Sunflower Sisters by Martha Hall Kelly

Author:Martha Hall Kelly [Kelly, Martha Hall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2021-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

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It took me days to recover from the fright of Sable destroying my front parlor, for which I received no solace from my sister, and no support from feeble Fergus to punish her, since she was our last servant. Fergus said, “You’re lucky she didn’t use that shovel on you,” and banned me from telling LeBaron. Fergus knew those pattyrollers would not tolerate insubordination, even if he was right as rain with it.

Later that week, I drove into town with Euphemia for sewing circle and was practically dripping by the time we arrived at Widow Gardener’s house, the whole of St. Mary’s County like one big steam bath, that terrible swamp stinking something awful.

It was the last thing I wanted to do in that heat, sit with a gaggle of old geese and sew, but I hoped Jubal might stop by there as he did do often, to try to pick up information he could pass on. I wasn’t looking my finest, though. With Jemma gone and my toilette interrupted, my nails went unbuffed, my hair unwashed for days, not to mention soiled cuffs.

My temple was throbbing after a steady diet of conversation between my sister and Fergus about his crawdads, and I longed to see Jubal and tell him all that had gone on. Maybe he’d bring some snuff or something pretty to cheer me up, after so much sadness and terrible heat. He knew I’d be there. He’d do his best to reach out.

We entered Widow Gardener’s front parlor, close and low-ceilinged, with no sign of even the smallest breeze, and took our places at the table and took out the handkerchiefs we’d been working on, to be sent off to the troops, U.S. Army troops only, Widow Gardener had made clear. As I hemmed the linen I dropped stitches on purpose, thinking about the wretched Yankee soldiers blowing their noses on my handiwork.

“What’s everyone wearing to the benefit ball?” I asked, hoping to keep the conversation somewhat interesting.

“My old brown tartan,” Charlene said.

“I’m wearing my gray silk,” I said.

“With the black add-ons?” she asked.

“The one. Don’t you think black, well placed, gives value and tone to a dress? So French. The French have an innate sense of color, which one sees in all the trifles that adorn their shops. Any little French box is always painted with two colors, which are so harmonious that it is a delight to look at them.”

Charlene nodded. “When the English choose two disparate colors, it only brings trouble to the eye.”

Widow Gardener looked up from her work. “My apologies for it being a bit close in here. I’ve shut the windows to keep the flies down.”

Since Widow Gardener had freed her servants, there was no one to fan us and keep the flies off.

“It’s just fine,” Euphemia said, dark rings under her arms as she worked her needle. “I feel for the troops at battle in this heat. Any news from your nephew, Beulah?”

“Received a letter, which said he’s on his way to Gettysburg.

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