Page 47 of Moonshine and Magnolias (Just Add Peaches #1)

Rob parked his car among the hundreds of others already taking up space in the open lot across the street from Fountenoy Hall and joined the stream of people waiting to cross the street.

A cannon boomed and he jumped in spite of himself.

A second later, a cheer went up from the crowd.

Music and the squeals of small children drifted over from the tents, but that wasn’t what Rob wanted to hear.

Wendy’s voice, telling him about her family.

Her delighted laughter. Her cries of passion, when it was just the two of them, alone.

What he really wanted was time. To apologize again, to see if she had read the real results of his research or seen the contents on the flash drive and understood their significance.

To ask her if she could ever forgive him.

He climbed the wooden steps of the horse-drawn carriage shuttling everyone to the reenactment, settling in between a family with small kids and an overly-affectionate couple.

Police officers stopped the traffic to let the carriage pass.

It clomped down the drive, kicking up dust. Rob scanned the crowds that spilled onto the front lawn.

He hadn’t been able to guess Hal and Dad’s reaction when he had uncovered the treasure. Confusion. Surprise. Disbelief. But the facts didn’t lie, and they finally accepted the truth. Then Dad took the information to Mom.

While she didn’t embrace him with open arms, she listened enough to know the search was over. They could begin repairing what the curse had broken between them.

Women in colorful period dresses strolled by on the arms of men in jeans and t-shirts.

A tall man in a tricorn hat recited Patrick Henry’s speech from the Second Virginia Convention to whoever would listen.

When Rob got off the carriage, he saw the red-headed prince in Union garb, doing a passable impression of General Sherman.

He wore the uniform well. Two men dressed conspicuously in black followed him around, their shoulders broad enough to keep the prince in shadow.

Brandi was on his arm, holding a lemonade and grinning at something he said.

Lo?c turned around and Rob ducked into the nearest tent.

The woodsy smell of the handmade display tables piqued his interest enough to spend a few minutes browsing the books on top before heading out again.

Lo?c wasn’t in sight anymore. Rob continued down the row, dodging British soldiers marching in their red coats and Americans in grays and blues while he made his way to Fountenoy Hall’s front stairs.

According to the program, there would be a brief memorial for Maybelle Clayton before a messenger would bring news of the approaching enemy in about half an hour.

Wendy wouldn’t need the extra burden of seeing him when she was already emotionally fragile.

He’d find her after the messenger delivered his lines.

She had to know he’d be back today. If she had read his letter. He imagined seeing her, yearning on her face as she smiled at the sight of him. Bile rested in the back of his throat. The yearning would turn to pain and panic. Like seeing him will rip open an unhealed wound. Which it probably would.

He’d take that over indifference. He popped an antacid into his mouth.

A crowd had already started gathering at the stanchions placed across the circular drive near the Hall, marking the boundary for the next act of The Winning of Pansy Hamilton.

Rob watched a woman weave a blanket on her loom and bought some haymaker’s punch to have something to do with his hands.

It came to him in a mason jar, like the ones used as tumblers in the library.

He carried it while he waited for the messenger, not yet able to lift the reminder to his lips.

When the memorial started, he stayed on the edge, letting those who knew Maybelle Clayton get closer. He lifted a glass in salute to the woman before finally taking a drink. They finished up with a chorus of Amazing Grace.

“The Redcoats are coming!” someone yelled.

Other voices took up the cry, some shouting about shots being fired at Fort Sumter and the South rising again.

The crowd gathered closer, apparently unconcerned with historical inaccuracies.

Rather, their faces were all amused and entertained as a man on horseback rode up the tree-lined drive to the house.

An older man and woman came out of Fountenoy Hall followed by several other reenactors.

“Oh, Father! What are we to do?” Brandi asked, her hair in ringlets peeking out of her hat after the rider delivered his message and departed. She looked perfect as the beautiful Pansy, though her nose was reddened, but she wasn’t the one Rob ached to see.

“You must find safety in the next town. Leave tonight with your sisters under the cover of darkness and make your way to your aunt’s house. Be careful, Pansy.”

Wait. There Wendy was, in a period dress buttoned up to her chin, helping her mother and Eulalee clean off picnic tables set up in the shade of the trees.

“Be brave, my children,” the father said. Rob didn’t hear the rest of the dialogue. His only goal was to get to Wendy before she had a chance to disappear. The show ended and the crowd surged, forcing him to wind his way across. Wendy was gone by the time he reached the bench.

But her mom wasn’t. She tossed a few water bottles into a recycling bin, then straightened up to watch his approach. “It’s our conscripted assistant chef.”

“Yes, ma’am.” If Mrs. Marsh was being this friendly, her daughter probably hadn’t told her much.

She grinned. “Had to find out what happened to Pansy Hamilton, huh?”

“I admit the story piqued my curiosity. ”

“Well, it’s nice to see you back here. Make sure you say hi to Wendy before you leave again. And Brandi, if you can get a hold of her.”

“I will. Do you know where she is?”

Mrs. Marsh’s eyebrows drew down and she looked around. “She was here just a minute ago. I’m sure she’s around.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He waited as Mrs. Marsh headed back to the house. On to plan B.

It would be nice if he had figured out a plan B.

He wandered through the tents, the women cooking over open fires or sewing holes in their men’s clothes. Tonight Pansy would meet the Captain and he’d profess his love. They’d live happily ever after. And Rob would lose his chance to do the same.

Maybe he could get the Angels Eyes to work with him instead of against him.

Another cannon boomed, vibrating the air around him. In the smattering of applause that followed, two solid shadows appeared by his side. He ignored them to watch a woman tear the thread with her teeth and test the strength of the new button.

A shadow fell over him and he didn’t move.

“Why don’t you come with us,” Lo?c said.

Though the words were phrased as a suggestion, they were definitely more a command. Still, he followed without complaint. As long as they didn’t kick his ass off the grounds until he got a chance to talk to Wendy, he’d go along willingly.

They escorted him beyond the tents to where Sebastien and Brandi stood waiting. Her normally open and pretty features were scowling and she tapped a bat against the ground.

The bat contrasted with the bonnet on her head and hoopskirt wider than a staircase, but her tightened mouth and intent to harm in her different-colored eyes made her ferocious. “I thought you understood you’re not welcome here.”

“Can you put away the compulsion to beat me to a pulp and listen? I’m not here to cause Wendy any more pain. ”

“We wouldn’t let you anyway,” Sebastien said.

Rob acknowledged the truth of his comment with a nod. “I just need five minutes with her. And if she doesn’t like what I have to say, then you can use that bat in the worst way you know how.”

***

Wendy glanced out the window of the connecting rooms Sebastien had vacated for the reenactment and down to the rows of white cloth tents on the grounds below.

The room was the only private space big enough to hold the female reenactors and clothing for their many costume changes.

How fortunate for Mr. Hamilton that Pansy had no brothers.

Rob was down there, somewhere. She retreated to the house as soon as she saw him, managing to look like she had something to do.

His letter had suggested he’d see her again, so she wasn’t surprised that he showed up.

The shock came when her body tingled with anticipation of being touched by him again.

“Ready.” Brandi stepped in front of her and turned around, exposing her unbuttoned dress.

The room bustled with everyone preparing for the final act of the night.

Petticoats sprouted up from the floor like a rainbow of mushrooms. A few four-bone hoops sat among them.

The Hamilton sisters gossiped and chatted as they did their hair and makeup.

Wendy swept her cousin’s hair off her back, concerned at the light layer of sweat on Brandi’s skin. In the mounds of material her cousin had been wearing for the past eight hours, the thought of heatstroke crossed Wendy’s mind. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah.” Brandi snapped open her fan with an ease that Wendy envied. “Nothing some water won’t fix.”

Wendy sent one of the Hamilton sisters to fetch a bottle and pressed her hand against her cousin’s flushed face. Fiddlesticks. She was burning. “You’re really hot. Maybe you should sit down.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m—” Brandi stumbled on her way to the sofa .

“That’s it.” Wendy undid the dress she had just put on her cousin and pulled it over her head. “Get out of these clothes. You need to cool down and fast.”

“No.” The protest was weak, and Brandi shimmied out of the chemise without any more discussion and plopped on the sofa in her pantaloons and a tank top. “What about the last act? The grand finale? Meeting the captain and falling in love? You’ll have to do it if I don’t.”