Wild, Beautiful, and Free(35)

Though there was still some daylight remaining when Missus Livingston left me alone, I decided to leave a walk around the grounds to another time. I was exhausted, and being alone in the well-appointed room made me loath to leave it. I sat on the bed, decorated with magnificent blue curtains, and the relief of such comfort brought tears to my eyes. I slid down to my knees by the bed and prayed out my immense gratitude. I felt heartened that whatever force had brought me safely to this place would continue to guide my heart and soul. It didn’t take long to unpack my few dresses. I removed a small box in which I placed my Catalpa Valley stone at the end of each day. I still carried it with me, though I had no thoughts about if I would ever see Papa’s land again. But the stone reminded me of Dorinda and Calista and the love of my papa. I undressed and fell asleep before the sun had fully set.

When I awoke, I realized my room faced east. The sun shone brightly between the blue chintz window curtains and warmed the beautiful oriental carpet on the floor. I was simply happy. My surroundings inspired me, and I was thrilled by not knowing what the day would bring. All would be new.

I rose and washed in the basin by my bedside. I put on my gray dress—it was simple and neat, and I thought it seemed like schoolteacher attire. It had always been my sense that I could look neat and mindful of my appearance. On a good day, I might even consider myself pretty. And I wanted to please, which was a fancy of my young heart. I brushed my hair and pinned it up in my usual way. I straightened up my bed and looked around the room to make sure all was in order. When it seemed satisfactory, I went out to make my way downstairs.

My curious surroundings kept my head turning with my every step. A large bronze chandelier hung from the ceiling over the hall; an enormous black clock that I hadn’t noticed the day before solemnly ticked; paintings of landscape scenes decorated the walls. I pulled the front door open and stepped outside. It was a fine morning with a slight crispness that hinted at autumn’s slow approach. I crossed the drive and onto the lawn so I could study the house more closely. The castle-like details I’d noticed yesterday and the stone made the mansion seem larger than it really was. While it was three stories high and very grand, one could see that it was a house and not a school or some other institution. And for that reason it had a kind of warmth. I turned around and took in the view from the hill. I wondered if it was the view from my dream months before. Indeed there was a river and a bucolic aspect. It was so much pleasanter than the dirty bustle of New York City. I appreciated the seclusion of this place and opened my arms wide as if to embrace it. Once the leaves from the surrounding trees fell, I guessed, the view would be even broader. In the distance I saw what must be the little village. Its roofs mingled with the trees and straggled down toward the river. A wonderful breeze came up from the water, and I enjoyed the feel of it on my face.

“What! Up already?” I turned to see Missus Livingston at the door. “I see you are an early riser, like I am. But you went to bed very early and had no supper. Come to breakfast; you must be hungry.”

In the hall she put an arm around me, as though we’d been friends for years, and asked, “How do you like Fortitude?”

“It’s so beautiful,” I said. “I never imagined I would be in such a lovely place.”

“Yes,” she said, “it is quite lovely. But it would be a good deal livelier if Mr. Colchester would make up his mind to be here more often and socialize in the neighborhood as a young man of his station should. If we were to have a big affair now, I don’t know how we would handle it. There’s not enough staff, and I fear the kitchen is out of practice feeding such a crowd.”

“Who is Mr. Colchester?”

“Why, he owns Fortitude,” she responded quietly. “He is the one who sold Belle Meade, founded the village, and moved its population here from Louisiana.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Reverend Bell didn’t tell you about him?”

“No. I’ve only known your name. I thought you were the proprietress.”

“No, dear. Mr. Colchester brought me on after he moved here. I was housekeeper for the longest time for a family in Dayton proper. But since my husband died, I’d been wanting a quieter servitude.”

“I see.” Perhaps this Mr. Colchester would be the severe person. He paid my salary and would soon make it known what was expected of me.

After we had breakfast, Missus Livingston and I boarded the carriage, and Stephen drove us down the road two miles or so to the village.

“It’s called Lower Knoll,” she told me. “It’s about five years old. Most of the attention, as you can imagine, has been spent on building housing and then town necessities. They only got to the school this past year. But even now some supplies must come from elsewhere. It’s not self-sufficient just yet.”

Lower Knoll, from what I could see, consisted of a single long street with small houses dotting the surrounding land. One tiny side street led to a small clapboard edifice. The carriage stopped there.

“Here, Miss Bébinn, is your school.”

I left the carriage, took in the sight, and found myself whispering under my breath, “My school.”

Inside, the large room featured a wood-burning stove in the center. There was a chalkboard on the wall at one end and student desks of various sizes arranged in rows. My desk was to one side, underneath one of the long windows. Primer books were stacked on the desk, but a few shelves were nailed to the walls, and more books, I saw, could live there.