“A gentleman sent it to you.”
Maggie stretched the folds apart. “Why, there has to be at least fourteen yards of fabric here.”
“Go try it on.”
Maggie bit her lip. Should she? “I don’t know who sent it.”
“It won’t hurt none to see if it fits.” Hattie held out the dress, inviting her.
It was so lovely and Hattie had a point. What would it hurt? “Okay, but keep your eyes on the clock. I do not wish to be late for breakfast.”
“I’ll get your corset. Hope the length is right. I’d hate to try and hem this before the ball tomorrow.”
“Oh, it just has to be.”
Maggie hated corsets and wore them only when the occasion called for it, and she always found a reason why it didn’t. But this occasion was different. Roses were her favorite flower and she loved the lace. It wasn’t gaudy, but finely woven and tinged with onyx.
Someone had gone to extra special care to make this gown. “Oh, Hattie, what if it doesn’t fit?”
The last stay tied, Maggie stepped into her hoops and then the petticoats. She raised her arms. Hattie let the dress down slowly. It circled her arms in wistful folds. The puffy sleeves hugged her shoulders; the neck dipped just before her bodice. She touched the soft rose buds that circled the yoke and traveled up toward her shoulders.
“These buttons are made of pearls. I never saw the like.” Hattie stepped from behind her, fluffing up the skirt. “Now let me get those slippers. I knows I saw them. Where they go?” Hattie fumbled in the box. “There they is.” Running toward her mistress, she carefully placed them on Maggie’s feet.
Another knock on the door.
“Oh, Hattie, are we late?”
“I told that troublesome maid we’d be there when we gets there.” Hattie rushed toward the door, her finger out, her mouth ajar like a can of jam. “Look… Mrs. Louise… please come in, Miss Maggie was just trying on a gown from one of her admirers.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. Admirers? She hadn’t one. She turned, ready to greet her aunt whom she hadn’t see for years.
Louise’s hoop skirt hardly made it through the doorway. She paused, her slender hands going to either side of her powdered cheeks. “My, I can hardly believe my eyes. My little Maggie is all grown up. Oh, and so lovely. Your waist looks as tiny as a child’s; my how lovely you will look tomorrow night.”
“She has a perfect twenty-inch waist.” Hattie smiled knowingly. “Bet it be the smallest in this state as it is in Tennessee.”
“Why, I suspect it is.” Louise chuckled. “And I suspect that Maggie will be the loveliest lady at the ball. My goodness, I am feeling so very old.”
Maggie rushed to her side, the satin floating about her like a misplaced cloud, and gave her a kiss on her cheek. “I am still the girl that always adored my lovely aunt. And you are as beautiful as you always have been.”
Louise held her close. “I am afraid to relinquish you for fear you might vanish. I tried to stay up, but Blake insisted I get to bed, what with a houseful of overnight guests arriving. And I must admit I was tired and so glad to feel my pillow beneath my tired head.” Louise kissed her smartly on her cheek. “Has my wayward brother come with you?”
“He said he had some pressing business…” Maggie lied. Her father had left for Virginia without a word. She had shown him the invitation. He had looked at it and left the invitation on the table.
Maggie stroked the rosebuds and satin, trailing her fingers down the black velvet ribbon. “Should I wear this tomorrow evening? I don’t know who it is from. Is it proper, Aunt Louise?”
“Well, let me see. Turn around. Good. Now curtsy. Now let’s see you waltz around the room.” Louise hummed a tune.
Every movement of Maggie’s quick feet, every bow, sent the yards of satin floating about her as if it had a life of its own. Slightly winded, she stood before her aunt and waited. The robins and blue jays arguing over the food in the birdhouse outside her window broke the silence.
Louise looked up at her with tears in her gentle brown eyes. “You remind me of your mother. She was slender of form and so graceful.” Louise rose from her seat in a flutter of rustling taffeta and grasped Maggie’s palms in hers. “She had a beauty from within that people noticed most… ” Louise drew her close and kissed her on the cheek. “You have that same gift, Maggie. Don’t ever lose it.”
Maggie bowed her head. She felt undeserving of such praise. Oh, Lord, help me to be ever watchful of Thy love like my mother was. She rested a hand on the glimmering fabric of the gown. “But, how can I possibly wear this without knowing who sent it?”
“Let me see the card.” Louise read the note. “Of course I cannot be certain, but I believe your secret admirer is your father. Yes, it would be just like my brother to do something like this.”
“Really?” Maggie rushed forward and examined the writing. “Or… it could be Will McGuire?” It was obvious to everyone at Spirit Wind that Will was determined to make her his bride before the year was over.
“What’s the matter, child?” Louise asked.
Should she confide the awful truth to Aunt Louise? Maggie wished it was her father’s. This gift would mean he had forgiven her. Then maybe he would surprise her and be here tomorrow.
For the first time since her mother’s death, Maggie felt bathed in God’s love. “He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.” Recalling Song of Solomon 2:4, she glanced at her aunt; God was comforting her through Aunt Louise.
“Yes, yes, come in, so good to see you.” Louise McCullen smoothed a strand of her chestnut hair smiling at every one who stepped from the tiled coach entrance. Her tall slender profile etched a gracious shadow beneath the pavilion. Her husband, Blake, loomed like a protective elm tree next to his wife’s right side and Maggie was on Aunt Louise’s left.
The butler, Tom, helped each guest to the well-worn steps that had served many fair young damsels dressed in flowing yards of billowing evening gowns. Tom smiled politely at every guest, his black tux with long pointed tails admirably displaying the wealth of the McCullens. The mansion had been in the McCullen family since 1813. The twenty-bedroom estate allowed their out-of-town guests to stay overnight in preparation for the gala ball.
Maggie surveyed the brightly lit entranceway of the grand hallway. The long, impressive stairway swerved gently upward to display the second level and above it, a dome of stained glass windows that Aunt Louise’s husband, and architect, designed.
A moment’s pause between coaches and Aunt Louise glanced over Maggie’s figure. “How lovely you look tonight.”
Maggie curtsied, praying her aunt would not notice her tear-stained cheeks. If she had, she graciously chose not to comment.
“Maggie, this bright blue becomes your sparkling eyes. Royal blue always brought out the highlights of your mother’s hair, too, though yours is not jet black.” Louise tilted her head to one side as if examining a painting.
Maggie looked away, tapping her pocket. She’d received a letter from Will that he would be here tomorrow for the dinner and dance. He had ended it by writing “Your Adoring William, P.S. Mr. Gatlan will not be accompanying me. He has business in Springfield.”
“Blake, will you greet our guests and direct them to their rooms, please? I want to show Maggie the garden before it’s too dark.”
Blake’s twinkling hazel eyes met Maggie’s. He bowed. “Maggie, the bloom of youth is in your countenance. And I can see by the heightened color of your cheeks that you are in need of more compliments this evening to affirm this.” He reached for her hand and kissed it. “You are a breath of fresh air to my Louise. She feels twenty years younger just being with you.”
Aunt Louise led Maggie down the steps. “You are shorter in height than Marie, but you resemble your mother so closely that I feel I am talking to her when I speak to you. Marie was a beautiful, stately lady who will always remain alive in my memory.”
Louise cupped M
aggie’s arm in hers, their hooped dresses folding into one another companionably. The sweet-smelling lilacs and honeysuckle graced her senses, mingling with the freshly mowed grass and the apple and plum blossoms.
“Your mother tamed your father, you know.” Louise laughed, soft and sweet; it had its own melody and complemented the birds singing in the trees. A hummingbird flew by them and landed on a rose bud just a few feet ahead. Maggie felt as if they had become a part of nature, strolling with God’s creation.
“People thought it was the other way around, that your father taught Marie and tamed her of her Indian ways. Not so. Marie was already a lady when your father met her. As you know, her father was Irish, a lovely man, gentle of spirit and a man of great wealth in Ireland. When your father met Marie, it was love at first sight. But Marie’s father didn’t approve of Gatlan, said he was too head strong.”
“Really?” Maggie glanced at her aunt’s face, as if to confirm what she said was true. “All Father ever told me was that he was from one of the best families in Virginia and naturally, I thought he was—”
“He was, but my brother would not conform. He listened to a different drumbeat that most Virginians found offensive. At least our father thought so. That is why my brother struck out on his own to claim his fortune in the wilderness of Tennessee. Why, I don’t even think he ever used his first name after he left home. Wilber. He never liked it, so he didn’t use it. Always went by his surname. That’s your father, and my younger brother, the black sheep of the family.”
“And only my Mother could tame that restless spirit within him, especially when he got into one of his foul moods.” What chance had she? Father refused to speak more than a sentence or two to her. At Spirit Wind, he wouldn’t even look at her.
Louise bent down to stroke a tiny rose bud. “Sometimes I much prefer the rose bud. You can imagine how beautiful it will be. Then when it blossoms, it only remains in its splendor for, oh my, much too short a time. So I like the rose bud, it lasts longer and you can imagine the best longer.”
Louise searched her face. “Wilber was sixteen when the War of 1812 began and he ran off to enlist, against my father’s wishes. The only good thing that came out of my brother’s reckless temper was that he brought my future husband and love of my life, Blake, home with him.” Aunt Louise hugged her arm and chuckled. “I believe my older sisters and brothers might have spoiled Wilber. What else could have made him the way he was? Always demanding his way, always dead set on having his way.”
Maggie couldn’t believe her ears. “Then Mother truly changed Father.” She couldn’t remember a day that her father wasn’t smiling and happy as long as Mother was close. How he always rushed in looking for her when he had returned from Virginia or Illinois. “Oh, Aunt Louise, Father has lost his better half. He said so when he was kneeling in a pool of Mother’s blood. Cook thinks that the devil has gotten hold of his spirit. What am I to do?”
“Pray. Your father is a good man. As Jesus would say, your father has strayed from the flock. But being a black sheep lost in this field of goats of the Southern secession, it is not a good thing.”
Maggie bit her lip. Should she tell Aunt Louise the rest of her nightmare? That her father blamed her for her mother’s death? That her father would only speak to her in front of their slaves?
Her aunt grew quiet. Maggie’s face must resemble a quagmire of emotion. Why else had Aunt Louise chosen to take her aside when she had a house full of people to welcome? Guilt and shame washed over her like the tide. “We should go in. I am keeping you from your guests.”
“Your father found his reason for living when he met your mother. She was just fourteen and he sixteen. Now that she is gone, Blake and I were afraid he would react this way. But Blake has confidence in your father. Your father saved Blake’s life during the war; you should ask him about that someday. Blake says your mother’s influence helped Wilbur find that narrow foot path to Jesus’ grace. There was a favorite verse Marie always recited when he got into one of his moods. Do you happen to know it?”
Maggie searched her memory. “Mother had many verses she recited.” Then she recalled what her mother had said the day she died. “Something about forgiving? She told my father not to hate. That it would destroy his chances to love… true love endures.” Maggie buried her face in her hands. “Father retorted that he never wanted to love again. Not without her…”
Horse harnesses and carriage wheels grating across gravel filled the wordless silence. Aunt Louise rested her gentle hand on Maggie’s trembling shoulder. “We have just a few more moments together.”
She took hold of Maggie’s hands, her kind eyes smiling into hers. “Don’t be sad, Maggie. Your dear mother would want you to remain hopeful. Hope in the Lord. Remember, hope is faith reaching out in the darkness—grabbing His nail-pierced hand. Jesus will reach back, inspiring us through the storms of life, through the rejections of our loved ones—in spite of our heartaches, believe in God. Jesus will shed His redemptive love upon us. Remember, my darling, the night is always blackest just before the sunrise.”
Maggie blinked back her tears. Oh, how she wanted to believe. Jesus help me to hope. But she had let so many people down. “You don’t understand, Aunt Louise, I feel somehow cursed. Everyone I love dies.”
“Child, what are you saying?”
Aunt Louise’s face blurred before her tear-filled eyes. “Before my mother’s death, I was instrumental in another’s death. An Irishman who sacrificed his life to take three slaves to freedom, Ben McConnell. I shall—”
“Wait, what is his name?”
“Ben McConnell.”
“Unless there is someone using his name, he is far from dead. He shall be at the ball tomorrow.”
Chapter 20
B en paused before climbing the steps, gulping down a deep breath, then skipped up the cement incline and grabbed onto Blake McCullen’s extended hand.
“I’m Mr. Ben McConnell. How do you do, sir.”
Blake grabbed hold of his arm and gave it a shake. “You feel too solid to be a ghost.”
“Me, a ghost?” Ben gave him a belly laugh, thinking him in a joking mood. “You’ll know for sure I am flesh and blood when you see me at your table gobblin’ vittles, sir.”
Blake drew him inside. “There’s a girl in here you need to persuade.”
“What?”
Blake guided him into a room where bookcases lined the walls. A large circular table with sketches layering its shiny wood finish stood in the center of the oval room. His sharp eyes searched Ben’s face. “My niece, Maggie Gatlan. She thinks you’re dead. Know anything about that?”
“You mean she did not receive my letters?” Ben hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Saints preserve us. Where is she?”
“She hasn’t come down yet. Fix your eyes on the stairway. And watch your words, or you might be missing a few teeth.” Blake looked him up and down as if to measure what kind of man he was.
“Did she get my present? A gown I especially had made for her?”
“You sent it?”
Ben cupped his arms behind his back, pacing back and forth. “I do not understand. I told her to be expecting it. She did not get my letters?”
Blake crossed his arms. “Wilbur.”
Ben cocked his head. “What did ya say?”
“Wilbur Gatlan. I am afraid he might have confiscated them. How much do you know about the tragedy that has befallen the Gatlans.”
“Tragedy? Is Maggie all right?” Ben eyed the spiral staircase that wove like a celestial harp up to the second floor and then to the third. He had half a mind to climb up there and knock on every bedroom door until he found Maggie. He took a step forward.
“Hold up.” Blake motioned for his wife. “Louise, we need your expertise in handling a delicate situation involving your niece. I’ll hold down the fort and greet our guests.” Blake glanced at him and then to his wife. “Louise, Ben McConnell has arrived.”
Louise
looked at Ben slightly bewildered. “Maggie is of the understanding that you are dead.”
After an agonizing pause, she said, “A divine intervention to my niece’s heartache. But we must handle this with care.” Louise grabbed hold of his arm. “Right this way, Mr. McConnell. I’ll fill you in on Maggie’s nightmare.”
Mrs. McCullen ushered Ben into the study. A roaring fire snapped and crackled in the hearth, illuminating the walnut scrolled walls that gleamed with candlelight sconces every five feet.
“Someday I’ll have me a desk like this.” He walked over to the large mahogany desk scrolled with bear and claw legs, rubbing his hands along the smooth rich grain, and then walked behind it. Moving the tails of his coat to either side, he sat down in the big wing-tipped leather chair. “Fine indeed.” It fit his height exactly. “This is just the way I want my chair, when I build my house.”
“Your house?”
Ben looked up, startled. “Maggie, my darling.” He rose and hurried toward her.
She crossed her arms, as if to block his entrance into her life.
“What is wrong? Have you not been getting my letters?”
She stood there draped in the rose creation he had designed for her, draped in his dream and looking better than his dream could even make her. So beautiful, so… cold—as ice she was. This was not the way he had envisioned their meeting.
“I see you like the dress. It is a vision of loveliness on you. I could never have imagined how lovely.… But you want no part of me? I’ve been praying for this moment ever since I woke from my stupor. Maggie, forgive me for whatever sin I may have committed to ye.”
“You, you don’t know how I longed…” She turned away from him.
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