Sweeter than Birdsong (9 page)

The odd pulse returned to her ears and made her turn away and focus her attention on the trees beside the road.

They drove down a dirt lane and the trees melted away into jade-green fields. A large home came into view, its proud pillars stretching from ground to roof, a little Parthenon inexplicably transported to the western woods.

The buggy rounded the edge of a glistening ornamental pond and pulled up at the entrance. Frederick left his place to hand her down from her seat. If only she didn’t feel so wooden and clumsy.

A Negro servant opened the front door with a deferential bow. Frederick stepped back to allow Kate to precede him through the crystal-transomed doorway.

A small cluster of people stood in the parlor. Cornelia Lawrence, the president’s daughter, looked very sophisticated in a pale yellow gown and silk-flowered straw hat. She spoke with an older man, tall, gray-haired, and evidently well fed. She paused at the sight of Kate and beckoned her over. Cornelia had been gracious and warm since her return from a two-year trip to France. If Kate’s family were different, she and Cornelia might have become friends.

Frederick offered Kate his arm to escort her in that direction.

“Mr. Jones,” Cornelia said to Frederick’s father as they approached, “this is my friend Miss Winter with your son.”

Despite the older man’s girth, Kate saw the family resemblance. Mr. Jones had a friendly face.

“Delighted to meet you.” He took Kate’s hand with a dip of his head. “Though I must ask what you’re doing with this rascal.” His speech was Southern and slow, as if he had all the time in the world.

Frederick looked at Kate with open admiration. “I ask myself the same thing, Father.” The older man and the younger man grinned at one another. She liked to see their camaraderie. That was how a home should be—harmonious.

As Cornelia and Frederick chatted about his horse and buggy, Kate took in her surroundings with subtle glances to the left and right. The house was new, thickly carpeted and furnished in burgundy and hunter green, with dark wood paneling. In the enormous parlor, a magnificent tapestry covered almost an entire wall. It depicted a white mansion amidst green fields dotted with animals—and slave workers. She turned away, uncomfortable.

“You have a lovely home,” Cornelia said.

“Yes.” Mr. Jones hooked one thumb in his waistcoat and surveyed the parlor with pride. “Many of the pieces here are heirlooms from my family.”

Frederick offered Kate his arm. “May I show you the grounds?”

She laid her hand on his crisp white sleeve, still adjusting to the firm, alien feel of a masculine arm, so solid compared to her own slim wrist.

Frederick called to the uniformed black maid in the dining room. “Marie, please bring us some bread. We’re going to feed the ducks in the back.”

He invited Cornelia to join them, and she cheerfully agreed, taking his other arm. He led them past the other guests toward a French door that opened at the rear of the house.

As they crossed the foyer, a servant opened the front door, and in stepped Kate’s mother, resplendent in her lilac gown, with Leah just behind her. But to Kate’s shock, her father also entered, handing his hat to the servant and waiting to follow her sister in.

Small wonder her mother did not seem at ease. Her smile was tight and she seemed paler than usual as she greeted Mr. Jones. Kate watched her father closely. He did not seem to be weaving as he walked, nor did she smell any bourbon. It might yet be possible to have an uneventful afternoon here.

Then Ben Hanby walked in, only ten feet away from Kate.

She went cold. He must not raise the subject of the musicale. But he would not, after what she had said to him. Her mother had not been at all pleased when Ben greeted her in the window the other morning—she said it was vulgar for Kate to acknowledge him from her bedroom. Perhaps her mother’s annoyance would keep her away from Ben, and that would prevent any unintended revelations about the musicale.

Behind Ben came a man Kate recognized as his father, Mr. William Hanby, and a pretty, middle-aged woman who must be his mother. The Hanby men handed their hats to the servant. Why had the room gone quiet?

“Mr. and Mrs. Hanby!” Mr. Jones’s voice boomed through the room. He strutted over to them, carrying his extra weight like a suit of armor. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jones.” Mr. Hanby extended a hand after a moment, and the two men shook hands, though they looked wary. Mr. Hanby’s square shoulders and midlife good looks contrasted sharply with Mr. Jones’s bulk.

Ben Hanby was a little taller than his father, she noticed, though they both had the same dark hair and deep-set eyes.

“Ben, come join us! We’re going to the pond,” Frederick said.

Ben nodded and walked over to them.

The maid brought out a sack of old crusts and Cornelia dropped back to walk with Ben. The party moved through the glass doors and down the wide steps behind the house. A number of guests of all ages strolled across the lawn, the women’s dresses like bright flowers in the afternoon sunlight. Cornelia’s parents, her two young brothers, and the Bogler girls stood near the house, gazing at the fertile fields that rolled up the hills of the estate. Mr. Lawrence plucked a daisy from a trellis that shaded his wife, Ida.

“Hello, President Lawrence,” Frederick said. “Enjoying the view?”

“Wonderful,” he replied, handing his wife the daisy without losing a whit of his customary calm dignity. His hair was overcast with gray but retained a faded trace of the auburn hue he had passed down to his children. He did not seem as intimidating, divested of his scholarly robe.

“We’re going to feed the ducks,” Cornelia said. “Would you like to come with us?”

The Lawrences agreed, as did the Boglers. Soon a host of would-be duck-feeders headed down to the pond.

Kate released Frederick’s arm when they arrived at the water’s edge. Touching him unsettled her, though it was not unpleasant. She busied herself with feeding the smallest ducks.

“The ducks are lively.” What an absolute dunce she was.
The ducks are lively
.

But Frederick smiled at Kate and handed her another small piece of bread. “They’re inspired by your beauty.” He laughed, which made it more bearable.

Kate took the bread from his warm hand.
They’re inspired by the bread
. By the time she gathered the nerve to consider saying it aloud, the moment was past. It was beyond comprehension how Frederick could enjoy her company when she was utterly without conversation. But he continued to smile and say entertaining things about their courses of study.

He stayed only a step away from her, but Ben joined them on her other side as they stood at the pond’s edge. Cornelia was still deep in conversation with her parents, halfway around the pond.

Kate fought her rising dismay. The prospect of speaking with two of them at once was so daunting that she wished to be somewhere else—almost anywhere else.

Frederick and Ben tore chunks of bread for her to throw to the birds. Both young men seemed to be tearing bread more and more rapidly. She had trouble keeping up with the morsels being tendered to her from either side. Frederick had a hint of a smirk on his face, belying his air of studied nonchalance. Ben was determined and quiet.

“My friend,” Frederick said to Ben, “when I invited Miss Winter to the party, I intended to keep her all to myself, in a most unfair way.” He smiled at Kate and handed her another small piece of bread.

“I do not think you have enough food for the ducks. My purpose is strictly humanitarian,” Ben said. He flourished a much larger piece of bread toward Kate, with a keen look at his friend. She glanced back and forth between them, then took the bread from Ben, her cheeks warming under their mutual regard.

In another minute, they ran out of bread. Kate seized the opportunity to excuse herself and walked as quickly as she dared to Cornelia, far more out of breath than her exertion would excuse.

“Shall we walk around the pond?” Kate asked her, words tumbling out.

“Of course.” Together they stepped through the low grass onto a graveled path that swept a graceful oval for promenaders.

A backward glance revealed that Frederick and Ben had remained at the pond’s edge. The two young men glared at each other for a moment, then at the ducks. Finally, Frederick offered to show Ben the horses. They walked away, seeming to regain their easy rapport as they entered the masculine realm.

Cornelia and Kate continued their amble around the pond.

“I’ve hardly had a chance to speak with you this semester.” Cornelia smiled. “Will you walk with me back to the house?”

“I would like that.” It would be a welcome respite from male attention.

Cornelia took her hand as if they were bosom companions. Another odd sensation for Kate—she was not accustomed to being touched. But, as with Frederick’s arm, it was not unpleasant. “You know,” Cornelia said as they walked back, “every girl in town would love to change places with you. The Bogler girls were fit to be tied when you were feeding ducks.”

“I will freely give way to those girls. I found it awkward.”

“Well, you are certainly making Frederick work for his privilege, as I didn’t see you speak more than two words to him.” The kindness in her eyes made it a gentle joke between friends, not a reproof.

“I spoke at least four or five.”

Ben Hanby was also walking back to the house, about twenty yards ahead of them.

“You did not want to walk with Mr. Hanby before?” Kate asked.

“It was plain that something was on his mind. He was not diverted by my idle chatter, so I told him I wished to stay and speak with my parents. I do like him, but he is sure to be a minister, you know, and the odds of having a decent living in that profession are miniscule. He may not even be able to marry.”

“Oh.” Kate did not want to say anything on that subject. Discussing men with another young woman was dangerous territory, as Cornelia might ask her something personal. Though it was strange, indeed, that a young man like Ben, with such talent and an appreciation for beauty, would choose something as alien as preaching. It was an aspect of him Kate could not understand. Why did some people have strong faith and others not? Perhaps it was predestined, as some believed. But it would be comforting to have Ben’s conviction, his belief that God was close enough to hear. If he was not—if he sat somewhere on high letting the earth spin on through evil and suffering to its predestined end—then a voice lifted in prayer was no better than silence, just as her mother claimed. Kate hurried ahead of her friend across the last few feet of lawn and up into the dining room.

The table was spread with delicious roast meats. There were two giant turkeys and several platters of pork, beef, and venison. Tureens steaming with fragrant corn chowder stood among smaller bowls filled with plump beans and stewed tomatoes. Fresh loaves of bread were sliced and arranged artfully in baskets. It was an impressive display. Her parents had means, to be sure, but they did not entertain, and certainly not on this scale.

Through the open doors to the parlor, she saw her parents and Leah speaking with Daniel Jones. Kate must be a dutiful daughter or she would hear about her shortcomings later at home. She crossed to her mother’s side.

Mr. Jones winked at her, but directed his comment to her mother. “I just met your beautiful elder daughter, Mrs. Winter. And I believe my son finds her quite charming as well.”

Kate blushed, but pleasure lit her mother’s face. Unspoken parental scheming brightened the undertones of her subsequent conversation with Mr. Jones.

The afternoon was deteriorating. To be the target of so much attention and conversation was painful, especially when her mother could observe it. Her father remained silent and probably appeared surly to the others.

If Kate left Westerville, she need never again go out in the company of both her parents.

The rest of the party straggled through the back doors and exclaimed at the feast laid out on the table.

“Where shall we all sit?” Cornelia asked. There were places laid at the grand table, but despite its size, it could only accommodate one-third of the large number of guests present.

Frederick spoke up as he came through the door. “We have arranged some tables in order for some of us to picnic outside, around the side of the house. Please, come along! The more the merrier. The servants will follow with baskets to bring the meal.”

As the guests filed back outside, Mr. Jones walked in from the parlor with a genial grin. “Don’t everybody leave just yet,” he said. “Some of us will remain here at this table. Frederick, come back and join us when you have seated our guests. Why don’t you dine with us in here, Mr. and Mrs. Hanby? And Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, Mr. and Mrs. Winter, will you stay, with your families? My wife will be here shortly. She has been supervising the cook and servants.”

When the four families sat down and the rush of guests subsided, there were twelve at the table, as Cornelia’s younger brothers had asked to go outside for the picnic. Frederick sat to Kate’s right, and to her surprise, Ben Hanby sat to her left. At the foot of the table was Frederick’s mother, whom Mr. Jones introduced as Sapphia. She was petite and blond, as demure in manner as her husband was bluff. She conversed easily with Ben and his parents. At the other end of the table, Daniel Jones spoke to Ruth Winter and the Lawrences about his ancestral home in Kentucky.

The four college students kept silent. Far too aware of the unfamiliar masculine presence of Frederick and Ben only inches from her elbows, Kate gave her attention to her food, which was excellent.

“It’s very kind of you to open your new home to guests,” Ida Lawrence said to Mrs. Jones.

“Yes, and so many of us,” added Mr. Lawrence. “It’s good for the community. We appreciate your hospitality.”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

Kate’s father sat a few places away from her down the table, but his wine glass rose and fell with alarming regularity. A manservant came to refill it with the decanter four, five times. She lost count. She could not pay attention to the conversation, so distracted was she by the potential disaster looming a few feet from her. Her shoulders were tense and her back hurt.