Nausea roiled in Hatchet’s gut. Getting his father to seek forgiveness wasn’t an issue. But persuading his mother . . . “Can’t you just put my mother to sleep again?”
Hope’s lips twitched, but she shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Lucetta must welcome me into her home; otherwise, Kalfu will not come when I call to him.”
Hatchet groaned and massaged his temples where a dull throbbing had begun. “Bloody fucking hell!”
Hope glanced back from the doorway, her face a mask of resignation. “Let go, Hatchet.”
As she disappeared into the hallway, a deep-rooted resolve took hold. He would not, could not let go, even if it meant he must come to blows with his mother. She might threaten to cut him out of her life or rally his sister against him, both nauseating threats. He may not wish to manage the plantation, but Harmon Grove was still one of his homes, and the thought of never visiting again . . . When had his childhood memories started to outweigh those of the war?
Since he found Hope. Mother would listen this once; he would see to it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As Hatchet’s entire family gathered in his bedroom, he sat up, propping the pillows behind his back. He was damned tired of lying about, but his strength eluded him. Still, one benefit of his illness was the sympathy it garnered from his mother.
She rubbed his cheek, her brows knitted with concern. “Allow me to fluff your pillows so you’re more comfortable, dear. You need rest. Is this gathering necessary?”
“Stop fussing over me and have a seat.” He gestured to the chair beside the hearth. “This conversation is long overdue and critical to the livelihood of our entire family.”
Father eyed him disapprovingly. “I understand your frustration, Charles. Being bedridden is atrocious, but don’t take it out on your mother. She’s concerned for your welfare.”
With a sigh, Hatchet nodded. “You must forgive my ill manners. I’m tired from the long carriage ride.”
“For which you’re entirely to blame,” James said, leaning against the bedpost. “I don’t understand why you traveled to Harmon Grove nor why I was summoned. Why so cryptic?” His brother wiggled his fingers. “‘Critical to our livelihoods?’ I’m standing on pins and needles, dear brother. Do tell, why are we here?”
James was an ass and might prove to be more obstinate than their mother, but Hatchet forged on. The ugly truth would gain their attention, and he had no patience to ease into the conversation.
“We must discuss the brutal rape of Jenny Cobbs,” he said, turning to Father. “And how to break her curse on our family.”
A sob escaped Mary, and his father’s gaze darted to Mother. She gripped the arms of the chair but said nothing, pressing her lips into a thin line. James stared at everyone, his brow furrowed. Little wonder, as his brother had never mingled with the slaves and likely couldn’t name a single one, including their cook.
Father walked to Mother’s side, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Best that we leave the past behind us. Your mother and I don’t wish to discuss this matter.”
Heat flooded Hatchet’s cheeks. Did his parents think they could avoid the topic so easily when lives were at stake? God knew why they’d hid from the truth for so long, but he would not tolerate another minute of denial.
“I don’t give a damn about your wishes! You will discuss this matter, because Mary buried her husband and precious baby as a result.” He turned to James. “And he lost Annie within a year of their marriage.” Glaring at his father, he continued, “Hope’s family perished as well. Your children are suffering for your mistakes. Black magic exists, and its effects are devastating our family. How many others will you sacrifice for your hubris?”
Father swallowed hard and stared at the floor, his tongue probably tied. Mother closed her eyes, but tears leaked from the outer edges. They knew the truth, had known for years, yet did nothing. To hell with their feelings. He wanted answers and a resolution.
“Who in the devil is Jenny Cobbs?” his brother asked, standing straighter. “And what is this nonsense about a curse?”
Before Hatchet could offer a response, Mary walked to the foot of the bed, rubbing her twin’s arm. “She was one of our slaves. A kind soul, always helping others. Don’t you remember? I cried for weeks when she died. Pauline told me her death was a tragic accident.” Mary rubbed her forehead, as if working away the strain of a headache. “Are you sure Jenny was raped? No one at Harmon Grove would’ve committed such an atrocious crime. Everyone loved Jenny.”
“I’m positive,” Hatchet said. The muscles in his chest cavity constricted. His next words would shatter Mary’s world. But they all must come to terms with the truth if they could ever hope to end the curse. “Many of the slaves were forced to witness the gang rape. Pauline confessed the truth to me, but what I want to know is why Father stood nearby and let those soldiers rape and murder her.”
His sister’s eyelashes fluttered. “Pardon, did you say . . . ?” She wobbled, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she collapsed in James’s arms.
“Damnation!” his brother cried, glaring at Hatchet. “Is this your idea of a sick joke? I am not laughing.” He laid their sister on the empty half of the bed, fanning her face with his hands. “What the hell is going on? Mother, I need smelling salts!”
Everyone sprang into action. Hatchet rolled out of bed, making room for his sister, while Mother groped in her pocket. With heaving sobs, she handed a bottle to Father, who raced to the bedside, uncorking the smelling salts. After several passes under her nose, Mary roused back to consciousness.
Hatchet knelt on the corner of the bed, noting her pale complexion. Perhaps he had been too harsh in his delivery, deuced cad that he was. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve eased into the conversation, not dove in. Are you all right, Mary?”
“I feel dreadful,” she whispered. Her stricken gaze fell on their father. “Please, tell me this isn’t true.”
Sinking into a chair, Father propped his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “I wish I could, dear girl, but I’m guilty as charged. Lord grant me mercy, but I watched as the soldiers took Jenny and her mama, then killed them.”
Father’s shoulders shook as sobs wracked his body.
“Tell them the whole story,” Mother said, mopping her face with a handkerchief. “Your children deserve to know you aren’t a monster. You had no choice!”
Of course his father had a choice! Hatchet had defended a woman he never laid eyes on before his squad raped her. Jenny was under his father’s protection. Why had Isaac done this? He could think of only one reason.
“Soldiers lived here at the time,” Hatchet said, blowing out a breath. “They threatened you with imprisonment if you tried to stop or report them. Is that what happened?”
“No, son. That contingent of soldiers was the law and didn’t fear repercussions. Your mother is wrong, because they offered me a choice.” His father looked up, his face streaked with tears. “Either let them rape Jenny and her mama, or the soldiers would rape my daughter and wife.”
“Oh, dear God!” Bile lurched to Hatchet’s throat. Those were two impossible alternatives. Mary had been a girl of thirteen. His vision blurred as war memories of countless rapes flashed through his mind’s eye. The desperate pleas for mercy, tears, and screams. His feelings of helplessness and anger.
Though never forced to “play” with his squad, Hatchet had still lost a bit of his mind with each assault. But to be forced to watch as a sixteen-year-old girl or your child was ravished . . . How had Isaac survived the horror of making that choice, lived with those memories?
“Oh, Papa!” Mary cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “How dreadful. That wasn’t a choice. No one can fault you for protecting me and Mother. Any man put in that position would’ve done the same.”
Would I?
Only after all other options were exhausted.
“Marie Euchariste found fault in me,” Father said, slumping agains
t the back of his chair. “She thought I should’ve armed the slaves, incited an uprising, and killed the soldiers. Arm the slaves with what? We were at war and all my firearms had been confiscated long before that evening. God, I wish I could’ve saved everyone from that nightmare. Afterward, your mother and I, we didn’t want to believe in the curse.”
“Coincidence,” his mother said. “We blamed our misfortunes on chance. But I cannot deny the truth any longer.” Her lips quivered. “You almost died of yellow fever. There isn’t an epidemic. That isn’t coincidence. It happened because Hope fell in love with you.”
James snorted. “What utter nonsense! Our family has suffered its fair share of tragedies. We lost two siblings to yellow fever long before the Civil War and this horrible incident. People die of cholera every year. Children are stillborn. That doesn’t mean our family is cursed.”
Folding her arms, Mary stared her twin down. “I beg to disagree. Our family has suffered more than any other of our acquaintances. What do we know of voodoo and curses?”
Their brother threw up his hands.
“Believe what you wish,” Mother said, her jaw set in a stubborn tilt. “Charles’s death was imminent. He was slipping away. Even the doctors all but declared him dead. Until Hope saved him.”
Hatchet’s eyes widened, but she ignored his reaction and carried on.
“Stevens saw her leave Magnolia House in the early hours of the morning. I’m not an idiot. She cured you with her voodoo, didn’t she?”
Hatchet nodded and perched on the foot of the bed, unable to believe his ears. The time to strike was now. “We can eradicate our family’s curse if Father begs for Jenny’s forgiveness.”
His brother began to chuckle but was met with perturbed glances. “Why am I the only one laughing? This is ridiculous. The slave girl is dead. How do you propose father communicate with her? No, don’t tell me. We shall hold a séance.”
Both of Hatchet’s hands formed tight fists, but he managed to bite back a nasty retort. He would’ve sniggered at the idea of the supernatural himself less than a year ago. James would come around quick enough.
“Even better,” Hatchet said, standing. “Her spirit is trapped within the mirror in the lavender bedroom. I’ve seen her myself, and we’ve exchanged words. We only need to coax her into speaking with Father.”
The room fell silent. No shouts of disbelief or bouts of hysteria. Only blank looks, as though he’d truly gone mad.
Mother was the first to recover her voice. “That’s not possible.”
“I assure you, it is.” He met his father’s pensive stare. “You must be the one to apologize and beg for forgiveness. Tell Jenny the truth, from your heart. Let her feel your regret. Though I’ve never told you this before, Maribeth is a medium. She can reconcile Jenny with her family in Heaven, if the ghost finds it in her heart to forgive you.”
Standing, his father walked to the window and inhaled. “This will set Jenny’s soul free and banish the curse?”
Not quite. That was only the first step.
“Jenny’s forgiveness is paramount in gaining the favor of one of the voodoo spirits. Hope must summon Kalfu at the crossroads, where the rape took place, and request that he free us from the bad omen.” He swallowed, working past the growing lump in his throat. “Both you and Mother must welcome Hope here for an ancient ritual.”
Several moments passed in silence. At least their reaction was not violent.
“If that is what we must do, I say let’s do it,” Mary said. “Jenny deserves eternal peace, and I don’t want Patrick to die.”
“Host a voodoo ritual on the grounds of Harmon Grove? I will not!” Mother shrieked. “The last time I welcomed a mambo to my home, she cursed my children, even after the kindness I showed in trying to save Jenny’s life! Hold a ritual out in the open, for all the workers to see and report to the authorities? You have lost your minds! The practice of voodoo is illegal. You may as well wrap the noose around my neck yourself.”
James sighed. “The first words of reason in the past hour.”
Jumping to his feet, Hatchet advanced on his brother. “Get out! I’ve had all I can tolerate for one afternoon. Your participation in the conversation isn’t necessary anymore.”
“With pleasure,” his brother said, storming out of the bedroom.
Mother placed her hands on her hips, looking to the ceiling. “There must be another way. I’ll give the servants an evening off, and we can hold the ceremony in the big house. In secret.”
That would never work. Hope had been specific in her instructions. “Kalfu is the petro spirit of the crossroads, Mother. The ritual must take place where the curse originated. There is no other way. Do you want Jenny to find eternal peace in Heaven? Do you want Mary and James to find happiness?”
“Of course I want that!” she groused. “My heart broke for Jenny and her mama! I’m the one who snuck the Maries onto the plantation to care for the girl.”
He pulled her into an embrace, hugging her close. “Then write a letter to Hope, inviting her to Harmon Grove one week from today. Mary and I will speak with the workers after Father has gained Jenny’s forgiveness. I don’t know how long it’ll take to coax her ghost to the mirror, but I’m hopeful seven days will suffice.”
“Please, Mother,” his sister said, joining in their embrace.
“Very well.” Mother straightened her dress and tucked her handkerchief back into her pocket. “I will write to Hydropia, inviting her to my home, and request a full list of items needed for the ceremony. Go to work on Jenny.”
Hatchet smiled for the first time since he woke that morning. The worst of their troubles was over. He hoped.
Chapter Thirty
A week had come and gone, and still Jenny refused to speak with Isaac. Three tolls of the plantation bell rang, marking the supper hour. They had one more chance to gain Jenny’s compliance before Hope’s arrival. This time she would talk, because Mary had thought of a brilliant plan.
While his father and Maribeth waited in the hallway, Hatchet ushered Tobi into the bedroom, directing him to sit before the mirror.
“So I just talk?” the blacksmith asked, licking his lips as he stared at his reflection.
Hatchet sat in a chair, in the back of the room but within line of sight of the mirror. “Yes, sir. Speak from the heart. I can wait outside or sit here quietly. Whichever you prefer.”
“You can stay and hear what I’ve got to say.” Tobi looked around the bedroom for a few seconds before focusing his attention straight ahead on his reflection. “You here with me, Jenny? I’ve sure missed you.”
Nothing happened while Tobi rocked to and fro, waiting.
“Don’t be gettin’ shy on me, like that time you was wearing mud on your face by the river and tried to hide.”
His lips parted in a wide grin. He paused and took in a deep breath, waiting more. Hatchet nodded his encouragement.
“Remember?” Tobi asked. “You cried when I caught you, because you was worried you was ugly. I said you was pretty anyhow, and I meant it. Come on and talk to me. Ain’t never going to have another chance. I’m older and a bit uglier, but I’m Tobi all the same.”
Jenny sidestepped into the mirror, facing backward. “You’re a liar, Tobi Smith! I can see for myself you’re still a handsome man. I’m the ugly one. My face . . . ”
Tears glistened in the blacksmith’s eyes, and he shook his head. “Don’t be silly. You’re always beautiful, even in that burlap sack, because you got a heart of gold.”
She whipped around, her eyes flashing with annoyance. “This isn’t a sack! It’s my best Sunday dress, and you know it.”
He laughed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I do know it, but I got you to turn around, didn’t I?” His fingers stretched out, reaching for her. “Hello, Jenny. I’m so happy to see you.”
As Hatchet watched their fingers join in the mirror, a heavy weight pressed on his chest. This couple shared a special bond, a deep friendsh
ip forged through time. He was an interloper but couldn’t look away.
“I’ve missed you, too, Tobi.” Her lips trembled. “Did you find another nice girl to love?”
“Not yet,” he said with a shrug. “Guess you’re one of a kind. I can’t be happy if you’re not. Maribeth can free your soul from the mirror. Don’t you want to see your family? See them pearly gates in Heaven? Come on, I know you do. Let go of the past!”
She folded her arms, and her jaw tightened. But she didn’t flee. Still, her irritation was palpable. “I can’t! You saw what they did to me. Isaac must pay for a lifetime.”
“Jenny, please listen to me. I was in the big house that night. The soldiers were going to have their way with either Mary and Mrs. Moore or you and your mama. Every father would protect his family!”
She shook her head. “But he didn’t have to make that choice. He could’ve stopped them.”
“We all could’ve stopped them!” Tobi cried, his voice cracking. His body shook as he punched the mattress. “Some of us would’ve died trying, but we outnumbered those soldiers. Don’t you see? I’m as guilty as Isaac, or your cousin Benjamin, or any other man who stood by and watched as those bastards tortured you. If you condemn Isaac, you must condemn me, too.”
Her eyes widened. “No . . . No, Tobi. This wasn’t your fault.”
“My aching heart says it is!” He heaved in a deep breath. “Please, I’m begging for your forgiveness. I wish I could relive that day, ’cuz I would be a better man, a braver man. I would die trying to save you.” Tears streamed down his face, and he wiped at them furiously as he stood to leave. “I’m so sorry, so very sorry I didn’t try.”
He ran toward the door.
“Don’t go!” Jenny said. “Do you hear me, Tobi Smith? Don’t you leave me to face this alone! I’m scared.”
Tobi strode to the mirror and leaned his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be scared. Heaven is a better place, somewhere you can be happy again. That’s all I want for you. Say you forgive me, please. My heart is breaking every day.”
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