By the Wind's Will

by Nat Burns

  Chapter Twelve

  FOXY, LEFT TO her own devices, found herself wandering slowly about the huge ballroom. Soon, however, a glass of liquored punch was shoved into her hand and she was surrounded by businessmen, those who bought from or sold to Charles and who had met Foxy acting as Scott’s agent. They teased her heartily about her transformation and two of them seemed positively uncomfortable. They were soon put at ease however, when Foxy engaged them in the usual mundane talk of business ventures. All the while she kept one eye on Maggie.

  She took note of when Maggie finally began dancing and carefully counted her partners. When the music slowed on her fifth partner, Foxy excused herself and made her way to Maggie’s side.

  “M’lady, I believe this minuet is mine?”

  Maggie jumped, startled and immediately blushed again.

  “Why, Foxy! I didn’t see you—must you sneak up on a person?”

  Foxy laughed merrily and her eyes twinkled with mischievous thoughts. “At least I’m not in Indian attire, yes? Come, Maggie, the music is starting. People will stare if we just stand here in the way.”

  As they moved through the graceful minuet, facing toward one another and then back to back, taking the characteristic small steps required of the dance, Foxy was acutely grateful to Charles for allowing her to attend Master Rasham’s classes along with the other children. Master Rasham was an incredibly intelligent teacher with enough foresight to include the social graces as well as education of the mind into his curriculum. Because of this, Foxy was able to dance the intricate steps well and with confidence.

  Maggie commented favorably on her dancing ability, but the unusual thrill of their close contact struck Foxy silent. Also, the clean floral scent of Maggie made her strangely light headed. Maggie might have sensed Foxy’s thoughts for she blushed red once more. Foxy leaned close and teased her as they passed one another in the dance.

  “You know, you have the sweetest way of blushing. Your cheeks get so red and you act so embarrassed. Nothing I’ve done, I hope?”

  Maggie smiled tremulously. “Nay. ‘Tis nervousness, suppose.”

  Foxy frowned as they passed, face to face. “Nervous, you say? You shouldn’t be so with me. We’ve grown up together. Surely, you haven’t forgotten our childhood excursions about this old plantation?”

  Silence ensued then, as both lost themselves in the past and in the dance. What fun they’d had growing up together. How close they’d been before age and duties had caused them to drift apart, Maggie continuing her education in the household arts and Foxy eventually becoming an overseer.

  Foxy especially remembered their first kiss at the creek and blushed, suddenly discomfited. To cover her unease, she spoke gaily of mundane things, the ball, those in attendance and Maggie’s numerous birthday gifts. Finally, as the music slowed, she urgently asked Maggie if she could meet her later in the gardens as she needed to speak with her on a matter of some urgency.

  Maggie looked a trifle worried but nodded. “As soon as I dance with all those listed I shall seek you out. I grow weary of dancing anyway.”

  The music ended then and Foxy reluctantly handed Maggie to a new, male partner.

  As she turned to leave the floor, she passed by the cluster of well-dressed matrons, one of whom imperiously beckoned to her.

  “Miss,” she said. “I may be breaking all the rules of convention, but at my age I daresay it matters not.” She paused, as this brought a titter of laughter from her peers. “I would beg you to introduce yourself. Are you new to these parts?”

  The somewhat familiar matron was dressed lavishly in a gown of lavender silk, with hair perfectly coiffed. Her plump wrists, neck and ears were literally weighted down with jewels.

  Foxy gave the woman her most charming smile and, curtsying deeply, answered flirtatiously.

  “My dear lady, who I am is of no importance until I discover who you are. I cannot believe that a ravishing creature such as yourself has not been made known to me before this moment. Pray, tell me your name that I may bring it to my lips and cheer my most despairing moments.”

  Foxy could hear the feverish whispering behind the matron and knew that her flirtatious behavior would be endlessly discussed and, no doubt, frowned upon.

  “Young woman, your smooth flattering tongue pleases me, but I beg you save it for your many suitors. I am Lady Wellingham, wife to Sir Wythe Wellingham of Kings Bank.”

  Foxy was momentarily nonplussed as memory surfaced. She knew Wythe Wellingham well, through business negotiations. She was surprised that she and Lady Wellingham hadn’t recognized one another for they had passed and nodded once in the hall of the large Wellingham home on Ball Street. Foxy had accompanied Wythe there one day to fetch some forgotten papers for Charles. Then she scowled mentally. Of course, Lady Wellingham had never seen her in other than working clothes and they certainly hadn’t expected to see one another here. Nevertheless, she forced herself to reply pleasantly.

  “Fidelia Nelson, Madam, and I am most happy to make your acquaintance.” She curtsied once more for good measure.

  Puzzlement creased Lady Wellingham’s aged features as she mused. “Nelson? ‘Tis a good name. What of your family, are they from Savannah?”

  Foxy, furious for letting herself get into this situation, smiled mockingly but with steely eyes. She might as well tell this nosy old baggage the truth. It might be fun to see her reaction.

  “We came from Mother England some ten years ago, Madam, along with the Scott family. My father is an overseer for Master Scott and my mother helps Mistress Scott with the house and the children. Now, I must be off. I beg to be excused, madam.”

  She dropped her eyes just as Lady Wellingham indignantly jerked her skirt aside but Foxy took one satisfying glance at her horrified expression as she sauntered away. As she expected, a renewed whispering immediately ensued among the old crones.

  Grimacing, she joined a group of familiar businessmen who were standing to one side. After an hour of boring hunting tales and the latest town gossip, Foxy was relieved to see Maggie fend off a would be dancing partner and plant herself firmly in an embroidered chair by the window. Fanning herself, she looked about anxiously and Foxy, excusing herself, went to her side. A look of relief smoothed her features when Foxy came into view.

  “Foxy, please,” she begged. “’Tis so hot in here. May we take a stroll through the garden?”

  Gallantly, Foxy took Maggie’s arm and they strolled out into the cool, jasmine-scented night air.

  “It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?” Foxy observed, trying to spark up a conversation.

  “Yes,” Maggie replied. “Though a little hot. How lucky you are, not to be expected to wear these dreadful skirts all the time.”

  For emphasis, she lifted hers, exposing slim ankles, and let them drop with a resounding swish.

  Foxy did the same, enjoying the surge of air. “Thank all that’s holy for breeches,” she muttered. “And boots!”

  They both laughed, happy at being alone together and walked on, arm in arm, into and through the formal rose garden.

  After a while they came upon a white, wrought iron bench. Having seated themselves comfortably, Foxy once again remarked upon the weather. “Yes, a very nice evening, wouldn’t you say?”

  Maggie wrinkled her nose at her friend and gave her a shove. “For goodness’ sake! Quit talking about the night. I’ve known you long enough to see that something’s on your mind. Come on now, speak up. What’s troubling you?”

  Foxy squirmed uncomfortably. “Nothing’s the matter really, I just...I just desire to see how you feel toward me.”

  Maggie’s eyes roamed her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, my dear, am I just a friend?”

  Maggie squinted her eyes slightly and smiled at her. “Of course, you are my friend. Lordy, how long has it been since we left England?”

  “Maggie,” Foxy said firmly. “You aren’t listening. I said, just a friend. Is there more to it?”r />
  “Foxy!” she cried, impatiently wriggling on the bench. “You must not place such a load upon me. You are trying to make me forward and I promised Papa I would not be.” Though her voice was peevish, her eyes shone with happiness and maybe, just maybe, love.

  Not thinking, Foxy clasped both her hands in both of hers, encouraged by the look in her eyes. “I do love you, Maggie, and I would know how you feel toward me.”

  Maggie giggled merrily and moved her face closer to Foxy’s. “It took you long enough, you know. I thought you’d never admit how you felt, though I could see it in your face every time you looked at me.”

  Embarrassed, Foxy broke in, “Yes, yes, but do you love me?”

  Maggie grinned, eyes shining, and replied simply. “Of course, since we were children.”

  Gently, Foxy leaned forward and captured Maggie’s lips with hers. The lilting music, the murmuring voices of the people inside, everything was forgotten in that first ecstatic kiss of realized love. There was no passion at first, only wonder, but when Foxy pulled away and saw Maggie’s deep, love misted eyes, she forgot herself. Hungrily, she kissed her again, deeply, then laid kisses upon her neck, her shoulders as well as the tops of her breasts where they pushed up impudently from her bodice. When she reached up unthinkingly to pull the gown from Maggie’s shoulders, Maggie, somehow, summoned up the willpower to push her back. “No, Foxy, ‘tis not proper.”

  They both fell back against the bench, panting with frustration and searching their surroundings to make sure they hadn’t been observed. Foxy glanced over at Maggie, noting how beautiful she looked with desire clouding her dulcet eyes and her hair tousled. She wondered at the effort it had cost Maggie to push her away. How easy it would be to drown in one another, to succumb to their strong desire. She shivered delightedly as she remembered the feel of her lips on Maggie’s bare skin.

  Foxy shifted position cautiously, feeling the wetness of arousal pool between her legs and caught Maggie’s eye. Blushing, she whispered hoarsely. “You do stir a woman’s blood, Maggie love. I had no idea I could feel this way...”

  Maggie laughed at her and threw her arms about her neck, raining kisses upon her moist, red face. “And you, my dearest love, are wonderful. I never thought we’d get to this point nor that I’d be so happy!”

  Quietly chuckling, Foxy gently forced her back to the seat. “Whoa! We have much to discuss. Listen, say nothing of this to anyone, especially your mouthy little sisters.”

  Maggie nodded as Foxy continued. “I plan to save a bit more money. I’ve already saved some, and then we shall go away together. Somewhere where no one will care that one of us is not a man.”

  Maggie frowned. “And what sort of place will that be? I can’t imagine leaving Papa...Mama...”

  Foxy sighed, revisiting her own troubled thoughts brought out for examination late at night. “I...I’m not sure. We cannot stay here though. Can we?”

  Maggie studied Foxy’s face, her own eyes brimming with tears. “Why are we this way, Fidelia? How can two women love as we do?”

  Foxy shook her head. “I’m not sure. There are several books in the library here at the plantation that portray this kind of love. I stumbled across them as I was reading through the collections. So much made sense when I saw it there, in writing. A portion of the population has always been this way.”

  “I heard speak of the Molly’s in England when I was a child. Is it like that?” Maggie asked in a whisper.

  “Yes, but they’re men who love one another. We’re Sapphists, little sisters who want to live like the poetess Sappho on the Greek island of Lesbos.” She paused thoughtfully. “I, too, am not sure why we are this way. I’m not overly troubled by it, although it does mean that we must make a solitary life for ourselves if we wish to be together.”

  Maggie reached and held Foxy’s hand. Her eyes were sorrowful.

  “Can you do it, Maggie?” Foxy asked finally. “Can you give up everything, this home, this family, to live this unnatural love?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know,” Maggie said with a deep sigh. “I do know that I could not bear a day that didn’t have you in it. Your kisses have just proven to me how very earnestly I wish to lie with you, to touch you intimately and to follow the imaginings of my heart to their final fruition.”

  Foxy pressed her lips together briefly. “Ahh, Maggie, you speak my heart.”

  “But I don’t know if I could leave without explanation,” Maggie continued. “My parents love you, Foxy, they think of you as one of their own. Surely, they would understand our love. Or accept it if beyond their understanding.”

  Foxy shook her head, her mouth grim. “I have my doubts. We are in no hurry, however. I say we bide our patience, remain discreet, and allow events to unfold as they will.

  Maggie nodded but frowned playfully. “But how long will it be? I have no desire to be an old maid, you know.”

  Foxy’s smile was gentle, indulgent. “A few months, maybe. We shall see. I assure you that you shan’t be an old maid. I want you as my own as soon as possible.”

  She was very glad when the possessive look in her eyes as she said this caused Maggie to tremble with delight. Though both innocent still, they could somehow sense the pleasures that awaited one another. Quickly, she lowered her gaze, afraid she would lose all control.

  She stood and slowly pulled Maggie to her feet. “Come, love, we must go back inside or tongues will wag. I fear that my presence here has already caused Lady Wellingham to have an apoplectic fit.”

  She patted her hair and shook out her skirts, then turned back to swiftly rearrange Maggie’s disheveled clothing. Then, scheming still, laughing and chattering, they made their way back to the crowded ballroom.

  LATER THAT EVENING, nigh onto morning, when all the guests were abed or departed, Maggie was ascending the stairs to her room. As she placed her foot on the first step, her father came out of his study and hailed her.

  “Darling Magpie, did you enjoy your ball?” He seemed worried to her.

  “Yes, Papa, thank you,” she murmured dreamily.

  “Good, good,” he said, patting his coat pocket. “By the way, Mistress Wellingham mentioned to me that a young girl of Foxy’s station should not have been at a ball for the plantation owners. Do you know how she came to be invited?”

  Maggie, ascending the stairs as though sleepwalking, did not even look at him. “I asked her to come, Papa. She is my dear friend, you know,” she said softly over her shoulder. “Good night.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  RIDING ALONG THE creek bank was one of Foxy’s favorite ways of relaxing. The rushing water seemed to speak to her, the occasional rustling waterfowl a source of inspiration. On this afternoon, two days after the ball, she paid scant attention to the beauty surrounding her. She was daydreaming of the day Maggie would be hers.

  The weather was balmy and she relaxed her hold on the reins to let her horse wander, much as her mind was. So lost in thought was she, that it took a good while for the sound to penetrate her consciousness. When it did, she cocked her head and listened closer.

  There it was again! Someone was weeping piteously in the grove of trees to her left. Following the heart rending sobs, she guided her horse away from the creek and into the trees.

  She came out in the same clearing where she and Maggie had first kissed that day so long ago. The place invoked warm memories and brought a soft fleeting smile to her lips. Still the person sobbed so she hurried on and did not linger. Rounding a huge cypress, she saw a woman huddled on the mossy ground. She was wearing a peach colored frock and even from a distance, she could tell it was her beloved. Flying from her mount, she raced to her side and gathered her into her arms. She lifted her wet, stained face and tried frantically to kiss away the tears.

  “Maggie, Maggie, please tell me what has brought you to this!” she cried out between the kisses.

  Maggie didn’t answer her, only buried her face in Foxy’s broadcloth covered chest and sobbed
even harder. Foxy held her close, rocking her, thoroughly puzzled by her deep sadness. She’d never seen her like this, normally she was so bubbly and so full of cheer as a rule, but now it seemed she was heartbroken.

  After a long, long while, when the sun had left shadows lurking, her sobs weakened and she was able to pull away. Foxy searched her face carefully and was shocked to find her eyes dead, the light gone from them.

  Maggie brushed a hand across her brow and looked at her so sadly it made her heart lurch. Gently, Foxy cupped Maggie’s face in her hands.

  “Maggie, what is wrong? Please confide in me.”

  She sniffled like a child and blurted out. “I—it’s Father!”

  Foxy frowned at her. “What is it? Has he been injured?”

  She shook her head impatiently, flinging Foxy’s hands aside. “No, No, he’s fine! Oh, Foxy, my darling!” She broke down into fresh tears.

  “Maggie, please,” Foxy cried out firmly. “Don’t weep again! Tell me what the trouble is.”

  Quickly, before she could blink her eyes, Maggie straightened, wiped away the tears and spat words at her angrily. “He wants me to marry Clyde Wellingham. They have arranged everything between them. The engagement is to be in the papers on the morrow and already they are packing for a trip to town that I may pick out my trousseau! There! Are you happy? Now everyone here shall be rid of me!”

  Foxy was stunned. Clyde Wellingham? How had this come about? Damn it all! Maggie was hers. She felt anger beginning to blind her, but she choked it down and forced herself to speak softly. “And do you wish to marry him?”

  Maggie had been watching her face closely, trying to read her feelings, but Foxy knew her features were like stone. Now, she shook her head furiously. “No! Of course not. Father just thinks he will be a fine husband because he’s the banker’s only son and stands to inherit the business.”

  Foxy mulled this over calmly. “What do you want to do?”