The Flip (8 page)

He wove between the aisles, opening a box here, moving a painting there, knowing it was going to take weeks to go through and catalog all the material. Pulling up an old cracked leather campaign chair that probably dated from the War of 1812, he randomly picked a box and started to go through it. He pulled out a yellow satin gown, wrapped in crisp paper, the folds releasing a faint scent of roses. Something dropped; Brad bent over to pick it up. It was a delicate fan made from
bamboo and chicken skin, with a painted scene of graceful Asian ladies covering its surface.

“Oh, Gerald,” Tessa sighed. “It’s my fan. I thought I’d never see it again. I almost threw it away, and then, when…you know.” She paused, her big eyes watching him. She waltzed elegantly around the room, humming, her face dreamy. She stopped to look at her companion and told him, “When you disappeared, I decided to keep it. I packed it away and then couldn’t find it. I thought it was lost. He’s found it.”

“It was never lost,” Gerald replied softly.

Chapter 10

1862

“La, Gerry, get me some more punch. I swear I am parched.” Tessa directed a tall blond man in the crowd surrounding her to fetch the refreshment.

Gerald rolled his eyes, hating to leave her with four other admirers, but he still went to get her a drink.

The room was filled with soldiers, their blue uniforms with shiny brass buttons reflecting the warm glow from the gas chandeliers. He nodded to his cousin, a Union captain, who was
caught up in a conversation with Tessa’s father. He was a railroad man, Frank Hemmings. Rich as Croesus, smart as a fox, at the turn of the century he had started a ferry business from Long Island to Connecticut, making a fortune that had led to an even bigger one when his trains opened up the West. Gerald knew all the details, as his family financed most of Hemmings’s business ventures. He had recently left his safe bank position to join up. It had caused a huge fight. Only the agreement that he would work in Washington on the general’s staff quieted his father’s opposition. He hoped that Tessa would notice him now that he was dressed in blue. Though only a lowly lieutenant, he had the important job of being adjunct to General McClellan. It was an easy appointment that his neighbor, Frank Hemmings,
had been able to secure for him. The general had worked with Hemmings at the Illinois Central Railroad. When Lincoln appointed him general-in-chief of all the Union armies, Gerald volunteered and was given a position in Washington to help move supplies to the troops. Though he was horse mad, he was in no hurry to get himself killed. Let Lewis run around playing soldier on the front lines. He was content doing his share in Washington, coming home for brief visits and keeping his eye on Tessa. She didn’t know she was going to be his wife. Let her enjoy her flirtations, the attention of all her admirers. As long as they ended up together, he didn’t much care about the rest.

Nothing but the best for Frank Hemmings.
A string quartet played in the corner of the vast parlor. Silver dishes and trays held steaming food. The punch bowl, a family heirloom made by Paul Revere himself, rested in the center of the giant buffet, fruit floating on the surface of the iced punch.

“She is beautiful.” Lewis came up next to him, watching their hostess. He had a black handlebar mustache, lean cheeks, and fierce eyes. He raised his silver cup to salute her with an appreciative grin.

“Hands off, cousin. Mine,” Gerald snarled.

Lewis was both older and taller, with an air of sophistication that always turned a lady’s head. Long hair skimmed his collar; he stood at
ease, a faint smile on his thin lips.

“You haven’t declared yourself yet, Gerry. As far as I’m concerned, it’s open season.”

Gerald pulled a eight-inch object from his pocket. He opened it, making sure the fan was still as perfect as when he had purchased it. “Don’t poach on my preserve, Lewis. I believe I’ve made my intentions clear.”

“To everyone but the lady, it seems.” Lewis laughed, as he gestured toward the retreating back of Tessa, who was leaving the room to walk in the gardens with another man. “Hunting season has just started.” Pulling a flask from his breast pocket, Lewis offered his cousin a sip. Gerald declined, leaving both Lewis and the
punch at the buffet.

Gerald bit the end of a Spanish cigar as he leaned against the frame of the French doors leading out to the garden. Jasmine perfumed the air; strains of the violins seeped out into the night air. It was chilly, and he wondered if Tessa had her wrap. He sucked hard on his cigar, the glowing tip the only evidence of his presence. He heard a giggle followed by a smothered gasp. She was being kissed. He felt his face redden with embarrassment. She was supposed to be his; they had an informal agreement. He ground his cigar purposefully into a planter, leaving only a taste of bitterness in his mouth. His cousin’s smile mocked him from across the room. Gerald’s collar felt too tight. He ran a finger around the inside,
knowing everybody was watching him with a mixture of curiosity and pity. What was she thinking? They were promised to each other, yet she took every opportunity to tease and flirt with other men. He joined the army for her to notice him, and his uniform brought nothing but contemptuous remarks from her. He was only a lieutenant; he wouldn’t see action; how was she supposed to brag to the other ladies?

Tessa’s companion, her mousy governess, peered through the darkness, looking for her charge. “She’s over there.” He pointed to the rustling bushes. “You’d better get her out of there before you have to explain where she’s been to her father.” He spun on his polished heel and stalked away from the spot.

Tessa’s mother introduced Gerald to Lady Pamela Winters, the duke of Eversham’s daughter. Tessa had inherited her mother’s good looks as well as her titian hair. Mrs. Hemmings was busty but not as tall as her daughter. She trilled when she put Lady Pamela’s gloved hand in Gerald’s and pushed them onto the dance floor. The duke’s daughter was visiting—quite a coup for the Hemmings family—and in need of a husband. Preferably a wealthy one to trade an old titled family name in exchange for a cash infusion. Gerald listened to her inane chatter as they glided on the polished parquet floor, his eyes never leaving the French doors.

Tessa slipped in, her hair mussed, her fingers adjusting her dress. Their eyes met; a
brittle smile graced her lips, her eyes were bright in her flushed face. Gerald sighed deeply. She was so beautiful. She was a jade, a flirt, but he just couldn’t get himself to care. It bothered both his parents, but Gerald knew his own mind, and the only woman on it was Tessa. He had known her for years; their families celebrated yearly events together as the premier social scions of the area. It seemed she always turned to him, using him for excuses to her parents when she broke the rules. Gerald sensed when she would need his protection and somehow always managed to be at the right place to bail her out. She was as mischievous as a kitten, as daring as a lion, and the only person in the world who touched his heart. He loved her to distraction, and though he knew she used him shamelessly, it didn’t
diminish the fierceness he felt for her.

He handed Lady Pamela off to Kurt Hemmings, Tessa’s older brother and perhaps the lady’s future. Kurt bowed over her hand, his long auburn hair curling charmingly around his pale face. He was a poet, with brooding eyes coupled with a practiced air of ennui that drove females mad. Gerald looked at Lady Pamela’s faintly bovine face, noticing the vacant look, and wondered when she’d start to drool over the son of the house. A match made in heaven, they would have poetic, chesty, mildly bored children with cow-like eyes and placid personalities. He wondered what kind of offspring he would have with Tessa—if only she would hold still long enough for him to make her realize that he would
make her happy.

A firm slap on his back returned him to the present. Frank Hemmings squeezed his shoulder. He was mildly drunk, his bloodshot eyes watching his son with distaste.

“How is the general treating you, m’boy?” he inquired.

Gerald turned to see the naked disdain on Hemmings’s face as he watched his son take out a handkerchief and wave it around as he recited one of his many poems.

“Little Napoleon?” Gerald smiled, calling the general by his nickname. “He’s an interesting man.”

“Do you call him that to his face? Didn’t
think so. Graduated top of his class. Organized the Illinois for me.”

“He is a great leader. The men like him.”

“When do you return?”

“Monday next. I report to Washington.”

“Proud of you, son. Right proud. You could have taken the easy way out, like some,” he sneered. “Chose to represent your house like a man.” He harrumphed. “What do you make of my boy?”

“He’s young yet, Frank.”

They stood in silence. Hemmings watched his son. Gerald stared at Tessa.

“Step into the library with me. I have some
brandy and a cigar I’ve been saving for you. Not that schizer you like to smoke.” He motioned to the cigars resting under Gerald’s jacket.

Tessa danced past them in the arms of yet another man, her face lit with joy. Their eyes met for an instant, and then she looked away. He couldn’t even hold her gaze for a long period of time. Both men observed her spinning past them to end one dance and begin another in a new set of arms.

“Gerald,” Hemmings said abruptly, “I want a word with you.”

Gerald followed the older man into the library, taking a seat in one of the deep leather chairs. Frank Hemmings closed the door, poured
a brandy, and handed it to Gerald.

“What’s this I hear about Lincoln and McClellan?” he asked baldly, never a man to beat around the bush.

Gerald sipped the liquor, letting the burn ease his aching heart. “What do you mean, sir?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, boy. If I hadn’t written the letter, you’d be with Burnside in New Orleans. What in holy hell is going on?”

“You know the general.”

Hemmings inclined his head.

Gerald continued, “He is an amazing organizer. He’s whipped the Army of the Potomac into a fighting machine. We’ll crush the rebs in no
time.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s antagonized Lincoln and his staff. I fear the president means to remove him.”

Hemmings set down his drink.

Gerald went on, “It’s those Pinkerton agents he’s surrounded himself with. Their reports make him doubt the strength of the Union army. He’s hesitating, and it’s making Congress angry.”

“Lincoln’s losing patience,” Hemmings stated. “It will be a mistake if he replaces him.”

Gerald agreed. “He’s organized the entire army. The men revere him. Yes, it will be a big
mistake.”

“Can you say something?”

“Frank,” Gerald laughed, “I am nothing more than a cog in the wheel there. While at home, I can run a bank; there, I am a lowly lieutenant.”

“For now,” Frank agreed. “Listen, Gerald, if things go bad, I have to know my little girl is protected.”

Gerald put his hand over his chest. “I love Tessa with my whole heart. She will always be safe.”

“I can’t depend on Kurt. His head is in the clouds.”

“No need to worry, Frank. Long Island is a long way from the South.”

“Lee is aggressive. He won’t stop at Washington.”

“He won’t have the chance to get past Washington,” Gerald told him confidently. “Lincoln will not allow the capitol to be burned again.”

“I wish I could be as sure as you. I leave for London in a week. Kurt is staying here to entertain the duke’s daughter. You will watch out for Tessa.” It was a statement.

“I will be back and forth over the next two months. I have to visit factories making the guns in Connecticut. I will make sure to stop by each
time I return north. Surely you realize, Frank, that I will always watch over Tessa.”

They shook hands; it would be the last time they ever saw each other.

The party was winding down, the spring air cooling the heated room. Many had left. Kurt Hemmings sat in a corner in rapt conversation with Lady Pamela, her bulbous eyes concentrating on his full lips.

Tessa stood beside the fireplace, her tired eyes staring into the flames.

“Are you too tired for a dance?” he asked softly.

Tessa spun to see Gerald standing behind her.

“I’m never too tired for a dance.” Her dark eyes darted behind him, looking for someone else.

“You’ve danced with everyone at least twice. There is no one left but me, Tessa,” he snapped.

“There is always someone else.” She watched her words cut him. He was easy to hurt, wore his devotion for everyone to see. It wasn’t her fault. She considered his bland blond hair and droopy brown eyes. He was just so damn boring. She sighed.

“Not tonight.” He grabbed her waist, pulling her possessively to him.

Tessa inclined her head sideways, looking at him calmly. “There’s always going to be
another man, Gerald, no matter how tightly you hold me,” she whispered, a faint smile on her lips.

They waltzed around the room silently, Gerald’s lips a grim white line, Tessa’s face serene, her eyes dreamy. He caught himself looking at her, the rose hue of her skin, her sable lashes touching her plump cheeks, her dewy pout.

Tessa lifted her face to look at his mouth and then they locked eyes. No words passed between them, but she licked her lips, feeling his hold tighten. One side of her mouth lifted, and she said only for his ears, “It won’t matter how tightly you hold me, Gerry. I can’t help who I am.”

Gerald spun her around the room, closer to the music, where he couldn’t hear the words
hitting him with the same pain as bullets.

The last dance ended with a smattering of applause, mixed with tired sighs. She curtsied daintily, saying, “Always a pleasure, Gerry.”

Gerald bowed stiffly. “I don’t know why I love you, Tessa, but God help me, I do.” He pulled the fan from inside his uniform. “I brought this back for you from Washington. Hopefully it will cool your ardor.”

“A fan. How nice.” She opened the fan, using it to flirt with him. She would flirt with the dustman if she could, and they both knew it. “Are you are leaving me this token as a reminder of you?”