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| https://www.al.com/opinion/index.ssf/2015/08/confederate_stars_and_bars_rem.html |
"The short-stemmed glass is for cognac" instructs Monty as she drags me up the bluestone walkway, "the long for champagne."
"Got it" I concede as an odd American flag with three stripes and seven stars flaps in the cold wind, "but we'll leave right after dinner, right?"
"Welcome to Piedmont Farm" greets a tuxedoed old man as we step into a marble floored foyer, "may I take your coat?"
I'm sweating despite the arctic chill outside as I hand over my varsity double-B jacket and Monty ushers me into the dining room.
"Caroline dear, who's come to Sunday supper?" smiles an elegant elderly woman holding up her wrinkled hand for me.
"Grandma Caroline, this is Wiley Reed" she answers. "He's the hero of yesterday's game."
"My oh my" drawls the old lady, "we haven't had a genuine hero in the LaMonte household since the War of Northern Aggression."
"Hero, schmero" I laugh, "it was mostly dumb luck."
"Now Wiley" chides Monty, "I saw those crows fly up, you know there was a little magic out on that field."
"Well" I concede, "I was wearing my lucky red shorts."
"All fine and good, Mr. Wiley Reed" concludes Mrs. LaMonte, "but what does your father do?"
"Mimaw, isn't it time for the aperitif?" Monty interjects, sparing me a lie.
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The tattered banner flying over the LaMonte estate was the first flag of the Confederate States of America. Bound Brook's first family of the twentieth century had been one of the few nineteenth century Virginia planter families to escape the Civil War with their wealth intact. Even though their Wheatland plantation and other holdings had been confiscated as Union officer residences during the war, the Mason and Kern families at least had a financial pathway to the north.
Just before the war, when trade between north and south was still prosperous, George A. LaMonte had traveled the Shenandoah Valley Turnpike from his native upstate New York for a first teaching job at the Academy at Winchester. Before long a spirited belle and fellow new teacher named Rebecca Thweatt Mason Kern caught more than Master LaMonte's eye. In 1858 she became Mrs. George A. LaMonte at her family's Romney estate in the Virginia highlands west of Kernstown.
Then disaster struck in the form of the Union army, driving George and his pregnant wife first farther south to the last capital of the Confederacy in Danville and then north with their newborn son George Mason LaMonte. The Kern-Mason-Thweatt families would soon realize the value of a Yankee son-in-law, for the LaMontes were able to convert the accumulated family wealth from trade in wheat, tobacco, and slaves into northern currency.
George parlayed his wealth into an appointment as president of the newly formed First National Bank of New York. He then purchased the old Talmadge Farm on the west end of a sleepy village thirty miles from the city soon to be incorporated as the borough of Bound Brook. Before long he developed and started manufacturing the safety paper that Rebecca, a prolific writer and saver of letters, used to return some of a growing fortune back to her families of origin in reconstructionist Virginia.
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The meal proceeds with smoked oysters, a whole hog glazed with pineapple and carved at the table, biscuits with red eye gravy, succotash, corn pudding, and rounds of sweet tea.
"Here's to old Virginia" toasts old Mrs. LaMonte, draining her flute and holding it out for more champagne.
"Here, here" I blurt, disliking the bubbles but enjoying the buzz. "I might go to college there."
"Keep an eye out for our lost Wheatland" she drawls, "won't you dear?"
"Yes ma'am" I oblige, lifting my own glass for a refill from the cute and familiar looking server.
"Wiley Reed" she whispers while filling my glass, eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Karma?" I gasp, barely recognizing my brother Blaine's old girlfriend dressed in a tuxedo and sporting a punk cut.
"Skating at Willows Pond tomorrow" she smiles, moving around the table to the next upheld glass while mouthing "be there."
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