Chapter Twenty-Six

Judy watched Jack dismount his horse and lead it to the stables. She was used to seeing Tudor leaping around his uncle like a puppy, but her son had been gone for weeks now. She almost wished Jack had gone to Richmond to support Nancy as Mr. Tucker suggested. He could have visited and come back with word of him. Tudor's schoolboy letters told her nothing. Then there had been a letter to Jack, from the school, suggesting Tudor's behavior was not all it should be. She was afraid he was unhappy.

Perhaps Maria and Fanny would bring a letter from Tudor in Richmond. They were expected mid-afternoon, for a stay of at least a week. Some quiet days with good friends. Judy needed that. She wondered if Jack would stay for dinner or if he'd take himself off to Roanoke before Maria and his half-sister even arrived. She hoped so. She hoped he would leave them in peace. Jack was so hard to read these days, and although years had passed since all had come to nothing, who knew better than Judy that some scars never heal? Maria had been married for several years now, but to her knowledge, Jack had never been involved with anyone else.

Judy shivered. It was impossible to think of those days without bringing Nancy to mind again. Must banishing her sister from her thoughts be so impossible? But in the case of Maria and Jack, Nancy had not been at fault. Not really. She'd been indiscreet, but then she'd had no idea how things lay between Maria and Jack.

Fanny and Maria arrived at Bizarre later than expected. There had been trouble with the horses and a long delay at a tavern. Fanny looked particularly pale.

"She has not been the same since Elizabeth was born," Maria confided. "She lost a great deal too much weight and told me she hasn't slept well in months. I think both she and John hope a week with us here — a break from the children and the plantation — will help her regain some strength."

"He travels too much," said Judy. "She is alone too much. Managing slaves? Children? A lazy overseer? All with an absent husband? It's almost worse than being a widow. I don't expect relief, but she suffers in his absence."

"I agree. She was talking in the carriage about her parents. In her memory, her mother never struggled, but managed everything with competence and good humor."

"Then we must contrive to distract her in these few days. We'll be quiet and restful, and we will eat well. Sarah can fetch cream from the dairy."

Their talk turned to kitchen matters and what meals might tempt their friend's appetite. For Judy, the visit was almost as good as a rest for herself. She knew none of the dragging heaviness that so often dogged her. Although not widowed as she was, these were women who understood her daily challenges. Their shared concerns about business and children, their faith, their belief in the central importance of family and all things domestic bonded them. Letters kept them connected, but visits fortified them through long, lonely months apart.

Maria, maintaining a young family and a lively household in Richmond, rather than a plantation, was applied to for information regarding a multitude of connections and extended family members. They passed many hours reviewing births, marriages and deaths, considering whose household was on the rise and whose social influence was on the wane. Who had hosted the most lavish events? Who had fallen out with whom? Who had been seen in the latest fashion, and what were the latest bargains acquired by their favored Richmond milliner? Names were thrown back and forth with easy familiarity, some of Judy's sisters among them. But not, she noted, Nancy.

At first, that pleased her. She had wanted Nancy gone from Bizarre and relished the chance not to think about her. But as the days of the visit passed without a single reference to her, it began to seem odd. Judy questioned herself. Was Maria waiting for her to ask about Nancy? Was Fanny? Might her friends find it peculiar that she had not enquired about her younger sister? Molly and Lizzie were both mentioned. William and Lucy also, even her younger sisters, Jenny and Jane. Why not Nancy? But how to ask now, when she had not done so earlier? She tussled with the question in her room at night and rose each morning resolved to bring the conversation around to Nancy, only to wait for one of them to mention her first — and being left dissatisfied.

It was Jack who asked about her in the end. His appearance at the table changed the mood. He was at odds with Mr. Tucker again, and Fanny, who had declared to Judy more times than she could count that she never felt better than when visiting her father and stepmother in Williamsburg, was stiff with him, perhaps waiting for him to make some negative remark she would feel duty bound to contradict. If Maria was uncomfortable around Jack Randolph, she didn't show it. Most of the dinner conversation fell between the two of them, and just when Judy thought that he too had decided against asking about Nancy, he named her.

"And what of Judy's younger sister?" he asked. "Have you seen Nancy much around town?"

Maria paused, fork halfway to her mouth. Her eyes darted to Fanny and then back to Jack. A wave of foreboding swept over Judy.

"I have not."

Jack frowned. "Really? But you're a regular visitor to her sister, Molly, are you not? I thought you would be bound to cross paths with Nancy there, if nowhere else."

Judy watched Maria. Her discomfort was obvious. Why?

"I don't believe Molly and Nancy are on good terms," she said.

"I've heard nothing of this." Judy looked around the table. Jack looked amused, as if the idea of her sisters falling out pleased him, but Fanny's eyes were on her plate, and Maria's neck had gone red. "There's some mystery here," she said. "Please. What has happened between Molly and Nancy?"

"I don't think it's my place to say."

"Not your place? We are the best of friends, Maria. And if you have information about my relations, I'd be grateful if you would share it. Or must I leave the dinner table and write to them? And then imagine who knows what calamity while I wait for their reply?"

"Yes, come now," said Jack. "You can't leave us hanging like that. Out with it. What is up with them? Molly, of course, can be high-handed, but I'll wager that whatever has happened, it will be Nancy at fault."

"But I know nothing of the details. And it is the worst kind of gossip. I was quite determined not to tell you, for there may not be a word of truth in it."

"A word of truth in what?" Judy's temper rose. "I can plainly see you have already told Fanny, so you may as well let us hear the story too. What has Nancy done now?"

Maria spoke in a rush. "They say that Molly's husband is much enamored of his wife's sister. They say he haunts her lodgings. And when she was no more seen in Molly's company, many took that as proof that there is something inappropriate between Nancy and David Meade Randolph. But it could all be lies. I didn't want to upset you. It may be total nonsense."

"It can't be true." Judy's hand went to her mouth.

"Can't it?" Jack grabbed at the table, his face tight with fury. "Can't it? That damned woman. How I wish to God I'd never heard the name Nancy Randolph."