Wild, Beautiful, and Free(49)

“Clear and calm,” she said as she looked through the panes. “Mr. Colchester has a good day ahead of him for his travels.”

“He’s gone? Where?”

“Oh yes, he set off early this morning. Didn’t even take breakfast.” She seemed to think this was the most natural thing in the world, so much so that she left out the information I most wanted. I repeated my question.

“Where did he go?”

“Well, of course the news is more alarming every day. And poor Mr. Lincoln hasn’t even taken office yet. Christian has gone to gather our friends. It’s about time we get ready before a battle is on our doorstep.”

“Who are our friends?” In all the time I’d been at Fortitude, I’d never experienced a visitor.

“They haven’t assembled here for some time. Christian prefers to travel to them and stay at their homes. Now it has to be different.”

“Why is that?”

“The factory is supplying the Union Army. It will be protected from attack, and Fortitude as well. Naturally this would be the safest place to organize support operations.”

“Who will come?”

“There’s Mr. Parma. He owns a large farm about ten miles north of here. His son Nicholas runs it with him. Mr. Ingram, the Eshtons, the Morgans. And of course, Mr. Chamberlain. His son is Joseph and his daughter is Belinda. Christian has been fond of her for quite a while now.”

I felt the blood drain away from my face. “He has?”

“Oh yes.” Missus Livingston now opened the newspaper and perused the articles. “When he’s gone for any length of time, that’s usually where you can find him.”

“What is Miss Chamberlain like? You’ve seen her?”

“Oh yes. We’ve known the family for three or four years, and they’ve been here for Christmas parties. She is a beauty, very intelligent too.”

Of course she was. My heart seemed to sink in my chest. “What does she look like?”

“She is tall with a long, graceful neck and a lovely, fair complexion. She is blonde and wears the most beautiful trinkets in her hair to accentuate the color. One Christmas she had a blue rose pinned to her plaits in the back. Her eyes are a very dark blue. You’d almost think they were black until you see her up close.”

“And he admires her?”

“Who wouldn’t? She’s such a capable young woman. Captivating too. She’s run her father’s household since her mother died. Belinda wasn’t yet sixteen.”

“Why is she still unmarried?”

“Christian has been slow footed, to be sure. But he’s matured so much recently. And the war will nudge him to be quick.”

“Perhaps there’s a great difference in age?”

“No, they are contemporaries. Christian is nearing thirty; she is but twenty-five.”

“An equal match in every way, then?”

“Yes. And he will make it. But you’ve eaten nothing. Are you really all right? Should I call for the doctor?”

“No, Missus Livingston, I am fine. I just want tea for now. May I have another cup?”

Alone in my room, I reviewed what Missus Livingston had told me and turned the facts over and over in my mind. Then I recalled what I had felt only the previous evening—the hope, the sense of joy and possibility. I had to admit I had indulged in my fondness for Mr. Colchester even longer—almost a year! I was mortified. How had I duped myself so well?

To think that I could influence him, please him, amuse him—I blushed with shame. And even if he did have some interest in me, what could it be beyond mentoring me as though I were a pet? He could never marry me, a penniless girl of mixed blood. I could barely hold that sentence in my head. And he would be well aware of these differences, would never have intended to inspire my affection. I obviously wasn’t and so had read him all wrong. Madness! That must be my excuse. Madness and loneliness. God, how pitiful!

The blonde features of Belinda Chamberlain haunted my thoughts. I walked up and down my room, berating myself. I stopped in front of the mirror and surveyed my image. I wore a simple dress of linsey-woolsey, not unlike the dress Aunt Nancy Lynne had once made for me. My hair, which tended to look more brown than red in the winter, was pulled back into a plain bun at the nape of my neck. Nothing obscured the freckles dotting the sides of my face unless I wore a bonnet. Missus Livingston had called Miss Chamberlain capable. I envisioned a strong young woman, not unlike the abolitionists I had met in Philadelphia and in New York. A beauty who could lead people, who could give orders in a household and have them followed to the letter. The perfect partner for Mr. Colchester. I could see her living under the roof of Fortitude Mansion, hosting parties when they were in residence, and accompanying him on his travels to New York or even to Europe.

I had been Jean Bébinn’s daughter. Now I was a simple schoolteacher with few friends and no prospects. I would always be a stranger no matter where I went. This thought made me open the drawer of my bureau and hold the stone from Catalpa Valley in my hand. Here was another split, for the ground the stone had come from would soon be no longer a part of the country in which I stood. I allowed myself a few tears. If I’d ever held the tiniest hope of seeing Petite Bébinn, its small bright candle had been snuffed out. I slipped the stone into my pocket so I could reach for it and its consolation when I needed it.