When the Splendor Falls (4 page)

“Doesn’t surprise me any,” Mr. Travers said. “Nathaniel was wild just like that. As a young’un he was always out hunting in the hills, even got as far as Tennessee one time before his father sent out a search party looking for him—he was only ten and he claimed he wasn’t lost. Never knew anyone who could shoot as straight as he did. Nearly got himself killed in five or six duels, though.

“He always puzzled me. Said dueling wasn’t challenging enough for him. Scandalous behavior for a gentleman, even then, but Nathaniel was a hot-tempered young buck with nothing better to do since your father was the eldest and would inherit Royal Bay. Never thought he’d settle down with one woman. The ladies wouldn’t leave him alone. I suspect, even though they claimed they’d strike his name from the family Bible if he did it, that his folks were rather relieved when he headed west, bound for Texas, for a little adventurin’. Never was quite the same around here after he left,” Mr. Travers said with a sad grin that quickly became a deep laugh. “Now you mention it, I remember Nathaniel always was fascinated by those wild Spanish ponies his grandfather bought. Or, perhaps, it was the land they raced through free as the wind that intrigued him the most. So you think your cousin Neil inherited the worst from both Nathaniel and the Comanche?”

Nathan shrugged good-naturedly, lazily running a big hand through his dark brown hair. He was a large man but managed to move with a quiet deliberateness that often disguised the alertness in his keen gray eyes. His patient expression, which sometimes seemed to border on lazy indolence, had often misled an opposing attorney or difficult witness in court. “I’m not certain, sir, that there is much difference between the Comanche and Nathaniel Reynolds Braedon when he has a grievance. My father says his younger brother is the most hardheaded Braedon of the lot. He always did what he pleased and was unforgiving when people crossed him. But he had a good sense of humor, could tell a joke that would have your sides splitting, and if he looked kindly upon you, as he did his first wife and Shannon, he was a very warm and loving man. A devil with gold curls, my father always called him. But after his first wife died, he changed. Never smiled except for Shannon. Apparently she was the living image of her mother and he adored her. I’m afraid he always blamed Neil for his mother’s death. Couldn’t stand looking at his own son. He was a constant reminder of his loss. It was always Shannon he was determined to find when she and Neil were kidnapped. That is why he never gave up looking for them. He wanted Shannon back, and then he found Neil, not little Shannon. He did not rejoice in bringing Neil back home to Royal Rivers, even though he was his own flesh and blood. Uncle Nat believed he had lost everything.”

“I remember Fionnuala Darcy. She was a real beauty. Nathaniel was back at Royal Bay, his first visit home since heading to Texas. She was visiting with friends in Charlottesville. She was from Boston. I remember thinking she had a mighty funny accent despite how pretty she was. Of course I was rather young to appreciate fully a beautiful woman’s charms.”

“And what exactly did this Fionnuala Darcy look like, dear?” Beatrice Amelia inquired, interested to know what her husband considered to be “a real beauty.”

“Midnight black hair, and the brightest blue eyes you could imagine. Just like a slice of the sky,” her husband responded, unshaken. “Of course,” he continued diplomatically, having taken note of the slender, tapered fingers with their well-cared-for nails tapping against the arm of the chair in growing irritation, “I’ve always preferred dark blue eyes. They have mysterious depths, like the sea, or perhaps like the hidden fires in a sapphire draped around a lovely woman’s throat.”

Beatrice Amelia smiled slightly, but not enough to warm her dark blue eyes. “I never knew you were so poetic, dear. And after over a quarter of a century of marriage, here I am just now finding out that you are a poet.”

“Justin is a fine young man. I’ve heard from several of his professors at VMI and they are quite impressed with his academic record as well as his qualities of leadership,” Nathan said, changing the subject.

“Do you think he’ll continue with a military career? Being born in the territories, he would have the advantage over other officers and he could use that to get a good post in the West. That’s where you make your name and your promotion nowadays—Indian fighting,” Mr. Travers remarked, wondering if his wife knew that Palmer William had been thinking about joining the army when he finished his cadet training.

“I don’t know,” Nathan admitted frankly. “He has mentioned something to me about going into the law, which, of course, I urged him to do. No self-respecting lawyer would do anything else. After all, the law is a splendid profession, especially as a springboard into other professions.”

“Like politics?”

“I speak only from very limited experience,” Nathan deferred with a smile.

“I’m expecting to see you run for senator next, Nathan. I’ll back you, son. Call in some old debts to make sure you get the nod from Richmond,” his father-in-law promised. “We need some steady voices in Congress now that the Republicans have nominated this Abraham Lincoln as their presidential candidate and the Democrats couldn’t even come up with one. Half of the delegates walked out of the convention in Charleston, and I don’t feel any easier about what came out of their reconvening in Baltimore. The party is split, and this Breckenridge, although he was vice president, is a Kentuckian. I don’t know too much about this Douglas fella, except that I like his ideas on letting the people of the states and even the territories decide whether or not they want to vote for or against slavery. Know things are changing. Travers Hill has very few slaves and soon I’ll see that there are none. I’ve always found the selling and buying of human beings to be barbarous, so I won’t do it,” he admitted. “Of course, I don’t grow cotton, tobacco, or even rice at Travers Hill, so ’tis easy enough for me to speak thusly. All I need are enough hands to bring in the crops we do grow for our own table, and I hire out for most of that. I raise horses, Nathan. That’s my business. I’m blessed to have Sweet John handling my beauties, or I’d be paying an Irishman double just to have him training my bloods. But that would be paltry compared to what my grandfather would’ve had to pay to get his tobacco picked at Willow Creek.”

“I understand, sir. I am deeply concerned about this peculiar institution of ours, and yet, I cannot condemn my own brethren because of the beliefs that have been necessary to the survival of our way of life. I believe that, eventually, we will right this wrong, but unless we are given the time, and left alone to change, then there will be irrevocable harm done. Indeed, sir, I fear the worst,” Nathan admitted, voicing aloud for the first time his most nightmarish thoughts. “I’m beginning to doubt if we will ever be able to settle peacefully this question of the disposition of the territories. It is the burning match, sir, to the powder keg. I’ve listened to the voices on both sides becoming angrier and angrier, growing more unreasonable in their demands every day. Armageddon will be the outcome if the ardor of some isn’t cooled soon. I wish there were more who were at least willing to talk about change.”

“I am not optimistic, Nathan. I expect to hear any day now that South Carolina has seceded from the Union over this question of whether to keep the territories free soil or let a man take his property, including slaves, into them without fear of breaking the law or having his property confiscated. I can understand both sides. There were a lot of good Southerners who fought in the war and helped win those new lands from Mexico, and now they are to be denied their rights because of a few hotheaded Northerners. Trouble indeed, Nathan, when you have a Senator from Massachusetts beaten over the head with a stick by a Representative from South Carolina who didn’t like his abolitionist talk. Not surprising to find this madman John Brown raiding and killing when that goes on in the Senate by supposedly sane men. Of course, some things never seem to change, since I recall that this was the very same talk in Charleston even when I was courting Mrs. Travers. Let’s see, that was about the time of the Purchase, wasn’t it?” he said with a wink.

“I believe, sir, you refer to my great-grandmother’s time,” she said.

“My pardon, ma’am. Of course, I do remember quite vividly that there always has been a Leigh, perhaps even the old colonel, with one of the loudest voices in the crowd calling for secession,” Mr. Travers declared. “But then you Leighs always have been a rebellious lot. First to call for poor mad King George’s bewigged head, I believe.”

“Actually, sir, I believe there were several prominent Leighs who were Tories, and that is why we have cousins in England today. However, that is beside the point. I declare, all I ever hear anymore is this abolitionist talk. And it is dangerous talk, you mark my words,” Beatrice Amelia warned them. “Why, it caused my poor Great-Uncle Louis Wilcox’s death.”

“Great-Uncle Louis’s death? I thought he choked on a catfish bone?” Mr. Travers asked, wrinkling his brow in memory.

Beatrice Amelia sniffed as she wound the silken thread tighter around her slender fingers. “He did,” she replied evenly, “but it was only because he turned apoplectic at the dinner table over all this abolitionist talk, and unless you wish me to follow in my great-uncle’s footsteps over dinner this eve, then you will cease this instant, Mr. Travers.”

Beatrice Amelia’s son-in-law was clearing his throat from a sudden huskiness when he caught his wife’s eye and knew he hadn’t succeeded in masking his chuckle.

“Did I tell you we met Neil Braedon in Europe when we were on our honeymoon?” Althea said, speaking to no one in particular and hoping her mother hadn’t heard her husband’s muffled snort.

“Really, dear?” Beatrice Amelia responded, genuinely interested.

“Neil was in Paris. I have to admit he is a very handsome man, and now I think about it, your description of your Uncle Nathaniel seems quite appropriate in describing his son,” Althea said.

“What did I say?” Nathan asked, concerned that he might have been indiscreet, for whatever might have seemed appropriate in describing Neil surely couldn’t have been mentioned with ladies present, and he hoped he hadn’t been disrespectful to his uncle.

“You spoke of ‘a devil with gold curls,’ which I believe very nicely describes Neil Braedon. I was pleased to be introduced to him as your wife, dear,” Althea added.

“Not really? I’ve never thought he was that threatening,” Nathan declared in surprise.

“You are not a woman,” she said with a delicate shiver.

“What does that mean? He’s irresistible to a woman, or dangerous?”

“One and the same when you meet those eyes of his,” Althea surprised her husband by answering. “His gaze is so intent, and patient, as if he knows he will get what he wants if he waits long enough.”

Nathan laughed. “Then I am glad I met you first, my dearest.”

“Actually, I decided upon you first, so you need never have worried, even when Neil came here that summer and you Braedon boys were quite horrible to me.”

“Never!”

“You might thank Neil and Adam for being so obnoxious, because you always came to my defense, and that was why I fell in love with you.”

“Did I really?” Nathan asked, pleased at the thought.

“A woman never forgets,” Mr. Travers commented at great risk.

“When we were in Paris we also met Neil’s wife,” Althea continued, remembering that encounter as though it were yesterday.

“I do recollect you mentioning something about her now, dear,” Beatrice Amelia remembered. “Foreign, wasn’t she?”

Nathan smiled. “Of Spanish descent on her mother’s side of the family, but her father was originally from Ohio, I believe, definitely an American. He went out to the territories about the same time Uncle Nathaniel did. He married a woman from one of the oldest families in the New Mexico Territory. This Alfonso Jacobs owns the land nearest to Royal Rivers.”

“She was exquisite,” Althea recalled. “Black hair, black eyes, alabaster skin, and a profile that was very aristocratic. Although haughty, she was quite charming. She said very little. And when she did speak, she had quite an accent, so I assume she preferred speaking in Spanish. What was her name, Nathan? I remember we said it fit her perfectly.”

“Serena.”

“Hmmm, sounds foreign to me,” Beatrice Amelia declared, not impressed.

“She was wearing the most incredible jewels.”

“Oh?” Beatrice Amelia’s attention was caught now.

“Biggest emeralds I’ve ever seen,” Nathan admitted. “From her mother’s family, I believe,” he added quickly when he caught his mother-in-law’s speculative gaze on him. “When she and Neil walked into the hotel the most amazing silence descended on the lobby. Every eye was on them.”

“You have to admit they made a striking couple. I was quite concerned for a while that your cousin might find himself involved in a duel with one or two of his wife’s more ardent admirers.”

Nathan grinned. “He’s got the Braedon temper, so I had good reason for concern too, but after the first few minutes, I relaxed.”

“Why?”

“Because it seemed to me that Neil was more amused than angered by the lustful stares his wife’s beauty caused.”

“Being married to a beautiful woman, the man obviously had come to expect such a reaction,” Mr. Travers said with understanding, for his own Beatrice Amelia had been a great beauty and he’d come close to dueling many times when an admiring gentleman had become too familiar.

“Yes, but I’ve always wondered…well, it is too late now,” Nathan said with a shrug, leaving unsaid the rest of his thought.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter. It is over now, and whether or not Neil was happy no longer matters.”

“You don’t think Neil was happy with Serena?” Althea asked, a curious expression in her soft brown eyes.

“Whether he was, or not, it ended tragically for him,” was all Nathan allowed.

“What ended tragically?” Beatrice Amelia demanded, her interest held by Nathan’s oblique comments.

“Serena died. It was one of those tragic accidents. She had been out riding and something happened to frighten her horse. It bolted, throwing her to the ground. She was left abandoned and lost in some godforsaken canyon. They didn’t find her body for months.”