Bon Marche (73 page)

“In a sense, it is,” he admitted. “You must understand that man is the only animal capable of love and hate. These horses—and, indeed, cattle and sheep and dogs and other animals—breed for only one reason—to reproduce themselves. And they do it with their kind, regardless of beauty or age or, at times, without regard for what we call inbreeding. On the other side of the coin, the fox kills a rabbit for only one reason—to obtain food. He doesn't hate the rabbit. He feels no emotion for his victim, one way or another.

“And that's the basic difference between man and the lower animals. Man mates for love, desire, or pleasure. Man kills for hate, wantonly, cruelly. But that's the way life is.”

“I really hadn't thought about it,” Beth sighed. “Somehow it's all a bit sad, isn't it?”

“I never believed that the realities of life were sad. It's a pattern, a mosaic, preordained by nature. Or God, if you wish.” He put his arm around her, drew her to him, and kissed her on the lips. “You see, that was a kiss. An act of love known only to the animal man. A pleasurable act. Some animals may seem to kiss, but they don't. Only man knows what a kiss is and how nice it can be.”

She laughed. “It seems to me that you've used a long explanation to steal a kiss.”

“Oh, I didn't steal it. You wanted to be kissed by me.”

“You are the most egotistical—”

He kissed her once more. And Beth responded.

“Egotism has nothing to do with it,” he said. “It's simply knowing when to kiss, and when it might be the most satisfying.”

“I think it's time for dinner, don't you?”

“Probably.”

He helped her down from the fence. As they strolled back to the mansion, they entwined their hands.

“You know,” Beth said, “you made a point of saying that animals breed only to reproduce themselves. But doesn't man do that, too? I mean, take Albert and Virginia. Isn't their intent, to be married, to reproduce themselves?”

“I don't know Albert's intent. I haven't talked to him about it.”

“And I haven't talked to Virginia about it, either. But I'd imagine that they want to have children.”

“They could have them without being married.”

“Charles!”

“Biologically, that's true, isn't it?”

“Yes.”

“So … what does marriage add to that? Marriage is a convenience, a convention of our society. But … well, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.” She seemed shy for the first time.

He stopped, staring at her. “Sixteen? I can hardly believe that. You're so much of a woman.”

Beth blushed.

“Anyway,” he went on, “even at the young age of sixteen, you could bear a child, couldn't you?”

“Yes, I guess.”

“But to do so, you believe you have to be married?”

“Certainly.”

“Not true. Because man is capable of love, the most pure, loving thing would be for two people to produce a child in that love. Just because their love was strong enough and meaningful enough to want to have a manifestation of it in the form of a child. And a child, it seems to me, would be more loved because convention was defied in producing it.”

“I'm not sure I want to hear this.” She pulled her hand away.

“I'm sorry,” young Charles said apologetically. “Perhaps I've gone too far.”

Beth was silent.

“Have I?”

“I'm not sure. It's just that no one ever talked to me about all this before.”

They were mounting the front steps of the mansion when they heard the dinner chimes sounding inside the house.

“You see,” Charles laughed, “we didn't miss a damned thing.”

V

T
HREE
days later, at noon on a bright June Saturday, Lieutenant Albert Dewey and Miss Virginia Stoker were wed. For Mrs. Stoker, and for Mattie Dewey as well, it was a social triumph.

By two o'clock, the last champagne toast having been drunk, the newlyweds drove away from the plantation on the first leg of their honeymoon trip, planned as a long, leisurely journey to Albert's new station with the U.S. Army cavalry in Illinois.

Charles Dewey II made his way to Mr. and Mrs. Stoker, presenting himself with a proper bow.

“Sir … ma'am, I wonder whether I might have your permission to go riding with Miss Elizabeth?” He smiled at them. “Everything has been so busy around here that I haven't had the opportunity to show your daughter all of Bon Marché, as I've promised her I would. And since I, too, must leave soon, to go back to New Orleans, this might be the last opportunity to do so.”

Brian Stoker looked at his wife. “Well, I imagine that might be all right, Mr. Dewey. What do you think, dear?”

Charles cut in. “I'll make certain that Miss Elizabeth is delivered home at any hour you say, ma'am.”

“Well, I suppose … yes, very well. We want her home, of course, before nightfall.”

“Of course.” Another bow. “You do me great honor.”

The young man ran to where he knew, by prearrangement, Beth would be waiting for him.

“What did they say, Two?”

“They said yes.”

She laughed happily.

“And you owe me five dollars. It was a wager of honor, young lady.”

“You're amazing, Two. I would have been willing to bet you much more that they'd say no.”

“I know.”

She struck out at him. Playfully. “You're too damned confident.”

They hurried to the gelding barn where Charles ordered a black to saddle two riding horses.

“Where are we going?” Beth asked as the slave held the gate open for them.

“To a special place.”

They rode for nearly an hour, their chatter mostly inanities, until they finally came into a large, cool grove of red cedars.

“This is it,” he said, stopping his horse and sliding to the ground. “My grandfather showed me this place years ago. It's where he and Mattie spent their honeymoon.”

“Right here? Out in the open?”

“Uh-huh. I haven't been here since I was a small boy, but it's still as beautiful as I remember it.”

He helped her dismount.

“It is lovely.” She gazed about. “And I can see why they chose it for a honeymoon.”

Charles tethered the horses to a sapling, walking to her, taking her hands and finding a spot for them to sit down. He sank to the ground, patting the earth next to him.

Beth joined him, drawing up her knees, wrapping her arms around them. “You know, I can almost feel them here. There's an aura about this place—an aura of lovers.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the romantic.”

She didn't comment directly. “I wonder if Virginia and Albert have such a lovely place for their first night together?”

He chuckled. “Hardly. The Nashville Inn isn't my idea of a romantic spot.”

“That's where they stopped? Virginia didn't confide in me.”

“She probably thought you were too young for such things. But I know for certain that that's where Albert planned to stop.”

“Isn't that sad? Why didn't you tell Albert about this place?”

“Do you think Virginia would have come here?”

“No.” She giggled. “Not Virginia!”

There was a silence.

“Two?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Because it's beautiful. And because I wanted you to see it.”

“Only that?”

“Uh-huh. No—that's a lie. I brought you here because I wanted to be alone with you. Because I want to make love to you.”

“That's what I thought.”

“You're disarming me, Beth.”

She leaned over against him. “I didn't think I could ever do that, Two. You seem so sure of everything. Maybe I shouldn't have come, because I'm
not
so sure of everything. But the day … I don't know … the day just … Well, Virginia looked so happy. Did you see the way she looked at Albert when they exchanged their vows?”

“Yes.”

“It was like I was seeing Virginia for the first time.”

He let her talk.

“And I thought, will I ever … ever be that much in love? Then I thought of what we had planned … I mean, riding off together … and I was suddenly caught up with—”

“Desire?”

“I don't know. I just wanted to be with you. Alone. With no one else within miles of us. To see if I could feel what Virginia's eyes told me she felt.”

“Hmmm.”

“Does that make sense?”

“Yes.”

“And now that I
am
alone with you”—she gazed about—“in this lovely place, I don't know what I feel. Part of me is happy. But part of me is frightened, too.”

Charles took her in his arms. “I certainly don't want you to be frightened.”

“I've never been alone with a man before.” She laughed lightly. “As a matter of fact, no man except my father had ever kissed me before you kissed me on the night of the dinner.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“No, it's true. I've been very defensive with boys, until now.”

“And now?”

Beth shrugged. “I'm here, Two.”

50

C
HARLES
Dewey II three times postponed his return to New Orleans and was finding it difficult to make believable excuses to his mother about why he didn't want to leave Nashville.

The Deweys of Bon Marché knew why, of course. He was constantly in the company of Elizabeth Stoker. It became a favorite topic of discussion between Mattie and the elder Charles.

“Do you think Two wants to marry that girl?” Mattie asked one evening.

“I suppose I can confide in you—”

“Charles! Sometimes you're insulting!”

“He told me a week ago that he had gone to Brian Stoker and that insufferable wife of his and asked for permission to marry Beth. They turned him down flat.”

“Why?”

“The age of the girl.”

“That's a
most
valid point, of course.”

“Two doesn't think so.”

“Do you think he's being genuine, Charles? Does he love her?”

Dewey grinned. “If I haven't forgotten what young love is all about, I'd say that he does. And she him, of course. She dotes on him.”

A week later, Charles II came to see his grandfather.

“Sir, is it possible that you could find me a position here at Bon Marché?”

Charles's eyes opened wide. “You want to
work,
Two?”

The Deweys laughed together.

“That doesn't seem to be in keeping with my reputation, does it, Grandfather? But the truth is that Mother has stopped sending me an allowance. She wants me back in New Orleans. I suspect that she's found a proper French girl for me—a
socially
proper French girl, that is—and I'm ruining her plans by staying here.”

“I'm certain that we can employ you in some way,” the elder Dewey said. “I'll speak to True and Able today and have them find something for you.”

“Uh … sir … I wonder whether I might impose on your generosity and ask for some kind of advance?”

“Of course. I can understand that a young gentleman needs a few dollars—”

“Not just a few, Grandfather. I need enough to buy a house in Nashville.”

“Buy a house? But why?”

“So that Beth and I can move into it.”

The older man brightened. “Then the Stokers have finally given their approval?”

“No, sir.”

“But … I don't understand.”

Two sighed. “Grandfather, Beth is going to have a baby. In seven months. And we want our own place before it becomes obvious—”

“Do the Stokers know of this?”

“Not yet.”

“You'll marry without their approval.”

“No. We don't need to be married.”

“Of course you
need
to be married. The girl's pregnant!”

“Marriage is just an artificial convention, Grandfather. We don't need it to prove our love for each other.”

“That's hogwash!”

“I didn't expect that you'd understand.” Two got to his feet, prepared to leave. “But I did think, sir, that I could count on you.”

Dewey thought for a moment. “How much do you need?”

“Nineteen hundred. You know that small brick house at the end of Market, the one that stands alone?”

“Yes.” The young man was talking of the house in which Andrew MacCallum had lived with his bride, Mercy Callison. “Yes,” he repeated sadly, “I know it very well.”

“It's available again and it seems ideal for us.”

Charles went to his strongbox and counted out twenty-five hundred dollars. “No one is to know about this.”

“Thank you, Grandfather. You're a real friend.”

“A romantic old fool would be a more accurate description.”

II

I
N
February of 1841 a son was born to Charles Dewey II and Elizabeth Stoker in the little brick house that carried so many memories for the great-grandfather of the baby. And it was only the old man who went to visit them, offering his blessings.

“I wish, Mattie,” he said a day or two later, “that you'd go see them. They need someone. The Stokers have cut them off, and Mary Dewey has written them a most bitter letter. Those young people are in love and—”

“I see enough of Two here,” Mattie snapped. “And I certainly don't intend to make it appear that I approve of this … this … what? I think what they're doing is sinful!”

“Oh?”

“Don't you?”

“Sin, like beauty, must be in the eye of the beholder. I see them only as young people who may be making a mistake. But what good does it do to condemn them? As a matter of fact, I'm rather pleased with the way that Two has turned around his life. He's working very hard with the Bon Marché cattle herd. Both Able and True are pleased with his work as well.”