Desperate
By
Teresa Greene
Desperate, Book One of the
Harris Trilogy.
Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
Author Website
[email protected]
Cover design by Viola Estrella
violaestrella.com
Dedicated to
My husband David, the love of my life.
Chapter One
Spring of 1863
Rain poured down as the small group stood around the simple, homemade pine box. The rain matched the somber mood of Kate Monroe, as she stared blankly at the casket being lowered into the ground. Her beloved grandmother, Mattie, lay in the pine box, the last member of her family. She had never felt so alone in her life.
Men in dark suits methodically shoveled piles of dirt on top of the casket as rain dripped from their hats. Kate had done all she could to make her grandmother comfortable during her long bout with influenza. Now she wished she could have done more, but her grandmother was just too frail, and the sickness robbed her body of all its strength.
Silent tears slipped over her cheeks as the preacher said a prayer, and the small group sang, “Amazing Grace”, her grandmother’s favorite hymn.
Her nearest neighbor, Mrs. Johnston, wrapped her arm around her shoulder. A gnarled, arthritic hand squeezed as she whispered, “I will miss Mattie. She was a kind soul.” There was tenderness in the lightness of her hand.
Kate pressed her head against the elderly lady’s stiff, gray hair. “Yes, she was. I can’t think of anyone kinder.”
Guilt spread through her. There she was taking pity and comfort from Mrs. Johnston when the poor woman had just learned her son had been killed in a battle in Virginia just a month ago. Now the war had taken both her sons. Just like her, the widow was all alone and grieving.
The war had massively changed numerous people. So many families had been destroyed because men had been called to serve or volunteered to fight to keep the way of life in the South. Fathers and sons, who fought for the South, never came home. Too many families existed with no means left to make a living without the man of the house.
It all seemed final as the five men patted down the dirt with the back of their shovels. She stepped out from under the black umbrella Mrs. Johnston held over her head into the pouring rain. She stooped and placed the wildflowers on top of the grave and stepped back under the umbrella. Blue, pink and red flowers looked so out of place on the pile of ugly, brown dirt.
Peering at the simple stone grave markers, she shuddered. Her father, mother, brother, and now her grandmother were all laid to rest in the family plot. She was the lone survivor.
Kate stepped to her brother’s grave, closed her eyes and prayed. Her parents were so proud of fifteen year old Jake when he announced he was going to fight for the South during the Civil War. Their parents died not knowing the horrors Jake had endured. They had no idea of what the war had really been like.
Spring grass had not yet begun to grow on his fresh grave. The same people in attendance now had helped her bury her twin brother only two months ago. Grief overwhelmed her as she remembered the terrible day he was returned home by two soldiers after he had been injured in the war. She had tried so hard to mend her brother’s broken body. Jake’s spirit had been shattered and he just couldn’t be fixed. His injuries had been too severe, and he had lost his will to survive.
Before he died, he told her of the horrors of seeing friends die next to him on the battlefield. His young eyes had seen too much death and carnage. Jake did not have the strength or spirit to fight for his life. She was devastated when her brother died. They had shared a special bond as twins usually do. The past few years of her life had been filled with nothing but tragedy and now all she felt was misery.
“Come on, dear. We need to get you out of this rain, wouldn’t want you to take pneumonia.”
Kate let Mrs. Johnston lead her toward her cabin. Since the widow was seventy-one years old, Kate felt like they’d never get back to the house. Shoulders stooped with age, and arthritis settled in her knees and ankles, the slow walk was excruciating. She bit her bottom lip and tried to be patient. No reason to take her pain and anger at the death of her grandmother out on someone who had shown her nothing but kindness.
By the time they arrived at the cabin, Bob Lewis sat on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs.
Mrs. Johnston whispered, “What is that old rooster doing here?” She halted and tightened her grip on Kate’s hand. “You’d better watch out for him. I don’t trust him worth a lick. The man puts me in mind of the devil.”
He stood and removed his Stetson hat when he saw them coming up the path and smiled. Evil, brown eyes bore right through her. She shuddered at the way he indulged himself in a long brazen look.
The man made her nervous as a cat in a room full of rockers. He waited under the roof of the porch until they were on the top step of the stoop, probably so he wouldn’t get wet. Then he hurried forward and took Mrs. Johnston’s arm helping her the few feet to the door.
“Sorry I didn’t get here in time for the wake, Kate. I had business in town.”
Likely story she thought. Perhaps he didn’t want to ruin his expensive suit. Didn’t seem the type of man that liked being uncomfortable. “I understand, Mr. Lewis.”
He skirted around Mrs. Johnston and took Kate’s hand. She cringed every time he touched her. It took all her will power to keep from pulling away.
“If there is anything I can do, please let me know. Thoughts of you being all alone out here in the woods is a cause for worry.”
It almost hurt to be cordial to a man she didn’t like. Determined to keep the distaste from her voice, she calmly stated, “Thank you Mr. Lewis, but I’m going to be fine.”
“I hope so,” Bob said in his southern drawl, boldly looking into her eyes. She was extremely uncomfortable whenever she was in the presence of Bob Lewis. It was obvious he wanted to bed her, especially the way his eyes roamed over her body. She would have to be blind not to notice. Of course she would have to be careful where he was concerned since she no longer had anyone to protect her. Many times he had tried to court her, but was sent away by her grandmother.
Mrs. Johnston interrupted. “Let’s go in the house and get out of this rain. I’m soaked to the skin.”
The five men that dug the grave and helped bury her grandmother shook off their rain slickers and left them hanging on the porch. “Please come inside and dry out.” Kate held the door open to let John Bean and his brother James enter, behind him Tom Carver, Mrs. Johnston’s slave, and Brad Lincoln meandered across the threshold, soaked hats in their hands.
Standing outside, Matt Taylor had a short conversation with Bob Lewis before Mrs. Johnston snapped, “Come in and shut the door. Don’t you know when to come in out of the rain?” Kate shut the door behind Mr. Lewis, the last one through the door.
Removing her father’s duster, she hung it on the peg behind the door. She shook out the skirts of the black dress that had belonged to her mother. New clothes were a luxury she couldn’t afford so she had to wear it to the wake. It was a little tight since her mother had been a thin woman, but it sufficed.
She crossed the room to the fireplace and threw another log on the dying embers. In minutes the flame leaped to life. Trembling from the soaking rain, Kate stood at the old rock fireplace near the roaring fire trying to get warm.
She felt cramped in the small cabin with her neighbors. She found it hard to breathe, and was impatient for them to be gone. She had an overwhelming urge to ask them to leave. Instead she took several deep breaths to control the panic. Out of respect she would have to tolerate their presence.
One by one the men offered her condolences before heading home. That is except Bob Lewis. He sat at the kitchen table eating some of the food the neighbors had brought. Seemed he was going to be staying a spell.
Mrs. Johnston prepared a plate piled with fried chicken and potatoes then placed it on the table. “Come on over here and eat, Kate. You need to keep up your strength.”
“I’m not hungry. I promise to eat something later.”
“It’s some mighty fine chicken, Kate. Come on sit beside me and eat.” Drumstick in his hand, Mr. Lewis pulled out the chair next to him which scraped across the floor making an eerie sound.
The widow stumbled to the old cook stove and lifted the blue enamel coffee pot and filled a cup. She moved to the fireplace and handed the cup to Kate. “Would you like me to stay with you tonight? I don’t think you need to be alone.”
She wiped at a tear. “No, ma’am. I’ll be fine. I don’t mind being by myself. I’m not fit company right now.”
She moved to the table and ignored the chair Mr. Lewis pulled out for her. Instead she sat at the chair beside the window. Peering outside, she watched the rain that had dissipated to a slow drizzle. She lifted the cup and sipped the hot brown liquid feeling its warmth all the way to her stomach.
“I wish you would stay with me,” Mrs. Johnston pleaded as she squeezed her hand. “You can’t stay here all alone. A young girl should not be left unaccompanied in these difficult times.”
She tried to smile but it did not reach her eyes as she tried to reassure Mrs. Johnston. “I’ll be fine. I just need time to think, to figure things out.”
“You are welcome at my home. Don’t hesitate to visit anytime you need me. Mattie was my best friend. She’d want you looked after.”
The lonely widow whose husband died five years ago lived two miles to the north, four miles from Durham, North Carolina. She had been her grandmother’s closest friend. The only difference in her and Kate’s situation was Mrs. Johnston’s husband left her with a working farm. She raised some cattle, pigs, goats, and also cotton. She had a handful of able-bodied slaves who handled the labor.
Kate did not want to leave her small farm where her most precious memories of her family were still so alive. She wanted to stay and try to make it on her own instead of relying on someone else.
Mrs. Johnston stood. “I guess you and I should make our way home while the rain has slowed, Mr. Lewis.”
Not bothering to stand, Kate kept her eyes on the cup she held in her hands. Lewis placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed causing her to cringe. “If you need anything, Kate, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine.” A warning tingled up her spine.
The moment the door shut behind him, Mrs. Johnston replied, “The man is a weasel. I plump don’t trust him.”
Kate took her hand and brought it to her chest. “Thank you for staying until he left.”
“Honey, I wouldn’t leave you alone with that devil for a hundred dollars.” She pointed a bony, gnarled finger for emphasis. “Beware of him.”
“Stop worrying about me. I appreciate your kindness.” She pushed away from the table and tucked her arm into Mrs. Johnston’s and escorted her to the door.
“If you’re up to it, I’ll be by Sunday to take you to church. I think it’ll be good for you to be around people.” She helped the widow slip into her rain coat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Johnston.” Since the death of Kate’s parents, Mrs. Johnston came by every Sunday and took her and her grandmother to church in her buggy. Afterwards they’d go to her house for a Sunday meal prepared by her cook.
She waited on the porch and watched her ride away in her buggy with Tom at the reins. She had no idea what she was going to do to survive. She had been content on her small farm, couldn’t think of living anywhere else. She hoped she could use her knowledge she had obtained from her grandmother to heal.
Kate and her grandmother barely got by on the small farm. A natural healer, Mattie, had used her knowledge of homegrown herbs and roots and was able to heal many of the surrounding neighbors, who paid her with a chicken, eggs, or sometimes a rabbit. Most did not have money to pay, so they used the barter system. At least they had food to eat. Learning many survival skills from her grandmother, Kate hoped she knew enough to survive on her own.
Maybe she could be a school teacher. She knew how to read and write. Her mother taught her because she felt having a literate daughter was important. Problem was, it was six miles to Durham and she would have to stay in town if she chose teaching as way to make a living. She just did not know how she could carry on and felt lost without her grandmother. She couldn’t stem the tears as she stood on the porch watching the storm clouds brewing overhead. Hopefully Mrs. Johnston would get home before the rain intensified.
****
Back on his plantation, Bob Lewis sat in his huge bedroom, thinking about the beautiful, young Kate. He thought she was magnificent with her long, brown, shiny hair. It was the first thing he noticed about her. Surely, it would feel like silk to his touch. Her emerald green eyes and luscious lips haunted his dreams at night.
He would have to find a way to convince her to marry him. She really did not have a choice. Now that all her family was dead, she had no one upon whom to rely. He considered himself very skilled in the matter of women, he would persuade her. For the last two years he had watched her grow into womanhood. Sumptuous breasts, round, delectable derriere; she was the most desirable woman he had ever met.
Every Sunday at church it had been hard to focus on the sermon with her sitting on the pew with her grandmother. Many times he asked if he could come calling, and each time Mattie Monroe turned up her nose at him. The old biddy didn’t think he was good enough for Kate. Fury streaked through him like light. Well, now she was dead and nothing stood in the way of his marrying Kate. His brow creased and his eyes filled with lust as he imagined her lying naked beneath him. He closed his eyes and fantasized about her firm breasts and wide hips.
Tilley, his new house slave, walked into the room with his cup of coffee and sat it on the nightstand by the bed. Bob could feel the thickness of his manhood. “Thank you, Tilley.”
Eyes averted, she said nothing. She sure was an uppity thing for a slave. It might take some time but she would learn her place.
As she flounced around the room gathering the dirty dishes and cups, he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Pretty, with long legs and ample hips, he admired the graceful way she moved. Even barefoot she was almost as tall as him.
He had just bought her from one of his friends whose wife was jealous of her. Tilley was his friend’s daughter by one of his female house slaves. His wife said she had to go, probably because she was so pretty.
“Tilley, look at me.”
Hands full of dishes she turned and looked into his face. He saw the fright in her eyes. He patted the place next to him. “Come and sit by me. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“I have work to do, Master.”
Bob threw back the covers and stood. She let out a little scream and dropped the dishes to the floor where they shattered into tiny pieces.
Naked and hard as a rock he crossed to the door and slammed it causing her to scream again.
****
The loud crow of a rooster woke Bob. He felt the warmth from the young body beside him.
He hungrily stared at the sleeping, slave girl curled into a ball next to him. The first rays of the morning sun filtered through the window bathing her in light. Her skin was light brown without a blemish. Touching his finger to her beautiful cheek, Bob smiled. He had enjoyed her body immensely last night. He hoped Tilley would provide him with another slave child. He had lost so many slaves who had escaped to the North since the war had begun. She had a sturdy figure so child bearing should be easy for her. Maybe she would produce several children making up for the slaves he had lost.
The war had taken so much from him. His five sons had gone to fight. Two had already perished in the war. When he married Kate, she would have more sons for him. Bob’s oldest son was five years her senior but he had no problem with her age. He deserved someone as young and beautiful as Kate.
He started getting hard again just thinking about her curvy body. Life would be so perfect when he could make love to her every night after they were married. He looked over at Tilley and decided to give her time to recuperate since she had been a virgin.
He slapped her rounded bottom. “Get up, wench.” Tilley moaned as if in pain. A snort of laughter escaped his thick lips. He bet she was sore after the many times he took her last night. Her dark eyes flickered open and she peered into Bob’s eyes. “You need to change the sheets.” She awoke with a jolt, her heart galloping.
Covering herself with the sheet, Tilley crawled to the edge of the bed. She glared at him. “Don’t touch me!”
“It’s a little late for modesty now. Have you forgotten what we did last night?” Suddenly, Bob reached out and grabbed the sheet away from her.
Before running from the room completely nude, she shouted, “I really hate you!” She said it with such loathing he saw no cause to doubt her words. Thinking he would have to teach her some manners, he laughed. She had a lot of mouth for a slave. But then he liked a challenge.
Bob called for May, his housekeeper. She entered and saw the blood on the sheets. He noticed obvious disapproval flicker in her eyes. She was a hard one to read though, keeping her thoughts to herself. He had a feeling she thought him despicable, though she’d never uttered a word to him. She wouldn’t dare.
Desperate (Harris Trilogy Book One) Page 1