The Victim: A Romance of the Real Jefferson DavisDixon, Thomas, Jr.
History
The Victim: A Romance of the Real Jefferson Davis
Dixon, Thomas, Jr.
Davis, Jefferson, 1808-1889 -- Fiction; Historical fiction, American; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"But you must remember, Miss Jennie, that General Butler is a peculiar
individual. He probably does not represent the best that's in New
England--"
"God knows I hope not for their sakes," was the answer. "I only wish I
could fight in the ranks with our boys. If I can't fight at least I'm
going to help our men in other ways. I'll work with my hands as a slave.
I'll sew and knit and nurse. I'll breathe my soul into the souls of our
men. I sing Dixie when I rise in the morning. I hum it all day. I sing
it with my last thoughts as I go to sleep."
Socola moved uneasily.
She looked at him a moment with an expression of sudden tenderness.
"I can't tell you how proud and happy I am in the thought that I may
have helped you to give your brilliant mind to the service of the South.
It's my offering to my country and her cause!"
It was impossible to resist the glow of love in her shining face. Socola
felt his soul dissolve.
With a little gesture of resignation she dropped to a seat on the lounge
beside the window, her young face outlined against a mass of early roses
in full bloom. Their perfume poured through the window and filled the
room.
Socola seated himself deliberately by her side and held her gaze with
direct purpose. She saw and understood and her heart beat in quick
response.
"You realize that you _are_ the incarnate Cause of the South for me?"
She smiled triumphantly.
"I have always known it."
There was no silly boasting in her tones, no trace of the Southern
girl's light mood with one of her numerous beaux. Her words were spoken
with deliberate tenderness.
"And yet how deeply and wonderfully you could not know--"
"I have guessed perhaps--"
He took her hand in his.
"I love you, Jennie--"
Her voice was the tenderest whisper.
"And I love you, my sweetheart--"
He clasped her in his arms and held her in silence.
She pushed him at arm's length and looked wistfully into his face.
"For the past month my heart has been singing. Through all the shame and
misery of the sacking of our home, I could laugh and be happy--foolishly
happy, because I knew that you loved me--"
"How did you know?"
"You told me--"
"When?"
"With the last little touch of your hand when I went South."
He pressed it with desperate tenderness.
"It shall be forever?"
"Forever!"
"Neither life nor death, nor height nor depth can separate us?"
"What could separate us, my lover? You are mine. I am yours. You have
given your life to our cause--"
"I am but a soldier of fortune--"
"You are my soldier--you have given your life because I asked it. I give
you mine in return--"
"Swear to me that you'll love me always!"
She answered with a kiss.
"I swear it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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