by Mercy Levy
At eleven o’clock, the restaurant was closed, and everyone not headed to a party of their own, followed Will down the stairs. Meg sadly followed her aunt and uncle, wondering if they could really have any fun with the room so changed. She perked up her ears when she heard music floating up the staircase, and as she turned the corner, her jaw dropped in disbelief. It was as though nothing had happened.
The lights were burning bright, tables were out and a lively card game going. The piano was at the side of the small stage, and the casks were hanging above her head once more, when she looked up.
“How?” She whispered to Will. He grinned and winked at the barkeep, who waved his hands and shouted for the music and talking to cease.
“To our lady of the evening!” He called out, toasting Meg with an upraised glass. “The little lady who stayed behind and saved the evening, and the speakeasy!” Meg ducked her head and tried to hide behind Will.
“To Meg!” Alma chimed in, hugging her from behind. “To the southern belle who completely befuddled the cops, and saved New Year’s Eve!” eventually, the cheers died down and Meg was seated with her family at a table, a bottle of fine, aged scotch in front of them, listening to jazz that sounded so bright Meg would have believed it was springtime outside.
A few minutes before midnight, Will spoke to the pianist, who slowed the tempo of the music, and while a rolling jazz ballad was sung by the saxophone, He took Meg’s hand and led her to the dancefloor. Holding her tight, they circled the floor, her head resting against his heartbeat, until he tipped her face up so he could look into her eyes.
“You put yourself out on a limb for me,” He murmured, shaking his head. “There really isn’t a way to repay you, but is there any way to show you how much I appreciate you?” She smiled and sighed. She was already exactly where she wanted to be, in a frozen wonderland where she could read and play music and speak her thoughts. There really wasn’t anything better. So, she asked for the one thing only he could give her, then, and forever, as far as her heart was concerned.
“Bring me my luck for the new year, William.” She asked, pulling is face down to hers. “Kiss me now, and tomorrow, and as long as I can have you.”
He kissed her sweetly, then deepened it as cheers went up all around them and the clock was counted down. Nine, eight, seven… he told her loved her and kissed her again. Five four three…she told him she was his forever. The clock struck midnight, and the dipped her back and kissed her as deeply as he had ever done, until he took her breath away. He lifted her back to her feet and held her tight, staring into her eyes, glazed with need and desire.
“Oh, my sweet jazz darling. Happy New Year, my beautiful Meg.”
THE END
Emily
Joshua Returns Home
Joshua Prentis watched the roads become more and more familiar as he drew closer to his home just outside Charleston. The trains were running again, but he had chosen to wait for the military convoy and now rode home with other wounded men. He needed the extra time to think. In fact, he had spent the last three weeks in the hospital doing very little else. Still, he had no solution to his problem, or his heartache.
The two letters in his breast pocket had arrived on the same day. Whether by happenstance or deliberate action he knew not, but the effect had been devastating all the same. The first letter was from the new owner of his home and family property in Charleston. The small plantation that had been in the family for three generations, now belonged to Gregory Livingston, a land-bound profiteer who had capitalized on the war by cozying up to the military leaders of the North and buying commandeered land from them for pennies on the dollar. It was legal theft, and with both his parents dead, Joshua had no one to protect his holdings while he had lead his men in Baton Rouge.
Joshua spit out the side of the wagon. Weeks later, and he still felt the icy murderous rage building in him at the thought of that parasite on his land. At least siding with the North meant that Livingston couldn’t get away with enslaving Joshua’s servants and field hands.
Joshua’s parents had borne years of derision for choosing not to own slaves. All of Charleston soon went quiet on the subject once the small plantation began producing twice that of their larger neighbors. The family had used the profits from their cotton production to invest in textiles and then purchased a storefront where Joshua’s mother had made a name for herself as a seamstress. Both his parents had passed on since then. His father had been thrown from his hunter and never recovered from internal injuries. His mother had been consumptive. As the fighting reached Charleston, she was cut off from the medicine she needed, and she succumbed to the illness in a short time.
It was in the second letter that Joshua had learned of his mother’s passing. The communication in its entirety was brief, but the unfeeling way that Rachel, his former affianced, had reported his mother’s death was eclipsed only by the coldness of her goodbye. As it turned out, the Prentis lands were not all that Gregory Livingston had acquired from Joshua while he was battling for the Confederacy. Gregory had money, title, and land, Rachel had informed Joshua, things he himself had once held, but no longer. She could not rely on “half a man” to provide for her, and she summarily released him from the promises he made to her before he had gone to war.
His chest tightened at the burning memory of her passionate pleas to him, that he promised to return to her, safe and whole. At the time, he believed it was his well-being she feared for. Too late, he understood that she feared only for her own future as a moneyed and respected wife of social standing. Hate rose in his throat like bile and he spit over the side boards again, half-choked by his own emotions.
Joshua’s eyes were drawn up and around him, as the sounds and smells of home saturated his senses and made his heart race. Home. The bustle of Charleston made unmanly tears shine in his eyes as they drew into town amid the waves and smiles of townspeople for the returning soldiers. He looked at the other men in the wagon with him, all badly injured in the fight, all discharged with honor for their valiant loyalty to the Confederacy. He saw tears in every eye that met his, some of the youngest with wet tracks down their dusty cheeks of mixed sorrow, relief, and happiness at being home.
Joshua banged on the side of the wagon as he neared the City Market. He had no home to speak of, but the textile store was still his, and would remain so as long as he drew breath. The driver pulled up to a stop and jumped down to assist Joshua. The store was open and Joshua’s pulse raced as he limped inside, clumsily climbing the steps to the boardwalk with his crutches. The entire room went silent, the only sound heard was the pins that the apprentice seamstress dropped from her mouth as she gaped at the sight of the dusty soldier on crutches, glaring around the store, looking for a target to kill.
Mrs. Celia McGovern looked up from the package she was wrapping. Her face went white as ash under her jet black hair as she stared at Joshua. After a moment of shock, her face split into a grin and tears poured down her cheeks unheeded as she stumbled in her haste to get around the counter.
“You’re home! You are HOME!” She shrieked, throwing herself at her husband’s best friend and confidante. Joshua leaned heavily on his crutches to hold himself upright against the onslaught of affection from his diminutive friend.
“Good afternoon, Celia.” Joshua chuckled as Celia held him at arms’ length, examining him. “What is it that you are doing here today?” He was pleasantly surprised to see his mother’s storefront as neat as a pin, exactly the way she had kept it.
“Well,” Celia bit her lip and glanced around. “I believe it is best if Maddox apprises you of the situation at hand.” She hugged him around his waist and beamed at him. “Get yourself to our home and meet my husband there. You can get cleaned up and we will feed you supper. I have everything here provided for, and I will let Millie close up after her last fitting.” With the last, Celia gestured toward the still gaping apprentice kneeling before a stately customer on a fitting pedestal.
“Afternoon, Joshua.” The woman smiled and nodded in his direction. It is good to see you home and, well, mostly whole.” Mrs. Cavanaugh, for that’s who the woman was, had been a patron for years, and seeing her made Joshua smile in spite of himself.
“Mrs. Cavanaugh, I had hoped to see such loveliness upon my return, but feared that it could not be.” Joshua bent as far at the waist as the crutches would allow. Mrs. Cavanaugh laughed, a full-throaty sound that made Joshua smile.
“Ah, my boy. You are a wicked one. Your father would be proud.” Mrs. Cavanaugh bent her greying head to one side and gazed at him, bright blue eyes searching his face. “I am saddened by your loss, young man.” She said, “Your mother was a good friend. I miss her dearly, and I am pained by her passing in such a manner.” Joshua nodded.
“Thank you, Madam. She was very fond of you. I will do my best to live up to her reputation, even if my own fingers are not nimble with needle and thread.” Mrs. Cavanaugh nodded her head in the apprentice, Millie’s, direction.
“She does good work. If you have half the business sense your father did, you will thrive and continue to be a boon to this city as proprietor.” Joshua bowed at the shoulder in deference before responding.
“I am deeply grateful for your words, Madam.” He brushed gestured at himself with a crutch. “I do believe I must go and make myself presentable, before I actually start harming my family name.” He smiled gently at the women in the store and spared a last appreciative glance to Celia, who smiled and nodded in return. Joshua slowly made his way down the boardwalk mentally cringing at the thump, thump, of his crutches and the stares from passersby as he made his way to the McGovern land just outside the edge of town.
Mr. Mickleby, an old tinker who used to do business with Joshua’s father, was passing through and gave Joshua a ride in his wagon, chatting companionably all the while. Mickleby either didn’t notice, or didn’t care that Joshua remained quiet, and was happy to fill him in on town gossip and news from other soldiers who had returned home from other battlefronts. The old man’s casual conversation passed the time quickly and put Joshua at ease. It was still early afternoon when Joshua arrived at the honeysuckle draped plantation house, just in time to see Maddox ride up on his chestnut mare.
“What ho!” Maddox called out as Joshua clambered down from the wagon while Mr. Mickleby held his crutches. “Look what the dog dragged home.” He laughed and pulled Joshua down from his precarious perch, nearly lifting him off his feet in a giant bear-hug. “You are a sight for sore eyes, brother.” Joshua grinned at his friend and held him at arms’ length, examining him.
“Have you grown taller?” Joshua asked. Maddox snorted and shook his head before replying.
“Nay, you’re just stooping on account of those crutches you wear.” His smile faded. “We were worried when we received word your battalion had suffered such heavy casualties.” Joshua’s face grew grim at the memory of his final battle, and his throat closed over any words he would speak. “Joshua.” Maddox shook him by his shoulders, “We are simply grateful you are returned to us. We will help you fill in the spaces as you need.” He clapped his friend on the back, nearly setting him on his backside. “Let’s get some sweet tea in you, and clean clothes on your back.”
Maddox watched carefully, but offered no assistance as Joshua fought his way up the steps on his crutches. The pretty young house-girl lead him to a chair on the veranda and placed a tall, cold glass of sweet tea in his hand. Joshua had a fight ahead of him to restore his land and family fortune. But, it was good to be home.
2. It is Not for Man to be Alone
Celia sighed in frustration and glared at Joshua across the table. Even by candlelight, he could see the fire in her bright blue eyes. Maddox leaned back in his chair and hid a smile behind his hand as he studiously examined his glass of wine.
“You ought to give up the fight, Joshua.” Maddox chortled. “I’ve seen this face before. You do not wish to be on the losing side if it.” Celia shot a venomous glance in her husband’s direction before leveling her gaze on the crestfallen man before her once more.
“Celia.” Joshua pleaded, his hands spread in front of him in surrender. “We’ve been going rounds about this for weeks. I’m living back in my house, I’m running the store, I am fine. I certainly do not need a skirt around to make my life complete.” He ran his hands through his hair, pulling it from the thong that held it back from his face. “Millie is doing well enough for me to hire a second seamstress, if you no longer desire to work in my shop.” He raised his hands higher as she leaped up from her seat, hurt and anger on her face. “Or stay, you know you’re the best seamstress in Charleston. Even mother always said so.” He cleared his throat and turned to his friend for support. Maddox set down his glass and rubbed his face with his hands.
“Sit down woman!” Maddox growled at his wife, earning another vicious glare as she sat back down in her chair and gently smoothed her skirt over her knees. “Joshua,” he continued, waving a hand toward his friend, “Celia is not wrong. You know I would have made all the same arguments as you, once upon a time.” He smiled at his wife, melting her glacier stare and bringing a flush to her cheeks. “When Celia came to me, I needed no one. Now, I cannot imagine a life without her.” Maddox leaned forward in his chair. “You a helpmate. You would benefit from marriage.” Joshua nodded. It was true that being a married man would elevate him in the eyes of the townspeople and make rebuilding his family’s business easier.
“I don’t want a woman. I have no energy left for that enterprise.” Joshua’s shoulders sagged as he talked. “What good does it do me to send away for some mistress. What woman would accept a broken man with no holdings, forced to be a tenant on his own land?” Maddox shrugged.
“This is why Celia’s plan is so good.” The big man’s face lit up. “You answer the advertisement and describe your needs. If no one replies, we will leave you be to become an old bachelor. If you receive a response, you have to follow through. A…a business arrangement, as it were.” Maddox grinned at the look of resigned defeat on his friend’s face. “You will not regret it, I assure you.” Joshua snorted.
“I already regret it.” He thought for a moment. “How do I know what to write? I am not an eloquent man, Maddox. You know that.” Celia chuckled softly.
“And you think my Maddox is eloquent?” she sniffed. “I took pity on the man when I responded to him. All for the best, as it turns out.” She smiled, love-light shining from her eyes as she gazed at her bear-like husband. “Who else would have loved him as much?” Celia turned to Joshua. “I will write the letter for you. Simply leave me instructions as to what you prefer, and I will send it.”
Defeat settled in Joshua’s bones. He sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. He looked again at his best friend for some sign of loyalty against this treacherous woman. Maddox grinned at him and shrugged. All was lost, and all three of them knew it.
“I will write my own letter. Thank you, Madam.” Celia kicked her feet under the table in delight, but carefully kept her face pleasantly blank. “Oh, don’t pretend that you are not amused at my discomfiture, Celia. He shook a finger at her across the table. “And do not presume to send any correspondence that I do not read first.” Celia nodded gravely in agreement, with every intention of disobeying the order.
There was no need to tell him that the letter she was planning to send was already written. No necessity to inform him that his mail order bride had already been hand chosen by her and would leave New York for Charleston as soon as Celia sent for her. Oh, his bride to be would read his letter, all right, along with hers, of course. The poor dear needed the warning. Joshua would be a difficult husband.
Clasping her hands tightly, she fought the urge to dance around the table and kiss Joshua on the cheek. No, he would fight this to the end, she knew. However, she had made a promise to her husband to ease his best friend’s pain. If keeping that promise meant fulfilling one to a friend of her own, well, that
was just efficiency, and Celia was nothing, if not an efficient woman.
3. An Exchange of Letters
My dearest Emily,
I am grateful to hear of your safe arrival at the Port of New York. I humbly apologize for the delay in my return of favor. I received great pleasure at word that you were en route from England. Thank you so much for inquiring as to my husband’s health. I cannot express how grateful I am that his illness has finally passed. Although he was distraught when he was unable to fight, as a selfish wife who has no part in this war, I gave thanks to God that he remained home.
I understand your concern at burdening your aunt for much longer, as your uncle and cousin have yet to return from their military assignments. I have done my best to procure a permanent station for you here in Charleston, and hope the Northern control of the roads grants you safe passage. Enclosed with this missive is a letter from your potential partner, Captain Joshua Prentis. You may recall him from previous correspondence from me, as he is a dear friend of our family. He is a man of some position, with means to provide for a wife. He is a decorated soldier of the Confederate army and respected by the people of the south.
The Prentis family is known for their textiles and if you are amenable, a position as a seamstress is available in their storefront. My dear Emily, I know how fond you always were, of needlepoint and sewing. He is the same man of whom I have spoken praise in the past. I realize he has only grown more infirm of heart as his body has begun to heal. There is risk of a loveless marriage in this undertaking, Emily, but I believe you are the brightness he is missing in his days. You are in my heart, my friend. May you find what you seek in Capt. Prentis’ epistle and find it agreeable to come to us in Charleston.