The sound of Maum Jo rummaging about downstairs reminded Mrs. Beaumont it was pointless to ponder such dreary thoughts when there was so much to do. “Maum Jo, are you cleanin’ that floor down there?” she called in angst that the time had slipped so silently past her. A faint “Yes’m,” floated up the staircase to her satisfied ears. She turned to finish preparing.
* * * * *
At the depot, the blue-bonneted lady hesitantly stepped from the train. She was free of her reckless peers who thought only of war! The last time she had come to Richmond, her kind friends had taken care of her traveling accommodations. With the bombing of Sumter, she was left to her own feeble devices. Even from Everett Harris, she had not received a letter of reply.
She halfheartedly searched the crowd for one who would help. The morning was bright for her eyes, which were accustomed to the gray shine of the train windows. Though the residents of Richmond feverishly waved their fans in the humidity, the blue-bonnet welcomed the air, though not entirely fresh. The air was a definite improvement from the close atmosphere of the train. She lifted up her dark skirts and began to weave through the crowd. Her name was shouted, and she whipped around, thankful someone had come to see her into town. Struggling to push her way through the horde, she stumbled into the man who shouted her name.
“Rutherford, who is this?” a woman demanded from behind the blue-bonnet.
The blue-bonneted woman froze. She had mistaken herself as the woman he had called for across the throng. Straightening with the aid of the bewildered man, she managed a small smile. “I have…mistaken this man for someone I knew in this wild mass, and had not thought to inspect him. I heard my name called, and—well, it is obvious he called to you, not me.”
The woman’s brow arched over her cynical gaze. “Very well,” she conceded. Expectantly watching her husband, she snapped, “Is all ready to leave, Rutherford?” as he tipped his hat, took his wife’s arm and eagerly led her away.
Tightly gripping her valise, the bonneted lady wandered to a bench to collect her shaken nerves. She frowned until her head ached, and only then did she realize she sat beside an equally dejected youth. “May I ask what’s wrong, sir?” she asked.
“Ain’t no one to carry their bags for, ma’am,” he sniffled, wiping the back of his grimy hand past his pale, freckled nose. “Mama’s expectin’ me to come home with coins for food and I ain’t got nothin’ yet.”
Her heart went out to the red-headed little boy, though she suspected his story to be a set of cleverly concocted lies. No matter, a penny saved is a penny earned, and she had plenty of pennies today. “Would you mind findin’ my trunks for me, sir?” she smiled.
Grinning, he grabbed her luggage ticket and promptly returned dragging her trunk across the dock.
“Is it too heavy?” she asked, noticing he was the same length as the trunk he dragged.
“Oh no, ma’am. This is the lightest trunk I’ve had in a long time. Y’all must be a sensible type of girl, to have only one trunk, and that not even havin’ lots in it,” he brightly replied, dropping the trunk and sitting upon it cross-legged.
She laughed, amused by his childish exuberance. “Do you think you could find a carriage to take me to Mrs. Beaumont’s?”
The boy tipped his cap, standing to squint in the sunlight. “With no extra charge, ma’am,” he said, pointing to an open carriage. Taking the blue-bonnet’s hand, he used the other to drag the trunk as they speedily attempted to catch the cabby. “This here is Elijah, ma’am, and he’s one of the best drivers around.”
The darkie driver tipped his hat and laboriously climbed from his perched seat. “Glad to be of help, ma’am.”
“How nice to meet you…” her comment trailed as she caught their gazes. Stretching her mind to remember all the southern customs she had been brought up on as a child, she decided she need not give them an explanation, but merely smile and board the cabby. No use to cause a commotion.
The carriage crawled through Richmond’s familiar streets: her hometown. As she recognized a select number of people, she remembered the day when she knew everything and one about Richmond. A bump jarred her thoughts, and, shaking her head over the sight of another drunk lying in an alley, she sighed. How she wished she could contact Everett, she mused, noting the church clock read half an hour till noon.
* * * * *
Mrs. Beaumont looked over the newly rented room with pleasure. A female voice crawled up the building: “I can manage from here.” Mrs. Beaumont rushed to her room. With a grunt she tugged off her calico dress and jerked her brush through her hair. The train had slid into the depot an hour earlier, or so she had judged by the sound of the train’s whistle. How could the boarder be here so quickly? “Maum Jo, she’s here!”
Maum Jo dropped the cloth she used to wash the kitchen floor. She grabbed her sodden skirts and briskly shuffled up to the master bedroom. “Missus, I don’ know why you always plod like this. You s’posed to get ready nigh one hour ago!”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout me. Have you finished with the moppin’ downstairs? —Good.” Mrs. Beaumont motioned to the blue organdy on her bed as she brutally tightened her corset.
“Whatever keeps you happy, missus,” Maum Jo said, pulling out a lighter dress.
“Maum Jo, hand me that organdy. I know it’s summer, but it’s my best and I shall not go downstairs to meet my guests in some frilly little thing. I’m southern, I can handle humidity!”
Below, the smart blue bonnet, ignorant of the scramble inside, straightened her shoulders. This was hardly the moment to be timid, she thought, biting her lip and lifting her skirts as she walked to the door. Her dainty feet mounted the step as her hand reached to grasp the knocker.
“Maum Jo! Get the door!”
The slave shuffled down the staircase, huffing as she reached the landing. Maum Jo flinched into a steady composure as the knocker yet again slammed against the door. Grumbling over the impatience of people these days, she opened the door. Her smile was large and showy, and caught the blue-bonneted woman off guard with its enthusiasm.
“Welcome to Mrs. Beaumont’s,” Maum Jo said, ushering the woman into the foyer. “If you’se could wait here for Mrs. B?”
The rich woodwork and burgundy chairs of the foyer awed the young woman, and soothed her voyage-frazzled mind. Watercolors of rolling hills and valleys, southern plantations and landscapes, decorated the papered walls. Yes, there was no arguing the fact that she had returned south. It was rather comforting. Suddenly realizing she had been spoken to, she smiled. “Here is quite nice, I think I will like waitin’ here,” she answered, inwardly recoiling from her own imperious tone.
Maum Jo nodded, and shuffled to the kitchen with the intent of whipping up a batch of lemonade…once she finished drying up the mess of water from the floor.
The young woman removed her bonnet, revealing her soft hair, which, when given the opportunity, she had scooped into a casual chignon. Tugging at her white gauntlets, she dropped one in her drowsy state. With a frown she knelt to pick the glove up, surprised to find the hem of a blue organdy skirt waiting on the first step of the staircase. She stood, blushing.
Mrs. Beaumont regally stepped from the stair, her arms open and welcoming. “Why Miss Williams! How wonderful it is that you could grace my humble home!”
“What’s wonderful is that you have permitted me to come and grace it.” Miss Williams quietly smiled and offered her hand.
Mrs. Beaumont, who frowned upon such manly behavior, diffidently accepted Miss Williams’ firm grip. “I hope your travels were not too strenuous. I have heard that travelin’ is no longer what is used to be, you know. One has to sit next to whoever buys a ticket…as though we all belong to the same social set! How did you find your travel, Miss Williams? Swift and unruffled, I hope?”
“The train was so soothin’ I fell asleep,” Miss Williams glibly lied. “Am I the first here?”
“Oh, yes. If you like, you can wait in the parlor for the
other tenant to arrive,” Mrs. Beaumont effused, placing her hand on Miss Williams’ arm as they moved from the foyer. Hardly noticing her charge’s surprised flinch upon such familiar contact, Mrs. Beaumont chatted, “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a boarder you come as quite a luminary, Miss Williams! We are so glad you decided to come, and I hope you will enjoy your roommate. She is more southern than you, I suppose, as you have spent the last couple years in Washington, from what I understand, but I believe you will like her. She is a family friend, and close to your age, I think. You are not yet twenty, are you? I thought not. Well, here is the parlor. I’ll have Maum Jo get someone to take your trunk to your room.”
Before Miss Williams could reply, the door shut and she was alone. Frowning, she assessed the properly attired, and obviously not-often-used, front parlor. The room was filled with the usual parlor amenities: horsehair chairs, fine tables and a clock above the mantel, portraits of deceased family members, and the like. The wood shone with newly applied wax, and the heavy drapes hardly moved in the stagnant air. Filtered sunlight danced with the wafting dust, and Miss Williams resisted a sneeze. Evidently, Mrs. Beaumont and her slave had spent the morning doing last minute cleaning.
Blinking against her sleepiness, Miss Williams sat on the sofa, digging her heels into the carpet to keep from slipping to the floor. If it were not for her confused alliances, she could very well have been at home, enjoying an apple as she read in the family library. She yawned behind her hand and wished her corset were not so rigid so she could slouch with her fatigue.
Mrs. Beaumont, after shutting the door, leaned against it and frowned at the warming day. Straightening her skirts, she couldn’t help but think that Maum Jo had been right about the organdy, as she found with some displeasure that the hall clock already read near noon.
* * * * *
Across town, another train came rolling into Richmond. A young woman who held her parasol high was the first to step off. She turned to find that her slave couldn’t follow even her leisurely walk, as an attendant took her valise. “Nan,” she said, “why does it take you so long to follow me?”
“I’m sorry, Missy Ronnie. He wouldn’t let me pass,” Nan mumbled, taking the valise from the attendant. Had others listened to her speech, they would have been surprised by her cultured tone. But her mistress wasn’t, for when young they had been secret, illegal schoolmates. Nan walked to a carriage, murmuring to the driver and pointing to her mistress, who agitatedly shifted her weight in the sun. Moments later, though, the slave caught the carriage and had her mistress carefully inside.
“Where to, missy?” the driver asked as he shut the door.
“Mrs. Beaumont’s,” the mistress answered. Richmond: the farthest north she had ever traveled. If things continued in their current manner she would have to go farther still. Accursed arranged marriage, horrible societal responsibilities and disgusting customs. The young woman looked at Nan from the privacy of her hat. It was fortunate that her mother had allowed this voyage so long as Nan accompanied. Had her father been alive, none of this would have been possible, and she would have been an unhappily married woman.
With a jump, the mistress realized the carriage had stopped, and the driver stared with his hand out for hers. Had it been half an hour already? The sun hardly moved from its spot in the sky, and so it seemed she had dreamed away her initial response to Richmond. How disappointing.
Blinking, the woman stepped from the carriage and assessed the brown-brick boarding house. It was rather quaint. She wiped her gray skirt from dust. “Well, go ring the bell, Nan,” she said, peeking at her pocket watch. Why it was near noon!
* * * * *
Mrs. Beaumont gathered her skirts with the suggestion that Maum Jo throw together a pitcher of lemonade. The all too familiar sounds of a stopping carriage made her pause. Never before had two boarders arrived within an hour of each other, and she had looked forward to cooling off with Miss Williams.
With a sudden lightening of heart, she remembered this was Bella’s daughter. To have a southern belle would surely alleviate her worries; and it was almost certain that Bella would send a message with her daughter asking how all was going.
And if not, Bella’s sending of her daughter meant one certain thing in Mrs. Beaumont’s mind: she would have her old seat in society. With Bella as her best friend, she was receiving twice as much rent as requested. Waiting for Maum Jo to shuffle to the door, Mrs. Beaumont rolled her eyes and waved her slave forward. Silly old woman, she thought, as Maum Jo welcomed the slave of the new boarder.
“Announcin’ the esteemed Miss Veronica Vernon to the house of Mrs. Beaumont,” Nan quietly and calmly said as her mistress flounced in, her parasol shading her complexion.
Mrs. Beaumont threw open her arms. “Well if it ain’t little Miss Ronnie Vernon! How has your family been? Is your momma well? I do hope you told her how glad I am that you have come. I heard about your daddy’s death a couple years ago, how sorry I am to hear it. He was a good man, your daddy was.”
“I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble,” Miss Vernon said, recoiling from her landlady’s enthusiasm. Mrs. Beaumont obviously did not know the entire situation, if she asked such questions about her mother, and praised her father.
“Oh no! We are all so happy to meet you,” she answered, slightly put-off by Miss Vernon’s coolness. “Was your voyage comfortable?”
“Not in the least. A child cried the entire time and I have a terrible headache. Am I the first here?” Miss Vernon conversationally asked, feeling slightly guilty about her previous tone.
“Oh, no. Her name is Miss Amelia Williams. She is a dear,” Mrs. Beaumont said, looping her arm with Miss Vernon’s as they walked behind the staircase to the hall boasting two sets of doors. “She came just now, and I must say I am surprised at how close together in time you came! Never before have I had two boarders from such different locations come within half an hour of each other. Are, here is Miss Williams. Isn’t she a dear, Miss Vernon?”
Miss Vernon closed her eyes in an attempt not to laugh at Mrs. Beaumont’s loquaciousness. Just being around her reminded Miss Vernon of her mother’s good moods, and suddenly she understood why they had been such good friends. No doubt they had spent hours gossiping about the scandalous neighbors. “Nan, get my bags,” she said, avoiding Mrs. Beaumont’s evident want of approval for her roommate.
Nan disappeared from the room, glad to be occupied. Mrs. Beaumont talked too much for her liking.
“Miss Amelia, meet your new roommate, Miss Veronica. I do hope you two will enjoy each other’s company, as you will be roommates. I want us all to be a happy family, what with the war goin’ on and everyone bein’ torn apart. We shall have jolly times and I for one am ready for them,” Mrs. Beaumont said, spinning on her heel to leave them to become acquainted.
Determined not to let her exhaustion conquer, Miss Amelia weakly smiled at her roommate. How finely dressed she looked!
Miss Veronica watched Miss Amelia from the corner of her eye, removing her gloves. The woman wore a blue skirt and waistcoat: this showed sense as it was impractical to wear light colors when traveling by train. Though trains were the new rage and made traveling efficient, the grime the train’s smokestack spewed made dark clothes a necessity. Miss Veronica also noted the lack of frills her own ensemble had. The slight allowance for curls at Miss Amelia’s temples softened what would otherwise have been a slender visage, and the casual chignon of her auburn hair appealed to Miss Veronica’s sense of beauty.
How very Quakeresque Miss Amelia looked, compared to her own ensemble! Miss Veronica observed her blue eyes showed a sense of independence. Though Miss Amelia dressed plainly, it was evident she wanted for nothing. With an ill-concealed chuckle, Miss Veronica noticed Miss Amelia scrutinized her as well as she did Miss Amelia. She quickly ran over her own outfit: her gray skirt, green shirtwaist, white hat and parasol. As usual, Miss Veronica was pleased with her appearance.
Mis
s Amelia watched Miss Veronica with awe and a slight degree of apprehension. Her hair, as one would think if thinking in stereotypes, was pulled softly back with a coif of braids at her crown and long sausage curls hanging from the structure. It made quite an effect. Where Miss Amelia was plain, Miss Veronica was stylish; elegant, one might say. A white scarf tucked into the bodice highlighted her waistcoat, and she had pinned to her scarf a small sprig. Her brown eyes were not stupid as Miss Amelia gazed in them, though they showed unrest.
Yet, one would not think by looking at Miss Veronica’s stance that she was anything but relaxed, no, it was her eyes that betrayed her unease. Her stance, almost haughty, indicated that Miss Veronica was much used to being obeyed. Even so, Miss Amelia felt no sense of the antagonist within her roommate, rather, that they were to become friends.
They sighed, each finished with her investigation of the other.
Miss Veronica realized with a slight grimace that Miss Amelia had not yet invited her to sit. Smoothly clearing her throat, she transferred her gloves from one hand to the other.
Miss Amelia, startled into politeness, quickly asked, “Would you like to sit?”
“Travelin’ does make one so terribly weary,” Miss Veronica sighed, sliding into a horsehair chair beside the sofa Miss Amelia sat on. She threw her gloves to her lap and waited for something interesting to happen. Whatever happened to Mrs. Beaumont with that lemonade?
Miss Amelia smiled and nodded, trying to smother a yawn. Not succeeding in the least, Miss Veronica laughed, “Do, please yawn. I should think we will get used to it, if we are to be roommates.”
Catching the Rose Page 2
