Harry Turtledove: The Guns of the South

But there by Dempsey stood Lucy Eure, blonde and slim and pretty in a birdlike way. She had one hand on the top of their son’s head; a sleeping baby filled her other arm. By the proud way Dempsey smiled at them, he was happy enough right where he was. Caudell decided he worried too much. If he read things into every chance remark, he and Mollie would have trouble.

Raeford Liles said,” All them letters you got from this lady here, Nate, and all them times you told me you weren’t sweethearts, I reckoned the two of you would join up sooner or later.” He cackled.

“You were right, sure enough,” Caudell admitted, determined now not to be teased. He put an arm around Mollie. “I’m glad you were.”

Two big elms shaded the street in front of the church. The guests stood in small groups there. “Don’t anybody leave quite yet,” Henry Pleasants said loudly. “You may just possibly have noticed some trestle tables there. Hattie, who cooks for me and my farmhands, has set up a little spread for you all.”

“You still talk like a Yankee, Henry,” Caudell said. “You’re supposed to say that as one word.”

“They weren’t goin’ away anyhow,” Mollie put in. “Seems more like they was tryin’ to keep from chargin’ them tables.”

“Hattie will hold them at bay, “,Pleasants said. Sure enough, the big black woman lashed out with a serving spoon at a man who got too close to a platter of roasted chicken. He hastily drew back.

Hattie used the spoon to beckon to Caudell and Mollie. “De new husband and wife, dey eats first,” she proclaimed, as if daring someone to argue with her. Nobody did. Caudell hurried over, grabbed a plate and fork, and foraged among chicken and ham and turkey, corn bread and sweet potato biscuits and beans cooked with salt pork. Carolina fruitcake, peanut brittle, ‘and peaches candied in honey also looked tempting, but the plate had only so much room.

Another trip; he told himself, attacking the ham. His ‘eyebrows leaped up as he tried to figure out what all Hattie had done with it. He tasted brown sugar, mustard, and cloves, molasses, honey, and something that had him puzzled until he finally identified it as the liquor from brandied crabapples. He was sure there were more flavors than he was noticing, too. He took another bite, and another. Pretty soon the ham was gone, but some of the mystery remained.

“Here you go.” Henry Pleasants pressed a glass of whiskey into his hand.

“Thank you, Henry.” Caudell paused, then repeated himself in a different tone of voice: “Thank you, Henry—for everything.”

“Me? What’s there to thank me for?” Pleasants waved the idea away. “Hadn’t been for you, I’d’ve just gone back to the life I went into the army to escape. I dreaded having to do that when the war was over, and thanks to you, I had no need.”

He would have said more—he’d had a glass of whiskey or two himself, while Caudell was eating—but Wren Tisdale came over to him and asked, “How much do you want for that nigger wench, Pleasants? I’ll give you top dollar, by God—the business her cooking will bring into the Liberty Bell ought to make her worth my while pretty quick.”

“She’s not for sale, sir,” Pleasants said. “She—”

“Will you hire her out to me, then? How much would you want for two weeks of her time out of the month?”

“If you’d let me finish, I’d have told you she’s not for sale because she’s free,” Pleasants said. “If you want her to cook at the Liberty Bell, you’ll have to worry about making it worth her while.”

The saloonkeeper’s pinched, sallow features darkened with anger. “I ain’t no Yankee—I don’t hold with free niggers.” He stalked off.

“That’s peculiar,” Caudell said, watching him go. “Hattie’s cooking isn’t going to change just because she’s free.”

“True enough, but if he took her on as a free woman, he’d have to treat her that way.” Pleasants lowered his voice. “A lot of you Southerners have trouble with that.”

Caudell pointed to the three stars on the collar of his friend’s gray jacket. “You’re a Southerner yourself now, Henry, like it or not, even if you can’t say ‘y’all,’ and come to that, the blacks in the U.S.A. aren’t having an easy time of it, either, if you can believe the papers.”

“That’s so.” Pleasants sighed. “If Lee’s bill ever gets out of the Senate, it will put this country on the right track, at any rate;”

“I can’t see why they’re taking so long over it,” Caudell answered. “Even Bedford Forrest said he wouldn’t have voted for himself if he’d known the truth about the Rivington men.”

“After politicians listen to their own speeches for a while, they start forgetting what they know, if you ask me.” Pleasants tapped Nate’s glass with a forefinger. “Can I fill you up again?”

Caudell pointed to a punch bowl. “Why don’t you get me some syllabub instead? It should go nicely with the fruitcake.” And sure enough, the sweetened mixture of Madeira, sherry, lemon juice, and cream, all spicy with mace and cinnamon, perfectly complemented the candied orange peel, cherries, raisins, figs, and pecans in the cake. When he was through at last, Caudell said, “You can just roll me back home, Henry. I’m too full to walk.”

“Or for anything else?” Pleasants asked with a proper best man’s leer.

Caudell glanced over at Mollie. Her smile brought one to his own lips. “You needn’t worry about that,” he said firmly.

When the trestle tables were as bare of food as if an invading army had swept over them, and shadows lengthened toward evening, Raeford Liles drove the newlyweds to the widow Bissett’s in his buggy. Everyone pelted them with rice as they climbed up onto the seat. “You have some in your beard,” Mollie said.

“I don’t care,” Caudell answered, but he brushed at himself anyhow. Half a dozen grains cascaded down onto the front of his jacket. The buggy started to roll. More rice flew.

The house was quiet and empty when Liles pulled up in front of it; all the Bissetts were going out to sleep at Payton Bissett’s farm, to give Caudell and Mollie one private night. Reining in, the storekeeper said, “You got to pay me my fare now.” Before Caudell had a chance to get angry, he explained, “I’m going to kiss the bride.” He leaned over and pecked Mollie’s cheek.

Caudell slid down from the buggy, held out his arms to help Mollie. “Like I told you back at the church, Mr. Liles, I’m glad you were right and I was wrong.”

“Heh, heh.” The storekeeper’s grin showed his few remaining teeth. “Reckon I don’t need to wish you a good evenin’, now do I?” He flicked the reins, clucked to his horse. The buggy turned in the middle of the street, headed back toward Liles’s rooms over the general store.

“Why don’t you come with me, Mrs. Caudell?” Nate said.

He hadn’t called her that before. Her eyes slowly widened.

“That’s sure enough who I am now, ain’t it?” she said, perhaps half to herself. “Mr. Caudell, it’d be purely a pleasure.” They walked to the doorway arm in arm.

He carried her over the threshold twice, at the front door and again at the doorway to his upstairs room. The second time, he didn’t put her down right away, but walked over to the bed and gently laid her upon it. Then he went back and closed the door behind them. As he began to untie his cravat, he said, “One day before long, we’ll have to find another place to live. This room isn’t going to be big enough for the both of us.”

She was sitting up, reaching around to the back of her neck to undo the fastenings of her wedding gown. She interrupted herself to nod. Then she smiled that glowing smile of hers. “Reckon you’re right, Nate. But it’s big enough for tonight, don’t you think?”