‘This is like a high school dance, isn’t it?’ Melody observed as I was poking my nose into a room to our left, which had been set up with a half-dozen card tables.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Girls on one side of the room, boys on the other. How lame.’ She rose on tiptoe, waved. ‘Look, there’s Amy!’
I motioned for Amy to join us. I opened my mouth to tell her what I’d learned from Jud about Drew, but just then, the dancing began and the opportunity passed. A dozen couples took to the floor, and to the strains of Bach’s Minuet in G, bowed to the audience and to each other, and began the elegant dance.
The rest of the audience – women on one side and men on the other as Melody had pointed out – simply observed, commenting from time to time on the performance of the dancers as if it were an Olympic event: ‘Ooops, she slipped up there. Should have been a right hand turn,’ or, ‘Who taught him to dance? The football coach?’
As we watched, slaves began making rounds with trays of punch. Amy took a glass when it was offered to her, and I was considering reaching for one, too, when Jack suddenly materialized at my side and snagged one for me as the slave cruised by. He held up a finger to the man – wait! – and snagged a second glass for himself.
‘May I have one, too, Papa?’ Melody asked with a smile to melt the coldest heart.
Jack considered his daughter, no doubt taking in the dress, the wig, the makeup and the undeniable fact that his little girl was nearly a woman, and handed Melody his glass. When the slave came around again, he got another for himself.
We remained on the sidelines, sipping, watching the dancing, and all the time I was thinking, where the hell is Paul? In the meantime, I couldn’t seem to get rid of Jack.
Out on the floor, the dancers took a final bow and drifted off the dance floor, the ladies fanning themselves, the men wiping their brows with lace handkerchiefs, although I couldn’t imagine what had been so strenuous about the leisurely dance they had just performed. Almost immediately, another minuet began and Jack asked me to dance. I couldn’t graciously refuse, so I nodded, took his hand, and let him lead me out onto the floor, smiling at me all the way in a proprietary way that gave me the willies.
We bowed to the audience and to each other, traced a Z-pattern on the floor, touched hands, and circled around as Alex had taught us. Jack’s face was flushed, as usual, his brow beaded with sweat.
Paul! I need you! I longed for my husband to approach, tap Jack on the shoulder and say, ‘Excuse me, may I cut in?’ but that kind of dance etiquette wasn’t invented until the middle of the First World War, so I was out of luck.
At the end of the dance, we bowed to each other and to the audience, then Jack escorted me back to the sidelines where Amy had been watching. ‘Not bad, Jack,’ Amy said, then clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘Whew!’ I said, snapping open my fan and putting it to good use. ‘Who knew a minuet could be so strenuous?’ I didn’t want Jack to think I was ready for another spin around the floor. Fanning furiously, I looked around for the children. ‘Where’s Melody? And Gabe?’
Amy pointed with the tip of her fan. Standing with Melody on the sidelines on the other side of the dance floor was a youth I recognized as one of the homeschoolers that augmented Michael’s classes at Patriot House. Judging from the hot-eyed looks the teens were exchanging, and the redness of the boy’s ears, I thought that Cowboy Tim back in Texas might well be history.
‘What’s that young man’s name?’ I asked her.
‘That’s Jason.’
‘Nice lad.’ Jack drew himself to attention, pointed out one of his cronies from Middleton Tavern and said, ‘Excuse me, Mrs Ives, but I see someone I need to talk to.’
I couldn’t imagine what they had to discuss – it was all make-believe, wasn’t it? – but I was glad to get rid of him for the moment. Besides, in spite of the reassuring message from Jud, I was getting really worried about Paul. Had something gone wrong?
‘Have you seen my husband, Amy?’
‘Hannah, I have never met your husband.’
I felt my face redden. ‘Of course you haven’t. Well, if you see a handsome, elderly-statesman type wandering around looking lost, that’s probably Paul. In the meantime, I’m going to take a look around.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Hannah. Michael and French arrived a few minutes ago. I think they’re exploring the card room, so I’ll catch up with them there.’
I began my search in the banquet room, selecting a few olives from a bowl on the table, popping them into my mouth, and then wondering what I was going to do with the pits. I began looking around for a receptacle. Sitting in the far corner of the room, almost invisible in the gloom and partially hidden by a curtain, I nearly stumbled over Gabe, head bowed, his knees pulled up to his chest.
‘Gabe! What are you doing hiding over there?’
‘Why can’t I go to the bonfire with Dex?’ he whined. ‘This place is booooring!’
‘As your father probably explained, it’s because you are a young gentleman, and Dex is supposed to be a slave boy. Slave boys didn’t get to come to dances, unless they were working.’
His lower lip quivered, but he held himself together. ‘That totally sucks.’
‘I totally agree with you, Gabriel, but that’s the way it was back then.’
Gabe had something in his hand. As I drew closer, he tucked it behind his back.
‘What do you have there, Gabe?’
His eyes were wide, innocent. ‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
He stared at me in silence.
I held out my hand. ‘Let me see.’
Reluctantly, with exaggerated slowness, Gabe drew out his hand. ‘It’s an iPod Touch,’ he told me. ‘I’m playing Angry Birds.’
An iPod. The little devil. ‘I thought you turned your iPod in?’
‘I did, Mrs Ives, honest. I found this one.’
‘You found it? Where did you find it?’
‘In a china pot in your room. When you were sick? Remember?’
Truthfully, except for extended conversations with long-dead French philosophers, I had very little recollection of what happened during my extended bout with the dreaded H3N2 virus. I held out my hand. ‘Give it to me, please.’
Gabe sucked in his lips, but handed the instrument over. I pushed the button to exit his game and return to the main screen, then turned the phone in his direction. ‘What does this say, Gabriel?’
‘Amy’s iPhone.’
‘Exactly. So it isn’t an iPod Touch, is it?’
‘No, ma’am.’
‘And it isn’t yours.’
A single tear slid down the boy’s cheek. He shook his head.
‘Then, why do you have it?’ I asked, pocketing the phone.
‘I kept it because I wanted to talk to my mom, but when I put her number in, it didn’t work.’ He swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘She writes me letters, but I really, really miss her.’
‘Oh, Gabe!’ I coaxed the boy to his feet and crushed him against my petticoats. ‘I know how hard it must be for you.’ I tipped his chin so I could look into his eyes. ‘But it wasn’t right to take Amy’s phone.’
He nodded miserably.
After a moment, I tousled his hair, then marched him back into the ballroom. Although it wasn’t the done thing, 1774-wise, I considered turning the boy over to his father for a good tongue-lashing, but fortunately, I spotted several youngsters about Gabe’s age clustered at the fringes of the ballroom, attempting to dance but making it look more like a scuffle. ‘There are some kids your age, now scoot!’ I gave him a whack on the butt to send him on his way.
I rejoined my friends, lined up casually along the wall back where I had left them. I was planning to hand the iPhone back to Amy, but just then, we were joined by Admiral Michael Miller, the Naval Academy superintendent, his ginger hair covered by a powdered wig. Trim, and ramrod straight, Miller wore the uniform of a Continental Admiral of the Revolutionary War which was surprisingly similar to the navy dinner dress uniform of today – white breeches topped by a dark blue dress coat with tails and a double row of brass buttons marching down the front. The heavily-fringed gold epaulets that decorated his shoulders were a thing of the past, however. The admiral’s wife wore a gown of Prussian blue, with tiny yellow bows decorating the sleeves and bodice. Miniature dolphins frolicked through her powdered curls. I had to admire it. ‘Navy colors, I see. Blue and gold. I like it! Especially the dolphins.’ I pointed at my own elaborate coiffure. ‘My theme is birds, as you probably guessed.’