Nan Ryan (47 page)

“Dawson, could I stop you?”

“No,” Dawson grinned and walked to the rain-speckled window, his hands clamped behind his back. “I better watch for her. Is she coming alone?”

“Unless she brings Hannah, I’m sure she’ll be by herself.”

“I don’t like that; she shouldn’t be running around by herself. It’s not safe with all the Union soldiers around Natchez.”

Crawford sighed loudly, “You are hopeless, Dawson.”

When Kathleen rode into Natchez in the covered, one-horse buggy, she was shocked anew at all the blue-coated men lining the streets. The sight repelled her and made her feel uneasy, as though she were in some strange land. Their clean, crisp uniforms were too great a contrast to the poor Confederates stumbling along beside the roads, their uniforms worn threadbare, their bodies maimed and crippled, their eyes dead. They, too, filled the streets as more and more of them wandered back into town from battlefields around the country. Kathleen shuddered as she passed one poor soul, his left leg stiff and useless, leaning on a cane, making slow progress as he trudged through the mud-filled streets toward town, probably to spend his last bit of money on food, or perhaps he had no money at all and hoped someone would take pity on him and buy him a warming meal.

Kathleen shook her head sadly. The sight of the once-proud, immaculate southern gentlemen reduced to wearing rags and begging for food was unbearable to her. She looked away from the man, trying to blot the vision of all the horror from her mind.

She was nearing the Parker Hotel and Crawford Ash-worth’s office. The streets were deeply rutted and potholes abounded from seemingly never-ending winter rains. The old horse pulling her little buggy was reluctant to venture farther and it took all her coaxing to make the worthless nag continue with his task. Not twenty feet from the hotel entrance, the front wheel of the buggy fell into a deep hole, tilting the buggy to one side. The stubborn horse stopped still and refused to move, though she applied the whip heavily to his backside and pleaded in vain for him to move.

A tall, slim Union officer stood on the board sidewalk near her buggy and, seeing her predicament, stepped into the street, took the bridle, and pulled until the balky horse heeded his sharp spoken commands and moved forward, lurching the tilted buggy, almost unseating Kathleen. Oblivious to the mud quickly covering his shiny black boots, the officer gently guided the horse to more stable ground, dropped the bridle, and strode, smiling, to the side of the buggy. Resplendent in his dress blue uniform with its shiny brass buttons, braid on the cuffs, and grand epaulettes bearing the rank of major on his broad shoulders, he stepped up to Kathleen’s carriage and tipped his Hardee hat, smiling up at her. He was a tall, imposing figure, cocky and self-assured, handsome in a craggy, masculine way. His full mouth was turned up into a solicitous smile and his gray eyes crinkled at the corners.

Flustered and half-frightened, Kathleen looked down at him and said, “Thank you, Major.”

“Madam, it’s my profound pleasure to help a lady in distress, especially one as lovely as yourself,” and he rested his hands on either side of the buckboard, blocking her. “If there’s anything else I can do?”

“You’ve done quite enough. Now if you’ll kindly step aside, this is my destination, Major,” Kathleen said haughtily.

“In that case, I’ll help you down,” he smiled, not moving, a muddied boot now resting on the carriage near her small feet.

“No, thank you,” she almost shouted, “just move, please, Major. I’m capable of getting out of my buggy.”

“I’m sure you are, ma’am, but I wouldn’t want you getting your dress muddy,” and his slender hands moved to her waist as he easily lifted her from the seat and set her on her feet on the sidewalk. His hands remained on her waist and he stood close to her, smiling down, while his gray, flinty eyes ran over her small, well-proportioned body.

“You let me go this instant!” She raised the buggy whip. The sight of the broad, blue-coated chest looming so near her and the possessive hands still holding to her waist brought back all the horror of the fearful night outside Vicksburg when another blue-coated soldier had held her in his powerful hands and torn away her dress. Kathleen felt unreasonable panic rising in her chest and started to bring the buggy whip down on his broad shoulder, but he laughed and caught it in mid-air.

“I don’t want to hurt you, madam. I’m here to help you. You’re the loveliest lady I’ve seen in Natchez and I would like to become better acquainted. I certainly mean you no harm, so relax.”

Kathleen tried to jerk the whip free, but his strength was far greater than hers. Then, suddenly, the major’s hand dropped away from the whip and she could feel it being jerked the other way with a force much more powerful than any she exerted. Magically, the major’s hand left her waist and he took a step backward.

“Perhaps you are having trouble with both your eyes and your ears, Major,” Dawson Blakely’s resonant voice came from over her head. “The lady told you she wants no further help from you. And if you can see, surely you’ve noticed she is wearing the black dress of one recently widowed. What’s your name, soldier?”

“Major Donald Brooks, U.S. Army of Occupation.”

Kathleen gratefully let go of the whip, leaving it to Dawson’s big hand, and swayed backward a little, bumping into Dawson’s hard chest which felt safe and secure to her. Gently, Dawson put a hand to her elbow and moved her to his side as he stepped closer to the major. “I’m Dawson Blakely, Major Brooks. Try hard to understand what I’m saying to you.” His dark eyes narrowed and his face was menacing. “Though I’m sure some of our gentle ladies of Natchez are impressed with your stature and are so desperately lonely they willingly accept your invitations to be escorted to dinner, from now on be more careful which ones you approach. This lady is not at all interested in consorting with the enemy and if you ever see her again, be advised you are not so much as to speak to her. Do you understand?”

The major’s own gray, flinty eyes narrowed and he said, “Unless this lovely lady is a member of your family, I don’t see that it is any of your concern. As for consorting with the enemy, you had best face the way things are, Mister Blakely. We’re here and we’re going to stay. I have no intention of letting some old-fashioned rules and customs you people are trying so desperately to cling to stand in the way of pursuing whomever I choose. Do I make myself clear?”

Dawson’s black eyes filled with rage and his full mouth became a tightly drawn line as he reached out to the blue blouse of the slow-learning major. “I’m telling you for the last time, Major, I forbid you ever so much as to speak to her again. How’s that for old-fashioned customs?” and he whirled, took Kathleen’s arm, and led her away, bending down to say, “Dear, are you all right?”

“Dawson, I’m fine. Please forget this happened. Promise me. I’ve enough to worry about without once again putting your life in jeopardy on my account,” but she was shaky and gladly let him assist her up the stairs to Crawford Ashworth’s office.

Dawson smiled, “I can take care of myself. Now, we’ll get you upstairs and get you a glass of water. And when it’s time for you to go home, I’m driving you.”

“That isn’t necessary, I can get home by myself. You’ve done enough.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll be waiting at the carriage when you’ve finished with your meeting.” He opened the door to Crawford’s office.

True to his word, when Kathleen came down an hour later, Dawson stood with his foot on the buckboard and his big black steed was tied to the back of the buggy. He smiled when he saw her and hurried to her side. Lifting her up, he swung her up onto the seat, paying no attention to her weak protestations. They rode back through the streets of Natchez while Union soldiers, lounging on the sidewalks, cast wary eyes at the lovely blond lady in black and the big, dark man beside her.

“You see,” Dawson gestured, “they all look at you. I’m afraid sometimes you are not aware of just how fetching you are. These men are lonely, they drink too much, they’re rude, they would love the chance to …”

“Dawson, when are you going to stop treating me like a child?” She sounded irritated.

“Sorry. Guess I’m too possessive, but the thought of those Yankees bothering you makes my blood boil. I do wish you wouldn’t come into town alone, it isn’t safe.”

Kathleen sighed and looked at her hands folded in her lap. “Nothing’s safe anymore, nothing. By the way, I haven’t seen you since that last day I came to your house. How are you feeling? Has the wound healed completely?” She looked up at him.

Dawson frowned and coughed laboriously while a brown hand went dramatically up to his chest, “Now that you mention it, I still don’t feel well. I think what I need is some care, someone to visit me and stroke my frail, weakened body.”

For the first time in months, Kathleen smiled. “Stop your foolishness this minute, Dawson Blakely!”

As the months passed, Kathleen began to go out more as she tried to shake the depression of Hunter’s death and start to lead a half-normal life once again. She started going to church often and occasionally she went into town to shop, but she was careful to see that either Scott or Hannah went along when it was necessary for her to walk up and down the sidewalks of Natchez. More than once, she saw again the tall, dashing Major Brooks, either riding by on his big bay horse or strolling from the Parker Hotel or a tavern. If she caught sight of him, she immediately cast her glance elsewhere, but she could feel the steel gray look following her and when their eyes did happen to meet on one or two occasions, the Major touched his cap and smiled at her, openly disregarding the advice Dawson Blakely had given him.

The war dragged mercilessly on. In May of 1864, Grant’s mighty Union army crossed the James river and the ferocious fighting that took place so depleted General Lee’s Army of northern Virginia that he never fully recovered. In the west, General Sherman moved slowly toward Atlanta. The summer in Natchez was hot and humid as it usually was and Kathleen and Scott spent long afternoons in the shelter of the old summer house, the white paint now rotted and peeling away from lack of care. Becky, Johnny, and the red-headed Jenny Jackson often visited, as the two widows sought the comfort of each other’s company and understanding in a time that was painfully difficult for both.

The stalemate in Virginia continued throughout the summer and into the fall and the siege of Petersburg turned into slow starvation for the southern defenders. Sherman captured Atlanta and the north went wild with joy, while the south reeled under yet another staggering blow to the “cause”. By mid-November, the newly re-elected president, Abraham Lincoln, had victory almost in his grasp as Sherman left Atlanta and marched to Savannah and the sea, capturing the old city on December 21, 1864, while Union General George Thomas shattered the Confederate army at Nashville, Tennessee.

Kathleen sat in her usual pew at St. Mary’s Cathedral on a cold December morning in 1864. The priest, grand in his snow white robe, wore a troubled expression when he rose and took his place behind the large pulpit. Apologetically, he told his congregation he was certain they had all read in the
Natchez Courier
that they had received orders from the government of the United States to pray for the health of the newly re-elected president, Abraham Lincoln.

A startled buzz went through the crowd of Sunday morning worshipers and outrage filled the hearts of the bolder ones. Kathleen seethed at such a ridiculous order. If the Yankees thought they could order her to pray for their president in her own church in Natchez, Mississippi, they were sadly mistaken! They were not telling her who she was going to pray for and she had no intention of doing so for Mister Lincoln. She came here to pray for her husband, not some northern president who cared nothing at all for the Confederacy or the suffering south.

Refusing to obey such an order, Kathleen rose grandly, grabbed Scott’s hand, and stormed out of the church, her skirts rustling in defiance. She moved out the door with her head held high, her small chin showing determination.

Lena and Lana Hamilton, along with the rest of the crowd, watched Kathleen move down the long aisle, her blue eyes blazing. Without a word, the sisters looked at each other, rose, and followed her out of the church. Lena touched Kathleen’s arm when they got outside, “Dear, I knew you would have the courage to leave after that outlandish order.” Lena looked down at Scott, “Why, as I’ve told you, your grandfather was such a distinguished gentleman, so proud and all. I’ll just never forget when Lafayette was here in 1825, he was entertained at your home.”

Lana interrupted her sister, “That’s right, Kathleen. Did we ever tell you there was a twenty-one gun salute?”

Kathleen gently took the arms of the two aging sisters, “Yes, dears, you did tell me. However, I’m afraid we may get a gun salute out of this little episode and it won’t be twenty-one.”

The sisters gasped and covered their mouths in alarm.

Dawson had just returned from Europe on that cold December Sunday. At sundown, Crawford Ashworth came to his mansion and when he walked into the library to join Dawson, he wore a look of concern.

“What is it, Crawford?” Dawson rose and poured his friend a drink.

“Thanks,” Crawford took the glass and sank onto the long leather settee. “Dawson, I debated coming to tell you this.” He took a long pull of whiskey and said, “Promise me you won’t get overwrought.”

“I will not, what is it?”

“This morning at church, the congregation was ordered to pray for the health of President Abraham Lincoln.”

“Why, those dirty …”

“Some of the ladies were outraged, not that I blame them, and they refused to heed the order and stormed out of the church. I’m afraid Kathleen was leading the pack.” Crawford shook his head.

Dawson threw back his head and laughed, “That’s my girl! I love it. Her old spunk’s coming back, she must be getting better,” and he continued laughing merrily.

“Dawson, you haven’t heard all I’ve come to say. I happen to have it on good authority that a certain Major Donald Brooks heard about it and plans to use it as an excuse to occupy Sans Souci first thing in the morning.”