The Lady and the Officer (12 page)

After Madeline bid her cousin good night, she'd fallen into bed exhausted. However, her fatigue had nothing to do with the train ride from Washington. She wasn't accustomed to being polite for hours. Two years of widowhood had turned her into a semi-recluse. Now that she was part of a family again, that had to change. For the next two weeks, Madeline studied the Duncans' routines so she would no longer ask naive questions about the conventions of proper—and decidedly Southern—society.

Aunt Clarisa's excursions to the dressmaker consumed the better part of three days. First, they selected patterns and fabric from an impressive array. Next, they were measured down to the circumference of their wrists. Finally, Madeline had to try on every ready-made garment in the shop
because her new gowns wouldn't be finished for several weeks. Even the two she selected took a week to be altered.

Each afternoon when they returned from shopping, after being poked, prodded, and stuck with pins, Madeline collapsed onto a chaise, grateful for a few hours to nap or read in the garden. Had she been home in Pennsylvania, she would have chopped, peeled, and cooked in a never-ending cycle of meal preparation. Here, the Duncans had servants for the tedious chores.

Home… would she ever see Cashtown again?

More importantly, would she see James Downing again? Each night she struggled to remember details of his handsome face, the sound of his voice, and the touch of his hand. And each night it grew more difficult. She'd written three letters since arriving, but how did someone correspond with a corps commander of the Union Army?

Excuse me, Uncle John. Could you post these tomorrow on your way to President Davis's headquarters—the so-called White House of the Confederacy?

Dinner conversation often veered abruptly onto other subjects whenever her uncle or aunt realized she might be embarrassed or angered. Two sisters had grown up in the same household and ended up on different sides of a war. Aunt Clarisa's simple Pennsylvania childhood was buried under years of wealth and social position. She was as Southern as her penchant for grits instead of oatmeal, cornbread over sourdough, and the addition of sugar to every beverage. On afternoons she and Eugenia weren't shopping or attending church activities, they waited to entertain callers in their opulent parlor. And ladies arrived most afternoons, wearing cumbersome hoops beneath their voluminous skirts. Huge hats shielded their faces from the sun, with brims festooned with feathers and odd types of ornamentation. Aunt Clarisa's guests treated Madeline politely and were never intrusive with their questions, not even when they heard her Northern accent.

Despite her aunt's pretentions, Madeline fell in love with her after two short weeks. Aunt Clarisa was patient and kind to everyone, including the sullen maid who didn't deserve indulgent treatment. Aunt Clarisa fussed over her daughter and husband, and now she fussed over Madeline too. Even at the supper table, her aunt made sure everyone had loaded their plate before taking no more than a thimbleful for herself.

Despite the lavishly appointed home, Madeline realized the Duncans were not as wealthy as they once had been. Curtains with tears in them were repaired, not replaced. Every scrap of leftovers from a meal was reused in a soup, stew, or casserole. And despite the dressmaker having consumed three mornings of their lives, mother and daughter ordered only one gown each. And neither had chosen the expensive fabrics shown last during the presentation. Aunt Clarisa was more concerned that Madeline had a suitable wardrobe during her visit to Richmond, however long it might be.

This morning Madeline entered the sunny dining room wearing one of the tailored-to-fit dresses. Although never overly concerned with appearances before, this down-to-earth farm girl adored her new clothes. The soft blue frock, with its white collar and cuffs and deep-V neckline, revealed more skin than Madeline had ever showed to anyone other than her husband. Aunt Clarisa assured her that this amount of décolletage was quite proper for daytime.

“You're up!” Eugenia greeted enthusiastically, pouring coffee from a silver urn. “I'm delighted you didn't sleep in.”

“Am I late, Aunt Clarisa?” Madeline felt a flush climb her neck on her way to the table.

“Not at all, my dear. Eugenia has planned a full day for you and can't wait to get started. Your uncle had to leave for work earlier than usual.” Clarisa rang the silver bell next to her plate. Micah appeared almost immediately with a platter of fried eggs and crisp bacon.

Madeline inhaled the aroma and fluffed a linen napkin across her lap. “I will undoubtedly gain weight while your guest. Everything has been delicious.”

“You were too thin. Now you have color in your cheeks.”

“That's because Maddy usually forgets her hat when we walk in the garden, Mama,” Eugenia said as she scooped up a modest portion of eggs.

Aunt Clarisa's brows kitted above her nose. “Did you ask permission before assigning your cousin such a familiar moniker?”

“Yes, ma'am, she asked,” Madeline injected before Eugenia had a chance. “I like the name. That was what my mother called me when she wasn't perturbed with me.”

“I can't imagine my sister being angry with you. She was such an easygoing, gentle soul. You are very much like her.”

“Indeed, she was. Thank you for the compliment.” Madeline tried to swallow the lump in her throat. If she squinted, she could see her mother in Aunt Clarisa's features.

“I'm sorry we didn't attend your mother's funeral. Your father didn't inform us of her passing until after the fact. Had I known she was ailing, I would have come to nurse her back to health… or at least stayed until the Lord called her home.”

Madeline's eyes filled with tears. She hadn't realized anyone mourned her mother's death besides herself, her father, and Tobias. “He forbade me from contacting you.”

Setting down her coffee cup, Clarisa shook her head. “It wasn't your fault. Forgive me for bringing it up. When I heard of your father's passing from a mutual acquaintance, I grieved again for you, Madeline.” They locked gazes for a long moment. Then Aunt Clarisa turned toward her daughter. “What adventures do you have planned?”

“Wednesday is Esther's marketing day. We'll ride in the carriage with her to the riverfront. Because Papa walked to the office, we can get an early start.” Eugenia turned toward Madeline. “Along the way Micah will drive past Richmond's most famous sites. Finally, you will receive an official tour of your new home.”

No matter how long I stay, Richmond will never be my home, no matter how lovely the city.
“Will you join us, Aunt Clarisa?”

“Goodness, no. I will sew uniforms with the parish auxiliary and pack canned goods to be sent to our soldiers.” She picked up her cup and sipped her sweetened coffee.

“It'll just be the two of us, Maddy, along with Micah and Esther, of course. Since my pitiful debut last winter, I've had few outings without Mama.” Eugenia looked dolefully at her bacon as she cut it up into small pieces.

Madeline had folded her bacon and eaten it whole. She must remember to sip, not swallow; nibble, not devour; and most of all, slow down. The Pennsylvania blood running in her veins made her hurry through everything she did. “Why do you describe your debut as pitiful?” she
asked. “I thought ‘coming out' was an exciting season for young women of society.”

Forcing a smile, Eugenia looked to her mother to respond.

“Since the start of the war, there have been few balls and parties. People simply don't have resources to spend on frivolity while our soldiers' needs go unmet.”

“There's privation on both sides,” Madeline replied.

“True enough. Yet I cannot impress on Eugenia that sacrifices must be made during times like these.”

Eugenia stared now at her lap. “You must think me horribly vain and selfish, Cousin Maddy. Forgive me.”

Madeline swallowed her last bite of fried egg and pushed away her empty plate. “I think nothing of the sort, Eugenia. A woman is young only once. It's normal to have expectations about the future and feel a loss if they aren't met.”

“Thank you. I'm so glad you came to visit!” Eugenia jumped up and wrapped her arms around Madeline's neck. “Let's get our hats and parasols so we can be off.” Bobbing her head in her mother's direction, she hurried from the room.

“Good luck today, niece,” Aunt Clarisa said, winking as Madeline followed the dynamo out the door.

Micah's tour took them past the gates of Hollywood Cemetery, St. Charles Hotel, and St. John's Church, where Patrick Henry had delivered his famous “Give me liberty or give me death” speech. Madeline ooh'd and aahed at every architectural or botanical landmark. Micah seemed to know more about his adopted city than Eugenia. However, the youngest Duncan knew the name of every family that lived in the palatial mansions on Broad Street… and how many of the sons were still eligible bachelors.

At long last they arrived at the open-air market along the waterfront of the James River. Normally, the docks would be no place for a lady, but according to Eugenia, even respectable people crowded the narrow lanes on Wednesdays. Flatboats and packets of all shapes and sizes came downriver to sell freshly caught seafood in addition to the fruit, vegetables, and smoked meats available other days.

Madeline stood on tiptoe to scan the lively scene. “My word, what a selection.”

“This isn't half the normal amount of merchants. The federal blockade keeps out bananas, coconuts, and coffee from the tropics. We're lucky to get fruit, rice, and tea grown in the Carolinas, Georgia, or here in Virginia. Begging your pardon, cousin.” Eugenia raised her fan to hide her face.

Madeline patted her arm. “You needn't apologize every single time you mention the war. Otherwise, our conversation will become downright cumbersome.”

The Duncans' cook stepped in between them with her huge basket. “I know Miss Eugenia will want some callas but don't go wandering too far. Stay where I can keep an eye on y'all.”

“Of course, Esther. This way to the sweets.” Eugenia grabbed Madeline by the arm.

“What are callas?”

“Rice and brown sugar formed into a ball and then fried. You will absolutely fall in love.”

Love—a word never far from Eugenia's mind—or Madeline's either, lately. How she yearned for a letter from General Downing. They each bought two rice cakes, one for now and one to save for tomorrow. Madeline tried not to get powdered sugar down the front of her dress while nibbling hers.

Esther, however, was all business inside the market. She paused at each stand to poke and sniff, and she wouldn't buy unless confident of freshness. Madeline studied the foods not sold in Pennsylvania, while her cousin studied the crowd. Eugenia watched the ladies to see what they wore and the gentlemen to see if anyone was watching
her
. As they slowly worked their way to the waterfront, Esther filled her basket with bargains.

“Mercy,” moaned Eugenia. “We're getting close to the fishmongers. That smell isn't something I want clinging to my clothes.” She took hold of her cousin's arm.

Madeline gently shrugged off her hand. “I want to see the seafood. We get little from the ocean in Cashtown, just river trout.”

“You go ahead, Maddy. I'll wait for you in the carriage. My feet are beginning to hurt.”

Esther looked from one to the other and frowned. “Don't know 'bout you two separatin'.”

“It's all right, Esther. I'm twenty-six and a matron. I'm allowed to shop without a chaperone.” Madeline tried not to grin at the older black woman.

The cook wasn't convinced, but in the end Esther followed Eugenia toward the street.

Madeline continued to browse the stalls with interest. Some of the fish didn't smell “caught yesterday” as the sign proclaimed, but nevertheless the array was impressive. “What do you call that creature, sir?” she asked, peering at a monstrosity with tentacles.

“Squid, ma'am.” The vendor doffed his cap, releasing a bounty of white hair.

“And those?” Madeline pointed at critters resembling cockroaches.

“Crayfish or crawdaddies, however you prefer.”

“Hmm, some things should remain exactly where God put them,” she said, smiling at the burley fisherman.

“Definitely not a delicacy for everyone, that's to be sure. Your accent says you're not from around here. Where are you from, ma'am?”

“I'm Mrs. Howard from Pennsylvania,” Madeline said, holding her handkerchief to her nose.

“Name's Captain George. I hail from Boston, as you might have figur'd out by now.”

“You are farther from home than I, Captain.”

“Truth be told, but here's where the money's to be made.” Captain George lowered his voice. “I can run up the Chesapeake because I know most of them navy ships in the harbor.” He hooked a thumb toward the river. “I can sell things the local boys can't get their hands on.”

Madeline blinked, shocked that a stranger would share such confidences. “I wish you good sailing, Captain, but I must be going.” She backed away from his unnerving presence.