Fourteen
He hadn't moved in two hours. At one point she had placed her hand over his heart to make sure it was still beating. Resentment at their circumstances welled with the passing minutes. She stood and began pacing the room. "Damn Mr. Wilcox," She muttered bitterly, "and damn Matt and his noble ideals. Damn the United States Government and their special Secret Service." Each step added fuel to her ire until she was red hot with impotent rage, feeling helpless to alter their situation, like a pawn in a game of chess. Her pulse doubled and she could feel it's racing throb. Stopping at his bedside table, she picked up the stack of books sitting there. She hesitated only a moment before she hurled the books, one by one in rapid succession. Each made a satisfying thud as it hit the wall, before landing on the floor, pages askew and spines broken. The action brought some calm to her nerves.
"Everythin' okay in there Missy? You need me." Lilly asked from the other side of the door.
"Everything's fine, I ah … I just dropped something." Kitty replied.
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure." She felt some remorse, at her childish display and went to retrieve the books and try to undo some of the harm she'd forced on them. Two of the books faired better than the third. The Collected Works of Richard Lovelace, was much the worse for wear. She knelt down and stared at the damaged book and at the page nearly ripped free from the binding. The words jumped from the page and into her heart, "I could not love thee dear so much, loved I not honor more."
The poem brought clarity to her mind, and a redirection of her anger to those Matt Dillon had risked so much to defeat, "Damn Colonel Barger and damn his Band of Brothers."
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After days of cool fall temperatures, the weather had suddenly turned unseasonably hot, and Indian Summer was in full bloom. By late morning the temperature rivaled that of a mid-July day. Sun poured in through the cracks between window and blinds, and filtered through the thin lines of the horizontal slats. She pulled the drapes against the beating sun, and undid the top buttons of her blouse. The air in the small house was stagnant and heavy with humidity. Sweat made her clothing cling and perspiration glistened on her skin and caused her hairline to be damp from the moisture. Standing by the window, she turned to study him again. He remained unchanged, cataleptic, trapped in the throws of Lilly's pill.
She returned to the chair by his side. Using an old Harper's Bazaar, she fanned herself and him in an attempt to circulate the unmoving air. The effort proved ineffectual. Rage spent, she felt consumed by sadness. She sighed and fought back a strong desire to throw herself against his chest and weep. Disappointment loomed large, not only for her actions but for the great distance left to travel between the Matt she saw today, and the Matt he once was. It appeared an impossible chasm to cross.
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Lilly had tidied up the kitchen, after the ill-fated breakfast and then gone outside to pick the last of the green beans in the little vegetable garden off the back porch. She did a small load of hand wash, and hung the articles on the outside line to dry. Back inside, she moved on to the front room. Here, she lifted the cover off the case of the parlor piano, which graced a corner of the room. She had no training, and certainly no talent, but she liked pressing fingers to random keys, in the effort to make music. No doubt to her minds ear she was emulating some two-bit piano player she'd seen performing at one of the rundown taverns servicing the red light district. Sadly out of tune, the instrument would have struck a dissonant chord to even a seasoned musician's administering. To Kitty's ears the inharmonious noise, set her head to throbbing to the beatless cacophony. Finally, she'd had enough. She left Matt's side and marched to the front room."Lilly! Please stop."
"Why Ma'am, I was just making some music, to try to pass the time, thought it might please you some."
"Thank you for the thought, but not now. Please find something else to do."
"Yes'm." Lilly moved on to the kitchen, and Kitty returned to Matt's room. In no time at all Lilly was making noise in the kitchen as well. It seemed to Kitty's distraught nerves that the girl was rattling and clanking every pot, pan and bowl in the cottage. To make matters worse she'd added wood to the stove and soon the oven was cranking out heat.
Every fiber of her body felt tested, and on edge. There was a knot between her shoulder blades, her neck was stiff, her temples pounded and her empty stomach was queasy from the ache. This time when she went to talk to Lilly her voice was clearly agitated.
"Missy, what's got you so riled today? I'm of a mind to dose you with them pills too!"
The mention of the drug set off another sore spot with Kitty, "Those pills Lilly, I don't want you to give Matt any more of those damn pills."
Lilly shook her head and said in the voice of one who considered herself an expert, "He was headed fer the funk. Me'n you, we ain't no match for him if'n he's in the funk. He could hurt us bad, he could kill us certain sure." She stood tall and pushed forward, her small bosom, "I reckon, I knows when he needs them pills. I seen it in other fellas. You got to dose `em. Once he wakes up agin, he'll be all nice like n' he'll be thinkin' clear fer a spell."
"I think his head was clear this morning, he just couldn't tell us what the problem was."
"I reckon, you's just a'see'n things the way you wants them to be, and not as they is. I ain't taking no pleasure in the say'in of it, but this may be as good as it gets fer ol' Abe."
Lilly's words gave voice to Kitty's own doubts and it angered her, "That's not true, and I won't believe it for a minute and if you want to stay here with us, you won't either."
It was about this time, that there was a knock at the back porch. Lilly gave Kitty a hard look, before she went to answer it. She returned a moment later to announce, "Mr. Davis is here."
"Tell him I don't want to see him."
But, he was already in the room, "My dear, dear lady, what is wrong?"
Gentle manners showed only in her words, "Nothing, please Mr. Davis, I'm not receiving callers today."
He looked down at her with such genuine concern and compassion, that her resolve faltered a might. She pulled her shoulders back, and returned his look with a stoic smile and a softened attitude. He continued, "Let me take you away from this, just a short break. I've told my Grandmother about you, and she is eager to meet you. She had a recent fall and is unable to get out much, it would do her good to have company, and I think you could do with a little break as well."
"Missy, you might as well go, ol' Abe aint' gonna be up fer hours, `n you AIN'T do'n nobody no good here."
She wavered, but admitted to herself, that Lilly was right and if she didn't get herself calmed down, she wouldn't be any good to any one. "Alright, just for an hour or so. Let me change into a fresh dress."
He lied, "You look lovely the way you are, but go ahead, I'll wait. Perhaps, Miss Lilly would be so kind as to pour me a cup of coffee, and offer me a piece of cake or cookie to go with it.
"Yes sir, I kin do that." Lilly said.
Mrs. Johnston's clothes were hanging neatly in a wardrobe, in the corner of the room. Many of the dresses were heavy and matronly. Only one, seemed suitable for the warm afternoon. This was a black and white shepherd checked tea gown, with a nine gored skirt and white lawn yoke, trimmed by an eyelet lace collar. The material was light and the effect young and carefree. She released her hair from the braid and swept it atop her head in a relaxed and charming do, leaving soft tendrils to frame her face and accent her lovely blue eyes. She was pleased with the look and stepped from her room expecting to find Beaumont waiting for her in the kitchen, for she hadn't been gone long.
He was not there, nor was he in the parlor. But, in looking down the short hall, toward the other
bedroom, she saw him standing over Matt's bed, intensely studying the sleeping man. The sight unnerved her and she stood mutely for a moment, as a chill made its way down her spine. He must have sensed her presence for he turned to smile at her, before walking back to her side.
"Delightful! You look utterly charming Kitty-Cat."
She ignored his compliment. Her words were sharp, "Why were you looking at Matt like that?"
The heat seemed to have no effect on him, nor did her harsh words change his gentlemanly demeanor, "I was trying to imagine what he must have been like before. You are so devoted to him, I wondered if he knew how lucky he was to have you." Davis reached for her elbow,"Come, Grandmother awaits."
A much more direct route to Beaumont's summer home would have been a simple row across the river. A carriage ride added two miles to the trek, however on the open road, away from the city streets there was a pleasant breeze, which quickly refreshed her mind and outlook.
"You said your Grandmother lives with you?" She asked.
"Only during the summer months, during the winter she returns to our family home in Georgia. My dear Grandmother was once a great lady of the old south. We had a sizable estate before the, War of Northern Aggression. Taxes and labor problems have forced us to sell all but the main house, and a small area of land surrounding it, the home is a bit shabby now, in need of paint and repairs. To do the repairs would only cause higher taxes, so its condition remains rundown. Someday,when the political atmosphere of the South changes, I hope to restore the place to its former grandeur."
"The war changed a lot of lives." Kitty said, knowing her character in the dossier had suffered tragedies, but aware also the fight had forever altered the course of her life and Matt's as well.
Beaumont's smile was charming, his voice smooth as silk, "My family is fortunate that our northern interests are profitable enough to keep us out of the poor house. Funny thing about my Grandmother, she seems to find more comfort in the dilapidated family homestead, than she does in my lovely new cottage. She will be leaving soon for Narcissus-in-Bloom, and I shall miss her company."
"Narcissus in Bloom?"
"Yes," His eyes held a boyish twinkle, "You see, Grandmother's Grandmother loved the wild flower and named the plantation after them, it has been called thus, ever since." His eyes glowed with the memory, "Each spring the gardens are alive with the paper white blossoms."
"Seems a strange name for a homestead."
"It was the fashion in those early days." He paused a moment to reflect before continuing, "Considering Mythology, I too, have always felt it an odd moniker. Perhaps my Great-Great Grandmother knew nothing of Greek Tragedies, and therefore, saw not the fabled connotation to the name."
Kitty'd had limited formal schooling, before war, parental death and poverty intervened. In the years since any thing other than the necessities to run her business had escaped her point of study. She understood fashion for she depended on her beauty to attract customers, she had a keen sense of accounting and her bookkeeping was something to be admired. She knew liquor, and where to get the best buy on glassware. She perused catalogues on supplies as soon as they appeared in her mail. She kept pace with day-to-day news for her patrons appreciated commentary on current events. However, she'd never had the time or luxury for reading as a form of relaxation or entertainment. Perhaps, considering the circumstances she questioned too quickly, showing her ignorance, "what does a flower have to do with Greek Mythology?"
If he found her lack of knowledge questionable, considering her alleged background, for every young Southern belle from the last fifty years, was schooled in fables and mythology, he made no comment, "Echo was a beautiful young nymph, who fell deeply and passionately in love with a handsome but disreputable young man named Narcissus. Echo was named such because she had been cursed by the god Juno, and was only able to repeat the last few words of other's sentences. Now Narcissus was a bad character, and had a cruel side to his nature. He was incapable of returning true love.
He had broken many hearts, not only sweet Echo's, and the gods decreed he should know what it was like to care for someone who could never love him back. A spell was cast which declared, that the next face Narcissus gazed upon would be his unrequited love. As he bent over a pool of water to take a drink, he saw his own reflection and immediately fell in love with it, thinking it the most beautiful being that he had ever seen. He tried to embrace his reflection, but each time he touched the water, causing it to ripple, his beloved would disappear. Narcissus forgot all else and obsessed only for himself. He pined away over his reflection with the mournful Echo by his side, until he finally died. For his great beauty, Echo and the nymphs grieved for him, and their sorrow turned his body into a flower, the Narcissus, so that his great beauty would always be remembered."
"How sad for Echo, to love someone who was incapable of loving her back."
"Therein lies the heart of the tragedy my dear, and perhaps it is a lesson for us to learn from."
Without moving her head, she looked at him from the corner of her eye. She said nothing. Her thoughts were of the man she'd left behind that day.
The river narrowed, and here, the carriage crossed over a covered bridge. The sounds of the horse's hooves pounded against the wooden planks. The road turned to follow the waters path again, passing the splendid summer cottages of the affluent. They made another turn, following a brick paved lane, to the home Kitty had admired from the other side of the water.
The brick pavers followed a circular path, which led to the front doors, of the Queen Anne styled home. The driver pulled his team to a stop and applied the brake. He opened the carriage doors, and offered his hand to assist Kitty out. Beaumont followed and said, "Well, this is our summer cottage, I hope you like it."
Up close `the cottage' was even more remarkable than it had appeared from the birch-shaded grove, where she and Matt had first viewed it. There was no sign of shabbiness, here only modern opulence and wealth. The house was new, certainly not more than a year or two old. There was still the smell of fresh lumber to it, and it virtually shined like a new penny. The exterior was painted a pale shade of yellow, detailed in blue and accented by white gingerbread trim. The gleaming windows represented various sizes and shapes. Rounded towers, one taller than the other, decorated both left and right side, making it appear like some reincarnation of a fairy tale castle. There were little niches on the upper level, with rounded stain glass windows, encased by the same fancy woodwork as the porches. The roof was a complex pattern of conical shapes and angles, and the shingles resembled fish scales in shape and color.
The wrap around spindle work porch, extended to this side of the home as well. Wide steps led to huge double oak doors carved with an intricate pattern of oak leaves and acorns. Kitty took Beaumont's elbow as he led her to the door, which was immediately opened by another black man in red jacket. A slight nod of head was exchanged between the men, and the servant offered in perfect elocution, "Your Grandmother is on the back veranda, sir. Will you be joining her?"
"Yes, send Effie with iced refreshments." Instead of entering the house, they followed the porch to the riverside of the home. In a shaded circular pergola, sat Beaumont's grandmother. She occupied the largest chair of a beautifully detailed suite of wicker furniture. In front of her, rested a small table and on the table a delicate Haviland Limoges tea service, gilded in gold and hand painted in a delicate pattern of moss rose and iridescent humming birds.
The elderly woman sitting there was small, but she carried her frame as if each bone of her structure was sustained by starch. The angle of her chin, would have easily added another inch to her height. Her hair was white and full and not even the rigid coiffure could hide its curl and softness. There was a slight up tilt to her eyes and a touch of olive in her complexion, which indicated she'd been an exotic beauty in her day. Despite the wrinkles of age to her face, her bone structure remained exquisite. In her hand, as a queen carries a scepter, she held a black ebony cane.
She managed to control the muscles of her face, so that the droop of age was not apparent and her lips as her eyes slanted upward. The result was not a true smile, but more a look of serenity and peace. "Beau, I see you have brought the delightful young woman, you have told me so much about." She raised thick silver spectacles to her eyes, to study Kitty. "Come my dear, sit down and visit with me. We'll have tea, shall we?" Her voice was soft and melodic, soothing to the ear, with a hint of Southern origin, tempered by the months she'd spent in the North. "My recently infirmed state of health, has prevented me from socializing as much as I'd like. Especially missing, is that of female companionship, for as much as I love my precious grandson, he is not current on fashion and other feminine pursuits. So, kindly humor this old lady with the pleasure of your company."
Beaumont chuckled at the old woman's enthusiastic welcome. He cleared his voice, made a gallant bow and with an eloquent wave of his hand, said, "Grandmother, may I introduce Mrs. Kathleen Kent. Her friends call her Kitty."
"How do you do, my dear Mrs. Kent? I hope soon to be counted as one of those, who may address you as Kitty."
Beaumont turned to the younger woman. His voice carried with it a sweet gentleness, which rivaled that of the old woman's. "Mrs. Kent, this is my very dear Grandmother, Regina Louisa Barger."