“Chatham Artillery Punch,” said a woman’s voice to her left.
Lucy glanced at her, taking in her simple but expensive-looking dark-blue dress, the cameo necklace, the gray curls brushing her shoulders. “Named after Georgia’s oldest military unit. I would expect nothing less at Dr. Stroud’s party.”
“A full bar is the sign of a good party, and Johnny makes the finest drinks around, but I just have to have a punch table. As for this stuff, they say that when President Monroe stopped in Savannah in 1819, they mixed up a batch in a horse bucket.”
Lucy peered into the bowl. “I hear it takes two days to make. I wonder what they used for a recipe.”
“I can tell you, because I made it myself. A few ounces of green tea leaves in cold water for a day and a half, then add the lemon juice and half a pound of brown sugar. Add a quart of bourbon, dark rum and brandy each. Set to mingle for a day, then pour over a block of ice with three bottles of champagne. Now, you get a recipe like that and you know your party’s bound to be a success.”
Lucy couldn’t help responding to the laughter in the woman’s blue eyes. Her accent was the same as Lucy’s mama’s, straight from the low country of Louisiana. “You’re Dr. Stroud’s wife?” She held out her hand, introducing herself.
“Oh, goodness. I forgot my manners when I saw you examining my handiwork.” Instead of shaking Lucy’s hand, Mrs. Stroud reached out and gave her a quick squeeze. “I know who you are, of course. Jacob thinks a lot of all the work you’ve done at the interpretive center. He says it’s one of the best preserved battle sites in the state.”
She smiled, pleased at the compliment. Most residents of Tupelo didn’t even know Brice’s Crossroads existed. “You have a beautiful accent. My mama was from Cane River.”
“Really? Well now, then we’re almost related.” Mrs. Stroud dropped her voice. “My husband has been tryin’ to teach me to speak Mississippi for twenty years. It just won’t stick.”
“I’m glad.” Lucy didn’t realize how much she’d missed hearing those long, sweet vowels. The sudden ache of recognition took her by surprise and she searched for something else to say. She motioned to the crystal flask. “May I ask what this is?”
“Orgeat.”
“I wasn’t sure . . .” Lucy said. The orgeat recipe she knew was a simple clarified sugar syrup with almond flavoring that had no relation to the contents of the bottle in her hand.
“I told Jacob I was making some original orgeat, and he got excited.” Leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, she said, “He never asked which era I was using as inspiration. A lady needs to have a little bit of glamorous Regency in the middle of all this Civil War madness.”
“Do you have a special interest in the Regency period, Mrs. Stroud?”
“Oh, call me Theresa. And no more than any warm-blooded woman.” She shrugged, her deep-blue dress shimmering in the light. When Lucy didn’t respond, she went on, “Jane Austen, of course,” as if that cleared up any confusion.
“My cousin Rebecca teaches comparative English literature at Midlands College. She’s always seeing Austen in the world around her.”
“Exactly.” Theresa beamed. “Life is easier to understand when you think of it in terms of Pride and Prejudice. And all the others.”
“I didn’t realize there were that many others.” She thought for a moment. “Wait, I think I saw a bit of Emma on the BBC one year.”
“Wasn’t it amazing?” Theresa gripped her hand, blue eyes bright with excitement. “What was your favorite part? The dance? Or the proposal?”
Lucy searched her memory for any bit of the plot but came up empty. “I . . . I liked the hats,” she said.
Theresa stared for a moment, then burst into laughter. Lucy felt her face warming as curious guests turned to watch. “You liked the hats. Oh, girl.” She swiped a finger under her eyes and tried to stifle her giggles.
“I guess without knowing the story, the bit that I saw didn’t make much of an impression.”
“You’re absolutely right. The story is what makes an Austen romance so . . . romantic.” Theresa tapped her chin with a forefinger. “My niece just sent me the new Persuasion movie for Christmas. You should come watch it with me.”
“Thank you, but I couldn’t intrude.” Lucy felt her heart drop. She already knew the plot of Persuasion, and it wasn’t anything she wanted to sit through.
“Intrude?” She swept a hand around the packed living room. “It will be just me and my lonesome.”
“You don’t have a group of Austen-loving friends?” Lucy didn’t know much about period dramas, but she knew the televised events were popular. “Not even one?”
At this, Theresa’s smile faded away. “I did. Just one, but she’s gone now. My sister passed away last month.” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
“I’m so sorry.” She saw the stark grief in Theresa’s eyes.
“Thank you. There were three of us kids, all right together. I’m the oldest, she was the knee baby and my brother, Henry, came last. Funny, I miss her all the time, but I miss her most when I’m reading Austen. We’d been fans since we were in the seventh and eighth grade, two Creole girls gigglin’ about marriage proposals gone bad. Our daddy teased us about reading each other passages during a Fourth of July crawfish boil, so he named the biggest one Mr. Darcy and threw him in the pot.” Theresa looked up, a smile fighting the tears in her eyes. “We refused to eat him.”
Lucy thought back to eighth grade and couldn’t remember ever sharing a moment like that with her sisters. They’d always been so different. She was the oldest, so she’d watched out for them as best she could. It seemed as if her family role was more about making sure Daddy was happy than anything else.
Motioning to the orgeat on the table, Theresa said, “She taught me how to make that. Pound almonds into a paste, squeeze out the oil, let it rest for twenty-four hours. Then you mix with water, tartaric acid, then sugar and orange water.” Her blue eyes glinted with tears. “Here, let me pour you some.”
Lucy accepted a small glass and took a sip. It was a bit like amaretto, but creamier, leaving a sweet-bitter flavor in her mouth like a childhood memory. “It’s very nice.”
“Nicer with rum, some say.” Theresa flashed a fragile smile. “I know you’re a Civil War historian, but you should really acquaint yourself with Miss Jane.”
“I would like that,” Lucy answered on a whim. Her own relationship with her sisters was fraught with tension and aggravation, but she knew that losing them would throw her into a pit of grief. To have had a sister who was close enough to share a passion, such as Theresa and her sister had shared, must have been a real joy. Her heart ached for this older woman. “Let me know the day, and I’ll come. I can be your Austen protégée.”
“Well, I’ll be. That orgeat must be real good to convince you that fast.”
Lucy laughed. “My cousin Rebecca will be thrilled that I’ve been doing my homework before she gets married. She’s having a Regency-themed wedding.”
Theresa’s eyes went wide. “I think I heard about this. My friend volunteers at the William Faulkner House. She said there was a wedding reception planned for the end of next month. They turned in details to get approval, and my friend noticed everything sounded like it was right out of an Austen book.”
“That’s Rebecca. I don’t think her fiancé cares much about Jane Austen, but he loves her enough to not really care. She’s leaving for an academic sabbatical in Bath, England.”
“Bath! I’ve always wanted to visit that town. Persuasion is set there, partially. There’s the Jane Austen Centre, and a festival in September that brings thousands of people from all over the world. You can stay in a Georgian-era apartment and take the Austen walking tour. I heard there was even a trip you could join that visited all the places they’d used for the BBC movies.”
“Well, Rebecca is going to be in hog heaven because she’ll be honeymooning, too.”
Theresa shook her head. “I would be, too. And after you get a taste of an Austen romance, you’ll understand.”
“I hope so,” Lucy said. She didn’t usually read romance. Or ever, really, but she was willing to give it a try just to discover why millions of women were swooning over love stories written two hundred years ago. It was time that she filled the gap in her knowledge. A little less Civil War and a little more Austen couldn’t be such a bad thing. “But shouldn’t I read the book before I watch the movie?”
“Oh, Persuasion is a simple story. Love lost, love found, eight years between the two.”
Lucy steeled herself to the idea. “As long as the love found part is there, I’m sure it will be good.”
The sound of a throat being cleared drew Lucy’s attention and she turned, looking up into Jem’s eyes. He wasn’t smiling, not even the sort of smile that was all show and no feeling. He quickly looked over her head, somewhere to the room beyond. “Dr. Stroud sent me to ask whether you needed rescuing. He’s been waiting for you to come out for five minutes.”
For a long moment, Lucy struggled to form some sort of response. All she could do was take in his dark suit, the white dress shirt that was casually unbuttoned at the neck, how he was freshly shaved. His dark blond hair always looked a bit disheveled. He adjusted his tie and she glimpsed the dark line of leather suspenders under his jacket. She got a whiff of soap and coffee, and wondered if he was going to stand around chatting in Stroud’s group. She couldn’t imagine him with a cigar clamped between his teeth, sipping on a Tennessee whiskey. But he’d been so much younger when they’d known each other.
“Oh, mercy. You tell Jacob to keep his bow tie on. We’re coming right over. We were just talking about lost loves and second chances,” Theresa said.
One dark eyebrow went up, and Jem’s gaze snapped from the room at large to Theresa to Lucy. Lucy felt her face go hot and she stuttered out, “Jane Austen. You know, the movies.”
Both brows were up now. And a corner of his mouth twitched. “I think she also wrote a few books.”
Lucy let out a huff. “Yes, I know that.” He looked as if he was trying not to laugh, and for just a moment it seemed as if they could almost be friends. Or at least, not such bitter enemies. “I was telling her that my cousin Rebecca is having a Regency-themed wedding before she moves to Bath, England. Theresa has volunteered to educate me on Austen.”
“I’m no expert,” Theresa said, laughing. “But a historian like yourself should know at least a little about our Miss Jane.” She turned to Jem. “Lucy’s coming to my house to watch Persuasion. You should join us, Jem. It’s such a wonderful story.” She launched into a long description before either could respond. Lucy felt Theresa’s rendition of the plot like stones dropping one by one into her stomach. It seemed as if she’d never be done, but finally, she reached the end. “. . . meanwhile her family has lost all their money, and their roles are reversed. It’s the most romantic movie.” Theresa opened her mouth to go on, but Jem was already shaking his head.
“I’m not a fan of romances, but that one sounds downright depressing.” The almost-smile was gone from his lips. His eyes were cold. “How could a woman be convinced to break off an engagement? Either she didn’t really love him, or she was hopelessly wishy-washy. You wouldn’t be able to rely on a person like that. He should have run while he had the chance.” Jem’s jaw was tight, and his gaze fixed on Lucy’s face.
“Nonsense. You’re looking at it through the lens of modern sensibilities,” Theresa said. “You’re a reenactor, right? You’re used to pretending. It doesn’t take much to imagine how it was in the Regency time. Back then, the women had to find a spouse within narrow groups of approved men, usually only those with a title and money. We can’t understand what it was like back then. We’re free to choose our mates, sometimes even to the utter dismay of our families.”
This speech seemed to take hours, days. Lucy couldn’t force her eyes from the hard lines of Jem’s face, from the raw emotions that flashed behind those blue eyes.
“Yes, we are, aren’t we?” Jem asked, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s not illegal to marry someone without a title, or without money, or belonging to a different church, or even a different race. We have all the freedom in the world to follow our hearts, if we truly love someone.”
Lucy focused on the lace cloth of the punch table. She understood him now, and whatever small hope she’d been hiding deep inside was extinguished. He could never forgive her. She had been weak when she had nothing to fear except her family’s disapproval. She had been a free woman, able to make her own decisions, and she had turned her back on him. All those hot summer days they’d spent walking along the red-clay back roads by his trailer park, the humid nights at the spoken-poetry clubs around the city, threading their words with love and promise and passion . . . Gone.
The joy that grew from their friendship was spontaneous, a meeting of hearts and minds and souls, bringing them closer than any two people had a right to be. The loss was clear at that moment, clearer than she had ever seen it. As he stood inches from her, voice shadowed with anger, she knew she deserved every bit of his disdain. Everything that she had thrown away was outlined starkly in her mind, but one thing above all stood apart, and that was the way she’d felt with him. He had been hers, as surely as or more so than her own family, and loved her without condition. A chill went through her and she felt the blood drain from her face. She had once had what everyone dreams of, and she’d thrown it away.
He turned on his heel and left. The space where he’d been standing seemed to reverberate with his words.
“He sure got bowed up, didn’t he? Must have a broken heart in his past.” Theresa tutted under her breath.
Lucy’s mama used to say that, too. Bowed up, like an angry snake, raising its head before it strikes. Jem had good reason to strike back at Lucy. She deserved whatever he had to say. She just wished it didn’t hurt so much to hear it. Lucy bit the inside of her lip. Her mama used to say that if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. The party had barely started and she was desperate to go home, so she had better stop wishing. There was nothing to do but to force herself through the next few hours and hope she made it to the safety of her own bed before she let the tears fall.
He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.
—ANNE ELLIOT
Chapter Six
Jem walked blindly back toward Stroud with Theresa’s words ringing in his ears. Lost loves and second chances. It was all fine and good in the movies, but reality was much harsher. Once a person broke your heart, you didn’t sign up for another round. Although if anything would make him give it a second thought, it might be that dress. There wasn’t another woman at this party, probably not even another woman in the whole state, more beautiful.
He frowned, searching for what had changed. She was shy, that was still true. He could see her choose her words carefully, weighing whether to speak. But in high school Lucy had seemed afraid to offend, nervous around any kind of confrontation. Now she didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. That dress was a good example.
He ran a finger under his collar. Women thought you needed to show cleavage or some thigh to get a man’s attention. Sometimes all a woman needed was some nicely cut silk. Lucy looked like a movie star from the thirties, coolly elegant, perfectly poised. He’d seen most of the men give her a second look, and all of the women.
Jem stepped around a group of middle-aged men laughing loudly over their bourbons. He didn’t want to admire her, but he couldn’t help seeing how she outshone, without diamonds or jewels, every other woman here. Her beauty was classic, timeless. Just the line of her neck, the curve of her cheek, the way the dress draped her hips, was enough to stop the room. When she’d turned away to look at something on the table
and he’d seen the back of the dress, he thought he might have to sit down. The smooth skin of her back looked impossibly soft, and he ached to reach out, just for a moment, and splay his hand against it.
Letting out a sigh, Jem wished he could give himself a good kick. Lucy was his weak spot. She always had been and she always would be. Whatever it was about her that had stolen his heart ten years ago was still there, right under the surface. All she needed was to recite some poetry and he’d be hanging around her porch again like a lost puppy.
It occurred to him he’d be hanging around her porch anyway, because of the clinic. Lord, I just don’t know what You’re thinking most of the time. Jem wasn’t prone to spontaneous prayer, but seeing his future interwoven with Lucy filled him with panic. Coming back to Tupelo had been a very bad idea.
“We’d better get over there,” Theresa said, slipping her arm through Lucy’s and tugging her toward the open doors. Lucy nodded, saying nothing. Her feet felt leaden and she could imagine her heart beating sluggishly, barely strong enough to keep her upright. Was there anything worse than having Jem walk away from her without a good-bye? Yes, there was. She was going to follow in his footsteps all the way across the room, join his circle of friends and converse like a rational person while her whole being was begging to be released from this torture. If she had ever thought she’d moved on from their breakup, she’d been wrong. Nothing was farther than fine.
The band was louder out in the garden, but the scent of magnolias in the evening air was like a balm. Lucy inhaled deeply and felt the muscles in her shoulders relax a little. There were tiny lanterns strung on the trees around the wide expanse of thick lawn, and the band was playing a bluesy rendition of “Shady Grove.” A few guests were dancing on the portable wooden dance floor at the edge of the garden. The sun was setting, and although the air was still humid, a bit of breeze had picked up and Lucy lifted her face to the clear sky. She wasn’t a girl who enjoyed parties, but the tinkle of ice in tall glass and the murmur of quiet waiters sparked something deep in her Southern soul.
Persuasion, Captain Wentworth and Cracklin' Cornbread Page 7
