Chapter Five

"You're being ridiculous!"

"I most certainly am not." Nancy clutched the book in her lap.

"You are. Ridiculously childish, selfish and spoiled."

"Spoiled?"

Gabriella had found her in the parlor — the newly refurbished parlor with white-painted panels and a bright new carpet, shipped over from England. She should have known better than to read there. Gabriella saw the room as her territory and knew nothing of Nancy's fond memories of sitting in that space with her mother and sisters. As usual, only a few words set them at loggerheads. Gabriella had suggested she change for dinner, but Nancy refused. Informed that General Henry Lee would be joining them, she had burst out laughing.

"Yes, spoiled," said Gabriella. "Here is a perfectly decent and upstanding gentleman coming to our home and, who knows, perhaps take an interest in you. And you won't even change your attire?"

"Why should I? What is General Henry Lee to me? A friend of my father. Nothing more."

Gabriella put her hands on her hips. "Nothing more will be the truth of it if you don't make an effort."

"To what purpose?"

"What purpose do you suppose? Do you imagine yourself living here all your days with your father and me? You may disabuse your mind of that idea immediately. A daughter's duty is to marry well and give her husband a home and a family he can be proud of. Not to sit around reading sensational novels and daydreaming."

"I do not daydream."

"You do little else! Let me tell you, Nancy — you need to cut your coat according to your cloth. General Lee is a fine gentleman with a sizable property. He keeps his own stable and up to twenty slave-hands. He's taking an interest in you. I've neither the time nor inclination to be escorting you around Richmond looking for suitors when a perfectly good one has already presented himself."

"I wonder. Is that what Colonel Harvie told you, Gabriella?"

"What?" Gabriella shook her head. "Whatever do you mean? My father has nothing to do with this conversation. We are speaking of your situation and the choices before you."

"Are we? Are you certain of that?" Nancy relaxed her grip on her book. "Because it seems to me that your father is very much a part of this delightful conversation. You gave in to him, didn't you? You listened to the colonel when he said your options were limited, when he didn't have time to seek out a more suitable, younger husband for you. And because you were persuadable, you think I will be the same. I hope you are happy, truly I do, but let us speak plainly. You looked at the name and the house and the things that came with the man. You struck a bargain. Don't imagine I will do the same. I won't."

Gabriella stood rooted in the center of the room. Nancy opened her book before looking up and continuing, her voice steady and determined. "I won't be forced into a marriage like that. It is legal prostitution, nothing more."

Two bright red spots appeared on Gabriella's cheeks. "You will regret this moment. I promise you that. You will regret it, and I will never forgive it."

Regret it? As Gabriella stalked from the room, brushing past Phebe as if she were invisible, Nancy was certain she would not. She'd spoken nothing but the truth and would do so again in a heartbeat. She needed a route out of Tuckahoe. The obvious path, through marriage, was impossible given the current prospect being foisted upon her. Well, if she could not walk out a bride, she'd have to be pushed out by Gabriella. And if she knew anything about her stepmother, it was that Gabriella was across the hall in Father's study right now, pouring her hurt and disappointment into his ears and suggesting at first — but insisting if necessary — that Nancy and she could no longer reside under the same roof.

"Is everything all right, miss?" Phebe's soft voice surprised her. The girl had crossed the room and knelt beside her.

"Did you hear us?"

Phebe nodded. "But I won't tell no one."

"Thank you." She patted Phebe's narrow shoulder, and her thoughts drifted back to Gabriella and her father and what must surely happen next. Someone else in the family would have to take her in. It couldn't happen soon enough.

* * *

Judy woke and stretched a hand across the bed, only to find the quilt smooth and her husband absent again. It was so often this way when his brothers visited Bizarre. They were tolerable company over dinner, but when she retired to the parlor, the brothers remained in their seats, drinking and playing cards into the night. Sometimes, they stumbled upstairs, and sometimes, they slept where they sat. In the summer months, she'd several times found the three of them asleep outdoors, most often slumped on the porch but once, sprawled on the grass. She'd tried to fathom how it came about. Had they lain in the grass talking, like a gaggle of schoolboys, and grown drowsy with summer heat and strong wine? Their camaraderie surprised and excluded her, but the comings and goings of Dick's siblings was a constant feature of Judy's married life. That was clear the moment they halted the carriage at Matoax after their wedding tour to a bevy of relatives. Judy anticipated peace and quiet but was greeted by the sight of Dick's brothers' heads sticking out of a second-floor window. Queasy with morning sickness, she had blinked back tears.

After the move to Cumberland County, the brothers' visits were less frequent, and she was glad. Bizarre was smaller than Matoax and not built in the colonial style she was used to at Tuckahoe or any number of their friends' plantation homes. It was a sturdy, practical house, timber-built on a stone foundation with no pillars, only a timber-framed porch. It was never intended to be a permanent home, Dick said, although the family spent considerable time there during the war years, hiding out from the British.

Judy liked it at once. The rooms were small, but met their needs, with a parlor, dining room, a working sitting room for Judy and a study for Dick on the first floor and four bedrooms above. She saw the family home it could become and welcomed its relative remoteness even as Dick bemoaned it. Farmville was the nearest village, perched on the banks of the Appomattox River. They were twenty miles from the small town of Cumberland, over sixty from Richmond. Of their friends, Cousin Mary and Randy lived nearest, but it was still a four-hour coach journey to their home at Glentivar. Removed from the distractions of Matoax and nearby Petersburg with its racetrack and theaters, Dick focused on the land and the production of tobacco while Judy imagined the home and family she'd create.

Some days, she believed all would be well. But not today. She lay in bed, crushed by the weight of losing her child. Sorrow settled in the bones of her face. They were dense with it, pressing her head into the pillow. She closed her eyes and imagined her blood sinking in her veins, pinning her muscles to the bedsheets, making it impossible to ever get up. How could she face another day? People said grief was all emotion, all feeling, but it wasn't. It was physical. Every day, this weight upon her. Every day, this struggle.

Somewhere downstairs, a door slammed. Hooves clattered beneath her window. She heard a heavy tread in the passage passing her door. Judy sighed long and hard. And then she got up.

She discovered Theo in the parlor, lying on the floor with his cheek crushed against the floorboards. She took in the toppled armchair and her basket of small mending, strewn across the floor in a puddle of what she hoped was water.

"Get up!" She grabbed his shoulder and gave him a shake. "This room needs cleaned. Oh, why can't you take yourself upstairs?"

Theo rolled onto his back. "I'm on my way. Or I was on my way." He frowned and squinted at her through one eye. "Where's Dick? Where's Jack?"

"I've no idea, but I hope they're in a better state than you, Theo Randolph." Judy walked out, slamming the door behind her. He deserved that. And more.

She found Dick and Jack outside, saddling their horses and talking to Syphax, who'd been their father's most trusted slave. Judy thought better of asking Dick where he had slept. Syphax intimidated her, and Jack was an awkward young man. She didn't know what to make of him. One moment he was gauche, the next he sounded clever beyond his years, and his temper could turn in an instant. She'd seen him whip a slave at Matoax — a much stronger-looking man, but Jack set about the task as if born to it. She paused by the door to the kitchen house and bowed her head in prayer for a moment or two.

"Judy!" Dick joined her in the doorway, disregarding the women — tall Sarah at work kneading bread, her elder daughter, Lottie, heating water and mixing porridge on the stove, and her younger girl, Sally, sweeping the floor. "We're riding to Roanoke today and won't return until after dark. We'll need food and water."

She nodded. "For all three of you? Theo didn't look fit for much when I woke him."

"Where did you find him? He wandered off last night, right in the middle of a conversation. When he never returned, we thought he'd gone to bed."

"I found him sprawled on the parlor floor. The room was in disarray."

"I'm sure you'll put everything to rights. No harm done." His eyes moved to Sarah, and Judy saw his displeasure.

"I'm probably overstating things," she said. "I was surprised to see him there, that's all."

"Good girl." He ran his hand down her arm and bent to kiss her cheek. "Don't delay dinner for us, and if we don't appear, don't worry. If it gets too late, we'll find shelter for a few hours and be back in the morning."

As he spoke, Dick turned away from the kitchen and started down the path. Judy blinked back a sudden wash of tears. "Prepare a basket of food for your master," she said, keeping her face hidden from Sarah. "And bring me buckets of hot water to the parlor as soon as you can. That room is a disgrace. I'll need Sally for the rest of the morning. She needs to scrub every inch."

It was growing dark by six o'clock. When they were first married — before — when the loss of the baby was in an unimagined future, this was Judy's favorite part of the day. Now, she sat in her re-ordered parlor and stared at Dick's empty chair. The waves of visitors he'd encouraged in their months at Matoax had been oppressive, and the need to charm and amuse had exhausted her, partly because she had been in the family way but also because she was less naturally sociable than her husband. Judy's idea of a crowd was a group of six. Dick thought a small party meant twenty guests, singing, and the regular sound of glasses being filled and drained until well past midnight. She'd been so confident that the move to Bizarre would fix everything. The heaviness she'd banished in the morning crept back.

Dick was disappointed in her. His brothers' presence was proof of it. If he was content in her company, why drag them both here, halfway across Virginia, as often as he could? Her one hope was for another child. A child would fix her, fix him, fix them and lift the weight. A child would brighten everything, make their marriage what it promised to be that day on the bank of the James River, at Tuckahoe.

She needed to find such a moment with Dick again. There had been relations between them since that one fast coupling but without passion on her side — not because she didn't want to feel it, but because it simply wasn't there. In pregnancy, lovemaking was a challenge. Even sitting alone, she blushed to think of such matters. Their wedding night was a disappointment to him. She pushed away the memory of it — the nausea, her head turning from him, the tiredness, the words she said and his silence. Later, after the loss of the child, he didn't press her often. When he did, it was a fumbling thing with rumpled layers of cotton between them, a transaction, nothing more. In the early months at Bizarre, she was hopeful, but time ticked by. Dick was often tired.

The brothers didn't return home that night, and Judy dragged herself upstairs to her empty bed alone.

In the morning, dismal thoughts crowded in even before she opened her eyes. Tears flowed, running into her hair and ears as she lay still. Misery so consumed her that she didn't hear the men arrive back, or Dick's boots on the stairs.

"Whatever's the matter?"

He stood in the doorway, handsome in the half-light, and she crammed her hands in her mouth to stop herself from howling. He rushed to her and held her, stroking her hair and rubbing her heaving shoulders.

"Hush, hush," he murmured, dropping kisses down on her head.

Some of the weight lifted. He still cared. His voice and touch gave her hope. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed he wouldn't let go. He did not. Her breathing steadied. She felt him shift and braced for disappointment, but instead, his fingers slid inside her nightgown. He touched her shoulder and reached for more, but the cotton restrained him. He ran his fingers down her face and teased away stray hairs stuck to her cheek by her tears. They stared into each other's eyes and Judy conjured the smallest of smiles of encouragement. He needed no more invitation.

When they lay still afterward, she stared at his profile on the pillow beside her. His long fingers were at his lips, she saw him frowning.

"What are you thinking, husband?"

"That I've neglected you." He shook his head when she tried to argue. "No, I've been selfish. You're alone a great deal. No wonder you dwell on our sorrows." He got to his feet, pulled his shirt from the floor and threw it over his head. "We should have your sister here with us!"

"Nancy? Here?"

"Why not! She despises Gabriella — who wouldn't? Damned snipe of a woman. Nancy needs a home, and you need company." Dick smacked the bedcovers. "Why should I be the only one who gets the benefit of the company of my siblings, Judy? I've not been fair to you, not a bit!"

She tried to remonstrate, but he waved her away. "It's the perfect solution," he said, pulling on his breeches. "I'll write to Tuckahoe today and propose it. We could use some cheer around here."

* * *

Nancy only saw Father once after her confrontation with Gabriella. The following morning, he ordered Thomas to drive her to Lizzie's house, and neither he nor Gabriella troubled themselves to say goodbye. While she was there, a letter arrived, informing her of Dick and Judy's offer of a permanent home with them at Bizarre. Lizzie sniffed and muttered about young girls mired up in the middle of nowhere, but Nancy radiated excitement. She'd be with people her own age. Judy wanted her. Dick was always good-humored. Bizarre might be miles from Richmond, but there was one young man she was sure would be visiting. Theo Randolph.

She returned to Tuckahoe for one night — enough time to box up the rest of her clothing and suffer through a short interview with Father. Gabriella wasn't present, and her name wasn't mentioned. Instead, his topic was Phebe.

"There." Father sat at his desk between the two tall windows overlooking the front of the property, holding a folded paper. "She belongs to you now. Make sure you look after her. With property comes responsibility."

"I—"

"Don't pamper her. She's not your friend. But until you find a husband to tame your wild tongue, she is yours to command." He tapped on the table and got to his feet.

"Thank you, Father. I—"

"Spare me," he said. "I'll be gone in the morning, before you depart. Travel safely, and be helpful to your sister. Take the paper. You may go. The girl must say her goodbyes tonight. She'll be on the road with you tomorrow."