by Diane Ashley
“Where do you live, Miss. . .”
“Lewis. I’m Alexandra Lewis. Papa is part of the militia. My mama and I came down to visit with him. Our rooms are only a block away. I can—”
“No, you cannot. As your papa is fighting with General Jackson, I consider it my duty to see that you are returned safely to the bosom of your family.” He held out his arm, annoyed when she hesitated. Did she think he would rescue her from a mob only to attack her himself? “Allow me to introduce myself. Asher Landon, at your service.”
When she laid her hand on his arm, he could feel it shivering even though the temperature was quite warm for a December afternoon. Immediately his conscience smote him. Alexandra Lewis was clearly still overcome by the attentions of those men. Not surprising for a young lady of such obvious gentility. He patted her hand and gave her an encouraging smile. She had nothing to fear from him.
His reassurance must have been effective. They had hardly walked a full block before she began talking to him as if they were old friends. Her exuberance reminded him of Rebekah.
“Are you going to the Richelieus’ ball, Mr. Landon?”
“If we’re not battling the British.” As an officer, he was expected to attend. The general thought it was good policy to socialize with the local gentry.
“Papa is taking Mama and me. But I’m so worried no one will dance with me.”
“I doubt a pretty girl like you will have to worry about that. The men will likely line up for the honor.”
“But what about you, Mr. Landon? Would you dance with me?”
Asher frowned. Miss Lewis was somewhat forward, but maybe it was only a bit of naïveté. With his experience in the military, perhaps he should take her under his wing and protect her a bit.
“I would be honored, Miss Lewis.”
❧
Rebekah wrapped her arms tighter against her waist, burrowing into the layers of her cloak for comfort. A damp, gray mist wound its way around tree trunks as the muddy Mississippi River swept their flat-bottomed boat southward toward their destination. Rachel and Dolly had already retired for the evening to their shared cabin, but Rebekah was not sleepy.
What would this year bring? Last year, she’d wondered the same thing. And she’d been filled with the same optimism that currently kept her from seeking sleep. If someone had told her that she would go another whole year without Asher, she’d have refused to accept the possibility.
But that was exactly what had happened. She had marked his anniversary date with abiding hope, knowing that he would soon be released from service. But he had not appeared. Then in the spring when other men returned from the war, faces hardened and gaunt from their experiences, she’d awaited his return patiently. She’d been ready to nurse him back to excellent health with kind Christian concern and loving care.
Still no Asher.
Then the victory over the Indians had been reported in Nashville, and she had waited to welcome her returning hero. She’d sewn a sampler to commemorate the date and the valorous deeds of the Tennessee militia. Many was the night she’d knelt by her bed and prayed earnestly for his safe return.
Her spirits had dipped to a new low when it became apparent he would remain with General Jackson. Finally, finally, her opportunity had arrived the day Rachel Jackson burst in on her and her aunt with her marvelous, daring proposal.
So here she stood gazing at the sky and trying to imagine what her family was doing. She’d missed getting to see them at Christmas, but that was a sacrifice she’d been willing to make as she and Aunt Dolly prepared for their trip. The desire to return home paled in comparison to her desire to see Asher.
It had taken several letters from Mrs. Jackson and Aunt Dolly to convince her parents that Rebekah should accompany them on their trip. They had finally yielded, unable to withstand Dolly’s assurances that their daughter would be safeguarded and her pleas to them to remember how they had felt when they were courting.
A creaking board alerted her to someone’s presence on deck. She smiled at her new friend. Despite the disparity in age, she had grown very close to Rachel Jackson during their trip.
“Isn’t it time for you to come inside?” Rachel’s skirt billowed gently in the humid evening breeze. “I have already sent my son to bed, and Dolly and I are about to retire. We don’t like leaving you out here alone.”
“I get more excited with every day. How long do you think it will be before we get to New Orleans?”
“The captain said we’ll get to Natchez tomorrow. Then he’ll need to drop off some of his cargo and load new provisions for the last leg of our journey. We’ll likely be there within the week.”
“I cannot wait.”
The two women stood side by side for several minutes, watching the dark water swirl around the edges of the boat. Then the older woman put an arm around Rebekah’s shoulders and hugged her tightly. “Me, either.”
Four
“Victory!” The whole world seemed to breathe it. General Jackson had done it! He had routed the British against all odds. Rebekah felt like a part of the triumph as her friend, Rachel, fairly beamed her happiness and pride in the accomplishments of her husband. He was a real American hero. Everyone agreed the battle had been instrumental in proving to the world that Americans would not be defeated. Nearly every plantation they passed sent heartfelt messages of thanks and praise to be delivered to General Jackson. And now they had arrived in New Orleans, eager to end their journey and join the celebration.
Rebekah picked every step with great care. She didn’t want to end up falling off the debris-strewn wharf into the muddy currents below. Was it always so dirty here? In Natchez, the wooden platform used for loading and unloading goods and passengers had been freshly swept and its planks uniformly spaced and flat. Here the gaps between boards looked huge, and some of them were splintered and lying at odd angles. She had avoided one that looked too rotten to hold the weight of a baby, much less one of the tired passengers.
She reached for Aunt Dolly’s hand when they came to a spot where the barricade had been removed so they might enter the town. Her nose wrinkled at the sight before them. The streets were mud-choked, rutted canals that grabbed at horses’ hooves and the wheels of the carts they dragged. Thank goodness there were raised walkways for people, but what Rebekah could see of them showed them to be barely cleaner or in better repair than the wharf.
“This way, ladies.” Neither Rachel nor her adopted son, Andrew, seemed perturbed by the mayhem or the general state of decay around them. She waved a hand toward an open carriage.
“However did you secure such an excellent conveyance?” Dolly smiled at the ebony-faced driver who offered her a helping hand. “I was sure we would have to walk or at best ride in the back of a wagon.”
Rebekah waited for Dolly to pull in her skirts somewhat before settling herself next to her aunt, their backs to the driver’s seat. Rachel smiled widely as she and her son took the seats on the opposite side of the carriage. “The boat captain arranged it. He apparently told someone that the hero’s family had arrived.”
The driver closed the door and clambered nimbly onto his wooden seat. He said something to the horse, but Rebekah could not understand his words.
“What language is he speaking?”
“In his last letter, Andrew told me that the inhabitants here speak more French than English. It makes sense when you think about it. France, through her Acadian settlers, built the town.”
“Humph.” Dolly raised her brows. “I’ve heard French all my life, but I didn’t understand him any better than Rebekah. It must be some local dialect.”
Rebekah nodded her head and looked around at the people they were passing. Everyone seemed excited, if a little forward for her taste. Strangers waved at them—men in rough buckskins reminiscent of home, as well as uniformed men who made her ache to see Asher.
A loud noise made all four of the occupants turn their heads. Telltale wisps of smoke trailed from a raised pistol
. Had the man killed someone or just shot into the air? His dark face looked dangerous, and Rebekah noticed that the stranger wore gold jewelry around his neck like a woman. Her breath caught when their eyes met. He smiled, and her heartbeat accelerated. What a handsome—
“Rebekah.” Aunt Dolly’s voice was sharp in her ear. “Do not look at him.”
She jerked her head away and focused on her hands in her lap.
“Don’t be too hard on the girl.” Rachel’s voice was choked with laughter. “He was a charmer, and I doubt we’ll see him again.”
“Still, she must be aware of the dangers. You or I might not always be around to protect her.”
“True, but I can understand her curiosity.”
Several minutes passed before Rebekah dared to raise her gaze, and by then, the bold stranger had been left behind. As they got farther from the waterfront, the townspeople seemed even odder. She was beginning to see more women strolling along the walkways, but her mouth dropped open when she realized that several were allowing men to clasp them around their waists. Some were even kissing men! Right out on the street!
Would Asher expect her to allow him that freedom in this debauched setting? Well, he had better not. She had been raised properly, and he would have to respect that. But maybe she would allow him to hug her. A blush heated her cheeks at the thought. It had been more than a year since they’d seen each other. Surely she could allow him to show some delight at their reunion with a brief hug.
It would be so different from the last time. She wouldn’t be distraught, and he wouldn’t be trying to comfort her. No, this time it would be completely romantic. She could almost feel his arms around her waist, hear his heart beating against her cheek. . . .
The carriage stopped, and the pleasant thoughts ended. “Is this our hotel?” Rebekah asked.
The building was at least three stories high, but it leaned somewhat to the right, as though it had been wounded in the recent battle. Tantalizing odors of spicy meat and stews, however, emanated from somewhere nearby. She squared her shoulders. It would not be so bad. And it was worth it to see her beloved Asher.
The women disembarked and entered the shadowy front room of the hotel. The innkeeper was a short man with a bald head and round stomach, who bowed over and over again while wishing them a “bonju.” Even with her limited French, Rebekah knew the word was bonjour, but she smiled and waited behind the older women as they arranged for a suite of rooms and to have an early dinner brought up.
Her gaze wandered to the dining room, where a more sedate group of citizens sat at long wooden tables to eat and converse. She could tell from their dress that they were higher class, but still, they were unlike any other people she’d ever met in her life. Their voices drifted out of the room, the words melodic if incomprehensible.
A new couple entered from the street, and she could not tear her gaze away. The woman was stunning—tall and graceful with the most beautiful skin she’d ever seen stretched across high cheekbones. She had a generous mouth and dark eyes that hinted at exotic mysteries. The woman laughed at something the gentleman said, and they entered the dining room, greeting the other diners and being hailed in return.
“Come along.”
Her aunt’s words snagged Rebekah’s attention, and she followed her aunt to the room they would share, while Rachel and her son retired to the adjoining room.
Dolly and Rebekah hardly stopped for the next hour, getting their trunks emptied and instructing the chambermaids as to the placement and care of their clothing. Between commands, her aunt continually bemoaned having left Harriet at home.
Rebekah was too glad to be off the river and finally in New Orleans to quibble about who helped them unpack. She lovingly pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and placed it on the table next to her Bible.
The sounds of drums and marching feet caught her attention, and Rebekah flew to the window facing the street that had brought them to the hotel. Pushing open the wooden shutter, she gazed at the street, now turning orange under the rays of the setting sun.
As Dolly joined her at the window, a battalion turned the corner and marched with rough precision down the street. Their uniforms were streaked with dirt and mud, but their faces smiled as the onlookers cheered and clapped.
“Do you see him?” her aunt asked.
After frantically searching the men’s faces, Rebekah sighed her disappointment. “No, I don’t think so.” Still, they watched until the battalion disappeared from view.
Aunt Dolly leaned forward and pulled the shutter closed. “Even though it’s not as cold here as at home, I imagine the air will be quite cool tonight.”
Rebekah nodded and turned away from the window. “Would you like to see the gift I have for Asher?”
She looked toward the older woman, who frowned. “Do you think it’s seemly for you to give him a gift? You are not betrothed after all.”
Rebekah grabbed the cloth bundle and held it to her chest. “It’s only a handkerchief with his initials stitched on it. Remember when you had the parlor draperies replaced at home?”
Dolly nodded.
“The old linings still had some wear left, so I used them to make scarves and things. I even used some squares on the back side of the quilt we were working on.”
“How practical of you, dear, but there is plenty of nice cloth stored away at home.” Dolly patted her on the shoulder. “I sometimes forget that you were raised without the luxuries I take for granted. I suppose it will be acceptable for you to give the handkerchief to Asher. We will call it a congratulatory gift because of the victory.”
Rebekah breathed a sigh of relief at her aunt’s decision. She wanted to see Asher open her gift. Would his long fingers trace the outline of his initials? Initials that her very hands had stitched. And then would he place it in an inner pocket next to his heart? She sighed again. It would be perfect. She could hardly wait.
A knock on the door that separated their room from Rachel’s room signaled that dinner was ready. Before joining her companions for dinner, Rebekah took a moment to carefully tuck the white cloth into the top drawer of her bureau.
“Your aunt and I have had the most inspired idea,” Rachel greeted her as she took her place at the table. “I have discovered that there is going to be a victory ball at the Beaumonts’ tomorrow evening. I will be expected to arrive in time to partake of the dinner with my husband, but what if we surprise your young man by allowing you and Dolly to appear unannounced in the middle of the ball?”
Rebekah’s breath caught, and she could not stop herself from smiling. Perhaps she would finally be reunited with her love tomorrow.
Five
Asher straightened the cuff on his uniform and turned to face the window. The setting sun cast enough light on the pane to allow him to see his reflection. He practiced a smile and straightened his neckcloth. It wouldn’t do to appear slovenly at the victory celebration.
His smile widened. The politicians in Washington would have to give General Jackson his due now that he had soundly whipped the British forces. There was no doubt America owed her freedom to the intelligence and perseverance of one man. Asher was thrilled to have played a small part in the exciting events.
His smile dimmed a bit in the windowpane. There was only one small wisp of disappointment in his life these days. He missed his home. He closed his eyes and imagined his parents’ house, the walk swept clean of winter snow, a roaring fire in the parlor. He could almost taste his ma’s apple pie.
And Rebekah would be there, too, with her sparkling brown eyes and worshipful smile. How he ached to talk with her. No one understood him better than Rebekah.
He wanted to tell her about the friends he had made—white men, Indians, and French Acadians. He had been promoted several times and now held the rank of captain. And surely he would move even higher as his career followed General Jackson’s. Why, by the time he got home to Rebekah and his parents, he might even be a colonel. How surprised and proud they would b
e.
Rebekah would forgive him for postponing their future when she realized how much his decision to remain with the militia for the past year would benefit them. His pay would provide a nice home for them, while his connections would give them entrée into the finest circles of Nashville society. His Rebekah would be the best hostess in the whole country—charming, sweet, and talented. Together, they would make a name for themselves. There was no telling what all they would attain once peace had been declared.
Asher nodded at his reflection and drew a deep breath. He swept his palm across the hair that tended to fall down over his forehead, only to feel it fall forward once again. With a grunt, he strode to the tall bureau that stood on the far side of his bed and grabbed the pomade. As he returned to the window, someone knocked at his door.
“Time to leave!”
Asher subdued the lock of hair and turned to the door, joining the other young officers who were making their way down the stairs and across the French Quarter. They walked up St. Ann Street to the two-story mansion where the ball was being held.
Their arrival caused a bit of a stir as the society dames whispered behind their fans. He was reminded of the chicken yard back home. The older women were the laying hens, full of clucking and posturing to attract the attention of the rooster. The more timid “hatchlings” peeked over their chaperones’ shoulders but quickly hid their dark glances from the interested gazes of the soldiers.
Asher leaned against a column and watched the scene unfold before him. His ears were tickled by the accents as the guests mingled together. Several couples danced to the strains of a minuet, while dozens of people stood around talking. The parties he had attended with his parents in Nashville were as dull as a rusty saber in comparison to this glittering ensemble.
“That’s him, Papa. He’s the one I told you about—the one who rescued me that afternoon.” Asher turned to see the young lady whom he had found wandering the Quarter two weeks earlier. Amazing that they would run into each other so quickly in the press of guests.