The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Kianna

  “That was different. You claim to care about me, but how do I know that? How could I trust you or lie beside you and not think of those you had held in bondage? I could never forgive that myself or you.”

  His frown was fierce and he cursed. “What do you want from me? To apologize for having slaves? I didn’t write the laws, Gracie. Slavery is—was a way of life, and I was only sustaining my home and my father’s legacy.”

  She bristled in that moment, taking exception to the irritation in his tone as she tried to quell her own rising anger. “If you’re trying to justify your way of life to me, Logan, you can save yourself the trouble. Keeping people against their will, telling them how much or how little they can eat, controlling every aspect of their lives is…is repulsive. My father’s back was literally torn apart sustaining your father’s legacy. If that’s the way of life you were fighting for, then I feel sorry for you because that is no way to live.”

  A weighty silence fell between them. His jaw was like granite, but there was a pallor on his face that was unexpected, and concern almost made her go to him. But instead, she turned her back to him and held her pain at bay.

  “I could never marry you, Logan. Now, please just go.”

  Chapter 10

  Damn him.

  It had been two weeks now and she had resigned herself to the fact that he had left Montana. Left without saying goodbye.

  Gracie shook her head at herself. She knew full well how unreasonably she was behaving, but she was angry nonetheless that he was now gone. For good. And could she blame him? She had all but told him, in so many words, to go to hell. Now that he was gone, she was wasting valuable energy pining for him.

  With a small sigh, she carried the empty tankards back to the bar. The crowd was steadily growing at the tavern, and she needed to quickly clear the table and make room for them. She had been lucky to get the job as a barmaid, and especially lucky that Mr. Mercer, her former fiancé’s business partner, was part owner. Evidently she had won his respect by making the trip personally to tell his friend she wouldn’t marry him, and in turn Mr. Mercer had used his influence to get her work. The pay was shoddy, but she had a room upstairs and Mr. Mercer’s influence around the growing town kept the other men from harassing her.

  Though she was grateful for the work, she hated working at a tavern. The stench of alcohol and tobacco made her stomach lurch and served as a constant reminder of a past she wanted badly to forget. The tips were also not coming fast enough for her liking, and she was desperate for the money. The sooner she could make more, the sooner she would have enough saved to pay for her passage back to New York.

  As the crowd grew, Gracie’s movements became more mechanical. Two weeks serving drinks and food had given her a routine that allowed her to move without thinking until she fell in her bed at night from exhaustion. Sometimes she would reread her old letters from home just to keep from thinking of Logan, only to fall into a deep slumber and dream of him.

  Suddenly, Gracie felt the unmistakable sensation of someone watching her. She lifted her eyes from the table she was wiping and made eye contact with familiar amber brown ones.

  Logan.

  His gaze held hers and her stomach fluttered as she stared back at his tired, scruffy face. He sat alone at the far end of the tavern, and she hadn’t realized how much she craved to see a familiar face until that moment.

  Or how much she had craved to see him.

  Her heart thudded in her chest, but she took her time making her way to him. When she finally did, she could see just how weary—and filthy—he was. Not only was his beard overgrown, his hair now curled around his collar, and there were dark smudges on his face.

  “What can I get you, sir?” She winced inwardly at her awkwardly formal request.

  “Can you sit for a spell?” He took her arm and tugged her down on the seat beside him. “Please.”

  Gracie sat down, glancing nervously around the tavern before turning back to him.

  “You look tired,” he said.

  A small smile tugged at her lips. “So do you.”

  He returned her smile though it was just as weary. “I am.”

  “What are you still doing here? I thought you left for Colorado.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been working. I would have come to see you sooner, but today is my first night off.”

  “I haven’t seen you around,” she blurted, revealing to him just how much she had been searching for a glimpse of him. “Where are you working?”

  “I work with Whitaker at his mines half of the week and the other half I wrangle cattle.”

  She frowned. “Why are you working at the mines?” She knew the mines were hard, dangerous work, and she didn’t understand why a man with his experience and background would choose to take on such menial labor.

  He hesitated before he answered, “I’m working to pay off my debt to him.”

  “What debt?” No sooner were the words out of her mouth that it dawned on her. “I thought you paid Mr. Whitaker to cancel my contract.”

  “It wasn’t enough.”

  She shook her head, remembering her last words to him—every harsh word of it. “Logan…about what I said…I didn’t mean to guilt you into doing this.”

  “I put myself in the man’s servitude for you, Gracie. Not out of guilt or obligation, but because I wanted you to be my wife.” He took her hand and held it tight. “I still want you to be my wife.”

  Her heart lurched at his words, but she glanced away from him. “Nothing’s changed, Logan. I’m only here until I can raise enough money to book my passage back to New York.”

  He squeezed her hand gently. “I want to show you something. Will you come with me?”

  Gracie debated it for a moment. It was already hard enough having this brief talk with him now. She didn’t think she could be in his company for much longer and not weaken in her resolve. But if tonight was the last time she would ever get to see him, she wanted to cherish every moment.

  “I have another two hours before my shift ends.”

  “Okay, I’ll wait here.”

  And he did. The sun was barely hanging on before its nightly descent arrived. They walked in silence as Logan brought her to a wide stretch of untended land. She glanced around but couldn’t see anything but dirt and overgrown fields.

  “Logan? What is it you wanted to show me?”

  “This. Yesterday I filled out an application to homestead this land.”

  “You mean all of this land will be yours?”

  He nodded. “Once my contract with Whitaker is over, I’ll be free to work the land and build a home and make it ours.”

  Gracie glanced around the empty plot of land. It was a wide stretch of land, but she could easily envision it as prosperous once tended and cared for. With a few animals and even a modest home, they could make this place flourish.

  Could she truly have that? A real future—a real home—with him?

  “Logan…I’m going back home to New York.”

  “I can’t keep you from leaving, Gracie. But I love you and I don’t want you to go.”

  She released a shuddering breath. Once again, she was torn between what her heart wanted and what her mind reasoned. “I…I don’t know what to do.”

  There was warmth in his eyes when he stared down at her. “It was never my intention to lie to you, angel, but neither did I want my past to come between us. All we can do now is make peace with the past and move forward from it.”

  She stared off into the distance, remembering a similar conversation she’d had with Madeline. Hadn’t she also told the young girl to let go of her past and find happiness in her future? Why couldn’t she heed the same advice?

  “Gracie, we both know that there is a lot of ugliness and darkness in this world. And there are times…” He sighed. “There are times I can’t see my way out of it…and feel lost in it. But all the ugliness we’ve lived through—will live through—won’t change what I feel for you.�
� He cupped her face. “I love you, Gracie, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to light up some of that darkness. That I promise you.”

  She closed her eyes briefly, her heart swelling at his words. I sought the Lord, and he answered me… I pray you find happiness… Her father’s prayer and Madeline’s words echoed in her head, and Gracie’s eyes flung open. She wanted that brighter day. And no matter what their future had in store, she wanted to be with Logan, to be by his side when it came.

  “Will you marry me, Gracie?”

  She stared at him searchingly. “It’s not going to be easy,” she whispered. “People won’t accept us.”

  “No, it won’t be, but that doesn’t change anything.” Tears welled in her eyes and he caught the single tear before it slid down her cheek. “Say you’ll marry me.”

  If this were God’s will to bring Logan into her path, into her life, then she would not turn him away a second time. Love only came to few, and true love only came once.

  She wouldn’t turn her back on love again.

  “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He flashed her a relieved grin then, as quick as lightning, he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her into his arms. They held each for what seemed like forever.

  “If we hurry,” he said close to her ear, “we can catch the reverend before he turns in for the night.”

  “You want to get married tonight?”

  Logan kissed the side of her neck, his beard tickling her skin, and she hugged him close.

  “Yes, angel. I plan to make love to you tonight and I’d like for you to be my wife when I do.”

  Gracie’s face heated, and something light and warm spread inside her. There was something to be said about a man with passion, and her Logan was filled with it. He awoke the same fiery emotions in her that he harbored inside and made her want to demand more out of life.

  She didn’t know what was in store for their future, but she did know that she had just found love with the unlikeliest of men.

  And with Logan she felt beautiful and cherished and simply…amazing.

  Epilogue

  June 19, 1870

  To my dearest Daddy,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I’m writing you from our lovely home in Montana. So much has happened since I last wrote you. Just last month, we welcomed a healthy baby girl, Evelynn Grace Finley. We have gotten accustomed to calling her Evie, and now Elias has a little sister to play with.

  As you know, Logan has been very good to me and our children. He is a great husband, and father, and we are very much in love. I couldn’t be happier. As for the land, we continue to work diligently at it, and in another year, it will be legally ours. I can’t wait for that day.

  With my teachings at the Negro Academy, I had to take a break due to my condition and the harsh winters but that hasn’t stopped me from writing and tutoring some of the young children in the area. I’m also hoping to start a Negro Freedom Day celebration here to rejoice five years of our independence. So far, there has been a great deal of support from the community.

  Many black men and women continue to venture west, and I have met so many different people from all walks of life, including friendly Natives, some Mexicans, and even a few Chinamen. Life on the frontier is beautifully rugged and, at times, dangerously so, but I am proud to call it home.

  Not a day goes by where I don’t think of you and Mama, but I pray every day for your well-being and good health. I’m glad to hear that Junior is growing into a fine young man and I hope life continues to be good to you as it has been for me. I will continue to keep you all in my prayers and hope that you can find some way to come visit me and my growing family.

  Logan sends his regards and, as always, I send you all my love. Please write soon.

  Your loving daughter,

  Gracie M. Finley

  Author’s Note

  Dear reader:

  I hope you enjoyed Gracie and Logan’s story—a romance inspired by real-life interracial couples, Albert and Lucy Parsons (m. 1871) and George and Lucinda Stevens (m. 1872). The Parsons’ and the Stevens’ marriages were just one of many that showed, despite racial strife and the discrimination of their time, love is truly color blind.

  Amazing Grace was written to pay homage to that kind of audacity for love. Though it was a challenging romance for me to write, it was an important one for me to tell because we must never forget our past but learn to forgive the pains suffered for it. Nothing is more freeing.

  All my best,

  Lena ♥

  Select References:

  African American Women of the Old West by Tricia Martineau Wagner

  Black Women of the Old West by William Loren Katz

  Prohibition of Interracial Marriage in Utah by Patrick Q. Mason

  “The Civil War” (documentary) by Ken Burns

  About the Author

  Lena Hart is a Florida native currently living in the Harlem edge of New York City. Though she enjoys reading a variety of romance genres, she mainly writes sensual interracial romances with a flare of suspense and mystery. Her first historical romance novelette, A Sweet Surrender, was featured in the American Revolutionary anthology, For Love & Liberty, and re-released as a standalone. When Lena is not busy writing, she’s reading, researching, or conferring with her muse. To learn more about Lena and her work, visit LenaHartSite.com.

  Sign up for my mailing list.

  Check out my other books.

  Connect with me on…

  Blog • Facebook • Goodreads • Twitter • Web

  Drifting to You

  Kianna Alexander

  During the sultry Carolina summer of 1875, baker Rosaline Rhodes boards a Juneteenth cruise down the Cape Fear River. She’s there to serve her famous cinnamon spice cake; shipbuilder Will Pruett is there for pleasure. They’ve denied their mutual attraction for months, but now the river won’t be the only thing ebbing and flowing.

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Rosaline’s Cinnamon Spice Cake

  Drifting to You

  About the Author

  Dedication

  In Loving Memory of Clyde Lee Bittle

  Beloved Husband, Father, Brother, Uncle and Purveyor of Laughter

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my anthology co-authors for their insightful critiques of this story. I’d also like to thank my mentor and literary mama Beverly Jenkins for taking the time to research and write a wonderful foreword for this collection.

  As always, all my love to my readers who have been following my career and supporting my work, whether you’ve been with me from the beginning, or have just discovered me. Thank you for giving your time to my work; I’m honored by that.

  Rosaline’s Cinnamon Spice Cake

  3/4 cup dark brown sugar

  1/4 cup shortening

  1 egg

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1/2 cup milk

  1 cup flour

  1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

  1/4 teaspoon salt

  2 tablespoons butter, softened

  6 tablespoons powdered sugar

  2 teaspoons cinnamon

  1 teaspoon nutmeg

  Preheat oven to 375°F.

  Cream shortening and sugar until light and fluffy. Add 1 egg, beat well. Add vanilla and nutmeg to milk and stir in.

  Sift together flour, baking powder and salt. Add to above mixture. Beat until smooth, about 1 minute.

  Grease and lightly flour a round 9 inch cake pan or 8 inch square pan.

  Spread batter evenly and bake for 20-25 minutes or until tooth pick inserted in center comes out clean.

  Remove from oven and spread immediately with butter. Sift powdered sugar and cinnamon over cake. Serve warm.

  Drifting to You

  June, 1875

  Fayetteville, NC

  Rosaline Rhodes pulled her aging buggy into an empty space along Hay Street and set t
he handbrake. The soft pink of dawn still hung overhead, heralding the rising sun. It was Friday morning, the eighteenth of June and today she would tackle the biggest job she’d ever been assigned.

  She climbed down from the buggy, planting her feet on the firm surface of the cobbled road and circling around the rear of the wagon to the plank walk. As she strolled toward the Market House, which was just opening for the day, she silently listed the things she needed for today’s task: five pounds of flour, two pounds of sugar, and several sticks of cinnamon bark.

  During the dark days of slavery, Rosaline had been owned by the Widow Phoebe Rhodes, an old pillar of county society. She’d served as cook on the Rhodes spread since the tender age of twelve, and had demonstrated a special talent for baking. Since the day she and the other captives at the plantation were freed, she’d set her efforts on honing and improving that talent. Now, nearly a decade later, her sweet treats were in high demand in Fayetteville and many of the surrounding townships.

  She eased up the walk until she approached the gatekeeper, who busied himself swinging open the heavy iron gates that secured the Market House when closed. Offering a nod to her, the guard set the gates in their open position and stepped aside so she could enter.

  The structure had two stories. The lower floor was an open air pavilion, while the upper floor was enclosed. She never been up the stairs to the upper floor, and hadn’t any idea what was up there. She had, on occasion, seen council members and other people of high position coming and going from the upstairs.