The Velvet Shadow (7 page)

Flanna paused and tapped her pen against her chin, recalling the scene at the dinner table. Alden Haynes had been seated across from her but next to his mother, and when Mrs. Haynes asked when the army would move south to teach the Rebels a lesson, his eyes momentarily caught Flanna’s. A spark of some indefinable emotion—was it compassion?—filled his gaze, then he smiled and remarked that while there was certain to be a skirmish or two, he hoped matters could be settled without bloodshed. Roger had been quick to add that issues involving government should be settled in the halls of Congress, not on the battlefield. He had been about to launch into his favorite speech on the duty of a politician (a discourse Flanna had heard a dozen times before), but Alden lifted his hand and cut his younger brother off with a single determined gesture.

“I joined the army in order to defend our country against her enemies.” Alden had spoken with quiet emphasis. “But I find it hard to think of men from South Carolina as my foes.” He gave Flanna a wavering smile. “I do hope you won’t fear my sword or my calling, Miss O’Connor. I would not harm you or your statesmen. My soul is wrapped up in my country, and I will do my duty just as my father did his in the Mexican War. But I have no wish to fight my brethren in South Carolina or any of the slaveholding states.”

Mrs. Haynes’s face turned as red as a robin’s breast, and Flanna lowered her gaze to her plate, knowing a stream of accusations and challenges lay dammed behind the lady’s pinched lips. But Alden’s presence seemed to be a restraining influence, and for the first time Flanna had begun to relax within the Haynes house. Mrs. Haynes might wish to curse the secessionists and deport them all to Hades, but she’d hold her tongue as long as her beloved Alden remained in the room.

But Alden Haynes was a soldier, stationed in a distant city. He would not be around to protect Flanna forever.

Flanna sighed and dipped her pen in the inkwell.

Flanna folded the letter, slid it into an envelope, and sealed it. She searched among her papers for a sheaf of stamps, then wondered if
the letter would even reach her father. Now that South Carolina had declared itself independent from the United States, would the postal service deliver mail to Charleston?

“I pray you will find your way home,” she whispered, pressing her lips to the heavy vellum. Then, turning around, she called Charity from her mending and asked her to post the envelope.

Three days later, Flanna stood with Alden, Roger, and Mrs. Haynes outside the majestic brick house. Alden’s four-day pass was about to expire, and Roger had invited Flanna to his brother’s farewell luncheon. Flanna enjoyed the meal very much, for Mrs. Haynes’s attention was focused almost entirely upon her soldier son. She had little time or energy, it seemed, to fret about Flanna.

Now Flanna shivered inside her elegant blue velvet mantle and leaned closer to the curving brick wall at the front of the house. She tapped her toes beneath the hem of her gown, hoping this public good-bye would not take long.

Roger stood next to his mother on the front steps, his arm supporting her while she wept into a lace-trimmed handkerchief. Standing stiffly and rather awkwardly in front of the house, Alden Haynes nodded one final time at his brother.

“Take care of her, Roger.” He turned the catch in his voice into a cough, then lifted his hand. “I may be back soon. Until then, farewell.”

Mrs. Haynes burst into fresh weeping and burrowed her head into Roger’s chest. Patting her shoulder, Roger glanced helplessly at Alden, then mouthed a silent apology to Flanna.

“Miss O’Connor.” Alden turned to her with a snap of his heels. “My brother has asked me to see you home. Since the train station is near your residence…”

“Thank you very much,” Flanna answered, understanding Roger’s reasoning. He was doubtless eager to have Flanna away from his distraught mother, who might say anything once Alden had departed.

Flanna stepped forward and corked her hands firmly into her muff, more than ready to leave the sorrowful scene. Alden saluted
his brother, then picked up his bag, a gesture that evoked even louder weeping from Mrs. Haynes.

“Shall we go?” Alden led Flanna away at a brisk pace, not slowing until they had left Louisburg Square. “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” he said, pausing at a street corner. He waited until a passing carriage had moved through the intersection, then looked down at Flanna. “Mother is not usually this emotional. But with all this talk of war—”

“Major Haynes,” Flanna interrupted, giving him an understanding smile, “you do not need to explain. If our situations were reversed and my brother were going off to a military post, I think it highly unlikely that my father would be able to restrain his feelings.” She softened her tone. “He would not cry, I don’t think…but his heart would break, just the same.”

“Indeed.” Alden’s expressive face became almost somber. “I wish I knew how my father would feel about these present difficulties,” he said, walking again, “but I am certain he would do anything to preserve the unity of these United States.”

“He was a patriot?”

“He was a general in the army.” His voice brimmed with pride. “A fine soldier, and a brilliant strategist. He gave his life in the Mexican War. I was fifteen at the time.”

“I’m very sorry.” They walked in silence for a moment, then Flanna turned her head and looked up at him. “Is that why you chose a military career? Are you following in his footsteps?”

His eyes warmed slightly, and the hint of a smile acknowledged the accuracy of her intuition. “I suppose you’re right, though I have never considered my motivations. When he died, I knew I had to act as the head of the household. And being a soldier—being like him—was all that ever occurred to me.”

He studied her face for a moment, then offered her his arm. “I hope I am not being too forward to proffer you this assistance. In private, Roger told me that you two have come to an understanding. And if you’ll forgive my boldness, Miss O’Connor, I’d like to
say that I am touched by your commitment to your father. You are, I believe, a rare woman.”

“That sort of boldness is easily forgiven.” Flanna laughed softly. Hesitantly, she pulled her hand from her muff and placed it in the crook of his arm, then allowed him to lead her across the street.

“I must say,” he went on, his eyes scanning the cobbled sidewalk as they walked, “that you are not at all what I expected to find when Roger told me he’d been courting a Southern belle. I’d always heard that Southern women were rather vain and insipid creatures. Spoiled, in fact.”

“No doubt some of them are,” Flanna said as she looked up at him, “but the South has no monopoly on vain women or gallant men.”

He smiled, and she thought she detected rising color in his cheeks. “Roger warned me that you were charming.” He looked away toward the street. “I suppose I had better watch my heart lest I lose it to my own brother’s sweetheart.”

“I’m acting under direct orders,” she replied lightly, breathing more quickly to keep up with his brisk pace. “Roger told me to charm you.”

He stopped so abruptly that she feared she had offended him. She searched his face, hoping for some clue regarding his thoughts, but could find nothing but cool detachment behind those ice blue eyes.

“Have I, then?” Her heart fluttered wildly beneath her corset. “Have I fulfilled my orders?”

“Completely.” His expression was serious, but one corner of his mouth curled up in a dry, one-sided smile. “I have the feeling that you, Miss O’Connor, are much like whiskey—pleasing to the eye, warming to the heart, and the source of the world’s worst headaches.”

Flanna blinked. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I salute you, miss.” He released her arm as he backed away. “And I bid you farewell.”

Flanna looked to her right and saw that she stood before her own boardinghouse. She’d been so intent upon their conversation that she hadn’t even realized that he’d walked her home.

“You cannot leave me like this, sir!” she called, her voice suddenly hoarse with frustration. What had he meant by his last-minute insult? Was this his way of teasing her?

Alden Haynes only laughed softly and turned toward an intersecting street, then broke into a slow jog as he hurried to catch his train. He obviously had no intention of coming back to explain himself or beg her forgiveness.

Feeling restless and irritable, Flanna stamped her foot. At least Mrs. Haynes was honest enough to insult her openly. What had Alden Haynes intended, behaving like a sweet gentleman until the last moment, then likening her to a headache and hurrying away?

Flanna shook her head and turned to climb the boardinghouse steps. “Until my dying day, I shall
never
understand Yankees.”