Episode 5

“Let’s see,” announced Miss Eugenia at the next gathering of the two ladies. “I believe you were at the point where Judge Black is introduced.”

“And Miss Maryanne is invited to the mansion,” Phee added.

“You may commence where you left off, then.”

Phee wondered if the bookmark would no longer dictate what she could or could not read, but she did not tempt fate. She plunged right in.

The grandeur of the McQueen place was unparalleled to any I have experienced. 

Around the imposing home was a log fence and several trees, which obscured most of the mansion from view. I could see it was two stories high.

Waiting at the large, carved oak door was Zora McQueen.

“I watched you coming up the lane,” she told me. “My household servants do not work today, but I believe I can serve you adequate refreshments myself,” she added with a wink. She invited me inside to a hallway. I have not before seen such floors of inlaid marble in the broad mahogany planks. Intricate, but surely impractical.

We passed a library and the dining room before arriving in the parlor. It was the size of half my house. 

Zora gestured to an elegant walnut chair. “The furniture once belonged to my grandparents,” she said. There was a piano, a settee, and eight chairs.

Set out on a table was a tray of dainty delectables. There were squares of bread, buttered and topped with jam. Sliced pears, peaches and apples were placed in a circle surrounding the bread. There was a pitcher of water and a flask with apple-peach juice.

“Given such a warm day,” she declared, “I did not prepare tea.”

She offered me a choice of drink. I thanked her for her thoughtfulness and motioned to the juice. She poured an etched glass and handed it to me.

“Please allow me to fill a plate for you,” she stated. She prepared plates for us both and sat across from me, her back to the window.

Zora wore a very light-weight frock you could see through. I realized it was hot and such attire was in keeping with the higher temperatures, but this was unexpected.

“Is it unusual for you to dress in such a way and serve refreshments?” I hoped I was not being rude, but she answered without hesitation.

“Although Creek and White have intermarried for generations, only recently have they taken on more White than Native ways of living.” It relieved me she did not understand my question aimed at the scarcity of her clothing, and not about why she wore a dress.

She continued, “In the Cherokee Nation in Georgia, there are also several such plantations as this,” she said. “Ours is unusual because I am a well-to-do White lady from the East.”

I cocked my head to the side and sat silently, hoping she would continue.

“Perhaps you prefer me to discuss mundane things such as the weather?” she inquired. “Or shall I answer more unasked questions rattling around in your head.”

“I am sorry, Mrs. McQueen, I should not betray my thoughts so easily. I shall not try to deny them, however. Please continue as you wish.”

Although I was now in the Creek Nation, I could not call her Dancing Star, given the circumstances of the house as well as the refreshments, dress, and conversation.

“Please call me Zora,” she interrupted. “I have become impatient with manners when they serve little purpose. They are of use at other times, but I hope we are friends enough to know each other familiarly.”

I laughed. I could see she was in a delightful mood, and I wished it to remain so. “Then, please, call me Maryanne.” It tempted me to tease her and insist on being “Miss Jones.” 

I stopped mid-bite. Through the window I saw Chief Half-Moon standing next to his horse, grooming him. He wore scant attire, such as I witnessed when he was playing in the village field. This time, instead of leggings, only a short cloth covered the front and back. A thin leather strap held the two pieces in place. I observed the whole of his body, otherwise. 

Zora turned to view what I was studying and laughed. “Well, I guess he has returned from his ride. He likes to gallop through the woods and fields at top speeds sometimes.” As she spoke, I noticed she touched the midpoint of her throat and traced a line downward to where cloth met flesh.

Seeing my empty plate, she spoke, a breathless catch in her voice and a tone that bordered on impatience.

“I am delighted you enjoyed the refreshments.”

Her foot was tapping, and she turned her fork over on the table. She gazed out the window once more, and a playful grin crossed her face. If only I knew the conversation she was having inside her head.

She glanced at me before her attention again drifted outside. She muttered, “Mmmmm.”

I was uncertain how I should act in the face of my hostess’ distraction.

Zora became the more formal Mrs. McQueen again and stood. “I am sorry, but I have matters to attend to,” she stated abruptly. “It will be pleasant to again visit with each other very soon.” With that, she escorted me to the door.

It was disappointing I left while on the opposite side of the house from where Chief Half-Moon stood grooming his horse. I desired to see more of this man and was most curious what the chief and his wife would do after I departed.

Phee almost again blurted out her amazement at her auntie’s writing but thought better of it. She did not wish to risk having the bookmark reappear. Or, worse, that Miss Eugenia might hide or destroy the volume. She attempted to make her face into one devoid of expression.

“Ophelia, dear, I cannot believe you have no reaction to that last part. Perhaps I succeeded in being subtle and the words have gone quite beyond you.