Beside Two Rivers

4





Darcy thought she should, perhaps for a time, rebel against the attraction she had for Ethan Brennan. “I imagine the stable-hand has removed the saddle from that beast of a horse and locked him in a stall,” Darcy said to Martha as they sat together on a quilt spread out beneath a tree.

“After much thought on the matter, I think you should forgive Mr. Brennan for being so distressed and concerned.”

“Certainly I forgive him,” said Darcy. “It was my fault as well, I suppose.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Martha nudged her.

“No. He is British and I am a proud Marylander.”

“Proud to have a heritage that rebelled against the monarchy.”

Her other cousins rushed over. “Have you seen the tables on the porch?” said Dolley. “They are all covered in white tablecloths and loaded down with so much food one would think they’d collapse.”

China plates edged in gold leaf, diamond-cut glassware, and silver sparkled. A joint of beef and an enormous ham were on the center table, flanked by roasted fowl and bowls of bright green pole beans and cucumbers. Loaves of homemade bread and rolls were heaped in baskets, accompanied by pots of butter. Yellow cakes dripped with sugar icing among platters of nuts and fruits. At each table, a sentry was positioned. Negro youths as young as eight years held large wicker fans in their hands to shoo the flies away from the bounty.

“Just look at that,” Darcy said to her cousins, annoyed. “Children should not be forced to stand by a table and swat flies all day.”

Martha tapped Darcy’s hand with her fingertips. “But they are slaves, Darcy.”

“Yes, that is the problem.”

“You think too hard on such things.”

Darcy looked in disbelief at her cousin. “And what is wrong with that?”

“Our brains were not made to ponder so deeply such strenuous issues.”

Darcy balked. “Where did you hear such nonsense, Martha? Uncle Will never taught us such a lie. And a lie it is, for God made us just as smart as men, if we desire to be so. And I do not mind saying that slavery is an evil we must not abide.”

Martha looked back at the boys fanning the tables. “You are right to say so. I imagine those boys would rather be swimming or fishing on a day like today.”

Darcy sighed. “Instead they are enslaved and will stay that way until the day they die. Let us be kind to them.”

“Well, I shall find the cake,” said Abigail rising, “before Rachel devours every last crumb.”

They all hurried off and left Darcy alone. Above her, the oak spread out in a parasol of green to shade her. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the waxy leaves that twisted in the breeze.

“Your opinion of slavery is much different from that of some others in your country. Are you permitted to voice it to people other than your own family?”

She jerked her head around to see Ethan leaning up against the tree, the sole of his right boot pressed against the trunk. She gathered her dress about her knees and glanced up at him. She could not help feeling the flutter in her chest upon seeing him. His eyes were warm as they met hers.

“Forgive me,” he said, pulling away from the tree. “I’ve startled you again.”

She turned her head away with a lift of her chin. “Not at all.”

“And my question?”

She smiled back at him. “My uncle encourages us to speak our minds.”

She looked away toward the porch. Her cousins were busy, along with the other guests, filling their plates with the milk and honey of Virginian hospitality.

“My family welcomes my opinions. As for strangers,” Darcy said, “I did not know anyone else would overhear my comments.”

He inclined his head. “I beg your pardon. I was walking this way without the intention of eavesdropping. Will you not follow your cousins to the tables?” He put out his hand hoping she would take it.

She ignored his offer. “I am not hungry. And it is too hot to eat.”

“I agree …”

She gave him a haughty look. “I believe you are a lady’s escort.”

“How did you know?”

“We saw the carriage drive in, and you gave your hand to one. Won’t she be angry that you are speaking to me? It is rude of you to leave her alone.”

“She hasn’t even noticed I’ve gone. She has a swarm of men surrounding her and is getting plenty of attention.”

“Is she not engaged to you?”

“No, only assumed to be.”

“I see. She is beautiful.”

“Yes, but beauty fades.” With his eyes fixed upon Miss Roth, Ethan’s voice fell into a tone that hinted upon disappointment. In those large blue eyes belonging to Miss Roth thrived no sign of love, only possession and disapproval that he spoke with Darcy. She headed in Ethan’s direction once she broke free of the men around her.

“Pray, Ethan, present me,” she said.

“Miss Roth, may I present Miss Darcy …” and he hesitated.

Miss Roth leaned against Ethan. “Perhaps she hasn’t a last name of any importance. Shall we join the others? I have an appetite now.”

Then, with a regal lift of her head, she held her hand out to him.

Darcy glanced at Ethan, watched the anger bank in his eyes. She wondered if Miss Roth saw it too. If she did, she cared not a whit. “Will you walk back with us, Miss Darcy?”

“Yes, I think I will. But I will have to join my aunt. She is motioning to me.”

Giving his arm to Miss Roth, Ethan led her across the grass to the stairs, to the cool shade of the veranda. Darcy was mortified by how the snobbish Englishwoman had treated her. She detested the sanctimonious smile, the critical eye that Miss Roth had cast upon her, as if she were one of her servants.

Yet, I feel sorry for her. How exhausting it must be, demanding the attention of others, striving to be something she is not.

When she glanced at Ethan and saw his eyes turn in her direction, but never catching them, her breath held and she looked at him with a yearning to make him think better of her than what Miss Roth had made certain to plant within his mind. Or had she?

The sun dipped low along the horizon, and a butler dressed in scarlet stepped out among the guests gathered on the porch. With an elegance that matched that of an English herald, he lifted his head, his white-gloved hands motioning to all before him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, attention if you please.” His voice rang mellow and deep, and it caught Darcy’s ears. A memory forced its way to the surface. She had once before heard a voice such as this—long ago as a child. A face she could not see, but she remembered a pair of hands, calloused and sinewy, picking her up, placing her on a swing, and pushing her with gentleness on a midsummer day.

She blinked the memory back and watched the butler bow low to the assembly and sweep his hand toward the door. “The musicians have tuned their instruments, rosined their bows, and gathered around their sheets of music, and they await your pleasure. If you please, follow me into the great hall, where your host and hostess bid you to dance.”

With an elegant turn, he proceeded through the entryway. The guests followed him with excitement in their steps. Mrs. Breese drew Darcy and her older cousins close to her. “Come, girls. Remember what I taught you. A graceful figure gathers attention.”

Once inside the house, Darcy glanced over the trappings. The entrance to the dance hall was a carved frame painted pale yellow, with a bower of blood-red roses set above it to scent the room. Paintings hung on the walls. Chairs of blue velvet lined the perimeter. Tall French doors stood open.

Darcy’s heart raced at the sound of violins. The music struck up and gallants gathered up girls and drew them out onto the floor. A long row formed, gentlemen on one side, ladies on the other. They weaved up and down the line, ending with their hands touching a partner’s.

Pulled into the fray of dancers, she scanned the room for Ethan. A moment more, and there he was, standing near the entrance. Miss Roth opened her fan and sat down in the chair near him, followed by Miss Byrd. Their heads were held high, and they sat with their backs straight as broom handles.

Darcy thought it a shame to live day in and day out with a face covered in powder and rouge, to be confined to a life of boredom, of social gatherings where one’s rank ruled supreme. She felt sorry for Miss Roth. But then their eyes met, and Miss Roth gave Darcy a cold stare.

The slow turn of her body, her hair loose about her shoulders, the elegant music seeping through her pores, brought Darcy back and made her feel happy to have lived the life God gave her. She smiled as she glided, going from one gentleman’s hand to another’s.

But never Ethan Brennan’s.