“I’m sorry I was late. I was trying to convince Harrison, but . . .”
“Never mind. There’s some elderberry wine over on the sideboard. Dolly, our former cook, made it. Come, I’ll fetch a glass for you.”
They met Leona Gray by the refreshment table, and Priscilla was soon engrossed in conversation with her. Eugenia surveyed the room to see who else might need attention and to make sure her guests were mingling. Olivia and her husband were waltzing together, and Eugenia felt a stab of jealousy when she saw them—and then a rush of anger toward Philip for supporting the war, for dying, for leaving her alone. He’d been such a powerful, dynamic man, always strong and in control, filling any room he entered with his presence. She felt the pain of his absence now as if her arm or her leg had been severed or her heart gouged from her chest. As she struggled to stop her sudden tears, she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“May I have this dance, Eugenia?” She turned, surprised to see David Hunter. He had cut his hair at last and looked slender and handsome in his Confederate uniform. For a moment she forgot her manners and simply stared at him. He smiled shyly. “Please don’t say no, Eugenia. It has taken me all evening to gather up my courage to ask you.”
“Of course I’ll dance with you. I just . . . you took me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t realize you had arrived, I’m sorry.”
“Your daughter Mary met me at the door. Shall we?” She moved into his arms, and he led her around the dance floor in a graceful waltz. Eugenia had always loved the company of men, loved their strength and masculinity and the way it complemented her femininity. She had enjoyed the game of flirtation when she’d been Mary’s age and the command her beauty gave her over men. She envied her daughter, just beginning to discover her power.
David turned out to be a wonderful dancer, graceful and smooth. “Where did you learn to waltz so beautifully?” she asked as they glided around the room.
“My mother taught me. She said it was something every gentleman should learn.” Eugenia wondered how a common physician’s wife had learned to waltz, but she didn’t ask. “If you’re wondering how my mother learned,” David said with a smile, “she was born into a privileged life like yours. She married ‘down’ because she fell in love with my father, a physician like myself who had treated her for scarlet fever.”
“Really? How interesting.”
“Theirs was a very romantic story, so I’ve been told. My mother was a Blandford from Fairfax County.”
“I know the name. They are a very fine family.” No wonder David had always displayed such good manners, with one of the Blandfords for his mother.
“You picked a beautiful evening, Eugenia, with moonlight and starlight. Your home looks magnificent.”
“I wish you could have seen the galas we used to have. This gathering is a pale shadow in comparison.”
“Does it make you sad to compare this night with the past?”
“It doesn’t matter. We’re allowing ourselves to be happy again, to put the war behind us. Today is a better day than yesterday, and that’s what counts. We’ve given ourselves one night to dance and visit with old friends and not worry about tomorrow.”
What she missed the most, Eugenia realized, was the freedom from worry, the contentment of knowing that Philip was in charge and that he would take care of her. Ever since he’d died, she’d been forced to run the plantation herself, making the arrangements with her former slaves, making sure the crops were planted and the vegetable garden tended. Daniel had turned out to be a great disappointment to her. She didn’t know what he did with his time every day, but he wasn’t running White Oak. She glanced around for him as she and David covered the dance floor but didn’t see him.
“We’re a bit like one of my patients,” David said, “whose fever and pain have gone away for a day or a night, and he can finally sleep in peace. Perhaps the fever will return tomorrow, perhaps he’ll become worse and die. But for today, he can celebrate life—and so will we.”
“You’re right. All these fine families have suffered these past few years, and many continue to suffer. But we’re coming together as a community and enjoying each other’s company tonight.”
“You called them ‘fine families.’ Even after the war, Eugenia, do you still put people into categories the way you were taught to do—rich and poor, socially acceptable and not, black and white?”
“I haven’t placed them there. Life has.”
“But people are all the same in God’s eyes, don’t you think? Or do you believe there will be segregated divisions in heaven like the ones we’ve created here on earth?”
“What an odd question to ask. I guess I’ve never thought about how it will be in heaven.”
“No. Because we were taught that there was the Southern aristocracy and there were common men. That the Negroes were little more than beasts with souls. But what I’m wondering is, do you still believe that?”
“I’m not sure what I believe. Why are you asking me these things?”
“Because it’s time we thought about these issues here in the South. The old aristocratic system has been destroyed, and now we have a chance to rebuild it. Are we going to make it the same as it was? Or, as Christians, are we going to start seeing people the way God does?”
“Are you trying to shock me, David? Make me angry?”
“I’m trying to change you. For selfish reasons, I confess. Perhaps I’m wrong to try to do that tonight.”
Eugenia had long suspected that David Hunter cared for her. If this was his clumsy attempt to see if he stood a chance of courting her, she would pretend not to understand. “I know all about change,” she said. “I’ve had to accept more than my share of it already. But I still believe that some things shouldn’t change. Some traditions need to remain in place for our children’s sakes.”
“I think you’ll find our children’s values will be different from ours. They’ll see that slavery was wrong and that it had to end. They’ve seen the futility of war. They’re learning to live without wealth and privilege. I would hope our sons and daughters would also learn to look for other qualities in each other besides money and social position.”
She thought immediately of Josephine and the odd habits and opinions she had developed. This conversation was making Eugenia extremely uncomfortable, and she fidgeted in David’s arms, wishing the waltz would end.
“Your daughters, for instance,” David continued. “Suppose one of them decided to marry for love, as my mother did?”
That would be the last straw, Eugenia thought. She would never allow it. “I was fortunate to have both love and respectability with Philip,” she replied. “I pray my daughters will, as well. Women who marry outside their station in life find that it leads to heartache and disappointment.”
“My mother was very happy.”
“I doubt that was possible. After the love fades, what’s left? There must have been times when your mother missed her privileged life—I confess that I miss mine. There are days when I ache to have it all back the way it was. But I didn’t choose the changes I’ve been forced to live with. Your mother did.”
Eugenia realized her words had come out sharper than she’d intended when David said, “I didn’t mean to make you annoyed with me. I’m sorry. Thank you for the dance, Eugenia.”
“My pleasure.”
He gave a courtly bow and strolled away from her, through the open doors to the terrace.
Eugenia busied herself with her guests again, and with making sure Lizzie and Clara kept the wineglasses washed and the sideboard refreshed. A few other gentlemen asked Eugenia to dance, including Daniel and her brother-in-law, Charles. She saw Mary waltzing with Joseph Gray. Couples were also enjoying the warm evening outside on the moonlit terrace, but when she went out there herself to cool off for a moment she was appalled to see Daniel talking to the little chambermaid Roselle. He was laughing with her, of all things. Eugenia strode over to him and linked her arm through his.
&n
bsp; “Daniel, do remember our guests, please. I see several young ladies who haven’t been invited to dance yet.” She gave Roselle a stern look before steering Daniel back inside. She would reprimand the servant later.
As the evening wore on, Eugenia realized she had lost track of David Hunter. Their conversation had left a sour taste in her mouth, and she wanted to be certain she hadn’t insulted him. She made a circuit of the room but couldn’t find him. “Have you seen Dr. Hunter?” she finally asked Josephine.
“He left. He saw that you were busy, and he asked me to thank you for inviting him. He said he was sorry, but he had to leave early.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” Eugenia felt a deep disappointment that she couldn’t explain. She needed to get away from the merriment for a moment and went out into the front hallway, hoping she might find David there, that she wasn’t too late to convince him to stay or to bid him good-night. But the foyer was deserted. She was fighting tears again and didn’t know why. She paused in the doorway of Philip’s darkened study, longing to see her husband seated in front of the window, smoke curling from his cigar as he played a game of chess with Dr. Hunter. But Philip was never coming back, she told herself for the hundredth time. Eugenia wiped her tears and put on a brave smile, then returned to the drawing room and her guests.
When the last candle died, when the last note of music had been played, when the last guest had thanked her and bid her good-night, Eugenia sank down on a chair in the deserted drawing room, tired but happy. It had been a wonderful evening, the first step toward reclaiming her life. The only sad note had been David’s conversation about social divisions. Had he been flirting with her? Was he asking about her attitudes because he wanted to court her? Eugenia had grown accustomed to receiving men’s attentions in the past, but was he really daring to hope that she would fall in love with him, marry him? No, it was impossible to expect her to marry down, even for love. He had asked if she would allow her daughters to do that, and the answer was firmly no.
Perhaps she should stop spending so much time with him, even as his patient. After all, she hadn’t felt the pain in her chest in weeks. She had to admit she enjoyed his company, his admiration. But maybe it wasn’t fair to David to encourage his hope that something more might develop from their relationship. Yet was she prepared to spend the rest of her life alone, never held or loved by a man again? She was only fifty. Would she have to attend a dance in order to feel a man’s arms around her? She wiped a tear. She was working so hard to get her old life back, but in the end she would be alone and she couldn’t bear the thought.
She gazed around the room, feeling sad that her long anticipated dance was over. The room was in disarray, but at least she now had servants to clean it up. She should go to bed. She rose from the chair and was about to close the doors to the terrace when she saw Olivia and her husband, standing in the moonlight with an arm around each other, sipping the last drops of elderberry wine. They would go upstairs together, hold each other close.
Olivia turned and saw her. “We were just saying how glad we were to see you getting on so well, Eugenia. Your cotton fields are growing, you have servants again. . . . But I knew you would be all right. You’ve always been strong.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had a chance to ask how things are for you in Richmond?”
Charles sighed. “I confess that I find it difficult to begin all over again at my age. The Yankees are making it as hard as they possibly can for us to govern ourselves again, requiring loyalty oaths and a new constitution for the commonwealth, and all that other nonsense. They seem determined to rub defeat in our faces.”
“Let’s not talk about that tonight,” Olivia said. “This has been such a wonderful evening, Eugenia. Thank you so much for giving us and our daughters this gift.”
Eugenia climbed the stairs to her bedroom feeling weary but content. She heard whispering and giggling as she passed the girls’ room and opened the door a crack to peek inside. The girls were dressed in their nightclothes, talking about the young men they’d waltzed with and brushing each other’s hair. Even Josephine was laughing. When one of the girls admired Mary’s dress, which she’d hung on her wardrobe door, Eugenia held her breath, praying Josephine wouldn’t tell her cousins that she’d sewn it. It would be so humiliating. But Mary saw Eugenia in the doorway and ran to give her a hug.
“Thank you, Mother! Thank you so much for a wonderful evening.”
“You’re welcome, dear. I only wish it could have been as lavish as in the old days. Good night, girls.”
Eugenia thought about David Hunter again as she took off her jewelry and hung up her dress. What had he been trying to say? He’d said that he wanted to change her for selfish reasons, but Eugenia knew if she tried to bend any more, she would break in two like a brittle stick. She liked his attention and enjoyed being with him, but should she continue seeing him? She looked at herself in the mirror as she unpinned her hair, and the thought of not seeing David Hunter brought tears to her eyes.
Her bed felt very cold and empty. Cold pillows, cold sheets, even on a warm July night. Eugenia had been so happy during the party, but now she began to weep.
Why did you do this to me, Philip? Why did you ever involve us in that terrible war?
26
Lizzie walked around the deserted drawing room, gathering empty glasses on a tray to take out to the kitchen. The candles had all burned out, but there was still enough moonlight streaming through the terrace doors to see what she was doing. She felt tired clear down to her bones after all the hard work of preparing for the dance, but she needed to clean up a little or Miz Eugenia would complain about it in the morning. Tomorrow was Sunday, Lizzie’s only half-day off from work. She and Otis were planning to walk into town in the afternoon for the first prayer meeting at the Freedmen’s Bureau.
Lizzie’s tray was full, and she didn’t see any more glasses. She was about to leave when Roselle came in from the dining room. “Got the table all set for breakfast?” Lizzie asked her. “Extra places set for their company?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“You go on to bed, then. I’ll be down shortly.”
Instead, Roselle stood in the doorway to the courtyard and leaned against the frame. She had a dreamy look on her face, and she seemed reluctant to leave, as if she could still hear the music playing. “Wasn’t it beautiful tonight?” she asked. “I have never heard music like that before. I would love to wear a beautiful gown like the one Missy Jo made for Missy Mary and dance with a handsome man.” She spread her arms and made a little twirl in front of the doors as if she was dancing with somebody.
Lizzie shook her head. “Don’t even think about it, Roselle. And don’t bother wishing for it. Put it all out of your head.”
“Why? I could go to a dance someday. People tell me I’m pretty, you know.”
Lizzie’s stomach made a slow, sickening turn. “Who does? Who tells you that?”
“My friends, Lula and Corabelle.”
“Don’t you go getting all proud now. Nothing worse than a pretty girl who acts like she’s better than everyone else just because the good Lord made her pretty.”
Even in the dark, Lizzie saw Roselle give a shy, blushing smile. “And Massa Daniel told me I was pretty, too.”
Lizzie went cold all over as if someone had stepped on her grave. “When did he say that?”
“Tonight. At the dance.”
Lizzie nearly dropped the tray of glasses. Oh, Lord, no . . . please . . . She had to sit down. She made her way to the nearest chair, but Roselle didn’t seem to notice as she kept on chattering.
“He said I was as pretty as any white girl, and he wanted to dance with me. I told him I didn’t know how to dance and he said that’s all right, he would teach me how. So he took me right outside there on the paving stones so we could practice.”
No . . . Lord, no . . .
“Then Miz Eugenia came along and took him away and ruined it all.”
It was the fi
rst time in Lizzie’s life that she’d ever been grateful for Miz Eugenia. Lizzie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. It felt as if someone was sitting on her chest, squeezing all the air out of her.
“And remember that night when I went up to see my ducks,” Roselle continued, “and I ran into Massa Daniel up by the kitchen? He asked me my name and said, ‘My, don’t you look pretty?’ He remembered my name tonight, Mama. He said Roselle was a very pretty name for a very pretty girl.”
Lizzie set the rattling tray of glasses on an end table and leaped up from the chair as anger surged through her. For the second time in her life she understood how someone could be angry enough to kill another person. She grabbed Roselle by the shoulders and began to shake her, desperate to shake some sense into her. “No! No! No! You stay away from him, you hear? Stay away!”
“Mama . . . don’t!” Confusion and fear filled Roselle’s eyes.
Lizzie stopped. What was she doing, shaking her this way? Roselle had been so happy only a moment ago. Lizzie pulled her daughter into her arms, hugging her fiercely. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry. Don’t cry . . . But you got to stay away from Massa Daniel. Don’t you ever go near him again.”
Roselle wiggled out of Lizzie’s arms, glaring at her like she didn’t believe a word of Lizzie’s warning. “We’re free now, aren’t we? We’re not slaves who never dare to talk to our massa—or dance with him if he invites me.”
“Listen to me! You can’t dance with him. You can’t do anything but bring him his food or wash his clothes. And don’t you ever believe a word he says to you.”
Tears filled Roselle’s lovely dark eyes and rolled down her cheeks. “I just wanted to see what it was like to dance like Missy Mary and all the other girls were doing. Just once, Mama.”
“You’re not like them other girls. If you want to dance, then you find someone like yourself, not a white man. And especially not Massa Daniel. He was one of the men who beat up your papa, don’t you remember?”