Ambrosia Read online

  It came as a crushing blow to her newfound pride when her father enrolled her at the South Carolina Female Collegiate Institute, Barhamville Academy, a school for young ladies from the best Southern families. There Ambrosia was grouped with girls her age who were constantly chattering and whispering about secret adolescent passions she considered utter nonsense. Once again she felt terribly out of place and alone.

  She managed to receive excellent marks and remained docile during the first quarter, but she was bored quickly with books and studies and found the regimentation increasingly tedious. Even walks on the academy grounds were permitted only when Dr. Marks, the founder, offered a personal escort, for though the place was entirely enclosed against unannounced visitors, the school was an irresistible lure to daring youths attending nearby South Carolina College; and locked gates were no real deterrent to eager young men with ribald intentions. Whenever an intruder was noticed on the grounds, the girls were immediately ordered to their rooms, where they were to remain with all blinds tightly drawn until that intruder was evicted. The more curious and brave young ladies usually managed to catch a glimpse of the interloper escaping, or being apprehended and escorted off the grounds, and excitedly reported bits and pieces of information to the other girls at dinner that evening.

  “...and it was the same one as last week!” Sheila Strother whispered with wide, adoring eyes. “The tall, blond one who rides that incredible bay-I actually saw him jump the fence! But he waited until they were almost upon him before he did...”

  A chorus of thrilled sighs echoed around the table, and Sheila grinned her satisfaction. Only Ambrosia sat in utter silence, indifferent to the conversation.

  “He’s just about the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” Sheila went on, “and he’s so brave! Can you imagine? Jumping that fence every Saturday for a month! Why, he’s-he’s practically a hero!” She closed her eyes and smiled as a deep sigh of longing escaped her. “If only I knew his name! I’d do just about anything to find out who he is....”

  “Then why don’t you ask him?”

  Every eye flew instantly to Ambrosia’s face in utter astonishment. Not one of the girls could believe that she had suggested such a thing, and most of them had trouble believing that she had spoken at all.

  “I suppose that’s what you would do,” Sheila countered smugly.

  Ambrosia added a bit of cream to her tea and took a dainty sip. “It certainly is.”

  Sheila snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “If you’d like, I’ll ask him for you,” Ambrosia taunted flippantly.

  Sheila ground her teeth in silent frustration. Not only had Ambrosia stolen her audience of captive admirers, but she was threatening to perform an act of courage far beyond anything Sheila would ever have considered. If she was caught, it would mean instant dismissal. On the other hand, if she succeeded, Sheila would learn the name of the dashing trespasser, and then, somehow, she could arrange an introduction.

  “All right, Miss Lanford. We’ll be waiting to see if you’ve got the backbone to go through with this.”

  For the next six days, Ambrosia went about business as usual, ignoring the taunting smirks and curious stares that plagued her all week long. Exactly according to plan, she managed to slip away from the other girls just after breakfast, and as soon as she made her way down the back stairs to the garden, she secured herself in a hiding place where she was certain she would not be found­ twenty feet above the ground. When Dr. Marks and three other instructors made their daily inspection of the gardens just before noon, the girls, all painfully aware of Ambrosia’s absence, held their breaths in terrible anticipation. But the midday repast was announced promptly at 12:00, and the student body was left to whisper and wonder over their plates about their comrade’s temporary reprieve.

  Ambrosia, perched on a hefty bough of the largest tree in the garden, patiently awaited the arrival of the celebrated intruder. Her eyes widened when she finally did see him, his blond hair blowing in careless disarray around his totally beautiful face as an incredible red­brown stallion flew over the fence and gracefully landed in the middle of the garden. Ambrosia hesitated, feeling a rush of unfamiliar feelings as she watched him, but when she saw him turn his mount in the opposite direction toward the school, she remembered her intentions and quickly made her descent-too quickly. Somehow, all her natural agility failed her on her very last foothold, and she fell with a ‘Whoof!’ directly into a carefully tended patch of trailing arbutus. She struggled to her feet, thanking her lucky stars that nothing seemed to be broken, but before she could catch her breath and return herself to a semblance of dignity, the visitor had done an about-face and brought his horse to a halt directly beside her.

  Slowly, with excruciating embarrassment, she raised her eyes to meet those of the mounted stranger. They were blue eyes, pale and clear as a spring morning sky, but they were full of mischief and warm, boyish charm too, just like his dazzling smile. He was older than she’d thought at first-at least eighteen, which seemed ancient compared to her twelve years. But there was something about him that captivated Ambrosia-a reckless confidence in his lightly raised brow, a challenge of some sort which she recognized at once. For some reason, his smile made her heart beat even faster. She felt her cheeks growing hot and red as she stood there, her back stiff and her head held high, silently returning his stare. And only when he dismounted did she recall her real mission.

  ‘’Good day, sir.’’ She nodded tersely, her manner all business. “I need to know your name.”

  He raised a bemused brow and took a step toward her. “One of the girls-Sheila Strother-wants to know your name,’’ she repeated bluntly, holding her ground as he circled around her without the slightest regard to the ruined flowerbed.

  “Does she now...” He sounded skeptical, but Ambrosia merely nodded. He was standing much closer than he ought to stand, and she was beginning to think that meeting him might not have been such a wonderful idea. “And why isn’t Sheila here to ask me my name herself?” “Because it’s strictly forbidden,” she told him with a lift of her chin. “She’s afraid she’ll be expelled.”

  “Oh. I see. And aren’t you afraid of being expelled?” She straightened to her full height, her proudly raised head barely meeting his shoulder. “I don’t intend to be caught,” she told him matter-of-factly.

  “That’s why you were up in that tree,” he concluded. Again she gave a nod. For a moment his smile faded and he narrowed his eyes, as if considering the story, glancing up at the tree and then again at Ambrosia. Though she was small and slender, and had not the slightest curve to her bodice, there was still something about her that was not quite girlish, some hint of maturity which struck his fancy. “If I tell you who I am, then I will insist that you return the favor,” he said slowly, measuring her all the while.

  “Fair enough,” she returned promptly.

  He smiled again, that same wonderful smile that sent shivers down her spine. “John Rutledge Bowman,” he said with a low, exaggerated bow. ‘’Ledger to my friends. Miss?”

  “Lanford. Ambrosia Lanford.”

  “Miss Lanford,” he repeated, testing the sound of it. He glanced about the flowerbed for a moment, searching for a perfect flower from among the trampled ones, when a small splash of a different color caught his eye. He swooped down to retrieve a single tiny violet which had somehow taken root at the base of the tree. He offered it to her, and she accepted the tiny flower with trembling fingers and a somewhat awestruck expression. Then be­ fore Ambrosia knew what he was doing, he seized her hand and kissed it gallantly, and more than just gallantly, drawing her closer than she had ever been to a man before. “You are a very brave woman, Ambrosia,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to her palm, and making her stomach feel jumbled and achy. A woman, he had called her. A woman! And that was exactly what she felt like when he said her name, or touched her. He was about to say more, but
at that very moment, the sounds of furious voices and barking dogs and the heavy patter of footsteps on the path gave him no chance. He swung onto his horse and left the grounds in what seemed to Ambrosia to be one fluid motion, though she was more concerned with concealing herself than with John Rutledge Bowman’s escape. Incredibly, Dr. Marks and his companions were so intent on apprehending the habitual trespasser that Ambrosia was completely unnoticed in the shuffle and managed to conceal herself in a remote corner of the garden until things settled down. She was even able to return to her room before dinner, where the name of the intruder spread like wildfire from table to table.

  For a week or more, Ambrosia remained the center of attention, repeating the story at least a hundred times over before refusing to say another word about it. Yet she thought of it, time and again, vividly recalling the bits and pieces of the story she had not revealed to anyone, the kiss he had pressed to her palm, the magic words he had whispered, the tiny, wilted violet he had pressed to her fingers. And in the next several weeks, the sighs and whispers and giggles of the other girls began to make sense to her, though something kept her from joining in. Perhaps it was the uncertainty, the disappointment she felt whenever she gazed at her reflection in the looking glass and saw no change at all, in spite of all the changes that were taking place inside. She was still not a beauty, with her square jawline; her huge, gray-green eyes; her thin and shapeless child’s body. But she happily remembered that Ledger had spoken of bravery when he kissed her, not beauty. He had recognized the very quality she took most pride in, the only part of herself she truly felt had value, the part she had struggled so to fashion after her father. In doing so, Ledger had touched the deepest, most vulnerable part of Ambrosia, a heart that had waited a lifetime to be touched... and loved. After twelve years of trying to be exactly like her father, Ambrosia suddenly knew that she was meant to be something else. She longed to be a woman... and all because John Rutledge Bowman was a man.

  To Ambrosia’s delight, she saw Ledger again soon after that first meeting. Since Ledger’s mother was a close friend of Elisabeth Woodard, he was a frequent guest at their home, as was Ambrosia. After being thrown together several times during the following year, a very special kind of bond evolved between the two of them. Ledger was amused by Ambrosia’s brief, candid comments and totally forthright manner, so unlike the frivolous, scatterbrained girls he courted who talked for hours on end and rarely said anything that made any sense. He found Ambrosia refreshing company and often exchanged winks or knowing glances with her whenever a particularly flightly female tried to get his attention. But he was totally blind to the feelings he stirred in her. He thought her only a child and hardly noticed that she wore special gowns and arranged her thick, dark hair just to please him. He didn’t see that Ambrosia was becoming a woman, and though her body was slow to reflect the inner changes, her heart was falling hopelessly in love with him.

  Then one chilly February morning, Ambrosia’s father paid an unexpected visit to Barhamville Academy to inform her that Melissa would be coming to Columbia for a “brief visit.” Melissa, all of seventeen by this time, announced to Ambrosia on her arrival that she intended to stay much longer. It wasn’t fair, she declared, that Ambrosia should have all the advantages, that she should meet so many exciting young men while Melissa was left with boring country swains who expected her to be content with a life like the one she’d left at Heritage. She would never be satisfied with a life like that, no matter what Mama said.

  Within a month of her arrival Melissa became the most celebrated beauty in Columbia, gracing every one of the parties and galas and balls which bloomed with the decade’s first spring. It seemed only natural that her name was linked with that of every handsome bachelor in town, including Ledger Bowman. But when the talk about Ledger and Melissa continued into summer, Ambrosia grew troubled. She was relieved when he went home to Charleston in July and certain that he would forget Melissa long before he returned for fall term at the University.

  ‘’I do miss him dreadfully,’’ Melissa pouted to Ambrosia just after he departed for home. “He’s truly the most divine man I ever imagined meeting! I just don’t know how I’ll manage to survive until he proposes.’’ She tossed her head playfully, knowing full well that Ambrosia was taken with Ledger, as was every other woman in Columbia. It made him that much more irresistible.

  “What makes you think he’ll propose?” Ambrosia returned calmly, her voice reflecting none of the panic she was feeling at the thought.

  Melissa gave a short, condescending laugh. “They all propose, if I want them to. And I do so want Ledger Bowman. I’d have to be a fool to let him slip through my fingers now. “She lifted her chin and toyed with a soft, golden curl. ‘’He’ll propose...you wait and see. ‘’ She paused and her mouth curved into a confident smile. “And I’ll make him wait for an answer... at least a week or two...”

  Ambrosia said nothing to that, though her heart screamed that Melissa had to be wrong. Ledger could never fall victim to her silly tricks! He would turn his mind to important things, like the upcoming election, which might “force” South Carolina to leave the Union. Surely the possibilities of war would divert his attention to matters more urgent than a flighty, plotting female!

  But when Ledger returned to Columbia for the fall term at the university, Ambrosia saw that she was wrong. There were no secret winks for Ambrosia, no knowing glances. There was only Melissa laughing and pouting and smiling and Ledger responding like a puppet on a string. And though Ambrosia gave no sign of her feelings, a part of her was dying.

  Less than a month later Ambrosia was informed of the upcoming nuptials. She accepted the news without a word, keeping her hurt hidden from everyone, she thought, and in doing so, retaining some part of her pride. But at a party given by Elisabeth and Daniel Woodard to formally announce the engagement, even that was lost to the man she so desperately loved.

  It was late in the evening and all but a very few of the guests had departed for their homes. Lucille, who had come to town the day before, had long since retired with a headache. Ambrosia sat in the parlor next to her father, sipping at a cup of punch, only half listening as the others talked and laughed and assured one another what a truly great event was at hand. Lanford and Bowman, two of the most prestigious families in all South Carolina, would be joined by a bond of marriage.

  “I had a feeling this would happen when you first brought Melissa to Columbia, Jackson, Elisabeth told him with a coquettish smile.

  At her comment Ledger’s smile warmed and Melissa held his gaze. Ambrosia looked the other way.

  ‘’It was obvious to me from the very first,’’ Elisabeth went on, doing her best to hold Jackson’s attention. “Why, the moment I saw them together, I knew.”

  “Oh, come, Elisabeth,” Daniel said stiffly, perturbed at the way she was looking at Jackson. “You know perfectly well that you were surprised by the news. Why, just this past winter I heard you tell the ladies at tea you were certain Ledger Bowman would wed Ambrosia someday. “

  Ledger gave a short laugh. ‘’Ambrosia-why she’s just a child!’’ he blurted out.

  Ambrosia felt the color draining from her cheeks as all eyes momentarily fell on her. She straightened her back and raised her chin in an almost defiant gesture as she set her cup on the table and excused herself. But in the single moment when her eyes met Ledger’s, he had seen. He knew.

  In October, Ambrosia went with Melissa to Charleston, to the Bowman plantation on the Ashley River, where she gracefully fulfilled the role as sister of the bride. But it was a simple matter of going through the motions. She no longer cared for gowns or parties; they were painful reminders of broken dreams.

  Eager to leave the happy newlyweds behind, Ambrosia returned to Columbia with her father. She had hardly resumed her classes at Barhamville when the results of the election reached South Carolina: Abraham Lincoln was to be president. Six weeks
later, on the evening of December 20, 1860, Jackson Lanford was one of 169 men who signed a document in Charleston that dissolved the Union between South Carolina and the United States of America. South Carolina became the first state ever to secede from the Union, and war was imminent.

  It seemed to Ambrosia that suddenly every man over sixteen and under sixty wore a uniform and talked of Yankee blood. Her heart filled with patriotic pride when she learned that her father was resigning his post in the legislature to outfit a regiment of his own from Bamberg County and that Ledger had already joined up with a group from Charleston. How could the Union ever hope to defeat an army of such men as these? She only wished that she were more than a schoolgirl, that she too could fight for what she believed in. But there was little any woman could do besides watch and cheer... and wait. War was a distant thing for Ambrosia that first year, with life continuing much as it had in the past, except that so many of the men were gone. At school, Ambrosia fought hard against remembering her feelings for Ledger. She took on the most difficult courses of study and occupied herself every moment with something-writing countless letters, sewing, learning to sketch portraits-leaving herself little time to think, or to feel, or even to notice the changes that were finally occurring in her body. Her slim figure was finally developing firm, womanly curves. But it was happening too late. It simply didn’t matter anymore.