by Denney, Hope
“I should, but it’s been beaten to death on the ride out here. I’ll have to throw it away or give it to Birdy when we get home.”
The dress was pristine, according to Somerset’s sharp eyes, but she felt no guilt as she sat comfortably down and scrunched it up.
“Birdy, guard Daddy’s old steamer trunk with your life. It’s filled with breakables.”
Birdy, with gloomy, hooded eyes that seemed to be seeing her own demise in a rickety wagon on a country road outside proper civilization, climbed with a sigh onto the trunk to hold its already solidly fastened lid in place.
Joseph took his seat with less consideration than Somerset and they set off for the Grove.
“I do hope your servants can provide a late tea when we arrive,” said Myra. “I’m famished, and it won’t quite be time for a meal when we get there.”
“A tea?” Joseph’s hazel eyes turned on Myra as if she were an unusual insect.
Somerset recalled that old Grandmother Marshall was as formal and old world as she was pretentious. When they were in Richmond, she served tea every afternoon without fail, even on holidays where the only thing one could do was hold their bone china cup and pretend to eat a sandwich while suffering to hold in the multicourse dinner that had been eaten over a period of hours.
“The Marshalls observe tea every day in Richmond. You know that,” said Somerset. She contrived to make it sound as though tea was something that was occasionally observed at Orchard Rest. “Myra, we don’t, as a general rule, have tea time at Orchard Rest. Things are far different since the war, you know. We’ve made budgetary considerations, and the work at Orchard Rest doesn’t stop long enough to allow a break as long as tea. Cleo or I will be happy to get you a bite to eat after you freshen up, though.”
Somerset thought she handled the situation with dignity and aplomb, but the expression in Myra’s wide eyes was similar to a child’s after being told he must observe a month of Sundays before having a birthday. The expression soon faded and she put back on her determined-to-make-it-and-be-happy face. Joseph glanced at her as though she should room with Blanche.
“I declare, this will be a grand adventure,” she chattered, “like going to a foreign land and discovering a new way of life, won’t it, Birdy?”
Somerset couldn’t summon a reply, she was so shocked by this statement, but Myra continued happily on.
“Of course, some work will be appropriate for me. I don’t know how to do a blessed thing. Mother says I have no aptitude for labor. I can’t embroider or knit.”
She held up her long peachy hands with thin fingers.
“Can you imagine these hands being used to such things? I can’t. And cooking. I can’t cook. Maybe you all can teach me to conjure up some divine dishes in the kitchen. I don’t even know how to break an egg. They tell us that Auntie Blanche is something of a poultry expert. I thought it was odd for ladies to do business, but Daddy says that things are so poor in your area of the country that people do what they must to get by. It’s funny to think of a belle reaching under hens’ bottoms for eggs, isn’t it, Birdy? Perhaps you all can do for me what seven governesses couldn’t. So I do look forward to the chores. I’m a lily of the field, fair to look upon but useless. What will you be toiling over tonight? Perhaps a sock needs darning or a table dusted?”
Joseph met Somerset’s eyes over the back of Myra’s head. Contempt filled his expression. There would be little kinship between him and his cousin.
“We didn’t expect you to do very much on your visit,” said Somerset as she bit back a laugh. “There is no darning or dusting to be done, though. Victoria and I were going to clean out the chicken coops tonight, and if we were done by nightfall, we hoped to put up several more quarts of tomatoes.”
“Why, that’s servants’ work,” laughed Myra. “Don’t you make your hired help do it?”
“We don’t have as many servants at Orchard Rest as you are accustomed to. I’m glad you brought your maid. You’ll find Bess and Cleo are sometimes too busy to help us dress.”
“You’re joking. Surely you have more help than that! Daddy has twenty on the payroll just for our house at the Marsh.”
“We once had eighty-two slaves,” said Somerset. “We now have five hired hands. Bess was originally a lady’s maid and still is but does as much kitchen and housework as the rest of us. Cleo primarily cooks and tends to the smokehouse and most food-related tasks. Tuck and Jim work the fields with Joseph and with Papa when he is home. Jim is also Joseph’s old body servant and does the driving for us as appropriate. Franklin was our butler, and now he oversees the daily schedule. He devises a chore list, a schedule for the others, plans menus, and contributes to the housework. He is also best with clothing repairs, laundering clothing, and fills in in the fields when Jim or Tuck is ill. If you have a question about who to ask for help, ask Franklin his opinion, and he’ll get you what you need.”
“Only five servants,” murmured Myra. “Why, I generally have five servants doing tasks for me at one time at home.”
“I think you’ll learn some self-reliance while you’re with us. You can’t ask someone who’s preserving several dozen pints of pickles to stop what they’re doing to sew your buttons on tighter. You’ll learn to do it yourself.
“You’ll remember that Orchard Rest is set up as a main house with two small wings that once served as a ladies’ wing and a gentlemen’s wing. We made up Helen’s bedroom, which is very near to my room as well as Victoria’s, but we also prepared a room in the ladies’ hall if you like more privacy. Birdy is welcome to sleep on a pallet in the room with you or she might enjoy bunking with Bess or Cleo.
“We rise at five most mornings to begin our work. Joseph rises earlier to tend to the farm. Breakfast is served between six and seven, depending on how heavy our schedule is. We don’t linger long over the table unless we’ve invited guests. We do try to slow our pace on Saturday and try to socialize some with the neighbors but it isn’t always possible, and the same can be said for church on Sundays. We attend Century Grove Episcopal, but if you were willing to ride farther out you could attend The Grove Methodist.”
Myra looked speechless as she took in Somerset’s catalog of life in Century Grove, which was delivered with nurse-like efficiency.
“It’s a simple way of living here then?” she asked.
“Plain living but not simple living,” amended Joseph.
“It’s no wonder that they thought a little time here would be good for me. There’s nothing to get into.”
“No, if you aren’t from here there is very little to get into,” agreed Somerset. “What brought you here, Myra? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“I was a great hand for stirring up trouble,” confessed Myra.
I just bet you were, thought Somerset as she watched Myra’s mouth pout.
“I doubt that,” said Somerset. “You had far too many servants to manage to get into trouble.”
“You would think so,” sighed Myra. Her fair brow wrinkled. “It wasn’t me. Richmond fellows are fast. They seem courtly in the drawing room, but they’re rakes when they get you alone.”
Joseph turned his head at the word “fast” and began paying her attention. His eyes twinkled.
“I didn’t kiss Hiram Whitman. He kissed me,” said Myra plaintively. “Why would I want to kiss an old married wart with gout even if he does own a bank or two?”
“So you were the subject of scandal,” said Joseph in a pleased way.
Somerset could feel him warming to Myra.
“It wouldn’t have been a scandal if his wife hadn’t walked into the library and caught him,” flushed Myra. “She knew it was his fault. She knows that I wouldn’t look his way in a hundred years if we were the last two people on earth, but she very well couldn’t blame him. So she blamed me. Lenore is head of the Richmond Societal Improvement League and the Richmond Botany Club and a dozen other ladies’ clubs. She was so angry that it got around in no time and before I knew it,
there wasn’t a tea or social in town where I had friendly reception. Most of the time, the invitations never came. It isn’t as if I wanted to discuss varieties of roses all afternoon or pretend to be interested in what plant we decorated the cemetery gates with for the holidays, but it did beat an afternoon at home. I wouldn’t have minded so terribly if it hadn’t cut me off from all the gentlemen. Some of them knew how to show a girl such a nice time. There were three men interested in me, but after I was branded an adulteress, what could they do? Nothing happened to Hiram. The myopic old mole is probably pinching some other young socialite right now and breathing his dank breath down her neck. Situations like mine come up all the time. By winter most of it will have died down, and I’ll go home and get properly married, won’t I, Birdy?
“If you can find someone of the same station,” came the mellow, dignified voice from behind them.
“You’re even prettier than we heard,” said Myra to Somerset and then she added with faux solemnity, “but take my advice and avoid libraries with married men.”
There was no other word for Myra than jolly. She laughed all the way on the drive back to the house. She told scandalous stories about every other important person in Virginia and made them promise not to repeat them, and then she told Somerset that she had been courted at some time or another by every unmarried man in the state so she would be useful when Somerset met suitors there.
“Most of them are dreadful kissers but I can tell you with certainty who has the thickest wallets and the best-furnished homes,” she said. “Only you have to affect a very languid and delicate nature because no one likes to wonder what is making you so giddy. Society in Richmond is a solemn thing to be part of so…” She pulled her eyelids down and made a horrific face. “It’s really best if you behave as though your heart is broken because your mother is being boiled alive after contracting the plague.”
She talked almost without stopping all the way back, only taking pauses to catch her breath or pausing to point out something to Birdy. It was uncanny how very much she looked like Blanche. It made her gaiety and lack of reserve appear false but it wasn’t. Somerset couldn’t detect a shred of inhibition about Myra and could easily see why suitors flocked to her and wives disliked her. She couldn’t imagine any tragedy weighing on her conscience for long, though.
Somerset puffed with pride as they drove up the tidy stone drive of Orchard Rest. She loved to see visitors’ reactions as they saw the house for the first time. It was striking with flowers and trees in full bloom and the unblemished blue sky hovering above it. Even the wisteria had a touch of order about it as it trailed along the porch. She thought of Orchard Rest as the crowning touch to her family’s achievements. It pulled on her heartstrings to recall the attention to detail that Thomas put forth on the house as a tribute to Blanche, the pinnacle of his love for her.
Myra had other ideas about Orchard Rest.
“Look, Birdy! There it is! Have you ever seen anything like it? It looks quaint and charming compared to the Marsh. We’ll be snug here this fall. Did Sherman get ahold of it?”
Somerset swung her head to look at Myra and was dumbfounded when she found no traces of malice in her face, only a childlike curiosity.
“Sherman didn’t come through these parts,” said Joseph. His tone suggested he didn’t know whether to burst out laughing or curse Myra. “Wilson’s raiders did come through, but they didn’t burn anything.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure it is just fine. I need some experiences to broaden my horizons. Beyond the society scandal I referred to earlier. I suppose we should go in so that I can familiarize myself with the layout of the house.”
Myra climbed down from her seat and marched up the front steps with Birdy.
“In all my days I never thought I’d see a family member so uninhibited,” whispered Joseph as he tossed the reins to Jim.
“Her mother’s people were Baldwins. Aren’t they known for their loose rambling tongues?” asked Somerset. “On the other hand, she may just be unbelievably spoiled.”
“I can’t see this arrangement working out well, even if I do like hearing her prattle in between the insulting remarks she makes.”
“I’ve said those exact words about you, Joseph.”
“She’s comely.”
“Very,” agreed Somerset. “She looks so much like Mother it makes me jealous.”
“Mother will be well pleased with her looks.”
Myra hopped up and down while holding her valise.
“Are you coming? I’m famished!”
***
After Myra polished off two pieces of bread and three scrambled eggs, Somerset took her through the house.
“I like the idea of being close to you girls at night, but I think I’ll stay in the guest quarters,” she decreed. “The one room is almost the size of my room at home so I won’t be cramped if Birdy stays with me. She’d rather keep near me. She doesn’t like socializing and doesn’t want to bother with getting to know your help. The view is nicer, too.”
“We just want you to be comfortable,” Somerset said.
They stopped outside Blanche’s room. Somerset knocked and waited for Blanche to admit them. Bess opened the door. Her eyes widened at the sight of Myra, and she barely had time to move aside as Myra barreled into the room.
“Aunt Blanche!” squealed Myra and embraced her in her eager hug.
“Stand back, child. Stand back. Let me look at you. What a sight for homesick eyes you are.” Blanche patted her hair back into place. “Look, Bess, its David’s daughter. I was never this young and beautiful, but how good it is to see some family features after all these years. I haven’t seen a face this familiar since—well, it’s been too long.”
Bess inclined her head in acknowledgment.
“But you’re in bed,” said Myra. “You canceled your trip. Are you well?”
“My grippe turned to pneumonia,” replied Blanche. “I’ve been in bed for a week and am mending. Don’t worry about me, dear. How are they at the Marsh?”
Myra rolled her big blue eyes.
“Pa bought up most of the stock in another bank. I think he wants to have plenty to fall back on when the tobacco empire comes to an end. Mother was named secretary of the Needlepoint Society and vice president of the Orphan’s League. I think she has to provide them a hot lunch once a month and buy them shoes. I don’t know really, but she sends her love and gratitude for taking me in. I extend my gratitude as well.”
“And how is Mother? Is she well?”
Somerset could hear it in Blanche’s voice that it was a question of duty. She didn’t want to know, but she would ask because Myra would tell her mother that Blanche asked.
Myra sighed.
“Grandmother Marshall is a fierce lady. She’s the terror of Richmond. She lives behind the canopies of her bed, but nothing happens on the street or in secret that she doesn’t know about. Her memory is better than mine, and although the poor thing has gotten physically frail, she doesn’t look much older in the face than the last time you visited. She says she can’t die until she teaches Mother to cook, which just gives Mother fits because you know Mother’s lemon meringue pies always sell out first at all the benefits. She also says she can’t die until I find a husband and learn to hold my tongue. She said if I learned to hold my tongue, the husband would soon follow as a natural course. When she’s well, we take her to morning services every two weeks. She cuts people dead and won’t speak. It bothers Mother, but Pa and I laugh. I should have been more concise and said she hasn’t changed at all!”
“How did she take to your personal predicament?”
“She called Hiram out on it. She asked if he was so addlepated that he thought a Marshall woman would want his stringy lips on her and before he could answer, she said all the Whitmans ended up confused and mentally infirm. She shook her head at him sorrowfully and asked him if his wife would be so devoted to him when she was dressing him and feeding him in five years! It was worse th
an it sounds, though. She stalked into his board meeting and said it so now the whole town knows the tale. I daresay it worked in my favor, though!”
Blanche smiled her tight, nervous smile and Bess chuckled a laugh that was rusty from lack of use.
“It is fortunate that she has you nearby when you understand her so well.”
“I get on well with her. I can’t say that anyone understands her well.”
Somerset let loose a peal of laughter before she could stop herself. She was enjoying Myra more with every passing second.
“Do your arrangements suit you then?” asked Blanche.
“Yes, Auntie. Somerset went to so much trouble making up two rooms for me, but I’m glad she did. I chose the guest room. It is spacious, and I like the view out the window. It gives Birdy room to sleep and I’d like to have her near in such a foreign place. She keeps me in line but she’s a comfort to me as well. She’s been my maid since birth. Listen to me, telling you things you know! I believe I’ll leave you alone now, Auntie. Your rest is important so that you’re up and on your feet again soon, and after the trip I’ve made, I think I could sleep until morning.”
Myra bounded forward with the same uninhibited, lack of reserve and gave Blanche a smacking kiss on the cheek. It was surprising to see Blanche return the gesture. Then Myra danced out of the room with her yellow waves streaming behind her and ran into Victoria, who was coming down the hall with an armload of towels, and knocked them everywhere. Myra’s loud enthusiastic apologies and louder zealous greeting could be heard all through the house. Blanche laughed to hear her.
“You’ve done well as hostess for Orchard Rest, Somerset. Myra will be a welcome change from the gloomy monotony here. I should have known you’d do everything just so and make her feel at home. Thank you, daughter.”
Somerset registered the compliment but stood looking at the bedside table. On it was the little walnut jewel box that Thomas brought back for Blanche from some ancient excursion on business. She knew it held the tiny ivory box that contained all of Theodore’s baby teeth. On the marble-topped table by the window where the blue drapes blew was his first Bible. Beyond that was the cedar armoire that Grandmother Marshall had hand-painted with festoons of blooming lilies, and she knew that inside of it slept the little linen bag full of Teddie’s baby clothes.
