Wild, Beautiful, and Free(53)

The elder Mr. Parma gave his son a hard, cold look, and the young man bowed his head slightly in Mr. Colchester’s direction.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I didn’t mean to offend.”

Mr. Colchester returned the bow. “I only meant to say some folks don’t know when they’re whipped. The South is full of them.”

Captain Morgan shook his head. “But if the fighting grows hot, come winter they will freeze—and starve. Their farms are planted with cotton and tobacco, unlike the bounty we enjoy here. We have the wheat and the corn.”

I had a thought in response, and it seemed like it walked through my mind and emerged from Mr. Colchester’s mouth:

“But the South has sugarcane,” he said. “Molasses, sweet flour, cane juice, soup, even rum. Not a good diet in the long term but enough to keep an army on its feet.”

“Colchester’s right,” said Mr. Morgan. “Our advantage lies in our factories, the ability to manufacture artillery, ammunition, footwear, and uniforms.”

Coffee was set out, and the ladies left their stations to fill their cups and join the men. Missus Livingston and two of the maids who came with the guests slipped in silently to replace them. No one took up Miss Chamberlain’s task, however, and I saw I would soon be done rolling the strips she had cut.

“How will you get your wares to the soldiers in the field?” Mr. Colchester asked Miss Belinda, who had taken a seat near him.

“Yes, they are hers, aren’t they?” Mr. Chamberlain beamed at his daughter. “For those of you who don’t know, my Belinda raised the funds for these provisions herself.”

“I suppose it is my duty, then, to see that they go to those who are intended to use them.” She swept an elegant arm through the air. “I will drive them to the battle lines myself if I must.”

“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.