Surrender at Orchard Rest (31 page)

“This was my home. I never cared a lick for it, but it was my home and now it’s nothing. I apologize. I don’t know what’s hit me so hard, but all these poor bricks and all this scorched mortar—I just—I just—do any of you have a handkerchief? I can’t believe how a trip home affects me. I was as spoiled as a girl could be. I can’t believe I’m crying here over buildings that can be rebuilt, but it was so beautiful here.”

Ivy’s flinty eyes were compassionate as she took out her handkerchief and passed it to her mother-in-law. Somerset fished Eric’s arrowhead from her pocket and stroked it, willing herself to hold together.

“I have something I want to show all of you,” said Myra. “Let’s get in the carriage and ride, Auntie. People will see you and this isn’t the entrance you planned.”

Myra signaled for the carriage to stop outside a row of empty stores on Main Street. It was an unremarkable cold stretch of scenery, and Somerset wished they could get back to the Marsh to ready themselves for the relentless shell of artillery that would accompany the pheasant.

“Daddy and I were out here on the night of the Evacuation Fire,” said Myra. Her Marshall eyes were as listless as two marbles.

“Not on the night of the Evacuation Fire,” said Somerset.

“We were. We were so hungry that we risked safety on the compound to come out and steal some sides of bacon. You thought the bread riots were reason to flee, Auntie? They were a cotillion in the White House of the Confederacy compared to what happened on this street that Sunday night. There were looters of every class imaginable, from Confederate officers to my very own minister. Have you ever heard the sound of hundreds of outraged, starving people? I have. It sounds like the hiss of flames as they swallow sheets of plywood whole and the cacophony of a gun barrel smashing a glass window. It’s profanity and murder on the street in front of a pair of naïve fifteen-year-old eyes. There are respectable people walking the streets around us who killed that night for a side of meat. There was no law that night. We were so hungry. Daddy knocked a man out over a piece of hog jowl, and then a man held a knife to Daddy’s throat and we gave it up again.”

Somerset gulped. It was inconceivable to connect the frivolous, well-coiffed girl who bought candy by the pound with the plain-talking, sober-faced woman in front of her.

“Do you see that gutter there by Ivy’s shoes? Our soldiers got into the liquor stores and they poured it in the gutters to keep it out of General Wietzel’s hands. The scent of the air would have intoxicated a teetotaler. The fumes would have set my hair on fire if I had lit a match. I was so hungry that I was seeing stars. They couldn’t really be seen for all the smoke in the air, and it was mostly Marshall tobacco in the warehouses that burnt up. I saw all the liquor careening like flood waters down the gutters, and all these people were emptying kegs in the streets, drinking like the world was ending. I took off my silk pump and I hunkered down on the sidewalk and scooped it up. I drank and drank and drank. I was so hungry. It was the most solid meal I had in days. Our wagon got stolen and burned, I presume. I hobbled home to the Marsh with one shoe while leaning on my Daddy’s bleeding shoulders, holding a slipper filled with rotgut whiskey. I was sick for days, and my stomach was too sick from it to be hungry. What a blessing it was to not be hungry.”

Tears slid down Myra’s cheeks as she continued pointing at the trench beside the sidewalk, and sobs burst forth that sounded as if they had been caged for three years. Myra and Blanche were in each other’s arms, crying in public on each other’s faces, looking like an original sculpture beside a reproduction, their breasts heaving with every breath.

Somerset tapped Ivy on the shoulder.

“We have no understanding of this. Let them be and we’ll wait in the carriage. They don’t want or need our sympathy.”

***

The pheasant sat on a silver platter surrounded by currants and grapes. Red wine, port and sherry glasses abounded on the sideboards as if they were as common as river water. Roasted apples filled the air with the fragrance of nutmeg and cinnamon while mashed parsnips rich with cracked fresh pepper beckoned from the opposite side of the table. A pot of greens glistened with hunks of ham hocks and side meat. A charger filled with glazed carrots arrived on the table, set down by white-gloved hands, and then a tower of biscuits so yellow that they wouldn’t need extra butter.

“I love currants with fowl,” proclaimed Myra as she took a double serving. There were no traces on her face of the tears she shed in the street hours earlier.

“This table looks like something out of an alley in the heart of town,” remarked Honor as she sat down at the head of the table. “I want to know why my money is being thrown about in such reckless fashion. If you pay for the best, you should get the best.”

Her tiny white teeth ground and her black eyes snapped.

“You all are looking the worse for wear. That is what happens when you pop out for luncheon and go gallivanting all over town without a real meal or civilized nap in the meantime. Blanche, I’ve never approved the use of cosmetics, but if you don’t perk up I’m going to send Trix out for something to make your face more cheerful.”

Blanche put her napkin in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I am. I hated to see the city looking ransacked.”

“I sent you the papers as they printed, didn’t I? Why be shocked? You lost three cousins when the powder kegs exploded. You ought to have known this place wasn’t going to look hospitable.”

“I think she means that there is a difference between knowing and seeing,” said Somerset.

“Don’t sass me, young lady. You haven’t married your rich miner yet, and if you do, you still won’t take a tone with me under this sacred roof.”

“I wasn’t being impertinent,” said Somerset. “I meant it can—”

“I know what you meant and I’ll have none of it. Where is Thomas Junior?”

Somerset and Ivy looked all around the table with dismay. Somerset wondered if the stress of the hateful household had driven Joseph to break his deal with Ivy so early in the marriage. She hated to think how tempting several drinks would be after sitting in a saloon all day playing cards and dreading to return to the house in the afternoon. She wondered when Blanche would need more to drink than her wine with dinner. She suspected that as soon as Blanche made the trip home, she would begin pilfering liquor from the servants’ rooms.

“He’s making some social calls,” said Ivy. Her voice was smooth and confident, although there was worry in her eyes.

“What did you think of Flora?” asked Honor.

“She was talented,” said Somerset. “She made half a dozen sketches and I liked them all, but I’m to go back tomorrow and finalize one.”

“I thought she would be a good match for your perkiness. She gets a feel for a person and can guess what their tastes are going to be. It’s a shame her husband caused scandal before he widowed her, but if he hadn’t widowed her, she’d be under his thumb while he ran around on her. She’s aging well, but if I made that kind of money on a frock, I’d be in good spirits all the time as well. What color are you marrying in?”

“White,” exalted Somerset. “Pure white silk with Brussels lace. I feel like a bride already. Phillip dresses well all the time. I told Flora that I wanted to impress him.”

Honor couldn’t find anything lacking in Somerset’s remark, giving everyone a moment to enjoy the food.

“You’ll have your work cut out for you as mistress of Turning Tide. Your intended has been by himself for decades. He’ll be used to having things his own way and won’t like feminine touches to his windows and tables. You might want to start small with your room and then sneak up on him by starting in one the parlors.”

“He won’t care,” Somerset said from behind her napkin. “He’s too busy to notice even if he did care. I’m going to be as busy working as Phillip. I doubt I’ll want to alter his home.”

“Busy working?” Honor frowned.

Somerset searched for a euphemism for her future work.

“Charity work,” she said with haste. “I want to help Charleston’s poor. Phillip has been enthusiastic about my dreams of aiding those who have less than us. He wants to help me.”

The creases on Honor’s forehead relaxed and she nodded before refilling her sherry glass.

Joseph entered the dining room.

“I’m sorry to be late. One game of cards led to another and before I knew it, I was making friends. I met a veteran of the Chickamauga tonight, only ten years older than me. He took a minié ball through the shoulder at the battle so we compared scars. Most of the time we weren’t even playing cards, we were swapping battle stories.”

Ivy’ shoulders relaxed and she took a bite of pheasant. Joseph threw her his apologetic smile and took the seat next to her.

“Young man, I do not tolerate lateness,” Grandmother Marshall said. “Be it ten seconds or thirty minutes, I can’t abide it. You may not dine at this table tonight.”

“Grandmother, please reconsider,” begged Myra. “He’s new here. He doesn’t know all the rules.”

“He’s been visiting the Marsh since he was in diapers. He is not new here, as you put it. Since he’s so fond of being out of this house, he can dine outside of it as well tonight.”

Joseph pushed his chair back up to the table.

“As you wish,” he said as he laid his unopened napkin beside his plate. “I do apologize.”

Blanche didn’t dare look up from her plate.

“I will be back after I eat,” he said.

“I will go with you,” said Somerset.

“You are not excused.”

“You don’t want him wandering the streets in the dark in a strange place,” said Somerset, wiping her mouth.

“Don’t presume to tell me what I intend. You are the hallmark of all that is wrong with your generation.”

“Because I don’t want him eating alone?”

Ivy looked on the verge of tears, but she didn’t have the bravery to leave the table.

“We will return in timely fashion,” said Somerset. “I mean no disrespect.”

She held her head high, as Blanche never managed under that roof, and took Joseph’s arm as they left.

“It’s hard to be angry with a girl like that when you are her mother,” they heard Honor say as the door swung closed behind them.

“You didn’t have to sacrifice yourself,” Joseph said as they strolled down the street.

“I didn’t mind. You didn’t deserve to be banished for the evening just because you were late to supper. I could tell Ivy wanted to join us but was too afraid.”

“She is a dear. Did you find your wedding gown?”

“I choose a design tomorrow. I’m thinking about sending Mother home. I can always ride up by train for fittings. I don’t think any of this is worth the constant pecking Mother is taking.”

“I intend on never returning here. The Marsh gives me the creeps, and it violates my principle of always moving forward. Didn’t God tell Lot’s family not to look back? His wife looked back and she was turned to salt. There’s value in pressing ahead.”

Somerset wondered how Joseph could spout off so many Bible stories when he lived so hard. She wondered if he had a Bible in prison that he read to himself at night before falling asleep on the tamped, cold dirt floor that served as his bed. She wondered if he listened to Theodore’s sermons on Sundays in camp, one brother encouraging another.

“We’ve visited seldom enough that most of the insults and berating must have flown over my head,” continued Joseph. “I’ve held Mother in such low esteem all these years, but to my intense regret, I have to give her credit. She’s as close to a likeable, functional, sane human being as could ever come out of that prison.”

“Like begat like. Have you ever seen so many oil portraits of one person?”

“I don’t care who he was anymore or what made him head and shoulders above every man who ever lived and provided the living template for Teddie’s life. It chills me to have him watch me while I sleep and while I eat breakfast. Ivy took the portrait in our room down, and Birdy put it up again when she came to collect our clothes.”

“Well, I can’t imagine him being a bit superior to our Teddie.”

“They were just men, Somerset. At the end of the day they lived and died as anyone else does and probably with plenty of mistakes during the living.”

“There’s a restaurant ahead,” Somerset said.

“Then it’s lucky I won most of the hands of poker I played. I’m flush with cash.”

The maître d’ scowled at them in derision when they asked for a table without a reservation, but an employee of David’s bank recognized them and suggested they be given a table. The maître d’ apologized as though his job depended on it and led Somerset and Joseph to a secluded table in the back of the building that looked out on a scenic row of houses and shops.

“I won’t miss this kind of service either,” remarked Joseph after he thanked the flustered attendant and pushed Somerset’s chair up to the table. “I miss my anonymity.”

“I take it that you’ll leave with Mother in the morning if I can persuade her to go?”

“Yes, but I don’t know if I’ll go home directly. Ivy and I looked upon this trip as a honeymoon, but it hasn’t been as romantic as I hoped. Maybe she and I will take a detour on the way home. Ivy has cousins in Chesapeake. I hate to take her home with the atmosphere of this trip looming over us.”