Chapter Nine

Ella wondered why Beatrice suddenly went into Savannah "on business." What business could she possibly have in town? None of her old friends had recently died. Like most southerners who refused to sign the oath of allegiance to the Union, the Yankees had padlocked her office on Factor's Row, taking possession of the Corrigan warehouses and shipping business. All she owned was her home across from Monterey Square. She had been enraged to find her old pew at Christ Episcopal Church occupied by two Yankee ladies and, rather than slide in beside them, she and Tessie tromped home, and immediately accompanied old Bootsie to the colored Baptist Church on Franklin Square. Upon coming home to Greenpoole the next day, she railed that the sights in Savannah had so eroded with Yankees that she would not go again ... unless obligated to do so by the death of a respectable citizen of long standing!

Nevertheless, she had gone; closed-mouth, and in no mood for questions. Even more surprising, she enlisted Cricket to drive her—she who, for all her years, handed the reins to no one. And she handed them over in complete silence, even when the restless boy hopped up along side her jabbering incessantly about "That wuz mighty nice of Mista Gen'te to take that preacher's old black hoss with him to Texas and leave behind this here fine-steppin' animal. We's drivin' you to town in style, Miz Bea!"

Ella did not care that Beatrice had not invited her on the trip. A prisoner behind Judith's awful blue shawl, she wouldn't' have gone, anyway. This baby was two month from birth, and she was embarrassed that she could no longer sit properly but rather leaned into a chair, her legs stretched out in front of her, her back arched slightly upward. Thinking of her friend, Judith, she recalled the remarks of Savannah's elite tea and cakes brigade each time they discovered their youngest member was about to bring another little Ashville into the world, "Good Lord! I just saw Judith, and she is once again prisoner of that awful blue shawl!"

Ella decided weeks ago she'd stay hidden in the country and stay out of town. Everyone is Savannah must know by now that Gentry had abandoned her, abducting his son in the process. She could just hear the gossip about his farewell gift to her, which no shawl could reveal at this late date. No telling what they were saying, since Savannah's palavering old biddies forever muddied the waters of truth. She wouldn't put it past them to decide someone other than her husband had gotten her into this fix—especially since her dear friend, Jack Kearney, was back and regularly visited Greenpoole.

She was sitting in her awkward position on the veranda the day he rode up astride a mangy-looking mule, his one leg dangling almost to the ground. She did not recognize him at first, and so would wait until the last minute before expending the energy needed to rising from the comfort of her chair. If he was someone looking for work, she would call out that there was none. Even if this decrepit looking one-legged man was starving, she wouldn't pay a stranger for work she expected her sharecroppers to do. She was saving every cent of her share to pay taxes and the Pinkerton she planned to hire.

She eyed the approaching stranger moodily. Perhaps she'd spare a couple of biscuits and a saucer of molasses, and that was all ... maybe a bowl of Meshach's cat fish stew, if there was any left.

But, as he jerked the mule up at Greenpoole's bottom step, she saw a familiar glint of green eyes beneath the circle of a once grand brown beret. Her hand went to her throat as she tried to gaze beyond the tangle of beard hiding his face. He slid from the mule, slapped a crude wooden crutch beneath his armpit, and hopped, painstakingly, up Greenpoole's many steps.

Ella came to her feet, images racing across her mind like pictures in an old kaleidoscope she had lost long ago and now suddenly recovered—the brightly colored elegance of the Kearney brothers, ever cocky and primed for fun—especially this one, as he waltzed Savannah's belles around every ballroom floor in three counties! "The best dancer in all of Georgia" the girls claimed; her among them. How poised and elegant and carefree she and her dear childhood friend, Jack, had been as they whirled!

Before she could regain her speech, he was before her, leaning on his crutch and eyeing her up and down, the same as she was doing him.

"Oh, Jack..." was all she could manage to whisper, suddenly heartbroken for them both. He had been her dearest comrade, her confidant, and, as he often teased without meaning it, a beau after her own heart, and now they stood facing each other at the worst possible times in their lives—he, without one of his legs, and she, in rags, and without her old charm and beauty to bolster her. She released her shawl, and, with a cry, all but threw herself into Jack Kearney's arms.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" he yelled, struggling to stay afoot, "Have a little mercy on a one-legged son-of-the Confederacy," he said, grinning.

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry about your leg!"

He pressed her at arms length, looking directly at the obvious hump beneath her skirt. "Now I'm thinking, would it be proper for me to extend my apologies for your condition?"

She blushed, suddenly reminded that she wasn't as pretty as she use to be ... being so disgustingly with child. She gathered the shawl tighter around her, and then tried to poke a long wisp of hair back into the careless bun on the back of her neck. "I ... I am a mess, aren't I?

"Yes, but the prettiest mess I've seen since the last time I treated myself self to your company." He bowed, extending the crutch and balancing briefly on his single leg. "I stand"—he wobbled—"if ever so unsteadily, in awe of your messy loveliness."

She laughed, the first genuine laugh in a long time, and caught him to her, again taken aback by the feel of him, how thin he was, how easy it was to support him. He grasped her shoulders, and now they both swayed, laughing at their clumsy efforts to buoy each other. He rounded his eyes and made a game of nearly falling, gasping in exaggeration each time she gasped and clutched him harder.

Suddenly they could not stop laughing, swaying in mock peril, each pretending to keep the other from crashing to the floor. Her mouth ached from doing things it had not done in ages; merriment, pure and unrestrained, had complete control of her. How good it felt!

Jack's face, lined now where there had been no lines before, was still the most beautiful sight she's seen in ages. She stepped back to feast her eyes on him, her heart quickening with adulation; how priceless their friendship ... how precious the memories they shared.

Finally, they gazed silently at each other.

"I wish we could climb that tree out there, Jack, like we used to when we were kids."

"...so you could shove me out on my head again? No thanks."

"That happened just once, and only because you were throwing ants on me."

He chuckled, then sobered. "If I had two good legs, Ella, I'd be after you again. I'd marry you and I'd take care of you and the baby." He quieted, in frustration it seemed, before continuing. "Damn it, Ella, when I got to town this morning and heard Garland took off and left you, I got so mad I started to get drunk!"

"She smiled. "I'm glad you didn't.

"Only because I don't do that sort of thing anymore," he replied. "A man in my condition has to stay sober on his feet ... foot," he corrected, as if trying to elicit another smile from her.

She smiled again, but not at his remark. I'm not looking to marry, Jack, and I won't, ever again, after I've divorce Gentry Garland. And, Jack, for the sake of honesty, you were never after me or anyone else." Her smile widened. "You made it quite clear to every belle in Georgia that you did not intend to 'waltz any of them into matrimony, ever."

"...and now it's too late, isn't it?" he said softly. "The dyes been cast, and I sure enough can't waltz anymore. But I'll do anything for you that's within my power, Ella." He looked around. "Jesus, this place needs some work. Just tell me what to do. I still have two good hands; I can chop your wood and clean your stable. I'm busted ... couldn't buy a pair of bloomers for a knat, but I'll bow up against anybody who gives you trouble." He gazed fiercely at her, and then away. "I do love you, you know ... always have."

Ella laid her head on his shoulder, tears filling her eyes. "You are my dearest friend, Jack ... have always been my dearest friend. The one thing that has not changed in our lives is our love for each other, and it will never change."

Later, as they stood beside Andy's grave, he draped his arm around her shoulders. "I'll never forget the day that brother of mine came tearing into the house to tell Mamma and Poppa that Mister Corrigan said he and Honor could get married—he was one happy runt. But..." his voice broke, "damn that crazy temper of his! I never could beat it out of him, nor could any of our brothers. No one could." He dropped his head.

Ella put her arms around him and clung tightly to him, just as she clung to all pure, sweet, memories of her past: That this memory, though not like he once was, had survived, and returned to her, filled her with hope. Jack was loyal and, just as he said; he would do anything for her. His lost limb would not stop him from helping her get her son back, if that's what she asked him to do.

* * *

But in the following weeks, Ella came to realize that Jack's cheer was only a well-practiced performance. Aching inside, she mourned yet another loss, while tenderly conscious that her dear Jack's old exuberance, his shining spirit, had been blown away with his left leg, and it was not to be restored—even as now it, when they has switched rolls and it was she who tried to cheer him.

She suspected her grandmother's heart was softened by Jack's frailty, for Beatrice now showed him a regard that she had never extended to him nor any of his relatives—except Andy, and only grudgingly, because he was Honor's husband. And when she discovered he lived in the old slave quarters on his family's destroyed plantation, she demanded he stay at Greenpoole. Ella marveled again each time she saw the odd pair—her grandmother and Jack—share a pot of tea, their heads together, chatting privately, it seemed, since they always hushed immediately upon her approach. She was soon to discover why....