Thirty-six

It was a perfect early summer night. I smiled. The weather was another thing that went right this weekend. Maybe it wasn’t a complete disaster. Grandmother Renard would be proud of me for counting my blessings.

Ladies and gentlemen poured out of the visitor center in their best 1863 garb. Some of the women carried ruffled parasols and shaded their faces from the setting sun. Others dripped with jewels that I prayed weren’t real. I wouldn’t comment on the historic inaccuracy of the jewels. Women of the time didn’t have so much finery. If they had it, they certainly would not have worn it in public and attracted attention. Instead many wealthy ladies buried their jewelry in their gardens and prayed it would still be there when the war was over.

Union and Confederate privates stood shoulder to shoulder outside of their respective camps. Those that had dress uniforms changed into them, but not all did. Just like during the Civil War, some men couldn’t afford more than one uniform. I caught myself searching the Union side for Chase.

One of my seasonals, a teenager dressed as a New York newsie, directed traffic.

My father nodded and smiled at anyone who passed him. I hid a smile as he fully embraced his Civil War–era persona. The only thing I wished was that Hayden was there. It would be a great experience for my son to see history really come alive. Of course, living on the Farm he saw that more than any other child his age, but this was a special event. Maybe next year he would be able to attend.

We crossed the road into the village. As I had directed, the sides of the tent had been rolled up, and the period band was in the corner of the tent playing chamber music until the ball really began.

Ladies and gentlemen walked arm in arm around the green like they were on a promenade in Washington DC. Most of my staff was there in period dress, including Benji, who was stunning in a canary yellow gingham dress. It was the first time I had seen her out of her dusty brickmaking clothes. Jason, unsurprisingly, was MIA.

I let go of Dad’s arm. “I’m going to check on the caterers.” I headed to the food tent. My stomach rumbled with the welcoming smells. The dishes stayed warm in chafing dishes along two long tables. I couldn’t remember if I ate much during the day, but I was sure hungry now. A woman in a white chef’s hat stood behind one table slicing an enormous roast. Beside the roast were an uncut turkey and a ham. In addition to traditional banquet food like the meats, salad, steamed vegetables, and potatoes, I also asked the caterers to make special dishes that were popular during the Civil War, like soda biscuits, sweet potato wafers, and Kentucky snap peas. Because food was so scarce during the war, especially in the South, I suspect that our period food tasted a lot better than what the men had eaten on the front.

Drinks consisted of lemonade, sweet tea, coffee, and hot tea, and there was a cash bar for anyone who wanted something stronger. Mason jars served as the cups.

I smiled at the caterer. “Everything looks perfect. I’ll announce the opening of the ball in the big tent soon, so get ready. They’ll flock your way right after that.”

She smiled. “We’ll be ready.”

I returned to the big tent. In addition to the chandeliers overhead, electric lanterns hung from iron posts outside the tent and around the grounds. The waiters—also in costume—passed appetizers on trays among the guests.

The chief in his dress uniform walked into the tent holding the hand of a dowager-looking woman in a velvet evening gown. To my surprise Detective Brandon was behind them, and she wore an emerald green ball gown as well. She was breathtaking. I found myself gasping. Suddenly I wasn’t feeling quite as confident in my own gown as I had just a few minutes ago.

The chief smiled broadly at me. “Quite an event you have here, Kelsey. Wonderful job.”

“Thank you,” I said.

He placed his hand on the hilt of his period revolver. “I’m glad that this business with the murder has been all cleared up before today. Nothing should ruin the ball. May I present my wife, Mrs. Edith Duffy.”

I got the feeling that the chief wanted me to curtsey. “Nice to meet you.”

The woman examined me. “Yes, my nephew Chase has mentioned you. I can see why. You’re a lovely girl. It would be nice if he took an interest in a lady for once.”

I found myself blushing. Truth be told, I wasn’t much of a lady. I spent most of my days in jeans. Behind Edith, Detective Brandon stiffened. It was very subtle, but I noticed it.

“You have a nice spread for the ball tonight,” Mrs. Duffy continued. “The roast looks delicious. And I’m surprised at the turnout. This is the first reenactment event the chief has been able to drag me to. I’m afraid I’m not much for history,” she said apologetically.

I smiled. “I hope you enjoy your evening.”

Behind her I saw Cynthia accepting a glass of punch from a server. “Oh, I see Cynthia. If you excuse me, I’d like to say hello to her.”

“Of course,” Edith said. “We already gave her our condolences.”

I nodded and wove through the dance tent to the punch bowl. “Cynthia?”

She turned and smiled. It wasn’t her typical bright smile; that would take some time to return.

I squeezed her hand. “Cynthia, I’m so happy to see you here, but you didn’t have come.”

“I didn’t want to miss your big moment, my dear. I’m finding going out and seeing people helps. I was refreshed after the play last night.”

I covered her hand with mine. “Then I’m glad you came. This event is as much your doing as my own. You know I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for the Farm and for Hayden and me.”

She smiled. “Please stop thanking me. You know the pleasure is all mine. You look so lovely tonight, Kelsey. I know you’ll worry about all the little details of the ball, but I want you to let someone else worry about concerns for a change. This is your moment. Enjoy it.”

Ashland stood beside the band and waved to me frantically.

I laughed. “I think that’s my cue to open the ball.”

Cynthia smiled. “Go on, dear.”

I crossed the tent and took the microphone from Ashland. “Ashland, you look beautiful.”

My assistant wore a floral ball gown that was off the shoulders, showing off her delicate clavicle bones. Even though the rest of her was covered, I had never seen her in something so revealing. I was surprised by the firm muscles in her shoulders.

Her face, neck, and chest turned bright red. “Thank you.”

“Good evening,” I said into the mic.

When the crowd continued to talk, I spoke a little more loudly. “Good evening!”

The ball goers quieted down.

“For those who don’t know, I’m Kelsey Cambridge, the director of Barton Farm. I would like to thank you for coming to our first annual Blue and Gray Ball.”

The crowd applauded. I waited for the noise to die down before I continued. “I would like to thank everyone who made the ball and the reenactment this weekend possible. First, I thank Cynthia Cherry and the Cherry Foundation. We could not have done this without their continued support. In particular, Cynthia, I give you my personal thanks for everything that you’ve done for Barton Farm, my family, and for me. Your selfless giving is a true inspiration to everyone in New Hartford and at Barton Farm.” I fought back tears. Cynthia beamed at me from the crowd. I cleared my throat. “I would also like to thank all the reenactors who camped out on the grounds over the last four days. Thank you for sharing your hobby with our visitors. I think many of them have new appreciation for American history, especially the Civil War. I also have to thank the wonderful staff here at Barton Farm, especially my assistant Ashland George, who took on so much planning for this weekend.”

Beside me Ashland squirmed at the praise.

“On the table near the front here, there are dance cards for all the ladies. Ladies, find your dance cards. I’m sure they will fill up in no time with so many handsome privates and officers from both sides here with us tonight.”

I hesitated in my speech. “However, this weekend hasn’t gone flawlessly. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the sad events of the weekend. Maxwell Cherry and Wesley Mayes are both gone. I hope you will join me in keeping their families and friends in your thoughts and prayers. Both men were taken before their time.

“It’s my opinion the Wesley Mayes was wrongly accused of Maxwell’s murder. He was a depressed young man, and someone, maybe even someone here, took advantage of that. I, for one, will keep looking for the person who is truly behind Maxwell’s death until Wesley’s name is clear. I think we should honor his and Maxwell’s memories in our festivities tonight.”

An eerie quiet settled over the partygoers as I spoke.

“The buffet and dance floor are now open. Enjoy your evening. The first dance is a waltz.” I handed Ashland the mic.

The band began the first waltz and men and woman slowly inched to the dance floor.

“Kelsey, what were you thinking by saying that?” Ashland stared at me with wide eyes.

“I wanted to make sure that the person who hit me on the back of the head knows he or she doesn’t scare me.”

“But—”

“I’ve witnessed a lot stupid stunts in my life,” a voice said behind me. “But that one takes the cake.”

I recognized the voice.

Slowly I turned around. It was Chase. He was so handsome in his dress uniform. Had he been with the Union soldiers marching on Atlanta with Sherman, the Southern ladies in his path would have fainted dead away. As the director of Barton Farm, swooning was not an option.

“Hi,” I squeaked.

“I agree with Ashland: that was a pretty dumb stunt you just pulled. Why don’t you just wear a sign that says ‘Kill me next’?”

I frowned. “I was making a point.”

He grunted. “Your point was clearly made. My uncle’s eyeballs just about popped out of his head during your little speech.” He nodded to Ashland. “You’ll excuse us.”

She chewed on her lip.

I touched Ashland’s arm. “Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.”

Her brow wrinkled. “I know you do.”

He led me to the middle of the tent. Couples spun on the dance floor with their partners, and there was already a long line leading to buffet table in the dining tent.

Chase removed a card from the inside pocket of his dress coat and handed it to me. “I took the liberty of finding your dance card for you.”

I took the card from his hands and opened it. “Why is your name on here twenty times?” Chase Wyatt was next to every dance except for the polkas.

“I also took the liberty of filling out your card.”

I peered up at him. “And the polka?”

He grinned. “I don’t polka. We can eat then.”

“Do you expect me to stay with you all night?” I tried very hard not to smile.

His grin widened. “I thought that was a given.” He bowed. “May I have this dance, Ms. Cambridge?”

I slipped the dance card ribbon over my wrist. “I suppose, since your name is on my card.” I placed my hand into his. He gripped it firmly and confidently led me to the center of the tent.

The crystal chandelier sparkled above us. Men in their blue and gray dress uniforms bowed to their ladies, and the ladies curtseyed in return. The music started again, and the men spun their partners. Flowered, gingham, satin, and silk ball gown skirts in every shade imaginable fanned out over the dance floor and collided with each other in a swirl of color. I was so mesmerized by the scene that I forgot I was twirling around the dance floor with my very own soldier.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, and he turned me around the floor.

I looked up at him. “Are you trying to sweet talk me?”

“Is it working?”

“No,” I lied. “Where did you learn to waltz?”

He smiled. “My uncle required it. Any Union officer worth his salt can waltz. I can cha-cha too. Of course that would require a different outfit, but I think it’s important that you know all I have to offer.”

I looked up at him. “And why is that?”

He smiled and didn’t answer. We passed Laura and a Confederate lieutenant on the dance floor. She grinned and wiggled her eyebrows at me.

I looked away. “You seemed to have gone to great lengths to indulge your uncle’s hobby.”

Chase’s face clouded over. “It’s the least I could do after everything he’s done for me.” He changed the subject and we chatted through two more dances until polka music started. “That’s our cue for dinner,” Chase said.

We walked off of the dance floor. Detective Brandon stood just outside the tent glaring at us. A Union soldier was talking to her, but she was ignoring him. Her eyes were fixed on Chase.

In the dining tent, one of the servers brought me a note on a silver tray as Chase and I sat at a table.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the note.

“What is it?” Chase asked.

I unfolded it. “It’s from Ashland. There’s some kind of emergency at Barton House.” I refolded the paper. “I knew the evening was going too well—no party goes off without a hitch. I’d better take care of this.”

Chase started to get up. “I can come with you.”

“Don’t be silly. Enjoy the ball. I’m on the clock. This is my job.”

He frowned.

“Dance with Laura,” I said “She’ll be thrilled. The two of you can plot against me.”

He grinned. “That’s tempting.”

I stood up. “I’ll be back in no time.”

Chase’s grin faded, but he let me go.