Part 14 (2/2)
”Especially not a wallet.” Debbie Mae got a dreamy look on her face. ”Manning asked me for a lock of my hair. He keeps it in an old locket, sewn in the hem of his jacket.”
Caroline smiled. ”That's so romantic. He loves you even when he's pretending to be someone else.”
”I don't deny that it's why I decided to join him on the reenactments.”
”I thought it was the goat-tending.” Caroline smirked, remembering how Manning was determined to be as historically accurate as possible, right down the company goat.
”It's not bad. I've learned a lot of history and met some nice folks. Seriously, maybe you should think about coming with us.”
”No, no. I don't have anything to wear.” She didn't really have anything better to do, but Debbie Mae didn't know that.
”Please? I'd love the company. There aren't very many women there. I get tired of being stuck in the mess tent.” She unzipped her own dress from the plastic covering. It was pale green silk with soft velvet cream roses dotting the neckline and hem. Simple but elegant.
Caroline chewed her bottom lip. She felt the tug of old guilt and wondered if she'd feel better after the dance. She didn't want to get dragged all over the countryside every time Debbie Mae said she was lonely. She traced the edge of a quilt patch with one finger, admiring the tiny hand-sewn st.i.tches. It was just like Brooks to have some old thing on his bed instead of a goose down comforter from Lands' End. She looked up at the painting over the head of the bed. A Confederate soldier stood looking down, his face covered. The top half of a white cross appeared in the bottom of the frame.
Debbie Mae followed her eyes and said, ”That's a real Winslow Homer. It's called 'Trooper Meditating Beside a Grave'.”
”How do you know all these things? Is it because you're a teacher?” She was honestly awed by her cousin's store of knowledge, mostly because it wasn't Debbie Mae's hobby.
She rolled her eyes. ”I teach fourth grade. Winslow Homer doesn't come up too much. Those two talk a lot. You've probably noticed.”
Caroline thought back to the meeting at the cafe. Manning hadn't talked much. And Brooks did talk, but she was usually running over him with some story of her own. She felt a sharp pain around her ribs. She was a terrible friend, self-centered and oblivious to everyone else's interests.
”Help me get into this before the guys come back.”
Caroline pulled herself upright and held the dress while Debbie Mae stripped off her striped T-s.h.i.+rt and red shorts. She slipped the dress over Debbie Mae's head. It was truly strange to see her cousin standing there like a woman out of Regency England.
”Maybe you're right. I should know more about the war than I do. As part of our heritage, I should be willing to do what I can to represent the women.” She paused. ”As long as I don't get stuck in Dr. Stroud's amputation tent, I think it might be sort of fun.”
Debbie Mae threw her arms around Caroline's neck. ”Really? You won't regret it! I promise!”
She laughed, knowing Debbie Mae couldn't promise any such thing. Her cousin was making an effort to reconnect with her and she was glad about that. But maybe she needed to show some support to both of her husband, too. Manning had suffered the past year, along with his wife. It wouldn't kill her to hang out at a battle ground and watch the crazies for the day. Really, how bad could it be?
”I know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley to do the sort of thing - to do anything really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane one - and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is n.o.body whom I would fix on more than on Mr. Knightley.”- Mrs. Weston
Chapter Seventeen.
Caroline held up the dress carefully with one hand. Making her way back down the narrow staircase from Brooks' room was harder than she thought. The little slippers on her feet were soft and she could feel the wood grain through the fabric. The mirror in the bathroom was much too small to see anything except her head and a few inches of the dress, so she and Debbie Mae decided to troop back to the living room. The men would be struggling into their outfits. It made her smile to think that, for once, men had a harder time getting ready than women.
Debbie Mae chattered the entire way, listing the places she'd had to call before she could find a caterer that would agree to make Regency food. Towering jello molds, meet pies, mulled wine, and all sorts of tiny sweets were on the menu. Caroline sent up a silent thank you for the lack of pink lemonade.
”I think there's a large standing mirror in the small sitting room.” Debbie Mae led her down another staircase. ”I think Mr. Elliot is going to have to do something about those outbuildings. This looks nice enough, but I walked through the gardens and saw someone had broken into the old schoolhouse.”
Caroline sucked in a breath. ”What did they do?”
She shrugged. ”I couldn't tell. It's not exactly fit for guests. Maybe they just snooped around a little. He should board them up.”
”Don't some of the tours go back there? The sugar cane fields are all gra.s.s, but you can still see where the slave quarters were.”
Debbie Mae nodded. ”But n.o.body wants to look at that sort of thing anymore. It's bad publicity. Manning said someone told them they should be ashamed to preserve any of it, that taking a torch to it would be better. I think Mr. Elliot felt like they were calling him a racist.”
”Ridiculous. Just because history isn't the way we like it, doesn't mean we can change it.” She didn't want to carry the burden of being the heir to Badewood, but she certainly didn't think hiding the past would help anyone. ”The school visits are worth the cost to keep up the buildings. I hope he doesn't do anything sudden.”
Absalom appeared and followed them to the sitting room. They stopped, side by side. A floor to ceiling gilt mirror reflected the image of two young Regency ladies. One with dark auburn hair, one with light blond curls. Debbie Mae reached out and grasped her hand. ”Oh, Caroline!”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The hairstyles were wrong and they didn't have gloves and Debbie Mae had painted nails, but it was almost perfect. Absalom stood behind them, wagging the back half of his body in happiness.
The sound of someone clearing his throat made them both turn away from the mesmerizing sight of their reflection. Manning and Brooks stood there, side by side, looking nothing like brothers, more like distant cousins. ”Hey, check it out.” Manning spread his arms. ”It's country mouse and city mouse.”
One was roughly dressed, with a simple vest and old-fas.h.i.+oned trousers. His boots were held together with twine. Manning grinned and swept the hat from his head with a deep bow.
Brooks seemed frozen to the spot. Caroline smiled at him but he didn't respond, obviously uncomfortable in his costume. Breeches clung to his legs, tapering into tall riding boots. The deep blue morning coat fit perfectly and the white waistcoat b.u.t.tons didn't strain across his flat stomach. He put his hands on his hips and not finding pockets, just dropped them to the side, as if he didn't know what to do with them.
Debbie Mae rushed forward. ”Sweetie, you are adorable.” She turned Manning around, tugging at the back of his vest to see if it was too tight. ”The b.u.t.t on these trousers are a bit saggy but that's probably more a problem with the man inside than the tailoring.”
”Hey, now.” Manning protested with a laugh. He grabbed Debbie Mae and kissed her soundly on the mouth. She reached her arms around his neck and they grinned at each other, lost in their own little world.
Brooks coughed politely. ”Should we leave you two alone?”
”Later, babe.” Manning gave Debbie Mae a final squeeze and let her go. Caroline laughed at the pink in her cheeks. Maybe it never got old, being in love with the same person year after year. These two made it look downright easy.
Manning's phone chirped and he looked at the display. ”Andrea is coming over with catering samples.”
”Right, I totally forgot. I can't wait to taste the flummery.”
”I'm not sure if I want to know what that is,” Manning said.
”It's a sort of jelly, but made into a mold that is shaped like a castle or a tower or just a” she wiggled one hand ”big wobbly thing. The ragout of veal will be a hit, I'm sure. And the Roman punch will have to be changed a little bit. It's usually lemon water and hot syrup with a lot of rum.”
”Rum and hot syrup? Maybe we could just have beer,” Manning suggested ”No, no beer. I want the Roman punch, but we'll have to make it non-alcoholic. I'm not feeding thirsty guests a 40 proof drink and then sending them out into the night to drive home.”
”Very wise. Also, I think there will be some minors, relatives of the band. Unless we're positioning an adult by the punch table, it's better if we don't have to monitor who gets which brew,” Brooks said.
”True. Well, let's get working on that tie before she gets here.” She took her phone from her purse and found a pictorial how-to. ”Ok, Neckclothitania is an original pamphlet someone put out to help men tie their cravats.”
”Wait, say that again?” Manning had stretched out on the couch and was obviously already enjoying the idea of Brooks getting fussed over.
”Neckclothitania. Don't interrupt.” Debbie Mae gave him a look and went back to her phone. ”So, there are a few you can try. Um, maybe Caroline can start slow and see if the basic knot would look nice.”
”Me? Why me?” Caroline held up her hands. ”I don't know a thing about tying ties.”
”I've got to go clear off counter s.p.a.ce and get out serving spoons. We're all going to taste the food when she brings it.” Debbie Mae handed her the phone and left before she could argue.
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