Some of the residual tension in her chest eased at that thought. Mama and Mrs. Young had promised her that she’d be allowed to plan a series of tableaux vivants to help raise funds for the war, and she knew just what she wanted to do. As a unique take on the usual portrayal of classical artwork, she would weave the living pictures together with a story she’d written. Considering how to pull that off was far more fun than thoughts of the picnic that Phin would definitely not be attending.
She stood and changed from her nightdress into her chemise, washed her face with water from the basin—water devoid of ghosts, she noted—and then hooked her corset, still tightly enough tied that Salina wouldn’t have to redo it. But as she stepped into the circle of petticoats waiting for her and her gaze settled on the rumpled pillows, her newly won ease fled.
“What do we pray for him, Salina?” She’d never gotten divine direction on anything before, so far as she knew. How was she to know what to do with it? The Owenses attended church solely as a matter of course. They certainly didn’t belong to that class of planters who looked down their noses at their neighbors for not being holy enough. She believed all that she had learned through the sermons, but . . .
Salina lifted the skirts into place. “Seems to me there either be danger brewin or danger done. So we ought to pray protection for him. Breathe in.”
Cordelia sucked air in, and Salina tied the petticoats in place. Under her breath the servant muttered, “And we ought to be grateful River done snuck a talisman into Mr. Phin’s bag.”
“River—Phin’s valet?” She tried to turn, but it was hard to manage with Salina working at her waist. “Why would he do that?”
“’Cause he cares about his master, that’s why.”
Cordelia opened her mouth but then decided against offering any response. The Negroes couldn’t be argued with when it came to the beliefs that had come with their forebears from West Africa. Daddy said their minds weren’t suited to reason. Cordelia could never agree with that, knowing Salina so well, but they sure were stubborn folk. Best to be grateful Salina had abandoned most of the ways of her conjurer aunt in favor of the Savior and leave it at that.
Salina took a step back. “I’ll fetch the dress.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, her dress had been lowered into place and buttoned, and Salina had her curls arranged in perfect order. Cordelia flounced toward the door but then halted when her gaze snagged on her secretaire. She’d scribbled the end to a story last night before bed and itched to reread it now to see if it was as much fun in the light of day.
But if she didn’t come down to breakfast on time, Mama wouldn’t let her do the tableaux vivants.
She gathered the papers together and turned with an exaggerated plea on her face. “Salina, would you read this for me and tell me what you think?”
Salina pressed her lips together and glanced at the door. “I’ll try to get to it between my chores. Maybe once your mama’s away from the house. You know she said if she caught me reading again, she’d send me to the fields.”
“No she won’t. Daddy won’t let her. That’s why he gave you to me. And I need you to know how to read.” She set the story back down and grinned. “Be brutally honest and put a note by anything you think I should change.”
She left her maid with an amused look on her face and hurried downstairs to the breakfast room.
Lacy, early as always, sat in her usual seat, and Daddy at the head. Mama, thank the Lord above, hadn’t arrived yet. Cordelia took her chair and couldn’t help but miss her elder sister when she noted Ginny’s empty seat across from her. “Morning, Daddy. Lacy.”
Her father smiled, the light from the window gilding his silver hair. “Morning, Delie-Darlin. How’s my sunshine this morning?”
“Just fine.” She grinned at Lacy, then nodded toward Ginny’s abandoned chair. “Have we heard anything new from Ginny?”
“She’s well settled with the Worths at their home in the mountains and planning a visit to Twin Magnolias to see how everything fares,” he said, referencing the Owenses’ rice plantation. “Are you certain you girls wouldn’t like to accept her invitation to join them? You’ve never summered in Savannah before.”
Lacy’s chin went up, her blue eyes sparking. “We’ll not abandon the city in her hour of need, Daddy. Not without you and Mama.”
Daddy chuckled and glanced from Lacy to Cordelia. “Well, it’s still safe enough here, if a bit overrun with soldiers. Though I’ll warn you both again—the first case I hear of yellow fever, you’re leaving.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Cordelia murmured in unison with her little sister.
Mama glided in just then, dressed for their outing in indigo blue. “Morning, darlings. Cordelia, do you have your plans for the tableaux vivants ready? We must be at the Youngs’ promptly at ten.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” Mama studied Cordelia as she sat, examining each curl, ruffle, and fold. She nodded and turned to do the same with Lacy. “Lacy dear, do take off that ribbon. You may wear it to the picnic later, but not to an aid meeting.”
“Yes’m.” Lacy quickly untied the ribbon from around her neck, shooting a glance at Cordelia that conveyed amusement and frustration both.
Cordelia hid her grin behind the cup of coffee that had been waiting for her. She took a sip and let her mind wander to the fun of the tableaux they’d put on, to the picnic that afternoon. But then a cloud passed before the sun and cast a shadow on the table, and she couldn’t subdue the shudder that worked up her spine.
Where was Phin today? On a grand adventure, no doubt. Perhaps in some exotic port. Dining with a dignitary, convincing the locals of the nobility of their cause. He could be helping revolutionize the design of a weapon that would scare all the Yankee ships out of the water.
Or he could be engaged in a heated battle, with cannon smoke filling the air and a watery grave yawning wide. Fleeing for his life, grabbed with every step by verdant overgrowth out to capture him, hold him until wild creatures could devour him.
She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for the first time in her life that his day was dull and boring.
Never before had Phin beheld such quiet contemplation on the Fourth of July. He stood with Spence, Hudgins, and a dozen others along the rails, gaze latched on the two ships that had been mere specks on the horizon at daybreak and which the Sumter was now nearly upon.
Semmes strolled the length of the deck and stopped behind Phin and Hudgins. “Strange, isn’t it, gentlemen? To realize that on this day in 1776 our forefathers were all fighting together for the right to govern themselves, and that now we’re fighting our once-neighbors for that same right, again?”
Hudgins sighed and nodded.
Phin drew in a long breath. “A sad realization indeed, sir. Makes you wonder what has happened to the concept of freedom. The Yankees sure don’t recognize ours.”
“And now they call us rebels—just as the British once called us all. Yet they deny being tyrants.” Semmes shook his head and turned away. “Not the sort of Independence Day we are used to celebrating, to be sure. But we will win our right to celebrate our independence anew, make no mistake. And perhaps those two ships ahead of us will help with that most noble goal. Hudgins, you have the first of the prize crews again, and I want you with him, Dunn.”