by L. S. Young
Everyone sat down, and I presided over the table as hostess in Colleen’s place. After Daddy had said grace, we commenced eating. The skin on the roast chicken was browned to a nice crunch on the outside; the meat underneath, tender and juicy. We ate the boiled potatoes with gravy and dipped the crisp hoecake in the fragrant pot liquor, savoring every bite. Daddy preferred his collards with a spicy sauce of hot peppers soaked in vinegar, and so did I, but I refrained from dousing my vegetables in such a way in the presence of company. Instead, I offered everyone seconds and made sure I was next to last to begin my food, to keep Colleen from complaining.
“Where is Emmett?” I asked Lily. He was usually present for Sunday dinner and on holidays. I would have noticed his absence sooner, had I not been distracted by the presence of William.
“I broke it off with Emmett.”
She said this resolutely, but her eyes had a lackluster appearance, and she had barely touched her food. I stared at her, uncomprehending. Emmett had started coming around when she was only thirteen. In the beginning, it had been little more than puppy love, wildflower bouquets and hand-holding on the porch, but I had sensed in the last several months that something lasting and serious had grown between them and expected them to be married when they were old enough.
“Why?” I asked. “You’ve been courting for years. I thought you loved him!”
“I don’t know, sissy. I used to be crazy about him, but I’m used to him now. Besides, Daddy never liked him.”
“Damn right, I didn’t.”
Colleen jumped a bit at this uncharacteristic display of language from my father, but she made no protest. I suppose it occurred to her that he was showing off for our visitor.
As was his wont to do, Daddy left the subject alone until we had begun on dessert, then brought it up unsolicited. Dumping a spoonful of sugar into his coffee and stirring it with unwarranted vigor, he said, “No dockworker from the river is good enough for one of my girls.” Coffee sloshed over the side of his cup onto the yellowed lace tablecloth that was reserved for company and holidays. “Especially my Lily. She’s too handsome and oughta set her cap a good deal higher.”
Lily and I both winced at this, for different reasons. I felt that Daddy was calling unnecessary attention to the stark difference in our looks, and Lily, mostly oblivious to her own appearance, had never learned to take a compliment. I was often baffled by how anyone so lovely could lack vanity entirely. There was always something to dislike; the sun made freckles pop out on her nose, her teeth were too large, her knees were too knobby.
After lunch, Daddy and Mr. Cavendish set off toward the porch to drink mint juleps and smoke, a gentleman’s pastime I loathed because it separated me from all interesting conversation. Lily and I resigned ourselves to the drudgery of dishes, but when we were finished, I crept to the front window they were sitting beneath, which was loose in its casing, and set my ear to the crack. Emboldened by whiskey, my father and our visitor were doing nothing to keep their voices low, and I could discern snatches of their conversation.
“So! Do you have plans to marry in the future?” This came from Daddy.
“Eventually,” said William, but . . . only twenty-eight.”
Daddy laughed. “Bachelorhood. It can be quite lonely . . . cookin’ your own meals and scrubbin’ . . . clothes.”
A laugh from William this time.
“So when . . . to settle down,” said Daddy, “either of mine might do you very well.”
William’s reply to this was unintelligible. I rolled my eyes. Daddy had been trying to sell me off for years. Lily was practically a child, but he disliked her beau, so he took any opportunity to introduce her to other men, even ones nearly twice her age. I often reminded him that it was Colleen’s job to find us husbands.
“Lily is the beauty. But she’s young, a bit frivolous. Landra is rather plain, but she’s dependable. She’ll stand by you.”
“She’s got vim and vigor,” said William.
My father’s voice rose an octave at this, and his rocker creaked as he stood. “She does that! She’ll give you a run for your money, by golly! Why just the other day I . . .”
I did not catch the rest of this and felt myself reddening. Could he be referencing when he had beaten me for my insolence? There was any number of instances he might be referring to in which we had disagreed.
“And she can sing to beat the band! I’ll ask her to sing for us next time you visit, if we can talk her round to it.”
It was to Will’s credit that Daddy was already treating him as a future acquaintance.
“I like a fiery woman.” William stood as well, and I crouched down, flattening against the wall. Their booted footfalls were heavy on the porch floor as they made their way to the front door.
“Well, that sort does fine for a young man,” Daddy was saying as he entered the breezeway. “My first wife was spirited, but she had a lady-like way about her that hid it. Landra wears her spirit on her sleeve.”
I busied myself straightening books in the corner as the two of them entered the sitting room.
“Enjoy your drink?” I asked.
“Very much,” said William.
“Pour us another one, Landra girl. The decanter is on the mantle there.”
“Oh, thank you, sir, but I shouldn’t. I really must be going.”
William made as if to hand me his glass. When I did not take it, he set it on the mantle next to the whiskey.
“Begging your pardon,” he said.
“My mother was a housemaid and then a governess after the war,” I said, “I am neither, but I’ll give you your hat and see you out.”
Daddy shot him a look as if to say I told you so.
We paused on the porch, and he turned his hat around several times rather than putting it on.
“I had a very pleasant time,” he said finally. “Your father’s a nice fella, not at all how you let on.”
“Yes, he seems to like you. You would feel quite differently if he didn’t. Just ask Emmett.”
“And who is that?”
“Lily’s former beau. He’s about eighteen, so in my opinion that makes her far too young for you.”
“I have no intention of courting Lily, but you’ve been eavesdropping.”
“Men smoke and drink so they can talk away from women. It’s the only way to hear anything of importance. Perhaps I’ve been too outspoken, but that only goes along with my vim and vigor.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “I meant that as a compliment. If not, I wouldn’t have said it to your father.”
“However you meant it, I don’t relish being spoken of as if I were a pony up for auction. Why must gentlemen compare ladies to breeding animals?”
“I sincerely beg your pardon. It’s just something men do when they’re alone—speak of women so. I did it more to get on his good side than anything.”
“Oh?”
“We are neighbors. And I’ll warrant you’re desperate for company out here in the boondocks, a young thing like you! Seems you’ve got precious few gentlemen to choose from.”
I flushed. “I want to be absolutely certain you haven’t been deceiving yourself about me, sir,” I said. “I find your company pleasant, but you’re a stranger to me.”
“I’ve offended you.” His cheeks turned ruddy as well, and I thought, What fools we are, blushing like childhood sweethearts at one another. “I assure you, I never meant to be rude or forward. I only meant . . . you must get lonely.”
I twisted a fold of my skirt and shrugged. “You haven’t offended me, and I do get lonely. It’s only that, no matter what Daddy says, I didn’t want you to think that I’d . . . encouraged you.”
“I wouldn’t think such a thing of a woman with your manner or intelligence.” He put his ha
t on and descended the front steps, unfastening his horse from the hitching post. I stayed where I was.
“Thank you for a fine dinner, Miss Andrews,” he said, swinging into the saddle.
“Thank you for attending,” I replied.
“I hope to see you again, but I shall await your invitation.”
I filled my lungs, nodding. “You may wait a long time,” I said softly, but he had already swung his horse into the drive and was gone.
I was wrong. Mr. Cavendish visited us only two weeks later at an invitation from Colleen, who risked my ire by then being so ill from nausea as to be in bed when he arrived.
“My stepmother is indisposed today,” I said, showing him into the parlor, “but Lily is here, and Edith.”
Edith rose and curtsied, then folded herself back into the armchair where she was reading. I glanced briefly at her bowed head; her blond hair was parted cleanly in the middle and twisted into two neat braids. Edith’s presence did not make much difference in a social circle, as her nose was always buried in a book. I envied the way Colleen indulged her love of literature. I had not been given such freedom to read since my years with the Mondays. Things had been different then; I was in my teens, Eric was home, and Colleen was well.
“Tell us about yourself, Mr. Cavendish,” said Lily easily, sensing my distraction. Mr. Cavendish’s answer gave me time to step up to the buffet and resume my duties as hostess.
“Well . . . I was born durin’ the war. My father was a gentleman. He had an old name, a bit of land, and not much else. He was killed at the Battle of Olustee. What fortune he left my mother was inherited by my elder brother, Gabriel.”
“You did not wish to pursue the church, as a good second son should?” I asked, pouring tea.
“Hardly. I’ve done one thing and another. I had a small inheritance.”
“Tell us something about yourself that most people wouldn’t know at first glance,” said Lily. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She was flirting, but not to spite me. Interacting with men came easier to her than it ever had to me.
“Ah! Let’s see. When it came time for my brother to take his European tour at twenty-one, he came down with an illness. Nothing fatal, but serious enough he could not go. His passage was booked, so I coerced our mother into letting me go in his place, although I was only nineteen. I introduced myself as Gabriel Cavendish, eldest son of the late Braxton, to everyone I met.” The hint of a smile played about his lips. “It cast an appropriate anonymity over the whole affair.”
“What sort of goings on were there that required anonymity?” I ventured, feigning innocence.
“Well . . .” he paused, reddening.
“It’s grown terribly warm in here,” said Lily. “I’ll go and make the lemonade.”
I handed her the glass pitcher, my eyes on our guest.
Mr. Cavendish cleared his throat, glancing at Edith. She had yet to look up from her book.
“Never mind,” I said, smiling. “Your tales of Parisian houses are safe here. The very phrase ‘European tour’ has an air of mystery, doesn’t it?”
“It does. Now, Miss Andrews, tell me something about yourself that most people wouldn’t know.”
I laughed at his eagerness to change the subject. “There is nothing to me.”
“So you’ve always been here, lived here? Grew here, like a hearty flower in a desolate swamp?”
“Hmmm. I taught school once, for about six months.” I handed him a cake plate piled with finger sandwiches and molasses teacakes.
He eyed it eagerly. “Thank you. Where did you teach?”
“I taught at Clarabelle School in town.”
“How did you like teaching?”
“I detested it. It was too far to drive each day, so I boarded with a minister and his wife and sent my earnings home. It was very tedious, and my students were badly behaved.”
“Were you forced to use the rod?”
“I caned a great many, but I’m afraid my small stature was not in my favor.”
“I imagine your great tenacity was.”
“Thank you,” I said, smiling.
He bowed.
“I think the first time I called here, it was mentioned you had a tutor.”
“A governess, Miss Northrop. She was Ida’s governess, to be exact.”
“Ida Monday. I met her at the ball.”
“Yes. She’s not easy to forget, even after the first meeting.”
“And you learned from Ida’s governess?”
“A few days a week when I could be spared, as a child. Then Colleen sent me to live there for three years in my teens so I could benefit from their society. Ida was meant to benefit from my . . . practicality.”
“So they both could catch a husband, more like,” said Lily as she returned with the lemonade. “You see it worked so well, as they are both still unmarried.”
William laughed. “Your favorite subject, what was it?”
“I’m fond of reading and music.”
“Your father told me so, when I was here before. Did the governess teach you that, too? You see, men know so little of women’s education. I went to boarding school myself.”
“She taught me a bit, but my father taught me more. He lives for music and farming. The first time he noticed I could carry a tune as a little girl he began teaching me to sing. It’s one of few things Daddy and myself agree on. My voice isn’t fine, but I can hit the proper notes.”
“Landra is modest,” said Lily. “Everyone admires her singing voice.”
We spoke of more light-hearted subjects then: the weather, favorite songs, and church. When it came time for Will to leave, I walked out with him as I had on our first meeting.
“You country girls are so easy to be with,” he said. “When you first accompanied me to my horse and held my stirrup, I thought you were being forward, but I see now it’s just your way.”
“Must you mention that?” I said, embarrassed. “It was habit, you see. I always hold my father’s stirrup. Now you must be thinking, ‘How terribly back water these folks are.’”
“I think nothing of the kind. I’ve done my share of physical work. And you can’t know what yours and Lily’s company means to me way out here.”
“If you enjoy it so much, perhaps you’d like to join us for Sunday dinner tomorrow? Colleen wanted me to ask.”
The corner of his mouth lifted, and I knew he was thinking of his promise not to come without an invitation. “Would you like it if I came to dinner?” he asked.
“I wouldn’t mind it,” I replied.
Perhaps it seems we were flirting with one another awfully quickly, but all young people had back then for getting to know one another was words. Nothing else was permitted, at least not openly. It was true, besides, that I didn’t mind the idea of his company. Far from it.
Several days after Mr. Cavendish’s visit, Colleen insisted I take a basket over to him. She said he must get lonely up at the Macready place, remote as it was. I argued with her.
“You don’t understand. You never will,” I contended. “It isn’t proper for me to visit a gentleman alone.”
“Take Lily with you.”
“Lily is sixteen! She’s hardly a chaperone!”
“Oh, Landra. It isn’t 1860, after all. Girls up north visit privately with gentlemen, and no one considers them fast. It’s acceptable for young people to socialize with one another. Invite him to dinner while you’re there.”
The fastest way to the old Macready place was to skip the dirt road and go the back way, through our pecan grove, the copse of long leaf pines, and through Mr. Buckley’s cornfield, climbing a couple of fences in the process. Lily and I were unsure of the propriety of such an action, but as Daddy had the horse and buggy, we were le
ft with little choice.
We walked for some time in companionable silence, both lost in the relief of freedom from our chores. I swung the basket of baked goods by its handle in calloused indifference to its contents, and Lily skipped ahead, sampling the early blackberries.
At length she came frisking back to me, lithe and graceful as a young deer, her dark curls flying free of the Gibson tuck she had smoothed them into that morning. She had made two wreaths of yellow black-eyed Susans, and she placed one atop my auburn waves and the other on her own head.
“You look happy,” she said, smiling. “Are you pleased to be visiting him?”
“I’m pleased to be out on a day such as this.”
She put her arm about my waist. “So am I. But tell me true, Lan, do you like him?”
I bit my bottom lip, stifling a smile, and tried to push her away, but she grasped at my sleeve. “Your dimples are leaping like gazelles!”
“Gazelles? Have you been reading Song of Solomon again?” I held out my hand for one of her berries, and she dropped one into my palm. “Does it matter if I do like him? He’s handsome and single, and he has a house.”
“But it does matter.”
I placed the blackberry in my mouth, careful not to let it touch my lips and stain them purple. Its tart sweetness burst on my tongue.
“Very well, I like him. I have since the first day he came here, and even more since Ida’s ball, but if you tell him I’ll skin you alive.”
She laughed. “I knew it!”
“More importantly, does he like me?”
“He flirted with you almost shamefully last time he called. If he doesn’t, he’s a terrible cad.”
“What do you think of him?”
She popped another berry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “He is too calm, too gentle, for me. But whatever I may think of him, he’s handsome. He has the face of an Adonis,” she said, whispering the last word for emphasis, “and you can be his Aphrodite.”