Whippoorwill Read online

  “Oh, look, Hecubah,” Ceci implored happily. “Just look at my beautiful dress.” She twirled, allowing the skirt to flare out. “My daddy sent all the way to Paris, France, for this.”

  “So you bin telling me for the last three hours,” Hecubah remarked tonelessly.

  “D’ you think I’m showing too much bosom?” Ceci fussed, preening herself in the mirror.

  “Depends what kind of an impression you wanna make,” Hecubah advised, adjusting the top of her dress for her. “And who you wanna impress. For tonight, that’s plenty.”

  “Good Lord,” Ceci continued to fuss. “Look at the time. Will I ever be ready?”

  Hecubah rolled her eyes, heaving a long sigh. “Make my daughter a lady,” she muttered to herself. “That’s what the man said, and what did I do? I created a monster of vanity.” She shrugged philosophically. “Ain’t got no one but myself to blame.”

  “What ‘d you say?” Ceci asked, still preoccupied with her appearance.

  “I said,” Hecubah addressed her directly. “Why don’t you let that mirror be, before you wears it out?”

  Ceci turned slowly, smiling sheepishly. “Am I awful?” she asked.

  Hecubah’s face creased in a broad smile.” No, child,” she reassured her with a hug. “You is beautiful. You is the most beautiful girl in the world.”

  “I owe it all to you,” Ceci acknowledged sincerely.

  “Some,” Hecubah agreed. “But you done well, honey. You come very far.”

  All at once, Ceci’s smile faded, her face clouding with doubt. She sat down heavily on the bed.

  “What ails you, child?” Hecubah asked softly, as if she’d already guessed the reason.

  Ceci clasped her hands in her lap, chewing her lip. “I’m scared,” she admitted.

  “Oh, child,” Hecubah sat down beside her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. “You ain’t got nothing to be scared of.”

  “There’s a whole banquet to get through,” Ceci agonised. “And a ball later. How am I going to manage it all?”

  “Just remember your etiquette,” Hecubah advised. “And you dance as well as anyone I know.”

  “I guess,” Ceci didn’t sound so sure.

  “Do you recollect that day we hid in the magnolia bush?” Hecubah reminded her. “And watched your sister Celeste with all them boys?”

  “I remember,” Ceci began to brighten a little. “She let go of her handkerchief and they all went wild.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Hecubah insisted, seizing the initiative. “If she’d bin chewing tobacca and spitting it into her hand, they’d still have found it charming. In their eyes, she couldn’t do no wrong. What you gotta understand,” she urged. “This affair ain’t about eating and dancing. It’s all about you.” She cupped Ceci’s chin in her hand and looked into her eyes. “Presently, I’m gonna take you down that main staircase. Those doors will open and you’re gonna own that room. All you gotta remember is to be yourself and you’ll do just fine.”

  Ceci’s eyes began to shine again, the colour flooding back into her cheeks.

  Hecubah squeezed her hand and winked. “Now it’s your turn to break some hearts.”

  Ceci stood at the head of the great staircase. It swept down before her, the thick pile of the blue wool carpet cascading down it’s steps, like a winter torrent. In the vast empty hall below, the massive oak doors of the ballroom stood shut. Beyond them she could hear the clamour of mingled voices. Two coloured footmen, dressed in full livery, awaited her approach. She tightened her hold on Hecubah’s arm, reaching down with her free hand, grasping the folds of her gown, in preparation for her first step.

  “I feel as if I have a sledge hammer in my chest,” she whispered, “and catfish in my stomach.”

  “You ain’t the only one,” Hecubah confided.

  Ceci took her first step, then hesitated. “What if I trip on my dress and fall head over heels down these stairs?” she remarked anxiously.

  Hecubah raised an eyebrow. “Just remember to stand up smiling.”

  Descending without incident, they stood before the doors of the ballroom, as the footmen reached forward, each grasping an ornate bronze handle in anticipation of her entrance. Hecubah gave her one last hug of encouragement, her eyes conveying emotions that words could not. Then she stepped back, nodding to the footmen.

  The great doors swept back, flooding the hall with the light of a thousand candles. With a final glance towards Hecubah, Ceci drew herself up, took a deep breath, picked up her skirts and stepped forwards.

  Hecubah watched nervously from the shadows as Ceci glided across the room, paused and dipped, bowing her head in a long graceful curtsey and rose again. She listened as Mr Prejean announced, his voice full of admiration. “Ladies and gentlemen, friends. May I present my youngest daughter, Cecile?” She heard a soft ripple of applause spread out across the room, that welcomed Ceci into Louisiana society. Then the doors closed. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the blank wood, before reaching for her handkerchief and pressing it to her eyes.

  “Are you all right Ms Hecubah?” one of the footmen asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” she sniffed, “I believe I have a smut in my eye. I’ll be fine directly.”

  With a final glance at Hecubah, Ceci drew herself up, took a deep breath, lifted her skirts and stepped forwards. Her heart was in her mouth as she moved across the floor. She paused and curtsied. Silently praying. “Please Lord, don’t let me fall on my behind.” As she rose, the first face she saw was her father’s. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then, he smiled, in a way she’d never seen him do before.

  She saw his chest swell with pride as he announced her to the gathering. “May I present my youngest daughter, Cecile.”

  She heard the soft ripple of applause that welcomed her into Louisiana society. Then the doors closed behind her.

  Ceci’s cheeks began to burn under the unrelenting scrutiny of her guests. She opened her fan and began to waft it in front of her face, which helped disguise her trembling hand.

  Celeste was first to greet her, followed closely by her new husband, Clay. “Oh, darling, you look just lovely,” she smiled softly. “I am sure you will become the toast of Louisiana.”

  “I could never hold a candle to you,” Ceci responded truthfully.

  “My flirting days are over,” Celeste placed an affectionate hand on Clay’s arm. “But you be careful now. I can already see the young men prowling around.”

  Celeste passed Ceci on to her waiting father. It was customary to greet the guests before dinner. Accordingly, they had arranged themselves into an irregular column, so that she might have the opportunity to meet them all. They proceeded down the line, her father making the introductions, allowing her a bare minute to respond, before moving on.

  There were congressmen and senators, businessmen and plantation owners, as well as their wives, sons and daughters. They all, very rapidly, became a blur of names and faces, which Ceci forgot almost as soon as she heard them. There were, however, a few exceptions.

  “Senator Jefferson Davis, of Mississippi. Senator Davis is a hero of the Mexican war,” her father saw fit to add.

  “Hardly,” the gaunt, hollow faced man, intervened modestly. His beard, bereft of a moustache, was mostly a tussock of hair beneath his chin. “I merely played my part.”

  “Mr Henry Doucet.”

  Ceci searched the faces of the half dozen men in her eyeline, wondering which one it was her father had indicated. Suddenly, he seemed to materialise, right out of thin air, directly in front of her. Tall and sallow complexioned, she couldn’t help thinking that he was quite the most anonymous creature she’d ever encountered. “Did you fight in the Mexican war?” she enquired feebly. Under the circumstances, it was all she could think of to sa
y.

  Her question appeared to amuse him. “I did,” he replied. “Although my contribution to that campaign was not nearly so grand as my illustrious colleague. I merely gathered intelligence.” Suddenly, he gestured to the man beside him. “May I present my associate, Mr John Wilkes Booth, who, for his sins, is an actor.”

  “Oh, I adore the theatre,” Ceci enthused, glad of the distraction.

  “In that case, Miss Prejean,” he inclined his head courteously, “I sincerely hope that, one day, I may have the privilege of performing for you.”

  Ceci was relieved to see that there was only one more family waiting to meet her.

  “Colonel and Mrs John Sinclaire,” her father informed her. “And their son, Trent. Colonel Sinclaire exports cotton from this and many other plantations, to Britain and Europe. Trent is presently attending West Point military academy.”

  The Colonel was a stout man with a ruddy complexion, greying hair and the biggest moustache she’d ever seen. Mrs Sinclaire cut a similar figure, except for the moustache. As for Trent. He regarded her with such blatant familiarity, it made her spine tingle. The sensation began to infuse her whole body. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. She couldn’t recall the boyish good looks, or the mass of wavy brown hair, but those pale blue eyes seemed vaguely familiar. “Have we met before?” she asked.

  A broad smile lit up his face, making her tingle again. “If we had, I know I’d remember,” he responded enigmatically.

  The sound of the gong and the butler announcing that dinner was served prevented her from pursuing the point. She followed her father into the banquet hall, which was dominated by an immense table that stretched the entire length of the room. It was lavishly decorated with ornate silver candelabra, vast flower arrangements and glittering towers of candid fruit. Once Ceci had been seated, her father went to the head of the table.

  As the first course was served, a low hum of conversation began to pass around the table. Everything from the price of cotton to the abolition of slavery. Ceci picked nervously at her food, as any number of tempting dishes passed before her, the knot in her stomach preventing her from enjoying even a morsel.

  Overwhelmed by the proceedings, she endeavoured to keep up, nodding and smiling in what she hoped were the right pauses, as snippets of conversation drifted, unheeded past her ears.

  “If the price of tobacca drops any lower, it will not be worth the effort of planting a crop.” – “Whilst I am opposed to abolition, I feel that slavery should be confined to those states that already own them and not allowed to continue further.” – “Senator Lincoln, that black republican. His policies will cripple the economy of the South.” – “Miss Prejean—”

  Ceci glanced up with a start, only just realising that someone had spoken to her.

  Colonel Sinclaire was looking in her direction. “Miss Prejean,” he repeated. “What are your views on Mr Lincoln?”

  Ceci felt the ground open up beneath her. “I’m sorry,” she faltered. “I’m not acquainted with the gentleman.” She blushed, as a murmur of amusement crossed the table.

  Noticing her discomfort, Colonel Sinclaire rose. “Miss Prejean, I hope you will accept my sincere apologies,” he offered chivalrously. “It was quite remiss of me to burden an innocent young woman with vulgar politics. In deference to the ladies,” he continued, addressing the entire gathering. “I suggest we choose some lighter topics of conversation.”

  Having survived her first blunder, Ceci was able to relax a little and enjoy the remainder of the occasion, but by the time the dessert dishes were being cleared away, she felt physically drained. When the table was completely clear, her father rose, tapping his glass with a coffee spoon.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, “I give you a toast.” The entire company surged to their feet, glasses upraised. “My daughter Cecile,” he concluded with a flourish. They toasted her loudly and with vigour, as Ceci cringed behind her fan, her heart making her whole body shake.

  Recognising her cue, she cleared her throat and responded. “Ladies and gentlemen. It has been a great privilege to meet you all and I hope to see you all again later this evening, but for now, with your permission, I shall withdraw.”

  “I think all we ladies should withdraw,” Celeste added in support. “And leave the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars.”

  A round of applause adopted the motion and the guests began to disperse.

  Ceci had barely risen from her chair, before she found herself surrounded by a crowd of young men, all anxiously wanting to escort her from the room. She stared in confusion, she’d never experienced so much male attention before.

  “Please, allow me,” Trent Sinclaire stepped in, slipped his hand under her arm, extracting her effortlessly from the midst of the melee.

  For a moment, Ceci was tongue tied, then she remembered something she’d heard Celeste say, years ago, “Why, thank you, sir,” she fluttered her eyelashes over the edge of her fan. “You are so gallant.” She felt she’d acted scandalously, but it worked like a charm, as another broad smile lit up his face.

  “I hope you’re not too fatigued to enjoy the dancing this evening,” he enquired solicitously, his strong northern accent in sharp contrast to her southern drawl.

  “I will recover,” she assured him.

  “Did you enjoy the banquet?” he continued pleasantly.

  Ceci thought about it for a moment. “It was so exciting and,” she paused. “Quite exhausting.”

  “I understand,” he nodded. “The first time is always the hardest.”

  “The first time?” she shot him a quizzical glance.

  “Certainly,” he reaffirmed. “I’m convinced that you will be at the top of everyone’s guest list from now on.”

  “Do you believe I made that much of an impression?” she asked, flattered by his remarks.

  “You have on me,” he informed her unreservedly.

  “You are very bold, sir,” she admonished him, blushing furiously.

  Her criticism only served to encourage him. “In that case,” he replied, unabashed. “May I press you for the first dance this evening?”

  “I’m sorry,” she told him truthfully. “I’ve already promised that to my daddy, but you may have the second.”

  They arrived at the open door, where Hecubah waited to receive her. Trent leaned forward, and taking Ceci’s hand, brushed his lips against it. “I live in anticipation,” he informed her, as they parted.

  Again, she experienced the sensation of having met him before, but the reason for it still eluded her.

  Chapter Four

  “I’m so glad that’s over,” Ceci dashed into her room, leaned against the wall, one hand on her breast, fanning herself wildly. “Good Lord,” she panted, “I’m sure I made a complete fool of myself.”

  “Why? What happened?” Hecubah frowned.

  Ceci folded her fan and stood up. “Well, first I couldn’t eat a bite. I blushed every time someone looked at me and I had no opinion on anything. I spent most of my time hiding behind my fan.”

  “Don’t sound like you done anything wrong to me,” Hecubah shrugged.

  Ceci stared in surprise.

  “In my experience,” Hecubah explained. “Gentlemen don’t much care for a woman who eats like a hog and contradicts them when they’s talking nonsense.”

  “What’s more,” Ceci chattered on. “Every time I looked up, one or other of them boys was staring right at me.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Yes ma’am,” she replied earnestly, missing the sarcasm. “There was this one boy in particular, Trent Sinclaire, he was so sure of himself. Why, he acted just like he knew me.” She paused in recollection. “He has the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen,” she sighed wistfully. “And soft silky brown hair. I swear, his shoulders must be a
s broad as a bench.”

  “Don’t sound like he made much of an impression on you,” Hecubah observed drily. “Was he the boy you came out with?”

  “The very one,” Ceci confirmed.

  “Ah huh,” Hecubah acknowledged. “Trent Sinclaire, sounds like a rascal. I’d better keep an eye on him.”

  Ceci slumped, exhausted, onto the bed. “Why, I’m so nervous and excited. I don’t think I could close my eyes for a minute.”

  “You’ve only got an hour before the ball,” Hecubah reminded her. “Try and get your head down, honey. You’ll need all your strength for this evening.”

  Safe in her Father’s arms, Ceci began to enjoy the ball at once, but no sooner had the music stopped than Trent Sinclaire was standing beside her, waiting to claim the dance she’d promised him.

  Silently, he took her in his arms. She caught her breath, thrilling to his touch, her whole body beginning to tingle again. The music played and they began to turn. She let him lead her on and on, submitting to his every move. He pressed her closer to him. She allowed it. Her head said no, but her heart said yes. She gazed up into his eyes and suddenly she couldn’t see the room or hear the music. There were only his eyes, like two pools of pale blue water. She plunged in sinking deeper and deeper, drowning in the fathomless depths. When the dance ended, she suddenly found herself back on dry land, gasping for breath.

  Instantly they were surrounded by a host of young men, all eagerly awaiting their chance with her. She would have shunned them all, but protocol demanded she oblige them.

  She must have danced with every man in the room, but all she could think of, all she could see was him. He returned often, lesser men yielding their chance to him. He took command, dominating the floor. Casting protocol aside, she found herself living for those moments

  At midnight, an interval was called, as servants began to move amongst the guests, bearing silver trays laden with glasses of champagne and iced lemonade.

  “May I offer you some lemonade?” Trent asked, taking two glasses from the proffered tray.