High Hearts

by Rita Mae Brown

“They’re crazy. You can’t foxhunt in this weather. There’s no scent.”

  Geneva froze. She stopped and shivered. “Di-Peachy, that was the Harkaway Hunt! They come for you when you die or at a time of great crisis. Momma said she saw them when my little brother Jimmy died.”

  Di-Peachy, a fervent rationalist, wanted none of it. “We’ll ask people at the wedding.”

  Geneva seized Di-Peachy’s left arm. “No! Don’t say anything to anybody! Whether you believe the Harkaway Hunt legend or not, plenty of people around here do. They’ll take it as some omen—what with conditions.”

  “All right, Geneva, all right.”

  “ ‘Each person you kill is a soul you must bear like an unseen weight,’ ” Geneva said, repeating his prophecy. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

  “Forget it. Maybe it’s indigestion.”

  “I’ll never forget it—and neither will you.”

  Di-Peachy pushed Geneva forward. She wanted to get back. The two raced toward the big house. They were glad to finally see it, anchored on the edge of the meadow like a great ship laden with treasure.

  APRIL 12, 1861

  The clouds, to spite Lutie’s entreaties, hung fat with rain. It was a matter of time until they spilled it over yet another cool April day. The Chatfield house hummed, an overexcited hive. The servants scurried about, sticking ribbons into the twisted, dried grapevines which were wrapped around the stairway and the mantelpiece. Others groomed the carriage horses until they shone like patent leather. Lutie determinedly set about her morning Bible lesson. No day, no matter what day, could begin without a reading from the Bible. The inscription from Ephesians on her Episcopal Church Almanac was Redeeming the Time, and she wasn’t going to waste a precious second. Today’s lesson was Judges 2:1-11 and Luke 22:31.

  Henley, tall and slender like his daughter, read: “And ye shall make no league with the inhabitants of this land; ye shall throw down their altars: but ye have not obeyed my voice: Why have ye done this?”

  From the kitchen Sin-Sin’s bellow catapulted Lutie and Geneva out of their seats. “You’re so dumb you ain’t even ignorant!”

  Lutie went to see what all the fuss was about. Geneva, Di-Peachy, Poofy, and T. Pritchard Chalfonte escaped by every available exit. Henley smiled and closed the Bible. He couldn’t keep his mind on the lesson anyway. He quietly left as well and walked down the hall toward his daughter’s room.

  Sin-Sin was throwing salt on the cook, Ernie June. Scattered on the floor of the kitchen were the pieces of a beautifully glazed red pot.

  Lutie roared in. “What goes on here!”

  Sin-Sin blindly continued to throw salt at Ernie June. Ernie June, not the easiest person to get along with, behaved herself remarkedly well for her. She slung whole handfuls of pepper at Sin-Sin.

  “Put back your skin, witch,” hollered Sin-Sin.

  “No more than yourself, and pepper will catch you jes as good.” Another handful dotted Sin-Sin’s white apron, starched stiff and placed neatly over her black dress.

  “How can you give in to vile superstition when I’m having my morning Bible reading?”

  “It be true. She’s a witch.” Ernie June spat. “When a witch starts to shed her skin, you throw pepper—”

  “Salt!” Sin-Sin commanded.

  “—pepper to catch her.”

  “Now you’ve got two messes to clean up, Ernie June,” Lutie said.

  “Three, after I clean up the floor with you!” Sin-Sin started for Ernie.

  “Sin-Sin, I have enough on my mind today without you cuttin’ a shine.”

  Sin-Sin put the salt shaker down, but folded her arms across her ample bosom. She wasn’t giving in yet. “I made a lucky pot for Miz Geneva. Ernie June with her big brown eyes and feet to match done tripped me as I was comin’ into the kitchen with my weddin’ present.”

  “You wasn’t lookin’ where you was goin’!”

  “You so fat, Ernie, that half of you is in the next county.” Sin-Sin relished this particular insult since she had kept her figure. It was true that Ernie’s elbows appeared as dimples in her arms.

  “When a man got his arms around me, he knows he got somethin’.”

  “A lardass, thass what he got.”

  “Will you two stop it!” Lutie yanked a pan from overhead where it hung on a big, wrought-iron hook. “Someone is going to have a flat head!”

  Sin-Sin, carefully not looking at Lutie’s eyes, untied the sparkling white handkerchief around her neck and shook it out. Ernie June yanked open a closet door and pulled out a broom. As she walked past Sin-Sin, she pulled the end of Sin-Sin’s turban. Sin-Sin kicked her in the butt.

  Lutie brandished her pan. “I’ve got a daughter gettin’ married at noontime, and why do I have to contend with two crazy girls in my kitchen!”

  Ernie began to vigorously sweep up the mess. Sin-Sin picked up her pot bits.

  “Ernie June, don’t tell anyone that you broke Geneva’s wedding pot.” Lutie now spoke soothingly.

  Ernie scowled at Sin-Sin, whose face was flushed with both anger and sincerity. “You ’spect me to believe ’bout yo’ old pots?”

  “Remember, Ernie June, Geneva does share Sin-Sin’s belief in the magic of pots. If she thinks her marriage pot has been broken, it won’t sit well with her.” Lutie quickly spoke before they started fighting again.

  “You always takes up for her.” Ernie pointed the broom at Sin-Sin.

  “I am not taking up for her. I am trying to keep the peace with little help from either one of you!”

  Sin-Sin gathered the red bits and pieces in her unfolded neckerchief. She sashayed toward the door. “Me and Miz Lutie go back a long ways, Ernie June. You can’t fight time!” With that, she banged the door and left.

  Ernie steamed. Lutie pacified Ernie. “When I married Mr. Chatfield, Sin-Sin was one of his gifts to me. I was sixteen and didn’t know beans about running this place. Sin-Sin was the greatest help to me. It isn’t that I don’t value you; after all, you are the best cook in all of Virginia. In fact, do you know that fine-looking fellow who visited here from Mississippi offered me a small fortune for you?”

  Ernie June’s eyes bugged out of her head. Lutie rolled on. “But I told him your price is beyond rubies!”

  Lutie left the room with a nod. Ernie was lavishly complimented, and Sin-Sin’s power was reconfirmed.

  A stunning bridal gown, French lace from head to long, long train, hung on the wooden torso in Geneva’s bedroom. Di-Peachy had gotten accustomed to seeing it but today, The Day, a lump formed in her throat. Geneva threw on riding clothes and didn’t notice, but then Geneva wasn’t as sensitive as Di-Peachy. Geneva was contented with the surface of things. If Di-Peachy told her something, she would respond; otherwise, she’d just go about her business.

  “I’ve got to get out of here. If Mother comes looking for me, tell her I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s going to rain, Geneva. Don’t get wet and mess up your hair or your mother will mess with me.”

  “I need a half-hour ride, even fifteen minutes will do. My God, Di-Peachy, I want to get married and get it over with. I can’t stand all this carrying on.”

  “May I come in?” Henley stopped at the door.

  “Daddy!” Geneva kissed him.

  “I’ll see to your shoes.” Di-Peachy plucked two shoes out of an enormous wardrobe and left the room.

  “I hate to give you up, baby.” Henley put his chin on the top of Geneva’s head. About six inches taller than his daughter, Henley was the tallest man in the county with the exception of Big Muler, a servant of Nash’s. “If that boy ever lays a hand on you, you tell me.”

  “He would never!”

  “I hope so.” He kissed his daughter again. Why tell her how someone so right can turn out so wrong? Not that Lutie was a bad wife. He’d been fortunate in most respects but the fire burns out, people change, usually they grow apart. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am, Daddy.” She pulled
her old sweater from underneath a pillow on the window seat. “Want to take a short ride with me while I’m still a Chatfield?”

  “You’ll always be a Chatfield, honey.” Henley put his arm around her, and they snuck down the back stairway and headed for the stables.

  A light drizzle kept the servants busy as they dashed out quickly to carriages to cover the dismounting occupants with huge umbrellas. By 10:30 A.M. one hundred fifty people gathered at the Chatfield home. Laughter filled every room. Daniel Livingston, Poofy’s genial husband, was the object of much attention. There were few Northerners at the wedding, all of them being family in some way, but everyone was acutely aware that Virginia was neither fish nor fowl. She had not joined the seceding states. If Lincoln pressed for troops to squelch the insurrection, as it was referred to in Washington, it seemed inevitable that Virginia would go with the South. No one wanted Daniel to think there was any animosity toward him. Most of them had known him for upwards of twenty years, and they hoped he understood that the bragging of the young men about whipping five Yankees with one hand tied behind their backs was not directed at him. Henley was upstairs with the bride so the pleasant task of being the host fell to Daniel. T. Pritchard Chalfonte also did his duty. Sumner apparently was upstairs with his mother. No one thought he’d come down with a case of nerves but he did. Nash Hart and his father stayed sequestered in a downstairs room at the end of the long hall.

  Sin-Sin paraded through the front door carrying a cobalt blue pot. She nodded to all and sundry. Sin-Sin was not coming in through the back door on Geneva’s wedding day. She entered the library, rich with the smell of leather-bound books, and placed her brilliant blue pot smack in the center of all the silver gifts.

  The ballroom filled with guests. It was now quarter to twelve. The orchestra played in the balcony overhead. Satin and silk crinkled. Swallowtails were flipped up so that the gentlemen could sit down without wrinkling their coats. Waistcoats and ladies’ dresses, all in soft pastels, were a garden of colors. Daniel herded everyone inside. At twelve o’clock Nash took his place at the altar. Sumner Chatfield, his best man, towered over the groom. The Very Reverend Franklin Manlius beamed at the congregation. He adored being able to stand before his own flock plus those wayward souls that were Methodists, Lutherans, Presbyterians, and even, shudder, Catholics. There was one of everything out there, even a Jew. Lutie walked down the aisle on the arm of Increase Hart, Nash’s father. A murmur of sympathy and affection greeted Increase, because Mrs. Hart had given up her ghost to consumption a scant year ago.

  At last, the orchestra struck up the wedding march. Di-Peachy sat in the back with Sin-Sin, tears streaming down her high cheekbones. Sin-Sin held her hand and patted it. From the other end of the long hall, Geneva walked with her father. As she entered the ballroom, the crowd whispered their approval. Henley gravely looked forward, fighting back his own tears. Geneva entered the room like a christianing, full of hope. Nash turned his face from facing the altar to behold his bride. He was well pleased. The entire room could feel the spark, the heat between Geneva and Nash. No, she wasn’t the prettiest bride in Albemarle County but she was radiant, and the man she chose truly loved her. As she stood by his side, she glanced over at him. His face was slowly turning bright red underneath his sandy, straight hair.

  The Very Reverend spread his hands, his vestments catching the candlelight. “Dearly Beloved,” he began. Very Reverend Manlius gave a fantastic performance. In spite of his histrionics, he was a good pastor, otherwise Christ Episcopal Church would have clamped down on his theatrics a long time ago.

  Nash said, “I do,” in a voice that would roll back the tide. Soft laughter rippled through the room because his voice betrayed so much eagerness. The Very Reverend allowed a smile of understanding to flow over the audience. Geneva spoke her words clearly and firmly. Di-Peachy sobbed. Lutie sobbed. Sin-Sin sobbed. Henley cried quietly. Increase Nash held a handkerchief to his eyes. But when the ceremony was finished and the groom had kissed his bride with tremendous enthusiasm, the families leapt to their feet with the rest of the congregation and applauded. As the couple walked down the aisle, the room thundered, it shuddered, it shook.

  After a feast worthy of Henry VIII, the guests returned to the ballroom, where colored streamers with small flowers knotted at the ends had been added to the garlands. Di-Peachy, who played her harp through the dinner, stood against a wall while the orchestra played. Her slave status should have kept the men away publicly, but Di-Peachy was a goddess in human flesh. One by one, the men paid her their compliments. She smiled and returned their admiration with polite restraint. Reddy Neutral Taylor, the owner of a hardware store and crooked as a dog’s hind leg, was persistent in his attentions. Sin-Sin very pointedly told him that one Miss Caroline Metzger needed a dancing partner right now. Reddy took the hint.

  “Girl, give these men a rest. Let’s see if we can make Ernie June drop a tray of champagne. She ought to be put out with the heifers. Her head’s too big to be in the house.”

  Ernie June was exalted this Friday because each guest loudly proclaimed the excellence of the food. Sin-Sin detested Ernie’s prominence at this occasion, and Ernie knew she had Sin-Sin dead to shit this time.

  As the bride was exhausting herself dancing with every man in the room, Lutie was likewise twirling about. Finally, she had to release herself from the grasp of her brother, T. Pritchard, and repair to the punch bowl. Poofy was also there catching her breath.

  “You’re as light on your feet as a fairy.” Poofy knocked back the punch.

  “Where’d the time go, Poofy? I feel like it was only yesterday that I danced at your wedding.”

  Just then Jennifer Fitzgerald tacked over. Jennifer reveled in insulting people. It gave a glory to her life since she so fabulously succeeded. She was married to Sean “Big Fitz” Fitzgerald, an important horseman in the county, so she couldn’t be ignored.

  “Why, Lutie, this wedding rivals anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thank you, Jennifer,” Lutie replied, thinking to herself that Jennifer had probably seen the wedding of Hades and Persephone.

  “And, Portia, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. By the way, Lutie, how old are you?” That was just like Jennifer. Sock you without warning.

  “Thirty-eight.” Lutie coolly smiled.

  “Now isn’t that the oddest thing? I just spoke to Sumner not two minutes ago, and he told me he was twenty-seven.”

  “Well, he lives his life, and I live mine,” Lutie airily countered, then wheeled off to collar her son.

  “What’s the big idea of telling Jennifer Dogmeat Fitzgerald how old I am? I am shocked at your revelation of personal information.”

  “My age is not personal information.”

  “Mine is!”

  “Mother, who cares about the years? You’re the prettiest lady in this room, and Jennifer Fitzgerald, I mean Jennifer Dogmeat Fitzgerald, seethes with jealousy. Do you see anyone asking Jennifer to dance, except for her unfortunate husband, of course.” Sumner hummed maliciously.

  “Sumner, giving birth to you was one of the best things I ever did.” Lutie shed two decades as Sumner twirled her around the floor.

  The bride and groom slipped out the back door at the height of the festivities. They would spend the night alone at their new house with no servants inside until the morning. They were scheduled to catch the train to New York in the afternoon, and from New York they would sail to France.

  On into the night the party continued. Lutie generously distributed her personality. Sumner got drunker than a boiled owl. His friends carried him to the stable and left him in a stall covered with blankets. A bucket was by his side. No sense in having him ruin any of the rugs at the big house. Henley, Daniel, and T. Pritchard continued to see to the needs of their guests, which grew more eccentric as the night wore on. Reddy Neutral Taylor actually offered Henley one thousand dollars to sleep with Di-Peachy. Henley put him out of the house. Poofy crept up on the ta
il end of this.

  “How could he do such a thing?”

  “He doesn’t have the sense God gave a goose.” Henley closed the door.

  “That girl will never have a minute’s peace unless she becomes fat or disfigured.” Poofy shook her head.

  “Great beauty, like great wealth, is not always a blessing.” Henley put his arm around his sister-in-law’s shoulder. “Please don’t mention this episode to Lutie. You know how she is about the girl.”

  “Yes, I know.” Portia’s voice dropped.

  They rejoined the festivities arm in arm. Finally, guests dotted the rooms like fallen blossoms. Those that could stagger home did. Those that couldn’t, stayed put.

  Lutie climbed into bed, exhilarated and exhausted. She had kissed her husband good night at the door, hugged her sister and brother-in-law and was now blissfully alone. She wore her loveliest nightgown and blew the candle out next to the bed.

  “Emil, is that you?” Lutie whispered. “They’ve done everything to keep us apart. I’m dying to talk to you.”

  Rain poured outside. A fire cast golden light over the large bedroom. Geneva perched on the edge of the rice bed and listened to the downpour. She liked her new house. It wasn’t fancy but it exuded warmth, and Geneva was happy to have something that was hers alone. Nash came in after seeing that Bumba, his man, had taken the horses to the small stable. Water dripped onto the small Bukhara rug, which Poofy and Daniel Livingston had given them.

  “I think I’ll get out of these clothes.” Nash shook his arm, sending a light spray sizzling into the fire.

  Geneva rose from the bed to help him. He started to move away from her, but she held him. Silently she unbuttoned his beautiful waistcoat and threw it on the floor.

  “Geneva—”

  She moved around in front of him and kissed him on the lips before he could finish his sentence. She bit his neck. Nash shuddered and held her close. She felt an unfamiliar but welcome hardness bump into her groin. She peeled off his trousers like shucking corn. He wore beautiful silk underwear of bright white. She could see his penis outlined against it. He looked better than anything she’d seen in the stable. She was a little afraid to go on.