Surrender at Orchard Rest (30 page)

“Not that she doesn’t have a sense of humor,” Myra said. “She is probably the only person who sees it, but I think anyone as malicious as her has to have a sense of humor to live as long as she has.”

“I think the Tuscaloosa seamstress would have been sufficient for my humble needs,” opined Ivy.

Birdy pulled a house key from the inside of her sleeve when the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the imposing house that was Grandmother Marshall’s home. She stomped up the front steps and opened the front door with the suffering air of one who has been on a lengthy, disappointing vacation. Everyone trudged up the front steps after her, limbs sore and protesting after being cramped in a small carriage together.

To Somerset’s astonishment, Grandmother Marshall was sitting in a wing chair before the fireplace in the drawing room waiting for them. Blanche gasped.

“Come in. Come in.” The old lady’s voice was thin and contained a pungent richness that made Somerset think of ginger.

“Good afternoon,” said Birdy as she replaced her key in the wrist of her gown and went to stand by Honor Marshall.

“Good afternoon, Birdy. It’s good to see someone here has manners.”

“Good afternoon, Grandmother,” said Myra.

“Good afternoon, precious. You travel well. Is your tongue hung, Blanche? Well, it’s only been five years. I didn’t expect a to-do from my only daughter.”

Somerset saw Blanche’s chin wobble. She looked around sixteen years old as she stood before her mother and as vulnerable as a baby lamb deserted in a pasture.

“I’m happy to see you so well, Mother.” Blanche went to embrace her but the older woman held up a withered hand to prevent her. “I stopped in Tuscaloosa and bought you some gifts on the way here.”

“I don’t look well and know it. Your compliments won’t pacify me. What do you think Tuscaloosa has that Richmond doesn’t?”

“She’s brought you the finest ham, Grandmother,” chimed Myra. “They’re seasoned better than any we have here.”

“You’ve gotten old, Blanche,” Honor said as if Myra hadn’t spoken. “Time has failed you. You look ten years older than you are, and that dress fits you about as well as a bushel sack. I’ll have Birdy alter it before you go out in it or else people will talk about what a poor reflection you are on me.”

“I was going to change before I greeted you, Mother. I didn’t expect you’d be waiting just inside the front door for us.”

“You didn’t? I didn’t expect three-day notice before a party of six showed up wanting food and lodging.”

“About that, Mother—you’ll be pleased to hear—”

“Who are the rest of this straggly crowd? Come forward. Let me see you.”

Somerset, Joseph, and Ivy stepped forward at once. Honor squinted to get a better look at them.

Somerset returned the hard stare. Honor Marshall had been pretty in her day but her looks had dissolved under the test of time. She was slight and bony with arthritic hands that bent like the boughs of the storm-wracked weeping willow in the back yard of Orchard Rest. Her cheekbones were sharp ledges in an aristocratic face. Somerset thought that she could balance something narrow on one like a piece of chalk and it would sit for eternity. She was a Marshall by marriage, not blood, and lacked the famous hair or eyes. It was unclear what color her hair used to be, as gray as it was, but it was plentiful and was wound artfully on her head in a tight, high bun from which no errant hair escaped. Her eyes were so black that Somerset couldn’t see the pupils behind her glasses.

“Somerset. Turn around, all the way around. There.” Honor made a sound as if she was shocked to find no fault. “You know you’re named after me, don’t you? I was a Somerset before I married.”

“Yes, Grandmother. It’s an honor.”

“It’s an honor, she says.” Honor cast an amused look at Birdy. “She has no clue who my ancestors were but she’s honored.

“You’re better looking than your mother. You’ve got some pep where she has only self-consciousness. Why aren’t you married?”

“I’m engaged. Several of my dresses will come from your favored dressmaker.”

“It’s time, child. It’s time. You’ve mourned that one dead boy too long, and looks like yours fade fast and something terrible at that. Why, just take a look at me.”

Somerset preferred not to look at her.

“Step forward, young man.”

Joseph stepped like a soldier as he obeyed.

“You have your father’s hazel eyes and straight brown hair. His family ruined mine and then my daughter rewarded them by taking their name. I give Thomas credit for inventiveness, though. He handed me the truth that my child would rather run off with the son of thieves and murderers than continue to have me pay for every blessed thing she ever wanted.”

Blanche jerked as if slapped.

Joseph said nothing.

“It’s been almost eight years since I’ve seen you. You still look like a soldier. I heard all about your activities, your imprisonment. Is there any place you’re safe besides Orchard Rest?”

“I doubt it, Grandmother.”

“I doubt it as well. Do you still dig in the dirt like a field hand to make a living?”

“Yes.”

“Who is this girl?” Honor pointed a knobby forefinger at Ivy.

“This is Ivy Garrett Forrest. She is my wife.”

“No invitation to the wedding, eh?” Honor cast a baleful look at Blanche, who stood with her eyes suffused in unshed tears.

“There was no wedding. We eloped.” Joseph sounded proud.

“What kind of girl runs off with a boy like you? Come forward, Ivy.”

Ivy stepped forward. Somerset thought she might faint and put out a steadying hand.

“You’re as white as moonlight but have hair like an Indian. Very unusual. Have you two words to say for yourself?”

“Thank you for allowing me to stay here. I’ve been friends with Somerset since I could walk and I’ve always heard mention of the Marsh. It’s glamorous enough to take my breath.”

“What a compliment. Compliments are meaningless. You never answered my question. What kind of girl runs off with a boy like him? Granted, he’s handsome and glib, but he drinks prodigiously, I hear, and follows a plow all day. How many broken engagements has he had? Three, last I heard. Oh, I know you all think you’re buried in the country but the ladies of Tuscaloosa know everything about you and it gets back to me.”

“I love him.” Ivy shook in her boots.

“Love has ruined many a poor girl. I don’t doubt you’re a sweet, kind woman, and you seem to have propriety to spare, whereas my poor girls standing here have none, which brings me to my next point of interest.” Honor looked over her glasses at Blanche. “A member of the Women’s Auxiliary in Tuscaloosa let it slip that there is a child at Orchard Rest, a young boy. Did you have a change baby in your decrepitude?”

Somerset sucked in her breath. Blanche was not well and couldn’t tolerate another five minutes of haranguing. Dr. Harlow told her with formidable bluntness that such a trip could set her back permanently, but Blanche was set on having the best for her daughters and wouldn’t heed him. Another insult and she would be searching for every bottle of claret in the house and laudanum to chase it with. After twenty minutes of constant attack, her shoulders drooped like a child old before her time and the marionette lines around her mouth were sunken. She put Somerset in mind of a beaten dog, and for the first time, Somerset understood why she fled the city and why she longed to return and dominate it.

“He’s mine,” said Joseph. “I was careless during the war, and the mother died having him.”

“Clever, Joseph, but then this young lady would have had even less reason to marry you. Gossip accredits him to someone else. It’s easy to hide a bottle of gin, Blanche, but people are harder to explain away. Why did you not send the child away? There are homes for unwanted babies. Victoria could have resumed her former standing and walked away from an unpleasant situation with a reputation still intact.”

Honor’s voice cracked like rifle butt striking a glass window.

“There was no money to send him away with, and after Victoria carried him to term, she wanted to keep him,” Blanche whispered.

“I would have loaned you the money. I’d have given it to you. We nearly starved to death out here, but it wasn’t for lack of money. It was because the supply lines were cut. If you had gotten hold of your juvenile need for control, your youngest would have chances almost as good as Somerset’s. She would have gotten over the brat in time. Your neighbors would have thanked you for ridding them of an unpleasant token of scurrilous times.”

“She didn’t have a baby because she lacked propriety,” said Somerset. “She was attacked in the barn and it was my fault. When I heard Wilson’s men approaching, I sent her to the stables to go on horseback to Riverside. They were already in the barn by the time she got there. She wasn’t much more than a child and she had no way to fend them off. I followed after her and I found her there in the barn under three rutting—”

“Somerset!”

“No, Mother. There is no shame in my story, only that no one wants to hear the truth. I didn’t have a weapon, but I started a fire with the last kerosene we owned. I set the hay bales on fire beneath them and then one of the cads caught on fire before he knew what I’d done. He’s probably off somewhere now telling his wife that those scars are from the burning of Atlanta when he really raped—”

“Somerset!”

“He raped a child,” finished Somerset. “She almost died from it.”

“That tale is not fit for aristocratic ears,” remarked Grandmother Marshall. “I wonder that you can tell it as well as you do, but you shamed your name by working with the public during the war. You accept the world with all its tarnished qualities. There’s no need for you all to get quite so exercised. Loads of scandalous things happened during the war, didn’t they? I am appalled that you let the baby stay on the plantation and insulted that I had to hear the tale from an old schoolmate. I do not fault Victoria for her attack but wonder why she wanted the product of it. Here, Ivy, is it? Take a handkerchief. I should have known by the looks of you that you’re a weeper.”

“Mother, we are tired from lengthy travel. Do you think we might rest in our rooms before the meal is served?”

“Yes, Blanche. I recommend freshening up with a change of dress. I always forget how wearing travel is on a woman of a certain age.” Honor rang a bell and a pixie of a girl arrived promptly. “Trix, show everyone to their rooms and let them know where they can wash up.”

***

“Have you ever?” asked Ivy. “I stood there and cried to hear the story and looked like a ninny. I should have said or done anything other than that. She’ll never respect me now.”

“Does she seem like she respects anyone?” asked Somerset. “No, crying was likely the best possible course of action for you. I might try it next time.”

“The one thing that I forget about the Marsh from one visit to the next is that I hate this place,” Joseph said. He spoke loudly, and his voice echoed along the confusing corridors.

“She looks at me as though I had no right to marry into the family,” Ivy said. “Now that I see all this, I can see that I didn’t.”

“This isn’t ours. It’s Grandmother Marshall’s home,” said Somerset. “Really, I think Uncle Theodore was to inherit the entire compound, but his death threw everyone’s wills into a giant query. It will never be ours.”

“We owe you for having the emotional fortitude to become one of us in name after all that I’ve told you,” said Joseph.

“Look,” said Somerset. “Is that him? I’ve never been on this level of the house before.”

They stopped in front of an oil painting. It could have been their brother. It might have been their uncle. A man named Theodore stared down at them with utter solemnity.

“No one has an oil portrait of our brother that Mother doesn’t have,” decided Somerset. “He must be our uncle.”

“He’s as handsome as your brother,” whispered Ivy.

“I’ve never seen him before now. Mother worships him—more so than even Teddie—but there isn’t a likeness on the plantation to be found.”

“History repeats itself and a mourning mother runs a family into the ground over a lost son.”

“You would think after losing him she would understand Victoria’s desire to keep her own son.”

“Mother is mild as milk compared to Grandmother. I’ve never felt compassion for her the way that I did today.”

“I recalled what Papa said about thinking he could fix all the things that were wrong with her after her upbringing.”

The bell for supper rang, and they started before hurrying downstairs to find the dining room. Somerset cast one backward glance at the portrait on the wall as if she feared the man in it would step outside of the gilt frame, but then she rounded the corner of the stairs and he was hidden from sight.

***

“Tell me more about your intended, Somerset,” said Grandmother Marshall over breakfast the next morning.

“He’s Phillip Russell of Charleston,” interjected Myra.

“Your tongue, Myra, your tongue! If you could only learn to hold it, my dear, you wouldn’t be waiting around for a man or getting molested by a bored married one,” scolded Honor.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

“Phillip Russell of Charleston, eh? Did you visit Charleston, young lady?”

“No, he went home to visit his family and I met him at his birthday party.”

“His family lives in Century Grove? Ah, that out-of-the-way place harbors some important people then, doesn’t it? Go on.”

“It was a whirlwind courtship.” Somerset blushed.

“Well, neither one of you is young. He feels a need to rush things along. The man usually dies first. You’ll be a young widow. Look how long I’ve lived alone. Of course, you’re likely to remarry well again and die well off.”

“We only courted for about three weeks, but it feels as though he’s always been in my life. I don’t mean to sound sentimental. I guess when you love someone you sound sentimental. We think alike, Grandmother. We’re practical people and we’re independent. Conversations with Phillip make all the other conversations I’ve had seem dull. Doesn’t it sound like a good match to you?”

“No match has ever sounded like a good match to me,” spat the old lady and motioned for her coffee cup to be refilled. “It’s gotten worse since the conflict. Women have gotten forward and pushy, and men have romance confused with intimacy. I declare, I don’t want to think about it.”

“It’s going to be a February ceremony in Charleston and we’re to live at his home, Turning Tide. I think I’ll like living near the sea,” continued Somerset, her joy in why they were visiting Richmond to begin with resurfacing.

“Nothing but the finest will do if you’re marrying a rich man like him.” Grandmother Marshall peered over her cup at Blanche. “Do you need a loan to turn this girl out the correct way?”

“No, Mother. I have money of my own.”

“So I hear. Poultry breeding. A tobacco heiress hatching off chickens. It makes my head ache. Your choices have always been a letdown—like that dress you chose to wear to the table. It’s too youthful and it makes you look thick in the waist when your posture is already dreadful. You lost all your social graces by running off to the woods to live with that rake. The Forrests all have longevity, too, so I can’t hope you’ll marry better next time.”

“Will Daddy be home while I’m here?” asked Myra.

“David,” said Honor with the same expression Somerset imagined she would have upon finding a fly in her tea. “David took your mother on a holiday. He’s all play and no work, that man, and our ruin lies in his spending hands. Of course, your mother aids and abets him. Nothing is too fine for her.”

“Do you think it’s too early for me to appear out?”

“Everyone is still wagging their tongues, if that’s what you’re asking. Hiram hasn’t been seen since I humiliated him publicly. Do as you will, child. It’s going to take more than a myopic goat to set you back. I can’t speak for Mrs. Whitman’s attitude toward you, but her circle has been growing tighter since you left. I’ve made sure she was chastised for her efforts in punishing you. I don’t think she’ll look you in the face, but I would go back to Orchard Rest with your aunt for another month at least when she goes. It looks more natural.”

Somerset added three spoons of sugar to her coffee cup under the dyspeptic gaze from the head of the table and wished there was a way to return it to the bone china bowl. Uncle Theodore on the back of a raring stallion during the Mexican War saluted her from above Grandmother’s head, although he died well before the war took place. Somerset sank down in her white brocade chair and wished a cavern would open up in the floor and swallow her alive.

“Don’t sit like your mother, Somerset. Too many people in this town are lax about important things. When I set foot on the street, I wish the Evacuation Fire had taken everyone outside the Marsh.”

***

“I changed my mind,” Ivy said to Joseph as they all piled into the carriage for a day of shopping and sightseeing. “I would live on the river with you anytime you said. Just don’t make me return to that vengeful shrine again.”

Then Ivy saw Blanche and hurried to apologize to her new mother-in-law, but Blanche was mired in memories thirty years old and didn’t hear.

“Grandmother is in a remarkable cheerful mood,” insisted Myra. “There’s nothing she likes more than a house full of company. She does hate my mother and most of the new people in the city, but she’s ordered roast pheasant for supper tonight. I can’t think of a clearer indicator that she’s having a nice time.”

“What is she like when she’s having an awful time?” asked Somerset.

“You don’t want to know,” said Blanche. There were faint blue crescents under her eyes and her face looked pained. Somerset thought she must have sat up all night writhing at all the things her mother said.

They were alike, though, reflected Somerset. Blanche was an amateur at Honor’s brand of malice, but the similarities were apparent. Both wasted their goodness by yearning for their dead firstborn. They had a greedy need for the superficial coupled with an entitled, superior attitude that verged on hubris. Yet there was genuine kindness in Blanche. Somerset had witnessed it and wondered where it came from. She bet her papa instilled it through years of soul-sickening work.

“Where are we going?”

“I had your grandmother make an appointment with one of the city’s most prestigious dressmakers.” Blanche sounded distant.

“Mother, I’d like to know more about Uncle Theodore,” said Joseph from the corner of the carriage. “What was he like that he lives on in everyone’s hearts to this day?”

Blanche continued to look out her window as they passed burned ghosts of landmarks.

***

“Your figure is enviable and, with your coloring, I think any wedding dress will look lovely on you,” said Flora Montgomery. “Of course, white has been the rage since Queen Victoria chose it. Did you have anything in mind? Most ladies want something copied from
Godey’s
or
Peterson’s
.”

“I like the idea of white but I’m also partial to blue,” said Somerset.

“Both are lucky colors,” said Flora as she wrote down Somerset’s measurements.

Flora had strawberry blond hair, bold brown eyes, and a nose and chin that suggested she knew everything. Blanche assured Somerset and Ivy that, when it came to fashion, Flora knew no boundaries and set the last word in dressing. Since her husband died running a blockade on fine linens, Flora had shored up the last of his fortune and spun a well-lived life for herself by crafting gowns for Virginia’s elite. Blanche said it was a pity they couldn’t use their connections to reach Worth and have something made, but there was no shame in going to Flora when they might end up paying her more than they would Worth.

“What color did you wear?” Somerset asked Blanche.

“I was in heavy mourning,” replied Blanche as she leafed through a Peterson’s fashion magazine. “It was the only rule I ever broke, marrying while in heavy mourning, but it was an important one.”

Somerset chided herself for not remembering the circumstances and recited to herself the end of the traditional wedding verse.

Marry in black, you’ll wish yourself back.

She should have remembered. Perhaps she should heed tradition just for the sake of nuptial luck.

“I can see why you would want to wear blue,” Flora continued as she began to pull a bound collection of
Godey’s
from under the counter, “but I think white makes a statement about your life to come. If the Queen herself can depart from silver for white, what does it say about you if wear it?”

Myra looked at Somerset standing in the back of the shop with the afternoon sun streaming over her dark coffee-colored hair and creamy skin and smiled.

“I think the only thing that will work for this dress is white silk with point de gaze Brussels lace overlay,” she said. “I wanted something similar for a debut gown, but it didn’t happen with the shortages of dry goods.”

“I can see her in it already,” breathed Blanche.

Flora snapped her fingers, licked the end of her pencil, and began sketching on a pad by her counter.

“I have several ideas to show you,” she said. “You are going to thank me for these ideas until you take your last breaths. I’m afraid I won’t be able to negotiate much on price if you use point de gaze…”

They left the shop feeling finer than the royal monarchy.

***

“You don’t have to purchase so many nice things for me, Mrs. Forrest,” said Ivy when they were all in the carriage again.

“I do. I’d like to see myself shower one bride in finery and leave the other one out.”

“Where is Joseph?” asked Myra.

“He said he was going to a saloon to rustle up a game of cards and would meet up with us at the Marsh,” said Somerset. “I think we should eat luncheon off the Marsh today.”

“That sounds refreshing,” Blanche agreed. “No sense in Momma ordering a fine meal for us today if she has a special menu for tonight.”

“I would wait until she became venomous before I skipped meals,” advised Myra.

Blanche made them stop at a café where they dined on chicken salad and lemonade.

***

After lunch, they set off on a walking tour of Richmond. Everywhere that Blanche stepped held a resurrected memory. She pointed out the brick outlines of burned hotels where she danced as a girl, street corners where she just evaded the advances of men who should have known better, and the smoke-stained remains of churches where her family worshiped just to be seen and admired.

“I wish I’d never returned and seen it this way,” murmured Blanche as they followed after her in the muck.

“That was the American Hotel,” pointed Myra.

“It’s gone,” said Somerset.

“We held a starvation ball there in sixty-four,” said Myra. “Grandmother was right. We were one of the few families for whom money was no issue, but when the supplies became scarce and the lines were cut—well, we went for days at a time without eating. Grandmother rented out the entire American Hotel and all of Richmond’s elite put on their finest garments, which at the time were pitiful rags. We were merry over cups of water and too tired after an hour to dance. I’ll never forget the irony of sitting outside on the stoop under the starlight in my faded daffodil silk dress with my hands shaking and my collarbones sticking out with my belly rumbling. My escort’s belly was rumbling, too. We tried to laugh like it was funny but it wasn’t funny. I was cold and dizzy, and every time I tried to look up and view the moon and stars they would waver. I was sick. I fell asleep on the hotel stoop, and Birdy was too weak to pick me up. She had to drag me by the heels into the hotel and smack my cheeks until I woke up. A slave boy, Lonnie, gave me sips of his vegetable broth. He starved to death in sixty-five.”

“A goose walked on my grave just now,” said Ivy.

“It happened.” Myra’s voice was low.

“How did you keep from losing all your money?” asked Somerset. She couldn’t imagine frivolous Myra surviving starvation, but the question remained of how the Marshalls kept all their money when everyone else lost it.

“We put it in gold and invested in the North,” said Myra. “No one knows and if they guess, they can’t prove it. Everyone thinks we really did have that much more money than them. We were rich and the war made us richer. Inside we know we aren’t respectable anymore. I think it sharpens Grandmother’s hatefulness.”

“We didn’t come close to being hungry after the chickens came,” said Somerset. “There was a point between Eric’s death and Victoria’s accident where I would have welcomed starving to death, but the fact remains that we always had meat for the table even when we could barely scrape together a garden. In hot weather we had the fruit trees at least.”

“There was a time when my stomach was bloated with hunger and my breasts were flat as a washboard,” said Myra. “We couldn’t get anything through the black market because our servants had their throats cut like hogs for things like salt pork and cornmeal. We might as well have been tossing greenbacks in the gutters.”

Blanche insisted on visiting the ruins of Gallego Mills, having seen pictures of it. The gutted ruins with exposed waterwheels within made Somerset’s hair stand on end.

“It burned plenty of times. I wonder why this time feels so different,” sniffed Blanche.

With sorrow written on her already serious face and gold waves escaping her chignon, she looked like an angel sprung off a fresh canvas.

“I always despised it here,” said Blanche as she ran her hands over the wood. “The social games of chess made me mad and I was so relieved to find myself on a riverboat in the middle of nowhere with my Theodore. Yet I never expected to see Richmond ruined. It’s like a ruined pretty girl. You want to remember what was but all you can see is what is. And it all happened within two years of my last visit. I don’t know what to think. It’s like the Judgment happened but I was overlooked.”

She stood with her hands in their black lace mitts, balled up at her bony sides, tears oozing from her Marshall blue eyes.