Alice's Tulips: A Novel (18 page)

Still, I told myself there was no harm in dining with the relative of my friend Nealie—and that in company of another woman. And since there was nothing to be done about it anyway, I determined to have as good a time as I could. I thought that perhaps I could turn the evening to my advantage by drawing out Mr. Smead about his brother.

It was a pretty good evening after all, although I could not match Mrs. Kittie’s appetite for fried catfish and creamed cod, waffles and hot bread, and several helpings from the dessert tray. Mr. Smead told funny stories and made us laugh, and I found myself wondering why Nealie had not married him instead of his brother. After supper, Mrs. Kittie and Mr. Howard sat down in
the lobby for a game of droughts, while Mr. Smead suggested we stroll about the town.

“Walk out, Mr. Smead,” says Mrs. Kittie, with a wink at me. “Walk right out.” But I said I had sat in a draft at supper and was chilled. Of course, I was not, but I had seen enough of Mr. Smead, whose presence still made me uneasy.

“Then we must all meet again tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be better,” Mrs. Kittie says.

“You will be my guests,” Mr. Smead tells us. “I’ll arrange a picnic.”

I protested but was outvoted three to one, and so went to my room, knowing I had been outmaneuvered. Well, in the morning, I would say the chill had become a cold and I would stay behind, but Mrs. Kittie wouldn’t hear of it. “Nonsense, pet. Fresh air is the best thing for a cold. Besides, you mustn’t be rude to dear Mr. Smead, who has gone to much trouble for you. For us, I mean.” She adds, “You must admit Mr. Smead is more amusing and far handsomer than Charlie Bullock.”

“He is not!” I says.

She raised her hand. “I have known Charlie longer than you, and he is steady but awful dull. You have plenty of time to be old man and old woman together, so enjoy your fun whilst you can. Now, let us decide what we shall wear.”

As I was sulking, I said I would wear my plainest outfit and even insisted on putting on the red-white-and-blue-ribboned hat. Mr. Smead rented a carriage at the livery stable to take us to the bluffs outside Hannibal, where he spread a tablecloth and set out a very acceptable dinner. Mrs. Kittie and Mr. Howard fell to. Mrs. Kittie had grown very fond of Mr. Howard, and with her fingers, she fed him buns and deviled eggs. Such lovemaking caused me acute embarrassment, and Mr. Smead, too, I thought, because he invited me to walk with him along the bluffs for a better view of the river.

“I have got myself into a pretty pickle,” I says after we had walked quite some distance and the two lovebirds were well out of view.

Mr. Smead laughed. “No fool like an old fool, but she serves her purpose, and we are together.”

“Sir?”

“I believe you are as pleased to see me as I am you, Alice.” He turned to me and put his hand on my face.

Lizzie, I thought him as insolent a dog as ever lived, and I stepped backward to get away from him. “You are too familiar. I would like it better if you called me
Mrs.
Bullock.”

“You are whatever I choose to call you.” His face took on the dark look that had frightened me before, but his words were those of a lover. “You have skin like moonlight, and your eyes are like fire that’s burned down to coals. I never met a woman who made me say such things.” Then he gripped my arms so hard that the bruises are just now fading. His eyes glittered as he looked into mine and said, “I nearly went to you that morning you stayed with Nealie, only she is such a tiger to protect you. I heard you moving about and knew you wanted me, too. Tell me you did.”

“I . . .” My throat grew tight, and I could not talk.

“Tell me, Alice.”

As he stared at me, waiting for a response, an awful dread came over me, for I realized it was he, not Nealie’s husband, who had been in the kitchen with her. It was Mr. Samuel Smead who had done the evil deeds I had overheard. He was the one who had slapped Nealie. It had never occurred to me a man not her husband would treat a woman with such contempt. The voice I heard had been muffled by the door, and the brothers are of a size and appearance, so I had not even considered that the man might be Mr. Samuel Smead. I felt a terror in my breast that grew and grew, until I almost could not breathe, as I realized the man pressing his fingers into my arms was the man who was guilty of murder and rape, and that I was alone with him on the bluffs of the Mississippi. That lovesick old woman had put me in mortal danger. But, Lizzie, I knew I was to blame for my circumstances, too, for it was my flirting had put me in a thousand times more danger than I had been with the Carter boy. I had trifled with the devil.

And I had the devil’s own time thinking how to extricate myself. I knew if I slapped Mr. Smead or ordered him away, he would become angry, and I would be done for. I began to shake and tried to stop, for I did not want him to think I was afraid of him. So I murmured, “Oh, I am so confused, Mr. Smead. I don’t know what is happening to me.”

He loosened his grip a little, but I did not pull away. I knew that would infuriate him, and besides, there was no chance of my getting away. The best course, I decided at last, was the one that sickened me most. “You are right, Mr. Smead. I am attracted to you.” He smiled a little, and I slipped one arm from his grip and began to rub it. “You are very strong,” says I giving him a little smile. But, Lizzie, it was like smiling at Beelzebub. “You have hurt me a little.” At that, he let go the other arm, and I rubbed it, as well.

“You should not have resisted,” he says.

“Perhaps not.” I turned away from him and looked out to the river. A steamboat churned the waters, but no one on it could have heard me cry for help or come to my aid. “I love the river. I grew up at Fort Madison, on the Mississippi. Did you ever see a thing so pretty?” I took a few steps toward the bank, and he followed. “I don’t think God intended me to live on some old farm, where I could never see a river. I used to sit on the wharf at home in Fort Madison and watch the boats go by and wish I could ride one all the way to New Orleans.”

Mr. Smead watched me suspiciously.

“Men, you know, can go wherever they like. But we women must stay at home.” My prattling disarmed him a little, although he was watchful, perhaps suspecting a trick. But I knew better than to try one. “Here, let me take your arm,” I says and put my hand on his elbow as I took a few steps back along the riverbank. “We came on the
Queen Sabra,
me and Mrs. Kittie. I never saw a boat so fine. Do you know her?” I glanced up at him, and he nodded. “Well then, you must ride on her. Wouldn’t it be a grand thing to ride the
Queen Sabra
all the way to New Orleans? I wonder if she goes that far.”

He shifted his hand so that he was holding my elbow. I winced, and he says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. You must learn not to go against me.”

“I know.” I smiled and continued my small steps, moving slowly along the bluff.

“I would take you to New Orleans, if you say so.”

“Oh, Mr. Smead, that would be too dangerous. Why, the Rebs might blow up the boat—or the Yankees,” I add. “Either way, we would be in great danger.”

“Memphis, then. I’ll take you to Memphis,” he says. I laughed, and a shadow passed over his face. “I said I would take you to Memphis.”

“That is a very serious proposition.”

“I could make you go, you know.”

“Yes, you could, if you wanted to. Do you?” He did not answer, and I says, “I have never felt about any man the way I do about you, Mr. Smead, although I am bold to say so.” That was the truth, although my feelings for him were not what he believed them to be. “If I understand what you are asking, then I need a little time.”

He dropped my arm and took my hands between his. “Alice, dear, I am crazy for you, and I think if you do not go willingly, I will take you by force. We can leave today, before you change your mind.” Mr. Smead is an intelligent man, and you might wonder, Lizzie, why he was taken in by such a silly ruse. I have concluded that my response surprised him so much that he did not give it serious analysis.

“But there are things to be done.” I shrugged. “Clothes—”

“I have money. I’ll buy anything you need in Memphis.”

I gathered all my powers of flirtation, which, as you know, are considerable, and says, “Why, Mr. Smead. There are no fine clothes to be had in Memphis. And I would not consider arriving there in this horrid outfit. I would shame you. You cannot ask that of me.”

All the while we had been talking, I had led him back along the riverbank, just as a mother bird lures a cat away from her
nest. I do not think he realized we had gone so far until, in the distance, we spotted Mrs. Kittie, one hand shading her eyes and the other waving. “Yoo-hoo,” she calls.

“Don’t say a word to her, Mr. Smead. Promise me you won’t. I shall have to think of something.” Then I rushed to join her.

“Now, where have you got to?” Mrs. Kittie asks with a wink.

“On a lovely walk,” I says. Then I whisper, “But Mrs. Kittie, the heat has got to you. It could cause a stroke. I must take you back.” She started to object, but I whisper, “Your face has broke out in red spots like measles. It does not look good.” The appeal to her vanity worked, and in a moment, we were in the carriage. Although it made my skin crawl, I sat next to Mr. Smead and only smiled when he put his hand on mine. He deposited me and Mrs. Kittie and said he would call for me in a hour.

“Well, what of your walk?” Mrs. Kittie asks the moment we got to our rooms.

“Mrs. Kittie, we must go home at once.”

She picked up a mirror and examined her face. “It is not so bad as you said, not bad at all. Did Mr. Smead make improper advances? You must tell me.”

She continued to examine herself in the mirror, pretending to make idle chat, but I knew her for a bad old gossip who delights in scandal, and I dared not tell her what had transpired. “Mr. Smead is a copperhead, and I am the wife of a Union soldier.”

“Oh, do be quiet.”

“I want nothing to do with him.”

“I should not mind if such a man paid attention to me, but suit yourself. If you don’t care for his company, tell him as much.”

“He will not be told.”

Mrs. Kittie set down at her mirror and turned so that I could loosen her corset strings. “Myself, I don’t care to leave just yet. But suit yourself. Go by yourself.” She waved her hand as if dismissing me.

I let go of the strings, and her flesh escaped from the corset like air from a balloon.

Well, Lizzie, I would have gone home alone, but that dashed Mrs. Kittie refused to pay me the fifty dollars she had promised me. The bargain we had made was that I would accompany her to Hannibal, stay the week, then return home with her, she said. I was much put out with her, but what could I do, as she held the purse strings? “Then I shall wait the week out,” I says, “in this room.”

And that was the course I set for myself. I did not know or care if Mrs. Kittie saw Mr. Smead or what she told him. She refused to speak to me and thought to starve me out, for she would not order meals sent to me. But she forgot about the hoard of sweets she brought back from tea each afternoon, and I ate cakes for three days. I was never so sick of a place in my life as I was of Hannibal. Finally, Mrs. Kittie came into my room to say Mr. Smead had boarded the fast packet
James Rice
for Memphis, and as proof, she pointed to the vessel as it paddled downriver. But it was a lie, and the moment I emerged from the hotel, Mr. Smead was waiting for me. Mrs. Kittie smirked as she watched us from a distance.

Right close did I come to turning my back, but he grabbed my arm and says, “You have tricked me.”

“Tricked you? Now how is that, Mr. Smead? It was me who was tricked into believing you a gentleman, when you are a scoundrel.” I snatched my arm away and says, “If you touch me again, I’ll call for assistance.”

He glared at me but did not reach for my arm. “You try my patience.”

I decided then to put an end to what was between us, even if it meant the end of my friendship with Nealie. So I faced him, and says, “I don’t doubt that my foolishness last summer led you to believe I cared for you. I only wanted a good time, but I shamed myself, and I beg your pardon for leading you on. The truth is plain: I do not care for you now, and I do not want to see you ever again. If our paths cross in the future, I will not recognize you and hope you will not greet me. Mr. Smead, as a gentleman, you must respect my wishes.”

Believing I had bettered him, I turned my back on him and walked past Mrs. Kittie without recognizing her, either, then went into my room, closing the door.

What Mrs. Kittie did, I neither know nor care. She returned late in the afternoon, entering my room without knocking.

“We are leaving. We take passage on the
Claycomb.
She is a fat, ugly old tub that ought to be scuttled, but it is the next to leave, so we have no choice.” I was about to thank her for discommoding herself, when she collapsed onto a chair and put her hand to her brow. She had gone distracted, and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Mr. Howard is a fake. I have been humbugged,” she cries.

So it was the end of her affair and not my pleading that sent us home. Still, I could not help but be sorry for the foolish old woman, and I put my arms around her. “We have had a lovely trip and will arrive home each with a bonnet,” I says.

She never told me what ended her affair with Mr. Howard, never spoke his name again. But as the despicable and lardy old
Claycomb
lurched along, blowing steam and making other disquieting noises, she says, “Let us have a bargain not to mention meeting any gentlemen in Hannibal. I will not say Mr. Smead’s name if you will not talk of Mr. Howard. I propose to say I went there on business.”

So, Lizzie, except for you, I have told no one the particulars of the trip and hope Mrs. Kittie will keep her mouth shut, too. I am confident I will have no further encounter with Mr. Samuel Smead, for this time, I made myself quite clear.

This letter has taken three nights to write. I gave the yellow bonnet to Annie, who is much taken with it. I am enclosing the ring Mr. Smead gave me, as I think it may be valuable after all. I ought to throw it away, but what’s the good of that? Keep the money or give it to the Sanitary Commission. I don’t want it.