Wild, Beautiful, and Free(54)

Mr. Colchester, though, had the advantage of free will. He chose to be close to this creature, to connect himself to her intimately. He must have perceived her faults as I did. I could have thought less of him—perhaps even should have thought less of him. If he were any other man, I would have. But for Mr. Colchester? I believe I grieved for him.

Another idea reached me as I opened the library door. What if he excused her faults because he loved her? I had been considering all the ways he could not possibly love her, standing in judgment as though I knew how love should operate.

But what do you know of love, Jeannette Bébinn?

I knew, and it pained me to think it, that love flourishes when it is least supposed to do so. Wasn’t that the story of my own parents? Had reason had any influence in that case? And love had made a great leap there, spanning a gap of race, position, morality, propriety. No such chasm existed between Mr. Colchester and Belinda Chamberlain. In fact, their match was sanctioned, perhaps even encouraged, by all around them. The path to love her was an easy one indeed.

Heartsick now, I entered the hall to carry my basket of bandages to the storage room. The basket was full, and in my haste, a few rolls of cloth fell out. I stopped to gather them up. I heard the door open again behind me and thought Missus Livingston or one of the other women would follow. I turned and was determined to make some sort of fake, cheerful comment, but the person who came out wasn’t a woman. It was Mr. Colchester.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I am well, sir.”

“I have not seen you since the fire. You’ve suffered no lingering effects from the smoke?”

“No, sir.”

“And the little girl?”

“Jelly is fine. She is in school and learns well, like all the other children.”

“Is that what you have been doing during my absence? Teaching at the school?”

I was confused by the question. What else would I be doing if not the job for which he employed me? I didn’t respond.

“Excuse me, Miss Bébinn, but you seem sad. If you are in good health, I cannot account for it. What is the matter?”

“The talk of the war, sir. It disheartens me.” A partial truth.

“Yes.” He nodded. “There are trying times ahead. But here, return to the library when you are done. The lively music may cheer you up.”

“I am tired, sir.”

“So much so that you would be on the verge of tears?”

I turned my head.

“All right. If I had time, we would both stay here and talk about Louisiana and what we hope to see there again. But I have guests to attend to. Put your things away and go to bed. We shall see what tomorrow brings. Good night, my dear friend.”





Chapter 10


Missus Livingston had been wrong about how long our visitors would remain. They slept only two nights at Fortitude. Each family had its own home to look after, duties to prepare for. But this didn’t mean they would be long absent from Mr. Colchester. There was much coming and going by the men, who would hole up in Mr. Colchester’s study for hours. When the women visited, I took care to be elsewhere. But this was easy to do. By April Lower Knoll was likewise busy, with the factory in full swing and the adults working in shifts around the clock. Every hand was needed. Even the smallest child could sort buttons or sweep a floor. I insisted my students spend something of every day, if not a proper school day, reading and practicing their lessons. However the world was changing, they would need some education—would need it more than ever. I stayed at the school so the children could come in when they were free. I asked for permission to take a screen from the mansion to be placed in a corner of the schoolroom. I put a cot behind it and took naps.

So much movement—so much life. In ordinary circumstances I would have described these days as merry. Fortitude was no longer quiet, no longer yawned with emptiness. But one day this activity was broken and silenced. I had gone up to the mansion to pack a basket of food for myself to take back to the school for dinner. I moved through the dining room and found Missus Livingston there along with Colonel Eshton, Mr. Colchester, and some of the servants. I was shocked by the sight because I’d heard no voices, nothing to signal the room was occupied. The colonel was in uniform and wore a saber at his side. Mr. Colchester paced the floor with his arms crossed, his brow clouded with thought.

“Come in, dear,” Missus Livingston said when she saw me.

“What has happened?”

“Fort Sumter has been fired upon. The president is calling for a militia to stop the insurrection.”

“Fort Sumter?”

“Yes. In South Carolina.”

South Carolina—the place where I’d feared to draw breath when Silas and I had traveled through its boundaries. This is the place, I thought. Here is where it begins.

“We must protect Washington, DC, and secure as much of Virginia as might be possible,” said Colonel Eshton. “I will rally troops at the river and hope to march east by the end of the month.”

“I will see what men can be spared here and join you at camp by June at the earliest.”

The colonel looked confused. He took Mr. Colchester by the elbow and moved him closer to the wall. He whispered, but I could hear his words.

“Christian, leave the men of Lower Knoll where they are. They are more valuable to the cause in the factory. The president didn’t say anything about the coloreds fighting.”