Love in Three-Quarter Time

by Dina Sleiman

  She flicked the reins and patted the horse firmly on the flanks, urging her to a gallop. The horse whinnied in hearty agreement and took off full-force. Both she and the mare reveled in the windswept moment. She abandoned herself to the motion of the gallop, loosening her body to give in to the flow—much like dancing, but with more speed and even more exhilaration. She gave the horse its head for several turns about the meadow until it slowed for a drink from the stream.

  May and its scents wafted through the air. Constance hopped down and picked a handful of rainbow-colored wildflowers. She held the moist petals to her nose, drinking in the sweet perfume. Once upon a time, this had been her world.

  Day after day, she—“Ginger” to her friend—and Sissy had splashed through a stream much like this along a meadow not so different. Far away from prying eyes and societal rules, they created their own world, a world where slaves and masters, black and white no longer mattered.

  “Let’s be Indians today,” Sissy had said. “Oh how I be wishin’ for one of them leather dresses in that book you done read to me.”

  “We can build a fire in the woods and dance around it.” Gingersnap twirled in delight.

  “Aw, shucks, Miss Ginger. You turn everything into a dance. I say we hunt today.”

  “Hunting sounds fun. But that’s a job for Indian braves. We wouldn’t want to put them to shame. Squaws collect berries for food and dyes.”

  “Well then, let’s go get us some blackberries. I done saw a bush just burstin’ with them a little way in the woods.”

  “Wait! Let’s bring our babies along.” Gingersnap snatched up her porcelain doll while Sissy fetched her simple corn husk baby. “We should tie them to our backs like the squaws do. Here, undo my bow.”

  Sissy assisted Ginger with her bow as she did every morning at the house. Back home they were mistress and maid, but here they were the best of friends. Sissy retied the bright blue bow with the baby secured against Ginger.

  Sissy had no satin bow. Only a simple, homespun top and skirt in shades of tan and brown to match her coffee-and-cream-colored skin. So Ginger untied Sissy’s kerchief and secured the corn husk doll about her.

  Slapping her hand to her mouth and shouting, Sissy led the way. “Aw, wa, wa, wa.” She dashed into green leaves and dappled sunlight. Ginger whooped in her wake as the girls disappeared into their wooded paradise.

  How many days had they spent playing like that? Constance chuckled and returned to the present moment beside the trickling stream. Mama had been so busy with baby Felicity back then. Sometimes Patience played along if they stayed near the house. But the woods were all their own—the woods in the summer, the attic in the winter.

  As they grew, their play turned to whispered trysts, secret lessons, and talk of boys. Mother and Father had discouraged such behavior, of course, but Gingersnap knew her own mind and would not be deterred. She should have listened. If she had, disaster might never have befallen her family. Deep down she believed it to be her fault—her fault and Sissy’s. She would never live to fathom Sissy’s cold betrayal on that fated night.

  Tears streamed down her face. Gingersnap would have sat by the stream and pitched a royal fit. Weeping and wailing and pounding the ground until someone came to comfort her. But Constance did not indulge in such outbursts. And no one was likely to console her on this day.

  So Constance tossed her wildflowers to the wind and took out a handkerchief. She blotted her tears and splashed her face with cold water from the stream. Then she climbed back on her borrowed horse, wearing her borrowed habit. The dress hung loose and was far too short. But her purpose today did not lie in fashion or even play. No, today she must accomplish a mission.

  Today she would finally ride to Montgomery Manor and see the life she might have had. She would see what might have been, perhaps even allow herself one rare crying fit, and then move on for good. No more fantasy, only the hard, cold reality of the plantation she would never call home.

  Robbie had business in Charlottesville today. She needn’t worry about running into him. And the Beaumonts were all aflutter with preparations for the party tonight, so they had given her the day off. Mrs. Beaumont wanted the girls fresh and rested for the affair. Constance might never have a more perfect opportunity to see Robbie’s home. And if Samson had explained correctly, the plantation should be over the next rise.

  As she topped the hill and examined the valley below, a modest white plantation home with a verandah came into view from the side. A circular drive curled in the front before heading over the horizon. Several matching white outbuildings and a grove of fruit trees sat behind the house, and a small kitchen garden for vegetables and herbs grew on the side closest to her. She spied no ornamental garden, only a few bushes in front of the house, which might well flower come summer.

  Acre upon acre of fresh tilled farmland spread past the home. She spotted no less than fifteen servants hard at work in the fields. It seemed a bit too early to set tobacco plants. Here was yet another mystery surrounding this plantation. She had come to get answers, and she would not leave without them. If Robbie found out later that she had come, then so be it.

  Springing her mare back to action, Constance headed in the direction of a group of workers. As she passed the house, it seemed eerily quiet, although smoke puffed from the outbuilding she guessed to be the kitchen. All the structures needed a good coat of paint, but otherwise they seemed to be in sound repair. Robbie had mentioned not wanting to inconvenience the servants. More mystery.

  “Hello, there,” she called to a barrel-chested Negro who barked out orders to his peers. “Excuse me, sir. May I enquire where your overseer is?”

  “’Fraid I’m the overseer round these parts, ma’am, though most days Mr. Montgomery is about.”

  “Oh.” Unusual, yet Constance understood the choice. She would have put Sissy in charge of her own home if she’d ever had the chance. “I see you’re nearly ready to plant. Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

  “We ain’t planting no tobaccy, ma’am. Not this year leastwise. We’re tryin’ us some corn and wheat.”

  “Truly?” Constance slid off the horse. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

  “Well, seein’ as Mr. Montgomery gave all his workers emancipation papers and half moved away, we had to get mighty resourceful mighty fast.”

  “Emancipation papers?” She hadn’t realized Robbie held abolitionist leanings. Perhaps this was a new occurrence. Or perhaps he hadn’t felt free to share that side of himself with her. Little wonder he hesitated to call this a plantation.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thought everyone round these parts knew about it. It was all folks talked about for weeks. People weren’t none too happy. Although now I think of it, I don’t reckon I’ve seen you ’round these parts before. Maybe I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this. I’m still learnin’ the ropes of this here new job.”

  “You need not fear, Mr.…I’m sorry. I haven’t caught your name.”

  “Jimbo, ma’am.”

  “Well, you need not fear on my account, Mr. Jimbo. I’m an old friend of Mr. Montgomery come to visit the Beaumonts. It looks to me as if you’re doing a fine job running the place.” Constance swept her hand in the direction of the field.

  Jimbo’s chest lifted. “I’d have to agree, if I do say so myself. Not every day a fellow like me gets a chance like this.”

  “Not at all. Perhaps you and Mr. Montgomery might set a precedent for the area.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far, ma’am. Mr. Montgomery is one exceptional human bein’. Been a good friend of mine since childhood. I guess I can say that now that I’m free and because you seem such an understanding sort and all.”

  So Robbie had been friends with Jimbo just as Constance had been friends with Sissy. That explained much.

  “Thank you for taking time from your busy day to speak with me, Mr. Jimbo.”

  “No trouble, ma’am.”

  “Good day to you, sir.”
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br />   “You take care of yourself now, ma’am.”

  With a wave, Jimbo headed back to his workers.

  Constance turned her horse toward the wooded trail leading to the neighboring White Willow Hall.

  An abolitionist?

  Robbie had insisted they didn’t suit each other. That he hadn’t known her well enough until it was too late. Perhaps herein lay the reason. But, of course, she’d never considered releasing her slaves. Her father made those decisions, and she assumed her husband would as well. Being a slave owner had never been her choice, and she never expected it to be. Robbie should have at least discussed it with her.

  She always held to the typical belief that slaves were safest with their masters. Their owners supplied protection and provision. But she might have been open to Robbie’s ideas. Might have told him about Sissy and her own views on the intelligence of Negroes. Robbie hadn’t given her a chance.

  Then the truth struck her with the force of a blow to the head. The first time she discussed slavery with Robbie was after her slaves had run away, after Sissy had betrayed her. She’d been so angry. So hurt. Devastated. Surely Robbie realized.

  But because they’d never talked about it before, perhaps he had not.

  Next she recalled the hatred she had spewed toward the abolitionist cause. Hatred she used to protect herself from facing the truth at the time. Her slaves were gone. Her father dead—and it was all Constance’s fault, hers and Sissy’s.

  She must speak to Robbie, and soon. She would still never forgive him for deserting her. He had broken her heart and never even attempted to explain. But at least she understood his reasoning now. They had misjudged one another, and the time had arrived to straighten matters.

  CHAPTER 9

  Patience dashed all the way home from the postal office. The Cavendish reputation could hardly suffer damage at this point from such a minor offense. She clamored up the front steps and crashed through the door, panting and out of breath. “It’s come!” She held up the letter in triumph.

  Felicity sprang from the couch in the parlor and snatched it from her hand. Her weeks of crying turned to squeals of glee. Tearing it open she said, “Thank goodness, for I could not wait another day.”

  She pulled out the paper with trembling hands. “What is this?” Felicity unfolded it and turned it front and back. “She’s barely written a word.”

  Patience grabbed it from Felicity. “She must have said something.”

  “Read it,” the normally reticent Felicity demanded as Mother and Grammy made their way to the small entry room.

  Mother gripped tight to the woodwork. “Aye, dear, read it aloud.”

  Patience glanced over the words and released a sigh. “I’ve arrived safely. Terribly busy. More to come. Love and miss you all, Constance.”

  “Oh! The nerve,” Felicity huffed, clenching her fists. “I spent two weeks crying, and she says, ‘I’ve arrived safely. Terribly busy.’ We deserve better than that. Why, I never!” With that she stormed up to her room. Felicity always sought solitude when overwhelmed.

  “Can’t believe I got me old bones up out t’ rocker for nowt.” Grammy headed to the kitchen.

  “At least she’s safe,” Mother whispered. “But why so terse? That’s not like Constance at all.”

  Patience knew better. The old Gingersnap held nothing back. But Constance grew quite reticent when matters went amiss. Perhaps she did not secure the job. Perhaps she did not like the Beaumonts. Or perhaps she had run into Robbie after all.

  “What do you suppose it means?” Mother asked.

  “I suppose it means you should pray harder, Mother.”

  “Aye, I believe we all should.”

  Mother returned to her armchair and her sewing.

  Patience moved out to the porch, breathing in the fresh spring air. Some days she missed country life. But she would not waste prayers on Constance. That remained Mother’s arena, for whatever good it might do.

  She herself was not convinced that God existed. As she surveyed the clear blue sky, she was reminded that one could not prove his existence beyond a reasonable doubt. And if indeed he did exist, then she would fall on the side of the deists. If God created the world, he’d long since left them to their own devices. God had never been there for her before. Why would he begin now?

  No, Patience had no one to depend on but herself. She would give Constance one last chance. Patience wasn’t a child anymore, and she’d proven her skill at business. If need be, she’d pull this family out of the ruins. Her older sister might fancy herself the head of this household, but Patience had proven a resourceful leader time and again.

  One last chance, then Patience would take over and set this family on a better course. And perhaps the first step on that path would be an alliance with Mr. Franklin. Tonight at dinner she would begin her pursuit.

  She licked her lips at the prospect.

  * * *

  Robbie twirled her in his arms upon a white puffy cloud surrounded by clear blue sky. Sweeping her into a dip, he dropped a kiss upon her lips, warm and sweet as maple syrup. He rocked her through the steps of the waltz. Down, up, up. Down, up, up. The clouds faded, and they continued dancing through a grove of trees on Montgomery Manor. Green leaves swayed to the rhythm as falling cherry blossoms fluttered through the air.

  He released her to spin away, and when she came back, she hit hard against a wall of glass. Robbie stood caught on the other side. He hollered to her but she couldn’t hear. She struck her fist against her prison, but it would not relent. The glass turned into the window of Montgomery Manor. She remained trapped inside the building, Robbie without.

  Jimbo sauntered by, hands in his pockets, humming the haunting strains of “Meet Me by Moonlight.” He peered at her through the window. “You ain’t got no one to blame but yourself, Miss Gingersnap. No one else to blame.” Robbie shook his head and walked away. Jimbo vanished into the air.

  She remained alone, locked behind the window. Always alone, tears streaming down her face. She pounded upon the glass again and again, but could not break free. “Robbie, Robbie, come back to me!” she shouted.

  Constance awoke, pounding the pillow on her bed in White Willow Hall. The haze of dream cleared. As reality surfaced to the forefront of her consciousness, she could only hope she hadn’t called Robbie’s name aloud.

  For years, Robbie had haunted her thoughts. When finally she’d mustered the resolve to banish him from her daydreams, he’d taken up residence in her sleeping ones instead. She should have grown accustomed to them by now.

  Her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and she struggled to right her breathing. This dream had been unlike any other, though. Never before had she been trapped. What could it mean?

  She pondered the new information she’d uncovered earlier that morning, before she’d taken a nap to rest for the dance. Perhaps her mind wished to convey that she’d caused this division between them. That she’d driven Robbie away. That her Gingersnap temper had caused even more trouble than she’d ever imagined.

  But she’d repented of those old ways. Might this mean she and Robbie could still have a chance? No, ridiculous. Perhaps she could offer him some forgiveness in light of these revelations, but neither of them was in any position to engage in a relationship.

  Family, reputation, employment.

  And Robbie had his own troubles with his struggling farm. If he had fancied the old, wild Gingersnap, then indeed he would not suit the new, reserved Constance.

  At least they could be friends. That would be the perfect tenor for their relationship. And perhaps, just perhaps in light of this new information, the world might not be the horrible place she’d fancied it. Perhaps she could allow a crack or two in the stone-hard defense she had crafted about her shattered heart.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and a familiar brown face peeked around. Martha, the woman she’d met upon her arrival. The daughter of Mar
y and Samson, Martha generally helped in the kitchen, but she picked up odd duties throughout the house as well. “Mrs. Beaumont done sent me to see if you’d like some help gettin’ dressed for the party.”

  Constance stood and moved to the mirror. “That would be lovely. It’s not that I need to be served, but I’ve never been good at arranging my own hair.” The mirror showed her tight, plain chignon, now frizzled about her head from sleep. “As no doubt you can see.”

  Sissy had always done her hair. Once Sissy was gone and Constance had no one to preen for, she’d given up styling it.

  Martha crossed to her. “Let’s see what we’re workin’ with here.” She unpinned Constance’s hair, and it fell in a drape of long, waving, coppery locks halfway down her back. “Why, will you look at that? I never done seen such beautiful hair. Like fire.”

  The maidservant took a brush from the bureau and began stroking Constance’s tresses. “Mrs. Beaumont will be wantin’ me as her own personal maid once she sees you, you’re gonna look so good.” She lifted a hank of Constance’s hair near her face. “I just need me some scissors and curling tongs, and I’ll have you fixed up in a jiffy.”

  “Perfect.” Constance smiled. “It’s so nice to have a friend tonight.” Once upon a time, she and Sissy had giggled and dreamed as Sissy groomed her.

  Martha raised a brow at the word friend but did not comment on it. “Tonight is kinda like a test for you, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Are your girls ready?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What you plan on wearin’?”

  Constance pulled the butter-yellow gown from the wardrobe.

  “That’s right pretty.” Martha brushed her fingers along the soft fabric. “You got you some sparkly hair things to go with it?”

  “Yes, combs to match the jeweled brooch. But I haven’t any opera gloves, I’m afraid. I wasn’t certain I’d be staying, so I only brought the shorter ones I wore to travel.” Constance picked up the plain white gloves from the bureau.

  “Aw shucks, you don’t need to fret about no gloves. Lorimer and the Pattersons ain’t society folks. I say go without. You got the loveliest fingers—especially when you dance.”