Patricia Hagan

by Loves Wine

  He waved impatiently. “Forget that, damn it! It’s not important. Tell me what happened last night. I don’t have all day.”

  She told him, bluntly, angrily, all she remembered, and when she finished he asked her to repeat the part about the man recognizing her. She obliged reluctantly.

  “And you’re sure he’s the one who spoke to you earlier about helping him and his men?”

  “Yes. I think I heard one of them call him ‘Barney.’” She stood. “I can’t remember anything else, and I do have things to do. I would like to go to your post and collect my belongings,” she added sarcastically.

  Suddenly, he grinned, warmly. “I’ll have one of my men bring your horse and gun, Holly. I wouldn’t want to cause you any difficulty.”

  “How thoughtful,” she snapped. “Now please go, Colonel.” She walked to the door and stood there waiting while he, with insolent slowness, adjusted his scabbard, dusted at an imaginary spot on his dark blue coat, then made his way toward her. He paused and gave her a taunting smile. “Don’t fret too much over Lisa Lou, Holly. I’m just marking time with her until you grow up.” He patted her cheek.

  She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare touch me, Scott Colter, ever again.”

  He grabbed her, pulling her against him as he kissed her. He released her after a long kiss and chuckled, “When are you going to grow up and admit this is what you want, little spitfire?”

  “How…how dare you?” she sputtered.

  He gave her a mischievous wink. “I dare, Holly—that and much more. It was good, wasn’t it? All of it.”

  He turned and left, and she fought back the impulse to run after him and tell him a few harsh truths. Damn the man! He was arrogant and conceited and thought every woman in the world swooned over him. But she was not like other women. She was proud of that.

  And someday, she vowed furiously, she would make him sorry he’d treated her so casually. Pride demanded she make him pay.

  Chapter Twelve

  Holly scattered corn, watching the clucking chickens as they fluttered and fought over their food.

  She wiped sweat from her face with the back of her hand, glad she always took the time to braid her hair so it wouldn’t be clinging to her. It was the time of dog days, so-called, and the weather was terribly humid. She recalled learning long ago in school that these hot days were named after Sirius, the Dog Star, which rose and set with the sun in July and early August. Well, she thought wearily, the middle of August was almost here, so it was time for that star to go somewhere else.

  Mosquitoes hovered above the sleepy waters of the slough, and a bullfrog jumped up onto a rotting stump as Holly watched. Frogs and turtles abounded there. How she hated eating them for supper, but she’d learned to make do. She had no choice.

  Things had not been going well for her. Money was scarce. Rain was scarce. The late garden of snap beans and sweet potatoes was parching. The fish had quit biting. Even night shrimping was bad. Too many times the fishermen who took her nets to the Gulf in exchange for half the catch returned to say her nets had been pulled up empty, as had theirs.

  No matter, she admonished herself, she was living the way she wanted to live, as a free spirit. She’d kept her promise to herself and her promise to Grandpa.

  Things were going well for her mother, and Holly was glad about that. Every Sunday afternoon, Claudia and Jarvis visited her, bringing fried chicken, potato salad, and usually a cake or pie. Always there were fresh vegetables. Holly protested, but they insisted.

  She was amazed to know how quickly Magnolia Hall was being rebuilt. She had to give Jarvis credit, too. Hiring nearly fifty people to get the place built fast meant lots of Negroes and whites were employed who otherwise would not have been.

  Holly had not returned to Vicksburg since that last trip, but her mother was only too eager to keep her well informed. Her favorite topic was Lisa Lou Pollock. “That girl always did have her way about everything,” she’d said on her most recent visit. “She chases after Roger because he’s rich, and she chases after Colonel Colter because he’s handsome.”

  Holly hadn’t responded, so her mother prodded. “Don’t you agree? He is handsome. Those eyes, why, a woman could drown in them.”

  “Mother, really! I wish you could hear yourself, prattling on about the man like…a giddy schoolgirl.”

  Her mother smiled knowingly. “Why, Holly, you’re angry. Perhaps you’re jealous, too.”

  Holly kept a rein on her tongue. She hadn’t seen Scott and she was glad. Neil Davis had been out several times on patrol, always happy to see her. Holly liked him. He was nothing like Scott. Far too nice for comparison.

  One Sunday Claudia and Jarvis arrived in a new, large carriage. The driver was a young Negro named Norman Grady. He and Sally had met that day, and now they spent every possible moment together. Norman was working at Magnolia Hall as a groomsman, preparing the newly built stables for the fine stock of horses Jarvis was buying. It seemed Sally was over there all the time now. Oh, Sally still made time to do her share of chores, but Holly was a little sad to see her moving closer to Norman, because she knew Sally would leave her soon.

  It was funny, but she and Sally talked easily about slavery, about the plight of the freed Negroes, about the Night Hawks. But they shied away from discussing their early lives. It was as though neither was willing to part with the only precious thing she had left—memories, personal memories. All had shared equally in the horrors of the war just recently over, and all shared equally in poverty and exhaustion. But a person’s life before the war was his own to keep, and since it was all he had left, most chose not to talk about it. Talking might loosen the boundaries people had constructed around their pasts. Better to leave the past intact by leaving it alone.

  On the whole, Holly was glad to have Sally there. She was good company. She worked hard. And when she sensed that Holly wanted to be alone, she let her be.

  The sound of a horse approaching brought Holly out of her reverie, and she went around the cabin, smiling, ready to see Sally and Norman. She had caught a big catfish that morning and planned to make a delicious stew, with hand-rolled dumplings. There was plenty if Norman wanted to stay. Holly knew he wanted to.

  But it was Roger Bonham, dismounting from a magnificent black stallion. Impeccable, as always, he was wearing red riding breeches and a white, ruffled shirt. He smiled confidently, and began walking briskly toward her, his black knee-boots gleaming.

  “Roger, whatever brings you out here?” she asked in a lusterless tone.

  He grasped her hand and kissed her fingertips, then pretended to glower at her. “I didn’t trust myself to come out before this. I’ve been so angry with you for running out on me, I’d have turned you over my knee and spanked you.” He smiled. “I was hurt. But I’ve also had a lot of business to tend to.” He glanced around, then looked back at her. “I came out to ask if you’re going to allow me to escort you this weekend.”

  Holly pursed her lips. The wedding. She hadn’t let herself think about it very much. “Are there many parties planned? I should remember, but I don’t. Mother talks about it, but I must admit she goes on so that my mind wanders.” It was true. Claudia was excited all the time, and she made Holly nervous.

  Roger assured her that many activities were being planned. “I stopped by to see Claudia before I left, and she said to tell you she’s expecting you this week for final fittings on your gowns. She also said to tell you she was ordering you to let me escort you this weekend,” he added, grinning confidently. “So why don’t you make me a happy man and say yes?”

  Holly stared down at her hands, blistered and callused. She looked a sight, but there was Roger, asking her anyway. A myriad of parties to face… “I don’t know. I—to be honest, I thought I’d just go to the wedding. I haven’t given any thought to anything else.”

  “Your mother would be so hurt, Holly. She wants her happiness to include you.” He rushed on to another subject. “Have you been t
o see Magnolia Hall lately? It’s magnificent. Father’s calling it the palace Claudia was meant to live in.”

  “I’ve been too busy, Roger. I still am. I don’t see how I can get away for more than a day, really.” He frowned, and because she knew she was being cruel to her mother, she gave in. “I’ll go with you, Roger. Thank you.”

  “Wonderful!” he cried. “We’ll have a marvelous time, I promise. Now then,” he suddenly became serious. “How have things been going for you here? I haven’t heard of any more trouble. Is everything all right?”

  She shrugged, uncomfortable. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her, so…so intensely. “It’s hard work, but I’m managing. There hasn’t been any more trouble. The army comes out on patrol now and then, but lately they haven’t been here as often. I think everything has calmed down.”

  He stared at her in silence awhile. “You haven’t forgotten my offer, have you? I’ll give you a fair price for your land, Holly. A beautiful woman like you shouldn’t be out here living like this, worrying constantly and—”

  “Enough!” She forced a smile, trying to be jovial. Oh, how she hated to discuss her personal life. “I am doing fine, Roger, and if we’re to enjoy ourselves this weekend, I must ask that there be no more talk like this. I don’t like it.”

  Something flickered in his eyes and, in a moment, was gone. She stepped away.

  “Very well, Holly. Just remember I’m here if you need me, all right?”

  “I’m grateful,” she responded, feeling guilty because she wasn’t at all grateful.

  They turned at the sound of hoofbeats, and Holly was delighted to see Norman. Sally was behind him, on the horse’s rump, her arms tight about his waist, face pressed dreamily against Norman’s shoulders.

  “Does he hang around here very much?” Roger asked quietly.

  Holly told him the story, finishing, “Sally’s making a pest of herself at Magnolia Hall, I’m afraid. She’s over there constantly. She says she’s helping Mother, and I’m sure she is, but it’s Norman she goes there for. Isn’t it wonderful? They make such a nice couple.” She hurried over to greet them. “Norman, can you stay for supper? I’m making catfish stew.”

  Norman gave her a happy grin of acceptance, but the expression disappeared the moment he saw Roger Bonham glaring at him. “I…I don’t know,” he said hesitantly.

  Roger nodded to him curtly. “I think you better get back now, Norman. I’m on my way there, and I want to talk to you about a horse coming in this week.” He turned to Holly, suddenly brusque. “I’ll be in touch. Your mother will be delighted to hear she can count on you sharing her happiness this weekend.”

  He mounted his horse and, without a backward glance, rode away.

  “I better go,” Norman said, twisting around to help Sally alight. He looked apologetically at Holly. “Thanks, ma’am. Another time, I’d be delighted.”

  After he’d gone, Holly echoed her disappointment to Sally. “I wanted him to stay.”

  Sally shrugged. “Well, the way Mastah Roger was lookin’ at us, it’s probably best Norman just went on and did what he was told. You know”—she shot her a meaningful glance—“there are folks who don’t approve of me livin’ here with you. Mastah Roger is probably one of ’em. Me and Norman was talkin’ about it on the way over here. It’s not a good thing.”

  “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?” Holly asked.

  Sally looked down at the ground. “Yes’m. I guess. Your mama asked me today if I’d go to work for her. I think I should.” She lifted pleading eyes. “Don’t you be mad with me now and think I ain’t grateful for what you’ve done for me. I am. But I been thinkin’ how I might bring trouble down on you by stayin’ here. Besides, you ain’t got a whole lot. You share your food with me times when you ain’t got enough for yourself.”

  Holly snapped, “Really, Sally, if it’s Norman, if you’re wanting to move over there to be close to him, then say so. Don’t make excuses.”

  Sally followed her inside, her brown cheeks glowing with a pinkish hue. She understood Holly’s pride. Holly didn’t want to give in to “trouble.” “He’s gonna ask me to marry him, I know he is. Maybe I feel stronger about him than he does me, right now, but I want to be around so’s he won’t forget me.”

  Holly picked up a long-handled cooking spoon and stirred the bubbling stew. “I won’t try to talk you out of it, Sally,” she told her, “but just remember, you are not a burden to me here. I’m glad to have your company, and I’ll share with you whatever I have.”

  “I know that, I know that,” Sally said quickly. “I just want to be closer to Norman. And I am worried you might have trouble on account of me. A nigra livin’ with a white woman—oh, that ain’t looked on well by lots of folks.”

  Suddenly Holly slammed her palms down on the table with a resounding smack. “Don’t do this to me, Sally,” she told her firmly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid to stay here. It sickens me to hear such a thing. I can live as I choose and so can you. There is nothing to fear!”

  Sally dropped her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Holly plunged on. “I might suggest, too, that it pays to keep a man guessing. You’re making your feelings too obvious by going over there to be close to him.”

  Sally lifted her gaze challengingly. “Is that why you ain’t got a man? ’Cause you don’t know much about it?” There was good humor in her eyes. “You’re so pretty,” Sally was quick to tell her. “What I mean is, I know you ain’t in love with nobody. Like that soldier, the one with the pretty blue eyes? He comes by here and you can tell he’s just waitin’ for you to act like you’re interested, but you don’t. You ain’t even wantin’ Mastah Roger to come callin’.”

  “Sally, really!” Holly faced her, hands on her hips. Despite her agitation, however, she couldn’t help but be amused by the girl’s concern. “When I decide I need a man in my life, I promise you’ll be the first to know. So can we change the subject now?”

  Sally turned away, a little sorry she had intruded. There was, she knew, a deep secret her friend was harboring. Maybe when she discovered what it was, then she would understand why Holly closed her heart to love.

  It was late, and Holly tossed and turned restlessly on the fragrant, but lumpy, pine-straw mattress. “What is wrong with me,” she whispered out loud, hearing Sally’s gentle breathing from the other side of the room. She couldn’t sleep, though she’d spent the day working hard. The moon was high, casting silver light across the room, and still she was wide awake.

  She remembered, for some strange reason, whole evenings from the past, evenings of parties at their house or a neighbor’s house, maybe the John Tollitson place, which was four miles away from Magnolia Hall and older by a generation. In some lovely setting or other her mother would dance with her father, and Holly would be so proud of them, the handsomest couple in Mississippi. She would spend most of the evening with her friends, her girlfriends, talking about schools they might be going to or places they might soon visit with their parents. Later in the evening, she would dance with a boy, hesitantly, feeling just plain silly, and then go back to the group of girls by the piano.

  What was strange, Holly thought, lying under her grandfather’s comforters and looking out the window into the dark skies, was that whole evenings from a past she’d never see again should come flooding back to her without her wanting them to, whole evenings of happy times gone for good. It was an extra piece of torture, unfair and astonishingly cruel.

  She got up and padded across the floor, quietly unlocking and opening the door, stepping outside into the gentle night. Lifting her face to the sweeping canopy of stars, she wondered what it was she felt eluding her. What, precisely, did she long for?

  As quietly as the night wind, dark eyes beckoned. Smiling, teasing lips called to her. Strong arms folded her against a naked chest. Memories. She had only to close her eyes to see Scott Colter as clearly as though he was there.

  Her fingertips instincti
vely touched her lips, and, for an instant, she could feel the warmth of his seeking mouth against hers. Damn, why couldn’t she let her heart go? Why couldn’t she give in to the restless spirit stirring within? Aching to break free? Why couldn’t she run to him?

  Lost in sweet memories that would not be denied, she failed to hear the stirring in the woods beyond, to see the man stealthily making his way across the yard.

  He moved to the end of the porch and stepped silently over the railing. Only when he was right behind her, did she sense him.

  His hands closed around her throat, stifling her scream. He leaned forward, so close she could feel his sour breath corning from the slit in his white hood. “No need to struggle. This time, bitch, you ain’t got no gun.”

  He lifted her from the porch, dragging her across the yard. She struggled futilely, her feet kicking up dust. She felt herself slipping away as the pressure on her throat increased. Then, just as she was about to pass out, he released her, quickly stuffing a rag in her mouth.

  He flung her to the ground and she lay there, fighting to breathe around the gag as he roughly jerked her hands behind her back and tied her wrists.

  She saw the others then, all wearing the ominous-looking white robe and white hood. They formed a ring around her, and one spoke. “We ain’t puttin’ up with what you’re doin’ out here, Holly Maxwell, lettin’ a nigger wench live with you like she was white. We’re gonna show you what we do to trash like you and that nigger.”

  Tied, she watched in helpless horror as two of them ran to the woods, emerging with a large, wooden cross. One of them quickly dug a hole, and when he was done, the cross was set upright.

  The sky exploded in a brilliant blaze of golds, reds, blues, and greens as they set a torch to the cross. The fire against the black Mississippi night sky was awesome.

  She struggled frantically to maneuver herself back, away from the wildly leaping flames, but she froze when a scream tore through the night. Sally was being dragged from the cabin, her own shrieking muffled against a gag.