arms and legs.”
“You can’t show these awful things to President Davis!” Luci cried. “He knows what war is like. He’s been a soldier. He needs someone to help him pull the people together. Do you think these…these things will make men want to fight, or women want to send their husbands and sweethearts to war?”
Paul refused to argue, for he’d known that the pictures showing the reality of war—the raw horrors—would not be accepted by many people. “Well, I’m just the photographer, Luci. Someone else will decide which pictures to release.”
Luci looked at him quickly, then felt pleased, for it seemed she had won the argument. She took his arm as the two of them walked out of the lab. The sun was warm, and Paul said, “Let’s go down to the pond and see the ducks.” They took the well-worn path across the pasture, arriving at a large pond surrounded by tall pines. It was cool in the shade, and Paul said, “Look, there they are! I was afraid the turtles might have gotten them.”
Luci was delighted with the flotilla of yellow ducklings that came toward them at once. “Oh, how darling!” she cried. “I love baby animals!”
They watched the ducks for a time; then Luci turned to Paul, a shadow crossing her face. “I heard about Ellen Rocklin’s accident, Paul. How terrible for her, to be crippled for life! Have you spoken to Clay since the shooting?” Paul shook his head, recalling his father’s explanation about the “accident” that had brought Ellen to her present state. “She was seeing this fellow Simon Duvall,” he had said, his eyes showing his disapproval. “And there was a shooting. Duvall’s bullet wasn’t meant for Ellen, but it hit her in the back. The doctors said it was too close to the spine to get it out. So she lived, but she’ll never walk again.”
It was Paul’s sister who had given him the rest of the story. “Everybody said Clay would leave Ellen when she was paralyzed, but I knew he wouldn’t. He was converted, you know, and even though he loves Melora Yancy, he’ll stay with Ellen, as awful as she treats him, as long as she lives!”
Now he looked at Luci, who was the picture of grace and health, and felt pity for Ellen and the life she faced.
“No,” he said, “I haven’t spoken to either of them. But I know this has not been an easy time for either Clay or Ellen.”
Luci watched Paul’s face, noting the emotions that crossed his handsome features, then stepped toward him, saying, “I’ve been lonely without you, Paul. You won’t be going away again, will you? Not soon, anyway.”
“No. The battle will be here around Richmond.” He studied the ducks as they turned upside down, then added, “It may be the South’s last battle.”
“Oh, Paul, don’t talk like that! We can’t lose!” Luci, like many Southerners, had a blind spot about the war. They simply refused to consider the possibility of losing. To talk to them about the North’s superior numbers or the South’s pitiful factory system was a waste of time. “One Confederate can whip five Yankees!” Paul had heard it over and over, with only a slight variation. Sometimes it was ten Yankees.
“Luci, if we do lose, life won’t be the same around here,” he said. “And even if we win, I don’t have anything to offer you. I can’t claim any part of Hartsworth. Austin and Marie, they’ve stayed and worked for the place while I was out making smears on canvas.”
Luci shook her head. “Your mother doesn’t think like that. She told me the plantation would be divided equally between her three children.”
“I wouldn’t take it,” Paul said adamantly. “And you ought to think about this seriously, Luci. You’re used to fine things, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to provide that for you.”
Luci insisted that she would share whatever he had, but Paul knew that she had no idea what it meant to do without. I don’t either, he thought cynically. Never made a dollar in my life on my own.
Luci waved away his words but then asked cautiously, “Paul, you won’t be taking Frankie along with you, will you?” At his look of surprise, she spoke more quickly. “I mean, well, surely she’s not able to do much, is she? With her wound and all?”
“She’ll be all right.” Paul shook his head, saying, “I was just about crazy with worry for a while, Luci! If she’d died, it would have been my fault.”
“Nonsense!” Luci snapped. “You didn’t force her to go!”
“No, but she was in my care.” Taking a deep breath, he shook his head, still not over the anguish he’d felt when he realized she’d been shot. “It was bad, Luci, very bad! No doctor, and Frankie shot all the way through.”
Luci stared at him, her lips tight. “You must be a pretty good nurse. I didn’t know you were so expert in bullet wounds.”
Paul didn’t see the hard light in Luci’s eyes. “I didn’t know it, either. I’ve doctored a few dogs and horses that were injured, but that’s a little different from nursing a young woman with a bullet wound.”
Luci thought suddenly of Frankie Aimes’s rounded, smooth shoulders, and a streak of jealousy ran along her nerves. “It’s a good thing she’s not a modest person,” she said, a hard edge in her tone.
“Modest?” Paul was bewildered. “What does that mean?”
“I think it’s obvious, Paul.” Luci shrugged. “I was there this afternoon while your mother was changing the bandage. Don’t try to tell me she was fully dressed when you changed her bandages!”
Bristol could not believe what he was hearing. “Why, I don’t think I ever thought about it, Luci. She was so sick, and I was so frantic, it never occurred to me—” He broke off, frowning. “Frankie’s about as modest as a woman can be.”
“How can you say that?” she demanded hotly. “Why, the girl has done nothing but hang around men, Paul! She says so herself, doesn’t she? No woman could stay around soldiers as she’s done without losing her delicacy.”
Bristol stared at Luci, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t you trust me, Luci?”
“Would you trust me if I was running around the country with a young man, alone and subjected to all sorts of—temptations?”
“Yes, I’d trust you,” he sai
d, his voice growing hard. “I don’t know much about love, but isn’t marriage built on trust? Don’t the man and woman vow to be faithful to each other? Well, I’m asking you to be faithful, to have faith in me. Because if you don’t, then we might as well know that now.”
Afraid she had gone too far, Luci put on her most winning smile and reached up to touch Paul’s cheek. “Oh, let’s not quarrel, dear! You don’t think I could be jealous of that poor thing, do you?” She laughed. “I might be jealous if you ran around the country alone with Violet Cunningham, but not poor Frankie.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, then stood back, smiling. “Now Mrs. Davis has asked me to come for a tea at her house tomorrow. The president will be there, and General Lee. You can ask them to let you take their pictures.”
“Yes, that would be a good time,” Paul agreed. He seemed to forget all about the argument, but it was only a temporary lull in the battle for Luci. As she smiled and clung to him, she made an inner vow that Paul Bristol had made his last tour with Frankie Aimes!
CHAPTER 19
ELLEN’S REVENGE
Want to go see some hogs, daughter?”
“Hogs?” Rena looked up from her book to her father, who had come into his small house. He had moved into it when he had returned from his wanderings, choosing not to move into the Big House with Ellen. It was a small summerhouse, old and weathered, but he’d fixed it up with cast-off furniture and bookshelves. Rena, who loved books, spent more time at the summerhouse than she did at home—which irritated Ellen a great deal.
“Yes, hogs…bacon on the hoof. Want to see some?” Clay grinned at Rena’s puzzled look and explained, “Buford sent word that our first crop of young pigs is about ready to sell. Wants me to come and look at them.”
“You don’t know anything about hogs, Daddy!”
Clay grinned. “I sure don’t, but they’re going to be worth a lot more than bales of cotton left sitting on the wharf. Well, do you want to come or not?”
“Yes!” Rena said at once. When she went outside, she saw that her father had saddled her little mare along with his own horse. She gave him a sideways glance. “Pretty sure I’d go with you, weren’t you?”
“I know you could never resist a ride with a good-looking man.”
“My, you are conceited!” Rena sniffed but privately agreed. She thought that her father was the best-looking man in Virginia, or anywhere else, for that matter. She loved him with a single-minded devotion.
Clay knew this about his daughter, and he was as proud of that fact as of anything on earth. As he watched her ride beside him, he thought, She’s growing up so fast! Soon she’ll be thinking of marriage, and I’ll lose her. The thought saddened him, but he snapped out of it. Better to enjoy today than fear tomorrow! He listened, smiling as she told him about one of the stories she was writing.
They followed the main road for five miles, then turned off and made their way along a dusty road that wound through first-growth timber. It was cool under the shade of the big trees, and Clay felt a peace that was rare for him. Even so, he was worried about his boys and said so. “Dent will be going back on active duty pretty soon,” he said. “And Lowell will be in action. We all will, I guess.”
“Daddy, I’m afraid,” Rena said. She turned to him, and for one moment he was startled. She looked very much as Ellen had years ago, when he had first met her. Rena had the same dark eyes and brown hair. But she’s not like Ellen, he thought with relief. She’s like Mother and Grandmother.
“We all are, I guess, Rena. Not for ourselves so much as for others.” As they rode along, he tried to cheer her up and succeeded. He had the power to give her assurance, and it troubled him to think that when he was gone back on duty—very soon, now—she would be left pretty well on her own. David was still home, and his mother. But Rena could not confide in either of them. Clay thought of all the men who had to leave children and wives, and he knew that all over the country men were worrying about sons and daughters. That was one of the high costs of war.
They reached the Yancy cabin before noon, and as the youngsters came running out to meet them, Clay said, “I hope you remember their names. I get some of them mixed up.” Then Melora came out to meet him, and he found himself—as always when first seeing her—a little stunned.
Melora Yancy was as tall and slender as a mountain spruce, or she seemed to be. She had green eyes and the blackest hair possible and was one of those people who never seemed to age. It was difficult for those meeting her for the first time to believe that she was twenty-seven instead of nineteen or twenty.
“Hello, Mister Clay,” she said, a smile on her wide lips. She glanced at Rena and winked. “You know, of all the times your father’s come here, I can’t remember once when it wasn’t mealtime.”
“I’m no fool.” Clay grinned. “Where’s Buford?”
“Out with those pesky pigs,” Melora said tartly. “I believe he thinks more of them than he does of his children.”
“Oh, not really, Melora?” Rena stared. She admired Melora tremendously, wanting to be and look like her more than anyone else in the world.
“Well, I got a bad cold last week,” Melora said, smiling impishly, “and Pa never even noticed. But you let one of those blasted swine so much as cough, and he’ll be down there quick as a shot pouring medicine down its throat!” Glancing at the children, who had ringed the two visitors, she said, “Rose, you and Martha watch that corn bread so it doesn’t burn. I’m going to take Mister Clay and Rena to see those beautiful animals.” She ignored the cry of protest, saying, “You can all see Mister Clay at dinner. Come along, Rena. I want to hear about your new stories.”
The three made their way along the trail leading away from the house, Clay walking behind the two women. He watched Melora, noting how much—and how little—she had changed since he’d first met her when she was a child. Then she had been a small girl he was kind to, whom he bought books for…someone who believed in him. Then when he’d come back to try to pick up the threads of his life, he’d been startled to discover that the little girl was gone, replaced in that mysterious way of nature by a startlingly beautiful young woman.
Before long, they knew they loved each other, but he was a married man, in name and under the law. The fact that his wife made life as difficult for him as possible was not a factor, for his goal was to honor God in his role as a father and husband, and as a son to his parents. That meant staying with and caring for his wife, despite the anger and bitterness that constantly spilled out of her. It meant that he could not make promises to Melora, except that he would continue to be her friend, as he always had been. He had tried to get her to marry Jeremiah Irons, a pastor whom both Clay and Melora had counted a dear friend, but Irons had died in the war. Clay frowned, troubled. Lord, I don’t understand. Wouldn’t it have been better if Jeremiah had lived? He would have made Melora a good husband…. He shook his head, praying that God would care for the woman who walked in front of him.
Before long they heard the grunting and shrill yelps of the pigs and soon arrived at the hog pens. Buford Yancy saw the three walking out of the woods and came at once to offer his hand to Clay. “Make you feel proud to own such a mess of fine hogs, Clay?” Yancy, a widower in his early fifties, was six feet tall and lean as a lizard. He had greenish eyes and tow-colored hair and was strong and agile in the way of mountain men. He looked at Clay Rocklin, approval and admiration evident in his eyes. “Glad you made it back. How are my boys, Bob and Lonnie?”
“Best soldiers in the regiment, except for Lowell, of course!”
Yancy spit an amber stream of tobacco juice to one side, then grinned and waved at the hogs. “There they be. Ain’t they purty?”
Clay looked doubtfully at the pigs, then shook his head. “I guess so, Yancy. I’m not much of an authority on pigs. We going to sell them?”
“Not right off. I saved enough grain to feed ’em out for another month. By that time I figure we won’t have no trouble sellin’ ’e
m in Richmond.”
“You’re right about that, Buford.” Clay nodded. “But we give the Richmond Grays first shot. Bob and Lonnie and the rest of the boys would sure like some good ham and bacon this winter.”
Buford showed them the finer points of the hogs; then they all went back to the cabin for dinner. As they sat down at the table, Clay looked around and smiled. “I remember the first time I ever sat down at this table.” He looked at Melora, who was going around the table pouring buttermilk into cups and glasses. “It was the first time I got to sit up and eat after Irons brought me here when I was so sick. Bet you don’t remember what I ate, Melora.”
“Mush and some dumplings.”
Clay stared at her. “How in blazes can you remember that? You weren’t more than seven or eight.”
“I was six,” Melora said, then sat down beside her father. “Mister Clay, please ask the blessing.” She waited until he was through, then said to Rena, “Your father gave me my first book. I still have it, along with all the others.”
The meal was fine, and afterward Clay talked for an hour with Buford, mostly about plans for next year’s crop of corn and pigs. Melora enlisted Rena’s help in cleaning up, and finally it was time for the Rocklins to go. Clay had only a moment alone with Melora while the children ganged up around Rena, begging her to come back and bring more books and candy.
“I miss Jeremiah,” Clay said simply. “I think he was the best man I ever knew.”
“I think we all loved him. He was so kind!”
Clay hesitated, then said, “I wish he had lived, Melora. I would like to see you with your own family, your own home.”
She smiled. “I know, Clay. But I can’t help but wonder if I could have made him happy. Jeremiah knew I was fond of him, but he also knew he could never have all of me.” Her green eyes met his squarely. “He knew I loved you.”
Clay nodded. She spoke so directly, so honestly! “I wish things were different, Melora.”
Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga) Page 24