by Diana Ballew
Her heart beat wildly as she remembered her father talking to himself that morning, reeking of stale whiskey and muttering incoherently about the “evils of men” and “broken trusts and promises.”
He opened her eyes. “Oh, my God. You raped that poor girl, Patrick. Didn’t you?” She marched up to him and poked a hard finger in his chest. “You fathered her baby, I know you did.”
His mouth hung wide open. “I...”
“I what?”
“Well, she said I raped her, but...”
“But what? Speak up!”
“But she was throwing herself at me,” he scoffed.
“Oh, for pity’s sake.” She turned away from him in disgust. “Damn you, tell the truth, or I’ll hang you myself!”
Patrick grabbed her by the arm. “Hell, Eden...lots of men do it.”
Lots of men do it. His words echoed in her ears. The muscle in her jaw tensed so tight it throbbed. She looked directly into his eyes, her gaze boring into his.
He released her arm and held his hands up. “All right. Perhaps, I may have wanted it more than she.”
“Say it, you coward. You raped her, didn’t you? Say it!”
“Eden, stop.”
“No. I won’t stop. Tell the truth, or so help me I'll—”
“Arrrrrg!” Patrick kicked the wall so hard a shard of wood flew across the room. “Dammit, Eden. Yes, I raped her!” he shouted. “I raped Jemma!”
His evil words echoed across the barren walls.
Eden gasped, her mouth twisting. “My God, Patrick, she was just a girl.” She slapped him as hard as she could across the face. “You’re a wretched, pathetic excuse for a man. I can't believe I ever loved you.”
Thick silence filled every inch of the small room.
Patrick slowly turned to face her. “Be that as it may.” He slumped into the chair and rubbed his cheek, red with the imprint of her hand. “Apparently, while the whiny trollop was giving birth, she told your father everything. He delivered the little mulatto bastard.”
“Your child,” she sneered.
“As I was saying,” he continued, ignoring her charge, “your father delivered the baby. He came to my home and found me afterward. Said we needed to talk, man to man. We had whiskey, quite a lot, as I recall, and he told me if I didn’t up and leave you he would tell you himself. I told him I wouldn't do it at first, but he was upset and said he wasn't leaving until I agreed. He was stubborn as a mule and stuck to his damn word, by God. There we sat, drinking that whole damn bottle of whiskey. Finally, I agreed just to get him to go home. Then, ol’ Isaac had to take matters—”
She gasped. “What? Isaac knew about all of this?”
Patrick cocked his head. “Well, hell yes, he knew.” He fingered his collar. “He damn near killed me an hour later, practically choked me to death in my own bed, making me swear I’d leave and never come back. I left for my cousin's in Pennsylvania the next day.” He shook his head. “I swear, the look in Isaac's eyes was like a man gone mad.” He reflected a moment and then shrugged. “As I was saying, I agreed to your father’s terms, he got on his horse, and that was that.”
Her heart beat so hard she could hear the steady waves of blood pounding in her ears. “No, Patrick, that was not that,” she said, her jaw clenching painfully. “You may as well have killed my father with your bare hands. I will always hold you responsible for his death.”
“What? You can’t blame me for his death!”
She stiffened her back. “My father was an expert horseman; you know that. Because of you and your disgusting behavior, he drank heavily that night. It’s because of you he fell off his horse on his way home and was wounded. After you left, he died from that wound, Patrick.”
She groped the wall behind her for support, tears filling her eyes, and her chin quivering uncontrollably.
He reached for her. “But, I didn’t—”
“Don’t touch me!” she yelled, swatting hard at his extended arm. “You took more from me than you will ever know.”
“Eden, I swear, I never meant to hurt you.”
“You left me more than hurt, Patrick. You left me broken—shattered—a slave to my own misery!”
With trembling fingers, she wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks with the edge of the blanket. “But, I’m shattered no longer, do you hear me? With the truth, I’ve been set free.” She laughed at him, mocked him. “You...you, of all people, have freed me.”
He frowned. “Freed you?”
She tilted her chin high. “For the first time in so very long, I’m finally free. Free to love again with my whole being.”
Patrick sucked in his cheeks before he spoke. “I take it you don’t mean you’re free to love me again. Should I assume you mean the major? Judging by his questioning, or perhaps I should say his interrogation, and the look in his eyes when he spoke of you, it made me wonder if perhaps he was in love with you.”
Eden ignored him, choosing to flick at the mosquito on her sleeve rather than answer.
“I didn't even know who he was at first. He seems like a good man, a straight shooter. I respect that in a man. Hell, Major Hampton’s a bit of a legend.”
She sniffed and looked at him. “What are you talking about—how do you mean?”
“I heard some officers talkin’ at camp not long ago. Seems the major made a name for himself during the war with Mexico. Rumor is, when he was just a young lad at the start of the war, he fought alongside his father. During a bloody battle, his father died in his arms. Apparently, it tore the man up pretty bad, and he was a lost soul after that. They say he didn‘t care about nobody—not even himself. He feared nothing and nobody.” Patrick shrugged. “Because of that, they say he became the best scout that ever was.”
Eden furrowed her brow. “Major Hampton? Major Rayce Hampton?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s him, all right. I heard the man can slip in and out of enemy territory, do his business, and nobody ever knows he’s been there until it‘s too late. They said McClellan’s face was puckered up red with anger and shoutin’ that everything going wrong for him had the markings of ‘The Ghost,’ but he couldn’t prove it. There’d probably be a high price on the major’s head right about now, with the war heating up around here, and all.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Patrick eyed her sharply. “Of course not. What kind of man do you think I am?”
“You cannot with all seriousness be asking me that,” she snapped back.
He nodded. “Fair enough. I suppose I had that coming. But you know how you say you finally feel free? Well, hellfire and damnation, so do I, honey. The major made me a deal, and I’m thinkin’ I just might take him up on it.”
Eden had to get out of there. If she looked at Patrick one moment longer, she’d retch.
She left Patrick without the blessing of a final farewell and took her time walking back to the manor. The storm had passed and was now nothing more than a gentle rumble over the rolling hills in the distance. The freshly churned river air hung in the breeze, and with each new breath she took, the tremendous weight of fear and resentment seemed to lift from her shoulders.
She strolled up the portico steps, and the front door swung open.
“Great grits and gravy,” Ann squawked, “come see this.”
Eden followed her into the parlor and found Rayce and Will drunker than a couple of peach orchard boars. Their arms were draped over each other's shoulders in what appeared to be a feeble attempt at holding each other up, singing an out of tune rendering of “I Dream of Jeanie With the Light Brown Hair.”
“I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour,
Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the
light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.”
“Oh, hello, ladies,” Will said, teetering while attempting a stately bow. “We’z were jus’ singing.” He patted Rayce’s shoulder, “Right?”
Rayce reached for his shot glass and downed the liquid. “Right you are, ol’ boy,” he said, slapping Will on the back.
At Will's prompting, they broke into song once again.
“I long for Jeanie with the day dawn smile,
Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile.”
“Major!” Ann screeched. She whisked into the room and took Will by the arm. “What have you done with Mr. Benton? You should be ashamed!”
Will’s jaw dropped, and his bleary eyes slowly widened. “Ah, now, we’z just having some fun, right, Rayce?” Meek as a church mouse, he followed behind Ann as she led him by the hand to the divan.
Rayce glanced at Eden glaring at him from the parlor entry, her arms folded across her chest, tapping her boot on the hardwood floor. “Do come in, Miss Blair.”
“Yes, Miss Eden, do come join us,” Will said merrily, clearly far drunker than Rayce.
Even if Rayce and Will were stinking, falling down drunk, Eden wouldn’t have cared tonight. She would happily put up with just about anything to finally be rid of Patrick and his sins.
She entered the room and heaved a sigh of relief. “I could use a nip myself. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
Whatever we’re having? Rayce couldn’t help but smirk as he poured her a full shot of the fiery rotgut. “Drink up, m’ lady.”
Eden took a healthy gulp. “Oh!” She winced. “What is this? It’s like liquid fire. Is this what you boys have been drinking tonight?”
Rayce and Will exchanged glances, choking back laughter.
“Go ahead, Mrs. Blair,” Will said, giggling and prodding Ann. “Give it a try, too.”
Ann raised her chin, clearly offended by the very idea. “Why, Mr. Benton, I’ve never imbibed whiskey in all my days.”
Will’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout under his thick mustache. “It’s bourbon, actually.”
Ann sighed and patted his arm. “Well, I suppose I’ll give it a try, but just for you.”
Rayce poured a shot and walked to the divan, handing her the glass. This I’ve got to see.
Ann took the shot glass and rose in the most dramatic fashion. “Well, here it goes.” She drank the first sip and winced, then held her nose and gulped the rest. “There,” she beamed, her eyes watering. “I did it!”
“That’s my girl.” Will swatted her on the bottom.
“Mr. Benton,” Ann squealed, promptly plopping back down on the divan, her blue eyes wide with astonishment.
“Yes, kitten?” he replied.
A demure grin suddenly stretched across Ann’s face, and she inched in closer, covering his hand with her own. “Why, Mr. Benton,” she purred.
Rayce was trying to decipher Eden’s expression, but things were looking a tad blurry. She had gone to the medical building longer than he had expected, and the entire time she was there, it had almost driven him insane wondering what the two had been doing. “So, you up for another?”
Eden sipped her shot glass and shook her head. “Thank you, no. This is actually quite terrible.” She set the glass down and slowly walked toward him.
Oh, God, now what?
Expecting the full brunt of her wrath, he stiffened his stance and stood frozen in place. To his surprise, she looped her arm within his and pressed herself against his waist. In his half-inebriated state, it took all of his energy not to snatch her in his arms, toss her over his shoulder in front of the others, and whisk her up the stairs into his bed.
With Will and Ann flirting like eager adolescents on the divan, now would be a good time to escape. He laced his fingers with Eden’s and led her up the staircase.
After lighting the bedside candle, he sat in the chair and removed his boots and socks. Sighing deeply, he stood and unrolled the sleeves of his shirt.
“Rayce! Is that a bullet hole in your sleeve?”
“Huh? What?” He looked down. “Oh, that, yes, I have quite a few of those, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, the Yank missed.” He unbuttoned his shirt and disappeared behind the rosewood screen. “I’m sorry to have doubted you,” Eden called. “I just don’t know what came over me. I think I’ve let my father’s death and Patrick’s betrayal consume me. And, of course, it never occurred to me the two incidents were intertwined. Did you hear me Rayce? I’m just so thick-headed sometimes.”
“Oh, I heard you.” He walked into the room in his dressing gown and sat next to her on the bed. “Apology accepted.” He lay back and rested his arms behind his head.
She smiled and snuggled next to him, resting her head against his shoulder.
She slid her hand inside the silky fabric, fingering the hair on his chest and buried her nose against his neck.
“What cologne do you have on?” she asked.
“No cologne, just soap. Why?”
She inhaled again and moaned. “Mmm...You smell wonderful tonight. It reminds me of sweet, Virginia dirt mixed with tidewater pine and bark.”
He frowned. “Dirt? Hell, woman, I just cleaned up.”
“No, it’s wonderful, really.” She laughed. “I love your scent.”
He smiled and plucked at her wet dress plastered against her skin. “Your clothes are still damp, Sweetness, perhaps—”
“I don’t care. Just hold me.”
He tugged at the coverlet and draped it over her body.
She clicked her tongue. “There’s something you mentioned earlier...”
“Trinidad? I figured that wouldn’t go unnoticed.”
“Tell me about her. How is she your sister? I mean, well, she’s...”
“Black? A negro? That she is, my dear.”
He lit a cheroot with the bedside candle and inhaled. Staring at the ceiling, he blew out a thick ring of gray smoke.
“Tell me, Rayce,” she whispered into his ear. “Trust me.”
He’d kept his life and emotions bottled up inside his gut for so long, he wasn’t sure how to lie in a bed next to a woman and talk, really talk. Having a beautiful, willing woman next to him and talking just for the sake of talking completely went against his grain. But the moment her sweet voice said, “trust me,” all of that dissolved.
“You've been honest with me,” he whispered. “It’s time I was honest with you.”
“Talk to me, Rayce. I want to know.”
“Trinidad is from the West Indies, Barbados to be exact. My family had a sugar cane plantation down there for years. My father traveled frequently before I was born.”
“So, she’s your older sister?”
“She’s my half-sister. Yes, she’s five years older.”
“Was your father married before he met your mother?”
“No, no.” He shook his head. The truth is, while my father was married to my mother, he fell in love with an island woman; a woman whose family had originally been brought to Barbados in ships from Africa many years earlier. Her name was Abena, and she bore my father’s child—Trinidad.”
“Trinidad’s an unusual name.”
He inhaled the cheroot, letting the smoke linger against his tongue before exhaling. “I asked Trinidad about her name. She said Abena told her she had accompanied my father to the island of Trinidad on business, and she was conceived during the trip. The name originally comes from the Holy Trinity. I suppose that seemed oddly appropriate to them at the time.”
“But doesn't Trinidad have a husband? Children of her own back home?”
“Yes...and no. She had a husband and a daughter. Damn yellow fever epidemic on the island took them both several years back.” He inhaled the cheroot and exhaled with a long sigh.
“Rayce, that’s terrible. And what about your mother while all of this was going on?”
“When I look back on it, I think my mother knew of my father�
��s infidelity. He must have loved Abena. He spent many months away when I was young. What I don’t know to this day is if my mother was aware my father actually loved another woman. I suspect she did.”
He paused for a moment, swallowing the lump forming in his throat before continuing. “I grew up seeing such deep sadness in her eyes when my father left on his business travels. I was just a child and suspected nothing, although perhaps I should have.”
Eden combed her fingers through his hair. “You couldn’t have done anything, Rayce. You were just a child.”
“Perhaps. But my father and I were close. It's possible I didn't see the obvious out of my blinded love for him.” He inhaled the cigar and frowned. With the flick of his wrist, he tossed the cheroot into the hearth. “While my father lay dying in Mexico during the war, he said he had something important to tell me. He died moments later, writhing in agony in my arms. I never knew what it was he wanted to tell me. His death and those unspoken words of his haunted me for years.”
Eden snuggled in closer and pressed her lips to his ear. “I’m so sorry, my darling, that must have been terrible.”
“He took a bullet right in the stomach. A bullet meant for me. The man actually dove in front of me, taking the hit himself. The death was horribly painful but mercifully quick.”
He paused, trying to push the image from his mind. “It wasn’t until my grandfather died, when this manor passed to me, that I found out about Trinidad.”
“Your grandfather knew you had a sister all that time and didn’t tell you?”
“He knew. But Abena was black. As you can well imagine, this dirty family secret needed to be kept quiet. Besides, the old man had his own inner demons to deal with. His father, Captain Reginald Hampton, had died from what my grandfather had always referred to as ‘the misery wrought by trifling with the wrong woman.’ The Captain’s wife, Faith, had left the captain for another man when my grandfather was just a boy. Grandfather watched the captain wither away into nothing more than a shattered shell of a man. Anyway, before my grandfather died he had an apparent change of heart. Attached to his will was a letter to me with the whole story about my father and Abena and my half-sister.”