Crossing (53 page)

Black-draped carriages had been sent for Mrs. Jackson, Hetty and the baby, and two ladies that accompanied her, and for the staff officers escorting the general.

One of them, an older man who had purchased a commission as a captain, was an Episcopalian minister—for Jackson had several ministers on his staff—and was a notorious stickler for rules and protocol. As the officers helped the ladies into their carriage, he muttered to a lieutenant, “What are those impudent boys doing? We had not planned for a mounted escort. Go tell them to fall back and follow at a discreet distance.”

Anna followed his critical gaze, and her weary, reddened eyes softened. “No, sir,” she said with uncharacteristic curtness. “Leave them alone.”

The captain looked vaguely disapproving but said no more.

In truth, Anna felt it was very fitting that they should escort General Jackson. Yancy, Peyton, and Chuckins were the only members of the Stonewall Brigade there, and Sandy was one of the few VMI cadets that had left the institute to follow Jackson into war. For a fleeting moment, the sight of them made Anna forget her overwhelming sorrow. They looked so noble, so dignified, and they were all such handsome young men.

Leading this group were Yancy on Midnight and Peyton on his gorgeous gold palomino, Senator. To each side were the smaller horses, Chuckins’s pinto, Brownie, and Sandy’s elegant buckskin mare, Jasmine. Even the simple Brownie seemed to sense the solemnity of the day, for she held her head high and tossed her glossy mane and stepped proudly.

Slowly the procession made its way the two miles to the executive mansion. Throngs of people crowded the streets in uncanny silence, merely watching the funeral cart with its flower-draped casket go by. They stood still, their grief-stricken faces imprinted in Yancy’s memory. Most of the women, and many of the men, were weeping.

When they reached the mansion, Governor Letcher met Anna, and Mrs. Letcher took her to the governor’s private rooms, where mourning clothes and a veil were waiting for her. The staff officers knotted in little groups, planning where they would stay the night.

Yancy told his friends, “I’m going to the Haydens. Right now. I just won’t wait any longer. I just can’t.”

Chuckins and Sandy had no idea why he spoke that way. But Peyton, for all his lackadaisical ways, had come to understand that Yancy was in love with Lorena Hayden—the lovely woman in the drawings—and that there was some problem, insurmountable it would seem, between them. He nodded encouragingly to Yancy. “Go. Chuckins and Sandy are staying with me.” Senator Stevens had an enormous mansion on the James River.

Without another word Yancy turned and rode off.

Chuckins turned to Peyton, his honest face puzzled. “What was all that about?”

Peyton answered with his old litany, soberly this time. “Yancy doesn’t know anything. I don’t know anything. Sandy doesn’t know anything. And neither do you.”

Recklessly Yancy rode Midnight hard through Richmond’s streets. Although the way from the railroad station to the executive mansion had been congested with people, the side streets were all but deserted.

He clattered up to the Hayden home, as he had done so many times before—but this time was different. He jumped off Midnight and started to run to the door but then paused. Again he wiped off his dusty boots, straightened his tunic, swiped the buttons to make them glow, checked his sash and saber, then smoothed back his hair. The errant forelock promptly fell down over his forehead again, but he scarcely noticed. Taking a deep breath, he went to the door and knocked.

Missy answered it. Without a word to him, she took him in her arms and hugged him. “I’m so sorry you lost him, Yancy. It’s a sad day for everyone in the South.”

“Thank you, Missy,” he said. “It is a very sad time.”

“They’s in the parlor. Go on in,” she said, wiping her eyes with her apron. “You’re family. Ain’t no need for me to announce you.”

Yancy went to the parlor and hesitated, standing almost at attention in the doorway. Ever since General Jackson had died, he had not felt at all like himself. His mind, for one thing, seemed to have come to a screeching halt, stopped in that warm room where Stonewall took his last breaths. He felt like one of Stonewall’s Boys, bereft and lost, stuck in time as Yancy the soldier, stiff and unyielding.

The only other thing he felt was a tremendous desire to see Lorena. He had no plan of what he would say to her; he couldn’t picture it in his half-blank mind. He just knew he had to see her.

At the sound of his footsteps and the slight metallic sound of his scabbard, Dr. and Mrs. Hayden looked up.

Yancy, frozen in the doorway, could only manage to say, “Hello. I—I came with—with—escorting General Jackson.”

Lily Hayden hurried to him and hugged him much as Missy did. “Oh, Yancy dear, we are so very glad to see you, but so very sorry it is in these tragic circumstances. Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She held him at arm’s length, and she and Dr. Hayden looked him up and down. They both seemed puzzled at Yancy’s obvious distance.

He couldn’t frame the words to say to reassure them. Finally he blurted out, “Where’s Lorena?”

“Why, she’s in the garden, dear,” Lily answered after a slight hesitation and a glance at her husband. “Why don’t you go on out to see her?”

Without another word, Yancy turned and marched out to the garden.

She was there, cutting flowers. Her dress was a cheerful spring muslin, with tiny sprigs of peach-colored roses entwined with little tendrils of ivy. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a peach ribbon tied under her chin. The setting sun barely touched her face, lighting it with a soft golden glow. Lorena didn’t look up, as she was humming to herself and obviously didn’t hear his approach.

As Yancy hesitated just outside the kitchen door, watching her, she began to sing. It was a song he had never heard before. Her sweet, clear, high soprano voice, and the hymn itself, rent his heart, a confused torrent of great joy mingled with inconsolable sorrow.

She began to hum the refrain again, but something unseeing touched her, and she looked up, right into Yancy’s eyes. Much like him, she froze.

Long moments passed.

Yancy, in a choked voice, said, “Lorena …? Lorena …”

She dropped her basket, dropped her shears, dropped the red, red rose she had just clipped. She ran to him so fast that her hat tumbled over her back, held by the ribbons. When she reached him she threw herself into his arms, and even though she was such a tiny woman, she moved so fast and hard that he almost staggered as he embraced her.

“Oh, Yancy, Yancy, you’ve remembered, haven’t you?” she cried against his chest.

“Yes. Finally … I’ve come back to you,” he murmured. “Lorena …”

“I love you! Desperately!” she said, pulling back and putting her hands on his face. “I’ve loved you for—forever!” Then she pulled him down to her and kissed him long and passionately.

He lifted his head and stared down at her. “Are you sure? You love me?”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

He sagged a little, his shoulders bowed, and he dropped his head. He still held her in the circle of his arms.

She waited.

In a voice so low she could barely hear him, he said, “That’s—that’s good, Lorena. Because I not only love you, I—I need you. Much, much more than when I was hurt and sick. I need you now, so much, because—because—”

“You grieve for him,” she said softly. “You’ve lost him. I know, all too well, what it is to lose someone you love.”

“I do grieve, and I did love him,” Yancy said with difficulty. “And all I’ve been able to think of to comfort me—is you.”

“I will do that,” she said. “From now on, forever, I will guard your heart as if it is my own.”

He pulled her to him with a low groan. Yancy had not shed a tear in all this horrid war and did not cry when Stonewall Jackson died. And now, as if he were a lost child, he held her close and sobbed.

Yancy and Lorena went to speak to Dr. Hayden and Lily, returning from the garden where they had, both literally and figuratively, found each other. They went into the parlor, hand in hand.

Lorena’s parents looked up as they entered. Dr. Hayden looked mystified, but after seeing their glowing faces, Lily smiled.

“We—we have something to tell you, sir, ma’am,” Yancy stuttered. He shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. “We—I mean, Lorena and I—”

“Just say it, Yancy. It’s quite all right, you know,” Lorena said with her old exasperation.

Yancy blew out a long whistling breath. “Okay. Okay. See, Dr. Hayden and Mrs. Hayden, we—I mean, Lorena has said—I asked her—”

“We’re in love,” Lorena blurted out. “And we’re engaged.”

“What?” Dr. Hayden asked, bewildered.

“Finally,” Lily muttered. She rose, went to them, and kissed each on the cheek. “Come, come, Yancy, I’ll bet you didn’t look nearly so terrified when you were riding into one of those famous battles we keep hearing about.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.” He and Lorena sat in their old chairs, but they reached across to hold hands.

“This is wonderful, perfectly wonderful,” Lily said happily, taking her seat by her husband. “Although for a long time now we’ve looked at you as a son, now you truly will be, Yancy. I couldn’t be happier, both for you and for my Lorena.”