“You already nostalgic for old time’s sake?”
“It’s just that I’ve noticed a lamentable lack of temerity in youth these days.” He tossed the envelope to me.
I took it up and recognized my sister Elizabeth’s script. “It’s from home.” Not home. Not anymore. This one must be from Kentucky. As I opened it, loss and longing pulled at my gut. I tilted it toward the candle’s wavering light.
June 29th, 1855
Dear Seth,
I ought to have written you long before now, but I just couldn’t come by the words to do it. With Mama’s death and arranging the sale of the farm, there just wasn’t time. I know I said I was going to Kentucky, but as I was getting the sale recorded in town, I met a man named Mr. Pennyworth. Though he was on his way to a town called Greenfield, he was kind enough to escort me to the boardinghouse where I was staying and sit with me through dinner. He got to talking about Greenfield, and it sounded like the loveliest place. He said the Oregon Trail goes right through it, that it’s a natural place to stop and catch a breath before heading over the mountains.
I was afraid, Seth. You heard all those stories Mama used to tell about Granny and her sisters. I didn’t want to go to Kentucky, and when he said there was a hotel going up in Greenfield, it sounded like the perfect opportunity for me. For us. I figured I’d invest the money from the farm in the hotel, and in a few years’ time, with all the people coming west, we’d have more than we’d started with.
He seemed quite surprised that I was interested and tried to talk me out of my idea, but I insisted on giving him our money to buy the hotel. I wish I could have told you about it, but how could I? He was headed out of town just then, so I didn’t have much time to make a decision.
He went on ahead of me by a week, and after I had said my good-byes and visited Mama’s grave one last time, I followed. I got as far as Fort Laramie, and I was talking to one of the officers there when he told me I’d been swindled. This man, Pennyworth, goes by different names, but he’s taken folks for their money from Texas to Kansas. Everyone here seems to know about him. Wish I had too.
Seth, there is no Greenfield. There never was. I’ve enclosed the deed he gave me, but it’s worthless.
Please don’t be mad at me.
I’m so very sorry.
You’re not to worry about me. I’m still at Fort Laramie and probably safer than I was out on the farm. With all the soldiers here, there’s a heap of laundry to be done. I’ve been hired on by the woman who takes in their washing. She pays me in room and board.
I figure to stay the winter here. Come spring, once I figure out what to do, I’ll write again.
I remain, as always,
your loving sister
5
Lucinda
My aunt took me upstairs and opened the door to a room that was plain in the extreme. “You’ll sleep in here, with Phoebe.” A bed draped in a fringed coverlet woven with stars and roses had been pushed against the far wall, and a chest of drawers sat beneath a window. My trunk had been placed beside it. Next to the door was a row of pegs upon which a bodice, several skirts, and a nightdress were hanging. There was little else in the room of which to take note.
My aunt pressed a kiss to my cheek and excused herself.
Phoebe was sitting on the bed unbuttoning her bodice. As I stood watching, she pulled her arms from her sleeves and then unfastened her skirt and pushed it to the floor. Pulling her feet from the skirt, she stepped out over it and stood.
I stepped back, pressing my back against the wall to give her space. I didn’t know what to say or where to look. It seemed rude to watch her, since she didn’t know I was doing so, but the room was so small; there was nowhere else to look.
She walked past me, hand extended, in the general direction of the pegs. When her hand touched the wall, she patted it until she found them. Taking up a nightdress, she replaced it with the skirt and bodice she’d just removed. After pulling it on over her head she looked straight at me.
How did she know where I was? It was uncanny.
“Didn’t you wish to change?”
“I . . . um . . . yes. Thank you.”
As she burrowed into the bed, I placed my satchel atop her chest of drawers and proceeded to undress. As I rolled my stockings down my legs and drew them off, I had to place my feet on the bare floor. Had they never heard of carpets? For a family my father had declared to be wealthy, there was a surprising lack of . . . just about everything in this house. Even the finishing school in Natchez, which was known for its parsimony, had placed carpets on the floors of our bedrooms. “I wonder that there’s no rug.” Wondered, in fact, that there weren’t any in the house at all.
“I used to have one. But I tripped on it and hit my head.” Her fingers probed her temple. “After that, my parents took up all the carpets in the house.” Her hand disappeared as she drew the bedclothes up toward her ears.
I lifted a corner of the blankets and climbed into the bed beside her.
They had taken me in, which was exactly what I had planned. But I would not be able to discount my uncle. If I stayed—and how could I leave at this point—I would have to mind my step.
I’d never been made to feel ashamed of myself before, and I didn’t mind admitting I didn’t like the feeling. I’d never been ashamed of my father either. I’d been proud of the way he knew how to talk to people and convince them to do the things he wanted them to. It hadn’t mattered that he’d dragged me from town to town or that we’d often had to leave everything behind.
The best plan, the most expedient means to a secure future, would be to allow my aunt and uncle to embrace me as one of their family. As of this night, I would leave my past as my father’s daughter behind. Here, I would marry, just as we had always planned, but I would marry for respectability, not wealth.
Respectability!
I nearly laughed into the night.
It wasn’t the worst of things. I knew how to be good. I knew the appropriate things to say, the right things to do. And I was not unattractive. I would just look on it as a new sort of scheme. One might even say I was more prepared for this one than for any I’d ever undertaken. I had every expectation of success.
Phoebe woke before the sun had even dawned. She said nothing, but her stirring about woke me as well. I should think that if I ever had the misfortune of being blinded, I might find some way to benefit from never knowing where the sun was in the sky.
I lay abed for some time, unwilling to admit my day had begun, but there was no use in trying to return to sleep. The scent of breakfast had begun to infuse the room, and now that I was awake I could hear a clatter of cooking in the kitchen. Despite the bother and the early hour, if there was assistance I could offer to the household, I ought to do it. I needed to erase any doubt regarding my intentions from my uncle’s mind.
Slipping from the bed, I grimaced as my feet hit those bare floorboards.
Phoebe was directing her sightless gaze toward the ceiling.
“Can I . . . can I get you anything, Phoebe?”
“No. Thank you.”
I wished I hadn’t been so rash in jumping out of bed so quickly. “Do you want to dress? Shall I get a skirt and bodice for you?”
“Not yet. I stay out of the way until Papa leaves for the Point and Bobby heads to the rectory for his studies. School doesn’t start until next month, but Papa still makes him undertake a course of study with the rector. If I stay up here, no one has to bother about me.”
I didn’t want to be a bother either. “Perhaps I should stay here as well.”
“You can help. Milly always minds Ella, but you could help in the kitchen. You should help. It’s just that I . . . I can’t.”
Leaving Phoebe behind, I went downstairs to find the family at breakfast. My uncle nodded a greeting as I moved to take a seat.
My aunt came in just then, bearing a platter of biscuits. They’d been baked to a golden brown, and steam curled from their tops. “Lucinda! How perfect
of you to appear. Here.” She handed me the platter. “You can give them these and then come and help me in the kitchen.”
Bobby reached up and stuck his fork into one and used it to pull several from the platter.
At least his father waited until I set the platter down to take his.
I flipped one onto Milly’s plate and one onto Ella’s and then carried the empty platter back into the kitchen, dodging the wiry, gray-haired maid who was arranging slices of what must be yesterday’s roast on a plate.
“Just put it . . .” My aunt glanced wildly about. “Just set it over there, atop the cupboard by Susan. Then maybe you could take over here, with the eggs.”
They were piled in a bowl. “What did you want me to do with them?”
“Just scramble them. Nothing fancy.”
I picked one up. Scramble? I knew what scrambled eggs were, of course. I’d eaten them many times. But I didn’t know how they got from the egg to the plate. “I don’t know how to do that. I’m sorry.”
My aunt turned toward me with a puzzled twist to her brow.
Susan was regarding me with something close to fascination. She took a swipe at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Then what did they teach you at that finishing school?”
“French. Drawing. Dance.”
At mention of the last, she sent me a quick smile as she took the plate of meat from Susan’s hand and poured some gravy over it. “That, at least, will come in handy. There’s a grand ball at the military academy this Friday. But . . . they didn’t teach you how to cook? Or . . . or . . .” The disappointment that had shadowed her face was overcome by hope. “They taught you how to do laundry, didn’t they?”
Susan’s eyes widened with expectation.
“Not exactly. The hope was that I would marry . . .” And that I would do it well. Well above my station, in any case. And then I would have servants to command. I did know how to do that. “I can keep accounts. And manage servants.”
Susan wheezed a sigh.
“Well . . .” My aunt handed the plate back to Susan and nodded toward the dining room. Then she took my place in front of the bowl. Removing all the eggs, she cracked them one-by-one, releasing their contents back into the bowl. Her lips quirked into a smile. “I’m afraid the only servant we have here is Susan. And now there’s you as well.”
“Me?”
She laughed outright as she collected the eggshells and handed them to me.
“Where should I . . . ?”
“Put them right there.” She pointed to a second bowl. “We’ll use them to scrub the skillet when we’re done cooking.” She whipped the eggs together with a fork. “I don’t expect you to do everything. But perhaps, if you could provide some companionship to Phoebe . . . ? You’re close in age. She’s eighteen.”
I suspected it would be vastly preferable to laundry. And it had the added benefit of my cousin’s not being able to see. I could do whatever I wanted when I was with her. “Of course. I would be happy to.”
Taking the eggs to the oven, she poured them into the skillet that sat atop it. They sizzled as they hit the metal and soon they lost their translucence. After pronouncing them done and scraping them onto the platter that had formerly held the biscuits, she had me take them into the dining room, where they were quickly consumed.
My uncle left for the military academy and Bobby left for the parsonage. Soon after the front door closed behind them, Phoebe joined a restive Milly and a squirmy Ella at the table.
As Milly dragged Ella into the kitchen to clean her honey-smeared mouth, my aunt came in carrying a plate of bread. Hand at her hip, she surveyed the crumb-strewn table and emptied platters.
Heaving a sigh, she pulled out the chair next to Phoebe’s. “I don’t guess I should complain about hearty appetites . . . but the fact of the matter is that I have one too.” She picked up a knife and began sawing at the bread. “Lucinda? Can you bring us some plates?” When I began to glance about, she nodded toward the sideboard with her chin. “In the cabinet, beneath.”
Milly and Ella rejoined us as my aunt was soaking up the last bit of gravy from the platter with Phoebe’s bread. My aunt drained the remains of the tea into cups for us, but I demurred. Surely it was tepid; I preferred to drink mine hot.
While I swept the floor, Milly and Ella were sent out back to shake the tablecloth. Once the dining room was put to rights, we all repaired upstairs. But when I moved to enter Phoebe’s room, my aunt stopped me with a hand to my shoulder. “Your uncle and I have decided you should stay with us as long as you’d like. So we ought to make space for you, should we not?” After considering both my trunk and my satchel, she went to Phoebe’s chest, where she opened one of the drawers and began to push the contents to one side.
I opened my satchel and began to empty it. My brush and mirror. A fall and some ribbons. The gold crest that had been my mother’s. A wreath and the silvered letters USMA adorned it. I’d always wondered what they stood for.
As I lay it atop the chest, my aunt snatched it up. “Where did you get this? Who gave it to you?”
I hoped she planned to return it. “My father did. He said it was my mother’s.”
My aunt set it back down on the dresser top and traced its letters with a finger. “United States Military Academy. You have probably never heard of it, but there’s a tradition among cadets on furlough. They’re allowed to travel the summer after their second year, and as they go they flirt. My, how they flirt!”
Her eyes went soft, as if gazing on days long past. “As they do, they give away the buttons from their coats. There are ten of them, you understand, so they can’t mean anything special. But that plate of yours belonged to a cadet’s hat, and there’s only one of those.”
“My mother was given one?” I’d never considered how she’d come to have it.
“Your mother was given several. Every year, it seemed. But this was the only one she kept. She seemed prouder of having that one than she was any of the others.”
I’d never heard any stories about my mother. There’d been no one to tell them to me. “Who gave it to her?”
“Why . . . your father did!”
6
Seth
On Monday, on the way back from artillery drill, I stepped around one of the tents and ran into one of my classmates.
A pack of cards, trussed with string, tumbled from his coat. He sent a salute in deference to my rank and then bent, sending a quick glance around. Grabbing up the cards, he stuffed them back up his sleeve. “Please don’t report me! I’ve already got twenty demerits and the semester hasn’t even started. I’m going to be walking tours all year if I don’t want to get dismissed.”
Though playing cards was expressly forbidden, I wasn’t going to report him. Campbell would have, and he would have also reported him for chewing what was probably tobacco, but I wouldn’t. Can’t report something you don’t actually see. “You’re a smart fellow. Why is it that you’re always courting trouble?”
When he answered, it was with a glint in his eye. “I’m not courting trouble. Not on purpose. But with Campbell Conklin around, doesn’t seem a man can much avoid it.” He nodded and continued on down the street.
It bothered me that a fellow like him, and Deacon and Dandy for that matter, didn’t even seem to try to keep the rules. On the whole, unlike me, it seemed they’d been much more successful at furlough than they were in life at the academy.
I went back to my tent and set about sweeping the wooden platform. Campbell Conklin and I had tracked memories of the morning’s field work in on our boots.
Deacon came along and scoffed at my efforts from the comforts of my mattress, where he set about working on another of his sketches. “You can’t think that floor is going to stay clean until the next inspection.”
“I can hope.”
“You ever stop to think how much time we spend being looked at and our things being gone over? Way I figure it, we spend at least an hour a day
in roll calls and forming up to march somewhere. And that doesn’t count drills and parades, which I calculate at two hours. Every blessed day, that’s three hours we’re not doing anything but trying to look pretty and showing up where we’re supposed to.”
“I don’t know that I’d count drills as parts of the—”
“I would! And I haven’t even mentioned inspections. Do you know how many people get to look at my things every day? Start with police call in the morning. That’s the subdivision inspector, and he comes back later at lights-out. The tactical officer looks everything over twice a day too. And then he comes back later at night! And then there’s the officer of the day who looks in twice, in case anything I own has the temerity to move of its own volition during the two minutes nobody’s watching it. And those sentinels get to look in on everything three times. That’s—”
“That’s four people.”
“That’s right. And do you know how many separate inspections?”
“Ten.”
“Ten!” He spat out into the street.
“You aren’t just now figuring all that out are you?”
“No. Just feeling envious of all those second classmen out on furlough.”
“Don’t. They’ll take twice as long to get used to it all over again once they return. We did. Remember?”
He harrumphed. “Maybe I’ll go sweep my own floor after I finish this sketch.” He tilted his head as he looked at it. “Or maybe I won’t.”
“Last chance to impress the academic board, Deke. You going to try harder this year? If you tried even half the time, I wager you could make it up a few files. Maybe even get an assignment to the infantry.”
He snorted. After pausing to contemplate his sketch again, he resumed drawing.
“You honestly don’t care to do as well as you can?” It was a conversation we’d had a hundred times, but I’d never come to understand his answer.
“Well . . .” He spent several moments shading in something before he continued. “There’s doing as well as you can and there’s doing as well as you’d like. If doing as well as I can means spending my nights worrying about whether folks like you are going to get three more points than me on the January exam and whether that would kick me down from fourth in the class to sixth, then thanks but no. I’d rather spend some of those hours down at Benny Havens worrying about whether the quartermaster sergeant is on the prowl for me. They can order me to get my hair cut once a month. They can order me to march to the mess hall for meals, but they can’t order me to turn myself into Campbell Conklin.”
Flirtation Walk Page 4