Dreams of Savannah

by Roseanna M. White

  Who was he to make such a bargain, such a promise? God? An unamused laugh came out on a breath. He tried to blink his eyes open, but they were too heavy. As if any man could promise life. All he could promise was not to hurry death. Was that what he had meant?

  No. The darkness settled on him again, warm and comfortable. He didn’t sound like that type, no matter the fact that he could break every bone in Phin’s body with his bare hands, if he so chose.

  But he’d said something about his church, in a way that seemed to be more possessive than a mere parishioner. And Cambridge. He’d said something about Cambridge.

  Phin turned his head just a bit. Oblivion retreated a tick, just enough that he realized it had been closing in.

  Strong fingers gripped his shoulder. “Promise me, Phineas. Give me your word.”

  “My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart.”

  Luther wasn’t God. Just a man of God.

  Close enough. “I promise.”

  The fingers released him, and he melted back into that place where the pain could ebb away.

  Chapter Nine

  Salina peeked through the narrow opening, careful to keep it unnoticeable to those within the room. The white folk liked the idea of the slaves being able to move about the house without being seen, sure enough. But no doubt the collection of twenty ladies within would get their petticoats in a bunch if they paused to realize that the passageways built behind their rooms could be used for purposes beyond serving them.

  Not that Salina had any nefarious goals, no sir. She just wanted to see Miss Delia’s tableaux vivants, and heaven knew she wouldn’t be making an appearance at the Pulaski House next week. So, she’d hurriedly given instructions to the visiting maids who had come to help with the costuming and then taken up a place in the dark little cubbyhole behind the drawing room.

  After all, she needed some inspiration if she was going to create the best possible costumes for the tableaux.

  “Perfect, Annaleigh,” Miss Delia said, her smile sweet and encouraging.

  Though in Salina’s opinion Miss Annaleigh was the worst model in the group. So why she was the central figure in each tableau . . . Miss Delia must have switched some of their parts for the sake of peace. She never wanted to offend anyone and would no doubt do whatever it took to make the collection of young ladies as happy as she could. A losing battle. One of these days, Miss Delia would have to learn that.

  Annaleigh tossed her curls over her shoulder with a look so haughty Salina would have liked to take a nice wire brush to it to try to scrub away the contempt. “Well, as perfect as one can expect, anyway, given the limitations of the narration and the uninspired choices of paintings we are representing.”

  Why, that nasty little shrew! Salina had read every word of Miss Delia’s script, and it was such a creative way of going from one classic work of art to the next, telling a story as she did. Since it was going to be seen by all of Savannah, Salina had even worked up the nerve to offer some actual critique. Better her now than some high-falutin’ lady later, right? And Miss Delia had received it graciously.

  Though no doubt if Annaleigh knew a slave had helped with any of the words, she really would storm off and never return.

  Which was sounding better and better.

  “Don’t be that way, Annaleigh.” Miss Lacy sighed and moved back to the spot on the floor she would occupy when the curtains were raised. “It isn’t becoming.”

  Sassy Dunn smirked in a way that most young ladies couldn’t get away with. “It’s the only way she knows how to be, Lacy.”

  “Be as mean as you like, Saphrona, it won’t change the fact that I have twice the beaux you do.” Miss Annaleigh spun the other direction, toward a group of girls busy controlling their grins at the argument. Salina could well imagine the look that would be on her face. Superior and taunting, with only the thinnest covering of sugar. “And the Owenses’ handsome cousin sure seemed to find my company pleasant at your daddy’s ball last week.”

  Miss Lacy’s face turned pink, but Miss Delia put a hand on her sister’s arm and smiled. It was what she called her Ginny smile, all politeness and modesty, and as fake as those curls of her rival’s. “We thank you, Annie, for helping our cousin feel at home in Savannah. He certainly did mention your family’s hospitality when he came to call on Lacy the next day. Now, we had better run through the script one more time before Salina and the others arrive with the costumes.”

  The glance Miss Delia sent toward the crack in the wall said that Salina’s hiding place was known by at least one of the occupants. Luckily, though, the one who wouldn’t care. She smiled to herself and vowed to hold her spot for just one minute more. Then she’d rush back to the sewing room, where the gathered seamstresses were hard at work.

  In the drawing room, a flurry of skirts flashed while all the girls took their places again. Only five were “on stage.” They each struck a pose that Salina knew was meant to imitate some great painting, though she couldn’t recall which one. She had only seen them once, in the book Miss Delia had brought up to select paintings from as she wrote the tableaux.

  Miss Annaleigh, of course, stood in the center, looking as though she were holding two combatants apart. Right funny, given that she usually was one of the combatants.

  The other girls stood off to the side, awaiting their turns. Miss Delia nodded for another of her friends, who had been given the part of narrator, to begin.

  “When the dawn of time was still soft and misty, when the great land of Greece was a sun rising over the horizon—”

  “Oh, stop.” Annaleigh let her arms flop to her side. “Must my little cousin be playing the part of a man?”

  Said little cousin flushed scarlet. “Annie—”

  “Someone has to, and you insisted she be beside you in each scene.” Miss Delia’s Ginny smile looked strained around the edges. “We can hardly have young men playing the parts with us; it wouldn’t be quite decent.”

  “And at least she isn’t all but nude, like in the painting.” That helpful observation came from Sassy, of course, and nearly made Salina snort with laughter.

  “I like the part just fine, Annie.” The cousin smiled and patted Miss Contrary on the arm. “I love the scarlet cape I’m getting for it, and the shield. Just never you mind. Let’s keep going.”

  They did, but Salina slipped down the passageway and out into the servant quarters, knowing she had better make sure all was going as it should with the costumes. Given that the actresses spoke not a word, their clothes had to tell the story of the paintings.

  It was great fun, really, having such a big part in the production. Not that anyone else would likely see it that way, of course, but Salina would know. She’d know she had done her part, helped her sister’s show be a success.

  Six other servants had been enlisted to help, one from each of the families represented in the drawing room. The room she typically used for sewing was crowded with four of them, and the other two were in her closet of a bedchamber. Workspace was precious indeed in any house in Savannah. Wasn’t like on the rice plantation, no sir, where each slave family had its own little cabin and there were rooms aplenty inside for them to use. To work in the Savannah house, most of them had to rent their rooms in Yamacraw or Currytown.

  She got a shudder even thinking of those sections of town. Maybe she ought not to fear them so much, given that many of the residents were her own kind. But crime pranced through those streets to the merry tune of the dance halls, and Salina had no desire to step foot in time to it. Besides, there were as many Irish there as blacks these days, and they didn’t take kindly to one another ofttimes. Or so she’d heard.

  After checking on the two in her room and fetching them some of the fabric they needed, she settled in with the larger group. “They gonna be needin us soon.”

  One of the women in particular attacked the cloth in her lap wit
h renewed fury. Salina hadn’t caught the woman’s name, though she looked to be in her late twenties.

  Another older woman laughed. “Look at Vangie, workin hard to prove she been workin, though we all know Miss Annaleigh ain’t gonna believe it no matter what she bring out.”

  “Oh, you be one of the Youngs’?” Salina reached over to pat the woman’s shoulder. “Ya have my sincerest condolences.”

  Vangie breathed a laugh and paused a bare moment to tuck a spiral of hair that had come free back into her turban. “There is no pleasing the young miss.”

  “Don’t waste your time tryin, then.” Old Bess snipped a blue thread with her teeth, then threaded her needle with red. “Now, my Miss Sassy will be happy nuff with my work and will have her fun in it. The Dunns run a good house.” She looked over at Salina and smiled. “When you come with Miss Delia when she and Mr. Phin marry, we make you right at home.”

  “Y’all hear any more from him lately?” Salina poked some white thread through her needle and set about finishing Miss Delia’s costume, one of pure Grecian white. Or would it be Miss Annaleigh’s now? If so, she may just set the seams crooked.

  “Naw, not since his last letter from N’Orleans. He ever write to your miss? I know her daddy done give him leave to, if he had a mind.”

  He had, though according to the talk she’d heard from Mass Owens’s valet, he hadn’t been exactly happy about it. He didn’t have the heart to turn down Miss Delia though. If she’d set her sights on Mr. Phin—which she’d clearly done—then Mr. Phin it would be. “Quite a few, there at the start. Full of sweet nothins and tales as big as the sea.” Her lips quirked up, then settled again. “Miss Delia worries for him somethin awful. She been havin these dreams. . . .” No need to mention that Salina had shared them. That would put too dark a meaning on them.

  Old Bess’s hands stilled. “What kinda dreams? Good ones? Nonsense and love?”

  Salina just shook her head.

  Even that was enough to make Old Bess raise her hands and let out a shout. “Lawd of Mercy, keep yo hand on our boy. And don’ let it be his ghost a-visitin Miss Delia.”

  “Now, stop. There be no call for that kind of thinkin.” Salina knew the glare she sent wouldn’t do any good. Old Bess had too many decades under her apron to give a lick about the opinions of a girl Salina’s age.

  “Don’ you be tellin me what I’ve call to think, missy. Young, lovestruck girl like Miss Delia havin forebodin dreams of her man . . . that be bad news there, you mark my words.” Old Bess shook her head and jabbed her needle into a pincushion. “Bad news, I tell ya.”

  “Well, we be prayin rather than frettin.” Salina finished attaching the translucent blue cloth, not sure what to call the filmy, scarf-like thing, but content that it would do a fair job at imitating the painting.

  “Wise girl.” Vangie winked at her, then shook out the garment in her lap and held it up to survey it. “Might as well see what in particular she finds to complain about before doing more.”

  All the others reached stopping points as well and gathered up their things. The young ladies would all need to try their costumes on in the privacy of the guest bedchambers, but knowing them, they’d like the chance to flutter over the dresses together first. With a smile, Salina led the way down the hall to the drawing room.

  She paused outside it when deep voices came from within. A peek through the door showed that a collection of uniformed men was inside, laughing and flirting with the girls. Now, where in the world had they come from?

  The housekeeper, Pearl, slipped out and motioned the seamstresses in. “G’on, g’on. They knows you be comin, and the menfolk be ready to have some lemonade while the ladies is gone.”

  Salina nodded and sidled through the partially opened door. She spotted Miss Delia in the corner with Sassy, their gazes on Miss Lacy and a tall, broad officer who matched the description they’d given of that new-come cousin of theirs, Mr. Julius. Salina traced a path along the edge of the room to get to her mistress.

  Miss Delia greeted her with a warm smile. “Oh, are they finished? Let me see. Though I suppose I shall have to trade costumes with Annaleigh now.” She took the dress from Salina’s hands, then glanced over to Miss Contrary, who was giving poor Vangie a tongue-lashing. “Lovely. But I think perhaps I’d better go make the trade. You just stay here out of range of her shrapnel, Sal.”

  Miss Sassy chuckled as Delia moved off. Salina pressed herself back against the wall so as to stay as removed from the goings-on as possible.

  A few others sashayed to Miss Sassy’s side, their hoop skirts swaying in a way no doubt meant to mesmerize the menfolk. Salina suddenly wished she hadn’t worn her new, bright turban with its rich blue color today. Had she wrapped the old faded one around her head this morning, she would have blended into the wallpaper far better.

  Best to let all the attention go to those who wanted it. Those who viewed the gentlemen in their gold-braided uniforms as potential husbands, not potential masters. She’d just pray Mr. Phin home again—according to Old Bess, the Dunns never touched their slaves.

  “I do wish Delia hadn’t invited Annaleigh to be part of the tableaux.” Mary Mercer snapped her fan open and swished it in front of her face. “She spoils everything.”

  “Especially when Delia gives in to her every demand like she does.” Mary’s sister Sarah sniffed and raised her chin. “If she had but stood firm—”

  “Then Annaleigh would have stormed out, her four cousins with her, and we wouldn’t have had enough girls to complete the display.” Miss Sassy smoothed the sash around her tiny waist with what looked like an absent gesture.

  Miss Mary harrumphed. “If you ask me, Delia just can’t stand that Annaleigh doesn’t like her and does whatever she can to win her favor.”

  Sassy lifted a brow. “Nonsense. She knows well that Annie just doesn’t like anyone.”

  That much may be true, but Miss Delia would be sore upset to realize that Miss Mary and Miss Sarah had such opinions of how she handled the tableaux. It hurt her something fierce when all the hard work she put into something, be it a story or a situation, went unappreciated. Salina may have had the same thought minutes earlier, but she’d never say it like that. Why did society girls always think their own opinion was all that mattered and never take into account anyone else’s feelings?

  Was it possible Delia heard their catty exchange, or did she just glance back for fortification? Given the shadows lurking in the green of her eyes, Salina had to think she’d caught at least part of the Mercer sisters’ words. But Miss Delia knew better than to face down an enemy with uncertainty cloaking her, Salina had to give her that. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and took the last few steps to Miss Annaleigh’s side.

  Salina buried her smile when her sister reached straightaway for the pretty gown Vangie was getting the what-for about and exclaimed loud enough for the whole room to hear, “Oh, it’s perfect! I do declare, it makes me not at all miss the roles we switched, though I’m hard-pressed to part with my Salina’s masterpiece, I must say. What a talented seamstress you have, Annaleigh. It’s no wonder your new gowns have been so lovely.”

  Miss Contrary was obviously torn between accepting the flattery and arguing the point of Vangie’s competence. Lips pursed, she took the gown Salina had made. “Well, this is—”

  “Perfect for you, I know. The color will suit you so much better than it would me, I do confess.” Miss Delia made a shooing motion toward the doors. “Go try them on, everyone, and then we’ll do the tableaux again in costume.”

  The assembly broke up, ladies and slaves exiting together, chattering over the costumes. Miss Annaleigh was, of course, the loudest. “So little fabric! I swear I don’t know how our grandmothers could countenance wearing so little. No flounce, no hoop, no . . .”

  Thank heavens, she exited the room there. Miss Delia came Salina’s way again, looking like she would have shaken her head were it not for the audience.

  “
Well handled, Miss Delia.” Arms held out for the gown of Vangie’s making, Salina smiled. “Just like that snake charmer you wrote about last year.”

  Miss Delia’s laughter rang through the room and brought half a dozen male gazes her way—and one cousin striding for her only seconds after Miss Lacy headed for the door.

  Salina tried to disappear behind the wide skirts of her mistress and let her impressions of Mr. Julius settle in her mind while her eyes focused on the rug. Easy to see why Miss Lacy had been all aflutter over him. So tall, shoulders so wide, hips so narrow. And his face—well, he was handsome, for sure, but she preferred the strong features of her African side to the too-pinched noses and lips of the masters.

  And this master in particular had far too many features in common with the mistress. Though it wasn’t the fair hair or straight nose, which the misses Owens boasted too, that made Salina uneasy—it was that hard ice in his blue eyes.

  “Delia, allow me to wish you a most pleasant afternoon.”

  Though Salina couldn’t see Miss Delia’s face, she recognized the tension in her shoulders right enough. “Thank you, Julius. I must say, I was surprised to see you and your friends here today. I thought for sure you’d have maneuvers or training or Yankees to fight off.”

  Did the gentleman hear the censure in her tone? Salina glanced up and indeed saw that his answering grin was strained. “I assure you, we have already drilled, and no Yankees would dare show their faces on the Georgian mainland.”

  Miss Delia only hummed and took a step to the side, her aim obviously the door.

  Mr. Julius halted her with a hand on her arm. “Have I done something to offend you, Cousin Cordelia? It seems whenever I’m near, you’re eager to be away.”

  Her face was the perfect mask she’d learned to put on at the Female Academy. Her posture was straight as an arrow, her chin at that level that would let Salina stack books upon her head. But the fingers of her right hand curled in that way she always employed when trying to hide the ink stains from her mother—the one sign that she was defensive and bothered.