Swan's Way (29 page)

But separation during wartime was entirely different. Not knowing where Channing was or when she would hear from him, not even knowing if he were alive or dead, from one day to the next, was a special kind of torture.

She swept a hand over her eyes, as if she could brush away all worrisome thoughts. Channing was here now. She would enjoy having him with her for now. Tomorrow—who knew?

She left her room quickly, eager to be with her lover again.

The evening was grand. Virginia’s mother had ordered Polly and the other house servants to bring out the damask, the silver, the crystal. Their feast might be meager, but it would be served in high style. “In style befitting this happy occasion,” Melora Swam had whispered to Polly, her chief co-conspirator.

All through supper—fried chicken, beans flavored with the last of the bacon, and yams—Virginia kept gazing at Channing, wanting to pinch herself to believe that she wasn’t simply having another of her lovely dreams.

Melora had seated the two of them side by side. She pretended not to notice when Channing slipped his hand under the table, time after time, to touch Virginia’s. She recalled Jedediah taking the same liberties, when they were young and so much in love that their longing seemed likely to consume them both with its heat and fervor. She simply smiled and daintily ate her chicken.

Agnes joined them at table, once she had nursed little Roslyn and turned her over to Mammy Fan. Rodney’s wife looked paler than usual and far too thin. She was suffering, Melora knew, from a malady that afflicted all the women at Swan’s Quarter—indeed, all the wives and sweethearts throughout Virginia and the South: too little to eat, too much to worry about, and, most devastating of all, little or no physical love.

“Have you seen Rodney at all, Channing?” Agnes’s tone begged for his answer to be in the affirmative.

He shook his head slightly. “I’m sorry, Agnes, but no. Actually, it’s probably for the best that I haven’t, given the current unpleasantness.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, staring down at her plate, only picking at her food.

“I did hear, though, that Swan’s Calvary is in Winchester. Perhaps Rodney and the others will stop by for a visit.”

Agnes looked up, her eyes glittering with hope. Melora Swan’s expression changed. Fear suddenly darkened her features.

The mistress of the house motioned to Polly. They had a whispered conversation, which none of the others could hear. However, Polly was smiling and nodding, and Virginia did hear her mention Mammy Fan’s name. After that, Melora relaxed visibly. Virginia realized in that moment that her mother was giving up time she might have spent with her husband and sons, so that Virginia and Channing could be together. She had never loved her mother more.

“Have you heard from your family, Channing?” Melora was a master at polite, dinner table conversation. All through the meal, she had refused to allow grim talk of the war to intrude and dampen their spirits.

“As a matter of fact, I had a letter from my father only last week. The whole family is ensconsed in a spacious chateau on the outskirts of Paris. They seem to be adjusting to and enjoying their new way of life. Can you imagine my father turning his hand to the culture of vines? He swears that once he returns to Virginia, he will have the finest vineyards on this side of the Atlantic.”

“A marvelous idea!” Melora exclaimed. “I’ve heard that Thomas Jefferson did quite well with his vineyard at Monti-cello. If he could make his own wine, why can’t we?”

“Have Hester and Auguste married?” Agnes asked.

“Indeed! A lovely ceremony, Father said, in the old cathedral of Nôtre Dame. He suspects that Hester is already in a family way, although she and Auguste have yet to make the announcement.”

“And your dear mother?” Melora asked, wistfully, missing her girlhood friend.

“She is well, I’m happy to report. In a postscript to Father’s letter, she sent her love to you, one and all. It seems she, too, has taken to French country life. She’s learning to paint with oils. She has met a young artist named Claude Monet, who says the only way to catch the true light of nature is to paint in the open air. They often roam the fields and lanes together, setting up their canvases out-of-doors to create their
masterpieces.”
Channing finished with a chuckle, obviously less than convinced of his mother’s talents and amused at the thought of her becoming friends with some bizarre young Frenchman.

“Laugh, if you will,” Melora scolded gently, “but Letitia has talent. I have seen it in her delicate needlework. Anyone who can handle a needle with such authority can certainly match that dexterity with a brush.” Now it was Melora’s turn to chuckle. “As for her young protégé, perhaps your father is spending too much time with his vines.”

“Mother Swan!”
Agnes gasped.

“Don’t get yourself in a state, Agnes, dear. I’m only jesting. Letitia is far too much in love with her husband to have her head turned by some callow young swain.” She couldn’t keep herself from teasing her daughter-in-law just a bit more, as she added, “Still, they do say that the French air does something to a woman.”

Channing laughed. “Not
my
mother! I’ve heard her say time and time again that it took her too long to tame the wild Scotsman she married to ever want to go through that process again with any other man. No, Miz Melora, my parents are lovingly
comfortable
with each other.” He squeezed Virginia’s hand under the table. “That’s the way I hope my wife and I will be someday.”

Melora noted Virginia’s deep blush. “I have a feeling you’ll get your wish, Channing, my boy.”

“I only hope we get to wed
before
we reach that age of
loving comfort.”
Virginia had said almost nothing throughout the meal, but she longed so to be Channing’s wife. All this talk of weddings and babies made her ache clear to her soul.

She met Channing’s eyes and felt something deep and strong simmer between them. It seemed almost as if a bond, a silver cord of belonging, bound them already. She was everything
but
his legal wife.

He squeezed her hand again. At that moment, she felt tears spring to her eyes.

Dear God, don’t let me weep now!
Virginia prayed silently. In answer, God sent her mother to save the day.

“I’m sorry we haven’t any dessert tonight,” Melora said, as she crossed her knife and fork to signal the end of their meal. “Shall we all adjourn to the parlor. I have decided to open the Colonel’s last bottle of French brandy for the occasion. I trust you’ll all join me in a toast to a swift conclusion to the war and a safe homecoming for all our family and friends.”

Virginia, Channing, and Agnes all murmured their approval, even though they knew that Melora Swan’s toast was an impossible wish. Already, several of their neighbors had been reported dead or missing—heroes on the battlefields of Bull Run, Manassas Junction, Shiloh. And one unfortunate member of Swan’s Calvary had been killed in a duel with a fellow officer, as graphically recounted in a letter from Rodney to Agnes some months earlier.

As the others filed out of the dining room, Melora remained a moment for another whispered conference with Polly.

“Yessum! Right now! By the time you all’s had your brandy, we be ready.”

“Thank you, Polly.” Melora smiled and hurried to join the others in the parlor.

When she entered, Agnes was seated by the front windows, gazing longingly down the lane, no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of Rodney riding home. Channing and Virginia were at the Bible stand, perusing the entries that recorded family records of births, deaths, and marriages going back almost two hundred years.

“Interesting reading, isn’t it?” Melora said. “Think of all those lives and the secrets that went with our ancestors to their graves. Sometimes I like to make up stories about them and imagine what they must have been like in life.”

“I think the empty lines are far more fascinating,” Virginia said. “When I read these pages, I try to imagine which lines will be mine, and my children’s.”

Channing squeezed her hand and whispered, “We’ll take up a lot of those lines, by and by, darlin’. I promise you that.”

Juniper, the butler, passed a silver tray with tiny crystal snifters of brandy, each filled with no more than a thimbleful of the Colonel’s precious liquor. Virginia noticed, as she took her glass, that Juniper’s white gloves were spotless, but mended many times over. Was there nothing at Swan’s Quarter that had gone untouched by this war?

Melora raised her glass. “Shall we have our toast now?”

The others turned toward her, ready to hear her plea for the brevity of the war and the safe return of loved ones. She surprised them.

“On this very special occasion, I would like to propose a toast to two very special people.” She smiled at Channing and Virginia. “To my only daughter and her only love. From this night forward, may you live together happily for many years, with deep understanding, true affection, and comfortable love.”

Channing smiled and bowed to his hostess. Agnes and Virginia on the other hand looked totally befuddled. But they all raised their glasses to their lips and drank to Melora’s toast.

“And now, my dears,” the mistress of Swan’s Quarter said, “I have a surprise for you.”

Even as she spoke, they heard sounds of a fiddle coming from beyond the closed door.

“Why, it’s Fiddlin’ Joe!” Channing exclaimed. “I thought he must be with the angels by now.”

Melora laughed. “One hundred and two, but still going strong. He says his fiddle keeps him young. And the way he still chases the women down in the quarters, I have to believe it’s true. Come, all of you!”

When Melora opened the doors, they spied old Joe with his crippled legs and flying fingers, seated beside the stairway, coaxing magic from his strings. Gathered around him were all the house servants and many of the plantation children. The women were dressed in their best frocks and all wore bits of bright ribbon or strings of berry-beads. Virginia knew, from years of observation, that they dressed this way only on Christmas Day or for weddings.

She turned and stared at her mother. “What’s this?”

Polly answered for her mistress. “Me and Zebulon, we done brung the broomstick, Miss Virginia, lak we promised you and Mister Channing. And we all come to witness the jumpin’.”

Virginia looked at Channing. He was grinning from ear to ear.
“You!”
she cried, happy tears welling in her eyes. “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Your mother had to tell me. She wasn’t sure I still wanted to marry you, now that you’ve reached such an advanced age. It’s not every man who’ll take an old maid for a wife.”

They all laughed—all but Virginia. She went into Channing’s arms, letting her tears of joy and relief flow freely.

When they parted, Polly thrust a bouquet of fragrant purple wisteria into Virginia’s trembling hands. “Fan done found this blooming in the woods. I reckon it’ll do for your bridal bouquet.”

Virginia hugged Polly. “Thank you! You know how I love wisteria.”

“We best get on with it now, Miz Melora.”

“Indeed, Polly! Virginia, Channing, please come and stand before Brother Zebulon.”

Still holding hands, the happy couple did as Melora instructed. Virginia had to smile at Brother Zeb. He was wrapped in a clerical robe of patched homespun. Someone—Polly, no doubt—had twined bright ribbons through his hair and beard. He held a huge Bible in his hands, which Virginia knew he could not read. Yet his voice boomed, as he led the group in reciting the Lord’s Prayer and asked for the safety of all the family members who could not be present for this happy occasion.

Afterward, the entire group hushed in silent anticipation. Brother Zebulon cleared his throat, then spoke directly to Heaven. “Lord, me and You been on the same side all dese years, since I was a little biddy scrap of black flesh suckling at my ma’s breast. You done heared my prayers ever’ morning, noon, and night, these eighty-odd years. Some You’s answered, some wasn’t worth listening to. But this evening I got serious business that need Your attention, Lord. These here two white folks is hankering to be man and wife, real proper-like, with Your blessing. Mister Channing, he be a fine man—good to his ma and pa, understanding with his people, and in league with You, Lord. And he do honest-to-goodness want to make Miss Virginia his wife until death do they part.”

Brother Zebulon paused, drew his gaze down from above, and stared full at Channing. “Ain’t that right, sir?”

Channing nodded solemnly. “I
do
wish with all my heart to make Miss Virginia my wife.”

Zeb’s eyes shot back to Heaven. “See, Lord? Mister Channing, he done tole You so hisself. And now we comes to Miss Virginia. There ain’t another lady in Frederick County—maybe all of this here state—as fine and well-bred as this dear lady, ’cepting her own mama, of course. Miss Virginia, she teach me Your words from Your own Book from the time she was knee-high. She believe Your words, too, and she tell me to mind them always. Now Miss Virginia got a favor to ask. She want to be Mister Channing’s wife, and she want Your blessing on the union.”

Again, Brother Zebulon’s gaze shifted from on high to the subject of his conversation with the Lord. “Tha’s right, ain’t it, Miss Virginia?”

She bit her lip to stay her tears. “Oh, yes, Brother Zebulon! I
do
want to be Channing’s wife, the best wife he could ever wish for. Tell the Lord I’ll do my very best, always.”

Brother Zeb smiled and nodded. “I reckon He done heard that. You been knowing Him longer than me, Miss Virginia.”

They all assumed that the service was at an end, but Brother Zeb wasn’t finished talking to the Lord yet. “I reckon they’s got Your blessing, since You ain’t sent no sign to the otherwise. Now, there be just one more thing, Lord. We needs to talk about fruitfulness. You done made them husband and wife, now You needs to see that this here union doth provide. They wants younguns to raise up, fine and good. Again, we ask Your blessing and ask that You send them down some sweet baby-lambs to tend.”

Virginia felt her eyes sting with tears and her face burn with a blush. She glanced around to find all the servants beaming at her. It seemed Brother Zebulon meant to take longer on his fruitfullness speech than he had taken on the wedding service. Granted, Virginia wanted children, but if Zeb kept on in this vein, she’d have three dozen before it was done.