Nan Ryan (50 page)

Cort rose and said, “I’ll walk you up the stairs.”

Cort rose early the next morning and found his uniform lad been washed, mended, and pressed. His boots, freshly polished, sat on the floor at the foot of his bed. Cort dressed and went down the stairs, intending to slip away before anyone was up.

“In here, Uncle Cort,” Scotty called and came to meet him. “Your breakfast is all ready.”

Cort laughed loudly, his baritone voice booming throughout the house, “I swear you nice Mississippi people are going to have me so spoiled, I won’t be able to take care of myself.” He followed Scotty into the dining room to have a big break-Fast of ham and eggs. Kathleen, looking fresh and lovely, smiled when he entered the room and poured him a cup of coffee.

All during breakfast, Scotty sat close to Cort and asked him more questions about the time he had spent with his father. Cort gladly told him stories that came to his mind, some funny, some poignant, and Scotty and Kathleen clung to every word.

“I’ve got to go to school now, Uncle Cort. Why don’t you stay another day? We haven’t had enough time to talk,” Scotty said and rose from the table, coming to stand by the colonel.

“Son, I wish I could, but I’ve been away for over four years. I’ve a long journey and I really have to go.”

Scott hung his head and pouted, “Well, I don’t see why you can’t …”

Cort reached out to Scott’s chin, raising the boy’s face to his, “Scott, just as you’re the man of this house and have duties you must see to, I, too, have duties and I must get to them.” Cort moved his arm to encircle Scott’s waist and pull him close, “Scott, tell you what, if you don’t come to Texas to visit me, I promise I’ll come back to Natchez someday to see you. You have my word. Now, I want very much for you to go to school with a smile on your handsome face.” Pulling him into his arms, Cort kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear, “I want you to take good care of your mother and make her life as easy as possible. That’s what we men are supposed to do, take good care of our women. Right?”

Scott pulled away, nodded and smiled, then went to his mother’s chair, “Bye, Mother, see you this afternoon. Bye, Uncle Cort, I’ll see you again.”

“You bet you will, Scott,” Cort smiled and watched the boy leave. “You’ve quite a boy there, Kathleen, I know you’re proud of him.”

“Very,” she smiled.

“Well,” Cort said, rising, “I can’t put it off any longer, I must be going.” He extended his hand to Kathleen, she took it, and rose to walk him to the door. “Bye, Hannah,” Cort hollered through the kitchen door.

Hannah’s smiling face appeared at the door and she said, “Now you take good care of yo’self, Colonel Mitchell, and you come back to see us.”

“I’ll do both, Hannah,” he smiled and led Kathleen to the front door.

They stepped onto the big porch together and stood for a minute, looking out over the huge lawn, now grown up in weeds. “I wish you could have seen Sans Souci in the old days, Colonel. It was lovely.”

“It will be again, Kathleen. Everything will be grand again,” Cort said and turned to face her. She looked up at the kind gray eyes and a wave of emotion overcame her. She threw her arms around him while tears filled her eyes.

The wise man gently drew her into his arms and patted her back gingerly, saying in a soft, soothing voice, “My dear, the world will right itself again, it always does. You’re beautiful and young and there’s a lot of life ahead for you. This, too, shall pass,” and he released her and went down the walk.

He hurriedly mounted his horse, swept his campaign hat down over his gleaming silver hair, and saluted her. He turned and galloped down the long drive while Kathleen stood looking after him, watching another link with her husband disappear before her wistful eyes.

Thirty-six

“Mother, Mother,” Scott Alexander shouted to Kathleen, “it’s Hannah, hurry!”

Kathleen dropped her mending and went running out of the library. “Where are you?” she shouted, fear clutching her heart.

“In the kitchen, Mother. Please hurry,” Scott answered.

Kathleen flew through the large dining room and into the kitchen. When she threw open the swinging doors, she saw Hannah lying on the floor, her eyes closed, not moving. Scott was on his knees over her, holding her hand and patting her face.

“What happened, Scott?” Kathleen dropped to the floor, “Oh, Hannah, Hannah!”

“Mother, she was fixing a lunch for me and she clutched her breast and fell to the floor. What is it, Mother?”

“Oh, dear Lord, I don’t know, Scott. Go get Doctor Pitt. And hurry, please hurry!”

Scott did as she commanded. He was on his feet and out the door, running wildly down the drive and across Natchez to his great uncle’s office.

“Dear, dear Hannah,” Kathleen whispered, then flew to the back door, shouting, “Willard! Minnie! Get in here!” The only two slaves still left on the plantation were in the fields behind the house, too far away to hear her shouts. She ran through the yard, through the once beautiful gardens, now grown up with weeds, out through the stables and empty slave quarters. She saw the two old slaves far out in the withering cotton fields, bent over, working, trying in vain to grow vegetables in the once fertile soil. Kathleen ran toward them, waving her arms wildly and screaming their names. “Williard, Minnie, come quick!”

Finally, the two looked up and saw her, dropped their hoes and hurried to meet her, running as fast as their aging legs could carry them. “What is it, Miz Kathleen?” Williard asked, scratching his white head. Minnie followed along behind him, her old eyes big and wide.

“Oh, Williard, it’s Hannah. She’s very sick. You must help me get her to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am, Miz Kathleen, I helps you,” he bobbed his gray head up and down.

The three laboriously got Hannah to her bed as Scott and Doctor Pitt came running in the front door, the elderly physician puffing and shouting orders. “Get everyone out of the room.” He placed his black bag on the table by the bed and bent over the unconscious black woman.

Kathleen paced nervously back and forth outside Hannah’s door. Scott watched helplessly, “Mother, please sit down. You’ll wear yourself out.”

“Scotty, I can’t. What would I ever do without Hannah? I can’t get along without her, I can’t!”

Scott walked to his frightened mother and put his arms around her waist, stopping her pacing. “Mother, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“Oh, Scott,” she put her arms around his slim shoulders, “I know you will, darling. Thank you.”

“Mom, I’m almost a man. I’ll look after you, I promise.”

“Scott, you’re so strong and brave. I’m sorry I’m such a coward.”

“You aren’t, Mother, but you’re a woman and you need a man to take care of you now that Dad’s gone. I’ll be that man.”

“Thank you, darling,” she kissed his cheek and took the chair he motioned her to.

“I’ll be right here if you need me,” he said, authoritatively crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall beside his mother.

“You can go in now, Kathleen,” Doctor Pitt said and she rose from the chair.

“Doctor Pitt, is she … will she …?”

The doctor shook his head, “I’m sorry, Kathleen.”

“Scott, please fix the doctor a cup of coffee or a drink. I’m going in to her.”

“Certainly, Mother.” Scott calmly invited the doctor downstairs.

“Hannah, dear,” Kathleen whispered and leaned over the bed.

Hannah’s tired eyes came open and, when she saw Kathleen’s face, she tried to smile, “Honey, I’m sorry. I needs to get up and make Scott’s lunch.” She tried to raise herself, but Kathleen put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“No, dear, you must lie still. Scott will fix his own meal.”

“Thank you, honey. Sit with me, please.”

“Yes, yes,” Kathleen took a chair by the bed. “Can I get you anything, Hannah?”

“No, I don’t need nothin’. I’m going home to de Lord soon and ‘fore I meets him, there’s sompin I has to get off my chest.”

“Hannah, don’t say that! You’ll be all right, you’ll get well, I can’t …”

“No, honey, I won’t. But I is ready to go, I is powerful tired, this ole body done worn out.”

“Hannah, please,” Kathleen was crying softly now.

“Now, Kathleen, don’t you cry for ole Hannah. It’s you I is worried ’bout. There’s sompin I has to tell you and I hopes you ain’t gonna hate me,” the worried black face looked into Kathleen’s eyes.

“Darling, don’t be foolish. I love you, I could never hate you.”

“I ain’t so sure, honey,” Hannah fell silent.

“You can tell me anything, Hannah, anything.” She took her mammy’s hand.

“It’s ’bout Mistah Dawson and … and your father..”

“What, darling? Tell me,” Kathleen spoke soothingly.

Tears streamed down the withered cheeks of the black woman on the bed as her words came out in a rush of emotion. “Oh, I ruined yo’ life. Mistah Dawson, he loved you so much and he came over that day to ask Mistah Beauregard if he could marry you, jest lak he tol’ you he would. And yo’ father, he send that young man away. He tell him he never let him marry you.” Hannah spoke nonstop, at long last repeating word for word the violent conversation she had overheard so many years before. Kathleen stared at Hannah in unbelieving horror as she listened to the shocking revelations about her father’s cruel promises which had sent Dawson Blakely out of her life when all he’d ever wanted was to make her his wife. “I wanted to tell you, honey, but Mistah Beauregard, he woulda kilt me if he ever found out. I was scared and I jest didn’t know what to do. I is sorry, honey, I is feeling so bad. Please don’t hate me.”

“Darling Hannah, you did the right thing. I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this terrible burden all these years. You’ve suffered needlessly because it doesn’t matter. That was so long ago and so much has happened. It’s all worked out, so just put it out of your mind and rest easy. I’m not upset with you.” She smiled down into the worried face.

“Well, I wouldn’ta tol’ you now ifin Doctor Hunter still be alive. No, suh, I woulda taked it to the grave with me if he be here to take care of you. He was such a good man. But he be gone now and Mistah Dawson still be alive and he still love you so much. He never tell you the truth ’cause he not ever want to hurt you. He be a good man, too, jest lak Doctor Hunter be. Maybe it’s not too late. I could die in peace ifin I knowed Mistah Dawson gonna take care of you and the boy after I is gone.”

“Be quiet now, dear, you’re tiring yourself. Please don’ worry about us. Perhaps I will go to Dawson, I don’t know, just …”

“Oh, honey, please talk to him. That po’ man wants you sompin awful, he take care of you and Scotty for the rest o yo’lives.”

“We’ll see, but now I want you to sleep. Don’t worn about any of this, promise me.”

“Thank you, honey. I rest now, I feel real good,” and the big eyes closed peacefully.

“I love you, dear Hannah,” Kathleen whispered and kissed the tired cheek, then tiptoed from the room.

Hannah passed away before the sunset and two days late: was buried beside the summer house, near Louis and Abigail, at Sans Souci, the only home she had ever known. The place where she was born in the slave quarters in 1790 where the huge estate belonged to the Louis’ grandfather. She has loved and served three generations of Beauregards.

Kathleen sat in the library alone while the afternoon sure slid low in the west, its last pink rays streaming in through the tall windows. Wearing the black dress she had worn to Hannah’s funeral, she had come to the library to be by her self, telling Scott she wanted him to go to Johnny Jackson’s for dinner.

“But, Mother, I want to stay with you. You need me,” Scott had protested.

“Darling, I need you, of course, but for a while I would like to be alone. You go on and have dinner with Johnny, I’ll be all right.”

“I’ll go, but I’ll be home at nine o’clock sharp. You get some rest while I’m gone,” the dark head bent and kissed hen cheek and the black eyes were full of love and concern.

Kathleen ruffled his hair and smiled, “I promise. Now run along.”

Sitting alone now, she was sorry she had let him go. She felt so alone, so lost. The big old house was so empty, the place that once had been so alive. Now it was quiet, with only memories remaining of the happy times of earlier years.

Sans Souci, like plantations throughout Mississippi and the south, was now little more than a wasteland. Where once hundreds of slaves had worked the fertile fields, only Minnie and Williard were left, patiently grubbing a meager garden from the barren remains. The once beautiful gardens and lawns, bursting forth each spring in a kaleidoscope of color, fragrant with the sweet-smelling blossoms of jasmine and honeysuckle, roses and wisteria, now were grown up with waist-high weeds.

Even inside the mansion, the ravages of war had taken their tragic toll. The high-ceilinged rooms, often the scene of gala balls attended by the elite of Mississippi who gathered in laughter and gaiety to dance on the polished marble floors of the ballroom and drink toasts from an endless bubbly stream of the best wines and champagnes, now stood empty, haunted by eerie silence. Many rooms were shut away, unused, the fine furniture and crystal chandeliers sold to pay the exorbitant taxes.

Sans Souci and its few remaining inhabitants were not the only ones suffering. Becky Jackson, widowed by the war, now rented out rooms in the family estate and cooked for boarders in order to feed her two growing children. Julie Bates and her beloved Caleb, were together and still in love, though Caleb, with both arms lost in the war, was only a shell of the young boy he had been. His sad-eyed Julie watched helplessly while he brooded silently. She took in mending to make extra money to keep them going. Destitute families throughout Natchez, the aristocracy of the old south, wore threadbare clothes and scrambled for food, all pauperized by inflation that tortured even the wealthiest. Stacks of worthless Confederate money was now good only to burn and keep themselves warm in winter.

Throughout Mississippi, it was difficult to find a family not mourning the loss of a loved one in the war. And of the men who did come home, over half were missing a limb. Such was the devastation of the most brutal war ever to be fought.