I hurried along, returning Jacob to the cabin and out of the cold so Hattie could wash him up. The snow flurries turned into a heavy squall. At least an inch of snow covered the ground. The bottom of my skirt was weighed down with ice, and my legs were numb.
Finally, I reached the small front porch of the cabin and couldn’t get the door open fast enough. I had unintentionally startled Hattie, who stood facing Patrick. She instantly swung around as Patrick quickly worked to button up his shirt. I nearly dropped Jacob from my tired arms.
“Amelia, it’s not what you think!” Hattie called as I ran away through the narrow path in the snow I had created on my way to the cabin, without looking back.
As soon as I flew into the kitchen, I lit the stove and filled the pot with water from the pump. The tears now ran freely down my red, frozen face, and I didn’t stop to wipe them away. I pumped the water without stopping, though my arm burned. When the pot was full, I lugged it out of the sink and nearly spilled half of it onto my blouse before placing it on the stove. “I have to get this cleaned up,” I sniffled to myself.
I was rummaging through Mammy’s cleaning closet when the door slammed shut.
“Amelia?”
I passed Patrick with broom in hand and hastily began to sweep up the flour. The white flour dust went everywhere, sticking to my clothes and leaving a pasty mess, but I didn’t care.
“Amelia, it’s not what you think. Listen to me,” he insisted.
I threw the broom down and marched over to the stove to check the water. It was near to a boil.
“You disgust me, Patrick Garrett Arrington,” I fumed, refusing to look at him. Then I went to lift the handle of the pot, forgetting to use a cloth to protect my hand, and screamed out.
Patrick moved me over to the sink and pumped the cold well water onto my burning hand.
“Come with me to the barn and we’ll get some milk on the burn,” he said.
“I will not go anywhere with you,” I snapped and pulled away, then wrapped the water-soaked cloth around my hand.
“Why are you such an obstinate, stubborn woman?” he flared. “All I want to do is help you.”
“Oh, you want to help me?” I snapped. “Really? Are you certain you haven’t got me confused with someone else?”
My hand was throbbing from the burn, and my body was tired. I was soaked, shivering, and fed up.
“Leave me alone,” I said, turning away.
Without my consent, Patrick threw me over his shoulder and carried me outside.
“Put me down this instant!” I demanded.
“You need to do as you’re told for once!”
“You’re not my father. You can’t tell me what to do! You put me down, Patrick!”
Once we were inside the barn, he set me down in the straw inside the empty horse stall. Because of the pain that afflicted my hand, I decided to stop fighting his help. Patrick kindly wrapped me with a heavy horse blanket and left me sitting in the straw while he went to milk the cow. I sat quietly and watched him, simmering down and patiently waiting for him to finish. With pail in hand, he carried the milk over. He gently took away the cloth, soaked it in the milk, and wrapped it back around my hand.
“This will help with the pain,” he said, sitting beside me. He was obviously cold, though trying not to shiver.
“Here, have some of the blanket,” I offered and eased half over to him.
“Thank you,” he said moving beside me.
We were huddled together facing the wall of the stall. We sat in silence for a while, neither one of us looking at the other. He continued to hold my hand in his, and I wondered if he realized it.
Finally, Patrick broke the awkward silence.
“I wasn’t doing anything improper with Hattie. She had kindly mended my shirt and I was trying it on. I swear nothing happened between us,” Patrick said in a low voice.
“I don’t know what to say,” I replied. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. The incident looked very suspicious to me.
“Say you believe me.”
“All right, I believe you.”
“You’re just saying that because I asked you to.”
“She is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.”
“Yes, Hattie is pretty,” he replied.
My heart sank.
Again there was a long silence between us. It frustrated me to be hurt by Patrick all the time.
“But not as pretty as you. In fact, you’re not pretty, you are stunning,” he said, taking me by surprise. This time his mind was not clouded with alcohol.
“Just like my mother,” I said dully and lowered my face so he wouldn’t see my disappointment. I believed that all he thought about was her when he complimented me.
He eased his finger under my chin and lifted it so our eyes could meet. We were so close, his breath warmed my face.
“You’re Amelia, not Charlotte. You are your own person. I see you for who you are and not someone else,” he said in a most serious tone. I felt his racing heart against my body. Or perhaps it was the beating of our hearts together, becoming one. I wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry for being so cruel to you. I wish you understood.”
“What should I understand?” I nervously asked, just above a whisper.
Patrick cleared his throat and took a long, deep breath. “Understand how hard I am trying to fight off my inappropriate urges for you when I fear you don’t feel the same way for me. And dare I ask you to have feelings for me, the kind of feelings that shouldn’t be?”
I held onto him and closed my eyes, praying it wasn’t another dream, that I was really lying in Patrick’s arms and he was tenderly stroking my hair.
It was then that the habitual friction between us unexpectedly ended and our true feelings for another came alive for the first time. Finally, Patrick timidly made the first confession. He was saying the words I had been longing for since the day I met him.
“I wish you weren’t leaving soon,” I whispered. “I wish we could have more time together.”
“I want to spend every waking minute with you before I leave,” he confessed, “because when I leave, I know Warren will win your heart. I suspect you will marry him someday. And I don’t blame you. He loves you, and I imagine you love him as well.”
I could hear the honest disappointment in his voice.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I replied, then slowly sat up. “Unless you secretly love someone else.”
“I don’t love anyone else.”
We stared serenely at one another in disbelief and apprehension, unsure what destiny had planned for us. Time seemed to stop in anticipation of what was about to happen next.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty-three ~
There was no possible way Patrick and I could contain the emotional and physical attraction we felt for each other. We didn’t seek an explanation, for that matter. He knew as well as I that we could try to deny it as hard as we wanted, but we were madly in love. We melted into one another’s arms, and our lips united with a fervor that only two people in love can share. It was my fate, I told myself as our immoral love unfolded, only to desire things in life that were irrefutably prohibited.
I nearly cried in relief when he whispered to me between long, hot kisses that he was crazy for me, that my image, my voice, my presence tormented his mind, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. Patrick confessed that he knew it was wrong, but he no longer cared. “I love you, Amelia. I didn’t ask to love you like this,” he murmured.
We lay down covered in the thick straw and allowed our lust to simmer down.
“You aren’t regretting this?” I asked.
The cold winter day had turned into a frigid, moonless night, yet we lay together in the barn, warm and comfortable now under the blanket.
“Not for one minute. And you?” he asked and turned onto his side.
“I don’t understand it, but I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. I feel as if I have known you forever, that
I was destined to be yours,” I confessed. “And I feared you would never share those same feelings for me.”
“I do share those feelings. I love you.”
He kissed me again.
I eased my hand up, continually running my fingers through his hair until I was distracted by the sound of the trot of a horse in the near distance.
“Daddy’s returned,” I announced frantically.
Just before Daddy led the horse into the barn, Patrick and I escaped unseen out the back door. We stole back into the mansion and hurried upstairs.
“Stay the night with me?” he asked, as we stood before the door to his room.
“I have to fetch Daddy something to eat. And finish cleaning the kitchen.”
It was only hours before that I had believed that Patrick and Hattie were lovers. Unbeknownst to me at the time, my world had changed for the better. A love affair would begin with the man who was on this earth not to be my lover, but my half-brother. Patrick and I dared to challenge life and brave the consequences of dabbling with the fire of love and lust.
“When you are finished, come to me,” he said, as he slipped behind the door, but not before stealing a kiss from my lips.
Daddy appeared puzzled as he looked over the disaster in the kitchen.
“What happened here?”
“Jacob spilled the flour and I was tending to Eugenia. I’ll clean it now while I get some soup on for you,” I said, scurrying around trying to clean and get started cooking.
“I’m not hungry. I ate in Savannah. Just clean up. I’m leaving at first light of morning. I need to speak with Patrick. Have you seen him?”
My long hair hid my flushed face, but Daddy noticed my burn.
“How did you hurt yourself?” he asked, taking hold of my hand.
“It’s a burn. Patrick had me soak it in milk. It feels better already.”
Daddy nodded. “It was your mum who would use milk to soothe his burns. Patrick had an accident once, some embers from the fireplace leapt out and his pant leg caught fire. Charlotte tended to him while he recovered. In any case, I am going to see Patrick and then retire for the night. I’ll be off in the morning. You take care of things for me, Amelia. Watch over Eugenia, will you? These next few months won’t be easy. It’s never easy to bury the ones you love, especially when they are children.”
“You can’t stay for the funerals, at the very least?” I asked, naively hoping he would change his mind.
“I have to go. By the time I return, I’m certain things will be better. I acquired the loan to help you run the plantation through these troubled times, and I managed to hire a few Negroes who need work. I’m hoping they will last until my return. Hamilton can oversee them. Patrick won’t be here more than another two weeks. I suppose I won’t be seeing him again for a long time.” Daddy spoke aloud, almost to himself, and left without acknowledging that he would miss me at all.
Patrick and I were inseparable in the week following our first union as new lovers. Though we had to steal about the mansion to be safe from anyone’s eyes, we were mostly free to carry on as we wished. Patrick’s plantation chores were eliminated with the arrival of the three new workers.
Eugenia kept herself locked away most of the time, devastated that Daddy had left, distraught that her daughters were dead. Hattie was busy with Jacob Thomas and hadn’t an inkling about me and Patrick.
Some days I would play the piano for Patrick, and he would gaze lovingly at me while I sang. We would often take walks and find a serene, private place in the woods and kiss for hours. At night I would slip into his room, and lie next to him.
I felt whole and alive, the way I supposed any woman in love feels. When I looked at myself in the mirror, my natural glow reminded me of the way Mammy looked when she and Daddy had carried on their love affair years ago. I couldn’t believe I was so fortunate to have Patrick’s undivided attention. I needed to pinch myself often to make certain I was not dreaming.
I was grateful that each passing day went ever so slowly, and I dreaded Patrick’s imminent departure.
“Will I ever see you again?” I cried onto his chest. “What if something terrible happens to you?”
“This war will not last forever. Until we are together again, I will send letter after letter. I will be loyal only to the Confederacy, my ship, and you. No other woman will ever have my heart.”
When I asked about our future, he didn’t have answers for me then.
“Over time we will come to figure that out,” he said, hushing me and kissing my fears away.
“Don’t you fall in love with anyone while I’m gone. Especially Warren Stone,” he begged. His eyes were full of worry, and I did all I could to ease his fears.
“I will set Warren straight as soon as he returns.”
I revealed to Patrick the details of Warren’s memory, and he was assured then that Warren would leave.
“I will tell him to go,” I promised.
We planned our future to the best of our ability. Patrick would go off to war and come back to whisk me away as soon as he could. Then we would find a way to run off and live happily ever after. Though we could never be a true husband and wife, we could live as such under assumed names, Patrick suggested.
“Someplace up north we will find a place to live,” Patrick told me the morning the wagon returned with the bodies of Violet and Beatrice.
“Far away from Savannah?” I asked with some ambiguity. What would life be like living up north, in a Union state, far from the only home I have ever known? I wondered.
“No matter where we live, as long as we’re together, we will be happy. That, I pledge to you. And when we’re free together, far away from here, I want you to call me only Garrett.”
“Garrett? Why would I call you by your middle name?” It seemed like an odd request.
“Your mother used to call me Garrett, not Patrick. She said I looked more like a Garrett.”
I studied him for a moment and I agreed, for the name did suit him. I would agree to anything, just to make him happy.
It wasn’t easy having Hamilton, Mammy, and Warren return. The first reason was most obvious. As Warren, Hamilton, Patrick, and the new hired hands carried the caskets off to the cemetery, Eugenia, Hattie, Jacob Thomas, and I, along with a scant number of mourners from neighboring plantations, hovered under umbrellas to shield ourselves from the wet snow showers, waiting for Reverend Carter to preside over the funeral. It had snowed, but the ground had warmed up enough to cause the existing snow to melt, creating a heavy fog that blanketed the cemetery. The scene was an unusual combination of chilliness and eeriness.
Eugenia wore a plain black dress and heavy black veil, which concealed her wretchedness. As soon as the preacher began the Lord’s Prayer, Eugenia instantly fell apart, and without warning, threw herself onto the caskets and let out a primitive howl. I shivered from the dreadful sound as Patrick tore her away and restrained her from throwing herself back again. She fought him, but her thrashing was no match for him. Finally, she surrendered and fell to her knees, sobbing incessantly as the funeral continued.
I couldn’t wait for it to be over. A few woman acquaintances of Eugenia’s led her from the cemetery to the mansion, where they prepared a small amount of food for the mourners. Eugenia was barely able to function that day, but she knew she had to grieve in proper fashion, and that included greeting callers. I stood beside Eugenia all morning and well into the afternoon. Patrick often came to see how I was faring, discreetly whispering to me that he loved me and if I needed anything to have Mammy fetch him.
Warren waited in the wings, anxious to come and talk with me, and was only granted a moment when I went to change into my formal evening wear. The visitors were coming in spurts, and we would welcome them well into the late evening.
“Amelia!” Warren called after me.
I stopped halfway down the hall and turned around. I tried to smile.
“I know you have been occupied all day, but I
needed to see you. I have missed you terribly,” he said and grabbed my hands. “Have you thought about us?”
“Warren, I cannot talk right how. I have to change my dress. Maybe tomorrow,” I replied and slipped my hands out from his hold.
“All right then, tomorrow,” he said and leaned in to kiss me. I backed away and hurried along to my room.
I spent several more hours standing with Eugenia, until finally the undertaking was over. My legs ached, and I fell into the nearest chair once the front doors were locked.
“I will tidy up. You go on to bed,” Mammy insisted.
“Thank you, Mammy. I will finish up any cleaning in the morning,” I said, exhausted, and I slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Everyone had already retired for the night; the only noise came from Mammy stacking up the dishes and glasses in the sink. Eugenia had taken her powders, and when I looked in on her, she was in a heavy sleep. The lamp to Warren’s room was out, and I assumed he was asleep already.
I crept along the hall and made my way to Patrick’s room. He was waiting for me, and I fell into his embrace.
“It has been a long, sad day. You get some much-needed rest. Maybe tomorrow we can get away for a while,” he said and placed a kiss atop my head.
I was almost too tired to keep my eyes open as I wandered back to my room. As difficult as it was to not have the comfort and protection of Patrick’s arms about me, I fell asleep in an instant, too tired to even dream.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty-four ~
It was all I could do to keep from Warren’s constant pleading for time with me. I had managed to keep myself busy, caring as best I could for Eugenia, helping Mammy prepare meals, and stealing away with Patrick for brief intervals.
Patrick and I couldn’t get enough of one another. Our time together was dwindling by the seconds, and it pained us. Our passion remained ignited, even during the days when we were kept apart and could only fulfill our desires at night, when we trusted that everyone was asleep.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 20