Kary, Elizabeth (4 page)

"I
hate to leave such pleasant company," he was saying, "but urgent
matters demand my attention. Stay and finish your meal, Mr. Banister, and enjoy
the rest of the evening with my ladies. You seem a man of reasonable views and
opinions, sir, and if your stay in St. Louis proves lengthy, I hope you find
your way back to our table. And thank you for what you did for Leigh this
afternoon."

Banister
rose from his place to shake Pennington's hand. "Thank you, sir. I've
enjoyed the meal and the company. Have care on the streets tonight; there's no
telling who's abroad."

Horace
acknowledged his words of warning and turned to go. "Good night,
then."

"Do
be careful, Horace," Althea called after him. "It's that wretched
Yankee Wide-Awakes Club that takes him out on such a night when he would be far
safer at home," she complained. "I wish he would stay here instead of
going gallivanting with those good-for-nothing rabble-rousers!"

Banister
had been in town long enough to recognize her florid description of some of the
most respectable men in the city, and smiled to himself.

"How
is it, Mrs. Pennington, that you can be a staunch Confederate when your husband
is such a loyal Lincoln man?" he wanted to know. But instead of her
mother, it was Leigh who gave him his answer.

"We
live in 'a house divided,' " she said simply, but the expression of
sadness in the depths of her eyes was not lost on the man across the table.

"I
admit
it's a trial, Mr. Banister, but neither of us can change the way we are,"
Althea added softly.

A
pall of quiet resignation hung over the room, and Hayes felt compelled to try
to mend the rift he had caused. "Are you at odds on every point?" he
continued. "Do you condone the institution of slavery while Mr. Pennington
opposes it? And do you believe in each state's right to sever its ties with the
Union?"

Althea
drew a long breath, wondering if Hayes Banister's questions lay in men's
seemingly endless compulsion to discuss politics or in an honest desire to
understand the conflict that was threatening to destroy not only the nation but
her family as well.

"I
believe that the people in any state or territory should be free to choose
their course for the common good, Mr. Banister. And as for slavery..." She
made a vague, fluttery gesture with her hands. "We own no slaves here in
Missouri though it is our right to do so. All our servants are free men and
women, even my maid Julia who came with me from Louisiana when I married. And
that's fine for our life here. But in the South, where I was born and raised,
slavery is an economic necessity. My brothers could not run their plantations
without darkies, and if slavery is abolished in this country, as some think it
should be, it will be the end of a life I hold most dear."

Hayes
watched the older woman with new respect. In spite of her sometimes vapid pose,
she defended her own position with unexpected eloquence.

Her
eyes misted as she went on. "When I was a girl, we lived such a fine life:
slow and genteel, with nothing more to think about than balls and barbecues. We
hunted in the spring and fall and partied through the summer. In winter we
would open the house in New Orleans to attend the entertainments there."
Her soft, liquid drawl lent veracity to the conjured images.

"Our
Southern men made such gallant cavaliers: handsome, well-spoken, and dashing.
They would go to any lengths to please a lady, and those ladies, once won,
would try as diligently to make their gentlemen content. Those were such sweet
days, happier than any I've ever known. If the North wins this war and outlaws
slavery, those days will be lost forever, exiled to memories of glories
past."

Hayes
studied her face and the unmistakable sadness in the line of her mouth, nodding
slowly. "I think I understand why you want to preserve a way of life that
will one day be irretrievably gone. In a way I feel the same about my time on
the Mississippi. The years I spent as a pilot on a steamboat are like a dream
to me now. Danger, adventure, travel, and responsibility were part and parcel
of the life I was living, and I loved every minute of it. For those three years
I was totally alive, intensely aware of my good fortune and of living each day
to the fullest. And though the steamboats are still flourishing, they're doomed
and the life I remember with them. When the railroads take over this country,
as they inevitably will, it will mark the end of an era."

Both
women watched him for a long moment with warmth in their eyes. It was a rare
man who admitted to his feelings, and they both recognized the strength in
Hayes Banister that allowed him to do so now.

It
was Althea who spoke at last. "If you feel that way, Mr. Banister, why did
you leave the river?"

Hayes
stirred and shrugged. "The family business needed me, and I had sown my
wild oats, so to speak." He paused tentatively, as if he meant to say more
but could not find the words.

Instead
he asked a question of his own. "And why did you leave the South?"

"I
left because I married Horace, of course," Althea replied, then sat silent
for a moment, taking the measure of this tall, dark-haired man before her. She
saw the broad, intelligent brow and the sensitive curve of his lips balanced by
the hardness of his jaw and his clear, unflinching gaze.

Slowly
she nodded. "I like you, Mr. Banister. I believe there are depths and
emotions in you that you contrive to keep very well hidden."

"Mother!"
Leigh gasped with inexplicable irritation. Her mother had no right to make such
a personal observation about a man they hardly knew.

But
Althea turned to her daughter unperturbed. "He's a rare man, Leigh. You
would do very well indeed to remember that."

Then,
as if the exchange had never taken place, she addressed her supper guest once
more. "Would you care to take coffee on the veranda, sir? It's grown
intolerably warm in here."

When
they had finished their coffee, Althea rose and excused herself. "If you
don't mind, I believe I'll go indoors and practice the pieces I must play next
week at Mrs. Stephens's musical."

"No,
by all means, go ahead," Hayes agreed. "I for one would enjoy a
concert, and with the windows open we should have very good seats for it."

Smiling,
the older woman picked up her trailing skirts and went inside, leaving Hayes
and Leigh sitting on the porch steps beneath the gracefully draped wisteria
vines. A few moments later the stirring strains of "Dixie" filled the
air.

"Good
heavens!" Leigh exclaimed with a chuckle. "I hope she isn't planning
to play that at the musical, or she'll cause a riot on her own."

Hayes
listened for a minute to the familiar melody. "She does play the piano
very well," he observed. "Do you play?"

"A
little; not nearly as well as Mother does. Can I get you anything else, Hayes?
Brandy? A cigar?"

"A
bit of brandy sounds good. Would you mind if I smoked my pipe?" he asked,
taking a pouch of tobacco and a fine old briar from his pocket.

"Not
at all; I like the smell of pipe smoke."

By
the time Leigh had returned with a decanter and a glass on an ornate silver tray,
smoke from Banister's pipe was already wafting upward. She poured a tot of
brandy in the bottom of the snifter, then settled herself on the top step
beside him. Hayes studied her in silence, drawing on his pipe and taking an
occasional sip from his drink. A light wind was stirring the night air, grown
thick with the promise of rain, bringing the scent of lilacs to them from the
garden at the side of the house. The sound of peepers filled the darkness, and
a wondrous sense of contentment flowed between them. They sat quietly enjoying
the music for a very long time.

"Where
do you stand in all this, Leigh?" Hayes asked at last, knocking the ash
from the bowl of his pipe.

She
stirred slowly. "In all what?"

"Your
father is a confirmed Union man and your mother an ardent Confederate. Where
does that leave you?"

She
leaned back against one of the tall wooden columns that supported the porch.
"It leaves me in a position of great compromise," she stated flatly.
Before she went on, she drew a long breath and exhaled slowly.

"When
I was a child, we would go south to visit Uncle Charles and Uncle Theo at the
plantations in Louisiana, and in many ways it was the kind of life Mother
remembers so fondly. During those visits she reveled in the ease and gentility,
in the quiet gallantry of the men and in a woman's life of position and
security. But all I ever saw was the misery that was necessary to support their
pleasant indolence. I watched the Negroes toil all day in the scorching sun and
saw their tumbledown hovels and the whippings. Mother has always been able to
turn a blind eye to suffering. I never could.

"But
then, I think it's wrong to use force to preserve the Union. The Constitution
was a pact, an agreement entered into freely by all parties. If the southern states
want to void that agreement and secede, then I think they should be allowed to
go peacefully."

"You're
caught right in the middle, aren't you?" he asked gently. "What are
you going to do when the war comes in earnest?"

"You
mean it hasn't?" she asked and then looked away. "I'm going to
nurse."

Banister
nodded. "I should have expected that answer after what you did out at Camp
Jackson today. I'd say if anyone has a calling for medicine, you do."

She
reached across to touch his hand in a warm gesture of gratitude before she went
on. "Until my grandfather died last fall, I worked with him in his medical
practice. If I have any skill, it is because he was such a fine teacher."
Leigh paused uncertainly, watching the big man beside her from beneath her
lashes as long-buried hopes and ambitions formed themselves into words for the
first time. Those hopes had been a secret deep within her for so long that it
was nearly impossible to confess them at last, but there was something about
this stranger that invited her confidences.

"After—after
Grandpa died, I thought about taking the trust fund he'd left for me to go to
medical school. There are women who've done that, you know." Her voice
gained momentum. "Women in New England and in New York have actually
become doctors. I don't delude myself that it would be easy, but studying
medicine is all I've ever wanted to do with my life. Only now it's more
important to stay here, even if it means an end to that dream."

Hayes's
expression was intent. "Why?" he wanted to know.

"Because
in a few months they're going to need every pair of hands to care for the sick
and wounded. I realized that today. I'll be able to use my skills; I have
something to offer."

Hayes
took her hands in his as he studied her pale, determined face. "What you
have, Leigh, is far more than your skill. You have an honest compassion for
people in need."

"Oh,
Hayes, it's so kind of you to offer me words of encouragement when..." Her
words faltered as she met those strange, light eyes, and before she realized
what he intended, he had pulled her across the steps toward him. In the same
fluid motion his lips descended to cover hers, and Leigh could taste the
lingering sweetness of brandy on his mouth. A delicate, fluttering
breathlessness filled her, followed by an inexplicable sense of belonging that
quelled any questions or doubts. With ingenuous ease she gave him her response,
her arms sliding artlessly around his neck. The kiss that had begun with the
simple touching of lips deepened as his tongue savored her more and more
deeply, and there seemed nothing so right as the helpless languor that crept
along her limbs. Her world went diffuse and unfocused around her, and she clung
with growing intensity to the strong, solid man at her side. His open mouth
moved by minutely measured degrees to her temple, then nibbled across her cheek
to her throat, as if he were charting the curves and hollows to remember for
all eternity. As his lips brushed her alabaster skin, her fingers stroked his
hair, sensing the deep, rich color rather than seeing it, reveling in the
softness and vitality of the thickly waving strands. And though she tried,
Leigh could not seem to catch her breath or quiet the sudden leaping of her
heart. Then his lips returned to cover hers, fierce and greedy and oddly
satisfying. Of her own volition she pressed close against Hayes with a growing
need to delight in the delicious sensations he evoked in her.

"Leigh,"
an intruding voice assailed her. "Leigh?"

"Yes,
Mother?" she managed to answer as she wrenched free of Hayes's encircling
arms with guilty haste.

"Are
you making sure that Mr. Banister has everything he wants?" Althea called
out from the front parlor. Leigh became abruptly aware that the music had
stopped, and she fumbled in confusion.

"She's
doing an admirable job of that, I assure you, Mrs. Pennington," Hayes
spoke up, answering for her, a purely lecherous grin lighting his face.

"Very
well," Althea called back and began to play again.

As
the first notes of a Beethoven sonata filled the air, Leigh's thoughts roiled
in confusion: outraged propriety and the belated realization of her betrothal
to Lucas Hale warring with the intense pleasure and security she found in Hayes
Banister's embrace.