“A quite suitable gift,” her father mocked. “Especially for one obviously fond of frittering away valuable time on idle tales.”
“That will be quite enough, Mr. Cunningham,” Isobel said in a voice cold enough to freeze icicles. “A Christmas Carol is no idle tale. It offers great value to those who read it. I suggest you do so before criticizing those who have.”
Jinny gasped. Jere wanted to cheer. He could count on one hand the times his mother had stood up against her husband in their children’s presence. The last time had been so long ago, Jere couldn’t remember the reason. He did remember shock at his father’s reaction. A cool stare, then, “As you wish, my dear.”
How would Father respond this time? Jere’s lips twitched when Laird Cunningham hesitated, then said in a colorless voice, “As you wish, my dear,” before irritably telling Jinny, “If you must make rude noises, Virginia, do cover your mouth.”
A lace-adorned hand flew to obey, but Jere gave wordless thanks for the darkness he felt sure hid satisfaction dancing in his sister’s expressive eyes.
His suspicions were confirmed when they reached the Danielson home and he helped Jinny from the carriage. She lingered long enough for their parents to reach the porch door and be out of earshot, then giggled and quoted, “‘The smallest worm will turn being trodden on….’”
Jere squeezed her arm in relief. “Lord Clifford to the king in Henry VI, Part 3.” Jinny was growing up, but she hadn’t completely crossed the borders of childhood. Yet if she were still a child, why did he feel he had gained an ally, a staunch friend who would prove herself invaluable in coming days?
Pondering the strange thought, Jere ceremoniously followed his parents into the Danielson entryway, where a beaming Jackson Way took their cloaks. A loud gasp turned all heads toward Jinny, staring openmouthed at the staircase leading to the upper floor.
“What did I tell you, Virginia?” Laird Cunningham hissed, face red with annoyance. “Have you no manners whatsoever?” The next moment, his gaze followed his daughter’s. His jaw dropped. He rubbed one hand across his eyes like someone awakening from a deep sleep and being unsure of his surroundings.
A small smile played over Isobel’s sensitive lips. She laid a gentle hand on her son’s dark sleeve and unobtrusively pointed with the other.
Jere turned his back on his thunderstruck father and looked up. In the next few seconds, he felt himself running a gamut of emotions, from shock to wonder, pride to humility. Two long strides put him at the foot of the staircase. He rested a strong hand on the carved top of the newel—and waited.
A short time before Jere Cunningham stepped into the family carriage at Hickory Manor, Roxy reverently held up a gown the same hue as November sunlight and Lucy’s bedroom walls. “Mmm, mmm, this do be fine,” she crooned. “The finest ever you had.” She carefully dropped the garment over Lucy’s head and fastened the row of tiny buttons from the modest neckline to the girl’s slender waist. She spread the gown’s ruffled skirt over her charge’s many petticoats. Lucy scorned the heavy wire and whalebone crinolines her friends wore. She claimed they “squished her innards,” and she absolutely refused to put herself through such torture for the sake of fashion.
Roxy leaned against a dark wooden bedpost. “Honey-chile, ’twouldn’ s’prise me if your real mammy is lookin’ down from heaven this very minute. I s’pect Miss Fiona’s bustin’ with pride and pointin’ you out to the angels.”
Lucy gazed at the silken-clad figure in the bedroom mirror. “Do you really, truly think so, Mammy?” Her lips trembled. She tried to blink back tears conjured up by the precious image of a mother she only knew through pictures and what she’d been told by others. Despite her best efforts, one spilled.
Roxy brushed it away with a gentle dark finger. “I does, and I reckon Master Cunningham’s goin’ to think you’re just as fine.” She pursed her lips. “Only trouble is, my chile’s done gettin’ all growed up.” A shadow crossed the face peering over Lucy’s shoulder and into the mirror. A sigh escaped.
“Don’t you want me to grow up, Mammy?” Lucy tremulously asked.
“I does and I doesn’t,” was the cryptic answer. “Now, run along. It’s time for the comp’ny.” She placed her hands on her hips and stood with arms akimbo. “And don’t be forgettin’ what Dr. Luke always says.”
“I won’t.” Heart overflowing with happiness, Lucy whirled toward Roxy and mimicked Dr. Luke, “‘Handsome is as handsome does.’” The sound of carriage wheels set her heart to thumping. “They’re here, Mammy!” She ran into the hall and rustled her way to the top of the staircase, with Roxy close behind.
“No slidin’ down, you hear?”
Lucy’s imp of mischief, perpetually poised for action, tempted her to do just that. She’d love to see Laird Cunningham’s face if she landed at the bottom just as he stepped inside the front door! Lucy firmly shook her head. Tonight, she would be a lady. She wouldn’t embarrass Daddy Doc before a man he persisted in keeping as a friend, although Lucy couldn’t for the life of her see why.
One hand lightly touched the railing. One dainty slipper reached for the first step, then hesitated. Something about the moment made her long to hold it close forever. To stay at the top of the stairs, secure in Mammy’s care. To savor the aroma of roasting meat, the tang of wood smoke from the fireplace, and the bustle in the entryway below, as Jackson Way proudly took away the guests’ cloaks.
Don’t be foolish, she told herself. This is just another birthday, even if you do have a new, becoming gown. You’re as bad as Mammy with her “does and doesn’t” want you to grow up. Next thing, you’ll be having the vapors. She laughed and shook her head so vigorously, the curls Roxy had insisted on pinning into a cluster threatened to escape their moorings and come tumbling down. The action freed her senses, and her reluctance to move vanished.
A loud gasp from below caught Lucy’s attention. She gazed down at Jinny, lovely as a wild rose. At frowning Laird Cunningham, whose change of countenance more than repaid the forfeiture of a downward plunge. At his wife, whose smiling eyes and mouth warmed Lucy’s heart.
Last of all, she faced Jere, standing next to the newel. Lucy had never seen him so elegant and refined. Where was her playmate of former years? Gone forever, replaced by the man whose hair looked molten gold in the lamplight, whose blue eyes held admiration and love.
She caught her breath at the indescribable sweetness of the look. A feeling far stronger than all the comradeship and adoration she had freely given her friend stirred in Lucy’s heart. She squared her shoulders and, step by graceful step, made her way downstairs to take her place where she knew she belonged: at Jere Cunningham’s side.
Chapter 4
It came like a storm in summer. Unexpected. Unwanted. Unnecessary. Afterward, Jere censured himself for failing to observe small-cloud warnings, starting with his father’s expression when Lucy first appeared. Never again could he dismiss her as a child. In all probability, she would continue to lapse into childlike behavior now and then, but the radiance and grace shown tonight proved her worthy of the heir of Cunningham.
Jere noticed little else. The change in Lucy’s dress and demeanor was enough to distract any man. Her modest home sparkled with lamplight and laughter. It provided a fitting setting for the capable young woman at the opposite end of the table from Dr. Luke. Quiet orders to Jackson Way resulted in a succession of vittles. Great platters of pink Virginia ham. Luscious yellow sweet potatoes. Collard greens. Beaten biscuits light enough to float from the lace-covered dining room table, accompanied by home-churned butter and a variety of preserves. Jackson Way beamed and kept a seemingly endless supply coming until all at last protested they could eat no more.
As if on cue, Roxy demoted her husband from the role of waiter to table clearer. She herself carried in the pièce de résistance—Lucy’s birthday cake. Seven layers high and swathed in delicate frosting whiter than Roxy’s turban, it even brought a grunt of approval from Laird Cunningham.<
br />
“Roxy, you’ve outdone yourself,” Dr. Luke solemnly told her after his first generous bite. “Every year your cake gets better. This one really is the best.”
She beamed, spoiling any attempt at modesty. “Mmm, mmm. Strange how folks be so full, yet have space for cake.” A burst of laughter greeted her sally. Roxy bowed her head and backed out of the room, voice swelling in song.
“My Lord calls me,
He calls me by the lightnin’;
The trumpet sounds within-a my soul,
I ain’t got long to stay here.”2
The rich voice faded kitchenward.
Laird’s features congealed. “How dare she sing that abominable song? When are you going to sell her and Jackson Way and get decent house servants?”
Dr. Luke laughed outright. “Lucy and I prefer loyalty and excellent service, music included. We couldn’t get along without Roxy and Jackson Way.” He smiled down the length of the table at his daughter.
Laird raised an expressive eyebrow. “She shows insolence and lack of respect to you and your guests,” he carped. “Correct me if I’m mistaken—I’m sure I am not; that song was first used during the Nat Turner Rebellion, right here in Virginia in 1831. It was and continues to serve as a signal for secret meetings of slaves, escape plans, and other nefarious behavior.”
Consternation choked off Jere’s protest. How despicable of his father to introduce such an unpleasant topic of conversation at such a time!
Laird continued, lecturing as if the others were historical illiterates. He sounded like he was reading from a textbook. “It’s one of the biggest blots on Virginia history. A black slave and preacher, leading sixty to seventy slaves. Sixty whites died, including the family of the man who owned Turner!”
“Let’s not forget the one hundred innocent slaves killed by angry whites,” Dr. Luke quietly reminded. “Including everyone in Roxy and Jackson Way’s family. The two of them barely escaped with their lives. Now, I believe it’s time to repair to the parlor for coffee. I must confess that I prefer the small sitting room, but this is an occasion. We shall do Lucy honor by sitting on less comfortable chairs.”
“Not at all,” she protested. Laughter swept color back into the cheeks that had turned pale a few minutes earlier. “We will use the sitting room, as usual.”
“Good.” Dr. Luke stood. “Ladies, if you please. Come, Laird.”
Jere felt reprieved. Tonight wasn’t the first time the lord of the manor had publicly objected to Dr. Luke about Roxy and Jackson Way’s lack of formality.
Yet he had never before gone this far. Mother’s set face and tightly compressed lips betrayed the fear she would say far too much if she stepped in. If only Father would hold his terrible tongue! Jere had little hope of such a miracle. Laird Cunningham hated not having the last word.
It happened as Jere feared. Minutes after the party seated themselves in the other room and Lucy served coffee from the polished tray that awaited them, Laird returned to his obsession like a deer to a salt lick. He took a sip of midnight black liquid and declared, “Really, Lucas. You must do something about this impossible situation.”
He paused to let the command sink in. “If not for your sake, then do it for the the rest of us. There’s already unrest in the slave quarters. The shameful way you allow your blacks to rule the roost is common talk. It can’t help encouraging rebellion in others. God knows we have more than enough of that, ever since the pack of lies called Uncle Tom’s Cabin was published eight or nine years ago.
“The way I hear it, the Stowe woman came prancing down here breathing fire and chock-full of her Northern ideas.3 She poked around until she found a few mistreated slaves, which, unfortunately, can be done if you look hard enough. Then she headed back to where she should have stayed in the first place and wrote the book.” He clenched his free hand. “I tell you this. If war between North and South ever comes, it will largely be that meddlesome woman’s fault!”
Lucy stirred in her chair and started to speak. Dr. Luke warned her with the look Jere had seen dozens of times before in volatile circumstances. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He ignored the latter part of the tirade and addressed Laird’s earlier comments. “You call my treatment of Roxy and Jackson Way shameful. Hardly.” His Scandinavian blue eyes flashed, but his impeccable manners held. “It is true they serve us, but there is neither bond nor free in this household.”
A triumphant smile curled Laird’s thin lips. “You inherited Roxy and Jackson Way from your parents. Call them anything you like. They are still slaves.”
“No, they are not.” The flat denial hung in the tense air. “Slaves are subject to their masters. Servants choose where and whom they will serve.”
Match to powder keg. Laird looked jolted. Coffee spilled from the cup he clutched in shaking hands. “Sir, don’t tell me you’ve freed Roxy and Jackson Way!” Horror punctuated every word.
“I have. They’ve had their manumission papers for years. They are free to go at any time.” Dr. Luke’s eyes glowed. “Thank God there has never been any question about them wanting to leave Lucy and me. They consider us the family they lost through revenge.”
Laird Cunningham looked dumbstruck. Jere silently compared him with Dr. Luke. Both God-fearing. Both hardworking. Yet one lived by the letter of the law, one by its spirit. It made the latter the stronger man.
For the second time that day, Isobel Cunningham asserted herself, in the same steely voice she had used a few hours earlier. “Gentlemen, we will speak of other things.” Her tone permitted no disagreement and was in sharp contrast to the loving smile she aimed at Lucy. “Today should be happy, my dear, not a time for airing grievances. You must open your presents before we take our leave. Jinny, I believe you insisted on carrying ours in your reticule?”
“Y–yes.” She shot a frightened glance at her father and scurried to get it.
Jere watched Lucy unwrap her gift, hoping with all his heart the evening would end without another incident. His heart went out to Lucy, valiantly attempting to gather the remaining fragments of her birthday joy into a semblance of the real thing.
“Thank you so much,” she said, clasping A Christmas Carol with both hands. Honest pleasure shone in the eyes more blue than green tonight, because of her pale yellow gown. Her few tiny freckles glinted like specks of gold. “Now I know why Jinny stared so at my tattered copy some time ago.”
Jere bit his lip. How gallantly she carried on! She always will, a small voice inside him reminded. No matter where she is or what she faces, Lucy Danielson will carry on, with banners.
Isobel turned to her son. “I believe Jere has a gift for you, as well.”
He had purposely left it in the carriage, planning to bring it in at the proper time and bestow it on the girl he loved. Now Jere rebelled at the idea. In spite of the Danielsons’ efforts to restore normalcy, tarnish lay over the celebration. He could not bear to present the special gift on which he had spent so much time and effort in such circumstances. If Father dishonored his choice, Jere would not be able to control his temper. Lucy and Dr. Luke had gone through enough tonight. They should not be forced to endure a row that would make the Cunningham men’s earlier altercation pale by comparison.
Laird spoke for the first time since his wife intervened. “Well?”
A quick glance around the room alerted Jere to the fact that everyone present recognized it as a challenge. He rose to his feet and forced a smile. “Sorry, Lucy. I don’t have your gift with me.” He didn’t. It was still in the carriage.
Quick understanding sprang to her eyes. “It’s all right. You can drop by tomorrow. It will give me something to look forward to.”
He had never been prouder of her than at that moment. Not even when he had stood at the bottom of the staircase and watched her come down and stand beside him. He stood, took her hand, and formally bowed. “Until tomorrow.”
“Must you go? You haven’t seen Daddy Doc’s gift,” Lucy said reproachfully. Some of
the sparkle came back into her face. “It’s a book, too. A wonderful book about famous persons, such as George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Benjamin Franklin. It also has stories about people who are important right now, such as Abraham Lincoln.”
Jere cringed. In her eagerness to ease the tension, Lucy had unwittingly chosen the worst subject possible. Laird Cunningham hated and feared Lincoln, an antislavery Republican. He idolized Democrat Stephen A. Douglas, who contended each state or territory had the right to choose whether they would be slave or free. Great had been Laird’s rejoicing when Douglas defeated Lincoln for a United States Senate seat in 1858. Loud was his outcry after the May 1860 Republican National Convention chose Lincoln as their candidate.
To make matters worse, the Democratic party had been weakened by splitting into factions. Northern Democrats nominated Douglas for president. The Southern proslavery wing, angry with Douglas, nominated Vice President John Breckinridge, now serving with President Buchanan. A fourth party, the Constitutional Union party, nominated former Tennessee Senator John Bell.
For months, Laird Cunningham and other concerned plantation owners made dire predictions about the future if Lincoln became president. Now only twelve days remained until the November 6 Election Day. Jere shuddered to think what his home atmosphere would be like should Lincoln win. Or what struggles Virginia and the rest of the country would face. Talk of secession by several Southern states already ran rampant. What would Lincoln do if the South rose up in defense of her way of life and tried to leave the Union?
Jere thought of the warning given in Matthew 12:25: “And Jesus knew their thoughts, and said unto them, Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and every city or house divided against itself shall not stand.”
A hollow feeling grew in him. Tonight had seen the fulfillment of the Scripture in small part. Laird Cunningham’s attitude had created a rift in the two families’ long-held friendship. Lucy’s innocent remark had widened it. Now more than ever, the lord of the manor would vehemently oppose any alliance between the houses of Cunningham and Danielson.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 3
