"Mr. Brumby," Mac greeted him formally, "What brings you out to Sweetfern
so early?"
"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie," he said with equal formality, but he was looking over her shoulder and into the house, "I trust I find you well."
"Yes, I am quite well, thank you," Mac replied catching his eye. She tried to keep her tone neutral as she asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Brumby?"
"As you may have heard, Bud Roberts' farm was burned to the ground the night before last," Brumby said, "I'm looking for Mr. Roberts and I thought you might know where he is."
"The Roberts are staying with me, as a matter of fact," she told him, just as Harriet came down the stair.
"Ah, Mrs. Roberts, good morning," Brumby greeted her, his voice think with false condolences.
Harriet's eyes blazed as she replied coldly, "Not at all, Mr. Brumby. Please excuse me."
Harriet turned and walked straight back into the kitchen. Mac looked back at Brumby and saw that her friend's cold reply hadn't shaken him. She cleared her throat and asked, "Would you like to come into the parlor for a moment?"
"I'd love to, thank you," he replied and walked past her into the house. He looked left, through the door to the dining room, down the hall into the kitchen, and he finally passed through the door into the parlor.
"If you'll just wait here a moment," Mac said motioning him toward a chair, "I'll return with refreshment."
"You ought to have someone to do that for you, Sarah," he said condescendingly, "It's not right for you to do such work."
Mac looked him in the eye, and said, "Perhaps, but then what work would I do?" And she left the room.
Mac entered the kitchen where Bud and Harriet sat with AJ eating muffins. Mac pulled a tray down from one of the many shelves, and began to place a plate of muffins, a pot of coffee and two cups on it.
"Make it three," Bud said, "You shouldn't have to deal with that man alone."
Mac smiled at the gesture, knowing how much Bud hated Brumby. "Thank you, Bud. I think I can handle him."
"Nonsense, Sarah," Harriet said, and then she smiled, "Besides, you need a chaperone. Mr. Brumby is technically a suitor."
"Please, Harriet, don't remind me," Mac said as she added a third cup to the tray, "He did want to see you, Bud."
Bud followed Mac back to the parlor, and held the door open for her a she carried the tray in. Brumby rose from the seat he had taken near the fireplace. Mac placed the tray down on a side table and then turned to introduce the two men, as formality required.
"Mr. Brumby, I believe you already know Mr. Roberts," she said. Neither man moved the shake hands with the other. Instead, they regarded each other at a distance, each with an expression of distrust and dislike.
"Mr. Brumby," Bud finally said in a tone that would have matched his wife's.
"Mr. Roberts," Brumby replied, and after a long pause when the only sound they heard was Mac pouring coffee, he said, "I understand that your farm burnt to the ground a few nights past. How did that happen?"
Bud's face was drawn with the tension of repressed anger as he replied, "A group of twenty or so men set fire to it."
"How do you know?" Brumby asked haughtily. Mac had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't spit in the tea she serving him.
"My wife and I saw them running away from the farm as it burned," Bud replied.
"Those men could have been your own, ah, servants fleeing the blaze," Brumby rounded, stumbling over using the term 'servant' instead of 'slave'.
Mac passed Bud his cup of coffee, and giving him a reassuring smile and nod, took her seat between the two men.
"I suppose that's one opinion, Mr. Brumby," Bud said tightly.
"Mr. Brumby," Mac said as brightly as she could, trying to divert Brumby, "Surely, you didn't make the trip out to Sweetfern just to interview Mr. Roberts."
Brumby smiled at her and then he drank all of his coffee before he said, "Actually, I came to Sweetfern to deliver an invitation. Sarah, would attend the Griffith's New Year's Eve party with me tomorrow night?"
"You are very kind to ask, Mr. Brumby," she answered, "But I'm afraid I can't. I've already arranged a small party here for the Roberts and my hands."
Brumby's head jerked when she mentioned that her hands would be attending. "Your hands?" he asked surprised. "Just your white hands, sure."
"No, all of the workers," she explained.
Brumby looked completely taken aback. "You're hosting a party, in your home, where whites will celebrate with Negros?"
"Yes, Mr. Brumby," Mac said smiling. She knew the effect her words had on Brumby, but she enjoyed pretending that she didn't. "They work just as hard as I do all year round, and sometimes harder. They deserve to celebrate as well."
Brumby's face was the very picture of disbelief, but his astonishment turned to anger. "Miss Mackenzie, there are people in this community who won't appreciate that," he said in a dangerous tone. "You may want to reconsider."
Mac continued to display her formal, yet innocent appearance even though she heard and understood the threat in his words. "I know that the community may not understand," she said sweetly, "But the people who work on this farm are my friends and neighbors, and I will enjoy the coming of the New Year with them."
Brumby shook his head and rose from his seat. "Miss Mackenzie, if that is the case, I must take my leave of you," he said and he bowed formally toward her. He didn't acknowledge Bud.
He was almost out of the parlor when he turned back. He walked briskly back to where Bud and Mac were now standing. "I almost forgot this," he said, holding out a letter to Mac. Then, he turned and strode out of the room, down the hall and out of the house.
"How I loathe that man," Bud said, and he shared a knowing look with Mac.
But Mac wasn't looking at him. She had sat down, and was now staring at the letter Brumby. She looked up at Bud, who nodded and left her to read it alone.
"Good morning, Miss Mackenzie," he said with equal formality, but he was looking over her shoulder and into the house, "I trust I find you well."
"Yes, I am quite well, thank you," Mac replied catching his eye. She tried to keep her tone neutral as she asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. Brumby?"
"As you may have heard, Bud Roberts' farm was burned to the ground the night before last," Brumby said, "I'm looking for Mr. Roberts and I thought you might know where he is."
"The Roberts are staying with me, as a matter of fact," she told him, just as Harriet came down the stair.
"Ah, Mrs. Roberts, good morning," Brumby greeted her, his voice think with false condolences.
Harriet's eyes blazed as she replied coldly, "Not at all, Mr. Brumby. Please excuse me."
Harriet turned and walked straight back into the kitchen. Mac looked back at Brumby and saw that her friend's cold reply hadn't shaken him. She cleared her throat and asked, "Would you like to come into the parlor for a moment?"
"I'd love to, thank you," he replied and walked past her into the house. He looked left, through the door to the dining room, down the hall into the kitchen, and he finally passed through the door into the parlor.
"If you'll just wait here a moment," Mac said motioning him toward a chair, "I'll return with refreshment."
"You ought to have someone to do that for you, Sarah," he said condescendingly, "It's not right for you to do such work."
Mac looked him in the eye, and said, "Perhaps, but then what work would I do?" And she left the room.
Mac entered the kitchen where Bud and Harriet sat with AJ eating muffins. Mac pulled a tray down from one of the many shelves, and began to place a plate of muffins, a pot of coffee and two cups on it.
"Make it three," Bud said, "You shouldn't have to deal with that man alone."
Mac smiled at the gesture, knowing how much Bud hated Brumby. "Thank you, Bud. I think I can handle him."
"Nonsense, Sarah," Harriet said, and then she smiled, "Besides, you need a chaperone. Mr. Brumby is technically a suitor."
"Please, Harriet, don't remind me," Mac said as she added a third cup to the tray, "He did want to see you, Bud."
Bud followed Mac back to the parlor, and held the door open for her a she carried the tray in. Brumby rose from the seat he had taken near the fireplace. Mac placed the tray down on a side table and then turned to introduce the two men, as formality required.
"Mr. Brumby, I believe you already know Mr. Roberts," she said. Neither man moved the shake hands with the other. Instead, they regarded each other at a distance, each with an expression of distrust and dislike.
"Mr. Brumby," Bud finally said in a tone that would have matched his wife's.
"Mr. Roberts," Brumby replied, and after a long pause when the only sound they heard was Mac pouring coffee, he said, "I understand that your farm burnt to the ground a few nights past. How did that happen?"
Bud's face was drawn with the tension of repressed anger as he replied, "A group of twenty or so men set fire to it."
"How do you know?" Brumby asked haughtily. Mac had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't spit in the tea she serving him.
"My wife and I saw them running away from the farm as it burned," Bud replied.
"Those men could have been your own, ah, servants fleeing the blaze," Brumby rounded, stumbling over using the term 'servant' instead of 'slave'.
Mac passed Bud his cup of coffee, and giving him a reassuring smile and nod, took her seat between the two men.
"I suppose that's one opinion, Mr. Brumby," Bud said tightly.
"Mr. Brumby," Mac said as brightly as she could, trying to divert Brumby, "Surely, you didn't make the trip out to Sweetfern just to interview Mr. Roberts."
Brumby smiled at her and then he drank all of his coffee before he said, "Actually, I came to Sweetfern to deliver an invitation. Sarah, would attend the Griffith's New Year's Eve party with me tomorrow night?"
"You are very kind to ask, Mr. Brumby," she answered, "But I'm afraid I can't. I've already arranged a small party here for the Roberts and my hands."
Brumby's head jerked when she mentioned that her hands would be attending. "Your hands?" he asked surprised. "Just your white hands, sure."
"No, all of the workers," she explained.
Brumby looked completely taken aback. "You're hosting a party, in your home, where whites will celebrate with Negros?"
"Yes, Mr. Brumby," Mac said smiling. She knew the effect her words had on Brumby, but she enjoyed pretending that she didn't. "They work just as hard as I do all year round, and sometimes harder. They deserve to celebrate as well."
Brumby's face was the very picture of disbelief, but his astonishment turned to anger. "Miss Mackenzie, there are people in this community who won't appreciate that," he said in a dangerous tone. "You may want to reconsider."
Mac continued to display her formal, yet innocent appearance even though she heard and understood the threat in his words. "I know that the community may not understand," she said sweetly, "But the people who work on this farm are my friends and neighbors, and I will enjoy the coming of the New Year with them."
Brumby shook his head and rose from his seat. "Miss Mackenzie, if that is the case, I must take my leave of you," he said and he bowed formally toward her. He didn't acknowledge Bud.
He was almost out of the parlor when he turned back. He walked briskly back to where Bud and Mac were now standing. "I almost forgot this," he said, holding out a letter to Mac. Then, he turned and strode out of the room, down the hall and out of the house.
"How I loathe that man," Bud said, and he shared a knowing look with Mac.
But Mac wasn't looking at him. She had sat down, and was now staring at the letter Brumby. She looked up at Bud, who nodded and left her to read it alone.
