slightly parted. He was near enough to know her breath was sweet.
When two fighting blue jays swooped out of the maples, he saw that he had stopped, stock-still, midstream. He came to himself and carried her the rest of the way and climbed the bank and set her down. She held on to his hand in both of hers as she thanked him, then let it go. He felt the damp air move between his loosened fingers.
It was then he realized he did not at all care to leave her in the company of Rodham and Burke.
“If you ain’t the sorriest shitsucken sonsabitches God ever let live,” he told them. “Setten on yore fine horses with yore fangers up yore fat asses that way. The sight of the pair of ye makes me want to puke.”
Rodham colored a little and raised one gloved hand. “I resent that.”
“You’re welcome to. I wish ye would.”
Rodham moved his hand toward the inside of his coat.
“Think twice,” Forrest said. “I’d hate to waste a bullet on ye.”
“You dare to speak that way to my face?”
“If ye ever had any face ye done lost it,” Forrest said. “If ye don’t want a good horse-whuppen, with a roll in that slough to finish it off, git yore sorry asses out of my sight.”
Rodham dropped his hand and glanced at Burke. Both men had now turned pale. Without a word they wheeled their horses and trotted off down the road to Horn Lake. Forrest turned to face the ladies. Mrs. Montgomery seemed to have stopped a titter by placing her fingers across her lips, though by her expression she was not truly amused. Mary Ann was looking at him with the kind of fascination one might feel for a wild animal in a traveling show. Forrest could think of nothing to say. He coughed and turned to watch the retreat of the pair he’d driven off.
When they were out of sight, Forrest waded back out to the buggy. “All right now, Neddy,” he said. “Ye look to be about wore out. Take the horse’s head and leave me put a shoulder to the wheel.”
Lightened, the buggy came out easily enough. Ned led it up the bank and Forrest followed. He handed Mary Ann Montgomery up into her seat. Ned helped her mother and climbed to the box.
“I’ll just cross over and git my horse,” Forrest said to the general company. “I’ll not be far behind, in case ye should run acrost any more trouble.”
“Your courtesy will not be forgotten,” Mrs. Montgomery said.
“I’m right glad to hear that.” Forrest took off his hat. “My name is Nathan Bedford Forrest, ma’am. I ask your permission to call on Miss Montgomery.”
“Why—” Mrs. Montgomery let out an audible titter this time. She put her hand to her mouth and then took it away. “I certainly see no way to refuse you.” Her gloved finger pointed. “Mind, Mister Forrest, in my house no one takes the name of the Lord in vain.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Forrest said. “I’ll do my best to fix that in my mind.”
Mrs. Montgomery was no longer looking at him and he didn’t mean to turn his eyes to Mary Ann again until tomorrow. Ned saluted him from the box, then lifted the reins. Forrest touched the black driver lightly on the forearm, then crossed the river one more time to retrieve his horse.
HORN LAKE WAS a little more than halfway to Memphis from Hernando where Forrest lived, and had mostly been settled by gentlefolk in quest of a pastoral retreat from the big town over the Tennessee border. It wasn’t very big yet though, so it didn’t take him long to find the Montgomery house. Out front was a cast iron nigger holding out a brass ring, but a couple of good-looking saddle horses were already hitched there, so Forrest tied up to a corner fence post. As a matter of fact he recognized both horses. He was just reminding himself that he didn’t give a green goddamn that his boots were scuffed and his coat a mite short for him when a voice hailed him from the porch.
“Well, Mister Forrest,” Rodham said, with the hind of a smirk. “If you’ve come to call on Ned, you’ll most likely find him around back in the stable.”
Forrest’s courting nerves evaporated. He took one quick look at Mary Ann to see how well she was amused by her caller’s wit and was pleased to see she had not even smiled.