A Reluctant Belle

by Beth White

  Joelle’s capitulation to his scheme was a bit more puzzling. From something Selah had mentioned, Joelle’s opinion had tipped her agreement to the joint venture Levi proposed. Every time Schuyler tried to bring up the subject with Joelle, though, she’d give him one of those dreamy stares involving not a whit of mental engagement and start rattling about some antiquarian topic in which he had no interest whatsoever—until she said something contrarian and ridiculous, forcing him to disagree. And then they’d be off on a perverse and mentally stimulating discussion which he could barely keep up with, but which inevitably took at least an hour of his valuable time.

  He shook his head. Joelle and her ten-dollar words and convoluted sentences.

  Aurora, living in Memphis with her grandparents at the time and apparently not a voting party in the deal he’d struck with Selah, had at first seemed a nonentity. But Grandmama. Oh yes, Mrs. Winnie McGowan, matriarch of the family, had determined to interject herself in the project, presumably with the idea of stopping it.

  Miss Winnie and Aurora had made the trip by train from Memphis, and Schuyler, coming from Oxford, just happened to arrive at the Tupelo station at the same time. Aware of the old lady’s soft spot for him, he’d offered the use of his hired carriage, and by the time they’d arrived at Ithaca, he’d used every ounce of charm he possessed to outflank her opposition to Daughtry House Hotel. Aurora, whom he’d last met as a dimpled, chubby preteen, had turned into quite a lovely and fashionable Titian-haired belle. Too young and giggly for Schuyler’s personal taste, but a useful advocate in skirmishes with the older, more prickly and suspicious sisters.

  This balancing act of playing the foolish young entrepreneur and hopeful politician had become quite the challenge. He risked not only his business reputation but the regard of people like Doc, whose opinion mattered. Despite Levi and Jamie’s warnings, he had no real fear for his life. The fact that he’d managed to escape all manner of hair-raising adventures during the war implied that God was on his side.

  Wasn’t that the way it worked? He called himself a Christian, gave the occasional offering at church, made an appearance at services when it was convenient. Of course no one lived forever, but he saw no reason to expect his life to be cut short anytime soon.

  Before he could mentally delve further into the conundrum that was his father’s sudden and violent demise, he heard the rumble of wheels on tracks. The approaching train released an earsplitting whistle and chugged into view.

  Charm on, Beaumont, he told himself, straightening away from the post he’d been slouched against. One thing at a time. Do what you do best. He took off his hat, smoothed his rumpled hair, and put it back on. The opera star’s presence could be a valuable advertisement for the hotel.

  Joelle stood in an open window of the cupola, looking out toward the front yard and down the drive path to the gate. Any moment now, Schuyler would be arriving with their first wave of guests.

  There was so much to do, getting ready for company. She and Selah and Aurora had risen at dawn to help the maids finish putting fresh linens on all the beds, dust the furniture, sweep the floors, and clean windows. Horatia and Mose had arrived shortly thereafter to work in the kitchen and garden. Food would be a critical part of the success of this party.

  Now it was nearly noon, and Selah said they were as ready as it was possible to be at this short notice.

  Maybe so, but Joelle would never feel prepared for the strain of entertaining. What if Delfina, who had traveled all over the world and was used to the best, didn’t like her accommodations? What if she was bored? What if she went away telling everyone she met that Daughtry House was just a provincial monstrosity of a place in the middle of nowhere? Why on earth had Joelle thought it would be a good idea to present Negro former slaves as entertainment for a visiting opera singer?

  She leaned out the window, relishing the breeze and the dizzying drop to the ground three stories below. Usually she could come up here and find a little solitude. Selah had always been afraid of heights and truly hated the place since their father’s death. Aurora had somehow got it into her head that the honeybees they’d once found here might come back.

  Joelle preferred to think of it as her personal tower, her place of refuge. As a little girl, she’d pretended to be Rapunzel tossing her golden locks down to the prince below. Now, of course, she was long past such nonsense. A man was a man—one no better than another—and princes only existed inside books. No one was going to rescue her.

  A faint cloud of dust kicked up in her peripheral vision, from the direction of town, and she sighed. Her moment of reflection had come to an end. She had started to turn for the stairs leading through the attic and down to the second floor, when she saw that the arrival was a lone horseman. That couldn’t be Schuyler with the carriage. Intrigued, she stayed at the window, watching the rider approach. As he got to the gate, she recognized the military posture, the erect carriage of his head.

  “Levi!” She ran for the stairs.

  By the time she made it to the ground floor, Levi had dismounted and Selah had launched herself at her husband, making Joelle witness to an extravagant and unbridled display of affection between her sister and brother-in-law. She stood there on the porch, unashamedly gawking. Rather than making her uncomfortable, the embrace left her aching with emptiness. She couldn’t imagine feeling that glad to see Gil Reese.

  “All right, all right,” she said, descending the porch steps. “It’s only been a week!”

  Levi reluctantly let Selah drop to the ground, his grin creasing one lean cheek. “A very long week.” He kissed Selah’s forehead and released her. “Is Wyatt somewhere around here to water this nag?”

  “I’ll take him.” Aurora had come out of the house behind Joelle and pushed past to run her hand over the black gelding’s glossy neck. “Is he yours?” she asked Levi. “Good-looking horse for a hired mount.”

  “Yes, I bought him in Meridian. His name is Amadeus.”

  Aurora rolled her eyes. “Only you would name your horse after a crazy Austrian piano-plinker.” Taking the reins, she led the horse away toward the rear of the house, cooing to her charge as they went out of earshot.

  Levi picked up the hat Selah had knocked to the ground in her enthusiasm, batting it against his leg to remove the dust. “Hello, little sister,” he said to Joelle. “I was hoping you’d be around.”

  Levi was one of the few people of Joelle’s acquaintance to call her “little” anything. Laughing, she gave him a quick hug, then followed the newlyweds into the house. “You two would probably like some time to yourselves,” she said fondly. “Why don’t you go into the parlor while I fix us something to drink?”

  “I’m much more in need of a bath, I’m afraid,” Levi said, giving Selah an apologetic look, “but coffee would be welcome.”

  Joelle took her time brewing coffee and collecting a tray for the dishes. Deliberately rattling cups against saucers to announce her presence, she entered the parlor. She found her sister seated primly beside her husband, smoothing her skirts.

  “There you are!” Selah said, blushing.

  “Indeed. Here I am.” Joelle set the tray on a table. “I trust I allowed enough time for everyone to get properly reacquainted.”

  Levi’s and Selah’s eyes met with a look that made Joelle feel both left out and full of joy for her sister’s happiness. Levi picked up Selah’s hand with casual intimacy. “We’ll get to that later. Sit down, Jo. I need to talk to you.”

  Uh-oh. A request to talk to her generally indicated something unpleasant on the horizon. “What about?”

  Selah laughed. “Don’t worry, you haven’t forgotten anything or burned anything.” She tilted her head. “At least, have you?”

  “Not that I know of.” Joelle sat on the edge of a chair, prepared to bolt. “At least not today. What’s the matter?”

  Levi’s gaze was level. “I’ve discussed this with Selah, and she believes you can be trusted with . . . delicate informa
tion.”

  Unsure what was expected of her, Joelle nodded. “Of course I can. Go on.”

  “Very well, then. If you’re interested in a little assignment, I’m in need of your writing skills.”

  “What kind of assignment?” She frowned at Levi. “Did you tell her—”

  “Joelle, I’ve known for some time you’ve been writing for the newspaper.” Selah wrinkled her nose. “You start purchasing things like dress fabric without asking for money. It has to come from somewhere, and I know you’re not a thief. How else are you earning it, if not by writing?”

  “Well, I—well, I—” Joelle gulped her coffee and winced. She’d forgotten to put any sugar in it. “Maybe I did. It’s not a crime. But I asked him not to tell anybody.”

  “We don’t keep things from each other, Jo,” Selah said soothingly. “I promise, it’s just between us.”

  Joelle looked from Selah to Levi. It was rather flattering that her clever brother-in-law needed her help. Finally curiosity won. “What sort of assignment?” she repeated. “Is it related to a case you’re working on?”

  “Not directly.” Levi leaned back against the sofa and crossed one ankle over the other knee. “I want you to write an article announcing Schuyler’s campaign for Congress.”

  Write a whole article about Schuyler Beaumont? “Why? Is he involved in some illegal scheme?” She wouldn’t have thought so, but his whole demeanor had been decidedly odd ever since his father’s funeral. Yesterday at Shug and India’s cabin, he’d been his normal argumentative self, but there’d been a sort of frenetic energy to his movements and tone of voice. A lot like during the meal just before he’d pushed her away.

  “Of course not,” Levi said, chuckling. “But his candidacy has a good chance of helping me unearth some information I want, and I’d appreciate any support you can drive his way.”

  She’d promised Reverend Boykin she’d be a truth speaker. “Levi, I am a reporter. I have to write the facts.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “I would have to interview him.”

  Levi’s dimple appeared briefly. “Yes, I imagine you will. The two of you usually don’t lack for anything to talk about.”

  “It’s not that.” Joelle didn’t know how to explain her reluctance to solicit information from a man who had told her, in no uncertain terms, he wanted nothing else to do with her. She sighed. “I suppose you want me to make him sound like an upstanding candidate.”

  “That would be helpful—but as you say, within the bounds of truth.”

  Could he be any more cryptic? “Levi, what is going on? I don’t like working blind.”

  Levi shrugged. “For now you’re going to have to trust me.”

  Levi she trusted. But Schuyler was another story entirely.

  sixteen

  SHOULDERING THE LAST OF DELFINA’S LARGE TRUNKS, Schuyler started the trek from the front of the house—currently a beehive of noise and activity, due to Daughtry House’s sudden explosion of paying customers—up the marble porch steps and into the rotunda. Shifting his load to a more comfortable position, he heaved a breath and took on the grand spiral staircase. Transportation from the station out to the hotel had been a challenge, since General and Mrs. Forrest and her maid, plus the Fabio and her retinue, had all arrived on the same train. To no one’s particular surprise, Jefcoat and Hixon had also appeared as if by magic—probably drawn, Schuyler thought cynically, by the word “party,” like flies to an open bowl of fruit.

  He’d had to foot the bill for an extra carriage, which was going to seriously cut into profits. Selah wasn’t going to like that, but what choice did he have? And the Italian songbird had insisted on sitting beside him the whole way, clinging to his arm and seriously hampering his ability to control the horses. General Forrest had driven the second carriage, with Hixon and Jefcoat bouncing on the rear seat, singing a bawdy song that undoubtedly scandalized Mrs. Forrest. Her lips were certainly drawn into a straight line by the time they pulled up at Daughtry House—and not a moment too soon.

  Schuyler found Selah on the second-story landing, scowling at one of her ubiquitous lists. He set down the trunk and moved to peer over her shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

  “Two extra men,” she muttered. “This is a disaster.”

  “Let me see.” He took the paper, which turned out to be a sketched map of the hotel’s room layout.

  She had put the Forrests in the downstairs master suite, Delfina and her maid in the first bedroom on the second floor. Manager Poldi Volker took the second, with Hixon and Jefcoat sharing the third. Selah and Levi, current resident managers, had the remaining room, leaving the rest of the family in their quarters in the remodeled outbuildings—the unmarried women in the manager’s cottage and Wyatt in the old overseer’s cabin.

  Schuyler rattled the sketch. “I hesitate to mention this, but I’m the only person without a place to sleep. Are you banishing me to the stable?”

  Selah put her hands on her hips, her warm brown eyes sparking with humor. “I had assumed you’d go back to your hotel room in town.”

  He gave her his best wounded look. “And miss all the fun?”

  “Well, you could sleep in the schoolroom or roll up in a blanket on the porch if you like. Levi did that a time or two before we married.”

  “What you’re telling me is that a man has to pay or marry into the family in order to rate a bedroom. Hmm. There are only two Daughtry girls left. Which one do you recommend?”

  Selah rewarded him with a ferocious frown. “Joelle is spoken for, and you’d best leave Aurora alone, if you know what’s good for you, Schuyler Beaumont.”

  He stepped back, hands in the air. “I’m joking, for heaven’s sake. Put away the teeth, Mama Bear.”

  She made a shooing motion. “Go find someone else to pester. Go charm the diva. I’m busy.”

  “The diva gives me a twitch.” Having successfully gotten a rise out of the unflappable Selah, he realized there was one person missing from the usual welcoming committee. “Speaking of Joelle, perhaps I’ll pester her. Where is she?”

  Selah was clearly more concerned about housing assignments than Schuyler’s boredom at the moment. “Writing somewhere, I think. Sometimes she hides in the cupola. Sometimes she locks herself in her bedroom. I don’t know, Schuyler. If you’re not going to be useful, go look for her.”

  “All right, all right.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, he peered up the attic stairs. If Joelle was writing, she wouldn’t want to be interrupted. Besides, as he belatedly remembered, he’d told her he wouldn’t be seeking further tête-à-têtes with her. “On second thought, I’d better make sure Jefcoat and Hixon are staying out of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” Selah gave him a startled look. “What do you mean?”

  He laughed and waved over his shoulder as he ran down the stairs.

  Back in the rotunda, he could hear the women gabbling from the parlor—Aurora’s light giggle, Delfina’s sultry Italian accent, Mrs. Forrest’s matronly voice, ThomasAnne’s breathy gush, all accompanied by the musical chink of teacups in saucers. That way lay a trap into which no sane man would voluntarily stick his head.

  Levi must have taken retreat as the better part of valor and hustled the men outdoors. Schuyler turned into the breezeway and out the back door.

  On the porch, he let out a halloo.

  Wyatt’s curly brown mop poked through the barn’s open door. “We’re out here, Mr. Schuyler!” the boy called. “General Forrest asked for a tour of the grounds.”

  Schuyler waved and headed across the yard. He passed the pagoda, its columns and furniture freshened with paint and judicious placement of flowers, then the two-story icehouse. To his right lay the manager’s cottage, where the family had lived since the end of the war—the main house being uninhabitable until Schuyler’s money—well, technically his credit—pumped new life into the old place.

  That was something he supposed he could be proud of. He’d given the
Daughtry women a way to resurrect their self-respect by supporting themselves, and enabled them to hire nearly two dozen out-of-work former slaves. And in the process he’d made himself some friends. Levi and Doc had become mentors and comrades, Wyatt like a younger brother. The women, of course, had always been family—if, at times, of a distant and somewhat contentious variety. In fact, to his surprise, he realized that Daughtry House felt more like home than Beaumont House in Mobile. He might not own it outright, but he’d invested much more than his finances here. He suspected that his heart and purpose in life might actually be found in the soul of this place.

  On that maudlin note, he passed from bright open sunlight into the barn. He found the tack room door open, with the four men—Levi, Forrest, Jefcoat, and Hixon—and Wyatt inside examining the hunting rifles kept in a case there. Most of the guns had belonged to old Colonel Daughtry, God rest his soul, but Schuyler saw his own Yellow Boy in General Forrest’s hands.

  Forrest looked around as Schuyler’s shadow fell into the room. “This yours, boy?”

  “Yes, sir. My father gave it to me a few years ago.”

  Forrest hefted the rifle, pulled it up against his shoulder. “It’s a good old gun.”

  “It is.” Schuyler took it from the general and swept his hand down its gunmetal receiver and smooth wooden stock. “We’ll arrange a hunting party next week, if you like.”

  “Bear?” The general’s face lit with interest.

  “If you want,” Wyatt said. “There’s a mean one that took out a cow a couple days ago. I like to hunt coons at night too, though.”

  “We’ve some good hunting dogs out in the kennel,” Levi said. “Wyatt’s been training them.”

  “Where’d you get that accent, son?” the general asked Levi as the group left the barn and headed for the kennel. “You one of those doggone Yankees that tore up our Mississippi rail lines during the war?”

  The tic that sometimes appeared in Levi’s jaw when he was tweaked about his clipped speech pattern jumped violently. Forrest was more abrasive than most, but it seemed to Schuyler that Riggins had something of more substance against the general than just a friendly dig.