by Beth White
As she ascended the stairs to check the second-floor bedrooms one more time, she lifted the buttery yellow skirts of the dress that Charmion had surprised her with this morning. By some ingenious seamstress’s trick, Charmion had removed the skirt of Mama’s ball gown and put it back on, incorporating a tuck and bustle pattern from the current Godey’s. The bodice’s sleeves had been shortened to fluttery caps, the neckline dropping off her shoulders in a glamorous design that made Selah feel like a princess.
A working princess—which was, in her mind, an improvement on the ones who sat in a tower either asleep or braiding their hair in hopes that some useless, two-faced prince would come to the rescue.
Grinning to herself, she walked the circle around the mezzanine, peeking into each uniquely decorated bedroom. What a pleasure to finally see everything in place, ready for guests to relax and enjoy themselves. Over the course of the last week, as word had spread of the hotel’s impending opening, she’d received visitors from newspapers all over the state of Mississippi, up into Tennessee, and over in Alabama. She’d given tours herself when she had time, but passed them on to Aurora when she didn’t—and no surprise that her bubbly, gregarious baby sister turned out to have a strong talent for selling the amenities of a resort hotel in rural northeast Mississippi.
When she got back to the head of the stairs, she stood there for a moment, hands on the railing, looking down through the glittering prisms of the chandelier at the polished floor of the rotunda. She could hear the orchestra Mr. Spencer had brought from Oxford in the parlor. It had been a very long time since she’d danced a waltz, but maybe she hadn’t forgotten how. She shoved away the thought that Levi Riggins would have been happy to remind her of the steps.
No useless regrets were going to spoil her enjoyment of this evening.
She sucked in a deep breath and was about to descend the stairs, when the random trills and scales of the orchestra stopped. After a brief pause, the piano began by itself, a haunting, leisurely solo stepping over a rippling triple-meter accompaniment. Selah stood transfixed. She’d heard that lonely melody before, but it wasn’t something Joelle would have been able to perform with such tender artistry. Nor her mother. Where, where had she heard it?
Then she remembered. The day her mother died, during that terrible time she and Joelle sat beneath the porch, waiting for the soldiers in the house to leave. One of those unseen men had sat down at the piano to play part of that piece. At the time—actually until she’d discovered the delay was caused by the wait for the surgeon to come and tend to the injured women—she’d considered the impromptu concert to be horridly inappropriate.
Later, unable to get the melody out of her head, she’d discovered it to be Liszt’s famous third nocturne. For a long time, the very idea of the song—based as it was on a German love poem roughly translated “Love as Long as You Can”—had scalded her heart every time she thought about her mother’s sacrifice for her daughters. But over the years as the pain became acceptance, then finally healed, Selah began to look for ways to love the family she had left, with all the strength of her being, with every grace that God gave.
Now she collapsed on the top step, wrapped her arms around her knees, and listened, mesmerized. Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. Wound from the beginning throughout Levi’s counterpart to her family tragedy. When the final note resonated through the rotunda, she heaved a deep sigh and sat up. Something had come to an end.
But also . . . something new had begun. In spite of everything, she was glad she’d met Levi, glad for the things she’d learned from him, at peace with moving into whatever God had for her next.
She would begin by introducing herself to the pianist that James had brought to entertain her guests. Maybe she would find a new friend. She rose and went on down the stairs.
By the time she reached the parlor, the orchestra had disappeared, leaving just the pianist. He had torn into Mozart’s Rondo alla Turca, and the first thing she noticed—because his back was to her—was the wide bulk of his shoulders, the straight line of the back, the flying fingers. Then he turned his head.
No. No no no no. But of course it was him, and why had he come back to burst through all the shattered windows that her heart had so carefully papered over?
She didn’t know that she’d said his name aloud until he stopped with a discordant crash of the keys, standing so fast that he knocked the stool over backward. He turned with a jerk, and she saw that he wore a black evening dress coat and trousers with a frilled white shirt, white waistcoat, and white tie. She’d never seen him dressed in such finery—wouldn’t have supposed he owned the like—and her thoughts literally splintered. Oh, it was not fair for him to come like this with no warning, no—
“Levi, how could you?” she whispered. “How could you?”
“I wired Joelle, and she thought it would be—”
“You wired—and you never thought to tell me that you could be playing piano on a concert stage in—in New York or somewhere?”
His dimple appeared then. “Well, you know we got the important things out of the way first. Like my talent for kissing.”
She stamped her foot. “Stop that! I’m angry with you!”
“Really? Because for a minute there, you looked a little bit glad to see me. Which was the whole purpose for making Joelle keep my secret.”
“Of course I’m glad to see you, but this is outrageous.” She walked up to him, stepping around the piano stool. “Look at you in this—this—” She ran out of words again.
Levi looked down at himself, suddenly self-conscious. “Is it not all right? Beaumont said—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You are beautiful. And that is the point. On top of everything else, you made me believe you were a perfectly ordinary man, and I could never trust you not to—”
She had to stop, for he had seized her face in those big hands and begun to kiss her. In fact, he kept kissing her until she had to put her arms around his neck to keep from sliding to the floor.
“Oh, Selah,” he said when he paused to breathe. “There are a lot of things I’m looking forward to letting you know about me. But let’s begin with this. I love you. I’ve loved you from the minute I saw you through a train window. And I’m going to keep telling you that every day until you believe me. Here, let me show you something.” He let her go—which she found dissatisfactory in the extreme—to reach into his pocket for a familiar leather-bound notebook. He paged through it, found what he was looking for, and turned it so that she could read his spiky handwriting. It said, “I have found the woman I’m going to marry,” and it was dated February 25, 1870.
The day of the train wreck, when they had met.
Her eyes watered.
“Yes, I wrote that on the train before I ever talked to you.” He pocketed the journal and gathered her close. “I didn’t even know if you were married or not, but I liked the way you talked to Mrs. Norton, and I liked the way you bit your lip, and I could tell there was a light on behind your eyes. Maybe I didn’t start out telling you everything—but trust has to be earned and learned. From here on out, I will never lie to you, even by omission. You’re going to get tired of me telling you things and making you tell me things, because that’s what friends do. I’ve watched my parents live that way all my life, and I want that. I need that. Now. I’m going to shut up and insist that you tell me I haven’t made a complete fool of myself.”
She kissed the crease flickering in his cheek. “You’re doing really well. But at the risk of derailing everything, so to speak, I have to remind you that we are about to have a hundred people descend on us. I’m afraid we’ll have to temporarily suspend this fascinating conversation.” All but delirious with joy and relief, she pressed herself into Levi for another delicious moment and whispered in his ear. “I expect a waltz, sir, at the very least, before we discuss some very tricky questions.”
He held her to him, the tension of his body communicating his frustration. At last he released her wi
th a sigh and bowed. “I suppose I’ve waited this long, another hour won’t kill me. Miss Daughtry, may I have the honor of the first waltz?”
Thirty-Two
AS SELAH FLITTED AWAY to welcome guests at the door, Levi laid a hand over his aching shoulder, still bandaged under his shirt and coat. Perhaps the Rondo alla Turca might not have been the best choice for someone less than two weeks past a gunshot injury.
The orchestra members—who had discreetly tiptoed out of the parlor as Selah made her appearance—returned to pick up their instruments and resume their seats. As he went to a mirror to straighten his tie, Levi responded to James Spencer’s questioning expression with a shrug.
With a shake of his head, the band director drew his baton from his pocket. “Some cases require a good deal of persistence. But those are generally the more satisfying when settled. Let me know if you need a little help.”
Levi laughed and righted the piano stool. “Yes, sir. I will.”
He spent the next thirty minutes greeting the family and staff as they gathered in the rotunda. He approached a little cluster composed of Joelle, Aurora, and their grandmother. Joelle was dressed in a severely simple gown of deep coral silk that should have clashed with her hair but somehow made one think of sunsets, and Aurora wore a fluttery copper concoction just a shade darker than the curls bouncing about her shoulders.
Mrs. McGowan, in puce, gave Levi a disapproving frown belied by the twinkle in her eye. “It’s about time you made an appearance, boy.” With a sniff, she turned to stump off in the direction of the lemonade in the dining room.
Joelle flung her arms around Levi, then drew back when he grunted in pain. “Sorry, sorry! I forgot. You should at least be in a sling so people won’t maul you. I suppose Selah made it worse.” Blue eyes twinkling, she glanced at her sister, who was greeting the Whitmores. “What did she say?”
“About what you would expect,” Levi hedged. “But I think there’s hope.”
Joelle huffed. “Of all the chuff-heads. You should be betrothed by now.”
“Well, it’s not for lack of trying!” Levi turned to Aurora. “I hear you have been leveraging the interest of the press. Are reservations coming in?”
Aurora dimpled. “Yes indeed! I’m quite pleased, and judging by the crowd tonight, we’ll have to turn people away. Will you be staying here tonight? Wyatt begged me to make sure you know you’re welcome to stay with him.”
“I hope so. Where is the young rascal? I’ll tell him thanks myself.”
“Probably between house and barn. Mose has put him in charge of securing horses and equipages.”
“Perfect. The busier he is, the less trouble he can get into.”
“Exactly.” Aurora waved at someone behind Levi. “Excuse me, Schuyler seems to have created some crisis. I’d better go see what it is.”
Joelle scowled. “I wish the man would just go about his merry way and leave us to run the hotel. Things would go a lot smoother if he’d stop interfering. It’s his fault Wyatt went off into that electrical tailspin—”
“Joelle, far be it from me to disagree with such a dispassionate assessment of Beaumont’s character, but remember that none of us would be here this evening without his family’s money. Perhaps we should extend a bit of grace and kindness, and thereby direct his enthusiasm into . . . more appropriate channels. He really is a bright, goodhearted fellow.”
“That’s all you know,” she muttered cryptically.
Before he could question her further, he heard the orchestra take up a lively tune to launch the party. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Selah take the arm of an elderly gentleman in an outdated frock coat and accompany him gaily toward the parlor. Disappointed, but somehow proud of her for her choice in opening partners, he looked around and noticed ThomasAnne hovering a little apart from the crowd. She kept looking over her shoulder as if considering a route of escape.
Levi reached her before she could bolt up the stairs, and bowed. “Miss ThomasAnne, would you do me the honor of this dance? If your card isn’t full already?”
“Oh, my goodness, if it isn’t Mr. Riggins!” She extended her hand and blushed when he took it to his lips. “We’re so happy to have you back with us. That is, are you back with us?”
He rose, smiling at her flustered pleasure at being noticed. “That, ma’am, depends on your cousin Selah’s response to a certain question I plan to ask. I hope you’ll put in a good word for me.”
She tittered. “Of course I will! And I’d love to dance, if you’re serious. I used to be quite the belle—when I was a young lady, I mean. Not that I’m that old, as some people like to claim.” She cast a hurt glance at her aunt Winnie, just emerging from the dining room with a fluted glass of lemonade.
Since he could think of no tactful answer, Levi offered his arm with a smile. Carrying off his prize to the parlor, he found several couples already knocking about the room. The dancers seemed not to mind the awkward instrumentation of the orchestra crammed into a corner behind the piano. A couple of trumpets, a flute, and a clarinet, plus a rather wheezy violin and Spencer’s tuba, managed to keep a creditably even tempo while straying out of tune only once or twice during that first song.
Finding ThomasAnne to be as good a dancer as she’d claimed, Levi enjoyed giving her an occasional twirl and watching her laugh. As the final notes sounded, her blue eyes sparkled, her freckled cheeks bloomed with color, and he realized she was a handsome woman, if not beautiful in the traditional sense. He couldn’t help wondering what had happened to beat the light out of her sweet face.
As she rose from a graceful curtsey, Levi kissed her hand again and said with a grin, “That was great fun, my dear. Would you like to go again?”
“Oh, indeed I would!” She peeped up at him behind a flirtatious flick of her fan.
“Not fair, Riggins,” interrupted a deep voice from behind Levi. “The rest of us would like a chance.”
Levi turned to find Dr. Kidd presenting himself with a bow. “Good evening, Doctor,” Levi said. “I see you’ve managed not to electrocute yourself since I last saw you.”
“It’s been a near run thing a couple of times,” Kidd replied. “How’s the shoulder?”
“I’ll live.” Levi couldn’t help noting that the doctor’s question masked an odd edge that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It almost seemed like jealousy. He glanced at ThomasAnne. She had frozen, eyes downcast, one hand pleating her dark gray gown, the fan drooping in the other. “Miss McGowan, if you’d rather not dance, I’ll fetch you a lemonade.”
Her eyes flashed upward, wide with stark fear. “Oh, no, really, don’t leave—”
“ThomasAnne, please dance with me.” Kidd stared at her, hands clenched at his sides.
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” Kidd took her hands, loosened the fingers clutching the fan, and kept her from running away by some unseen force of will.
The music started again and Levi watched, astonished, as the couple’s awkward, almost combative movements relaxed into a dance of aching tenderness.
What an interesting development. He looked around for Selah, wondering if she’d noticed, but she’d disappeared from the room. The two of them seemed to be engaged in their own awkward pas de deux. Well, he wasn’t going to chase her down. The waltz would arrive all in good time.
Lemonade. That would distract him for a few minutes. Tugging his waistcoat into place, he strolled from the crowded parlor into the even more crowded dining room. He snagged a tall flute of the icy beverage—apparently the ice house was back to its intended use after all the excitement of break-ins and explosives—and drifted toward a clump of guests who appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion.
Oliver Whitmore and his well-dressed wife stood in the center of the group, also composed of Schuyler Beaumont and two men and a woman Levi had not met before.
“It’s unfortunately true,” Whitmore said as Levi approached. “I don’t wish any harm to these poor yo
ung ladies, who are only trying to hold on to their home, but if we don’t stand our ground, those of us who built this town will find ourselves put out of business by an undesirable class who don’t understand how to uphold decency and order.”
Beaumont frowned. “Exactly what ‘undesirable class’ do you refer to, Whitmore? The Daughtry sisters are as educated and gentle of manners as anybody in this county!”
“Of course they are,” Mrs. Whitmore said, looking sad. “Everybody knows they went to that school up in Holly Springs where a teacher was fired for her liberal social ideas. I’m sure that’s no reflection on their home training. But I have heard a disturbing rumor that not a single white person was invited to apply for a supervisory position here. Bless her heart, Selah has elevated her personal slaves to those places without even opening the jobs up to anyone else. With so many returning soldiers out of work, that can hardly be considered a logical or fair business move.”
As a murmur of agreement went up from people listening outside the central group, Whitmore patted his wife’s hand. “My dear, we must be kind.”
“I am being kind,” Mrs. Whitmore said. “Kind enough to tell the truth. No one with any self-respect would stay in a place run by ex-slaves and loose women. I’m sure there’s an explanation why none of these girls—or their poor old cousin—has married yet. You know what they say. Single for a season or single for a reason.”
Levi set his drink on a table and shouldered through the crowd. “Good evening, Mr. Whitmore. I presume this is your wife whom you told me so much about on an earlier occasion.” He bowed to the lady, who gave him what he considered a supercilious smirk. “Perhaps I could correct several of your misapprehensions regarding the founding and operation of Daughtry House, since I have been part of it from the beginning.” He glanced at Schuyler, whose kindling expression indicated his own proximity to ignition point. “I’m sure Mr. Beaumont, one of Alabama and Mississippi society’s leading bachelors and a full partner in the venture, will stand with me.”
