Nan Ryan (25 page)

“Aren’t you coming?” she asked, puzzled.

“Maria, I’ll come after you have gone in. Now, I shall turn my back and I want you to get out of the water.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek, then started for the beach.

When Dawson felt Maria had had enough time to get covered, he turned back to look. She was walking across the beach at the water’s edge. She carried in her hand the nightgown. Dawson shook his head, but found it impossible to take his eyes off her beautiful, bare body.

Later that night, Dawson slept soundly in his bed, tired from the long moonlight swim. He turned in his sleep and came in contact with another warm body against his own. She was laying close and, in the half sleep still possessing him, he did the only natural thing. Without even opening his sleepy eyes, his arm went around her and his lips sought out hers and covered them in a kiss. The mouth under his was fully awake and responded to him with alarming passion while her slender arms came around his neck and pulled him to her. Dawson’s eyes flew open and he was instantly wide awake. He pulled back, shocked, while she moaned and murmured, “Dawson, oh, Dawson.”

“My God, Maria, what are you doing in here?” He moved her arms from his neck and sat up in bed, clutching the sheet up to his chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered, “Make me sleep, Dawson, please.”

“Maria, I’ve told you it isn’t right. And where on earth is your nightgown?”

“I didn’t put it on after our swim, it’s too hot.”

“I don’t care how warm it is, you are supposed to sleep in a nightgown!”

“Why, Dawson, you aren’t wearing anything. Were you uncomfortable, too?”

Dawson reddened, flustered, and said, “Maria, here,” and drew up the counterpane from the foot of the bed. “I want you to put this around you, go to your room, put on your nightgown and go to sleep … in your own room!”

“Don’t be mad, Dawson. You didn’t scold me when we swam without our clothes, so I didn’t think you’d be upset if we slept together naked.”

“Look, I should have warned you about the swimming. I made a mistake, it was wrong. I’m not mad, Maria, but I think it’s time we go to Madrid. When you get up in the morning, tell Delores to help you pack. We aren’t spending another night here.”

“If you say so, Dawson.”

“I do, now get out of here, please.”

Maria rose and wrapped the bedspread around her while Dawson turned tortured eyes to the wall. He heard his door close, turned over on his back, and sighed. Maria went to her room and quickly fell asleep while Dawson lay in the moonlight, wide awake, cursing under his breath, knowing the special, happy relationship he’d shared with Maria Jones was coming to an end.

The next day, Dawson and Maria left for Madrid. Within a month, Maria had met several handsome matadors. Within three months, two of them were in love with her. Within six months, she had made her choice and, on Dawson’s arm, walked down the aisle of an old Catholic church to become the bride of her handsome Spaniard.

At a large reception in the ballroom of a fancy hotel in the capital, Maria came to kiss Dawson’s cheek and thank him for all he’d done for her. “I shall miss you terribly, Dawson,” she smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “What will you do now that you no longer have to look after me?”

“My sweet little Maria, I’ve suddenly grown very home-sick. I’m going back to America.”

Eighteen

The morning of August 4, 1859, dawned blistering hot and humid in Natchez, Mississippi. The temperature had remained high throughout the night and, with the early rising of the summer sun, another still, sweltering day was assured for the southern river city. The dry spell had stretched for weeks and showed not a hint of abating. It was hell for the listless, lazy, and irritable inhabitants of Natchez Under, baking day after day in the airless little shanties with their tin roofs. The cotton barons’ high-ceilinged mansions on the bluffs were only a few degrees more comfortable, but at least there were frosted goblets of cool drinks to quench endless thirsts and soothe the parched throats of the illustrious masters and mistresses. They sought the comfort of the shrubbery-filled gardens and welcome shade from the stately trees which bent their century-old branches almost to the ground in a seemingly conscious effort to protect the delicate white skin of the ladies and to offer a calming affect on the taut brown brows of the gentlemen.

At Sans Souci, Abigail spent most of her time in her large bedroom, the curtains drawn tight against the merciless sun, while Hannah pressed damp cooling cloths to her uncomfortably warm body and berated the damnable heat that was giving her mistress frequent headaches. Louis kept to himself, drinking more than usual, and shedding his white ruffled shirts when privacy permitted. Kathleen wore the coolest frocks in her closet, pulled her thick blond hair up off her neck, and was short-tempered when her three-year-old son insisted on running in and out of the big house, shouting and banging the doors. Hunter, usually placid and even-tempered, surprised the household by raising his voice on several occasions after a long hot day spent with cranky patients at his office. He had reached the boiling point, to his own dismay and that of the entire family, and found it increasingly hard to be pleasant as day after long day of the oppressive heat continued.

There was one member of the family who remained happily unfazed by the torturous weeks of humid heat. Scott never noticed the heat and was out in the sun as often as he was allowed to play outdoors. Going as near to naked as modesty and Hannah allowed, his young body grew even darker than his usual olive complexion until Hannah scolded him, saying he was going to be as black as she if he didn’t get inside. He paid no attention to her warnings and his squeals of laughter pierced the quiet afternoons as he romped and played on the parched lawns of Sans Souci, crying in protest when he was dragged, kicking his bare feet, into the house by Hannah’s strong, black hands.

Scott awoke early on the morning of August fourth. Excitement jangled the natural alarm in his tiny head for today was the day he was going on a new adventure and he had talked excitedly of it for weeks, questioning Hunter about the coming events until his easy-going father wished at times they hadn’t told the child about the riverboat trip to New Orleans until the day of departure.

“Daddy,” Scotty shouted, bursting into Hunter’s bedroom. “Get up, Daddy, it’s time to go.” Scott ran to the bed, dragging a footstool up to use for a step ladder. He was bouncing on the soft bed while Hunter struggled to open his eyes. “Daddy, Daddy,” Scotty was shouting as he climbed onto the chest of the sleepy man. Putting tiny hands into Hunter’s thick blond hair, he was shaking Hunter’s head when finally Hunter opened his eyes, no longer able to ignore the little intruder intent on getting him out of bed.

“Scotty, please quit yelling, I’m awake.” he looked fondly up at the boy leaning over him.

“Daddy, it’s time to go to New Orleans right now!” The excited, happy face of the youngster brought a lazy smile to Hunter’s face as he looked at the little black eyes dancing with happiness. His arms came around the boy and he laughed and said, “I’ll get up if you’ll give me some sugar.”

Scott gave his father a quick kiss on the lips, then made a face when Hunter’s unshaven cheeks scratched his skin. “You stick me, Daddy.” Scott pulled back.

“I do, huh?” Hunter tousled the black hair. “Well, let me show you what tickles,” and he pulled the tiny body up to his face and blew on the naked brown stomach until Scotty was giggling hysterically and begging him to stop. Fully awake now, Hunter lifted his son off the bed and rose, the boy still laughing and begging, “Tickle me some more, Daddy.”

“Why, Scott, if I do we’ll miss the boat to New Orleans. Now run along so I can dress and I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Scott looked up at him, then ran for the open door. “Hurry, Daddy,” he said, running out the door, terrified they would miss the riverboat.

Hunter heard Scott’s tiny footsteps flying back down the hall to his own room. He smiled and closed the door. He, too, was excited about the trip. The prospect of taking the loveable little boy on his first trip down the Mississippi filled him with pleasant anticipation. But there was another reason, another possibility of what could happen on this trip, that excited Hunter Alexander even more than the obvious pleasure Scott would derive from it.

Hunter smiled as he looked in the mirror to shave. He thought about the last time he had been in New Orleans with Kathleen. It had been their honeymoon trip, nearly four years ago. It had been the most wonderful week of Hunter’s life and he was hopeful that perhaps he could recapture some of that happiness. Oh, not that there was a likely possibility the whole week could be that good. But, still, Kathleen had been unusually pleasant to him for the last several months, spending long hours with him in the library after the family had gone to bed. She had said it was because it was much too hot to sleep, and maybe it was, but it didn’t matter. She seemed to enjoy his company and even when they both sat reading, not talking, there was a closeness, an unspoken comfortable feeling between them that had never been there before.

Kathleen was looking forward to this trip, as was the whole family. She hoped that getting out on the river would cool everyone off for at least one night. Hunter had agreed and then suggested they go out to the summer house and sit for a while; the moon was out and maybe there was a breeze stirring there. She had smiled, risen from her chair, and together they had walked out the door and across the lawn. They had sat for a while and when the next evening came and everyone had gone to bed, it was she who suggested they go outside for a while. He was delighted and quickly laid aside his book and followed her. So their long evenings in the library had turned into long evenings on the white settee in the summer house and, although Hunter’s reading and research were suffering from the long summer evenings spent with Kathleen, it was worth it to him. He hadn’t been so content in ages.

Many of those evenings after long stays in the garden, he would walk her to her bedroom door and when he kissed her, cheek she didn’t pull away or seem surprised. There had even been a couple of times in the last two weeks when it had been she who had reached up and kissed his cheek and said lazily, “Night, Hunter, it was a nice evening.” This encouragement gave him the courage to say, “You know, Kathleen, when we are in New Orleans, I know we will have to spend most of the time with the Howards. But wouldn’t it be nice if you and I could slip off together for an evening or two on the town, maybe the ballet, go out to dinner, and even to a gambling house?”

“Oh, Hunter, that would be fun. Let’s do it. I would just love to go to some of those fancy restaurants again. Do you know what I really want to do?” she giggled.

“What, Kathleen?” he laughed with her.

“I want to play roulette again. I just love that game and you remember I was lucky at it, too.”

“Yes, you were,” he grinned. “We’ll do it!”

“It’s a date,” she agreed and had no idea how delighted her husband was to hear her say it.

So Hunter smiled as he shaved and excitement filled his chest just as it did his three-year-old son. He intended to order gallons of the best champagne and pour it down her as fast as he could get her to empty her glass. He had visions of her giddy and carefree and willingly agreeing to go with him to the St. Charles Hotel for a late supper. When he got her there, he would convince her to spend the night, or a portion of it, with him in one of the luxurious suites in the grand hotel. She would laugh and agree and he would take her up and together they would recapture what they had experienced so long ago. She would finally be his wife again.

“Ouch,” Hunter said aloud, then laughed at himself when he realized he had gotton so carried away with his secret fantasy that he had nicked himself with the sharp straight-edged razor. A tiny pinpoint of blood rose to his chin, but did not dampen the high, hopeful spirits of the very optimistic young man. Laughing still, he said to his reflection, “Some surgeon you are.”

The carriages were loaded with trunks and valises. The travelers were dressed and ready to go down to Natchez Under and board the stately old
Roxanne
riverboat. Louis, Abigail, and Daniel were to ride in one carriage, followed by Kathleen, Hunter, Scott, and Hannah in the second.

Louis was helping Abigail into the carriage, gingerly lifting the long trailing skirts of her blue tulle dress, making sure it was safely inside the carriage. Scott, now dressed in a white summer suit with short trousers, his black hair neatly combed, white shoes and socks on his feet, was skipping happily down the walk in front of Kathleen and Hunter. Hannah lumbered along behind them, swatting at a droning bee threatening to attack the snow white bandana around her head. She was grumbling, “I hates summer, I always has. I hopes it gonna be cooler in New Orleans, but I doubts it.”

A horse and rider approached and pulled up in the drive before Hunter and Kathleen reached their carriage. A tall black man was atop the big bay colt and he dismounted as soon as the horse stopped. Concern came over Hunter’s face when he recognized Walt Samply, one of his Uncle Rembert’s house servants.

“Good morning, Walt,” Hunter called to the black man and walked to him.

“Doctor Hunter, I hates to bring you bad news, but your Uncle Rembert done took sick this mornin’. He be in his bed. He say not to bother you ’cause he knows you be goin’ to New Orleans. He say you has been working real hard and you deserves a vacation. But, Doctor Hunter, I come anyhow.”

“What is is, Walt, have you any idea?”

“No, suh, he jest look really bad and he be too weak to get up. He say not to worry none, but I can’t help it. He be powerful mad at me when he find out I come for you, but Doctor Hunter, I jest …”

“You did the right thing, Walt, don’t worry.” Hunter looked at Kathleen, then at Scott, now inside the carriage, leaning over the back seat peering at him. “I’ll be right along, Walt. You go on back and tell Uncle Rembert I’m on my way.”