3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Margaret’s eyes remained downward as the driver took her family to her grandfather’s estate.
They had taken the train at nine in the morning and arrived in Richmond at ten.
It was then that they managed to grab a cab.
Margaret dreaded the idea of riding in an automobile.
It didn’t matter if it was five or ten minutes; her lungs tightened and her body trembled uncontrollably.
She closed her eyes, holding Evie’s hand while she sucked in a breath.
“We’re almost there, Margaret,” Evie whispered. “I see the sign.”
Margaret exhaled. “Thank you.”
She closed her eyes, envisioning blissful, distracting thoughts of home.
She imagined the warm sunlight caressing her arms as she sat in the familiar, lush meadow, wearing her favorite dress—feeling feminine in the silky fabric of a soft blush hue.
Her floppy white sun hat failed to protect her face from more freckles as the gentle breeze blew the brim back, tousling her waist-long, coal-black wavy hair.
Wildflowers in every color danced in the warm wind, while fat bumblebees hummed as they feasted on the abundant nectar. Ah, happy thoughts.
“We’re here!” Marjorie’s animated voice startled Margaret out of her reverie.
Margaret’s eyes widened at the five towering stories that resembled a majestic European castle with its gray brick walls covered in ivy. The ornate stone details embellished the arched windows and grand entrance at the end of a cobblestone path.
“This looks like an Austen novel,” she whispered to herself.
Margaret stepped out of the vehicle with her eyes locked on the view before her.
A meticulously manicured garden unfolded in all its splendor—roses of red, pink, blue, and white danced in the wind.
A majestic fountain lingered in the middle, the spewing water sparkling in the sunlight as if it were liquid diamonds.
Beyond the garden and the mesmerizing fountain, the James River stretched out in the distance, winding through the landscape like a silvery ribbon, reflecting the sky and the puffy clouds that drifted lazily above.
“I have never seen anything like it,” Evie whispered next to her.
“Me neither,” Margaret said as she proceeded ahead, examining every discovery. Maplebrook Manor was undoubtedly beautiful, but the landscape was too flat—no hills, valleys, mountains, or meadows. This moment reminded her that she was no longer home, her sanctuary of solace.
Mama motioned Margaret and Evie to walk faster. Two lines of servants gathered at the front entrance, welcoming them with nods, bows, and smiles. Marjorie walked ahead with her parents while Evie and Margaret joined arms as they followed behind.
“What do you think it will be like?” Evie asked. Her grip tightened around Margaret’s arm. “Do you think there will be ghosts?”
Margaret shook her head as she giggled. “My dear Evie, you have read too many gothic novels.”
Both girls scurried ahead and caught up with the rest. To their surprise, two maids appeared behind them, removing their coats, but Margaret didn’t take the time to react. Her eyes were glued up the rest of the grand entrance.
The walls of the foyer were covered with rich lavender wallpaper, embellished with scrolling vines and delicate floral designs.
Above were large, arched windows that allowed soft, filtered light to stream in, reflecting off the magnificent crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling.
Its multifaceted prisms refracted the light into a dazzling display of colors that danced across the walls and polished marble floors below.
Evie’s jaw dropped. “Wow.”
“Be careful not to drool,” an unfamiliar voice said above them.
Margaret peered up, seeing an older woman in a velvety red dress. The woman’s arms rested on the balcony rail as she peered downward, a large smirk across her face. Margaret heard a snap and looked down to see her mother beckoning her to join her side.
As Margaret’s legs wobbled to her mother, a hand rested on her shoulder.
She turned to see her father giving her a wink like he used to when she was uncomfortable.
He’d always follow with encouraging words, but in this moment, he had nothing encouraging to say.
His discomfort was evident in his stiff posture.
After over two decades of separation from someone who caused great pain, Margaret would be uncomfortable as well.
However, she had to remember that she was there to support her father, not to make him more nervous.
Margaret released her lip from between her teeth, determined not to cause a scene with her lip bleeding like many times before. Not wanting to let her father down, she held her chin high and straightened her posture; she would pretend she was strong and confident.
Margaret’s grandmother stepped down the staircase wearing a grand smile. “Welcome home, Collin!” she exclaimed, her arms open wide.
Daddy cleared his throat and walked towards his mother. She pulled him into an embrace and planted a kiss on his cheek. As soon as his arm came around her, she pulled back with a gasp. “Collin, my boy. What—”
“I lost it in the war. You probably know I enlisted.”
Her eyes widened and she nodded slowly as she swallowed. Her complexion faded into an eggshell white. “Why yes, I did. I just didn’t know about . . .”
Daddy turned towards Margaret and the family. “As you can see, a lot has happened. Mother, meet your granddaughters.”
Margaret’s grandmother stifled a gasp with her gloved hand.
She took slow and careful steps, studying each of their faces.
Margaret’s legs trembled as her grandmother reached to touch her cheek.
The woman’s eyes glistened with tears. Margaret was caught off guard as she felt the woman wrap her in a tight hug.
Her grandmother sniffed, resting her chin on Margaret’s shoulder.
Margaret didn’t know what to think about this woman hugging her after years of hearing her dishonest deeds, but she reacted as any decent person would—leaning into her embrace.
Her grandmother smelled of lavender, a scent Margaret was used to from Charlottesville.
What was ironic was that her grandmother didn’t give her one sense of profound ease.
Feel something, Margaret. This is your grandmother.
She is crying on your shoulder! Before the moment could get any more uncomfortable, Margaret finally felt a sense of relief.
Her grandmother pulled away and shifted her focus to Evie.
Evie stood still as a statue, her eyes wide and her cheeks red as their grandmother embraced her. Moments later, she moved to Marjorie. Marjorie appeared the sincerest of them both with her sweet smile. She placed her chin on the woman’s cheek and rubbed her back tenderly before pulling away.
Their grandmother smiled, dabbing her eyes as she studied their faces again. “My beautiful granddaughters.”
“This is our eldest, Margaret,” Mama stepped in, pointing to Margaret. “The next is Evangeline, and this one here is Marjorie.”
Their grandmother examined them all individually. “You must call me Grandmama. I have dearly looked forward to this day.”
Margaret forced an awkward smile. She wished to be home again where all was calm and not overwhelming with tension.
As the grand clock ticked above them, Margaret became more anxious.
Each tick counted each second away from her place of comfort.
She had traveled far, and it took much strength.
She was exhausted now and wanted to remain tucked away in a spare bedroom and not come out until it was time to leave.
However, leaving would mean travel. Margaret’s thoughts moved back and forth, making her cheeks burn.
Sweat trickled under her arms and behind her neck.
Before her teeth could press into her lip, she stopped herself.
Steady breaths. Steady breaths. She breathed in and out, trying her best to gain composure.
So much was happening that Margaret had never expected. Grandmama displayed kindness, but for some reason, Margaret couldn’t see past the past. Rekindling or not, she didn’t trust her, but she had to endure it. For her father.
Grandmama turned away. “Mrs. Danton, would you mind taking my granddaughters to their quarters?”
An older woman appeared with gray hair pinned tightly back. Her face was stern—no smile was present. Her thick eyebrows were arched, displaying no sign of delight. She curtsied. “Yes, ma’am,” she said apathetically. “Right this way, ladies.”
Evie’s hand gripped tightly around Margaret’s arm as they followed Mrs. Danton up the grand staircase.
The butler and driver both carried their luggage.
The higher Margaret and her sisters went, the grander the house was.
The walls were covered in lavish paintings and artworks, making the home appear more like an art exhibit or museum.
Colossal statues stood in the corners, reminding Margaret of the paintings of Rome she had seen in books.
As they arrived at the third floor, it seemed the hallways had no end because of its great length.
“This must be a dream,” Marjorie whispered, looking around.
“I wish,” Evie huffed.
Margaret squeezed Evie’s hand. Evie faced her in response, holding no sense of amazement—just plain blandness.
Despite their desire to be home, how could Evie not marvel even once?
The things Margaret had witnessed were so spectacular that she felt she was in a romantic novel.
Their home was grand given their status, but it needed repairs.
Ivy Hill existed before the Civil War, marking it far older than this estate.
The floors in the west wing had become flimsy, and it had become off-limits since the Great War.
Their father had vowed to fix it after his recovery, but it had been years since then.