Hurtling east toward the beach, he remembered how proud he'd been when she left with him. She'd been fascinated by his poise, his obvious breeding (the Quidleys, orginally of Raleigh, on his father's side; the Lees and the Dardens, of Virginia, on his mother's), by the importance of his responsibilities as a security officer.
Fascinated… there were some things about Sharon Sue Hunt he didn't understand, and some that frustrated him… but she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met, and she was in love with him.
At precisely six he pulled the car onto the twisting shell road that led back to her house. Like most of the homes in Lynnhaven — an expensive and, of course, exclusively white area of Virginia Beach — it was isolated, set far back from the approach road in a vast stretch of near-virgin forest. He parked in his usual spot, halfway off the drive, directly in front of the house.
It was a house that he always had to stop for a moment and admire. Tall, brick, two-story in the colonial style, it stood near the banks of a picturesque inlet of Hampton Roads, surrounded by shrubbery and by an immense lawn that demanded two Negroes to keep up. She'd bought it just before they had met. He began to lock the car, then shrugged, picked up the briefcase, and took it with him up the brick walk. The door opened as he lifted his hand to knock and he smiled; but it was only the maid.
"Miss Shar'n be down directly, Mist' Quidley. You please to come in?"
"Yes, thank you, Ella. How are you?" He took great care to be nice to Ella. One never knew when or how the goodwill of a domestic could be useful.
"Take your hat, sir? An' that bag?"
"I'll keep this."
"Jus' put it in the hall closet here, get it out of your way."
"Oh, all right." The briefcase disappeared behind a door. Well, it was locked.
"Get you a drink, Mist' Quidley?"
"Perhaps a small one before dinner. Sherry?"
"Yes, sir. Why don't you sit yourself down in your favorite chair there and just wait for Miss Shar'n to come down."
He sank gratefully into the deep soft leather. It had been a long day. He'd been on the move since the emergency call the night before, investigating the riot, getting patrols out to protect government property, reporting hourly to Norris, who was nervous as a cat in heat. Then having to pick up Sawyer on ten minutes' notice. And then the briefing… Ella came back with sherry in a cut-crystal glass and he thanked her absently, thinking again now about Shiloh.
His first impression of the plan had been that it was incredibly dangerous. Seizing a Union ship was nothing less than an act of war. But that could well be a hidden advantage. Certainly it was risky, but the very Confederacy had been born in risk and incredible danger. What if R. E. Lee had played it safe at Gettysburg? What if Wilson had decided to watch and wait, and stayed out of the war in 1914? It would have dragged on… would have ended years later in some draggled bloodied stalemate, leaving Europe exhausted. And then what might have happened, to Germany, to Russia? And McAdoo, and Dixie socialism in the thirties….
"Daydreaming again, Aubrey?"
He rose. She was poised on the stair, smiling mischievously, in a long dinner dress of dark green satin, subtly interwoven with a pattern of silver.
"You're lovely," he said, and moved across the carpet to catch her in his arms.
"Oh. Careful, my makeup — you're so strong." His chin brushed her cheek as she turned her head from his lips. He'd meant to embrace her but somehow found himself walking toward the dining room instead, holding her hand, and she was calling, "Jesse! Serve, please. The Major's hungry!"
Over a candle flame, over glowing old silver and damask and marinated steak with sautéed mushrooms and wild rice and Hopping John and corn pie and a delicate scuppernong wine, her face floated opposite him. She talked almost without pause, maneuvering her fork rapidly with pale delicate blue veined fingers. Her West Tennessee twang was strange and sexually exciting at the same time. She talked about her work, volunteer duty, useful but respectable, out at the Portsmouth Military Hospital; talked about her "daddy," a lawyer, one of the Brownsville Hunts, a man of bourbon and horses and money; talked about her troubles with Jesse and Ella.
He wasn't really listening. Much of what she said bored him, though he nodded at the right places and made enthusiastic or condemnatory sounds when it seemed to be expected. He felt comfortable, though. He understood her; that was it; she was like him, one of the right sort, and she understood him, too. He finished the last spoonful and patted his lips with the napkin and caught her glance and recalled the tone of her voice on her last word and nodded in agreement.
"It's not as if I asked them to do very much, you know… but it's different, as Daddy says, now they can count on a soft government job and free meals, too. And it's so hard to replace them when they go." She pouted. "Not that I really need them, in this little place, but it's the convenience, when I come home at night after slaving in that awful hospital…."
He nodded again, murmured agreement, it was too terrible. Jesse cleared away. He was happy just watching her thin triangular face, the wide slightly empty blue eyes, the mouth rich and pale and tense. The gown was loose and cut low. He could see blue veins leading from her thin neck to the slight swell of her bosom.
"Aubrey, darlin'! I asked you a question! What are you thinkin' on, anyway?"
"I'm sorry, Sharon Sue. I was really… just thinking on how beautiful you look by candlelight."
"You go on. But I love to hear it." She giggled and then looked toward the kitchen and picked up the little silver bell. "Jess-ee! Are we going to have that dessert any time tonight?"
"Yes, Miss Shar'n."
"Well, hurry up."
"Yes, Miss Shar'n." When it came, he toyed with the strawberry confection. Jesse hovered nearby.
"Say, this is quite tasty."
"Miss Shar'n done made that herself, Mist' Quidley."
"You don't say. Well, it's really good."
"I can cook when I have time. There's more. No, thank you, Jesse, I'm watching my weight this week."
"Mist' Quidley, do you want coffee?"
"Thanks, yes. I've been up since eleven last night."
"Since eleven! No wonder you're so quiet. I bet it was those riots, wasn't it, Aubrey?"
"Partly."
"I knew it. Are the nigras going to come burn me out here at Lynnhaven?" "Not much danger of that."
"Well, then, what is it, Aubrey?" She'd dropped the bantering tone she normally used with him and he looked up, surprised.
"You are looking awfully serious tonight. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing really."
"Something at the fort."
"You might say that." She looked sharply at him and then rang again, and when Jesse came out said, "Jesse, the Major and I will be alone after dinner."
"Yes, Miss Shar'n. Me and Ella got some things to dust upstairs we ain't got to yet." The old man withdrew, bowing.
She turned back to him, suddenly gay. "Will you sit with me, Aubrey? That useless old Jesse has finally fixed the swing, and—"
"I'd love it."
"I'll get us something wet. Some lemonade? I'm having something a bit stronger, I think."
"Include me in that, if it's your father's stock."
"Oh, yes, sir. He sent me up a fresh case. Would you like a bottle or two to take back with you later?"
"Don't want to impose—"
"Oh, bullcrap. There, now I've gone and shocked you. Are you shocked, Aubrey? Properly shocked?" She was up now, laughing, swaying against him as if by accident. "Up west Tennessee we're not so refined as you Virginia families. But we're good folks and loyal Rebels anyway, even if there were bluebellies there through most of the War. Here, now, you go on out back and unbutton that tight collar and I'll get us a little drink."