Рита Браун - The Hunt Ball

Charlotte had to bite her tongue because the dress had been fashioned in Paris. This was clearly spelled out in the hand-painted cards identifying each item. However, Pamela was correct about the other artifacts. She neglected to mention that there was a brief gloss on slave labor. Didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough and it wasn’t what Pamela wanted: attention.

“Ladies, I’m willing to meet with you one by one or in groups. But this calls for quiet thinking and a great deal of research.”

Knute stepped in and spoke, for which Charlotte was grateful. “So much was destroyed between 1861 and 1865. We’ve lost a lot, including information about the Custis family. No one paid much attention to slaves or women. Their lives weren’t well documented. Miss Custis merited attention because she was related to George and Martha Washington. We’ll address your concerns as Mrs. Norton said. But let’s take this one step at a time, calmly and deliberately.” Knute felt no need to apologize for Custis Hall’s founder. The past was the past. It certainly was open to reinterpretation, but he couldn’t change a damned thing about it.

The situation cooled. The adults herded the girls out of the Main Hall. They promised to set up individual appointments. Also, this issue would be addressed at November’s convocation, the first of the new school year. The all-school assembly was held the first Monday of each month.

Just as the girls moved out of Old Main, walking across the quad were Tootie, Valentina, and Felicity.

In a booming voice, Pamela shouted at Tootie, “Traitor!”

Tootie blanched but did not reply.

Valentina did. “Pamela, you aren’t happy unless you’re unhappy. Go sit on it.”

Charlotte stepped forward. The three riders could now see her, as she’d been obscured by the crowd. “Ladies, that’s quite enough for one day.”

No one said a word, not even contentious Pamela, who stared daggers at Valentina.

When Charlotte reached the anteroom, Teresa looked up over Charlotte’s head before she could open her mouth. Hard on Charlotte’s well-shod heels tumbled Al, Knute, Christopher, and Amy.

Turning, Charlotte said in a sweet voice, “Come in. Let’s sit down and have a cup of coffee.”

“Coffee, hell, I want a drink,” Knute good-naturedly said.

“I second the motion.” Christopher wiped his brow with a Brooks Brothers linen handkerchief.

Knute, at forty-eight, maintained a boyish look and a trim body, his hair blond, lightly salted with gray.

Christopher, a few years older, carted around a potbelly that even his expensive suits couldn’t totally conceal. His complexion was florid, his manner brusque, which suited him as a prosecuting attorney aiming to run for governor. He bagged the high-profile cases and he won more often than not, even against the highly paid attorneys defendants hired. Christopher was a man to be reckoned with, to watch.

His sister evidenced the same incisive mind, although her field was the natural sciences. But like her brother, she had a combative nature. Being female, she tried to hide it, with mixed results.

Charlotte pointed the men to the bar, and Amy joined them. She stuck her head out of her office. “Teresa, call down to Dorothy and ask her to bring some sandwiches, more hot coffee, and hot tea; you know the drill.”

Dorothy directed food services.

“Will do.” Teresa, observant, keenly intelligent, and a touch shy, picked up the phone to buzz Dorothy.

Knute filled in Charlotte about the protest, for she’d missed only the first ten minutes. He said it appeared to be well organized.

“I’m open to all suggestions.” Charlotte sat in a wing chair as the others, drinks in hand, settled themselves in leather chairs or the comfortable leather sofa.

Al waited for tea. He wasn’t much of a drinker.

“Charlotte, the girls do have a point. We never gave much thought to what’s in those cases except to dust the stuff.”

“He’s right.” Amy gulped a gin and tonic, a bit of lime pulp catching in her teeth. She flicked it down with her tongue and bit into it—the tang of lime tasted wonderful. “Always looked like junk to me.”

“Amy, if it isn’t a mastodon’s tooth, you aren’t interested,” her brother teased her.

Knute ignored them. He addressed Charlotte. “I’ll help you call the board of directors if you like. We should schedule an emergency meeting.”

“Good thinking, but I don’t see how we can do that until Tuesday. It’s hard to get people together quickly at the end of the month, and there are only four more days left in October, two of those being Saturday and Sunday. Also, I want to meet with some of these girls before I meet with the board.”

“Good idea,” Al agreed. “Want me to call our largest contributors?”

“No,” Charlotte quickly said. “Not yet, Al. This may all blow over.”

“M-m-m, let sleeping dogs lie.” Knute held his shot of Johnnie Walker Blue under his nose for a moment.

Charlotte kept a well-stocked bar that she paid for herself. Knute would never open his wallet to buy such an expensive blended Scotch, but he was quite prepared to drink hers. Teresa locked the bar when she left each night if Charlotte didn’t do it first.

“You’ve got to hand it to the kids who planned this. They didn’t get destructive and had the forethought to call the media.” Christopher wanted another drink but waited for the coffee and tea. It really was too early.

“How could all those kids keep their mouths shut?” Knute wondered out loud.

It crossed Charlotte’s mind that Tootie may have known but refused to participate. Still, she, too, remained silent. Charlotte wanted to talk to Tootie, Valentina, and Felicity. Better to catch up with them after a hunt. As for the other girls, it was going to be a true sit-down.

“It’s a strange time in life.” Amy had now fished out the wedge of lime to suck on it. “They have good powers of thought, most of them, but they are emotionally retarded.”

“I take issue with that,” Al bristled. “Not every young person lacks experience. Nor is every girl blinded by her hormones.”

“Al, you make excuses for them,” Amy said, but not in an accusatory manner.

“I’m glad you care about them as you do.” Charlotte hoped to defuse the ever-present tension between Al and Amy, oil and water.

“What do you think?” Christopher asked Charlotte.

“We can handle it. And we do need research. We need a new light on everything in those cases. That’s an excellent task for all our history classes. The English classes can rewrite the descriptions. History classes can present the background of the time. Of course, this senior class will be out of here by the time all the evidence, if you will, is in. Still, it’s a start and it ought to smooth things over.”

“As in pacify them?” Al raised an eyebrow.

“Well, not exactly. Smooth things over is the wrong expression. Having the English and history departments involved means the girls really will be participating. Try to remember, Al, as headmistress I’d like this to be a harmonious place. As director of alumnae affairs I expect you’d like that as well.”

“I do, I do, but I don’t think we should trivialize their concerns.”

“Oh, bull, Al, Pamela Rene has been a pain in the ass since her sophomore year. I’m surprised she hasn’t thought of this before. She’s furious because she wasn’t elected class president. You will recall she accused Valentina of voter fraud. A bad apple,” Knute said.

“She has a mother who was once the highest-paid model in New York and still wants the limelight, and a father who has built one of the largest trucking companies in America. There’s not much time for Pamela.” Amy knew the Rene family well. “As for those treasures in the cases, do we really want the kids handling them?”