Then “voodoo” Sandy smiled, and everybody relaxed. So!
In the high wainscoted dining room young Henry was serving breakfast. Old Caleb always served dinner—and even breakfast when there were guests—but Henry was in training under the eye of his mistress. Polished silver, gleaming white linen and sparkling glasses—all the accoutrements of fine living were there. A slight woman in a soft black silk dress with an ivory-colored collar, sat across from Master William. Her hair was white, but her blue-veined hands had not been worn by the years and her eyes remained bright and critical. The mistress of Freelands had not aged; she had withered.
“Henry!” She rapped the table with her spoon. “Be careful there! How many times have I told you not to use those cups for breakfast?”
“Please, Mis’ Betsy.” Henry’s tone was plaintive. “’Tain’t none of mah fault. Caleb set ’em out, ma’m. They was sittin’ right hyear on tha sideboard.”
“Stop whining, Henry!” Her son seldom spoke with such impatience. Mrs. Freeland glanced at him sharply.
“Yessah, Massa William, but—” began Henry.
“He’s quite right, Mother,” Freeland interrupted. “Caleb served coffee to the Tilghmans before they left. I had a cup myself.”
“I’m glad of that.” The cups were forgotten. “I had no idea they were leaving so early. I should have been up to see my guests off.”
“No need at all, Mother. I accompanied the carriage a good piece down the road. They’ll make it back to Richmond in no time.”
“It was nice having them for the holidays.” She tasted her coffee critically.