This last struck me as the most sensible. I am as I was. The notion settled me. I only had to remember how I’d been when I’d first come to Fortitude. It was a map already laid out in front of me. I could allow this idea to guide me.
I rose from the table and went to gather my things for the school day. I discovered the mansion was newly alive with movement. I could hear a flutter of activity in the kitchen. Two chambermaids, Kick and Jocasta, were dragging out carpets to beat them on the back lawn. Poney was wiping down every surface: banisters, mirrors, clocks, and sideboards. I saw Founder going upstairs with a pile of fabric that looked like curtains draped over her arms. I followed her.
“We’re in for it now,” she said when I had caught up to her on the landing. “It’ll be a push to get all these rooms ready. Not had company for a long time.”
“Do you know them? The Morgans? Mr. Ingram?” I swallowed hard. “The Chamberlains?”
“Who hasn’t heard of the Chamberlains? They order Miss Belinda’s dresses from Paris. Can’t miss hearing about folks with that kind of money.”
“Founder.” I touched the sleeve of her dress. “Is it true about Mr. Colchester and Miss Belinda? Will they marry?”
She turned to face me. Her lips pursed into a sour expression, and she looked me up and down with sharp, scolding eyes.
“If I were you, I wouldn’t pay much mind to what white folks do. They have their own sorrows.”
Before I could ask what she meant by sorrows, she continued down the gallery and disappeared into one of the bedrooms.
The three days, which I thought would proceed at a snail’s pace, came and went as the hours do. On Thursday I returned to Fortitude at the end of my teaching duties to the news that Mr. Colchester and his friends were in the house. They’d eaten lightly on their arrival and were gathered in conference in the library.
I paused at the door and listened to the busy stir. I heard men’s and women’s voices, blended together. Though I couldn’t make out what they were saying, I was certain I could distinguish the deep tone of Mr. Colchester’s voice. I didn’t allow myself to linger. It was likely someone could come through the door at any instant. Besides, I reminded myself, nothing they discussed had anything to do with me. I continued on to find something to eat.
The kitchen was in full commotion with preparations for the evening’s dinner. I saw strangers sitting around the fire and assumed they must be the servants of our guests. I reached the larder and procured for myself some cold chicken, bread, an apple, and some water. I picked up a plate, knife, and fork as well as a newspaper I had noticed on a table, then retreated quickly to my room. It was late afternoon, and though the days had grown longer, the sun was low in the sky. I watched it set while I sat at the window and ate.
Since I’d eaten so little during the day, I was hungry. I focused on my food and dined undisturbed. When I was done, I read the newspaper. The conversations in the library must include whatever had been reported in the pages. The new president, Abraham Lincoln, would be sworn in soon, and it was expected that an armed conflict would begin in earnest not long after. I thought of Calista, Dorinda, and all the inhabitants of Catalpa Valley Plantation. Even Madame. I prayed silently for their safety.
When I was certain the dinner for the large party was in progress, I went downstairs to return my utensils and the remnants of my dinner to the kitchen. Missus Livingston met me in the hall and said I should come to the library when Mr. Colchester and his friends had finished eating.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, dear, but there is much being discussed. We’ll all have roles to play in the coming days.”
“Will these people remain long, do you think?”
“The men will probably leave within a few days. The ladies might stay as long as two or three weeks. Miss Belinda has begun plans to assemble medical supplies, and she will need help. After the president’s inauguration, Colonel Eshton will likely go to Washington to see about plans to raise a militia; Mr. Colchester might accompany him.”
“Will he go to battle? Mr. Colchester will fight?”
“All the men will fight this war, I’m afraid. God only knows where they will go and when.”
The war had seemed very far from my mind. Indeed, until that moment, Belinda Chamberlain had presented more of a threat to my peace of mind than the coming conflict. Again, it was a mark of my selfish and foolish thinking. I could still cross paths with a married Mr. Colchester. I could cherish my former admiration, laugh with him in certain moments, and take these fond memories away with me when the opportunity to leave Fortitude presented itself. But to lose him on a battlefield? To think that he might no longer exist in the world? I could barely hold the thought. My heart would be broken. Irretrievably broken.
I didn’t like being summoned to meet with the party, but I had already formed my plan. After depositing my items in the kitchen, I returned to my room to wash my hands and face. Then I quickly made for the library. I thought it better for me to be in the room when they arrived. It would keep me from calling attention to myself, which certainly would have happened if I had entered the room solo and interrupted their conversations. I was surprised to find the room in a kind of ordered disarray. Some sort of work was already underway. In one corner spools of what looked like bandages formed sloppy piles. In another area were small hills of knitted socks and shirts half-sewn. I decided to take up something simple while waiting to be directed. I positioned myself in the corner and began to cut the strips of cloth to be rolled into bandages.
A soft sound of voices rose from down the hall and grew in loudness as they came closer. I held my breath as the double doors at the end of the room were thrown open and the small crowd poured through. They numbered four women and nine men, Mr. Colchester included. I lowered my gaze but kept watch from the corners of my eyes. The men looked elegant in long evening coats and white ties. The women seemed to float in colorful gowns decorated simply but smartly with small touches of bows or flowers.
I was determined to remain unnoticed, so I kept my head down and paid attention to the cloth in my hands. Because of this I didn’t notice right away the navy-blue dress that had paused before me. When I saw it, I looked up into a pair of eyes that matched its shade. The owner of both stood frowning at me.
“You’re doing that all wrong,” she said.
I bowed my head and waited for further direction. Instead Belinda Chamberlain motioned me away.
“Move. Sit there.” She pointed to a seat adjacent to where I sat. “I’ll cut them. You shall roll them as you see these have been done.”
“Yes, miss.” I rose, curtsied to her, and did what she had said.
Slyly I watched her take my seat, and as the others populated the room and took up their places, I began to understand her calculation. Where I had been sitting was perfectly positioned. One had a full view of the entire room and all its occupants. Likewise, the seat, heightened as it was on a kind of bench near a window, put her on display. She took full advantage of it, making quite the show of cutting the cloth. She raised her right arm high with each swipe through the fabric, demonstrating a kind of flow and grace. She looked like she only wanted a beau to take her hand, and they would be dancing about the room.