by Denney, Hope
“As you wish,” he said as he laid his unopened napkin beside his plate. “I do apologize.”
Blanche didn’t dare look up from her plate.
“I will be back after I eat,” he said.
“I will go with you,” said Somerset.
“You are not excused.”
“You don’t want him wandering the streets in the dark in a strange place,” said Somerset, wiping her mouth.
“Don’t presume to tell me what I intend. You are the hallmark of all that is wrong with your generation.”
“Because I don’t want him eating alone?”
Ivy looked on the verge of tears, but she didn’t have the bravery to leave the table.
“We will return in timely fashion,” said Somerset. “I mean no disrespect.”
She held her head high, as Blanche never managed under that roof, and took Joseph’s arm as they left.
“It’s hard to be angry with a girl like that when you are her mother,” they heard Honor say as the door swung closed behind them.
“You didn’t have to sacrifice yourself,” Joseph said as they strolled down the street.
“I didn’t mind. You didn’t deserve to be banished for the evening just because you were late to supper. I could tell Ivy wanted to join us but was too afraid.”
“She is a dear. Did you find your wedding gown?”
“I choose a design tomorrow. I’m thinking about sending Mother home. I can always ride up by train for fittings. I don’t think any of this is worth the constant pecking Mother is taking.”
“I intend on never returning here. The Marsh gives me the creeps, and it violates my principle of always moving forward. Didn’t God tell Lot’s family not to look back? His wife looked back and she was turned to salt. There’s value in pressing ahead.”
Somerset wondered how Joseph could spout off so many Bible stories when he lived so hard. She wondered if he had a Bible in prison that he read to himself at night before falling asleep on the tamped, cold dirt floor that served as his bed. She wondered if he listened to Theodore’s sermons on Sundays in camp, one brother encouraging another.
“We’ve visited seldom enough that most of the insults and berating must have flown over my head,” continued Joseph. “I’ve held Mother in such low esteem all these years, but to my intense regret, I have to give her credit. She’s as close to a likeable, functional, sane human being as could ever come out of that prison.”
“Like begat like. Have you ever seen so many oil portraits of one person?”
“I don’t care who he was anymore or what made him head and shoulders above every man who ever lived and provided the living template for Teddie’s life. It chills me to have him watch me while I sleep and while I eat breakfast. Ivy took the portrait in our room down, and Birdy put it up again when she came to collect our clothes.”
“Well, I can’t imagine him being a bit superior to our Teddie.”
“They were just men, Somerset. At the end of the day they lived and died as anyone else does and probably with plenty of mistakes during the living.”
“There’s a restaurant ahead,” Somerset said.
“Then it’s lucky I won most of the hands of poker I played. I’m flush with cash.”
The maître d’ scowled at them in derision when they asked for a table without a reservation, but an employee of David’s bank recognized them and suggested they be given a table. The maître d’ apologized as though his job depended on it and led Somerset and Joseph to a secluded table in the back of the building that looked out on a scenic row of houses and shops.
“I won’t miss this kind of service either,” remarked Joseph after he thanked the flustered attendant and pushed Somerset’s chair up to the table. “I miss my anonymity.”
“I take it that you’ll leave with Mother in the morning if I can persuade her to go?”
“Yes, but I don’t know if I’ll go home directly. Ivy and I looked upon this trip as a honeymoon, but it hasn’t been as romantic as I hoped. Maybe she and I will take a detour on the way home. Ivy has cousins in Chesapeake. I hate to take her home with the atmosphere of this trip looming over us.”
“She looked worried when you were late to dinner, but I think things are off to an idyllic start even with this trip.”
“You don’t know how I feel when you say that, so thank you. I can tell she’s happy. There’s something to hearing someone tell you they love you when they never thought they’d hear it in return. I want to hear it from her all the time.”
Somerset thought of Sawyer and the way he said it to her, and fury stirred in her veins only to be quieted by impressions of grief. Had he made it to the homestead of his self-imposed exile? Had he made it and been killed? It would serve him right if only he hadn’t thought of it first.
“There’s more to Myra than I thought,” she said as she pushed against the current of thoughts in her head.
“I hoped there was more to her than a girl who likes chocolate, jam, and expensive silk dresses. What did you find out?”
“We toured the city ruins today: the American hotel site, Gallegos Mills, and the center of town. She’s lived rough, and I don’t mean in the sense that she comes from the Marsh. She came close to starving. She showed us where Grandmother hosted a starvation ball and she fainted. She pointed out a trench in town that she drank from when the Confederate army unloaded Richmond’s liquor. Her sense may seem mirror-deep, but she’s as full of insight as anyone who’s had a brush with disaster.”
“I’ve learned most of us have depths we seldom share.”
“Phillip says so.” Somerset’s voice wavered with loneliness.
The waiter brought platters of roasted duck breasts and root vegetables carved into whimsical figures around them. Somerset let him fill her glass with merlot and settled in to make her meal disappear.
“Isn’t this the life?” said Joseph. “I tramped all over this country and saw sights worth cataloging in my memory until I die, but I never put my feet under a restaurant table the whole time. It’s funny that luxury feels wasteful now. I know how privileged I am but I’d just as soon be eating crackling cornbread with Ivy before our fireplace.”
“I could eat this way every night,” said Somerset.
“I expect you will soon. I suppose now that you’re engaged you won’t want to work outside Turning Tide.”
“The staff has been there for years. I don’t think I’ll have much interest in interrupting their routines, and Phillip is so busy, I’ll need something to while away the hours.”
“Have you discussed this with him?”
“He thinks I should make myself happy. He’s emphasized the lonely, independent life I’ll be leading, and he’s relieved I have other interests.”
Joseph ladled cherry and port sauce over his duck breast. The sardonic lines of his mouth revealed that he wished to argue about it, but he managed to keep his eyes kind.
“I expect we’ll hear from Sawyer soon after we get home,” he said. “It will be interesting to find out how he makes it to the Territories in the end. My money is on by horseback. I can’t see him taking the stagecoach on the last leg of the journey. I imagine he got off the train at the sight of a mustang herd and paid every dime he had to the first cowboy he met with one to sell.”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s an odder feeling than I ever thought it would be to have him gone. I feel like the last member of our old quartet even if Sawyer is alive and well. Ivy has been a comfort, though. She tells me every night that I’ll see his face again. I suppose I will if you marry Phillip.
“Speaking of which, will it be awkward when you tell him that you’re marrying his brother? He was as besotted with you as a man could be with a woman. I expect he’ll have regrets that he traveled off and left you to another man.”
“Phillip is going to tell him when he’s settled. He isn’t going to traverse the country again only six months after arriving, Joseph.”
�
�I hope he does. If Dakota doesn’t suit him, he might use your wedding as an excuse to get out. People have changed their minds and turned around sooner than six months to get out of there.”
Somerset concentrated on chewing her parsnip. Under Joseph’s direct stare, she chewed until there was nothing left in her mouth.
“Why did you send him away?” asked Joseph, his cat’s eyes gleaming under the chandelier above.
Somerset laid down her fork.
“I begged him to marry me,” she said. “I begged him. He had the best reason for us not to get married. Your friendship is alive and well because I let him go. If he were here, you couldn’t be friends anymore.”
Joseph wiped his mouth and sat back in his tapestry set. The indentations of his eyebrows conveyed how perturbed he was and the stoniness of his eyes said that he wouldn’t pry any further.
Somerset pushed her plate away. The gilt and embroidery of the restaurant was distracting, and the food sat like sour milk in her tense middle. She thought of Phillip with his wiry black hair falling forward into his square forehead and the way his eyes looked whenever he talked about the dynasty they would build. She thought about his reassurances that every family had plenty to hide. She ached all over for him when she recalled how much better she felt when she rested her face in the nook of his chest and his arms circled her waist. Even the cupola of the Unnamed House didn’t give her the same feeling of safety.
“I have a proposition for you,” Somerset said. “I’m sending Mother home tomorrow. Suppose you and Ivy don’t go to Chesapeake. We could go to Charleston for a brief visit and pass back this way for my first fitting on the way home. I need to be with Phillip.”
A smile cracked Joseph’s face but his eyes stayed troubled.
“As you wish, my lady. You’d better tell Ivy that I’m staying out playing cards tonight. Most of my earnings today will cover this meal and you girls might want some spending money in Charleston.”
***
Chapter 19
Grandmother Marshall sounded acerbic the next morning at the breakfast table when they announced their intentions to leave, but Somerset sensed a film of loneliness at the surface.
“Leaving, are you? I predicted this would happen, didn’t I, Birdy? I hoped genteel manners would prevail in the end. The length of your visit wasn’t worth the work my staff put into airing out the rooms and washing all the bedding,” she cawed from the head of the table. “Blanche, half a decade passed from the last time you saw me to now. The next time you’ll see me I’ll be lying in state.”
Blanche hadn’t managed to eat and hold down a bite of food while at the Marsh, and the woman Somerset put on the train to Orchard Rest was a thin, nervous mosquito in her restless movements. It was a boon to know she traveled with someone as bighearted as Myra and as disciplined and capable as Birdy.
Joseph stood at the end of the sidewalk, listening to them but as removed from them as he was at his tent on the river.
“We’ll be home again in a week or less,” Somerset said. “You must—you have to take care of yourself and not get sick again. Do you understand?”
Blanche stood in her loose dress as though she’d swallowed a railroad spike, and her eyes darted around the station as if expecting Honor to come and admonish her about posture, while Birdy bid Ivy good-bye.
“I don’t know why I thought I could go home,” she said.
“Never mind the Marsh. You’re going home now,” Ivy said.
“My only goal in life was to be a better mother than her.”
Blanche’s voice washed them all in the pangs of her failure.
“I’ll see you in a few days at home,” said Somerset. “I’ll tell you about Turning Tide when I get home, and you’ll want to hear all about my first fitting.”
Myra placed her hand on Blanche’s lower back as she stepped aboard the train and looked at Somerset as if questioning their decision to go back to the Grove. Somerset motioned for them to continue.
“He died so young,” Blanche said over her shoulder before she disappeared. Her white forehead was as wrinkled as her oversized dress. “He died so young.”
Myra waved to them as she galloped up the steps and then the door pulled to.
“Who was she talking about that time?” asked Ivy.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Somerset. “He did die young. They all do nowadays.”
***
“Who are we staying with?” asked Ivy as the train barreled down toward the marshy outer region of the peninsula.
Joseph’s eyes were brooding as he stirred and stretched in his seat.
“I telegraphed Amelia before I came home last night. It was ugly of me to give her short notice, and if she truly doesn’t want us, we can afford a hotel but little else.”
“Phillip will take care of us if it comes to that,” said Somerset as she watched a crane flying low on the horizon, a handkerchief in the wind. “I haven’t seen Amelia since the funeral. I wrote her twice. She never responded.”
“We’ll never be more than our mother’s children to her, I’m afraid.”
“What is she like?” asked Ivy.
“None of us knows,” said Joseph.
“We haven’t been around her long enough to find out,” said Somerset.
“She married Theodore faster than Somerset is marrying Phillip. They met at a ball, went for a few rides, and then they had a lavish ceremony and moved to Charleston. She never wanted to visit long so we never discovered who she really is.”
“She’s guarded,” said Somerset. “She and Mother never got along. Not giving Mother Theodore’s remains was the last infraction in a long list of wrongs.”
“Theodore Jr. and Elizabeth are strangers to us.”
“She’s wealthy. She’s gone through two rich husbands and is an only child so Winfree Indigo is all hers.”
“Will she be friendly?” asked Ivy.
“Initially,” said Somerset.
***
Winfree Indigo rose up out of the lowlands like a creamy oyster shell. Somerset had never seen it, and to her eyes, which were unfamiliar with low country housing, it was a novelty. Every window was thrown open and muslin curtains flew out the windows at the wind’s beck and call, tens of welcoming white arms heralding them as their driver brought them up to the house.
“This is it,” she said, wishing that she could inhale the salty air harder. “Theodore’s home. Our niece’s and nephew’s home.”
“Where is the foundry?” asked Ivy as she craned her head.
“Behind the house. Behind the stone wall.”
Joseph surveyed the place with hooded eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at the place with them open, Somerset thought. He had come there to identify the body, she remembered, and watched as Ivy patted his knee and buried her head deep in the crook between his neck and shoulder. It was startling to see them acting naturally as a couple.
“You family?” ventured the driver.
“Not blood,” said Somerset.
The glint in his eye said that he should wait a minute and see if Amelia let them in the house as they climbed down from their seats, but he looked over his shoulder as he hit the horse’s back and drove away.
“Do we knock?” asked Ivy and Amelia opened the door before anyone could.
She was taller than Somerset, with light brown hair, cheekbones high enough that they seemed to put her vision in danger, and smoky eyes. She should have been beautiful, but her features all seemed pressed forward too close together, giving her the appearance of squinting. Her eyes were lost beneath her short, dark, bushy eyebrows and her severe cheeks, and her mourning garb washed out her bright white skin. Her face showed expression lines although her face was a blank canvas.
“I welcome you to Winfree Indigo,” she said, and her smile was as tight as a string on one of Joseph’s guitars.
“Amelia,” said Somerset. She opened her arms and let Amelia take her in a clumsy, short embrace. “Thank you for h
aving us. I realize it was rude of us to ask. We left Richmond sooner than we intended. You remember Joseph, my brother.”
“I do.”
Pain filled Amelia’s eyes and Joseph cleared his throat, shuffling his feet like a little boy caught naughty at church.
“May I present to you Ivy Garrett Forrest? She experienced the calamity of marrying Joseph not even a month ago.”
“I’m pleased that we’re family,” said Amelia. She fished a handkerchief out and dabbed at her eyes.
“Likewise,” said Ivy.
Amelia motioned for them to go into the parlor.
“Why were you in Richmond? Why did you leave it?” she asked as they took seats. She motioned for a servant to bring coffee.
“Having my trousseau made,” said Somerset. “I’m marrying a Charlestonian in the coming winter.”
“Did you tire of the old lady?” asked Amelia as she stirred a lavish amount of cream and sugar into her cup.
“I don’t think she felt well,” said Somerset.
The second that Amelia’s eyes rested on her cut through her lie to her core.
“Who are you marrying?” asked Amelia.
“Phillip Russell,” said Somerset. She tried to remain as serious as Amelia but joy broke out on her face at the utterance of his name.
“Teddie always said you’d marry well. There are women in these parts who have killed themselves over him. Did you know that? I take it Blanche has everything she ever wanted in life now that you have him.”
Amelia blew on her coffee to cool it.
“No, she doesn’t have everything she ever wanted.”
“I’m alone. It must please her.”
“If you don’t want us here, you only have to say the word and we’ll leave,” said Somerset. “No one in this room has wronged you, and if all you care for is to let ancient wounds fester, then I’m happy to oblige you. I will leave and let you alone in your misery.”
“Why? Have we quarreled in the three minutes you’ve been here?” asked Amelia. “I’ve opened my home to you on no notice at all. I may have been married to Theodore, but I don’t know any of you, Somerset. You’re names in the family Bible that I never open. Do you realize that we’re strangers?”
