by Eve Gaddy
“Elijah Calvin? This dude who looks like me was named Elijah Calvin?”
“Yes, why? What’s wrong, Jonas?”
Oh, God. Calvin.
The room shimmered, faded. He heard a pop and everything faded to black. His dreams came back to him in a flood of memories. All dreams about Calvin’s life. His love affair with Bella. Her fear of her father. The two of them together, falling in love. Dreams that belonged to Calvin, not Jonas.
Claire’s dreams jumbled together with his own in his mind. Bella’s eyes. Claire’s eyes. Elijah Calvin, who looked just like Jonas. Jonas, who was the spitting image of Calvin Davis. All three of them black men involved with white women. Two of them doomed. Murdered.
What the hell?
“JONAS, WHAT HAPPENED?” Claire was starting to worry. He looked so odd. His gaze was absolutely blank, and he wouldn’t—couldn’t?—answer her.
He shook his head as if to clear it. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You checked out. Like you weren’t even here. Are you all right? What is going on?”
“Nothing,” he repeated, clearly irritated.
“We were talking about my dreams and something obviously bothered you,” she persisted. “Why can’t we talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said firmly and got out of bed. “I’m going to shower. Unless you want it first. I’m due in at ten. What about you?”
“Not until eleven. You go ahead.”
If he wouldn’t talk, he wouldn’t. Maybe later she could convince him to open up. Jonas could deny it all he wanted, but something was bothering the hell out of him.
Chapter Seventeen
AS SHE’D FEARED, Claire wound up filling in for one of the docs whose wife was having a baby. She called and asked Jonas for a rain check, promising to spend time with him when their schedules allowed. Since he was a doctor as well, Claire didn’t have to defend working odd hours as she’d often had to do with Glenn. Jonas simply told her to get some rest if she could and they’d see each other when their jobs allowed.
Was it her imagination or had he sounded relieved that she couldn’t see him?
At midnight, she dragged herself to the long-term hotel she’d moved to and fell into bed immediately. But sleep was a long time coming. Her mind wouldn’t turn off. She kept thinking of Jonas and dreams, and forbidden, tragic love. Forbidden . . .
June 1859
“SARAH, WHAT ARE you doing here? It’s late. Does Victor know you’re here?” Even as she spoke and scolded, Rachel pulled her sister inside. “I can’t believe you’re out in this weather.” Rain had started coming down harder and harder the farther Sarah got from home.
“Victor’s gone. Thank God. For several days. I have to talk to you, Rachel. In private.” She glanced around, knowing none of Victor’s spies would be working at her sister’s house, but still, she worried.
“You’ll have to stay,” her sister said. “It’s already getting dark.” She drew the drapes aside to look out the window. “It’s coming down in sheets now. Lord, I’ve never seen such a night.”
“I need to get back. But that’s not important.” Sarah grasped her sister’s hand. “Rachel, I need your help.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
“One of our slaves needs to leave. Before something unthinkable happens.”
Rachel left Sarah to light the lamps in the deepening gloom. The fire was burning merrily, as welcoming as Rachel herself. “I don’t understand. You know we help whoever comes to us. Who is it?” She sat beside Sarah on the sofa.
“His name is Elijah. He keeps Victor’s accounts.”
“Oh, yes, I remember seeing him. Why must he leave?” Rachel repeated.
“Mr. Bransen, the overseer, had him beaten recently. He’s conceived a dislike for Elijah and it’s growing worse. I’m afraid of what Bransen will do next time. And I’m certain there will be a next time.” Which was one reason she’d risked coming to Rachel’s on such a night.
“Can you talk to Victor? Surely if Elijah is valuable to Victor he’ll step in with the overseer.”
Sarah laughed mirthlessly. “I’ve tried. You know Victor has always been autocratic.” Rachel nodded. “He’s getting worse. He won’t hear any dissension, as he calls it. I can barely get out of the house to visit the tenants without him questioning me for hours. If I show too much interest in any of the slaves . . .” she trailed off. If Victor found out about her friendship with Elijah, they would both die. What her husband would do if he discovered her true feelings didn’t bear thinking of.
She shouldn’t have kissed Elijah, shouldn’t have been alone with him, but no harm had come of it. But she wanted more. And more she could never have.
She continued, “Victor has changed. He’s started beating me more. At first he wouldn’t do it often, but lately it’s whenever the fancy strikes him. And I can’t even tell you what he does to the slaves. If he’s angry, or any little thing that sets him off.” She shuddered, thankful that so far Elijah had escaped the master’s wrath, even if he hadn’t the overseer’s. “I’m afraid he’ll kill me.”
“Because you’re barren?”
“That, and because I don’t defer to him as he thinks I should.”
“Sarah, I know it’s hard but can’t you—” Rachel halted, gazing at her sister. “No, I suppose you can’t. No more than I could.”
“No. Right now I’m concerned with Elijah and how to save him. How to convince him he must go.”
“Convince him? I don’t understand. Doesn’t he want to go?”
Sarah shook her head. “He’s afraid to leave. Afraid for me. He—he knows how Victor treats me.”
“You’ve taken this man into your confidence? Talked to him about your husband? Why?”
“I’m in love with him.” She said it baldly, aware it was the first time she’d put a name to her feelings. Love. Of course she loved Elijah. She’d loved him almost from the moment they met. “And he has to leave so that he’ll be safe.” Later, she would think about following him. Once Elijah was safe, and free, Sarah could think of her own salvation.
“You’re in love with a slave?” Rachel whispered, staring at her as if she’d gone mad. “How can that be?”
“He’s a man. Like any man. What difference should the color of his skin make?”
November Present Day
CLAIRE WOKE EARLY, staying in bed and remembering the dream. She had to get ready for work, but she could take a few moments. She reached for the journal, realizing without surprise that it had opened to the very passage she’d wondered about.
Rachel’s Journal—June 6, 1859
My sister is in love with a slave. I can hardly believe I’ve written those words, much less that they are true. Yet she told me herself, not an hour ago. I do not believe in the institution of slavery. I do not think it is right, and certainly not humane to own another human being, and I do believe colored people are human, regardless of what some say. I know they have feelings and hopes and dreams, just as I do. My beliefs are why I have chosen, along with my father and husband, to help fugitive slaves escape their dismal lives.
But falling in love with a slave? Set aside the fact that Sarah is married. Yes, to a cruel, horrible man. But her life, her experiences, must differ so greatly from the man she says she is in love with. She says he was born free and stolen from his home as a youngster. How terrible it must have been for him to go from freedom to slavery. I am sympathetic. Yet the problems they face seem insurmountable. To be honest, they are insurmountable.
Sarah says she has not acted on her feelings, indeed, knows she cannot. But I know my sister. She will move heaven and earth for those she loves. And she loves Elijah Calvin.
I fear for my sister. I see only heartbreak ahead for her.
LATE TH
E NEXT evening Jonas’s cell phone rang. He checked it, hesitating when Claire’s name came up, then let it go to voice mail. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d canceled on him a few days ago. He should talk to her, he knew. He owed her some explanation as to why he’d so suddenly gone silent. But he was having a hard enough time trying to figure out this dream bullshit himself, much less explain it to Claire.
She’s having dreams too, he thought. You could talk to her. But then he’d have to admit that the dreams, both his and hers, weren’t simply dreams. And if they weren’t just dreams, then what the hell were they?
Please, God, don’t let me dream. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.
December 1968
LATE THAT EVENING, Calvin went to Dream Lake and waited for Bella. He didn’t mind waiting. He liked the lake. Quiet, peaceful, and best of all, private. No one knew about it but the two of them. It was the only place they could meet, especially now that her father had found out about them. They couldn’t afford to be seen together, not at the drive-in or anywhere else.
Bella showed up a little while later. She got out of her car, ran to him, and threw her arms around him. “Calvin, thank God you’re here.”
He caught her, held her. Buried his nose in her hair and thought how great she always smelled. Like flowers. Not too sweet, but a nice, fresh scent. He didn’t know what kind, since he knew nothing about flowers. He only knew he liked it, and every time he smelled that fragrance he thought of Bella. “Of course I’m here. Why all the mystery? You could have called me. Mama wouldn’t have cared.”
“Yes, she does. She thinks I’m trouble for you, and I am.”
“She never said that.” But he was uncomfortably aware there was a lot of truth to Bella’s statement.
“No, she was very kind to me. But I can’t help feeling like she wishes you’d never met me.” She stared up at him, looking sadder than he’d ever seen her.
He didn’t doubt that. Fay had told him more than once he was asking for trouble being involved with Bella. His mother wasn’t the worry, though, whatever she thought. “What’s wrong? Is it your father again? Has he hurt you again?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not about him. Do you love me?” She clutched his shirt and looked up at him with desperation in her gaze.
“You know I do.” He kissed her. She kissed him back but broke away long before he was ready.
“Oh, God, Calvin. I’m pregnant.”
His stomach dropped. “Pregnant? A baby? Are you sure?” She couldn’t be pregnant. How could this be happening to them?
She let go of him and wrapped her arms around herself. “I’ve been sick. Missed my period. I wasn’t sure, though. So I ditched school and went to a doctor in Dallas last week.”
He remembered she’d missed school one day, but when he’d asked her about it, all she’d said was she wasn’t feeling well. She sure as hell hadn’t mentioned she might be pregnant.
“I called them today to get the results. The test was positive. I’m not very far along, the doctor said.”
“Why Dallas?”
“Are you kidding? There’s no way I could go to a doctor here in Fort Worth. I couldn’t risk Daddy finding out. Not after what he did when he found out about you and me.”
“Doctors aren’t supposed to tell anything about their patients. What you say to them is supposed to be confidential.”
She snorted. “Don’t be naive, Calvin. Buster Cantrell has ways of making people talk. Even doctors. Or nurses or whoever. Besides, it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m pregnant.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Oh, Calvin, what are we going to do?”
He couldn’t think what to say. They’d been careful but obviously not careful enough. He’d known he was taking a risk making love to Bella, but they loved each other. They just hadn’t been able to resist being together. He’d been strong, for her sake mostly, but he hadn’t been able to refuse her forever. And he didn’t regret making love to her, even if she was pregnant.
“I . . . I can’t have an abortion. Don’t ask me to do that.”
He put his arms around her and hugged her. “I won’t. I never could.” A baby. A part of him and Bella. No, he couldn’t ask her to get rid of it. Didn’t want to. “We’ll get married.”
“Married?” She looked up at him, trust and hope in her eyes. “Can we?”
“Why couldn’t we? We’re both old enough. We’re both eighteen.”
“It’s not our age I’m worried about. You’re colored, I’m white. I’m not sure it’s even legal for us to marry.”
Which was just plain wrong, even though he knew that what she said could be true. “It’s bound to be legal somewhere. Laws have changed. I know I’ve read about it. We’ll go away. We’ll have to anyway, because of your father. You know what he’ll do when he finds out.”
Kill him. God knows what he’d do to Bella. When her father found out she was pregnant by a colored kid? Then the shit would really hit the fan.
“I can’t even think about him. It’s too awful.”
Yeah, better they didn’t think about Buster Cantrell. At least not until after they were married. Cantrell couldn’t do anything once Bella was legally married. Could he?
Well, yeah, he could still kill Calvin.
She clutched his shirt and looked up at him. “Do you really want to marry me? Or are you just saying it because you think you should?”
“I want to marry you, Bella.” He hadn’t ever dared think about it before. But they loved each other. They should be together. And now a baby. . . .
“How will we live? How will you go to college? Will they still give you a scholarship?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, that won’t work. I’ll have to get a job. I won’t be able to go to school. Not with a family to support.”
“Oh, Calvin, I don’t want to be the reason you can’t play ball. You love it.”
He wrapped his arms around her, rubbed her back, held her close. “I love you more.” He kissed her, those sweet lips that he dreamed about when he wasn’t with her. He thought about marrying Bella, living with her, and the baby. About how to do it. It wouldn’t be easy.
“We’ll get Naomi to help us. She works for a lawyer, she can find out what we need to do. If we can get married in Texas or if we have to go somewhere else.”
“Are you sure she’ll help us?”
Bella sounded doubtful, and he couldn’t really blame her. Naomi hadn’t been too friendly to Bella. She thought Calvin was crazy to date a white girl. What would she think about him wanting to marry Bella?
“Naomi was so angry when I called her earlier. She didn’t say it, but I could tell. I don’t think she likes me.”
He rubbed her back again, looked down at her, and smiled reassuringly. “She doesn’t know you. And she loves me, so she’ll do what she can to help us.”
“I hope so. Because there’s nothing I want more than to marry you and have your baby. Not even my father can do anything to stop us once we’re married.”
He sure as hell hoped not, but he had a bad feeling they were underestimating Buster Cantrell.
What else could they do, though? Bella was pregnant, and there was no way in hell he was going to abandon her and let her son-of-a-bitch father beat her or his child. And Calvin didn’t have a doubt that he would. Cantrell had already proved himself a bully and a child abuser. No way was Calvin letting the bastard touch his baby.
Calvin was going to protect Bella and the baby. He just hoped he didn’t die trying.
November Present Day
GODDAMN HIS SON, anyway, Lawrence thought, watching Glenn drive away. Glenn’s incessant whining about his wayward wife was getting on Lawrence’s last nerve. It reminded him of the past. Of tho
ughts he’d buried for decades. But this talk of Claire and that black bastard was bringing up all sorts of memories. Memories he’d dealt with and put behind him years ago.
Fed up, he’d finally told Glenn that instead of whining he should grow a pair and do something about it. Make the bitch toe the line. Lawrence was a firm believer that you made your own luck, and Glenn could use to learn that lesson.
Lawrence had, after all. As clearly as if it were yesterday, he slipped back into his memories. Memories of the day Lawrence had told Bella’s father just exactly what his little girl had been up to.
Lawrence didn’t like Buster Cantrell. But he wanted Bella. And if he couldn’t get her one way, he’d get her another. She’d be sorry she turned him down. Sorry she rejected him—Lawrence Westbrook!—for a damn nigger.
“I found out something you’re not going to like.” Putting it mildly. Buster was going to blow a gasket when he found out who his little girl had been putting out for. The whole idea made Lawrence want to puke, too.
“Go on,” Buster said, lighting a cigar. “What is going on with my daughter?”
“I found out why she wouldn’t go out with me. She’s involved with someone.”
“First I’ve heard of it. Who is it?”
“His name’s Calvin Davis.”
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have.” He paused and added, “He’s a colored kid.”
Buster stared at him, then turned so red Lawrence thought he’d busted a blood vessel. “The hell you say! I ought to kill you for saying that.”
Lawrence stood his ground. “It’s true. I didn’t believe it either. But I saw them together at the drive-in.”
“My daughter and a nigger? He must have forced her.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but she kissed him. Of her own free will, it looked like.”
“Goddamn it! I’ll put a stop to this. No nigger’s going to lay his filthy hands on my daughter. Not while I’m alive.”
“I thought you should know. I’m sorry,” Lawrence repeated, trying to appear properly solemn. Inside, though, he was laughing. Calvin Davis was going to be sorry he messed with Lawrence’s girl. Because if she hadn’t been his girl before, she would be soon. Buster Cantrell would see to it.