Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  “She knows what gentlemen need, Charley. Not men.”

  Addie’s cheeks had gone pink with indignation, so Charley knew she wasn’t joshing him. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Adelaide. I—I just guess I didn’t know there was a difference between gentlemen and—well—men.”

  She giggled and gave his arm a playful pat. “Oh, Charley, you’re such an old silly. I thought for a minute you were serious.”

  Charley wondered whether if he could catch one end of the tangled skein of Miss Adelaide Blewitt’s thought processes he might, by careful extrication, eventually find himself at the other end and therefore understand what she was talking about. He considered telling her he’d been most serious and decided against it.

  “Why, Aunt Ivy’s taught me everything a lady in Georgia needs to know about how to keep a fine gentleman happy, Charley. I didn’t know if I’d ever find a gentleman to practice on. That was before you came along.” She peered up at him again, and Charley was appalled to see the almost worshipful expression in her eyes.

  “I don’t reckon I’m much of a gentleman,” he murmured repressively.

  “Now, isn’t that just the sort of thing you would say, Charley Wilde?”

  “Is it?”

  “Why, of course, it is. You’re such a gentleman, you won’t even let me call you one.”

  Since Charley felt his rational mental mechanism tilt and feared himself to be on a perilous slide toward absolute bewilderment, he decided he wouldn’t pursue this line of talk. Besides, they were at the house now, and Addie finally let him go. Thank God. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to restrain his ignoble impulses if she kept hanging on him like that.

  Supper would have been a pleasant meal if Lester hadn’t looked like a frightened hare staring into the ravening maw of a hungry coyote the whole time. And it didn’t help that Addie kept up a constant string of ingenuous talk and Ivy hadn’t begun to use her hearing horn, either.

  If Addie wasn’t petting Charley on the arm and telling him what a wonderful cornet player and fine gentleman he was, she was shrieking at her aunt. Over and over, Addie said that Lester was not only the best baritone horn player in the universe, but also about the kindest gentleman on the face of the earth to go to town to fetch the flour.

  Charley was unable to sort out the entire conversation, but he was sure Addie’d even compared himself and Lester to the knights of old once or twice. He wanted to tilt his head to one side, whack it on the other side and dislodge about a thousand words.

  Then, after supper, Charley attempted to rescue Lester from the ladies and found he couldn’t pry Lester out of his chair. Fearing his oldest friend had gone ‘round the bend, Charley grabbed Lester’s shoulder and whispered, “Come on, Lester, let’s you and me go outside for a minute.”

  Charley almost fell down when Lester shook his head like a spaniel exiting a stream. Good grief, this looked bad. He sat next to Lester, put a comforting arm around his shoulder and leaned close. “Come on, Lester. It will be all right. I’ll take you outside and we can talk for a few minutes.”

  Lester executed another shake. He looked toward the two women who had begun the washing-up. Lester’s eyes had taken on a panic-stricken cast that worried Charley. Then Lester mouthed the word, “Ivy,” and cast another significant glance toward the kitchen sink.

  Suddenly an incredible thought charged into Charley’s brain, rampaging like a Texas longhorn on loco weed. He gaped at Lester for a full minute while the bullish thought tore through his preconceived notions, uprooted them, and flung them willy-nilly into the air.

  At last, when he thought he could speak without hollering, Charley said, “You mean you want to be with Ivy?”

  Immediately, Lester turned scarlet and ducked his head. He looked mortified when he nodded.

  Charley’s comforting hand dropped from Lester’s shoulder as if it had suddenly caught fire. “Good grief.”

  Lester shrugged and muttered, “Ivy says we gonna spoon.”

  Charley peered at the women at the sink. Well, shoot. They were an even more dangerous pair than he’d suspected.

  It was too much for him to take in. In order to escape Addie, he grabbed his cornet and went out to the apple orchard.

  Good grief. Lester. And Ivy. This was terrible.

  He sat under his apple tree, drew his knees up, and draped his hands over them. His cornet dangled from his fingers and Charley stared into the sunset.

  Lester and Ivy spooning. Good grief.

  Peering through the leafy apple branches, he beheld a splendid sky smeared with reds, oranges, yellows and pinks. The view was enough to inspire an artist to brilliance, balanced as it was with the flat land beyond the apple orchard. The prairie seemed to go on forever until it met the sky somewhere in infinity.

  Charley forgot about Lester and Ivy in his contemplation of the landscape. He’d never been in country like this before. His home in Georgia had been wet and full of trees, bushes, moss and other green growing things. Until he moved West, he’d never considered what a desert might look like, or how a body might go about living on one. If he’d thought about a desert at all, he was sure he’d never picture apple orchards or farms.

  Or Addie Blewitt.

  Charley shook his head. The Blewitts did all right here. They owned a tidy little farm, even if it was falling into disrepair here and there. Charley itched to fix it up. He’d chosen carpentry because carpentry, like cornet playing, was something he loved.

  There wasn’t an abundance of water here, but Calhoun Creek ran through the town of Rothwell and right beside their farm. The ground was even grassy next to the river. Although he’d never have considered the possibility, he guessed it was sort of pleasant in this part of the world.

  The sunset sure was pretty, anyway. And the subtle, sweet fragrance of apple blossoms filled the air, precious because it was unexpected. Not like the magnolias and gardenias back home that hit a body over the head with their thick perfume.

  Charley’s musical soul stirred at the elusive beauty of the apple trees and all those colors slashed across the sky between their branches. A fork of lightning split the palette of the heavens for a second, and Charley felt awe swell in his breast. By Jupiter, this New Mexico Territory was something special, all right.

  Moved by his experience of the evening, the artist in him responded, and Charley lifted his horn to his lips.

  Addie followed the simple strains of “Amazing Grace” out to the apple orchard. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw Charley sitting under the tree and playing the beautiful old hymn. It was one of Addie’s favorites. She knew this was yet another sign that he and she were destined for one another.

  She stood apart from him, her hands clasped in front of her, not wanting to interrupt the heavenly moment with talk. She didn’t think she’d ever heard anything so lovely in her life.

  When the last note faded in the evening air, Addie heaved a gigantic sigh. Charley’s head jerked around. When he saw her, he sighed, too, dropped his head and muttered, “It figures.”

  There was, he guessed, no escape. This was his punishment for having succumbed to the rigors of his life and turning to crime instead of standing firm and—and—and what? Starving to death? Or breaking up the band and leaving his less capable fellows to flounder under their own devices? They’d never survive. He knew it. It didn’t seem fair, somehow.

  “That was beautiful, Charley.” Addie’s voice was thick with emotion.

  “Thank you.”

  She moved closer. “You’re about the finest cornet player I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  He peered up at her curiously. “You heard very many cornet players before me, Miss Adelaide?”

  She looked confused for a minute, then dropped her gaze. “Well, I guess not.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  She hurried over and assumed her perch on the fence. “But you are good, Charley. I know you are. Even if I haven’t heard many other players, I know you’re
good.”

  Addie began to swing her feet back and forth and didn’t understand why Charley turned his head abruptly away.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She peered down at him, but he didn’t look at her. He had the prettiest hair, she thought for the millionth time. He had fine eyes, too. They were deep and dark and mysterious. Perfect for her Prince Charming.

  Sighing again, Addie let her head drop back and simply gazed into the glory of the heavens for a moment, breathing in the enticing fragrance surrounding them and thinking of Charley. She felt truly fine this evening. It was so pleasant to sit here with Charley after supper on a choice spring evening.

  “Why are there arrows in the ceiling of the barn?”

  Charley’s gruff question surprised her. Then she felt silly. Those stupid arrows. Oh, well, she guessed he might as well know.

  “I was tryin’ to learn to shoot with a bow and arrow a while back.”

  At last he looked up at her. “So you shot arrows into the ceiling of the barn?”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, I don’t believe it was all my fault, Charley. The bow was really, really big—near as big as me—and I couldn’t quite get the hang of it. The arrows wouldn’t go straight. Kept arcing upwards and getting stuck in the ceiling. The man who taught me—tried to teach me—didn’t speak English very well, and he finally got frustrated and gave up.” She frowned. “I’ll bet if he’d had just a tiny bit more patience, I’d have got the hang of it.”

  “I see.”

  Silence fell between them. In the distance, a coyote yipped and was answered by its mate. An owl hooted. A second owl hooted back. It was a night crafted for couples, Addie decided. She felt lazy and happy and glad to be out here with Charley.

  “Why are there ribbons on them?”

  “Hmmm?” Addie looked down to discover Charley watching her feet swing.

  “The arrows. Why are there ribbons on the arrows?”

  “Oh. Well, because I thought they were pretty. Aunt Ivy said the knights of old used to tie ribbons given to them by their ladies onto their weapons and around their sleeves and such. I thought it was a—a sweet thing to do, so I tied some onto my arrows. Then they got stuck in the ceiling of the barn. I don’t mind ‘em there, really. I think they look kind of nice there, when they blow in the breeze.”

  She smiled and felt dreamy when she began to relate an old story Ivy had told her time out of mind. Addie used to sit and think about knights and her prince for hours and hours. And now he was here. Right here. With her. My, my.

  “The knight would tie his lady’s standard onto his lance and go off into battle with a token of her love to keep his heart warm on cold nights. He’d kneel on the ground and pray to God for courage in battle and then kiss his lady’s ribbon. Then he’d ride off to fight the enemy invigorated, ready to slay the infidels and ride back to England covered with honor and glory.”

  “If he was slaying infidels, I don’t expect he’d be riding his horse back to England.”

  “No?” It didn’t sound as though Charley shared her delight in her aunt Ivy’s tales of English knights. Addie felt a twinge of disappointment.

  “No. If he was slaying infidels, I expect he’d be in some Arab country. He’d have to take a boat back home.”

  “Oh.”

  After a second or two, Charley said, “I’ve been in a battle or two, Miss Adelaide. I think your aunt Ivy’s got it wrong.”

  “Why, Charley, you sound crabby. Maybe you were just in the wrong regiment.”

  Charley wrenched his gaze away from Addie’s ankles and looked up at her for a moment. “I don’t think so,” he said curtly.

  Well, Addie didn’t guess she’d argue with him about it. It seemed a shame he couldn’t share her romantic daydream, though. It was such an attractive one.

  As if he were reading her mind, Charley said softly, “War isn’t romantic, Miss Adelaide. There’s not one single thing about it that’s romantic.”

  “Oh.”

  Disconcerted by his voice, which was low and almost vibrated with suppressed emotion, Addie decided she’d let the matter drop. She was dissatisfied, though. Still, Aunt Ivy had told her gentlemen didn’t usually share a lady’s sentiments about such things. She reckoned her Charley was just one of those unsentimental gentlemen.

  “Anyway, it’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it, Charley?”

  After a second or two, Charley’s grunt was followed by a grudging, “I reckon.”

  A moment or so later, he asked, “Does your aunt have a hearing horn, Miss Adelaide?”

  Startled by the abrupt change in topics, Addie said, “What? Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, she does.”

  “Doesn’t she like to use it?”

  With a giggle, Addie said, “She’s tryin’ to impress Lester, Charley. She thinks her horn’s ugly.” Her giggle stopped abruptly and she frowned. “It’s mighty hard communicatin’ with her when she won’t use it, though.”

  She looked down and discovered Charley peering at her again. “Maybe you could use some of those ribbons of yours and decorate it for her.”

  He sounded the faintest bit sarcastic, but Addie was so struck by his suggestion she didn’t take exception. “Why, what a brilliant idea, Charley!”

  He grunted again. “Right.”

  “I’m serious. That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard. I’ll bet Aunt Ivy’d be proud to use her horn if it looked nice.”

  Another grunt, this time not followed up with words.

  Undaunted, Addie breathed in a deep whiff of apple blossoms and decided to drop the topic of hearing horns. “And don’t the blossoms smell sweet?”

  Charley added another grunt to his list.

  “I declare, I think the magnolias have never smelled so glorious as they do right this evening.”

  Charley had been glaring at the rocky ground of the apple orchard, but at her observation he lifted his head and stared at her hard. Magnolias? He couldn’t believe she’d said that. “There isn’t a magnolia tree in a thousand miles, Miss Adelaide.”

  She looked at him as though he’d just murdered her pet canary and Charley relented. “But I suppose the apple blossoms have a certain merit.”

  Her unhappy expression eased a bit and he felt marginally less like a school-yard bully.

  His hope that she’d stop prattling shattered when she said, “You know, Charley, I used to read all about the war when it was going on. Papa and Aunt Ivy would get the newspapers from El Paso every month or so. It just about broke my heart when General Stonewall Jackson died. Why, I used to sing ‘Stonewall Jackson’s Way’ all the time. I do believe he was the most gallant southern gentleman in the whole noble conflict. Don’t you?”

  Charley picked up a pebble and heaved it at an apple tree. It hit with a satisfying thwack, but he still felt grumpy. Memories of dead comrades crawled through his brain like poisonous snakes. Damnation, where did girls get these idiotic notions about wars and generals and crap, anyway? He glanced at Addie’s flesh again when her ankle swished by his head and his irritation grew.

  What was the matter with this girl? All her airs and notions about proper southern gentility, and she didn’t have an ounce of sense about men. Why, they were out here alone together in the middle of the night. He could take her virtue as easy as anything if he were a different sort of person. Not all the criminals in the world were as self-controlled as he was; Charley was almost certain of it. Shoot, he read the papers, too. He forced himself to look away from her. It’s a good thing he wasn’t a different sort of desperado, is all.

  “Well, Miss Adelaide,” he said at last, “I don’t reckon as to how I’d consider it especially noble or gallant, getting myself shot by my own men and bleeding to death in a puddle of mud. Of course, that’s just my personal opinion. I’d allow another man to make up his own mind about that one.”

  He didn’t look up at her after he rapped out his
little speech, afraid her big gray eyes would make him soften his brutal assessment of General Jackson’s demise. Blast it, this girl needed to swallow a big dose of reality. These romantic fancies of hers were too foolish. Too absurd.

  “Oh.”

  The disappointment he heard in the one word almost made him unclench his teeth and modify his surly declaration. Defiantly, he clamped down on his urge and held his tongue.

  Addie sounded less confident when she observed, “I’ll bet you miss Georgia, Charley.”

  He gave her yet another grunt and declined to comment, mostly because he did miss Georgia. He missed the Georgia of his boyhood and early manhood, before the war, when things had been grand. He didn’t miss the Georgia he’d left behind, beaten to her knees, burned, battered, bleeding, ruined.

  Moderately encouraged, Addie continued. “I’ll bet the spring evenings in Georgia must be just about heaven, with all the birds singin’ and all the flowers bloomin’. Why, I’ll just bet you miss that somethin’ awful, Charley. I think it’s a shame you have to be out here on this ol’ desert, when you could be back home in Georgia, playin’ your horn and all.”

  It was the wistfulness he heard in her voice that did Charley in. He sprang to his feet.

  “Damn it all, Miss Adelaide, the spring evenings in Georgia are hot and muggy and full of bugs. The birds don’t sing at night, anyway. Besides, the place is burned out and crawling with carpetbaggers. I’d rather be here in the freedom of the west than in Georgia any day of any week in any year. Believe me.”

  He towered over her and felt like a beast when she stilled her restless leg-swinging and looked up from her perch on the fence into his face. Her eyes were huge dark pools in the uncertain light, and he could see sadness in them. But he wouldn’t play this stupid fanciful game of hers, damn it.

  Her, “Oh, Charley,” was soft as eiderdown, but it pierced his heart like one of her ribbon-tied arrows. “I’m so sorry to have bothered you.” He flinched when she slid from the fence and began to walk back toward the house, her head bowed.

  “Damn it, Miss Adelaide, you talk a lot of romantic nonsense. There’s nothing good about war, and there’s nothing good about Georgia anymore, either. You have to face the world as it is, not as you want it to be.”