Dulcie's Gift. Ruth Langan
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“Especially when your mouth is full.”
“Yes’m,” he said, ducking his head.
“Robert,” Aunt Bessie said sharply, “we will take our coffee and dessert in the parlor.”
With that command, she swooped from the room on Cal’s arm, leaving the others to follow in her wake.
When they entered the parlor, Fiona decided to ask about the portrait above the fireplace. “Who are these handsome people?”
“Our parents.” Barc’s tone was warm with affection.
“Cal looks like his father,” Starlight said.
“Indeed he does,” Aunt Bessie agreed. “And he was named for him. My brother, Calhoun, was a well-respected judge here in the Carolinas. Barclay and Darwin more resemble their mother. Catherine was a true lady, educated in the finest schools and a much-loved teacher herself. From the day she married my brother, she became my best friend. I miss her every day.”
“Have they been…gone long?” Starlight asked hesitantly.
“Three years now. Catherine followed Calhoun to the grave by less than a month. I will always believe she died of a broken heart.” Aunt Bessie sighed. “Brought about, not only by the death of her dear husband, but by the fact that all three of her sons were off fighting, and not one of them could be here in her hour of need. That damnable war,” she muttered as she sank into an overstuffed chair and was rewarded by a gasp from little Clara at her profanity. Her voice rose. “I shall never forgive those Yankees for what they did to my beloved South.”
“Not all of the destruction was done by Yankees,” Dulcie said sharply.
“What sort of traitorous talk is that, girl?” Aunt Bessie rounded on her. “Did you see what General Sherman did to our land? He ordered his soldiers to burn our crops, kill our flocks and level our buildings.”
“I am aware of that,” Dulcie said. “But I still say there were many who contributed to our downfall. And not all of them outsiders.”
“You are quite right.” Cal’s words, spoken softly, had everyone turning to him. “There is no one alive in this country, North or South, who was untouched by the war.”
“I suppose so.” Aunt Bessie sighed, her sudden flare of anger deflected by her nephew’s words. “And I have no right to complain, for our little family is intact.”
Robert moved among them, dispensing coffee and milk and small plates on which rested thick slices of cake drizzled with raspberry preserves.
Clara, perched on a chaise between Fiona and Dulcie, stared long and hard at the precious cake on her plate, as if unable to believe her eyes.
“You mean I can eat all of it?” she whispered.
Cal, overhearing, watched as Dulcie assured the little girl that she could. When the child’s cake had been devoured, Dulcie offered hers, as well, but Clara shook her head solemnly.
“It wouldn’t be fair,” she said.
Dulcie dared not argue with Clara’s rigid sense of right and wrong. To appease her, she ate half her cake, then coaxed Clara to eat the other half by insisting that she was too full to eat another crumb. Soon the child’s eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned her head on Dulcie’s shoulder.
“Come, Clara,” Dulcie whispered.
Before she could rouse the child, Cal scooped her into his arms. “If you’ll lead the way, Miss Trenton, I’ll carry her. I think she’s had quite enough on her first day out of bed.”
“Thank you.” She lifted a candle from the table.
As she started toward the door, Fiona said, “There is no need to return for the other children, Dulcie. Starlight and I can see the children to their beds.”
“I bid you all good-night then,” Dulcie called from the doorway.
She led the way up the curving staircase, her heartbeat accelerating with every step. She pushed open the door to Clara’s room, set the candle on the nightstand and drew back the covers, then stepped aside so that Cal could deposit the sleeping child in bed. Bending, she tucked the covers around Clara’s shoulders and brushed a kiss over her forehead.
She straightened and turned. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Cal didn’t say a word. He merely stared at her in that deep, penetrating way that made her scalp prickle with discomfort.
Alarmed, she picked up the candle from the nightstand. “I will say good-night now, Mr. Jermain.”
She was startled when, as she headed toward the door, he stopped her with a hand on her arm and blew out the candle, leaving them in only the faint light from the hallway. The candle slipped from her fingers and would have fallen to the floor had he not caught it and set it on the chest of drawers.
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