Kindred Spirits

by Julianne Lee

  “She’s promised to Tom, and I believe if that wedding doesn’t happen soon she might very well disappoint us all.”

  That stumped Shelby for a moment as she peered into the thick forest at the side of the road and sifted through her pretty fair vocabulary of Victorian euphemisms. Nothing came to mind in the way of literal translation, so she made a guess and figured he meant the sister would not wait to bang her boyfriend if the wedding night was too long in coming. He was probably afraid Susannah might end up with a baby too soon after the wedding. A common enough occurrence, but an embarrassment to be avoided nevertheless. She said, “How can you believe that of her?” Not that she knew anything about Mary Beth’s sister, but it seemed a suitably naïve reply.

  He gave her a slantways look and said softly, almost conspiratorially, “Even a father must face reality, child. So, with your younger sister spoken for and headed down the aisle, and you twenty-two and on your way to twenty-three, I’d hate for you to be thought a spinster.”

  The world closed in on Shelby, and there was a sudden and nearly overpowering urge to leap from the buggy and run away. If she ran long and far enough, maybe she could find the place she’d come from: her own century and her own life. She clutched the diary and the leaves in her hand and wished to reverse whatever this was.

  But instead of running away, she took a deep, calming breath and said, “And you think Lucas is the lesser evil?”

  “He’s an upstanding young man. Not as wealthy as Tom, but he and his brothers have done a right good job with their father’s horses. They do okay. Not to mention carrying on a tradition that goes back in these parts to the beginning of the century. Nobody puts them to shame for their fine horses, nowhere in all of Tennessee or Kentucky. And he’s a far better catch than that Samuel Clarence.”

  “That’s not saying much.”

  A frown crossed his face, but he said, “I’d never ask you to marry that one. Much as he would like me to ask it, I’d see you alone rather than with a man like him.”

  Well, at least Mary Beth’s father wasn’t entirely an ogre. That was a relief. Shelby turned the talk back to the original tack. “But you think I don’t like Lucas?” More to the point, did anyone else know Mary Beth was fixated on Amos?

  “You’ve shown little interest in becoming a Brosnahan.” Shelby nearly sighed with the relief that Mary Beth’s secret crush on Amos was still a secret. Even in her own time, being hung up on a married man—chastely or not—was deeply uncool. Here it was shameful. She would have to bear that shame on Mary Beth’s behalf were the secret known.

  Father continued, “Hendersonville is so small, and Gallatin not all that much larger; you’d have to go to Nashville to find another eligible suitor. You would be hard put to find someone better for you than Lucas Robert.”

  “And you would rather your dau...you’d rather I wouldn’t go away to live in Nashville.” Shelby wished Mary Beth would hurry up and come back to take care of this conversation. It wouldn’t be right to settle this question while she was gone.

  After a moment, Campbell said, “He cares for you so. We all do.”

  Shelby cut him a sharp glance. She knew how badly Lucas had...would be hurt by Mary Beth. The hopeless, broken heart of his ghost had been obvious. That afternoon, the light in his eyes when he’d gazed at her was that of a soul on fire.

  “Child,” said Father, “do you think you could see your way to loving him?”

  She looked away, then at her hands clasped around the diary in her lap. “He has a kind face.” Truth was, Lucas had an adorable face and his kiss had warmed her through and through, but she was also certain Mary Beth’s father wasn’t quite up for that much sharing. “He’s always treated me well.” Again, an understatement. The way he’d treated her that afternoon was with more respect than any man had ever shown her. It would, in fact, be a lie to say she could never love him, given time. “Given time...” She sighed. Time.

  Campbell straightened in his seat and jiggled the reins a little. “Good. I’m glad to see you coming around, finally.” A relieved silence fell. Shelby looked out across the unfamiliar countryside, wondering if she’d made another mistake by being truthful.

  A few minutes later they came to a house, and beside it a crossroad paved in asphalt in bad repair and barely wide enough for two wagons to pass. Campbell bore to the right, onto the paved road, and they continued on. The forest was still thick on the right, but on the left the landscape opened into fields. Some had been harvested, and she thought those might have been corn. Slowly, bumping and swaying along and the horses’ hooves clopping on the uneven pavement, they passed a field of hay, and that gave way to field after field of ripe tobacco. It being not yet sunset, there were workers still in the fields, some cutting the plants and laying them down, and others picking up the stalks and tying them in bundles to stack on a nearby wagon.

  All the workers were black, and with a slight shock of realization Shelby knew they must all be slaves. A cold shudder shook her, and she looked away.

  The passage was slow, and she had no way of knowing where they were until they passed a hill to their right, on which stood a brown brick house. A surge of excitement took her breath again as she recognized the Bradford-Berry house, which would be still standing in the twenty-first century. There were children playing on the hillside below it, and she wondered who was living there just then.

  There was no factory behind the house, nor offices across the road. No fast food restaurant or discount department store. No banks. The plain asphalt road wended between tobacco fields, as unfamiliar as if she’d never driven along this road, though it would one day be Hendersonville’s Main Street, and until the late twentieth century the only road between Nashville and the Sumner County seat, Gallatin.

  Several minutes later they came to the magnificent brick Hazel Path mansion on the left. The low spot in the road ahead would one day be a causeway spanning the tip of a lake inlet, but now there was nothing here but a narrow stone bridge crossing a tiny creek. Drake’s Creek, to be sure. Shelby’s heart thudded with recognition. Across the creek was an intersection and another road wandered off to the left. That would have to be Sanders Ferry Road. No gas station on the corner, and no street sign or sign post, but it had to be Sanders Ferry. Up ahead were some houses. Finally they’d come to Hendersonville, the tiny cluster of buildings at the corner of Main Street, Shackle Island, and Walton Ferry Roads. One dry goods store, a couple of cottages, and what looked like an incredibly old barn. Mary Beth’s father turned the buggy down Walton Ferry Road. She was amazed at how alien this intersection looked with no bank, no grocery store, no deli or Chinese restaurant. And on this road, not even asphalt.

  “This is Walton Ferry.” Her voice was soft. Subdued. She was mostly talking to herself, as if trying to convince herself it was true.

  Father chuckled. “No, child, you mean Walton’s Ferry Road. The ferry is down yonder by the river.”

  Shelby grunted. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been jolting along in this buggy, but her behind was sore and the day was beginning to turn to twilight. They’d taken at least an hour to come a distance that by car, even in heavy traffic, would have taken her five minutes or so. The sun was setting behind more tobacco fields now, and the horse’s ears pricked with anticipation. They must be nearing the Campbell house.

  Another fifteen minutes, perhaps, and they turned up a drive toward a magnificent white mansion. Shelby knew this place; in her day it would belong to a country music songwriter. There, in the future, it would be closely hemmed in by tall hedges and chain link, but today it stood atop a grassy slope surrounded by rolling fields of tobacco. Shelby turned, and instead of a panoramic view of the lake—and across the lake the smoking stacks of a smelly factory—she saw more thick forest descending to the winding, cliff-bound bed of the Cumberland River. Forested hills rose on the other side of the channel.

  Two women came to greet the buggy, waiting on the front porch of the columned house
as Campbell reined in his horse. At a call from the older woman, a small black boy ran from around the side of the house to take the reins. Campbell eased himself from the buggy, and Shelby waited for him to come help her down. Not so much out of desire to appear a lady, but because she knew she’d more than likely fall and hurt herself if she tried to get down in this corseted, hooped and petticoated dress without a steadying hand. Once on the ground in one piece, she picked up her skirts and looked up at the women as the boy drew the horse and buggy away. They were staring at her as if she’d just grown a third eye.

  “What?”

  Mary Beth’s father hurried up the steps and disappeared into the house without a word, and nobody seemed to think his behavior remarkable. They were looking to Shelby for information. The older woman, more than likely Mary Beth’s mother, said, “Well, tell us.” She seemed young to have a daughter as old as Mary Beth, and her eyes lit up with excitement just the same as the younger woman’s.

  Shelby wondered how much of her visit with Lucas was truly appropriate for this conversation. The bloody fight? The kiss? She shrugged as she climbed the steps. “Lucas was in the ring with a guy...with Samuel Clarence, I mean. And some horses. They were working.”

  The sister stuck out her lip in a pout. “Fiddlesticks! Tell us, Mary Beth.”

  “Susannah!”

  Well, that confirmed what Shelby suspected; that the girl was Mary Beth’s sister. They both ignored the mother’s reproach and Susannah continued, “Don’t pretend he didn’t say anything to you. The way he stares at you whenever you’re around, it’s nearly laughable.”

  Shelby smiled and shrugged, amused in spite of herself. “All right, then. Lucas and Samuel fought over me. They hacked each other to bits, and when Lucas emerged the victor he took me in his arms and bestowed a heart-rending kiss I’ll never forget.”

  Susannah giggled and deep dimples popped into her cheeks. “Okay, then don’t tell me. See if I care.” She went into the house, and the other two followed.

  Shelby said, “No, really, they did fight. Samuel cut Lucas with a knife, and Lucas beat him up. One minute they were friends, and the next they went nuts.”

  Susannah blinked. “Nuts?”

  “Um...crazy. It was madness.”

  Mother made a humming noise and added, “That’s been long in coming. I can’t say as I’m surprised.”

  Susannah did seem surprised, and she and Shelby both looked to Mother for elaboration.

  Mother obliged, as if reminding them both of something they’d known and had only forgotten. “They’ve been like that their whole lives. Since they were boys, Samuel followed Lucas Robert around like a pet. If Lucas had something, Samuel had to have one, too. If Lucas did something, Samuel had to try it, too.”

  “Samuel could never hope to keep up with Lucas Robert.” Even Shelby knew that much.

  Mother sighed. “But he does hope. And he tries, and he fails.”

  “Then he takes out his frustration on Lucas like he did today.” Shelby now understood what she’d seen earlier.

  Mother nodded. “Is Lucas going to talk to your father?”

  Shelby frowned, on the verge of suggesting they both mind their own business, but then stopped to gawk at the entry hall of the house. Susannah continued toward the wide, curved stairs, but Shelby could only stare at the enormous crystal chandelier overhead. The hardwood flooring was polished to a fine glow and covered with a carpet of rich blues and reds, and the mahogany stairs curved up and around to narrow gracefully and disappear as if in the distance. Three doors entered onto the hallway, all the same dark, highly polished wood. The one to the left was a double door and stood open to a large parlor.

  Mother turned and lowered her chin. “Answer me, Mary Beth.” She was as stern as Father, and by the tone Shelby figured she was going to be forced to give a reply of some sort.

  “No. Lucas said nothing about talking to Father. Not to me, in any case.” Too busy showing off, was Shelby’s guess. That Samuel Clarence hadn’t been wrong in that. Lucas had definitely been showing off.

  Mother seemed disappointed, and continued up the stairs as she said, “I don’t expect you were particularly encouraging to him. Honesty, Mary, you’ve got to get over the idea of marrying into a wealthy family. You know you’re not the pretty one, and your choices are few.”

  Shelby looked at Susannah, who was as exquisitely pretty as a porcelain doll. Bright red hair glinted under the chandelier. Her pert nose and full, naturally red lips were what Shelby understood to be the Victorian ideal, not to mention the tremendous bosom that was popular in almost any era. Now she wondered what Mary Beth looked like, and absently laid her fingertips against her cheek.

  Their mother proceeded up the stairs, all the while continuing her case for marrying Lucas. “Never mind the Brosnahans have no servants. It’s not such a terrible thing to have to cook and clean. Lucas Robert is a good man, and the love of a good man is far more important than wealth.” When she reached the top of the stairs there was a short pause, then she added, “So long as there’s enough wealth to keep one fed and clothed decently. The Brosnahans have never gone hungry, nor is there anything shabby about them. You could do a great deal worse.”

  For the sake of averting more lecture, Shelby said, “Yes, Mother.” It worked. Mother stopped in the upstairs hallway and turned to her. Susannah continued on to the next room, showing no interest in this part of the conversation.

  “Well, then,” said Mother. We’re in agreement. You’ll do your best to encourage Lucas Robert so he’ll talk to your father.”

  “Yes, Mother.” It was a lie. Shelby had no intention of complying, but it was all she could think of to get this woman off her case. Or Mary Beth’s case. Whatever.

  “Then change for supper.” Her glance went to a doorway, and Shelby turned to look, assuming it would be her bedroom. “I’ll send Annie directly. And hurry, for we’ve all waited on you and the ham is overdone. Good thing there’s plenty of gravy, or it would be nigh inedible.” Her tone suggested she didn’t much like gravy, but would be forced to eat it because the ham was too dry, and it was Father’s fault for returning so late. She turned on her heel and returned the way they’d come. Shelby went into the indicated bedroom and closed the door behind her.

  She would have collapsed with the relief of having escaped that conversation, had she not been held erect by her clothing. But she did manage a sigh inside her corset. Then she took a look around the room.

  “Nice,” she breathed as she looked around. The feather bed was deep and covered with silk and linen. A nightstand was draped with a doily so large its corners nearly touched the floor. The armoire was large and covered in ornate inlay, and a mahogany table draped elegantly with lace held a white porcelain ewer and bowl. A finely crafted dressing table stood against a wall, graced with a large mirror. Expensive in any time and place, let alone here and now. She went to look at herself in it.

  What with the parents’ exhortations that she wasn’t “the pretty one,” she was prepared for anything short of a hare lip. So she was pleasantly surprised to find Mary Beth was rather pretty. Thin and blonde, she had a strong jaw and a straight nose. Not the heart-shaped face of the sister, but certainly attractive in her own way. And delicate. Mary Beth was so fine-boned, Shelby wondered why she bothered with the corset. Her waist was pulled in so tightly, there didn’t seem to even be room for a spinal column and enough intestine to connect thorax to abdomen. She reached behind for buttons, and found herself unable to get hold of them.

  “Here, Miss Mary Beth.” The voice was soft. Behind her in the mirror appeared a black girl about the same age as Mary Beth. Wearing a plain, gray dress, her face was equally plain, and completely blank as she reached for the buttons at Shelby’s back.

  Shelby turned to face her, astonished. “Annie?”

  Chapter 7

  “Aye, Miss.” Still the face was blank. Most carefully blank.

  Everything that came to mind to say was
utterly inappropriate. Annie was a slave. The idea boggled. Awareness that at one time ownership of people was possible was one thing, but to actually see and speak to a real slave stunned Shelby into silence. She stared.

  “Something wrong, Miss Mary Beth?” A bit of white alarm showed in the woman’s eyes. Her accent wasn’t Southern, it was Caribbean. Someteeng, she said. Her dress was fine wool, but plain. She wore a turban-like head covering of wine-colored velvet twisted and wound around her forehead. It looked very nice, and seemed a rich fabric, until Shelby realized it appeared to have been cut from an old dress and was worn in spots.

  “No,” Shelby hastened to say. “Not at all. I’m just having a hard time breathing in this corset.

  The alarm eased and the face went blank once more. “Aye, Miss Mary Beth. We take care of that right away.” She went around to the back and reached for the buttons once again. This time Shelby let her. Once the dress was off and it, along with the thick petticoat and hoop skirt beneath, was laid across the bed, Annie began to pick at the laces of the corset. Shelby wanted it off entirely, but Annie only loosened it a little before securing the bow at the top again. The petticoat was restored to her, with a slightly narrower hoop skirt, and another dress brought to lift over her head. This one was linen rather than wool, and more plain than the one she’d worn visiting, but it still was too small at the waist to fit without some aid from the corset. Shelby stifled a groan.

  Annie helped her tidy her hair, then stood back, waiting. Shelby could see in the mirror. She expected Annie to leave as precipitously as she’d arrived, but the woman didn’t move and only stood with her hands folded in front of her. Finally, realization struck and Shelby said softly, “That will be all, Annie. And thank you.” She sure didn’t know how she would have coped without help.

  The slave blinked and hesitated, but smoothed over her surprise and said, “Aye, Miss Mary Beth.” Then she slipped from the room.

  At supper Shelby felt subdued, unsure of what to say. Annie stood to the side of the table, attentive but not appearing to listen in. Her face was a perfect blank. Shelby, having been taught all her life to not eat in front of people who were not eating also, found herself less than comfortable with the servant at hand. She wished Annie could either sit or leave.