“Now, it just so happened that Ma was disenchanted with theatre. She went to New York looking for adventure and found loneliness. She didn’t know it, but she was waiting for someone to take her away, and Pa was the one man valiant enough to do it.”
“How exciting! Did they elope? What about the cotton farm?” I interrupted.
“Not exactly. Pa already knew her daddy as Mr. Tom Rushford, whom he previously met negotiating cotton price. Pa knew well enough to maintain reputable business relationships with Mr. Rushford. Marrying the only daughter of an incredibly wealthy Chicago businessman was never the plan, but it could have really huge benefits.” Sam rubbed his fingers together, indicating money.
“Now the cotton plantation, not a farm…” He looked at me, obviously thinking ‘city girl’ and continued, “my Pa inherited from my great-grandmother, Hatti.”
“You mentioned something about her yesterday. Called her a rebel or something.”
“She lived during the Civil War. She fell in love.”
“With a Yankee?”
“During the last year of the war, a secret relationship developed between her and a slave.”
Silence fell between us.
“A colored man, Emily.”
I thought about all the non-white kids at school. It was hard for me to imagine this being such a terrible thing.
“Well, at the time, it was strictly prohibited. In fact, it might have been illegal. Some die-hard Confederate might have lynched them both just to make a point.”
“Hung? For being in love?”
“Yup. But Tom was a good man. Faithful. She went one and had a son, my grandfather, Charles. Of course Hatti hid her pregnancy from the public, and when the child was born, she passed him off as a distant relative in need of a home. His complexion was light enough and no one questioned her story. Years later, Charles took a bride and they had a son, Garret, my father.”
“But you don’t look black,” I thoughtlessly blurted out as he pointed to his curly hair, which wasn’t black, either. I wondered if my dad got his curly hair from African Americans as well. Weird.
By now, the garden was thoroughly saturated and we were sitting in the grass by the pond further out past the barn.
“Hatti and Tom never wed, and kept their relationship hush-hush. Him being a colored man, die-hard Confederates would have lynched him for sure. In fact, it might have been illegal.”
“Back up a minute. There’s you, your Pa, Charles, and then Hatti? I don’t mean to be rude, Sam, and it could be that my teacher was misinformed about the American History class he was teaching, but your family timeline is not making any sense.”
The twinkle in Sam’s eyes fizzled out. A serious look over took the rest of his features as he stared out past the pond and into the next field. “Time is only relevant to those who don’t have enough, Miss Emily.”
Apparently that blob of information was supposed to satisfy my question. All it did was raise more questions, but I decided to switch gears. “What did your parents do after they left Chicago?”
A smile returned to his face. “Ma loved to sing and Pa played the piano. There were six of them that toured together.”
“So, your parents had their own band? How exciting!”
“Oooh, doggy! Don’t you know it.” Sam’s eyes grew large with excitement. “Living right there on the Goldenrod, tooling up and down the Mississippi, performing all the way from St. Louis to New Orleans!
“What is the Goldenrod?”
“A showboat.”
“What’s a showboat?”
“Tell me, have you ever heard of the Mississippi Queen?”
“It’s that big ship with the giant paddle on the back, right? My aunt and uncle got married on it.”
“The Goldenrod is a lot like that.”
“Gee, I wonder why I’ve never heard of that one then?”
“That’s probably because the Goldenrod was built in 1910 and the Mississippi Queen was built in 1976. Strange that both are still around, but folks only care about the newest.”
“I’d care,” I said, trying to sound compassionate.
Rolling his eyes, Sam continued with his story. “When Ma realized she was with child, they moved to Kansas City, to be with her sister. Then after I was born, they took a claim on the land out here, away from big city life.”
“Why didn’t they live on the plantation?”
“Pa never cared for the humidity. So, being the entrepreneur he was, he decided to try his hand at wheat. He had the house and barn built, bought the equipment, and hired out the crop labor. I eventually had a little sister, Amelia. Life was good. Nearly perfect.” After ending his sentence, he stretched out, crossed his long legs, and rested back on his hands, appearing satisfied with the ending of his tale.
“What? You’re ending there?” I felt cheated, like someone had shut off the TV in the middle of the program.
Sam turned to look at me, a half smile on his face.
“What about your family? What happened next?”
“This is the happy ending I like. I’ll save the tragedy for another day.”
My chin dropped into a silent, “Oh.”
He closed my lower jaw up with the tips of his fingers. An immediate, smoky sweet taste returned to my taste buds. Weird.
Not knowing how Sam came to be an orphan, and picking up on the word “tragedy,” I got the impression it was beyond bad. A stick had found its way into my hand and I had been absentmindedly etching a design in the dirt. “It’s nice to hear you can focus on the positive.”
“But you can’t?” he asked.
I flung the stick into the water. “Fairytales used to be my favorite kind of books. I think they set little girls up for disappointment.”
Sam thought for a moment. “Maybe. So, what kind of books do you like now?”
“Adventure. I am definitely looking for adventure.”
Chapter Eighteen
RADISHES
SAM PRESSED HIS LIPS TOGETHER and nodded, perhaps in thought. “Hows about swimming? We could make it a mini adventure.”
The sun gleamed high in the sky and my skin felt sticky. The idea sounded refreshing. “I’d love to. Where?”
He pointed straight ahead. “There.”
“Sam! In the pond? Where would we change?”
He glassed over the landscape. “Behind those bushes.”
“And what would I wear?” I could feel the heat in my cheeks.
He grinned. “I’m sure you could be resourceful.”
My mind was racing a million miles an hour. Did I dare? Skinny-dipping? Definitely not. I could wear my bra and undies. Was he just trying to get me out of my clothes? Probably. No, probably not. He hadn’t even tried to kiss me yet.
“Okay,” I heard myself say before I had fully made up my mind, “but I get to go in first, while you face the other way.”
The pond water felt refreshingly cool against my over-heated skin. It was spacious, sizably larger than a backyard swimming pool. “You said that this pond used to be a watering hole for the cattle. I’m not going to step in cow poop, am I?”
“Do I really have to answer that?” he called out behind me.
As I bobbed into deeper depths, I was quite relieved my bra was not a see-through style. Confident to turn back towards shore, I noticed Sam’s boots and shirt already in a pile and he was now unbuttoning his jeans. I was thinking I should look away to give him privacy but couldn’t force my eyes away. He didn’t have the abrupt farmer’s tan as I was expecting. Instead, his muscular body was evenly colored. I figured it must be a part of his black heritage that still ran in his blood.
I had to keep staring. Wow! How’d he put it? Oooh, doggy?
Without the slightest apprehension, Sam slipped off his pants. Daunted by his un-bashful nature, and surprised at my own voyeuristic behavior, I noticed his unusual style of boxers. Maybe silk—definitely not off the rack at Target, and very sexy.
I tried not to gi
ve away my smile as I watched him enter the pond. Visually molesting his muscular body, I think I was beginning to understand why my dad was worried about the age thing. Whoa, doggy!
“How’s the water?” he asked.
“Nice,” I said, a bit too hastily, referring more to his body than the water. Embarrassed that he might have made the connection, I shut my mouth, opened my arms wide and took a plunge backwards before I said anything else stupid.
“Ahhh, yes,” Sam proclaimed, standing mid-thigh in the pond. If he did catch my intent, he didn’t let on. “You won’t find this in the city.” Then I saw the tail end of a grin as he took to the water in a rough dive. I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation for a splash that never came. He resurfaced a few feet away, and stood at waist level.
I felt myself melt as he looked at me with his dreamy brown eyes. I could definitely handle a kiss from him!
“But enough of me,” Sam said abruptly, and with an edge. “Let’s hear some more about you. I recollect that you play in the school band?” He took a step closer.
“Yes,” I answered, thinking that his question seemed more like an interrogation than curiosity. I broke eye contact and pretended to be busy looking for my hand in the murky water.
“How many more years of high school do you have?” He took another step.
“One.” I looked him square in the face and tried to appear confident.
“How old are you, Emily?” Still closer. His eyes become scrutinizing.
Suddenly my age sounded very young. “Almost eighteen,” I lied. I wouldn’t be eighteen for a good five months. I regretted my answer. “Why?”
Sam waded through the water until he was next to me. He crouched down so we could be face to face.
I was so nervous, I thought I was going to bust.
He searched my face, like he was still unsatisfied with my answers. A gentle smile finally appeared.
“Olathe,” Sam said.
“What does that mean, anyway?”
“I told you. It describes you. Beautiful.”
Beautiful? Yesss! He probably wouldn’t say that if he had a girlfriend. Butterflies filled my stomach.
“And your eyes… like sapphires.”
“Thank you. They turn blue when…well, thank you.”
Sam continued his gaze, making me feel awkward. But not in a groping kind of way. He didn’t seem like just another horny guy. Well, he was a guy: that probably made him horny, but there seemed to be more to him than that. No other guy ever took the time to compliment my eyes.
As I marveled over his sensitive side, he gently moved my hair away from my face. The strange sweet taste briefly tingled my taste buds. I was beginning to like it.
“How close to eighteen?”
Crap! He is worried about the age thing. “November.”
His expression didn’t change.
“How old are you, Sam?”
He thought purposefully for a brief moment, and then grinned too wide as the simple question turned into an alluded confession. “Old enough to know better and young enough not to care.”
Uh-oh, this can’t be good. “Am I too young for you?” Yikes, that sounded really terrible.
“Emily—” His head dipped under the water and reappeared a short distance away. “I like you, and—”
Say what?
“—your age might be a problem, but that’s not what concerns me the most.”
Did he just say what I thought he said? A sudden wave of empowerment tickled my self-esteem: He liked me! What else mattered? Sam Easley liked me. Well, I certainly wasn’t bothered by the age thing. I’d be eighteen soon enough. And he liked me! I stood up and walked slowly toward Sam, graceful and cat-like. This could be fun.
“Maybe it’s the fact that my daddy owns a gun shop?” I asked.
Sam raised his eyebrows, taking a step back.
I stopped my prowl. Little giggles welled up from inside me. “However, he’s usually very even-tempered. I don’t think he’d shoot you.”
Sam grit his teeth in a grin.
“At the very least, if he had you arrested, my mom knows all the judges in town—she’d get you out.”
Sam’s expression dulled. “Your words bring me such comfort.”
“I know. I have a warped sense of humor. I think it’s because I have one parent selling guns, and the other parent trying to get them off the streets. My life has been a dichotomy of good versus evil, and the lines of both are heavily blurred.”
“This sounds like it could take years of therapy,” he cracked.
“Wise guy.” I slapped the water, spraying Sam over and over again.
“I take it back,” he yelped, scurrying like a coon in hound country.
Although I would have liked to let my bra and panties dry before I put my clothes back on, I was not brazen enough to sit in lacy undergarments in front of Sam. I also thought it to be un-lady like, so from behind the bush, I wrung them out as best as I could. After I finished dressing, Sam stepped behind the same bush. He flung his wet boxers on a nearby rock and I blushed at the thought of him ‘going commando.’ There was such a difference between men and women. I liked it.
“Would you like to see a fox’s den?” Sam asked while lacing up his second boot.
“Really?”
“Really. She’s almost as beautiful as you are.” Sam yanked the hem of his pants over his boot then walked over to me and put his arm around me, pulling me into his side.
Instantly, my tongue felt like it was on fire and a musky sweet scent filled my nostrils. The smell became so overwhelming I began to choke. An intense pressure pushed against my throat, cutting off my air supply.
At once, Sam released me. His eyes darted back and forth.
Immediately the pressure lifted and I was able to catch my breath. “I couldn’t breathe,” I managed to gasp, massaging my throat.
Sam’s expression was torn. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. All of a sudden…it was like I was on fire.”
A flash of regret crossed Sam’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” His hands shot up to his head and he combed his fingers through his hair.
“Why?”
He looked me over again. “A bee. Are you allergic to bees?”
“Luckily not. But I don’t think I was stung.”
His facial features relaxed as he exhaled a long breath. He tried to smile. “Then there’s no cause for alarm. I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”
Something about his response made me uncomfortable.
“Let’s keep on our way,” Sam said, pointing his finger. “You will really like the foxes.”
I crossed my arms and stayed put. “You’re very smart, Sam. I know you know I wasn’t stung by a bee.”
He started walking. “It’s this-a-way.”
I ran up in front of him, blocking his way. “What’s going on Sam?”
For the first time, he appeared angry. “Why do you think something is going on?”
I didn’t know what to say. I certainly didn’t have a valid reason for suspecting anything, yet it didn’t feel right, just the same. It reminded me of when we were sitting on the rock: he had words that he refused to share with me.
He took a step forward, but I didn’t follow. He made a move to grab my hand, but hesitated. Then his palm turned upward, making a gesture to proceed.
I thought back to our recent conversation in the pond and wondered just how many reasons he had not to be with me. After all, I still knew very little about him. A dark thought crept into my head: maybe he’s psycho and he killed his parents as a young kid… and he’s just recently been released from prison and being around minors is a parole violation!
Or maybe I watch too much CSI.
I tried to remember if I saw him wearing an ankle bracelet. Stop It!
“Maybe I had an allergic reaction to some pollen or something.” I said after what seemed like eternity. “I’m sure there are plenty of allergens out
here that are new to me.”
Sam’s creased forehead eased back into place. “That sounds like a highly probable explanation. I should have thought of that.”
Hesitantly, I took the step to join him at his side, and we started walking. But I still worried. A silent war raged on in my mind, slinging wild accusations, desecrating Sam’s reputation and asking the question if I should be in fear of my life. I had an urge to run. Bobcats, coyotes, bears…and Sam.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“Thinking.”
“I can see that, what about?”
“You.”
Sam’s shoulders hunched. “I’m sorry that I upset you.”
“It’s not that you upset me, it’s that you are hiding something from me.”
Sam let out a gasp of exasperation. “Fine. Ask me any question. I promise to answer it truthfully.”
Somehow, the pressure flipped back onto me. And I felt ridiculous. What would I possibly ask? His promise to protect me vividly entered my thoughts. Followed by the law of human nature: no man is perfect. How bad could his flaws be? Certainly not as bad as me asking the question, How did you murder your parents?
I buckled under my own indecisive weight. “I’d like to see the foxes, if you’ll still take me.”
Sam grinned. “I’d take you to any place you wanted to see. All you have to do is say so.”
So with stifled reservations, I followed Sam into the grass that was becoming thicker and taller, and farther away from anything remotely populated.
“So, where exactly is the den located?” I asked, feeling the knot growing inside my stomach. I couldn’t say I was hoping to catch him unprepared to answer, but if he stammered, I’d already decided to make a run for it.
“To what degree do you understand latitude and longitude?” Sam replied.
That answer wasn’t among any I’d anticipated. Rats! “Not like that. I meant approximately.”
“Exactly and approximately are two very different descriptions.”
“Sam Easley! You twist my words.”
“Actually, I’m clarifying them.”
A Kiss for Emily (Emily Stokes Series) Page 10