“Boredom, my dearest? With this lot, how can you be bored? And it’s hardly a wilderness anymore, not with towns and villages springing up everywhere. It is no different here than in New York.”
Mrs. Breese huffed. “New York indeed. New York is a city. This is the end of the earth as far as I am concerned.”
“No different from where you were raised, then.”
“Indeed that is true. This invitation reminds me of when I was young. You girls shall benefit from this.”
Darcy’s cousins pleaded for her aunt to reveal the facts. She sat quiet, her mind summing up all the things this invitation could be. A ball? A dinner party or picnic? She thought of the few neighbors they had, and not a one seemed given to hold such events. But on the other side of the river were large plantations, and the Virginians were noted for gatherings of all sorts. She’d never been to the other side of the Potomac, and the chance excited her.
Mr. Breese lifted his paper and glanced over it. “Are you going to keep us in suspense, my dear?”
“I shall read it when I am ready … I am ready now.”
“I am glad to hear it, my dear.”
“Which do you wish to know first, who it is from or where it is from?”
“I suppose you will tell us both, whether I want to know or not.”
“It comes from Twin Oaks. A country picnic and dance is to be held this Saturday in celebration of Captain and Mrs. Rhendon’s son’s homecoming.” She wiggled and her mobcap went awry. The girls were bursting with smiles and exclamations.
“How thrilling.” Mr. Breese yawned.
“It says here that Daniel Rhendon has returned from a long stay in England and wishes to celebrate. I imagine everyone has been invited. Meaning those of good social standing like us.”
“Why do you suppose that, Mother?” Rachel winked at her sisters, her blonde curls, amid a wide blue ribbon, toppling over her slim shoulders.
“Because, my dear, we are people of quality, and it is only proper the Rhendons would invite us.”
Darcy wondered,
Why now?
“They never have before, not in all the years we have lived here.”
“That is true. Perhaps an acquaintance mentioned us.”
Mr. Breese blew out a breath. “It would displease your dear departed mother to know you approve of the Rhendons, my sweet.”
Mrs. Breese arched her brows. “How so, my dear?”
“Have you forgotten, she was a loyalist during the Revolution?” Darcy’s cousins turned their heads in unison and looked at him with wide-eyed interest. “Their neighbors convinced your papa to join the militia at a ripe old age. Remember?”
Mrs. Breese shrugged. “I do. And Mama said rebellion was an evil thing. She grieved that Papa thought differently and took up arms against the King. I recall her wails that he’d be hung by the neck along with the rest of the traitors—which meant the Patriots.”
This sparked Darcy’s interest. Her aunt shared so little about her family. “Did their difference of opinion cause them to love each other less, Aunt?”
Mari Breese shook her head. “Not one whit. Mama swore she would not abandon Papa for his misguided politics, and she never did. His stint in the militia did not last long. He was too old to cope.”
It pleased Darcy to hear that love had won out over all odds. If only it had been that way for her parents. She knew something dark had happened between them, with the little she could remember, but she had never dared to force the information from her aunt and uncle. They never offered to reveal anything. And so, she left well enough alone.
Darcy shut her eyes and forced back one memory—that of her mother lying still and pale. She could not see Eliza’s face, only a flow of dark hair. She remembered the firm touch of her father’s hands, the sound of his voice, and the words—
You’ve heard of Hell, haven’t you? Well, that’s where your mama will be
.
She had vague memories of her father, some that were nightmarish that she kept to herself, others of a loving parent who pampered her. Her heart ached recalling him and her mother, whose faces were a blur in her mind.
“This gives me pause to think of your own parents, Darcy,” her aunt said. “Such negligence by your father to have left for the West the way he did, leaving you with us without a forwarding address of any kind. But I should not have been surprised.”
“I do not remember him well enough to know, Aunt. And I doubt there are forwarding addresses into the Western territories.”
“I would say it was more that he did not wish the responsibility of raising a girl,” said her aunt.
You see, if you are a bad person and sin—that is where you will go. That is where your mother is going … forever
.
Those words came back again, causing her heart to sink. She gazed at the evening light pouring through the window and wished it could erase them from her memory.
Night was falling and the crickets in the garden were chirping. Aunt Mari stood and pushed the window wider to allow the breeze to pass into the room. Then she sat back down and looked over at Darcy. “Oh, it has troubled you for me to mention them. Would it help if I told you that your papa loved your mother? That much I can say with certainty, Darcy.”
Darcy raised her eyes to meet her aunt’s. “Do not worry yourself, Aunt Mari. I was so young and do not remember them. You and Uncle Will have been my parents, and I thank God for it.”
“I believe the truth is when Eliza died, Hayward went West to lose himself in his grief,” her uncle said.
“Oh, how romantic!” cried Dolley. Her winsome blue eyes glowed as she clutched her hands to her heart. Dolley heaved the next two breaths while she brushed back her light brown hair from her forehead.
“Romantic?” Mrs. Breese clicked her tongue. “A sad turn of events, shrouded in mystery is hardly romantic, Dolley. There were things said and done we will never know … never.”
Darcy grew silent, for she had nothing she wanted to say that would reveal her own thoughts and feelings on the subject. But within her, emptiness remained.
Her aunt reached over and patted her hand. “Never mind, Darcy. You should not think
on such sad things. I’m sorry for mentioning them. Let us return to the Rhendons’ invitation instead. I wager you will catch the eye of many a young man at this event. Perhaps even find a husband.”
Darcy shook her head. “Oh, not me, Aunt.”
“Why not? You are just as pretty as Lizzy and Martha, and I dare say even Abby and Rachel. Dolley is yet too young.”
Darcy disagreed. She thought her cousins were far more attractive. They were enamored with fashion, wore their hair in the latest styles, and always wore stockings and shoes; whereas she cared little for what was in and what was out, wore her hair loose about her shoulders, refused to wear stockings in hot weather, and loved going barefoot in summer.
She stood up and, going to the window seat, leaned on the sill and drew in the air. “If you could have your way, Aunt, you would have us all married by Saturday eve.”
Her aunt sighed. “Well you should have married a year ago. Lizzy and Martha should be married by the year’s end. I was sixteen when I married Mr. Breese.”
Mr. Breese looked over the rim of his spectacles. “Thank you for the reminder, my dear.”
She gave him a coy look in response. “Now, girls,” she went on. “We should look at each one of your dresses to see if they are in acceptable condition for this affair. If they are not we shall see if we can make subtle repairs or changes to them, perhaps add or subtract where needed.”
“Can we not make new dresses? Or go into town and buy new ones?” Lizzy gazed over at Mr. Breese with a demure smile and batted her large blue eyes. Darcy had seen it many times— Lizzy’s attempt to twist him around her finger.
“For all six of you?” Stunned, Mr. Breese lifted his brows. “I am not a rich man, Lizzy. You must make do with what you have.”
The girls pouted in unison, but Darcy rose to her feet and swung her arms around her uncle’s neck. “We shall make you proud of us. Our clothes are just as good as any others, and we should not be judged by what we wear. French fashion is out, since their gentry are wearing sackcloth and ashes these days.”
Mrs. Breese brushed her handkerchief over her neck. “Oh, Darcy. I hope you keep opinions like that to yourself while at Twin Oaks. Many people judge a young lady by the clothes she wears. It says where you fit in.”
“Yes, Aunt.” Darcy wrapped a strand of her hair around her finger. “I hear they have fine horses at Twin Oaks. Do you suppose they shall let us ride?”
Astonishment spread over her aunt’s face. “Certainly not. It would be unbecoming.”
“But ladies ride all the time, Mother,” said Abby. She had not spoken until now, and Darcy smiled. Lately, Abby strove to break out of her shy nature and join in the conversation. She was the politest of young ladies, and in appearance the image of her mother. Horses were her passion, and the idea of possibly riding one at Twin Oaks caused her eyes to light up.
“I do hope the Rhendons allow it, for you especially, Abby,” Darcy said.
“Ladies should not ride horses at country picnics,” said Mrs. Breese. “I will not have my girls racing about the grounds like backwoods bumpkins.”
Lizzy had to inject. “What do you suggest we do, Mother? Sit all day fanning ourselves, melting in the heat, making eyes at the boys?” Each girl giggled, except for Darcy, who smiled.
“There will be other things to do,” said Mrs. Breese. “You older girls must strive to be noticed, dance with those who ask, and do all you can to win a heart or two.”
“Sounds boring to me,” Rachel moaned, “and too hot to do anything.”
“Then be sure to wear plenty of powder, and stay in the shade,” said Mrs. Breese.
“Anything else we should know?” Mr. Breese folded his paper again.
“Well, I have not finished reading the invitation.” Mrs. Breese held the letter up to her eyes. “It says young Mr. Rhendon has brought a party with him from England. It does not list the names, but it says he brings two ladies and a gentleman.”
“The English cannot keep themselves away, can they?” Darcy said.
Mrs. Breese gave her a sidelong glance. “It says here, the gentleman is an exceptional rider and will make inquiry into Captain Rhendon’s thoroughbreds.” Again, she set the letter down on her lap and sighed with delight. “How interesting is that, my girls? Two ladies and an English gentleman.”
Mrs. Breese folded the invitation and set it on the side table next to her.
Darcy went from the room out into the hallway. She stepped out the door, sat down on the stone stoop, and stroked the dog’s ears. What would happen if she caught the eye of some gentleman at this gathering? He would have to have excellent qualities for her to like him, and she doubted if there was such a man alive, for her expectations were much too high.
She wanted a man like her uncle, kind, generous, with a sense of humor that matched his sense of duty. Could there be such a man searching for a girl like her?
She listened to the chatter coming from upstairs where the girls had gone to sort through their clothes. Missy, their housemaid, came down the stairs with an armload of frocks, stockings, and laces, all in need of washing and repair.
Her aunt appeared on the upstairs landing. “Darcy, come look at your gown. It is important.”
She did as she was asked, and when she drew out the best dress she owned from the armoire, she held it out before her and looked it over. Her aunt stared at it, tapped her forefinger against her chin, and huffed, “It will have to be made over.”
The gown in question opened down the back and closed with hooks and eyes. The bodice seams were piped with narrow cording of matching fabric, and the deep hem was faced with heavier fabric to protect it from wear.
“I think it is fine the way it is, Aunt. But if you think it needs altering …”
“Oh, indeed it does. We will alter the sleeves and add ribbon and trim. And we should
remove the lace. It is so out of fashion.”
“Seems like too much work for one day’s outing.”
Mrs. Breese took a step back and squared her shoulders. “I dare say, Darcy, I have never known you to have a lazy bone in your body. Believe me, altering this gown shall be well worth your time. Besides, the cloth was too dearly acquired to abandon, and too many hours went into the original stitching to cast it off.”
Darcy agreed. She was not in the least bit slothful, but sewing made her fingers sore. Yet, she would follow through. “I did not mean we should cast it off, Aunt. I just happen to like it the way it is.”
“Then keep it as it is, if it pleases you.” Slapping her hands together, her aunt let out a little giggle. “I am so happy that full skirts and tight bodices are out of fashion, as well as highdressed hair and painted faces.”
Darcy smiled at the image in her mind. “I cannot picture you with your hair piled high and powdered, or your face painted.”
“Never!” said her aunt. “A tight bodice yes. But the rest, I cared not. For it was so vain and made a woman look clownish.”
Expecting such an answer, Darcy laughed. “Then I, too, am happy.”
Her aunt leaned toward her. “Now, we have four days to complete our tasks. Saturday shall be here before we know it.”
“Yes, Aunt.”
“Missy shall take care of the rest of the chores so you girls can work without interruption. Now you should be glad for that. No feeding the chickens. No collecting eggs. Isn’t that grand?”
“I like feeding the hens and collecting eggs.” She glanced at her aunt with insistence. “I can still do my work and finish my dress.”
“Let us not put that to the test, Darcy.” And off her aunt went through the door, leaving Darcy to stand in the middle of the room with her dress in hand. She held it against her body and gazed into the mirror.
“It will do just as it is.”
With that resolved, she put it away and headed downstairs. She took up a willow basket from beside the kitchen door and went off to the hen house.
2
Along the country road, summer thrived, and the breeze blew dogwood petals onto the ground. Wild raspberry bushes drooped with succulent blood-red fruit along dusty hedgerows, and the songs of goldfinches echoed through the woods.