7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
S itting at her dressing table, Fabienne checked her appearance in the mirror. For the dinner, she’d picked a dark purple gown with short puffed sleeves, trimmed in pleated ribbon a shade lighter than the silk, with the addition of cream lace along the sleeves and a scooped neckline. Robbins had warned her of possible side effects of the almonite injection, and indeed, a dark blue rash had appeared on her elbow. Luckily, the only side effect for now—and easily covered with a pair of satin gloves. Tess had gathered her hair in a wave of loose curls at the back of her head.
She looked like a proper hostess. Maman would’ve been proud.
A knock came at the door. “Come in.” Fabienne whipped around, expecting Tess.
Instead, Brayden leaned on the doorway. He’d changed into evening clothes—a finely tailored black jacket and matching trousers, with a white vest as contrast. “I see you’re ready.” He progressed into the room, past the bedpost. “I don’t suppose you have an answer for me.”
“I… don’t wish to divorce right now.”
“Right now,” he repeated in a half-mocking voice. “Well, then. I trust you’ll behave adequately. I’d prefer for our neighbors not to find out about our issues.” He spoke with no emotion, but his eyes quickly passed over her form.
She turned back. “I agree.” She didn’t agree with a barely visible blush that colored her cheeks, though. Squinting at the mirror, she tried to will it away.
Brayden stepped to the birdcage and fiddled with the open drawer. “What happened here?”
“Nothing. I misplaced my key.”
“So you smacked it?” He sounded slightly amused—was he making fun of her?
“I didn’t smack it. I opened it my way. The damage happened afterward.”
He kneeled and fiddled with the lock. “You picked the lock?”
She snapped her mouth shut. Maudit . Well, it wasn’t as if he could have a worse opinion of her. “Yes, what about it?”
“I didn’t realize you could. But I didn’t realize a lot of things about you.” He picked up the cage and walked to the door. “I’ll fix it.”
“You—you will?”
“I put it together. Might as well.”
“You made that—” She cut herself off before she said another stupid thing.
“Fabienne, are you feeling well?”
“Yes.” Just temporarily confused. “Thank you.”
Now he looked confused. “You’re welcome,” he replied slowly, and left.
Fabienne gazed at the empty space left behind on the small table. A scent lingered, too—clean, with a trace of ginger. Fabienne gently slapped herself on the cheek. Brayden was an enigma—an enigma that looked rather good in evening clothes—but that didn’t matter. She wasn’t curious about him. Half a year, and this would all be gone. All the mattered in the meantime was that he wanted to stay away from her as much as she did from him, and that was good.
It was exactly what she wanted.
“Remember when we found your father’s set of darts and tried to play?” Jim waved a piece of potato on his fork.
“By attaching the board to the door.” Brayden’s voice carried clear signs of amusement. “Why did we think that was a good idea?”
“Thinking probably wasn’t popular with us back then.”
“Still isn’t now,” Caddie murmured, and Jim jokingly nudged her with an elbow.
Fabienne lowered her eyes from the assembled dinner guests and stared at the remaining piece of roasted beef on her plate. No one had acknowledged her faux-pas from the visit to Caddie, but to be fair, they hadn’t acknowledged her much in general. Brayden, who sat opposite her at the head of the table, seemed to be having too much fun to worry about her saying the wrong thing.
She was supposed to be the hostess. Show him she could behave adequately. But how could she do it, when she didn’t know how to treat these people?
“And then Jared missed the target and hit the door instead,” Brayden said.
Jim winced. “And it was such a fine door.”
“Was that the time William took you out to teach you how to shoot properly?” Caddie asked.
Jim nodded. “Did we get a lesson! Many trees paid dearly for us missing all those shots, but I think we were decent by the end. Well, the door remained Jared’s only victim, since he hit none of the intended targets. But Mr. Marshall cared more about how good Brayden got.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Brayden said. “I’m sure he also cared about you two.”
Who was the third man, Jared? Fabienne suppressed a sigh. Someone she should know, probably. You should say something. Something sophisticated, but funny—
“We should repeat the competition some time,” Brayden said.
Jim waved the potato in agreement. “When my arm is up to the task again. I’ll need some practice first. Too bad Jared won’t be…” He looked at the table.
“Two Jones brothers against one poor little Marshall wouldn’t be particularly fair,” Brayden said gently.
“I don’t think it would give us much of an advantage.” Jim smiled, but there was something more serious, almost melancholy in his voice.
Brayden only nodded.
A tense silence descended. Say something. Save the situation. Steer the conversation to a more cheerful topic.
“If you’re that good at shooting, you should join the militia once the war is over.” Gertrude cut her steak with determined moves. “Lord knows we could use some order around here.”
“Gertie, dear, it was one dress,” Caddie said.
“What dress?” Jim mumbled through his full mouth.
“Someone stole Gertie’s dress while the clothes were drying outside,” Caddie explained. “About two days ago.”
Fabienne gulped down her bite. She wouldn’t—no, she never took items that large. And two days—she’d have remembered that. Still, she made a note to check her wardrobe. She wouldn’t be surprised if she took something from Gertrude; she was always at the most risk when she was nervous, and the woman certainly made her so. Even in the pleasant mood of this evening, she’d caught a few stray scowls from her.
The conversation continued without Fabienne’s interference. The main course was switched for the dessert: an almond cheesecake with a mixed berries glaze and sliced fruit.
“Delicious!” Caddie looked at Brayden. “You have the best of cooks in Mrs. Tatham.”
“I know,” he said with a smile that hinted this was a topic Caddie frequently brought up.
“It was your mother who hired her. Impeccable taste, Annabel had. And she was so sweet and gentle.”
“Indeed,” Gertrude said. “When I come to think of it, I never understood how William could’ve picked her. Their tempers didn’t suit in the slightest.”
“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Tempers can complement each other, instead of being the perfect match.” Caddie’s eyes met Fabienne’s and—winked at her? “William and Annabel worked splendidly together. You can’t fight fire with fire. Perhaps try with something like… water. Like my own Geoffrey. He was a sweet one, too.”
“Going with your previous statement, that should imply you are not,” Jim mused. “Which is an abomination.”
“I didn’t say it always has to be this way,” Caddie said. “Only that different tempers can be good together.”
“So Lorraine and I could still work.”
“Could,” Caddie nodded. “Were she more material.”
“Really, you two.” Gertrude pursed her lips. “One can’t even have a normal meal.”
“I wish Geoffrey had left some of the humor for you,” Caddie said with pretend disappointment.
Fabienne nipped at her cheesecake. She had barely said a word this evening—but she didn’t need to. They didn’t need her . They had a shared history, life, jokes—an entire universe she wasn’t a part of.
Back at home, Fabienne would’ve sat where Caddie did; Maman would be in her place, Papa in Brayden’s. Antoine would sit across from Fabienne, so they could share their secret smiles of inside jokes. Marion would sit next to him, digging into a substantial portion of dessert—it had been her favorite part of the meal. And Papa would probably be telling the tale of the drunken barrel maker for the fourth time.
Fabienne’s spoon shook. How could they all be gone?
And Dionne—Fabienne hoped she was fine, but since her aunt was on the enemy side of the country, she had no means of communicating with her. No means of knowing if she, at least, was well. Given the turn of the war, she doubted that.
“I heard you were working on collecting textiles with the Sanitary Commission,” Brayden said to Caddie.
“Yes, we are. Gathering as much as we can. All kinds of clothes are useful, as long as the owners don’t need them anymore.”
“Perhaps that thief had been out collecting,” Jim joked, earning a mean glance from Gertrude.
Caddie explained more about the project, and Fabienne desecrated the cheesecake further, until she suddenly heard herself saying, “Can I help?”
All eyes turned to her. She dropped the spoon. “With the clothes? I—I can probably find something.” Her wardrobe was full of fancy dresses she didn’t particularly care for. Really, what was her past self thinking, buying that pink monstrosity? Or the green one?
But it wasn’t only that. It didn’t matter the clothes would be sold or reused to help Yankee soldiers. Just for a moment, she wanted to be a part of it. Of them . To pretend she was back with her family.
“Of course,” Caddie said. “I’ll come by in the next few days and we’ll look over what you have.”
Fabienne caught Brayden’s stare. She quickly averted her eyes, but the strange look stayed with her. What was it? Certainly not the disdain she’d seen from him on the first day.
Maybe now, instead of fickle, he thought her crazy. Maybe he thought she was intentionally throwing away clothing he’d purchased for her.
The guests filtered out after dinner, singing praises to the cook and the evening. Fabienne hung back by the stairs as Brayden said goodbye to them. And then they were alone. She held her breath, waiting for Brayden to bring up her behavior, readying her defenses.
Brayden needlessly brushed a coat on the hanger and opened and closed his mouth. “Good night,” he blurted out, flashed her a brief glance and headed to his study. He was gone by the time she managed to return the sentiment, and it ended up whispered into the empty hallway.
***
Brayden sighed wearily, sat down at his desk and pulled out the folder with the lists for research. Five minutes later, he was still staring at the first page, not a word read.
Fabienne.
What was going on with her? A lot—that much he could tell from her changing expressions. There was always a twitch of the eyebrows, a narrowing of eyes, a wrinkling of nose that showed a constant stream of thoughts. It was what drew him in back then—a face that was more captivating than classically beautiful.
If only he knew what all those thoughts were.
It used to be so simple. Or maybe, he used to be so blind. When it became clear the war wouldn’t be over in a few weeks, panic swept the country—and many a soldier who imagined he was conscripting only for a quick, satisfying fight. Conversations moved from fear of not even getting a fight to fear of not knowing if they would return home at all. Dreams of victory became dreams of simply coming home.
For Brayden, ever since the summer of ‘62, those dreams manifested themselves in a beautiful woman, lively and funny, with just the right amount of cheekiness. But they were only that—dreams. He never truly knew her. Sometimes, in his head, he’d call her a ghost. Because the Fabienne who’d charmed him so much, in retrospect, seemed to be but an apparition, hidden within her true self. She disappeared after their engagement and never came back.
Until, perhaps, now. He thought he’d seen glimpses of the ghost again these last few days… but he didn’t dare to hope. He’d only be disappointed again.
Just get through the month . His chest tightened at the thought of going back, but it was the most likely option. Because when he was too tired from digging trenches all day or too uncomfortable from walking in the rain, he didn’t have to think of her. And if he did, he only had to look around to remind himself there were greater misfortunes in this world than one failed marriage.