Pickering Hill

Pickering Hill
1860
Outskirts of Montgomery, Alabama

         The russet brown eyes of a seventeen-year-old girl named Sarah Marlowe sparkled in the sunlight as she leaned out the window of her second story bedroom, her elbows propped up on the ledge. Midmorning sunlight filtered through leaves of the giant majestic oak trees surrounding the white plantation house. The sky was a burning blue, and already the temperature was high enough for strands of Sarah’s dark wavy hair to stick to her face. Outside it was serenely quiet apart from the sounds of the chickens squawking and the slaves singing as they picked cotton in the fields.
         “Sister, you look like a common maid, hanging out the window like that.”
         The sharp voice brought a scowl to Sarah’s face as she turned around to glare at her older sister. “Maybe I’m not afraid of the sun like you are, Mary,” she said.
         Mary Marlowe laughed nastily at her younger sister and replied, “Oh, but you should be. You’ll be covered with freckles by the time you’re twenty, and then no gentleman in his right mind will want to marry you. In fact, look at your arms, you already have freckles!”
         “Why would I want a gentleman?” Sarah retorted, her cheeks coloring. “All the gentlemen I’ve met are as boring as our chickens.”
         Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back on Mary and returned her gaze to the yard. Her eyes drifted to the road, where she could see a short line of carriages approaching. Forgetting the momentary quarrel, Sarah frowned and questioned her sister, “Are we having company?”
         “Didn’t you know?” Mary said in a lofty voice. She was two years older than Sarah, so it was natural that she act superior.  “It’s the Stroud family, all the way from Tuskegee. They’re staying for the summer and probably autumn as well. Father knows them.”
         Sarah’s eyes widened. “Tuskegee?” That was at least thirty miles away. “They’re staying with us?”
         “No, they’re staying with the Bells until they move in at Pickering Hill.”
         Sarah couldn’t believe her ears. “Pickering Hill?” she repeated. “They must be mad.”
Everyone in the county knew that the house on Pickering Hill was haunted. Or at least, all of Sarah’s friends knew. It had been common knowledge since Peter Hennessy boys had gone up there one night a few years ago, and had come back down swearing there were ghosts, and that doors were slamming shut of their own accord. Sarah had never actually visited the house, but it certainly looked haunted to her. She didn’t care if it was a childish thought. What was wrong with being childish?
         The two-story house was situated on the top of Pickering Hill, and it had adopted that name. It was so large it could almost be called a mansion. The story was that a very rich, very in love young couple had built the house at the turn of the century, and then they had mysteriously abandoned it. For one reason or another, the house had remained unoccupied for years, and nobody visited it. The outside of the house had once been white, but the paint had faded and peeled over the years, turning it gray. Some of the windows were without glass, and weeds grew where there were once flowerbeds. Unlike the neatly trimmed and watered green grass of the other plantations, the yard of Pickering Hill was dry and wildly overgrown.
All in all, Sarah couldn’t imagine why anybody would want to live there.
         “They’re fixing it up, of course,” Mary continued brusquely. “Apparently they’re very rich. They’ve brought their slaves, and they’ll redo the paint and the patio, and whatever else needs to be done. The furniture is all intact, of course, Father checked.”          
         Sarah sat for a moment, her mind churning. She wondered what the Strouds were like. “Do they have any children?” she asked. “The Strouds, I mean.”
         Mary smiled for the first time in their conversation. She looked slightly wicked. “Oh yes, they have two sons and a daughter, but I hear she’s twenty-two years old, and not even married. She’s probably ugly as a stump,” she added thoughtfully. “The sons are single as well.”
         Mary’s eyes gleamed, and Sarah knew that she probably already had hatched a seduction plan. As innocent as Mary looked, with her hazel eyes and light brown hair, there was a shrewd snake hidden within her, and at nineteen years old she was determined to marry a rich bachelor. 
         Everybody said the younger sister had inherited their mother’s beauty, which didn’t please Mary at all. Although her features were far from being ladylike and delicate, Sarah had a certain arresting quality about face. Her jaw line was strong and she had a rather pointed chin. Her radiant auburn locks fell halfway down her back, and she had clear olive skin. Although she didn’t have the blue eyes of her mother, Sarah’s were dark and striking, and she had the straightest teeth in the family.
         Undoubtedly, Sarah would have been much more liked by her older sister if she were not so much more attractive. It was obvious that Mary had at least some small sliver of jealousy in her heart at her sister’s beauty, which was perhaps why she was overly flirtatious with men, whereas Sarah was indifferent.
         “Anyway,” said Mary, bringing Sarah out of her reverie, “we’re going to have dinner at the Bells’ tonight, which is why I came up here in the first place. We’ll need to start getting dressed in a couple hours; we’ll be heading over there at around four.”
         Sarah nodded, and Mary left. Alone again in her room, Sarah sighed and began to think about what she would wear to dinner. Probably her bottle green dress with the frills. The neck might be a bit low cut, but she was sure nobody would care but Mary. After all, she was well-endowed, why not show it off?
                   Sarah whiled away the rest of the morning on a short ride accompanied by her maid, Cecile, and then bathed and started preparing for dinner. Mary, who was wearing a bright powder blue dress that brightened her eyes pleasantly, saved Cecile some trouble and laced Sarah into her corset. After donning their brand new bonnets that were quite fashionable these days, they headed downstairs to the kitchen.
                   The kitchen had always been Sarah’s favorite room of the house since childhood. It wasn’t large, but it was painted pale yellow and always smelled of coffee and mouth-watering food. It was also the room most frequented by her mother, who often helped their cook and served the family dinner. Mrs. Marlowe was a graceful and respected woman. She did not own the largest plantation, she was not wedded to the richest man, but everybody in the country held her in high esteem. She was a tall, thin woman, and she seemed to command the attention of everyone around her with her fair skin and dark hair. Her voice was unusually low for a woman, but even more warm and affectionate for that fact.
                   It didn’t take long for Mr. and Mrs. Marlowe to join their daughters in the kitchen. Mr. Marlow was a solemn and quiet man. Sometimes Sarah felt like she hardly knew him, and she didn’t dare try to. He was almost always aloof, and hardly spoke to his daughters unless he was chastising them. That afternoon he was dressed in his best suit, and Sarah had the distinct impression that he was nervous about meeting the Stroud family. She herself was simply resigned to meeting yet another dull and tiresome family that only cared about gossip and cotton.
         “Henry, we’re ready for the carriage,” Mrs. Marlow said softly, and suppressed a sigh. All of them were perfectly able to walk down the road, but of course her sister Mary would worry about muddying her hem, and Mary always got her way.
         So the four of them made their way down the steps of the patio and entered the carriage, pulled by a pair of dappled gray horses, and driven by their head slave, Henry. The carriage swayed from side to side as they trundled down the red dirt road to the Bells’ driveway. Sarah fanned herself vigorously with her hand as she sat squished between the wall and her sister. She was irritated at the heat and at Mary, who was loudly fussing about her hair, and how she apparently needed a new set of curlers. Sarah sighed, wondering how they could have come from the same mother.
         “Hush, Mary,” their father said finally, and Sarah was silently grateful that the rest of the trip was made in peace.
         A moment later they came to a stop in front of the Bell house. The plantation house was two stories as usual, and it had been freshly repainted a muted coral color with white trim. Four fancy carriages could be seen around the corner of the barn. They were the same ones Sarah had seen earlier that day, the ones that belonged to the mysterious Stroud family.
         Mr. and Mrs. Bell greeted them at the door. The middle-aged couple had no children, which was probably why they were the choice hosts for the Stroud family. They were extraordinarily friendly people who were always happy to have company, especially children. They had always adored Sarah, and although she wasn’t exactly a child anymore, she was still their evident favorite.
         “Darling, I am so glad you’re joining us this evening,” Mrs. Bell beamed as she wrapped Sarah in a hug and pecked her on the cheek. She waved Sarah’s parents and sister over the threshold. “Come in, the Strouds are in the sitting room. Mr. Marlowe, perhaps you and John would like to enjoy a cigar on the porch.”
         “Certainly,” said Mr. Marlowe in his deep voice, and he and Mr. Bell made their way out to the patio with their beloved Cuban cigars.
         Sarah, Mary, and their mother followed Mrs. Bell down the hallway to the airy sitting room where five people were dispersed amongst the array of sofas and armchairs. The father was a large man with a gray beard and twinkling blue eyes. His arm was draped comfortably around his wife, who was plump and round faced. She too had blue eyes, but they were a deeper blue, like the depths of the ocean compared to a summer Alabama sky. A glowing smile illuminated the mother’s face, and Sarah had the feeling that she was delighted to meet each and every one of them.
         The daughter, who Sarah remembered was twenty-two years old and unmarried, was indeed not very good-looking. She had an unfortunately large nose, and mouse brown hair that was simply too frizzy. Her eyes were small and squinty, but they too appeared to be blue. It was her smile that really melted Sarah’s heart. Like her mother’s, it was so desperately sincere that she had an urge to reach out and hold her hand.
         The two boys looked nothing alike. The eldest, who looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties, very closely resembled his father, except for his brown eyes. He was tall and brawny, with wavy light brown hair and golden skin, but he looked rather sullen to Sarah, like a child sulking. She could tell by her sister’s quick intake of breath, however, that Mary found him very agreeable.
It was the younger brother that caught Sarah’s attention. He looked to be in his early twenties, several years younger than his brother at least. He had his mother’s eyes, deep blue and penetrating. His hair was much darker than his brother’s, almost black, and it was quite straight. Sarah felt a little dizzy for a moment, almost hypnotized by his burning eyes. He smiled at her, and she felt suddenly like they were the only people in the room.
         Mrs. Bell’s voice interrupted Sarah’s thoughts, and she realized with a jolt that they had only been standing there for a matter of seconds.
Sarah didn’t really pay attention to what Mrs. Bell was saying. Unconsciously she began to chew on her fingernails, as Mrs. Bell introduced everybody. All she got was that the sister’s name was Elizabeth, and the younger boy, no, not boy, man, with the spellbinding blue eyes was named Robert. Robert Stroud.
         The entire family was dressed in what Sarah knew to be the season’s most fashionable clothes, all of very fine quality.
                   The rest of the afternoon was rather a dull blur. Mrs. Bell took Sarah and Mary outside to sit under the trees and listen to her lecture about catching a good man for marriage. Sarah stifled a yawn. As if she hadn’t heard any of it before.
                   Mary, however, was listening attentively. She would do anything to catch a rich husband. The Strouds were obviously rich. If he was young and good-looking, well, that was a bonus. Sarah knew that her sister had the oldest brother on her mind. His name, she discovered from Mary, was Frank.
                   Finally, it was dinner time. Mrs. Bell hurried to the kitchen. Sarah stood up gratefully from the uncomfortable wooden chair she had been seated on. Mary chattered away to her about Frank as they walked across the lawn, and whether she should pinch her cheeks to make them look redder. Sarah nodded vaguely to everything her sister said, and after a few moments they were seated at the Bells’ large oak table.
                   Sarah was seated in between her sister and Elizabeth Stroud. Across from her was the older brother. Frank, she remembered. She could tell by Mary’s slight frown that she resented this seating arrangement. She was sitting across from Mrs. Stroud, whose smile had still not dimmed. Mr. and Mrs. Bell were seated at the two heads of the table. Glancing to her right, Sarah saw that Robert was sitting between her mother and father. He smiled at her again, and she looked away, her heart beating quickly.
                   The food was typical. Two whole roasted chickens and an assortment with a honey-mustard glaze.  There was an abundance of buttermilk biscuits, which were Sarah’s favorite. There was also an unidentifiable casserole and some red wine, which Sarah was allowed only a few sips of. Dessert was a lovely pecan pie, baked by Mrs. Bell herself.
                   The adults made small talk. Mary batted her eyelashes at Frank Stroud. Sarah avoided Robert’s eyes. She wasn’t sure why. When he looked at her, she got a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. No man had ever looked at her that way… And to be sure, many men had looked at her.
                   Halfway through dinner, Sarah glanced up and for a fleeting moment, made eye contact with Robert. She felt like an electric shock had passed through her. What was it about his eyes that did that to her?  She felt slightly ridiculous that he could make her feel so flustered with a single look, when there was hardly a man in the world she found interesting. And they had never even spoken.
                   After dinner, the men retired to smoke yet more cigars, and the women went to the parlor. Of course. Sarah felt a twinge of annoyance at the predictability of her entire life. It was all mapped out for her. Find a wealthy man, seduce him, marry him, have his son, live a boring life. It made her sick to think that some people actually strove to make that happen more quickly. Her sister, Mary, was one of those people.
                   Sarah could only stand a few minutes of knitting in the parlor with the rest of the women. She excused herself and went outside on the porch for a breath of fresh air. It was twilight, and the air was warm and humid. A few stars were blinking to life in the sky, and the crickets sang to each other noisily. Sarah felt content outside in the quiet, with no rules and nobody to bother her.
                   Or at least, she thought there was nobody to bother her.
                   The screen door behind her opened and then thumped close. Footsteps on the wooden surface made her aware of somebody joining her. She turned around and saw that it was Robert Stroud. His blue eyes were twinkling, and he was smiling at her.
                   “Hello,” he said. She hadn’t heard his voice before. It was pleasant and warm and masculine. He was still smiling. She didn’t really want him to stop smiling. “It’s Sarah, am I right?”
                     Sarah nodded mutely, and then found her voice. “Yes.” Dimly, she wondered what the significance was that he called her Sarah instead of Miss Marlowe as almost every other man did.
                   “I’m Robert,” he said, holding out his hand with a grin. She held hers out too, expecting him to kiss it, but he shook it vigorously, surprising her. She had a strange urge to laugh.
         “I have to admit, that dinner was not the most tremendously fascinating meal I have ever attended,” Robert said genially. “But I also have to admit, you have astonishing eyes.”          
         Sarah was incredulous. That was not at all a gentlemanly thing to say. They hardly knew each other. Usually men did not comment on a woman’s appearance unless they were engaged, or married.
         “Yes, luckily I take after my mother,” she found herself saying.
         Robert laughed. “Why, your father isn’t bad-looking at all,” he protested. “If I were a woman I would be proud to call him a husband.”
It was an absurd thing to say, and Sarah laughed. Robert raised his eyebrows.
         “It laughs!”
                   Sarah stopped laughing and raised her own eyebrows. “Why yes, we women are capable of a sense of humor.”
                   “Of course you are,” said Robert. “I have actually found that women are often much more enjoyable to converse with than men, who are dreadfully narrow-minded.”
                   “You speak as though you aren’t one,” Sarah pointed out.
                   “Oh, I’m narrow-minded too,” Robert said amiably. “At least I can admit it. I feel that I am privileged to have realized at my age how women are so vastly superior to men.”
                   “You’re the first man I’ve heard say anything like that,” said Sarah frankly.
                   “I’m not surprised.”
                   Sarah frowned. What an odd conversation they were having.
                   “I’ve heard your family will be moving into the Pickering Hill house,” she said conversationally.
                   Robert looked thoughtful. “Yes,” he said slowly, “we are. It’s an interesting place, don’t you think?”
                   “I’ve never been up there,” Sarah admitted.
                   Robert smiled at her. “It’s a lovely place, and it will be even lovelier with windows and doors. Would you like to visit it?” 
                   Sarah nodded. “Yes, I’d like to go there some time.”
                   “Good. Are you ready?”
                   “What?” Sarah said, surprised. “Now?”
                   “Yes, now,” Robert said playfully, his blue eyes dancing. “Why wait? It’s a beautiful night.”
                   Feeling bold, Sarah didn’t hesitate. She shrugged indifferently. “Let me grab my shawl.”
                   Two minutes later they were making their way up the hill. It was very dark, and they had no lantern. Behind them the Bell house was illuminated, and they could hear music. Mary was playing the violin.
                   The hill was not yet very steep, but the ground was rocky and somewhat treacherous. Every few steps Sarah would come close to stepping into a hole that would likely twist her ankle. It didn’t help that she was wearing her delicate green shoes that were hardly thicker than paper. She lifted the hem of her dress so that it would not get ruined, aware of the fact that her ankles were probably visible.
Beside her, Robert walked steadily, but not too quickly. He seemed sure of his footing, and Sarah found his steady breathing strangely comforting. They didn’t speak for a few minutes, but when the hill began to incline further, Robert said, “If I were a perfect gentleman I would offer you my arm, but it looks as though you are quite fine on your own.”
         “Yes,” said Sarah. “I’m not a helpless wench, even if I look like one.”
         Robert frowned a little and looked over at her, studying her face. In the dark, it wasn’t easy to read emotions. “I hope I didn’t offend you, Miss Marlowe,” he said.          “You don’t seem like one who would be easily offended.”
         Slightly annoyed, Sarah replied, “Well, you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you!”
         A grin broke out on Robert’s face. “I daresay I do,” he said arrogantly. “You have already confirmed my suspicion that you are not, in fact, an innocent and clueless lady with the wit of a dog.”
         “I’m glad,” Sarah said sarcastically, yanking her dress up a little more to avoid dragging it in the mud. They were halfway up the hill, and if it weren’t for the nearly-full moon, she would probably have fallen into a gopher hole long ago.
It occurred to Sarah that she had never spoken to a man in that tone before, and it frightened her a little. Would he not think her a lady? True, she didn’t want to seem like a half-wit, but it was unseemly for a woman to be intelligent.
          Finally, they had made it to the flat area at the top of the hill where the house was situated. Sarah noted with some surprise that it was even larger than she’d thought. It seemed to tower of over them like some ominous monster. But it was dangerously beautiful at this time of night, and she could tell that if it was fixed it up it would be a fine house indeed.          
         “Around here,” Robert said, touching her hand lightly to steer her in the right direction. They went around to the front of the house where the front door was hanging on its hinges. Sarah felt a thrill of excitement as they stepped over the threshold.
         It was dark inside, but due to the many windows, or lack thereof, the moonlight could filter through and illuminate most of the rooms. Most spectacular in Sarah’s mind was the grand spiral staircase in the center of the house. They wandered through the house, Robert making soft comments on each room they entered.          
         Suddenly there was a distant shout from down the hill… From the Bell house? Sarah looked at Robert, and they silently decided that it was time to go back down. Whether there was some crisis they were not aware of, or whether they were the crisis, they needed to get back down to humanity.
It was much faster going down the hill than it had been going up, especially since they were now in a hurry, and in no time at all they arrived on the front patio, just as Mrs. Bell and Sarah’s mother burst out the front door.          
         “Oh!” cried Mrs. Bell with surprise, and then she beamed. “There you are! We were worried sick, my dears, worried sick.”
         Mrs. Marlowe was sterner as she glanced from her daughter to Robert. “It’s time to go home, Sarah,” she said quietly, and Sarah knew that she would not be getting off so lightly at home. She didn’t say goodbye to Robert, but walked straight into the house and grabbed her bonnet. Her sister stared at her, but Sarah said nothing, giving Mary cause to smirk.
         Soon they were back in the carriage rolling along back toward their own home. It was a very quiet drive. It seemed that only now Sarah was realizing the impact of what she had done. She had gone outside without permission, at night, accompanied by a young man that she hardly knew. She was starting to feel a bit sick.          
         Sure enough, when she got home, there was a steaming sermon from both her mother and her father, while Mary eavesdropped from the next room. It wasn’t anything Sarah hadn’t heard before. It was all about propriety and decorum and disgrace. She impatiently waited through it and then went silently up to bed, fuming.
Sarah couldn’t sleep. At about midnight, she got up and went to her window, leaning out into the cool summer night and looking up at the stars, and at the same moon that had lit her and Robert’s way earlier. As the fresh breeze washed over her face, she suddenly felt very calm, and not worried.
         It wasn’t the end of the world. There was always more time. Maybe, if she was lucky, she could see him again tomorrow.