Storm Clouds Rolling In Page 7

  “Are my lovely ladies ready to depart?”

  Carrie could have cried with relief when she heard her father’s cheerful voice. Suddenly all she wanted was for the carriage to start moving. Anything would be better than sitting here in awkward silence while her mother and Robert struggled to carry on conversation.

  Carrie felt much more like herself when their shiny, green carriage turned into the drive leading to the Blackwell Plantation. Whatever her feelings toward Louisa Blackwell, it most certainly did not extend to the plantation. Carrie had loved Blackwell Plantation from the time she was very young. She had often longed for a corridor of cedar trees to line the road to Cromwell. Louisa’s home had been one of the very first pieces of land developed in the New World. When she was younger, Carrie had wandered among the mighty cedars, listening quietly, hoping they would tell some of the secrets they must surely hold. Their silence had never diminished her joy. Oft times she would pick sprigs of the fragrant greenery and take it home to simmer in a pot of water on the wood stove. The heady aroma had always delighted her.

  This morning was no different. The storm from the previous night had released a wonderful cedar fragrance into the morning air. The day was warming nicely but there was still just enough coolness to trap the aroma close to the ground. Carrie felt as if she were riding through a cedar lined closet. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply.

  “We couldn’t have a more perfect day for the Tournament.” Abigail’s eyes sparkled with anticipation, and her smooth skin was flushed with excitement.

  Carrie smiled. “I think you love parties more than anyone I know.”

  Thomas laughed. “Don’t ever expect her to change, Carrie. Her enjoyment of them seems to simply increase as the years pass.” He looked at his wife fondly. “You look beautiful, Abigail. You’re simply glowing with life. No wonder people sometimes have trouble telling who is mother and who is daughter.”

  “We’re here, father!” Carrie exclaimed, allowing herself one small wriggle on the carriage seat to express her excitement. Sometimes growing up was so tedious. She preferred her younger days when it was perfectly acceptable to bounce all over the carriage.

  “So we are, dear.”

  Carrie knew her father was not immune to the pleasure of these occasions. Plantation life, however wonderful, was also one of isolation. It was occasions like these that brought him into contact with his neighbors and gave him the chance to share opinions and ideas with other men of his kind. She knew he had been looking forward to the Blackwell festivities for weeks now. With so much going on in the world, he longed for the opportunity to discuss it with other Virginian men.

  There were two other carriages in front of the Blackwell house when Miles eased the Cromwell carriage in to join them. Two stories tall, it was not as high as her beloved home, but it sprawled further and the aged red bricks gave a stately look to the distinguished mansion. The spacious circular drive, surrounding a beautiful boxwood garden, offered plenty of space for the fleet of carriages arriving soon. Off in the distance, Carrie could see more of the Tournament horses being led into the freshly painted red barn. Many of them had already been here for several days. Carrie knew that several of the competitors had gotten here up to a week early to practice their skill and make sure their horses were familiar with the course.

  Carrie looked up at Robert and smiled. It was the first time she had looked directly at him since they’d left home. “You can take Granite to the barn over there, Mr. Borden. Charles, Miles’ assistant, will take charge of him until you need him.”

  Robert returned her smile. “Thanks, Miss Cromwell. I will do my best to bring honor to your horse and to your plantation.”

  “I’m sure you will, Mr. Borden. I hope Granite gives you a good ride,” Carrie said demurely. Carrie saw her father struggling to choke back his laughter as he turned away. If anyone else would have dared suggest Granite wouldn’t give Robert the best ride of any horse there, she would have responded with fiery indignation. Her own attitude startled her. She saw her father watching Robert with heightened interest. What was he thinking?

  “It’s good to see you, Cromwell!”

  Thomas turned with a forced smile toward his greeter. “Good morning, Ruffin. It’s good to see you as well. Perfect day for the festivities, isn’t it?”

  “That it is, indeed. I’m glad to see you could make it. Tension seems to be growing on our southern plantations. Not all owners feel it is wise or even possible to leave their homes for such festivities.”

  Carrie watched her father smile through gritted teeth. She knew he was in no mood to tangle with his neighbor today; however, he maintained his pleasant demeanor and refused to rise to the bait. “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Ruffin.”

  Just then a reprieve arrived in the form of Alfred Blackwell. Within minutes a group of men had formed which headed for the large wrap around porch and the spittoon - a centerpiece at all parties.

  Carrie watched with amusement as her father escaped Edmund Ruffin. The two had, at one time, been close friends. It had been Ruffin’s agricultural expertise that had saved the Cromwell plantation from ruin. But now they were both solidly entrenched on opposite sides in the controversy embroiling their country. Father was a staunch Union man. Edmund Ruffin was a fire-eating secessionist. Many had been the time they had butted heads - and hearts - over the issues. Carrie knew her father wished to escape any nasty confrontations today. She wasn’t sure it was possible.

  “Oh, Carrie! You’re here! Let me show you upstairs to my room. We’ll be sharing it with Natalie Heyward and Sally Hampton tonight.”

  Carrie turned with a smile to meet her lifelong friend. She had determined to be as pleasant as possible in spite of the differences between them. “Hello, Louisa. It’s wonderful to be here. It’s such a beautiful day!”

  Chatting easily, the two girls made their way into the house. Carrie knew Miles would bring her trunk up when he was done with Granite in the barn. As they passed through the entrance of the elegant old, brick mansion, she paused to smile a greeting at Polly, the Blackwell’s cook. Louisa barely cast a look in the direction of her faithful slave.

  “Didn’t I recognize Granite out there earlier?” asked Louisa as they made their way up the spacious staircase to her second floor bedroom.

  “Yes.”

  “And wasn’t there an absolutely divine looking gentleman riding him?” Louisa cast an eagerly questioning look in Carrie’s direction.

  “That was Robert Borden.” Carrie didn’t care to address whether she considered him absolutely divine. Louisa found many men absolutely divine. Yet, she had to admit that Louisa never suffered a lack of young men flocking around her. Louisa was beautiful; glowing blond hair setting off her dainty features and startling blue eyes. It had never bothered Carrie before but now she suddenly felt a desire to not have Robert in that flock.

  “Robert Borden...” Louisa paused on the stairs. “That must be the young man from Goochland County mother invited. I’m not really sure how he wound up on the guest list. I don’t really know anything about him.”

  Carrie continued her steady walk up the staircase. She wouldn’t be the one to enlighten her.

  “I wonder if he means to ride in the Tournament?” Louisa continued her questions as she moved to catch up with her.

  Carrie remained silent. She had learned it was best not to antagonize her hostess.

  Louisa wasn’t easily deterred, however. “Is that why he’s on Granite, Carrie? I believe he had written back to mother, telling her he wouldn’t be able to ride because he wouldn’t have his horse with him. Is he actually going to attempt the Tournament on your horse?” The tone of her voice indicated she found the idea simply ludicrous.

  Carrie turned to glare at Louisa just as they reached the door to her room. With great control, she managed to keep her voice even. “Yes, he’s riding Granite in the tournament. And he’s going to win.” The last words were delivered in a quiet tone. She ope
ned the door and strode into the room, all the while silently praying that Charles would arrive soon with her bags.

  Louisa laughed merrily as they moved into her sunny, well-lit bedroom. She leaned against one of her four-poster double beds. “Have you forgotten, Carrie? There has been no one to beat a Blackwell horse in ten years. My brother, Nathan, will be riding Comet again this year. The two have never been beaten. Surely you don’t think your gray gelding and that unknown man can vanquish them?”

  Carrie did indeed think they could. But she didn’t really know why she was so certain. Granite, she had confidence in. Robert Borden was a complete unknown to her.

  “Oh, Louisa, we’re here! We’re coming up......”

  Carrie breathed a deep sigh of relief. She knew she was close to losing her temper. Louisa’s arrogant haughtiness was sometimes more than she could take. At times she could be merry and amusing - but that was usually only in the presence of young men.

  Seconds later, Natalie Heyward and Sally Hampton swept through the door, resplendent in their silk hoop dresses. Carrie glanced down at her own lime-green gown, thankful that Rose had picked this one for her. She knew it set her features off well. When in the company of other girls who put so much stock in their appearance, she was glad to know she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Why, Carrie. You’re here already. It’s so wonderful to see you!” Natalie finished off her exuberant greeting with a big hug. Carrie returned the hug and smiled at the large-boned redhead. Natalie was not beautiful but she had an open, friendly nature that drew people to her. Sally Hampton was a slender blond with even, pretty features and a smile like sunshine. Carrie, in truth, was happy to see both the girls. Though they lived on nearby plantations she hadn’t seen much of either one of them for quite some time. They had always had good times together. She looked forward to this day in their company.

  More than that, she looked forward to what would happen in the Tournament.

  SIX

  House slaves moved quickly to clear away the remnants of the dinner feast. Carrie, her blood coursing with excitement, joined the stream of people flowing toward the tournament arena. The competition was due to begin in just forty-five minutes. Robert had excused himself fifteen minutes earlier from the meal in order to collect Granite and make sure he was warm and loosened-up before the Tournament began. He had paused at the door to cast a warm smile in Carrie’s direction and then had moved quickly to join the other young men going after their horses. Carrie looked up just in time to see Louisa’s calculated look.

  Carrie joined her throng of friends at the side of the arena, eager not to miss any of the opening ceremonies. She smiled as she looked around. It was indeed a perfect day for the Tournament. The storm the night before had cleared the air. The sky was a crystal blue and the air sparkled with freshness. The fresh, spring green of the trees swayed gently in the breeze and the fragrance of early spring blooms lent their own unique perfume.

  Close to one hundred friends and neighbors lined the rails of the arena. The men looked elegant in their suits, while the women were resplendent in their brightly colored gowns and hats, many holding frilly parasols to ward off the mid-day sun. Carrie turned her face eagerly toward the sun. She could seldom be bothered with a parasol, opting instead for the healthy glow it gave her and not caring one fig that many of her friends shook their heads over yet another one of her oddities.

  She heard the drum of horse beats, and looked up to watch the line of young men galloping toward the platform erected especially for the day’s activities. Carrie quickly singled out Robert Borden racing toward her. Already he looked at home on Granite - the two made a dashing pair. Within seconds the cavalcade of young riders and horses surrounded the platform. A mighty horn was blown and the master of ceremonies, Colonel James Benton, from a neighboring plantation, raised his voice to carry through the now quiet throng.

  “ Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for the Charge to the Knights.” His steely gaze swept over the crowd and then he turned his attention to the competitors. “Gentlemen, you are gathered here today to participate in the most chivalrous and gallant sport known. It has been called the Sport of Kings. And well it should. It has come down to us from the Crusades, being at that time a very hazardous undertaking. As you probably know - but I intend to tell you once more...”

  He allowed his voice to trail off as laughter rippled through the crowd. Every year he said the same thing. It was now part of the tradition everyone loved and expected. “As you probably know,” he continued, “the knights of that day rode in full armor, charging down the lists at each other, with the intent being that the best man would knock his opponent from his horse. It was a rough and dangerous pastime - many were seriously hurt. Some were killed. But we, in this day, have gotten soft and tender – as well as much smarter, I believe, and have eliminated the danger and roughness of the sport.” Again, laughter riffled the crowd, but no one spoke up to mar the seriousness of the Charge.

  All levity left the Colonel’s voice as he leaned forward to address the young men. “But with all that, it is still a manly and fascinating sport; testing the horsemanship, dexterity, skill, quickness of eye, steadiness and control of his mount on the part of the rider; and the speed, smoothness of gait, and training on the part of the horse. It is an honorable sport and I do not need to mention that a knight taking any undue advantage of his opponents will be ruled out of the tournament.” Having pressed his point home to the competitors, the Colonel continued on with the instructions.

  Carrie knew the rules by heart, but still she listened attentively.

  “The three ‘ring hangers’ are spaced twenty yards apart. The start is twenty yards from the first ring - making the total length of the list from the start to the last - sixty yards. Any rider taking more than seven seconds from the start to the last ring will be ruled out. Should anything untoward happen during the tilt which would prevent the rider from having a fair try at the rings, he will so indicate by lowering his lance and making no try at the rings. The judge will decide whether he is entitled to another tilt. All rings must be taken off the lances by the judges. None others will be counted. The rings on the first tilt will be two inches in diameter; on the second tilt, one and a half; on the third tilt, one; on the fourth tilt, three quarters; and on the fifth ,and last, tilt – if there are competitors left - one half inch.”

  Having dispensed with the rules, the Colonel smiled and regarded the young men warmly. “All of you are riding not only to win, but to gain the coveted honor of crowning the lady of your choice the “Queen of Love and Beauty” at the Ball later tonight. The next seven riders will have the privilege of honoring the lady of their choice as “Lady in Waiting” for the Queen. Only the members of the Court will participate in the opening figures at the Ball tonight. Good luck to you. May the best man win and the fairest lady be crowned!”

  Another mighty blow on the horn announced the beginning of the competition. A rousing cheer rose from the crowd, along with a whoop from the riders as they galloped their horses in the direction of the starting line.

  Robert held Granite back.

  Carrie, from her position in the crowd, wondered what was holding him back. She saw his eyes casting about through the crowd. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Louisa making her way in Robert’s direction.

  “Oh, Mr. Borden!” Louisa’s voice rang out over the crowd loud enough for Carrie to hear.

  Robert spun Granite. Carrie watched as the two exchanged greetings, and then Robert scanned the crowd one more time. She saw a flash of anger, and then a look of determination in Louisa’s eyes. She knew Louisa had met men like Robert before. She was always able to conquer their proud ways. Carrie feared Robert Borden would be no exception, and then immediately wondered why she feared it.

  Moving forward now, Louisa held a dainty lace handkerchief up to Robert.

  Carrie stifled a groan. She had forgotten! In the midst of her excitement about Granite comp
eting in the race, she had forgotten the tradition of the Knight’s token. And Louisa, for whatever reason, was giving Robert her handkerchief. Carrie’s eyes narrowed. What was Louisa thinking? Her own brother was riding in competition against Robert. Why would Louisa give her handkerchief to a rival?

  Robert took the proffered token and with a courtly bow tucked it into the pocket next to his heart. Smiling, he turned and headed Granite for the finish line. Louisa, turning away after Robert rode off, caught Carrie watching the exchange. She gave a satisfied smile before she swished away to join a group of her male admirers.

  Carrie, disgusted with herself, bit her lip and turned away. She was furious with Louisa but knew she didn’t really have a right to be. She should have already given Robert a token - though heavens knows what she would have given him. Louisa had simply done what she already should have. She turned back and gazed at Robert astride Granite. A sudden thought hit her like a bolt of spring lightening. Who was to say Robert couldn’t have more than one token? She had never heard of it being done before, but what did that matter. Robert was riding her horse! Carrie cast in her mind for an adequate token. Suddenly she knew. Eyes alight with determination; she edged through the crowd until she reached the starting line.

  “Mr. Borden,” she called. The crowd and the milling of the horses drowned out her voice. “Mr. Borden!” she called again, louder this time.

  Robert turned Granite to meet her, his face instantly wreathed in smiles. Moving over to where she stood, he vaulted from the Thoroughbred and looked down at her. “What can I do for you, Miss Cromwell?”