Elijah bowed to the dark haired woman. In the gaggle of women that were there, he had eyes only for her. He had been working up his courage for most of the night now. Since there were far more women than men here now-a-days, he had his choice of nearly any woman in the room.
Her dark hair and equally dark eyes lured him to her, and he had heard her speak, not with the rich southern accent of a maid of the South, but a thicker, deeper accent, from a far-away place. Her creamy white skin was nearly matched by the crepe and linen dress she wore. She was not the belle of the ball; that was someone else’s job, and he had already had the obligatory dance with her. Now he could dance with who he pleased.
So when he crossed the room between sets, he was as nervous as he had been when making a charge into the fray of Union troops those few months ago. He was one of the few not permanently injured in some way, but he did have an indentation in his left bicep where a surgeon scooped out a mille’ ball – along with parts of his flesh. He had another scar when one went clean through him in the side of his abdomen, but he bled like a stuck pig. They said it just missed his liver but passed through his body, not hitting anything vital or disease-causing.
Otherwise, he was a handsome specimen, and he well knew it, as he approached the woman. “Good lady,” he said, “I would be honored to dance with you.”
The other girls tittered, and fanned themselves. The woman smiled, and let her fan drop. It hung off of her wrist. She offered her hand, and she walked with him to the floor.
Elijah knew from looking at the program that this was going to be a waltz, so he took her hand and held it lightly. She placed her hand on his bicep – surely she feels the dimple there, he thought – and waited for the music to start.
As it did, he lead, and she followed marvelously. “What is your name?” he asked.
“Natalia,” she said in that accent. “I am from Russia.”
“Ah, that is why you have such a beautiful voice.”
She laughed, gentle. “My friends think I am sounding like German.”
“You speak English well for a Russian.”
“My father is from England. I am living with him after my mother died.”
“I am so sorry.”
She offered a little shrug. “It was long time ago.”
They danced for some time in silence. She asked, “Were you not among that horrible war?”
“Yes, miss, I was in the war. I got shot twice.” And almost bayoneted through the gut, and almost got shot in the head, and…if he had a coin for every almost he’d be a rich man.
“I know the country is…informal. You may call me Natalia.”
“And you may call me Elijah.”
“Elijah,” she said, pronouncing the “J” as a “sh” sound. He thought it was lovely.
The song was beginning its wrap to the end, and he said, “May I have another dance at another time, if your card is not too full?”
“It is empty, Elisha,” she said. “No one is wanting to dance with the foreigner.”
“I beg to differ. A polka next, perhaps?”
“Perhaps,” she said demurely, and when the waltz finished, he bowed to her, and she curtseyed. He then held her hand, returning her to the women.
“Dear sir, if you would excuse me,” said one of the three floor-managers to him – not that they needed that many. “There is a lovely lady…”
Turned out, she wasn’t that lovely, and he danced four dances with other women before finally winding his way back to Natalia. He kept his eye on her all night. She had disappeared at one point, but returned just before the final set. The second dance in the final set was a polka, so he walked over to her.
Another man got there first, and both men stood there awkwardly. The blond fop standing in front of Natalia looked like he hadn’t seen one bit of war and was probably too young to even go. Elijah was the first to say, “I have this dance with the lady.”
“I don’t see your name on the card,” he said, his voice thick with drink.
Oh, the blazes, he thought angrily. Natalia, quickly thinking, took her pen and scribbled Elijah’s name, spelling it “Eliiia”. He looked at it curiously, and she said, “He did ask me for this polka before, sir,” and she put her hand on Elijah’s arm.
The two men stared each other down, Elijah easily a head taller than the young man. “Should we step outside to discuss this?” Elijah asked, his voice an octave lower.
The blond lifted his head. Elijah’s dark eyes stared him down. He had done this to enough raw recruits in the infantry that this was nothing. “You are not well,” said Elijah. “Maybe it would be a good idea to allow me to dance with her before you trip and fall and make a fool of yourself and this fine lady.”
“Mebbe so,” he said, and stepped back. Elijah took Natalia’s hand and led her onto the floor.
“Spasibo – thank you,” she said. “I was not wanting to dance with him.”
“I could tell,” he said, and the music started. He began the polka as he knew it, but it seemed to have changed a bit. He watched other dancers and tried to mimic them, but was more concentrated on making his lady look good. It was too fast to converse, and afterward she began fanning herself.
“Would you like some air, Natalia?”
She nodded, obviously winded, and he took her out to the veranda. Other people were there, though not as many because the ball was beginning to wind down. He brought her to the edge and she stood, gasping in air. “That dancing is…quick.”
“Yes, it can be.”
She looked at the doorway to the veranda and fluttered her fan. He took that as a symbol for a wave, and he turned to look. An older, matronly woman in dark colors stood there, fanning herself. “That is my aunt,” she said.
The aunt just watched them. He was used to this kind of treatment anyway, of being watched by someone else if there was a woman he was interested in.
“The ball will soon be over. Shall I see you again?”
“I will like that,” she said, looking up at him. She had her breath back, and looked back at her aunt. “I must go.”
“Wait, where are you staying?”
“Cedar Grove, with the Blackshears.”
“With Miss Anne?”
“She married.”
“I will go pay my visit to her. Allow me to take you to the door.” He offered his arm, and she placed her hand on his instead of hooking it in his arm. He smiled – this meant she was interested, but not a floozy. He brought her to the door, where the aunt looked at them both.
“Aunt Mary, this is Elisha.”
He bowed to the aunt, “Elisha Hall, ma’am. I am sorry about your loss.” He guessed that she had lost someone close due to the mourning clothes she wore.
“Thank you, sir,” said Mary, bowing her head to him. “Natalia, your father’s ready to leave.”
She nodded, and went to stand next to Mary. “Thank you, sir, for a lovely evening.”
“Shall I call on you tomorrow?”
“If you wish,” she said with a small smile. And then she turned and was walking along the edge of the dance floor, heading out.