Chapter 5 #3
“If you’re a killjoy, then I’m one, too.” Like Walsh, she was content to be a spectator. “You needn’t fret, though,” Caroline added, pointing out buckets of water that had been placed on the floor along the wall. Her hostess was flamboyant, not stupid.
The commotion died to a low roar when the Snapdragon bowl gave up its last raisin. A winner was declared, and Mrs. Abernathy pinned a ribbon on the young man’s lapel, causing his face to glow with triumph.
It would glow even brighter once the alcohol hit him.
“Shall we find Miss Teague?” Walsh asked when his aunt announced supper and indicated they should make their way to the dining room.
“Here I am,” Malvinia said from behind them.
“Very good,” Walsh said with a smile. “Let’s go lay waste to Aunt’s seating arrangement.”
Caroline went along without naysaying him. Adjustments had, no doubt, been made as soon as Aunt learned Caroline’s chaperone wasn’t male.
Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Abernathy placed Walsh opposite her at one end of the table, as she had been widowed for years and had no male to serve as host. She’d placed Caroline to his left, and Malvinia to his right.
The three of them would be good company and blessedly far from the important guests seated near the hostess—the ones most likely to throw verbal stones.
But it seemed Walsh’s aunt was also in the business of matchmaking.
“Do you live here in Greenvale,” Walsh asked Malvinia.
“Yes. On Beacon Hill,” she added in a softer voice.
“How nice.” Either Walsh was still getting to know the city, or he was being polite. Beacon Hill was in a poorer part of town. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nine, two older and seven younger.”
“All sisters,” Caroline interjected.
“Not a brother in the bunch?”
Malvinia shook her head.
Supper began simply enough, with a flavorful beef consommé. Next came fresh bread, haricots verts, and pigeons comport, followed by stewed cardoons and a tourtière of minced pork and potatoes.
As the plates were cleared to make way for the dessert course, Malvinia leaned in and whispered, “Thank goodness. I live in fear of sweetbreads.” Her family had struggled through the war and often survived on butcher’s remnants stewed with an abundance of shallots and garlic.
Caroline glanced at Walsh, to gauge if he’d taken the remark as an insult.
His amused expression was a relief.
With that put to rest, she considered him in general. He was quirky and plain and, at times, socially awkward. He was also intelligent, good-natured, and genuinely considerate of others. Walsh was not a man she would have chosen, but he was growing on her.
“May I have your attention,” Mrs. Abernathy called loudly enough to be heard above the lively buzz of conversation. “My cook insisted on traditional plum pudding,” she announced to the table at large, as tray-carrying staff emerged from the kitchen, “to which I acquiesced.”
“Be honest, Aunt,” Walsh interjected. “You caved.”
“Oh, all right,” she replied, casting him a coy smile. “I caved. But I also insisted on the addition of something special: Floating Islands surrounded by Snowballs.”
Most of the guests, whether with sincerity or for their hostess’s benefit, oohed in astonishment.
Caroline kept a curious-but-neutral face and examined the fare set before her. The ‘island’ was meringue ‘floating’ on a bowl of vanilla custard, encircled by sugar-coated butter cookies. Every item had been perfectly prepared and painstakingly arranged, but it hardly rose to the level of special.
It was, however, pretty. And bold.
Due to its association with slavery, sugar had been shunned by northerners since before the war.
Then Union forces brought the South’s sugarcane industry to the brink of extinction.
The generous dusting of glistening grains was either a show of wealth or a daring slap to the face of popular opinion.
If it were the latter, nobody seemed to mind. For the first time all meal, chatter completely ceased in favor of chewing.
Malvinia closed her eyes in a look of pure ecstasy. “These cookies are fabulous. They simply melt in one’s mouth. And the custard is the richest and smoothest I’ve ever had.”
Several nearby guests voiced their agreement, including Caroline. “Mrs. Abernathy’s cook is very talented.”
“Indeed,” Walsh remarked, his smile turning into a mischievous smirk. “I just might kidnap her when I move out.”
That set off a ripple of stifled giggles from the women within earshot.
“What was that, Walsh?” Mrs. Abernathy asked.
“Nothing, Aunt,” he replied, setting off a louder ripple.
She eyed him for a moment then let it drop.
“Have you found a place of your own?” Caroline asked him once she’d stopped chuckling.
“Not yet. I can’t decide if I want a place in town or something a little farther out. What do you think I should choose?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say. That’s a choice you must make for yourself.”
“But if you did...”
“Well, living in town has its advantages, if you don’t mind the bustle and the noise.”
“Would you mind it?”
Caroline paused to think how she might politely sidestep such a pointed question. “I wouldn’t want to be tens of miles from the nearest neighbor, but I do enjoy having space for flowers and a vegetable garden.”
“And stables,” Malvinia interjected. “You always did like to oversee the care of your mount rather than relinquish it to a livery.”
“That, too,” she agreed.
Walsh studied her for a moment then turned to her chaperone. “What about you, Miss Teague?”
“I would be happy just about anywhere, so long as it was warm and well-stocked with the things a person truly needs.”
Malvinia’s humility was contagious, and Caroline mentally revised her answer. She could settle for that. She could tolerate living in abject poverty if she had Jackson.
Once everyone had finished their desserts, Mrs. Abernathy rose. “For the final game of the night, I have planned a real treat. Please join me in the drawing room.”
Chairs had been set up in rows, facing a large sheet that had been hung from the ceiling at the end of the room and illuminated from behind by a lamp. A single chair sat by itself, several feet in front of the rest, also facing the sheet.
“I adore Shadow Buff,” Malvinia whispered.
“Have you played?” Caroline asked Walsh as he escorted them.
“Once or twice,” he replied.
As the guests all took their seats, Mrs. Abernathy laid a finger to her cheek and scanned the crowd. “Hm... Whom shall I pick to go first?”
“Me!” a few partygoers answered.
Mrs. Abernathy kept scanning until her gaze lit on Elise Childs, a young woman who was attending with her parents. “I choose you.”
“I couldn’t,” Elise said, turning the shade of an overripe peach.
“Of course, you can,” Mrs. Abernathy cajoled, motioning for her to come forward and sit in the lone chair. “There’s a special prize reserved for the winner...” she taunted with a rising pitch and a persuasive smile.
“Oh, all right.” Elise rose and took her place, adjusting the ruffles of her emerald dress as she sat. Most blondes would fade next to such a powerful color, but Elise had enough strawberry in her hair and green in her eyes to compete.
“Now,” Mrs. Abernathy went on, “for those who are unfamiliar, I’ll explain how Shadow Buff is played.
The player must face forward at all times, neither looking left, nor right, nor back.
One by one, I’ll send three people to walk between the lamp and the sheet, and the player must guess who they are, solely by the shape of their shadows.
The first one to guess all three correctly wins the prize. ”
Amid hushed whispers, their hostess chose Walsh and sent him out a doorway in the back of the room. Then she chose Mrs. Hartigan, a buxom older woman whose profile was unmatched and therefore unmistakable.
Mrs. Abernathy paused on her way to the rear of the room. “No peeking, Miss Childs,” she called. “And no hints from any of you,” she added, pointing at the audience before disappearing through the doorway and closing the door.
Malvinia scooted over into Walsh’s unoccupied seat, and whispered in Caroline’s ear, “Mrs. Abernathy must be planning to pass behind the sheet, herself. Rather clever, if you ask me.”
Caroline nodded and sat up straight, her gaze fixed on the glowing curtain.
Walsh’s tall, lean silhouette appeared first, and Elise’s head tilted in an angle of contemplation. His black form waved and tipped an imaginary hat then hopped up and down in a silly jig that had everyone laughing.
“Oh, I know!” Elise called out. “It’s Mrs. Abernathy’s nephew, Mr. Duffy!”
“Correct,” Walsh replied. He emerged from behind the sheet, grinning, and sketched a theatrical bow.
“You’re lucky to have the affections of such a kind, gregarious man,” Malvinia whispered in Caroline’s ear before sliding back to her chair.
Next came the plump, wobbling form of Mrs. Hartigan. She’d removed her shawl to alter her appearance, but there was still no mistaking her lumpy outline.
“Mrs. Hartigan!” Elise called out.
The woman’s frowning face peeked around the edge of the sheet. “How did you guess so quickly?”
Elise shrugged, and a few snickers came from the crowd.
Walsh escorted Mrs. Hartigan back to her seat then sidestepped past Caroline’s knees and took his place beside her. “That was fun,” he whispered.
“Who’s last?” Caroline whispered back.
“I don’t know.”
The last shadow appeared, but it wasn’t Walsh’s aunt. The outline was that of a young, fit male who walked with a limp.
Elise leaned forward and tilted her head this way and that. Long minutes passed, but she didn’t give an answer.
The young man extended his arms and made the shape of a bird with his hands. He moved them so that the bird’s wings appeared to be flapping, then he changed their position so that they formed the shape of a bunny with wiggling ears.
“Do you know who it is, Miss Childs?” Mrs. Abernathy called from somewhere behind the curtain?
Elise studied the silhouette a few moments more then sat back, her shoulders sagging. “No, I don’t.”
“Are you certain...? Take your best guess.”
Elise shook her head and turned out her hands. “Finlay Burch?”
“Nope. Not me,” Finlay called from somewhere in the crowd.
She sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize him.”
“That’s too bad,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “But you still get a consolation prize for playing.” She lifted the edge of the sheet, revealing the legs of a man in a Union Army uniform.
As he limped forward and ducked under the fabric, Elise gasped.
The man was Gabriel Emmons, Elise’s intended. He’d been badly injured at Appomattox and forced to stay behind in a Virginia hospital. Until now.
“Gabriel!” Elise cried as she flew into his arms.
Cheers erupted as he wrapped her in an ardent embrace.
Caroline’s throat tightened. She wanted to be happy for them, but the way they clung to each other was so much like her reunion with Jackson she had to look away.
“Are you sure you still want her, Gabe?” a male guest teased from the back of the room. “She didn’t even recognize you!”
Gabriel lifted his head, his arms still wrapped around his beloved. “Shut your mouth,” he spat in mock reproof. “You just want my Lisie for yourself.”
That gave rise to a round of raucous hoots.
Elise’s parents joined her as the laughter died down and extended a warm welcome to their future son-in-law.
“Do your parents know you’re home?” the heckler asked.
“Not yet,” Gabriel replied. “So, if you’ll excuse us, we’re going to tell them.”
“I guess this means we can expect a wedding soon,” another partygoer called out as the couple turned to leave.
Gabriel looked back and flashed a grand smile over his shoulder. “You can bet on it.”
There was barely a dry eye in the room—among the women, at least—so the tears gathering in Caroline’s eyes didn’t draw any notice. She clasped her hands in her lap and stiffened her posture to brace herself against the pain pulsing through her heart.
It took another two games of Shadow Buff before a winner could be declared.
Walsh, who’d been completely engrossed by the contest when it resumed, began glancing at her with increasing frequency. By the time his aunt awarded the prize, he was fairly frowning. “Are you all right.”
Caroline rose and motioned for him to follow.
Once she’d led him to a quiet spot in the adjoining hall, she glanced over his shoulder at Malvinia, who had trailed him and stopped several paces behind, then looked Walsh straight in the eye.
“Did you know of your aunt’s plan to reunite Mr. Emmons and Miss Childs before the party began? ”
“No,” he said, still looking on her with concern. “Aunt warned me she would pick me as one of the shadows, but I was unaware of the surprise guest.”
Caroline scrutinized every inch of his expression and found no evidence of deceit. In fact, his face was full of the same candor he’d shown in her garden.
But what did it matter? Even if he’d known what was to happen, she couldn’t fault him. His aunt had made a treasured memory for a couple who deserved it, and Caroline had no right to begrudge them their joy.
The last of the spite drained away, leaving her weak. “Would you take me home?”
“Um... Yes, of course.” Walsh left briefly to speak with his aunt and send for his carriage, then he rejoined her and Malvinia in the foyer as they were fastening their cloaks.
He turned to Caroline once they’d made their way down the front steps. “Did I do something to upset you?”
“No. This evening has worn me out, is all.”
The crease between Walsh’s brows deepened then smoothed as he escorted her to the waiting conveyance without further comment. He must’ve employed his policy never to argue with a lady.