The problem was, I didn’t. For the first time since I’d received my appointment to the academy, I didn’t understand.
For the hundredth time I reminded myself that I wouldn’t have made it home for the funeral anyway. News of my mother’s death had taken six weeks to reach me, and it would have taken three more for me to travel home.
But I was the eldest, the only son. Why couldn’t I have been allowed to see to the sale of the farm? What would have been wrong with seeing my sister safely settled with family in Kentucky?
My fingers had curled into fists behind my back again. Taking a deep breath, glancing around the professor’s sitting room, I spread my hands wide, forcing them to relax. And then I tried my best to follow the conversation between my classmate, Campbell Conklin, and my favorite professor.
But as my thoughts had been wandering, the conversation had stopped. Campbell was looking at me, one brow lifted. Had he asked me something?
Mrs. Hammond had gone to answer the door—I did remember that—and now the professor’s attention was caught by whatever was taking place in his front hall. He blinked as he returned his gaze to me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Westcott. You were saying . . . ?”
Had I said something?
Campbell answered in my stead. “I believe he was making a point about the decidedly deplorable state of this year’s appointees.”
I couldn’t have been. I didn’t think they were deplorable. I simply thought they had arrived untrained and a summer’s worth of drills had provided the cure, just like they did every year. But Campbell always took every opportunity to expound on others’ deficiencies in order to promote his own merits. This time, though, the professor wasn’t listening. His eyes narrowed as he took a step toward the hall. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.”
I might have offered my assistance, but the sharp words he was soon exchanging with his wife obliged both Campbell and me to pretend to a polite ignorance of the situation. Putting away all thoughts of my mother, I turned my attention to his oldest daughter, Phoebe. Walking the several paces to the tufted, hump-backed sofa where she sat, I cleared my throat. “I hope you’re able to attend one of our concerts this summer, Miss Hammond.”
She, too, had been listening to the goings-on in the hallway, but she took no pains to hide her interest. Seeming to stare right through me to the hall, her blue eyes hardly moved as she replied. “Perhaps I shall. We hear your concerts sometimes in Buttermilk Falls . . . if the wind is blowing in the right direction.”
The Hammond son was attempting to play jackstraws while the youngest sister was begging to join him in the game.
Just as the boy had cast the sticks onto the floor, Professor Hammond returned, his wife leaning heavily upon his arm. There was a trace of tears upon her cheeks that any gentleman would know it was best to ignore. And there was a set to the professor’s jaw that boded ill for the person who had caused it. As Mrs. Hammond allowed herself to be helped into a chair, I saw exactly who that person was.
Professor Hammond was scowling as he gestured to the young woman behind him. “Mr. Westcott, Mr. Conklin? My niece.”
Of an age with the eldest Miss Hammond and my sister, she was as pretty as a china doll. Prettier even with her hair bunched into curls and her golden-green eyes.
Campbell and I bowed at the same moment, as if obeying a martinet’s command, while the younger Hammond children left off playing to look on with great interest.
Though the smile she offered in return seemed genuine, she clung to her satchel with both hands, the way a cadet clings to a letter from home.
“Have you traveled far, Miss Hammond?” Campbell’s inquiry was politely subdued, but his interest was plain.
“Far enough.” Professor Hammond nearly barked the words. Had I been in his classroom I might have feared for my grade.
Campbell retreated a step or two.
“Father?” Phoebe rose from the couch, reaching a hand toward him.
He crossed to her quickly, tucked her hand under his arm, and led her to her cousin, introducing them.
Mrs. Hammond hadn’t taken her eyes from her niece since she’d reentered the room, but the sound of her third daughter sliding dishes across the dining room table seemed to spur her to action. She took the satchel from her niece, setting it in the hall, and then she excused herself and headed for the dining room.
While the Miss Hammonds conversed in low tones, Campbell and I pretended not to notice the professor glowering at them. Since it would have been rude to carry on a conversation without him, and since it was plain that he was in no mood to speak, we resorted to tricks learned during three years’ worth of parades.
I raised a brow.
Campbell responded by pointing to the collar of his gray coat. I adjusted the black stock that sat beneath the collar of my own coat.
He nodded and raised a brow at me.
I put a hand to the red silk sash that was tied about my waist and extended a finger down toward the fringed ends that spilled past the thigh of my white cotton trousers.
He raked his fingers through the ends of his sash, untangling them.
Professor Hammond was still glowering, so I turned my attention to the room. Number of dainties and dust catchers on the mantel? Seven. Number of chairs? Three. In tufted green velvet. Gently worn. Sofa? One. Also in velvet. Pictures on the wall? Two. Indistinct, vague drawings of rural landscapes. Mirrors? One. With a carved, round frame, reflecting the simple, homey appeal of the room. Ways of ingress? Two—through the hall and the dining room. Of egress, counting the windows when necessary? Five. I smiled at Campbell.
He smiled at me.
It was a great relief when we were called to the dining room.
As we approached the table, I gave Milly, the middle daughter, a wink.
She wrinkled her nose at me in return. Milly always put me in mind of my sister. Though younger by several years, she had that same restless, spirited nature.
Generally, when we were given passes to come to supper, Mr. Hammond escorted his eldest daughter to the table and I escorted Mrs. Hammond. I would have expected Mr. Hammond to have escorted his niece that evening as an honored guest. Apparently she did too, for when he took up his daughter’s arm instead, the niece’s step faltered.
I caught Campbell’s eye, nodded toward Mrs. Hammond, and offered my arm to the niece. “Miss Hammond?”
Her smile, though swift, was tremulous. “There are too many Miss Hammonds here for clarity’s sake. Please think of me as Lucinda.”
I knew I would never think of her as anything but plucky. She’d understood her uncle’s insult the same way I had, but she’d simply lifted her chin and smiled all the wider. It took gumption to respond to rebuff like that. I wasn’t privy to their family relations, but rude was rude no matter the circumstance. “I’m the only Mr. Westcott, but you could think of me as Seth.”
“Thank you.” As she whispered the words, her hand tightened on my arm.
She ought to have been seated to the right of the professor, but it wasn’t my place to quibble over niceties. I drew out the seat between Campbell and myself, hoping my classmate would have the good sense to help me smooth things over.
I needn’t have worried. Campbell always had an eye for pretty girls, and he employed every tactic possible to ingratiate himself with the military academy’s faculty. Before the bread had made it halfway around the table, he’d already made it known to Lucinda that he was a cadet lieutenant and the adjutant of our company.
To the professor’s credit, he pointed out that I was not only the captain of that company but also first captain of the entire Military Academy Corps of Cadets.
Lucinda looked from one of us to the other. “Your titles sound impressive, but I confess that I’ve no idea what they mean.”
The professor seemed to take her ignorance as a joke, but it soon became apparent she was serious. “It means you’re in the presence of two of the best men the military academy has to offer.”
Her uncle continued speaking. “When they graduate in June, they can look forward to the most prestigious of assignments. Perhaps even to the Corps of Engineers.” He scowled.
I wasn’t quite certain whether that was meant to be a warning. Apparently, Campbell wasn’t either. “I had thought, sir . . . That is, I hoped—”
“Nothing is ever guaranteed. Even the most distinguished of cadets can prove himself a disappointment.” He seemed very intent on communicating a point.
Campbell and I exchanged a glance. It was a worrisome thought. After all this time and all the work I’d put into academics, I couldn’t afford to fall short of that goal. And neither could he. His father had attended West Point. His grandfather, a senator, had urged the establishment of West Point.
Silence ruled the table for several long minutes as we ate, but then the professor addressed his son and Campbell began to monopolize Lucinda’s attentions. It was time to fulfill my obligations as both a gentleman and a guest. I conversed for some time with Mrs. Hammond and then with Milly, who sat opposite me.
When Campbell paused to put in a perfunctory word with Phoebe, Lucinda turned toward me. “Forgive my asking, but is something wrong with Miss Hammond?”
I followed her troubled gaze across the table to the eldest daughter. The professor was cutting her meat for her.
“In my experience, there’s nothing wrong with the youngest Miss Hammond that turning five won’t cure.”
She smiled just as I’d hoped she’d do.
I nodded toward Phoebe. “The eldest Miss Hammond, however, is blind, and no one’s yet found a way to cure that.”
She gasped. “I didn’t know.”
“There’s no reason you should have.”
Her cheeks colored as she glanced across the table at her cousin.
Hoping to ease her embarrassment, I inquired as to where she lived.
“At the moment? I’m not quite certain. I was living in St. Louis, but my father recently died and I wished to spend some time with family.”
It was unaccountable how grief could overwhelm a man so suddenly. I had to force myself to take in a breath before responding. “I’m sorry. Does your uncle know that your father just died?”
She looked me in the eye. “I told him, yes.”
And still he’d treated her so coldly? It was troubling to think that a man I looked up to could be so indifferent to his own niece. “My mother died recently. In June.”
Something shifted in her eyes when I said those words. For a moment they shimmered with tears, but then she blinked them clear. It made me wonder if Elizabeth was still staring into the same gaping chasm of loss that Lucinda was. That I was.
“My mother died when I was a young child.” Her eyes widened. “I suppose my father’s death makes me an orphan now. But I’m . . . I’m fine. It’s fine.”
Young child? She didn’t look so old just now. And her smile didn’t seem to convince her of those words any more than it convinced me. Anyone could see that she wasn’t fine, but I didn’t know her well enough to do anything, and proper decorum meant I shouldn’t say anything. At least not here, at the supper table. But I could most definitely sympathize. “My father’s gone as well. A while ago. Several years now. I have a sister, but . . .”
“But you’re alone now too.” Tears were flooding her eyes again. “It wouldn’t be so terrible if it didn’t feel as if everything were up to you now. As if . . . Do you still feel as if you have to make your father proud?”
“I’ve always tried to. I think I did. I have. Most of the time. That’s what my mother always says. ‘You made your father proud. You made him so proud.’” I found that I could smile after all. But now, my mother was dead. I felt my smile fade. “I still want to make him proud.”
She put a hand to my arm and then looked up at me with a startled glance, as if the gesture had surprised her as much as it had surprised me. “Now you have to make all the decisions. And you don’t know quite what to do. Or what you should do. Or what he would even want you to do.”
“That’s it. That’s it exactly.”
“I was . . . angry. I still am. I’m angry that he died without telling me.” She shook her head. “I know that sounds foolish. No one knows when they’re about to die. But I feel as if . . . it ruined all my plans. Is that terrible to say?”
“No. I think it’s very honest of you.”
“I wish . . . I just wish I’d known. I wish that the last time I said good-bye to him I’d known.”
I couldn’t speak for the lump that was in my throat, so I nodded and returned my attention to my plate. Around us, conversations continued. Voices rose and fell. The Hammond boy was scoffing at something. The youngest girl was being admonished for not eating her peas. They were all talking, all eating as if nothing was wrong. But finally, in talking to Lucinda, I felt as if one day things might somehow turn out right.
Campbell chortled as we hoofed it down the road back to the Point. “That was a bit of luck!”
We had to hurry if we were going to make it back in time for the parade at sunset. He was a good five paces in front of me, so I hadn’t heard him clearly. “What was?”
He turned his head to look at me, though he didn’t break his stride. “Professor Hammond having a niece. Anyone gets in good with her ought to benefit from the relationship.”
“What do you mean by that?” I was accustomed to Campbell’s schemes, having been his tentmate that summer, but this seemed a bit mercenary. Even for him.
“I mean what I said. If you want Professor Hammond to favor you, maybe the best thing you could do is find favor with the niece.”
“The niece has a name.”
He winked as he raked a shock of dark hair back from his eyes. “Sure she does. And it sounds a lot like the Corps of Engineers to me. You heard Old Hammond. Nothing is ever guaranteed.”
“I don’t think he was speaking about us.” But if he wasn’t, then what was the explanation for his tirade? There was something . . . something odd about his words. They’d left me as uneasy as a plebe standing midnight guard duty. I shook my head. I was just being fanciful. And fancy had no place at the U.S. Military Academy.
3
Lucinda
Once supper was done and the cadets had departed, I breathed a sigh of relief as I took stock of the situation. By coming on a Sunday and so late in the afternoon, I’d been hoping my aunt would have the decency not to turn me away. From the encouraging smiles she was giving me, I thought I could depend upon her favor. I hadn’t, however, counted on my uncle. In his case, fair-haired did not mean mild mannered. It didn’t seem to matter to him that my father had so recently died. My aunt had had to plead with him to let me even enter the house. And then I had to endure his snubs as well as dine between two men who were, for all intents and purposes, military officers.
And preeminent ones at that!
I’d been so fixed on my plight, I hadn’t even tried to flirt with them. Perhaps I’d miscalculated there. The man on my right, Mr. Conklin, had the confident bearing and intense gaze of a man who would make his mark on destiny. From the sweep of his dark hair to the set of his strong jaw, he looked like money. The one on my left, Seth Westcott, while not so forceful in personality, was equally as acquainted with power, if I didn’t miss my guess. But he wore it as casually as his fair, wavy hair—as a man in possession of himself.
Seth.
I’d told him my given name. He might consider me forward, but I had hoped I could trust him not to use it injudiciously. After our conversation at the table, I was quite certain that I could. More than anything, at that moment, I’d wanted someone to know me. Even now I didn’t regret that decision; I didn’t think my instincts were wrong.
My
aunt ushered us all into the sitting room, taking the eldest daughter, Phoebe, on her arm and then pairing us together on the couch. The boy, Bobby, returned to his game of jackstraws as Milly gathered a sulky, rosy-cheeked Ella into her arms.
“Don’t want to go bed!”
Milly winked at me. “Better stop pouting, or someone’s going to come along and pluck that lip of yours right off your face.”
The little girl’s eyes went wide as she covered her mouth with a hand.
While the girls were headed for the stairs, my uncle grabbed a pipe from the desk and stalked outdoors with it.
As the front door slammed, threatening the vases and other pretty pieces on the mantel, my aunt’s brow rose. “Please don’t worry yourself. He’s just a bit . . . a bit . . . surprised by your presence. You must tell me everything about your mother. How is she? Where is she?”
“My mother?” Hadn’t she heard? “She’s . . . well she’s . . . She’s dead.”
My aunt’s brow folded as she gasped. “She’s . . . ?”
“I assumed you knew. She died when I was three years old.”
“She’s dead.” All the joy had fled from her face. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“I . . . I thought my father . . . That is, I assumed that he had written . . .”
“If he did, my father—our father—never told me.”
“She had cholera.”
“Poor Annabel.” Her hand found the cameo that nested at her collar.
I hadn’t ever thought of things from the other side. From their side. Never realized they might have mourned my mother’s leaving. But that just ought to make it easier to convince them to give me what I wanted. “Maybe . . . maybe my father thought you didn’t care to hear from us. He told me he and my mother left Buttermilk Falls in rather a hurry.”
My aunt glanced over toward Phoebe. Sending me an apologetic look, she rose and took her daughter by the hand. “Why don’t you and Bobby join your sisters upstairs? You can ready yourselves for bed while I speak to your cousin.”
Flirtation Walk Page 2