Nan Ryan (32 page)

“He will, but I’s afraid everybody else will, too.”

“Don’t be a nag, Hannah. Oh, I hope today goes just like I’ve planned. I’ve invited at least a hundred people. I’ve tried to think of the ones Hunter likes best. And I’ve planned for all his favorite foods and I got a minstrel group and I’ve …”

“Honey, I ain’t never seen you carry on over Doctor Hunter’s birthday lak this befo’,” Hannah smiled, “You got sompin on yo’ mind?”

“Why, Hannah, it’s a very special birthday. Hunter is thirty years old today.” Then she turned and looked at her mammy. “Oh, Hannah, you know exactly what I’m doing. I’ve got to win Hunter, I love him. At long last I’m in love with my own dear husband and I must make him fall in love with me.”

“Shoot, Doctor Hunter always loved you, you knows that.”

Kathleen’s face clouded slightly, “I know he used to love me, but I’m no longer certain.” Then she smiled again and said, “But tonight I intend to make him love me. Hannah, from this day forward I intend to be a wife to Hunter. So I want this historic day to be perfect in every way … then when all the guests have gone home and Hunter and I are alone … oh, I can’t wait.”

Hannah smiled and said, “Honey, it’s ’bout time. Ain’t nothin’ make old Hannah happier than to move all Doctor Hunter’s things in yo’ room. Yes, suh, that would sho be wonderful.”

Kathleen hugged her mammy and laughed, “Well, dear Hannah, after tonight, you may start moving his clothes. Now run on downstairs, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Okay, honey. Sho is quiet round here without Master Scott, ain’t it?”

“Yes, it is. He was so excited about spending the night with Johnny Jackson last night. When Becky and Ben came by to pick him up yesterday, he couldn’t wait to get away. But I’ll bet he’s more than ready to get home today.”

“Wall, I think he be too young to be stayin over at somebody’s house. He might a got homesick, I’m thinkin’.”

“Don’t be silly, Hannah. Johnny Jackson is Scott’s best friend, they love being together. Johnny has certainly stayed over here enough.”

“That be different, I don’t mind that, but I don’t like for Scott to be away from home.”

“Go, dear Hannah go.”

“I’se goin.”

Downstairs, the big mansion was a bustle with people preparing for Hunter’s birthday party. Sweet-smelling aromas escaped the big kitchen; the cooks at Sans Souci had been busy since dawn turning out tempting foods to feed the expected guests. Roasts of beef, huge and rare, were pink and succulent. Virginia hams, fried chicken, crisp and brown, leg of lamb, fresh catfish, and shrimp, were among the many meats to be served. Pies and pastries of every description were being baked, including pecan which was Hunter’s favorite.

Outside white-clothed tables lined the big veranda and overflowed onto the freshly manicured lawn. Huge white and green umbrellas covered the round tables, ready to shade the delicate white skin of the ladies who would be present. A long white table spanned almost the length of the big yard, fresh cut flowers dotting its top. The table would soon groan under the weight of all the foods being prepared inside. At the opposite side of the yard, another table already held hundreds of clean sparkling glasses and enough liquor to make the entire population of Natchez pleasantly tipsy. Kentucky bourbon, wines, and champagne were at the ready, while cooling lemonade and fruit punches were being prepared for the children. Daniel, splendid in a crisp white jacket, stood behind the table, giving orders to the three black servants with him. A stack of silver trays, all freshly polished, stood in a row, ready to be loaded with various drinks for the guests and passed among the crowd by the white-coated helpers Daniel was in charge of.

When Hunter came home from his office at four o’clock, everything was ready, the food on the big table, a group of Negro musicians from New Orleans were in their place near the summer house, fresh cut flowers stood on every table, and in the kitchen a giant white cake was hidden from him. Hunter smiled as he hurried up the walk and rushed into the house.

Kathleen came to meet him, saying, “Hunter, dear, you must hurry. The guests will be here any minute.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” he smiled. “Sorry I’m late, but my office was so full of people I had trouble getting away,” and he bounded up the stairs to dress for his party.

Half an hour later, when the first of the guests pulled up the drive at Sans Souci, a clean, handsome Hunter Alexander stood beside his wife at the front of the long walk wearing tan cashmere trousers with razor sharp creases, a snow white shirt buttoned to his throat, set off with a brown silk cravat, his dark brown waistcoat draped perfectly over his slim shoulders, his thick blond hair freshly washed and combed. Kathleen in her white and yellow muslin, her blond hair pulled atop her head, her happy blue eyes shining, looked up at him and said, “You look magnificent, Doctor Alexander.”

Hunter smiled down at her and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Alexander. You are lovely, as always,” and they turned to greet their guests.

“Mister Craddock, so glad you could come. I want you to meet the lady who sent you the invitation. Kathleen, dear, this is Richard Craddock from London. He’s our new cotton agent.”

“Mister Craddock,” Kathleen held out her hand, “so happy to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

Craddock kissed her outstretched hand and said, “Ma’am, it’s my pleasure, I assure you.” Then he turned to Hunter. “Hunter, old chap, you have the loveliest little wife in all Mississippi.”

“I certainly do, Richard. Have a drink.”

Lena and Lana Hamilton, wearing identical dresses bought a decade ago, were smiling and twirling their parasols over their heads. The two sisters, one fifty-five, the other past sixty, held out their hands for Hunter to kiss and hugged Kathleen.

“It’s so wonderful to be here,” they said in unison. Then Lana, the older sister spoke for both of them, “We do just love parties, you know. Why, when we were younger Papa said we were the belles of Natchez, as never an evening went by when we weren’t attending a gala party. Those were more elegant times, I tell you.”

“I’m sure they were,” Hunter smiled, “How are you two feeling today?”

“Oh, Sister felt terrible this morning, Doctor, but I really think it was just a case of the vapors, what with the excitement of the party and all. Don’t you think that’s what it was, Lena?”

“Yes, I’m much better now,” Lena smiled.

“Well, we’re glad you’re well,” Kathleen smiled at her, “and we’re so happy you were both able to come to the party.”

“Oh, Sister, look there’s punch, let’s go have some.” Lana took Lena’s arm and they moved across the lawn to the liquor table.

“Happy Birthday, Hunter my boy.” It was Crawford Ashworth, smiling and patting Hunter on the back. The state senator, now Hunter’s friend and attorney, said, “Do you know Mrs. Annabelle Thompson, Hunter?”

Annabelle, lovely in a daring gown of the palest gun metal muslin, looked up at Hunter and smiled, offering him her hand. Hunter cleared his throat and said, “Yes, she was once a patient of mine,” and he took her white hand and kissed it. “So nice to see you again, Annabelle. I trust you are feeling well.”

“Thanks for your concern, Doctor Alexander, I couldn’t be better. How are you, Mrs. Alexander?”

Kathleen smiled and said, “Just fine, thank you. So glad Crawford brought you today.”

Annabelle, reluctant to leave, had to be led away by the Senator.

“My, my, Hunter, you certainly must be an excellent doctor,” Kathleen smiled up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Thompson looks the picture of health and beauty. Is she finally well enough so she doesn’t need to come to see you every week?”

“Kathleen, she is no longer my patient. She sees Uncle Rembert, I suppose. I don’t keep up with his patients.”

“He sure doesn’t,” Uncle Rembert stood before them. “Kathleen,” he smiled and kissed her cheek. “But I agree that he must have cured Mrs. Thompson. I don’t see her very often myself, she seems to be in better health these days.”

Hunter coughed nervously and said, “Uncle, go have a drink and mingle with our guests.”

“Daddy, Daddy,” Scott Alexander was calling to his father before he got out of the carriage with Becky and Ben Jackson and their young son, Johnny.

“Scotty,” Hunter beamed and the boy ran to him. Hunter lifted him up and set him on a slim hip while Scotty hugged him happily, waving a flag around his head. Kathleen leaned up and kissed the brown face and said, “Darling, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, Mommy,” Scott said and hugged her neck.

“Becky,” Kathleen hugged her, “were the boys a lot of trouble?”

“Don’t be silly, I just let them do as they please, so they’re no bother,” she smiled. “Ben was good enough to take them off my hands this morning and it’s a good thing, I was sick all morning,” she patted her thick waist.

“Hunter,” Ben smiled, holding to Johnny’s hand. “Good to see you. Can’t you do something about Becky being sick every morning?”

Hunter shook his head, still holding Scotty on his hip, “Wish I could, Ben, but I’m afraid ’til she gets through her third month, there’s not much we can do. She’s doing fine, though, Ben, so don’t worry. I think she will have a much easier time of it than when Johnny came.” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

“Daddy,” Scott interrupted, turning his father’s face back to look at him, “see what I’ve got!”

“Say, what is this?” Hunter took the flag from his son’s hand.

“Come on, Becky, you need to sit down,” Kathleen said and slipped her arm around her friend’s waist and led her to a chair.

Scott showed his father his flag, the new official one of the state of Mississippi: a magnolia tree in its center and the bonnie blue flag in the upper left hand corner. “It’s beautiful, son. Now jump down, I have to greet our guests.”

“Okay, Daddy, but guess where I went this morning?” Scott’s dark eyes flashed with excitement.

“Tell me quick,” Hunter said and set the boy on his feet.

“Johnny and me went to the slave block,” Scott announced proudly, then took Johnny’s arm and pulled him across the yard, running and yelling, holding his new flag over his head. Ben Jackson followed the boys, walking to his wife to see if she were feeling all right while Hunter turned back to the arriving guests.

People were coming in a steady stream and soon Kathleen was back by Hunter’s side, welcoming them to Sans Souci. The party was in full swing as the crowd milled about happily, eating and drinking, gossiping and laughing. Happy children romped on the lawn, squealing and chasing each other. Lovely ladies in new spring dresses promenaded under the trees and the men stood in twos and threes talking quietly and drinking champagne. Soft music from the imported orchestra drifted across the lawn.

A twitter went through the crowd as most of the guests turned to look at a late arriving couple alighting from their carriage in the driveway. Kathleen and Becky, sitting at one of the tables on the lawn, turned, shading their eyes in the brilliant afternoon sun, “Oh, my Lord, it’s Julie and Caleb,” Kathleen laughed. “I can’t believe it, I didn’t know they were back from Europe,” and she ran across the lawn to meet her girlfriend. “Julie, Julie,” she called and hugged her tightly. “Darling, you look wonderful, when did you get back?”

Julie, laughing too, said, “Dear, I hope you don’t mind us crashing your party, Mother told us about it and we …”

“Don’t be a goose, I’m thrilled to death you came.” She turned to Caleb Bates, nervously twisting his hat brim and beaming down at the two women. “Caleb, dear Caleb. How wonderful to see you!”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he grinned and blushed when she kissed his cheek.

Kathleen stepped in between the two honeymooners and took their arms. “I had no idea you were back or I would have invited you. Oh, I’m so glad to see you both, this makes the party perfect.” She led them into the crowd and the two young people smiled happily, accepting congratulations from their friends and telling everyone that married life was absolutely wonderful.

Negro minstrels sang songs and, as their sweet voices filled the late afternoon air, most of the guests filled gold-rimmed china plates from the big table of food and scattered out around the veranda and the big yard to eat heartily and wash it all down with champagne.

Hunter stood in a small circle of men, Ben Jackson, Crawford Ashworth, and Uncle Rembert, as Becky and Kathleen joined them. The talk was of the tensions between the north and the south, as it had been at every social function during the last year.

Ben Jackson was speaking, “Hunter, we could whip them easily and we are going to have to do it sooner or later.”

“Ben,” Hunter smoked a long brown cigar, “I’m afraid that’s your southern pride talking for you. The north has an availability of combat manpower that’s at least double that of the south and they’re self-sufficient. We would be penniless without the foreign market and you know it. A blockade would mean we wouldn’t have a chance in a war.”

“But, Hunter,” Crawford Ashworth said, “England couldn’t survive without our cotton. Don’t you think economic pressure would force Britain to ensure the flow of it?”

“He’s right,” Ben agreed, “and they wouldn’t stop at economic support, they’d take military intervention. They’d have to, it means as much to them as it does to us.”

“I don’t agree with either of you. I think that our only hope in a war is that the north will grow tired of the expense and duration of it. Maybe they’ll give up and let us have our own government.”

“Wrong, absolutely wrong. They’ll never give up, they don’t want us to have our way of life, they’re dead set on taking our slaves from us and seeing the south down on its knees. But, Hunter, it won’t be a long war, anyhow. We’re united and we have brilliant military men. If war breaks out, you know the best officers in the army will resign and come home to fight for the Confederacy. We’ll be victorious, I’m sure of it.”

“Ben, you’re still forgetting they have all the resources. We don’t have enough food, clothing, and weapons to fight a war and win. And you’re forgetting something else. This squabble is not over slavery. I myself do not believe in slavery, I’ve never tried to hide that fact from anyone. I have Crawford working right now on the special legislation to free the slaves at Sans Souci.”