~~Juliet Waldron
"Aunt Kitty," Jenny began,
dropping a curtsy, "I feel terribly restless. I have taken the liberty of
dressing already, but I have come to ask if I might take out one of the ponies."
"Well, I suppose if you feel that
might work a cure," Aunt Kitty said, looking up from her embroidery. Upon
her round florid face, framed in an old fashioned outsized cap, was a look
which seemed to say that she couldn't imagine anything even remotely connected
with "restless."
After Mr. Desbrosses' proposal, after what
Nelia had said, Jenny felt choked, like a dog at the end of a chain. It was a
sensation that came with some frequency here.
"Nevertheless, Dear," Aunt Kitty
said, turning her slow gaze to the windy gray outside the window, "There
will certainly be rain. You could take cold."
"I shall keep close; I promise.
Please. The air would do me so much good."
Did her Aunt really think a little rain
would hurt? Why, on Oriskany, she'd been drenched to the skin many a time,
caught out in the fields when a black western storm roared...
Cornelia, who had kept her promise and not
said a word, looked up from her handwork. "She's cross as two
sticks," she explained to her mother, "and so she shall remain until
she gets some exercise."
"Very well. Jenny, my dear, don't go
too far. We shall fret if you aren't back for tea."
As Jenny dropped a curtsy, Aunt Kitty's
china blue eyes returned to the embroidery. Her artistry, worked exactingly
upon a chemise, would be seen and admired by only the wearer–and the laundress.
Jenny's passion for exercise was understood
by her Albany relatives as an aspect of her 'breeding' and was treated with a
certain amused indulgence. Doubtless, it was the Indian side that had this
unladylike taste for roaming.
It was already much colder than during her
interview with Mr. Desbrosses. A raw wind gusted from the north.
She had kept on the serviceable brown skirt
and plain white shirt, but the apron was gone. Over all was a long green caraco
jacket. Instead of the matching green tricorn ornamented with a feather, she
had plaited her dark hair into a single braid and chosen a warm and wind proof
cap which tied beneath the chin.
At the barn a groom saddled a brown and
white pony. Echoing Aunt Kitty, he cautioned about the weather.
"Now, Miss, don't stay out too long
and take cold." His black face was as circumspect as a father's.
"A little rain won't melt me,"
she said with a smile, availing herself of his cupped hands to mount. In Albany
she had, of course, to ride sidesaddle instead of astride.
After settling her skirts, she took the
short crop he offered and trotted out of the yard, a neat little figure in
green and brown.
The stableman watched. Not likely, I
s'pose," he mused, that a little cold water will melt that girl.
She's no fine lump o' white sugar, after all."
Down the road Jenny went, bobbing in the
choppy rhythm of a trot, along a cow path leading south into the wide public
pastures. The upturned belly of the river reflected clouds of slate...
Her cheeks and fingers were soon tingling,
bitten by the frigid wind. As she approached the big house that housed the General
and his military family, she felt icy splatters.
Slowing the pony, she began the planned
circumnavigation of the house. Not rain, but sleet now, harder every minute.
A groan came from the north. The trees,
thinly leafed, leaned before the wind. The indistinct chaos of a squall, like a
high-shouldered animal, bounded over the hill, blotting out the view. An
upstate May, even after the lovely weather they'd been having, was not exempt
from a wintry sortie.
"Damn," Jenny muttered, enjoying
the feel of a country curse on her lips as she reined the pony around.
The squall struck with a roaring, hissing
blast. Cross, disappointed, and now shivering fiercely in the wind, she trotted
away along the main road, a road which passed by tumble down cabins which had
once housed slaves...
~~Juliet Waldron
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