Moonwitch

by Nicole Jordan

  Gritting her teeth against the pain, the girl nodded. “Yes’um.”

  Saul hunkered down beside her. “You sure, Lukey?” he said gently, examining the wounds the lash had made. “You ain’t gonna have our baby right here, are you?”

  Selena understood then why Saul had risked his life to protect the girl. Yet seeing the tenderness of his expression, she suspected he would have done the same even if Lukey hadn’t been carrying his child.

  “Those cuts should be tended,” Selena said softly.

  Saul nodded. “I’ll see to it.” He helped Lukey to her feet, then turned to Selena. “Me an’ Lukey thank you for what you done, missy. You, too, Massa Ramsey.”

  “I hardly deserve your thanks,” Kyle said grimly. “It seems my action was long overdue.” Moving over to where Selena was still sitting on the ground, he reached down a hand to help her rise. “Are you all right?” he queried, his brows drawn together with concern as she struggled to her feet. He stood there gazing down at her, his hands resting gently on her arms.

  The tenderness in his eyes took Selena’s breath away, preventing her from answering at once. Kyle was looking at her as Saul had looked at Lukey—in a way that made her feel wanted, cherished. For a moment the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was only the wonderful light in his eyes that made her hope that they truly had a future together, with children and laughter and love.

  The thought flooded her with warmth. Hesitantly, her hand crept to her abdomen. Kyle’s child. Her heart started beating faster.

  But the moment was only fleeting, for Kyle frowned. “Selena? Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” she replied finally. Kyle was protecting her the way he would his sisters… or any woman, for that matter. “Whitfield didn’t hurt me.”

  But despite her assurances, she was grateful for Kyle’s support. Her knees were shaking from outrage at Whitfield’s brutality and her own dislike of violence.

  She clung to Kyle’s arm as she glanced around the yard. There were two dozen slaves looking on, all of them watching her and Kyle. Their shock had turned to approval; she could see it on their faces. They soon began dispersing to return to their chores, but not before Selena realized with instincts honed by long experience that she and Kyle had passed a critical test.

  “Do you need me to carry you into the house?” Kyle’s concerned voice broke through her intent thoughts.

  Selena glanced up at him, a faint flush on her cheeks at the thought of everyone watching Kyle parade her through the yard the way he had at the Natchez landing. “No, I can manage.” Realizing she was still clinging to his arm, she quickly drew her hands back. “That was wise of you to dismiss Whitfield,” she said, flustered.

  His mouth creased in a wry grin. “He wasn’t the best of factors, I can see that now. That was what you were trying to tell me this morning, wasn’t it?”

  “I had my suspicions. And I wanted to speak with you about another matter concerning Whitfield, but it can wait till tomorrow…at breakfast…” Her voice trailed off as she waited to see what Kyle thought of that suggestion. Perhaps she was being presumptuous, thinking he might want to spend time each morning with her. But they needed to discuss the workings of the plantation, particularly since he was now without a factor. And there was much they could accomplish if only they could work together.

  Kyle surprised her by reaching up to brush her cheek with a gentle finger. “Till tomorrow morning, then.”

  There it was again, that tender light in his eyes. Selena felt her pulse quicken. “Perhaps…you had better go find your horse,” she murmured somewhat breathlessly.

  “Yes.” But he didn’t move. His gaze dropped to her mouth, while his voice lowered to a caress. “Moonwitch, you were wonderful just now.”

  She wanted to reply that no, he was the one who had been wonderful for rescuing them, but the way Kyle was looking at her made it difficult to remember her name, let alone what she had been about to say.

  He moved closer. Selena caught her breath, holding it as Kyle bent to give her a brief, light kiss on the lips. It was the kind of intimate, companionable gesture a man might give his wife before taking leave of her, and it stunned her.

  She stood there long after he was gone, her fingers held to her lips, wondering if there might be more to his feelings for her than simple chivalry, after all.

  The next few days proved that her instincts concerning the incident in the yard had been correct. Word spread like wildfire among the field hands about the beating Whitfield had suffered, and to a man, they went out of their way to show their endorsement of the factor’s dismissal. Kyle further earned their respect by returning each craftsman to his respective trade and abandoning the acres Whitfield had overplanted. With Selena’s help, he also set up a system whereby every slave could have his grievances heard, and he resumed the work schedule the plantation had used before Whitfield changed it—which meant shorter hours and a rest period during the hottest part of the day.

  In addition to Selena’s tutelage in these matters, Kyle had superior help and advice from another source. Saul’s brother, Rufus, was the head driver, and because of Kyle’s intervention, Rufus became determined to see the new master succeed. Even Rufus was taken aback, however, when Kyle stripped to his waist and joined the field hands in pruning cotton shrubs. He wanted, Kyle explained, to see just how hard the work really was.

  When Selena heard from Martha about Kyle’s exploits in the cotton fields, she smiled in relief. She had always known her husband wasn’t like the genteel planters of her acquaintance—gentlemen who were afraid to dirty their hands—but it eased her mind to see Kyle throwing his whole heart into the work. She had been worried about how he would fare, for without an overseer, even the best of plantations could quickly go to ruin. Yet Kyle had his people behind him now. Even as inexperienced as he was, his management of the plantation would likely be a success. And as she listened to Martha praise the new master, Selena began to feel more optimistic. Given time, perhaps her marriage to Kyle might eventually become a success, too. That optimism was buoyed by her growing friendship with Kyle’s sisters. Selena felt she was making progress with Felicity and Zoe especially, but she entertained hopes of gaining even Lydia’s confidence.

  And then, several days after the Whitfield incident, Selena’s optimism about her future with Kyle was shattered. She was working at her desk one morning when Martha announced that a female visitor had come calling on Master Ramsey.

  Danielle, was Selena’s first thought, and then she was immediately ashamed of the jealousy that twisted her heart. With fierce determination, she pushed it aside and looked up inquiringly, wondering why Martha had come to her. “Well then, perhaps you should show her to the parlor and send someone to fetch Mr. Ramsey.”

  Martha shook her head adamantly. “She ain’t the kind to let in the house. You best come yourself. I left her standin’ on the veranda.”

  Curious now, and chagrined that Martha would treat a visitor so impolitely, Selena quickly made her way down the hall. Finding the front door closed, she drew it open to admit the caller—and immediately realized what Martha had meant. Like Danielle, this visitor had red hair, but this was a vivid, flaming red, not lustrous auburn. And the gown she was wearing had a shockingly low-cut bodice that barely contained her ample breasts and boasted too many flounces for daytime wear. Her beautiful face was painted with the rouge and kohl of her profession. Beyond her, a one-horse gig sat in the drive.

  Selena recognized her at once.

  For a moment Selena stared at Angel without speaking. “May I help you?” she said finally, her voice weaker than she would have liked.

  Angel lifted her chin proudly, though the gloves she had twisted in her hands showed her discomfiture. “My business is with Mr. Ramsey.”

  “Please… come in. I will send a servant after Kyle.”

  The red-haired woman eyed Selena warily, but she stepped over the threshold and followed her cautiously down the hall.


  What did one do in such a situation? Selena wondered frantically as she led the visitor to the small parlor. She didn’t know how to behave or what to say—but then Angel, too, seemed nervous. The woman’s gaze flitted over the yellow damask curtains, the French hand-blocked paper and the Aubusson carpet embellished with floral patterns before she perched carefully on the edge of the brocade settee that Selena indicated.

  In the end Selena did the only thing a well-bred lady could do. “It may be a while,” she said from the doorway. “Kyle is out somewhere in the fields. May I have someone bring you tea?”

  “Tea? Me?” Angel looked shocked. But then she closed her gaping mouth and drew herself up a little straighter, nodding primly. “Yes, thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”

  Selena left then and saw to the refreshments, but when she returned to the office, she couldn’t work. She was too conscious of the red-haired woman in the parlor. Finally she went upstairs to the schoolroom to check on the girls, then to her own room, where she restlessly paced the floor. She didn’t come down again until she heard a carriage drive away and saw Kyle striding back across the courtyard, heading for the stables.

  That evening, Kyle came home earlier than usual for supper, but he said nothing about Angel’s visit, and Selena was too proud to ask, especially with his sisters within earshot. Just as she was retiring to bed, however, Kyle announced that he had business in town and that he would be out late. Feeling ice spread through her stomach, Selena searched his face. Kyle’s expression remained impassive, showing no indication of his intentions. She would have liked to demand what his business was, but she bit back the question and went up to her room alone.

  Kyle followed her upstairs a short while later in order to change clothes. Shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat, he tried not to remember the troubled look on Selena’s face. He knew he should have told her what he had to do, but after his disclosures about his past relationships with Veronique and Danielle, he couldn’t bring himself to admit to Selena that he would be spending his nights in a bordello. He couldn’t lie to her, either, and so he had pleaded business obligations in an effort to spare her feelings.

  At least Bea had promised to reassure Selena if the subject came up. He had told Bea where he would be, of course, in case he was needed, and Bea had understood immediately why he had to go. Angel was calling in a debt incurred years ago, a promise made by his father, and he was obliged to honor it. And at least it would keep him from having to face this torment night after night.

  Pulling off his cravat, Kyle cast a fierce glare at the door that separated his rooms from Selena’s. God, he hated that door. How many nights had he spent staring at it and trying not to think of the slender, elusive woman sleeping on the other side? In reality it had only been a week since they had arrived at Montrose, but it seemed like a year.

  Now he would be spending those nights at Heaven’s Gate, since Angel thought she needed his help to protect her place of business. He planned to return each day to Montrose and carry out his duties as master, but he would have to miss those early-morning conversations with Selena. He didn’t want to face her and see that wounded look in her eyes.

  At dawn the next morning, he was still gone, so Selena ate a solitary breakfast, missing the intimate moments with Kyle that she had begun to cherish. The same procedure was repeated the following night and morning, and by the third night, despair was eating away at her heart. When Kyle had left for town, Selena made her way up to her room and went out onto the gallery. The air was heavy and warm with the scent of jasmine, but she felt too wretched to enjoy it.

  Bea found her there moments later, standing in the darkness, staring down sightlessly at the night-shadowed courtyard. Selena stiffened, steeling herself against the pity she knew Bea would offer. She was sure Bea had heard about Angel’s visit. Martha would have told her.

  When Bea laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, Selena knew she was right—and Bea’s soft words confirmed it.

  “Selena…my brother wouldn’t betray your marriage vows with a woman like that.”

  Selena felt her lower lip begin to tremble. Despairingly, she buried her face in her hands to keep the tears from coming. “Oh, Bea, she is so beautiful.” The words were dredged from her throat, as if her fears had to be spoken out loud.

  “Not as beautiful as you are.”

  Selena shook her head, unconvinced. How many times had her stepmother, Edith, said that her pallid looks weren’t the kind to appeal to men?

  After a long moment, however, she got hold of herself and raised her head. “Why is it,” she said with quiet vehemence, “that I feel such a violent urge to scratch that woman’s eyes out?”

  Bea chuckled. “Because you’re human, my dear, and your claim on your man is being threatened. And if you have half the gumption I think you do, you’ll fight for him.”

  Wide-eyed, Selena turned to gaze at her sister-in-law, wondering if all Americans were so frank and outspoken.

  “Kyle doesn’t love her,” Bea added soberly, “any more than he loves Danielle.”

  “He loves his son.”

  “That’s not the same thing at all.” She paused, then added gently, “You could make Kyle love you if you wanted to.”

  Selena gave a weak smile but shook her head. “I don’t have the right color hair.”

  “I think you do. Kyle just doesn’t know it yet.”

  “Very well.” Selena took a steadying breath. “I am going into town!”

  “Now? At night? Selena, you don’t know how dangerous it can be.”

  “Bea, I can’t stand it any longer—not knowing what he is doing with that woman.”

  “Well, at least take Thaddeus with you. And Saul. They should be able to protect you if there’s trouble.”

  She sounded so pleased that Selena gave her a sharp glance. Bea’s eyes were twinkling in the darkness; she could have sworn it.

  “I wish I could be there to see it,” Bea added smugly. “Poor Kyle doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Neither Thaddeus nor Saul showed as much enthusiasm for driving Selena into town: Thaddeus asked frankly if she had lost her mind, while Saul could be heard to mutter that Massa Ramsey would flay him alive if something happened to her. But Selena remained adamant and got her way by the simple expedient of threatening to drive alone. Shortly she found herself on the road to Natchez-Under.

  Both men were grimly silent during the carriage ride, so the sound of revelry was almost a welcome relief to Selena. Even before they reached the bluffs, they could hear the music of plinking pianos and squawking fiddles from the grogshops and tippling houses below. As they turned downhill and negotiated the steep street, the sounds of bawdy songs and drunken laughter assailed them—and a different noise, as well. The shouting and rumbling of a mob.

  Saul was driving, and as they approached Heaven’s Gate tavern, he drew sharply back on the reins. In the middle of the street stood a throng of river men and trappers, two or three of whom held torches. In the flickering yellow light, Selena could see that many of the rough men resembled the trapper she’d met her first day in Natchez. They wore flannel or leather hunting shirts and homespun jean trousers, and some carried long rifles. She was glad Thaddeus had thought to bring a pistol.

  Beside her, Thaddeus shifted uneasily in his seat. “Saul, turn the carriage around, if you please.”

  “No, not yet,” Selena said hastily. She was afraid that if she left now, she would never find the courage to come again. And she was concerned about the coarse crowd, wondering if Kyle was involved in some kind of trouble.

  Disquieted, she watched to discover what was happening. When the throng parted momentarily, she was rewarded with a glimpse of the man in the center. He wore a long black coat and buckskin gaiters and carried something that looked like a book in his hands.

  “That’s the Methodist preacher who came to town last week,” Thaddeus murmured. “He’s planned a shouting revival for tomorrow.”

  Selena
wasn’t sure what a “shouting revival” was, but before she could ask, she caught some of the minister’s words.

  He was conducting an impassioned service right there in front of Heaven’s Gate, Selena realized with surprise. He was calling to the women in the brothel, begging them to turn from sin and save their mortal souls. His pleas were accompanied by choruses of “Hallelujah!” and “God grant it!” by the men directly surrounding him.

  Yet not all the crowd were supporters, it seemed. The itinerant evangelist was being heckled by the river men and showered with profanity.

  “Thar’s trouble brewin’,” Saul muttered under his breath, and silently Selena agreed. She was certain the silver flashes she’d glimpsed were the reflections of light off steel knives.

  Then the crowd shifted again, and Selena drew in her breath. Beside the preacher stood a man she recognized. The gaunt face of Gideon Whitfield looked menacing in the shifting torchlight. From the corner of her eye, she could see Saul’s spine stiffen, and she herself felt the urge to shiver.

  “Repent ye sinners!” Whitfield called with fervor to the occupants of the brothel. “The kingdom of heaven is at hand! Resist the devil, and he will flee from you!”

  He was lost from view the next moment. Abruptly, Thaddeus repeated his order to turn the carriage around, but as Saul gathered the reins, the door to Heaven’s Gate opened and a hush fell over the crowd. Saul hesitated.

  A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the taproom. Even at that distance, Selena recognized her husband. Kyle was taller than most of the men, and his dark chestnut hair was visible above the throng.

  She heard him calmly suggest that the minister go on his way, but the rest of his words were lost as the assembled rabble closed in. In a moment, though, Kyle raised his voice, speaking loudly enough for the entire crowd to hear. “The fun’s over, lads. Miss Angel invites you to come back tomorrow night, when there isn’t quite so much excitement.”

  “Why should we heed you, Ramsey, when the devil has claimed your soul?”