Wild Flower

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  She released Taylor’s hair and raised one of Taylor’s hands to her lips, kissing her palm and then putting Taylor’s hand to her own cheek. She looked Taylor in the eye. Despite the tears that stained her cheeks, her voice was again sure and strong. “You are the reason I have lived.”

  Her throat working, her heart breaking, and full of shame, Taylor knew what this show of emotion had cost her mother in pride. Taylor looked down and to one side of her mother. Her cheek stung, her ears were ringing, such was the force of her mother’s slap.

  “Look at me, Taylor.”

  Taylor did, her expression blank, no words forthcoming.

  “You will leave this night, and you will go to your father in St. Louis.”

  Shock had Taylor jerking out of her mother’s grasp. “I will not. I will make my way west to the white man’s wilderness. I will—”

  “No. You will do as I tell you. You will go to the town of St. Louis, in the place called Missouri, the Great Waters. There you will go to your father. I did not have my brother break you out of jail only to have you fling yourself to the wolves in a world unknown to you. For all your wild ways, Taylor, you are an innocent. Out west, your life will be hard and it will be short; this I tell you. And so you will go east. You will find your white family. They will take you in, and they will protect you.”

  Taylor was reeling inside. “I will not. I hate my—”

  “Taylor.” Her mother said only that one word, but her voice rang with parental authority. Taylor remained silent and respectful. Only then did Tennie Nell speak again. “You will go to your father.” A moment’s hesitation shadowed her eyes, but then she added, “And there you will find your beloved Amanda.”

  Amanda? The surprise of hearing that name stiffened Taylor in place. She could barely breathe. She’d had too many shocks today. Her world was spinning round and round. “Find her there? How? My cousin is dead from a pox she got as a child. You told me this years ago.”

  Her mother shook her head. “She is not dead.”

  Taylor’s mind simply would not register her mother’s words. “She is. You are saying this thing now to get me to go east. Amanda is—”

  “Alive, Taylor. She is not dead. I told you what I had to at the time. I don’t expect you to understand. Back then, it was best that you believed Amanda to be gone from this earth.”

  Suddenly too warm, then too cold, and sick inside, but with no outward display of her roiling emotions, Taylor stared at her mother, a virtuous woman who’d done the best she could with such a bad seed as Taylor for a daughter. A woman who’d watched her daughter grow up wild and spit in the face of the injustices of being half-white in a red world and half-red in a white world and of being an outcast bastard child in both societies. A woman, though, who’d never given up on her daughter, who’d tried to bring Taylor to her senses … a woman Taylor would have sworn had never told a lie in her life. And now this.

  “Why?” It was the only word she could get out.

  “Because there is one who would see you dead.”

  Taylor stood there, blinking, slowly shaking her head. “But … why? I was only a child. An innocent child. Who would want me dead?” Then, she knew. “This white family you would send me to. They want me dead. Am I right?”

  Her mother nodded and took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “This is true. But not all of them, Taylor. There are those who love you. You are no longer a child, and so you deserve the truth. Now you are strong. You can face them.”

  Taylor stilled, her mind working, her expression stony. Sudden and sneaking suspicion, like a coiling snake, wrapped itself around her belly. “How do you know all this? And that Amanda still lives? That there is a white person who wants me dead? How do you know?”

  Taylor knew there was only one way her mother could know. But she wanted to hear her say it.

  Her mother’s chin came up. She returned Taylor’s unblinking stare. “Because over the years,” she said unwaveringly, “I have kept in touch with one who loves you very much. Through letters and messages brought by friends.”

  “And all this you kept from me?”

  “Yes. There was no reason to tell you. There was nothing you could do. Nothing any of us could do. We did what we had to do to protect you.”

  Taylor looked at her mother, seeing her now in a new light. What other sacrifices had she made that Taylor remained unaware of? What was truly in her heart? What did she think of the white man she’d loved but who had abandoned them both, Taylor and her mother? Then, something else occurred to Taylor, something she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “The man whose bastard I am … is he the one who writes you?”

  Her mother’s expression never changed. “Go to St. Louis, Taylor. You will be safe there.”

  Rising anger had Taylor fisting her hands. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “You are speaking harshly to me, Taylor. It is disrespectful.”

  Taylor gritted her teeth together until her jaw ached. What her mother said was true. For all her wild and lawless ways, Taylor had been a respectful daughter in her mother’s house. But those days and those honoring ways were gone.

  “Your father will be so happy—”

  “Do not call him my father!” Taylor exploded into yelling and punctuating her accusations with angry gestures. “He is merely the white man who abandoned you and me, the white man who never claimed me. He left me his bastard and brought shame to you.” This woman she called her mother was suddenly a stranger to Taylor. A cold hardness, for the second time this day, engulfed her heart. “This man is without honor, and now you say he is going to help me? Is that what you would have me believe?”

  Tennie Nell seemed to shrink, to become old and vulnerable right before Taylor’s eyes. Fear for her mother replaced the anger in Taylor’s heart, leaving her ashamed and reaching out, wanting to tell Tennie Nell she was sorry.

  But her mother waved her off and then clutched spasmodically at her skirt. Her black eyes again danced with tears. “It was not like that. There are things you do not know, Taylor. Things you do not have the time to hear from me. The deputies could already be on their way back here.”

  “Mother, I do not care about the deputies. I want to know—”

  “No. Please. No more questions. I will pack your food and some money, and you will leave. You must go to St. Louis. There is nothing more I can do for you.”

  Taylor couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her mother here alone. “Then come with me. There is nothing holding you here.”

  Tennie Nell shook her head. “No, I cannot go. You must do this alone, my daughter. I watched you grow up strong and beautiful. I even saw that you got your deserved freedom from the stone prison. But you are still a prisoner in our world. And I have kept you too long to myself. Go to your father. Promise me you will. You must take great care. But he and others around him can tell you the truth—a truth you must hear from them.”

  Taylor frowned. She had no idea what her mother meant. What truth? But with time chasing her as surely as did the deputies, the last thing she wanted to do was argue with her mother or delay here long enough to get caught again. “I hear your words, my mother. Then, this is good-bye,” she said, her heart in her eyes, her arms held open to hug her mother one last time.

  Chapter Three

  Good God, how much was one man supposed to take in the name of a social occasion? First it had been the extensive landscaping done to the eastern portion of Forest Park. Then it was the dedication two years ago of Eads Bridge, which had finally spanned the Mississippi River here in St. Louis, and how that had changed the face of commerce. Then it was the demise of commerce’s dependence upon the steamboat in the face of the railway system. And now it was the separation of “our dear city” of St. Louis from St. Louis County. Surely next would be the city’s upcoming plans for the centennial celebration of nationhood.

  Through gritted teeth, Greyson Howard Talbott prided himself that he held his tongue every bit as
well as he did his liquor. Still, the pompous boor accosting him just now with his asinine opinions on everything St. Louis was damned lucky this was Grey’s fifth stiff drink following the buffet supper. Otherwise, he may have told the petty city official exactly what he thought he could do with his park and Eads Bridge, which the fellow had just pronounced as the greatest achievement in recent St. Louis history.

  Boring. That’s what the man’s pointless chattering was. All of it. Deadly boring. Especially since Grey’s family—mostly through his younger brother Franklin’s visionary efforts—had been involved personally or financially in each of the transactions the man was pontificating on. As a result of being forced to listen to Franklin at family gatherings expound on these same subjects—while their dear mother harangued Grey about not being more involved and thereby putting everything on Franklin’s shoulders—he knew firsthand all the inside stories and intimate details of each. And not once that Grey could recall had this detestable little man been present at any phase or on any level of the city’s development. Who the devil was he, anyway, that he didn’t recognize the Talbott name and philanthropy and leadership in charity and industry and government? The man was as uninformed as … Grey glanced down at the simpering young female clinging to his arm … as she was silly, in his opinion.

  Oh, she was pretty enough, he supposed … all pink skin and blond hair. But the devil of it was he couldn’t quite remember who she was exactly. She was no relative. And he hadn’t brought her with him to this gathering of family and friends and petty yet boring city officials. Instead, and acting for all the world as if she knew him well, she had attached herself to him some time ago when he’d made one of his many forays over to the punch bowl. Despite the buzz of conversation all around him, which vied with the pleasant whiskey buzz in his head, Grey mentally scrolled through the names and faces of young ladies known to him. But no … nothing. Couldn’t come up with the girl’s name.

  Really perplexed now, he stole another sidelong glance at the young woman. She caught him staring. He gave her a weak smile. She giggled back at him and hugged her barely covered breasts against his sleeve. That invitation was clear. The young lady was of that most frightening of designations—an eligible female. Eligible for marriage, that is. In light of that, Grey had all he could do not to bolt from the room.

  This was a perfect example, he reminded himself, of why he much preferred the social atmosphere of one of his clubs. There a man could have a good cigar, a decent conversation, and a rousing game of cards without some desperate mama tossing her daughter of a marriageable age his way. Well, no matter. Just as he’d done with all the others, he’d soon find a way to rid himself of this flouncing young lady who had designs on him.

  It was more important to him that he was pleasantly drunk and listening with only half an ear to the conversation swirling about him. He even managed to give every appearance of being attentive. The genial nod. The agreeable murmur of implied consent. The thoughtful expression. All that while eyeing the foyer lingeringly, wondering when he could acceptably make his escape. Why had he promised his mother—as if a man of thirty-two should have to do such a thing—that he would attend this gathering and behave? Yet he had promised. And so he would. Behave, that is. Because for all his short-comings, he was a man of his infrequently given word—a laudable virtue he nonetheless was now ready to term a serious character flaw.

  After all, look where living by the precepts of a virtue had landed him. Here … here being the celebration of his younger brother’s engagement to Miss Amanda James, niece to Charles Edward James, in whose elegant mansion this little tableau among him, the clinging young woman, and the boring petty city official was taking place. A man of his word. Ha. The only word Grey could think of at this moment was a heated four-lettered curse he wished to fling at the pompous little toad still haranguing him with his insufferable opinions.

  Wondering what would happen if he did fling the curse, Grey amused himself with picturing the general reaction among the luminaries present. The shocked looks. The outraged gasps. The widened eyes. Wonderful. The moment got away from him. He chuckled evilly.

  “By God, sir, you find the plight of the city’s orphans a laughing matter?”

  Grey frowned, snapping back to the moment. Orphans? When the devil—? He focused on the irritating city official. The man’s face was red and strained-looking above his stiff collar. His sausagelike fingers gripped his wineglass so tightly Grey was certain it would snap at any moment. While that might prove interesting …

  Grey raised an eyebrow as he considered the speaker through narrowed eyes—and broke his word to his dear mother about manners. “No, sir, I assure you I do not. In fact, I find the orphans’ plight a damned sight better than my own at this moment. I can only hope the poor children are never subjected to your long-winded harangues as I and Miss…” He looked at the pink and blond grinning female still stuck to his arm. “As I and this young woman, whoever the devil she may be, have been.” The young woman gasped and retracted her possessive claws from Grey’s coat sleeve. “Thank you, miss,” he told her, turning his attention back to the apoplectic man he was insulting. “If one of your speeches were to befall the orphans, I fear you’d have the hapless children jumping in droves off that much-vaunted Eads Bridge of yours.”

  Just Grey’s luck … he’d lost his decorum on the last note of the musicians’ current piece. And apparently he’d spoken into the ensuing silence more loudly than he’d realized. The room was stone quiet, and all eyes were on him. From a distance, he heard a muffled, “Good heavens, what now?” That would be his mother. And then everyone, including Grey, watched as the young lady beside him huffed out an insulted breath and stormed away in a cloud of sky blue chiffon … or damask or silk or whatever the devil young females today were wearing to catch a wealthy husband. But already some good was coming of breaking his word to his mother—the feeling was returning to his arm, which he exercised.

  All eyes were on the petty city official as that man gave his own harrumph, turned his back to Grey, and went off, no doubt, to inflict his nattering presence on some other unfortunate cluster of heretofore happy guests. Yet another good consequence of not being a man of one’s word, Grey reflected. Insufferable bores learn to avoid you. Deciding he’d done his duty, and then some, by his mother and Franklin and Amanda, Grey pronounced this a good time for him to take his leave. He felt certain that almost everyone else in attendance would probably agree.

  As quickly as the room had quieted, the conversations and the music resumed. They were used to Grey’s outbursts. He spied his host coming toward him, a huge grin on the man’s face. “Ah, Charles, a splendid party,” Grey told him, clapping the handsome and stately older man on his shoulder when he stood in front of him. “Excellent food. Fabulous music. And of course your niece Amanda. A wonderful girl. My younger brother is truly blessed to have found such a rare gem in this year’s crop of eligible young misses.”

  Charles Edward James chuckled and shook his head. “Grey, my esteemed friend, you are decidedly drunk. And honest as a result.”

  Grinning, his expression alive with merriment, Grey feigned shock. “Me? Drunk and honest? What a detestable combination. Now, tell me, did my long-suffering mother send you over here?”

  Charles sighed, an affected sound, as he nodded his silvering blond head. “Yes, I’m afraid she did.”

  “Ah. Have I been excused, then?”

  “You have.”

  “Wonderful.” Grey put a conspiratorial arm around Charles and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Tell me something else. Who the hell was that nasty little man I was talking to just now, the one I insulted?”

  Charles shrugged. “Some minor dignitary in the city government. A Mr. Harnison, I believe. A relative of a friend. You know the type of thing.”

  Grey nodded. “I do. And the young lady with the altogether pleasant bosom and the blue dress? Who is she? And why does she act as if she knows me? I can’t
recall her name … or her attributes.”

  “And it’s a good thing you don’t … with regard to her attributes, that is. You see, she’s Miss Henryetta Chalmers.”

  Grey frowned, trying to concentrate. “Chalmers, you say? I do know that name. Have I met her before?”

  “Perhaps only briefly. She’s just been let out of the nursery, so to speak. This is her first season. But more importantly to your continued well-being, you recognize her name because her father is a United States Senator. A powerful man. Of course, if you’d occasionally deign to socialize with the right people, you’d have seen her often and would readily remember that, my friend.”

  Pretending outrage, Grey released his host and pulled himself up to his full height. “A reprimand from you, Charles? Then, great Scott, I’ve done it now, haven’t I?”

  “Oh, yes. And it only gets worse, my good man—or better, however you wish to see it. Because Miss Chalmers is one of my niece’s—your future sister-in-law’s—bridesmaids. I feel certain you’ll be seeing quite a bit of her in the next few months until the wedding.”

  Grey thoughtfully rubbed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Well, that ought to be delightful, then.” He handed his empty whiskey glass to his host. “Mind this for me while I say my good night to my widowed mother and Franklin and your sweet Amanda and her parents. I shall then depart with my tail tucked firmly between my legs.”

  Charles James chuckled. “It’s not as bad as all that. You’ve done no harm. Just gave the gossips something to do with their loose tongues. But if you wish to leave, then I’m afraid my little gathering won’t be the same.”

  “Awfully good of you to say so. Now, sir, if you would kindly have the formidable Estes retrieve my hat and call up my carriage from the mix of them outside, I will then bid my family and you a fond farewell in short order.”