“So,” Mrs. Best asked after returning, “what do you think of Libby Spenser?”
“She’s a pretty girl. Seems nice, as well. Why?”
“Just wondering. Corinne Waterman has never stopped by to visit before, so I’m assuming it was so the niece could meet you.”
“I’m glad she did. I’m more than happy to show Libby around,” Adam lied.
Cecilia studied him for a long moment before declaring, “Well, I’m going up to bed now. Will you put out the lamps before you turn in?”
“Sure will.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Good night.”
Alone now, Adam was the first to admit he’d agreed only so he could be around Jo. His admission would anger her if she knew, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. It was maddening really, because he didn’t want to meddle in her life, but he couldn’t seem to put a damper on his feelings for her. She and George seemed quite taken with each other, which Adam found equally as maddening because George wasn’t the man for her. Brooks was too passive, too agreeable. Jo needed someone who would stand up to her and for her, and George didn’t impress Adam as having that much inner strength. Adam had enough confidence in the old Morgan charm to know that if he really wanted Josephine at his side George Brooks wouldn’t stand a chance, but Adam wanted Jo to come to him of her own accord. She was an innocent; Adam doubted she’d ever been kissed. A man of lesser character might take advantage of that innocence to try and influence her in her choice of a sweetheart, but Adam had no intentions of sinking that low. He wanted Jo to give her heart freely, and he admittedly didn’t want that heart given to George Brooks.
So, what to do? He didn’t know, and that was maddening, as well. In the end, he decided his only option was to concentrate on the willowy Libby Spenser for now and figure out what to do about his feelings for Jo later.
Adam stood and stretched. True to his word, he doused all of the lamps before heading upstairs. He agreed with Mrs. Best that the Dragon Lady had probably brought Libby by this evening for the express purpose of meeting him, but Adam didn’t mind because to be forewarned was to be forearmed.
The morning of the ice-cream social dawned sunny and bright. With the war on, celebrations such as the one today were few and far between. The fighting down South had cast a pall over the country, and when people did come together, it was usually for a serious event such as raising money for the Union’s efforts, or for rallies like the one being held next week in Detroit. According to the newspaper, the rally organizers wanted to alert folks to the plight of the thousands of escaped slaves who’d attached themselves to Sherman’s armies and were following him across the South. Aid organizations both black and white were gearing up to send blankets, food and medicine in hopes of relieving the suffering.
Today’s gathering would be strictly fun, however, and Jo planned to take in as much of the good time as a properly raised young woman could stand.
Dressed in her purple gown with the white lace inset, and with her hair done up just so, Jo took one last look in the mirror. Noting her reflection with approval, she left the room and headed downstairs to breakfast.
Everyone else was already seated at the table when Jo sauntered in calling, “Good morning. Isn’t it a glorious day?”
Cecilia smiled. “Yes, it is, dear. You look lovely.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
Jo took a moment to bow her head and say a silent prayer before reaching for the plate of toast.
Adam held up the jam pot. “Jam, Jo?”
“Yes,” she said. As she reached to take the pot from his hand, her fingers accidentally brushed against his and the spark of contact shimmied like lightning up her arm. Her eyes jumped to his. The knowing smile he gave her let her know that he’d felt something, too. Why was this happening? she wondered. The more she was around him, the less she seemed able to ignore him.
The voice of her mother broke the spell. “Pass me the jam when you’re done, dear.”
Jo dropped her gaze and refocused herself on her breakfast.
The festivities were to begin at ten in the morning, and George drove up in a rented buggy at precisely half past nine. Hoping she appeared and sounded cheerful, Jo called out, “Good morning, George.”
“Morning, Josephine. You’re prettier than the day.”
In spite of his faults, George did know how to make her feel special. “Thank you, George. Where’s your stick?”
“Doc says I no longer need it.”
“Why, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. The leg still tires easily but it should get stronger. Is Belle ready?”
“Yes, but we can’t leave just this minute.”
“Why not?”
Jo explained how their original party of three had swelled to five, and that their departure had to be delayed until Libby Spenser arrived.
He said, “I don’t mind waiting. The more the merrier, I always say.”
Jo was grateful for his easygoing nature. He’d make some traditional woman very happy someday. “We’ll have to take our wagon instead. Yours won’t hold everyone.”
“Fine with me. I’ll park it here and take it back when we return.”
“Good. Then shall we take a seat on the porch?”
“Never been one to turn down an invitation from a pretty girl,” he replied with a smile, so he and Jo walked up to the porch to wait.
Adam stepped out and said coolly, “Morning, Brooks.”
“Morgan.”
Adam took a look at Jo in that lovely purple gown and felt his irritation with Brooks rise anew. If Adam could have sent the soldier packing he would have, but he had no right, so he went over to the bench, sat and tried not to glare.
When the clock read half-past ten and Libby still hadn’t shown, a perturbed and now pacing Jo began to grumble beneath her breath. Adam met Jo’s annoyed face with a shrug. Belle took off her hat and went back inside to wait. George continued to sit patiently but kept pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, which let Jo know that he, too, was becoming concerned.
Adam said to the pacing Jo, “Maybe something has happened.”
“What’s going to happen,” Jo drawled back, “is, if she isn’t here by the top of the hour we are leaving.”
No one argued.
As more time passed, Jo wanted to stomp around and tell anyone who’d listen just how she felt about having her fun cut short by Libby’s lack of timeliness. But in the words of her mother, such behavior would be neither Christian nor becoming, so she quit her pacing and took a seat.
Mrs. Best stuck her head out the door. “Are you all still here? I thought you’d gone some time ago.”
Jo replied testily, “No, Mama. We’re still here. We’re waiting on Libby.”
“Ah. Well, I’m going back to my book. If she’s not here soon, I’d advise you to go on ahead.”
“Thanks, we will.” Jo was glad to hear her mother give them sanction to leave Libby behind. “I’ll let you know when we leave.”
Mrs. Best disappeared back into the house. Jo and the others resumed the wait.
Adam had to admit that he wasn’t very happy with Libby’s tardiness, either. He was a stickler for punctuality because he’d been raised not to keep others waiting. He would continue to give Libby the benefit of the doubt and hoped nothing was seriously wrong.
At five minutes before eleven o’clock, the Waterman buggy finally roared up. Bert was at the reins. Beside him on the seat sat Libby. Upon seeing them, Jo offered up a sarcastic sounding “Hallelujah!”
They all went down to meet Bert and Libby. Bert appeared to be as perturbed as Jo herself felt.
He nodded. “Jo. Sorry we’re late. She couldn’t decide what to wear.”
Libby, her eyes only for Adam as he helped her down, said, as if wounded, “Bert, you make me sound like an addle-headed female who couldn’t make up her mind, when in reality my indecision grew from—shame.” She d
ropped her head dramatically.
Jo and Belle shared a look, then rolled their eyes.
Adam, his face filled with concern, asked, “Why shame?”
She said sadly, “I own only two dresses, Adam, and I had to decide which one would embarrass you less.”
Adam wondered if she’d ever been on the stage, but said in as genuine a voice as he could muster, “You need not have worried about that. I’m not so shallow.”
Jo wondered how much longer this saga would continue before everyone could get in the buggy and leave. Jo had to hand it to Libby, though; the performance was a good one, and the faded blue dress with its mended underarms and shiny frayed hem was just the right touch to elicit the sympathy of anyone who might care that Libby was so pinched by poverty. Jo didn’t count herself in that group, however, so she said, “George, are you ready?”
He nodded. “Sure am.”
Bert, patently ignoring his cousin, asked Jo, “Did you have a chance to deliver my message?”
“I did.”
He nodded. “Then, I’m off.”
Jo wondered if he meant he was going after Dred. “Bert, wait—”
But he drove away.
Adam asked, “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” she lied, then asked with a false cheeriness, “Are we ready to go?”
George drove. Jo sat beside him while Belle, Adam and Libby sat on big hay bales in the bed.
Jo heard Libby say to Adam, “Thanks again for escorting me.”
Then she heard Adam reply, “Again, you’re welcome.”
“What do you do, Adam?” Libby then asked.
“Right now, not much of anything. I just got discharged from the war. Once the Union Army gets everything settled down South, I’ll decide.”
“But how do you live without a means of income?” she asked innocently.
Jo turned so she could see Adam’s face. He looked at Jo for a moment, then replied to Libby, “I have some funds at my disposal.”
“It must be quite a sum.”
Adam asked a bit coolly, “What makes you assume that?”
“Oh, the quality of your clothes, the way you carry yourself. I’m betting you’re a very wealthy man, Adam Morgan.”
“And that pleases you?”
“Of course, silly. Every lady wants to be on the arm of a well-to-do gentleman.”
“I see.”
Jo was pleased. Now maybe Adam would realize the flower he’d picked was really a stinkweed.
When Jo and her party finally reached the big field behind Mrs. Oswald’s house there were vehicles and conveyances everywhere. In deference to Adam’s limited walking abilities, George let Libby and Adam off by the festivities, then drove on to find a place to park. Jo had been correct; everyone in town seemed to be in attendance. Most of the attendees were young women, and many had their mamas in tow. Once again, Jo gave thanks for having Belle as a sister-in-law who could play chaperone. Not that Jo didn’t love her mother, but Belle was younger and a whole lot more fun.
After leaving the buggy behind, Jo, Belle and George walked the short distance through a small stand of trees back to the grassy field where the main gathering was being held. As they entered the cleared glade, Jo spotted little girls jumping rope while their brothers and male cousins played marbles in the dust. She smiled at a group of adolescents squealing with laughter as they attempted to pull taffy that wouldn’t cooperate on such a warm, humid day. One of the local farmers was giving pony rides to some of the toddlers in attendance. The soldiers were interspersed among the crowd, as well. The ones who were ambulatory were standing in groups talking to the ladies dressed in their Sunday best, while the men in casts and wheelchairs were waited upon hand and foot by everyone who passed them by. Jo was glad to see such a large turnout. The Dred Reed affair had made many of the townspeople wary of visiting with the men; that seemed to have changed.
Belle surveyed the large crowd and remarked, “This is wonderful. Look at all the people.”
George nodded. “Glad folks figured out we soldiers are not all Dred Reeds.”
Jo noticed Adam and Libby a few yards away talking animatedly with a small group of people Jo knew from school and church. Someone had fetched Adam a chair and he was seated while Libby hovered close beside him. When Libby glanced up and saw Jo watching, Libby’s eyes glowed with such catty triumph, Jo turned away. “George, how about we find some punch?”
He held out his arm and she hooked it with her own.
“You two go on,” Belle told them. “I’ll see you later. There are a few of my friends I wish to speak with.”
Neither Jo nor George argued, so Belle went one way and they went another.
In spite of the decision Jo had made about her future with George, she had a wonderful time with him. They ate sandwiches, drank punch and topped it all off with bowls of cold vanilla ice cream. He talked about his childhood and she told him what it was like being the little sister. “Oh, they treated me badly every now and again, tying me up, scaring me with snakes and things, but all in all, Dani and the Morgans were good big brothers to me.”
George spooned up the last of his ice cream. “Well, I’m glad Libby came along to be with Adam. Keeps him out of our hair.”
“Yes, it does,” Jo agreed, even though she couldn’t seem to stop herself from looking for Adam whenever she thought George wouldn’t notice. Why she was so concerned about Adam’s whereabouts and what he might be doing was beyond her, or at least that’s what she told herself.
At half past two o’clock, everyone gathered in a corner of the field to marvel at the afternoon’s main attraction: a man with a hot air balloon. He was a French Canadian named Maxwell Bordeaux and he made his living giving rides in his balloons at fairs, church picnics and any other outdoor gathering. Men were charged two cents to go up in the balloon; ladies rode for free.
“I want to go up,” Jo told George excitedly, but he looked skeptical.
Mr. Bordeaux and his two male helpers were in the process of unfolding the yards and yards of material that made up the balloon.
“I don’t know, Josephine. It looks to be dangerous.” George voiced his doubt.
“So is crossing the road sometimes, George, but that doesn’t make you hide out in your house.”
The balloon was soon unfolded and the largest wicker basket anyone in Whittaker had ever seen was taken off the back of a wagon and set nearby. Jo thought it could easily hold two or three people. “Come on, George, please? Say you’ll go up with me?”
While the helpers continued to work, the townspeople ringing the men tossed out questions to Mr. Bordeaux. “Is it dangerous?” one of the soldiers asked.
Mr. Bordeaux, who appeared to be in his middle years but still had a full head of jet-black hair, nodded. “It can be. One of the first men to ride was also the first man to die. His name was Pilatre de Rozier—but that was a long time ago. Mademoiselle, would you and your gentleman like to see the countryside as the birds do?”
Jo said eagerly, “I would.”
George’s reluctance was quite apparent, so much so that the crowd laughed good-naturedly. A male voice called out, “I don’t blame you, George. Not even a girl as pretty as Miss Josephine could get me up in one of those contraptions.”
The spectators continued to watch and marvel as the edges of the big red and white balloon were fastened to the basket with stout hooks and even stouter ropes. Mr. Bordeaux explained that the fire in the burner would fill the balloon with hot air and give it the buoyancy needed to rise and sail on the wind currents. He relayed to everyone that the first hot air balloon had been made in France, in 1783, by two brothers named Montgolfier. “Their first passengers were a sheep, a duck and a chicken.”
Everyone laughed with disbelief, but Mr. Bordeaux swore the story was true.
Jo could see Adam and Libby among the curious crowd. To Jo it appeared as if Adam was trying to persuade Libby to go up with him, but Libby was shaking her head vehe
mently. He appeared frustrated and looked up just in time to see Jo watching them. He gave her a wave and a smile, then hobbled on his stick toward where she stood with George. Libby hastened to catch up to him.
When Adam reached Jo’s side, he ignored the slight face George made and said to her, “Pretty exciting, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
The hot air was beginning to fill the balloon. It was now wavering upright and getting fatter. Thick ropes threaded around fat wooden stakes anchored the wicker basket to the ground.
Adam said, “Libby won’t go up with me.”
Jo confessed, “George turned me down, as well.”
Adam grinned. “Then how about we go? The two of us.”
Jo’s eyes widened like a child’s. “Really?”
Belle walked up.
Jo said excitedly, “Adam and I are going up in the balloon.”
Belle tossed back, “And have your mother turn me to stone when I come back and tell her you’re dead because you fell headfirst out of a balloon? Nope.”
“Oh, Belle, please?”
“No.”
George smiled. “Thank you, Belle. She wouldn’t listen to me.”
Jo shot him a quelling look, then declared, “Come on, Adam. I am seventeen years of age. I own my own business. I believe I am old enough to decide whether I can go up in a balloon or not.”
Adam said with a smile, “Attagirl! Belle, I take full responsibility.”
Belle drawled, “Remember that when you have to bring her lifeless body home to her mother.”
Libby took hold of Adam’s arm. “Adam, please don’t do this. You could be killed.”
Mr. Bordeaux countered easily, “Ballooning is safe, mademoiselle. Both the Union and the Confederate armies have been using them in the war to scout troop movements, and gather other intelligence. Nothing’s going to happen.”
George stepped in front of Jo and told her in no uncertain terms, “Josephine, you are not going up in that balloon. I forbid it!”
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Forbid? George, I’m going to assume your concern has made you irrational. I’ll see you when I come down.”
Josephine Page 14
