The Lover's Eye, page 38
part #2 of Time Travel Series
“I know.” Jane says softly, feeling the familiar pain of loss slither in. “But I don’t get it. What’s the big secret?”
“I can’t say, Miss Jane, but massa, he know.”
Jane’s quick flash of anger is quieted by the dismal expression on Boss’ face. What were they about to do? Just take off without letting her say goodbye? Sympathetically, she realizes they had no choice in any of this, “I am so glad I came then. Both you and Celia . . . I can’t thank you enough for everything. There is no way I would have survived without you. Mack too.”
Jane smiles and hugs Boss’ large frame, ignoring his awkwardness and the shabby condition of his clothes — a far cry from the rank of Mary’s personal servant in the Marshall household.
Returning to the open yard, she looks over where Celia stands with a large ladle in one hand, and the other resting on her hip. Upon eye contact, Jane waves and Celia nods and gets back to her work. “Please thank Celia too for me, Boss. I hope, wherever you go, you will find happiness. I’ll miss you both.”
Boss bends closer to speak in confidence, “I’s thinkin’ o’ joinin’ up, Miss Jane. If’n dey let me. I can march, fight and shoot as good as any. I never forget what dem Yankees done to us. My mistress,” his voice trails off. “Miz Marshall di’n deserve what she got. Mattie di’n deserve it neither. No’um. It jess ain’t right,” he shakes his head in resolve.
Jane is disturbed by Boss’ declaration, yet she tries not to let it show. From her history, she is pretty sure only a small number of African Americans actually fought in the Confederacy, but only during the final weeks of the war. Until then, and Jane heard this openly discussed several times, the South expressly forbid arming the enslaved for fear of an uprising. Putting muskets in the hands of slaves presented more than a concrete threat to the people of this time. Embracing the notion that blacks could serve as soldiers in the same fashion as whites threatened deeply held southern ideals of race-based honor and masculinity.
She simply nods her understanding, “Whatever you do, Boss, just be careful, won’t you?”
“I will, Miss Jane. I promise. You take care now, ya hear?”
Boss insisted on accompanying Jane for most of the walk to the big house and disappeared back into the woods. With each step she took, Jane’s frustration simmered. She’s not going another day without answers.
As Jane lifts her skirt to climb the stairs up to the veranda with its soaring columns that encircle all sides of the gracious antebellum manor, her body jerks with a start. Captain McIntosh is seated in one of two large white rockers, casually regarding her.
Jane straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, “Evenin’, Captain.” The sun has already disappeared behind the trees.
“Won’t you join me for a moment, my dear. I find this time of day most agreeable out here and I would welcome your company.” Captain respectfully stands and offers Jane a seat in the other rocker. “We should talk.”
Jane nods and rustles over to sit down. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate that.” No need to overreact. She will be straightforward with her feelings, but only after giving Captain McIntosh time to explain.
“We have received a letter from Savannah I am compelled to share.” Captain pulls a slip of paper from his coat pocket and hands it to Jane. The light is quickly dimming and, as if on cue, one of the house servants sweeps by to light the string of hanging lanterns on the columns and on the table between the rockers. The flickering flames give off enough light to read.
My dear Captain,
Our joy abounds and God has been merciful. Recently, we received a personal message by courier from General Lee informing us our precious Matthew is among the living.
I, of course, departed immediately to his side and thankfully so. There, where our Matthew was sheltered, I found such despicable conditions in his care that I cannot to this day bring myself to describe it without swooning all over again.
My dear boy was in such a horrid state that he did not even recognize me for many days and then, I have my doubts. Against the hospital’s fervent wishes, I set my mind to bringing him home to Savannah, posthaste, and defying the risk of losing him completely.
I am sad to say the journey was a difficult one and Matthew’s condition worsens daily. It is my hope and prayer that Jane will take pity and make herself available to us. I ask your assistance, Captain, in seeing her safely here. Travel is treacherous, I know, yet I would not ask it if I did not feel it of grave importance to his survival. You must explain to dear Jane our dire circumstance and that I beg her presence. Delirious with fever and infection, my poor son calls for her repeatedly.
I await your good counsel, sir, and we are humbly in your hands. God be with you.
Respectfully and with sincere gratitude,
Mrs. Anna Gunter Hopkins
“Oh my God! What is this?” The paper slips through Jane’s trembling fingers and flutters down to the painted wood decking. “I must go to him, immediately.”
Just as Jane snatches up the letter and pushes from her chair, the bottom strip of her hoop under her voluminous skirt and petticoats catches under one of the rockers, wrenching her backward. To keep her balance, she ends up clumsily plunking back down into her seat with a huff.
“Please, Miss Peterson, don’t upset yourself.” Through a foolproof chain of communication, Captain has been made aware of Jane’s trip to the slave quarters to see Boss and Celia.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frustration flushes color to Jane’s cheeks, nose and ears, turning them about as fiery as the highlights in her hair. “You’ve known for days!”
“The letter only arrived two days ago, my dear.” Captain kindly explains, “Communications are slow in coming, as you well know.” He tugs his chair around to face Jane’s and leans forward, his elbows resting on the arms of the rocker, “Rebecca mentioned your feelings for the young man and I did not want to cause you further distress.”
Captain is no stranger to the temperament of this young woman. The Scots are a passionate and emotional people, quick to anger, quick to love and extremely strong-willed. Jane Peterson is as Scottish as they come, from her sparkling green eyes to the tips of her red hair. “I know what you are thinking and I understand, my dear, I sincerely do . . . but you cannot go. I will not allow it. The roads are much too dangerous to travel.” His expression softens, “And you have been through enough.”
“How do you know what I’ve been through? Matt . . . Lieutenant Hopkins needs me. Anna said she wants me there.” Jane rakes a deep uneven breath, “Look, Becky has taught me how to ride. I can wear the clothes I brought with me — pants and a shirt. I promise I won’t slow you down. Just let me help. It is worth the risk to me. I’m stronger than you think.”
“Yes. I am sure you are,” Captain chuckles tolerantly at the last remark. “Truly, I am sympathetic to your concerns, Miss Peterson. I also have great empathy for the wishes of a despairing mother. But, your suggestion, and that of Mrs. Hopkins’, is out of the question.” Captain considers his guest, who is now by all rights his charge. Like all those under his roof, he is devoted to her well-being.
“You don’t have a say in what I do.” The pitch of her voice sounds shamefully childish. This is a war and a nasty one at that. Federal troops and bummers prowl the countryside. Skirmishes and battles erupt daily, ghastly and unpredictable. Blood is being spilled and lives are being lost.
“I most certainly do have a say, Miss Peterson.” Captain takes a more formal pose, his tone level and direct. His bushy brows dip toward the bridge of his nose and level off, “I take my responsibilities seriously. Please, try to exercise some control,” he warns.
This gets Jane’s attention and she bites her bottom lip to keep from going off on the man. She is so mad she can’t think straight and in this state of mind it would not do to offend or disappoint. All she can think of is Matt could die if he doesn’t get the right care — her care, as limited as it may seem to her. She wants to beg. She wants to plead. But she just can’t. Captain McIntosh and his family have been nothing but kind and she must heed his advice. If she doesn’t, he will be quick to show her, in no uncertain terms, his word is law.
After a moment to assemble her thoughts, Jane continues more evenly, “I accept your judgment, Captain. I really do and would never think to cross you. It is a difficult thing you ask of me, but I will be patient and remain here. You have my word. However,” Jane pauses. “Something’s up. There’s more to this whole business. Can you at least let me know what you are about?” Savannah. He’s headed to Savannah and Matt is there. Alive! The thrill of this incredible news begins to percolate.
Captain smiles his approval. “Happily,” he brightens. “It has been my intent to collect the entire Hopkins family and see them to safety, here at Sea Oaks. These plans have only just come to fruition and now will include your lieutenant . . . if, of course, he is well enough to travel. Our region is better fortified, having already repelled one federal attack and I understand there may be more trouble to come.”
Captain eyes his guest curiously. Miss Peterson stubbornly refuses contact with her family, something he increasingly considers a necessity. In good conscience, Captain McIntosh knows he must eventually attend to the matter, with or without her agreement and in her best interest. He will not harbor someone’s child without their knowledge, and commits, no family should be denied the whereabouts of their children, no matter the circumstance.
While Miss Peterson shares little about her own family, she talks openly about her connection with the Hopkins family, her time in Savannah, and the tragic episode at a place called Tohidu. To top it all, just yesterday, by chance, he was made aware of some grand scheme that will march Yankee forces across their great state, all the way to Savannah.
How is Miss Peterson privy to the movement of federal troops? Is it truly by a chance encounter with a galvanized Yankee on a road to Hinesville? And, how did Matthew become aware of the surprise attack on Darien? His message was powerfully convincing, although vague in detail. Only his trust in the young man compelled him to act. There was no explanation on how it came to be and no reference to its source. Now he finds these two young people are attached.
Jane is surprised by Captain’s reference to a future federal attack. Has he heard about Sherman’s March to the Sea?
Of course, Billy!
CHAPTER 67: THIS IS NOW
Jane is dreaming. She is totally aware of the fact in her deep subconscious state that she is dreaming. Everything is the same. Like so many times before, she recognizes the scene immediately.
In a bustling New York City subway station, Bryce will be searching for her. When he disappears down the escalator to a lower level, she will struggle through a sea of people in pursuit, already knowing how it will end — with her crying his name over and over again.
But, this time it is different. Bryce is not there. Jane squeezes her eyes tight, trying to imagine it as it was. In confusion, she calls his name. Bryce. But, the sound is gobbled up by the mob of faceless people moving around her. They are oblivious to her fear and rising panic. Her eyes dart from left to right, she is uncertain what to do.
“This is a dream, right?” She says out loud, above the noise. “So just wake up, dummy . . .”
“Jane. I’m here.”
Jane freezes, not sure now where this dream is taking her. But the voice behind her, it is familiar, formal and mature. Sensations of warmth and safety fill her. A scent of smoke and cedar, the rough wool of his coat against her cheek, his arms pressed down on hers to hold her steady behind him, as they race on horseback through the streets of Savannah.
Simple words, strong and true . . . Jane. I’m here.
Slowly, Jane turns. A brilliant glow fills the space, welcoming her. And, suddenly, nothing else matters. She raises her hand to shield her eyes and focuses on the center. A figure approaching her, his hand extended. Jane smiles and walks in his direction. Then, abruptly, she wakes.
“Dammit!”
As she lie in the pocket of her feather mattress, where her rump has managed to settle on the hard frame of the bed beneath, Jane tries to retain the image of who spoke to her, the figure in the light. She is positive it’s Matt. “Jane, I’m here.” The sound of his voice resonates.
Live Matt, Jane wills with all her being. Live and come back to me. I’m here. “I’m waiting for you,” she whispers.
Millie meows annoyance at her owner’s restlessness and jumps up on Jane’s chest. Jane runs her fingers through the soft orange fur and scratches between her kitty’s ears. “It’s going to be all right, Millie. It has to be.”
No word yet. No call, no text, no email — the painfully restrictive and nerve-racking difference between the 21st century and this one. The feeling Matt is only a short distance away. It is only 50 minutes max by car from here to Savannah, when in this time it takes a whole day of hard travel, and realistically two days by horse, maybe more by wagon or coach, depending on the conditions. When Jane thought she could not stand it a moment longer, she gently asked Chloe if she thought they might receive a telegram. She had already heard getting mail was a big problem.
While any reference to her husband’s absence set poor Chloe’s delicate porcelain hands to wringing, she replied that she was hopeful and committed her dear Captain would get word to them if he could. Then in one of those woman-to-woman moments of understanding, Chloe offered, “I promise to let you know the minute I hear anything. We pray daily for the safe return of our loved ones,” and she rustled off to resume her wifely duties.
Chloe was a private sort, fragile in contrast to her husband’s robust character, playful at times, skilled in running a complex household, and quick to laugh merrily at her children’s antics. But without her husband present, she was set adrift, lost. Jane could tell Chloe was unhappy and tried everything possible to cheer her up. She taught the children “Do-Re-Mi” from The Sound of Music and had them act out the scene from the musical to their mother’s delight. Becky’s widowed mother Olive Maccaw also attended, and it did them all good to see her smile. Becky played Julie Andrews’ part and sang her heart out.
As the days turned into weeks, Jane is beginning to think telegraph service is as bad as the mail and totally unreliable.
Since the beginning of the war, telegraph service became more widespread. Thousands of miles of cable were laid for military purposes, but it had never been tested in a time of crisis. The lines were vulnerable and could easily be destroyed. Cutting communications was a brand new tactic of the war.
Waiting is absolute torment. Unbearable, jumpy days of going through the motions of daily living — working with the children on their lessons and finding it impossible to focus. Becky has become Jane’s greatest companion and friend, comforting and patient.
Mature for her years, open and easy to talk to, Becky has grown up in a hurry in a harsh, unforgiving world none of them could have imagined. She should be in the house where she was born, making preparations for her coming out, the occasion all young girls dream about and plan for at her age. Instead, she spends her time tending to her grieving mother who is traumatized over the loss of her husband — Becky’s poor father, whose body will never be found or properly buried.
The presence of death is all around them. Jane cringes at the photos remembers seeing in old books and albums she and her dad came across, and the documentaries about the Civil War on cable. Grossly swollen, blood-covered corpses killed in combat. Faces frozen in agony, sprawled unnaturally in the dirt on some desolate field far from home, or stacked in a pile with hundreds of other nameless bodies. An irremediable waste of humanity, the Confederacy paying the highest consequence with a rate of death three times their counterparts.
After their early morning lessons and before it got too hot, Becky coaxed Jane to take their horses over parts of the large estate she felt prime for exploration, insisting it would be good for Jane and safe when they take Jasper with them. Jasper, who spends most of his time working in the stables, was assigned to chaperone the girls. With their frequent rides, Jane is becoming quite an accomplished horsewoman and admits gliding like the wind on Cleopatra, a camel colored mare, is exhilarating. The experience of riding sidesaddle, or as Becky said, riding aside is not as difficult as she first thought.
Anyone could plainly see Becky had a thing for Billy. It is no surprise they would find each other, since young men were in such short supply. With so many gone off to fight, pickings were slim. But even if they weren’t, Jane thought Becky and Billy were adorable together and would make a great match, each totally smitten with the other.
So a couple of times a week, sometimes more, Jane set out with her friend to the old homestead where Billy feverishly labored to complete his project before Captain’s return. Excitedly, Becky carried a basket with refreshments, fresh cornbread and buttermilk or lemon juice mixed with simmered water and sugar.
Watching their two shoulders touch as they sat side-by-side. A brush of a hand or conspicuous glance, generous portions of attentiveness and kind manner, eagerly shared. The sound of Becky’s hiccupping giggles prompted by some silly stunt or remark from Billy, who was quick to show off with Becky around. Sometimes they shared a comfortable quiet, as Becky waited for Billy to scoff down the treats she brought him. Blooming love.
A true courtship, innocent and old fashioned, Jane writes in her diary. She uses Becky and Billy’s time together to record her thoughts. Bonding without the complexities and total confusion imposed in the 21st century — the tiring dating scene, online matchmaking, cheap dinners, boring questions, and sexual expectations. The hook-up made for a moment of fun, with no commitment.
In contrast, 19th century simplicity is absolutely charming. It also fills Jane with longing. She thought she had that same simplicity once with Bryce. Always together, always in sync, but that was then, in another place long ago. A nice memory tucked away. And, she firmly reminds, a commitment never made.
“I can’t say, Miss Jane, but massa, he know.”
Jane’s quick flash of anger is quieted by the dismal expression on Boss’ face. What were they about to do? Just take off without letting her say goodbye? Sympathetically, she realizes they had no choice in any of this, “I am so glad I came then. Both you and Celia . . . I can’t thank you enough for everything. There is no way I would have survived without you. Mack too.”
Jane smiles and hugs Boss’ large frame, ignoring his awkwardness and the shabby condition of his clothes — a far cry from the rank of Mary’s personal servant in the Marshall household.
Returning to the open yard, she looks over where Celia stands with a large ladle in one hand, and the other resting on her hip. Upon eye contact, Jane waves and Celia nods and gets back to her work. “Please thank Celia too for me, Boss. I hope, wherever you go, you will find happiness. I’ll miss you both.”
Boss bends closer to speak in confidence, “I’s thinkin’ o’ joinin’ up, Miss Jane. If’n dey let me. I can march, fight and shoot as good as any. I never forget what dem Yankees done to us. My mistress,” his voice trails off. “Miz Marshall di’n deserve what she got. Mattie di’n deserve it neither. No’um. It jess ain’t right,” he shakes his head in resolve.
Jane is disturbed by Boss’ declaration, yet she tries not to let it show. From her history, she is pretty sure only a small number of African Americans actually fought in the Confederacy, but only during the final weeks of the war. Until then, and Jane heard this openly discussed several times, the South expressly forbid arming the enslaved for fear of an uprising. Putting muskets in the hands of slaves presented more than a concrete threat to the people of this time. Embracing the notion that blacks could serve as soldiers in the same fashion as whites threatened deeply held southern ideals of race-based honor and masculinity.
She simply nods her understanding, “Whatever you do, Boss, just be careful, won’t you?”
“I will, Miss Jane. I promise. You take care now, ya hear?”
Boss insisted on accompanying Jane for most of the walk to the big house and disappeared back into the woods. With each step she took, Jane’s frustration simmered. She’s not going another day without answers.
As Jane lifts her skirt to climb the stairs up to the veranda with its soaring columns that encircle all sides of the gracious antebellum manor, her body jerks with a start. Captain McIntosh is seated in one of two large white rockers, casually regarding her.
Jane straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin, “Evenin’, Captain.” The sun has already disappeared behind the trees.
“Won’t you join me for a moment, my dear. I find this time of day most agreeable out here and I would welcome your company.” Captain respectfully stands and offers Jane a seat in the other rocker. “We should talk.”
Jane nods and rustles over to sit down. “Thank you. I’d really appreciate that.” No need to overreact. She will be straightforward with her feelings, but only after giving Captain McIntosh time to explain.
“We have received a letter from Savannah I am compelled to share.” Captain pulls a slip of paper from his coat pocket and hands it to Jane. The light is quickly dimming and, as if on cue, one of the house servants sweeps by to light the string of hanging lanterns on the columns and on the table between the rockers. The flickering flames give off enough light to read.
My dear Captain,
Our joy abounds and God has been merciful. Recently, we received a personal message by courier from General Lee informing us our precious Matthew is among the living.
I, of course, departed immediately to his side and thankfully so. There, where our Matthew was sheltered, I found such despicable conditions in his care that I cannot to this day bring myself to describe it without swooning all over again.
My dear boy was in such a horrid state that he did not even recognize me for many days and then, I have my doubts. Against the hospital’s fervent wishes, I set my mind to bringing him home to Savannah, posthaste, and defying the risk of losing him completely.
I am sad to say the journey was a difficult one and Matthew’s condition worsens daily. It is my hope and prayer that Jane will take pity and make herself available to us. I ask your assistance, Captain, in seeing her safely here. Travel is treacherous, I know, yet I would not ask it if I did not feel it of grave importance to his survival. You must explain to dear Jane our dire circumstance and that I beg her presence. Delirious with fever and infection, my poor son calls for her repeatedly.
I await your good counsel, sir, and we are humbly in your hands. God be with you.
Respectfully and with sincere gratitude,
Mrs. Anna Gunter Hopkins
“Oh my God! What is this?” The paper slips through Jane’s trembling fingers and flutters down to the painted wood decking. “I must go to him, immediately.”
Just as Jane snatches up the letter and pushes from her chair, the bottom strip of her hoop under her voluminous skirt and petticoats catches under one of the rockers, wrenching her backward. To keep her balance, she ends up clumsily plunking back down into her seat with a huff.
“Please, Miss Peterson, don’t upset yourself.” Through a foolproof chain of communication, Captain has been made aware of Jane’s trip to the slave quarters to see Boss and Celia.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frustration flushes color to Jane’s cheeks, nose and ears, turning them about as fiery as the highlights in her hair. “You’ve known for days!”
“The letter only arrived two days ago, my dear.” Captain kindly explains, “Communications are slow in coming, as you well know.” He tugs his chair around to face Jane’s and leans forward, his elbows resting on the arms of the rocker, “Rebecca mentioned your feelings for the young man and I did not want to cause you further distress.”
Captain is no stranger to the temperament of this young woman. The Scots are a passionate and emotional people, quick to anger, quick to love and extremely strong-willed. Jane Peterson is as Scottish as they come, from her sparkling green eyes to the tips of her red hair. “I know what you are thinking and I understand, my dear, I sincerely do . . . but you cannot go. I will not allow it. The roads are much too dangerous to travel.” His expression softens, “And you have been through enough.”
“How do you know what I’ve been through? Matt . . . Lieutenant Hopkins needs me. Anna said she wants me there.” Jane rakes a deep uneven breath, “Look, Becky has taught me how to ride. I can wear the clothes I brought with me — pants and a shirt. I promise I won’t slow you down. Just let me help. It is worth the risk to me. I’m stronger than you think.”
“Yes. I am sure you are,” Captain chuckles tolerantly at the last remark. “Truly, I am sympathetic to your concerns, Miss Peterson. I also have great empathy for the wishes of a despairing mother. But, your suggestion, and that of Mrs. Hopkins’, is out of the question.” Captain considers his guest, who is now by all rights his charge. Like all those under his roof, he is devoted to her well-being.
“You don’t have a say in what I do.” The pitch of her voice sounds shamefully childish. This is a war and a nasty one at that. Federal troops and bummers prowl the countryside. Skirmishes and battles erupt daily, ghastly and unpredictable. Blood is being spilled and lives are being lost.
“I most certainly do have a say, Miss Peterson.” Captain takes a more formal pose, his tone level and direct. His bushy brows dip toward the bridge of his nose and level off, “I take my responsibilities seriously. Please, try to exercise some control,” he warns.
This gets Jane’s attention and she bites her bottom lip to keep from going off on the man. She is so mad she can’t think straight and in this state of mind it would not do to offend or disappoint. All she can think of is Matt could die if he doesn’t get the right care — her care, as limited as it may seem to her. She wants to beg. She wants to plead. But she just can’t. Captain McIntosh and his family have been nothing but kind and she must heed his advice. If she doesn’t, he will be quick to show her, in no uncertain terms, his word is law.
After a moment to assemble her thoughts, Jane continues more evenly, “I accept your judgment, Captain. I really do and would never think to cross you. It is a difficult thing you ask of me, but I will be patient and remain here. You have my word. However,” Jane pauses. “Something’s up. There’s more to this whole business. Can you at least let me know what you are about?” Savannah. He’s headed to Savannah and Matt is there. Alive! The thrill of this incredible news begins to percolate.
Captain smiles his approval. “Happily,” he brightens. “It has been my intent to collect the entire Hopkins family and see them to safety, here at Sea Oaks. These plans have only just come to fruition and now will include your lieutenant . . . if, of course, he is well enough to travel. Our region is better fortified, having already repelled one federal attack and I understand there may be more trouble to come.”
Captain eyes his guest curiously. Miss Peterson stubbornly refuses contact with her family, something he increasingly considers a necessity. In good conscience, Captain McIntosh knows he must eventually attend to the matter, with or without her agreement and in her best interest. He will not harbor someone’s child without their knowledge, and commits, no family should be denied the whereabouts of their children, no matter the circumstance.
While Miss Peterson shares little about her own family, she talks openly about her connection with the Hopkins family, her time in Savannah, and the tragic episode at a place called Tohidu. To top it all, just yesterday, by chance, he was made aware of some grand scheme that will march Yankee forces across their great state, all the way to Savannah.
How is Miss Peterson privy to the movement of federal troops? Is it truly by a chance encounter with a galvanized Yankee on a road to Hinesville? And, how did Matthew become aware of the surprise attack on Darien? His message was powerfully convincing, although vague in detail. Only his trust in the young man compelled him to act. There was no explanation on how it came to be and no reference to its source. Now he finds these two young people are attached.
Jane is surprised by Captain’s reference to a future federal attack. Has he heard about Sherman’s March to the Sea?
Of course, Billy!
CHAPTER 67: THIS IS NOW
Jane is dreaming. She is totally aware of the fact in her deep subconscious state that she is dreaming. Everything is the same. Like so many times before, she recognizes the scene immediately.
In a bustling New York City subway station, Bryce will be searching for her. When he disappears down the escalator to a lower level, she will struggle through a sea of people in pursuit, already knowing how it will end — with her crying his name over and over again.
But, this time it is different. Bryce is not there. Jane squeezes her eyes tight, trying to imagine it as it was. In confusion, she calls his name. Bryce. But, the sound is gobbled up by the mob of faceless people moving around her. They are oblivious to her fear and rising panic. Her eyes dart from left to right, she is uncertain what to do.
“This is a dream, right?” She says out loud, above the noise. “So just wake up, dummy . . .”
“Jane. I’m here.”
Jane freezes, not sure now where this dream is taking her. But the voice behind her, it is familiar, formal and mature. Sensations of warmth and safety fill her. A scent of smoke and cedar, the rough wool of his coat against her cheek, his arms pressed down on hers to hold her steady behind him, as they race on horseback through the streets of Savannah.
Simple words, strong and true . . . Jane. I’m here.
Slowly, Jane turns. A brilliant glow fills the space, welcoming her. And, suddenly, nothing else matters. She raises her hand to shield her eyes and focuses on the center. A figure approaching her, his hand extended. Jane smiles and walks in his direction. Then, abruptly, she wakes.
“Dammit!”
As she lie in the pocket of her feather mattress, where her rump has managed to settle on the hard frame of the bed beneath, Jane tries to retain the image of who spoke to her, the figure in the light. She is positive it’s Matt. “Jane, I’m here.” The sound of his voice resonates.
Live Matt, Jane wills with all her being. Live and come back to me. I’m here. “I’m waiting for you,” she whispers.
Millie meows annoyance at her owner’s restlessness and jumps up on Jane’s chest. Jane runs her fingers through the soft orange fur and scratches between her kitty’s ears. “It’s going to be all right, Millie. It has to be.”
No word yet. No call, no text, no email — the painfully restrictive and nerve-racking difference between the 21st century and this one. The feeling Matt is only a short distance away. It is only 50 minutes max by car from here to Savannah, when in this time it takes a whole day of hard travel, and realistically two days by horse, maybe more by wagon or coach, depending on the conditions. When Jane thought she could not stand it a moment longer, she gently asked Chloe if she thought they might receive a telegram. She had already heard getting mail was a big problem.
While any reference to her husband’s absence set poor Chloe’s delicate porcelain hands to wringing, she replied that she was hopeful and committed her dear Captain would get word to them if he could. Then in one of those woman-to-woman moments of understanding, Chloe offered, “I promise to let you know the minute I hear anything. We pray daily for the safe return of our loved ones,” and she rustled off to resume her wifely duties.
Chloe was a private sort, fragile in contrast to her husband’s robust character, playful at times, skilled in running a complex household, and quick to laugh merrily at her children’s antics. But without her husband present, she was set adrift, lost. Jane could tell Chloe was unhappy and tried everything possible to cheer her up. She taught the children “Do-Re-Mi” from The Sound of Music and had them act out the scene from the musical to their mother’s delight. Becky’s widowed mother Olive Maccaw also attended, and it did them all good to see her smile. Becky played Julie Andrews’ part and sang her heart out.
As the days turned into weeks, Jane is beginning to think telegraph service is as bad as the mail and totally unreliable.
Since the beginning of the war, telegraph service became more widespread. Thousands of miles of cable were laid for military purposes, but it had never been tested in a time of crisis. The lines were vulnerable and could easily be destroyed. Cutting communications was a brand new tactic of the war.
Waiting is absolute torment. Unbearable, jumpy days of going through the motions of daily living — working with the children on their lessons and finding it impossible to focus. Becky has become Jane’s greatest companion and friend, comforting and patient.
Mature for her years, open and easy to talk to, Becky has grown up in a hurry in a harsh, unforgiving world none of them could have imagined. She should be in the house where she was born, making preparations for her coming out, the occasion all young girls dream about and plan for at her age. Instead, she spends her time tending to her grieving mother who is traumatized over the loss of her husband — Becky’s poor father, whose body will never be found or properly buried.
The presence of death is all around them. Jane cringes at the photos remembers seeing in old books and albums she and her dad came across, and the documentaries about the Civil War on cable. Grossly swollen, blood-covered corpses killed in combat. Faces frozen in agony, sprawled unnaturally in the dirt on some desolate field far from home, or stacked in a pile with hundreds of other nameless bodies. An irremediable waste of humanity, the Confederacy paying the highest consequence with a rate of death three times their counterparts.
After their early morning lessons and before it got too hot, Becky coaxed Jane to take their horses over parts of the large estate she felt prime for exploration, insisting it would be good for Jane and safe when they take Jasper with them. Jasper, who spends most of his time working in the stables, was assigned to chaperone the girls. With their frequent rides, Jane is becoming quite an accomplished horsewoman and admits gliding like the wind on Cleopatra, a camel colored mare, is exhilarating. The experience of riding sidesaddle, or as Becky said, riding aside is not as difficult as she first thought.
Anyone could plainly see Becky had a thing for Billy. It is no surprise they would find each other, since young men were in such short supply. With so many gone off to fight, pickings were slim. But even if they weren’t, Jane thought Becky and Billy were adorable together and would make a great match, each totally smitten with the other.
So a couple of times a week, sometimes more, Jane set out with her friend to the old homestead where Billy feverishly labored to complete his project before Captain’s return. Excitedly, Becky carried a basket with refreshments, fresh cornbread and buttermilk or lemon juice mixed with simmered water and sugar.
Watching their two shoulders touch as they sat side-by-side. A brush of a hand or conspicuous glance, generous portions of attentiveness and kind manner, eagerly shared. The sound of Becky’s hiccupping giggles prompted by some silly stunt or remark from Billy, who was quick to show off with Becky around. Sometimes they shared a comfortable quiet, as Becky waited for Billy to scoff down the treats she brought him. Blooming love.
A true courtship, innocent and old fashioned, Jane writes in her diary. She uses Becky and Billy’s time together to record her thoughts. Bonding without the complexities and total confusion imposed in the 21st century — the tiring dating scene, online matchmaking, cheap dinners, boring questions, and sexual expectations. The hook-up made for a moment of fun, with no commitment.
In contrast, 19th century simplicity is absolutely charming. It also fills Jane with longing. She thought she had that same simplicity once with Bryce. Always together, always in sync, but that was then, in another place long ago. A nice memory tucked away. And, she firmly reminds, a commitment never made.
