by Naomi Finley
“Mr. Anderson,” Ben interrupted. “Would you mind if I danced with the lovely Miss Carter?”
“Oh…” Lucille blushed, and her hand went to her heart. More than pleased with the compliment, she said, “Certainly, Mr. Hendricks. If you don’t mind, Mr. Anderson.” She swept her lashes over her cheeks.
“Not at all,” Silas said.
As she glided toward Ben, Lucille whispered to me, “Don’t forget what I told you.”
I bit my tongue.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your uncle,” Silas said.
“No? I’ll be sure to introduce you later. He has only recently returned. I’ve had him preoccupied since his return.”
“It must come as a relief for him to take some of the burdens of running a plantation of Livingston’s magnitude?”
“It does. Selfishly, I hope he doesn’t have to leave on business for a while.”
“Miss Carter mentioned to me that there was another attack by the masked men and that you and your uncle were their victims this time.”
“I bet she did,” I said. “The woman never ceases to amaze me with how she conjures up information.” I only hoped she’d openly relay information about the slave she spoke about to Ben.
He dipped back his head and laughed. “She’s a chatty one.”
“Is that what you call it?” Indignation sparked in my chest.
“Did they harm you?”
“No, but they frightened us all and killed my driver. He was hardly a problematic slave, so that in itself is a loss. Not to mention the financial loss.”
“It saddens me to hear of your misfortune. I’m at your service.” He put a fist to his chest. “I assure you, I’ll do whatever it takes to aid in bringing these criminals to justice.” A single dimple etched his left cheek as he smiled down at me.
“Now, that’s right neighborly of you. We’ll leave the masked men to the constable and his men. However, I do appreciate—”
A couple bumped into Silas from behind. Irritation flashed across his face. “Do watch yourselves,” he said in an even tone.
“I apologize for my clumsiness,” Bowden said. He reached out to steady the blonde woman who gawked at us with huge, innocent eyes. From her precisely parted hairdo to the bottom of her periwinkle velvet gown, Cora O’Brien gleamed. She was the perfect accompaniment to any gentleman’s arm. Just not Bowden’s! Yet I wouldn’t be lowered to quarreling over a man. Even if the sight of his hand on the small of her back had me wanting to shove her backward.
“Think nothing of it,” Silas said graciously.
Bowden turned his hard focus from me to Silas. “How are you enjoying Charleston?”
“I’m liking it quite well. I’m moving forward with my plans to build a proper house on the property.”
“The widow’s place isn’t suiting your fancy?” Bowden asked. He’d become so caught up in his analysis of Silas that he’d forgotten to introduce his companion. “I’m guessing you’ve managed to purchase some slaves of your own by now?”
“As I told Miss Willow, I don’t intend to purchase slaves. I feel my money would be better invested elsewhere.”
“If you bought a few slaves, wouldn’t it move the building of a new home along?”
“I do not intend to have slaves build my home. The home I intend to build will be one that requires great craftsmanship.”
“Some of the slaves have the best craftsmanship around these parts,” Bowden countered. “Besides, why would you pay for someone to build your home when you can have your slaves build it for you?”
“Why do you care, Mr. Armstrong?”
“I don’t! It was a simple question. You show up in Charleston and claim to buy out the widow’s place and…poof.” Bowden flicked his fingers in the air. “She disappears. It all appears to be a mite suspicious to me.”
Bowden had voiced the thoughts Whitney and I had shared.
“I suppose I can see how that would appear. I don’t know why the Widow Jenson wouldn’t mention it to her close friends and neighbors. I wish I could tell you why she did what she did, but frankly, I don’t have the answers you seek.
“I offered the widow a deal I guess she couldn’t refuse. And within weeks, I found myself with the deeds to the property. I’ve never seen or heard from her since. Not that I would, seeing as we weren’t acquainted outside of a business deal. If you think that I robbed the dear soul, you are mistaken. I assure you, I paid the widow what the place was worth, and then some.”
“That’s an interesting story you weave,” Bowden said.
“I don’t know what else I can say, Mr. Armstrong. I believe you’ve made your mind up about me. But something leads me to believe it has nothing to do with the widow’s place and everything to do with Miss Hendricks.” Silas drew himself up, challenging Bowden in a duel of words.
A twitch in Bowden’s cheek proved Silas might have planted his sword. “I look out for people that matter to me. And Miss Hendricks has been my friend for many years.”
Referring to me as a friend deepened the ache I carried over the demise of our courtship.
Cora O’Brien studied me with interest.
“Gentlemen, let’s be done with this quibbling and move on to more pleasant topics. Like who your friend here may be.” I held out my hand to her.
“Pardon me. Willow, I’d like you to meet Cora O’Brien.”
“Welcome to Charleston.”
“Thank you.” She gripped my hand for an awkward moment too long. “How do you and Bowden know each other?” She touched his arm lightly.
“We grew up together,” I said.
“I actually asked Willow to marry me, but she turned me down. But I have not given up on winning her heart,” he said without concern for his lady friend. Either he didn’t realize her fondness for him or he was withdrawing Silas’s sword and going in for the victory strike.
Silas stiffened beside me.
Lucille joined us, and all of a sudden, I felt physically ill. “Mr. Armstrong is a fine and ethical businessman. I’m sorry I have to cut this short, but I must take my leave. Miss O’Brien, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Lucille; Mr. Anderson.” I offered a stilted curtsy. “Bowden.”
They mumbled their goodbyes. I pivoted and went in search of Ben.
Ben stood talking to Mr. Carter and some other gentlemen from town.
“Uncle, I wish to go home now.”
“You look pale. Are you ill?”
“I may be coming down with something.” The Lucille virus, in fact. “I’ll get the driver to bring the carriage around, and I’ll meet you outside.”
He nodded.
At the front door, I gathered my wraps once more and stepped outside.
A hand grabbed my elbow. “Willow, wait!”
I spun to look into Bowden’s eyes. “What is it?”
“Let me speak with you before you take off in a huff.”
“Why would I allow that? Were you trying to humiliate me and make a fool out of yourself in there? Because that definitely wasn’t your most charming moment.” I crossed my arms, walking across the veranda and out of the earshot of the other guests.
“Again, I’ve acted like a fool,” he said with genuine regret.
“That’s a fact,” I said hotly.
“I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”
I couldn’t agree more, but I kept the thought to myself.
Since the afternoon by the pond, I’d tried my best to push him from my mind, but it was proving to be harder than I had even imagined. Ben’s words of earlier played in my mind: Don’t waste your life loving from afar.
“I want you to be my wife more than anything, and losing you is driving me mad. Obviously, I’m going around making a laughingstock of myself.” He hung his head.
“Do you think this is any easier on me?”
“I’m sure it’s not. I’ve tried to stay away from you to make it easier on the both of us. When I heard of the atta
ck on the road, I wanted to ride over to Livingston to check in on you…” His thoughts pulled him away.
“You said in there that I was your friend. Do friends not check in on each other?”
“Yes. But I knew after seeing you in town that I wasn’t in control of my emotions.”
“We had a burial to attend to, and I’d have been preoccupied anyway.” I dropped my eyes to my hands and picked at invisible lint on my gloves.
“Soon we’ll have to face the reality that living so close by and running into each other isn’t going to work.”
“What do you suggest we should do?”
“I know what I’d like to do.” He moved to rest his hands on the railing.
My heartbeat quickened. My eyes traced his profile, from the muscles of his biceps built by long, hard days on the plantation to the strawberry birthmark on his jaw. I swallowed hard. “What would you like to do?”
“Sell everything and leave it all behind. Lately, I’ve been thinking about moving to California to be closer to Stone.”
A weight settled on my chest. The fragile string holding me together broke. It couldn’t be. The end of our courtship had been devastating, but the thought of him leaving Charleston altogether was too much.
“Life is cruel and merciless,” I said. An emptiness encompassed me. “Filled with so much pain, grief, and loss.”
Bowden turned to me and placed his hands on my arms. I tilted my chin up to gaze into his eyes.
“I meant what I said the other day. You’re the only woman for me. There’ll never be another. I don’t know how, but I have to believe that someday you’ll be mine. I refuse to believe that this is all that was intended for us. To be drawn together, only to suffer a lifetime of torment.”
“Aren’t we causing our own heartache by holding on to something that’s impossible?”
“Maybe. But life isn’t livable without you by my side.” He lowered his hands and placed a soft, light kiss on my lips before slipping by me.
He walked down the back steps and into the darkness.
I lifted my fingers and touched my lips. I will always love you, Bowden Armstrong.
I turned and walked back to the front veranda.
Whitney and Ben stood engaged in conversation, waiting for our driver to bring the carriage around. He arrived, and Ben looked from Whitney to me. “Shall we?” He offered us each an arm.
We nodded, descended the steps, and climbed into the waiting carriage.
I WAS TOO DISTRACTED THAT night to discuss this conversation with Lucille with Ben. I retired to my room shortly after our arrival home, with a promise to Ben to accompany him on a morning ride.
The next day, dressed in my riding attire, I emerged from the house. Sunlight poured through the trees, and I closed my eyes, elevating my face to bask in its warmth.
Jimmy’s whistling as he brought our horses into the yard brought a smile to my lips. “Good morning.” I went to greet him.
“Ah, Miss Willie. Morning.” Jimmy looped the reins over my horse’s neck. With a gentle pat, he moved on to adjust the saddle.
We chatted for a moment or two before Ben joined us.
Ben leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. I noticed the holster he wore around his waist. It had become normal since the attack on the road.
Jimmy removed his straw hat and clutched it in his hands. “I got de horses all ready for you, Masa.”
“A fine job, James.”
Ben held out a hand and helped me onto my horse, and I took the riding crop Jimmy held up. Ben swung onto his mount.
We rode out of Livingston. A short way down the road, Ben reined his mount back to match the pace of mine.
“What did Lucille say that has us riding in the direction of her home?” I asked.
“A while back her father purchased a fine, unmarked slave. Fresh off the boat from Maryland.”
“And you think it could be Toby?”
“I’m hoping. Last evening before my departure, I asked Mr. Carter if he’d teach me a thing or two on how a cotton gin runs. Appealing to his arrogance, I informed him that I went to medical school and didn’t understand many things about running a plantation. He agreed and told me to come by today.” He grinned, impressed with himself.
Great! An image of Lucille’s face flashed in my mind. My stomach churned with dread at having to endure her company.
“Don’t look so forlorn.” He laughed.
I shot him a glare. “Easy for you to say. You don’t have to deal with Lucille.”
“From what I gather from Miss Carter, she isn’t that much different than her father.”
“Heaven help us both,” I grumbled. “But if the man Lucille speaks of is, in fact, the free man, being forced to listen to her nonstop negativity for an afternoon will be worth it.” I remained unconvinced by my weak attempt to infuse courage into myself.
He tossed back his head and chuckled. His mirth boomeranged around the countryside. “Was that falsehood for my benefit or yours?”
“Instilling courage, dear Uncle,” I said. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can be rid of this dreadful feeling that I’m going to a funeral—or that I’ll be the one lowered into the ground in the pine box.” I gave my horse a tap with the crop.
WE RODE INTO THE CARTER plantation a short time later. Lucille, having been informed of our impending arrival, waited conspicuously on the front veranda, painting on a canvas. A slave girl stood to one side, fanning her with an oversized palmetto fan.
Lucille glanced up as we drew near. She stood and made her way down the front steps before strolling down the pathway, dressed in a gown fit for an evening affair.
“Run,” I whispered to Ben without moving my mouth.
He grinned.
Lucille’s brow puckered at the amusement that passed between us. “Pa told me you’d be stopping by today. He’s down by the dock. He’s expecting you,” she said to Ben.
Ben tipped his hat. “Much obliged.” He left me to my demise.
“Are you going to get off that horse, or what?”
Biting down hard, I forced a smile and dismounted.
“Boy,” I jumped when Lucille yelled, “get on over here and take Miss Hendricks’s horse.”
A slave boy around ten years old ran into the yard, and I offered him my reins.
“Now, make yourself scarce.” Lucille flicked a hand in the air.
The boy vanished as fast as he’d appeared.
Lucille wrapped me in a dazzling smile. “I don’t believe you’ve been here before.”
Hopefully, I wouldn’t be back anytime soon. “No, I believe not.”
“Then let me show you around.”
“Please do,” I said, glad that I didn’t have to request a tour of the plantation myself.
For the next half an hour, we covered most of the plantation while Lucille bragged about her family and their success. My face ached with the façade of smiles it wore and the laughter I showered her with. Like parched soil after a rainfall, she absorbed the attention, thinking nothing of the unusual warmth with which I doted on her.
“I’ve arranged to have refreshments served in the parlor.”
“But you haven’t shown me around the quarters.”
Lucille stopped in her tracks and cast me a suspicious look. “Why do you care about the quarters?”
“I’m always interested in seeing how others run their plantations. One can learn much from others if one keeps an open mind.” I lavished her with a smile.
Her shoulders rolled back, and she raised her chin. “I suppose so. With your uncle and you both lacking the knowledge of how to run a plantation properly, you could benefit from my family’s skills.”
How effortlessly I led the lamb to the slaughter. I smiled to myself.
In the quarters, the mood was solemn. Most of the capable slaves were in the fields or performing their daily tasks on other parts of the plantation. Children too small to work the plantation, underfed chicken
s, and a few hogs roamed freely in the quarters. An elderly slave woman who had to be creeping up on ninety sat on the stoop of a shack, holding an ailing infant. The overall smell of uncleanliness soured my stomach.
A door to a nearby shack opened, and I waited to see who came out. It wasn’t until I heard movement that my eyes dropped to the slave man crawling down the two steps on his hands. His legs were stumps that stopped at the knees.
“That man,” I said, “was he born that way?”
“No,” Lucille mumbled from behind the handkerchief she held over her nose. “He’s a runner. My pa and the overseer weren’t quick enough, and the dogs had eaten away at his legs before they could call them off.
“Pa stormed the plantation for a week afterward. Said he may as well have burnt his money himself. Got so angry he shot his two best hounds on the spot. Mother said if he hadn’t been drunk, he would’ve had the common sense to shoot the slave instead. He’s good for nothing but to help the old woman with the children.” Her upper lip curled with disgust. Her eyes followed the man as he wiggled his body like a snake to move.
I gulped at the ugliness contorting her face. No amount of surface beauty Lucille may have had could mask the deformity of her soul. She was the product of what had been instilled in her from birth. A belief that imprisoned her in a mindset that owning another human was her right for being born of a superior race.
“Pretty,” a small voice said.
A tug on my gown drew my eyes down.
A girl not much older than three looked up at me with dark, awestruck eyes. Her wooly locks were matted with debris. Her Negro cloth shift, grayed with age, hung from her emaciated body.
“Away with you, you mongrel!” Lucille gave the child a shove backward and then rubbed her hand repetitively on her gown as if to wipe the plague from her hand.
The child tripped over her feet and landed on her backside. Massive tears poured from her eyes, but not a peep or a whimper came from her. She pulled her quivering lip between her teeth.
I wanted to bend and swoop her up in my arms, to wipe away her tears and whisper that everything would be all right.