Chapter 4: Sunday Dinner

1865

Despite the late August heat, Sunday dinner at the French's large farmhouse, which lay less than a mile away "as the crow flies," turned out to be a pleasant affair. Mr. French insisted that Robert and Seth doff their coats and roll up their sleeves as soon as they arrived, and his sweating cook served a meal of cold fried chicken, German potato salad, pickled string beans and thin-sliced beets with onions along with tall glasses of cold milk, iced cider and fresh-baked bread. All the windows and doors were left open and a few light breezes fluttered the sheer curtains and improved the day.

"Didn't know you had an icehouse," Robert said, aware that his shirt collar rattled about his thin neck and that his pants hung loosely in the back.

"Not much left now," said Mr. French. "By this time last summer it was long gone."

"Heard last year was dry," Robert said, helping himself to another spoonful of vinegar-drenched beet slices. "Uh, awful hot where I was, too." He had just barely managed to say 'awful' for the common crudity he had been using for several years. He felt a bit relieved, but planned to continue restraining his tongue as his mother had asked. He glanced about to see if anyone had noticed and caught the girl looking at him.

"More than a month and a half with no rain at all," Seth said. "When Early's corps went across, you could see... " The boy felt his mother's eyes on him, stopped and looked at his plate, annoyed and embarrassed.

"We had lots of dust devils, dozens and dozens, just a'whirling around," Annie said, doing her best to display company manners; using her fork right side up and keeping her napkin in her lap and not tipping over her glass, all things her mother had drilled into her since Caroline's invitation arrived.

"Have you heard about Jefferson and Seth's flying trip into the city?" asked Mr. French, helping himself to some bread.

"I was going to ask about old Jefferson," Robert answered, looking at the chicken bones on his plate and wondering if he dared take another piece. He glanced at his mother and licked his crooked thumb.

"I hope to hear from him," said Caroline's father. "Could use his help."

"Slavery ended here last year, didn't it?" Robert asked as he took a crusted drumstick, another biscuit and a gob of butter.

"With the new constitution," Seth quickly added, his cheek filled with lumps of potato salad.

"Which, of course, most of the locals despise." Mr. French touched his napkin to his lips. "I was surprised it got as many votes in the county as it did, about 400 I think. Lost here of course. The vote on the convention was a total farce. Couldn't cast my ballot since the polling place never opened, not that it would have mattered I suppose."

Robert nodded, his mouth full. He could feel sweat on his back and under his arms, a sure sign, he decided, that he was getting back to normal.

"It was the soldier vote that pushed it through," Mr. French said. "Same for Lincoln's re-election, you know. Old Abe, may he rest in peace, got very few votes from our neighbors."

"What's going on now?" Robert asked, avoiding his mother's look. "Are the Peters and that Bouic fellow still running things up in Rockville?"

"Please Daddy," Caroline said with some force, striking the handle of her fork on the table, "no politics on Sunday, least not at the dinner table."

Mrs. Williams laughed politely, and Mr. French changed the subject with a smile. "Jefferson has gone south, seeking his long-lost family, gone with my blessings and a bit of money, hard money. He has a wife and child out there someplace; sold down the river as they say. Lord knows if he has any chance of finding either of them. The Confederacy's in turmoil."

After a short period of silence, Mrs. Williams asked, "Do you think the schools will open again this fall?"