I feel for that man, I do. He’s rich as sin, and he’s lost every last person he loved, except for that little baby boy. And in sparing that little baby boy from man’s sinful destruction, God is merciful.
Marley reached for a tissue and wiped her cheeks. Each time she read this, the story of loss broke her heart all over again.
July 9, 1746
I have just wondrous news, the kind so good you want to blurt it right out. But Mr. Hastings he says it makes for a better journal if you say these things in time order. He has a pretty word for it, but I forget it.
Mr. Hastings gave us leave for the funeral. The saddest part to me was, there wasn’t no bodies to bury. Dan, he says the fire must’ve been that hot.
Some wagging tongues are saying awful things, that they didn’t die at all in the fire, that they ran away. Do they think Old Nate is bearing tales? Do they think poor old Mr. Thomas would have been carrying on so, if they didn’t die there? ’Tis not a decent way to talk about the dead.
Poor Little Sukey, she dreamed Miss Emily came to visit last night. She woke up talking about her just as if she’d just left the house. “Don’t worry, Mamma, she be all right now. She in a better time.”
But the best news of all came after the funeral, when Mr. Hastings came to visit us in the cabins. I wish I could get down all the words he said, he’s such a pretty talker. I reckon I’ll use my own words.
Well, he says, Mr. Grey left behind some papers. In it, he wrote a message to every last one of us workers. He said he was sorry. Sorry for enslaving us. Sorry for keeping all the money he said we rightly earned over the years. And he said things that you could tell Mr. Hastings didn’t want to read, the way he got real quiet and had a hard time speaking. (I won’t embarrass Mr. Hastings about this, case anybody else reads this, so we’ll just leave it at that.)
But he did say Mr. Hastings was a smart man and thanks to God for that. Mr. Grey left so much for us, you see. He gave us our freedom, though he said he never had a right to keep it from us to begin with. He gave us each a little bit of that money back, and said he wished it was more, but that the wealth was in our homes, in Rosalie. So he gave us our homes, and the land here on Rosalie, and he gave us all jobs, as long as we want to live here. And we’ll be paid for it, Mr. Hastings says.
And he’s made my Dan the new overseer, except he calls him a foreman.
He’s also made me the new school mistress. Now that’s the blind leading the blind, but I’m trying hard to learn.
I don’t know how to explain to my children what this all means. But I know it is right that a man, and a woman, too, is born owing nothing to nobody except God, who gave us life. I remember now when Camisha told me what it was like being a free woman. You just decide what you want, and then you work hard to get it, she said. It seemed like a puzzle to me.
Now I think when you become a free woman, you become in your heart the real person, the full person, God made. Because I decided what I want, and it was easy as looking up and seeing the sky for the first time.
I want my little Sukey to go to school and be smart like Camisha. I want my little Dan to grow up and be strong and seek God, like his father, and to work like Ashanti for the freedom for other people, other little children like him.
Dan and I and all the other plantation workers have made a decision to honor this day and the man who gave us our freedom by taking his name. A lot of workers have the surname of cruel men who work them hard, till they die in the field. Mr. Trelawney was a good and fair man, and he took people with all kinds of scars from all kinds of plantations and he made us a family.
Today, we are now all the Trelawneys of Williamsburg.
I praise God for this day of freedom, this exalted day. I will never forget this day, and I will never let my children forget, or my children’s children, either. I find I’m walking taller, my shoulders back, my head up as the woman God meant me to be when he made me.
It is good to be a free woman.
Only a few pleasant minutes had passed when Marley heard the crunch of tires on gravel in the driveway, and her stomach knotted. She quickly placed the journal back into its leather box, but she had no time to lock it in its display case. She tucked it beside her in the window seat.
The screen door slammed, and she turned off the lamp and curled up into a ball. She shut her eyes tightly in the dark and pretended to be asleep.
“Marley? Where you at, girl?” Jimmy, her grandmother’s …partner, companion, acquaintance—she just couldn’t use the phrase her grandmother’s boyfriend—called from the kitchen.
He sounded harmless enough tonight, but you never could tell. He had taught her one lesson in life, and that was to avoid confrontation. For a man she’d known most of her life, his moods were impossible to gauge. She knew kindness lived somewhere within him, for she’d seen it once, perhaps twice, when he was sober and took them sailing on his small boat; but what she knew of him was bitterness and rage.
The back door closed, and she heard the hushed rumble of voices, ending in the louder male voice. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about it!”
Then a quick, sharp pop, followed by Nan’s cry.
Marley’s breath came faster, and she bit her lip. She had missed the slight slurring of his speech in his first call to her. But she heard it now, even as she pressed her hands over her ears, trying to blot out the noise that followed. He was drunk, and taking it out on Nan.
Once, years ago, Marley had tried to intervene. It had only made him angrier, anger that he took out on her grandmother. Now, she tried to blot out the noise, and the shameful knot in her stomach, knit there by her cowardice.
For cowardice it was. Nan had made her promise never again to try to defend her. But she was no longer the lonely child cowering under a blanket in her closet, as she had for so many years. She was a grown woman now, well-educated and well aware that this man should be in jail for his abuse.
Marley had no photographs of her grandmother as a youngster—Nan said her family had been too poor for such luxuries when she was a child. But she had a small, old-fashioned miniature of a young woman that she didn’t quite believe was the same woman, so joyful and carefree and vibrant was she.
She heard nothing, and she sat up slowly, listening. Then came the heavy thud of Jimmy’s work boots. He flung back the drape around the window seat, and she cowered from him, trembling in terror.
“Leave her alone, Jimmy!” Nan snapped, rushing at him. He backhanded her across the side of her head, sending her into the china closet. Only the angle at which she’d landed had kept her from smashing into the glass or knocking the whole thing over on top of herself.
Paralyzed with fear, Marley quaked in the corner of the window seat, staring at her grandmother. The rain still fell, just as peacefully.
“What a snot-nosed coward you are. Close the goddamned window. Don’t you give a damn what people think of us?”
With quaking hands, she started closing the window.
“Hurry up!” She stood up for more leverage but her shaking legs gave out underneath her and she fell beside him. He kicked at her thighs—hard—and she cried out in pain as she scrambled away from him on the floor.
Nan rushed at him again, and he turned his fury full on her. He slapped her across the chest, as he always did—leaving his scars unseen. “You think you’re so tough?” he asked, slamming his fist against her ribs.
For the first time in her life, something snapped in Marley. If she didn’t do something, he might well kill them both.
Still trembling, she reached for her oversized mug of cocoa. And she walked the few steps to them. She chose her angle carefully. And when she flung the twenty-four ounces of scalding cocoa over his face and neck, not a drop landed on her grandmother.
His anguished screams were not enough for her. She bashed the heavy ceramic mug into his temple, and he collapsed.
“Marley!”
Her trembling grew violent as she collapsed in a he
ap. It was the first time that she’d stood up to this man who’d terrorized them for two decades.
Nan took her in her arms, holding her close. The older woman wiped her tears away. “Don’t cry, lass.”
Her English accent—that musical trill that reminded her of her own mother, that sound that she’d thought had been washed out of the woman when she became a Virginian—comforted Marley.
She withdrew from Hannah, looking at the man, who still lay where she’d cold-cocked him and destroyed her favorite mug. An ordinary mug wouldn’t have done this much damage; this, from her employer’s gift shop, was stoneware, more like an ale tankard. God bless colonial craftsmanship.
“Is he dead, do you think?”
Nan leaned over him. “No, more’s the pity. He’s passed out. Likely better off than us, won’t even remember it tomorrow.” She straightened. “Nor will we. Get dressed and get your bag. We’re leaving. And be sure to pack the book.”
She didn’t have to say which book.
As they stood on the gravel pathway under the shelter of the ancient oak in the front yard, Nan looked back at Stonefield, the simple stone home where her family had lived for three centuries. The night was silent, but for the chirping of crickets.
“We’ll have to get a court order to get him out,” Marley said.
Nan turned and smiled as if she hadn’t spoken, holding out a hand toward the car. “Shall we?”
Chapter Two
In the dank coolness of the night, Marley pulled the car to the side of the deserted road long enough to make a phone call. She called her employer in Williamsburg to find out if there were any empty rooms she might book at a discount. There were several in their finest hotel. Even at a discount it was beyond her budget, but this was vacation—and it was during Publick Times, so she was lucky to get anything. So she refused to dwell on distractions like finances and reality.
Neither woman noticed the bell captain who stood at the door watching their approach. He’d held this job for half a dozen years and had acquired an appreciation of expensive suits and jewelry and luggage. He had seen Marley turn into the drive in a fifteen-year-old sedan and bypass the valet, and when he offered to have someone take their luggage, he did so warmly but without insistence when the younger woman declined.
Sarah, the desk clerk, welcomed them, recognizing Marley. They had attended orientation together three years ago and remained cordial co-workers. “Oh, having a staycation?”
“Just thought it’d be nice to see how the other half lives. We’re headed to Florida tomorrow.”
Sarah glanced around and leaned forward to whisper. “I slipped in a VIP package. You get Godiva chocolates and flowers and a bottle of wine.”
Nan’s eyebrows rose. “How lovely! And you get to share these romantic trappings with your grandmother!”
The women laughed, and Marley felt the oppressiveness begin to leave her. It seemed she’d spent the past ten years worried about either money, or Jimmy, or both. She deserved a week off.
“Chris!” snapped the clerk.
The bell captain, inside now and behind his stand scribbling in a book, looked up.
“Well what are you waiting for?” she asked with a slow smile. “Take these ladies’ bags to their room.”
He leapt forward, apologizing at his oversight, even as Marley sent Sarah a scathing look. Sarah merely raised her eyebrows and smiled.
On their way to the room, she dug in her purse for a tip. He opened the door, handed her two passkeys, and walked before her into the room to place the suitcases horizontally on two folding stands.
He walked to a table in a small seating area and removed the champagne from its bucket.
Frozen by the opulence of the place, she continued to stare.
“May I?” He held out the bottle for her inspection.
“Oh, please!”
Nan watched him anxiously. He poured a splash into a glass and gave it to her. After a moment, she tasted it. “Thank you.”
“Is it to your liking, madam?”
Tears came to Nan’s eyes as she bowed her head and nodded silently.
He filled her glass and Marley’s, then replaced the bottle in the bucket.
“Enjoy your stay at the Williamsburg Inn.”
When she attempted to press two dollars into his hand, knowing it wasn’t enough, he smiled at her with genuine warmth. “No, it’s truly my pleasure. Have a relaxing evening.”
He closed the door behind her, and any lingering bruised pride she might have felt was soothed by the very aura of the room. The mugginess of the tidewater was gone, and a faintly pleasant aroma she couldn’t identify lightly scented the air. The lighting was just bright enough to reveal the gleaming antiques, and just soft enough that she could feel the stress physically leaving her.
An arrangement of tulips and daffodils, brilliant red and yellow, stood on a low-boy underneath a gilt-edged mirror, a focal point in the large room full of 1930s era finery. Two full mahogany beds with sea foam and sea glass dressings filled one side of the room. A loveseat and two chairs comprised the small seating area, their paisley cream-on-cream embossing elegant and inviting.
She had looked forward to their road trip tomorrow for months. They were traveling to Florida, and staying in a unique seaside hotel in St. Augustine. Supposedly, it had been created from an actual shipwreck from the late 1700s.
She had invited her stepfather, grudgingly, and had been thrilled when he mocked the invitation. “Do I look like a sea captain?” he’d asked.
No, she agreed, that he did not.
Which was ironic, considering that the man loved sailing, and the few pleasant memories she had of him were when she was younger and he taught her to sail.
But as much as she had looked forward to tomorrow, at this moment Marley simply stood there enjoying now. She breathed in deeply. And for the second time that night, just for a moment, she stopped to love life.
The women both showered quickly, reluctant to waste a moment of the luxury. Now, Nan sat on the loveseat, peering at the label on the small bottle of complementary hand lotion. She squeezed a dollop into her palm and set the bottle aside.
Marley stood at the window, peeking past the drapes into the parking lot below. “Are you sure Jimmy was okay?”
Nan smoothed the lotion over her forearms and into her elbows. “Yes. Come and sit down. I have a small gift for you.”
She sank to the loveseat beside Nan, resting her hands at her sides, moving her fingertips over the softness of the elegant upholstery.
Nan withdrew from her purse a small, round silver box, perhaps an inch and a half in diameter, and half an inch deep. Marley had seen it many times over her life, but she had no idea of its contents. She’d asked as a child. Nan had replied that it was a “silver repousse pillbox.” After a series of follow-up questions, she understood in more detail that repousse was French for none of your business, Miss Nosy.
Now, Nan held the box in her hands. She raised it to her lips, as if it were a religious relic or icon. When she held it out to Marley, her eyes glistened.
“Remember when I used to say, ‘when you’re older’? Well, the time has come.”
Marley opened her hand, and Nan placed the box there. She wasn’t sure what to make of Nan’s emotional state; it might have everything to do with this box, or she might simply be upset over Jimmy. She gave a small smile, waiting for Nan to explain, but the woman only gave a nod toward the box.
Marley pressed the fragile clasp, and the top opened.
The sound of her mother’s voice echoed in her memory as she read to Marley the engraving on the back of a locket she’d once worn. As time is, so beats our hearts—tender, immortal, forever.
Marley had repeated the phrase until she had it committed to memory, thinking it magical. Then, when her mother cuddled her, Marley would take the small locket in her chubby fingers and turn it over, pretending to read it. “As time is…”
How her two daughters had lov
ed it when their father had given it to their mother that Christmas. It was the grandest thing, shaped like a Valentine! Rachel, especially, held it and stroked it as if it were the dearest thing in the world.
Now, Marley once again saw the portrait she’d thought never again to see, cradled within the pillbox. It was quite like the portrait she already had of her grandmother. In a moment she traveled back in time more than two decades to a hot summer night in a farmhouse.
She shouldn’t still remember those days; she’d only been three then. She’d been like any middle sister, not big enough to do the things Mama allowed Rachel to do, but too big to be cradled and doted on like little Juliana.
But those last days with her sisters were as clear as yesterday.
She and Rachel had traded off looking after Julie while the other stole into the chicken house at the farm next door, borrowing eggs. They knew better than to steal, and they were sure that as soon as Mama and Daddy came for them, they would be so happy to find their girls that they would gladly pay the farmer for the eggs.
They never came. But eventually the girls were rescued and taken to a place where they were all together. And then—and then, the unthinkable. Someone had taken Juliana away. Then Rachel. Nan had come, but it was too late. The only one left was Marley, crying endlessly, terrified of the dark for months, then years. She still avoided it.
And then, fainter, came a happier memory.
“Do you remember what I did?” Marley asked.
“You pilfered the locket from your mother’s jewelry box, for your sister’s birthday.”
They laughed together. “I didn’t really know what stealing was, then. Rachel sure straightened me out when she opened my present. She was only six, and she was already a bossy thing. I didn’t know! I just knew how much Rachel loved the locket. Mama was so kind about it, just letting her have it.”
Immortal (The Trelawneys of Williamsburg Book 2) Page 2