"Are you out of your mind?" she lashed out at Jacie. "I saw what you did."
"I kissed his cheek," Jacie said quietly. "He's my friend."
"And he might take it the wrong way and get ideas about how maybe you aren't really a lady, and he certainly doesn't pretend to be a gentleman. What would Michael think?"
Jacie stiffened. Her mother scolded her for everything. Actually, the only time Violet ever talked to her at all was to fuss or give her a chore to do.
"Michael understands I show people I like them, Mother."
"He doesn't know how friendly you can be sometimes. You'll get yourself in trouble one day. And what are you looking at, anyway?"
A chickadee had landed on a branch of the mimosa tree and Jacie was staring up at it with an expectant look on her face, only to seem flooded with relief as it flew away. "Mehlonga told me birds can see into the future and if a chickadee perches on a branch near the house and chirps, it's an omen that you have a secret enemy plotting something terrible against you. I didn't want that kind of omen, today of all days. I'm glad it flew away without making a sound."
"Oh for heaven's sake. You listen to your pa and stay away from that old fool."
The carriage arrived a few minutes later and a groom, resplendent in a red satin coat and black satin pants, helped Jacie and Violet inside.
Violet settled back comfortably. She felt so at peace. Soon Jacie would no longer be her responsibility. Best of all, Jacie would not be around to intrude on the precious hours when Judd was at home. Violet would work harder to make him love her. There was still time; they were not so terribly old. She closed her eyes and dreamed of how wonderful it would be.
The carriage moved along the path beside the river and then onto the main road, turning finally into the long drive lined with the towering red oak trees that gave the vast plantation its name.
As they drew closer, they passed the gardens on one side, noted for their camellias, with pigeon houses covered in wisteria and honeysuckle. On the other side there was a statuary and a marble fountain. Everywhere the lawn was lush and green, sprawling all the way to the distant cotton fields.
Jacie's breath was always taken away by the sight of the great house—two-storied and tremendous in scale, with a hipped and dormered roof supported on all sides by huge Roman Doric columns, twenty-eight in number.
The guests spilled out onto the porch and the sweeping lawn, the women in billowing skirted gowns of every design and color imaginable and the men smartly dressed in their finest frock coats. Carriages were parked two and three deep in the circular drive in front of the house. A string ensemble played on a side terrace and servants moved through the crowd offering trays of cool drinks.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Jacie breathed as their carriage came to a stop.
"Yes, it is," Violet replied, equally impressed by the setting.
Impatiently, Michael pushed aside the groom to help Jacie alight. Then, oblivious to those watching, he kissed her on either cheek and pressed his lips to her ear to whisper, "My god, you are magnificent, and I've never loved you more."
Violet, taking the hand of the groom to step from the carriage, glanced about self-consciously as she always did to see if anyone was noticing the lack of resemblance between her and Jacie. Violet had seen it many times, the amazement of folks that anyone so plain could have such a beautiful daughter.
Then Violet noticed how one young woman was pushing her way through the crowd gathered around Michael and Jacie, not waiting her turn to be properly introduced. She was smiling, but only with her lips, for her eyes were grim.
Violet heard her say—too sweetly, she thought—"Michael, aren't you going to introduce me to the guest of honor? I've seen her at a distance when Mother and I have visited in the past, but we've never formally met."
He obliged. "Jacie, I would like for you to meet my cousin, Elyse."
That was all Violet heard before Olivia Blake appeared to politely greet her and squire her up the steps and inside.
No one noticed the chickadee as it perched on a branch near the house... and began to chirp its song.
Chapter 4
Elyse Burdette regarded herself in the elaborate Louis Quinze filigree framed mirror and wondered not for the first time why her cousin Michael was not attracted to her. Other men certainly were; they liked her bright red hair and big blue eyes, framed by incredibly long lashes that she knew how to bat coquettishly. She had a shapely figure. She had also attended the best finishing school in Charleston and knew how to behave with impeccable charm and grace.
So why couldn't Michael see her in a romantic light?
"It's that white trash," Verena Burdette said as though answering her daughter's unspoken question as she breezed into the parlor of the guest wing. "She's put a spell on Michael, bewitched him somehow. He can't be in his right mind to want to marry a ragtag like her."
Elyse responded dully, "Cousin Olivia says Michael has fancied himself in love with Jacie since they were children. He's never had eyes for anyone else."
"You didn't push yourself hard enough." Verena glanced about at the opulent decor of the room. Accenting the blue and gold Empire sofas and chairs were Sevres and Dresden vases, hand-painted china figurines and brass cornices. Paintings in gilt frames hung on the walls. There was a bedroom to each side, with incredibly carved mahogany beds and lavish lace canopies. "Jasper Blake certainly spared no expense when he built this place, and he's probably turning over in his grave to think his grandson is going to marry a blacksmith's daughter. You just didn't put your mind to it," she continued to nag.
"I don't know what else I could have done. Look at the gown I'm wearing. It's fancier than Jacie's, but Michael didn't notice."
Verena agreed the dress was exquisite, with tiers of shaded blue satin accented with lace and ribbons. She also knew how much it had cost, because she had paid for it. "We are not far from the poorhouse, Elyse. Everyone thinks your father left us a lot of money, but he didn't, and we've had to scrimp for the past three years to live on what he did leave. If you don't marry a rich man, and soon, I just don't know what we're going to do."
"Did you tell Cousin Olivia that you're selling the house?"
"She knows. She thinks it's only because I want a smaller place, anticipating you'll marry and move away soon. Maybe you will," Verena added hopefully. "You have beaus in Charleston—"
"But I don't want any of them. I want Michael, and not for his money, either. That doesn't matter to me and never has. I've loved him since I was a little girl and I wouldn't care if he were poor as a church mouse."
"That's crazy," Verena scoffed. "Besides, you just might find out what it's like to marry a poor man, because none of those young swains beating a path to our door in Charleston has anything. All the rich bachelors married while you were pining away waiting for Michael. You'll have to take what you can get or be an old maid."
"Then I'll be an old maid. I refuse to marry anyone else."
"Well, it just makes me angry to think how I went and spent almost all the money we had left in the world to come here. Olivia never said one word in her letter about Michael getting married. I thought there might still be a chance for you, or we wouldn't be here."
"But now that we are," Elyse said with a gleam in her eye, "we're going to stay."
Verena agreed. "For a few months, at least. We won't have to worry about food, and maybe the house will sell in the meantime. We'll just settle down and enjoy ourselves."
"That's not what I meant. Actually I plan to use the time to do what I should have done years ago—make Michael realize I'm the one he should marry. You have a lot of influence over Cousin Olivia. She listens to everything you say, and I'm sure you can find dozens of excuses to convince her to make Michael postpone whatever wedding date they set. Tell her it's too close to Christmas, or Cousin Halsey's birthday. Anything. Just stall. Staying here in the house, being around him all the time, I'll find a way to make him want me instead of Jacie Ca
lhoun."
Verena did not share Elyse's optimism but felt they had nothing to lose by trying. "I can guarantee you six months."
"That should do it." Elyse turned back to the mirror and pinched her cheeks to make them rosy. "I'll also make friends with Jacie. Good friends. That way she'll never suspect a thing about my feelings for Michael."
"Then stop wasting time by talking about it. He's probably asking her to marry him this very moment. As soon as she cut the cake, he took her outside."
Elyse, ebullient, followed after her mother. "I can do it, I know I can," she said, more to herself than to her mother. "I am going to be Mrs. Michael Blake."
Verena surely hoped so. She did not relish the thought of moving to the poorhouse.
* * *
Halsey Blake had found the red Georgia clay to be especially good for scuppernongs—the golden-green grape native to the South and named for the Scuppernong River in North Carolina. He had designated several acres for a vineyard but had so liked the green twining leaves and the fragrance of the grapes that he wanted to have a few vines closer to the main house. He had an arbor built, with latticework on the sides and top, and the vines grew hearty and secured themselves. The result was a lush tunnel of green leading to a gazebo overlooking the river. It was a private place, almost secret, for servants were not allowed to go there, only the gardener from time to time to prune. Olivia Blake did not venture there, fearing the garden spiders that liked the coolness of the arbor. But Michael and Jacie loved it, making it a special point of rendezvous, and it was there that Michael took her to propose.
Nature could not have gifted them with a more perfect night. Violin music wafted from the terrace as a full moon cast its silvery glow on the dark waters beyond. A gentle breeze set the draping fronds of the surrounding willow trees to dance in the cool night air scented with the sweet fragrance of gardenias and roses.
For long moments, Michael held Jacie close in the magical setting. Finally he said, "It's as if we're all alone in the world. I wish it could always be this way. Happy birthday, my darling."
"I can't remember one happier," Jacie said, not about to admit she had never experienced any kind of celebration before. Her mother never marked holidays because, she said, one day was no different from another.
"Did you like the cake? I had one of the best chefs in Atlanta come here to bake it."
"Everything was wonderful, Michael. It was like something out of a fairy tale."
"It is a fairy tale," he said fervently, "and you are a fairy princess. But I'm going to make you a queen. Oh, Jacie, you just don't know how much I love you. You can't possibly know, but one day you will...." His words melted into a kiss as his mouth claimed hers.
She clung to him, enjoying the touch of his mouth against hers but feeling all the while strangely empty inside. Where was the voice Mehlonga had told her about, why couldn't she hear it? Michael was so good, so kind, everything a woman could want. Why couldn't her heart cry out with love for him?
She could feel his breath quickening, and his tongue parted her lips to plunge inside and meld against her own. Feeling a little wave of panic that he might be losing control, she broke free then to push him away and suggest, "We should get back to the party. Our guests will think we're rude."
"Not until I've given you this," he said, taking the necklace, which was wrapped in a square of pink satin, from inside his coat. He unfolded the satin slowly, watching Jacie's face all the while.
At the sight of the gems, so dazzling in the moonlight, Jacie cried, "Oh, Michael, I've never seen anything like it! It's the most beautiful present in the whole world."
He held the necklace up to her face and tenderly proclaimed, "No, it isn't. You are. And I was right. The amethysts pale next to your eyes." He fastened it around her neck as he told her how he had designed it himself, and that the lavender stones had come all the way from Brazil.
Though grateful and impressed to the tips of her toes, Jacie could not help blurting, "But it must have cost a fortune."
"I had to outdo my other gifts," he bantered. "Let's see. I believe the first present I ever gave you was on your sixth birthday. I carved a slingshot for you, and then you shot me with it and gave me a black eye."
"Because you pulled the tail of that little dog I had back then." She smiled at the recollection.
"Then there was the frog the next year."
"I really liked that one, but not as much as the turtle you gave me a few years later. You tied a ribbon around his neck, and the poor thing nearly choked before I could get it off because he kept trying to pull his head back into his shell."
They laughed together, then fell silent for long, poignant moments as their gazes met and held. Jacie touched the jewels at her throat and whispered, "Thank you. I promise I will cherish it forever."
He gathered her close once more. "I hope you do, but not merely as a birthday gift. I want you to always remember I gave it to you the night I asked you to be my wife."
Jacie could not speak. She had anticipated the proposal but could not find the voice to respond. And what could she say, anyway? Yes, she would marry him, spend the rest of her life with him, but she was not sure she loved him because of what an old Indian medicine man had told her? He would be appalled, think her daft. All of a sudden she wasn't so sure about her sanity herself; she should be ecstatic instead of waiting for a silly legend to come true.
"Oh, God, how I love you," he said in a voice thick with emotion. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Jacie. Everything I have is yours. You'll want for nothing and I'll be so good to you. We'll have beautiful children, just like you, and every night of my life I want to fall asleep with you in my arms and awaken to find you still beside me. I've thought of nothing else for years."
Clasping her shoulders, he stood back so he could look into her eyes as he said, "You will marry me, won't you? Say yes, and we'll go back inside and tell everyone tonight. God, I want to shout it to the whole world!"
Jacie closed her eyes and swayed ever so slightly to think how he loved her, adored her. Of this, she was sure. And she had to love him back, didn't she? There had never been the slightest thought of another man in her life. Only Michael, her past, present, and surely her future. Speak to me, heart, she commanded in silent desperation, speak to me now....
He gave her a gentle shake. "You're teasing me by not saying anything, aren't you?" His voice had a slight edge to it, as though he were starting to wonder if she would refuse him.
Jacie's eyes flew open and she drank in the sight of his dear face, so hopeful, so loving. "Michael, I—" she began, not sure of what she was going to say but knowing she had to respond. Then suddenly the sounds of someone shouting and calling her name made them spring apart, shattering the moment.
Michael drew her close again protectively. He recognized Zach Newton's voice, knew something awful had happened as he burst from the latticework bower, the moonlight touching his stricken face.
"Somebody said you headed this way," he cried, chest heaving from running. "You better come quick, Miss Jacie. It's your pa. He just keeled over in the shed. I'd gone to eat my supper and found him when I got back. I went to get your ma from the party, and Doc Foley was there, so they took off to see to him. She said to come get you."
Jacie tore herself from Michael's grasp so quickly he could only let her go. Taking the hand Zach held out to her, she ran beside him, but Michael caught up to pull her away and hold her hand himself as they hurried through the arbor, then skirted around the house.
Guests were spilling out onto the porch and lawn as word spread of what had happened. Elyse came running to ask Jacie, "Do you want me to go with you, dear? Oh, I hope he'll be all right."
Jacie was too busy trying to keep up with Zach to respond, and it was Michael who called back, "Tell Mother to clear the parlor and get the sofa ready. We'll bring him there."
The blacksmith's shed was situated a good distance behind the barns and stables as a p
recaution against fire, and as they approached, Jacie could hear the sounds of her mother's hysterical sobbing.
Some of the men had followed Violet and Dr. Foley and stood in the doorway watching. They stepped aside for Jacie and Michael.
Jacie saw her mother and the doctor kneeling near the roaring fire. All she could see of her father was his legs, his worn leather boots.
"Put out that fire," Michael snapped to Zach. "It's an oven in here. No wonder the man passed out."
Hearing Michael, Dr. Foley turned to convey with a look that it was much more than a fainting spell, then noticed Judd was starting to come around and quickly asked him, "Where does it hurt? Tell me, Judd."
Judd's face screwed up in pain. "My chest," he said weakly. "Feels like the anvil's sittin' on it. Hurts bad. Help me, Doc, please..." He began to cough and wheeze as he fought to breathe.
Dr. Foley noted Judd's flushed face, the cold sweat that beaded his forehead. It was obvious he was having a heart attack.
Just as he began to wonder why it was taking so long to get his medical bag from his carriage, someone pushed through the crowd to hand it to him. Taking out the stethoscope, he listened to the labored sounds of Judd's heart as the valves struggled to open and close. He slipped a nitrate pill under Judd's tongue but saw how his eyes were beginning to dilate and knew then it was almost over.
Violet knew it, too, and willed herself to stop crying long enough to minister to the only man she had ever loved. She slipped an arm under his head, raising him up a bit.
Dr. Foley did not try to stop her. He exchanged a glance with Michael that said there was nothing more he could do, then closed his bag and rose.
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