“Oh, I shouldn’t have said a word. I just meant to involve you in conversation, Isabelle. But it did not come off as such. I see that now. Forgive me for misspeaking. Margaret as well.”
“I forgive no one,” Isabelle said.
A ripple charged through the room. There were so many eyes fixed to the table that it appeared every woman present was suspended in prayer.
“I do not appreciate anyone,” Isabelle continued, “who pays mind to cruel rumors and outright lies. Or those who speak behind the backs of others. Now hear me say this. My husband is a kind man. A decent man. And he has done nothing, since the day he entered my life, but follow his passions, no matter how remote, no matter how odd, and often in the face of those who might think him different. But nothing he’s done has ever had ill intent. Such trifles of character are beneath him. Can any of you say the same of yourselves? I surely cannot. But I admire those, like him, who can. Now, if you would excuse me.”
Of all the women present, Anne, her lip quivering, decided it was her place to speak up.
“You cannot mean what you say, Mrs. Walker.”
“Anne, you are a child. Nothing I’ve said involves you. But I swear to every word of it.”
She smoothed her dress and pushed in her chair, readying to go, then stopped herself. She picked up the saucer beneath her soup and turned again to Sarah, wielding it as a preacher might wield a Bible.
“And this my china. I would like it returned to me, the full set, at your earliest convenience.”
She held the saucer to her chest like a form of protection and carried it with her to the front door, where she declined the help of a butler and retrieved her overcoat from the closet.
“I can show myself out,” she said.
Night was already falling on Old Ox and the shadows of the trees were long enough to creep over the path forebodingly. The rush she’d felt at her departure began to diminish in relation to how chilly it had grown and how alone she felt. She’d advanced only a few paces beyond Mayor’s Row when the steady clop of a horse, the creak of carriage wheels, fell in line behind her. She did not look, fearing some stranger shrouded in the dark, but the voice brought her gaze upward.
“Climb in. We must get you home before you do more damage tonight.”
Mildred Foster, reins in hand.
“You left the party for me.”
“I thought it best to come fetch you.”
Isabelle thanked her, but there was little else she could muster. Although she still believed every word she’d unleashed on the party, she knew the occurrence at the house would fuel the flames of Old Ox gossip for years to come. For now, silence seemed the best option. To let things rest.
They were about halfway back to the cabin when Mildred let out the slightest noise, the start of a laugh. Isabelle shook her head and carried the laugh along, giggling herself. Before long it was an uproar, both of them gasping for air, enough laughter that they seemed to spook the horse.
“My God, the looks on their faces!” Mildred said.
“What have I done?” Isabelle said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Darling, you put on a wonderful show. Though I can’t imagine you’ll be receiving that invitation to the wedding now.”
“It was worth it. Every second.”
“On that we agree.”
It took nearly the entire ride home for them to regain their composure. By then it was full dark. Smoke poured from the chimney, and the sight of the cabin, and all that came with it, was enough to bring Isabelle back to the edge of tears.
“Thank you, Mildred. It goes without saying, but I did not have you in mind during my rant. I cherish our friendship. More than any I have.”
“Of course you do. Now go. Get some rest, dear,” Mildred said.
She gripped Isabelle’s hand and guided her down from the carriage.
“A word of advice, from someone who knows,” she said. “Do not make them hate you all at once. Take it slow. By the time your prejudice is laid bare, they will be so acclimated to your distaste they’ll be loath to say anything.”
“Perhaps it’s too late for me,” Isabelle said, “but as with all of your wisdom, I will keep it in my thoughts. Good night, Mildred.”
She had never been happier to be home. She stepped into the cabin and the crisp scent of fresh logs in the firebox was soothing enough to put her to sleep. But any thoughts of slumber were stalled when she saw the eyes fixed upon her. George, wearing an apron, with skillet in hand, was placing food onto a plate held out by Caleb. Beside Caleb sat Prentiss and Landry, both already having been served.