When the Splendor Falls (100 page)

“Did you lose your hat by any chance?” Althea asked, laughing when he stared at her in puzzlement, and one day she would explain to him.

“No, still got that,” he said, looking around for it on the floor, where he’d dropped it when entering the room. “I asked for you, and the youngster’s face lit up brighter than a thousand candles and talking about the
muy bonita
,
muy rubia inglesa
as he dragged me across the yard to this rather small building. I was concerned at first about Nathaniel’s hospitality to his nephew’s wife, but upon entering I realized it was a schoolroom. And you were the beautiful golden-haired teacher the boy loved so,” he said, staring at her as if seeing someone different from the person he had expected to be reunited with.

Althea closed her eyes for a moment, almost afraid to open them again and find that he had vanished and she’d been talking to herself. But when she opened them, he still stood before her and she found herself gazing into his warm gray eyes—eyes that had always been so wise.

“I thought you were dead. Royal Bay was destroyed. Travers Hill little better. I didn’t know how we would live. If it hadn’t been for Leigh, and Jolie and Stephen, then we wouldn’t have survived at first. Guy was blinded,” she told him, hurrying on when she saw the look of pity cross his face, “but we had our first miracle a month ago when Guy recovered his sight. He lost the sight permanently in his left eye, but he can now see perfectly out of his right eye. Cause for celebration, Nathan, because it means he can now return to Travers Hill with his bride. Yes, there is much for you to learn,” she said, smiling up at him, feeling as if they’d never been separated. “And at least this time you will be here for the wedding. Guy is marrying your cousin Lys Helene. You will find Guy a changed man, Nathan. And one changed for the better. I think you may even find him interested in joining your law practice.”

Nathan ran his hand through his hair in the old, familiar gesture Althea had remembered so well, leaving his hair standing on end, his expression thoughtful. “Well, well…” he murmured, then his gaze sharpened as he stared down at Althea’s face, the glow of good health showing in the dewy softness of her rose-tinted cheeks. “And you, my dear? The Draytons said you were gravely ill. They truly thought you might die when you arrived at Travers Hill,” he questioned gently.

“I had typhoid, and I am ashamed to admit that I lost my will to live. I was a coward, Nathan, when I heard you were missing in action. But Leigh pulled me through. She reminded me of Mama, always going after Papa to do this, or that, never letting him alone until she got what she wanted. And Leigh wanted me to live. Then thanks to Adam and Neil, and then Neil’s father, we arrived safely here at Royal Rivers. We have been treated so kindly by your aunt and uncle. We have been welcomed as family, all of us,” Althea told him, then added softly, “But I knew it was time to return home to Virginia, Nathan. I wanted Noelle and Steward to grow up near Royal Bay. I never wanted them to forget who they are, what their heritage was. But I also knew that I would have to work if we were to live there. So, I decided to teach school when we returned to Virginia,” Althea told him with a defensive note in her voice, as if expecting a look of disapproval.

“I always knew you were beautiful, but I had no idea until now exactly how strong and determined a woman you were,” he said, holding her tightly against him, his cheek resting against her soft golden hair.

“Let go my mama!” a petulant voice demanded from behind them.

Nathan turned around to find himself confronted by a chubby little boy with big brown eyes and dark curls, his short, white-stockinged legs planted aggressively apart as he faced what he sensed was someone to be reckoned with.

But the young girl standing just behind him suddenly gave a shrill cry that caused the little boy to squeal in fear, not having expected an attack from behind, especially when he was knocked down when his sister raced past him, flinging herself into the stranger’s outstretched arms.

Steward Russell Braedon stared in disbelief as his sister was hugged tight. He eyed the tall man suspiciously, sensing now more of a challenge to his status as the only man in his mother’s life than he did any physical danger from the man he’d never seen before—at least, did not remember ever having seen.

“Steward,” Althea said, smiling understandingly as she walked over to where he still sat on the floor, tears welling in his fear-rounded eyes. Bending down beside her son, she took her lightly scented handkerchief and dried his eyes, wiping the tearstains from his pinkened cheeks, then pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Come and meet your father, dear,” she said gently, holding out her hand to him, which he took shyly, his eyes wide with wonder as he stared at the tall man waiting patiently for him.

* * *

There was a festive mood in the great hall at Royal Rivers that night. Lys Helene and Guy sat with their heads together, excitedly going over their dreams for Travers Hill, for their wedding was to follow on the morrow. Michael Stanfield had even drawn up a set of plans for the new wing they hoped to build one day—although that was some way off. But it did not hurt to dream. Stanfield was standing now in front of one of Solange’s paintings, admiring it as he spoke with her, their conversation liberally sprinkled with foreign-sounding names of places both had visited during their travels, but even more incomprehensible was their talk of art, with both being very set in their opinions as they compared the merits of neoclassical and romantic painting against the new, unsentimental realism. Stanfield would be staying on at Royal Rivers for a while. He said he had nowhere else to go, and was willing to do a hard day’s work. His quest for vengeance, or perhaps justice, was over. Quite a shock had reverberated across the territory when the bodies of Alfonso Jacobs and Courtney Boyce had been found at Silver Springs, apparently having killed one another during a violent argument. No one had been able to reach Diosa and Luis Angel to inform them of the tragic death of their uncle.

“This package arrived on the stagecoach with Nathan. He brought it with him from Santa Fe yesterday. I mistakenly opened it. It was addressed to Royal Rivers, and the Christian name, except for the letter
N
, was smudged. All that was legible was the Braedon,” Nathaniel apologized as he handed a thick leather-bound volume to his son, who’d been half listening to the talk around him.

Neil raised a curious brow, wondering why someone should be sending him a book.

“It’s inscribed,” Nathaniel told him gruffly, a strange look in his eyes. “You’ll forgive me, but I didn’t realize it was intended for you until I saw the inscription, and since I’d already committed the error of opening your package, I didn’t think you’d mind if I glanced inside the cover. The title was intriguing, and I found myself continuing to read until I’d finished the book. It was quite fascinating, and I imagine a very true account.”

Turning the book over, an astounded expression crossed Neil’s face as he opened the cover and turned to the title page.

THE DARING ESCAPADES OF CAPTAIN DAGGER’S BLOODRIDERS

Or

A Partisan’s True Account of Guerrilla Warfare behind Confederate Lines

From a Diarist’s Daily Record of Events as They Happened; with Comments and Notes Thereof

By John Yates Chatham

Formerly of the Second Massachusetts; Topographical Engineer and Cartographer on General Meade’s Staff

Army of the Potomac;

Also Former Member of the Federal Raiders Known as the Bloodriders

ILLUSTRATED

With Ten Beautiful Color Plates and Twenty-five Detailed Sketches

By the Author

The splendor falls on castle walls

And snowy summits old in story:

The long light shakes across the lakes,

And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,

Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

BOSTON

JACOB ADAMSON

Printer, Bookbinder, and Stationer

1865

Neil shook his head in disbelief. Lieutenant Chatham. The young, bespectacled lieutenant who’d seemed to have more of a chance than anyone he’d ever met of
not
surviving the war. The soft-spoken, serious-minded lieutenant had actually written the book of his experiences and personal impressions, his memoirs, that he’d claimed he’d have published one day.

Neil smiled slightly as he noticed the portrait on the facing page. A fresh-faced young man with gold-rimmed spectacles, the round lenses giving him an owlish look, stared back at him. He seemed younger than ever without his beard, although he sported a fine-looking mustache and side-whiskers. His hair was neatly trimmed and combed, quite proper for Boston, as was the black broadcloth of his close-fitting frock coat and the starched perfection of his high-standing collar, but the casually knotted silk scarf and boldly patterned plaid waistcoat belied the fact that John Chatham had returned to his former life unchanged. He would never be quite as proper a Bostonian as he once might have been had he not ridden with the Bloodriders. The lieutenant had recovered from his wounds, his slow convalescence keeping him assigned to Headquarters in Washington, but his days as a Bloodrider had ended at Travers Hill. Which perhaps had been a blessing in disguise for all concerned, Neil speculated, recalling the near disasters caused by the lieutenant’s sincere, but at times awkward, attempts to be of assistance.

Neil turned the page and read the following inscription:

These Memoirs

Of a Proud Bloodrider

Are Dedicated with Honor

To
NDB
,

Captain Dagger,

Who Cared More for the Lives of the Men Who Served with Him

Than for His Own Life and Never Left a Man to Die Alone and Forgotten in the Field

Neil stared at the page for a long moment, then turned to the Table of Contents, a grin spreading across his somber face as he quickly scanned several of the chapters listed.
The Hog Slop Polka. Schneickerberger’s Breeches. Thunder Dancer; A Horse with Wings. Where the Last Rose Lingers. Long Winter Nights. Fire-breathers & Steely Beasts at the Gates of Hell. Scattered Butternuts; Or Skittle Alley. Angel of the Storm. “Open Sesame.” Painted Faces and Ghostly Smiles. Double Trouble; Or Smoke against Gray Skies.

Neil’s smile faded as he read the last few chapter headings, for he remembered that winter when he returned to Travers Hill, and he and Lieutenant Chatham had stood outside the lighted window. And he remembered only too vividly how he and his men had hidden in the cave by the river, where three young cousins, boyhood friends, had hidden after mock battles, suffering nothing more serious than skinned knees and growling stomachs because they’d missed luncheon. And Adam. He would never forget the cousin and friend who had paid the highest price of all. Neil’s gaze lingered on Jolie and Stephen, sitting on the woven pillows of the
banco
, Jolie holding Adam’s and Blythe’s baby daughter on her lap.

Neil stared over at Nathan and his family as they sat together on the sofa. His giggling son was sitting on his lap, while his daughter leaned over her mother’s shoulder, laughing as she tickled her brother with a feather. Althea, her golden hair slightly tousled from the horseplay, was smiling indulgently, her brown eyes warm with contentment, and Neil knew that not everything had been lost.

Nathaniel stared at his son. For a moment they stood eye to eye, and Nathaniel cleared his throat, wanting to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. There would be other days, and he rested his hand momentarily on his son’s shoulder before stepping away to join Gil and Leigh as they stood by the pianoforte, where Camilla sat playing a lovely tune.

Neil watched his father for a long moment, seeing him look down into Leigh’s face, then nod, a slight smile flickering briefly across his hard face at something she told him. It wasn’t really surprising, Neil thought, that his father would like Leigh, but sometimes their glances met as if they had an understanding between them, as if they shared some knowledge the rest of them were not privy to. A puzzled expression entered Neil’s pale eyes as he felt again his father’s hand on his shoulder. Was he only imagining it, or was there something different about his father? Neil shook his head, still disbelieving of the gentle expression he’d seen in his father’s eyes. Walking over to the window, Neil stared out at the mountains. As he stood there alone, he heard a step behind him and held out his hand without looking as Leigh came to stand beside him. His hand closed over hers as she reached out to him, her eyes meeting his in a loving, sharing glance.

His arm came to rest around her waist, holding her against him and she raised her face for his kiss. Their lips touched.

“Day after tomorrow we’ll ride to Riovado,” Neil murmured softly as Leigh rested her head against his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his heart as she leaned against him, the warmth of her body, shared with his, as necessary to his life as his own breath.

* * *

The blackness of a star-streaked sky faded as dawn broke over the purple mountains. The sun rose resplendent, bathing the forested slopes in a golden light and gilding the outspread wings of a high-flying bird as it soared on the winds into the heavens.

Far below, two riders, a man and a woman, rode beside a stream, the silvered waters glinting through green woodlands. Across a high grassy plateau their horses galloped, toward a lone cabin nestled in a peaceful wood of tall pines. Neil Braedon, his beloved Leigh riding beside him, had come home to Riovado.

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Wild Bells to the Wild Sky

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