by Dina Sleiman
“You caught that ugly display in the hall, did you?” Franklin gripped the armrest of the rocker.
“Unfortunately. And by your expression, I assume the lady turned you down.”
“That she did, indeed.” An urge struck Franklin to run far, far away. But he’d only just arrived.
“We women can be confusing creatures, can we not? At least the men in my life always say as much.” She turned her gaze once again toward the evening sky.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Have we met?”
“Ah, I’m afraid I have the advantage there. My name is Mrs. Patsy Randolph.”
Patsy…Randolph! The daughter of Thomas Jefferson? The very lady who often served as his hostess during his presidency?
Franklin shook his head. Perhaps he hadn’t heard right. Jefferson had been his idol for years. He’d dreamed of meeting him all his life. He was a man of science and philosophy such as himself. Might he be here tonight? “Mrs.…Pat…I mean…Allow me to introduce myself.” But then he sat there at a loss for words. Surely he could manage to recall his own name.
“No need, Mr. Franklin. Mrs. Wellington has been touting your expertise to me for days. The woman’s staying with us at Monticello. And she’s aware I’ve been in search of a decent tutor for my sons for months. No one lives up to Father’s high standards. All this week, she swore that you alone would suffice, although she doubted your uncle would let you go. Then to see you here tonight, we were both pleasantly surprised.” She leaned toward him and raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps it is the hand of fate at work.”
Something sparked in Franklin’s dark heart. “A tutor, you say. For your sons. At…at…Monticello?”
“Yes, we spend the majority of our year there.”
“Might I ask how many students you have?”
“Three boys right now. And three school-aged girls, if you’d consider taking them on. Smart as can be, every one of them. Four grown children as well. We’ve quite a big family. Might be a bit much to handle at—”
“No, no. Not at all. I adore large families. Are they here tonight?” Franklin scanned the verandah and then caught himself. How silly she must think him. Although easily observed from the sitting room, they were obviously quite alone. But a large family. In the home of President Jefferson. If Franklin had dreamed of his ideal position he would never have reached so high. Fate at work, indeed.
“A handful of the older children attended the ball. And my father, of course. Would you like me to introduce you?”
“Me…meet President Jefferson? Never say so!” He clasped a hand over his mouth. “I mean, of course. I would love to.”
“He’s sure to quiz you and give you a lecture about keeping logic and reason at the forefront in all matters.”
“I couldn’t agree more. Science must remain first and foremost.” And yet in this wondrous, miraculous moment, Franklin could almost credit providence, for might not God on rare occasion reach down into the lives of man if he so chose?
Never could Franklin have imagined being smashed so low and then brought so high again in one night. Energy pulsed through him, seeking release. He would need to find the delightful young Miss Felicity and ask her for a dance. As soon as possible, before he began to jump up and down like a child.
But first things first. Franklin stood. “Mrs. Randolph, I needn’t delay this decision. If your father approves, there is nowhere on earth I would rather work than in the fine halls of Monticello.”
“Perfect. Then let’s go meet the family. For soon enough you shall be one of them. I can see it now.” Mrs. Randolph rose and encased Franklin’s hand in her own for a brief, motherly clasp.
Franklin took a bracing breath and prepared to step into the future.
“And perhaps you can help Father with the plans for his university. His hobby for his old age, as he likes to call it,” she said as she led him into the house. “He’s always seeking input.”
Franklin shook his head again, trying to ease the foolish grin that assuredly stretched across his face. He followed her through the sitting room to the grand hallway beyond.
“Father.” Mrs. Randolph tapped a well-dressed gentleman on the shoulder.
The face that turned to greet them was nothing short of an American legend.
“I’d like you to meet Mr. Franklin. The science teacher Mrs. Wellington has been going on about. He’s agreed to stay with us at Monticello and tutor the children.”
Franklin’s heart raced.
The former president of the United States of America clapped his hand upon Franklin’s shoulder. “You don’t say. Come, young man. Let’s talk.”
And with that Jefferson steered him toward the study.
Franklin swallowed hard. There must be some sort of God in heaven. Or at the very least a real live Saint Nicholas. Christmas had come early this year.
* * *
Robbie sat in a burgundy upholstered chair across from his stepfather, enjoying the deep rumblings and clinking glasses of male companionship. He needed a few moments to savor what had occurred during the waltz. Although they’d not spoken a word, he believed Constance had chosen to forgive him. He had sensed none of the anger that he witnessed at their last meeting. Might he dare to hope she had laid it at the foot of the cross as he had his pride? And beyond forgiveness, her abandon in the dance suggested that she might somehow grow to trust him once again.
But how would she feel when she learned of his plan? Not his plan precisely, rather the plan God had unveiled to him.
That prayer meeting had changed him, left him no longer the same Robbie. Yes, he’d accepted Christ’s forgiveness years ago. But he didn’t understand until surrounded by his brown-skinned workers—their voices lifted in passionate praise—that he’d never yielded himself to Christ, never truly made him Lord of his life.
And on that evening, God had spoken through Marcus directly to Robbie. He’d always thought the prophetic bent a peculiar quirk of Lorimer alone. But it seemed in fact that many of God’s children knew his voice.
“Mr. Robbie, the Lord, he wants me to say to you that the truth shall set you free. The hidden things must come to light. It’s time to let it go. Don’t rightly know what that means, but I’m supposin’ you do.”
Yes, Robbie knew.
Although he had no idea what the ramifications might be. Nor had he any clue how it might affect the tenuous peace he’d formed tonight with Constance.
CHAPTER 38
“Finally, Mr. Lorimer. I thought I might never catch you.” Constance, short of breath from dancing, scurried to him. Her cheeks flushed pink to match her dress. Her curls bounced in her hurry. She had never before looked so charming.
But he knew she might not bear good news. He braced himself for her next words.
“May we have that dance now?” She smiled, her gleaming eyes reflecting the golden lamplight.
He blew out a breath. “Of course.” But he dare not say more. He had exposed too much of his heart already. His proposal had been offhanded. Spontaneous. An offer of escape from the disaster with Robbie. Perhaps she hadn’t taken him seriously. He could only hope.
Then again, maybe his real hope was that she had. Women were mystifying creatures.
He’d done right to stay away from them all these years. Lorimer took Constance’s hand, and they began a romping country dance. For a moment, he wished he’d learned the gliding moves of the waltz. That he could draw her into his arms. But in truth, it might be more than he could bear. Just grasping her gloved hand in his caused him to shake—this from a mountain man who’d survived bears and Indians, an abolitionist who stole slaves from under their masters’ noses.
“Mr. Lorimer, we must finish our conversation from the verandah.”
Dark dread filled him. “Not necessary. Pretend it never happened. I made a fool of myself.”
“Never. But I’m afraid at this time, despite my fondness for you, I can’t make such a commitment. And I think, if you search your heart, you a
ren’t ready to promise your life to another either.” She offered him a twisted grin. “I think your heart and your life belong solely to God, and you are not prepared to share them with anyone else.”
That comment hit like an arrow. Straight. True. And stinging with pain. He knew it was coming but never expected it to strike with such blinding accuracy. Right to his chest. No, he hadn’t given enough thought to how Constance might fit in his life. Or even if God wanted her there. He merely gave thought to his own desires.
He gripped her hand tight.
“As much as I hate to admit it, you are correct, Miss Cavendish. It was rash of me to mention marriage. I never should have done it.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I do care for you. And I’m sure someday, if and when the time is right, God will bring the perfect woman to you.”
Maybe. Maybe he would. First Lorimer would need to figure out how to pull the burning arrow of rejection from his chest. He would bury himself in his work where he belonged. Lorimer never should have let himself fool with love in the first place.
* * *
Constance searched the house once again, this time with a different target in mind. The tunes from the ballroom had at last faded away. Guests said their farewells one by one at the mammoth double doors.
Giving two rejections in one night. She did not relish the thought. In fact, she hated hurting anyone the way Robbie had once devastated her. But she did not return their love, not Franklin’s and not even Lorimer’s. Not in the manner required for marriage.
No, truth must be cherished. For without it, how could any of them survive? And this evening, she had merely spoken truth, difficult as that truth might be.
In so doing, she had cleared a path for her own future, a future that now shimmered straight and clear before her. Tonight as all her options, all the hopes of this past year had spread before her, she knew only one would suffice. Only one could satisfy that deep hunger in her soul.
And that option stood before her, grinning and waiting in his handsome black frock coat with the rose satin shining beneath.
He held out his hand to her. “I wondered when you might find your way back to me. I’ve missed you, you know.”
Mr. Robert Montgomery. The man she’d longed for and dreamed of all these years.
“It wasn’t easy. Many obstacles stood in my way.” She slipped her hand, now bare, into his.
He clutched his other hand over top their joint ones. “And we have several still to face.”
“I agree. But I’ve lived without you long enough. Somehow we’ll find a way.” She snuggled against him in the corner of the parlor, although the final guests of the night still lingered. Let them think what they might. They’d remedy the gossip soon enough. In the way they should have five years ago. “In case I haven’t said it lately, I love you, Robert James Montgomery. I always have. No one can ever take your place.”
He stroked her cheek. “As I told you long ago, I love you, Constance Marie Cavendish. That has never changed.”
She turned her cheek into his palm, like a kitten. “May I tell you something that might sound odd?”
Robbie twisted his finger through a curl at her temple. “You may tell me anything, my darling.”
“I had a vision. God instructed that I allow you to lead me into healing. I’m ready to let God lead my life, and he’s shown me that he wants to do so—at least in part—through you.”
Robbie gulped and pressed his mouth tight. “And I know just where we must begin.” He kissed her upon the forehead. Her skin tingled and buzzed beneath his soft lips. He wrapped his arm about her shoulder, and she allowed him to lead her to the portico.
Constance waved as the final guests headed to carriages and into the thick August darkness. Crickets chirped their late-night tune, joined in harmony by the croak of frogs from the distant pond. The ball ended on a perfect note.
But she did not know where Robbie would lead her next.
CHAPTER 39
Robbie scanned the faces in front of him. Faces of his loved ones. Faces of those who’d been affected by his devastating choices—although they were unaware they were about to hear a life-altering pronouncement. They covered the small study and became a blur despite his attempt to differentiate them. Constance had insisted on including Lorimer and Martha. He suspected she needed their support more than anything else. Robbie clutched the chair in front of him to keep from teetering. He could use some support himself.
One of the young ladies yawned, but he could not say which.
“Come now, Robbie. It’s past midnight, and we’re all exhausted.” Mother leaned heavily into the ornate settee and pressed her palm to her brow. “This has been a long evening. I don’t see why it couldn’t wait until morning.”
Robbie took a deep breath and braced himself against the chair, steeling his heart against the imminent catastrophe. Constance laid her hand atop his and gave it a squeeze. He could do this. Tonight he would be a man. A true man. A man who didn’t run from his past. He would not let Constance down again. “It can’t wait until morning because it is five years overdue already. I’m afraid I’ve an important confession to make. I do not know what the ramifications will be, but I’ve carried this burden far too long.”
He must speak the truth as God had bidden, and trust the timing to be correct.
Mother sat forward now, along with his stepfather.
Robbie angled himself toward Constance’s mother. “Mrs. Cavendish, I’m sorry to say that this primarily involves you. Back in Prince George County all those years ago, you welcomed me into your home and allowed me to court your daughter. What you didn’t know was that I was on a mission—a rather underhanded mission to help your slaves escape.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Cavendish put her arm around Felicity like a shield. “You what? I don’t understand.”
Constance rushed around to the front of the chair, spreading her arms and covering him with her own body. “Mother, there are things you must know. The slaves were about to revolt. Robbie’s actions, though duplicitous, might well have saved all our lives.”
“Revolt? But why?” Mrs. Cavendish whispered, her face turning pale.
Patience, appearing not as surprised as he might have expected, moved behind the settee to knead her mother’s shoulders. “It’s true, Mama. He didn’t treat them well. I saw it myself.”
“I realize it’s a complex institution and my husband wasn’t perfect. But they were just sla…” Mrs. Cavendish glanced to Martha, and her eyes softened.
Constance had been wise to include the slave woman in this discussion.
Mrs. Cavendish fanned her face with her handkerchief and tried again. “But to undermine our hospitality. To help them escape. It’s unthinkable. And terribly illegal!”
His own mother sat frozen, frighteningly without words. Her gaze bounced back and forth as if observing a tennis volley.
“There’s more.” Robbie cleared his throat. “I’m the one who lured Mr. Cavendish off to gamble that night. I failed to keep the overseer away and thereby began the string of events leading to your husband’s death. I fear I am responsible for all that has befallen you.”
Mrs. Cavendish crumpled. She buried her face in her hands and moaned. “No. No. It can’t be.”
Felicity glared at him with quiet hatred. “We will see you hanged for this, sir.”
Precisely as he’d feared. But he would face it with dignity.
Patience twisted her face and stared at him, disappointment and shock spread across her features. At least she hadn’t railed at him. She turned her gaze to Martha with a brief flicker of compassion and then back to Robbie. “But…I don’t understand. You pretended to court my sister merely to trick us?”
“No!” Robbie shouted, but then he managed to calm himself. “It’s true that courting her was part of the plan from the beginning, but the moment I saw her, I fell in love. That’s when matters went awry. I was so desperate to complete my mission without losing her tha
t I failed to protect her own father. I’m so sorry. It is the most tragic error of my entire life. There are no words to express my great remorse. Know only that I have suffered every day since.”
“Good,” said Felicity.
Mrs. Beaumont continued to moan, rocking back and forth.
“Wait.” Constance held up her hand. “Before you judge him, there’s more you must know.”
“Constance,” Lorimer spoke in a low grumble. “You don’t need to do this.”
“No. I must.”
Robbie walked around the chair to offer his support with a hand on her shoulder. “Hard as this is, I agree. There’s no other way. Everything must come out tonight.”
Constance knelt before her mother and lifted the woman’s chin.
Tears streamed down her wrinkled face, old before its time from so much tragedy.
“Mother, I’ve seen Sissy. Do not ask me where or how because I shan’t endanger her. For years I blamed myself for our destruction because I had secretly educated Sissy, but I’ve since learned it was not my fault. I’ve seen the telltale back of Sissy’s husband, James. Scarred beyond recognition as human flesh, at Father’s own hand.”
Her mother’s face, flushed now from crying, went white yet again.
Constance took a moment to stare at the carpeted floor and gather her courage.
Robbie knelt beside her.
“But there’s worse, Mother.”
“Don’t say it.” Mrs. Cavendish choked out the words.
Constance looked deep into Robbie’s eyes before turning back to her mother. “I must. You need to forgive Robbie, for my sake if for nothing else. And I believe once you hear this, you will. But more than that, you need to know the truth—the whole truth so that you might move forward.”
Mrs. Cavendish shook her head again and again.
Constance took the woman’s cheek in her palm and stopped the motion. “Sissy introduced me to her four-year-old daughter, Mother. Her four-year-old daughter…with bright copper hair.”