Dreams of Savannah

by Roseanna M. White

  “Oh gracious.” Willametta snapped her fan open and swished it vigorously in front of her face. “It wasn’t a panther, was it? Tell me it wasn’t a panther—I’ve heard such horrid things about those vicious Florida panthers.”

  “Mama, hush.” Sassy giggled but also scooted closer to her mother, her hoops bouncing.

  Lacy released the lower lip she’d been gnawing. “A panther wouldn’t have splashed in the water, would it? They’re a type of cat. Aren’t they? And cats don’t care for water.”

  Mama scarcely glanced up from her sewing. “Why don’t you just wait and see, dear? I’m sure Delia will tell us in a moment.”

  Cordelia smiled, even as she mentally kicked herself. A panther, of course—that would have been so much more interesting than the alligator she was about to have fictional-Phin wrestle. She could see it now, his muscled arms flexing as he subdued the tawny beast. They were tawny, weren’t they? Or were they black? No, no, definitely tawny. She had read about them just last week.

  But never mind. It was good she hadn’t planned the story around a panther, since that’s what Willametta guessed. Always best to surprise the audience. Cordelia lowered one shoulder so that her curls spilled over it, tilted her head just enough that she could look at each lady from under her lashes. Presentation was, after all, as important as the story itself.

  And her stories had been keeping the Dunn ladies’ minds off their fears, at least for a few hours here and there. Helped them, she fancied, take hope, have faith in Phin’s ability to get out of scrapes.

  After all, if he could defeat an alligator with his bare hands, then no Yankee would stand a chance against him.

  Never mind the terrors in her own nightmares—there was no need to worry about sea monsters. Or the Man Mountain, that ape-like creature rumored to haunt the Everglades.

  Perhaps she ought not to have researched those wild lands quite so well.

  Well, enough of her tactical stall. She drew in a long breath. “The silence stretched for what seemed an eternity, and with each passing second, the men’s nerves grew more and more taut. They edged backward, back toward solid land, away from that marsh that seemed bent on swallowing them whole.”

  In the corner of the room, one of the servant women let out a muted squeal and tossed a hand into the air. Cordelia caught a mutter of “water spirits” and “po Mr. Phin.”

  Well, Salina had warned her that the slaves wouldn’t be much comforted by her putting Phin in such swampland. But it wasn’t to be helped—that was the story that had come to her.

  She tamped down a smile. “Then up from the water sprang a pair of jaws!” Leaping forward to the edge of the settee, she raised her arms as if they were the alligator. It took all her restraint not to dissolve into laughter at Sassy’s and Lacy’s shrieks. “The men stumbled, ran, tried to get away—but one fell, directly into the path of the largest alligator ever seen in the Everglades.”

  “Not Phin.” Willametta’s fan increased its rate of swishing, somehow.

  “Oh no, of course not Phin. But it was his dearest friend that he’s written to us about, Mr. Spencer. When he saw Spence fall, he knew he must act, especially since the others had all fled. And so he thought, ‘Better to die saving a friend than to live in the shadow of cowardice.’”

  “Oh.” Sassy splayed a hand over her heart. “That’s my brother, all right. That’s our Phin.”

  Indeed. Cordelia reached to her side, unsheathed an imaginary blade. “The only weapon he had on his person was his sword, and paltry indeed it seemed against jaws so powerful. Surely, surely that monster would snap the blade in two with a single bite. But he had to try. With a mighty yell he threw himself between the alligator and his fallen friend, sword extended.”

  “Oh dear.” Lacy covered her eyes, as if that would make the word images disappear. Silly Lacy.

  “He thrust the sword at the beast, but it had no hope of penetrating the creature’s thick hide. Nay, he watched his worst fear come to fruition as the sword caught, then snapped. Enraged, the alligator turned from the fallen Spencer toward Phin and lunged. Phin jumped out of the way, but in so doing, tripped over the legs of his friend.”

  “Well, of all the bad luck.” Mama tied off her thread, snipped it free. Leave it to her to remain unaffected.

  Ah well, at least she had three captivated. Five, if one counted the servants. “The gator’s jaws closed with a clap that echoed all through the marsh, missing Phin’s leg by less than an inch. But he saw his opportunity, knew that the monster’s strength was all focused upon the closing of its jaws. So he threw himself at the beast, wrapping himself around its mouth.”

  Willametta looked as though she may soon need Mama’s smelling salts. “Gracious me.”

  “They thrashed and rolled, locked in a struggle that made them one, through the mud and grass, until no one looking could tell where the monster stopped and Phin began.”

  Mama smoothed out the seam she’d just finished. “I thought the others had all fled.”

  “Mama.” Lacy turned wide eyes to her. “They obviously came back when they heard the commotion and Phin’s yell. Now do let Delia tell it!”

  She made a mental note to think up some special delight for her sister as a show of her gratitude. “Round and round they went, over and over. All through the Everglades, all anyone could hear was the determined grunt of the man bent on survival, and the throaty bellow of the beast bent on its dinner. Until . . . again . . . silence.”

  Sassy pressed her hands to her mouth, her eyes as round as parasols.

  Cordelia resettled on her cushion, straightened the ruffle on her skirt. Deliberately. Just long enough. “For an eternal moment, no one moved. No one spoke. No one dared even breathe. Until, finally, the fallen Spencer picked himself up and crawled over to the now-still entangled forms. He heard a groan, low and soft, but didn’t know whether it came from man or monster. Then, with a bellow that would make your skin crawl, the alligator moved.”

  “No!” Willametta dropped her fan and grabbed Sassy’s hand.

  “Yes. It moved, rolled—and then halted, with the broken, jagged sword buried up to its hilt in the beast’s single vulnerable spot. Here.” She touched above her eyes.

  A collective breath was exhaled from all, except Mama, who’d taken up stitching a new seam.

  Cordelia sat up straighter. “Up from the marsh rose Phin, more mud than man, streaked with the creature’s blood. His eyes gleamed with such fierceness that his friends all took a step back. But those eyes didn’t rest on any of them—oh no, he was looking beyond them. He spun, turning a full circle. His hand reached for his sword, but of course, it was no longer at his side. And into the clearing moved, silent as night, a band of Seminoles.”

  “Natives?” Lacy shook her head. “Oh heavens, Delia. Will it never end for poor Phin? You should send Julius into the story to help him.”

  That was enough to make her want to wrinkle her nose—and blot out that mental note to prepare a treat for her sister. “All the others unsheathed their weapons, but the band paid no mind to them. They glided past, surrounding Phin . . . and inclined their heads to him. ‘Hulputta,’ they said. ‘We will call you Hulputta. Alligator.’”

  Sassy sagged against the back of the couch, then sprang back up. “Oh, he won their respect.”

  “Indeed. They took Phin and his friends back to their village. Tended their wounds, filled their stomachs, offered their best men as guides to deliver them from the swamp. And even now, a new legend is being whispered among the people of the tribe. A legend of the man who had fought the alligator and come away with its spirit. A man with fierce eyes and the patient wisdom of the most fearsome predator. A man who had conquered the swamp with his bare hands. A man who would be forever known among them as Hulputta.”

  They all applauded, even Mama—though her clapping looked more polite than exuberant. Cordelia smiled and gave a short mock bow, finally letting herself laugh at the instant, amazed chatter betwe
en Lacy and Sassy.

  Not her best story, in her opinion, but far from her worst. Certainly worth the two hours of sleep she had lost last night as she read and wrote, and the new ink stains on her fingers. She could hardly wait to get home and tell Salina how well the telling had gone.

  Willametta rose and, even as Lacy flounced into her spot, came over to the settee and settled beside Cordelia. She took one of her hands in both her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, my dear. Your stories are the only thing we have to look forward to these days, the only thing that keep us from succumbing to our worry.”

  Cordelia covered the lady’s hands with her free one. “He’s all right, Mrs. Dunn. I know he is.” Even if her faith in that was overcome by her imagination half the time. She had Salina to remind her to cling to hope, and she would do the same for the Dunns.

  The girls’ chatter halted, and the sudden silence in the room brought a chill to her spine, far too reminiscent of the story she had just told.

  Sassy stood, her gaze on the door. “Daddy?”

  Cordelia turned just in time to see Mr. Dunn step into the parlor. On the surface, he looked much like Phin. Middling-to-tall height, shoulders just broad enough to be both strong and fashionable. His cypress hair had years ago gone gray, and his amber eyes, though always kind, were usually sober.

  But never like they were now. She couldn’t recall ever seeing the gentle, quiet man look so very solemn, not in all the years she had known him. Oh please, Lord, let it be a dead uncle. A slave rebellion, Yankees on their plantation—anything. Anything but Phin.

  Mr. Dunn held out a hand toward Sassy. Horror on her face, she hurried to his side, wrapped her arms around him. He then led her toward the settee, made her sit, and crouched down in front of them. When his gaze touched on Cordelia, she saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes.

  No. No.

  He grasped Sassy’s hand in one of his own, covered the joining of Willametta’s and Cordelia’s with his other. Cleared his throat. “I’ve had a letter. From Commander Semmes of the Sumter.”

  Willametta drew in a shuddering breath. “Telling us he’s missing?”

  “No, my dear.” His eyes slid shut. “Telling us he’s dead.”

  The fingers around Cordelia’s squeezed with more power than she would have thought they had within them. Still, it wasn’t enough to pierce the haze that fell before her eyes.

  It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. Semmes was wrong, everyone was wrong. Phin couldn’t, couldn’t be dead. She would know it. She would have dreamed it. She would . . . she . . .

  “No.” Willametta’s trembling carried into Cordelia’s hand. The woman shook her head. “He must be mistaken. Sidney, tell me he’s mistaken.”

  Mr. Dunn sighed. “I wish I could. Phin was indeed on the prize crew that took a ship called Cuba. Their towline had to be cut during a storm, and that was the last Semmes saw of them. He only yesterday received word of what happened.”

  A stifled sob came from Sassy. Her mother squeezed Cordelia’s hand all the tighter. “What did happen?”

  “Betrayal. Two of the sailors freed the ship’s crew in return for immunity from prosecution, but of course fighting broke out. The Yankees regained control of the ship and took the crew—including the traitors—into custody. They’re awaiting trial for piracy up North.”

  Cordelia saw the hope flash in Willametta’s eyes, along with the answering dread in her husband’s. “Then Phin—”

  “He was shot.” The words, though soft as fleece, bit like a bullet themselves. “In the melee, by the Yankee captain. Then . . . he fell overboard. He wasn’t found, my love. He’s—he’s gone.”

  Willametta’s hands went lax, her face fell into a mask of close composure that did little to hide the tears swelling in her eyes. “My boy. My precious boy.”

  “Poor Phin.” Sassy swiped at her cheeks, choked back another sob. “He would have been trying to play the hero. That’s probably why he died. Oh—the words I last spoke to him! I told him I’d rather die than have a coward for a brother. What a horrid, horrid sister I am.”

  When Sassy dissolved into uncontrollable sobs, her father gathered her into his arms and held her tight against him. Willametta leaned into them too, releasing Cordelia’s hands.

  She could only sit where they left her and stare at the pattern in the rug. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. There had been some mistake, some oversight. A miscommunication, a . . . a cruel joke. This commander could have taken a disliking to Phin, borne of jealousy no doubt, and . . . and . . .

  Her eyes slid closed, and the dream, that first terrible dream, came rushing back. Fire, smoke. Then water. A storm. Pain, searing and slicing and biting, but then . . . sand. Sand, yes, he had washed ashore somewhere. He must have. He had survived, he had suffered. But then there had been sunshine. Hope.

  He was alive. He had to be. Alive, on the mend, coming home. He had to be.

  “Delia.” Mama’s voice came from right beside her, and Mama’s cool hands stroked her cheek. “I’m so sorry, darling. I know how this must hurt you.”

  Her eyes opened, but a mist still hovered before them. “No. Mama, he’s not dead. I know he’s not.”

  Had there been desperation in her tone? Was that why her mother looked at her with disappointment and pity mixed? “Darling, I understand the desire to deny it. But please, don’t say such things. The last thing the Dunns need right now is false hope.”

  She wanted to argue. Wanted to insist. But the mist cloyed and clawed, and she couldn’t wrap her tongue around any words. They had deserted her, those syllables she had always considered her dearest friends. Left her to flounder under Mama’s stare. “I . . .”

  “Come.” Mama slid an arm around her and urged her to her feet. Lacy appeared on her other side. “We must go, must give the Dunns some privacy.”

  That didn’t seem right. Her place was beside them. Beside the ones who loved him. “But—”

  “You may return tomorrow, darling, but give them today to grieve together.”

  Oh, how she hoped one of the Dunns would hear and object, would insist Cordelia stay. Claim she was one of them, even if not made so by law. But they didn’t look up when Mama and Lacy propelled her past, didn’t seem aware of anything outside their tight, tear-soaked circle.

  But she caught River’s eye on the way out the door. Saw the incredulity upon his face, side by side with the raw pain, and tried to pull away so she might go to him. Offer him . . . something.

  Mama had her outside too fast, and into the carriage. Why was it waiting for them already? Perhaps the servants had anticipated their quick departure when they heard the news. It was, after all, expected that they would give the family space to grieve.

  Expected. But still Cordelia couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t right.

  “Oh, Delie-Darlin. I’m so sorry.” Lacy threw her arms around her the very moment they sat. “I never dreamed you’d lose a sweetheart, not as quick as the war’s sure to be. If only he had married you before he left.”

  “Don’t speak such nonsense, Lacy.” Mama smoothed her skirts. “If she were now a widow, she would be trapped at home for the next year and a half. If lose the sweet boy she must, it is better by far that she lose him now, when she is still free and need not observe a period of mourning. She is far too young and beautiful to waste her youth behind a black veil. We’ll plan a ball, my darling. Something to take your mind off it, something to cheer you.”

  Had the woman gone raving mad? Cordelia blinked, but the image of her mother, earnest and oblivious, didn’t change. “I don’t want a ball, Mama. I don’t want cheer. I want Phin.”

  “Oh, daughter.” As their driver clicked the horses up and the carriage lurched forward, Mama tugged Lacy over to the opposite bench and then took her place beside Cordelia. Her fingers felt bony and cold on her arm. “My dear, you never really had Phin. Your understanding with him was so new, based on so little . . . you are in love with the charact
er you have created that shares his name, not the man himself. The sooner you leap into society, the sooner you’ll realize your heart did not drown with him. It never was with him, it was only your imagination. Let it direct you toward another.”

  She pulled her arm away. How could her own mother say such terrible things to her? Her voice little more than a hoarse whisper, Cordelia shook her head. “That’s not true.” It wasn’t fictional-Phin she loved—it was the man who appreciated her tales, who indulged her in their telling. The man who had never once rolled his eyes at her or shaken his head at the ink stains on her fingers.

  Lacy scooted to the edge of her seat and reached over to take Cordelia’s hand. “Oh, Mama, be kind. This is a horrid shock to poor Delia. She needs some time before you toss her back into society.”

  “She has had time already.” The knuckles that stroked over Cordelia’s cheek felt hard as stone. “We have known these two months poor Phin was missing, and I am well aware your father spoke to you of moving on, Cordelia. My heart aches for the Dunns, but it is not the end of our world. It is time to put your feelings for him aside and focus on the one who is here. It is time to accept Julius’s suit.”

  “What?” Lacy let go of Cordelia’s hand as if it had become a hot iron and pressed herself against the cushion behind her. “Just because her beau is dead doesn’t mean you can just give her mine.”

  Her beau is dead. Mistaken as they must be, the words slapped and bruised.

  “It is not the end of our world.” But it was, if it were so. How could Mama not see that? How could she think her heart, her soul so fickle that she could just . . . just . . . just put him aside?

  Her mother, no comfort. Her sister, against her that quickly. Her father would offer nothing more. Only the Dunns would understand, would accept her with this ache inside. Why wasn’t she in there with them?