Maud chattered volubly as we strolled past tents and booths, and I was grateful for her company. Each time we passed someone she knew, Maud insisted on stopping and introducing me, taking a perverse pleasure in the stiff expressions and tight smiles of the women she forced to acknowledge my presence. "Pack-a bloody hypocrites," she called them, bursting into gales of raucous laughter when one of the prim ladies drew herself up and marched on past us without so much as a nod.
"Ain't any of them none too respectable themselves," she declared. "Me, I know where the bodies are buried! 'Course they got a right to resent you—most of 'em have been pantin' over Derek Hawke ever since he moved into Shadow Oaks. One nod from him and half th' married ladies in th' county'd come a-runnin'. If I was a few years younger I'd give him a merry chase myself! Ah, here are the quilts. Hmmm, shabby lookin' lot, wouldn't you say? That blue and brown and yellow one—now, I might be able to live with it if it don't cost an arm and a leg."
While Maud examined the quilts, I looked at some beautiful samplers, all of them made by the worn-looking farm woman who stood behind the booth. At the shooting gallery nearby, guns were going off in a chain of deafening explosions and men shouted lustily as ringing pings indicated a hit. Three young men staggered past, arms locked together, stumbling tipsily and bellowing a bawdy song. Maud bought her quilt, exclaiming over the quality of the workmanship and the bargain price. We moved along down the rows of booths, stopping every now and then so that she could examine the merchandise.
"What beautiful neckcloths," I remarked, pausing before yet another booth. "This pearl-gray silk—I wonder if I could afford it? I'd love to buy something for—"
"How much have you got, honey? Oh sure, that's enough. Bessie here'll be glad to sell it to you for that, won't you, Bessie? This here's my neighbor Marietta, and she wants to surprise her man. Come on now, Bessie— it didn't cost you nothing to run up that neckcloth."
Bessie was plump and belligerent and reluctant to part with the cloth for the sum I had, but Maud persisted. I was shamelessly eager to buy it, for the stock was beautiful and would be perfect with Derek's navy blue suit, but I let Maud do the bargaining. Bessie finally heaved a sigh, took my coins, and wrapped the cloth up in brown paper, tying it with string. I thanked her and smiled, anticipating Derek's surprise when I presented it to him.
A few minutes later Maud stopped in front of a booth where a man was selling beer, declaring she could use a mug and asking me if I would join her. Maud looked disappointed when I refused.
"You sure? All right, Jim, give me a mug. This your special home brew? Hope it tastes better'n it did last year. Thanks." She gripped the pewter mug, blew the foam off the top and downed the beer thirstily. "Hmmm, I think you're gettin' better, Jim. Give me another."
"I saw one of your neighbors a little while ago," I remarked.
"Oh? Who'd that be?"
"Elijah Jones. Derek said he had a small farm on the other side of your place."
"If you want to call it a farm. Just a run-down house, really, and a vegetable garden—a couple of acres of cotton. Works it himself. Won't have any slaves on his place, not that he could afford 'em."
"Is what they say about him true?"
"You mean about him helpin' runaway niggers?" Maud glanced over her shoulder and, seeing that Jim was eavesdropping, took my elbow and led me around to the side of the booth.
"Me, honey, I like Elijah," she began. "He's never done me no harm. One time when I had a bad case o' th' grippe, he came over to look after me, just upped an' came without anyone askin', had my cook make hot soup, fed it to me himself, brought some medicine over, too. He bored th' hell outta me, prayin' over me, askin' th' Lord to spare my soul an' all that, but he nursed me till I was up an' able to get about."
"Derek said he—might be part of an anti-slavery group."
"Everyone says that, honey, but no one's ever been able to prove anything. A few months back—" Maud hesitated, as though debating whether or not to confide in me. "A few months back two of Ben Randolph's bucks ran away. That night I was takin' a stroll and I might have seen Elijah takin' two niggers down to his storm cellar—it has an outside door on th' side of his house facin' my place. I reckon he must have some kind of secret room down there, behind all those shelves."
"You didn't tell anyone?"
Maud shook her head. "If you treat your niggers right, they ain't got no cause to be runnin' away. Randolph, now —he treats 'em mean, real mean. He loves usin' his whip and don't like to put himself out seein' they have decent food and sleepin' quarters. They're gonna up and turn on him one of these days, you mark my word. I never said a word about what I mighta seen, kept my mouth firmly shut. You're the first person I ever mentioned it to, and I know you ain't about to spill the beans."
"Of course not."
"I don't approve of what Elijah's doin', make no mistake about that, but neither do I approve of Ben Randolph and men like him. My niggers are loyal. I spend a fortune every year seein' they get proper treatment. They eat damn near as well as I do, and each cabin has a wood stove. I never work 'em too hard, and any time one of 'em gets sick I fetch a doctor and look after 'em like I would a child. What Elijah's doing is wrong, but I figure if a slave runs away it's because he ain't been treated right. I keep rememberin' that damned hot soup and those bloody prayers—I guess I may be some kinda traitor to my class, but I've no intention of givin' Elijah away. I shouldn'ta even told you, honey."
"I can assure you it won't go any further."
"Oh, I know that or I wouldn'ta opened my mouth in the first place. You know something? I never did replace that liniment I used, been weeks and weeks since I brought the bottle back. I'm going to buy a new bottle right now. They're sellin' it at one of the booths. I'll just give Jim his mug back—"
Maud purchased the bottle of liniment and gave it to me, and then she sighed and said she'd enjoyed my company mightily but she'd best be getting back to Magnolia Grove. She gave me a hug and, clutching her new quilt under one arm, tottered away, her soiled emerald riding skirt trailing in the dirt, her wild gray bird's nest bouncing. As it was still some time before I was to meet Derek, I decided to stroll back to the wagon and store the neckcloth and liniment in back, under the empty seed bags. I would surprise Derek with the present tonight after we returned to Shadow Oaks.
It was cool and shady under the trees where the wagons stood. Heavy boughs kept out the sun and cast thick violet-blue shadows over the ground. There was no one else around, not even the little boys who were supposed to be watching the horses, and I lingered there beside the wagon for a while, stroking one of the chestnuts. Lost in thought, I didn't hear the man and his two pack mules approaching until they were almost even with the wagon. He was whistling a jaunty tune, as merry and unconcerned as a boy. One of the mules balked. He stopped and turned around to scold the animal.
"Come on, love," he said pleasantly, tugging at the reins, "that's no way to be. You're carrying a load of nice trinkets in those packs and I aim to sell the lot of 'em. We're late as it is. No nonsense now—"
I recognized him immediately. I remembered the soft, pleasingly slurred voice, the amiable brown eyes, and the shaggy sandy locks that fell across his brow in a heavy fringe. He was wearing the same brown boots and buckskins he had worn before, the jacket adorned with long, leathery fringe. When the mule refused to move, Jeff Rawlins shook his head and gave an exasperated sigh, and then he caught hold of one of the mule's ears, took it between his teeth and bit down forcefully. The mule brayed angrily.
"Serves you right, actin' like a bloody prima donna. Why can't you behave yourself like your brother here? He never balks. You ready to move along now?"
The mule actually nodded. Jeff Rawlins gave it an affectionate pat on the nose, and then he turned and saw me standing beside the wagon. He looked dismayed, then delighted. A wide grin played on his lips.
"If this don't beat all," he exclaimed. "I was thinking about you just a little while ago—Go
d's truth I was. I thought seein' as how I'll be in the neighborhood for a while I oughta stop by Hawke's place, see if he needs any thimbles or thread or knives or things like I'm sellin', see if he still has that magnificent wench he beat me out of."
"Hello, Mr. Rawlins," I said coldly.
"You remember me? 'Course you do. Once they encounter Jeff Rawlins, the ladies can't get him outta their minds—it's these cursed good looks and my carefree charm. There's been many a time I've wished a few of 'em had forgot, I don't mind tellin' you."
"I remember you well."
"I'll bet you were disappointed when I lost out to Hawke, weren't you? Come on, wench, confess it."
"Actually I was—at first. Then I learned about your affiliations in New Orleans."
Rawlins looked hurt. "I say, has Hawke been bad-mouthin' me? That ain't no way to do. I'm just an honest peddler travelin' around with my pack mules, trying to make an honest living. Anyone can see that."
He spoke in a light, jesting tone, grinning all the while. Rawlins had charm, all right. I had never encountered such charm. Breezy, engaging, he had the manner of a raffish little boy. He wasn't really handsome, the mouth too wide, the nose slightly humped, but there was a magnetism far more potent than good looks could have been. Those eyes and that grinning, sensual mouth would have stirred the coldest breast. I knew what he was and I detested him for it, yet I felt an attraction in spite of myself.
"Surprised to see me?" he inquired.
"A little," I admitted.
"I finished my business in New Orleans and came back along the Trace to do a bit of tradin' till the next auction. Me and the mules've been going around the county, visiting various plantations to sell my goods. I 'spect I'll sell the rest this afternoon."
"I wish you luck."
"Really? That's mighty nice, knowin' you care."
Rawlins strolled over and stood before me with his hands resting on his thighs, his head cocked slightly to one side. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body, smell his musky male odor. I should have been uneasy. I wasn't. Sure of myself, sure of my feelings for Derek, I felt immune to Rawlins's seductive charm.
"I must say, wench, you look even more appetizing than I remembered. I do adore redheads. I fear I've a weakness for 'em."
"That's too bad, Mr. Rawlins."
"Hey now, you ain't going to be unfriendly, are you? And me such an engaging chap." He shook his head in mock sadness. "That's no way to act."
"I couldn't help but smile. It was impossible not to like him, impossible not to respond to that affable manner. I found it hard to believe he was as vile as he was painted. Too, it was flattering to be found attractive and appealing. Jeff Rawlins made me feel exceedingly feminine.
"That's more like it," he told me. "I say, what're you doin' all by yourself out here?"
"I'm waiting for Hawke," I lied. "He should be joining me any minute now."
"Damn, just my luck. I was hopin' we could have a quick tumble under the wagon—or somethin'. Today just isn't my day."
"I'm certain you'll find several amenable women at the fair, Mr. Rawlins."
"Probably so," he teased. "I usually do. Gets to be a bit tiresome after a while—all this charm, all those women. None of 'em will be anything like you, though. Hawke happy with you?"
"Very."
"Don't reckon he'd be interested in sellin'?"
"I doubt it, Mr. Rawlins."
"Be a fool if he was. I'm headin' up to the auction in a couple days. On the way back I might just stop by Shadow Oaks on the off chance I can persuade him to change his mind. Be wastin' my time, probably, but I got plenty of time to waste."
"Another prison ship has arrived?"
Rawlins nodded. "I don't expect to find any prizes, I might as well confess it. Truth to tell, I'm beginning to lose interest in that particular little enterprise. It's a helluva lot of trouble for damned little profit."
He glanced around. There was still no one in sight. We were alone, surrounded by empty wagons and carriages. Tree limbs swayed gently in the breeze. The deep shadows danced over the ground. His wide pink mouth spread in another grin.
"I say, Hawke's certainly takin' his time—"
"He's bound to be here in just a minute."
"Even so, I reckon there's time for a quick kiss—"
He pulled me into his arms in one quick movement, clasping me in a light firm grip. I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could even shape the words, his mouth fastened over mine and he was kissing me quite thoroughly. I struggled, trying to break free, and Rawlins's arms tightened around me. He was strong, much too strong. There was nothing I could do but give in to the dizziness... and the delight.
Rawlins drew his head back and, still holding me, looked at me with mischievous brown eyes.
"That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"
"You—you're a rogue, Mr. Rawlins!"
"Always was," he confessed. "Bad blood, I reckon."
"And you need a bath! You smell of sweat and the woods and—"
"Don't pretend to be nothing 'cept what I am, wench. A backwoods savage. You called me that once, remember? I'll tell you something, though. I could have you lovin' it in no time at all."
"Let go of me."
Rawlins released me, grinning again. I wanted to slap that grin off his face, but, in truth, I wasn't nearly as angry as I should have been. Those sensations were still swirling inside. I felt weak and vulnerable and curiously elated, as though I'd had too much wine much too quickly. Rawlins was fully aware of the effect he had on me.
"Reckon I'll be moseying along now," he said. "Got a lotta goods to sell and not too much time left to sell 'em. You take good care of yourself now, wench. I'll be seein' you again 'fore too much longer."
"Hawke will run you off the place!"
"A friendly chap like me, trying to make an honest livin'? Why should he? You're not going to tell him about our little kiss. It was a harmless peck—and you enjoyed every second of it."
He made an elaborate bow then and tipped an imaginary hat. Then he strolled back to his mules, caught up the reins, and led them on towards the fairgrounds, their heavy packs wobbling as they moved. I was filled with a variety of emotions, most of them disturbingly pleasant. I loved Derek Hawke with all my heart and soul, yet I had been strongly attracted to Jeff Rawlins. It was purely physical, yet it worried me nonetheless. I felt that I had somehow betrayed myself.
I did not mention my encounter with Rawlins when I met Derek by the carousel, nor did I mention him during the journey back to Shadow Oaks. Derek was moody and withdrawn, and I felt no inclination to talk myself. I wondered if he had accomplished his purpose at the fair. It was impossible to tell from his manner. It was growing late by the time we reached the plantation, and I was pleased to see that Cassie had already started the evening meal. I took over, grateful to have something to do.
Hawke retired to his study after dinner, and I helped Cassie clear up and wash the dishes. Her morning sickness had long since passed, and she was all aglow, radiantly beautiful as she moved about the kitchen under the gaze of Adam, who sat at the table with a cup of hot coffee. Although it had already been let out once, Cassie's pink dress was again too tight, her swollen breasts and stomach straining against the cloth. When our work was finished, she leaned against her husband's chair, resting her hand on his shoulder. Adam looked up at her, his dark eyes full of pride and love. The two of them together like that were an incredibly lovely sight, so touching that it almost brought tears to my eyes.
"This man," Cassie said, touching the side of his face. "I'm a lucky wench, Miz Marietta, and I knows it."
Adam scowled fiercely, pretending to be displeased. "Git on about yore business," he growled. "Stop pawin' over me."
"Ain't he a man? Ain't he beautiful?"
"He's goin' whup yore hide effin you don't stop moonin'."
Cassie smiled, knowing the threat was hollow, knowing he loved her as deeply and passionately as she loved
him. It was already dark outside, a thick, velvety summer darkness, and the lamps burned warmly in the kitchen, creating a soft, intimate atmosphere that was a perfect setting for their love. Cassie poured another cup of coffee for him and brought him some of the molasses cookies I had baked the day before. The three of us visited for a while, weary, relaxed, talking lazily about nothing in particular, and it was after nine before they finally went out to their cabin.
I had gone up to my bedroom and was just starting to get undressed when Derek stepped into the room. He had removed jacket and waistcoat. His shirt was slightly rumpled, tucked loosely into the waistband of his breeches. I was pleased, for he hadn't come to my bedroom the past two nights. Derek never talked when he visited me. He came, he slept with me, and then he returned to his own bedroom. He never fully undressed, either. It was almost as though taking off all his clothes and climbing under the covers with me would indicate a commitment he wasn't prepared to make. He used me as many of the planters used their Negro wenches, but I wasn't at all perturbed. In the act itself Derek expressed all those feelings he refused to acknowledge openly, and one day, one day soon, I hoped, he would express those feelings openly, without fear.
"I have something for you," I told him.
"Oh?"
"It's here, in the drawer—" I took out the small parcel Bessie had wrapped for me and handed it to him. Derek wasn't at all pleased, frowning as he tore away paper and string.
"I thought it would go nicely with your navy-blue suit."
"You bought it at the fair?"
I nodded. Derek examined the neckcloth, still frowning, then placed it on the dressing table.
"I intended you to buy something for yourself," he said.
"I wanted you to have it, Derek. I—I hoped you'd be pleased."
Derek did not reply, but stepped over to me and, reaching around, began to unfasten my dress in back. He looked bored and indifferent, even as he pulled the bodice down and slipped the dress below my waist. It fell to the floor, a rustling circle of red sprigged with tiny black flowers. I held my breath as he caught the straps of my petticoat and tugged at them, exposing my breasts. Catching hold of my arms, he backed me up against the bed, shoved me gently onto the mattress.
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