“The devil you will!”
I raised my eyes slightly to observe Mr. Colchester’s protest.
“What will you do, Christian? Accompany me?” She touched him playfully on the shoulder and ran her fingers up the nape of his neck. “Don’t be a fool. I’d be safer to travel with another woman than with a man. You would be considered a threat.”
“Your wisdom is infallible, as always.”
“Then no more need be said: let’s change the subject,” she commanded. “We have been serious enough this evening. We have worked long enough.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“I propose we clear up and have some music.”
“I’ll agree, but only if I may have the first dance.”
I sneaked a glance at him. Mr. Colchester danced? Would he really? Would she?
She smiled and leaned toward him. “You know my hand is always yours for the asking.”
She rose and, without taking her eyes off him, proceeded to the piano. “I will begin and give us something cheerful to change the mood. Joseph, you can spell me when I’m ready to dance.”
“Sister, I am at your service.”
She seated herself at the instrument and began a bright divertimento. Missus Livingston took this as a cue to begin clearing our work to make space for the dancers. I followed her example and began to stack the completed bandages into a large basket.
The men gathered around the piano. Miss Chamberlain spoke while she played and seemed intent on engaging their attention. Her words and posture were provocative. She was evidently bent on striking them as dashing and daring.
“I wish I could go to war!” she said. “You men will leave us, and we women can do nothing but wait and pine. But to be in battle—in the thick of the smoke and the roar of the cannons. Christian, I would accompany you! Charging forth together, weapons drawn, everything on the line. Kill or be killed!”
“You tramping through mud? Sitting on the ground around a campfire, eating goober peas from a can, and not a washbasin in sight?” Mr. Colchester laughed. “Now that would be something to behold, my sweet.”
“You doubt me?” She seemed pleased at eliciting a reaction. “But you are right. Loveliness and cleanliness are the particular prerogatives of women. They would be difficult to give up. Still, it would be worth it.” Her divertimento quieted to a gentler song. “If it meant man and wife didn’t have to be parted by war, it would be worth it.
“Whenever I marry,” she continued after a pause that none interrupted, “I am determined to be that kind of partner to my husband—equal to the hard tasks as he must be. Ready to take up whatever must be done. I know it’s unusual, but the times call for it. We must be more than what we are.”
We had nearly cleared the dance area. Miss Chamberlain, who had been eyeing our progress, called to her brother. “I’m finishing now, Joseph. Play a reel for us. Let’s be merry while we can.”
She concluded her recital with a flourish, and her listeners applauded.
I was grateful to leave the room. As petty as it may seem, I will confess I couldn’t bear to watch her in Mr. Colchester’s arms. But I wasn’t jealous—no. Indignant. Indignant is what I felt, to the depth of my aching heart. Because as capable as she might be—and she might be able to fire a musket for all I knew—she was also frivolous and self-absorbed. What she did that looked like charity was not done out of compassion—she acted for her own glory. But the wealthy were allowed to behave as they liked. Who would check them? Only Mr. Chamberlain could have such influence over his daughter, and he was either unwilling or unable to wield it. This might have been from the loss of Missus Chamberlain. Miss Belinda would have been thrust into the center of attention at an age when it couldn’t help but shape her character and make her yearn to stay at that center. Mr. Chamberlain would have been proud of her. As a cherished daughter—and here I understood something of her position from my own experience—she could do no wrong in the eyes of a loving father.
Mr. Colchester, though, had the advantage of free will. He chose to be close to this creature, to connect himself to her intimately. He must have perceived her faults as I did. I could have thought less of him—perhaps even should have thought less of him. If he were any other man, I would have. But for Mr. Colchester? I believe I grieved for him.
Another idea reached me as I opened the library door. What if he excused her faults because he loved her? I had been considering all the ways he could not possibly love her, standing in judgment as though I knew how love should operate.
But what do you know of love, Jeannette Bébinn?
I knew, and it pained me to think it, that love flourishes when it is least supposed to do so. Wasn’t that the story of my own parents? Had reason had any influence in that case? And love had made a great leap there, spanning a gap of race, position, morality, propriety. No such chasm existed between Mr. Colchester and Belinda Chamberlain. In fact, their match was sanctioned, perhaps even encouraged, by all around them. The path to love her was an easy one indeed.
Heartsick now, I entered the hall to carry my basket of bandages to the storage room. The basket was full, and in my haste, a few rolls of cloth fell out. I stopped to gather them up. I heard the door open again behind me and thought Missus Livingston or one of the other women would follow. I turned and was determined to make some sort of fake, cheerful comment, but the person who came out wasn’t a woman. It was Mr. Colchester.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I am well, sir.”
“I have not seen you since the fire. You’ve suffered no lingering effects from the smoke?”
“No, sir.”
“And the little girl?”
“Jelly is fine. She is in school and learns well, like all the other children.”
“Is that what you have been doing during my absence? Teaching at the school?”
I was confused by the question. What else would I be doing if not the job for which he employed me? I didn’t respond.
“Excuse me, Miss Bébinn, but you seem sad. If you are in good health, I cannot account for it. What is the matter?”
“The talk of the war, sir. It disheartens me.” A partial truth.
“Yes.” He nodded. “There are trying times ahead. But here, return to the library when you are done. The lively music may cheer you up.”
“I am tired, sir.”
“So much so that you would be on the verge of tears?”
I turned my head.
“All right. If I had time, we would both stay here and talk about Louisiana and what we hope to see there again. But I have guests to attend to. Put your things away and go to bed. We shall see what tomorrow brings. Good night, my dear friend.”
Chapter 10
Missus Livingston had been wrong about how long our visitors would remain. They slept only two nights at Fortitude. Each family had its own home to look after, duties to prepare for. But this didn’t mean they would be long absent from Mr. Colchester. There was much coming and going by the men, who would hole up in Mr. Colchester’s study for hours. When the women visited, I took care to be elsewhere. But this was easy to do. By April Lower Knoll was likewise busy, with the factory in full swing and the adults working in shifts around the clock. Every hand was needed. Even the smallest child could sort buttons or sweep a floor. I insisted my students spend something of every day, if not a proper school day, reading and practicing their lessons. However the world was changing, they would need some education—would need it more than ever. I stayed at the school so the children could come in when they were free. I asked for permission to take a screen from the mansion to be placed in a corner of the schoolroom. I put a cot behind it and took naps.