Crossing (2 page)

“I agree,” D.H. said. “I also think Isabella is much stronger than I am, in so many ways.”

Jackson brightened a bit. “She and her sisters are all such lovely ladies. A man would be blessed to have a wife from the Morrison family.”

“So true, my friend,” Hill agreed.

Carelessly Thomas commented, “I’m surprised that Miss Anna has not married. She is such a lovely lady, so intelligent and engaging.”

“She is, and she has had two offers that I know of,” Hill said. “But she wasn’t the least bit interested. It seems that it must be very difficult for a man to persuade her to have him.”

“Mmm,” Jackson hummed noncommitally. “Most of the time the things that are hardest to obtain are the more precious to have.”

With some negotiations about exactly how many
Godey’s Ladies’
Books to buy, and whether or not to also purchase
Bleak House
, which Isabella had never read, the group finished their book shopping and returned to the carriage.

Once again Jackson escorted Anna, but Eugenia was walking with Isabella, still talking excitedly about their new magazines. Anna asked, “Won’t you let us drive you home, Major?”

“Thank you, but no, I prefer to walk. In spite of the cold, it is a lovely day.”

It was true; Lexington looked like an idyllic greeting card. The small village had feathery pillows of snow, but the sun was shining beatifically. Far on the horizon were more snow clouds, but they only served to accentuate the brightness of the late afternoon. The walks had been shoveled by industrious boys who earned a nickel from the town’s treasury. They had done a fine job, pushing the snow up into neat snowbanks bordering the streets.

Anna agreed. “It is a beautiful afternoon. But I’m afraid if I walked too far I might muss my hem.” Her hooped skirt was floor-length, as was fashionable, and it took particular care to hold it up without exposing a glimpse of a forbidden ankle.

Jackson smiled down at her. “In that case, Miss Morrison, I would be obliged, like that gentleman Sir Walter Raleigh, to cast my cloak at your feet. But I’m afraid it would be a sorry carpet for you.” Jackson’s blue caped coat, like his clothes, was worn and thin.

“I would still be honored, sir,” Anna said. “I would be glad to tread on your cloak any time.”

He handed her up into the carriage, and D.H. stopped at the open carriage door. “Thomas, won’t you join us for dinner? Not tomorrow—Isabella and I have a prior engagement—but what about on Friday night? Rufus and Eugenia and Anna and I would, I think, make a merry party.”

“That you would, D.H.,” Jackson gravely agreed. Glancing at Anna he added, “It would be a very great pleasure, and I will be sure to bring my cloak.”

The Hills, Anna, and Eugenia and her husband, Rufus Barringer, were staying at the Col Alto Manor House. All of them had relatives in Lexington, but instead of imposing on them for their Christmas visit, they had decided that it would be much easier to stay at this comfortable boardinghouse.

Col Manor had been built in 1827 and was a gracious two-story home with spacious bedrooms, two parlors for guests’ use, and an elegant dining room. Col Alto was very well-known, too, for its fine food and was one of the locals’ favorite places to eat.

Thomas Jackson joined them in the dining room, which was sumptuously lit with dozens of candles. It was a large room, but the tables were so discreetly located that it gave each party a feeling of privacy. Two enormous fireplaces faced each other across the room, and on this frosty night, the fires, continually tended by servants, snapped and sparked. The smoky scent of aged Virginia oak mingled with the delicious aromas of food cooked fresh and served hot. The D.H. Hill party was seated at a table in a corner, with the fireplace pleasantly distant enough so that they could feel the warmth but not to excess.

D.H. Hill introduced Thomas to Rufus Barringer, Eugenia’s husband, whom Thomas had never met.

Barringer was a neat, compact man, balding, with light brown hair and a fine-trimmed mustache and beard. His blue eyes seemed to continually twinkle with good humor, and his mouth was wide and appeared, like his wife’s, to be always on the verge of a smile. He was a man of good humor and patience, which served him well in his marriage to the spirited Eugenia Morrison. Barringer said, “Sir, I have heard of your famous artillery expertise, both in the Mexican War and at Virginia Military Institute. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You’re too kind,” Jackson said. “But I must agree that both the study and the practice of artillery gives me a great deal of pleasure—much more, I’m afraid, than the study of natural and experimental philosophy.”

“I admit to considerable ignorance,” Barringer said. “My study has been confined almost exclusively to the law. What, exactly, is natural and experimental philosophy, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson answered, deadpan.

There was a long silence at the table, and then the entire party—except for Jackson, who only smiled—laughed.

They were a merry party that evening. Jackson and the other two men were wearing the only acceptable fine evening attire—dark suits, black ties, and white ruffled shirts. The women, in contrast, looked like colorful little birds in a drab wood. Isabella looked regal in royal blue, Anna glowed in a deep rose, and Eugenia wore a golden brown that made her complexion look like pure ivory. The candlelight cast a rich aura over them; as was the fashion, their shoulders were bare and their hair was gracefully swept up. Isabella wore a golden comb, and Anna and Eugenia wore dainty tortoiseshell. Anna rarely wore jewelry, but on this festive night, she wore pearl drop earrings that her uncle William Graham had given her years before, stating that they were such purity as became her naturally.

The party was seated at a round table, which served well, in that the matching of Anna and Thomas was not so obvious. Thomas Jackson exerted himself to be lighthearted company, but he was obviously still mourning the loss of his wife. Often when there was a pause in the conversation, his face took on a distant look, his fire blue eyes dimmed, and he stared into the distance as if searching for something far away. But throughout the long and delicious meal, he was for the most part amusing and perfectly cheerful.

Rufus Barringer questioned him about his service in the Mexican War, with his brother-in-law, D.H. Hill, as a fellow soldier.

“I prefer to remember the pleasant things about Mexico, and there were many,” Jackson answered. One corner of his mouth gave a tiny tug. “The senoritas were particularly cordial. Not, of course,” he added with a mischievous air, “to Major Hill, as he was engaged to you at this time, Mrs. Hill, and he never compromised his affections and loyalties to you. He was, however, uncommonly fond of quince … and that did get us into some trouble, as I recall.”

Over Hill’s protestations, Eugenia asked slyly, “And so this was a Senorita Quince, Major Thomas?”

“Eugenia, really,” Anna scolded her. “That is—there was not a Senorita Quince, was there, Major Jackson?”

“No, no, there was not,” Jackson hastily replied. “Quince is a fruit. It looks like a pear, but it is much more tart and crisp. All of us loved them, because they were so refreshing in that hot, dry climate. Once, I’m afraid, this hunger for them forced me and Major Hill to climb an adobe garden wall for fresh quince, and I believe we came closer to getting killed by the owner of the home than we ever were in battle. And there was a senorita involved … at least she made a good deal of noise, and I think that her father thought that we were more interested in her than in the less dangerous fruit. I think that is the fastest that I’ve seen D.H. move, climbing back across that garden wall.”

Isabella glowered. “And you, Harvey, did you know this senorita? Is that how you came to know about the quince tree?”

“No! No!” he vigorously protested. “It was all Jackson’s fault. He had seen the very tip-top of the tree the day before, and he said the gardener would never miss two or three of the fruits. But as it happened, he did object most strenuously.”

“But after all this, did you get any fruit, Major Jackson?” Anna asked, smiling.

“We did, but it was at a high price. D.H. skinned his knee terribly in our shameful retreat, and I fell off the wall on the other side and twisted my ankle so badly I could hardly get my boot on the next day. But the quince was very good,” he added, his blue eyes light and fiery as he glanced slightly at Anna, “and so I may say it was worth it. Most of the time, the things that are hardest to obtain are the more precious to have.”

The First Presybterian Church was a solemn edifice, two stories of graceful Greek Revival architecture of white sandstone, with five lofty columns guarding the entrance and a great steeple with a clock tower. Thomas Jackson had joined the church in 1851. Before he joined he had visited with Dr. William S. White, the pastor, many times and had found him to be a dedicated scholar of the Bible and servant of the Lord.

Once again Thomas found himself escorting Miss Morrison as she and her sisters and brothers-in-law attended church with him. He wondered again at Anna. She was an attractive, modest, intelligent woman of a quiet, sweet wit, and it was unusual for a woman of such family and virtues to remain unmarried by the age of twenty-four. He had known her for five years now, having met her several times, as he had been a popular visitor to D.H. Hill’s home when he had been at Washington College. He had always thought her a mildly pretty woman and an interesting one, but he had been so very much in love with Elinor Junkin that no other woman touched his mind except in passing.

Even now as he thought of Ellie, his thoughts, mind, and heart wandered. It had been over a year, and yet the grief and the feeling of loss was still so raw that, unknowing, he drew in a deep, ragged breath, stopped walking, and stared off at the distant blue hills to the east. The Blue Ridge Mountains were wreathed in mysterious smoke as always, and he longed to lose himself in that far place where, it seemed, everything and everyone must be immortal—forever beloved, unhurt, and undying ….

Anna stopped as Major Jackson paused and watched him with sympathy, for the expression on his face bore some sadness.

She recalled the first time she had met him. It was at D.H. Hill’s house, on one of Thomas’s many visits to the Lexington house where D.H. and Isabella had entertained on any opportunity permitted. Thomas was generally her escort by default, as Isabella was engaged to D.H. and her younger sister, Eugenia, had many suitors to escort here anywhere and everywhere. Anna admired Major Jackson. He was a true man, it seemed to her, and a strong and genuine person.

In fact, she wrote to one of her acquaintances: