Ashes in the Wind

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “You little sneak,” the woman sneered “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

  Alaina met the threatening daggers that came at her from Roberta’s glower, smiling leisurely. “If you’re talking about this morning, Robbie, had I thought of it, I might have done much better. There’s just something about having that Yankee under the same roof that makes me more than a bit jumpy.” She spread her hands helplessly. “I can’t even take a bath until he’s gone or in bed. And that reminds me.” She hurried about the room, gathering her nightwear. “I’d better get my bath now that he’s tucked away for the night.”

  “Alaina!” Roberta exploded. She reached out to halt her cousin, then froze when she saw the steel in the suddenly dark gray eyes.

  “Say what you will, Roberta.” Alaina unconsciously mimicked Cole’s soft, threatening tone and glanced pointedly at Roberta’s outstretched hand. “But don’t ever touch.”

  “Stay away from Cole,” Roberta spat in frustrated rage. “Do you hear me, you little brat!”

  “Like I said,” Alaina stressed the last word coldly. “I don’t see how that’s possible now.”

  She slammed the door and hurried down the stairs before her cousin could catch her. Once within the haven of the pantry, Alaina released a long sigh of relief. Whatever Roberta’s new status happened to be, the woman seemed bent upon making it even more pronounced.

  Though only moments before Alaina had seemed assured of herself, her countenance now hinted of uncertainty and dismay. It was strong in her mind that a real lady would never have entered such a shameful charade as she had done with Cole, and most certainly would never have let it progress so far. But Cole’s inability to distinguish between the two women he had most recently made love to savaged her pride and fed her anger, possibly more than Roberta’s trickery.

  Alaina snatched off her boyish garb and crushed it disdainfully beneath her feet. A tall mirror had been moved into the pantry, and in it she saw the incongruous vision of Al’s dirty hair and besmudged face and, beneath it all, the ever-maturing form of a young woman clad in childish undergarments. The long gold chain gleamed around her neck and, weighted by the small, shiny medallion, dipped between her round breasts. With trembling fingers, Alaina lifted it and went closer to the lamp to inspect it. A coat of arms was in bold relief on one side, its main element being two winged ravens. She turned the piece and stared. Engraved in fine, ornate script under the smooth, polished gold were the words, property of c. r. latimer.

  The words tore into her brain with a rending impact that fairly staggered her. Yet she could not afford to put the thing aside. If Roberta was the one who had taken the key to Cole’s apartment, which Alaina highly suspected now, no hiding place in the house would be safe from the woman’s snooping. If worse came to worse, and she found herself with child, the babe would have need of a father while the mother rotted away in prison. Cole would deserve to know what he had begotten and with whom. The medallion would remove any doubt that the babe belonged to him. This much Alaina would claim for herself, the confidence that her child would be somehow cared for. She wouldn’t ask for more.

  Sunday morning saw the Craighugh family in church, and though Cole had worked until the wee morning hours, Roberta vehemently insisted that he join her. She did not dare leave him alone in the house while the younger cousin was there.

  His absence allowed Alaina some time to relax, but even that was harshly reduced when the family returned early with Roberta squalling angrily. Cole had tried to warn his new bride that she might be heartily snubbed by old friends and acquaintances because she had married a Yankee, and yet Roberta had been so intent upon showing off her new possessions, as well as her handsome husband, that their stiff-necked disdain came as a shattering blow to her pride.

  “I’ll never go there again!” she vowed, slapping down her hat on the kitchen table.

  “Now, now, Roberta,” Leala soothed, glancing hesitantly toward Cole who calmly went about lighting a cigar from the hearth.

  “Just watch me! I’ll pay them all back! I’ll give the grandest, most lavish ball this city has ever seen! And I won’t invite any of them! I won’t!”

  Cole casually raised his gaze and squinted through the smoke as it curled from the glowing tip of the cheroot. “And just whom will you invite, my dear?”

  “Why—” Roberta paused a long moment in thought. There didn’t seem to be any acquaintances left to ask. “Why, I’ll invite General Banks and his wife.” And more emphatically, “I’ll invite the Yankees!”

  Leala gasped and, feeling suddenly faint, sought a chair and fanned herself fervently. Dulcie turned from the hearth with her brow gathered ominously and stared at the young woman. It was rather a blessing that Angus was still out in the carriage house.

  Cole leisurely examined the long cigar. “That should impress everyone.”

  Roberta missed the mild sarcasm and beamed. “Of course.”

  “Whut’s all the ruckus ’bout?” Al questioned from the doorway.

  “Never mind!” Roberta glared.

  Alaina shrugged and sauntered in. “Guess it weren’t any o’ my business, nohow.”

  “Huh,” Dulcie grunted obstinately. “Miz Roberta done got some foolish notion in her head ’bout invitin’ a whole passel o’ Yankees fo’ a party.”

  “What!” Alaina forgot her hoarse, boyish tone in her amazement.

  Cole half turned to look at her curiously, and she quickly fetched a cup of coffee to sip. The first taste burned her tongue, and she winced and abruptly set the cup on the saucer. Meeting the gray eyes, Cole smiled lazily and silently saluted the urchin with his cigar.

  “Cole! Throw that thing in the fire!” Roberta demanded caustically, having witnessed the brief exchange. “It makes me nauseous!”

  “Nauseous?” Angus stepped through the kitchen door in time to hear his daughter’s statement and looked at her aghast. “Can it be that you’re already—with child?”

  Roberta’s jaw dropped in surprise, while Alaina fought to keep a firm grip on the cup and saucer. It was not Roberta’s condition she was concerned about, but her own. Dismayed, she glanced at Cole who was smiling his amusement. He would not find it so funny, Alaina thought miserably, if he were faced with the sight of Al growing potbellied with child!

  “Daddy, you’re so indelicate,” Roberta chided. She saw Alaina move to the door and couldn’t help needling in exaggerated concern, “Why, Al, you look plumb peaked. Don’t tell me you’re feeling sick, too.”

  “Yeah,” Alaina managed dryly. “But it’s the idea of ya askin’ all them Yankees here what makes me ill.”

  “What Yankees?” Angus demanded, providing an escape for Alaina as he turned square-jawed to his daughter. That one suddenly appeared less confident of her lavish party.

  Chapter 15

  COLE Latimer’s presence in the Craighugh household brought with it a rich abundance long forgotten by all, except perhaps Roberta. The meals improved considerably, and Dulcie no longer had to scrounge for such items as salt or sugar. Even Angus mellowed a small degree as a good supply of bourbon and brandy once more filled his cabinet. From one of the old families in the city, Cole purchased a buggy and several fine horses, and the next day a large ration of grain was delivered to the stable. Cole proved far less stingy with its dispersal than Angus had been, even in good times. The gelding gleamed with a new luster, and even Ol’ Tar lost some of his mulish mein.

  Roberta’s biggest and loudest complaint now was that when she had the money to purchase them, there were few really extravagant gowns to be had. Still, the day was rare when she did not venture out and return with at least a new hat or a pair of fancy slippers, which immediately upon Alaina’s arrival, were tried on and shown off.

  It was through her own restlessness in the long hours of the night that Alaina realized Cole also suffered from insomnia. While Roberta slumbered peacefully, he was given to prowling the house, as if he sought something more than the sweet succor of
his marital couch. Indeed, his mind was greatly troubled. Roberta accepted his caresses with the absolute minimum of response and, once committed, seemed in a hurry to get the whole thing over with. She had nothing of the fire and spirit with which his memory betrayed him. Even the show of passion she had displayed before their marriage cooled now that she bore his name.

  “My goodness, Cole,” Roberta had gasped in shock after his tongue passed possessively across her lips. “You don’t think a lady would kiss like that, do you? It’s revolting!”

  Cole frowned. “But there was a time when you enjoyed it.”

  Roberta was aghast. “I never!”

  Cole ran a hand behind his neck, kneading the tense muscles there. He found little ease with Roberta, even in the most casual conversations. “Whatever happened to that medallion I gave you, anyway? I miss wearing it.”

  “Medallion?” Roberta repeated blankly.

  Cole opened a window. “You know, the one I gave you that night.” He scowled darkly, irritated with his own inability to remember that time clearly. Pieces and parts of that half-dream were beginning to come back to him, yet there was no orderly sequence, and as now, he could find no reasonable explanation for what he recalled. It seemed he had slipped the medallion about her neck because he had been without money. But that was not logical. He could hardly claim that Roberta sold herself for a golden trinket, however much she enjoyed spending his money. “At least, I think I gave it to you.”

  “You must have lost it.” Roberta shrugged. “If it’s in the house, I’ll find it for you.”

  The next day, when Alaina came home from the hospital, she found her room torn topsy-turvy. Every nook and corner had been thoroughly searched; her mattress and bedcovers ripped from the bed and left in a heap on the floor. She could only stare in mute amazement at the chaos.

  “She could have been more tidy, at least,” Alaina hissed testily, having no doubts as to the identity of the culprit and what the woman had sought. Angrily Alaina returned her clothes to the armoire and began straightening out the disorder, but the sharp click of Cole’s booted heels sounded in the hall outside her room. Before she could reach the door to slam it closed, he passed the open portal. A long silence followed his abrupt halt. When he stepped back to the doorway, there was an expression of amazed incredibility on his face.

  “Al! This is a disgrace! You ought to be ashamed.”

  Alaina slowly closed her eyes in frustration, fighting an urge to scream at him and call him the blind, stupid ninny she was sure at the moment he was. “Jes’ ’cause ya buy them army rations for us to fill our bellies with,” she railed, “there ain’t no call for ya to start running the household! I keeps my room jes’ the way I wants it; and when the notion hits, I clean it up. I ain’t gonna have some bluebelly brassbuttons watchin’ over me every stinkin’ minute he’s around! Now git outta here!”

  She slammed the door in his face and stood trembling as she listened to his footfalls moving on down the hall. With shaking fingers she clutched the medallion that drooped between her breasts. It was the only thing that Roberta could have been after. That meant Cole was beginning to recall more of that night. Given enough time, he might remember all of it, and where would they be then? And where would her child be, if indeed she had conceived?

  The tension between Alaina and her uncle eased a trifle, no doubt aided by the fact that she spent much of her time at the hospital or at Mrs. Hawthorne’s. At least, at those places she was able to find some escape from Roberta’s sharpening glares and the supposedly innocent remarks that cut to the quick. But life at the Craighughs’ was far from tranquil. After a few brief weeks of questionable marital bliss, arguments began to arise more frequently between the young wedded couple. Having managed to collect a sizable wardrobe of rich gowns and other accoutrements, Roberta wanted now to show them off at the fancy affairs and elegant balls the Federals were wont to give. Angus, with staunch Southern stubbornness, had refused to open his house for the entertainment of Yankees, only frustrating Roberta more.

  General Banks’s wife and many of the officers’ wives were rumored to wear fashionable gowns, and Roberta longed desperately to bedazzle them with her own collection. She was tired of the disapproving stares of the Southern ladies. Besides, it was hardly a challenge to show her gowns off to black-garbed widows and those whose men fought in far-off places. If she could only attend one of those important affairs, she knew she would be touted as the best-dressed woman in New Orleans. And to attend those social festivities on the arm of a handsome Federal officer would be the crowning achievement. The greatest problem was that Cole’s profession lent him little time for leisure hours, and she had to content herself with a sparcity of engagements, a bitter vetch for her to swallow.

  Instead of staying home as she had done in the past, she had expected her life to be once again exciting and gay. But she soon realized that though Cole was generous enough with his money, his time was carefully rationed. It became her goal now to demand more of that since he seemed to value time more than money. If he did not come home when she expected him, Roberta sulked and threw tantrums. Indeed, if he had acted anything but totally convinced that Al was a dirty-faced boy in need of some discipline, she might have accused Alaina of trying to steal Cole away by keeping him at the hospital.

  A date had been settled on for the Federals to sell Briar Hill, and Alaina grew restive. She swore to herself that somehow she would buy it back, but with her meager salary, that seemed an impossibility. She saw the necessity of once again dressing herself in widow’s weeds and going out. But first, she had to convince Cole to let her have a day off from the hospital, and this was her intent this morning.

  Alaina tugged on her garb and fussed silently as she struggled with the tight chemise. Luck had been with her, and she no longer had to worry about being in a childbearing state. Still, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the unboylike bounce of her bosom. It was a laborious and time-consuming chore to drag the old chemise on, and this morning it seemed even more difficult because she hurried to catch Cole before he left.

  Except for Dulcie, Cole Latimer rose first in the house. Alaina was next, and the two of them were usually gone when the rest of the family stirred. Roberta trailed them all, waking at a late hour. She then complained that the others had taken the best of the food her husband had bought. Indeed, it had been the source of several arguments when Dulcie drew on the enriched larder as if it belonged to a common cause. It had taken a firm statement by Cole that such was definitely the case before Roberta grudgingly yielded the point.

  Casually Alaina entered the kitchen, her bosom sufficiently subdued and heavy boots scuffing on the wood floor. Cole sat at the kitchen table eating the hearty breakfast Dulcie had prepared for him. After Cole’s assertion that what he had provided was to be shared by all, Dulcie reluctantly began to reconsider her opinion of Yankees and now allowed that there were some possibilities for this one. Though she was still somewhat reserved in her friendliness toward him, the silence that greeted Alaina was one based almost on mutual respect, which from Dulcie had been grudgingly won.

  Alaina plunked herself down on the woodbox beside the warm hearth, giving Dulcie a morning greeting. After a long moment, Cole’s eyes slowly raised, and he lowered his fork to the plate as he found the lad watching him curiously. Dulcie glanced wonderingly back and forth between them, trying to determine what was amiss now.

  “Something on your mind?” Cole asked and waited expectantly until Alaina shrugged. She spun a chair about across the table from him and straddled it, laying her arms across the top and resting her chin low in such a way that only the pert nose and sparkling gray eyes showed between the sleeve and the bedraggled mop of filthy hair. Her answer came in a muffled rush of hasty words.

  “I gots all my work caught up and bein’ as that’s the case, I was wonderin’ if’n I could have the day off.”

  Cole frowned at the dirty-faced sprig. “What have you to do that�
��s so all-fired important?” Quickly he held up a hand to halt the answer. “Don’t tell me. I know! You’re going to take a bath and need the whole day to get all that dirt off.”

  Dulcie’s shoulders shook with an ill-suppressed chuckle, but she quickly busied herself slicing more ham as Alaina’s brows dropped dangerously low. The gray eyes narrowed and grew a shade darker. The boyishly garbed girl sniffed and rubbed the smudged nose against her sleeve.

  “I got things ter do.” Her gaze roamed the ceiling rafters rather than meet his amused regard. “I could get me a new pair o’ boots.” She scuffed the floor absently. “I saved some o’ my money, an’ I gots a couple o’ other things to buy. I gots a fren or two to look up. Anyway, I ain’t hardly had a day to m’self since I comed here.”

  “New boots!” Cole drew back as if in amazement. “New clothes! A washcloth and soap perhaps? Here, let me see if you’re ill.” He reached out a hand to feel Alaina’s brow.

  “Keep to yerself, bluebelly,” she warned crisply, avoiding his touch as she would a fiery brand. “I ain’t sick. I just ain’t going ter work terday, that’s all.”

  “I guess you’ve earned it.” Cole pushed back from the table and rose. “I’ve got to be going.” He drew his buckskin gauntlets from his belt and slipped them on as he crossed to the rear door. There, he paused to look back. “If you do take a bath, drop by the hospital before you get dirty again. I’d like to see how you look when you’re clean.”

  He ducked out the door and missed the import of what was hurled after him. The tone of the snarl was enough to guess it was not a compliment.

  A young bank clerk was deeply engrossed in copying entries into a ledger when he realized the sound of high heels clicking on the marble floor had ceased in front of his desk. He withdrew his pen from the page and raised a bespectacled gaze to confront the intruder. His breath slowed in his chest, for the figure that stood before him was shapely and trim to that degree which men talk about but rarely have the fortune to view. The garb was all too familiar throughout the South, that of the mourning widow, the dark gray or black and the severe cut. What he could see of the smallish face and wide, dark-lashed eyes through the black veil made him wish she would raise the gauze and allow him some assurance that the beauty of the face would compliment or exceed the fairness of form.