Promise Bridge (16 page)

“Hear, hear,” Colonel Richards bellowed shortly after our guests were directed to the dining room. “Let us raise a toast to Augusta, our gracious and generous hostess.”

A wave of champagne flutes rose in Aunt Augusta’s direction, but she was engrossed in a conversation with Uncle Mooney at the far corner of the room. When she noticed the revelers awaiting her acknowledgment, she nodded her head stiffly and offered a thin smile, allowing her guests to return to the festivity and find their appointed seats around the expansive oak table set with hand-painted china and brass candelabras. It was odd that Aunt Augusta did not say a few words in honor of her guests. The pre-dinner toast was traditionally her moment to bask in the admiration of her peers, so her obvious distraction unnerved me. I had noticed her moments earlier when Uncle Mooney initially cornered her near the windows as they were leaving the parlor. When they glanced in my direction, I sensed a shift in Aunt Augusta’s demeanor. I had taken great care in avoiding Uncle Mooney since his arrival, and when our paths inevitably crossed near the cider bowl, his amused expression showed no sign of shame or humility with regard to the transgression I had witnessed weeks earlier.

“Good evening, Hannalore,” he said, his lips curling in contempt. “You appear more a proper young lady than the last time I was in your presence.”

My only recourse was to hold my head high and deny him the satisfaction of seeing me flush in defense. To my surprise, a little of Livie’s spunk surfaced in me. “As you look more a gentleman.” I smiled, feigning pleasantness. “That is, with your britches drawn and buttoned.”

I was proud I had absorbed some of what I admired in Livie, and the ruffled expression on Uncle Mooney’s face was worth whatever consequence would follow. He stormed away, leaving me amused until regretful afterthoughts began poking at me. Uncle Mooney would not allow my comments to pass without consequence, and his response would be swift. I was not fearful of any discomfort he could cause me, but what if he chose to strike out at me through the people I cared about most in life?

With the exception of Colt, no one else in the room seemed to notice the lack of usual fanfare accompanying the toast. Even his reaction was a mere shrug as he slid my chair beneath me as I sat down. If Twitch had his way, he would have laid claim to the seat at my right, but Colt politely guarded the chair as his own. Not one to abide by manners, Colonel Richards dropped himself onto the chair to my left, forcing Twitch across the table and two table settings down, a comfortable distance for me to enjoy my meal.

Esther Mae, Livie, and Fatima, dressed in matching gray dresses, served each course beginning with smoked quail and bread pudding. The three servants floated like wisps of smoke through a room filled with dismissive glances. I smiled and played my part as expected, all the while disengaged from the conversation humming around me so I could watch Fatima serve the far end of the table, where Aunt Augusta, Uncle Mooney, and the elders of the gathering talked of their bountiful year. Uncle Mooney did not so much as look up when Fatima placed a slice of quail in front of him. Outside Mud Run, she did not exist to him. However, gauging from the clenched muscles along Fatima’s tight jawline, Uncle Mooney was a reality she could never deny. My gaze followed Fatima as she continued to move from guest to guest. Suddenly, like a monocle held up to an unfocused eye, my course of vision locked onto Aunt Augusta’s glare as Fatima passed behind her. My heart quaked as Aunt Augusta’s disapproval blazed toward me across the length of the table. I flushed from its red-hot intent and quickly averted my eyes in escape.

“You have not eaten one bite, Miss Blessin’,” Colonel Richards said, leaning heavily on his elbow and providing me a welcomed shield. “Is the meal not to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, it is splendid indeed, Colonel. I suppose all the holiday excitement has me a bit squeamish.”

“I declare, you and Augusta are spoiled by Granny Morgan’s fine cookin’. If you ever had to suffer through a meal at the hands of my kitchen wench, you would gobble up these delectable morsels like the Last Suppa.”

The Moffett sisters, who were placed one on each side of Twitch, giggled incessantly at the Colonel’s droll remarks. They fluttered their eyelashes and flashed their equine teeth, to his delight. As I watched the flirtatious ritual play out, I noticed Twitch eyeing Livie like a hawk circling an innocent field mouse. He followed the curve of her body as she moved around the table, clearing plates. When she slipped alongside him to reach for an empty bowl, he discreetly leaned into her so his cheek brushed her upper torso and breast as she backed away. The move was so slick it would have been missed, even by me, had I not been watching him so closely. Livie froze. She kept her eyes fixed on the plate in her hands, her instincts warning her not to look in the direction of an overseer. She hesitated for one perplexing second, as if reckoning whether the contact was deliberate or incidental. I could not read her conclusion, because her face was vacant like that of Fatima’s the night I saw Uncle Mooney on top of her. Livie shifted the plates in her hands and moved on. Twitch bantered with the colonel about who was the better marksman, and just as I was about to give him the benefit of the doubt, I caught him take a glimpse at Livie as she disappeared into the kitchen.

“Miss Blessin’, your aunt informs me she would like to expand your education.”

“Pardon me?” I was so intent on Twitch, I did not realize Colonel Richards was speaking to me.

“Pardonez-moi, s’il vous plait,”
he said playfully. All I could do was stare at him, completely befuddled. “The words are French, my dear,” he continued after draining his glass of sherry. “The language of love. The refined young ladies of Richmond speak it fluently. My cousin from Carolina happens to be one of the most elite French tutors east of the Smoky Mountains. He is in high demand for his talents, but as a favor to your aunt, I agreed to ask him to consider an extended visit to Virginia.”

“You are ever so kind, Colonel, although I hope Aunt Augusta allows me some opinion in the matter.”

The colonel’s brows drew together like heavy drapes as he studied my indifferent countenance and contemplated if my answer was designed to offend him. It was, of course, and hopefully enough to steer his attention elsewhere. Fortunately, his thoughts ran as deep as rain on a tin roof, so with an unshaken grin, he nodded. “Indeed.”

“Oh, Colonel,” the Moffett sisters chimed from across the table. “We would love to study with your French-speaking cousin.” The colonel quickly lapped up their attention until his amused expression turned to boredom. He politely disengaged from them by striking up a conversation with Twitch.

“Mister Grayson, have you had any rewardin’ adventures of late?”

Twitch eased his beet red lips from his glass of sherry and grinned. “Wrangled a dozen head over in Kentucky last month. Me and the hounds cut ’em off less than a mile from the banks of the Ohio. Dragged ’em back to their rightful owner and earned a hefty reward for my trouble.”

“Well done,” the colonel said, raising his glass. “As someone who spends time near the northern border, can you tell us if there is any truth to the rumors of confrontation between abolitionists from the North and Southern militia? I thought once the outrageous business with Dred Scott was settled, all this Northern interference would end.”

“Them Yankee meddlers will have war before they have our colored.” Twitch smirked.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Aunt Augusta’s voice rose as she tapped a fork rapidly against her glass. “Perhaps a change in dinner conversation is in order. I find pondering such notions in mixed company distasteful. This is a holiday celebration, so I insist you respect the occasion and confine your business discussions in the parlor amid after-dinner cigars.”

“My apologies, Augusta,” Colonel Richards offered with a contrite wave of his hand. “You are correct in remindin’ us of the delicate ears present that should not be exposed to such coarse subject matter. Please accept my apology as well, ladies.”

With a flutter of their powdered eyes, the Moffett sisters fawned forgiveness all over him, and by the time the main course was served, they were once again vying for the colonel’s attention with renewed excitement. Livie came through the kitchen doors, balancing a silver platter of fresh ham and fixings. She was followed by Esther Mae carrying a tray with crystal bowls overflowing with squash, turnips, and stewed okra. Fatima tagged behind with a large dish of sweet potatoes. After placing the ham at the center of the table, Livie moved about serving our guests, all the while carefully avoiding coming too near to Twitch. I was relieved when Genevieve Moffett had a momentary coughing fit, because when Twitch turned to offer her a glass of water, Livie jumped at the opportunity to reach over and put a generous slice of shank on his plate and then quickly move farther down the table. Balancing her tray in the hand nearest me, Esther Mae stepped between my chair and the colonel’s.

“Do not be light- handed, woman,” he said. “This is the meal I dream of throughout the year.”

“Same goes for me, girl,” Twitch barked at Livie. “Bring that juicy ham closer and dish me some more.”

Livie hesitated, as if considering reaching across Genevieve to serve him. Esther Mae must have read her mind, because even though they were forbidden to speak while serving dinner, Esther Mae cleared her throat, abruptly stopping Livie before she did something foolish. Livie’s shoulders rounded in obedience. The silence forced upon my friend lit a fire in me.

Jovial compliments of the fine cooking and the abundance of food provided by Aunt Augusta faded into the background as my eyes moved with Livie when she came around and stepped between Genevieve and Twitch. If not for the angle of my seat to where she stood, I would have been oblivious to Twitch’s shrewd assault. He slouched back on his chair, letting his hand fall to his side, and as Livie leaned toward his plate, his hand reached under the hem of her dress and slowly moved up her leg in search of more. Livie’s eyes widened, and a torch of outrage ignited me. I sprang from my seat, driving my shoulder up under Esther Mae’s outstretched arms with enough force to knock the bowl of squash from the platter and send it tumbling through the air until it flopped directly onto Twitch’s lap.

He released Livie with a bellow and jumped to his feet. “You dim-witted fool!”

“I’s sorry, Marse,” Esther Mae cried out, steadying the other two bowls before they met the same fate as the squash. “I is clumsy is all.”

“It is not Esther Mae’s fault, Twitch,” I intervened. “A mouse must have come in from the pantry. I panicked when it scurried across my foot. Thank goodness Esther Mae saved the other bowls from spilling as well.”

“Child, my patience is at its end,” Aunt Augusta hissed from behind me. “Go get a facecloth from the basin in your room so Twitchell can clean himself up. Livetta, wipe up that mess and fetch a new bowl of squash.”

I glanced at Livie, whose shocked expression was about to give way to laughter. I rushed around the table to escape the room as quickly as possible. Livie picked the bowl off the floor, and as she turned for the kitchen, we brushed at the elbow.

“You is a sharpshooter, crazy girl,” she whispered from the corner of her mouth. It was all we could do to contain our chuckles as we separated and exited through opposite entrances of the room.

By the time I returned with the moistened facecloth, Twitch was in the parlor, cussing and grumbling as he tried to make himself presentable. He snatched the cloth from my hand and scrubbed at the rusty stain that darkened the crotch of his pantaloons.

“You don’t seem too sorry,” he said, his dead eye squinted in anger. “Almost seems like you done it on purpose.”

“Now, Twitchell Grayson, whatever would make me do such a thing?”

Twitch glared at me and shoved the cloth back at me. “Don’t think I ain’t watchin’ you and your uppity colored girl. The both of you need to learn your place. You ain’t better than me. We is all the same . . . you, me, and your fancy Purebred. So ya’ll better start showin’ me proper respect, or ya’ll will get more than you bargained for.”

I stood my ground in spite of the apprehension his raw anger stirred in me. “Don’t you threaten me, Twitch.”

“Oh I don’t waste time threatenin’, girl. I get right to the business of doin’. And nobody gets spared once I been pushed too far. You best remember that.”

Chapter 17

T
he remainder of the evening was a blur, as the tide of my family turned against me. I was no longer a little girl scolded by a coldhearted aunt. I was a young woman whose thoughts and actions were judged and condemned based on the social structure in which I was raised. It would not be tolerated.
I
would not be tolerated if I defied their will and expectations.

I retired from the party and sought sanctuary in my room. The hallway leading to my chambers was tomblike without the usual glint of light glowing along the doorframe of Aunt Augusta’s bedroom. She somehow managed denying me even this small measure of comfort when I needed it most. The moon grayed within a murky haze. From my window, everything beyond the light streaming from the downstairs windows was dark and cold. The lanterns near the gate remained unlit, an oversight for which Winston would be called to task. The rise and fall of a waltz in the rooms below me could not be silenced by the feathered pillow I pressed over my head. So I wrapped myself in my covers and let the music rock me like a boat riding the crests of a stormy river, until sleep pulled me to safe harbor.

“Is you sleepin’, Hannah?”

A gentle tug of my blankets coaxed me awake. Livie sat on the edge of the bed, bathed in the glow of a candle she cupped with her hand. The stillness of the room marked the late hour.

“Has the gala ended?”

“The last of ’em been gone fo’ a spell now. Esther Mae and me jes’ finished gettin’ things back in order.”

I paused for moment in queasy disgust. “He had no right doing that to you.”

“He may not have the right,” she said, growing tense. “But he sure do hold the power.”

The flicker of candlelight across Livie’s face accentuated her strain. I was ashamed I could not offer argument. I had let myself believe I was providing her a wonderful life. However, the events of the evening made it clear that in spite of my good intentions, Livie was still denied the most basic of human entitlements, protection and dignity being the most obvious at the moment. No words could change the reality of this truth, and I did not want to make light of her feelings by filling the moment with contrite and awkward sentiment. I simply reached out and stroked her cheek until she rested her head on my shoulder.

“Will you stay here with me tonight? I am concerned you may not be safe down at the cabin. It’s clear Twitch had a bellyful of whiskey and a filthy mind for you.”

Livie nodded and knelt to the floor to pull out the trundle bed. “Don’t bother with that. Just crawl under the bedcovers with me.”

“Miz ’Gusta ain’t gonna like this none,” Livie quipped, climbing into bed without hesitation. “I s’pose the worst that could happen is she’ll have my hide. Rather it be in her hands than that one-eyed, bony-ass piece of manure.”

In unison, we yanked the covers over our heads to muffle our burst of laughter. As so often happened, Livie’s humor lightened the problems at hand. My worries receded into the darkness as we nestled together and let the world fall away for the night. Having worked all day, Livie drifted off in three slow blinks of an eye. I rolled on my side to face her and marveled at the composure and strength she exuded even in sleep. Having soaked her into me all these months, I had grown and awakened in ways that caused me tormented confusion. Not confusion rooted in ignorance and naïveté, but rather confusion brought by truth. I had questions whose traditional answers deserved rejection and challenge. Within my heart and soul, there had been a natural and still-evolving enlightenment. It could not, and perhaps should not, be stifled in secrecy forever. However, the morbid danger for everyone involved was imminent and undeniable. A chill tingled across my skin, so I pushed my worries back before they could take hold. I tucked the blankets snug around us and started to sink into sleep when a thought popped into my mind.

“Livie, are you asleep?”

Livie’s eyes fluttered but remained closed. “I’s sleepin’ all right, and havin’ a fitful dream that I is a tuckered-out hornet and some crazy fool is whuppin’ my hive with a hickory switch.”

“What if this crazy fool had a present for the ornery ol’ hornet?”

“Did I say hornet?” Livie smiled as she propped up on her elbow to see if I was serious. “What I meant to say was honeybee.”

“What utter hogwash.” I laughed. “And if you try to soft-soap me by saying I am a delicate flower in this dream, I will toss you from this bed immediately.”

“Nah,” she snickered. “You ain’t no flower, jes’ the same crazy fool.”

I crossed my arms and feigned insult, but my excitement kept me from playing too long. I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.

“Since you will spend most of Christmas Day with James and the Runians, I want to give you a gift tonight. A special gift from me to you.”

I went to the drawer of my dresser and pulled a small box tied with ribbon from beneath my lace handkerchiefs. When I turned back, Livie was out of bed with her arm shoved under the mattress. She ran her hand back and forth until it emerged holding a leather pouch no larger than a plum that was tied with a thin length of rawhide.

“I gots a present fo’ you too. Hope you don’t mind me hidin’ it here in the big house, but with Massa Reynolds prowlin’ around the cabin, I thought it was right smart to leave it here fo’ safekeepin’.”

“Livie, I am so touched.” I took the pouch from her outstretched hand and replaced it with the box I had taken from my dresser. I brushed my fingertips to her cheek and softly placed a kiss on the other. “You are the best and dearest friend I could ever hope to have.”

Tears sparkled in our eyes as we opened our gifts. I loosened the rawhide around the pouch and folded back the leather. Inside was a homemade yet magnificent ring designed from a molded iron nail. At the center, where the head of the nail spread flat, was an etching of a tiny heart, one half darkened with what looked like copper and the other half paled by a speck of silver.

“Livie, it is so beautiful.” She glowed with pride seeing me overcome with warm emotion.

“ ’Tain’t fanciful, but I made it myself. James helped me shape it down at the blacksmith shop. I used a nail to scrape out the heart and smoothed it with an oilcloth fo’ weeks.” She touched a delicate finger to the bicolor heart, then looked up into my overflowing eyes with softness and sincerity. “It’s our hearts together like one, ’cuz that’s how we is, you and me.”

I put my arms around her and held her close. “I love it, Livie, just as I love you. And I will treasure it always and forever.” I held Livie for a precious moment until my eagerness got the better of me.

“Now open your gift, Liv.”

Livie cradled the box like a child would a fallen robin’s egg. With gentle rotation, she examined it from every side. “I never had anything so wondrous meant fo’ me.”

“Well, open it, silly girl, and see what is inside.”

She looked at me with shimmering innocence, not wanting to spoil the neatly tied ribbon. I smiled at her pure appreciation. Helping her, I tugged the end of the ribbon, letting it unravel from the box.

“See,” I said, tying it at the root of one of her braids. “You can save this and wear it in your hair.”

Livie ran her fingertips down the length of it and smiled. I was ready to burst when she finally lifted the top from the box. Her gasp was so expansive, it caught in her throat. She pressed her hand against her breast, as if keeping her heart from tumbling out. With eyes growing twice in size, she stared, enthralled by the ring. Tears as big as droplets in an April shower were running down her cheeks by the time her eyes came to mine. Her lips trembled to speak, but the unspoken words flowing between us said all that needed saying.

Livie slipped her ring on and held it up for us both to admire. I slid mine on as well, and reached up to bridge our ringed hands together. I whispered, “The best gift of all is that you and I feel the same about our friendship and thought to express it in the same way.”

Livie’s tears turned to laughter. I began laughing as well, but had no idea why.

“Esther Mae is right. We
is
the two craziest gals in all o’ Virginny.” I could not help chuckling at Livie’s amusement, even though it masked the serious truth behind the giggle.

“What is so crazy about two friends showing their care for one another?”

“We is crazy ’cuz we is cryin’ buckets over rings we can’t never wear.” She laughed harder. “ ’Tain’t a soul, white nor colored, would think I came by a piece o’ fine jewelry in a right and honest way. Knowin’ each other has changed you and me, but the other folks round here is the same, and as mean as they always been. You heard the talk downstairs about marauders and war. The world is more hateful every day.”

I had been so caught up in the sentiment the rings represented it had not occurred to me they would likely bring damnation as monumental as the mountains around us. Livie was right. She would be whipped without question. Or worse. Certainly Aunt Augusta would retrieve and dispose of any evidence with the potential of soiling my reputation, and hers by association. Yet Livie and I vowed we would not be parted from our precious keepsakes.

“I got an idea,” Livie said, taking the strip of rawhide that had tied the pouch she had given me. She removed the ring from her finger and threaded the rawhide through it. With a look of pure satisfaction, she tied it around her neck, then dropped the ring inside the collar of her dress. “Out o’ sight, but close at heart.”

Following her lead, I went to the jewelry box on my night table and rummaged through its contents, pushing hairpins and brooches aside until I saw the glimmer of a simple gold necklace coiled in the corner. I lifted it out and let it dangle like a strand of hair in front of me.

“It was my mother’s,” I whispered reverently.

She took the necklace from me as I removed my ring. Once it was threaded, Livie hooked the clasp at the back of my neck. I held the ring entwined with my mother’s necklace and was dizzied by a swirl of emotion. Livie loosened the first few buttons of my nightgown, then took the ring and dropped it inside. I smiled at her as I watched how tenderly she handled both the ring and the necklace.

“Always close at heart,” I whispered.

We crawled back into bed, drained from the highs and lows of the day. We curled and faced each other with heavy eyes. My last recollection was of Livie brushing her hand across her chest until her fingers found and outlined the ring beneath her clothes. I did the same, tucking away the worry of what would become of us for another day.