PLACE OF PEACE
DEBRA DIAZ
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2010 Debra Diaz
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PROLOGUE
September, 1878
Genny prepared to disembark from the train, struck by the utter stillness, the air of desertion. There was one passenger car; the rest were supply cars, carrying food, water, medicines — and coffins. The only other passenger had gotten off just before entering the city.
No one wanted to come here.
She paused before descending the narrow steps and thought, What am I doing in this place? A year ago she would have run away screaming … in fact, she would not have come at all. She would never have willingly placed herself in danger. But she had changed, and her reason for coming did not exist then.
At last her foot touched the iron platform. It seemed like the most momentous step she would ever take, and she remembered, in a quick flash that somehow contained hundreds of images and impressions, the one event that had set her on this course, and brought her to this moment…
CHAPTER ONE
Spring, 1877
Virginia Romayne had never found it difficult to express herself, and that afternoon she did so with a forcefulness that made her younger sister remove herself to the opposite side of the room. Clarissa had learned early in life the prudence of staying a safe distance from Genny’s temper.
“I won’t go, do you hear? I’m not going to marry that — that bug chaser!”
“But, Genny, Mama says we must expose ourselves to society!”
“You,” said Genny with a glare, “can expose yourself all you like. I’d rather be an old maid.”
“But if you don’t go I can’t go either. Mama will never let me go alone!”
Genny made no reply, marching across the bedroom to stare petulantly out the window. She heard the door open and close with a bang and knew that Clarissa had gone to loudly vent her indignation to their mother.
“Crybaby,” Genny said aloud. She stared down at the afternoon traffic in the street, not seeing it, not even hearing the familiar sounds of passersby calling out and the rhythmic clip-clop of horses’ hooves against the pavement. The lowering sun slanted into the room between the ruffled lace curtains, casting a deep aureate glow upon the face of the eldest Romayne daughter.
Some of her acquaintances, less generous than others, insisted that Genny possessed a strange and “foreign” look, but most agreed that Genny’s rare and exotic appearance was worthy of admiration. Golden-brown brows arched from above her slim nose to expertly frame wide, slightly up-slanted eyes, fringed with dark gold lashes. In color, they could range from a deep royal blue to the brighter hue of a summer sky. Full and well-formed lips, and blonde hair streaked with deep veins of gold, were uncommon and enviable traits. Her eyes and high, slightly-hollowed cheekbones, as well as the petiteness of her stature when both of her parents were tall, had aroused the more unfriendly comments.
A timid knock sounded on the bedroom door. Genny sighed and moved from the window to plop down on the feather mattress of her bed. “Come in, Mother.”
Gwendolyn Stuart Romayne always dressed in the height of fashion, with complete disregard as to the effect upon her figure and coloring. Genny had once read a story in Godey’s Lady’s Book – she couldn’t remember if it were true or not — about a man who had become so irritated by his wife’s addiction to high fashion that he had published an article on the subject under a false name and presented it to her, assuring her of its reliability. In the article he stated that it was becoming all the rage for women to adorn their hair with raw vegetables fresh from the garden for a “unique effect”. His wife had been thrilled that she would be the first in her clique to display this latest fad, and that night attended the opera with a carrot boldly protruding from an otherwise flawless coiffure.
The story reminded Genny of her mother.
Gwendolyn’s yellow lawn dress hung straight down the front with the back gathered and elaborately draped over a bustle. Neither the style nor the color suited her, for she was too tall and thin, making the bustle effect look more like a deformity and her naturally sallow complexion seemed even more so against the yellow dress, which was liberally trimmed with fringes and lace ruffles. Her hair curled all around her head in ringlets, but her lank, brownish tresses didn’t lend themselves well to the curling tongs and by the end of the day usually resembled the abandoned nest of a rather untidy bird.
Gwendolyn cleared her throat. “Clarissa has just informed me that you have refused to attend the Grayson’s reception this evening. Is this true?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Gwendolyn’s dark eyebrows stretched upward. “But this is quite extraordinary of you, Genny. Are you ill?”
“No. I’d just rather stay at home.” Genny rose impatiently from the bed and walked over to the dressing table, where she picked up a brush and began to tidy her own hair.
“Lloyd Grayson is a fine young man. He’s talked to your father about you. It’s simply unthinkable that you not attend.”
“But I don’t want to!” Genny cried, slamming her brush back down on the dressing table. “I have no interest in it, or him, whatsoever!”
“Genny, such behavior! Tonight you really must attend this party and you must behave very amiably to Lloyd.”
Gwendolyn paused, almost fearfully, for it took all her backbone to be firm with her strong-willed daughter. She was always secretly afraid that Genny would lose her temper and come back with a retort for which she had no answer. This had happened on some occasions, and Gwendolyn’s response had always been to send Genny to her father.
“I do believe,” Gwendolyn said hesitantly, “that your father expects Mr. Grayson to ask for your hand in marriage.”
“Then Father can also expect me to refuse my hand to Mr. Grayson!”
“Genny! What can you be thinking? You’ll be twenty years old next year!. You’ve already turned down three proposals of marriage. Why, it never occurred to me to refuse your father.”
Gwendolyn failed to add that no man but Philbert Romayne had ever paid her the slightest attention, and she knew in her heart that it was due mainly to the social status of her family, who had lived in Virginia, South Carolina, and finally Tennessee since colonial times.
“Mother, I am heartily tired of men who seek nothing more than to enhance their own fortunes by adding mine to it. And most assuredly I don’t wish to marry Lloyd Grayson, whose insect collection is the single great passion of his life!”
Her mother was aghast. “Well, Genny, what do you expect? What do you think marriage is for, if not to make a socially profitable union?”
Genny held her silence. Her mother had never understood her. No one understood her. There was no one to tell, even if she could find a way to express such a nameless and inexplicable yearning, what she really expected from the man she would marry – if she ever did. She wasn’t quite sure that such a man existed.
The silence drew on, and though Genny’s eyes were smoldering she made no further protest. Gwendolyn turned and left the room, the high heels of her patent leather boots clattering against the wood floor. Almost immediately the door opened and eight-year-old Abigail poked her nose inside.
“I think you’re just horrid,” she sniffed disdainfully. “Minnie Donaldson said she’d give her eyeteeth to be invited to the Grayson’s, and here you are squalling about it like a scalded cat.”
Genny made a spring for the door. Abigail, like Clarissa, knew when to beat a hasty retreat — she slammed the door shut and ran.
* * * *
The dining room, softly lit by gaslight, was impeccably managed by Pollard, the English butler. He had been brought directly from England after the Romaynes visited there just before Clarissa’s birth. Philbert Romayne looked about him at the stuffy Victorian furniture and the varied faces of his children, and felt his usual sense of deep satisfaction. He had done well in life, considering that, in these twelve years since the end of the War Between the States, the entire South had collapsed and was only now getting to her knees.
After spending many years as the general manager of a cotton mill Philbert had founded a bank, of which he was still the president and which now had more monetary resources than any other bank in Knoxville, Tennessee — and its surrounding cities. It didn’t take much shrewdness (something he possessed in abundance) to see how closely banking was related to public service and how the two areas could benefit each other. He became known for his community spirit. Grounds were beautified and streets improved by the efforts of the directorate of his bank. As a result, deposits increased and his bank flourished.
Having never owned slaves, he was undismayed by the North’s condemnation of slavery — though it did concern him when he stopped to think what the abolition of slavery would do to the South’s economy. However, it was easy to sympathize with the disunionists, who were enraged by the way the North was attempting to impose its will upon the South. He maintained a silence which both sides took as mute support. No one questioned the fact that he joined neither army; he was forty-five but looked much older, and he was deaf in one ear and had flat feet. He stayed home, attended to his business, and never lost the respect of both sides of the controversy.
Through strategic management he survived Reconstruction, widespread unemployment, falling stock prices and the resultant Panic of 1873. In fact, in the course of this crisis, his bank absorbed another and became incorporated as the largest bank in the entire northeast of the state.
This very week President Hayes had terminated northern control over the South and called back all federal troops. Philbert foresaw a new era of industrial revolution and prosperity. He contracted for a fine new hotel to be built; he joined other building committees, serving as chairman; he became the president of the cotton exchange and bought an insurance company.
Yes, he had done well.
His complacent expression changed briefly to one of annoyance as he noticed the dowdy appearance of his wife, though she was — as usual — overdressed. Why did she insist on wearing that blasted yellow that made her look as though she had a complaint of the liver? His eyes moved on to Clarissa, who was talking animatedly to no one in particular, and paused with affection on little Abigail. His darling. He frowned at his sons, Lionel and Roger, who were quarreling. They fell silent.
Then he noticed that Genny was not eating her supper.
“What’s the matter, Virginia?”
Genny started at the sound of her father’s voice, always a little severe even when he was attempting to be genial. She answered softly, “Nothing, Father.”
“She’s pouting again,” Clarissa informed him.
“Clarissa, don’t talk with your mouth full.” Philbert’s brown-eyed gaze seemed to spear his eldest daughter to her seat. “What is this about, Virginia? Explain yourself.”
Genny glared mutely at her sister. Abigail’s piping voice broke the silence. “It’s because she doesn’t want to go to the party tonight, Papa.”
“The Grayson’s? And why not? Lloyd Grayson particularly wanted you to come. I take it he has a question he wants to ask you.”
“Genny’s got a sweetheart,” sang Lionel, who was fourteen. Twelve-year-old Roger giggled.
“Quiet, boys. Virginia, I expect an answer.”
“I don’t want to go, Father, because I detest Lloyd Grayson’s habit of collecting butterflies, and if he asks me to marry him I shall be forced to refuse him.”
“What in heaven’s name do butterflies have to do with it? Confound it, girl! Do you have some grievance against butterflies?”
“I have something against grown men who have nothing better to do than to chase about the countryside with a net and a box full of dead bugs!”
Clarissa tittered. Philbert’s face, above his full, well-trimmed beard, turned red. “You are being childish, Virginia,” he announced, and glared at his wife. “Gwendolyn, you’d better have a talk with your daughter.”
“I have,” said Gwendolyn, a little desperately. “I’ve told her she must go.”
“Quite right.” Philbert cast a quelling glance at his erring child. “You will do as you’re told, of course.”
“I’ll go to the party. But that doesn’t mean I have to marry him.”
“Of course not. We shall see. Now, eat your supper — all of you.”
Genny ate a small forkful of creamed potatoes, then surreptitiously hid the sweet peas underneath the potatoes. After asking to be excused, she strode from the room, ascending the stairs to her bedroom. Clarissa and the girls’ maid, Abra, followed soon after.
“Hurry, Genny, we don’t want to be late,” Clarissa urged breathlessly, ensconcing herself upon the bench before the dressing table. Abra began to groom Clarissa’s thick, dark hair, and glanced over her shoulder to smile kindly at Genny.
“I’ll get to you next, Miss Genny,” she said. “Don’t you fret. You’ll look so grand every man there’ll be breakin’ his neck to make your acquaintance.” She paused and added soberly, “Those that ain’t runnin’ after Miss Clarissa, I mean.”
“That’s just what I don’t want, Abra.” Genny eyed the contents of the tall, walnut wardrobe and began withdrawing her clothes. “If I had any gumption I’d go looking like a poverty-stricken hag, and I’d never have to bother with unwanted suitors again.”
“Oh, Genny, sometimes you can be so absurd!” Clarissa regarded her face in the mirror with pleasure. She strongly resembled her mother in appearance, whereas Abigail looked exactly like a miniature version of Philbert.
Genny rummaged through her jewelry box for something that would complement her dress. Her vanity would never allow her to do as she threatened. All her life she’d been popular and the center of attention, and was secretly contemptuous of wallflowers who wouldn’t even try to be attractive. But she was just as disdainful of girls like Clarissa who thought too highly of themselves and generally behaved like fools.
Clarissa’s behavior at social gatherings was a constant source of embarrassment to Genny, for she had a way of breathlessly flinging herself upon men until they practically had to hold her up lest she fall at their feet, and flitted from one to another like a frenzied bumblebee. She’d never had a single serious beau.
After Abra had arranged her hair with curls massed at the back of her head and secured them with ivory combs, Genny began the time-consuming ritual of dressing. Over the cotton drawers she donned a batiste chemise, a petticoat of embroidered muslin, a corset, and then finally her favorite gown of white silk, trimmed with silver beads and long rows of silver buttons. A red silk fan edged with lace dangled from a silver cord at her waist. She pushed on white patent leather boots and, finally, slipped garnet earrings in her pierced earlobes.
“Oh, no!” Clarissa wailed, surveying herself in the mirror. “This dress makes me look flat as a pancake! Genny, may I wear your blue gown, just this once? I promise not to spill anything on it!”
“It won’t fit you, Clarissa.”
“Oh, yes it will! Please, Genny!”
Genny gave a shrug, which Clarissa took as acquiescence, and quickly began fumbling at the buttons of her own dress. “Quick, Abra, help me get this thing off! I hear Eli bringing the carriage around already.”
Genny made her way downstairs to wait for her sister in the parlor. This proved to be a mistake…for her two brothers were there engaged in a game of chess.
“Well, Genny’s mighty spruced up for somebody who isn’t husband-hunting,” Lionel remarked, smirking.
“You suppose she’s really had a hankering after Lloyd all along?” Roger said, with a gap-toothed grin.
“Yeah, she’s just been playin’ hard to catch.”
“Oh, hush up, both of you!” Genny snapped. “Mind your own business.”
“Oh, go on to your stupid party,” Lionel said disgustedly. “You make me want to puke.”
“You hush that vulgar language, Lionel Romayne, or I’ll tell Father on you!”
“I’ll tell Father on you!” mimicked Lionel.
Genny whirled and left the room, stamping through the entry hall and out the door. The driver, Eli, assisted her into the waiting carriage. In a few moments Clarissa came flying out, tripped on Genny’s gown and all but fell into the carriage. It jolted forward, and they were on their way.
CHAPTER TWO
The Grayson house stood in an even more exclusive neighborhood than the Romayne’s. Its yellow brick gleamed in the setting sun. Polished black railings surrounded the two verandas, and the black shutters stood open to reveal the glitter of lights from within. Sounds of laughter and cheerful voices drifted out to the quiet driveway from the open, double front doors.
“We’ll be ready to leave by ten,” Genny said to Eli, as he helped the girls alight from the carriage.
“No, not so early!” Clarissa cried.
Genny said nothing but took her sister’s arm and pulled her with a considerable lack of gentleness toward the front door. Genny’s muslin, ice-blue gown stretched tightly over Clarissa’s larger hips, and her bosom strained so against the cloth that Clarissa must have remedied her lack with some extra padding. Genny could only hope that the padding wouldn’t slip during the dancing, as she had been scandalized to observe on a former occasion.
“Dear Genny! And darling Clare!” Edwina Grayson, Lloyd’s sister, embraced them with enormous affection…though they’d met only once before. She was a large-boned young woman, a year older than Genny, with a round face and softly curling black hair. “Lloyd, here are the Romayne girls!”
“Miss Genny.” Lloyd appeared and bent over her hand. In contrast to his sister, he was thin; his black hair had a center part, and he had side whiskers and a monocle. “Miss Clarissa,” he said, bowing again.
“Lloyd will show you into the drawing room,” Edwina said, as more guests began to mount the veranda steps.
Lloyd escorted the ladies into a large, heavily furnished room, where two dozen or so young people had already gathered. Greetings were exchanged…the girls already knew almost everyone present. A uniformed butler stiffly presented them each with a glass of punch. Clarissa immediately went off on her rounds, leaving Genny alone with Lloyd, who seemed suddenly at a loss for words.
“A lovely evening, isn’t it?” he commented, and coughed nervously. “It’s been such a pleasant spring.”
“Oh, yes. Spring and summer are my favorite times of the year.” Genny refrained from tapping her foot. Why hadn’t she had the gumption to refuse to come here? She hadn’t wanted to rouse her father’s temper. But really, the futility of it! Her eyes moved listlessly across the room and paused on a bearded, well-dressed man of about thirty, who was blatantly staring at her. He stood near Edwina, sipping from a glass holding a dark amber liquid.
“Who is that?” she asked, turning to Lloyd.
“Who?” he said, peering through his monocle. “Oh, you haven’t met Slade? But of course you haven’t. Allow me to introduce you.”
She wasn’t sufficiently interested to endure an introduction…she’d only been mildly curious, but she suffered herself to be led across the floor. The man set his glass down on the butler’s passing tray and turned to face her.
“Slade Malone, may I present Miss Genny Romayne? Miss Genny, this is a friend of mine from the university.”
“Miss Romayne.” Mr. Malone gallantly bent over her hand. “I am always pleased to meet true daughters of the South. The rumors of their beauty reach far and wide, and may I say they are not exaggerated.”
“Such flattery, Mr. Malone! Am I to understand you’re not from the South?”
He made a mock bow. “I regret to say, I am not.”
She laughed lightly. “Your accent, sir, is unfamiliar to me. Where are you from?”
“Have you ever been out west, Miss Romayne?”
“No, I haven’t.” It seemed as distant as another planet, but Genny was determined not to be left alone with Lloyd, so she engaged herself in a spirited discussion with Slade Malone. In a few moments several people converged upon them, complimenting Genny on her dress, exclaiming over her hair, and she quickly became the center of attention as she exchanged pleasantries with her friends. Mr. Malone stood back and seemed to enjoy the picture she made until one of the chaperones approached and gained his attention.
After a few moments Genny’s friends drifted away, while she paused to glance impatiently about the room for a timepiece. A small clock on one of the dainty tables revealed the time to be only half past eight.
“Miss Genny.” There was a dry cough behind her, and she turned to see Lloyd with an uncertain smile on his lips. “Are you, by some happy chance, interested in lepidopterans?”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Miss Genny! I meant butterflies.”
“Butterflies? I daresay I never gave them much thought. I detest bugs, you know.”
“Bugs!” Lloyd couldn’t have appeared more horrified had she uttered an obscenity. “My dear Miss Genny, butterflies are not bugs! They are exquisite creatures, magnificent — such colors — ”
Genny yawned. Fortunately Lloyd had turned to replace his monocle, which had fallen out of his eye and was swinging agitatedly about his chest, and so failed to notice her lack of enthusiasm. He peered at her myopically and said, “I have a collection of some very interesting specimens in the next room. Would you allow me to show them to you?”
On the verge of declining, Genny glimpsed an opportunity to make Lloyd think twice about proposing marriage. She gave him a tight smile and said, “Just for a moment, Mr. Grayson.”
He opened the door, and they stepped into a dimly-lit room with an unpleasant, musty smell faintly tinged with the odor of some sort of chemical. Glass cases lined the walls, and inside them reposed specimens of virtually every kind of insect imaginable, pinned to a dark cloth backing.
“How horrible,” she said, putting her handkerchief to her nose. “How utterly pitiful they look.”
Lloyd’s face fell. “Miss Genny, if I might say so myself, these are wonderful specimens!”
“Specimens of death, you mean! I declare they’re right depressing. What on earth do you do with them?”
“Why, study them, of course.”
“Study them? Why? I must say I wouldn’t have these horrible creatures in my house.”
“Miss Genny, if I may be so bold…should a time ever come that you and I should, legally, of course…share a house, you would never have to gaze at my collection if you didn’t desire it.”
“I hate them,” she announced. “I will not have them in my house.” She pretended to be surprised. “Why, Mr. Grayson, what on earth do you mean? Are you supposing that we might one day live together as man and wife? Because I must tell you, I would never dream of coming between a man and his insects!”
Lloyd had broken into a sweat. This time he didn’t seem to notice that his monocle had fallen, and he squinted at her in the dimness. “Miss Genny — ”
Genny put a hand to her forehead. “That smell – I fear I’ve developed a most severe headache. My sister and I must be leaving. I’m terribly sorry.”
“How dreadful. I am so sorry.” He seemed to be about to say something when he caught sight of one of the servants, signaling to him from the doorway. He excused himself and walked away from her with a brisk, loose-jointed gait. Genny followed him across the room and found Clarissa in a group of girls, yelling with laughter.
“Clarissa, it’s time we went home,” she said in a low voice, when her sister paused to catch her breath.
“Is Eli here already?” Clarissa asked, her eyes wide.
“No. We’ll ask for the Grayson’s carriage.”
“No, Genny! I’m not ready to go yet!”
“Is something wrong?” Edwina squeezed through the crowd toward them, laying her hand on Genny’s arm.
“Besides, Edwina has asked us to spend the night and I told her we would!” Clarissa glared balefully at Genny, who returned the look and then turned sweetly to their hostess.
“This is so nice of you, Edwina, but I couldn’t possibly. I have a blinding headache. I’m afraid that Clarissa and I will have to leave now.”
“I’m not going!” Clarissa cried. “And you can’t make me!”
“Clarissa, if you don’t — ”
“Oh, please don’t fuss, girls!” Edwina began to look alarmed. “I’ll have one of our servants drive you home, Genny. Lloyd will be glad to escort you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t hear of it, Edwina. I shall be awfully vexed if you make Lloyd leave his guests. Please say nothing to him.”
“Is there a problem, ladies?”
They all glanced up to see Slade Malone regarding them with concern. Genny saw his eyes dip to her low, rounded neckline, but she was accustomed to such covert glances and didn’t give it a second thought.
“Genny is ill. I’ve told her Lloyd simply must escort her home.”
“I think I can help, if you will permit me, Miss Grayson. I was just leaving to return to my hotel. I’ve spoken to your brother and thanked him for his hospitality, but I must rise early in the morning to board the train.” He turned to Genny, his hands clasped behind his back. “I would be honored, Miss Romayne, if you will allow me to accompany you. Lloyd has already sent for his carriage.”
“Yes, yes, do go, Genny,” Clarissa urged. “Tell Mama I won’t be home tonight and not to send Eli until in the morning.”
Genny smiled grimly at her sister. “Yes, dear, I will. Mr. Malone, this is most kind of you.”
She bade her hostess farewell and made her excuses to Mrs. Grayson, who sat in a corner with the chaperones. She didn’t see Lloyd. She felt Mr. Malone’s hand, heavy and hard, underneath her elbow as they stepped outside into the cool, night air. A quarter moon shone down from a clear, star-spotted sky.
“You didn’t seem to be enjoying the party, Miss Romayne,” he remarked, his hand tightening on her arm as he handed her into the Grayson’s carriage. There was a subtle difference in his voice…it wasn’t as respectful as before, and seemed to stress her name almost with mockery. A small warning signal ticked off somewhere in her brain and she glanced up, trying to see his face, but the interior of the carriage was dim.
“It’s just that I have a headache. Mr. Malone, you really needn’t hold my arm now.”
He loosened his grip, but his arm went back across her shoulders. “You society girls,” he said softly. “You’re all alike, Yankee or rebel.”
He ran his finger lightly around the neckline of her bodice. Shocked, with the warning bell at full clang she gasped and pushed him away, staring at him from her corner of the carriage.
“Mr. Malone, my father will be most displeased to learn of your behavior!”
“Indeed, Miss Romayne?” His voice was contemptuous, and now she could see a harsh, ill-natured cast to his features. “And what of your own behavior? Your dress, your flirting little smiles. Your going off alone into a dark room with Mr. Grayson.”
She was flabbergasted. “You’ve made a mistake,” she said at last, a little breathlessly. “You — you don’t understand our ways.”
“As I said, you’re all alike. And so are men, whether from North or South or the wild, wild West.”
“My father will —”
“Your father doesn’t scare me, Miss Romayne. It will be your word against mine, if you would be so foolish as to tell him. What will he say when he discovers you willingly got into a carriage with a stranger?” He laughed quietly. “Now come here so I can bid you a proper goodbye.”
She opened her mouth to scream but he moved swiftly and jerked her toward him. Her breath left her in a grunt. A melee of thrashing arms and legs, and the stifled screams of her own hot, determined rage filled the carriage. It drew to a stop, and Malone instantly pulled away from her. She huddled in the corner and stared at him wildly, too shocked to even think what to say.
“When you’ve grown up, perhaps we can resume our acquaintance.” The man laughed shortly and got out of the carriage, then leaned back inside, offering his arm. She ignored it and got out on her own side, half falling, her dress askew and her hair tumbling out of its combs.
The driver was adjusting something on the horse and didn’t even look at her, apparently assuming that the gentleman would see the lady to the door. Slade Malone gave a mocking bow. She turned and fled toward the house, slipped inside and bolted the door behind her. She paused in the empty kitchen to correct her appearance, in case someone saw her. Then she flew up the servants’ stairway to her room.
A stunned numbness pervaded her entire body. It was almost as if he had raped her, not that she knew much about such things. If the drive had been longer he would have raped her! He was a crude and callous man…he had assaulted her and for that he could go to jail. Her father would see that he paid a heavy price for what he’d done!
Why had he done it? How did he expect to get away with it?
And why, she thought, as she locked her bedroom door behind her, don’t I run and tell Father right away?
Because I know that Father will blame me. Philbert would be outraged, as he should be, but he would blame her — Genny — for leaving the party in the first place, and with a stranger. Certainly he would deal with Slade Malone first, but then he would decide that Genny needed protection, the protection of a husband. He would force her into marriage before she could say Jack Robinson.
Maybe it was what she deserved. She’d been a fool to get into a carriage with a stranger. Still, he was Lloyd’s friend, and she had naturally assumed she could trust Lloyd’s judgment. But, of course, he didn’t know the truth about Mr. Malone. Mr. Malone was obviously not sane.
I’ve got to leave! The thought came from nowhere, but she caught it and held onto it and examined it minutely. She had to leave this city. If she left, she would escape two things — the possibility of ever seeing Mr. Malone again, and the probability of an unwanted husband in her immediate future.
Anger began to replace shock. She pulled off her dress, her petticoats and corset, and threw them in a heap on the floor. She wished she had done some lasting damage to that…that madman. She wished she could cry out to the world what he had done and have him put away for life! But no, that would never do. No one, not even her family, must ever know, for if Clarissa heard it she would blab the news far and wide. And it was too humiliating. She shuddered at the thought of what the gossips would say.
Maybe that was why Malone thought he could get away with what he had done. Perhaps he had done it before, even made a habit of it, and knew that young ladies were not anxious to have such things made known. Maybe some young “ladies” even encouraged him! At any rate, he had not seemed concerned that she would tell anyone, and that alone told her that he did not think rationally. He was a dangerous man.
Shaking now, she crawled into bed, squeezed her eyes shut to stop the burning behind them, and began to lay her plans.
CHAPTER THREE
The late morning sunlight pricked her eyelids, making her groan and press her face into the pillow. A warm breeze floated into the bedroom from the open window, accompanied by light traffic noises from the street. Birds twittered and chirped in the tall ash tree outside her window, and Genny heard the slow swishing sound of someone sweeping the veranda below.
“I declare, Miss Genny,” came an irate voice from the middle of the room. “It looks like a cyclone come through here. How come you scatter your clothes like that?”
Genny raised herself up on an elbow and watched Abra moving about, picking up her discarded clothes, her gloves, her fan. The slender young black woman straightened and peered sharply at her.
“You look funny,” she said.
“Never mind,” Genny said irritably.
Abra raised an eyebrow and puckered her lips. “Your mama’s a mite provoked you left the party early last night.”
As if on cue, the bedroom door opened and Gwendolyn swept into the room, wearing a high-collared gown with purple and pink stripes. “Abra,” she said, “please leave us for a moment.”
Abra exchanged a look with Genny, gathered up the wrinkled clothes, and left the room.
“Virginia.” Gwendolyn tried to assume a severe tone. “I am most displeased with you. Why did you not inform me last night that Clarissa was not coming home? Eli had to make a completely unnecessary trip.”
Genny plucked at the edge of the sheet. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Indeed? Are you coming down with something?”
Genny shrugged.
“And who is this Slade somebody who Clarissa says escorted you home? I’ve certainly never heard of him.”
“He’s a friend of the Grayson’s from — I don’t know where.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have done it. There are men who might take advantage of being in a carriage alone with a young lady. Not that such a thing would happen with any of the Grayson’s acquaintances.”
Genny turned her face away so that her mother couldn’t see it. Tears burned in her eyes. There was a clatter on the stairs and Clarissa burst into the room, dancing and swirling the skirt of Genny’s blue gown. “Oh, it was such a wonderful party!” she exclaimed. “Edwina is such a dear, dear friend! Genny, she’s invited us to go with her family on a picnic by the river next week! Won’t it be fun?”
“Oh, yes, great fun.” Genny leaned her head back against the mahogany headboard and closed her eyes, having a vision of the lanky, loose-jointed Lloyd frolicking about with his butterfly net. “But I’m not going.”
* * * *
Genny had no sooner finished dressing than someone knocked loudly on her bedroom door. Before she could reply, the door was pushed open and Abigail stood there, her reddish-brown braids poking stiffly out from either side of her freckled face.
“Papa wants to see you right away,” she announced importantly. “In his office.”
Genny mentally braced herself and brushed past her sister. She ignored her brothers, who were punching each other on the staircase, and tapped lightly on her father’s office door. At his gruffly-given bidding, she entered the room and sat down in a chair before his desk.
“Virginia,” said Philbert, “there is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Yes, Father.” Genny felt a qualm of anxiety. She sat perfectly still and watched her father intently. It was almost an unnatural stillness, Philbert observed, and thought it quite unlike her usual display of impatience and resentment. He cleared his throat and idly shuffled some papers on his desk.
“Clarissa tells me you have refused to go to the Grayson’s picnic. Would you mind telling me why?”
Genny thought vaguely, Something is happening to me. Some underlying sense of rebellion, felt only superficially for some time, was rising to the fore. She could almost feel her heart hardening, her emotions growing cold. After all she had been through, no one understood her, no one held any sympathy for her. True, they couldn’t know what had occurred in the carriage, but couldn’t they look at her and see that something had happened to her? Would anyone care if they did know, or would they say she had brought it on herself?
She smiled faintly at her father. Philbert thought it a very odd smile. “Is it really important?” she said softly. “After all, it’s just a picnic.”
“Yes, confound it, it is important! It’s important that you stop this infernal dillydallying and get yourself a husband! Good heavens, girl! Who are you waiting for, the Prince of Wales?”
“Of course not, Father.”
“Well, it’s good to see that you have at least some sense. Besides, he already has a wife. And I’m telling you — not asking you — I’m telling you that you are to make yourself available to Lloyd Grayson whenever he wishes to see you, and what’s more, when he proposes I want you to accept him. He is heir to quite a fortune, and he’s quite sensible. You don’t know that yet. But he’ll be a good match for you.”
Philbert waited for the expected outburst, unconsciously steeling himself for her rage. But Genny merely sat and looked at him with that same peculiar expression. It infuriated him.
“Do you understand me, Virginia?”
“Perfectly.”
Philbert blinked. This was most unusual. His side whiskers wagged up and down as his head jerked with anger. But a long moment passed in silence, with Genny merely staring demurely at her folded hands, and his wrath dissipated into relief.
“Well, that’s all,” he said, turning his attention to his papers. “You may go, Virginia.”
She rose and glided out of the room, wraithlike, and Philbert stared at the closed door for a long moment. Something wasn’t right. He almost called her back to insist she tell him why she was acting so strangely. But then he thought, Perhaps she is growing up. There had been no tantrum, no protesting, just a docile acceptance of his command. Yes, that had to be it. For the first time in her life, Genny was behaving like an adult.
Philbert nodded to himself, and once again concentrated on his work.
* * * *
Genny’s mind was made up. Pampered and sheltered as she had been all her life, no one really loved her. She was certain of it. All her father ever thought about was his business, and of course, how he could arrange advantageous marriages for his children. Her mother was cold…there was no joy in her, no affection. And Genny had never been close to any of her brothers or sisters.
She would go somewhere far away and find employment. She would tell everyone that she was married and her husband had died. Posing as a poor widow would shield her from unwelcome masculine attention, at least for a while. She would never get married! Perhaps she would start her own business and become a financially independent woman! After all, it was 1877. The war was long over and times were changing, changing swiftly and irrevocably.
She waited several days, knowing that her father would be going on a business trip soon. It would be better if she left during his absence. She went (reluctantly) to the Grayson’s picnic, during which Lloyd added several specimens to his collection. He didn’t mention marriage or even courtship…she could see that he wasn’t going to rush into anything. Unless, she thought scornfully, it was with a net in his hand. Her bored comments were made with thinly-veiled sarcasm that seemed to go straight over Lloyd’s head. But thankfully there were no more invitations for a while.
She gave no more thought to the man in the carriage. It was best not to think of that. Surely he had left Knoxville by now.
Not given to waiting with fortitude, her temper became so irascible that Clarissa avoided their bedroom with diligence, leaving it as soon as she dressed and usually not reappearing until time for bed. Genny spent almost all her time there, pacing the floor and gritting her teeth against the delay. She tried to use the time to make plans, but aside from choosing her destination, she couldn’t imagine what her new life would be like.
She had decided on Nashville as her new place of residence. It was far enough away that she wouldn’t easily be found, but not so far that the people would seem strange to her. It was still the South, with the same customs, the same accents. Her good education seemed a guarantee that there would be no difficulty obtaining a job. In fact, she had heard Nashville was an excellent place to find work, for it was financially and commercially sound, and quite cultured and sophisticated. Gradually her resentment came to be replaced by a sense of adventure and excitement.
The day of her father’s departure arrived. Genny sat at the window and watched until Eli returned with the buggy. Then she carefully locked her bedroom door, dragged her large, leather valise out from under her bed, and began stuffing it with her clothes and shoes.
That accomplished, she left her room and sauntered idly about the house. A glance into the parlor revealed her mother irritably criticizing Clarissa’s sewing. Her brothers and Abigail were probably playing ball down the street, as they were nowhere to be seen. Abra was dusting downstairs, the cook was in the kitchen clattering pots and pans, and Pollard was repairing a loose shelf in the hall closet. The way seemed clear.
Genny returned to her room, picked up the heavy valise with both hands, and quietly made her way down the back stairs, exiting through the side door of the house. She walked purposefully into the carriage house and deposited the valise under the seat of the buggy. Then she went back to her bedroom, sat down at her writing desk, and pulled out a sheet of paper on which she’d already written:
Dear Mother and Father,
Thank you for making me go to so many balls and soirees, for during one of these I have met the very love of my life. However, he is not someone you would approve of, so I’m regretfully finding it necessary to elope with him. Please don’t worry about me. I will write soon.
Your dutiful daughter,
Virginia
Well, she thought as she read it, what a lot of drivel that is. She’d always thought of herself as an honest and forthright person. Why didn’t she just tell them the truth…that she didn’t want to be forced into marriage and she was tired of being used as a pawn in her father’s quest for greater prominence and power!
But that would only make him angry, and he would be determined to find her. Maybe this way he would accept that she was gone for good, married and living far away. A slightly sick feeling crept into her stomach. But they had forced her into this situation, and if she had to lie to escape them, it was their fault.
She tucked the note into the bodice of her dress just as a knock came on the door and Abra entered with her feather duster. “Is it all right if I clean the room now, Miss Genny?”
“Well, actually, Abra, there’s something else I want you to do first, if you don’t mind.” Genny had hesitated for a long time before arriving at this decision, but Abra seemed to be her only choice. “I have to go to town to pick up a new hat I ordered. I want you to go with me, please. Mother never lets me go alone, and I don’t want Clarissa tagging along.”
“Of course, I’ll just go change my dress.” Abra’s eyes were trusting and cheerful, and again Genny had a sick feeling of guilt.
While Abra changed her clothes, Genny scurried down the stairs and slipped into her father’s office. She had no trouble locating his stack of bank drafts. Copying his handwriting, she wrote herself a check for a thousand dollars and forged his signature.
Liar and thief, her conscience assailed her. But it couldn’t be helped. It was not a huge amount of money to the Romayne family, and besides, it belonged to all of them! She was really saving them money, she rationalized, because they would never have to support her again.
Eli had been advised by Abra of Genny’s plans, and after telling her mother she was going to pick up her new hat, Genny ran out the door to the waiting buggy. She had a moment of rare poignancy as she paused in the parlor doorway and looked at her mother and sister, knowing she was seeing them for the last time in a great while, perhaps forever. But the moment passed when Clarissa looked up and whined nasally, “What are you staring at, Genny?”
The stop at the bank didn’t take long. Everyone behaved very respectfully toward her, as the daughter of the president, and soon she had a thousand dollars tucked into her reticule.
“Are you going into business, Miss Romayne?” grinned Mr. Upjohn, the cashier.
“Oh, no.” Genny bestowed a winsome smile upon him. “I’m going on a trip.”
“Well, I certainly hope it is a safe and enjoyable one. We look forward to seeing you again.”
“Thank you, Mr. Upjohn. Goodbye.” (It never entered her mind that Mr. Upjohn was to suffer a severe tongue-lashing and a temporary demotion to clerk for allowing her to have the money.)
Heads turned as she swished her way across the marble floor, gaily swinging her reticule. The doorman hastened to open the heavy oak door for her. Genny smiled and thanked him as he followed her outside and helped her into the buggy.
“To the depot, Eli,” she said, and opened up her parasol to twirl it over her head. She cast a sidewise glance at Abra, whose face began to register suspicion.
“You gonna meet somebody at the depot, Miss Genny?”
“Umhum.” She began to hum under her breath, trying not to show her nervous excitement.
The buggy clattered down the street. Pedestrians thronged the sidewalks in front of the stores — stores that she had frequented all her life. Now and then someone she knew looked up and waved. A faint, nebulous feeling of sadness crept over her. It was hard to leave behind an entire phase of one’s life…harder than she’d thought it would be. But she shook off the feeling. She was doing what she had to do.
“Here we are, Miss Genny.” Eli’s voice broke into her thoughts, and Genny became aware that they had stopped outside the train station, and that both the servants were regarding her with curiosity.
Genny took out the note she’d written to her parents, pressing it into Abra’s hands. Her own hands shook.
“Abra, I want you to give this to my mother. It will explain to her where I’ve gone.”
Before Abra could say anything, Genny began to pull the heavy valise from under the seat. Eli alighted from the buggy and helped her down, as he’d been trained to do…but his eyes were as big as Abra’s.
“Miss Genny!” Abra gasped. “What do you think you’re doin’?”
“I’m eloping.”
“Lord have mercy! Who with?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Oh, Miss Genny, your papa gonna throw one more fit when he finds out I let you run off this way!”
“No, he won’t.” Genny nodded at a porter, who stopped to take her valise inside the station. “Tell him that I tricked you. Tell him that I said I was going to meet someone at the depot and then got away from you before you realized what I was doing. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
Genny began to walk away, saying over her shoulder, “Goodbye, Abra — I’ll miss you. Goodbye, Eli.”
“Goodbye, Miss Genny.” It was Abra who spoke. Eli looked scared to death.
The two servants watched Genny as she hurried away, her shoulders straight, her chin high, and her rapid gait very determined.
CHAPTER FOUR
She had already studied the train schedules in the newspaper, and once inside the station she consulted the board to find the line and train number. The clock over the board said three fifty-four; the Nashville train would leave at four o’clock. She had planned it this way, though the time factor had been a little too close for comfort; she’d known she wouldn’t be able to wait once Eli and Abra had gone and were on their way to report her unexpected departure.
She took out on old shawl and covered her hair and most of her face. No one would recognize her; no one would remember seeing her in this busy and crowded place. There had been some sort of convention here in the city and throngs of strangers hurried about. Several trains were leaving at about the same time; she could be going anywhere from Pensacola to New Orleans – even to Cincinnati! And once at one of those places she might have gotten off to go somewhere else. It wouldn’t be easy to find her.
It had been dark for some time when the train rolled into the Nashville station. An old man snored noisily beside her, his head dropping now and again on her shoulder. When she’d pushed him away for the fourth time, she noticed the train had rumbled to a stop, and there was activity around her indicating the end of the journey. Brushing past the slumbering occupant of the aisle seat, Genny grabbed her valise and plunged stiffly down the aisle.
A feeble moon dimly broke the darkness as she stood on the platform and halted for a moment in indecision. She didn’t know if it would be best to hire a driver and go to a hotel, or try to find a boardinghouse right away. Hotels were expensive, but the hour was late…
She went inside the brick building with its vast ceilings, dragging her valise. It seemed to grow heavier by the minute. A sleepy-looking young man sat behind one of the ticket counters, reading a book.
“Excuse me,” Genny said. The hubbub around her was rapidly dwindling as the passengers hired conveyances to take them where they wanted to go, or were met by friends or relatives. She wished with all her heart that she had somewhere to go!
The youth glanced at her and promptly got to his feet and straightened his cap. “Yes, ma’am?”
She made an effort to smile. “I’m new in town, sir, and I’m looking for permanent lodging. A nice, respectable place, of course. Could you recommend one?”
“A hotel?” The boy screwed up his face in concentration.
An elderly woman sitting patiently on top of her trunk leaned toward them and said, “Excuse me, dear — I couldn’t help overhearing. I shall be passing directly by a boarding house on my way home. It’s quite respectable. If you don’t mind waiting, you shall ride with me.”