Confederates Don't Wear Couture (24 page)

Beau still had my hand. He squeezed it gently, and we followed Dev and Luke away from Sutlers' Row and toward the mansion, with Willie trotting along behind us. When we got there, however, it looked like a bunch of gophers had beat us to it. The lawn had been torn up, and soldiers with shovels were hastily trying to beat it back into submission.

“Um, eeuw, who was in charge of the landscaping for this event?” Dev shuddered. “This is heinous. What is the theme here, early World War I trenches?”

“Naw, they had a bit of a problem earlier with Ol' Spookie.” Luke chuckled. “Had to get her last warnin' in—”

“Luke,” Beau warned.

“What's going on?” I clued in to the conversation for the first time. “The ghost is back? What did she do? And what did it have to do with the lawn?”

“Easy there, Nancy Drew,” Dev muttered.

“Nothin', really,” Beau said, patting my arm. “Really nothin' to get worried about at all. Nothin' to worry anyone about.” He looked meaningfully at Luke.

“Yeah, Ol' Spookie just tore up part of the ground with a shovel, jes' like some kid playin' in the sand, writin' out a message—”

“What did it say?” I asked sharply.

“I come for you tonight,” Luke answered in an eerie tone.

“Luke!” Beau warned again, more forcefully this time.

“Aw, come on, cuz, she's a big girl; she can handle it.” Luke shrugged nonchalantly. “Doesn't matter. Jes' some idiot playin' in the dirt.”

“Exactly. It doesn't matter,” Beau said firmly.

“Doesn't matter? She's coming for you! Tonight!” I said, my voice getting increasingly shrill.

“And she's a crazy bitch with a shovel!” Dev added gleefully.

“Libby, really, it's nothin' to worry about.” Beau squeezed my arm. “Let's just enjoy the ball, all right? Hey, now, look over there.”

I followed his gaze to a small tent just off to the side of the mansion with a small group of people clustered around it. Blinding flashes of light emitted from it at sporadic intervals.

“OMG, is that a paparazzi station?! Like at a red carpet event?!” Dev started bouncing up and down, clutching at Luke's arm. “Can we go? Can we? Can we?!”

“Kind of,” Beau explained, as we moved closer to the tent. “They've got a really well-done replica of a camera from the 1860s in there, and they're takin' photographs. Just like Mathew Brady.”

“‘I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me,'” Dev sang, completely off-key as always.

“Darlin', please don't butcher the Lady.” Luke winced, covering his ears, as Willie whined before collapsing to roll around in the grass.

Dev stuck his tongue out at Luke as the four of us waited in line at the photography tent. Once it was our turn, Luke and Dev scampered up first, Dev flinging his arms up to pose in front of his handsome boy in uniform. The photographer raised an eyebrow but said nothing before disappearing under the black cloth to take their picture. Luke pulled a reluctant Dev out of the spotlight, and Beau gently led me into the center of the tent.

“What a perfect couple.” Dev sighed, clutching Luke's arm with glee. “Doesn't she look beautiful! Libby, you look so beautiful!”

I didn't feel beautiful. I didn't feel anything. I was empty. Hollow. Numb. A beautiful glass bubble. I painted on my smile and stared vacantly out at the photographer. I could feel heat radiating from Beau's arm where my hand rested elegantly on his jacket, but it didn't reach me. I was cold all the way through.

Light exploded with a blinding flash.

“You all right?” Beau patted my white-gloved hand with his. “You don't seem quite yourself tonight.”

“Oh, I'm fine,” I reassured him. “Just fine.” I squeezed his arm and smiled shakily as we walked up toward the house. Willie stopped his rolling and jumped up to follow us in.

“Stay here,” Beau ordered Willie, once we'd climbed the steps of the porch and our canine companion showed no sign of abandoning us. Willie whined in response. “I mean it, now,” he said more firmly. Willie whined one more time, then resigned himself to his fate, lying down on the porch and resting his head on his paws. “Good boy.” Beau scratched his ears. “Shall we?”

Beau led me inside. It was stunning. The barbecue at Twelve Oaks didn't hold a candle to this shimmering golden whirl of Technicolor silks and satins. Soldiers in blue and gray mingled, laughing, the war put on hold for tonight.

“I think I've died and gone to taffeta heaven!” Dev pre- tended to swoon. “Where can a nice boy like me get a drink in a place like this? Take me to the punch, soldier!”

Dev and Luke disappeared into the world of whirling couples.

“Well, Libby,” Beau said, turning to face me, as the couples applauded the end of a dance. “It's what we've been waiting for.” He bowed while the orchestra tuned up for what sounded like the beginning of a waltz. “I think they're playing our song.” He grinned and held out his hand.

I took his hand, and he led me into the center of the floor, pulling me into him, his hand warm and strong on the small of my back. As the orchestra began to play—a waltz, just as I'd thought—he steered me around the room with easy confidence. But despite the fact that Beau was dancing beautifully, that even I was dancing beautifully for once, I couldn't stop searching for a familiarly awkward, lanky frame. Every time I spotted the top of a brown, curly head, I looked for glasses, but it wasn't him. He wasn't coming. He was never coming.

“Air,” I said. “I think I need some air.” The dance had stopped, but the couples hadn't stopped spinning. The room wouldn't stop spinning. What had I done? Had I really lost Garrett? And what was I doing here, in this room, in this place where nothing was real, dancing like nothing mattered, while I was losing the person who mattered most to me? Losing something real?

“I knew you weren't all right.” Beau grabbed me by both shoulders, steadying me on my swaying feet. “How 'bout a cold drink? I'm gonna get you a lemonade. A lemonade, all right?” I nodded mutely. “Head out onto the terrace and get some air. I'll be there in a minute.”

Nodding, I walked shakily toward the back of the ballroom, toward the terrace, the cool night air pulling me onward like a beacon. It was completely empty out there, and I clung to a wrought-iron railing, shining in the Carolina moonlight. Beau returned mere moments later, clutching a glass of lemonade like a life raft.

“Here you go.” He held out the cup, and I took a small sip. “Libby, tell me. What's going on?” he asked searchingly, his eyes locking with mine. “Is there somethin' I can do?”

“No.” I shook my head, setting my lemonade down on a curve of the banister. “No, there's nothing you can do. Nothing more, I mean. Because you're perfect.” I paused, taking a deep breath. “But I'm not looking for perfect. I'm looking for the opposite, actually. I'm looking for real. And that's the opposite of what this is. Because none of this is real. Not even . . . us, I don't think.”

“Libby,” he said, taking my hands. “Just 'cause I'm not wearin' my Crimson Tide T-shirt and you're not wearin' jeans, doesn't mean what we have isn't real.”

“I think it does.” I sighed. “It's like . . . It's like . . .
The Bachelor,
or something. You think you feel something, because you're in this magical world, where everything's perfect, with fantasy dates and helicopters and hot tubs—”

“Or horseshit and hardtack,” Beau interrupted. “Crazy romantic.”

“I'm being serious.” I kept going. “This can't be real, because this world isn't real. I don't think we'd work outside of it. Just like nobody on
The Bachelor
stays together.”

“Trista and Ryan,” Beau said stubbornly. “So did Jason and Molly.”

“I am . . . stunned that you know that,” I said, my jaw dropping.

“My mama watches it.” He shrugged sheepishly.

“Jason and Molly aside,” I continued. “You're wonderful. But the problem is, no matter how wonderful you are, you're not—not—”

“Not him,” Beau finished for me.

“I'm in love with somebody else,” I whispered.

“And no amount of horseshit and hardtack is gonna change that,” he murmured.

“Oh, Beau—”

“I don't think I can stop loving you.” He dropped my hands. “But I can let you go. Because I know that's the right thing to do.”

“Beau.” I leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. “I'm so sorry. And thank you. And—”

“Go, Libby.” He smiled sadly. “Just go.”

Giving him one last look, I picked up my enormous skirts and ran down the steps of the terrace, into the gardens in back of the house. I sped through lanes and hedgerows, past roses and fountains, thinking only that I had to find Garrett. Had to fix this. Fix us. Only where would I find him? In his tent at the Union camp, probably.

A familiar bark interrupted my thoughts. A hundred pounds of dog was joyously romping behind me. He must have been wandering around outside the ball trying to find someone to cuddle.

“Oh, Willie, stop!” I yelled back at him as he kept barking. “Stay! I mean shoo! I mean, go back to the porch!” Willie kept following me, tongue lolling gaily out of his mouth. “Oh, for Pete's sake,” I muttered, and picked up speed, wheezing in my corset. Willie kept pace.

The formal gardens ended, and I was through the garden gate and into the slave quarters. The crumbling little cabins looked even creepier at night. All I had to do was make it through the slave quarters, and then I was pretty sure the Union tents would appear.

Until an eerie white figure that most definitely did not belong back there appeared several hundred feet in front of us.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, as I skidded to a halt, kicking up dirt with my satin dress slippers as the ghostly white psycho stood in front of me. “Oh, no, no, no.”

Willie, unfortunately, had the opposite response. He barked joyously, did a little hop, then leaped forward, full steam ahead, racing toward another playmate.

“No, Willie!” I shouted. “No! No! Bad dog! Come here!”

My calls unheeded, I started chasing Willie. I mean, who knew what this woman would do to a poor defenseless dog? I was pretty sure she'd killed those chickens. Maybe she would do something terrible with dog blood! And it was Beau's dog. Who knew what sort of terrible vengeance she'd wreak on his poor innocent puppy?

Unless . . . unless
she
didn't actually come up with any of this stuff. Maybe she was just following someone else's orders. Someone who would have done anything to start getting soldiers off the battlefield so he could start building his precious housing development. . . . Realization hit me like a thunderclap. Was it possible the ghost was the Mrs. America Southern belle from Dixie Acres?

Willie, not wearing a corset, was much faster than I was and leaped right on top of the ghost before I had a chance to stop him. I heard a loud, high-pitched scream, then realized that I had been the one who screamed.

The ghost fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, with Willie standing on top of her, licking her face.

“Willie!” I cried, and sped toward him.

“Aw, hell, get off!” shouted a voice that was definitely not female. Now I was confused. “I can't move! Get this stupid thing offa me! How the hell much does this damn dog weigh?”

By the time I'd gotten close enough to lean in and see who it was, Willie had licked off all of his makeup.

“Cody?!” I asked incredulously, leaning in to peer closer. “Is that you?”

“Aw, hell, Libby?” Cody sat up slightly as Willie started licking the white makeup off his arms. “Of all the people I didn't want to see me like this.” He pulled off his wig and stared glumly at it.

I heard a sound behind us. I looked up, and people had started to pour out of the mansion. I thought I recognized Luke, Dev, and Captain Cauldwell at the front of the crowd.

“You are in very big trouble, young man,” I said imperiously, hands on my hips.

“Don't I know it,” he muttered.

“Libby!” I looked to my left, and my heart skipped a beat as a tall, uncoordinated someone thrashed his way awkwardly out of the woods. Garrett burst through the trees into the alley of slave quarters, panting. “Are you all right? What happened? I heard you scream! You really do have impressive projection. Must be the singing, right? I . . .” He trailed off, as he looked down and caught sight of Willie and Cody on the ground. “Oh. Um. My. Well. Look at that. You caught the ghost.”

“Actually, Willie caught the ghost.” I shrugged.

“Is that . . .” Garrett swooped down to peer into Cody's face. “The Boy Scout? The pervy one?”

“Aw, shut it,” Cody said, swatting him away. Willie jumped back on top of him, knocking him flat on the ground. “Ouch!” Cody shrieked.

By this time, the crowd had caught up with us. It looked like every single person who had been at the ball had spilled out of the house and was now clustered around Cody.

“You all right?” Beau reached me first. “Was that you who screamed?” I could feel Beau and Garrett sizing each other up behind me. “He try to hurt you?”

“What? What, no, of course not!” I turned to Beau. “It's—”

“Ghost!” Dev shrieked. “Oh, no, wait a minute . . . Oh, no, it can't be . . . O . . . M . . . G . . .” Dev leaned closer and closer, until he lifted up one of Willie's floppy ears to peer underneath. “It's the tiny gremlin!”

“Cody?!” Beau asked incredulously.

“Son, what in the hell do you think you're doin'?!” Captain Cauldwell thundered.

“The tiny gremlin's a tranny!” Dev cackled. “Oooh, oooh, I have a front-page headline! Garrett, Garrett, listen to this!” He hopped over to Garrett. “‘Transvestite Tot Terrorizes Tiny Towns!' No! Wait! ‘Drag Queen Teen in Spooky Scene!' Eh? Eh? I'm the one who should be writing for the paper!”