They climbed the worn path. The laurel seethed in the wind. "I remember coming up here with Constance the night before I went to Washington at the start of the war. I thought I'd be home in ninety days." He smiled wryly. "God, we were such innocents. I had no idea what we were really embarking upon."
"No one had any idea."
"It was the most monumental experience of our lives."
"Now things seem a little ordinary by comparison, don't they?"
He avoided her eye. "Yes. They seem unfamiliar, too. Because Constance is gone. And Orry."
She nodded. "I do miss him terribly."
They climbed higher. George's face was red as a truant's when he blurted, "I'm really glad we had the reunion in July."
"Indeed. What you said at that marvelous supper was exactly right. Our families should stay close."
After a long pause:
"I would enjoy seeing your new house, Madeline."
"You're welcome at Mont Royal any time."
The wind rushed over the summits of the mountains. Lamps and gaslights shone down in the town, misty yellow, misty blue. On the western horizon, the light was dimming, as if a hidden foundry was banking its fire. Suddenly George stumbled.
"Oh, good heavens," Madeline exclaimed, clutching his shoulder while he righted himself. She was conscious of his size. He was a full head shorter, but a vigorous figure of a man — although now, again, he had the sheepish look of an adolescent.
She felt none too mature herself. Her stomach felt fluttery. She'd known this moment would come ever since she noticed him watching her in Philadelphia.
"Madeline, I'm a plain-spoken man. I have — great personal regard for you — and not merely because you're the widow of my best friend. I do not — I do not want to press you. But I very much want to ask — would you be outraged if I were to suggest that you and I — in due time, perhaps —"
He couldn't finish. She brushed a windblown strand of hair from her temple. "I would welcome what I believe you have in mind, George. So long as there is no confusion about my past. My parentage."
"None," he said, his voice very strong suddenly. "It doesn't matter a damn."
"Good."
He cleared his throat yet again, lifted himself on tiptoe, and leaned forward. He gave her cheek a chaste kiss.
She touched his arm a moment, then let her hand fall. He understood the assent, and broke out in a great smile.
In near-darkness, they climbed higher. He said he wanted to show her the crater left by the meteorite that fell in the spring of '61, like a harbinger of God's wrath. "I haven't seen it in a year or more. Nothing grows there. The earth's poisoned."
They rounded a bend in the path and saw a deep emerald bowl in the mountain. "This isn't it —" she began.
"Yes, it is," he said, his voice hushed.
"How lovely."
In the crater, on the sloping sides, the concave bottom, a carpet of summer grass caught the wind and moved gently, gently, as the night came down.
MADELINE'S JOURNAL
November, 1876. Much confusion as to who has won the election, both in S.C and in the nation. I have little head for it. The bigotry in the state revolts me, and especially when it taints someone named Main. Cooper boasted to Judith that he not only belonged to a Hampton rifle club but was one of those Democrats of extreme view who want all Negroes completely out of the political process. How different he is from the Cooper I first met. ...
Politics not the real reason for my distraction. George is pressing his suit. Another letter today. ...
... Awake most of night. I will marry him. I hope I am right ...
... G. coming south for Christmas. Some discussion in his latest letter of an engagement announcement. I do not love him; I like and admire him. I have told him that exactly. He is not put off. It may be that I can come to love him, though not in the same fierce way I loved you, my dearest. ...
Since I will start a new life with G., and this book is meant for you, I will write only a few more thoughts.
G. and I will divide the year between Mont Royal and Pennsylvania. Inevitably, there will be difficulties. We have both pledged earnestly to work to smooth them out. ...
George stepped away from the house and across the drive to the place where the lawn began to slope toward the Ashley. He let his gaze rise slowly up the clean white vertical of the column nearest the double doors. Two and a half stories the column soared, blending and mingling with the dazzle of the Christmas morning sky.
Inside the house, Madeline's servants laughed and chattered, preparing the midday feast. The servants were black men and women, all on a regular wage. But it was not that, or the inevitable Spanish moss, or the egret lazily ascending above the tree line that reminded George he was in a different country, so to speak. The windows reminded him: shutters back, sashes raised to let in the mild air. Back home, Belvedere would be closed up against the chill.
Madeline watched his pleased reaction, which in turn brought a smile to her face. George sighed and returned to her where she waited by the tall doors. He took her hand.
"It's a magnificent house. Orry would be proud. But it really does belong to him. I can't live in it, even for part of the year. I just wouldn't feel right."
"I'm sorry, George. I can't say I'm surprised. Well, no harm — I built it in his memory, and there's enough money to keep it in the family. Perhaps when Theo's better established, he and Marie-Louise and their children will move down. In any case, because I thought you might feel as you do, last Thursday I inspected a snug town house in Charleston. I put down a deposit to hold it until the first of the year. If it suits you, it will suit me."
"Oh, I'm confident it will suit me." He stretched to kiss her cheek. "Merry Christmas, my dear."
... I feel too guilty to write more; must end. Know that you are not forgotten, my dear one. I will love you always.
Madeline
72
Madeline closed the journal. She found a length of white satin ribbon and tied the book like a package, finishing it with a small bow. She climbed the right side of the great double staircase that reached down from above like welcoming arms, and then climbed a smaller stair to the entrance to one of the vast spaces beneath the roof beams. She lit a lamp taken from a small tripod table and carried it into the attic. Near one of the wide brick chimneys that bracketed the ends of the house was a small red leather trunk with round brass studs and a brass key in the brass lock plate. She opened the lid. There lay eleven more ribbon-bound copybooks like the one she was carrying. She laid the new one in, regarded the books for a thoughtful moment, then closed the lid and turned the key. She left the attic, extinguished the lamp, carried the key down to her writing desk, and prepared a paper tag. She inscribed the tag in ink, to identify the key, and tied it on with good twine. Then she put the key in a small drawer of the desk, for whatever posterity there might be. It was New Year's morning, 1877.
73
"To carry the election peacefully if we can, forcibly if we must." That was the published intent of the Mississippi, or Shotgun, Plan originated in 1874. By forcing all white voters into the Democratic party through social pressure or threats of violence, and by intimidating blacks to keep them from voting at all, Mississippi had been redeemed.