Flirtation Walk Page 9

  13

  Lucinda

  Some things never changed. No matter if I were in St. Louis or Buttermilk Falls, Sunday was for church. It provided as good an excuse as any for seeing and being seen. I’d been with my aunt for a week, but until I attended church I was still new to town. Father had always supplied me with the very latest in gowns, knowing that when I wore them out into society, it would perpetuate the deception that I was from one of the nation’s finest families. But when I left St. Louis, in order to keep from paying the finishing school’s bills, I’d had to tell the headmistress I’d be returning and I’d left most of my wardrobe there. Buttermilk Falls was a small town, though, and what I had would do. For now. If I showed myself to be a devoted niece and cousin, I had every expectation that my aunt and uncle would supply what was missing. Perhaps not in the style I was accustomed to, but they wouldn’t let me shame their family.

  As I waited in the yard for everyone to appear, I shook out my skirt and made certain my costume was spotless. As spotless as I could make it. Susan didn’t come on Sundays, so I’d had to work harder in the kitchen than I had expected to. There was a small smear of biscuit batter on the inside of one sleeve, but if I held my arms just so, it would never be seen.

  My aunt asked me to keep an eye on Bobby and Ella while she replaited Milly’s unruly hair.

  “The children? But I don’t know if—”

  She’d already disappeared back inside the house.

  “Catch me, Bobby!” Ella dashed around behind me as Bobby wandered farther into the yard, kicking at the path that led to the gate. “Bobby?” Ella grasped my skirts as she leaned out to take a peek. “Bobby!” The stamp of her small foot sent up a cloud of dust, which promptly clung to the hem of the same salmon-and-green tartan dress I’d worn on the steamboat.

  As I tried to shake it out, I encountered a sticky splotch of . . . something.

  Ella ran over to Bobby and pushed at him. “Catch me.”

  He reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. “Caught you.”

  “That’s not fair!” Her words ended in a wail as she struck out at him.

  Mindful of the rapidly deteriorating state of my dress, I didn’t even attempt to separate them. I clapped my hands instead. “No fighting. If you stop right now, I’ll buy you candy.”

  No sooner had I bribed them than my aunt appeared and took them both in hand to stop the squabble. She asked me to escort Phoebe instead. Milly tripped along beside us as we walked up the street. Though both sisters had the same fair hair and blue eyes, Milly’s high-spirited chatter was a contrast to Phoebe’s soft, gentle nature.

  Wearing a simple bodice and skirt in a blue stripe, which matched her shining cornflower-blue eyes, Phoebe was serenely beautiful. Even her glass buttons seemed to wink with good-natured benevolence. Had she had her sight, I might have taken her for a rival. But as it was, how could I do anything but pity her?

  The church wasn’t far—just a short walk down the road toward the military academy. It looked as charming as a painting. Dressed in stone with a tower at one corner, it sat diagonal to the road, as if trying to entice passersby. I helped Phoebe negotiate its arched red door and walked with her to the pew. After the others filed in, I placed her hand along the back of the bench. She found the seat with the back of her knee and then sat and slid down to join the others.

  As we waited for the service to begin, greetings were called between the pews and the sound of laughter floated about us. This church was different than the others I had attended. Those had been filled with people proud and formal. Their greetings had been cold, their smiles mocking. But the people in Buttermilk Falls, while much more modest in means, all seemed to know and like each other.

  As the rector took his place at the front, conversations ceased. There were prayers and songs and readings, all of which I had known to expect. But the God the rector spoke of was not the one I’d come to know through my father and at my finishing schools. That God was by turns vindictive and cold.

  My father had taught me that God was always waiting to catch you out in your schemes. Although we’d always attended church when my father was playing the role of upstanding citizen, when left to our own choices, we’d stayed as far away from God as we could.

  My finishing schools had taught me that God was much more concerned with social status than He was with sin or redemption. That God was best appeased by attending church regularly and doing good works that would serve to propel you and your husband upward in society’s circles.

  But here it seemed, if what the rector said was really true, that God cared. That He saw. That He . . . loved. God and love had been quite far apart in my experience. So far apart that one might have even called them opposites.

  I thought about the sermon as we walked back to the house, as I ate dinner, and as I helped my aunt and Milly with the dishes. Afterward, when we all repaired to the sitting room, I was asked to read to Phoebe. I took up the book my aunt offered and settled us on the sofa while Milly and Bobby played at marbles. Ella crooned one of her dolls to sleep as my aunt and uncle conversed in a pair of matching chairs by the fireplace.

  When a stray marble rolled my way, I left off reading for a moment and bent to send it rolling back in Bobby’s direction.

  He thanked me with a grin.

  Phoebe was staring toward the hearth, a smile softening her lips. “I must admit that I like Sundays best of all.”

  The book had tumbled from my lap while I’d tended to the marble, so I opened it once more and flipped through the pages to find my place.

  “Sitting in the pew at church, I don’t feel so out of place. All anyone is there for is to listen, and I can do that as well as anyone. And after, everyone is home and in each other’s way, so there’s no reason to keep myself apart.” There was a wistful note to the words. “On Sundays, I can be a part of it all.”

  “I don’t know that anyone believes you ever to be in their way.”

  Her gaze shifted toward me. “It’s only because I try so often to keep myself from being in it.” The smile had left her face. Her voice had gone low.

  How lonely her life must be. Always sitting off to the side, always listening, but rarely ever joining in. I’d often done the same, but I’d been scouring the crowds to identify the most gullible, the most vulnerable, and the man whose eyes strayed just a bit too far from his wife. But after, I’d plunge into the thick of a crowd in order to do my father’s bidding. To place a timely comment that would plant the seeds of suggestion in an innocent’s mind. To send a come-hither look in the direction of a would-be philanderer.

  If we couldn’t swindle a man honestly, then sometimes we’d had to do it dishonestly, accepting his money as a way of ensuring that embarrassing tales never reached the ears of his wife. I was no scarlet woman, of course, but it was surprising how often a whispered word could convince a man to meet me in a darkened corner. I had to say that I’d often felt apart from others in my work with my father, but had I ever truly felt lonely?

  Concern swept Phoebe’s face. “I hope you don’t find Sundays too lonely.”

  How had she read my thoughts? “Me?” Why on earth would she worry about me?

  “With your father gone. And you at a new church. It must bring back painful memories.”

  Of a cramped backside, perhaps. “I’m fine.”

  “Did you find the preaching to your liking?”

  It was better than I was used to. “The rector spent so much time talking about how much God loves us . . .”

  Her smile unfurled once more. “He always says that. Every Sunday. But you sound rather astonished. Had you never heard that before?”

  “No.”

  “Now I am astonished! What had you heard about Him?”

  “Nothing good. I’ve been under the impression that He’s continually watching us to catch us doing the wrong thing. Like some crotchety old bachelor who resents it when others have fun.”

  “That’s sounds . . . Forgive
me for saying it, but I wonder if the person who told you that actually knows Him?”

  It had been my father who had given me that impression. I had always accepted his words as truth, but now, I was beginning to wonder about the veracity of some of the things he had taught me. “I don’t think that person likes—liked—God very much. Perhaps that’s why.”

  “I’m sorry to bring back old memories.”

  “Enough about God.” I opened the book once more and began reading a description of the story’s springtime setting.

  “Spring!” Phoebe clasped her hands to her chest. “That’s my favorite time of year. The air smells so delicious, and the hills are reborn in that pale, delicate green. As long as there’s spring, I don’t think I could ever truly despair of anything.”

  I waited to see if she would say anything else, but she didn’t, so I took up where I had left off. I finished the chapter and had started the next when the meaning of her words struck me. “You mean . . . you mean you haven’t always been blind?”

  She blinked. “I could see as well as anyone up until I was six.”

  Courtesy would have dictated that I not ask questions about such a personal matter, but no one else was listening, and I couldn’t keep myself from asking. Besides, I’m not ashamed to admit that I had already considered how pretending to be blind might be used to my advantage at some point. “What happened?”

  “I wanted to see the soldiers. That’s what I called the cadets back then. Papa teaches at the military academy, you know, and I was always begging him to take me with him. I didn’t understand that he had to work, I just thought . . . Well . . . it matters little what I thought. Of course, he always refused to take me, and normally, though disappointed, I took it as a firm decision. But Milly was still sleeping and Mama was busy with Bobby that day. He’d just been born, you see, and somehow, Papa’s refusal seemed so unreasonable. So I decided.”

  As she’d been talking, dread had begun to press against my throat. I motioned for her to stop, forgetting that she couldn’t see me. She opened her mouth to continue, so I put a hand to her arm.

  She paused.

  “It was rude of me to ask you about your condition. Let me just . . . ” I fumbled with the book. “I’ll just keep reading.” I did not wish to know, anymore, what had happened to her.

  “I don’t mind. It’s true that I don’t speak of it often, but it’s only because everyone already knows. It’s odd, isn’t it, how we make decisions every day. Big ones and small ones, without even thinking twice. But some decisions . . . this one I knew that I was making. I need you to understand, to know that I know, because otherwise . . .”

  I’d given myself over to a fit of fidgeting, and at that point, the book slipped over my knee and fell to the floor with a resounding thud. “I’m sorry.” I retrieved it and opened it to where I’d stopped. “Shall I commence reading again?”

  “We have to take life as it comes to us, cousin.”

  Not me. Not my father and I. We’d taken the life we’d wanted. We always had. We took the good and worked our way around the bad. I could get out of most any scrape. But I didn’t know how to get around what had happened to Phoebe. I’d changed my mind about pretending to be blind. I couldn’t imagine I’d seen anything useful about it at all.

  “So I decided. I decided that I wasn’t going to obey and I was going to go with him to work anyway. I waited until he was well along the road, and then I slipped out of the house and followed him.”

  I forced my hands to untangle themselves.

  “I was wearing a green dress. I still remember it as a favorite. There was a bit of a mist along the river and its banks, but anyone could tell it would soon burn off. As I followed Papa, I became less interested in where he was going and much more concerned about the goings-on around me.” Her smile broke out. “There were butterflies by the dozens, with their bright orange wings. Surely you’ve seen some. They come by the thousands in autumn. By then I’d forgotten all about following Papa. I’d veered off across the Plain, toward the river.”

  Had she fallen from those steep cliffs? Is that what she was trying to say?

  “I knew the cadets undertook artillery drills, we heard them from Buttermilk Falls, but I didn’t know they used the Plain for them. And they weren’t expecting a little girl to be there chasing butterflies. In any case, they couldn’t see me because of the mist.”

  I felt my heart stutter.

  “It seemed as if the whole world was . . . it was crumbling. The air replaced with dirt. I couldn’t see anything; the butterflies had disappeared. I couldn’t hear anything; the birds had gone silent. There was just . . . nothing. And then . . . It sounds foolish to say, but I felt as if I was flying, and after that I really don’t remember much more.”

  I couldn’t breathe for wanting to weep so badly.

  “I had the most awful headache for weeks. They were hopeful my eyes would work once it went away, but they never have.”

  “I’m so . . . I’m so, so sorry.” I brought my hand to my mouth.

  “I knew what I was doing. I didn’t know it would end the way it did, but I made a choice. You understand that, don’t you?”

  “So unfair.”

  “But how would you have wanted it to end? For me to wander back home again with no one the wiser? If nothing at all had happened, if there hadn’t been any consequence for my disobedience, would that not have been unfair as well?”

  “You were just a child.” Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

  She smiled, extending a hand toward me. I took it up. “Perhaps I was. But I was also a child who knew better.”

  14

  Seth

  The first day of the semester was like falling into a dream I’d dreamt before. I knew where all the bad parts were, but I couldn’t figure out how to wake myself up. I had to suffer through it all over again.

  So I sat in civil engineering with Campbell Conklin and the other men in the top section. I stood and recited when called upon; and I went to the board to work problems when required; and it all went on as if it would never end.

  The worst part was, I knew that it wouldn’t. Not for another ten months.

  I wasn’t supposed to be trying so hard, but I couldn’t just stop studying. It wasn’t in my nature. I liked geology and even political science. Drawing wasn’t my strongest subject, but I did enjoy rhetoric. And if I didn’t learn all these things while I was here, then when would I ever have the chance to do it later? To be presented with opportunity and then fail to make use of it was worse than laziness in my opinion. It was a betrayal of all the army asked of us.

  So while I didn’t quit studying, I tried not to be so quick in my board work. And I certainly didn’t volunteer any answers in class. But on Friday, when class rankings were posted, my name was still at the top.

  Deacon fell into step with me as we left the mess hall for recreation. “Are you finally going to stop studying now?”

  “I didn’t study quite so hard as—”

  “For such a smart cadet, you’re awful stupid. Weren’t you the best in mathematics?”

  “I was.” I had been.

  “Then I have a subtraction problem for you. Given that Cadet Westcott is at the top of his class, what do you have to take away in order for him to slide all the way down to the bottom?”

  “I . . . uh . . .”

  “Stumped you, huh?” He gave me a knowing glance. “Thought I might. The answer is . . . you’ve got to take away his grades and tarnish his comportment. Those are the two variables in the problem. So if the grades aren’t going down fast enough, looks like the conduct has got to go into a steeper slope of decline.”

  “There isn’t really a slope of decline. There’s a negative slope—”

  He was shaking his head as if truly disgusted with me. “That’s what you get for all that studying. A bunch of claptrap and no good sense. Consider this a warning. You can’t say I didn’t tell you. If you’re not going to do your part
on the studying, then we’re going to have to increase our efforts in comportment. Understood?”

  He had already hailed one of the other fellows and was walking off toward the artillery depot, but for some reason, I felt like saluting.

  That afternoon, after our last class, the fellows hailed me as I left the academy.

  “Where you headed?” They fell into step along with me.

  I’d intended to go to the library. “Just . . . uh . . . just wanted to do some reading.”

  “’Bout what?” Otter smiled genially.

  “Just . . . things.”

  Deke gave me a sharp glance. “Wouldn’t be about geology, would it?”

  “No!” I’d actually hoped to find some more information about the political science we were studying.

  “That’s good. Because you’re not supposed to be studying. Remember?”

  I remembered.

  Dandy hadn’t quit glowering since they’d caught up with me. “I’d hate for us to be working so hard to help you when you’re going behind our backs to sabotage our efforts.”

  “I’m not sabo—”

  “Because that might as well be a slap in the face.”

  I stopped walking. “Listen, fellows, I’ve thought it over and I don’t know that this is the best plan. It doesn’t feel right to aim to fail. It’s not honest. I just don’t think I’m cut out for any of this.”

  “We don’t think you are either.” Dandy reached over and knocked my cap askew.

  I set it right. “What’d you do that for?”

  “To try to knock some sense into you.”

  As I’d been fixing my cap, Otter was kicking dust up onto my shoes.

  “Stop that!”

  He glanced up at me with an apologetic sort of grin. “Mother always says you got to get dirty if you’re going to play with the boys.”

  “She does?” Otter’s mother said a lot of things, but she’d never seemed quite that mercenary before.