Nan Ryan (14 page)

“Oh, Hannah, I can’t do it! I
don’t
love Hunter, I love Dawson, only Dawson.” Sobs wracked her slim body and she clung to Hannah.

“Oh, my precious,” Hannah stroked her hair, “I’se so sorry, I knows you loves Mistah Dawson. Honey, he done gone away and you knows you gots to be married. That baby gonna be here fo’ we knows it. I’m sorry, chile, but Doctor Hunter, he be a good man, he be good to my lamb. Now, here, you gots to stop cryin, it’s nearly time.” She wiped tears from the sad blue eyes and patted at Kathleen’s face with a large powder puff.

“You’re right, I must do it. There is no way out. I will do it. I’ll get over Dawson someday, won’t I, Hannah?”

“Yes, precious, you’ll get over him. You learn to love Doctor Hunter in time. Lots of girls marries gentlemens they don’t loves and it work out fine. You gonna be all right, honey.”

Organ music was starting in the church and a soft knock came on the door. “Now that be Mistah Beauregard, Honey, I’m gonna have to let him in, it be time. Try to smile a little, baby girl.” Hannah went to the door.

Kathleen took a deep breath and turned to face the door. “Oh, you look so beautiful, Kathleen,” Louis beamed at his daughter. Hunter is a lucky man indeed,” he came to his little girl and kissed her. Kathleen threw her arms around her father and held him tightly and Louis felt a lump forming in his throat. “I love you so much, Kathleen, I want you to be very, very happy.”

“Oh Father,” she said against his cheek, “I, I’m …”

“What, my darling?” He held his breath.

“Nothing, Father. I love you, Daddy.”

His brown eyes stung with tears and he kissed her and said, “Oh, my darling. My precious, precious daughter, I love you, too. I hope you know that I would never do anything to hurt you, I want you always to be happy. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy, I know. Is it time?”

“Yes, darling, it is.” She took her father’s arm and they made their way to the very back of the church.

Hannah closed the door behind them, leaned against it and cried softly. “My po’ baby, my po’ Kathleen,” she moaned to herself. “It’s all my fault. I shoulda tol’ that chile. Oh, Lawd, forgive me.”

When Kathleen Diana Beauregard floated down the aisle of St. Mary’s Cathedral, she was as beautiful a bride as Natchez had ever seen and a soft buzz went through the church as every pair of eyes turned to look at her. Pale and delicate in her antique satin gown, her blond hair tumbling loose under the white veil, her face was calm and serene. If there were more tears shining in the blue eyes than should have been there, no one thought anything of it. She was an innocent seventeen-year-old girl and this was her wedding day. She was moved by the solemn, happy occasion, just as she should have been.

Doctor Hunter Alexander stood beside his Uncle Rembert at the front of the big church. He watched his lovely bride come down the aisle to him and his heart swelled with pride. He stared unbelieving, worshiping the vision in white who would soon be his wife.

Kathleen looked at Hunter and something about his blond, delicate face was strong and reassuring. She smiled to him and silently vowed to be a good wife to him and never let him know she couldn’t love him.

“I’ll just step down to the ship’s tavern, give you a few minutes.” Hunter said after they entered their stateroom. He kissed her cheek and smiled at her.

“Thank you, Hunter,” Kathleen watched him leave. The two were on board the “Princess” riverboat, bound for a honeymoon trip to New Orleans. Hunter had wanted to take her there, said he couldn’t wait to show her all the sights. She had visited many times since the Howards, her mother’s family, lived there, but she had always stayed in their home and was told she was too young to get out and see the city. Now she didn’t care whether she saw it or not. But she didn’t say that to Hunter. She quickly agreed it would be the perfect place. Hunter was excited and the very next day had booked passage on the “Princess” and made reservations for a week at the St. Charles Hotel. Kathleen assured him she was as excited as he about the trip and could hardly wait to get away.

Kathleen heard the door close behind him and Hunter’s footsteps falling away. Relieved to be alone for a few minutes, she went to the tiny porthole and looked out. She closed her eyes and remembered the night on Dawson’s boat. “I can’t go through with this; I thought I could, but I can’t. It’s so wrong. Hunter’s a kind man, but I don’t love him. I don’t even know him, he’s a stranger.” She sighed and turned away from the porthole and slowly her hands went to her neck of her traveling suit. She looked at the white lace nightgown all laid out and ready for her to don and she cringed. Like a sleepwalker, she undressed and slowly pulled the nightgown over her head. She slid her feet into the white satin slippers and reached for the white satin negligee, slipping her arms inside. She buttoned the three tiny buttons at the neckline, its thick white satin covering her modestly almost to her chin, the long satin sleeves reaching to her knuckles.

She sat at the small vanity and slowly began brushing her long hair. She was stroking it absently, trying not to think, when his soft knock came at the cabin door. She jumped as if the noise had been deafening. She laid the brush down, looked at herself in the mirror, and tried to smile. She rose and turned the lamp down until the room was dimly lit, almost dark. She stood facing the door and softly said, “Come in, Hunter.”

Hunter entered and closed and locked the door behind him. At first, he didn’t move or speak, just stood drinking in her beauty. She wanted to shout at him to do something, to speak, to grab her, to get it over with. Slowly, Hunter crossed the room to her and put his hands on her trembling shoulders. “Darling, you are so beautiful and I love you so very much,” he whispered and kissed her.

“I love you, too, Hunter.” She put her arms around his neck. He kept kissing her softly, murmuring his deep love for her. Finally, his hands went to the three tiny buttons at her throat and he deftly undid them and pulled the negligee away. Kathleen took her arms from his neck and he pulled the negligee down over her hands and tossed it on the bed. She watched as fire leapt into his dreamy brown eyes as he looked at her in the revealing lace nightgown. He pulled her to him and was kissing her again, but the kisses had changed, they were more demanding, more passionate. He was pressing her to him and he could feel the trembling of her small body against his own.

“Darling,” he put his lips to her ear, “darling, I know you are nervous and tired. I want you to know that I can wait. I can wait for as long as you need, my dearest love.”

“No,” Kathleen said against his shoulder and tightened her arms around his neck. “No, Hunter, you don’t have to wait,” she closed her eyes.

“Oh, my darling, thank you,” Hunter said hoarsely and kissed her again. “I want you Kathleen, more than you can imagine.” His mouth dropped to her neck and he pressed burning kisses against her soft flesh.

“I want you too, darling,” Kathleen whispered.

Hunter kept kissing her, the fire inside him growing by the second. She responded to his kisses as best she could and, by the time he picked her up and carried her to the bed, her trembling had stopped and she was as ready to accept him as she would ever be. She lay with her eyes closed and when they fluttered open for a moment, she caught a glimpse of her husband quickly undressing before he got into bed. She closed her eyes tightly again and felt his weight as he got in beside her.

“Darling,” he whispered and she opened her eyes to look at him, “you make me so happy.” He covered her mouth with his own. His fevered mouth forced her lips apart and he was kissing her expertly, like he had never kissed her before. He was tender, loving, understanding, and took her finally after slowly, patiently arousing her. She lay in his arms and gave herself to her husband. She gave him her mouth which he took with his ardent kisses, willing her to respond. She gave him her body, which he accepted with reverence, taking it with his own with all the gentleness he possessed. But, the heart inside her still belonged to the dark-haired lover across the ocean. As did the baby growing daily inside her.

Hunter lay on his back, sleeping peacefully. Kathleen turned and looked at him. Her husband. His fair, handsome face was in repose, a slim arm slung over his head. He was not unattractive; thick blond hair fell over his forehead, his strong chest was covered with silky blond hair, and his arms were long and delicately muscled. Hunter Alexander, her husband, was very handsome. Why couldn’t she love him? He was a good man, intelligent, decent, congenial, kind, and he loved her.

Kathleen turned her eyes away and looked up at the ceiling. Tears were starting as the memory of another man, another night flooded over her. The dark, hooded eyes, the warm, sensual mouth on hers, the strong arms encircling her, holding her so close she could hardly breathe. The brown, lean body against her own, taking all the love in her so there was none left for anyone else in the world.

It was growing light outside before Kathleen Beauregard Alexander was finally lulled to sleep by the pitch and roll of the old riverboat steaming down the Mississippi on its way to New Orleans.

Kathleen Beauregard Alexander learned more about her husband in the week they spent in New Orleans on their honeymoon. Hunter was proud of his new bride and delighted in showing her the sights of one of his favorite cities, a place where he had been on numerous occasions with his parents and later with college friends. After checking into their opulent suite at the St. Charles Hotel, he took her to the famous Antoines Restaurant for some of the best Oysters Rockefeller she had ever eaten. After dinner, he escorted her to the famed Theatre d’Orleans, built in 1819. After the theater, he took her to a old fancy gambling house operated by John Davis, the man who owned the theater where they had spent their first evening. Kathleen played roulette for the first time in her life and laughed giddily when she placed money on number seventeen and saw the little white ball fall into the very slot. Scooping up her chips, she smiled at Hunter and said, “This
is
fun, isn’t it?”

Hunter tightened his grip on her waist and laughed, “It is when you win, darling,” and stood watching happily as she won time after time.

Back in their suite, Hunter ordered a late night snack for his hungry wife and watched Kathleen’s childish glee at being served tempting foods from solid gold tableware. She drank champagne for the first time in her life and after two glasses had the giggles. Her husband smiled and carried her to their bed. He made love to her; she was more relaxed than the previous night on the riverboat and Hunter made a mental note to have champagne sent up every night. And perhaps every afternoon, as well. She giggled and willingly came to his arms when he undressed her and laid her in their big, soft bed. Hunter Alexander had never known such happiness in his life.

The week was spent in nothing but the pursuit of pleasure and Hunter was a never-ending source of information about where to go and what to do in New Orleans. They toured the city in the afternoons and he pointed out the landmarks: St. Patrick’s Church, the St. Louis cathedral completed in 1851, with its central spire, the spidery design of wood and iron; the First Presbyterian Church built just two years before, impressive with its lofty spire. He showed her other hotels in the city, though none could compare with the one in which they stayed. There was the Exchange St. Louis which had been built in 1853 after it burned in 1841, the Creoles Hotel, designed by the famous French architect, J. E. D. de Pouilly, built in 1840. He told her that both hotels had cost at least a million dollars each to build and laughed when she gasped at the thought of such large sums of money.

Hunter took her to the horse races. Her favorite was the Metairie Course founded in 1853, a mecca for horsemen from all over the United States. Kathleen boasted to Hunter that her cousin, P. G. T. Beauregard was a member of the Jockey Club and when they mentioned her cousin’s name, they were seated right away and treated like royalty. He showed her the other three race courses, but agreed Metairie was his favorite, too, and if they wanted to see more races, they would return to the finest track.

He took her for carriage rides and pointed out the architecture in French, Spanish, and American styles. Many of the homes in the French Quarter and the Garden District were characteristically embellished with fine wrought ironworks so loved in the Creole city. She thought them lovely and suggested perhaps when they built their home in Natchez they should have wrought ironworks around their balconies. He agreed readily.

Hunter took her to Jackson Square and explained it was once used as a military parade ground. He showed her the newly unveiled statue of Andrew Jackson, the hero of the Battle of New Orleans. He took her to the United States Mint on Esplanade Avenue which had been started in 1838. He bought coins for her; a double eagle, an eagle, a half eagle, and a three cent silver piece. He suggested he could take them to a jeweler and have them put on a bracelet for her, if she would like. She loved the idea.

Hunter took her to Boudro’s tavern on Lake Ponchartrain and told her the food was so good that Boudro’s had been the caterer for the famous Jenny Lind when she visited New Orleans in 1850. Kathleen relished the fine food and drank so much Bordeaux that Hunter had to carry her through the lobby to their hotel room. She told him she really could walk, though her legs were a little wobbly. He laughed and told her he was more than happy to carry her. Laughing still, he helped her undress and found her a warm and willing lover as she kissed him wildly between giggles.

The week was over much too soon for the ardent, young Hunter Alexander and he was sure his lovely wife felt the same way. “I wish this never had to end,” Hunter whispered as they lay in their big bed on their last night in the magic city. They had been to the St. Charles Theater where Kathleen had raved about its grand interior and seemed more fascinated with the building than the ballet they saw. After the ballet, they had gone to the Odd Fellow Hall on Lafayette Street to a glittering ball and danced until the wee hours of the morning. Tired and happy, they returned to their suite around 2
A.M.
and, as if by magic, five minutes later a waiter rolled a white-clothed table into their room, iced shrimp and red sauce and a big bottle of champagne on its top. They ate and drank until their eyelids drooped and Kathleen was quite giddy. Hunter happily swung her onto the bed and she let him undress her without raising a finger to help. She was finding that Hunter was surprising in many ways. Not only was her husband a talented young doctor, he was well-read and informed on almost every subject, he was an excellent tour guide, and he was also a very passionate man. He seemed to want her endlessly and she felt, under the circumstances, there was little she could do but comply. She was glad she had the champagne always at her elbow; it helped her relax, helped her forget, helped her respond to his constant embraces and desires.