As soon as she stood, Lowell was at her side, his arm held out in invitation.
Alexandra put on her most innocent air and looked past him. “Grand-mère, do you have anyone to help you to the dinner table?”
Her grandmother snorted. “Your uncle will see to me. Go on with your young man.”
With what she hoped was a convincing start, Alexandra turned to Lowell Sheffield. “Oh my, where did you come from?”
“I think you are toying with me, Miss Lewis.” He offered his arm once again, a quizzical expression on his face. His eyes were a deep hazel color, reminding her of a shady woodland.
She put her hand on his arm, widening her eyes as she gazed up at him. “Me, sir? I am naught but a poor country girl. What makes you think I would dare tease someone as debonair as you, Mr. Sheffield?”
He smiled down at her as he led her to the dining room. “Because I don’t believe you are blind.”
Alexandra could not suppress the giggle that rose to her throat. Her heart fluttered once again as she caught his hazel gaze. His laughter mingled with hers, and they entered the dining room on an intimate note. It seemed Mr. Sheffield enjoyed a challenge. She would have to make certain she gave him one.
The only empty seats at the table, except for Grand-mère’s and Uncle John’s, were side by side. She wished her family had not made it quite so obvious they were throwing her at Lowell’s head. It would have been smarter for someone to have arranged the table so that the two of them sat across from each other. Then he would have a front row seat for her bubbly personality. She could have flirted shamelessly with the elder Mr. Sheffield, further piquing the younger Mr. Sheffield’s interest. But she would have to work with what she had been given.
During the first course, she was very attentive to her mother, who sat on her right. Mr. Sheffield was thus forced to converse with Cousin Percival, who always had more interest in his dinner than in dinner conversation.
“You cannot ignore me any longer,” his breath whispered in her ear. “Etiquette demands that you converse with me a little.”
Alexandra turned her head in his direction. He was leaning so close to her that their mouths nearly touched. Her gaze fastened on his lips. “I…I…” She forced herself to look up into his eyes. The specks of green in them seemed to have caught fire. Lowell Sheffield was definitely interested. And her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Grand-mère cleared her throat, snapping the thread that seemed to have bound both of them. “Have you visited with the Hugheses to thank them for rescuing you and your mother?”
“Rescue?” Lowell sat back in his chair, but his eyes still seemed to devour Alexandra’s face. “What happened that you needed to be rescued?”
Her mind whirled as she recounted the story of their arrival and her sprained ankle. She was pleased to have so easily secured Lowell’s interest, but she wondered if her actions had started a fire that would scorch her. Yet the admiration in his gaze made her feel good. She and Mama had been social outcasts before their departure. It was wonderful to return to the status she had once enjoyed.
“If you could wait until the afternoon, I would be happy to escort you to Magnolia Plantation.” Lowell’s offer pierced her tumultuous thoughts.
She turned to her grandmother for permission, even though she knew it was a foregone conclusion.
“Of course you may go.” Her grandmother’s smile embraced everyone at the table. “I am very appreciative Mr. Sheffield can take time out of his busy day to escort you. Such a strong young man will be able to protect you no matter what may occur.”
“It’s all settled then.” Lowell’s shoulders had straightened at her grandmother’s complimentary words. “I look forward to spending more time with you.”
Alexandra’s heart sped up at the look in his eyes. She had little doubt she would wring a proposal from this man in less than two weeks.
Chapter 7
But I love you.” Susannah moved from her chair by the window and sat down next to her husband.
Jeremiah turned his head and wondered if he could get outside with- out drawing the attention of Judah and his wife. This conversation was much too personal for him to witness. And part of him wanted to chastise Judah again for focusing on his disability. God had given him so many blessings—not the least of which were a Christian wife who loved him dearly, a beautiful home, and the chance to fulfill whatever God’s plan was for him. If only he would let himself see the truth.
“We’re embarrassing our guest.” Judah looked at Jeremiah, a martyred expression on his face. His cheeks were red with mortification, and his fingers plucked at the material of the sofa on which he sat.
His wife was sitting next to him, determination apparent in the tilt of her chin and the straight line of her shoulders. “Are you so proud you cannot listen to reason?”
Judah sighed and shook his head. “You and I can discuss this later. For now, we need to think about what is necessary for the plantation. We need someone to oversee the slaves.”
“But the slave you selected to act as the overseer’s captain, Oren, has been working as hard as he can to get the other slaves working.” Susannah slid to the far end of the sofa and crossed her arms. “It’s true he is not as effective as an overseer, but we have managed to get a few things done since Mr. Heidel left.”
Jeremiah took a deep breath, glad he had not slinked away a few moments earlier. He had the answer if the two of them would only listen to reason. “I can do the work.”
“That’s out of the question.” Judah’s frown centered on him. “You’re a guest here. I’m already beholden to you for bringing me home. I couldn’t ask you to take on the responsibilities of an overseer.”
“I didn’t hear you asking me.” Jeremiah leaned against the mantel and watched his friend. “I want to do this.”
Susannah looked up at him, her eyes large and moist as if she was holding back tears. “We can’t afford to pay you much.”
Jeremiah held up a hand to stop her. “If you can put up with my ugly face for the next few months, that will be payment enough.”
Sputtering laughter came from Judah. He looked at his wife, who nodded. “If you’re serious…”
Jeremiah straightened and stepped toward the sofa. “I won’t let you down.”
“There’s no doubt about that.” Susannah reached for her husband’s hand across the space she had put between them. “You’ve been an answer to our prayers.”
“Where can I find this Oren you mentioned?”
Judah wrapped his large fingers around his wife’s hand, pulling her toward him. “He’ll probably be in the south field today.”
Jeremiah nodded. “I’ll be back before sunset.”
“You’d better be back in time for tea.” The loving glance Susannah had given her husband turned into resolve as she raised her chin and glared at Jeremiah. “I don’t want to have to come get you from the fields.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jeremiah rolled up his sleeves and headed out the door. “I’ll see you for tea.”
He strode across the front lawn, passing several outbuildings that had different functions. He recognized the grist mill, smokehouse, kitchen, and barns, but he made a mental note to investigate the other buildings. He arrived at the south field as the sun was reaching its zenith.
Oren, a tall, muscular black man, was directing the workers in the field, but to Jeremiah’s eyes, little actual work was being done. Only a handful of men were trailing long sacks partially filled with white cotton bolls. The rest of the slaves were sitting or lying on the ground and watching.
“Oren!” As soon as Jeremiah called out the slave’s name, a furor arose. The slaves who had been lolling about jumped to their feet and grabbed their cotton sacks. The ones who had been working stopped and gaped at him.
Oren walked toward him, a look of fear on his face.
Jeremiah held out his hand. “I understand you’ve been doing your best to get the crops in.”
&
nbsp; “Yessir.” The slave looked at his outstretched hand and then back at Jeremiah’s face. He didn’t offer his hand. “Has Missus Hughes hired you to take over?”
“Not exactly.” Jeremiah realized the man was too scared to shake his hand. He should have realized things would not be the same as they were in New Orleans. Although many people in his hometown owned slaves, many free blacks also lived there. But this man had probably never dreamed of such a world. “I am a friend of the family, and I hope to work with you and the others to make sure we catch up on the harvest.”
The slave beamed at him. “I sure is glad yore here, sir.”
“My name is Jeremiah.”
“Yessir, Master Jeremiah.”
“Just plain Jeremiah will do, Oren. I’m not your master. I don’t know much about picking cotton, but I’m willing to work beside the men here. Is there a sack I can use?”
Oren’s smile slipped, puzzlement plain on his face. “You want to work?”
“That’s right. I believe in laboring alongside those who work for me.” He looked toward the fields where all the hands had stopped. “So who’s going to show me what y’all spend all your time doing?”
It didn’t take the slaves long to realize Jeremiah was serious. He was given a sack and shown how to wear the long strap that was used to drag it behind him. He watched with curiosity as Oren showed him how to separate the fluffy cotton from its prickly casing.
After an hour in the sun, Jeremiah was hot, and his back was aching. He could not imagine how hard this work would be in the heat of summer and early autumn.
The other men avoided him, whispering to each other as they worked. To take his mind off his discomforts, Jeremiah began to hum his favorite song, “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” breaking into words as he got to the final verse. He reached the end of a row and turned, starting his hymn all over again. This time he sang all the words, letting his voice broaden as spiritual joy filled him.
He didn’t notice when another voice joined his, but soon, many voices were singing praises to God. He straightened and looked around him, humbled by the realization that these slaves knew Charles Wesley’s hymn as well as he did. It was further proof that they were all God’s children. In that moment, he knew he would have to do something to ease the burden of slavery until he could convince Judah and Susannah to free their slaves.
Chapter 8
How do you expect me to captivate someone as handsome and interesting as Lowell Sheffield when I am limited to wearing nothing but black?” Alexandra twirled around, her skirts swirling with her. Her dress was cut in the newest style—empire waist, narrow skirt, and short sleeves—but the black cloth was only relieved by a narrow collar of lavender lace.
Her mother’s eyebrows crowded together. “You can’t flaunt tradition by abandoning your mourning colors so soon after your father’s death. We will both have to dress in black for at least a year.”
Alexandra collapsed on her bed. She put a hand under her chin and considered. “But it’s not like we’re living in Philadelphia or Boston. It’s not even New Orleans. And you know how many compliments I receive from gentlemen when I wear brighter colors.”
“I don’t know, dear….”
Part of Alexandra wished her mother would argue with her instead of sitting there, staring off into the distance. If only Papa had not—
She shook her head to clear it of the useless thought. Papa had, and the past could not be changed. The color of her dress seemed unimportant compared to the path she and her mother were being forced to take. “Come on, Mama. Let’s go downstairs. It’s too late to change, anyway. Mr. Sheffield will be here any moment.”
Alexandra’s gaze followed her mother’s as it wandered around the room that had always been her special haven during visits. The pastel colors of the draperies and spread had faded a little over the years, but they brought her a sense of comfort nevertheless. To round out Alexandra’s education, Grand-mère had paid for an expensive teacher to come from New Orleans and instruct her in the art of watercolors. If her family was to be believed, she had some talent, so her landscapes were framed and hung in the room. Now they served as an ever-present reminder of happier times.
A knock on the door was followed by Jemma’s voice. “You have a guest in the parlor, Miss Alexandra.”
“Thank you.” Alexandra bent over her mother and pressed a kiss on her cheek. “Are you coming downstairs?”
Mama patted her cheek. “Of course I’ll come downstairs.” She gathered her shawl and pulled it around her shoulders before drifting toward the door.
Mr. Sheffield whisked Alexandra out of the house in a matter of minutes, ushering her into his carriage with a flourish. It was a fancy vehicle with large wheels and a plush seat perched high above the ground. “I hope you are not afraid of my phaeton.”
“Not at all.” Alexandra looked out over the landscape, savoring the wide view. “I love the feeling of wind rushing past.”
“You are so different than most of the girls around here.” He picked up the reins and guided the horse toward the main road. “Eager to enjoy whatever comes your way.”
Alexandra cast an admiring glance in his direction. “And you are a very astute man.” She placed a gloved hand on his arm. “But I’m sure you hear that every day, Mr. Sheffield.”
His ardent glance nearly scorched her. “I wish you would call me Lowell. All my closest acquaintances do.”
Wondering if things might be progressing a little too fast, Alexandra removed her hand and shifted a few inches away from him. “We aren’t children any longer.”
“No, Alexandra, but I am beginning to think we may be destined for something more lasting than a childhood friendship.”
She wasn’t sure if it was the flirtatious tone of his voice, the usage of her first name, or the heady feeling of thundering across the countryside, but her heart seemed to be galloping faster than the horse in front of them.
The road was far enough from Natchez and the Mississippi River that they saw few other travelers, only rolling fields of hay, corn, or cotton. When they turned off the main road, she was surprised to see field after field of unpicked cotton. She had been in the area for less than a week, but the Hugheses seemed to be behind on their harvest. Grand-mère’s fields were barren in comparison.
The carriage turned around a bend in the road, and she spotted a group of slaves who were working on the far side of a cotton field. She raised a hand to shade her gaze and realized a white man was working with the slaves. Alexandra frowned. She’d never seen an overseer who labored alongside the slaves. Was that why the Hugheses were so far behind their neighbors?
As if her gaze had disturbed the man, he straightened and stared in her direction. He looked familiar, but with the distance separating them, she could not recall where she might have seen him before. Then they were past the field, turning into the tree-shaded drive that led to the Hughes plantation home, and Alexandra pushed the thought away.
The Hughes plantation was impressive, although not as large as her grandmother’s home. The two-story building had a deep porch running across the front, topped by a balcony that was equally long and deep. Old oaks shadowed a pond on one side of the front lawn. Alexandra spotted a white egret standing on the bank, watching the dark water, undisturbed by their arrival.
A slave ran toward them and grabbed their horse’s halter. Lowell climbed down and tossed the reins to the boy before walking around to assist her.
Alexandra placed her slippered foot on the wooden step for dismounting and leaned forward into Lowell’s raised hands. He swung her toward the ground with ease and set her on her feet. She thought of stumbling on purpose so he would have to catch her, but she decided at the last moment to step back. Sometimes it was good to be a little unattainable. “Thank you.”
He raised an eyebrow, tucked his chin, and stared at her.
“Thank you…Lowell.”
His smile was as attractive as any she’d ever seen.
“It’s my pleasure.”
She brought up her parasol and opened it to protect her complexion from the autumn sunlight. The action also gave her time to quiet the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Lowell was going to make a superb husband. Rich enough to grant her every wish and exciting enough to make any girl’s heart trip. Alexandra had to admit her grandmother had chosen the perfect man for her.
A slave ushered them into the wide entry hall common to most plantation homes. Several doors opened onto this area, and the slave led them toward one on the right. Lowell gave her both of their names so the slave could announce their arrival to Judah and Susannah Hughes.
The room they entered was somewhat smaller than her grandmother’s formal parlor, but it felt…cozy. The worn sofa on which Judah and his wife sat looked comfortable, if not fashionable. A scuffed, round table stood in front of it, a gleaming silver service atop it. On the far side of the table, three straight-backed chairs crowded each other, providing a place for guests to sit. Sheer curtains billowed around the tall, open windows. The breeze that moved them brushed her cheeks.
Mr. Hughes was struggling to get his crutches under his arm.
Alexandra’s heart went out to him. “Please don’t rise on my account, sir.”
“Nonsense.” He smiled at her as he pulled himself up. “What kind of man does not observe basic etiquette? Especially when visited by such a beautiful young lady.”
His wife rose, too. “It’s so nice to see you, Miss Lewis, Mr. Sheffield. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you.” Alexandra curtsied to both of them before sinking into one of the chairs.
Mrs. Hughes sat back down, waiting until both of the gentlemen had also taken their seats. “How is your foot?”
“I am fully recovered, thanks to your kindness in rescuing me.”
Mr. Hughes shook his head. “All we did was offer a ride. It was Jeremiah who rescued you.”
Alexandra was about to answer him when the door to the parlor opened once more. She turned to see the subject of her host’s pronouncement enter. Of course! He was the man she had just seen across the cotton fields. No wonder he looked so familiar. But what was he doing in the parlor? Did he have some message for his master?
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