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Portia sighed. Before she could explain to Mrs.Cordell for the two hundredth time why she had no plans to marry, her son or anyone else, Eddy came to her rescue. “Mamie, you know he and Portia would never suit. James is much too shy. He hardly says a word when he’s near her.”
“But marriage may change that.”
Julia laughed. “The same way you marrying Bertram changed him? Leave our Portia alone. As much as I love my husband, Howard, had times then been like they are now, I may have chosen not to marry either.”
Eunice added, “Stick to your guns, Portia. If you don’t wish to marry, don’t. You young women have opportunities we old hens never even imagined having. You’re doctors and teachers. You’re working in banks and writing for newspapers. All we were expected to do was marry and birth children.”
Portia loved them all. They’d been a supportive group of mother hens since she was young. When she and Regan went to Oberlin, the ladies took turns writing to them and occasionally sent little gifts like ear bobs, combs for their hair, and writing tablets and pens to let them know they were thought of and loved.
With the issue of her courting stance tabled, the conversation moved back to the convention and speculation as to who the sponsors might bring in as the main speaker. Portia hoped it would be Frances Watkins Harper the former abolitionist she’d always wanted to hear speak. Portia was about to say that when a harried-looking Missy Landry came over to where they were sitting and asked, “Ladies, can you give me a hand in the kitchen? The girls I hired have to go home and I need to fry more chicken.”
Portia couldn’t believe all the chicken Eddy and her friends supplied was gone but the crowd was a large one. Since it was well-known that she’d be of little assistance, the ladies gathered up their blankets and followed Missy, leaving Portia alone. Before she could get to her feet and make her way back to the house to find Regan, James Cordell walked up and said shyly, “Hello, MissPortia. How are you?”
She looked up. “Hello, James.” Given the way he kept glancing from her to the blanket, she assumed he was waiting for an invitation to join her. She got to her feet instead, just as Darian Day walked up. Wondering what she’d done to deserve such a boon, the situation went from bad to worse when Edward Salt suddenly appeared. Why he was at the wake was beyond her since she was pretty sure he didn’t even know Mr.Blanchard. The men all began talking at once, but James, apparently intimidated by the blustering Day stood silently while Salt did his best to lord it over Day with pompous boasting about his Howard education and the school he planned to open. Portia felt a headache coming on.
When Kent walked up, the posturing and bluster petered out into silence and she wanted to shout with joy.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “How are you this evening?” His eyes brushed Portia’s and as if he’d read her silent plea, he handed her his plate. “Brought you a plate,” he said as if they were alone. Salt and Day both bristled. Cordell’s thin lips tightened.
“Thank you.” She sat down again and placed the plate on the blanket beside her. Day dressed in a brown and gray window pane suit sneered, “New shirt, Randolph?”
Kent studied him for a silent moment. His hands moved to his gun belt and the three wide eyed men took a quick step back. Watching them with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, he slowly untied the strings of the belt, removed it and the Colt it held, then sat at her side—bold as day. Finally, in reply to Day’s question, he said, “Yes. Bought it from Mr.Krause. Nice man.” He didn’t add more.
As the silence lengthened, Cordell waked away without a word. Day and Edward Salt seemed to want to challenge his presence but apparently thought better of it because they stayed just long enough to glare their displeasure before moving off.
Watching them go, he asked her, “How in the world did you get trapped out here with them?”
Portia saw the curiosity on the faces of some of the other people seated nearby and wondered if sitting with Kent would cause gossip, but she went ahead and told him about Eddy and the other ladies leaving her to help in the kitchen.
“You didn’t want to help?”
She smiled ruefully. “Let’s just say I’m better with numbers than I am with pots.”
“Can’t cook, huh?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll need a man who can.”
“Are you volunteering?”
He shrugged. “If it’ll keep you from starving to death, I suppose I can make myself available, if called upon.”
She wondered if he had this effect on all women.
“How’s the managing of that passion going?” he asked.
Her heart thumped. “Fine.” His eyes were so piercing, she trembled in response.
“You’re fibbing of course, but that’s okay.”
“I am not.”
“Uh-huh.”
She leaned closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I am not. One kiss was all I needed and now I’m fine, just as I said I would be.”
“Duchess, your uppity mouth’s been wanting another taste all day.”
