Nan Ryan (48 page)

The laughter died on Dawson’s lips and he rose from his chair, “Over my dead body!”

“Dawson, I know you have some influence with the Union officials. Maybe you could talk to them, I would hate to think of them taking over the Beauregard mansion. You know how they are, last week they occupied the Dover plantation and chopped up the grand piano for firewood. Shall we tell Kathleen?”

“No, because it’s not going to happen. Let yourself out, Crawford, I’ve a social call to make,” and Dawson ran up the stairs to change his clothes. Ashworth started for the front door and Dawson stopped on the stairs and called to him, “Crawford, what other ladies were involved in marching out this morning?”

“Those poor pitiful Hamilton sisters followed as soon as Kathleen started out. Then there were a few others, but no one I know.”

“Thanks, Crawford.”

After inquiring at the desk of the Parker Hotel which suite Major Donald Brooks was occupying, Dawson mounted the stairs and knocked loudly at the door. After several minutes of obvious scurrying taking place inside, the door opened a crack and Major Brooks, sans his crisp blue blouse, stood looking at Dawson, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair.

“Do hope I didn’t disturb you, Major,” Dawson smiled and pushed the door open and walked by the confused man.

“What is it, Blakely?” the major closed the door and went to pour himself a drink.

“I’ve heard some distressing news that almost spoiled my Sabbath. I’ve come here to let you tell me in person that it isn’t true.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re going on about and if you don’t mind, I’m quite busy.”

Dawson smiled mischievously, “I’ll bet you are,” and looked at the half-open door to the bedroom behind the major’s head. Without her knowledge, a large mirror hanging in the sitting room reflected the scantily-clad form of Annabelle Thompson standing inside the door, eavesdropping. Major Brooks twisted his head quickly to see what Dawson was looking at, coughed nervously, and went to the bedroom door, shutting it, “Make it brief, Blakely.”

“I shall. I understand you have plans to occupy Sans Souci in the morning.”

“You’re a knowledgeable man, Mister Blakely. You’re absolutely correct.”

“You aren’t going to do it, Major,” Dawson grinned at him.

The Major smiled wickedly back, “Hate to disappoint you, but I will indeed take that particular place. I’m sure you must have a rather personal interest in it to have come here tonight, but then I seem to remember you so gallantly defending the lady who lives there against this bad old Yankee helping her out of her carriage one day.”

“Whatever my reasons, Major, personal or otherwise, I’m telling you, you will not put one well-polished boot inside that home.”

“You keep forgetting who is in charge here, Blakely. You better get your lady friend out of there if you don’t want her around me because tomorrow morning at sunup I’m taking the mansion. You may have bought off some northern politicians and greased the palms of some Union generals, but I’m in charge of the Federal billeting in occupied Natchez.”

“Major Brooks, you won’t live to see the sunset tomorrow if you set foot on her property.”

“Blakely, you’re really a fool. I am not personally occupying your friend’s home; it’s the Union army. Do you think you can stop them?”

“Major, I’m not holding the Union army responsible. It’s you I’ll hold responsible and if the piano at Sans Souci so much as turns up out of tune, I’ll kill you.” Dawson turned to leave.

The major followed him across the room, “Look here, Blakely, is that a threat?”

“No, Major,” Dawson turned, his dark eyes narrowed, “A promise. You will be a dead man if you move in on Mrs. Alexander’s mansion. The same goes for the Hamilton sisters’.” The lazy smile returned to Dawson’s face then, “Tell Annabelle it looks like she may have gained a pound here and there, but she’s still as lovely as ever. However, I don’t think the peach-colored nightgown suits her. She looks much better in gray satin.”

The Major slammed the door shut, but he could hear Dawson Blakely’s merry laughter ringing in the hallway.

Thirty-five

Sans Souci was never occupied by the Union troops. At dawn on Monday morning, Dawson Blakely and a group of his men, mounted on horseback, waited along the estate road leading up to the mansion. A Colt .44 revolver resting just under his armpit, Dawson sat atop his big black horse, silently waiting for Major Brooks and his troops to show up. It never happened and by 9
A.M.
Dawson relaxed, smiled, and waved his men away. Satisfied Kathleen would have no further problems with the well-chastised major, Dawson and his men departed and Kathleen never knew how close Sans Souci had come to being taken over by the Yankees.

Dawson was correct in his assessment of Major Brooks. He was also right in his prediction of the South’s chances of winning the war. The Confederacy reeled under countless defeats and by February of ’65, Sherman turned north from Savannah toward the Carolinas. By mid-February, Columbia, South Carolina, surrendered and a day later, Charleston, where it had all began, fell to Sherman’s troops. Five days later, Wilmington, North Carolina, was taken, the last open Confederate post. In Washington, Congress had passed the 13th amendment to the Constitution, permanently abolishing slavery.

On April 2, Lee’s tired, beaten men departed Petersburg and the next day Richmond fell. A week after the fall, General Lee, weary and heartbroken, rode majestically to the Appomattox Court House, and surrendered to the victor, General Grant. It was over. The south had lost the war. The Stars and Stripes once again flew over the entire land.

On a warm spring day near the end of April, Kathleen, a sunbonnet on her head, was on her knees in the fields in back of Sans Souci. Digging in the fertile soil where once cotton boles had covered the ground, she was planting a garden, dropping tiny seeds into the soft earth, hopeful that her efforts would yield food for the small family to help them survive through the lean times facing them. She looked up, covering her eyes with a soiled hand, when she heard Hannah calling to her from the house. Kathleen rose to her feet, dusted herself off, and started for the kitchen door.

“Dar’s a tall man on a horse comin’ up the drive, Miz Kathleen. He be wearing a gray uniform, but he be a stranger to me.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” Kathleen stepped inside and took off her bonnet. “I’ll see to it.” She washed her hands, smoothed her dress, and started for the front of the house. At the front double doors, she saw the horse cantering up the drive. She stood watching the approaching stranger, wondering who could be coming to Sans Souci. Probably just another Confederate, hungry and thirsty, stopping to ask for food. The countryside was full of them since the war ended. All on their way back to their homes, tired and half-starved, looking for a hand, before continuing on their long journeys.

The stranger swung down from his horse and Kathleen could see he was a tall man with gray hair, though his face looked young. He tied his horse to the fence and came into the yard and he was smiling, his pink mouth turned up at the corners. Kathleen stepped onto the veranda and when the stranger saw her, he smiled broader and swept his campaign hat from his head in a grand manner. “Ma’am,” he said and came to meet her. “I’m sure you must be Mrs. Alexander. I’ve heard so much about you, I feel I know you. Let me introduce myself. I’m Cort Mitchell, late Colonel Confederate States Army, a good friend of Hunter’s.”

“Colonel Mitchell,” Kathleen smiled and extended her hand.

Cort kissed her hand, “I’m delighted to meet you. Hope I haven’t come at a bad time. Is Hunter home?”

Kathleen disengaged her hand and looked down, “Colonel Mitchell, you obviously haven’t heard. My husband was killed in the war. Two years ago in the siege of Vicksburg.”

The broad smile left the chiseled features of Cort Mitchell’s face and he reached out to the big column of the porch for support. His gray, usually merry eyes quickly filled with tears and in a choked voice he said, “Oh, ma’am, I’m so terribly sorry. I didn’t know, I don’t know what to say, I …”

“Colonel, come inside, I’ll get you a glass of water,” and she reached out to pat his shoulder, thought better of it, and dropped her hand away. “There’s no way you could have known, so don’t feel badly,” and she opened the door and led Cort inside.

Taking him into the drawing room, Kathleen invited the man to sit down and, seeing tears now streaming down his lean cheeks, felt a lump coming to her own throat, so she turned, saying, “I’ll get the water,” and fled the room. By the time she returned, Cort had composed himself, took the water from her, and said, “Thank you so much. I’ll just drink, then I’ll be on my way.”

“You certainly will not, Colonel Mitchell. As a friend of Hunter’s, you are my friend, also. I insist you stay and have dinner with us tonight.”

“Ma’am, I don’t want to impose on you, I’ll go …”

“You are staying, Colonel. I won’t hear of you leaving before we’ve had a chance to visit and get to know one another.”

“You’re a very kind lady,” Cort smiled, “and you are every bit as beautiful as Hunter said you were.”

Kathleen sighed, “Thank you, Colonel. Now, I’ll bet you would love to clean up, wouldn’t you?”

Cort looked embarrassed, “I do apologize for my appearance. I’ve always prided myself on being somewhat of a dandy and now I’m frightfully unkempt.”

“Don’t you worry, Colonel. We’re going to take good care of you. I’ll put some water on to boil while you rest. Then you can have a long, refreshing bath and change into some clean clothes.”

“But, ma’am, I …”

“Colonel, you look to me to be very near the same size as Hunter. There’s a closet full of his clothes upstairs. You are welcome to wear any of them and that will give us a chance to wash the uniform you are wearing.”

“I can’t do that. Why, you wouldn’t want me wearing Hunter’s clothes.”

“Nonsense. They aren’t doing anyone any good just hanging there. You may wear them.”

“I’m home,” Scott Alexander called from the hall and came into the drawing room. The colonel rose to his feet immediately and smiled at the young boy. “I know who this is,” he beamed, “this has got to be the one and only son of Hunter Alexander.”

Scott smiled at the stranger and came to shake his hand, “Yes, sir. I am Scott Alexander. And you?”

“Son, I’m Colonel Cort Mitchell. I was a friend of your father’s in the war. We spent a lot of time together in Virginia.”

“If you were my father’s friend, then it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” said the well-mannered boy. “You must tell me all about the time you spent with Daddy.”

Every member of the Alexander household busied themselves to make Cort Mitchell welcome and comfortable. Hannah brought one of the last hams from the smokehouse, declaring it was a special occasion and they were going to feed Colonel Mitchell properly even if it meant skimping on later meals. A big grin splitting her black face, Hannah happily worked in the kitchen, glad to have a southern gentleman at Sans Souci. She was determined to entertain him in a manner befitting a returning hero who had been a friend of Hunter’s.

Scott helped Cort carry kettles of heated water up the stairs to Hunter’s old room. A brass tub sat in the middle and when it was filled to the rim with the steaming water, Scott showed Cort a closet where Hunter’s clothes were hanging. “Take your pick, Colonel Mitchell,” Scott invited. “I’ll go back down now and, if it’s all right with you, I want to invite my great uncle over to join us for dinner. He was very close to my daddy, so I know he will want to meet you.”

“That would be delightful, son. And thanks for everthing. It’s been a long time since I’ve been treated so cordially. I appreciate it more than I can say.”

“Colonel Mitchell, we’re happy to have you here,” Scott smiled and walked to the bedroom door. “Will you do me a big favor?”

“Name it, Scott.”

“Spend the night with us?”

“Are you sure it would be all right with your mother?”

“She’d be pleased, Colonel. Besides, I’m the man in the house.”

Cort grinned and winked at the young boy, “Indeed you are and I most gratefully accept your invitation to spend the night at Sans Souci.-”

“Good,” Scott returned his grin, “If you need anything, call me.”

Cort was still smiling after Scott had gone downstairs. The boy had quickly won his heart and Cort shook his head, thinking how much like Hunter he was, though as opposite in appearance as he had ever seen any father and son. But his manner was much like Hunter’s, kind and thoughtful, a very engaging young man. Cort unbuttoned his gray tunic and took it off. He sat on the bed, slipped off his scuffed boots, stood, and removed his trousers. He stepped out of his threadbare underwear and lowered himself into the tub. Sighing with pure pleasure, Cort sunk and rested his head on the tub’s rim. He closed his eyes and let the hot water soothe away all the weariness from his body. After giving himself several long minutes just to rest, he then soaped his dirty body and scrubbed until his skin glowed pink. Refreshed and clean, Cort stepped from the tub and toweled himself off.

Clean underwear and stockings lay on the bed for Cort to don. Almost reluctantly, Cort went to Hunter’s closet and chose a pair of tan, neatly-pressed trousers and a clean white shirt. Finding them a near perfect fit, he took a pair of shoes from the bottom of Hunter’s closet and tried them on. They were a little loose, but felt good after the tight, hot boots he had been wearing. Cort brushed his clean gray hair and went downstairs.

Cort, Scotty, and Uncle Rembert were sitting in the drawing room. Kathleen came in to join them, wearing a clean dress, her hair pulled back from her face. All three men rose when she entered and her eyes went to the colonel. Her hand went up to her breast at the sight of him standing before her wearing Hunter’s clothes. Built so much like her husband, the tan trousers fit snugly over Cort’s long, lean legs and the white shirt draped over his slender shoulders just the way it had over Hunter’s. Cort read the look in her eyes and came to take her elbow, “Mrs. Alexander, ma’am, I know it’s somewhat of a shock seeing me in your husband’s clothes. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn’t taken the liberty.”