by Джон Джейкс
Simon Cameron's barouche creaked along Pennsylvania Avenue. Out for a bit of sightseeing with his mentor, Stanley basked in the pleasant sunshine.
The sound of Scala's Marine Band playing "Listen to the Mocking Bird'' slowly faded behind them. The composer of that piece of music had dedicated it to Harriet Lane, President Buchanan's niece and hostess in the executive mansion. No doubt she and Old Buck — he was close to seventy now, an old-fashioned bachelor — were out on the lawn of President's Park this minute, shaking hands with the audience at the band concert. The President was highly visible around Washington. Only yesterday, following a lavish dinner of oysters, terrapin, and French wine, Stanley had gone for a walk on this same avenue and bumped into the President, who was out for his daily one-hour stroll.
Made bold by the wine, Stanley had stepped up and spoken to Old Buck. Of course the two had met before, in Pennsylvania. The President not only recognized Stanley, but if a slight frostiness was any indication, he was quite aware of Stanley's association with Boss Cameron. Thinking back to the encounter, Stanley remarked:
"I know the President's no friend of yours, Simon, but he does come from our state. And when I met him again yesterday, I was frankly impressed with him."
"Yes, but you have also told me you're impressed with Washington."
The sarcasm brought a flush to Stanley's cheeks. He had said the wrong thing.
"Surely you can't be impressed with that," Cameron continued with a contemptuous gesture at the Capitol; its unfinished dome was topped by a crane and ugly scaffolding. Cameron sighed, shook his head. "How can I possibly make you a trusted associate if you continue to commit these errors in judgment? When will you learn there is nothing in this town worth a penny except the power?"
Stanley's color deepened. He knew Cameron hadn't befriended him because of his brains but only because he possessed certain other assets. Still, he hated to have his limitations discussed so openly or in such a caustic way.
But he mustn't alienate his mentor. Momentous changes were in the wind, changes that could carry him and Isabel to this city and a position at the heart of the national government.
Cameron refused to let up. "Never let me hear you say you're impressed with Old Buck. We're Republicans now. The President is the enemy."
Stanley nodded and forced a toadying smile, then tried to steer the conversation to a different tack. "What about next year? Do you think the Democrats will run Steve Douglas?''
"Hard to say. The party is badly split. Douglas alienated the entire South with his Freeport Doctrine."
"Then we have a real chance to elect Seward."
That very evening Stanley and Cameron were to attend a private reception for the senator at Kirkwood's Hotel. The two men had traveled from Pennsylvania expressly to meet with Seward and with General Scott — gouty, opinionated, and, like the senator, smitten with presidential ambitions. Last night they had interviewed Scott for an hour; he had left his headquarters in New York just to see Cameron, another demonstration of the Pennsylvanian's importance in Republican affairs. All this mingling with notables had an intoxicating effect on Stanley. He wanted to get back to Washington at all costs — as an insider.
Cameron reacted negatively to the mention of Seward. "After that remark about an irrepressible conflict, he can't possibly win. Of course we mustn't tell him so tonight, but the fact is the party will have to pick a man much less bellicose. One who offends the fewest people.''
Stanley blinked. "Who is that?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll tell you one thing" — a smile — "I'll be the first to know his name. He won't be nominated until I say so."
Stanley knew the Boss wasn't joking. Few Republican politicians could offer what he did — virtually absolute control of a large machine in an important state.
Cameron went on, "I intend to come out of the party convention with a job at Cabinet level. Any candidate who promises less won't get my support. And when I move to this wretched town, my friends will move with me."
Sunlight flashed in his eyes as he looked at Stanley. "I'm speaking of those friends who have proved their loyalty beyond all doubt."
The message was clear, if familiar. Stanley asked, "How much do you need this time?"
"Ten thousand would help. Twenty would be ideal."
"You have it."
Beaming, Cameron leaned back on the plush cushions. "I knew I could count on you, Stanley. I'm sure there's a job waiting here for a man of your intelligence."
Billy rowed toward Bloody Island as the light faded. Brett sat at the bow facing him, a parasol canted over her shoulder. He could hardly keep his eyes away from her or control a physical reaction to her presence.
He kept reminding himself that her brother expected him to behave like a gentleman. Not an easy task, given his months of loneliness out here and the heart-stopping beauty he saw in the tilt of her head and the curve of her bosom.
After nearly a week of traveling, Brett and Orry had arrived in St. Louis the day before yesterday. Almost at once, Brett told him about the quarrel at Lehigh Station. She said Virgilia had caused it, which disgusted Billy but didn't surprise him. He and his sister had never been close. He often found it hard to believe she was a blood relation.
So far, Orry had chaperoned the young people in a very relaxed manner. On two previous occasions he had left them alone for over an hour, permitting them to wander where they would in the raw riverside town. Today, pleading a stomach upset caused by catfish he'd eaten at noon, he had remained at the hotel while Billy took Brett across the Mississippi on the ferry, then rented the rowboat. He wanted her to see what had kept him busy all these months.
Orry was certainly treating him politely and with consideration, Billy thought as the boat nosed through shallow water to the long shoal. Did that mean he had changed his mind about the match? Billy hoped so.
The boat crunched on the graveled bottom. Billy jumped out. Standing ankle-deep in the river, he extended his arms.
"Jump. You won't get wet." But he hadn't beached the rowboat as firmly as he thought. When she stood up, the motion drove the boat away from him. ''Wait, let me catch the bow line," he exclaimed.
Too late. She jumped. He tried to catch her, but he was off balance. Down they went, the huge splash scattering dozens of small silvery fish.
"Oh, Lord," she said in disgust. They sat on their rumps in five inches of water. Suddenly both of them started to laugh.
He helped her up. Her bodice clung to her body, revealing the tips of her breasts through layers of wet fabric. She shook a shower of droplets from her parasol and giggled.
"Your uniform's a sight. I suppose I don't look much better."
"Well," he replied in a grave way, "at least now you'll remember your visit to St. Louis."
"How could I forget St. Louis when you're here?"
Said lightly, it nevertheless carried an undertone of seriousness. Their eyes held. He pressed toward her through the shallows, circled her waist with both hands, and pulled her to him. Her wet, sweet mouth roused him all the more. Her lips parted. She pressed herself close.
Presently he whispered, "For a proper Southern girl, you don't worry much about appearances. Here we are kissing in broad daylight —"
"I don't care if the whole state of Illinois sees us. I love you, Billy. I'll never love anyone el —" Over his shoulder she noticed something that instantly banished romance. "The boat!"
He had to wade into deep water to retrieve it. He pulled it well up on shore and anchored the bow line under a heavy rock. He slapped his wet cap against his trousers as he rejoined her, glad for the distraction the boat had provided. It had helped him calm down a little.
He took her hand as they walked toward the cotton woods. Immediately, he felt a renewed pressure in his groin. The enforced celibacy was just too damn much. He glanced at Brett, and her eyes seemed to be saying the same thing.
He showed her the two rows of pilings at the upper end of the wooded s
hoal. The forty-foot space between the rows had been refilled with sand and stone, the outer faces of the dike built up again with ramparts of brush.
It had been a hard, dirty job. Billy had labored at it all summer, positioning the barges, sinking new pilings, dumping stone, swatting insects, and dealing with the quirks and quarrels of his hired civilian crew. Most of the time he had worked without his shirt. His back had repeatedly reddened and blistered, but now his skin was a dark nut color, the repairs were done, and he could show them off with pride.
"Ice damaged the dike at the south end of the shoal, too. We've been repairing that. We'll be finished in another two or three weeks."
"Then what will happen?"
"I'll be transferred."
"Where?"
"Wherever they need engineers. One of my workmen asked why I had to spend four years at West Point to learn how to load rocks on a barge. I was hanged if I knew the answer. But it's good, useful work, and I've enjoyed it. I'll be glad to do the same kind of job somewhere else."
She nodded. They were strolling arm in arm through the rustling cottonwoods. The sky had turned a brilliant deep blue; Billy always thought of it as the color of October. Some cumulus clouds drifted overhead. The sinking sun tinted them hot orange. The contrast with the sky was striking and, to his way of thinking, romantic.
"I don't care where I go," he resumed, "so long as I'm near you." He stopped, turned her toward him, held her forearms. "I want to marry you, Brett. Soon!"
"I feel the same way. It seems like we've been waiting a century. Do you know I'm twenty-one already?"
"I'd forgotten. Why, you're practically ancient."
Despite the joke, he too had been aware of his age lately. At twenty-four, a man was ready for responsibilities. "I can take care of you properly now. I've been saving half my pay every month, so —" He cleared his throat. "What would you think if I spoke to Orry while you're both here?"
She hugged him. "Oh, please do."
"I want to be sure I approach him at the right moment —"
She gave him a gentle smile. "You're always so cautious and careful. I don't think there will ever be a right moment anymore. The world's in such turmoil —"
'But I'm not certain Orry likes me. What if I speak to him and he's still angry with George?"
"He's all over that." Again she crushed against him, whispering, "I'll go out of my mind if we have to wait much longer."
"So will I."
"Talk to him tomorrow. Or tonight!"
"All right. I'll do it as soon as I can, I promise."
It had a firm, emphatic sound that concealed his inner doubt. He felt like a general who had finally committed his troops to battle.
They kissed again while the orange clouds floated above the Mississippi in a sky so lovely it seemed to deny even the possibility of trouble in the world.
Orry found St. Louis a lively and energetic place but ill-mannered, bumptious. Raw as the unpainted lumber of many of its buildings. He felt very much the elegant South Carolinian as he and Billy strolled along the riverfront on the morning following Billy's trip to Bloody Island.
Orry was carrying an expensive walnut cane he had just bought as a souvenir of his visit. He swung the cane forward in a little circle, then in a circle the other way. They passed a dozen noisy Negro stevedores loading crates on a barge. In mid-channel a huge stern wheeler churned northward toward Des Moines. Passengers lined the rails, waving. Orry watched the vessel with admiring eyes; he had fallen in love with steamboats, which seemed to him like elegant floating palaces.
Billy cleared his throat. His light blue trousers still bore signs of the soaking they had received. Orry knew what was coming and wished he could avoid it.
"Orry, I appreciate your willingness to talk to me."
The taller man twirled his cane and tried to joke. "Nothing novel in that. We've been talking to each other for years."
"Yes, sir, but this is important. It concerns Brett."
Grave again, Orry nodded. "So I assumed."
A wagon piled with cotton bales went by. The mule's shoes rang on the cobblestones. The men strolled another ten seconds without speaking. Sometimes Orry thought Billy too cautious — an ironic contrast to his older brother. He did regret that this interview was taking place just now, although anger with George had nothing to do with the feeling; in fact, he held himself responsible in large part for what had happened at Lehigh Station. At the proper moment he would dispatch a letter to George and try to patch things up.
From a cafe on the left drifted the delicious aroma of coffee; from a saloon came loud voices and the smell of sawdust. Out of the corner of his eye Orry noted Billy's apprehensive expression. To make it easier for him, Orry spoke first.
"You'd like permission to marry Brett."
Billy practically exploded with relief. "Yes! I can take care of her now. Not lavishly, but she'll never want, I promise you that. I think my prospects in the Army are excellent. I'll be leaving St. Louis soon —"
"Do you know where you'll be transferred?"
"I've asked to be assigned to one of the Federal forts in the South. Fort Pulaski in Savannah. Fortress Monroe. The ideal post would be Charleston. I've heard about some plans to repair the harbor fortifications there."
"Well, Brett would be happy to have you closer to Mont Royal."
"Sir, we don't want to just visit any longer. We want to marry."
The statements were more than a bit brusque. Pausing at the head of a busy passenger pier, Orry faced the younger man, frowning.
"I understand that, Billy, but I'm afraid I can't give my permission."
Billy's eyes flickered with resentment. "Why not? Do you think I'd be a poor husband for Brett?"
"I expect you'd be a fine one. It has nothing to do with your character."
"What, then? Have you changed your mind about the Army? Do you think It's a bad career?"
"No, and I'm sure you'll do well. Or you would in ordinary times. Alas, these times aren't ordinary. The country's riven with trouble. The future's uncertain, if not downright grim." He let out a breath and told the rest of the truth. "Especially for two young people who come from different sections."
"You mean because I'm from Pennsylvania and Brett's a Southerner, you think we can't get along?" With quiet strength, he added, "Don't judge us by what happened between you and George."
Orry held his temper; he was able to speak calmly. "Brett told you?"
"She did."
"Well, I can't say my decision is entirely unrelated to the quarrel, but not in the way you think. Your brother and I haven't fallen out permanently. He's still my best friend. At least I hope he is. However, there's no disputing one fact: George and I quarreled over issues that are all but unavoidable these days. The same issues could put immense pressure on you and my sister. Suppose this crazy secession talk led to some concrete act of hostility. How would it affect the Army? Specifically, how would it affect an officer with loyalties both to his government and to a Southern wife?"
"Seems to me you're searching pretty hard to find objections." Billy's voice had an edge on it now.
So did Orry's as he countered, "I am explaining my reason for saying no."
"Are you withholding your permission permanently or just temporarily?"
"Temporarily. Believe me, I'd be glad to have Brett marry a Hazard. But not until the future is a bit more clear."
Billy stared him down. "What if the two of us should decide to marry without your blessing?"
At that, Orry's expression chilled. "I don't think Brett would do such a thing. Of course you're free to ask her."
"Yes, sir," Billy said with a nod. "I believe I will. Excuse me? I have some business with my clerk."
His eyes unhappy, Orry watched the younger man's stiff back move away down the waterfront.
That night, in the parlor of their hotel suite, Brett said, "I was disappointed by the answer you gave Billy."
"When did you see him?"
"A little while ago, when I went downstairs. He's convinced you dislike him personally."
Orry slapped the arm of his chair. "That isn't true. Apparently I failed to make myself clear to him. I just want to think it over awhile longer. As you know so well, people are taking sides in this country. Your background and his would very likely force you onto opposite sides. I wouldn't want you involved in a marriage with that kind of pressure."
"Seems to me it will be my marriage." She stamped her foot. "Seems to me I should be the one to decide."
"Don't talk like Ashton," he snapped, striding to the window. There he turned. "If you're going to defy me, tell me straight out."
"I told Billy I couldn't do that. At least not while there's a chance you'll change your mind."
The threat was faint but unmistakable. Her decisiveness induced a sudden and unexpected melancholy — perhaps because he tended to forget that she was already an adult, in charge of her own destiny, and it took an incident like this one to remind him that his guidance was no longer needed or wanted. To remind him as well of how swiftly time went by, working its implacable changes.
Gazing from the window, he watched another paddle-wheeler churn south on the Mississippi. Sparks trailed upward from the smokestacks, vivid in the dark but quickly gone. Like a man's ambitions. A man's dreams.
He didn't want to be guilty of denying happiness to others because it had been denied to him. That was a wretched and selfish way to behave. The possibility tempered his resolve somewhat, filled him with a desire to make peace. With her and with Billy.
He walked to Brett and clasped her hand.
"I like Billy. I know he'd care for you. But marriage is a commitment for a lifetime'' — ah, wouldn't Madeline be proud of you, said an acid voice in the darkness of his thoughts — "so you ought to be very sure of your feelings."
"Orry, I am! I've known Billy for years. I've been waiting for him for years."
"Will it hurt to wait a little longer?"
All the light had left the parlor. They could no longer see each other clearly. She uttered a soft, weary sigh.