Yellow Crocus (22 page)

Smirking at Matthew, Edward turned to the group and shouted, “Enough of this!” He challenged the boys, “Who can hit the river with a stone?”

Following his lead, the boys gathered rocks and pitched them downhill at the moving water. Matthew smiled and shrugged at Lisbeth before he joined the gang of boys in competition.

“Mary?” Robert shouted to his sister. “Whose stone went farther, mine or Albert’s?”

Always the diplomat, Mary responded, “I cannot say. They both went in the water; how can one judge?”

Edward turned away from the water and toward the slave cemetery. “Aim for that cross,” Edward declared, pointing in the distance.

Lisbeth watched him pitch a stone and strike the cross. Robert, Albert, and Jack immediately followed suit. Lisbeth’s breath caught. They were pummeling Poppy’s marker. Hard stones smashed it over and over again. The cross jerked back with each blow. Lisbeth watched in disgust as the horizontal arm sagged downward until it was hanging to the right.

Outraged, Lisbeth leapt up and shouted, “Stop! You are being disrespectful.”

“To whom? The niggers?” scoffed Edward. “Since when do we have to be respectful to niggers?”

“It is wrong to be rude to the dead.” Lisbeth turned to Mary for support, but her friend shrugged.

All eyes were on Lisbeth. She searched for the right words, but her mind was blank. Flooded by shame, embarrassed to have spoken up, she wanted everyone to stop staring at her. Apparently she was alone in her feelings.

“Too easy,” Matthew casually broke the uncomfortable silence. “Anyone can hit that cross. Now, the cottonwood takes skill,” Matthew challenged.

He lobbed a stone at a far-away tree. All eyes turn away from Lisbeth. Stones started flying toward the cottonwood. Grateful to Matthew for deflecting everyone’s attention, Lisbeth stared at him until he looked over at her. She smiled and nodded across the distance. He smiled back shyly. She sank down to the ground and tried to enjoy the rest of the picnic, pretending not to care so deeply.

Chapter 18

JUNE 1856

“I
do not care if you have scarlet fever, you will be in attendance at White Pines this evening. Now get dressed,” declared Mother. “My goodness, Elizabeth, you act as if this dance is inconsequential. It would be the gravest of insults to Edward and the Cunningham family. In fact, we would be publicly declaring our rejection of a match. We certainly do not want to leave that impression,” Mother said sternly. “I fear you are taking risks with your future. While it may seem assured that Edward will be asking you to marry him, your position is not guaranteed until the engagement is announced. I promise you Camilla Anderson has not given up her intention to be his bride.”

Lisbeth retorted, “If he wants to marry Camilla rather than me, then let him. I do not care.”

Mother stiffened and stared at Lisbeth in outrage. “You should care! You know very well this marriage will ensure your social standing for the rest of your life. Robert Ford would be an acceptable match, but your father and I would much prefer you marry into the Cunningham family. I know you find the idea of Mary as a sister-in-law romantic, but romance will not ensure your happiness as easily as the finer things in life. Going to a dance with a chill is sacrifice worth making for your future happiness.”

“Do you really believe I will be happy with Edward as a husband?” Lisbeth asked.

“Absolutely. He has everything a woman needs. He will be inheriting the largest estate in the valley. White Pines is as grand as any home in England, and I am certain they have at least seventy-five workers.”

“But is he a good man?” Lisbeth asked.

“A good man?” Mother sniffed. “What a question, Elizabeth. Of course he is. He comes from one of the oldest families in Virginia. Honestly, I do not know where you get such ideas. It must come from reading Jane Austen. You are not a character in a romantic novel. You are nineteen years old. You need to stop being childish and start acting like the young lady you are. Now get ready.

“Emily!” Mother shouted loudly to Lisbeth’s maid who waited in the next room.

“Yes, ma’am?” responded Emily.

“Please help your mistress get ready. I want her in the second hair style we tried yesterday, the one with the triple upsweep.”

“Yes, ma’am. As you wish.”

Lisbeth supposed she should feel flattered and excited at the prospect of marrying Edward. His home was grand and he was handsome. But she found nothing inspiring about him. He talked of nothing interesting and was always distracted. He hardly ever looked at her while they were dancing. She did not believe that he cared for her at all. He was simply going along with their parents’ wishes. Lisbeth desired to be in love with the man she would marry. What could Mother possibly understand about love? Lisbeth had so hoped to be a target of Cupid’s arrow, but it seemed that was not to be.

White Pines contained the grandest ballroom in the valley, built specifically to accommodate long lines for the Virginia Reel. Women in long, colorful silk gowns with plunging necklines packed the room. Herringbone corsets constricted their capacity to breathe and their appetites. Plates of untouched food sat on laps. Dresses twirled to the music and voices interspersed with the notes from the chamber orchestra.

As Lisbeth danced with Edward, the blurry swirl made her dizzy. She told Edward, “Please stop. I feel faint.” But he did not hear her. He was busy scanning the room and was not looking at her. If he had bothered to take notice he would have seen that she suddenly grew pale. Then she collapsed. Fortunately Edward caught her in his arms so she did not fall to the floor. He carried her to a chair by the open doors adjacent to the veranda.

If fainting were less common at these events, she might have drawn more attention. But women regularly collapsed on the dance floor. Doctors attributed it to their weak constitutions rather than to the true cause: corsets.

Mary Ford and Matthew Johnson followed Lisbeth and Edward off the dance floor and gathered round their friend.

Edward said, “You look better already.”

“Yes, I am, thank you. I have a slight chill. It must have left me lightheaded.”

“I am glad to see you are well again. You shall understand if I go on to my duties as a host,” Edward declared while scanning the crowd. “I would not leave you, but I have a dance with Camilla. You will look after her, will you not?” he asked Mary and Matthew.

“Please, go ahead,” replied Lisbeth. “I would hate to spoil your evening in any way.”

“You could never spoil anything,” Edward replied. “Matthew, will you see to it she gets punch?”

Mary broke in, “We will both stay with her. I do not dance again until the waltz.”

“I will be more than happy to take care of these lovely ladies,” chimed in Matthew.

Edward parted with a kiss on Lisbeth’s right hand then crossed the floor to greet his next dance partner. Lisbeth watched Edward escort Camilla to the dance floor, bow, and take her in his arms.

Mary broke into Lisbeth’s thoughts. “Lisbeth, do not worry. He has to dance with Camilla, but I know it is you he is most fond of. No one is more beautiful than you.”

Lisbeth smiled at her friend. “You are a dear to worry on my account, but it is of no concern to me. I understand the duties of a good host. He will return to me soon enough.”

“Lisbeth?” Matthew asked.

“Yes.”

“She called you ‘Lisbeth.’ I have never heard you called that name before.”

“It is my childhood name. I wanted everyone to call me that when I was young. My parents never went along with it, but many of my girlhood friends still call me Lisbeth.”

“How sweet. It suits you.”

“Why, thank you kindly, sir,” Lisbeth beamed at him. “That is one of the nicest things a gentleman has ever said to me. But I have adjusted myself to being known as Elizabeth.”

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“Now you flatter me with Shakespeare,” flirted Lisbeth.

Surprise registering on his face, Matthew asked, “You are a fan of the old master?”

“Oh, yes. I have read nearly all his work.
Hamlet
is my favorite.”

“Not
A Midsummer’s Night Dream?
”

“No, I prefer tragedies to comedies. Though of course
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
is wonderful as well.”

“Do you care for any contemporary authors?” Matthew inquired.

“I adore Jane Austen.”

Matthew nodded. “I find her portrait of British society so accurate and yet so dreadful.”

“I agree. It must be awful to be so bound by what society expects,” Lisbeth answered. “I am so glad to have been born in America, where one has freedom.”

“I am glad to be an American too,” Matthew agreed, but then he went on to challenge her, “but one has to wonder how much freedom exists here. But enough about literature. I am failing in my responsibilities. Now, if you will excuse me ladies, I will fetch you both punch.”

As Matthew walked away, Mary scolded Lisbeth. “Lisbeth, you know a lady does not talk about books with a gentleman.”

“He broached the subject,” Lisbeth defended herself. “A lady must follow where a gentleman leads,” Lisbeth mimicked Miss Taylor. “Besides, he is hardly a true gentleman. As Mother puts it, he is ‘barely more than a farmer.’ Although he truly is one of the kindest men I know. Can you imagine Edward noting that you call me ‘Lisbeth’? I wonder if I would be happier with Matthew than with Edward?”

“Oh, Lisbeth, you are ridiculous!” Mary declared. “Matthew will not be inheriting any of his family’s land as the third-born son. Edward will be getting all of this. You could not possibly refuse.”

Mary went on, “It will be wonderful for you to be the mistress of White Pines. Look at this grand ballroom! It has no rival in the valley. You shall host the most wonderful dances. And Edward is so handsome. How can you put all this at risk by flirting with Matthew Johnson?”

Shocked, Lisbeth declared, “I was not flirting with Matthew. I was only making pleasant conversation.”

Mary scolded back, “That is not how it appeared to me.”

Lisbeth replied, “I simply find Matthew Johnson interesting. I always have. That does not mean I am flirting with him. Besides, it is harmless fun. Edward is everything I should want in a husband, but he is not interesting or amusing. He does not care about what I am thinking nor do we converse about books—or anything else for that matter.”

Mary reassured her friend, “I am sure when you are married you and Edward will have plenty to speak about.”

“I suppose. I certainly hope you are right. Shhh, here comes Matthew.”

After drinking the punch brought by Matthew, Lisbeth returned to the dance floor to fulfill the obligations on her dance card. Her last dance of the evening was with Edward.

In his arms she asked, “Edward, do you believe a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?”

“Actually, I have never cared for the scent of roses. They give me a headache. So it hardly matters to me what they are called.”

Changing the subject, he went on. “Mother has made the final arrangements for your tea tomorrow. Remember, she is quite old-fashioned. She prefers young ladies who are pleasant and not outgoing. You can manage, can you not?”