The next morning he hummed a lively tune while completing his chores. Then he penned a formal invitation to Miss Amanda Dunn in his best script on a sheet of parchment from the millinery store next door.
Dear Miss Dunn,
Would you honor me with your presence at dinner at the home of Odom Sims on Saturday? Festivities will commence at eight o’clock sharp. For your convenience, a carriage will arrive at the Henthornes’ at half past seven. If no previous commitment demands your attention, kindly give verbal acknowledgment to my emissary, Rufus Sims.
Your devoted servant,
Nathaniel Cooper
When the ink had dried, he added a gob of sealing wax and used an odd-shaped bean for an imprint. Next he sent word to the livery stable that he needed to hire a carriage on Saturday night, along with a note to his poultry purveyor for two fresh hens, plucked, disjointed, and ready to fry. For the rest of the day, he could barely keep his mind on his work. When one young matron requested three pounds of flour, he filled her sack with ground cornmeal, much to her dismay.
That afternoon he closed up shop early and walked home. The person he needed was sitting at the kitchen table practicing arithmetic sums. “What’cha doin’ here already, Mr. Nate?” asked Rufus. “I was hopin’ to help clean the store after I finished this homework.” The boy thrummed his fingers on the last row of problems.
“I have too much on my mind to worry about dusting cans of peas,” Nate said as he hung his hat on a peg. “If it’s all right with your mother, would you deliver a letter for me to Miss Dunn? I’ll pay you five cents.”
Closing his book, Rufus swiveled in his chair, his last five problems forgotten. “Can I, Ma?”
Ruth nodded. “As long as you don’t dillydally. Supper’s almost ready.”
Grinning, Rufus said, “You don’t have to pay me, Mr. Nate. I like running errands for you. And that house is real fine.”
“This is an important job, young man, so don’t forgo appropriate compensation,” Nate said, chuckling at the boy’s perplexed expression.
“Okay, I’ll take the nickel. Do you want me to hide in the bushes until I can speak to Miss Dunn alone?” He tugged on his cloth cap.
“Absolutely not. You should walk up to the front door and knock, proper-like. When the butler answers, tell him you have a special delivery for Miss Amanda Dunn.”
Shaking her head, Ruth placed her hands on Rufus’s shoulders. “Here in North Carolina, deliveries go to the back door, including couriers.”
Nate frowned. “Always so many rules to learn. Very well, knock on the back door, but stand up straight and don’t mumble. Tell whoever answers that you’ve been instructed to wait for Miss Dunn’s response.” He handed Rufus the invitation. “And don’t drop it in a puddle.”
“I won’t, Mr. Nate. Can I go now, Ma?” Rufus hopped from foot to foot.
“Since this dinner is in three days, let’s not tarry another moment.” Ruth pointed her son toward the door, and he took off like a startled rabbit.
With Rufus gone, Nate and his landlady discussed how to make piecrust, the easiest method of coring and peeling apples, and what spices to add to the cornmeal breading for the chicken. She had just ladled up three bowls of thick fish chowder when Rufus bounded into the kitchen, letting the door slam behind him.
“I seen her, Mr. Nate! I seen Miss Amanda.” His words came at a breathless staccato.
“Saw, Rufus. You saw Miss Dunn.” He smiled while Ruth rolled her eyes.
“That’s what I said. I knocked on the door, said I had an important letter, and that I would sit on that stoop till Miz Dunn makes up her mind.” Rufus pointed at nothing in particular, as though reliving the event. “Then the lady said, ‘Who are you, boy?’”
“I said, ‘I’m Rufus Sims.’”
Nate bit the inside of his cheek. “What happened next?”
“The lady just shook her head, made a funny sound, and shut the door. I sat on that stoop for the longest time. Then a different gal gave me a cup of water and a molasses cookie.”
Nate made an appropriate murmur of appreciation.
Rufus’s eyes turned very bright. “Then, before I had a chance to finish my water, Miss Dunn herself comes out the back door!”
Nate and Ruth produced identical expressions of surprise.
“That’s right, with the lady in the apron right on her heels. Miss Dunn said it would be a pleasure to accept and that I should wait one more minute. Then that second gal threw my water into the bushes, filled my cup with cider, and handed me another cookie.” Rufus’s joy was surpassed only by Nate’s. “And then Miss Dunn brung your letter outside with her message at the bottom.” With great dramatic flair, Rufus extracted the sheet from inside his shirt.
“You had better read it aloud,” said Odom, appearing in the doorway. “We’re all in suspense.”
Nate took the paper with a trembling hand. “Miss Amanda Dunn accepts your dinner invitation with fond anticipation.”
Rufus held up a coin. “Then she gave me a nickel too—ten cents, two cookies, and a cup of cider—just for running up the hill and back.”
Ruth guided the boy to the tub to wash. “All right, son, let’s settle down. Your father is ready to say grace.”
Nate reread the ten words twice more and then took his seat. When he bowed his head during Odem’s prayer, he added his own silent words of thanks. He finally had more to be grateful about than just food.
Amanda had never so fondly anticipated an event in her life. But it didn’t take Abigail long to learn she’d received a formal invitation and from whom.
“Regarding this dinner you have been invited to,” Abigail asked later that day, “where does Mr. Cooper hope to serve? In the storeroom of his market?”
When Amanda explained that they would be dining in the Simses’ kitchen, without the family present, she thought her sister might faint from shock.
“Unchaperoned, just you and Mr. Cooper, in the home of Negroes, no less?” Abigail’s face scrunched into a scowl.
“As you noted previously, few members of Wilmington society will witness this breach of decorum, so my reputation—or rather yours—is safe for now.”
Abby’s nostrils flared in an unbecoming fashion. “A letter to Mama detailing your atrocious behavior will be on Jackson’s next ship to Liverpool.”
“What can she do? Place me in an ice-cold tub of water the way she did when we were children?”
Abby pressed her hand to her mouth as color drained from her cheeks. “I had almost forgotten her favorite method of punishment. To this day I only take hot baths no matter what the weather.” She locked gazes with Amanda. “When did Mama finally stop that cruel tactic of persuasion?”
Amanda softened her stance. “She tried it once after you eloped. I refused to climb into the tub and threatened to run away if she forced me.”
Abby’s pique over Nate’s invitation seemed to fade. “Well, see that you’re home by a decent hour. I don’t want to explain your whereabouts to Jackson. And if you end up with indigestion, don’t come crying to me.” She glided away with her chin held high.
During the next three days, Amanda selected her outfit not less than a half dozen times. On the momentous afternoon, she soaked in a tub of rosewater, buffed her fingernails until they shone, and had Helene create a cascade of curls trailing down her back. After applying a touch of henna to her lips and gargling with vinegar, she took a final appraisal in the mirror. Suddenly the sound of Jackson barking orders to the slaves broke her pleasant bubble of anticipation. Hurrying downstairs, Amanda intercepted her sister in the parlor doorway. “Jackson is home early. He’ll soon be inside the house.”
“Yes, I heard his carriage. We’re dining at his attorney’s home tonight. He probably wishes to leave with enough time to ride across town.”
Amanda blocked her path. “Nate’s hired carriage will be here any minute. Where should I say I’m going if Jackson asks me?”
“Of course he will ask,” Abby said with a sigh. “I’ll try to detain him in the garden. Fetch your shawl and wait beyond the privet hedge. As unseemly as standing on a corner may be, I don’t wish to upset my husband. I’ll say you have already left for the Kendall House.” She strode down the center hall with more than her usual amount of energy.
At first Amanda couldn’t fathom Abby’s change of heart in regard to deceiving Jackson, but then she remembered that Abby had run away from home to be him. Perhaps she could no longer deny her twin the same right to pursue love. Regardless of the reason, Amanda was grateful. When the carriage turned the corner onto Third Street, she was ready to climb aboard before the coachman slowed to a complete stop.
“Good evening, Miss Dunn.” He tipped his top hat. “Let me get that door for you.”
“No need. I’m in a bit of a hurry.” She hiked up her skirt, jumped inside, and pulled the door shut behind her. Amanda held her breath until the mansion faded from view. But as they neared Castle Street, the butterflies in her stomach took flight. At her destination, she waited patiently until the driver opened the door.
“We’re here, miss.” He positioned a wooden step and helped her down to the sidewalk.
Amanda inhaled a deep breath when the door opened and Nathaniel stepped onto the porch. He wore a white shirt, black weskit and trousers, a dark cravat…and a red calico apron. She giggled like a schoolgirl at the sight.
Pulling off the apron, he donned a dazzling smile. “You’re right on time, Miss Dunn. If you were late I would have to start the biscuits over from scratch. They cannot remain warming in the oven another minute.” As he reached her, he extended his elbow. “When should the carriage return for you?”
Temporarily befuddled by the questions—and how utterly handsome he looked—Amanda finally stammered out a meek, “Half past nine should be fine.”
“Splendid. That gives me nearly two hours to convince you.” Nate nodded to the coachman and the conveyance rolled away, the iron wheels clattering in a cloud of dust.
“Convince me of what, sir?”
“That my culinary expertise in the kitchen, rare among male members of the species, makes me the perfect husband for a woman like you.”
Amanda stumbled on the uneven flagstones. “I see your bold self-assurance hasn’t abandoned you over the last few days. You have high hopes from one home-cooked dinner.” She drew up short. “And what do you mean by a ‘woman like you’?”
“If a man has a low opinion of himself, so will others. And I refer to your personal lack of cooking skills.”
“Why would you assume that—”
Nate abruptly jumped in front of the door, barring entry, thus she ran headlong into his chest. “I must warn you, Miss Dunn, that the Simses aren’t here. If you enter a man’s abode alone, your reputation may be compromised. Are you prepared to take marriage vows before a preacher and an armed brother-in-law?”
Amanda ducked around him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Jackson would simply shoot you and send me back home, besmirched reputation and all.”
Amanda followed the delicious mingled scents of rosemary, basil, cinnamon, and honey to the kitchen. “Goodness, I hope you prepared enough. Everything smells wonderful.” She sniffed the air like a hound dog on a trail while pivoting to take in every detail. A kettle of corn bubbled on the stove, fried chicken sat cooling on a platter, and a crusty casserole of something orange was in the center of the pine table. The table had been set with pretty but mismatched china. Tall glasses of milk would quench thirsts instead of bubbly champagne or vintage wine. The jelly jar of wildflowers on the windowsill added the feel of a meadow. All in all, the visual effect took her breath away, making her homesick for a home that was nothing like this.
Nate extracted a tray of golden biscuits from the oven and placed them in a basket. “What do you think, Amanda?” He sounded less confident than he had five minutes ago.
“I think it all looks delightful. Did Mrs. Sims prepare this before she left except for the biscuits?”
Nate arched his spine with indignation. “I beg your pardon, miss. Ruth left yesterday. Everything you see is my doing. I practically broke my neck on the steep slope behind the house picking those flowers.”
“Very impressive, sir, but I’ll reserve judgment until I taste the food. Appearances can be deceptive.” She waited until he pulled out a chair for her before taking a place at the table.
“I stand by my endeavors.” Nate carried over platters and bowls and then sat down opposite her. “Will you say grace, Miss Dunn? Odom mandates it in this house.”
She bowed her head. “Dear Lord, please let this food taste as good as it looks. Thank You and amen.”
“Odom wouldn’t be happy with your lack of faith.” Clucking his tongue, he handed her the basket of biscuits.
Amanda took one, broke off a piece, and ate. Crusty on the outside, soft within—it needed no butter or honey. “This is delicious! Quick, pass me that chicken.” She bit into a plump tender breast, the breading crisp and peppery. “Who taught you to cook like this?” she asked, not hiding her surprise.
Nate took two chicken legs and a scoop of yams. “My mother taught the three of us to cook. She said you never know what life will hand you along the way.”
“Are those yams? I would love to try some. We never had them at home.” Amanda held up her plate. “Your father was willing to learn to cook?”
“Of course. My pa helped my mother with her chores when his were done. After supper they would sit on the porch shucking peas or coring apples before Ma’s canning day. And she would help him plant and harvest corn.”
“Your mother worked in the fields?”
“She did. Farming is hard work. During certain times of the year, Pa needed everyone from dawn to dark.”
“Just the same, I imagine you had a good life.”
Nate issued a dismissive snort. “We survived, some years better than others. But then my mother got sick and lingered before she died. Good thing my father knew how to cook, because he took care of her and us for a long time.”
“He must have loved her very much.”
Nate reached for another biscuit, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, he did. When she died, he lost interest in living and took up the bottle. The fact that my brother and I still needed him didn’t seem to matter. Eventually, he followed her into the grave and left us to fend for ourselves.”
Amanda set down her fork. “He couldn’t help it if he became sick, dear one.”
Nate focused on the whitewashed wall. “My father tried hard to drink himself to death, but it wasn’t fast enough. So one cold January after we had been trapped in the cabin for days, he cut a length of rope. After we went to bed, he fed the horses and then hanged himself in the barn.”
An icy chill ran through her veins. “Oh, Nate, I’m so sorry to hear this.”
He patted her hand. “Water long over the dam. My brother and I survived the best we could. Eventually I sent Joshua to live with an aunt and uncle so he could go to school. Apparently, he didn’t stay long before running off to join the army.”
“The Confederate army?”
“Yes. He was living in Fayetteville at the time, but I don’t know where he is now.”
“I hope that when the war is over you will find each other,” she said, but every word from her mouth sounded wholly inadequate.
“That’s enough about me. Tell me what it was like growing up a Dunn. Tails and ball gowns for dinner? Three forks, three spoons, two knives, and every size glass known to man at each place setting?” His blue eyes twinkled.
Amanda remembered meals in their dining room after Abby had left and frowned. Mama and Papa sat at opposite ends of the table, both sullen and aloof, while she picked at her food, hoping they wouldn’t snipe at each other until she went to bed. Of course, there never had been shouting or vases hurtling through the air like a West End stage comedy. Instead, her mother would whine and cajole:
Why don’t we go to London this weekend, George?
Let’s take Amanda to the continent for the summer.
Why don’t we spend a fortnight in the Lake District with our friends?
And Papa’s answers were always the same.
I have no time for your nonsense, Agnes.
Mills do not run themselves.
I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.
So her mother would brood and pout in her room, leaving Amanda alone to dream about life anywhere other than Dunncliff Manor.
“For dinner, yes,” she replied, shaking off her memories. “But for breakfast and luncheon we were far less civilized.”
When Nate smiled, Amanda felt a surge of warmth in her gut—unfamiliar yet not unpleasant. “My father never lifted a finger to help his wife. Of course, she did very little either. She wouldn’t pull the stopper from the washbasin for herself or turn down the covers of her bed. Mama would stand waiting and shivering until her maid returned with a warming pan.”
“Your parents were raised with servants, creating a form of helplessness. But your father probably showed his love in other ways.”
Amanda shook her head, eating her last bite of yams. “Papa did not love her or she him. It was a union arranged by their parents for practical reasons—her family owned coal mines, his owned textile mills. My mother produced three children because it was expected of her. Duty allows little room for love.”
Nate reached out and took hold of her chin. “Then you and I will have few expectations and no obligations to each other. We’ll just see where our hearts take us.” Leaning across the table, he kissed her lips tenderly.
She lifted an eyebrow when she opened her eyes. “Two kisses is my limit for the evening, Mr. Cooper. Why don’t we clear the table before you start thinking about your second kiss?”
“I haven’t served the pie for dessert yet. Ruth helped with the crust, but I did the rest by myself.”
“What kind of pie?” she asked, furrowing her brow.
“Apple, with fruit picked fresh in Pender County.”
“You’re in luck, Mr. Cooper. Apple is my new favorite since coming to America. I might have to raise my limit to three kisses.”
“You’re the one in luck, Miss Dunn. Wait until you taste my pie.”