High Hearts (5 page)

Nash kissed her again. He kissed her tiny breasts. He nibbled her broad shoulders and put his hands under her armpits; he ran his fingers down to her nonexistent hips. Geneva was long, lean, and boyish. He found her more exciting than the overweight women he’d known. He felt her
legs, which were more heavily muscled than his own, but then she would have legs like that, for no one could touch her riding ability. He came back up her body.

Nash whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“You’re my husband. You can do anything you like.” He cupped her genitals in his hand.

“Geneva, I don’t want to hurt you. I want to go inside. If it hurts, tell me and I’ll come out. It might take you some time to get used to me.”

“I want to spend the next one hundred years getting used to you. I want to do this every night.” She placed her hands behind his neck and entwined her fingers.

Afterwards, Geneva said, “I want to do it again.”

“Now?” Nash was stunned.

“Now.” She rolled him on his back and kissed his body as he had kissed hers. Nash moaned. He thought he died and went to heaven. After that surprise, he pulled down the covers of the bed.

“Let’s get under the covers. It’s a wicked night.”

Geneva darted under the goose down quilt. He crawled in next to her. She kissed him some more. He laughed. He put his arm under her neck, and she snuggled into him like a kitten at the breast of its mother, and so they fell asleep on the first night of their marriage. Nash thought as he drifted off, God sure knew what He was doing when He said, “Be fruitful and multiply.”

Littered with remembered kisses, Nash awoke the next morning enjoying a stupendous erection. He peeked under the covers to inspect himself. It must have grown in the night. He jumped out of bed, sucking in his breath as his bare feet
hit the cold floor. The fire was out, and the servants wouldn’t come into the room until he asked them. Naked, he trotted down the hallway to his dressing room and toilet with the ubiquitous bucket of lime.

Bumba, shining Nash’s travel boots, worked hard at not being impressed with his master this morning. Nash grinned.

“Might you build the fire in our bedroom? Mrs. Hart is still asleep.” Mrs. Hart. That was the first time he’d used those words. They tasted like honey.

“Mrs. Hart’s wide awake, and she’s starved.” Geneva, in a heavy robe, interrupted his shave.

Nash kissed her. She emerged from this embrace with a white moustache. “For a woman, you don’t look half bad in a moustache, but then you don’t look half good either.”

Once downstairs, Granville, Nash’s cook, greeted them with hosannas and hot coffee. The grits, sausages, eggs and biscuits with redeye gravy shortly followed.

Nash swallowed a sausage whole. He paused. “Do you hear that?”

Geneva remained still for a second. A low muffled boom filtered into the kitchen. Then church bells pealed, followed by more booms. They lived five miles west of town. The sound carried even on this soggy morning.

“It’s in honor of our marriage.” Nash delicately kissed Geneva’s hand.

“Cannon?”

Before he could answer, hoofbeats clattered in the small courtyard. The front door flew open, and Sumner burst in. “Geneva!” he shouted. “Fort Sumter was fired upon yesterday!”

Nash dropped his cup of coffee.

“Is this it then?” Geneva asked, betraying little emotion.

“Yes, thank God, this is it! No more pussyfooting! No more waiting around! War, sister, war at long last!” Sumner was jubilant.

Nash quietly took charge. “Geneva, get your coat. I think we’d better go up to your parents’ house.”

Breakfast, lavishly served, covered the lovely table set in Lutie’s breakfast nook. Many of Sin-Sin’s bright pots were filled with blooming flowers and covered the windowsills. Daniel, Poofy, Lutie, Henley, and T. Pritchard quietly ate
their meal. Lutie couldn’t touch a bite. Sumner strode in with Nash and Geneva behind.

“Sit down, darling.” Lutie pointed to a chair. Nash pulled it out for Geneva. He sat next to her. Everyone exchanged greetings.

Sumner hit his chair like a large rock. “I’ll enlist today. One summer of hard riding and hard fighting, and I’ll be back by fall!”

“Don’t gloat, son.” Henley placed his large hand on Sumner’s bulging forearm. Sumner, exuberant as he was, was not entirely insensitive.

“Aunt Poofy, I’m sorry.” Sumner’s face blotched with embarrassment.

Lutie’s eyes moistened. “This is the last time the family will be together.”

Portia, seated next to her, caressed her hand. “This family will always be together, Lutie.”

“Oh, Poofy,” Lutie said in a trembling voice, “we’re at war now.”

“We will each do what we think is right, but we will always love one another.”

Lutie raised her delicate face. “I shall pray nightly for all of you.”

“And I shall also pray for each of us.” Portia’s deep, melodic voice touched everyone. “I pray that the Lord keep thee and bless thee, that the Lord make his face shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee and give thee peace.”

“Amen.” Henley spoke for them all.

After breakfast, Nash pulled Geneva into the library. “Geneva, I must offer my services to Virginia. She’ll secede now.”

“Don’t go!” Geneva felt a panicky beating of her heart.

“You wouldn’t want a husband who was a coward.” Nash bowed his head. How could he go from such intense joy to such profound misery within the space of twenty-four hours?

Geneva straightened herself. “You’re right.”

The men rode into Charlottesville while Bumba drove a wagon to the station to retrieve Geneva’s trunks.

The women stayed at the Chatfield house. Lutie and her sister packed Poofy’s things as she would be leaving on the afternoon train.

“It’s those rodent bankers.” Lutie slammed a carefully folded nightgown into the trunk. “Money starts all wars. Or the principle of money. If we measured our wealth in turtles, then this war would be fought over turtles.”

Portia’s languid eyes, the color of cognac, the same color as her niece Geneva’s eyes, softened. “Does it matter anymore? The reasons are only excuses. Events are moving at a tragic velocity.”

“I can’t bear the thought of being so far from you, Poofy.”

“The distance to Bedford, New York, is the same as it always was. Some five hundred-odd miles.”

“You live in a different country now.”

Poofy held up a piece of Belgian lace. There wasn’t enough light on this overcast day to make a pattern on the wall. Disappointed, she placed it in the yawning trunk. “I’ve never lived through a war before, Lutie. I don’t know what to expect. If I should be boiling over about great issues, I’m not. I’m worried about Daniel, about our brother, about you and your family.”

“Me, too.”

“We’re getting older. I worry about that, too.”

“Don’t beat about the bush, Portia. What you really mean is what if I die.”

“I could die, too.”

“You’re the younger sister. Younger sisters never think they’ll go first.”

A slight smile tugged at Portia’s mouth. “Perhaps.”

“I’m not afraid to die. I don’t want to die, don’t misunderstand me, but I am not afraid. The seasons pass; why shouldn’t I?”

Tears filled Poofy’s eyes. She hugged her sister who, like herself, had begun to cry.

Downstairs, Di-Peachy played her harp. Geneva observed her companion and thought how young Di-Peachy was. Someday Di-Peachy would be initiated into the secrets of womanhood, but for now, Geneva had the edge.

“Do I look different?” Geneva teased.

“No, why should you?” Di-Peachy replied.

“Oh, Peaches, you’ll find out in time.” Geneva said this with an air of sophistication.

“I’m not in any hurry.”

“You know, you can be a real old maid sometimes.”

“Geneva, I can still break crockery on your head, so watch your mouth.”

Sin-Sin appeared. “Miz Geneva, honey, I heard Nash say he’s goin’ to enlist.” Sin-Sin put her hands together as if in prayer. “Lord, what’s to become of us?”

“We’ll knock those goddamned Yankees into next week, and then life can return to normal.”

“Uh-huh.” Sin-Sin nodded.

“Auntie Sin-Sin, you gave me the lucky pot. It’s the gift I love the most.”

Sin-Sin beamed. “You knows I love my Neevie. And don’t you worry none about Mr. Nash goin’ to war. You tell him to kill the first snake he sees in the spring, then his enemies won’t get the best of him this year.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

“Explain me this. Why are the mens downtown formin’ up companies when we ain’t even at war? You knows them South Carolina folks is hotheads. Remember when that skinny girl come up here to take care of Miz Jennifer’s babies? She insists she be called ‘Dah,’ then she talk that crazy talk. Those chillun never be right. I wouldn’t give you two straws for anyone from South Carolina.”

“I think the abolitionists drove them to it.” Geneva figured the abolitionists were rich men who wanted to drive the South into poverty. Then they’d control politics.

“Sin-Sin, I need you,” Lutie called from upstairs.

“Herself calls.” Sin-Sin bowed low as if to a pasha and walked to the door. She bowed low again and wiggled her fingers. Geneva laughed loudly.

“I’d like to know what you have to laugh about on a day like this, Geneva Chatfield Hart,” Lutie reprimanded from upstairs.

Sin-Sin ascended the stairs with various motions of derogation.

Geneva grabbed her friend’s hand. “Oh, Peachy, I’ll die if he leaves me. I’ll just die!”

Upstairs, Lutie and Portia finished the packing. Sin-Sin, who’d come in, tied up the last of the trunks.

“I’ll get the boys to bring these out.” Sin-Sin was satisfied with her work and started to leave for the door.

Portia called her back. “Sin-Sin, I don’t know when I will
see you again. I’d like you to know that my husband and I will think of you fondly.”

“Miz Poofy—” Sin-Sin broke down. She hated to cry.

Seeing Sin-Sin cry set Lutie off. “Poofy, I can’t bear it. My heart is breaking.”

Portia and Sin-Sin wrapped their arms around her. Lutie sobbed.

“Now, sister, we’re Chalfontes. We shine in adversity, even if we are on different sides.”

“This is worse than adversity. This is the end of the world.”

“This isn’t England or France, honey. We’re Americans. We’ll be more sensible about our civil unrest,” Portia babbled, worried over Lutie’s outburst.

“Sensible! My God, if we were sensible, it wouldn’t have come to this!”

Neither Portia nor Sin-Sin had an answer for that one.

“I’ll tell you what this is.” Lutie’s brain felt like ice; everything was crystal clear. “This is a bolt of lightning over a nation of quicksand.”

Sin-Sin rubbed Lutie’s back.

“I want to talk to Emil,” Lutie demanded.

“No, you don’t want to talk to Emil.” Portia was firm.

“He understands me.”

“You can talk to Sin-Sin.”

“But Sin-Sin hasn’t been to Constantinople.”

Lutie maintained the stoicism of a Roman matron as the train left the little station. She waved to her sister, tears streaming down her face. Henley kept his arm around her and held her close. Geneva, Nash, and Sumner appeared stunned. Slowly, the enormity of events seeped into their pores.

Nash put his name forward for the cavalry, as did Sumner. Sumner felt sure his engineering degree would prove useful. Even the cavalry needed engineers. T. Pritchard left for Runymeade, Maryland, where he hoped to raise a regiment for the defense of Virginia. Henley also offered his services to the state. Due to his age and the fact that he did not attend military school, it was tactfully suggested that he be a commissary officer. As he would be given the rank of colonel, the
sting wasn’t so bad, and to Henley’s credit, he possessed good powers of organization.

“Your father is making arrangements to ship the best brood mares and stallions to Kentucky.” Nash leaned against a pillow.

“Why?” Geneva was incredulous.

“Because if they stay, here, they’ll be used for cannon fodder, and that will be the end of a lifetime of bloodlines. He’s going to give the geldings and average stock to the cavalry.”

“Why is he doing it now?”

“Within a few days every train will be used to carry troops. It’s now or never.”

“Nash, let’s not talk about this anymore. We have a few nights left. Kiss me until sunrise.”

He did, and they made love with an incendiary passion.

Hosea, chapter 13, was the lesson for the morning along with Acts, chapter 3. Lutie found the Hosea passage exceptionally revengeful. After all, making silver and golden idols didn’t seem too much worse than making naked statues, and the museums were full of those.

“I will meet them as a bear that is bereaved of her whelps, and will rend the caul of their heart, and there will I devour them like a lion: the wild beast shall tear them.”

“O, Israel, thou hast destroyed thyself; but in me is thine help.”

Lutie read on. Devout as she was, she never found the Old Testament consoling. But Acts brightened her. She particularly liked the part where Peter spoke to the lame man begging for alms at the temple. “Silver and gold have I none;
but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus of Nazareth rise up and walk.”

Miracles pleased Lutie. She’d never seen one. She thought perhaps medical miracles died out with the apostles. Miracles of the heart, yes, she believed in those. She felt the gradual return of her affection for Henley after he had betrayed her those many years ago was a kind of miracle. She never wanted to speak to him again when she found out about his affairs. She recoiled at his touch. How could he lie with other women and then come home to her? She hated him. Hate was too good for him. She’d read in one of her travel books about the Oriental death of a thousand cuts. That’s what he deserved. He stopped running around either because he understood how it ripped her to shreds or because he tired of it. But the damage was done. She never again would love Henley as she had when they were new to each other. That she loved him now, though in a muted fashion, was a miracle of the heart.