Infidelity: Manor (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 5

  “Wait…don’t give it to me yet,” I commanded, holding my open hand toward him.

  “I’m sorry?” he said, surprised.

  “Give it to me tonight. I’ll give you a fresh bottle, some good tobacco, and we can talk more.”

  With that, I grabbed the hand of Hezekiah. Hezekiah had grown several inches taller, and was now just a head below me. I pulled him to the center of our sitting room, and together we danced to the fiddle. My sweet Sallie called out to us, “Hezekiah, you lead Mrs. Montague now!” He twirled me around and we danced as the sun went down on that cold, wintry day.

  But as I danced and laughed, I let my eyes peek at the general. He looked at me with that crooked grin on his lips. That grin warmed me. I was glad I was dancing with Hezekiah, or everybody would have seen me blushing. Seen me burning.

  ~

  Later that night—and true to my word—I got the general a fresh bottle. One I had kept hidden. A very old brandy my husband had saved. Knowing it would have angered him made the gift even sweeter. I also brought a pouch of fresh leaf from the tobacco barn. I had given the rest of the tobacco to my workers. This pouch was about all we had left.

  I found him by the fire. He was leaning against the mantel. One forearm was pressed against his eyes. He hadn’t heard me coming, so I stopped and waited. As before, I could see his chest heaving. I knew his tears would be soaking his sleeve. I stepped back quietly, but as I did so, a floorboard creaked loudly.

  He turned his back to me, coughed loudly, and straightened his uniform jacket.

  “Mrs. Montague,” he said. I saw him wipe his face. “I’m sorry, some smoke must’ve gotten in my eyes. I was trying to adjust the flames…”

  “That happens to me all the time, General. Here, let me take care of that.” I set the bottle on the small table, took a poker, and began to busy myself. There was nothing that needed to be done, but I wanted him to have time to fix himself. When I could sense he was no longer adjusting, I put the poker away and turned to him.

  His eyes were red. Deep red. He had thick swells. Dark ones. I handed him the bottle and a glass.

  He held the bottle, admiring it. “French brandy…not Cognac but better…where did you get such an expensive bottle?”

  “I know nothing of alcohol, but this is from Colonel Montague’s private collection.”

  “Well, he knows his drink, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m sure he does…why don’t you take a drink, General?”

  He didn’t think twice. He pulled open the cork and sniffed the mouth of the bottle. He then poured a small amount into his glass.

  “Don’t you want more?” I asked, wondering at such a small amount.

  “My dear,” he said, and I flushed at the word, “brandy this good should be savored in its smallest amounts. If God had made brandy Himself, it would taste no better than this.” He put the glass to his lips and took a small sip. He let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. He let out an ahhh and then pulled air in, a reverse whistle. “That is the best thing to happen to me in some time.” Then noticing the large pouch, he asked, “Is that some more of that fine Montague tobacco?”

  “Why yes, it is.” I handed him the pouch. As he took it, his hand touched mine. I felt a jolt of lightning shoot through me.

  “God has indeed smiled upon me today,” he said. After he said that, he looked into the fireplace. His mouth twisted. His face darkened.

  We both sat, and he set to work loading his pipe. He continued to sip the brandy with savor. As he lit his pipe, he looked me up and down. From my feet to my hair. It reminded me of the Colonel appraising my value, only this time I enjoyed it. At the same time, I was taking in his beautiful features. Broad shoulders. Tousled hair. Tanned skin. White teeth. He puffed on his pipe and leaned back in the chair. He was a man at peace, even if only for a few minutes.

  “Mrs. Montague,” he said in a deep, quiet tone, “you obviously have something you wish to discuss with me.”

  I blushed again. “Yes, sir,” I said. My voice quavered a bit.

  “I am so pleased to have your company and to be enjoying this delicious brandy that you could ask me almost anything.” He smiled over his pipe. “Please, don’t hesitate to speak your mind.”

  “It’s just that…” And now I was stuck. How could I tell him? This was nothing small. Not even big like the tobacco. This was really big. Life changing.

  “If you’re to ask when I will leave your residence, I can assure you that I don’t know. General Sherman hasn’t shared our next steps…”

  “It’s not that…”

  “I see.” He thought for a minute, and I still couldn’t get the words out. “The money?” He put his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the envelope. “I’m sorry, I meant to give this to you as soon as I saw you…”

  “No sir, it’s not that, but yet it is in a way…” I was frozen. I wasn’t sure if I should be so bold. I worried that this could completely ruin the trust we had established.

  “Well, if you are worried that I will be upset, let me set your mind at ease. Anything you ask me will be fine with me. You’ve been a gracious host…”

  And then it just leapt out of me. Part of me was so afraid to ask that when reassured, it came out as if I had just thought it. I was fearful, I think, to ask him what I wanted to ask him, so this felt safer.

  “Why were you crying earlier, General?”

  Immediately his face darkened. He turned to the fireplace. He stared into it and through it. I realized I had made a terrible mistake.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” I said. “That’s not what I wanted to ask about. I had no place to ask such a thing.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, but his eyes were dark…the color of blue at midnight. He seemed as if he was coiled inside, ready to strike. I saw a strength and ferocity in him I hadn’t expected.

  “Actually, General, I had something else to ask you. I don’t know why I asked that stupid question. Please forgive me…”

  “There’s nothing to forgive…”

  “No, please…let me ask you what I came to ask you. Please just forget the other question.”

  “You may ask me anything you wish,” he returned. He was still staring into the fireplace.

  “It’s about the money…” He looked up and again attempted to hand me the envelope. “No, I don’t want the money just yet. I want to ask how valuable it is to someone in the North.”

  “Well, it’s several thousand dollars...”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” He looked up at me, but his face was still dark.

  “Would I be able to buy the services of some of your troops for that amount of money?”

  “Services?” He seemed to come up from the dark place he had been. “I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Montague.”

  “Please, call me Sarah.” He looked up at me questioningly. “You’re living in my home and eating food with us daily. Please call me Sarah.”

  “All right…Sarah…please call me Owen.”

  “Owen?”

  “Yes. My name is Charles Owen Bradley, but I go by Owen. My father was Charles, you see.”

  “Then Owen it is.”

  “You were asking about services.”

  “Yes, Gen—excuse me, Owen.” He smiled at my correction. “I was wondering if this was enough money to buy the services of a few of your soldiers.”

  “What did you have in mind?” He thought for a second. “Remember, I’m responsible to General Sherman. I can’t put my commission in jeopardy.”

  “I wouldn’t ask that, and I don’t think this is something he might look askance upon.”

  “What is it then?”

  I paused, screwing up my courage. “My workers. All of them. Men, women, and children. I’m desirous of buying their freedom. However, abolition is…well…a hanging offense here in Georgia.”

  “Yes.”

  I could tell by his facial exp
ression that he didn’t understand what I was getting at. “You’ve seen them. They’re like family to me. Sallie is the big sister I never had. Hezekiah is like a son to me. A son I probably will never have.”

  “Why wouldn’t you have a son?”

  I ignored the question. “If I tried to free them, they’d be rounded up…tortured…killed…I can’t take that chance with them.”

  “What do you have in mind?” He banged out his pipe into the fire.

  “I have several ships. Most of them have been docked for some time. There’s a blockade in the port. Nothing coming in, nothing going out.”

  “So you want me to allow a ship of your workers to pass through?”

  “I need much more than that. I don’t trust to the vagaries of luck, sir.”

  “Owen,” he corrected and smiled brightly at me.

  “I’m sorry. Owen. I want a few of your best sailors. I want men who will not leave their task until it’s completed. I want my ship with our remaining cotton, the cash in your envelope, and all of their belongings, to set sail to New York City, deliver them safely. I then want them to sell the ship and give the proceeds to the families.”

  His eyes grew big. He again looked into the fire. “That’s a tall order, Sarah. A very tall order.”

  “Yes, I know. But let me apologize if that’s too big of an order.” I kept my countenance as stony as possible. “This is the service I require of you.”

  He didn’t react to my directness. “Not too big. But big.”

  “And to make it even more challenging, I want them on their way within two days.”

  “You don’t make things easy for me, do you?” He smiled, but when he saw how serious I was, he stopped smiling. “Two days is very quick.”

  “I know this is a lot to ask. However, I don’t think General Sherman, if he knew the request, would find it something to worry about.”

  “General Sherman worries about everything.”

  “I can imagine.” I looked him directly in the eyes. “You can tell him that you’re taking resources from a wealthy Southerner, resources that could be used to prosecute the war against the Union.”

  He looked at me, smiled, and then looked back to the fire.

  I had to press my advantage. “Here’s why I need this so soon.” His gaze moved up, and now we locked eyes. “I have no doubt that your plan for Savannah is the same as the fate you delivered to Atlanta.” His eyes lowered. “If you plan to burn this city to the ground, I want my people free before this happens.”

  “It’s just that General Sherman…”

  “What you don’t know is the mind of the Southerner. Many of my neighbors already blame this war on their slaves, as if they had any choice in the matter. If you burn this city down, I have no doubt that the revenge against anybody who is dark-skinned will be bitter and violent. I want my people gone—long gone—before anything like that happens.”

  He sighed. He didn’t contest anything I said. That confirmed what I knew would happen. “I understand what you mean, Sarah.” He lit another pipe. “I promise you, I will work on it. Let me see what I can do.”

  “Sir,” I said, and this time the salutation was intentional, “I don’t want ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ with all due respect. I want this handled immediately with utmost dispatch.”

  He looked deep into the fire. I thought he was lost within himself. I sat quietly and let him consider his role and what he would be willing to do for me. I was waiting for the question, “What do I have to gain?” and for that I didn’t have an answer. The longer he sat, the more I thought he would refuse my request.

  He sat up, poured himself a full glass of brandy, and put it down in one swallow. He then refilled the glass. He rose to his feet suddenly and stood close to the fire.

  “I will work on this tomorrow. Don’t start loading your boat yet. There are many things I must work out before this can happen.”

  “Thank you—” I began, but he interrupted.

  “You asked me earlier why I was crying,” he began, and he was standing in the same place I had spied him earlier. He rested his arm on the mantel as he stared into the flames. The light gave his face an eerie, almost ghostly movement.

  “I’m so sorry, that was not my place to ask—”

  He interrupted again. “You told me once that I didn’t understand what loss truly meant. You felt that because I am from the North, I hadn’t suffered as you and your city are suffering now.”

  “That wasn’t fair of me either…”

  And I saw a tear run down his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it. “I lost everything, Sarah.” He poured another drink. “My wife, Catherine. Two children. Son, Taylor. Ten years old. Daughter, Barbara. Six years old.”

  I could see his lip quivering. “Oh my Lord,” I said, truly shocked. “What happened?”

  He looked into the fire again and spoke with acid in his mouth. “Exactly one year ago today…November 20th. After their loss at Gettysburg, many elements of Lee’s army split off. Lee sent Rebel bands to disrupt railways, telegraph lines. A few bands of Rebels took to thieving and stealing. There were also some rough bands, just out looking for what they could take. In my case, it was a group of about twenty, it was reported.” I could see his jaw clenched, and there was black fire in his eyes. “My farm in Pennsylvania. All by itself. Miles from the nearest city. I had left them all alone, you see.” He drew absently on his pipe. “I didn’t know. I couldn’t have imagined. We never anticipated them going that far north.” He looked up at me, and tears poured like rivers from his eyes. “I should have known. This fucking war…nothing is sacred.”

  I regretted asking. I put my hand over my mouth. “Oh my Lord,” I repeated. I didn’t have the words. I couldn’t even begin to understand what he had gone through.

  “I was heading east to meet Grant when I got the news. I rode all night through a rainstorm to get there. When I arrived, there wasn’t anything left. Fields burned. Everybody dead. My wife had been…”

  His face suddenly twisted. He didn’t say it, but I know what he meant. I felt hot tears in my own eyes. They burned for him and his loss.

  “They even killed my farm hands. They left nothing.” He paused again. “Catherine was the only woman I’d ever loved. The only woman…” He again didn’t have to say it, but I knew. “She had locked the children in the basement of the house…trying to hide them, I reckon. They burned the house down over them. I found what was left of her a few yards away. They had treated her savagely before she died…”

  He sat down abruptly, poured another glass, and drank it bitterly, like it was lye. And then he folded over, put his hands to his eyes, and wept. Openly. Loudly. A year’s worth of pain poured out of him.

  I finally understood. I finally saw that many in the country had it far worse than I could imagine. This kind man, this good man, had loved someone so strongly, and she had been taken from him. Man can treat man worse than any animal can treat another.

  I wept for him that night. I sat in that chair beside him, and I cried tears with him. I don’t think it helped, but when we were finished, he smiled at me. A soft, wan smile that spoke volumes. A smile through pain that only someone who has felt pain can share. I don’t think people with happy lives can imagine the sharing of pain with another. But Owen and I knew it. That night, so long ago.

  I also knew—beyond a doubt—that I loved General Charles Owen Bradley. I knew it could never, should never, be consummated. But I loved him all the same. This good man was earnest, kind, strong, and capable. He was made poor by the measure of our day, but strong in the ways of the world. He was everything my husband was not, and I guess that was enough.

  And where was my husband?

  1864 – Loss and Love

  “No, no, no,” Sallie said, gripping my hand tight. “I can’t leave you, Sarah. You’re my only friend. You’re like my sister.”

  “Sallie, you know what’s going to happen. The Union army is going to do to Savannah what it
did to Atlanta. Everything is going to be destroyed.”

  “And this farm too…you’re going to need me…”

  “Sallie, you know what our neighbors are like. They’re going to fix blame, and that blame is not just going to be for someone like me, but for anybody with dark skin.” She looked down to our hands, clasped together. “You also know that none of these white folks are going to raise a finger to repair anything that is burned or broken. They’re going to treat any slave as property to be used, abused, and worked until there’s nothing left of them.”

  “But, Sarah, what will you do when we all leave? You can’t manage this farm by yourself. We have a thousand acres of cotton and tobacco…one small woman can’t manage that by herself.” Both of us had tears running off our cheeks. Mine were hot in my eyes.

  “I know, Sallie, I know…this way of life is over. The war is going bad for the Confederacy. I don’t see how they can do anything but lose at this point. Look at how long Sherman has been here in the heart of the South and not a single Confederate soldier has come to help. The Colonel might as well be on the moon for all the help he is giving us, while a Union general lives in our house.”

  “But what will you do?”

  “I’ll find a way—don’t worry about me. In the spring the cotton will grow and I’ll find a way to make some money with that.”

  “Sarah, let me stay with you. You know I can help. You know I have a good sense for business…”

  “Yes, and that’s why I need you to lead everybody else. Most of our workers don’t know how to sell cotton or the ship. They’ve worked hard their whole lives but won’t have anything to stand on when they get to New York. I need you to lead them there, sell the ship, sell the cotton…help them get settled in their new homes. It’ll be tough, I have no doubt. It’ll be cold when you all arrive. I fear that, left alone, none of them would last the winter.”