by Ginny Dye
Carrie shook her head. “So much loss,” she whispered. “Fannie…and now the kids. And Zeke.” She stared into the lantern on her table as wind whipped the branches of the magnolia tree against her window. She welcomed the tendrils of cold air that seeped in around the window frame. Finally she looked at Abby. “It never ends, does it?”
Abby didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. “Pain? Loss? Death?” She shook her head. “No. It never ends.” She gripped Carrie’s hands. “But neither does life,” she said firmly. “Neither does joy. Or hope. They all exist together.”
“Choose joy,” Carrie murmured. She brushed at her tears and managed a small smile. “Robert and I talked about that today.” She shared the earlier conversation she had with him.
“Robert is a wise man,” Abby replied. “And Annie is a wise woman. All of them will grieve over losing Sadie and the rest, but they will move forward.”
“I’m so glad she had a chance to be free,” Carrie said. “So glad she had a chance to travel, to go to school.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “All of them were so remarkable,” she said sadly. “I’m so glad I had the chance to know them.”
Silence filled the room for many long minutes.
Abby was the one to break it. “I’m sorry if I picked the wrong time to tell you. I was going to wait until after the dance…”
Carrie shook her head. “I’m glad you told me,” she replied. “There is never a good time for news like that.” She took a deep breath. “If the war taught me one thing, it is that we all have to choose life in the midst of death and suffering. Any of us could die in an explosion at any moment. We have to hold tight to joy and life every way we can.” She stood and looked at her reflection in the mirror. “I will go to the dance. I will have a good time.” Her voice was determined.
She looked back at Abby. “Do you know where Opal and Eddie are living? I would like to visit.”
Abby smiled. “I was sure you would. Spencer will be here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning to take you and Robert there. Since it is Sunday, Eddie will not be working.”
Carrie nodded her appreciation and then frowned. “I’ll tell Moses, June, and Annie when I get home.” She knew she didn’t have to tell Abby how much she dreaded it.
“That won’t be necessary,” Abby responded. “Eddie and Opal want to break the news themselves. Though it wasn’t anyone’s fault, they feel responsible for what happened. Since Sadie was in their care, they want to be the ones to tell them. Thomas and I have made arrangements for Spencer to take the family out there on Monday. They’ll be back in a week. It will be good for all of them to have some time on the plantation.”
Carrie smiled. “You’re a good woman.”
“Yes,” Abby agreed calmly, smiling when Carrie laughed. “I’ve never seen the sense of false modesty. We are both amazing women.” She turned serious. “We are going to have to be to make it through all that is going to happen.”
Carrie refused to think about all that Matthew had said that day. Abby’s shocking news of the fire was all she could handle. “That may be true,” she agreed, “but right now all we have to handle is being escorted by two dashing men to a dance. And you, my darling mother, are not ready. I’d say that is your biggest concern right now,” she finished firmly.
Chapter Eight
Carrie forced thoughts of the deaths from her mind as the carriage pulled up to a brightly lit house. All she was going to focus on tonight was the joy of being with Robert, her father, Abby, Jeremy, and Matthew. She planned on dancing until her feet could no longer move. She smiled brightly as Robert helped her from the carriage, relishing the look of pride on his face as he offered her his arm to walk up the stairs.
“You are absolutely ravishing, Mrs. Borden,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face.
“And you are the most handsome man here, Mr. Borden,” Carrie replied with a grin. “I do believe I’m going to get my earlier wish that every woman here tonight will wish she was me.” She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “They’ll simply have to be disappointed.”
“One will not be.” Abby’s amused voice sounded behind her. “Robert is quite handsome, but I’m afraid Thomas is the only man I want to be with tonight.”
Carrie smiled with delight as she looked back at her father and Abby. She could hardly remember the grief-stricken man who had fled the plantation after her mother died. Her father’s eyes sparkled with life and love as he gazed down at Abby. “I don’t believe you have attended a dance with my father, have you?” she asked.
“We’ve been too busy with the factory,” Abby admitted. “I’ve only danced with him at the wedding.”
“Prepare to be swept off your feet,” Carrie warned her. “My father is a fabulous dancer. You may have a hard time keeping up with him.”
Abby fluttered her eyelashes and merely smiled. “I’ll do my best,” she said coyly.
Matthew barked a laugh. “Abigail Livingston Cromwell could out-dance any woman in Philadelphia,” he announced. “People made the mistake of thinking she was only a successful businesswoman. She had no trouble setting them straight.”
Thomas’s smile grew wider. “You continue to be a surprise,” he murmured.
Abby’s smile turned into a grin. “You have no idea, Mr. Cromwell. No idea…”
Laughter rang through the air as they climbed the stairs and entered the warm house.
Carrie gazed around with delight. Richmond was still struggling to recover from the war, with much of the downtown area not yet rebuilt after the fire that had almost destroyed the city, but you would never guess it from the home they were in. Dances during the war had been simple — called “starvation dances” for a reason. The music had always been plentiful, but the only refreshments had been water.
She tried to remember what she knew about the owner of the home they were in but couldn’t even pull forth a name. A glance in the dining room revealed a long table full of delicious-looking food. Mounds of country ham towered over platters full of sweet potatoes, carrots, and butternut squash. Fluffy biscuits and cornbread rested beside fresh pies and plates of cookies. If there wasn’t as much as could be found before the war, no one was complaining. It was more than had been seen at a social function for years.
Music flowed from the front room as lanterns and candles filled the house with light. Most women wore new, brightly colored gowns. Yet more evidence that Richmond’s economy was slowly rebounding. Carrie was relieved that not one man was dressed in uniform. She had seen enough of military uniforms for a lifetime. She prayed there would never be another war.
“The house belongs to Mrs. Penelope Manson,” Abby leaned over to whisper. “She lost her husband and one of her three sons in the war. Her remaining two sons are merchants here in the city.”
Carrie nodded. That explained the relative opulence she was seeing. Richmonders were strapped for cash, but they were also hungry for goods. During the war, the stores had either been empty or the prices too exorbitant for almost anyone to afford. Money was still tight, but when people had it available they were eager to spend it. Merchants were slowly filling their stores again. Profits were being made.
“Should I be surprised we were all invited?” Carrie asked, keeping her voice low enough for the music to cover it. “I thought people were angry about the factory.”
Abby smiled, nodded when Thomas asked her if she would like a drink, and then answered. “People are angry, but they are also desperate for money to build back the economy. We are one of the largest employers in Richmond now. They can’t afford to ignore us.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re one of the investors in the bank,” Carrie murmured with amusement.
Abby’s eyes twinkled. “That, too. Though I don’t have any control over loans, neither am I making an effort to be sure people know that.”
Carrie chuckled and reached for the glass of lemonade Robert held out to her just as the small orchestra struck up a liv
ely waltz. She hesitated before taking the lemonade.
Robert grinned. “Drink your lemonade. You’re going to need it to keep up with me tonight.”
Carrie laughed but drank it willingly. The cold air during the carriage ride had dried her throat terribly.
Abby smiled her thanks as Thomas handed her a glass, her foot tapping time with the music. “Do you know the history of the waltz?” she asked, continuing when no one responded. “It was created in Vienna just past the turn of this century. It was condemned as wildly immoral in England.”
“The waltz?” Robert asked. “Am I missing something?”
“It is quite different from the way people used to dance,” Abby replied, watching as the first wave of dancers moved onto the floor. “Dancing used to be very stately, slow, and distant. The minuet and the allemande were very courtly and elegant dances. They were subdued, characterized by stern attitudes and slow, complex patterns. They were performed at arm’s length. Dancers wore gloves so there would be no fleshly contact even at that distance.”
“And they called that dancing?” Carrie gasped.
“It was a different time,” Abby responded. “When the waltz was first created, people were appalled by the close dance position, the rapid tempo, and the constant twirling and turning.”
“The very thing that makes it so enjoyable,” Thomas stated. He put down his lemonade, took Abby’s from her to place on a nearby table, and then turned to her. “Care to see if you can keep up with this old man?”
Abby smiled up at him. “First you’ll have to show me the old man,” she said affectionately, moving into his arms. Moments later they were sweeping across the floor, Abby’s light blue gown swirling around her.
“They look wonderful,” Carrie breathed, correctly interpreting the look in Robert’s eyes as she moved into his arms. He pulled her close as the music soared around them.
And just like that, the magic returned. The strong, virulent man holding her close wiped away all memories of how close to death he had come. All that mattered was the music and the feel of his arms around her. They moved as one, completely oblivious to anyone else in the room.
Jeremy watched the dancers swirling on the floor and then turned away to speak with several businessmen he knew, content to enjoy the music and the conversation. He knew there was a lot of resentment in town about the wages they were paying their black employees, as well as the fact that they were hiring blacks instead of hiring only white war veterans, but evidently everyone had decided to be on their best behavior tonight. Jeremy was glad. The last weeks had been exhausting as they brought the factory up to full speed. Their first filled orders would be going out the following week. It was a heady feeling.
He was chatting easily with the owner of Thalhimers when his eyes caught a woman sitting on a sofa against the wall, her dark blue dress setting off her porcelain skin and striking red hair. She appeared relaxed and confident as she watched the dancers, her free hand keeping time with the music as she sipped apple cider. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Excuse me,” he finally murmured, walking over to where she was sitting. “Good evening,” he said.
The woman looked up, her brilliant blue eyes open and relaxed. “Good evening,” she replied with a warm smile.
She wasn’t a classic beauty, but Jeremy had never been quite so taken with someone before. “My name is Jeremy Anthony. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“I am Marietta Anderson. You don’t know me, but I know who you are, Mr. Anthony.”
Jeremy stared at her, bemused. “You do? How is that possible?”
“You manage the Cromwell Clothing Factory that your brother and sister-in-law own,” she replied, smiling at his look of surprise. “Many of my students work there,” she explained.
“Your students?” Jeremy asked, and then smiled. “You are a teacher.”
Marietta nodded. “I am. I teach classes down at the Second African Church.”
Jeremy tried to hide his surprise but knew he was unsuccessful when she continued on with a question.
“So just what am I doing at a dance for staunch Confederate women who resent my efforts to help the blacks?” she asked with amusement.
Jeremy laughed. “I apologize that my surprise was so obvious.” He indicated the spot next to her on the couch. “May I join you?”
“Certainly,” Marietta replied. She lowered her voice a little. “Mrs. Manson, our hostess for the night, is rather appalled at my being a teacher, but she and my mother were very close friends before my mother moved to the North and married an abolitionist.” She laughed with delight at the look on Jeremy’s face. “Mrs. Manson may be appalled at what I do, but southern hospitality demanded I be invited. In truth, she is a wonderful woman. We don’t agree on politics, and we don’t agree on what should be done with the freed slaves, but she has many redeeming qualities.”
“So you’re as open-minded as you are beautiful,” Jeremy murmured, flushing when he realized he had spoken the words out loud. Since he couldn’t take them back and he saw no offense in her eyes, he decided to press his luck. “Would you like to dance?”
“I would love to,” Marietta replied with a bright smile. “I thought I might sit here all night watching. Every other male in the room seems to know what I do. They have been unfailingly polite but very distant.”
Jeremy smiled. “I’m glad. I shouldn’t have to worry about competition.”
Marietta laughed and moved into the arms he held out to her just as another waltz began.
Jeremy breathed in her scent as they danced. The last five years had left him no time for relationships. Working, caring for his father, and starting the factory had taken up every spare moment. In truth, he had not met a single woman who attracted him or who could make him consider veering from his course of hard work. He suddenly knew he was holding that woman in his arms.
Matthew turned his back on the dancers as he talked to a fellow journalist from the Richmond Examiner, a weekly newspaper that rankled him on a regular basis, but also never failed to offer amusement. He needed the distraction tonight. When Carrie had floated down the stairs tonight in her exquisite gown, all he could do to hide the expression in his eyes was busy himself adding wood to the fire. As much as he relished their easy friendship, at times it was nothing short of agony to hide his true feelings. There were times he cursed his love for her, but mostly he was just thankful she was still a part of his life. His friendship with Robert was too strong for there to be resentment.
“How is your book coming?” Paul Sawyers asked.
Matthew pulled his thoughts back. It was easier now that he couldn’t see Carrie smiling into Robert’s eyes as they danced. “It’s going well,” he replied. “I just returned today from Washington, DC. It’s still far from being finished, but writing it is a series of continual revelations as I explore life in the South now that the war is over.”
Paul nodded. “Do you know Edward Pollard?”
“One of the Examiner editors?” Matthew asked. “I don’t know him well, but we met a time or two during the war.”
“He’s just finished a book,” Paul revealed. “The Lost Cause: A New Southern History of the War of the Confederates.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows. “Really? I’ve not read it yet.”
“It will be released next month,” Paul revealed, watching Matthew carefully. “He sets the record straight on what really happened with the war.”
Matthew smiled. “Is that right?” He decided to play along since he was a guest in a staunchly southern home. “I look forward to reading it.” He almost laughed at Paul’s disappointed expression. Obviously, he expected much more of a reaction. The brief flash of amusement faded quickly, however. The memory of President Johnson’s speech just days before was sobering. There was nothing funny about what was happening in the country so soon after the end of four years of death and destruction. Having read Pollard’s editorials, he could well
imagine what his book contained.
Paul looked at him sharply. “You won’t like it,” he said bluntly.
“Probably not,” Matthew agreed easily. He had found he agreed with little printed on the pages of the Richmond Examiner. He watched over Paul’s shoulder as Jeremy carried lemonade to an attractive woman whom he had just led from the dance floor. He was much more curious about her identity than he was about what drivel Edward Pollard had published.
“He sets things straight on the real reason the war happened,” Paul asserted boldly.
Matthew turned his eyes back. “That right?”
Paul nodded. “He makes it clear that the cause of the war was secession, not slavery.”
Matthew felt a surge of anger. “Really?” he replied, his voice deliberately calm.
Paul seemed satisfied he had his attention. “Yes. He does a masterful job in communicating that squabbles over secession and the primacy of states’ rights were the real cause of the war. If it had not been for Northern abolitionists who overdramatized the slavery issue, it surely would have died on its own accord, as Pollard reveals the truth that the vast majority of slaves were happy on the plantations and had no desire to leave.”
Matthew stared at him. He reminded himself he was a guest in a southern home, but it was impossible to not respond. “Does Pollard mention that it was actually the dispute over slavery that caused secession?” he asked sharply. “Does he reveal that most of the southern politicians who led the way in secession believed slavery was the foundation and cornerstone of the Confederacy, and that the South couldn’t exist without it?”
Paul opened his mouth to protest, but Matthew wasn’t done. President Johnson’s veto of the Freedmen’s Bureau bill, and the growing strength of the Black Codes, wiped away any feelings of constraint. “Does he reveal how many slaves escaped long before the war? Does he talk about the vast number who used the Underground Railroad to flee their happy lives on the plantation?” he asked sarcastically. “Does Pollard’s entire book attempt to rewrite history to satisfy his belief of what should have happened?”
