The Sword (28 page)

Making her way back to the wagon, Chantel found Jacob sitting on a box staring out into space. “Hello, daughter. How were Miss Flora and the children today?”

“Ver’ well. Colonel Stuart came home. He found a woman to help take care of his wife and baby, a live-in. What are you doing, Grandpere? You look funny when I come up, like you’re wondering about something.”

Jacob shook his head and chewed his lower lip. “I can’t figure God out.”

Chantel laughed. “I don’t think anyone can figure God out. If you could figure Him out, He wouldn’t be God. No?”

“No, He would not be,” Jacob agreed, “but it doesn’t stop silly men like me from trying to figure Him out. Anyway, what would you like for supper? What about we go see if the butcher on Front Street has barbecue today?”

“We don’t have to. There’ll be a lot of barbecue at the celebration, I think.”

“What celebration?”

“The celebration at the fairgrounds tonight. I met Clay Tremayne’s brother. Morgan is his name. He asked me to come, and I told him I would only come with him if I could bring you. Will you come, Grandpere? Because I won’t go if you won’t. And there will be fireworks,” Chantel said, her eyes sparkling. She had never seen fireworks until they had come to Richmond.

“Fireworks,” Jacob considered, “and barbecue. Of course I will come.”

“Good. So, Grandpere, what is it you are worried about? About the great God?”

Jacob frowned. “You know, Chantel, in the Bible there are so many cases of men, and women, too, that God told exactly what to do. You take Moses, when he saw that burning bush. God said, ‘Moses, you go to Egypt. You’re going to deliver My people.’ No question about it. Moses argued a little bit, but he knew what God wanted.”

“You still worried about what we’re going to do?”

“Well, I’m too old to fight. I’m no good with mechanical things. I couldn’t work in a factory; I’m too old for that even. But you know, Chantel, I’m still certain that God has brought us here. You and me.”

Chantel said sturdily, “Then we wait. That Scripture you read to me from the book of Revelation last night … it was what God said to one of the churches there. He said, ‘I have set before you an
open door and no man can close it.’ When God opens a door, we will go through it. Yes?”

“You have turned into a very smart and sensible young woman,” Jacob said. “Yes, indeed, we will wait, and a door will open. I’m so glad you’re with me, daughter. You’re such a blessing to me.”

“Thank you, Grandpere,” Chantel said, a little embarrassed, as she always was with any expression of affection. But she knew, deep in her heart, that she loved Jacob Steiner as much as any granddaughter ever loved her grandfather.

“Hello, Clay,” Morgan said, coming up to pat Lightning’s nose.

Clay looked up from his grooming. “Well, hello, Morgan. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to come and talk to you. I’ve been worried about you, Clay.”

Clay put down the currying brush and gave Lightning one last rub. “I’ve got some coffee over here.”

The two men went over to the stove inside the stables. Clay picked up a battered coffeepot, found two mugs, and filled both of them up. “So what is it that’s worrying you now, Morgan?”

“Clay, you know I don’t like to interfere in your personal life, right?”

Clay simply nodded in response.

With some hesitation, Morgan finally said, “I just met Miss Chantel Fortier.”

“Did you? And what did you think?”

“Well, she looks strange in that men’s garb, but she seems like a lady anyway, and a nice one.”

“So how did you meet Chantel?”

Morgan told him about the run-in he’d had with the two Howard brothers. “I didn’t even see Charles until he knocked me down with his cane. I think they might’ve commenced with a beating, but Sheriff Butler showed up just in time.”

Clay grimaced. “I guess I’ll have the Howard brothers on my
back for the rest of my life. Sorry, Morgan.”

Morgan shrugged. “I didn’t do it for you, Clay. I did it for Chantel. And by the way, I asked her to go to the celebration with me tonight.”

“And she agreed?” Clay said with surprise.

“Yes, she did. Why are you so shocked? Some people think I’m the brother with the looks in the family,” Morgan said, punching his shoulder.

“Not at you, you handsome devil,” Clay said, grinning. “At her. I didn’t think Chantel was much for letting men escort her around.”

“Well, she did say she wouldn’t come unless her grandfather did,” Morgan admitted. “So I kinda doubt she’s smitten with me.”

Clay shook his head. “I kinda doubt she’s smitten with men much at all. And maybe especially Tremayne men.”

Morgan gave him a sharp look. “Is there some reason for that, Clay? Something I should know about?”

“No, Morgan,” Clay said with a hint of sadness. “It’s over and forgotten.”

Morgan showed up at exactly five o’clock, and Chantel introduced him to Jacob.

“I’m glad to know you, young man,” Jacob said and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet Clay’s family.”

Morgan shook his hand. “I’m happy to know you, sir.”

Jacob looked mischievous as he said, “Thank you for inviting me to go with you two young people. I wouldn’t go, but Chantel promised me that there would be barbecue.”

“Oh yes, sir, I’m sure there will. There always is at a Southern feast,” Morgan said. “Lots of eating and drinking and making merry.”

“And fireworks, yes,” Chantel said happily.

Traveling through the growing throngs of people in wagons and on horses, Chantel, Morgan, and Jacob soon arrived at the
fairgrounds. As Morgan escorted her toward the attractions, Chantel quickly became aware of people staring at her, as they always did. It was beginning to make her uncomfortable, and she began to think that perhaps her breeches and men’s shirts were reflecting on her much more scandalously than simple skirts and blouses might. After all, her hunting and fishing days in the bayou were long gone—as were the days when breeches could hide her figure.

But soon she forgot her worries. There were lanterns strung all along the fairgrounds, and many torches on long poles stuck into the ground. And indeed the fireworks were splendid. The cadets from the Virginia Military Institute, who were there training the volunteer companies as they formed, fired off their cannons. The artillery show made a delightful rolling roar, with spectacular flames spitting from the cannon mouths.

Also, there were not one, but three barbecues—a steer, a pig, and a goat. Jacob gleefully ate some of all three, along with tastes of many of the side dishes supplied by the merchants of Richmond. “If only they could find a way to put this potato salad in a can,” he mourned. “I could sell hundreds of cans of this.”

A band played marching music, and patriotic songs were sung, and there were speeches from various politicians. President Jefferson Davis was there, and Chantel was fascinated by him. He was the most dignified man she had ever seen. His face was hawklike, his cheeks sunken in, and one of his eyes seemed to have a film over it. He was not an inspiring speaker, but people listened respectfully and cheered loudly when he finished.

Finally the speeches were over, and the band started playing dance music. Morgan asked her to dance.

“No, thank you,” she said firmly. “I don’t dance.”

“But why not?” he asked.

“I never learned those fancy dances, me. All I know is a
zydeco
.”

“What’s a zydeco?”

“A Cajun dance.”

“Well, we don’t have to dance. We can listen to the music.”

Jacob said, “Now that I’ve eaten, I think I’m going to go on back to the wagon and get a good night’s sleep. You’ll bring my granddaughter home, Mr. Tremayne?”

“Yes, sir, I will. I will see she gets home safely.”

As soon as Jacob left, Morgan said, “He seems like a fine man. Strange, isn’t it? I mean, your grandfather being a Jew and a Christian.”

“Ma grandpere, he is wonderful,” Chantel said softly. “I don’t care if he is Jewish and Christian.”

A group of cavalrymen walked by, splendid in their new Hussar jackets and cavalry sabers. All of them wore brogues, with their pants tucked into their socks, except for one—Clay Tremayne. He grinned when he caught sight of them and came over. “Hello, Morgan, Chantel,” he said. “You’re staring at my boots.” Clay had new cavalry boots, thigh-high, polished to a sheen.

“Trust you to turn out like a dandy, even in uniform,” Morgan said.

“I think they look nice, me,” Chantel said. “General Stuart wears these boots.”

“Chantel to my rescue again,” Clay said. “Are you having a good time, Chantel?”

“Oh yes, I love fireworks. And Grandpere ate so much barbecue and potato salad it made him sleepy.”

“For such a small man, he sure can put away the food,” Clay said. “It’s a good thing you’re such a fine cook, Chantel. Morgan, I’ve been thinking. Since Mother and Father are here in town, don’t you think they’d like to meet Chantel and Mr. Steiner?”

“I think that’s a very good idea, Clay,” Morgan agreed. He turned to Chantel. “Clay’s told the family—finally—about what happened with the Howards and how you and Mr. Steiner saved his life. How about having supper with our family tomorrow night?”

“I was asking her, Morgan,” Clay objected.

“What difference does it make?” Morgan argued. “Either one of us—”

“Never mind, you,” Chantel said, amused. “If ma grandpere will come, I will come.”

“He’ll come,” Clay said firmly. “I’ll tell him that we’re having supper at Wickham’s.”

Clay had not told the whole story to his family until they had come to Richmond, as almost all of the prominent citizens of Virginia had, to find out about the organization and plans for the coming war. Although he had not mentioned names—out of consideration for Belle—of course his parents had already heard of the scandal. Clay had told them of how sorry he was that he had behaved so badly and had even excused the Howard brothers. “You know, once I thought about it, I’d probably do the same thing if some lousy dog had treated the Bluebells that way.”

Clay took after his father—muscular, with thick brown hair and intense brown eyes. Morgan took after his mother—slim and tall, with auburn hair and dark blue eyes. And then, of course, were the Tremaynes’ surprises—late-in-life twins, Belinda and Brenda, now seven years old. They were like foundlings, with strawberry-blond hair, angelic little heart-shaped faces, and big, round sky-blue eyes. There was such a difference in the ages between the twins and the brothers that usually Clay and Morgan just called them the Bluebells.

Clay had reserved a small private dining room at Wickham’s, and the Tremaynes, Chantel, and Jacob Steiner all settled in.

“I recommend the fresh oysters,” Morgan announced.

Clay looked pained, while Chantel made a horrible face. “I don’t like raw oysters, me. They’re cold. Food should be hot and drink should be cold.”

“Very well, then, no oysters,” Caleb Tremayne said. “Clay tells us you are such a good cook, Miss Fortier, that even Wickham’s can’t outdo your meals. Does anything sound good to you?”

“Everyone calls me Chantel, me,” she said rather shyly. “I like steak, Mr. Tremayne.”

“As do I,” Jacob said. “One grows weary of preserved meat. As peddlers, so often that is all we have.”