know exactly what happened--' He paused, giving Rex a shrewd assessment. 'Her mother didn't even know, but I'm willing to bet you're in on more than we were. Still, I know Alexi pretty good. She's always been kind of my favorite-- an old man's prerogative. I know he hurt her. I know he scared her, and I was glad in a way that she stood up to him to finish off that campaign. But I never did like Vinto. Smart, handsome, slick--and cruel. There's not a hell of a lot that I would put past the man.'
Rex looked down at his hands. His knuckles were taut and white. He forced himself to loosen his grip on the glass.
He stood and set it down on an elegant little coffee table. 'I'm going to get back to her, Gene.'
'You do that, Rex. I think you should.'
'When are you coming out for a visit?'
'Soon. Real soon. I was trying to give Alexi a chance to finish something she wanted to get done.'
'The window seat in the kitchen,' Rex said. 'The carpenters were there today. It's all finished up.'
'Then I'll be by soon,' Gene promised. He shook Rex's hand. 'Thanks for coming out. And thanks for being there. I love that girl. I'd be the cavalier for her myself, but I'm just a bit old for the job.' He shook his head. 'Strange things, huh? You make sure that you stay right with her.'
Rex nodded. He hesitated at the doorway. 'Gene, you don't think there's any other reason that strange things could be happening out there, do you?'
'What do you mean by that?'
Rex considered, then shrugged. 'I don't know. I've been there years myself--and I've never had anything happen before.'
'Pierre isn't haunting the place, if that's what you mean,' Gene assured him. Rex thought his eyes looked a little rheumy as he reminisced. 'Eugenia always said he was the most gallant gentleman she ever did know. She outlived him for fifty years, and never did look at another man. No, Pierre Brandywine just isn't the type to be haunting his own great-great-great-granddaughter.'
Rex smiled. 'I didn't really think that Pierre could be haunting the house. I was just wondering...'
'There's nothing strange about that house. I lived there for years and years!' Gene insisted.
'I was thinking about Pierre's 'treasure.''
'Confederate bills. Worthless.'
'Yeah, I suppose you're right.' Rex offered Gene his hand. They shook, old friends.
'See you soon.'
'It's a promise,' Gene agreed. Rex stepped out. 'It's a good thing I know you're living with her!' Gene called to Rex. 'This is an old heart, you know! Not real good with surprises.'
Rex paused, then smiled slowly and waved.
Downstairs he picked up his car, thanked the valet, whistled for Samson--and, as he headed back northward, felt ten times lighter in spirit. So Gene had planned it all, that old fox.
Whatever 'it' was. All Rex knew was that he wasn't going to give it all up quite so easily. Not only that, but she needed him, and he sure as hell intended to be there for her.
He drove even faster going back. It should have taken at least two hours, but he made it in less than an hour and a half, whistling as he drove onto the peninsula and approached the house.
His whistle faded on the breeze as he pulled in front of the Brandywine house. Samson panted and whined unhappily. Rex stared, freezing as a whisper of fear snaked its way down his spine.
The house was in total darkness.
Interlude
July 3, 1863 Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
He wasn't even supposed to be there.
As a lieutenant general in the cavalry, Pierre served under Jeb Stuart. But, returning from his leave of absence, he'd been assigned to Longstreet's division, under Lee. They'd been heading up farther north--toward Harris-burg--but one of the bigwigs had seen in the paper that there were shoes to be had in Gettysburg, and before long the Yanks were coming in from one side and the rebs were pouring in from the other. The first day had gone okay-- if one could consider thousands of bodies okay--as a stalemate. Even the second day. But here it was July 3, and the Old Man--Lee--was saying that they were desperate, and desperate times called for some bold and desperate actions.
Pierre, unmounted, was commanding a small force under a temperamental young general called Picket. A. P. Hill was complaining loudly; Longstreet--with more respect for Lee--was taking the situation quietly.
It was suicide. Pierre knew it before they ever started the charge down into the enemy lines. Pure, raw suicide.
But he was an officer and a Southern gentleman. Hell, Jeb had said time and time again that they were the last of the cavaliers.
And so, when the charge was sounded, Pierre raised his sword high. The powder was already thick and black; enemy cannon fire cut them down where they stood, where they moved, and still they pressed onward. He smelled the smoke. He smelled the charred flesh and heard the screams of his fellows, along with the deadly pulse of the drums and the sweet music of the piper.
He could no longer see where he was going. The air was black around him. It burned when he inhaled.
'Onward, boys! Onward! There's been no retreat called!' he ordered.
He led them--to their deaths. His eyes filled with tears that had nothing to do with the black powder. He knew he was going to die.
Fernandina Beach, Florida
Eugenia screamed.
Mary, startled from her task of stirring the boiling lye for soap, dropped her huge wooden spoon and streaked out to the lawn, where Eugenia had been hanging fresh-washed sheets beneath the summer sun. She was doubled over then, hands clasped to her belly, in some ungodly pain.
'Miz Eugenia!' Mary put her arms around her mistress, desperately anxious. Maybe it was the baby, coming long before its time. And here they were, so far from anywhere, when they would need help.
'Miz Eugenia, let me get you to the porch. Water, I'll fetch some water, ma'am, and be right back--'
Eugenia straightened. She stared out toward the ocean seeing nothing. She shook her head. 'I'm all right, Mar
'The baby--'
'The baby is fine.'
'Then--'
'He's dead, Mary.'
'Miz Eugenia--'
Eugenia shook off Mary's touch. 'He's dead, Mary, I tell you.'
'Come to the porch, ma'am. That sun's gettin' to you, girl!'
Eugenia shook her head again. 'Watch Gene for me, please.'
'But where--?'
Eugenia did not look back. She walked to the trail of pines where she had last seen her love when he had come to her. She came to the shore of the beach he had so loved. Where he had first brought her. Where they had first made love upon the sand and he had teased her so fiercely about her Northern inhibitions. She remembered his face when he had laughed, and she remembered the sapphire-blue intensity and beauty of his eyes when he had risen above her in passion.
She sank to the sand and wept.
Grapeshot.
It caught him in the gut, and it was not clean, nor neat, nor merciful.
He opened his eyes, and he could see a Yank surgeon looking down at him, and he knew from the man's eyes and he knew because he'd been living with it night and day for years that death had come for him and there was no denying it.
'Water, General?'
Pierre nodded. It didn't seem necessary to tell the Yank that he was a Lieutenant General. Not much of anything seemed necessary now.
