The Lonely Belle
Lorena Templeton's footsteps echoed through the long, empty halls of River's Bend, a magnificent neoclassical antebellum plantation house built on the southern bank of the James River. Not long after President Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, the Templetons' slaves left River's Bend and headed north to freedom, leaving the mistress to look after the huge plantation by herself. Although the cotton fields had fallen to ruin, the mistress managed to keep the house presentable. Every day she toiled from sunup to sundown scrubbing floors, polishing silver, laundering linens and washing windows. The tedious, often backbreaking chores did not bother her too much, for she considered the upkeep of the house a labor of love.
The land on which River's Bend was built had been in her husband's family since 1620, not long after the first Templeton arrived in Jamestown with Captain John Smith. Since that time, the Templetons were woven into the history of Virginia, from its days as a British colony, through its early statehood, right up to the time it seceded from the Union and joined the Confederacy.
A Templeton had served in the House of Burgesses and voted in favor of independence. Another fought at George Washington's side in the Continental Army and later attended the Constitutional Convention with James Madison. Lorena's father-in-law was at that moment serving in President Jefferson Davis's cabinet, and Shelby, her husband, was a general under Robert E. Lee.
Lorena's own family, the Bouchards of Richmond, although not nearly as deep-rooted as her husband's, was nonetheless as politically influential and as fervently dedicated to the Cause. Shelby, with the full support of the Bouchard and Templeton families, would most likely have gone into politics himself had Confederate batteries not opened fire on Fort Sumter and plunged the North and South into a bloody Civil War. With the outbreak of hostilities, however, Lorena's and Shelby's dreams had to be put on hold, along with their plans to have a family of their own and add more branches to the Templeton and Bouchard family trees.
As Lorena walked down the main hallway toward the elegant foyer, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She had once been the most beautiful, sought-after belle in the county. She had worn the latest fashions from Paris and attended balls in the grandest homes in Virginia, but with the advent of the war, belles and balls became a thing of the past. Lorena looked down at the simple cotton frock she now wore. It was a far cry from the hoop skirts, petticoats and pantalets she had been used to.
The former Southern belle pinched her pale cheeks to add color to them. What would Shelby think of her when he returned to River's Bend at the end of the war? Would he still compare her features favorably to a blossoming magnolia? And what of him? Would he return unscathed, with all his limbs intact? Lorena abruptly pushed that thought from her mind. She did not want to dwell on the image of her husband hobbling on a wooden leg or having his sleeve cut and sewn over an ugly stump where once there had been a strong arm.
"No!" she cried, emphatically denying the possibility of her husband being maimed. "My Shelby will return just as able-bodied and handsome as when he left."
After all, hadn't he survived Manassas, Shiloh, Sharpsburg and Fredericksburg? She was certain he would come home in one piece, and after he restored River's Bend to its former pre-war glory, he would help make Virginia the finest state in the Confederate States of America.
An optimistic smile brightened Lorena's thin, ashen face. She turned away from the mirror, got on her knees and began cleaning the fine Italian marble floor.
Later that evening, the young mistress of River's Bend prepared a hot bath—the only luxury left to her since the war had forced her to live in reduced circumstances. She lowered her tired, aching body into the scented water and closed her eyes. Her sore muscles had just begun to relax when the sound of a horse's hoofs shattered the peace.
Who is that? she wondered, cringing as she stared at the shadows of the candlelit room.
A low neighing came in reply.
What if it was a straggler or a deserter? Maybe even a Yankee! She shuddered at the thought of the enemy being so near. Lorena stood up, wrapped herself in her robe and went to the window to investigate. There was nothing outside, neither man nor beast. Footsteps sounded on the veranda, yet there was no one there!
Lorena's body tensed; her heart pounded with fear. Where could she go? Her nearest neighbor was a good five miles up the road. And what help would a seventy-four-year-old man and his half-blind, arthritic wife be in a potential life-and-death situation? She stood at the window for nearly an hour, alert to every sound, every movement, ready to flee for her life if need be.
* * *
The following morning Lorena woke shortly after dawn. She had slept in a windowless storage room with the door barricaded shut and with Shelby's hunting rifle by her side. She put her ear to the door and listened. There was no sound, so she gingerly turned the knob and stepped out into the hallway. Thankfully, there was no one there.
Keeping the rifle by her side, Lorena made her way to the kitchen. After eating a quick breakfast, she was ready to begin work. Her first chore was to beat the dust out of the carpets, an arduous task for one so small, but she managed to do an adequate job despite her stature. Once that job was completed, she turned her attention to the family portraits that lined the wall of the great staircase.
Of all the duties she had to perform, this was her favorite. Many a time since moving to River's Bend, she had gazed up at the paintings in respect and appreciation of her husband's illustrious family. Although several portraits had been relegated to the attic over the years to make room for latter-day Templetons, there was still a representative sample of generations on display. At the top of the stairs, in a place of honor, was Justice Templeton, the first of the family to settle in the New World, the man whose love of and loyalty to his new home was passed down to his descendants. At the bottom of the stairs was Shelby's striking countenance.
Lorena lovingly traced the handsome face of the portrait of the man who had once held her in his arms, who had made love to her upstairs in the master bedroom.
"Oh, Shelby," she sighed with longing. "I wish this damned war was over and you were back here at River's Bend with me."
After dusting the portrait of her husband and polishing its mahogany frame, she moved up the stairs to the next painting. It was heartrending given the number of Templetons there were through more than two hundred years of Virginia history that only a handful remained. Shelby had had two uncles and three male cousins, but all five lost their lives in battle: two at Leesburg, two at Fair Oaks and the last at Gaines' Mill. The only living members of the proud Templeton clan were Shelby; Phineas, his widowed father; and a maiden aunt living in Williamsburg who was known throughout eastern Virginia for her eccentric behavior.
The dwindling number of heirs to the family legacy made Shelby's safe return of utmost importance. It was up to him and Lorena to have children who would continue the bloodline and keep the Templeton name alive.
"Shelby must return to River's Bend safe and sound. Surely God would not be so cruel as to put an end to the good this family has done through the years."
Lorena firmly believed in the Lord's mercy and his wisdom, notwithstanding the carnage the war had inflicted upon the South. She was confident that even in the unlikely event that the Confederacy fell and the Union was victorious, Shelby would be spared and would return home to Virginia.
Despite her faith in the future, however, thoughts of the war disturbed her. It had been months since she received word from her husband. In his last letter, Shelby told her that Lee's army was heading toward Pennsylvania, hoping to meet the enemy on its own ground. Had Lee succeeded? Was her husband in Philadelphia or even Washington? If so, the war might end soon.
Maybe, she thought with a surge of hope, the fighting is already over and word of the armistice is on its way.
Lorena closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer. She would so love to have her husband home before the long winter months set in.
* * *
That night the mistress of River's Bend returned to the master bedroom, fairly certain that she would be safe, for there had been no sign of an intruder all day, either Rebel or Yankee. Yet for safety's sake, she kept her husband's hunting rifle, loaded, beside the bed. Unable to fall asleep, she lay awake, tossing and turning, for close to an hour despite her physical exhaustion.
Why had she not received a letter from Shelby or word from her father-in-law in Richmond? At River's Bend, she felt cut off from the rest of the world. Normally, the isolation did not bother her, but with the war raging and the future of the Confederacy so uncertain, Lorena wished she had access to a newspaper.
When she finally drifted off to sleep, it was a fitful slumber at best. Nightmares plagued her. Frightening images of battlefields cluttered with dead soldiers, war-weary civilians, shelled buildings and scorched cotton fields haunted her. In one particularly disturbing dream, the world was annihilated, leaving her the only survivor. The thought of being the last person alive, all alone in the world, terrified her and made her whimper in her sleep. Then she woke with a start when she again heard the sound of a horse followed by footsteps on the veranda.
Lorena shivered beneath the heavy quilt, her heart racing and her eyes peering into the darkness of the bedroom. She reached for the gun.
If I can just make it through the night alive, she swore to herself, tomorrow I will go to my neighbor's house.
Even if the husband and wife next door were old, there would be safety in numbers or, if not safety, at least a sense of security.
Several hours later Lorena watched the first rays of sunlight peek above the eastern horizon. Morning had come, and thankfully she was still alive. Clutching the rifle to her breast, she stepped out of her bedroom, crept along the hall and tiptoed down the staircase, alert to any sound or movement. She peeked out the window beside the front door. Again, there was no sign of an intruder.
Her hand trembled as she reached out to turn the knob. The shaking woman looked down the long, tree-lined drive, which led to a country road that connected River's Bend to the neighboring plantations. Lorena had the sudden urge to run down the drive and follow the road to Cedar Grove. Better yet, maybe she could make it all the way to town. From there, she could take a train to Richmond. Not only would she be much safer in the capital, but she would also be able to keep abreast of the news of the war.
How good it would be to live under her father-in-law's roof and to have someone look after her again, to shoulder her problems and responsibilities.
But I'm not a child anymore, she reflected with a heavy sigh. I'm a married woman now and a member of the noble Templeton family. River's Bend, not Richmond, is my home, and while my husband is at war fighting for Virginia, it is my duty to watch over the family estate. Shelby is risking his life; can I do any less?
"No!" she cried out defiantly. "No one is going to frighten me from my home!"
She was about to turn and enter the house when a sound at the end of the drive caught her attention. It was the unmistakable clop...clop...clop of a horse's hooves. The sound grew closer; it came right up to the house. Lorena could not move, for she was paralyzed with fear.
"Go away!" she whimpered tearfully.
Then came the disembodied sound of human footsteps on the veranda. Terrified, Lorena turned, ran into the house and bolted the door behind her.
Throughout the day and into the night, the frightened young woman crouched in the corner of the parlor, clutching the rifle to her breast. Still, she steadfastly refused to give in to her fears. Even a phantom horse and rider would not send her running to Richmond like a coward.
"This is my home, and I'll be damned if I'll leave it for any straggler to loot."
Suddenly there came a loud knocking on the front door.
"Go away!" she screamed at the unseen visitor.
The latch moved. Someone was attempting to get inside. Fortunately, the door was bolted shut. After several minutes the knocking stopped, and Lorena fled to the sanctuary of the locked storage room.
* * *
The mistress of River's Bend did no household chores the following day. Instead, once the daylight chased away the shadows, she went out to the barn and collected all the pieces of wood she could find there. From just before noon until late in the evening, she boarded up every door and window on the ground floor of the house. Only after the job was finished did Lorena feel safe enough to relax.
After a light dinner, she returned to the parlor where she read by candlelight until her head nodded and her eyes closed. Rather than go upstairs to her bedroom, however, she lay down on the sofa to sleep. A persistent knocking on the front door woke her, and she jumped up from the couch, grabbed the hunting rifle and ran out to the foyer.
"Get the hell off my land or I'll shoot!" she screamed.
The knocking temporarily stopped, but after several moments of silence, it returned.
Crying hysterically, Lorena raised the rifle and fired. Even in the dim candlelight, she could see the small, smoking bullet hole in the door. It was the first time she had ever fired a gun, and the experience was devastating. Had she hit anyone on the other side of the door? She prayed she had not. All she wanted to do was scare him away.
The renewed sound of knocking was more than she could bear. She fell to her knees and vomited on the Italian marble floor. After several moments Lorena summoned her courage, wiped her mouth with her sleeve and stood on wobbly legs with her rifle raised and pointed toward the door.
"This is my home!" she shouted hoarsely. "No one is going to scare me away!"
* * *
Dakota Capshaw was bored. Her husband, as usual, was on the West Coast on business, leaving her alone with a housekeeper who spoke only a sprinkling of English. Being a considerable distance from the nearest city, Dakota had little to occupy her idle hours. Not for the first time she considered getting a job, but she did not give the matter serious thought, preferring the role of trophy wife to that of career woman.
Looking for something to do, she walked toward the kitchen where the housekeeper was preparing a snack for herself.
No wonder the woman has a weight problem, she thought when she saw the large dish of refried beans covered with shredded cheese and sour cream.
The thought of all those calories sent the overly weight-conscious woman from the kitchen and outside onto the patio.
Dakota looked out across the back lawn to the acres of woods and fields that now belonged to her husband. She supposed that one day the land would be cleared, and there would be hundreds of cookie-cutter houses or condominiums crammed onto the property.
As she gazed at the unspoiled landscape, a cool breeze caressed her face.
What a perfect day for a walk, she thought.
She went back inside the house, put on an old pair of Reeboks and got a cold bottle of Evian from the refrigerator. After spraying insect repellant on her bare arms, neck and face, Dakota headed out across the lawn to explore the woods. She knew that a hundred and fifty years ago the land had been a cotton plantation and that no one had lived on it since the Civil War—not, that is, until her husband purchased the entire parcel of land.
As Dakota walked deeper into the woods, she found the remains of several small buildings that were once part of the plantation—slave cabins, she assumed. She kept walking and came upon what was once a clearing, now overgrown with weeds and seedlings. She thought she saw a large house across the clearing, but its perimeter was hazy and undefined. In fact, the whole scene resembled a hologram.
What the hell is that? she wondered. Had her imagination conjured up the image of an antebellum home, or was the paranormal at work here?
As she stood breathless in the shadow of the trees, the specter of a Civil War general rode up to the veranda, got down from his horse and climbed the front steps. As the wraithlike horse waited on the drive, the phantom Confederate raised his arm and knocked on the front door. The sound eerily echoed through the woods, causing Dakota to shiver despite the warmth of the summer day.
Several minutes passed, and the ghost raised his arm and knocked again. A loud crack like the sound of a gunshot sounded.
Dakota heard a woman's voice cry out from inside the house, "This is my home! No one is going to scare me away!"
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the ghostly image of River's Bend vanished before the startled woman's eyes.
* * *
Dakota parked her Mercedes in front of the County Historical Society where apparently the Civil War was alive and well, and there was ready access to information about the plantations that once flourished in Old Virginia. With the help of Jewel Waddell, a retired history teacher who volunteered her services as a historian three afternoons a week, Dakota was able to locate several files of information on River's Bend and the family who owned it.
"Ah! The Templetons," Jewel exclaimed, as she handed a stack of manila folders to Dakota. "What a remarkable family they were! What a pity the war claimed the last of them."
"The entire family was destroyed?"
"Except for an old aunt who never married. Of course, by 1860 there were only a handful of Templetons left, anyway. I suppose young Shelby and his wife could have had children and breathed new life into the family, but such was not the case."
"What happened to them?"
"Shelby was killed at Gettysburg."
"And his wife?"
Jewel shrugged.
"No one is sure what happened to her. Not long after the war ended, a returning soldier passed by River's Bend and found the house burned to the ground. It might have been the Yankees, but it could also have been an accident. It had been a hot, dry summer and many wooden buildings went up like kindling that year."
"Did Mrs. Templeton die in the fire?"
"It's possible, but no remains were found in the ruins."
The historian showed Dakota to the society's reading room where the young woman was left alone to browse through the information in the files. She found a drawing of River's Bend in all its glory, before the war years, and recognized it immediately as the ghostly house she had seen on her husband's property.
* * *
The following day Dakota returned to the overgrown clearing in the woods. The crumbling foundation of River's Bend could be seen beneath the thick growth of weeds. If only she could push aside the veil of time and look back to 1863, she would know what had happened to Lorena Templeton and to River's Bend.
"But I can't," she said with a sigh. "So I suppose all this will have to remain a tantalizing mystery."
She turned to leave, but before she took her first step back toward her own home, the unearthly tableau of River's Bend, Shelby Templeton and the horse returned. Once again, as he had done repeatedly for a century and a half, the ghost of the dead Confederate general got down from his horse, climbed the steps and knocked on his own front door, hoping to escort his wife's soul to the hereafter. And once again, a shot rang out, and Lorena Templeton, believing him to be an intruder, steadfastly refused to answer.
And so the spirit of the lonely belle would remain throughout eternity, unaware of her own death, taking care of a house that had long since been destroyed by fire and awaiting the return of a husband who had died in battle. Her fierce dedication to home and family would forever keep her a prisoner of time, a woman terrified by an unknown visitor whom she kept locked outside with bolted doors and boarded-up windows.
Salem's not a belle; he just has bats in his belfry.
