Night of the Cotillion: Georgia by Janet Dailey

Author:Janet Dailey [Dailey, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-06-30T00:41:33+00:00

Chapter Seven

RISING ABOVE THE Georgia pines was a dome-shaped monolith, resembling the petrified remains of a great gray whale, five hundred and eighty-three acres of solid granite. Into its side was carved the sculpture of three of the most famous men in the short-lived history of the Confederate States of America: Jefferson Davis, president of the Confederacy; Stonewall Jackson, a general in the rebel army; and Robert E. Lee, a general and commander of all the Confederate armies. The entire work, the size of a city block, with the figure of Lee nearly as tall as a nine-story building, appeared the size of a postage stamp when compared go the immense proportions of Stone Mountain itself.

Amanda leaned back against Jarod's arm, his hand resting near the waistband of her lemon yellow slacks. As many times as she had seen the sculpture, she was still awed by its impressive size.

“Isn't it ironic,” she said, glancing into his face, “that Gutzon Borglum, who was first commissioned to do this carving in the 1920s, left in frustration after roughing in the figure of Lee and later became so famous for his work at Mount Rushmore in the Black hills of South Dakota. Here he was supposed to do the men of the Confederacy and there he completed the faces of four famous presidents of the United States, including Abraham Lincoln."

“Have you seen Mount Rushmore?” Jarod asked.

“No,” she answered with a shake of her head as a woman bumped into her and quickly apologized.

“It's getting a bit crowded here. Let's go somewhere else,” he suggested, his arm propelling her away from the viewing patio below the sculpture. “Where to now? Do you want to visit the game farm where you can feed the animals? Go on a train ride or tour the plantation?"

The dryness of his voice revealed the subtle sarcasm hidden in his tone. Crowds of tourists everywhere and Amanda marveled at her own audacity in asking him to bring her here.

“We could go over to the carillon, I suppose,” she said, shrugging.

“Do you think it's safer to walk or drive?"

“I'd rather walk.” They skirted Memorial Hall, sometimes following the wake of other departing tourists and other times going against the flow of those arriving. “I'm sorry, Jarod. It wasn't a very good idea to come here, was it?"

“Considering you wanted to use the crowds to insulate yourself from me, I think it was an excellent idea,” he contradicted her mockingly. “I'm surprised you're willing to allow me to hold your hand.”

“Stop making me feel more miserable than I already am.” Her gaze unhappily studied the pavement.

“This was your idea,” Jarod reminded her. “What were we supposed to accomplish today?"

“I wanted to get to know you better, to find out more about you than just the fact that you own Colby Enterprises.” Her voice was uneven.

“I can think of better places than this,” he muttered bitterly.

“Let's forget the carillon and take me home. This whole thing is a disaster."

“Hardly a disaster,” he murmured, although he shifted their direction to take them to the parking lot and his car.

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