lost the war, honey! How come you can’t understand what I tell you over and over? Our money is worthless. But we’re lucky we have the house and the land and a fair number of slaves ready to work for wages. And thank God, we’re not in a Southern state. We can begin to build new railroads and factories and open up the mines;”
“And I hate it that we’re not in Virginia any more,” she cried.
“It’s the saving of us that we’re not,” he said gravely. “We’ll escape a lot of woes.”
It occurred to him that he had not seen Tom since he came home to tell him that he had bought a horse, and in his impetuous fashion he forgot his wife and turned and strode upstairs.
Lucinda watched him, her hands folded one over the other as years ago her English governess had taught her to hold them.
“Put the hands into graceful rest when not in use,” she had proclaimed. She had taken the small Lucinda’s hands and laid them one upon the other just beneath the place where later her breasts would bud. There Lucinda now held them unconsciously when she did not embroider or pour tea. Their quiet was deceiving. Both her sons knew that those slender white hands, lying as quiet as the two wings of a resting bird, could fly out and leave a smart upon a small boy’s cheek, and then in the next second lie at rest again. When she spoke, they watched not her face but her hands.
She listened and heard Pierce’s step enter the bedroom above the drawing room. Then she went and stood in the tall French window that opened upon the terrace. Malvern lands were spread before her eyes. Sheep! Yankees raised sheep. She stood, seeing nothing while within her something grew hard and firm. She would not allow Pierce to change her life. She belonged to the South and in her the South would live forever. She would keep it alive.
“I had nothing to do with the war,” she told herself. “It’s just the same as if it had never been—for me, anyway.” She sat down again and began to plan the colors of her satin.
Chapter Two
“T OM!” PIERCE’S VOICE WAS softened to suit the pale face on the pillow. It was morning, a summer morning, and he was on his way to the farms.
Tom opened his eyes.
Pierce tiptoed in, and the boards creaked.
“You don’t need to do that,” Tom said. “I’m better.”
“You ought to be,” Pierce said, “after all these weeks.”
Bettina was sitting by a window darning a nightshirt. Now she rose and stood waiting.
“I’ll look after him awhile, Bettina,” Pierce said. “You can go and get some fresh air.” He sat down in the armchair near the bed.
“Yes, Master Pierce,” Bettina replied. She picked up a few threads, straightened the bed covers, and went out. Pierce, watching Tom’s face, saw his eyes follow the girl’s figure until the door closed. He coughed.
“Does she take good care of you?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tom said.
“Lucinda says both those sisters are good at nursing,” Pierce went on.
“Bettina says she took care of their father for a long time,” Tom said.
Now that he was alone with Pierce, Tom did not know what to say.
“Their father was old Colonel Halford, who used to live down in Mississippi,” Pierce said. “Luce doesn’t know much about him, though.” He sighed. “It’s queer even for me to remember we don’t live in Virginia any more. Luce is taking it hard. But I can’t move Malvern.”
“When I look at Bettina,” Tom said strangely, “I know what the war was for. To think she could be bought and sold!”
Pierce said, “Now look here, Tom, you’re mighty weak. It’ll likely be months before you feel just right.”
“I’m weak,” Tom agreed. He lay listless for a moment. He felt now that he could not begin talking to Pierce. He felt crushed under his brother’s health and strength. The war had made Pierce coarse and tough. While he had been shut up in a Confederate prison, Pierce had commanded a regiment of men. Authority had hardened
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