by Denney, Hope
“He’s ill and bored so he’s bedeviling everyone in the house.”
A cold, unsettled feeling spread like icy hands pushing down past her chest into her stomach. She was dizzy, and all the beads on her dress rattled together like ice in Joseph’s glass as her breath came and went.
“Somerset, are you well?”
The cache of dresses wasn’t a gift. Blanche was using them as bait.
The city of Richmond rose up in Somerset’s mind like a fabled, mythical land. Blanche and Thomas had agreed they wouldn’t live there in their birth city. Blanche’s family had moved to Baton Rouge when she was a young lady, and Thomas had proposed suddenly in Baton Rouge when their mothers were visiting. Blanche’s brother, Theodore, died in an accident in Baton Rouge and was buried there. Blanche’s attachment to the city was inexorable, and when her father’s business partnership ended and the family moved back to Richmond, Blanche opposed them, leaving Theodore’s body behind. She had grown accustomed to the freedom of the bayou and found Richmond a busy, artificial chasm. Tired of the constant social posturing, weary of her beautiful but dull contemporaries, and smarting under the demands of her mother, she had fled to a place to create a family with a man who was the crème de la crème of Richmond society.
Nevertheless, Blanche was always saying that she wanted things for Somerset that she didn’t attain herself. Somerset knew that while Blanche may have married the right man, she regretted her choice of living in relative seclusion in the country. A home like Orchard Rest was a boon, but it wasn’t stimulating to own it in a rural land where there were few petty jealousies and no competition. She secretly hungered to be one of the key players in Richmond society, and she would have been if she had only swallowed her pride regarding certain matters and moved home. Now she was going home to Richmond to put her most beautiful but unmarried daughter in the thick of the social game and live through her.
Somerset laughed aloud.
She would announce her engagement tonight. There was nothing she wanted less than to go to Richmond with Blanche, and there was no need to find a husband when she already was engaged. How stunned everyone would be when she and Sawyer announced their engagement.
“Somerset, are you feeling well?” repeated Ivy. She was digging in the bureau drawers for smelling salts.
“I’m feeling better than well,” said Somerset. “I’ve never looked forward to a party so much in my life.”
A series of staccato raps sounded at the door and Bess, who was maid to Somerset and Victoria, stuck her head in the room. Her forehead was beaded in perspiration, no doubt from the effort of getting Blanche ready.
“Miss Blanche is in an uproar. She say the guests are gonna be arrivin’ soon, and you girls need to get downstairs to receive them.”
Somerset sighed.
“I received them last time. Why can’t Mother do it?”
“She’s lookin’ for somethin’,” Bess said in a sour voice and disappeared down the hall.
They walked down the curving staircase of Orchard Rest. Little Warren, the youngest member of their family, was sitting on the stairs in knee pants choo-chooing a red wooden train down the steps. At the bottom of the staircase they stopped so that Ivy could greet Blanche with pink cheeks and a stammer. Somerset couldn’t help thinking that her mother was not a woman anyone got comfortable with.
Blanche was sorting with nervous energy through her cherry desk in the foyer. She looked every inch the true lady of the manor in her black organza gown and the heavy onyx necklace that she had saved during Wilson’s raid by depositing it in the chimney. Her golden hair was piled in a massive chignon on the back of her shapely head, but curls were escaping through the net, giving her a youthful look. She returned Ivy’s greeting with cordial hospitality, but her forehead was furrowed in concentration and she made noises of contrition as she searched.
“I had Tuck decant some port for the guests, Somerset,” she said as she lifted her own goblet. “It’s not corked like the other bottle we served. I checked to be sure. We’ll let the gentleman have it in the library after the meal while the ladies finish their coffee in the parlor. You can receive everyone in the parlor and send them to the dining room when the last guest arrives.”
“Is Helen coming?” asked Somerset.
“No, George sent word that she feels unwell. They think it will be any time now.”
Somerset felt happy her older sister wasn’t coming. She looked swollen and ponderous the last time Somerset had spoken to her, and Somerset feared each time she saw her that the baby would come, a joyous occasion Somerset hoped to miss, although Blanche would have to leave the function if labor started.
“Have you seen my journal?” asked Blanche as Somerset turned to go.
“I saw your account log in the library. Joseph reviewed it. He had some ideas about cutting costs with the poultry. He thinks the cost of feed is highway robbery. I can tell that he wants to mill our own eventually.”
“No, not the receipt book. I can’t find my personal diary.”
“I haven’t seen it. I thought you kept it in your room.”
“So I do,” smiled Blanche. “I probably lost it under a shawl.”
She continued rifling through the desk.
Somerset led Ivy into the parlor. Joseph waited there, weak but flushed with excitement for a change. He clutched a folded paper in his left hand and leaned on his cane with his right hand. The impending gathering was already working to distract his mind from the many things he could no longer do.
“Good evening, Ivy. Somerset.”
“Good evening, Mr. Forrest,” returned Ivy. She sounded prim.
“Look at you, clean shaven and bathed during daylight hours,” mocked Somerset.
She and Joseph had a special bond. Beside her papa, she was the only family member tolerant of his flippant ways. She had always been his pet just as Victoria had always been Theodore’s. Joseph was just abrasive enough with her to let her know that he trusted her enough to be himself, whereas he was sweet to dull Helen and sensitive Victoria.
“I feel the same as Alexander must have felt when he conquered the Persian Empire.”
“Oh? If guests at dinner and a platter of fried chicken are all that it takes to make you feel so grand, I can’t imagine how you’ll fare when—“
“This,” interrupted Joseph, holding his paper out. “This came today and I feel as though I’m a wealthy man again.”
He laughed aloud.
“What is it?” asked Somerset.
“It’s a telegram from Fairlee.”
“No. Let me see that,” said Somerset.
“Fairlee?” asked Ivy.
Somerset took the paper in her hands in disbelief.
“‘Coming home for visit. Fairlee,’” she read aloud.
Joseph whooped.
“If I were physically sound, I pick both of you up and twirl you around!” he proclaimed.
“Maybe the two of you can finally manage to tie the knot,” said Somerset.
“You never know,” replied Joseph. “She may take pity on me yet.”
Ivy turned her back and pretended to examine the oil portrait of Theodore over the doorway. Somerset’s heart went out to her, but she couldn’t utter a word of comfort in front of Joseph.
Quiet, unassuming Ivy nursed hefty devotion to Joseph, although Somerset couldn’t understand why. Never had she seen two people so incredibly unsuited to one another. Joseph enjoyed rowdy nights out with other men, frequent drinks, and high-spirited banter. Ivy was beautiful enough for him and he loved her family, but for all that, Joseph couldn’t find one point of interest about her.
“She looks ready to agree with every word I say for the rest of my life,” he’d exclaimed to Somerset once when she suggested he take up with her after they hadn’t heard from Fairlee for six months. “What on earth is the fun in being with a woman like that?”
Joseph thumped out of the room on his cedar cane in search of a celebratory drink
.
Somerset placed her hand on Ivy’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything to me. I don’t require an apology. I don’t want to talk about it, either. What a fine portrait of Teddie that is.”
Congested sniffs filled the room.
“Only he and Helen sat for them before the war came,” said Somerset, giving Ivy time to compose herself. “I imagine what mine would look like since his is as fine as it is. He doesn’t even look like a real gentleman you’d see walking down the street. Amelia wanted to take it with them when they moved to South Carolina but Mother wouldn’t hear of it. She said if Amelia got her boy, she couldn’t have the Bostick of him as well. Just one of many tenuous points between Mother and Amelia.”
Ivy did not acknowledge her.
“We always knew she’d come back, Ivy,” said Somerset in a soft voice. “Even if she didn’t ever come back, you’d grow old and lose your chances with anyone else while waiting on him to come around.”
“I don’t want to talk about it now.”
Somerset stared at the portrait, waiting for her dearest friend to pull herself together. It was a portrait of Theodore hunting in a copse of trees in autumn. The light filtered through the branches of pines and made his blond hair—Blanche’s hair—golden, throwing the autumn foliage into insignificance. His setter, Dorothy, clung close to his heels and pointed her narrow nose in the direction of his prey. The only thing wrong with the picture was that it didn’t show his Marshall eyes—Blanche’s eyes—well. He was just on the brink of manhood, and it was obvious why Amelia had snapped him up without a second thought. The set of his jaw and the slope of his shoulders radiated strength and calm, a future patriarch.
Ivy turned from the oil painting with defeated posture and wiped her eyes.
“I’m better, truly I am.”
“I feel for you. I do,” said Somerset. “Yet I can’t tell you I hope they part ways. Fairlee is my friend, too. I love you both, but I can’t choose for him.”
“Yes,” agreed Ivy.
Somerset heard a sound that caused her whole body to feel alert. She recognized Sawyer’s familiar fast step on the portico. She looked from Ivy to the open west window. She knew a real friend would stay and console Ivy, but in that instant she felt an unquenchable necessity, with the intensity of a fizzing flame on a firecracker, to see Sawyer.
“If I need to see someone now, will you stand sentry for me? No guests are here, but if Mother asks, tell her you don’t know where I went. I’ll tell you all about it tonight after the guests have gone home.”
Somerset strolled over to the open window and, after a quick survey left and right, she raised her voluminous skirts and stepped over the sill.
Sawyer caught his breath when he saw her suddenly materialize two yards in front of him with her impossible skirts swinging from descending the sill. She looked very mischievous, the light in her eyes too fervent. He took in the tumult that was her dress, the arcing folds of fabric, fine embroidery, and silk roses. He knew in that instant that she had never been so exquisite, and he discerned that it was not the ensemble so much as the fact that she believed once more what a magnificent woman she was. He felt timidity seep damply into his soul. It was March 1861 again and he was dying of love for her, unknown, while she lolled on the garden swing with Eric.
She advanced on him, closing the distance between them by extending her hands.
“Sawyer! How glad I am you’re here!”
“You look radiant,” he said through the knot in his throat.
Her answering smile was full of joy.
“Fine feathers,” she replied, dismissing his compliment, and led him to a low stone bench behind one of many wide columns that lined the portico. “I want to talk to you while I have you all to myself before supper.”
“Won’t someone notice you’re missing?”
“No one knows you’re here but Ivy, and she won’t tell.”
“Then I’m a lucky man.”
Somerset took his hand in her warm grasp. Intuition told her the rhythm of their interactions was off again. She looked up into the pensive face she loved.
“Something is wrong,” she reflected.
“There isn’t time to discuss it before supper tonight.”
She smoothed a crest of his golden brown hair away from his brow.
“It doesn’t matter, Sawyer. Any problem we face together is trifling.”
“In this age, no problems are trifling. I’d welcome simple problems.”
“Tell them to me. I’ll help you fix them.”
Sawyer cast her hand away, bounded from his seat, and began pacing in the enclosure.
“Not everything is fixable.”
“I can’t believe you’d think such a thing.”
“Will you stop?”
Somerset sprang up, bewildered and hurt by his rejection. He had never once behaved in a rash or unfeeling manner to her. Her spirit shuddered at the emotional assault of their first true confrontation, but she cast aside the unpleasantness and tried to stay true to the conversational course.
“I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that ever,” she retorted, going to him. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t now with a houseful of people arriving. We’ll discuss it later,” he said.
She thought she saw tenderness mixed with pity on his tanned face.
An understanding smile crept across her face. He was practically running a pork plantation by himself. The weather had been unforgiving, he was short Joseph’s help, and he didn’t have enough working animals to keep the place going. The lines around his eyes had deepened since the accident. He was sunburned, in need of sleep, and short of cash. He didn’t want to burden her with financial woes.
“We’ll talk about something else then,” she said. “Have you thought any more about making our announcement tonight?”
“I’ve thought about nothing else,” he breathed, his eyes never moving from his boots.
“Well then.” She put her hands on his shoulders and backed him slowly into a stone alcove. “The timing is perfect. Everyone will be delighted for us. I know I am.”
She stood on tiptoe and raised her arms so that her fingers laced behind his neck. She pulled his lips onto hers and felt his heavy arms encompass her. One folded across her bare shoulders and the other wrapped her waist, pulling her into him with force she hadn’t experienced since the fateful day outside the Atlanta hospital when she lost her wits and threw herself headlong at him in the street. Somerset forgot herself again. The only things that mattered were how close he held her against him, the heat the rock wall emitted, and the possibility that anyone might stroll down the portico at any moment. His arms were around her, but his hands were inching up her ribcage, fingers winding in the beading swinging against her chest. No matter what she did in return, she felt the frustration of not being able to get close enough to him. As they grappled together under the trumpet creeper, her back hit the wall and his eyes shot open. Then he released her. The sudden parting left her skin cold under the sheen of sweat on it. He was breathing hard. She leaned against him, panting also, with a self-satisfied smile at her own prowess.
“I love you,” she murmured.
“I love you.”
“So we’ll announce our engagement tonight?”
“No.”
“No?”
She couldn’t believe her ears. He’d never said the word to her before, and the finality of it had the same intensity as the closure of a coffin.
“No?” she repeated.
He took her hand.
“I think announcing our engagement at such a public event is a mistake. You’re right, I should have convinced you to tell months ago, but it was wrong of me to not go through the pretense of asking Mr. Forrest for your hand. I want to do this the time-honored way and ask for you.”
“That just adds more time to everything! I don’t want to wait any longer.”
“Somer
set, your pedigree could be fancier but with little chance. The letter of the law matters a great deal at Orchard Rest, whether you want to believe it or not.”
“No one will be surprised if we announce it tonight,” pleaded Somerset. “We’ve been courting for a long time now. Everyone knows you escort me to functions. My family will be happy that I’m engaged.”
“They will be happy, but we need to do this the proper way. Openly flouting tradition under their roof is not the way I’m going to begin a new relationship with them.”
“I don’t want to—”
Sawyer placed a finger over her lips.
“Shh. Trust me. You’ll be relieved at the way things work out if we don’t announce this tonight.”
Sawyer raised his eyes again to meet hers and they looked miserable. Somerset choked back everything she needed to say.
“I’m going around the house to use the front door like a decent man. You go back through the window if no one is in the room.”
He squeezed her fist and strode back down the portico with his quick and easy gait.
***
Blanche later said supper was her most successful postwar function yet. Somerset knew it was because she had not been her usual vivacious self, and Joseph, worried for her, had been quieter than usual. For once Blanche had a table of her children behaving as she wished, and she was elated that Dr. Harlow’s son, Holt, seemed to take interest in Victoria, who had difficulty attracting a beau of her own.
The only thing that mattered to Somerset was that she caught up with Sawyer as he left the library after port with Joseph and her papa. She found him in the foyer just before the clock struck nine. She was mindful that Bess or Tuck could come by as they cleared the dining room.
“You’ll meet me?” she implored.
“Yes,” he said, indecision enveloping the word. He put on his hat and did not meet her gaze.
Somerset opened her mouth to tell him she loved him but he was gone.
***
Chapter 3
Waiting for Fairlee’s arrival made for an interminable week. Joseph had Jim help him dress in the same two shirts and pants over and over again and asked Somerset and Victoria which suited him better as often as he changed. When he wasn’t wearing Jim out over his lack of wardrobe, he sat on the porch with a glass of whiskey, rereading the telegram and calling to anyone passing through the front parlor about current train schedules. Victoria, nerves spent but too polite to say so, took Warren to the peach grove behind the house and spent entire days filling cane baskets even though she despised the work of preserving them. Somerset was too preoccupied with Sawyer’s sudden evasive behavior to be bothered by Joseph, and everyone else was too tired to notice her lack of appetite and moodiness. Blanche had hoped for matrimony during Fairlee’s visit, but, realizing that the happy couple might ask to live at Orchard Rest, she changed her mind and wished instead that Joseph would be well enough to leave the plantation soon of his own accord.
