Geneva: Garden of Joy (Brides of Grace Hill Book 1)

by Lisa Prysock

  “I’m very glad to hear she is settling in well. I’m sure Pearl will be glad to help her in any way she can. She has been my personal maid since my marriage to George. I may be wrong, but Polly may really enjoy being out of the kitchen for a change.”

  “I think so, too,” Geneva agreed. “I hadn’t realized how built up things were this far west of the Appalachians… not until we arrived at the Louisville port and the riverboat docked.”

  “I believe you will find Louisville to be full of culture and able to provide you with most things you would find in any large city. We have the benefit of being one of the last stops on the way to the Mississippi River and the rest of the south. Everything seems to come through here at some point,” Aunt Millie replied as she offered a plate of rolls.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the plate and buttered one of the rolls. “I was pleasantly surprised by the size of the city. I suppose I’ve heard too many stories about Daniel Boone. I expected it to be far more unsettled here. Coming from Cardiff, I can attest there are many things a city has to offer.”

  “I think a great many folks feel the same way when they arrive here from the east. I certainly did when George brought me here all the way from Scotland. We do seem to have the best of both the countryside and city where we are situated.” Aunt Millie acknowledged. “I’m curious… do tell me what classes you enjoy teaching?”

  “Just about anything except mathematics. I’m not fond of figures,” Geneva answered as Laura Parks entered the room. Laura refilled their goblets of sweet tea and placed a cherry cobbler on a trivet.

  “Thank you, Laura,” Aunt Millie said before Laura returned to the kitchen. Turning back to her niece she added, “Sweet tea and lemonade are a big part of Kentucky culture here. It seems southerners have an insatiable thirst with our warmer weather. I must warn you, I still find the extreme heat of the south intolerable coming from Scotland. By the way, our full time teacher will be so glad to hear you don’t enjoy teaching mathematics. Emma Tilson loves to teach the girls their sums. You will meet her soon enough when she returns from the trip to New York with our students.”

  “I very much look forward to meeting the students and Emma,” Geneva responded as she added salt and pepper to her stew.

  Her aunt, appearing contemplative for a moment, leaned her head to one side and asked, “How would you like to teach English Literature, History, and an Etiquette class? Could you also offer piano lessons to those who desire to learn to play the piano?”

  “Yes, I think I would be very comfortable with teaching piano and those classes.”

  “Emma, Miss Tilson, could continue to teach Mathematics, Geography, Science, and Art. I generally teach Sewing and Kitchen Arts to the girls on Mondays and Wednesdays after tea. We have Fridays off.”

  “I find your schedule most agreeable,” Geneva nodded. “I like the idea of a four day school week.”

  “Excellent. These children, being orphans, need a great deal of healing time that doesn’t always revolve around work. They need more time to recover and process from the ordeals they’ve suffered in my opinion. Over the years, I have found the four day schedule works best for us. School starts at half past eight right after breakfast, but I’ve already suggested to Emma she teach the morning classes and you, the afternoon classes beginning at a quarter to one until it’s time for tea. You might teach piano after tea one or two days a week, depending on interest.”

  “I’m very happy with the arrangement. I could teach piano on Tuesdays and Thursdays, after tea. It gives me time to ride horses or walk in the morning. After my exercise, I will do a bit of writing or lesson planning.”

  “Good. ‘Tis one more thing settled,” Aunt Millie said. “Emma will be so thankful for the additional help with teaching. You may have one of the class rooms and Emma can take the other. Feel free to select your materials from the library. You may peruse the school rooms for readers and other text books.”

  “I’m very glad to be of help. I really enjoy teaching.”

  “Now, on to another matter… How are you fixed for evening gowns and the like? I’ve been thinking. I’d like to throw a small Easter Cotillion to introduce you to the best of Louisville society, along with a few of our friends and neighbors.”

  Jen’s brow furrowed with concern as she held a spoonful of stew mid-air. “I’m afraid I don’t have many evening gowns, but I did bring a sufficient number of day dresses.”

  “Nothing Miss Nina Craig can’t remedy…”

  “Who is Nina?”

  “Only the best seamstress this side of the Appalachian Mountains!” Aunt Millie declared. “We’ll make a trip to town tomorrow afternoon.”

  Geneva opened her mouth to object, but her aunt stopped her with a hand raised to signify she would not hear of any thought to the contrary. “This will be entirely my pleasure! I have a small fortune at my disposal and have been waiting all of my life to spend some of it on the daughter I never really had. I’ve been able to do a great deal for my less fortunate students, but you are family, my dear Geneva. Don’t try to talk me out of it!”

  She could see there would be no stopping Aunt Millie in this regard and gave up without even a small fight. She could hardly wait until bedtime prayer and devotions to thank the good Lord above for lavishing such gifts upon her through her loving and generous aunt. It would certainly be nice to have a few more gowns.

  After dinner, they strolled through the terrace garden; the rose garden; and then the shrub garden, farthest from the manor house. As they approached the far left side of the shrub garden, Geneva was surprised to encounter a black man seated on an elegant, stone bench overlooking a low wall of shrubs and an area sparse in trees revealing a stunning view of the Ohio at sunset. The reflection of the sun danced on the waves. He stared and stared at the river, never taking his eyes off of it.

  When they were almost to the bench, Aunt Millie introduced her. “Bird-dog, how nice to find you here again. I’d like you to meet my niece, Miss Geneva Rosemont. She joins us all the way from England.”

  The man stood up and slid his hat off. “Very pleased tuh meet you, Miss Rosemont.”

  “Thank you, and likewise,” she offered her kindest smile, but somehow it didn’t seem enough for the sadness and weariness she saw hiding in Bird-dog’s eyes. Yet, there was something else she detected… was it hope? For a healthy, muscular male of his age, he seemed worn, burdened, and perhaps… mending under the wings of Grace Hill Manor & Mission.

  They exchanged pleasantries about the beauty of the purple, coral, and crimson sunset. Then they left him to his solace, attempting to respect his privacy. After they returned to the Terrace Courtyard she remarked to her aunt in a low voice, “Bird-dog seems a bit melancholy.”

  “Yes, I know,” Aunt Millie replied softly as they sat down on a bench beneath the branches of a dogwood in full bloom. Turning to look toward the shrub garden she added, “Bird-dog won’t be with us for long. When he’s rested and healed some from his ordeal, he’ll be crossing the beautiful Jordan.”

  Chapter 9.

  Beautiful Dreamer

  Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Song of Solomon 1:2

  Ridge leaned against the mantle, mesmerized as Geneva gently played the keys of the heart shaped piano to one beautiful song after another, ending with a new piece of sheet music Aunt Millie had acquired in Louisville for “Beautiful Dreamer.” Ridge thought it seemed as if Stephen Foster himself had stepped in the room and sat down at the instrument to play the song as it should be played. It was the third evening in a row of colorful dinners, pleasant conversations, and the most enjoyable company he’d had in years; besides the company of Millie Bradford, the Colonel when he’d been alive, and evenings or outings with Belle-Raine, of course… when she would allow it. There were the customary evenings with Abigail, but he hadn’t felt this young and alive in nearly the entire thirteen years since the passing of his beloved Amelia.

  Th
ey had enjoyed dinner on the terrace on that particular evening. There had been talk of former President Franklin Pierce and the incoming president, James Buchanan. They had conversed about the particulars of the recent Supreme Court ruling concerning Dred Scott. She had listened intently as he spoke of Sarah Rose Hall, his seven hundred acre plantation. He spoke of his daughter, Belle-Raine. She learned he had been widowed for a long period of time from his first wife, Amelia, who had died of influenza when Belle was just an infant.

  She had asked about other significant neighboring plantations. He and Millie informed her of Jed Worthington’s River Oaks; Joshua Speed’s Farmington House; and Locust Grove, a plantation owned by descendants of General Clark, the founder of Louisville. There had been more fond neighbors to make mention of, as well. She shared about her beloved Wales and each of her family members, a touch of homesickness ever so slight in her voice and eyes. He found himself looking forward to spending every evening at Grace Hill, more so than he always had.

  The notes of music wafted from her hands into the air like butterflies and gently falling raindrops. She wore an off the shoulder, cream-colored, organdy gown with a pattern of forest green leaves and vines. With her dark hair contrasting the cream gown, she looked positively stunning. Dark green, silk ribbons adorned the chignon braid at the nape of her neck, woven into the braid. More of the same ribbon adorned the tiny ruffle along the edge of the gown around her shoulders. Puffed sleeves and a wide ruffle completed the hem of the gown.

  Unbeknownst to Ridge who had little knowledge of such matters, the summery evening gown Miss Craig had designed for the radiant and ravishing Miss Rosemont in less than eight days would remain a favorite gown for Jen for years to come. Aunt Millie had been entirely correct in her estimation of the expertise of the busy American seamstress. She and her assistants had already completed, fitted, and delivered three gowns to Grace Hill. It seemed more like Christmas upon them than almost Easter to Geneva as three new hats, several pair of shoes and gloves, and finally, the new gowns-- began to arrive. Four more gowns would soon complete her wardrobe to sufficiency.

  Millicent Bradford reclined in her favorite chair, a book in her hands and Pendleton at her feet; this time lying on the hassock next to her. Ridge hadn’t met Peaches yet. The dainty feline refused to venture lower than the third floor after one raucous, narrowly escaped encounter with the barking creature.

  The open balcony doors allowed the occasional spring breeze into the room. She closed the lid to the keys as Ridge drifted casually toward her, his hands in his pockets and dinner jacket open to reveal his narrow tie had been loosened. It hung open on one side of his shirt collar against his dress shirt. Otherwise, the man was impeccably dressed, down to the side part of his dark hair and gold watch dangling from a vest pocket.

  “Where in heaven did you learn to play like that?” he inquired.

  She blushed at his complement at the piano bench, tidying the sheet music. The corners of her mouth turned up in a coy smile. “A vicar’s daughter might be called upon from time to time in a pinch.”

  “I am left wondering what other hidden talents and charms you possess,” he remarked, taunting her with his curiosity.

  “I confess my only other talent is the ability to whistle across a field like a meadow lark.”

  “That is a talent!” He chuckled, leaning down slightly to offer her his arm. His eyes were sparkling at her with a look of amused delight again. “May I have the pleasure of your company in a stroll on the balcony, Miss Rosemont?”

  Somehow, gentleman or no, he managed to make her feel as though she were the only woman on earth. How on earth did he do that? She really must find out more about him.

  “I don’t know if you can be trusted to behave yourself on the balcony,” she replied. He looked at her for a second, unsure if she was teasing him or completely serious. When he saw her smile, he chuckled. Then he bowed as she rose from the bench and hesitatingly, accepted his arm. This caused him to chuckle again.

  “Hush, you’ll wake Aunt Millie…” she chided.

  “Not if she continues to snore like that,” he winked, guiding her through the French doors.” In any case, I don’t think you trust me.”

  “Well, I did want to experience this balcony and have not seized upon an opportunity to do so,” she replied.

  “Until now,” he remarked as they strolled a few steps out onto the balcony, looking down at her face.

  She looked up at his face and softly managed, barely above a whisper, “Until now…”

  His eyes held hers. “Do you think we’ll see the moon and the stars tonight?”

  “Do you think we’ll see any coral and crimson in the sunset?” she whispered.

  Slowly, he folded her into strong arms and a broad chest. Worse yet, she let him; clinging to his forearms until his lips crushed hers.

  This kiss was different than the one Bryn had stolen from her and the two kisses she had experienced in her youth. This kiss, she wanted. It left her weak in the knees and yearning for another when he was done.

  “Why did you stop?” she asked when he nearly picked her up by the waist and set her apart from him.

  “Because…” he insisted.

  “Because why?”

  “Because, though it feels as though we’ve known each other for years, we haven’t yet… and I don’t want to stop the next time I kiss you.”

  “You plan to kiss me again?” she asked. “When?”

  He roared with laughter again. “I don’t know when, but not anytime soon.”

  “Oh,” she pouted, visibly disappointed.

  “Maybe never, if you pout about it,” he chuckled.

  She gasped and stomped a slippered foot on the balcony, her hands rolling up into fists to keep from slapping him. “Well, I never you… you… you… despicable scalliwog varmint!” How dare he speak to her as if she were a child!

  Widow Goffin’s word rolled off her tongue before she could stop it, only she didn’t have a large book or heavy Bible handy to whack him o’er the head. Mrs. Goffin would be right proud of her for giving him a piece of her mind.

  Geneva gathered her skirts and turned on the slight heel of her new satin slippers; chin tilted upward; a string of angry Welsh words rolling off of her tongue Ridge couldn’t have deciphered had he wanted to. Sweeping through the balcony doors, she left him there in a fit of amused laughter as he leaned on the balcony railing, observing her sudden departure. Aunt Millie released another long snore, and this only sent him into another roar of laughter he didn’t try to hide as she made her exit.

  Her chest heaving and cheeks flaming red with displeasure, she didn’t care if she ever saw him again! He was certainly no gentleman. Furthermore, he could let himself out. How could Aunt Millie be on such friendly terms with that varmint? She stomped out of the Sitting Room, passed through the Drawing Room, and proceeded down the Grand Hall as fast as her feet could carry her to the solace of the Rose Room. Clearly, he had taken advantage of her at his own convenience. Were all men despicable creatures?

  Chapter 10.

  Despicable Scalliwog Varmint

  3 O send out thy light and thy truth: let them lead me; let them bring me unto thy holy hill, and to thy tabernacles. 4 Then will I go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy: yea, upon the harp will I praise thee, O God my God. Psalm 43:3-4

  She leaned against the door in the spacious rose colored bedroom gathering her composure. No one stirred her anger quite like Ridge Morgan did; no, not even Bryn Palmer, heir to the Palmer shipping fortune. In some ways, Ridge’s arrogance exceeded even Bryn’s youthful arrogance. Somehow, whether it was arrogance or confidence it made Ridge attractive in an infuriating sort of way. She told herself Ridge was far too old for someone of her mere twenty years of age. Though they had spoken of books, politics, history, slavery, abolitionism, the Queen, faith, and agriculture… the man aggravated her beyond her expectations. Biting her lower lip, she decided compulsively she would steer f
ar from the scalliwog varmint. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she waited for Polly to help her out of the gown to dress for bed.

  Two days went by and Aunt Millie had grown puzzled about Ridge’s absence after they had been enjoying such lovely evenings in his company. Geneva didn’t have the heart to inform her of Mr. Morgan’s behavior, especially knowing she doted on Ridge like a son. Whenever Aunt Millie brought the handsome neighbor up in conversation, Jen allowed her to ramble upon the matter and evaded replies with responses such as “Hmm…” or vague conjectures like, “He must be busy with business matters…”

  “’Tis not like him… not like him at all!” Aunt Millie mumbled, adjusting the ruffled white cap on her head as she sailed into the second floor Sitting Room on Ridge’s third day of absence. Jen looked down from her position on the ladder near the windows. From her vantage point, it appeared as though Millie gracefully floated by the way her brown calico with the tiny floral print barely swayed with each step. Aunt Millie was not only graceful but in excellent health, though pleasantly plump.