Glorious Angel (6 page)

“Your father said you probably didn’t, what with the blockade and all, but I was still hopin’ you had,” she replied. Then her eyes narrowed and her hands went to her slim hips and she said sternly,
“So where were you, Bradford Maitland, when I came to England on my tour? I waited and waited for you to show up, but you never did. Two years, Brad—I haven’t seen you for two years!”

“The business takes me all over, Crystal. And there is a war going on,” Bradford reminded her gently.

“You think I don’t know that? Robby went an’ joined up with all the other youngbloods from around here. He stayed here to guard Fort Morgan, but I still hardly ever see him anymore. An’ your brother joined too. But did you? No, your business is more important to you.” He started to speak, but she went on. “It has been such an embarrassment, not bein’ able to tell my friends that my fiancé is fightin’ for our cause along with the rest of our brave men.”

Bradford took her shoulders and set her away from him. “Is that so important to you, Crystal, what your friends think?” he asked sharply.

“Well, of course it’s important. I can’t have my husband known as a coward, can I?”

Bradford felt his temper rising. “What about a husband who is a Union sympathizer? Is that worse than a coward in your opinion?”

“A
Yankee!
” She gasped in horror. “Don’t be silly, Brad. You’re a Southerner, same as I. It’s not funny when you make jokes like that.”

“And if I’m not joking?”

“Stop it, Bradford. You’re frightenin’ me.”

He grabbed her arm to stop her from backing
away from him. He had had it all so well planned, what he was going to say to her, something about a divided nation, something sensible that Lincoln had said, but Bradford couldn’t remember any of it now.

“I’m not a Southerner, Crystal. I never was and I think you know that.”

“No!” she cried, throwing her hands up over her ears. “I’m not goin’ to listen! I’m not!”

“Yes, you will, damnit!” He took her hands down and then locked his arms around her so she couldn’t move. “Did you really expect me to fight for something I don’t believe in, to fight to uphold something I’m completely against? If my beliefs led me to take sides, Crystal, I would not choose the South. You should respect that.”

Bradford sighed. There was no way he could tell her the complete truth now, that he had already fought with the Union and would again. She might sound the alarm and he would never leave Mobile alive. He wanted desperately to make her understand.

“Crystal, if I didn’t stand by my convictions, then I would be less than a man. Can’t you see that?”

“No!” she retorted hotly, trying to move away from him. “All I see is that I’ve gone and wasted the best years of my life on—a Yankee sympathizer! You let go of me this minute, before I scream!”

He released her instantly and she stumbled
back, then glared at him. “Our engagement is over. I would never—ever marry a man with such—such—oh! You may not be fightin’ with the North, but you’re still a Yankee. And I despise all Yankees!”

“Crystal, you’re upset, but once you have time to think—”

“Get out of here!” she cut him off, her voice rising hysterically. “I hate you, Bradford! I never want to see you again. Never!”

He turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “It’s not over between us, Crystal. You’re still going to be my wife, and I’ll return after the war to prove that.”

He left before she could reply again. Oddly, he was thinking about the Sherrington girl. She had understood. She didn’t condemn him. Yet the woman who had professed to love him did not understand.

But he was not yet through with Crystal Lonsdale. Someday he would return and make her understand.

Seven

Angela Sherrington sat in one of the two old wicker chairs on the narrow porch, staring pensively at the bare field in front of her house. In her mind’s eye she could see the field full of corn as it had been only a week ago. Would she ever see it that way again? Would anything
ever
be the same again?

Bradford Maitland’s gold coin was pressed hard in her palm. It somehow gave her comfort when she most needed it. And Angela needed it now more than ever.

She was still wearing the dark brown cotton dress that she had worn to the funeral that morning. She had wanted to wear black, but she didn’t own a black dress.

This last week was like a bad dream come and gone. They were fortunate to have a fair corn crop this year, and it had taken three trips to the
city to sell it all. Angela had gone with her father each time, for he had kept his promise of three years ago and never left her alone. Three long years ago. The time had passed so quickly, tragically for most, but uneventfully for Angela. The boys who used to tease and fight with her didn’t bother her anymore, and Bobo had taken her warning to heart, never coming near her again. Her father even allowed her to go off by herself once more like she used to, instead of staying constantly within his sight. Yes, the years had been uneventful, until this year of 1865.

A year ago the Union had won an important victory in the Battle of Mobile Bay. The fighting had finally reached Alabama. Fort Gaines surrendered only a few days after the disastrous battle. And on Mobile Point, directly opposite, Fort Morgan surrendered after withstanding an eighteen-day siege. The Yankees finally had their foothold in Alabama.

Six months later, Fort Blakely and Spanish Fort were sieged. And then in April of this year, eight months after the Battle of Mobile Bay, the Union Army, commanded by General E. R. S. Canby, had defeated the Confederate land forces and occupied Mobile.

Miraculously, the Sherringtons’ little farm had been passed by. During that terrifying time, her father boarded up their house and they waited, wondering whether they would be burned out.
Would they lose their crop? Or their lives? But the danger passed and Reconstruction began.

To Angela, losing the war held no major personal consequences. She had never owned a slave. She didn’t own land, and so was not facing taxes she couldn’t pay. Nor would the land they sharecropped be sold out from under them, for their landlord was financially stable.

And Angela was not shocked by poverty as many fine southern ladies were, for poverty was all she knew. She and her pa had always gotten by.

It was Frank Colman, an old friend and drinking buddy of her father’s, who found her that day as she waited in the wagon for her pa. She had guessed right away that something terrible was wrong, for Frank wouldn’t look her straight in the face. He told her about the fight her father had gotten into. Some barroom argument with a Yankee over the war, Frank said. A ruckus started—more men joined in—everybody fighting—her father fell—hit his head on a table—died right then.

She had run all the way to the bar and found William Sherrington lying on a sawdust floor, dirty and bloodied from the fight, dead.

As she fell down beside him in utter disbelief, all the times they had fought and argued over his drinking went through her mind, all the harsh words she had thrown at him over the years because of it.

She had burst into tears on the floor and the
men around her had moved back, shamefaced, as she poured out her grief and fury.

Her father had been buried this morning. She was alone in the world now, completely alone. What was she going to do? She had asked herself that question so many times already, but she had no answers.

She could always marry Clinton Pratt, she supposed. He had asked her many times this last year and she was sure he would ask her again. Clinton was a nice young man who worked a small farm farther up the river. He came often to visit and talk with her. She enjoyed his company, but she didn’t want to marry him. She didn’t love him.

A new flood of tears began.
Oh, Pa, why did you have to leave me? I don’t want to be alone, Pa! I don’t like being alone!

She really wanted to stay right where she was. This was her home. She had old Sarah. She could work the farm by herself, she was sure she could. But of course, that wasn’t up to her, it was up to Jacob Maitland. He might not let her stay on the farm, thinking she couldn’t work it by herself.

But she would probably know today one way or the other, for Jacob Maitland had been at the funeral this morning to pay his respects, and he told her he would be out to see her later. She would have to convince him that she could make a go of it on her own. She would have to!

Jacob Maitland drew up in the handsomest carriage Angela had ever seen. It was new, with rich green velvet seats and shiny new black paint.

It was said that Jacob Maitland was so rich that the war hadn’t even dented his fortune. He had never needed to depend on his plantation to support him. In fact, his land was hardly worked at all during the war. It made people wonder why he came to the South in the first place, and why he stayed at Golden Oaks during the war, instead of going to Europe, where most of his business interests were.

He had frequently come to their farm when she was a child, always bringing her candy, sometimes a little toy. Angela imagined the reason he came was to look after his interests. Then eight years ago, her father and Jacob had had heated words. Angela thought surely they would be evicted after that, but they weren’t. But Jacob Maitland stopped coming to the farm then. She never discovered what they had argued about. And she missed his visits.

He was a good landlord, there was no denying that. Even when their crop wasn’t a good one, he never complained. And during the war, he insisted on taking a lesser share. It had made Angela feel twice as guilty about taking the food Hannah stole from him.

But now Angela couldn’t help but be afraid.

“Angela, my dear, you have my deepest sympathies for the loss of your father,” Jacob Maitland began. “You must be feeling a great emptiness now.”

“Yes, I am,” Angela replied in a weak whisper, her eyes downcast.

“I knew your father for almost eighteen years,” Jacob continued in a soft voice. “He was working this farm before I even came to Alabama.”

“Then you knew my ma too?” Angela asked curiously, her eyes lighting up.

“Yes, yes, I did,” Jacob returned, a faraway look in his eyes. “She should never have gone West by herself all those years ago. She—”

“West?” Angela broke in excitedly. “Is that where she went? Pa never told me.”

“Yes, that’s where she went,” Jacob answered sadly. “Did you know that you are the exact image of your mother?”

“Pa always said I had her eyes and hair,” Angela answered easily, relaxing now.

“It’s much more than that, my dear. Your mother was the loveliest woman I ever knew. She had a grace about her, a fragility, and a most exquisite beauty. You are just like her.”

“You’re funnin’ me, Mr. Maitland. I ain’t graceful, and I sure ain’t fragile.”

“You could be, with the proper training,” Jacob replied with a tender smile.

“Trainin’? Oh, you mean like schoolin’?” she
asked. “I ain’t never had time for that. Pa needed me here to help work the farm.”

“Yes. About this farm, Angela. Now that your father is—ah, no longer with us, I want—”

“Please, Mr. Maitland,” Angela cut in, frightened of what he was going to say. “I can work this farm by myself. I’ve helped Pa since before I can remember. I’m stronger than I look, really I am.”

“What on earth can you be thinking of, child? I can’t let you stay on this farm by yourself,” Jacob exclaimed in surprise, shaking his head.

“But I—”

Jacob held up his hand to stop her. “I will not hear another word about it. And don’t look so miserable, my dear. I was going to tell you, before you interrupted me, that I want you to come and live at Golden Oaks.”

A look of pure disbelief spread across Angela’s features. “Why?”

Jacob Maitland laughed then. “Let’s just say I feel responsible for you. After all, I’ve known you all your life, Angela. I waited with William Sherrington while your mother was giving birth to you. And I want to help you.”

“But what about your family? And you got so many servants livin’ in your house now.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “The servants don’t live in the house, child. And my family will welcome you. Have no fear about that.”

“If you ain’t the nicest man I ever did know!” Angela said, tears coming to her eyes again.

“Then it’s settled, my dear. I’ll leave you here to pack your belongings, and I’ll send the carriage back for you in a couple of hours.”

Eight

Angela was sure she had dreamed her meeting with Jacob Maitland. But two hours later, the shiny new black carriage came for her, and she knew it was true. She was going to Golden Oaks.