Ambrosia

by Rosanne Kohake

  Drayton tossed a glance at Ambrosia. “Not exactly, Bessie. This is my wife.”

  “Your wife!” she squeaked, her eyes all but popping. A moment later she managed a smile. “Yes, sir. Your wife,” she said in a much calmer tone. “Well, come in, come in.... ‘’ She swiftly stepped aside and held the door open. “Miss Lily’s in the library, sir.”

  As they were ushered toward the library, Ambrosia’s eyes scanned a foyer papered in gold leaf on ivory; a long, curving staircase of ornately carved dark wood which wound to a great picture window on the second floor landing.

  The library door stood slightly ajar. Bessie paused at the doorway, her eyes darting uncertainly from Drayton ‘s to Ambrosia’s and back again. “She’ll be wanting to see you right away, I’m sure, sir. Just ring if you need anything.’’ She gave a swift curtsy and left Drayton and Ambrosia to announce themselves.

  ‘’Bessie! Is that you?’’ A soft, melodic voice rose from the library as Drayton opened the door. The woman sat behind a huge mahogany desk, her glowing white head bent in deep concentration over a letter she was writing.

  “It’s not Bessie, Aunt Lily.”

  At the sound of his voice, her head shot up and the pen dropped from her hand. “Good Lord!”

  Ambrosia remained at the door as Drayton rounded the desk and bent to embrace his aunt warmly. She was a strikingly beautiful woman, younger than Ambrosia had pictured her to be. Her features were delicate and fine. Her hair was snowy white, but a pair of piercing blue eyes edged with tiny laugh lines at the corners reminded Ambrosia very much of Drayton. She watched as the woman’s eyes filled with tears as she drew back to gaze at him with obvious devotion. “You-you look well,” Ambrosia heard her say in a tight voice. Lily wiped away a tear. “Handsome as ever...” The woman’s fingers trembled as she brushed tenderly at his hair. “Thank God you’ve finally come home!” she whispered.

  Drayton’s arms went around her a second time, holding her tightly against himself, his face twisting with emotion. Ambrosia unconsciously straightened her stance. She did not belong here, watching this Yankee come home from the war. She couldn’t help but remember the day Ledger had come home, the way she had wanted to hold him as Drayton now held his aunt.

  It seemed an eternity before he released her, and the two stared at one another-with ever-deepening smiles. “You might have given me some warning, Drayton, after all this time.’’ Her eyes caught sight of Ambrosia then and were suddenly full of questions.

  “Aunt Lily, I’d like you to meet my Wife, Ambrosia. Ambrosia, my aunt, Lily Collinsworth.”

  Ambrosia gave a cold nod and made no move to step forward. Lily smiled at her from her seat, then reached to take hold of a cane which had been propped against her chair. She rose to a pair of shaky feet. With slow, halting movements, she came toward Ambrosia and paused to extend a hand which shook all the more as she attempted to hold it steady. “I am so very happy to meet you, my dear,” she smiled.

  Ambrosia took hold of the hand briefly, trying to hide her surprise at the woman’s crippled legs and trembling arms. “Thank you, Mrs. Collinsworth.”

  “It’s Lily to you, my dear.” She flashed Drayton a suspicious glare. “Drayton did not tell me that he had married, but I could not be happier. Of course, you will stay here-”

  “For a little while,” Drayton cut in. “Until we can move into a place of our own.”

  Lily was smiling again. “Are you hungry? Of course you are. But more exhausted than hungry, I’m sure. Come along to the parlor. I’ll have Sarah serve an early tea and tell Bessie to see to your rooms. But once you’re rested, I’ll want to find out everything about you, my dear. Everything! You are such a pleasant surprise to me! I cannot imagine why Drayton didn’t write...”

  As her chatter continued, Ambrosia watched her struggle laboriously, painfully through the hallway toward the parlor. Though her face contorted with concentration, her pleasant conversation never ceased. Until she noticed Sheba. “My word!” she exclaimed. “Who’s this?”

  She pivoted to glance at Ambrosia, then turned back to Sheba. “Did you come with Ambrosia, my dear?” she questioned the old black woman.

  Sheba gave a solemn nod.

  “Then we shall have to make you comfortable as well. Come into the parlor so that I can demand a proper introduction.”

  The parlor was a pleasant room with light blue walls and walnut rococo furniture upholstered in soft green velvet, a color echoed in the floral motif of the thick Persian carpet and again in the silver-green draperies. True to her word, Lily demanded an introduction to Sheba the moment she had settled herself in a high-backed parlor chair.

  “Sheba was the head cook for my family for nearly thirty years,” Ambrosia told her. The black woman’s eyes glowed with pride.

  “A cook, you say?” Lily asked in some surprise. She had taken for granted that Sheba was the girl’s personal maid.

  Sheba gave a nod, and Ambrosia added, ‘’One of the finest cooks in all the South.”

  “I am honored to welcome you to our household, Sheba. My cook is a woman named Sarah who complains constantly about the amount of work she’s forced to do, and even more about the girl I hired to help her do it. Per­ haps you would consider sharing duties with her for a little while...?”

  Sheba glanced at Ambrosia, requesting permission to agree, then gave a happy nod. She had missed her kitchen and would be pleased to be a cook again, even if it meant working with another woman.

  “Ah! Here is Bessie now. Bessie, I want you to settle Sheba in a room near the kitchen. When she is comfortable, prepare the master suite for Drayton and his bride. Oh, and have Sarah bring in tea as soon as possible.’’

  Bessie dropped a curtsy. “Yes, Miss Lily.” Ambrosia rose abruptly from the seat she had taken as

  Sheba made to leave the room. “I shall go along, if you don’t mind. To see that Sheba is properly settled.”

  Lily had difficulty hiding her shock at Ambrosia’s tactless insinuation. “I can assure you, my dear, that Bessie will see to her needs.”

  “All the same, I believe I will-”

  “You will sit down, Ambrosia.” Drayton’s voice was low and cold in the sudden silence of the parlor. Her eyes clashed with his for a long, tense moment before she reluctantly stared at the floor and resumed her seat. Neither said another word.

  Lily cleared her throat, troubled by the tension that was all too apparent between them. ‘’I’m sure you must be starving,” she began.

  “Actually, I’m not hungry at all,” Ambrosia said coldly. “We had breakfast on the ship.”

  “Breakfast!” Lily gasped. “What of lunch?”

  Only the threatening look in Drayton’s eyes made Ambrosia bite back a reply that, thanks to the Yankees, she and all Southerners had grown accustomed to doing without regular meals.

  “I suppose tea and cakes will hold you both until dinner,’’ Lily inserted in the uneasy silence. She cleared her throat again, aware that Ambrosia wanted no part of frivolous conversation. A few moments later an old, pinched woman with thin, silver hair pulled back severely in a small net at the nape of her neck entered the parlor with a tray of tea and sweets, which she gracefully placed on the serving table near Lily. “Shall I pour, Miss Lily?”

  Lily met Ambrosia’s cool green eyes for a moment, then shook her head. “Thank you, Sarah, no. I’m sure Ambrosia wouldn’t mind pouring.’’

  Ambrosia hid the irritation she felt at being tested so obviously by Drayton’s aunt. For a moment she toyed with the idea of spilling the entire pot. Something in Drayton’s eyes made her decide against that. Lily studied her openly as she accepted a cup of tea in her shaking hands with a half-nod of approval, then sipped at it daintily. The girl was no street urchin, surely. And her face was striking, beautiful in a way, even though she wore black and did not arrange her hair in a flattering style.
Still, there was something in her eyes that troubled Lily. An anger...no. Something that went beyond anger, that was rooted deep in the girl’s soul. Lily noticed that Drayton took a cup of tea from her without meeting her eyes and sipped at it without interest. Neither spoke or touched the platter of cakes that sat on the serving tray. After some space of time, Drayton set his cup aside and strode to the large parlor window to stare out on the familiar grounds. Lily’s eyes softened as she considered him, forgetting his bride, remembering that long years ago, as a boy, he had stood at this window and gazed out on snow or rain...

  “It is good to have you home, Drayton,” she said softly. “So very, very good!”

  He turned to face her, a hint of a smile in his deep blue eyes. “It’s good to be home, Lily. I’ve missed you,” he sighed. He turned his eyes toward the window again. “Missed this place.”

  ‘’The people hereabouts will be forming a line at the door when you hang out your shingle again. I don’t know who will be first in that line-Mr. Brent with his gout or Bea Hanover with her headaches.” She shook her head and gave a smile. ‘’I’ve been listening to their complaints since the day you left. It will be a relief to let you handle them the way you used to. I remember once when Bea showed up at your door in the middle of the-’’

  “There won’t be anyone coming to my door late at night, Lily,” he broke in, his voice low. “I told you that a long time ago.”

  A tiny frown tugged at Ambrosia’s brow at the comment, and she suddenly remembered the night at Heritage, the skillful way Drayton had wielded a knife and saved the lives of two men who otherwise would surely have died. She had known then that he was a doctor. Yet he had pointedly denied it. Now, though she told herself firmly that she didn’t care, she wondered why, and she listened more closely.

  Lily met her nephew’s eyes with a challenging lift of her brow. “You are a doctor, Drayton. A very good one. You can’t erase all the years of study and practice and turn your back on-”

  ‘’I’m not a little boy, Lily,” he interrupted stiffly. “I know perfectly well what I can and cannot do.”

  She flinched at that, as if he’d insulted her. She flashed a sidelong glance at Ambrosia and noticed the hint of a puzzled frown on the younger woman’s face, even as she stared at the floor. She let out a breath and shakily set her cup on a nearby table, wondering just how much Ambrosia knew about her husband’s past. There was trouble between the two of them, that much was very apparent. Perhaps a part of Drayton’s cold attitude had to do with his wife’s presence. She forced a small smile. “Well, you are more than welcome to stay here with me, regardless of what you decide to do. I have missed you, Drayton.’’

  The next quarter hour passed slowly, in a tedious test of Lily’s patience as she alternately tried to draw the strange girl Drayton had married into polite conversation and attempted a similar feat with her nephew. Each proved totally impossible. She was relieved when Bessie entered and announced that their rooms had been prepared, and sought the solace of her garden the moment they left the parlor.

  It was a wide, open garden that spanned the entire length of the house with a low, ivy-clad wall marking its boundaries. A maze of flagstone paths wound around the trees and flowerbeds, all tended by a slight old man named Jake, whose intimacy with growing things was obvious to everyone though he hardly ever spoke beyond a simple “good day.” The flowers and plants he cultivated grew fuller and more colorful every spring, and Lily, who had taken so little time i n her youth to notice the beauty in living things, now knew a devotion for her garden and often found comfort within the shelter of its low walls. This day, however, there was little peace to be found in the beauty she saw.

  Drayton had come home. After all these years, he had come home, safe and sound. He had even brought a wife along, who was obviously with child. A wife! Lily had never expected him to marry again. But none of that erased the fact that something was very wrong between Drayton and the woman he had wed. Lily took a seat on a stone bench and stared at the willow tree, whose branches stirred like long tendrils of hair in the soft breeze. All of her hopes had been dashed by what she had seen in that young girl’s eyes. And she could not rid herself of the fear that Drayton’s dreams had been destroyed a second time by the very same thing.

  Bess flounced her rounded body proudly up the staircase, anxious to show off the luxurious master suite that Lily had ordered prepared for Drayton and his bride. It had seen so little use since Lily’s illness confined her to the first floor years before. Bess flung open the massive double doors and stood aside, eagerly awaiting the young woman’s exclamations of delight. But instead Ambrosia strode silently into the sitting room and glanced about. If she was impressed by the richness of the carved mahogany furniture, by the lovely blend of royal blue carpets and draperies with cream-colored walls, she gave no sign.

  Beyond the sitting room was a spacious bedroom of the same color scheme, and on one wall was a pair of French doors which opened onto a small terrace above the garden. Frowning a bit at her indifference, Bess stepped past Ambrosia and flung open a second, smaller door.

  “Your private bath, ma’am,” she announced with a lift of her chin. She was happy to see Ambrosia’s eyes widen at that. She watched the younger woman enter the room, run her hand across the enameled tub, and curiously twist the brass knob from which water immediately flowed. Drayton stood at the doorway. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction?” he inquired with a slight smile.

  Ambrosia withdrew her hand and straightened abruptly, angered by his mildly chiding tone. “All the trappings of a comfortable prison,” she retorted.

  Bess let out a startled gasp. “You may go, thank you, Bessie,” Drayton said softly, though his eyes remained on his wife.

  The stout woman bobbed a nervous curtsy. “Yes, sir. Emily will be up to help the missus dress for dinner, sir.” She whirled about and hurried from the room, anxious to be away from the harsh words that were surely forthcoming, though she remained just outside with her ear pressed hard against the thick double doors.

  For a long time there was only silence. Drayton stood motionless, eyeing his wife, his blue eyes aflame.

  “Lily Collinsworth is a generous, loving woman,” he articulated slowly, softly, “and I will not have you insulting her or any of her people ever again. Do you understand me?’’

  Ambrosia’s eyes narrowed and she raised her chin a notch. Stubborn defiance was written all over her face. He took hold of her arm. “Do you understand me?” he repeated in an even softer voice.

  She noticed that his teeth were clenched, that a tiny muscle in his jaw twitched with restraint. She did not care. The resentment that had churned during the endless days in that tiny ship’s cabin had surfaced. She tried to twist free of his hold. He grasped both her arms then, hard. “I want your word that you will not insult anyone in this household again.”

  ‘’Or what?’’ she flung back at him. ‘’What will you do if I refuse to give it?”

  For a long moment his fingers dug painfully into the flesh of her arms. ‘’Don’t tempt me, Ambrosia. It would be too easy for me to lock you away in a real prison.”

  Her eyes reflected enough fear at the threat to make him loosen his hold somewhat. “You are a guest in my aunt’s home. As long as you are here, you will behave in a civil manner.’’

  Her eyes were lowered. “You give me no choice,” she said bitterly.

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted freely. “But cheer up. A few months from now you’ll be free to go as you please. As long as you leave the child to me.”

  Her eyes lifted, shooting daggers of outrage and frustration. He abruptly released her and stepped away. “You’ll want to rest before you bathe and dress for dinner. Emily will be up to help you.”

  “I don’t want any help.”

  “She’ll be here all the same. And you will accept her help if you don’t want an
y trouble.” He paused at the door and gave her a cold smile. “Until dinner...”

  Dinner that evening proved a trial of nerves to match that of the afternoon tea. Drayton drank far more than Lily would have liked, said little, and ignored his wife as a polite host ignores a guest with poor table manners. Ambrosia said even less than he, ate little, and never once even attempted a smile. Lily stared at her coffee, relieved that the meal was nearly over, wondering if she ought to have had Bess prepare separate rooms for the two of them. Neither had said anything, but it was quite obvious that... She took a long sip of coffee and decided not to broach that delicate subject.

  Lily stole yet another glance at Ambrosia and tried to piece together what little information she had gleaned from the stilted conversation of the past hour. The girl’s table manners were impeccable; she was educated, intelligent. Yet she was purposely frigid, decidedly hostile to every overture of friendliness and even to conversation. Most troubling of all was the way she looked at Drayton-warily, with distrust and even fear. Almost the way a puppy looks at a master who’s whipped him once too often. Lily wondered if it were possible that Drayton deserved such a look.

  Ambrosia excused herself from the table before dessert was served and retired immediately to her room. She was exhausted, frustrated, and nervous, and the confrontation with Drayton that afternoon had drained her completely. She needed to be alone. She needed to think, to plan. As Drayton had recently reminded her, she had only two months to find a way out before she was trapped forever. She knew well enough that he would never allow her a chance to escape with his child. She dismissed Emily after she had readied herself for bed and silently paced the floor, trying in vain to still the panic that was taking hold of her. She must be patient. She must not make any wrong moves. She must choose the best possible moment and use it to her full advantage if she hoped to get away. She must remain alert and healthy so that when the right moment did come, she would be ready. Drayton was no fool, and escape would be all the more difficult in her condition, since the added weight of the child made her tire so easily. With a sigh of resignation, she slipped beneath the light blanket in the four-poster bed and willed herself to sleep.