Love in Three-Quarter Time (12 page)

CHAPTER 15

Late that afternoon, Constance sought the sanctuary of her bedchamber to write her family and prepare her mind for the prospect of more dancing with Robert Montgomery. Not any dance, but the waltz. The same steps they'd taken as they pledged their lives to one another hidden away in the library of Cavendish Hall. She could only hope his journey to Princess Ann would take long enough for her to adjust to the idea.

How could Constance ever bear to dance in his arms again?

She entered the room and pressed her back to the closed door. Just as she made to bang her head against it, as she so loved to do when in distress and alone, a movement caught her eye. She nearly jumped a foot.

“Sorry, Miss Cavendish. I didn't mean to scare you none.” Martha hopped up from Constance's window seat with the Bible in her hand.

Although Constance felt as if she must swallow her stomach down from her throat, she didn't wish to worry the maidservant. “Not a problem, Martha. You surprised me. That's all.” Constance gazed at the book.

Martha held it up. “I hope you don't mind. I usually take a few minutes to read it in the mornin' when I dust the parlor, but I couldn't find it no how this week. This book is mighty precious to me. I'm glad you like it too.”

Constance's knees wobbled as she digested Martha's words. “You read?”

“Yes'm. My granddaddy come over from Africa knowin' how to read. Not in English mind you. Portuguese and some tribal languages. But he figured it out right quick. He taught my daddy, and Daddy taught the rest of us.”

Yes, of course. Samson always had seemed so regal. Perhaps he came from some sort of upper-class African society, although Constance had never before paused to ponder if one existed. And she recalled Robbie's initial rant about Mary running the place. He assumed Constance thought a Negress too stupid and ignorant to read. While not true, in light of her upbringing, the discovery that so many of them possessed the mental acuity to learn the skill surprised her. It seemed Sissy had not been so unusual after all. “Do the Beaumonts know you read their Bible, Martha?”

“'Course they do. And they let me borrow novels to take back home in the evenin's.”

“Do many of the servants read here at White Willow Hall?”

“Mr. Lorimer done learnt a few of the field hands so they could preach when he's outta town. But mostly just the house servants.”

Mostly just the house servants.
Seven of them! Martha said it as if it were the natural course of things. Perhaps at White Willow it was. Constance could barely fathom it. She didn't know how to phrase her next question. Stirring up trouble for the Beaumonts was the last thing she would wish to do. But she must know the result of such education.

“Do you…I mean, have…Are you happy here, Martha?”

Martha paused to consider that. “No white person done ask me that before. You are a strange one, Miss Cavendish. I noticed it right off that first day.”

“I suppose I am. But are you? Are you happy here?”

“I reckon I'm as happy as anyone's got a right to be. White Willow's my home. I've got family and friends, and I know Mr. Beaumont won't ever sell us away from each other. I ain't never gone hungry in my life. Once I wished for a pink dress like Miss Molly has, but I got nowhere to wear it, anyhow.”

They sat in silence for a minute. Martha turned the Bible over in her rough palms. “Maybe what yer really wishin' to ask is if I'd rather be free. And I don't rightly know. We all been thinkin' about it since Mr. Robbie done gave his folks their emancipation papers. But it's a hard world out there for Negroes, Miss Cavendish. Overall, I got me a pretty good life.”

“Thank you. I'm sure it's difficult to speak of. But it means so much to me that you would share from your heart.”

“You're welcome. I suppose I'll leave you be now.” Martha exited the room with a soft click of the door.

Could this so quickly be the Lord's answers to her questions from earlier that week? Perhaps she had not done wrong in teaching Sissy to read. But still, Sissy had deserted her even though she had promised to join them as soon as she could.

Precisely as Rob—no, she would not allow herself to think such thoughts. She had resolved to put Robert Montgomery out of her head once and for all.

* * *

Robbie guided the wagon down the dark, rutted road long after midnight. Up ahead, over the next rise, lay Humphrey land. There, in the still of the night, five slaves would hustle under the tarp between the provisions in this wagon, and he would transport them to the edge of the county.

Never before had he worked the cause so near to home. He'd never operated closer than Prince George County in the past, and mostly in organizing and passing information. But he'd felt so guilty about shirking his responsibility in Princess Anne that he'd found a farmer with whom to trade duties. This route would keep him away from home a few days instead of three weeks.

He clung tight to the reins, his hands shaking. Determined to conquer his fear, he pushed onward. His commitment to the cause counted for little if he wouldn't risk his own freedom for his beliefs. Still, in all his life Robbie had never so blatantly broken the law. Stealing slaves and spiriting them over state lines could involve serious prison time, if country-style justice was not served first.

But Robbie had witnessed firsthand how terribly Humphrey treated his slaves. This family longed to run away before the man could sell them apart, as he did with slave families on a regular basis to break their spirits. Helping these priceless souls was worth any cost, worth breaking any law.

Lorimer ran these lines all the time, and he'd never been caught. Robbie could take comfort in that fact. And he would not be outdone in courage by the likes of the carrot-topped circuit preacher. The preacher he would meet at dawn to switch rigs. Lorimer would take the family over the mountains where they could escape north.

He supposed he should get his head together concerning Lorimer. Robbie had behaved badly upon their last meeting. He could barely fathom his own strong reaction. One moment he had planned to match Constance with Sugarbaker, and the next he would have flattened Lorimer on the floor had they not been surrounded by polite company in the drawing room.

Why the difference? Surely not in the attention she paid Lorimer in return. He'd given up any claim to the woman long ago. Yet watching them together, seeing her tossing and twirling her curls the way she had once upon a time for Robbie…

No, that couldn't be all. Lorimer was no fit match for Constance. Robbie had spoken the truth. He took too many risks. Made no attempt to secure any sort of stable life for himself and had sworn that no family would change that. He had no right toying with the affections of any woman, particularly not one in need of tender care like Constance Cavendish. Perhaps Lorimer could marry a hearty Indian woman accustomed to transient life.

But never Constance.

All that aside, he owed Lorimer an apology. Lorimer was a good man. Better than Robbie, no doubt. Robbie had learned much from Lorimer's life of faith, although he'd never felt comfortable taking matters to such extremes himself. Lorimer's excessive prayer life bordered upon self-indulgent.

The question that remained was how to keep Constance away from Lorimer without further insulting the man. Robbie's assertion of Constance's temperamental nature seemed to spark the man's interest all the more. The only factor that held any sway was the possibility that Robbie might have some affection for Constance himself. Lorimer stepped back quickly enough at that mistaken assumption.

Of course! Robbie could think of no other option. If he feigned interest in Constance, just for a time, he could rid Lorimer from her life. He must walk a fine line, not offering the girl false delusions, simply showing her attention for a few months until she moved home to Richmond. At that point he could think of some reasonable cause to part ways.

For now, the issue that concerned him most was keeping Constance far from Lorimer's grasp. If only he could court her in reality. His heart did a painful flop at the thought. His stomach clenched. No use dreaming of what could never be. She would hate him if she knew the truth.

Ahead, Robbie detected rustling shadows in the trees. He pulled the wagon to the side of the road without uttering a sound. Out stepped five figures, three no more than waist high, the smallest clutching a tiny wad of corn husks in her hand.

The father of the group helped Robbie fling aside the tarp. Then he climbed into the center of the wagon between the sacks. Robbie picked up the children, one by one, and handed them to the man. The youngest stared at him with large, round eyes shimmering with tears in the moonlight. Poor child must be terrified.

Robbie assisted the woman into the wagon. Once in the cart, she mouthed, “God bless you.”

Swiping tears from his eyes, he smiled at her. Robbie covered the runaways with sacks and blankets before replacing the tarp. Then he jumped back into the driver's seat and urged the horses along as quickly and quietly as he could.

No longer did Robbie fear for himself. Instead he feared for the precious people in the back of the wagon, real people with real faces. He was thankful to at last have such a personal stake in this cause—a cause worth every risk.

Now if he could only confront Lorimer with such courage come dawn.

* * *

Lorimer watched as the silhouette of a wagon bumped toward him against a sky of gold, red, and orange. They would leave the “cargo” be and switch horses instead. He and Johnson had run this route no less than ten times and had it down to the precision of a military drill. If all went according to plan, Mr. Humphrey would only now be noticing the absence of his slaves, with the escapees safely fifteen miles away. Soon enough, Lorimer would have them over the mountains. Then he'd send them toward Ohio with directions for help along the path.

He leaned against the wagon next to his unhitched horses, ready to make the switch. But when he noted the face of the driver, he bristled, planting his feet firm and wide in the ground. Robbie had looked ready to take a punch at him last time they met.

“You can relax, Lorimer.” Robbie swung off the wagon and began unhitching his horses as he spoke. “I've found my senses. I'll not be troubling you over Miss Cavendish, although I might reconsider and have a go at her myself. That aside, I owe you an apology for my behavior. I'm sorry.”

Johnson often made small talk as they switched the wagons, but this struck Lorimer as odd. “Apology accepted. But what brings you here instead of Johnson today?” He dared not speak in specifics. They never did on these missions.

“I've been overwhelmed with work at the farm and was unable to fulfill my commitments in Princess Anne. Johnson went in my stead.”

“I see.”

“How have you been since I saw you last?” Robbie handed him the reins.

Lorimer snapped out of his shock, and they worked together switching the teams. “Actually, if you're sure you're in your right mind. There's something I've been needing to ask you. You said you've known Miss Cavendish for years. Do you know about the tragedy that struck her family?”

“Yes, but I promised to keep it secret.”

Lorimer buckled down the straps. “Then let me put it this way, and you know you can answer plainly with me. Did her slaves revolt?”

Robbie stopped working and stared directly at him. “They all ran away. Every last one.”

Lorimer nodded his head. As he suspected. “And this was five years ago?”

“It was.”

Lorimer had nearly finished and should leave soon, but he had to know. “Does she ever go by the nickname Ginger?”

Robbie's face paled. “How did you know?”

“Her slaves are with the Black Indian tribe half a day west. There's one in particular, Sissy, who speaks so fondly of her former mistress. I've been praying about whether I should attempt to reunite them.”

“Sissy was her best friend.” Robbie scratched his head. “But no. You can't do it. I don't trust Constance. She claims she's an abolitionist of a sudden, but Lorimer, you didn't know her before. And she'd do almost anything to have her old life back. The risk is too great, for all of them.”

Lorimer climbed onto the rig. “Maybe, but I have a feeling about this. They both seem so haunted. Something tells me they need each other.”

Robbie slapped the horse. “You and your feelings. Follow ration and reason, I say. Better get moving, my man.”

“Pray for us.” Lorimer jerked his head toward the cargo. “All of us.”

“I will.” Robbie waved.

Lorimer flicked the reins. Yes, for them Robbie would pray. For the welfare of the downtrodden, but never for himself. Never for the sheer joy of God's radiant presence. One of these days Lorimer would get through to him.

And he would break through to Miss Cavendish as well. While Lorimer strove to live in each moment, he had to confess he'd missed the lovely lady of the sunset curls and thought of her often with fondness and no little bit of longing. But until God showed him otherwise, he would focus on her spiritual condition. That woman needed to be set free before she'd make a fit wife for anyone.

He couldn't rid himself of the impression that Sissy might hold the key.

CHAPTER 16

Constance searched from her bedroom window over the sunny garden, desperate for any diversion. Today she could avoid disaster no longer. Robbie's trip east to investigate agricultural techniques had mercifully lasted longer than expected. Once he returned, he was overwhelmed with work at his farm. But his iron-willed mother would tolerate excuses no longer.

Tonight—come what may—they would waltz.

More than ever, Constance missed her sisters. Oh how she needed Patience on this day. The twins provided pleasant company, but she barely knew them on any sort of intimate level, and she could never speak to them of her past with their brother. She scanned the kitchen garden and beyond. At last, the person she sought sauntered into view, carrying a basket of laundry to the line.

“Martha! Martha!”

“Hey there, Miss Cavendish. What can I be helpin' you with?”

“I wondered if you might have a few moments to converse.”

“You sure is a heap o' trouble, miss.” Martha put her free hand to her hip and smiled. “You reckon this here laundry's gonna hang itself?”

“Of course, so silly of me.” Constance smiled in return. She hadn't been called a heap of trouble in years. It almost felt good to hear those words again. “Allow me to rephrase. Martha, could you please come help me arrange my hair for dinner?”

“Well, in that case, I'm sure the laundry could wait.” She laid the basket down near the clothes line and headed toward the house. After a moment, she disappeared through the back door.

Yes, Constance needed a friend.

Martha entered the room. “Let's get to it then. Sit.” She pointed to the vanity bench, and Constance hurried to oblige. Martha pulled pins from Constance's hair and let the red mass tumble down her back. “So what you be wantin' to talk about, miss.”

“I have a secret I simply must share with someone before I burst.”

Martha picked up the brush and began stroking. With her face angled in profile to the mirror, Constance could not decipher her reaction. As if on second thought, Martha paused to put the curling tongs in the fire, then returned. She stroked the brush through Constance's copper locks and caught her eye in the mirror. “And you want to share it with me…of all people? Not quite sure how I feel about that.”

“Well, what if we were to trade secrets?” Constance wiggled her brows with a hint of conspiracy.

“You're funny, Miss Cavendish.”

“I need to talk to someone. I miss my sisters, and I'm growing lonely here.” Constance flipped her bottom lip.

“If it's important to you, I suppose it'll be all right. I'll try to think up something good in return. That's assuming your secret is worth the effort.”

“Fair enough, for mine is quite monumental.” Constance winced as Martha fought through a tangle. “No one here is aware of this…but Mr. Montgomery…was once my beau.”

Martha dropped her arm. “No!”

“Yes, he courted me for months when I was sixteen years old, in Prince George County.”

“We always did figure that boy must be up to some mischief with all the traveling he did. Was it love?”

Constance blinked back tears. Why had she gone down this road? But she needed to let some of the pain escape before it tore her apart. “He promised he would marry me.”

“What happened?” Martha abandoned all pretext of styling her hair and wedged herself on the stool beside Constance, her knees to the opposite direction.

“He…” Constance's throat constricted. “He…” The words wouldn't come. Her shoulders began to shake and she crumpled into tears, sobbing into her hands.

Martha stayed by her side, rubbing her back and shushing her. “I can't believe it. Mr. Robbie done broke your heart.”

Constance nodded, her face still in her hands.

“And tonight you've got to dance with him again. Poor baby.”

She rested her head on Martha's firm shoulder and cried. Allowing her comforting croons to wash over her, Constance soaked in her presence for several moments.

Then she gathered herself together, sniffled, and stared at her moist hands. “For years I remained angry. Bitter. I convinced myself he left because we lost our fortune. But the Robbie I've seen here isn't like that at all. And I realized perhaps he turned me down because of things I said when my slaves ran away. But I didn't mean them, Martha. You must believe me.”

Martha pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to her. “I believe you, Miss Cavendish.”

“Please, call me Constance. I've covered your dress in my tears, after all.”

“So why did you come here m…Constance? You're rippin' yourself apart.”

“Because I love my family more than I love myself. I needed the job to support them.”

“Mercy! What you gonna do tonight?” Martha stood and gathered the curling tongs.

“Steel my heart as always, I suppose.”

“I'll be prayin' for you.” Martha separated a lock of hair and twisted it about the tongs.

“Martha, have you ever been in love?”

Martha chuckled. “Hmm, I don't think you earned that big a secret.”

Constance pouted in the mirror.

Martha swatted her shoulder. “I'm just jokin' with you. I think I might be in love with Josiah, a field hand over at the Sugarbaker plantation.” Her smile implied serenity. Something in the way she crooned his name told Constance the woman was indeed in love.

“So what happens now? Can you be together?”

“Well, first we want to make sure we're certain. Don't want to cause a ruckus over nothin'. But once we're decided, I'm sure Mr. Beaumont and Mr. Sugarbaker will work out some agreement. We've always been allowed friendships with the Sugarbaker servants, we bein' next door neighbors and all.”

“I see. I hope you meet with success.”

“Me too. He's one handsome buck.” Martha moved to another curl. “Skin like molasses, muscles 'til tomorrow. White teeth like a flock of sheep. Tall as a tree, that one is. And smart too. I've been learnin' him how to read, and he picks it up right quick.”

“He sounds like a dream.”

“That he is, Miss Constance. That he is.” Martha mused for a while in silence as she continued to work the curling tongs through Constance's hair.

After a few moments she spoke again. “Too bad you and Mr. Robbie can't get along. He's about given up on a family, I hear. None of those society girls want him now that he's let his slaves go free. You're just the kind of woman he needs.”

“And so we've come back to Robert Montgomery. Isn't it bad enough that I have to dance with him tonight?”

“You can do this, Miss Constance. You can do all things through Christ who strengthens you.”

She hoped so. Still, she couldn't bear to tell Martha the worst of it, of the waltz in Robbie's arms on that fateful night. “Would you pray with me, Martha?”

Martha set down the tongs and wiped her hands on her apron. “Sure enough, I will.” She sat next to Constance again and took pale hands in her dark ones. They bowed red and brown heads together as one and prayed for strength and mercy, but most of all for God's will to be done in their lives.

* * *

Patience and Mr. Franklin lingered over their tea after dinner. Mother had fairly dragged the reluctant Felicity from the room to allow them a few moments to chat. Patience glanced at him over her cup. Although he'd come by on several occasions since her disastrous attempt at flirtation, tonight he looked directly at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“You have lovely eyes, Miss Cavendish. I don't think I've ever taken note of the color before. A sort of amber brown, would you say?”

“Yes. Thank you for noticing.”

“That dimple on your right cheek is quite fetching. And I've been admiring your hair as well this evening. It is indeed an appealing shade of ginger, as you claimed.”

“Well, as Constance mentioned, she held the nickname long before I had the hair.”

“I apologize, Miss Cavendish…May I call you Patience? Miss Cavendish seems so formal under the circumstances.”

“Of course. If I may call you Thaddeus.”

“I would like that very much. As I was saying, Patience, I apologize for the awkwardness between us. It's come to my attention that perhaps the other evening you were…that is, might have been…I mean to say…” Those adorable spots of pink filled his cheeks.

“Yes, Thaddeus, I was trying to flirt with you. Although, it is evident I failed miserably at the task.”

“Never say so! It is I who failed. Who failed to notice that Constance was not the only Cavendish woman of significant charm. We have so much in common. I've always spoken to you like I would a college chum. As I considered the matter, I realized what a strong basis this might make for a relationship.”

Patience took another sip of tea to brace herself.

“And as I've watched you this evening, I realized for the first time—dunderhead that I am—how incredibly beautiful you are.” He gazed into her eyes, causing her to shiver.

Now Patience felt a flush rising toward
her
cheeks. “Thaddeus, I don't know what to say.” Her lashes fluttered of their own accord. She sat down her cup to give him her full attention.

“Nor do I, Miss Cavendish. This is new to me and quite an adjustment to my thinking.”

Patience brushed her fingers across her collarbone without understanding why.

Thaddeus took her hand in his. “I still have strong affections for your sister. I must be honest about that.”

Her heart clutched, and she turned down her gaze. He tipped her chin up with his fingers. “But wait. I do still have feelings for her, but I find I have much affection for you as well. A different sort of affection, but one based on fact and reason rather than fancy. This is even better, don't you think? And possibly the basis for something quite substantial?”

She nodded, losing herself in the depths of his earnest brown eyes. “Exactly. Can you imagine? We could discuss science every evening for the rest of our lives.”

“Theories of energy.”

“The stars.”

“Not to mention…deist philosophy.” His voice lowered as he said it, turning the words into an unexpected endearment.

“Yes, don't you see how well we suit?”

“In truth, Patience, I don't know how I ever missed it.” He drew her hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon the back of it.

Patience's first real kiss. Warm and soft. If Patience were a kitten, she would purr right now. But instead, she held her hand to her heart. She would not wash it for days.

“I will strive to overcome these feelings for your sister and focus only upon you. I can make no promises, for that mythical heart is a fickle organ, but I believe my higher resolve will prevail.”

Patience almost shrieked in protest.

He brushed a finger down the side of her cheek. “And your magnificent eyes shall no doubt speed the process.”

At that she smiled. She could not expect miracles, but tonight she had taken significant strides toward achieving her goal.