Strands of Bronze and Gold (29 page)

Somehow I didn’t know where to look, so once again I focused on the dressing gown. I had done it. I must act happy now. But I wasn’t sure I could. I bit my lip. He drew one finger down my cheek.
“Why so serious,
mon mignon
? One would think we were discussing a funeral instead of our wedding.”

“I am only feeling a little—a little shy. I don’t really know how to go about being betrothed.”

“I shall have to teach you. For instance, it is customary to begin it with an embrace.”

Yes. You’ve had a good deal of experience with betrothals. This is your fifth time
.

He bent his head down and kissed me gently.

Behind him the face of Tara appeared. This time the lines were sharp and her still-burning vitality was evident, as if she were made of flesh. Her expression was clear. It was one of horror.

“It is also customary,” Bernard said, “to close your eyes while kissing.”

I closed my eyes.

Bernard arranged an expedition for that afternoon to the top of a hill on the far side of the parkland. He wished to make the announcement of our betrothal to my family at that place, which was reputed to have a lovely vista.

As Bernard helped me into the carriage, my eyes met Garvey’s eyes. The groom scowled and turned away as he finished the harnessing. It was unpleasant to be hated, especially since Garvey seemed the sort of person who would find a way to take revenge. Especially if Bernard could not control him. I would have to carefully check Lily before riding her from now on.

No road led up the hill, and so we rattled off over rough ground. Bernard was in excellent spirits. He had a victorious air. He had triumphed.

I pushed up the sleeves of my gown and loosened my collar, as the weather was unseasonably warm.

“Imagine,” Anne said, “this is December, and I’m without a wrap.
Why, in Boston we’d be huddled by our fireside, and here we are picnicking! I’m growing fond of Mississippi weather.”

I missed the beautiful New England snow.

Only one gnarled, leafless oak grew on the crest of the hill, the tops of its branches clotted with mistletoe. The clumpy carpet of weeds around it was the color of lion’s fur. Acorns crunched beneath our feet once we abandoned the carriage and hiked to the pinnacle. We disturbed a flock of starlings covering the ground like black pepper. With a great beating of wings, they rose and flapped off, weaving in and out in strange undulations of flight patterns.

A crimson cloth had already been spread and cushions lay round about for us to sit upon. In the center of the cloth stood a chased silver samovar filled with fragrant, steaming-hot chocolate, while platters of fried chicken and catfish and ham, of biscuits and yams and gravy and peach pie were set out—a regular Southern feast. There were also a couple of dark bottles that Bernard drank from too frequently. He talked too loudly, smiled too broadly. He sat close, reaching out to stroke my hair, my cheek, my arm. I had to keep myself from cringing. I had to keep myself smiling.

My siblings watched his actions with interest. I inched away from him. He followed me. He plaited a wreath of burnished oak leaves and acorn-clustered twigs, and set it on my hair. “Behold our queen,” he announced, bowing to me with a flourish. “Is she not a ruddy beauty? Lithe and dainty, with hair the color of molten bronze.”

I peeked over at Harry. He choked back laughter. After all, Bernard was waxing lyrical about his sister Sophie, the one who tried to erase her sprinkling of freckles with Dew of Venus lotion.

“And,” Bernard continued, “today is a day for celebration. I am
proud to tell you all now that she is mine and mine alone. Your sister this morning agreed to become my wife!”

Only Junius seemed surprised by the news, and he recovered quickly. They all gave delighted murmurs.

“I’m hoping Bernard and I will find you all spouses and careers down here,” I said. “So we can live close to each other and our children”—here I flushed a little—“will grow up together.”

“Yes!” cried Anne. “That is exactly what I hope for.”

We were congratulated, and everyone drank a toast to our future. Bernard kept drinking after the toast ended. Eventually he set down his goblet (it fell over, and golden liquid spilled unnoticed by him onto the cloth), clapped his hands, and then George miraculously appeared from among a stand of trees lower down.

“Fetch my rifle,” he ordered. “I left it beneath a seat in the carriage.”

“What do you want with a gun?” I asked.

“You’ll see soon enough,” he said, “my inquisitive little fiancée.”

When George brought it, Bernard aimed the barrel up at the top of the oak tree. He fired with a crack that boomed like thunder and made me wince. Evidently he was trying to shoot down mistletoe, but his aim wobbled. A single, pale-berried sprig fluttered to the ground.

“Not much, but adequate for my purpose,” he said, and held it above my head. “Now a kiss.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Not in front of everyone.” I pulled away and edged toward Anne.

Bernard’s eyes narrowed and his expression darkened. “Come here, Sophia,” he said softly, through his teeth.

In order to avoid more of a scene, I obeyed him. He wrenched my arm behind my back and gave me loud, smacking kisses, smelling of spirits, starting at my lips, but then continuing down my throat. “This,” he hissed into my neck, “will teach you not to embarrass me.”

I shot a painful glance beyond Bernard’s head toward Anne and Junius and Harry. They pretended not to see the ugly little display, busying themselves with brushing crumbs from their laps.

How could I bear it?

I suddenly stared wide-eyed at the sky beyond them. A formidable wall of bruised, purplish black clouds rapidly approached.

We helped George gather up our picnic things and scurried into the carriage just as the storm broke with a deafening downpour. I pitied George and Samuel, the coachman, out in the deluge. Bernard drew the curtains, but the carriage bumped so from side to side as the coachman tried to drive swiftly that I peeped out. The rain blew in sheets; the horses reared and slipped and slid in water and mud. One of the horses fell to its knees, and my side of the carriage touched the ground, then sprang back up as the horse righted itself. I gave a little shriek, my sister shuddered, and Junius turned pale. We huddled together while Bernard and Harry laughed loudly at the good sport. We reached the abbey eventually, little the worse for wear.

That night Bernard presented me with a spectacular sapphire engagement ring, edged with ice-bright diamonds. His arm went lightly around my waist, and he slipped the ring on my finger, holding my hand with deference, as though it were most precious and fragile. My arm still ached from when he had wrenched it.

In the days that followed, Ducky and Mr. Bass, who were in charge of the myriad of details involved in the Christmas ball preparations, scuttled about with a preoccupied air. A great deal of correspondence was necessary, as they must hire musicians and order lavish refreshments and oceans of alcohol, as well as send out invitations and receive responses. They must answer to their master if all was not perfection when the evening arrived. Invitations were addressed to all the “suitable” households in three counties. Ducky announced that at least we need not fear our ball would be poorly attended; the countryside was indeed curious about Wyndriven Abbey. The servants bustled to scrub and polish, and the kitchen was abuzz until late each night. The affair was to be held on December twenty-third, when there was predicted a full moon for lighting. This was essential, as the guests would arrive after dusk and leave again in the dark and have to travel through the forest with only the lanterns on their carriages.

Mme. Duclos arrived. She took up residence while she worked on our ball gowns. Although I already possessed one, created last summer, Anne and I sketched out our dream dresses for Mme. Duclos to bring to reality. It was delightful to have a sister with whom to share this fun. What was to be was to be, and I was determined to be a happy person even if my life wasn’t taking the turn I had hoped. Little things could still bring joy and comfort. There was still a sweetness in small pleasures.

As all this hummed in the background, Daphne, the flower fairy, hobbled about with her cane to supervise the decorations for the holidays at Wyndriven Abbey. They must be especially spectacular,
since they would festoon the ball as well. She had been drying flowers all the year to decorate for Christmas. The gentlemen cut boughs of waxy greens—holly and cedar and pine and magnolia. They carried them into the great hall in overflowing, fragrant baskets.

Daphne showed Anne and me how to tightly weave wreaths and garlands so they had almost a sculptural quality. Her artistic eye made our designs echo the architectural elements of the abbey—arches and round windows and moldings. We bejeweled them with holly berries, pinecones, dried flowers, lemons, limes, oranges, and scarlet satin bows. We spent two days at it, though our arms and hands became pricked and every part of us was sticky with sap. There was the banister of the grand staircase to twine with greenery, as well as so many doorways and columns and mantels and mirrors and paintings. I loved the atmosphere of the wildwood brought indoors, but as I worked, my left hand felt weighted by the great stone of my engagement ring.

I made a special wreath of juniper twined with silvery sage and misty blue berries to place around the neck of the stone angel beside the locked churchyard. She looked serene and mystical.

A mountain of Christmas gifts must be prepared for the Negroes at the plantation and for the house servants at the abbey. These included ells of calico and ready-made dresses and handkerchiefs and hats and vests and coats, along with packets of tin horns and popping crackers, candies and nuts and raisins for the children. Mr. Bass had done the purchasing, but we organized them. We wrapped the presents for the house servants in white paper with ribbons,
while the plantation gifts were piled in barrels and boxes to be taken there on Christmas morning.

The tapestry, which I had finally finished, was to be my Christmas gift to Bernard. As I spread it out before folding and wrapping, I hoped never to create another such design. All the while I had been jabbing my needle in and out, it had both driven and disturbed me.

“We have a surprise for you,” Bernard said one evening after Anne and I rejoined the gentlemen.

He led us to the drawing room and flung back the doors. My sister and I gasped with delight at the sight. A cedar tree stood on the marble-topped table in the center of the room, dazzling from the flames of a hundred waxen tapers wired to its branches. Sugar-frosted fruit and cornucopias of jewel-colored paper and tiny gilt baskets dangled from the limbs, heaped with nuts and sugarplums.

“I’ve learned of Christmas trees,” I cried, clapping my hands, “in the German stories I’ve read, but I had never hoped to see one. It’s a fairy tree.”

“Monsieur de Cressac is the genius behind this,” Harry said, “but Junius and I helped cut it and haul it in.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s lovely.”

Bernard beamed. “I have wanted one since the first example I saw in Germany, but you,
ma fille
, are the inspiration that finally made me carry out my plan. Tradition dictates we are to hold hands and dance and frolic about it, but perhaps we can sit on the sofas here to sing and admire the sight just as well.”

“You should see my arms,” Junius said. “We picked the prickliest tree in the forest.”

“Next time,” Bernard said, with his deep laugh, “we will borrow suits of armor from my collection for protection, eh? Not to mention swords to keep the fierce squirrels at bay. Who would have thought Christmas-tree harvesting could be wrought with peril?”

We began to speak over each other in our eagerness to spill out holiday memories.

“I can feel it!” I announced suddenly.

“Feel what?” Bernard asked.

“The Christmas-is-coming excitement. Every year I’m scared I won’t have it anymore, but I always do.”

“We used to tell Sophie,” Anne explained to Bernard, “that she’d better keep on believing in Santa Claus or he’d stop coming.”