Wild Dream

by Duncan, Alice

  “Always,” he snapped.

  “I expect I’m not fine enough for a grand gentleman like you, am I, Charley?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  Addie was surprised when Charley turned around and ran his hand through his hair as though he were quite distracted.

  “I’ll try harder, Charley, honest. I’m sure I can be a lady if I try.”

  He spun around again. “For pity’s sake, Addie, will you quit talking like that? You’re fine already. You’re a fine woman. You don’t need to be any simpering Georgia belle. You live out here in the territory where life isn’t like it was in Georgia before the war. Georgia isn’t like Georgia was before the war anymore. Will you get it out of your head that I’m some grand gentleman just come from the plantation?”

  “But you are, Charley,” Addie said plaintively.

  “I am not!”

  His bellow startled her and she flinched. His hand went to his hair again. Addie’d never seen a gentleman look so troubled. She was sure it was all her fault.

  “I’m sorry, Charley,” she whispered.

  “Stop it! Stop saying you’re sorry, blast it. I am not a gentleman, Addie. Just stop it.”

  “But—”

  “No! Just don’t say anything more, Addie. Please just get it through your head that I’m not a gentleman, southern or otherwise. You’re making me into something I’m not, and it’s driving me crazy.”

  Charley executed an abrupt, agitated circle on the porch. He stopped again, just as precipitately, and stared down at her. She could only look up at him, wondering what had made him so upset.

  His voice went softer when he said, “Please, Addie, please stop pretending. You’re a fine woman, but your head’s so stuffed with romantic nonsense that you can’t see reality when it’s staring you in the face.”

  She didn’t know whether or not he expected an answer, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “For heaven’s sake, please see me for what I am—a—well, not a gentleman, at any rate.”

  Addie managed a soft, “Pshaw,” and regretted it when Charley stiffened.

  “Oh, sweet heaven. I give up.” He grabbed the julep tray and stomped into the house, leaving Addie to peer after him in distress.

  It was not in Addie Blewitt’s nature to remain unhappy for too long at any given time. She had been reared on the frontier and knew fits, sulks and moods led only to disaster. Even though her aunt Ivy had filled her head from infancy with extravagant tales of gallant knights and dashing southern gentlemen, she’d also instilled in Addie a strong sense of responsibility. Addie knew it was up to her to mend the rift between herself and Charley.

  I’d better, anyway, she mused, gnawing on a finger. I don’t expect another knight’ll be ridin’ into the yard any time soon. Besides, she liked the one she had now.

  So, after allowing herself only a moment or two to wallow in bleak despair, Addie drew her tattered emotions together and resolved to take action.

  The first thing she did was remove her finger from her mouth. Ladies, she knew, did not chew on their fingers. Or their fingernails. Addie peered critically at her hands, turning them over and inspecting them closely. Even by the dim light afforded by the kerosene lantern, she could tell the skin was work-roughened and her nails looked ragged.

  Then and there she decided to give herself a manicure in the morning. And she also determined always, from this moment on, to use Aunt Ivy’s glycerin and rose-water cream every single time she washed her hands. It would be a good idea to refine all of her good-grooming habits, in fact. Resolving to create a regimen and follow it religiously, she vowed to write it in her diary that very night.

  She sighed when she saw her bare toes poking out from beneath her skirt. And that was another thing. She’d have to wear shoes. Even in the summer.

  The thought held little appeal. Shoes were cumbersome and hot, and Addie’s feet were used to breathing. But, for the sake of ladyship and her Prince Charming, she knew she must be willing to forego comfort.

  After all, now that she’d been forced to think about her situation rationally, she guessed she really shouldn’t expect a fine gentleman like Charley to condone her hoydenish behavior. The realization that she’d been behaving like a hoyden made Addie’s cheeks heat up.

  Why, he probably thinks I’m some kind of an Amazon. Addie, whose feet didn’t reach the porch floor, swung them back and forth in agitation.

  Also, she decided, she’d been entirely too casual ever since Charley and Lester rode here that fateful night. Why, she’d even told him to call her “Adelaide.” Addie was just certain a real lady would still be calling him “Mr. Wilde” and expecting him to call her “Miss Blewitt.”

  All right, I reckon it’s too late for me to tell him to call me “Miss Blewitt,” but from now on until we’re married, he’s “Mr. Wilde” to me.

  And how she’d remember to do that was a puzzle. Well, she’d just do it, was all. If Georgia ladies can do it, you can too, Adelaide Blewitt.

  By the time Addie finally climbed the stairs to go to bed, Charley had been ensconced in his borrowed bedroom for an hour. Addie’s aunt and Lester had not reappeared, but Addie figured it was their right, as an elderly couple, to take a few liberties. She sure wouldn’t tell on ‘em. Anyhow, Addie thought it was right romantic that the two of them had found one another so late in life. She heaved an expressive sigh.

  “Imagine,” she whispered as she gazed out her window at the starry sky, “bein’ as old as Aunt Ivy and finding the One.”

  Addie smiled softly as she stared into the sparkling heavens. She’d suffered a set-back in her grand design to attach Charley tonight; there was no mistaking it. But she’d recover. She knew herself to be a female of strong resolve.

  Not for Miss Adelaide Blewitt to waste away, pining for the One until she was old and deaf like Aunt Ivy. No, sirree. She had her knight in shining armor right here, under her very roof. She’d be boiled in oil before she let Charley Wilde get away.

  When she’d had her fill of staring at the moon and planning her and Charley’s future together, Addie set to work documenting her new plan of action in her diary. It took a good deal of thought, because Addie wasn’t used to considering her every action in terms of how a Georgia belle might behave. By the time she snuggled under her quilts, however, she was prepared to face the new day and Mr. Wilde in a manner fit to do justice to any number of grand southern ladies.

  # # #

  “Aunt Ivy and I will be glad to have you and Mr. Frogg accompany us to church this morning, Mr. Wilde. Our minister, Mr. Topping, delivers sermons of a most edifying nature.”

  Addie’s feet were killing her already, and she thought ironically that it just showed the power a body’s mind had over a body’s senses. For heaven’s sake, she wore shoes to church every Sunday of her life; her feet had never hurt before today. Today, though, only a few hours after she’d decided to behave like a lady, they ached fit to kill. And she still had to get through the whole rest of the day wearing them.

  “Beg pardon?”

  Addie’s mind veered away from her feet at Charley’s question. It wasn’t so much the question itself as the way he’d asked it. Addie looked over to find him staring at her, his eyebrows two high arches.

  She smiled genteelly. “I asked if you and Mr. Frogg would care to attend church with Aunt Ivy and me this morning, Mr. Wilde. The Reverend Mr. Topping is quite a dynamic speaker.”

  She noted with interest that Charley’s mouth worked uselessly several times before anything emerged. Good. Apparently he’d already noticed her efforts on his behalf. Of course, she’d had to utter a tiny fib in order to carry it off properly. If she’d told the truth, she’d have had to admit that Mr. Topping’s sermons probably made the angels snore. Addie wondered if all proper ladies uttered discreet untruths from time to time.

  Charley looked at Lester, as if for advice, but Lester continued chewing on his ham and didn’t offer up a word. I
vy smiled at Lester affectionately, and Addie felt an irrational surge of jealousy that it should be Ivy and not she whose Prince Charming seemed all sewed up.

  Still, she knew it was not merely unladylike, but also un-niecely to begrudge her beloved aunt the happiness of her Lester. Especially on Sunday, when a good Christian lady should think nothing but good of anybody. Besides, Addie would almost rather continue life princeless than to have Lester. Not that she didn’t like him.

  “Miss Adelaide?”

  Once more, Addie’s thoughts jerked back into the present. She smiled at Charley. “Yes, Mr. Wilde?”

  Charley’s eyes squinted up as though he were trying to see her better, and Addie was glad she’d decided to wear her new blue gown and her white pinafore with the starchy ruffles. She might not be a beauty, but by gum, she looked tidy as any old Georgia lady this morning. Besides, the blue of her gown looked good with her eyes.

  “Er—” Charley looked pained for a second, then shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Will you be joining us for church, Mr. Wilde? We generally take the wagon on Sundays so as not to get all dusty. There’s usually cold tea and cakes served after the sermon, too, at the Southern Methodist-Episcopal Ladies’ social hour.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, Miss Adelaide. I reckon I’ll stick around here today, though.”

  Addie fought her impulse to argue. A lady would not attempt to coerce a gentleman, not even to go to church, however much she might believe he would benefit from an improving sermon, provided he could stay awake and listen. This was especially true since Mr. Topping enjoyed such topics as the delight of family life and the benefits to be achieved through a happy marriage.

  “Very well, then,” she said with as serene a smile as she could manage. “Would you care for more ham, Mr. Wilde? Do you have enough syrup for your flapjacks?” She held up the pitcher of corn syrup invitingly.

  Charley stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown a second nose, and Addie was hard-pressed to keep from frowning. She endured, however, and he eventually mumbled, “No, thank you.” She set the pitcher down and resumed taking dainty bites of her own flapjacks and ham.

  “You look pretty as a picture today, Addie,” Aunt Ivy said. “That new dress fits just fine.”

  “Thank you, Aunt Ivy.” Addie purposely did not look at Charley as she didn’t want him to think she was fishing for compliments.

  Nevertheless, when Charley said, “Yes, you do look fine this morning, Miss Adelaide. Real fine,” a thrill of happiness shot through her.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Wilde. How very kind of you to say so.”

  Charley said, “Miss Adelaide—” then stopped, as if he wasn’t sure how to get his thought out.

  “Yes?”

  He cleared his throat and said quickly, “Are you mad at me, Miss Adelaide?”

  “Good heavens, no, Mr. Wilde! Have I given you the impression I’m angry with you?”

  “Well, not exactly, ma’am, but you keep calling me ‘Mr. Wilde.’”

  It was Addie’s turn to clear her throat. She was quite embarrassed when she bowed her head and admitted, “I recognize I’ve been much too forward, Mr. Wilde. From the first moment you rode into our yard, I’ve treated you to our rough western manners. I realized last evening that a fine Georgia gentleman must look askance at such relaxed habits as we’ve become accustomed to out here in the territory.”

  She knew her cheeks had gone pink when she lifted her head and added bravely, “I hope you will forgive me, Mr. Wilde. We’re so isolated here, we seldom meet such nice gentleman as you and Mr. Frogg.”

  Lester bumped his chair back, causing both Addie and Charley to give starts of surprise. It was just as well, thought Charley. He had absolutely no idea how to respond to Addie’s absurd assumptions.

  “What’s up, Lester?” he asked.

  Lester turned a dull scarlet and stared at the oilskin tablecloth. “Church.”

  “You’re going to church?” Charley could scarcely believe it when Lester nodded.

  “He’s going with me,” Ivy said, beaming at Lester. He ducked his version of a grin at her, and his face flamed hotter.

  “Well, I think that’s just fine, Mr. Frogg.” Addie peeked at Charley and asked, almost shyly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to go with us, Mr. Wilde?”

  Actually, Charley would have liked to do nothing better. The idea of accompanying this fetching creature, her deaf and delightful aunt, and one of his oldest friends to church appealed to a deep longing for peace and stability in Charley’s battered soul. It brought to mind similar excursions in his youth, when life had been carefree and gay and he’d been unfettered by war and responsibility. It brought to mind his family, something Charley missed with an almost unendurable ache in his heart.

  But no. He didn’t dare let himself be seduced by the attractive lure Addie and the thought of family held for him. He had men to take care of. He wasn’t sure exactly how to go about it, but he knew as well as he knew his name that he couldn’t do it in Rothwell.

  Sure as check, if they stayed here one of the band members would say something indiscreet sooner or later. Or that lady from Arleta would show up and pin that bungled robbery on them.

  He couldn’t risk it. His men depended on him to lead them, and lead them he would. On their own, they were like five random planets with no sun to anchor them. The band was all any of them had left.

  The six of them had lost everything in the war: jobs, friends, families, homes. Why, Charley sometimes thought if somebody had written down their life stories in a book, nobody’d believe it. A quick mental inventory gave him enough material for six novels.

  His own mother, father and little sister had died of influenza the first winter, and he’d come home just in time to sell the old homestead to pay the taxes. Lester’s sister had succumbed the second summer. George’s wife and boy died that same year. Peachy’d lost two brothers. Francis hadn’t had any family to begin with, but had lost his job and home to carpetbaggers. And Harlan. Poor old Harlan. First his wife died. Then his mother. Then, as if God couldn’t forego tormenting him, his father and brother lasted until Harlan returned home and then they died, too.

  Life was just too damned hard.

  Twelve men had left Georgia to go to war together and sworn to be true blue to each other and the band, since the band was their one link to home. Only six of them had returned. By rights the band had become Charley’s family now. He had to find those blasted rubies.

  “Thank you, Miss Adelaide and Miss Ivy, but I believe I’ll stay here this Sunday. I’ll be happy to attend church with you next week, if you’re kind enough to invite me.”

  “Oh, we will. Don’t you worry about that.”

  Addie spoke rather vehemently. Charley looked at her, surprised, and she seemed to recall she was trying to behave herself this morning. He couldn’t hide his grin when she swallowed and said fastidiously, “I mean, we shall certainly invite you next Sunday, Mr. Wilde. After all, it’s our Christian duty.”

  “I expect you’re right, Miss Adelaide.”

  “And a pleasure,” she added, as if she worried that he’d take exception to being considered a duty.

  “Thank you very much.”

  “It’s probably best for you to rest today anyway, Mr. Wilde. After all, you’ve been wounded.”

  “I believe you’re right. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Charley waved the wagon out of the farmyard, wondering how he’d ever be able to leave Miss Adelaide Blewitt. The thought of resuming his criminal life with the band, of riding off into the sunset and never seeing her again, was a truly dismal one. At the moment, however, Charley didn’t see that he had much choice.

  The men relied on him.

  Even though he knew the thought to be treacherous, he wished he could rely on them so completely. He couldn’t, though. There wasn’t a man in the band who hadn’t been blessed by the angels with musical talent. Unfortunately, Charley seemed to be the only o
ne blessed with a brain as well. He wished he could use it to think of a better plan to take care of his men than the one he’d come up with, but he hadn’t been able to so far.

  As a band of musicians, they’d succeeded brilliantly. As a band of robbers, they were about the most pitiful failures on the face of the earth. Two robberies. They’d attempted only two robberies so far, and they hadn’t succeeded at either. Charley shook his head sadly.

  As he turned to go back into the house, he hoped to blazes the sheriff was in church that morning.

  # # #

  Charley stood in the parlor for a good five minutes, trying to decide where he would hide the family jewels if he were Miss Ivy or Miss Adelaide Blewitt. All at once he remembered his own aunt, Margaret Ryder Wilde. Aunt Maggie used to hide her “mad money” in the sugar bowl.

  Thrusting aside the scruples which kept gnawing at him about stealing from the Blewitts, Charley headed to the kitchen. Deliberately, he made his mind’s eye conjure up the score to Bach’s “Concerto in F in the Italian Manner” so his conscience couldn’t smite him and make him cease his search.

  Chapter 9

  Charley was standing on a chair searching through an upper cupboard when he discovered that Fermin Small did not attend church.

  “Aha! I caught you, you varmint!”

  After his initial start of alarm at Fermin’s triumphant holler abated, Charley lowered his head and shook it.

  Turning, he frowned down at the sheriff. “I wish to blazes you’d stop sneaking up on me, Sheriff. You like to scare the tar out of me.”

  “That ain’t all I aim to do to you, you damned bandit.”

  The longness of Fermin Small seemed oddly accentuated when viewed from a kitchen chair, Charley noted with interest. Needless to say, Fermin had aimed his gun at Charley’s stomach.

  “Well, what do you want today, Small?”

  “I want you to get down off’n that there chair and come with me peaceful-like.”