“You all right?”
I nodded.
“Got any smoke still in you?”
I took a sip of water from the glass at my bedside, then took a careful deep breath. I felt nothing resisting the flow of air.
“No. I think I am well enough to go to the school today.”
“That’s crazy talk. You ain’t leaving this house just yet.” Founder went to the door and delivered quiet instructions to whoever stood behind it, out of my sight. When she was done, I thought she would take the seat near my bed, but instead she went over to my small bureau and leaned on it on her elbows. She stared out the window. “Had yourself a day yesterday.”
“Yes.”
She shifted her feet under her and didn’t say anything else.
“Will they be able to salvage any of the structure?” I doubted this, but it seemed like a safe line of conversation.
“Naw, nothing but a pile of ashes, still smokin’。”
“I suppose they can rebuild in the spring.”
“That’s what Templeton said, but I told him don’t bother. This spring ain’t gonna be like other springs. Can feel it deep in the bones of my soul. Supplies for a house will be hard to come by.”
I assumed she meant the impending war, and I was ashamed to think how far it had been from my mind. South Carolina had announced its secession last month just before Christmas. But Lower Knoll had the sense of another world, like what was going on out there had little to do with us. I should have known better. The contract Mr. Colchester had secured for the factory was proof of that.
“What’s happened?”
“Mississippi, Florida, and Alabama done seceded from the Union. Louisiana like to follow soon.”
“Louisiana!” I wanted to leap from the bed, get dressed, and search for Mr. Colchester. I wanted to know his thoughts, to condole with him on the disconnection from a place we both cared for. But Founder stayed put at the window. It didn’t seem right to do anything until she left.
“Of course Christian is sick about it. Went railing on about this and that, but I reminded him he got work to do. Responsibilities.”
“He wouldn’t—” I wanted to hold my breath. “He wouldn’t fight on the side of the rebels?” The thought cut through me like a saber, but I also knew if I were in his position, I would be torn. I’d want to protect Papa’s land, and yet—oh, the sad irony of it!—the very things the South was fighting for would keep me from doing so.
“No. He knows what he needs to be doing, though.” She stood up and pressed her palms against her lower back. Without looking at me, she asked, “What about you? What you need to be doing?”
I didn’t understand why she would ask such a thing, but I decided my best path would be to go another way.
“For right now, getting out of this bed. Would you excuse me? I won’t go to the school, but I would like to go downstairs.”
She shrugged, murmured something about being glad I felt all right, and sauntered out of the room.
At breakfast Missus Livingston scolded me for not staying in bed and forced me to sit next to her at the table so she could better fill my plate without my going to the trouble of lifting it.
“I shudder to think what could have happened to you and that little girl.”
I sipped from the cup of tea she handed me. I realized I knew nothing about the story of the fire, and I told her so. “I don’t remember anything after I found Jelly. I pulled her out one moment, and then the next I was in my bed.”
“Thank the merciful Lord!” she cried. “Others saw the flames, same as you did, and came running. They tried to put it out with buckets of water from the creek, but it was too far gone.”
The thought of the people of Lower Knoll rushing to my aid brought tears to my throat. They had worked in unison to save the spare place meant to be my home. And one of them, at least, had risked his life to carry me and Jelly out of the fire.
“Who pulled us out, Missus Livingston?”
“You don’t know?”
“It was very dark and smoky. I was holding on to Jelly. That’s all I remember.”
“Mr. Colchester,” she said. “He carried you both out.”
I put down my cup. Ignored my food. “What? How was it he was there? And so quickly?” I had been first on the scene. Whoever had saved us had to have been hard upon my heels.
“He was coming from the factory. Saw the flames, just as you did, and rushed there on his horse. Said he saw you rush in just as he arrived.”
Missus Livingston didn’t notice that her words had struck me dumb. I stared at her, unhearing and almost unseeing because I was so distracted by the thoughts racing through my mind. They formed two specific and fantastic specimens:
Mr. Colchester had saved my life.
I had been carried, most gently, in Mr. Colchester’s arms.
What a debt I owed him! And it didn’t feel burdensome to be connected to him in such a way. He’d obviously felt the same, and I indulged myself by remembering last night’s scene: what he’d said, how he had looked. It was all so vivid, so clear, so （dare I say it?） wonderful.
Now I was desperate to see him. My ears were trained on every movement in the hall, every voice just out of range. Whenever the door opened, I expected him to walk in. But it didn’t happen. By the end of the meal, I had grown impatient and was on the verge of asking directly where Mr. Colchester was when Missus Livingston rose to draw open the blind. The late-morning brightness flooded the room.
“Clear and calm,” she said as she looked through the panes. “Mr. Colchester has a good day ahead of him for his travels.”
“He’s gone? Where?”
“Oh yes, he set off early this morning. Didn’t even take breakfast.” She seemed to think this was the most natural thing in the world, so much so that she left out the information I most wanted. I repeated my question.
“Where did he go?”
“Well, of course the news is more alarming every day. And poor Mr. Lincoln hasn’t even taken office yet. Christian has gone to gather our friends. It’s about time we get ready before a battle is on our doorstep.”
“Who are our friends?” In all the time I’d been at Fortitude, I’d never experienced a visitor.
“They haven’t assembled here for some time. Christian prefers to travel to them and stay at their homes. Now it has to be different.”
“Why is that?”
“The factory is supplying the Union Army. It will be protected from attack, and Fortitude as well. Naturally this would be the safest place to organize support operations.”
“Who will come?”
“There’s Mr. Parma. He owns a large farm about ten miles north of here. His son Nicholas runs it with him. Mr. Ingram, the Eshtons, the Morgans. And of course, Mr. Chamberlain. His son is Joseph and his daughter is Belinda. Christian has been fond of her for quite a while now.”
I felt the blood drain away from my face. “He has?”
“Oh yes.” Missus Livingston now opened the newspaper and perused the articles. “When he’s gone for any length of time, that’s usually where you can find him.”
“What is Miss Chamberlain like? You’ve seen her?”