Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (21 page)

Patrick hardly glanced my way when he took a
piece of corn pone and then headed into the dining room and opened
yesterday’s newspaper. He did not seem to expect any acknowledgment
of his letter to me. He didn’t even lift his eyes toward me when I
stood in the doorway, hoping he might want to be close to me
again.

I became frustrated and left, and I hurried
out to visit Hattie. In all those years, no matter how many doctors
examined Hattie, no one could ever diagnose what made her ill so
much of the time.

With my gift in hand, I quietly crept into
the cabin and sat beside on the bed. She was resting with a cool
cloth on her brow, her lids closed as her thin chest heaved up and
down with great distress.

“Merry Christmas, Hattie.” I put the gift
down and took hold of her limp hand.

She opened her eyes and smiled. I had seen
her like this many times before, and it was always difficult to
watch her lie there in misery.

“I brought you the gift Santa left for you,”
I said. “I hope it cheers you up.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She struggled to stay awake as I opened the
wrapping for her. She was too weak to do it on her own.

“I was surprised when I saw the gifts left in
the parlor,” I began, while untying the strings around the paper.
“I thought for certain since we had no tree, Santa wouldn’t come.
But when I woke this morning, there they all were, gifts for
everyone. This one had your name on it.”

Hattie tried to smile, but she fell asleep
again, just before I placed the pennywhistle in her hand.

I leaned in and hugged her, wiped away a
small tear, and said, “Mammy will come and check on you soon. I
wish you felt better, Hattie.”

Mammy had me help serve breakfast. When I
came back, everyone was seated, waiting for me.

“Merry Christmas,” I sang to everyone as I
took the serving tray from Mammy.

“Where have you been? The food is getting
cold,” Eugenia snapped. “We need to eat and get to church.”

“Sorry, Eugenia. I went to give Hattie her
gift.” I served her eggs and hurried to sit down.

“What have I told you about bringing her
germs in here!” she barked, shoving her plate back.

It was Eugenia’s first outburst in some time,
and it took Patrick aback. Warren continued to eat.

“I think it was kind of Amelia to see to
Hattie, since the girl is too sick to enjoy the holiday,” he said
calmly.

“Yes, indeed, but…”

“Well, isn’t that what Christmas is all
about?” he said, boldly interrupting her.

“Certainly, Patrick, you are right,” she
agreed awkwardly, only to appease him. She shot me a look of
disgust as Patrick went back to eating.

Patrick had come to my defense and put
Eugenia in her place. That was no easy task. Not even Daddy knew
how to put Eugenia in her place.

Warren, who was most often a quiet,
unobtrusive guest, sensed what an accomplishment that was, and
raised his brows with amazement, all while still eating. I tried to
hide my beaming smile, not to let Patrick see how my heart raced
hearing my name on his lips.

After we finished, I instructed everyone to
gather in the parlor to open gifts before leaving for church.
Eugenia was losing patience with me, but she held her tongue to
indulge me.

I handed the gifts out one by one and sat
back on my heels, watching each person and studying their
expressions.

Mammy and Hamilton were easy to please, Jacob
was amused, and Warren was thankful. Eugenia gave me a genuine
thank you and carefully folded the paper back around the hair
pin.

Then I looked toward Patrick. I was excited
when he finally turned my way and gave me one of his handsome
smiles. “Thank you, Amelia.”

I knew there wasn’t a gift for me, and I
didn’t mind. I’d received my gift the night before. Not only the
brooch with my own mother’s image painted on it, but the kiss
Patrick and I shared, even though in his letter of apology he
dismissed our kiss as nothing more than a drunken man’s
mistake.

“
I ask for you to please forget it ever
happened, Amelia. I became confused in my mind from the alcohol.
For a moment I forgot who you were to me. It shall never happen
again,”
the letter read.

On our way to church, I sat beside Patrick in
the buggy and across from Eugenia and Warren. I gazed out onto the
day. It was hard to believe we were at war. Though there were
reminders every day of the war, some days, in a sunny late morning
when the birds were chirping and the subtle winds were blowing
through the dewy air, it was easy to forget about the war.

We gathered in our familiar pew, and Patrick
stood between Eugenia and me, with Warren to my left. I shared my
hymn book with Patrick, and as the procession began, I sang out
loud and proud, the way I had when I was a little girl.

Patrick glanced toward me, singing along, and
then looked back at the book. When he was beside me, standing tall,
it was like having Daddy with us again. And from the contented
curved smile on his lips, I could see that he enjoyed my singing as
much as Daddy once had.

When we knelt down to pray, I inched closer
to Patrick, almost snuggling up to him. I felt him tense up. I
discreetly peeked out of the corner of my eye to see his jaw twitch
a little; his lids were shut tight and he kept his hands clasped
together in prayer. I smiled to myself and concentrated on my
prayers. When we were instructed to rise, I turned my attention to
the reverend.

Once again, he gave an amazing, inspirational
Christmas sermon, leaving our spirits lifted through difficult and
troubling times.

“Jesus will see us through our affliction,
and we pray that your husbands, fathers, and sons will soon come
safely home. Lord, hear our prayer.”

As if Jesus had come here to Savannah after
services on that very Christmas to answer our prayers in person,
when our buggy stopped before the mansion, there on the gallery
stood Daddy.

~ ~ ~

“I don’t believe it!” Eugenia cried. “Thomas,
you’re home!”

She fell into his arms, unaware that he could
barely hold himself up, made apparent to me by the way he held onto
the side rail of the gallery. A cane fell beside him. Daddy held
her for a moment; kissed and then parted. Warren assisted me out of
the buggy, while Patrick hurried to greet his father for the first
time in many years.

“Patrick, son, how have you been?” Daddy
greeted him with a stiff handshake.

“I’ve been well. How have you fared, Father?”
Patrick asked, with obvious concern. It was then that Eugenia
noticed the cane and Daddy’s pained expression.

“Thomas, what happened? You’ve been
wounded!”

I strode up the steps with Warren trailing
behind.

“I was wounded in the leg. Luckily, they
didn’t have to amputate.” His face was grave from the recent
ordeal.

I approached him cautiously, recalling how
our last few times together had been unpleasant and uncomfortable;
Daddy eased my fears by calling to me. “My Amelia, how are
you?”

I threw my arms around him. I had missed him
more than I realized and was so grateful he was home.

“I am well, Daddy,” I sniveled.

I noticed then that Mammy was waiting in the
wings, watching and listening. I was certain that she wanted to run
to Daddy, just as we had. But she was left to stand with Hamilton
in the shadows, prepared to wait on her master as the slave he had
purchased her to be. He didn’t even look her way.

Eugenia and Patrick guided Daddy into the
parlor. Once he was seated, he looked curiously over at Warren for
the first time.

Warren extended his hand and greeted Daddy.
“Hello, sir. My name is Warren Stone.”

Daddy started to rise, but Warren insisted
that he stay seated.

Daddy listened as Warren told the story of
how I’d found him lying in the woods.

“Your daughter saved me from certain death. I
am grateful to her and your kind family for allowing me to stay
on.”

Daddy appeared somewhat confused. “Why
haven’t you returned to your regiment?”

“He doesn’t remember anything prior to me
finding him,” I chimed in. “It’s called amnesia, right?” I looked
to Warren for confirmation.

Warren seemed unusually nervous in Daddy’s
company. “Yes, that’s what the doctor called it.”

“Warren has been helping us rebuild after the
tornado,” Eugenia told Daddy. “We lost just about all the
slaves.”

“And Mr. Boyd, where is he?”

“He’s dead,” Patrick said. “Days after the
storm.”

“Thank heaven Patrick arrived when he did. We
have been fortunate to have him in your absence,” Eugenia said as
she took hold of Daddy’s hand. “It was the next best thing to
having you here.”

Daddy looked over at Patrick. I could see
that Patrick was waiting for a sign of gratitude, a gesture of
appreciation.

“Tell us, Father, what has the war been like?
Do we stand a chance?” Patrick asked. We were anxious to hear his
prediction of what the future had in store for the South.

“It has been a grueling ride back. Come,
Eugenia,” he said abruptly. “We’ll talk more this evening.”

They left together, passing Mammy along the
way without give her a glimmer of acknowledgment.

It was a less-than-perfect reunion. I could
see that Patrick was disappointed. Warren was uncomfortable, and I
perplexed. Patrick hurried off before I could have a chance to talk
with him, and Warren waited in the wings for me.

“Will you come walk with me?”

“I have chores to attend to, Warren,” I said
sharply.

“Please do me this honor. We will take a
short walk; I promise not to take too much of your time.”

I could see the desperation in his eyes and
reluctantly agreed. I wanted to chase after Patrick and console
him. He was obviously hurt that Daddy wasn’t exceptionally pleased
to see him, the way he should have been after so many years.

Warren and I strolled down to the river. All
the while, my mind was elsewhere.

I followed Warren’s lead and sat beside him
under the willow tree. Tall herons walked along the shallow marsh,
and frogs jumped merrily along from lily pad to lily pad.

I wasn’t certain how long we sat before
Warren spoke. All I could think about was Patrick’s sullen face,
and I hadn’t heard a word Warren said until he snapped me out of my
thoughts. “Amelia, aren’t you listening to me?”

“What? Yes, why of course,” I stammered,
turning my attention to him.

“What is on your mind? Are you thinking the
same things as I am?” he asked in a soft voice.

I couldn’t reveal how I was longing to be
with Patrick, how I thought about him day and night. To no one, not
even Hattie, could I disclose such a secret.

Warren waited patiently for me to answer
while I turned my gaze onto the river; watching one particular frog
whose eyes were fixed on a fly hovering around the edge of the lily
pad.

Warren cleared his throat and shifted,
inching closer to me. The frog was intent on eating the fly, its
stare unwavering.

“I plan to leave Sutton Hall tomorrow.”

“What?” I couldn’t keep from watching that
frog.

“Amelia, look at me,” Warren insisted.

I pried my eyes from the frog, which
fascinated me, and with mild annoyance looked to Warren.

“My memories have begun to come back.”

That got my attention.

“Your memories? You can remember all the
events before I found you lying in the woods?”

Warren gave solemn nod. “Well, not all of
them. Only certain memories.”

I turned and faced him, eager to learn where
he’d come from and what had led up to the day he fell wounded in
the woods.

Warren picked up a broken twig from the
ground with his hand and began to scrape the sharp end in the hard,
dry dirt. He lowered the brim of his hat to hide his eyes from me
and began to divulge the details of his previous life.

“The first memories to come back are somewhat
foggy, I must admit. They are of my home town. I am from North
Carolina. I have a much older sister, Molly. I was staying with her
and her family before I joined the Confederate Army. Her husband,
Paul, and I left on the same day in late spring. He and I were
assigned to the same battalion.”

“How wonderful you can remember your family,”
I said and continued to sit patiently as he spoke. He spoke as if
he was still trying to put all of the pieces of the past together
and in order.

“I don’t recall anything prior to living with
Molly, though.”

“That’s all right, Warren. You will in time.
Now think back; think hard about the day you came to Savannah,” I
placed my hand on his. He let go of the stick and allowed my hand
to fall into his. I could feel him trembling, obviously struggling
to recall the events in great detail.

“I can remember walking and walking all the
way from North Carolina. We marched for days on end, with only
meager amounts of water and barely any food. It was only every
third day we finally set up camp. Conditions were crowded and foul.
And as the temperature rose, some of the soldiers became ill. But
that wasn’t the worst of it,” he continued. “There were snipers
along the way and frequent small skirmishes with the North. Paul
was killed by one of the snipers. We were crossing a small bridge
and were almost at the other side when Paul fell to the ground. The
bullet hit him straight in the heart. I was enraged. He was my
sister’s husband and the father of five little girls. Now she was a
widow and the children fatherless.”

“Oh, that’s just terrible!” I gasped. Warren
was forlorn; I could see how much he cared for his sister.