Moss Rose

by Scottie Barrett

  "Well, Ginger, I guess we should give up. She's a tenacious wench, I'll give her that. Unfortunately, it won't be long before some wild animal mistakes her for an evening meal. She's such a scrap of a thing, though. Hardly enough to feed a family of raccoons." He could hear her soft breathing overhead. Each tiny movement sent a snowstorm of leaves down on his black head. "Let's turn back. I just hope she wasn't careless enough to climb into one of these trees. You know how those panthers love to stay tucked away in the branches, just waiting to pounce on some unsuspecting prey."

  A loud scream was followed by the sound of branches snapping.

  Losing her shaky hold on the jutting limb, Jensen closed her eyes tightly as she plummeted toward the ground. She held her breath in anticipation of the explosion of pain she knew was imminent. To her relief, she experienced only a slight jarring sensation, and the fall had seemed much shorter than expected. She opened her eyes to find that the two strong limbs holding her did not belong to the massive oak but rather to the massive man she had been hiding from. He was holding her like a baby, flashing her a mischievously triumphant grin.

  "Mornin', Miss Hawthorne, there's a much easier way down you know. Though, your descents are nothing if not entertaining."

  Jensen wriggled angrily in his thick arms but stopped when she realized that he seemed to be enjoying her squirming. "How did you find me in this endless maze of trees, anyway?"

  "It wasn't really too difficult. Only a herd of buffalo could have left a more obvious trail."

  He flashed his shiny white teeth again, and she wanted to jam her fist into them. "Kindly put me down, Mr. North. I'm perfectly capable of walking back to your bloody tobacco farm."

  "I can see that." Levi turned his head and looked back up the long path he had just traversed. "In fact, I find it hard to believe you made it this far on your own."

  "You really do think I'm a pudding-head, don't you?" She pouted out her lower lip and blew a breath straight up to remove an annoying strand of hair from her eyes. "I simply headed to the river and kept up my pace through the night. Lot of good it did me though, for here I am, back in your clutches," she said, her husky voice growing even deeper with exasperation.

  Levi laughed out loud at Jensen's last comment. "God, woman, you are so theatrical. I suppose I will have to leg shackle you so I won't have to waste any more of my valuable time hunting you down."

  She threw him a look, which she'd hoped would let him know just how much she hated him. "Well?" she asked indignantly.

  "Well, what?"

  "Are you going to put me down or will you be carrying me back to the plantation?"

  He hesitated a long moment before dropping her to her feet. Their eyes locked, and they stared at each other for a long, uneasy stretch of time. His nearness suddenly making her very nervous, she took a step back. He was staring at her lips almost as a hungry fox would stare at a plump rabbit. She took a deep breath and thrust her chin out defiantly. "I don't believe leg shackles will be necessary, Master North. I'm fairly certain I will not try to escape again."

  He grabbed her with such startling speed his movements blurred. His huge hands encircled her tiny forearms, and she winced as he squeezed them painfully. Lifting her to her toes, he brought his face down so close to hers she was sure that if he blinked, she would feel his long lashes brush her face. But he did not blink. His eyes, the dark gray of a raging tempest, bored into her with savage intensity.

  "Make no mistake, Miss Hawthorne," his voice was so quiet it sent a visible shiver up her spine, "you will not leave Moss Rose again without my permission."

  He dropped her so abruptly she fell onto her bottom. Trembling with fear and anger, she watched as he flung himself atop his horse. A ray of sunlight pierced the tarp of leaves above him, and it seemed instantly to melt the coldness in his face. He extended a hand to her. "Come on, Duff, let's go home."

  "Your home, my prison," she corrected, refusing his hand and using the edge of the saddle to pull herself astride.

  "Rest up for a few hours," he ordered as they reached the house. "I'll be heading out this afternoon to take care of some legal matters, and you'll be accompanying me."

  She gave him a curious look, expecting him to say more, but he sent her off with a curt wave of his hand. She trudged dejectedly back to the house, thinking what a nerve this man had thwarting all of her plans. He was swiftly becoming a thorn in her side.

  That afternoon, refusing to sit beside Levi North on the box, she bypassed his outstretched hand and ignored his scowling look as she scooted onto the bed of the wagon to sit with Ginger. Her intuition told her she was about to face some dreadful punishment for her botched escape.

  To her surprise, Levi halted the wagon in front of a picturesque, wood-shingled farmhouse. Trailing her huge, broad-shouldered nemesis, she told herself nothing terrible could await her behind such a pretty facade. It was not until she noticed the small, official-looking sign over the front door that she stopped cold. He literally had to drag her up the remaining porch steps.

  When a pretty, fair-haired woman, freckles sprinkled across a pert nose, opened the door, Jensen watched with resentment as Levi North, still retaining a death-like grip on her wrist, favored the woman with a lethally charming smile. Jensen couldn't help noticing how the woman's blue eyes brightened perceptibly, a becoming blush blooming in her cheeks as he moved inside, filling up the entryway with his massive frame. "Miss Wesley, you are looking lovely as usual."

  "Mr. North, we weren't expecting you this afternoon," she simpered, smoothing her hands over her already flawless coif.

  "My visit was unplanned," he replied turning his head to direct an irritated glance at Jensen. The woman, seeming to notice Jensen for the first time, gave her a quick once over before returning her full attention to Levi. "Sorry for the inconvenience, but it's important I speak to your father."

  She smiled invitingly. "You know we always make time for you, Mr. North."

  "Oh please," Jensen couldn't help muttering under her breath, causing the black-haired devil to wrench her wrist painfully.

  Politely ignoring the by-play between the towering colonial and the girl at his side, Miss Wesley lifted her skirts, giving him a view of an elegantly turned ankle as they followed her through the narrow hallway to the rear of the house. "Come, I shall show you to his office. I believe he will welcome the interruption."

  She knocked gently on the door but did not wait for an answering reply. "Father, look who's come to call," Miss Wesley announced cheerfully to the elegant older man ensconced behind the well-used desk.

  The man walked around his desk to greet Levi. "By God, it's been ages, North." He clapped the younger man hard on the shoulders. "What have we here?" His curious, hazel eyes dropped to Jensen.

  Levi gave her a long, hard look before pushing her to take a seat. "This is my servant, Jensen Hawthorne, and the reason for my unexpected visit. I need you to draw up a contract of indenture."

  The magistrate's brows nearly met his hairline. "Levi North indenturing a servant? Has hell frozen over?" he quipped and let loose a loud barking laugh at his own joke.

  With amusement still lighting his eyes, he pressed a handkerchief to his perspiring brow and turned to his daughter. "Lucille, fetch us some refreshments." After returning the embroidered linen to his vest pocket, he rubbed his pale, soft hands together in anticipation. "Well, well, this should prove a most interesting meeting."

  As the magistrate moved to thumb through the messy pile of papers on his desk, Levi strode toward the window. Jensen observed that his shoulders were held tensely as he parted the heavy velvet draperies to peer outside, looking anywhere but her direction, it seemed.

  Lucille came in bearing a silver tea tray piled high with shortbread and biscuits. She searched the cluttered room for a place to set it, when in a gentlemanly fashion, that made Jensen shake her head in disgust, Levi jumped to assist her. After clearing a spot on a table beside Jensen and setting the service down fo
r Lucille, he continued his gallantry by unnecessarily seeing her the few feet to the door. Much to Jensen's annoyance they lingered, speaking in hushed tones that nearly bordered on intimate. Certain she did not want to be an audience to the nauseating spectacle, she whipped herself back around to face the magistrate, who was still busy rifling through the papers on his desk.

  Seizing the opportunity to talk privately with him, Jensen leaned forward, clearing her throat lightly. Mr. Wesley turned, regarding her with kind eyes, and she offered to pour his tea for him, which he readily accepted. As she handed him the delicate porcelain cup, she leaned closer and spoke in a confidential whisper. "Sir, I wonder if I could speak candidly with you." He nodded. "Surely, you must know of another available position. Hopefully, working for a more agreeable man."

  Intrigued, he pulled up a chair next to hers. "More agreeable than Levi North? Impossible. He does everything but coddle his workers."

  "Mayhap, you only know him from a friend's point of view, not a servant's." She genteelly lifted the lace napkin and offered him a biscuit from the pink Sevres plate. "I really don't know what value I could be to him." She graciously topped off his tea and generously piled more of his own biscuits upon his plate. "I'm not well suited to housework. I am certain that if Mr. North were reimbursed for my passage, he'd be more than willing to see me placed elsewhere."

  "Apparently, Mr. North does not concur, my dear. He must find you of considerable value if he is willing to go to such lengths to keep you. I have not written up a contract of indenture for the Norths since his father's death."

  "Yes, don't you find it all a bit odd." She scooted forward so that she was sitting on the edge of her chair, her skirts brushing the man's knee-length breeches. "'Tis obvious he resents me and wishes to punish me and all due to the smallest of transgressions on my part." Her hand fluttered like a weakened butterfly at her breast.

  Jensen blanched as huge hands clamped down on the arms of her chair. She tilted her head back and found Levi glowering down at her with a murderous black scowl. "You have to watch this one," he warned the magistrate. "She's a wily scoundrel. It's best not to listen to a word she says."

  The magistrate's discerning eyes studied them both over the rim of his teacup. "North, if you are looking to unload this girl, my neighbor was considering sending overseas for a bride. She's such a pretty thing, perhaps . . . ."

  "Marriage--huh? What is this man like?" Jensen asked nonchalantly, doing her best to ignore the giant breathing fire down her back.

  The words had barely left her mouth when she felt herself and the heavy, ornately carved chair she sat upon being lifted, rotated, and plunked down rather rudely. She found herself face to face with an unflattering portrait of King George II.

  "Well, indeed," she huffed and crossed her arms firmly across her chest. Refusing to look back at the men who were so callously deciding her fate, she turned her fiery gaze on his Royal Highness, thinking she would challenge him to a staring contest.

  "Hell, Wesley, will you do as I ask or not? If not, I can certainly take this business elsewhere."

  "Hold, North, of course I'll take care of this. Let me see where I put that. Oh yes, here it is." Jensen shifted uncomfortably on the hard seat as she heard the sound of parchment being smoothed. "This indenture witnessed that . . . ." After a long pause Levi spoke.

  "Jensen. Jensen Hawthorne." There was another moment of silence in which the clatter of pans and the sound of Lucille's overloud humming could be heard. "By the way, is this still legal, if by some off-chance, the little baggage has given me a false name?"

  Jensen was nettled by his continuous assault on her credibility, and at the same time, she couldn't help being a little awed by his uncanny knack for ferreting out her lies. She discreetly fanned her warming cheeks with her hands, reassuring herself that it had been necessary to lie about her name, and other things, to make certain her uncle could not find her.

  "Not to worry. I'm sure she would not be the first to give an alias. As long as I witness the signature, everything should be fine. Now to continue, it says here, Jensen Hawthorne doth voluntarily and of her own free will and accord from the date of the day hereof, for, and during, and unto the full end and term of . . . ."

  "Four years," Levi interjected with such obvious relish that Jensen clenched her fists.

  "Four years, duly noted."

  "'Tis an outrage!" Jensen yelled, suddenly bounding to her feet.

  "Well, Miss Hawthorne, this is the way it's going to have to be. Need I remind you, you've brought this on yourself? It's the second best thing to leg shackles."

  "You colonists and your preposterous notions."

  "Now calm yourself, Miss Hawthorne. It's not as bad as all that," the magistrate said, hoping to pacify her.

  "How do you expect me to calm myself with this atrocity," she waved her hand at the painting. "Everyone who is loyal to the crown knows the king does not have an unsightly mole on his left cheek."

  Both men stared at her as if she were completely daft. Levi scrubbed his face before striding briskly to the picture. His eyes moved from the picture to Jensen and then back again. With a heavy sigh, he scratched off the dirt that marred his Majesty's cheek.

  "Oh . . ., well . . ., that's better," she said and primly reseated herself, refocusing on the wall in front of her.

  The magistrate's deep laugh echoed off the walls of the small room. "North, a scoundrel she may be, but a delightful one," he said after he managed to catch his breath enough to get the words out.

  "Yes, delightful," North agreed in his most sarcastic drawl. "I don't need to hear anymore. Is this ready for signing?"

  The magistrate cleared his throat. "Yes. It appears in order, let me just get my quill. Miss Hawthorne, if you could come here, it won't take more than a moment."

  Jensen walked a wide berth around Levi before stopping at the desk. The magistrate handed her the inked quill. "Do you mind if I read this before I sign my soul over to the devil?" Pale eyes lifted reproachfully, meeting and locking with angry gray ones.

  "Shall I read it to you?" Levi asked in a mocking tone.

  "Sir, are you insinuating that I cannot read this?"

  "Be my guest," he said and sunk down into a chair, lazily stretching his long legs out and stacking his hands behind his head as though he expected a long wait.

  After swiftly scanning the document, she lifted her eyes to find both men exchanging a look as if they had been indulging a silly child. "I cannot sign this," she said and thrust the crisp parchment at the magistrate.

  At her avowal, Levi leapt to his feet, and Jensen promptly maneuvered herself so that the magistrate now stood between her and the glowering giant.

  Mr. Wesley threw his hands up in a placating manner. "Now North, let the girl explain herself. I assure you, she won't leave this office without signing it."

  "Come now, Wesley, this is just another one of her little ploys. You and I both know she could not have read that document."

  His insults had finally crumbled her self-control. She moved out from behind the magistrate to confront him directly. "That paper should be retitled. It should read slave rather than indenture. For that is what I'll be if I put my name to it."

  The magistrate put his hand on her shoulder. "It's not all that restrictive."

  "Not restrictive? What do you take me for, a bloody fool?" She held her slender, trembling fingers up and began ticking off the various clauses. "Readily obey his lawful commands, not absent myself day or night from my master's service without his leave, nor contract matrimony, shall not commit fornica--" Levi's darkly forbidding look stopped her cold.

  "Amazing, I've never seen a layman read a legal paper so quickly," Mr. Wesley exclaimed with genuine awe as his eyes flitted nervously from master to servant.

  Levi's mouth twisted into a menacing smile, and Jensen took a step backwards, licking her lips nervously. "Don't presume to tell me, you were intending to marry anytime soon?"

  Je
nsen found it odd he'd singled out that particular point.

  "We certainly could change that clause," Mr. Wesley suggested.

  "No. It stays as written," Levi said. Jensen couldn't help noticing how tightly his hands were clenched at his side. "Miss Hawthorne, my patience is wearing thin, so sign the damn document. Now." He redipped the feather point in the pewter well, tapped off the excess ink, and thrust it at her. "Do not pout that lower lip at me, I will not be dissuaded in this." He wrapped her fingers around the thin shaft and guided her hand. "Sign it," he ordered.

  He averted his face so he would not be swayed by the tears beading on her lashes. In all his years running the plantation he had never felt the need to own another person. When he was just a youth, he had witnessed the punishment of a black slave who had dared to defy his master. The young man had been dragged into the center of town by an angry mob, his ear nailed to a post and summarily hacked off.

  As a young man, fueled by radical ideas acquired during his university years in England, and full of himself after his daring adventures on the open sea, he'd assaulted his father with impassioned arguments against slavery and the practice of contracting bondsmen. Exasperated, his father had told him if he were able to rally enough workers willing to work for a living wage, he would cease taking on new bondsmen or slaves. He knew his father was convinced he'd fail. He doggedly scoured the countryside and had managed to assemble a varied, but capable, workforce of freed black men and newly arrived European immigrants.

  Levi winced as he heard Jensen stifle a whimper. He told himself the contract was his insurance, a necessary evil, because he had so little faith in her words of promise. And yet, when he heard the pen scratch on the paper as she signed her life over to him, his noble ideals and practical notions were completely forgotten, he thought only of the pleasure of possessing the spirited, mercurial creature.