Bay City Belle. Shirley Kennedy

sitting position, his face twisting with pain.

      “Is it worse today?’ She wasn’t asking about the arm. He could have easily survived that and gone on with his life, but at Bentonville, during the last days of the war, he’d been wounded in the stomach. Miraculously he’d survived, but at what cost? The mini-ball that tore through his intestines had caused irreparable damage. Her heart wrenched whenever she remembered Bridger before the war: handsome, strong, confident with a touch of arrogance, a devilish gleam in his eye as he flirted with the young belles who adored him. But now? Everyone knew, Bridger most of all, he wouldn’t be around much longer.

      “The pain’s the same. Let’s not talk about it. Tell me about the latest meeting of your Georgia Ladies of the Confederacy.” A shadow of the old Bridger appeared in the playful grin he gave her. “I can hardly wait to hear.”

      She welcomed the opportunity to make him laugh. “Well! You would never in a million years guess what that awful Allegra Barnes is up to now....”

      She related the events of the afternoon, including, with a trace of laughter in her voice, Allegra Barnes’s shocking announcement that she was going to get married, and her hilarious reading of the ad from the Matrimonial News. When she finished, she sat back and grinned. “Did you ever hear of anything so ridiculous? And what’s funniest of all, she read another ad aimed at me. She thinks I should be a mail-order bride same as she.”

      Bridger didn’t laugh as she expected. For a time, he remained silent, as if mulling over what to say. “I think you should answer that ad.”

      “What! You can’t be serious.”

      “I am serious.” He paused as if mulling some more. “You’ve got so many days on this earth. No one’s more aware of that than I, especially now when I don’t have much time left.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he raised his hand. “Don’t bother. I face the facts and I’m fine with it. I worry about you, though.”

      “But why? I’m doing fine. I lead a full life and am perfectly happy.”

      “Are you?” A corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. “All during the war, when I was slogging through the mud in Tennessee, and God knows where else, thoughts of home were all that kept me going. In my head I carried a special memory of you. We were at a ball, the last one I ever attended if I remember right. You had ribbons and roses in your hair, and you were wearing that purple dress, the one with the puffy sleeves and big skirt.” He grinned. “You looked like you were floating in the thing, like a big, upside-down tulip.”

      She smiled, remembering. “The purple velvet. I wore it only the once at the Debutante Cotillion, right before Fort Sumter happened and the war started.”

      “You looked beautiful that night, and that’s the image I carried. At every ball, do you remember how the boys were after you? Charlie Sawyer, Tom Peterson, both Ackerman brothers. You had your pick.”

      Her smile faded. “There’re gone now, all of them.”

      “That’s my point, Belle. That damnable war wrecked your life as well as mine. Now here you sit, trying to convince yourself you’re blissfully happy when you’re not, and don’t tell me otherwise.”

      She opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind. His words had struck deep in that secret part of herself where she hid her unceasing despair. In silence, she looked toward the ceiling, then finally back at her brother. “You know me too well, Bridge. I try not to think of the old days. What a silly, shallow little fool I was, nothing more on my mind than the next ball and who would fill my dance card. I simply assumed I’d marry and live happily ever after.”

      “I think we all did. But why look back? All we really have is not yesterday, not tomorrow, but now.”

      “I’ve adjusted. I thank God for my family. Harlan, Victoria, the children”—she placed an affectionate hand on his one arm—“even you, you grumpy old rascal. But that’s not… That doesn’t… What’s hardest for me now are those awful moments when I realize I will go through my life without someone special to love, without someone special who loves me. I’ll never have children of my own. I’ll never…” The words stuck in her throat. If she didn’t watch out, she’d start to cry, and she wouldn’t have that. Her problems were nothing compared to those of her doomed brother. She forced a laugh. “Look at me, feeling sorry for myself. Don’t worry, I’m happy. I feel needed. What would the children do without their auntie Belle?”

      “They’d survive.” Bridger gazed into her eyes with a blazing intensity that surprised her. “To stay in the South is to rot away. There’s a man for you somewhere, but not here. You need the guts to go find him.”

      Poor Bridger. He sincerely meant what he said but had no idea how totally impractical, how absolutely absurd he was sounding. “I’ll think about what you said. Meantime, will you promise you’ll come down for breakfast in the morning?”

      “You can change the subject all you want, little sister, but if you want a life of your own, I suggest you answer that ad.”

      * * * *

      The next morning, Belle joined Harlan, Victoria, and the children for breakfast in the dining room. Bridger hadn’t appeared, which, she reflected, was just as well. Ordinarily Harlan, with his balding head and slight paunch, presented the perfect picture of a levelheaded businessman, but today he was on one of his rants. “Damn Yankees!” he raged between bites of his omelet.

      “What have they done now?” Belle asked calmly. They’d been through this before.

      “Kept us under their thumb is what they’ve done. Thanks to the carpetbaggers, our taxes get higher and the price of cotton sinks ever lower. After five years, we’re still under military rule. My God, haven’t we suffered enough?”

      “Don’t remind us,” Victoria said. “Those terrible days are best forgotten.”

      Belle heartily agreed. Living through the war was bad enough, but at the end, when General Sherman’s troops took Savannah, the nightmare began. At least the Union soldiers didn’t burn the city, like they’d done in Atlanta, but they wreaked their devastation just the same. They destroyed the railroads, digging up the rails, heating them over fires, wrapping them around tree trunks and telephone poles. “Sherman’s Neckties” they were laughingly called. The soldiers broke into homes and businesses and stole what they pleased. Worst of all, they blockaded the port and seized all the livestock and food from the local farms, leaving the population to starve. To this day, Belle could hardly look at a Union soldier without remembering those terrible days when they had nothing to eat. When Victoria’s children were crying, weak from hunger. When she feared they’d all starve to death, and they about did. “It’s hard to forget those days, Victoria. Whenever I see a blue uniform, the old fury rises inside me and I can hardly be polite.”

      “I will hate the Yankees until the day I die,” Victoria exclaimed. “And General Sherman the most.” She picked up a bread basket. “More biscuits, Harlan? At least we’re not starving anymore.”

      Her husband’s agreeable grunt told them his rant was over. Actually Belle could hardly blame him. He’d been rich before the war. Now, like nearly all Savannah’s merchants, he’d lost his fortune and was just squeezing by, constantly beset by rules, regulations, and new taxes decreed by the Northern-influenced state legislature.

      Tommy spoke up. “Aunt Belle, are you taking us out today?”

      “Indeed I am.” Belle looked at her sister. “I hope it’s all right. I promised I’d take the children to the riverfront. You know how Tommy likes to see the ships. Maybe there’ll be one coming in.”

      Victoria smiled. “Of course. They do love to be with you, Belle. What would I do without you?”

      How good to be wanted, and needed. Bridger meant well, but he failed to understand how thoroughly she’d adjusted to her new role in life. “It’s my pleasure, Victoria. You know how much I love the children, and you, too.”

      The