Nan Ryan (2 page)

Looking like the cat who had just swallowed a juicy canary, Becky closed her eyes tightly and simpered, “Wouldn’t you just like to know,” and settled back on the settee, determined to keep all her secrets safe from her inquiring friend.

Kathleen’s fingers tightened on Becky’s slim arm and she said, “Becky Stewart, you just open your eyes and look at me this instant. You’re hiding something and I want to know what it is. Has Ben, has he … kissed you?”

Becky’s eyes flew open and she pitched forward on the settee, jerking Kathleen’s hand from her arm. She said indignantly, “That’s a terrible thing to say, Kathleen. Do you really think I would let Ben do anything like that? Why, I’m mortified that you would think such a thing,” but the green, catlike eyes gave her away and the mock horror at her friend’s probing question didn’t fool Kathleen for a second.

“I knew it, I knew it, you did let Ben kiss you,” she turned excitedly to Julie. “She’s let Ben kiss her, Julie. Ben has
kissed
her!”

Julie’s big brown eyes grew even bigger and her tiny hand went to her mouth as she gasped, “Is it true, Becky?” and leaned out to look at Becky’s face, the hand still at her mouth.

“When,” Kathleen questioned, “when did Ben kiss you? Did you like it? Was it like you expected? Please, Becky, quit acting coy and tell us about it. I think you’re terrible for not telling us right away. Aren’t we your best friends?”

The smile had finally left Becky Stewart’s thin mouth under the furious questioning of her girlfriends. Embarrassment replaced the self satisfaction of a moment ago and she found her throat dry and had trouble finding her tongue as she looked at the shocked expression on Julie’s face and the excited, piercing blue eyes of Kathleen. Girlish guilt mixed with feelings of betrayal. She had told Ben she would never tell a soul and swore him to secrecy. Ben had assured her wild horses could never drag it out of him and she knew he spoke the truth because Ben was the most honorable man she had ever met and would never compromise her. Finally she spoke, looking from Kathleen to Julie. “If either of you ever tell, I shall never speak to you again and I mean it!”

“We won’t,” both girls promised in unison. “Tell us about it. Oh, I knew it,” Kathleen rubbed her palms together, forgetting the sultry heat and the boredom of the day.

Becky coughed and cleared her throat, “I suppose you both think I’m awful, but remember, I’m already sixteen, a year older than you. Lots of girls are married by the time they are my age. You know I love Ben; I have for ever so long. He’s been coming over to call on me all summer and bringing me flowers and holding my hand any time he got the chance.”

“Yes, so go on,” Kathleen prodded.

The smile was returning to Becky’s face and the green eyes softened. “Exactly two weeks and four days ago, Ben came over to take me for a buggy ride. I packed a lunch and Mother said since it was the middle of the day she saw no harm in us going on a picnic alone as long as we didn’t stay more than an hour or so, just long enough to eat our lunch. She told us to take our fried chicken and go over to the park and cool ourselves under the old trees there while we ate. We said we would do just that and she waved goodbye as Ben lifted me up to his carriage.” Becky paused for effect. “And then, instead of going to the park, Ben headed out to the Bayou country.”

“You’re joking,” Julie was shocked anew.

“Be quiet,” Kathleen frowned at Julie, “let her finish. Then what, Becky?”

“I put up a terrible fuss and told Ben to just turn the carriage right around, that I wasn’t going anywhere with him but to the park in Natchez proper, but he just smiled at me and kept right on going. That made me mad and I folded my arms across my chest and rode all the way in a huff, swearing I would never speak to Mister Ben Jackson again as long as I lived.” Becky sighed contentedly and began again. “But even as I tried to be angry with him, I … I just couldn’t make myself and, by the time we reached the country, I found myself
so
excited to be alone with him, no matter where he was taking me. I slipped my hand under his elbow and he smiled at me in an impish way and I just had to smile back. He pulled the carriage up and helped me down and nodded to a shade tree. He said, ‘This is a much shadier spot and I really think we’ll be cooler here, don’t you agree?’ Before I could answer he had the picnic hamper out of the carriage and he was propelling me toward the tree. He was so commanding and sure of himself, I went along asking no further questions. He set the basket down and spread a blanket on the ground. He held out his hand to me, I took it, and we sat down together. He dropped my hand and looked at me and his eyes seemed to be questioning me, searching mine for an answer. I grew flustered under his steady gaze and turned quickly to the picnic lunch. I took out the fried chicken and without a word he took it from me and set it aside. When I reached for the basket again, he stopped my arm. He raised my hand up to his lips and kissed it, then he leaned close to me, still holding my hand, and he said very softly, ‘Becky, I’ve been seeing you all summer and I’ve yet to be alone with you. We’re finally alone now and I want to kiss you.’ Well, of course, I was shocked and told him in no uncertain terms that I would not allow it. I tried to pull my hand away, but he refused to let it go. Instead, he pulled me closer and put his other hand on my cheek.…” Her voice trailed off.

“Becky Stewart, if you don’t finish the story, I will choke you with my bare hands,” Kathleen’s eyes were dancing.

“Please,” Julie begged, “what happened then?”

“Ben looked right into my eyes and said ever so sweetly, ‘Becky, please say yes,’ and I couldn’t resist. I looked into those intense brown eyes and ‘yes’ just rose to my lips automatically. He leaned over and kissed me right on the mouth! I thought that would be the end of it, but he kissed me twice more after that.”

“Oh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! Did you like it? Did you want him to kiss you three times?” Kathleen questioned.

“I liked it plenty,” Becky answered without hesitation, “I love Ben, I swear I do. Kissing is very, very nice when you’re in love. But you’ll both find out soon enough.”

“I shall never find out! Nobody has ever tried to kiss me,” Kathleen lamented. She turned to Julie, “You’ve never been kissed, have you?”

“Don’t be foolish, Kathleen, you know very well I haven’t.” Her small face reddened as she thought, “I wonder what it would be like to kiss Caleb,” and her face turned redder still.

“Oh, my life is so hopelessly dull! I don’t think anything exciting is ever going to happen to me. I will die a dried-up old maid just like the Hamilton sisters, getting a little skinnier and crazier every year I live,” Kathleen said unhappily.

“Such silly talk,” Becky shook her head at Kathleen. “You can have your pick of any of the boys in Natchez and you know it. You are too particular, Kathleen. Why, every time there is a party, you’re the most sought after girl there. There’s a dozen different boys you could have if you just snapped your fingers.”

“I don’t want any of them, they’re all clods and not a good dancer in the lot. They bore me with their mindless prattle and their silly compliments. I want someone dashing and exciting. Someone worldly and wise and big and handsome. I want someone to sweep me off my feet, thrill me with his daring, and …”

“You want a dream, Kathleen!” The soft spoken Julie shook Kathleen from her girlish reverie. “You want Prince Charming on a white horse to take you off to his castle. That’s in storybooks and if you insist on hunting for something that doesn’t exist, you
will
be an old maid. Get your head out of the clouds and look around you; you’ll find there are some really nice boys that you’d like a lot if you just gave yourself a chance. Right, Becky?”

“She’s absolutely right, Kathleen. Look how happy I am; you could be that happy, too.”

Kathleen sighed heavily, “Maybe you’re right, I guess I’m longing for something that doesn’t exist.”

“Well, hunt yourself a beau tomorrow night at the party. There’ll be plenty to choose from,” Becky reminded her.

Kathleen felt depressed, reluctant to give up her hopes for the perfect sweetheart, but sighed and said, “I had forgotten about the party, but I suppose I’ll have to be there since it’s at my house. Oh, my life is so hopeless!”

Two

Dawson Harpe Blakely stood in the drawing room of his spacious mansion on the bluffs in Natchez. One of the few places built directly atop the bluff’s edge, he had known for years he would own the place. He had to own it. He could walk out the heavy mahogany door right now, across the acres of lawn, through the flower-laden gardens beyond, and look over the bluffs. Look down on the place where he was born, where he spent the first twenty years of his life. Natchez Under the Hill. Down Under. Hell Under the Bluffs. Lower Natchez. All names given to the patch of soft earth at the Mississippi’s muddy banks, little more than a mile long.

Dawson Harpe Blakely was born in Natchez Under in a two-room shack perched precariously on stilts at the water’s edge twenty-seven years ago tonight, the son of a riverboat gambler down on his luck who’d drifted into Natchez in 1826. James Blakely was a tall, swarthy, black-haired man with flashing dark eyes, a way with women, a weakness for the bottle, and an ace up his sleeve. He married a comely redhead with dark brown eyes and creamy skin when she was no more than fifteen years old. The daughter of a poor family of the violent lower classes, Elizabeth Harpe fell quickly in love with the tall, dark gambler. She loved him completely for the two tempestuous years she lived with him and never complained when he was gone for days or weeks at a time. James Blakely’s homecomings were always happy occasions and Elizabeth ran to his arms when he walked in the shanty door. Always cheerful and smiling, he would present her with some small trinket he’d bought her and, if he’d been lucky, he would grin and stuff a roll of bills down the bodice of her dress and bend down for the sweet kisses he knew were coming. When their love produced a beautiful baby boy, Elizabeth Harpe Blakely worshiped the cuddly toddler and felt her life was complete.

Her world came apart one cold January night when a knock on the shanty door roused her from a deep slumber. A tall black man stood in the door and gave her the news that James Blakely had been killed in a knife fight at a gambling den on Silver Street. As Elizabeth raised her hands to her face and screamed, she looked down at the small replica of her handsome husband, who tugged on her gown. “Daddy,” Dawson said, and cried with her. Elizabeth Harpe Blakely continued to exist for ten more weary years, but the heart inside her died the night James Blakely was caught holding one too many kings.

“I’ve come a long way from where I started,” Dawson Blakely thought as he knotted his black silk tie. “And tonight I’m going even farther. I can’t believe it, I’m going to a party at Sans Souci, the home of Louis Antoine Beauregard. I’m finally going to meet his beautiful young daughter.” Dawson felt his hands shake when he thought about her. He was almost obsessed with her, had been since the day he had seen her riding by in her father’s big carriage on her way home from Mass. It had been three months ago and he hadn’t been able to get the vision of the enchanting charmer out of his head. The silky blond hair shining in the sun, the big blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes, the skin as white and pure as alabaster, the curvaceous little figure in her blue ruffled dress. He wanted her the minute he saw her, could think of nothing else. He had only seen her that once, though he’d looked for her every time he went out. He’d lived that day in his mind over and over. It was stamped indelibly on his memory and would remain there.

It had been the first week of May and Dawson was in town with his attorney, Crawford Ashworth. They sat in Dawson’s big carriage in front of Parker’s Hotel on Main Street. They talked idly before going into the hotel dining room for Sunday lunch. It was a perfect day, the sweet, humid air not yet heavy with the blazing heat of summer. A carriage turned the corner of Pearl Street and came down Main, passing directly by Dawson’s. The grand carriage was drawn by six snow-white chargers which drew the attention of the two men. Inside the carriage, a handsome middle-aged couple sat talking, both dressed grandly, the lady with a dainty parasol held over her head. They were saying something to the young girl sitting across from them and Dawson’s eyes fell on her and never left. He watched, enrapt, and when she turned after they’d passed to look over her shoulder at something, he tried to catch her eye but failed. She looked right through him, never realizing he was there. He watched the back of her blond head as the grand carriage went out of sight. He sat quiet and stunned when he could no longer see her.

“Dawson, old man, I can read that look in your hooded eyes,” Crawford Ashworth was shaking his head.

“That is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Crawford. I’ve got to find out who she is,” Dawson said.

“I know who she is and you don’t want to know her, believe me.”

“You know her? You must introduce me. I’ve got to meet her, to see her again.”

“Dawson, that girl is the daughter of Louis Antoine Beau-regard. Ever hear of him?”

“The name’s familiar, but it means nothing to me.”

“Well, keep it that way, son. Come on, let’s go have some lunch,” Crawford started to step from the carriage, but Dawson pulled him back.

“Why should I keep it that way? What kind of man is he?”

“Oh, Louis is all right. I like him and I’ve done some business with him, still do occasionally. I mean, you wouldn’t want to know him if you’ve designs on that lovely daughter of his. She is the apple of his eye. He wouldn’t let you near her.”

“Maybe he won’t have any choice. Besides, what could he do? I’ve got to meet her, Crawford. Find a way. You know him, introduce me.”

“Dawson, my boy, haven’t you made love to the most beautiful women of Natchez, New Orleans, London, and other points of the compass? Do you really need to borrow trouble by chasing after some child whose father protects her and would kill any man for even having impure thoughts about her?” He frowned at Dawson, trying to convince him to drop the idea. “Look, Dawson, as your attorney and as your friend, let me tell you that you would be better off taking his land, his slaves, even his old estate, Sans Souci, than you would be touching one golden hair on Kathleen’s head.”