Charles frowned at the paper. “Is this all?”
The clerk shifted through his papers again. “Yes, sir. That is all that has been delivered.”
Charles tucked the slip of paper into his vest pocket. He climbed the steps to his room without another word to the clerk. What type of sick? Fever? Images of his mother in her final moments washed over him. He needed to get home. Further business could wait or be conducted by post. He must return to Ironwood. Charles packed his belongings and checked out of the hotel.
In a few moments, his team and carriage came around from the livery. He dipped his chin to Abe, the younger man he now took on his trips for fear the long rides would prove too much for Tommy’s arthritic knees. Try as he might to hide it, Tommy’s years were catching up to him.
The carriage made slow passage through Jackson as the press of people trying to escape the ever-advancing Union troops flooded the narrow streets and overfilled the boarding houses. It had cost him double to secure a private room at the Bowman House.
He settled into the cushions and endured the bumping and swaying of a hurried pace. How many days had passed since his bride had fallen ill? Perhaps he worried too much. Despite how hard he tried, Charles could not keep the image of Lydia lying pale in her bed, wasting away, from overshadowing his thoughts. Upon her father’s suggestion, he’d given Lydia her own room. His own parents had shared one, and Charles hoped one day Lydia would wish to share one with him as well. If she lived long enough to learn to love him.
It was nearly dark the following day when Charles finally pulled into Ironwood. Ruth stood at the front door, waiting on him.
“Good evenin’, Mr. Harper. We glad you made it home.”
“Where is my wife?”
“She finally done left her room, and she’s reading in the parlor. She ain’t hardly eaten for just at a week now. She needs to see you.” Ruth turned on her heel and strode away.
Charles didn’t have time to contemplate the maid’s strange behavior. Without bothering to remove his hat, he pulled the pocket door wide to reveal Lydia sitting with a book spread open on her lap. She jumped, and it slid to the floor with a thump. In a single instant he took in her appearance. Dressed, though hair undone. Color in her cheeks, but dark circles under red eyes. At least it wasn’t the influenza.
“Lydia, my love, are you all right?”
She rushed to him, carelessly flinging her arms around his neck and gathering a handful of his hair. He gripped her tightly, his heartbeat thudding against his ribs. He held back his questions, waiting for her to calm the rapid breath on his neck and gather herself.
Finally, she pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Oh, Charles. I did not expect you for many more nights.”
He traced his finger along her jaw. So smooth. “Tommy sent a telegraph saying you were ill. Your maid says you are not eating. My business in Jackson can wait. Are you sick? Should I send for the doctor?”
She studied his face, uncertainty in her eyes.
Patience. Let her come to you.
He tried to let his care for her shine through his eyes and waited. She looked around like she feared someone watched them. More worry knifed its way into Charles.
She grasped his hand. “Could we talk somewhere else?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to words.
Charles followed Lydia out onto the upper balcony. The cool breeze lifted her loose strands of chestnut hair and teased him with their playfulness. She leaned against the railing and looked out over the front lawn in the gathering dusk. He stood beside her, trying his best to let her begin. Deciding she never would and unable to contain himself any longer, he opened his mouth to speak.
She spoke before he could release a syllable. “I decided to take your rounds and check on the plantation in your absence.”
Charles chuckled, relief flooding him. All this worry over her insistence on acting as a man? “I am not in the least surprised. Such independence does not shock me.”
“Yet I hope what I saw during that ride will.” Her soft voice almost didn’t reach his ears, its hollow sound tightening his chest.
He clenched his jaw. Clutching her shoulders, he turned her around to face him. He concentrated on keeping the strain from his voice.
“What did you see?”
She closed her eyes as if too ashamed to look at him. His fingers gripped her tighter. What had she seen to cause her to react in such a manner?
“There was a man leaving the cabins when all the Negro adults were gone. He said there was a sick man inside. But I saw the little girl on the porch.” When she opened her eyes, fire lit their ocean depths, sparking them to life. “I know what he was really doing in there.”
Charles stiffened. The taking of female slaves was not tolerated at Ironwood, and it certainly wasn’t something his delicate wife needed to witness.
“I ordered him to return to his work. He leered at me and Ruth and went to his horse he’d hidden in the woods. I left then and went to the place you showed me. The meadow.”
The uncertainty returned to her eyes, and Charles forced himself to relax his features. “Then what?” he asked, the gruffness in his voice undermining his efforts to encourage her.
She drew a deep breath. “A storm came. I’d parked the buggy too deep and couldn’t get it turned around. I broke one of the wheels. We were trying to unhook the horse when I heard Ruth scream. When I came around the back of the buggy, he had Ruth in his grasp.”
Charles’s fists clenched, aching for the feel of the man’s skin being pounded underneath them. “Who is this man?”
“Webb.”
The wretch he’d felt sorry for and allowed a job, even though he hadn’t needed him. He’d repaid Charles’s kindness by taking Ironwood’s females? By threatening his wife? The muscles in his jaw worked. When he got his hands around that man’s neck….
“I stabbed at him with a broken spoke,” Lydia said, breaking into his thoughts.
A tingling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. He narrowed his eyes and studied his trembling wife. Stronger than she appeared. He fought back the rush of pride that briefly filled his chest, too soon replaced by the worry that increased his blood pressure.
He gathered her in his arms, feeling her soft curves pressed against him. She released a ragged breath, and he stroked her hair. The man had gotten at least some of what he deserved. Brave little woman. She mustn’t let guilt cripple her.
“All that matters is that you are safe,” Charles whispered. “I could not stand it if any harm came to you. You did the right thing.”
She shivered against him, and a feeling of protectiveness welled inside his chest. “Do not worry,” Charles said. “He will get more punishment when I get my hands on him.” He pulled back, his eyes boring into hers. Guilt flooded her face.
He tilted his head to the side and watched her closely, trying to see her more clearly in the meager moonlight. “Is the man still alive?”
She tried to look away from him, but he cupped her chin in his hand. “Did you kill him, Lydia?”
“I wanted to! I wanted him to die!”
“But did you kill him?”
“I feared I had, but he was seen the next morning.”
Charles dropped his hand, and his fingers curled again. He turned to look out over the dark lawn. “Where is he now?” he asked, his voice tight.
“I don’t know. Tommy saw him on the road to town. Everyone was talking about it. He ducked into the woods before Tommy could speak to him. No one’s seen him since. I do not know if he lives still, and if so, where he is.”
“It doesn’t matter. You were strong. And brave. You did only what you needed to do to protect yourself and your maid. No court in Mississippi would find you guilty.”
She looked at him, the wariness tightening her lips causing an ache in his heart. “Charles, were you aware of men doing such things in the quarters?”
His shoulders tightened, the tension in his neck causi
ng the muscles to strain. What kind of man did she see in him? “No. I was not. But you can be sure that each man on this plantation will once again have a very clear understanding of proper conduct on my property come morning. I promise you, Lydia. It will not happen again, God help me.”
“Thank you, Charles,” she whispered. A stray tear slid down her cheek, and he quickly whisked it away.
“Come. You need your rest.” He wove his fingers in hers and led her back to her room, lighting a lamp from the hallway. He pulled a nightdress from her drawer and offered it to her, motioning to the privacy of the screen. The color rose to her cheeks, and he turned his eyes aside.
She disappeared behind the screen, and he removed his boots and placed them by the door, then pulled his shirt over his head. His fingers brushed the buttons of his trousers, but he decided against it.
Lydia emerged from the screen and gasped. She drew her lower lip between her teeth, and he felt his heart rate quicken. Charles drew a deep breath and held a hand out to her.
She stepped toward him and placed her cool hand in his. The stiffness in her body caused an ache. Would she ever desire him? He caressed her shoulder. First she must learn to trust him. He led her to the bed. She silently slipped under the blankets, pulling them to her chin. She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. He lay down beside her and pulled her under his arm, snuggling her body close. He could feel her heart fluttering like a hummingbird against his side.
“Be calm, my love. Just rest.”
After several moments, she finally relaxed and nuzzled into his chest. “You are good to me, Charles.”
A smile spread on his lips in the dark. Perhaps there was hope yet. He planted a soft kiss on her honeysuckle-scented hair and gave her a small squeeze, not trusting himself to speak. God help him. This slip of a woman threatened to undo him completely.
Ironwood
July 6, 1862
Lydia looked at her reflection in the nearly smooth glass. A lovely gown. Mother should be pleased with her efforts. The cream-colored fabric draped gracefully around her shoulders with delicate pink lace brushing her skin. Lucy had wrangled her locks into a heap of curls on the back of her head, one section cascading over her shoulder. She looked as much the lady as possible.
Two weeks of Charles’s comfort and company had restored her appetite and healthy complexion. The sickness she’d briefly felt waned, and her woman’s time had come and gone right on its heels. She tried to remind herself that though four months of marriage had passed, there was nothing wrong with her if she had not yet produced a babe.
A soft knock drew her attention away from the mirror. “Yes?”
The door opened and Charles entered in a deep gray jacket, stark white shirt, and fitted waistcoat with a perfectly tied black cravat. His black pantaloons fit nicely across his muscled legs, and Lydia felt an unexpected flutter in her chest. A playful smile danced on his lips.
“You look beautiful.”
The huskiness in his voice caused heat to rise in her cheeks. She looked up at him from under her lashes. “And you look rather fetching yourself, Mr. Harper.”
He bent at the waist in a deep bow. “I am pleased to meet with your approval.”
She put a gloved hand to her lips to suppress a giggle. His eyes darkened, and he drew her into his arms, his lips pressing against hers. She could sense the quickening of his pulse and drew away from him. “We must see to our guests.”
Pain flashed in his eyes, and she felt a stab of regret. She laid a hand on his cheek, her eyes offering tentative affection.
He brushed his lips over her cheek and released her. She ignored the disappointment that caused her to release a breath that had unconsciously lodged in her chest. Was she not the one who had turned aside the moment?
“Your parents have arrived.”
She clasped her hands together. “Oh!” She hurried past him, his deep chuckle following her out the door. She descended the steps as slowly as she could manage. “Daddy!”
Her father beamed up at her. “My darling! You look lovely.”
She took his hand and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you!”
He winked at her and nodded toward her mother standing stiffly at his side. Lydia inclined her head. “Good evening, Mother. Your dress is quite lovely.”
Mother smiled softly, wrinkles gathering in the corners of her eyes. Her parents were the first of the guests to arrive for the ball. A surprise from Charles. For what, she wasn’t quite certain. Perhaps an excuse to bring her parents for a visit?
She led Mother around the house, showing her the new items she’d purchased and pleased to see many met with Mother’s approval. In the parlor, Mother touched her elbow. “Lydia, you have done well. I see you have grown up quite a bit these last months.”
“I thank you, Mother. I have tried diligently.”
Mother patted her arm. “And it shows.” Then she waved her hand in the air as if fanning away any unnecessary emotions hanging there. “You should start greeting your guests.”
They returned to the front entry, the chandelier overhead already lit and twinkling in the late afternoon light. The house girls bustled around, finishing up last minute details before disappearing from sight.
Lydia put on her best face and greeted each guest in the small gathering of family and close neighbors. She wondered what the men would discuss as they clustered in the drawing room, since women were not to be troubled by such things. By the time Lydia tired of answering questions from well-meaning family on her new life, Charles called for them to ascend to the third floor ballroom.
“Who knew Mr. Harper would be so adept at planning a ball? He never hosted any before now,” Mother remarked, snapping open her fan.
A trio of violinists sat in the rear corner, their soft music floating across the room. Candlelight danced off the walls, and within moments couples began to twirl across the floor. A hand rested on her elbow. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Harper?”
She smiled up at Charles. “I would love to.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her across the floor. So effortless was he in his movements that she nearly forgot her clumsiness and everything else except for the man in front of her. The dance ended too soon.
“I will come for another dance before long, my dear. For now, please excuse me to men’s issues and enjoy your company.” He laid a kiss on her hand that she wished the glove didn’t prevent her from feeling.
As soon as he left, Lydia found herself feeling alone in the vapid company of twittering girls. They fanned themselves, one openly shooting jealous glances at Charles’s back. Lydia narrowed her gaze on the bold twit, and the girl had enough decency to let pink flood her cheeks. She excused herself to another group.
Satisfied she’d made her point, Lydia turned her attention to the daughters of a neighboring plantation owner and tried to appear interested in their discussion. They talked of minor things like dress styles and gossiped about ladies not present. Lydia doubted the men spoke of such trivialities. No. She should try harder. Charles had gone through such trouble to do something nice for her.
Time passed much too slowly, and Charles did not return for another dance. Needing to escape from the crowd, Lydia passed two neighbors on the stairs with a polite smile. Thankfully they did not try to engage her in conversation. She glanced around and, seeing no one, walked softly to the back door. As it swung silently on its hinges, her gaze fell on Ruth pulling extra candles from the storage bin in the closet under the stairs. Lydia placed a finger to her lips.
Ruth nodded, another secret between them, and returned to her work.
Lydia paused on the back porch, the coolness of the night air giving relief to the heavy heat from the day. A band of crickets played their melody to the moon, and Lydia let the freedom of a starlit night apply a balm to her nerves.
She walked slowly through the garden, removing her gloves to touch the soft petals of delicate blooms. She settled onto a
bench and turned her gaze to the heavens as the soft sounds of music and laughter drifted down from above. Peaceful. And just what her heart needed. An ache settled inside her chest in bitter contrast to the pleasant surroundings. Must she always feel this way?
The crunch of rocks underfoot drew her gaze downward and onto the worried face of her husband. Had she been gone too long already? It felt like only a few moments.
Charles sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. He gently brushed at rebellious curls that fell into her face. He looked at her with sad eyes, the disappointment written across his features tearing at her heart. Had she erred again? Of course he would be upset she’d left the gathering he had put together solely for her benefit. She must take care to show more gratitude.
“Oh, Lydia. Don’t you know I love you?”
Her pulse quickened. She lowered her chin, hoping he saw the gesture in the darkness. Oh, she knew he did. How could she not? He had flung open the doors to his heart and tried to invite her within.
“Do you love me as well?”
Her throat constricted. She longed to run from the emotions that burned within her. They could lead only to pain. But what of the pain of denial? He deserved more than that. She searched his face, seeing there all she longed for. “Yes, Charles, I do. With all that I have to offer.”
He grasped her shoulders. “Then please, you have to talk to me. Do you think I cannot see it in your eyes? You are detached, distant. Ever since my return, I’ve known something is wrong. At first I thought you were stressed over the events that occurred during my absence. But now I fear it’s much more. Something else eats at you. Little by little it takes you away from me. I cannot help you if I do not know. What I fear I can barely say.”
He took a long draw of air, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the intensity she saw made her stomach drop. “Lydia, did that man hurt you?”
Tears spilled from her eyes. Whatever the consequence, he should know the truth. Charles deserved better than her. She could no longer let him love the false image she’d created. She drew a breath, pained to lose him but knowing she must set him free. “Not him, but another. I am not what you think I am! I am not what you deserve.”
The Whistle Walk: A Civil War Novel (Ironwood Plantation Family Saga Book 1) Page 14