Flirtation Walk

by Siri Mitchell

  The problem with spending too much time thinking about God was that it led to other, even more troubling thoughts. By mid-October, I finally had no other choice than to believe that God himself was the ultimate fraud. The consummate hoaxer, promising kindness and grace and instead doling out death and punishment and pain.

  Phoebe heard me sighing over those thoughts one afternoon as we waited for my students to come.

  “What is it, cousin?”

  I shook my head and waved off her inquiries, forgetting once again that she couldn’t see me.

  “You sound as if the cares of the world are weighing upon you.”

  That was one way to put it. Phoebe was my proof—the surefire evidence of my crusade against God. And as I looked at her, it made me quite angry. How could she be so . . . so . . . accepting about what had happened to her? “If God loves us, and if He truly does intend good things for us, as everyone here seems to think, did you ever wonder why He let you have that accident?”

  “Let me?”

  “He must have known of it, since He knows everything. At least that’s what everyone says.”

  Lucinda seemed to pause to think, her sightless gaze drifting toward the right. “I suppose He must have, or He wouldn’t be God, would He?”

  I hated to snatch away a belief that seemed so foundational to her and everyone else in town, but wasn’t I doing her a favor? “If He did, then why did He let it happen? I don’t mean to speak ill of Him or to make you think less of Him, but it seems a cruel thing to do to a young girl.”

  “I don’t know that He had much to do with it. I was the one who chose to disobey Papa. I was the one who snuck out of the house that morning. I’ve always been more inclined to thank Him for my life than to curse Him for my blindness.”

  I could have shaken her! But what had I expected? It was so difficult to make people see the truth once they bought into a scheme. That’s how Father had been able to make all his money.

  Phoebe cocked her head. “You don’t like my answer?”

  “I don’t understand your answer.”

  “God isn’t some amulet or charm to be used to avoid life and its consequences.”

  “But if He loved us the way people around here insist—”

  “Since He loves us—and I believe that He does—He promises to be with us. I suppose I might have railed on about how things might have been so much better all these years if I had my sight, but I find myself thinking so often of how they might have been much worse. I’ve been blessed, don’t you see?” She smiled. Then she laughed. “I supposed that’s just it, isn’t it? I don’t see. And you don’t see how much there is to see.”

  How could she be so flippant, so dismissive of her tragedy? “You don’t mind, then? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I mind as much as anyone. I mind more than anyone. I hear you all go on about your lives around me and I can never really take part. I’ll never be married. Or have children. Or . . . choose my own gowns or bake anyone a pie. But I’ve never thought that makes me any less loved by God.”

  “My father would have said you were unlucky.”

  “Luck?” She frowned, brows drawing together. “I don’t think luck had anything to do with it. I would much rather believe in love, wouldn’t you?”

  Would I? As I sat there next to her, gazing at all the things she would never see, I pondered her words. Would I rather believe in love rather than luck? Neither luck nor love were within my control. They were both things that simply happened. So either I believed that luck was somehow dispensed regardless of person or merit or that love was dispensed in the same way.

  If I believed in luck, I would think every man had to watch out for himself. If I believed in love, if I could imagine that there was a God who loved us no matter what we had or had not done, that would mean love came to us regardless of whether or not we recognized it. Wouldn’t it be nice if God was watching out for me? And for Phoebe and my aunt and my uncle, all at the same time? That if something happened for my benefit, it didn’t mean it was taken away from theirs?

  I slipped my hand into Phoebe’s and rested my head on her shoulder. “I still don’t understand. I don’t know that I ever will. But I think . . . I’m almost certain . . . that I want to believe in love as well.”

  She smiled.

  She might not have done so, however, if she had seen the tears coursing down my cheeks. I did want to believe in love. But how could I, when I’d been so bad?

  26

  Seth

  On the last Thursday in October, Deacon tromped into our room and tossed his hat onto his bed. “The commandant’s called for a parade with swords, instead of arms, this evening.”

  I nodded. I’d heard.

  “So you’ll give him what he’s asked for.”

  “I was planning on it.”

  “You’ll do anything in order to catch that crook who cheated your sister, won’t you?”

  “Just about.”

  “Will you or won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Good. Just so we’re understood. I’ve got to go down the hall and talk to the others about this first, but we’ll figure out the details and tell you all about it later.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked being treated as their project, but a good officer knows when to trust the talents of his staff.

  “So you understand, then?” Deacon was standing by the wall that evening, just before dress parade, elbow propped on the bookshelf, looking me over.

  “I understand all right.” I was starting to understand that the fellows weren’t quite so talented as I’d thought.

  Otter frowned at me. “Hadn’t you oughter just button up that first button, right there . . .” He was pointing to the top button on his coat.

  My fingers were itching to do that very thing, but I knew that if I didn’t approach the matter philosophically, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it at all. “I hardly think it matters.”

  He tilted his head as he looked at me. “I suppose not.”

  The tattoo of drums and the call of bugles drifted in through the open window.

  Deacon walked over and stuck his head out. “Would you look at that!”

  I looked out to where Deacon had nodded. There, at the edge of the Plain, a crowd of onlookers had gathered. In the summer, excursion boats came up the river from New York City and dropped the tourists off at Cozzen’s Landing. They toured the academy grounds, watching us drill and ride at the stables as if we were steers up for auction. The biggest draw was always the sunset parade. At night, afterward, the boats anchored just off the landing to listen to the army band. There were always a few tourists about, no matter the time of year, but I wouldn’t have expected such a large crowd at the end of October. The fine weather must have drawn them up the river. “Maybe I ought to go back and put my—”

  Deke put a hand to my shoulder. “Can’t back out now. All this will just make it better.”

  “Better for whom?”

  “Worse. I mean worse. It’ll be better for you because it will be worse. You haven’t fallen as many files as we’d hoped, so you need to make a grand gesture. That’s what we all decided earlier. You know all this. If you can humiliate the commandant, especially in front of a crowd, you’re bound to get a really good number of demerits.” He glanced off toward the Plain again as he straightened the hem of his coat. “You ready?”

  I nodded.

  Leaving the barracks at a run, I fell into formation along with the rest, at the front of my company. To the sound of their snickers, I marched us out, away from the barracks and onto the Plain.

  I thought I heard a gasp and maybe a shriek.

  I couldn’t help but glance in that direction. My cheeks, which had been flush with embarrassment, now went hot with shame.

  None of the cadets said anything, no change registered in the tempo of our marching, but I felt the entire company wince just the same.

  “Company halt.”

 
; We halted.

  “Mr. Westcott!” The commandant barked my name.

  I stepped out of formation and marched to him.

  “Explain yourself!”

  I tried to act as nonchalant as Deacon or as insolent as Dandy, but a sweat broke out behind my ears as I considered how to respond. It was hard to maintain a sense of dignity in my underclothes as the longs tails of my unbuttoned undershirt were flapping in the breeze and the ties of my drawers had come undone around my ankles. “We were told to report to the parade with swords, sir.”

  “To which parade, a cadet is generally intelligent enough to add a coat, trousers, and proper shoes!”

  I glanced toward the stockings that covered my feet.

  “Do you think this is funny, sir?”

  Somewhere behind me in the lines, someone snickered.

  “No, sir. Just trying to follow orders, sir.”

  “Then report to the superintendent’s office directly so you can explain yourself to him.”

  Before I spun on my heel to do just that, I couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the crowd. I wished I hadn’t. Because standing front and center were Professor Hammond and Lucinda.

  27

  Lucinda

  I blinked, unwilling to believe my eyes. Standing before us, in his drawers and nightshirt, was Seth Westcott. Seth! The man I’d come to respect. The man I relied upon. The man I was . . . was I coming to love him?

  His cheeks were flushed, his shoulders hunched, his gaze downcast. Why had he done such a thing?

  I wasn’t the only one to gasp at his antics. My uncle tsked. And the woman standing beside us even shrieked.

  It was a long walk back to Buttermilk Falls, and I had to ask my uncle twice if he might slow his pace. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s just that I had such high hopes for Mr. Westcott. And he behaved with such . . . crassness. Frankly, he reminded me of your father at his very worst. I’m afraid I was much mistaken regarding his worth. It’s very . . . extremely . . . disappointing to have been so wrong about him.”

  If my uncle had been wrong about him, I had too. But I couldn’t figure out why, couldn’t figure out how, I’d misjudged him.

  “I’m afraid I have to forbid you to have anything more to do with him.”

  “I wouldn’t want anything more to do with him.” Listen to me. I sounded positively respectable! But mostly I was angry. I’d welcomed Seth’s protection that first night in town. Relished it even! I’d gone hiking with him. I’d looked forward to seeing him every Sunday at supper. And now it looked as if he was nothing more than a rogue.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He peered at me, lips pursed. “Mr. Westcott was going to take you to Fort Putnam this Saturday, wasn’t he?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll invite Mr. Conklin to take you instead.”

  After Milly, Phoebe, and Ella had gone upstairs that evening, my uncle sat at his desk, cheek propped against a fist as he glared at the fireplace.

  My aunt sent Bobby upstairs and walked over to my uncle, pushing a lock of hair back from his face.

  He looked up at her as if startled from his thoughts, and then he straightened, taking her hand in his own.

  “What is it?”

  “One of my cadets. You know him. Mr. Westcott. He’s joined us often for supper. But this semester, he just seems . . .” He looked up into her face and shook his head. “It’s almost as if he’s bent on his own destruction. I can’t explain his actions any other way.”

  “You’ve known cadets like that before.”

  “I know cadets like that now. But they’re different. They’ve been that way since their first day at the Point. And they’re clever about it. If they gave the same attention to their studies, they’d be among the best in their class. But this one . . .”

  My aunt bent to kiss his forehead.

  “This cadet . . . I had great hopes for him. I just don’t understand. Of all the men in his class, I would have put my money on Seth Westcott. Sometimes, you just know. The good ones just have something . . . something more. I can’t understand why he’s trying so hard to be less.”

  I had expected that Phoebe would already be in bed when I went upstairs, but she wasn’t. She was sitting on the bed. As I walked in, her face turned toward the door. “What happened at the parade?”

  Should I tell her? Probably not. “It was very nice. Very . . . military.”

  She came as close to a pout as I’d ever seen her come. “I know something happened. Mama and Papa only ever whisper when they’re saying something they don’t want me to hear, but I can hear better than they think I can. Something happened to Mr. Westcott, didn’t it?”

  “Not . . . not exactly.”

  She tried to give me a look of disapprobation. She gave it to the chest of drawers instead. “Cousin! Tell me.”

  “He, um . . . Nothing happened to him.”

  She raised a brow.

  “It’s just that he did something. Or rather, he didn’t do something.”

  Now she was frowning.

  “He didn’t get dressed for the parade.”

  “He came out in the wrong uniform?”

  “He . . . came out in no uniform at all.”

  She gasped. “Mr. Westcott did that?”

  I nodded before I remembered she couldn’t see me. “He did.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Neither does your father. It really . . . Your father was very . . .” He was hurt by it. He seemed to take it quite personally. “He was more than disappointed. He seemed offended.”

  “As am I.”

  “You? You didn’t even see it.”

  “But I know him. He’s come for Sunday supper so many times. And I would never have expected something like that of him.”

  “Perhaps . . . maybe it was just a prank.”

  “A prank?” Her brows peaked as she discounted the idea. “He has a sense of humor, but he’s not crass. That sounds like someone else entirely.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it of him either. Not if I hadn’t seen it myself.”

  “He wasn’t . . . he wasn’t laughing, was he?”

  “No. He looked humiliated. He looked . . . as if he would rather have been anywhere but on the field.”

  She nodded, as if confirming something to herself. “Mr. Westcott has always taken great pains to put us all at ease. Me especially. He always speaks to me whenever he comes. About real things. As if he’s interested in my opinions. So I can’t think him capable of doing something that would embarrass anyone.”

  “But he did.”

  “I wonder why.” She puzzled over the thought as she undressed and climbed into bed. I did the same and then extinguished the lamp. “What on earth would make him want to be bad, cousin?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Well . . . when would you wish to do the wrong thing?”

  Me? I wished to do the wrong thing almost all the time. What’s more, I usually did it! Maybe the better question would be, When would I try to be good? That answer wasn’t difficult to come by. I’d try to be good when it was in my own best interest, when I could use it to my advantage. But what possible interest could Seth Westcott have in turning bad?

  28

  Seth

  The superintendent, Colonel Lee, was not pleased. He didn’t even put me at ease. So I stood there, in front of his desk, holding a salute. There had to be an easier way to fail, didn’t there? One that didn’t require humiliating myself in front of the entire corps of cadets, my professors, and Lucinda?

  “I’ve had my eye on you for quite some time now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d always considered you to be one of the finest young men at the academy.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He gave me a long look, which communicated quite clearly his distinct displeasure with my behavior. “At ease.”

  I shifted my left foot outward and fixed my hands at the small of my back.

  “S
ometimes things happen, Mr. Westcott. Things that can be quite overwhelming and disheartening. But if the academy teaches cadets anything, it teaches how to overcome.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you like to tell me what happened to change my top cadet into a ne’er-do-well?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’m asking as a concerned citizen, as an admirer of sorts, not as your superintendent.”

  I wished I could tell him. I truly did. But it was too late. He hadn’t helped when it would have made a difference, when I’d requested leave to see to my mother’s death and my sister’s safety. If I wanted help, I was going to have to find it myself.

  “You may speak frankly.”

  “Frankly, sir, I wish I could, but I can’t.” Nobody liked a complainer. I’d rather he discounted me as an Immortal than think me a malcontent.

  The compassion that had relaxed his features and warmed his eyes evaporated. “So this is just a cadet prank?”

  “Yes, sir.” I had to steel myself in order to look him in the eyes as I said it.

  “It was in remarkably poor taste. Something no gentleman would ever think of doing. You understand I have no choice but to punish you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m giving you three demerits for reporting for parade in the wrong uniform. And five demerits for behavior unbecoming a member of the corps of cadets.”

  Eight demerits? Deacon wouldn’t believe it when I told him. Maybe the plan was going to work after all.

  There was a knock on the door, and an orderly entered.

  The colonel nodded at me. “You’re dismissed.”

  On my way out of the building, Campbell Conklin came up the stairs toward me. His lips were crimped in a smirk.

  I wished I could have knocked it off his face. “On your way to reporting another plebe?”

  “None of your business.” He passed me by without another glance.

  “What’s it for this time? Boots not polished to your satisfaction? Books not in the right order?”

  He stopped and turned around to face me. “Irregularities have to be nipped in the bud before those plebes become first classmen who walk around in their underclothes.”