Shattered Moments (11 page)

The drive to Mr. Powell’s sister’s plantation was uneventful, and Finn allowed himself to relax a little as he leaned against the back of the bench and closed his eyes.  He was getting a headache from the unfamiliar glasses which distorted his vision, and the tight bodice was squeezing the life out of him.  It would be nice to finally change back into his own clothes.  Mr. Powell had been talkative before, but now he settled into silence, a dreamy look on his face.  Finn opened his eyes and turned to look at Dora.  She was sitting in the back of the trap, her knees drawn up to her chest and a look of such profound sadness on her face that Finn sucked in his breath in surprise.

“Are you all right?” he asked, but Dora just nodded and turned away, unwilling to talk.  Had he done something to upset her?  Finn sighed and looked around.  The countryside was bathed in the last rays of the southern sunset.  Blood-red arrows of the setting sun painted the clouds in bold shades of crimson
, and the sky turned a deep lavender as the encroaching evening slowly leached the remaining daylight in preparation for night.  The road was flanked by live oaks, moss draping the branches and making them appear slightly ghostly in the gathering darkness.  The moss swayed in the gentle evening breeze, giving the impression that the trees were indeed alive and moving around them as they passed. 

Finn sat up straighter as he heard something on the wind.  It was guttural and mournful and accompanied by something like the beating of a distant drum. 

“What’s that?” he asked Mr. Powell, who looked toward the sound as well.

“Oh, that’s just the slaves singing as they sit around their cooking fires,” Mr. Powell replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  Finn couldn’t make out the words, but in his heart
, he knew what the song was about.  It was a lament for a different life, a longing for home, and a prayer for loved ones left behind, never to be seen again.  He suddenly understood why Mr. Mallory refused to own slaves.  No human being should own another, even if the law sanctioned it, Finn thought in disgust.  His mother told him that slavery had been long abolished in her time, and he wished that he could see the future with his own eyes and live in a time when people were free and unafraid.

His thoughts were
interrupted by the appearance of the manor house at the end of the lane.  It was grand by colonial standards, the white columns gleaming in the light of the rising moon, and the tall windows alight with the warm glow of candles.  Finn suddenly wished he could just say his goodbyes and head home, but it would have been rude to just desert the Powells after they’d saved his life.  Besides, he was awfully tired.  He’d spend the night and leave tomorrow.

Finn tried not to gape like a country dolt as he was ushered into the foyer by Mr. Powell and Dora.  He’d never seen such grandeur in his life, much less in a colony that was relatively young.  His slippered feet sank into the soft carpet, and a chandelier with at least thirty candles gently swayed overhead, the candlelight casting eerie shadows onto the walls upholstered in pastels.  Elegant furniture carved with whimsical patterns graced the spacious rooms, and the woman who came out to greet them looked more like a confection of some sort than a plantation owner’s wife.  Finn could hear snippets of conversation and laughter coming from what he presumed to be the dining room, and several Negro slaves came and went on their way to the kitchen.

“Edgar, what a surprise
!” the woman exclaimed, smiling with delight.  “Jeb and I were just entertaining two of his associates and their wives, but you are most welcome to join us.  You must be hungry.”  She tore her eyes away from her brother and snuck at peak at Finn.  “And who is this charming young lady?  I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Amy Talbot.”

“Finlay Whitfield,” Finn stammered, feeling like a complete fool.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Whitfield,” Mrs. Talbot answered, despite the confusion in her eyes.

“A
my dear, Mr. Whitfield needs a place to change his clothes before he can join your little party,” Mr. Powell stated, his face shining with glee.  “We’ve quite a story to tell, don’t we, Dora?”  Dora just nodded and smiled up at her aunt.  “Where are the children?”

“They’re in bed where they should be, the little rascals.  Ran me ragged today,” Amy Talbot said, still glancing at Finn from under her lashes.  “Ah, Mr. Whitfield, if you’ll follow
me,” she suggested, leading Finn to a room off the main corridor.  “I’ll have Mamie bring you some hot water, shall I?”

“Thank you,
ma’am,” Finn mumbled as he snatched the valise with his clothes from Dora’s hand and entered the room.  He’d never felt so humiliated in his life, but he was alive and far from the clutches of Major Weland, which was all that mattered at the moment.  The embarrassment would pass, but not if Mr. Powell had anything to say about it.  Finn could tell that he was bursting to tell the story, eager to be praised for his bravery and quick thinking. 

A young Negro woman shyly entered the room, setting a pitcher of hot water and a ewer on the little table with spindly legs that stood in the corner.  It was a sitting room of some sort, furnished with an upholstered settee and several chairs clustered around a
round table.  Finn wished he could just lie down and sleep till morning, but that was not to be.  He was about to be the source of entertainment at a supper party.  Well, at least he’d eat.  He was starving, and very thirsty. 

**

The dining room was ablaze with light, an even larger chandelier hanging just over the center of the table laden with real porcelain, crystal, and silverware.  Finn’s mouth watered as he took in the roast beef, in pride of place on a large platter, surrounded by small potatoes and other vegetables.  There was a bowl of greens, some kind of creamed corn, and squares of cornbread, which filled the room with their sweet aroma.  Finn was introduced all around and shown to his seat, where the same young woman who brought the water instantly piled his plate with a little of everything and poured him a glass of wine from a crystal carafe.  The blood-red liquid reflected the light of the candles and cast a mauve shadow onto the snowy tablecloth. 

Finn
gave Mamie a grateful smile before tucking into the food.  They never ate like this at home.  Mrs. Mallory made mostly stews, which was the easiest way to feed such a large family.  A stew could be made with anything that was to hand, in addition to some sort of meat.  She threw in barley, parsnips, carrots and onions, leftover bacon, and sometimes even pieces of stale bread to increase the quantity and make it last longer.  Roast beef was a luxury that the Mallorys could seldom afford.  Finn took a bite.  The meat was so tender it melted in his mouth, especially when washed down with the wine, which had a delicate flavor Finn wasn’t used to. 

Mr. Powell was already telling the story of how Finn came to be at his house, the other guests making appropriate noises of shock and sympathy.  Dora seemed awfully quiet as she picked at her food, her large eyes never leaving Finn’s face.
She’d been terribly sad since they left the outskirts of Savannah, unlike her father, who was relishing the adventure and embellishing the story shamelessly. 

“You are so brave, Dora,” one of the women remarked.  “I would have swooned had someone just burst into my house followed by armed soldiers.  How did you know he wouldn’t hurt you?” she asked, glancing at Finn.

“Oh, I knew,” Dora replied, smiling at last.  “I knew I had to help him as soon as I set eyes on him.”

“Why is it that Major Weland holds such a grudge against you, son?” Jeb Talbot asked as he raised his wine glass to
his lips, but didn’t drink, waiting for Finn’s answer.

Finn finished chewing and took a sip of wine to buy time.  He couldn’t tell these people the truth.  His work for the Committee was
strictly confidential, and they were not to know that even now information that could change the outcome of the war was hidden in his coat.  He’d told Dora before that he helped rescue someone from the gallows, so that was the story he had to stick with.

“I interfered with the Major’s plans to execute a suspected spy,
and killed two soldiers in the process,” Finn finally replied, knowing this would bring on more questions.

“A spy?” Mrs. Talbot exclaimed.  “How exciting
!  Was he truly a spy?”

“She, and no she wasn’t.  She was just a girl who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Major Weland never forgave the
interference.”  Finn sighed, knowing these people weren’t about to let it go.  They were prosperous landowners, who would make peace with whoever happened to be in control of Georgia.  Their loyalty was to their profit, and not to any cause, so he had to be very careful.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Talbot said, fanning herself.  “A girl?  They would execute a young girl for spying without proof?  How beastly these British are.
  Was she able to get away?”

“Yes,
ma’am, the young lady in question is safe,” Finn said, his voice flat.  He wasn’t going to answer any more questions about the incident for fear of giving himself away.  “Please, tell me about your plantation,” he urged, to change the subject.  “Do you own many slaves?”  Finn hated to ask, but he knew that no other question would shift the focus of the conversation as this one would.  Jeb Talbot put down his wine glass, his chest swelling with pride as he launched into a description of his assets and operations.  Finn learned more about rice than he ever hoped to know, but he’d accomplished exactly what he wanted to.  His escapade was forgotten for the moment as attention shifted to other things. 

The kitchen slaves silently cleared the table and brought out pots of coffee and dessert.  Finn was stuffed, but he couldn’t pass up on the lovely concoction made with stewed peaches and sprinkled with slivered almonds.  The
combination of sweet peaches and buttery crust paired with crunchy nuts was the most delicious thing Finn had ever tasted, and he gratefully accepted a second helping, glad that the men were still talking about growing rice and keeping slaves in line and not questioning him. 

Finn threw open the window, letting in the fragrant southern air perfumed with flowers and the scent of freshly cut grass.  The night was alive with the sound of crickets and other insects, and he fancied he could hear singing from the slave quarters, but it was probably just his imagination.  It was well past midnight and everyone was asleep, the house silent and still.  He needed to get some rest, for he had a long journey ahead of him tomorrow, but although he was physically tired his mind refused to settle.  Thoughts tumbled over each other, colliding and spinning in his tired brain, refusing to let him be.  Had Dora Powell not chosen to help him, this could have been his last night on earth as the British preferred to execute people in the morning. 

At this very moment, he could have been locked up in some cell, awaiting death and praying that his family would at least find out what happened to him and not think that he just vanished.  They wouldn’t even have a body to bury, or a grave to visit.  The thought of never seeing Abbie and their daughter nearly made Finn cry as he tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. 

He hated to admit it, but Abbie had been right to worry.  An unexpected twist of fate was all it took; he was just a puppet whose strings were being pulled as he went about his business, not knowing that every day could be his last.  What were the chances of Major Weland being in Savannah and actually walking down the street where Finn happened to be?  And what was the likelihood of him bursting into the house of a girl who was willing to risk everything to help him?  God had spared him and Abbie in New York, and now he had spared him once again, but eventually his luck would run out.  He wanted to survive this war.  He wanted to live in peace and plan a future for himself and his girls without the constant shadow of war hanging over them.  Two more years, he thought, two more years.

Finn’s feverish thoughts were
interrupted by the turning of the door handle.  The door opened slowly, and the ghostly shape of Dora in a flowing white nightdress appeared on the threshold.  She closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed to the bed on silent feet, her breathing ragged in the silence of the room.  Finn closed his eyes pretending to be asleep in the hope that Dora would just leave, but she reached out and gently touched his face, her finger lingering on his bottom lip.  She sat down on the side of the bed and laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as Abbie sometimes did after they made love.

Finn wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained quiet, letting Dora stay where she was. 
He owed her his life, so the least he could do was be mindful of her feelings.  She seemed to be crying, so he wrapped his arms around her and let her cry in peace until this little storm of emotion passed.

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered as she finally raised her face to his, her lips only a few inches from his own.

“I have to go home.  I have a family waiting for me.”

“Who was the girl you rescued?” Dora suddenly asked.

“She was my wife.”

“My mother always said that when the time was right, my intended would walk into my life,” Dora whispered.  Her voice was shaky as she tried to hold back the tears.

“And he will, you’ll see, but I’m not your intended.  I’m married already.”

“Do you love her?”
Dora was watching him in the darkness, her eyes reflecting the feeble light of the moon and making her look slightly possessed.

“Yes,” Finn said simply. 

“Then she’s the luckiest woman on earth,” Dora said.

“I think she knows that,” Finn replied with an impish grin.  “And you will be lucky too.  I just know it.”  Dora just nodded.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said as she made to rise from the bed. 

“You haven’t.  What man isn’t flattered by the attentions of a beautiful girl, especially one as brave and selfless as you are?”  He wanted to make her feel better, but he meant every word.  Dora suddenly leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth. 
Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of the peach dessert.

“Just something to remember you by,” she giggled as she stood up and moved toward the door.  “Goodbye, Finn.  I will remember you always.”

“And I you,” said Finn, and meant it.