by Julianne Lee
Shelby glanced around. There was no excuse to not dance with him. He hadn’t done anything to deserve a direct snub, and his presence here tonight meant he must be deemed acceptable company among those attending. One dance wasn’t a big enough deal for her to refuse, but to her it was a definite step in the wrong direction. She said, “I wouldn’t want you to forget what was said last time we spoke.”
The cloud of habitual anger dimmed his eyes, and he said, “How could I ever forget?” But then his countenance cleared and his smile widened still more and he said, “One dance isn’t so much to ask.”
Alas, he had her there. So she acquiesced and held out her hand to be guided onto the floor. A quick glance at Lucas told her he was watching the entire thing, and she wished to run away. She wanted to run to Lucas and dance with him instead.
Samuel was a skilled dancer, and any errors were her own as she followed his lead in a haphazard and distracted manner. Her gaze was fixed on his red cravat, and she counted the seconds until this would be over and she could give him a polite curtsey before finding someone else to occupy her for the evening.
When finally he bowed and thanked her for the dance, she curtsied as quickly and gracefully as she could, then turned in search of the parents. Lucas was still by the tree, watching every moment. Between a thumb and forefinger he twisted one button on his waistcoat, back and forth. She paused in her flight, wishing to go to him, but knew she couldn’t. Instead she continued away and sought the company of the one man in the room she knew wouldn’t be a risk to her reputation. Mary Beth’s father. He stood near the punch bowl with his wife.
However, Father wasn’t much of a refuge. Shelby would have liked to spend the rest of the evening under his protection, but he turned to her and murmured, “What are you doing?”
The festive smile on her face faltered, but she held it there and replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Why are you treating Lucas Robert this way? Dancing with Samuel is not the way to win the heart of Lucas.”
“He asked me. Was I supposed to be rude?”
Father emitted an actual harrumph, then said, “It would behoove you to go over there and assure Lucas of his place.”
“He has a place? Like, dibs?”
“Whatever ‘dibs’ might be, I couldn’t say. But I think you owe it to him to at least give him some assurance.”
“He knows where to find me if he wants to dance with me.”
“He doesn’t appear to think you would welcome an invitation.”
“Why wouldn’t I? I danced with Samuel.”
Now Father blanched. “You should hope to God Lucas doesn’t think of you in that way. Letting him think you are open to any sort of invitation would be a disaster. Foolish. Go speak to him, and set him straight.”
“Father, I’d much rather stay here and enjoy the company of my family.”
“With luck, young lady, Lucas Robert will become your family one day.”
“Like I said, he knows where to find me.”
“Heed your father, Mary Beth.”
Oh, great, Mother’s two cents. Shelby stood with her eyes closed for a moment to hold her tongue, then said to Father, “I’m parched. I believe I’ll go find something to drink.” With that, she turned and walked past the punch bowl to look for someone to occupy her who wouldn’t have an opinion on her love life. Susannah seemed the answer. The sister had just announced her pregnancy, and could talk of nothing else. To Shelby, she sounded like wonderful company.
Many times during the evening she glanced around for Lucas and found him with his eye on her. Each time she was tempted to abandon her stand and follow the advice of Mary Beth’s father. But she refrained, and though she didn’t avoid Lucas she also didn’t seek him out. Neither did he seek her. Shelby assured herself it was for the best. This was not her life to live. She went home from the party with the Campbells without speaking to Lucas once that night or seeing any more of him than could be glimpsed from across the room.
In bed that night she lay awake, watching moon-cast shadows of bare tree branches toss across her ceiling in the wintry wind, listening to the glass panes rattle in their frames. Her mind went over and over the events of the evening, replaying the party like a film. Rewinding. Playing certain parts again and again. Something was bothering her, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something had gone wonky, and she didn’t know what it could be. Again she ran the evening through her memory.
Then she remembered. Mary Beth’s diary. Tonight had not echoed what she’d read in the diary, for Lucas was supposed to have proposed. But he hadn’t. Shelby had stood up to Mary Beth’s father, where Mary Beth most likely had not. The poor girl had probably caved and done what she was told. Now that Shelby was here, there had been no proposal for she had discouraged Lucas’s suit even though it went against every desire and every instinct to do it.
She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
Winter set in, cold and lightly sprinkled with snow. Christmas passed, then New Year’s. Suddenly it was 1861, and Shelby found herself moving inexorably toward a time she wished desperately to avoid. More than merely wanting her life back—more than anything at all—she did not want to live through the coming war. The newspaper from Nashville seemed to have nothing to address other than the approaching war. Secession and abolition were the subjects on everyone’s mind and lips, and it became more and more obvious to them all it was only a matter of time before shots would be fired.
Excitement rose among the Campbells’ neighbors. Every conversation Shelby overheard among the men, or participated in among the women, gave her the impression everyone around her could hardly wait for hostilities to begin. Never did it seem to cross anyone’s mind it would take more than just a few weeks of fighting for the Southern states to emerge victorious. People spoke of glory, of boys becoming men, of self-determination and pride. Only Shelby knew they were all headed down the throat of a horror that would last four years, and in which three quarters of a million Americans would die. For the first time in her life she prayed, every night asking to be sent home and be spared what was to come.
During these cold months, travel was difficult and visits to and from the neighbors became infrequent. As the weeks wore on, Shelby let out some more of her dresses. Her dresses. More and more she’d come to think of Mary Beth’s things—Mary Beth’s life—to be her own. She began to realize she had nothing else, and had begun to imagine she might not be swept back to the future any second. Hope dwindled, on its way to dying completely. She learned the routine of the household, and settled in to await the coming holocaust while Father at the supper table badmouthed President Lincoln, Republicans in general, and just about everyone else north of the Mason-Dixon line.
One day in late January, a ceiling of black, snow-laden clouds lowered on the plantations of Hendersonville, making their overture with a fair sprinkling that deepened to small flurries. At breakfast Father declared it was fixing to be a blizzard. Shelby, gazing out her bedroom window that afternoon, figured he was right.
A movement of shadow on the road below caught her eye, coming from the direction of town. A man on horseback at a trot, and making good time considering the stiff wind. Bundled in a dark overcoat, his hat jammed hard onto his head, he rode to the front door, white flakes swirling in the dark day. He leapt from his horse to tie it at the post, then hurried up the steps to the door. The pounding resounded throughout the house as Shelby turned to head downstairs.
She paused on the curved steps as Annie opened the door to let in Lucas Brosnahan and a blast of snowy wind. As she shut it behind him, he removed his hat and shook flakes from it, then took off his gloves and brushed flakes from his leather long coat with them. He asked Annie when she took his hat and gloves, “Is Mr. Campbell in?” He blew breath into his cupped, cold-reddened hands to warm them. As he did so, he glanced up the stairs and saw Shelby there. But with only the slightest flicker in his gaze,
he looked away, ignoring her.
Mother came from the back hallway, and before Annie could reply she said to Lucas, “William is asleep, napping in his room. Shall I wake him?”
“No, no need. I was just coming back from an errand for Ruth to her brother’s place down the road a piece, and was caught in this here weather.” He nodded to the door. “Ugly storm coming in. I was hoping I might find some shelter here a spell while it passes by.”
Shelby glanced at the window. She’d lived in this house for four months. Long enough to know Ruth Brosnahan’s brother was Henry Carmichael, who lived almost all the way down by the ferry, in the direction opposite to that from which Lucas had just come. Wherever Lucas had just been, it wasn’t Henry’s house. She suspected he’d actually ridden straight from home to come here, and he hadn’t been caught by the weather accidentally at all. The timing supported the theory, assuming he’d started out when the storm began to kick up in earnest at about noon.
But Mother hadn’t seen him ride up, and more than likely wouldn’t care about the lie had she known. She smiled her loveliest be-my-guest smile and gestured toward the small, cozy sitting room. “By all means, Lucas. Have yourself a seat. Would you care for some coffee to warm you?”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” He relinquished his coat to Annie and, with only the most surreptitious glance up the stairs at Shelby, went to the sitting room.
Mother said before the servant could get away, “Annie, bring Mr. Brosnahan some coffee. And have one of the boys take his horse to the stable and tend to it before the poor animal freezes to death out there.”
“Aye, Ma’am,” said Annie, and she disappeared as if into the woodwork.
Shelby was just about to duck upstairs, but Mother caught her before she could. “Mary Beth.” Her voice was firm and would brook no argument or avoidance.
Damn. “Yes, ma’am?” She turned to face downstairs.
“We have a guest.” Her tone suggested she shouldn’t need to mention it and Shelby was remiss in not hurrying to her duty without being told. “Your father is indisposed and I must supervise the cook over supper. You’ll need to entertain Lucas Robert until suppertime.”
Shelby should have put that right up at the top of the “duh” list. It had been silly of her to have tried to sneak out. No use arguing. Mother would win. Besides, it had been a month since she’d seen Lucas. Maybe he’d cooled off by now. Maybe it wouldn’t be so difficult to keep her distance from him. She could just shoot the breeze with him and keep the discussion casual and meaningless. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to talk to at all besides Mother and Father, and a nice chat might even be enjoyable. Heck, this was Lucas. Any time spent with him would be enjoyable, and there was no getting around that. She only needed to keep it from being too much so. “Yes, ma’am.” She picked up her skirts to negotiate the stairs, then smoothed them before stepping into the sitting room.
This room was smaller, more cozy, than the huge drawing room across the foyer. Mother may have sent Lucas here because it was warmer, but Shelby suspected it was the very intimacy of the place that she wanted for this visit. The fire burned cheerily and candles lit up the few corners of the place. The cloudy darkness outside gave the room a night-like feel. It seemed the greater world was asleep, soon to lie beneath a blanket of snow, and this room was a bit of gentle wakefulness belonging only to them.
Lucas stood by the fireplace, warming himself, and turned when she entered. “Mary Beth.” He sounded pleased, but not particularly surprised. His smile seemed cautious. He wore a dark blue cotton shirt the color of his eyes, a white collar, and fine woolen trousers. The brass bits on his suspenders were shiny enough to have been polished that morning. An errand for Ruth. Right.
“Lucas.”
“It’s good to see you. I hope you all don’t mind me barging in like this.” He had the top button of his trousers between thumb and forefinger, fidgeting, turning it this way and that. She watched him, and knew he couldn’t possibly be aware of how it fascinated her, wondering whether the thing might pop off.
“Not at all. I’m glad for the company. Not many people are out and about this time of year.” Her voice took on an edge she tried to control, but it came out anyway. “Most folks seem to want to stay in.”
A flicker passed over his face, and she knew he knew she’d seen through his story. But he bluffed it regardless and raised his chin. “Ruth insisted I go.”
Shelby swallowed a sarcastic remark about how extremely accommodating he was to his brother’s wife, for she had no real interest in poking holes in his story or making him otherwise uncomfortable. Instead she went to the sofa across from the fire. “How have you been, Lucas?” She smiled as she sat, at the end nearest Father’s chair where he liked to read.
“Tolerable well, thank you.” Lucas took a step toward her, then hesitated. There were two choices of seats. He could take Father’s chair, or sit on the sofa right next to her. She waited to see which he would choose, giving no indication of what she might prefer.
After only a short moment to consider, he chose the sofa, and she found herself strangely pleased by that. His tall frame settled in next to her, turned slightly toward her with his arm across the back. She wore no hoops today, for she’d anticipated spending the day alone, so he was able to sit quite close. He continued the small talk. “Though I’m certain I’ve never seen a winter this bad before. If it keeps up this way, there’ll be no blossoms on the fruit trees come spring.”
“That would be terrible.” Chatter that it was, this was a sentiment she felt heartily, for the fruit pies she’d tasted in this century were wonderful. Still prattling, she said, “How is your father these days?”
Lucas nodded. “Getting along okay. The cold does ugly things to his joints, but other than that he’s as healthy as can be expected at his age.”
“How about your brothers?”
He waved a hand in dismissal, then picked at the crease in his trousers. “Just as they ever were. Arguing about whether the Yankees will invade, going on about the Mexican War back when they were my age, that sort of thing. The only thing I think they agree on is they’re glad we don’t own any slaves. Nobody with slaves is having a good time of it.”
Shelby hadn’t noticed any trouble with the Campbell work force, but that didn’t mean much. They’d be gone in time, and as far as she was concerned it would be a blessing. She said, “I’m glad you don’t own slaves, too.”
His eyes widened and his grin was just a little naughty. “Don’t be letting your daddy hear you talk like that. He’d be mortified, did he know he was harboring an abolitionist under his own roof.”
She gave a wry smile. “Yeah, I’ve learned to keep shut around him, but that doesn’t mean I agree with him. I don’t think it’s right to own people.”
“It’s legal.”
“The law is wrong. It’s bad and should be changed.”
His voice took on a tone of amusement. “You sound like a little Yankee.” He leaned his forehead against the hand at the back of the sofa, bringing his face almost close enough to kiss.
But, being a Southerner by birth and heritage, Shelby rankled at his comment. His smile and his tone told her he was kidding, but she could tell there was a measure of warning in what he said. Talking like a Yankee too much could get one shunned by one’s neighbors what with feeling being so high these days.
She tilted her head toward him and asked, “Why is it you don’t have slaves on your farm?”
“You mean, aside from that they’re god-awful costly?” Shelby smiled and shrugged in the affirmative, and he thought a moment before continuing. “My father, and his father, and my great-grandfather, all believed laziness is a sin. I believe it, too. Slaves make people lazy. I’ve been taught all my life that a man should never be ashamed of hard work.”
“I think that’s admirable. I heartily agree with your father, his father and your great-grandfather. I don’t expect they were Yankees, any more than I
am.”
A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth, and he admitted, “Well, there’s also that we’ve never been terribly wealthy. Slaves being costly, and troublesome to keep, and all. Seems to me a man with slaves spends as much time and effort keeping them from running away as he would just doing the work himself. Besides, we don’t have great fields of tobacco like y’all. Our land up yonder is mostly pasture and forest, and no more than a half acre in vegetables out back of the kitchen. Ruth and Martha tend to that. Amos, Gar and I work the horses, and anything else needs doing there’s old idiot Clyde.” Shelby hadn’t met Clyde yet, but knew he was a retarded drifter the Brosnahans had living in their stable. “Were Clyde to take a mind to up and run away, we wouldn’t have to chase him down. We’d just hire someone else instead.”
Annie arrived with the coffee, having had the prescience or forewarning from Mother to include a cup for Shelby. She set the tray on the table between the sofa and Father’s chair, then as soon as she was excused left without a word. As Shelby poured, she said, “So, even if you had the money, you wouldn’t own slaves?”
Lucas took his cup and said, “No. Like I said, I take pride in my work. It wears on a man’s soul to live in idleness.” Shelby, bored as she was to live in this household, sure knew the truth of that. Lucas sipped the coffee, then said quietly, “All in all, there’s some truth to what you said about owning people.”
Shelby was a mite surprised by his answer, for even the Yankee abolitionists usually tried to sidestep the issue of whether or not blacks were people, citing only the idleness issue instead. She sipped her coffee and looked at Lucas with new eyes.
He cradled his cup in his hands as if still warming them, and gazed thoughtfully at her. “You’re chock full of deep questions today, Mary Beth.”
She attempted a coquettish smile. “I’m always full of deep questions. Today I just happen to be asking them.”
That brought a warm chuckle, and Lucas sat forward to perch on the edge of the sofa cushion, his palms against his knees. He leaned a bit toward her and his voice went low and soft. “I’ve noticed something about you.”
