Columns of Cottonwood

by Sandra Robbins

  She sighed and raised the book. Perhaps she’d go tomorrow or the next day.

  A horse galloped to a stop in front of the house, and a voice rang out. “Savannah, where are you?”

  She smiled at the sound of Jonathan Boyer’s voice. “In the backyard.”

  Jonathan ran around the corner of the house and strode toward her. He held his hat in his hand and pointed at her with it as he walked. His brows were drawn into a fierce frown. “I came as soon as I heard.”

  Savannah rose from the chair and laid her book in it. “Jonathan, what’s the matter?”

  Anger shone in his blue eyes, and he raked his hand through his brown hair. “Cottonwood has been sold?”

  “Yes,” she said. “How did you find out?”

  “I heard it at the general store. Mr. Perkins said the new owner came in and bought supplies this morning.”

  She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. “He did. I was there when he arrived.”

  He stepped back, his eyes wide. “You’ve seen him?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I met him yesterday.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What’s he like?”

  Savannah hesitated before she replied. If she was honest, she would say she sensed kindness in him. He’d seemed truly sorry at her distress, and he’d given Saul and Mamie what her family hadn’t been able to do since the war. Still, he was her enemy, and she needed to remember that.

  “He’s Italian,” she finally said.

  He stepped back in surprise. “An Italian? I should have known that no Southerner would have stolen your land.”

  Savannah remembered her conversation with Aunt Jane. “He’s from Mobile.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “Mr. Perkins said he looked like he was in his early thirties. Mr. Perkins asked him if he fought in the war, and he said he hadn’t. Can you believe that? He’s not only an Italian, but he let men like me rot in a prison camp and my brother die in battle instead of helping our cause.”

  The anger in Jonathan’s face deepened. It seemed everything that upset Jonathan always related back to the war in some way. Savannah sighed. “We’ve got to quit fighting the war, Jonathan. It’s been over for six years.”

  Jonathan recoiled from her as if she’d slapped him. “How can you say that after all we’ve lost? Cottonwood is just one more tragedy of the war’s aftermath, and now it’s in the hands of an Italian.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “Whatever the reason, it’s gone.”

  Jonathan propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. How did he get it?”

  She wiped her eyes and shrugged. “Paid the taxes.”

  She sat back down and motioned for him to take the other chair, but he shook his head. He began to pace up and down in front of her. “Cottonwood was supposed to be mine.”

  “Yours?” Startled, Savannah grabbed the arms of the chair and stared at him.

  Jonathan dropped to one knee beside her and covered her hand with his. “I meant ours. Isn’t that what our families wanted?”

  “B–b–but that was just talk between our parents. You and I have never been more than friends.”

  He reached up and cupped her chin with his hand. “Forgive me, Savannah. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He stood up and stared down at her. “Don’t worry about this. Let me take care of it.”

  The determined look on Jonathan’s face scared Savannah. She jumped up. “What are you going to do?”

  He smiled, grasped her hand again, and raised it to his mouth. His lips felt warm to her skin, and pleasure flowed through her. He straightened and let go of her. “I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get that land back.”

  Without another word, he turned and rushed across the yard. Within moments she heard the sound of his horse galloping down the road. Jonathan’s visit troubled her. He’d never acted possessive or given her orders before. Why would he do it now? Perhaps the loss of the land disturbed him more than it did her.

  His words and the tone of his voice troubled her. Maybe a visit to her parents’ graves would settle her down. She picked up her book and headed for the house. She’d get Jasper to hitch the horse to the buggy, and then she’d go to Cottonwood.

  Savannah stopped before she entered the back door. What would she do if she encountered Dante Rinaldi again? No need to worry about that. He’d probably be working away from the river, and he’d never know she’d been there.

  ❧

  Dante stooped down, scooped up a handful of soil, and raised it to his nose. The smell of the earth always excited him, but this was something different. This was his land, and it held promise for the future. He spread his fingers and let the dirt sift through them.

  “This ground is going to grow some good corn.”

  Saul pulled off his hat and wiped at the sweat on his forehead. “Yas suh. If’n we evah git this here canebrake cleaned out. We shoulda brought Abraham and Joshua ’stead of leavin’ them to clear off the front of where the big house sat.”

  Dante rose and glanced across the area where they’d worked all afternoon. When he’d first seen the dense growth of the field, he thought it would take no time for Saul and him to clear it. Now he realized how wrong he’d been. Even with the help of Abraham and Joshua, Saul’s sons, it would take longer than he’d thought.

  The majestic cane stalks with their daggerlike green leaves towered above their heads. He estimated their height anywhere from fifteen to thirty feet, and they grew closely together, forming an almost impenetrable barrier. Even the birds that flew among the branches of the trees along the edge of the canebrake didn’t enter the dense vegetation.

  “I think you have a point, Saul. We need some help.” He thought for a moment before he spoke again. “Do you know any other men who’d like to come to Cottonwood as tenants?”

  Saul’s mouth pulled into another of his huge grins. “You means like me and Mamie? Workin’ on the shares?”

  Dante nodded. “That’s right. All I can offer them right now is a place to live in the old quarters. But we’ve got to get some of this land cleared by spring.” He glanced down at the rich soil. “I’ve never seen anything like this fertile earth. We could grow enough corn on it to feed an army.”

  “I knows lotsa men a-wantin’ to work.”

  “Then we’ll start visiting them tomorrow.” Dante laughed and slapped Saul on the shoulder. “There’s no time to waste.”

  Saul let out a whoop. “Yas suh, we gwine grow us some corn.”

  Dante chuckled at the excitement on the man’s face. “And lots of cotton, too. But I think we’ve done about all the good we can here until we get some help. What say we go see what Mamie’s cooked us for supper?”

  Saul glanced up at the sky and bent to pick up the ax he’d been using. “I s’pose hit ’bout quittin’ time.”

  Together they loaded the tools in the wagon at the edge of the field. They climbed aboard, and Saul guided the horse through the dense growth toward the bluff. Within minutes Dante spied the rolling water through the trees.

  As the wagon drove along the bluff, Dante stared across the wide expanse of water and wondered how far it was to the opposite bank. Perhaps someday he’d try rowing across to the other side, but that would have to wait. Right now he had more pressing matters—like clearing additional land.

  He’d been disappointed when he first saw the amount of tillable soil left at the plantation. Evidently with no slave labor available after the war, Vance Carmichael had let most of the fields return to their natural state. If Dante was going to bring in more tenant farmers, he would need extra acreage for planting.

  The thought of Vance Carmichael brought to mind his daughter. Every time Dante thought of her, his heart stirred. Her anguish at losing the plantation had caused him to lie awake last night. Or maybe it was more than her distress. It could be that he found her to be a fascinating young woman. As much as he tried to fight it, she’d occupied his thoughts ever since he’d stared up at her when she
almost ran him down.

  With a sigh, he straightened on the wagon seat as they rounded the path leading back to the front of the old mansion. The fence of the cemetery came into sight, and his heart pounded in his chest. Her buggy stood outside the fence.

  Saul pulled the horse to a stop. “Miss ’Vanna’s heah.”

  Dante swallowed and looked around, but he didn’t see her anywhere. Then he spied her sitting underneath one of the water oaks beside her parents’ graves. She leaned against the trunk of the tree, her eyes closed.

  Dante climbed down. “I’ll check on her.”

  He walked through the gate and stopped in front of her. His chest contracted and squeezed his pounding heart as he stared down at her. He’d never been affected by any woman the way she stirred him, and it frightened him.

  Love had been something he thought he’d never find, and the last thing he needed was to have feelings for a woman who hated him. As he gazed at her, he knew he was helpless to ignore it. No matter what she thought of him, she had cast a spell on him.

  She stirred in her sleep, and he backed away.

  ❧

  Savannah dug her knuckles into her eyes in an effort to wake. She hadn’t meant to drift off; but the day had been so nice, and it was so peaceful here. Her eyes fluttered open, and she shrank against the tree trunk. A man stood over her.

  Fear rose in her as her gaze traveled up the man’s body and came to rest on Dante Rinaldi’s face. He leaned over her, a worried expression on his face. “Are you all right, Miss Carmichael?”

  She scrambled to her feet. “I’m fine.”

  In an effort to push past him, she took a step but caught the hem of her dress under her foot. Arms flailing, she pitched toward him.

  His strong hands grasped her shoulders and steadied her before he released her. He backed away. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I saw you under the tree and thought you might be ill.”

  Her shoulders burned from the contact with him. Had his touch blistered her skin? Her bonnet lay on the ground next to the tree, and she bent to retrieve it. “I—I sat down for a minute, and I suppose I fell asleep.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Then I’m glad I came along. You might have spent the entire night on the ground.”

  Samantha glanced across the river, and panic overcame her at the sun sinking into the west. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late. Aunt Jane will be worried.” She stepped around him and headed for her buggy. “I need to go.”

  He followed and closed the gate to the cemetery. Saul, who’d climbed down from the wagon, held the reins of her horse. “Afte’noon, Miss ’Vanna. It sho’ is good to see you ag’in.”

  She smiled. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Saul pointed over his shoulder. “Me and Mistuh Dante been a-cleanin’ out that ole canebrake. Reckon we gwine grow some mighty good corn there.”

  Savannah raised her eyebrows and turned back to Dante, who’d stopped beside the buggy. “Clearing the canebrakes? That’s a big job for two men. I doubt if you’ll be able to accomplish it.”

  He nodded. “I think you’re right. That’s why I told Saul we needed more tenant farmers.”

  She narrowed her gaze and studied the self-assured man. “If you want more tenants, you might check out at the Crossroads. There’s a shantytown filled with men who need work.” She nodded toward Saul. “Saul knows the way.”

  Dante’s eyes sparkled. “Thank you, Miss Carmichael. It’s kind of you to tell me.”

  She could hardly believe she’d given him that information, but anybody in Willow Bend could have told him. Perhaps some of Cottonwood’s former slaves who lived there would be able to return.

  It was hard to ignore the thrill that she’d felt at the news they were clearing more land. After the slaves had been freed, she’d begged her father to bring in tenant farmers as many of the other planters were doing. He’d refused, and the land had suffered. It seemed the new owner intended to restore the land to what it had once been.

  As if Saul could read her thoughts, he spoke. “Big Mike and Pinky live out to the Crossroads. Maybe they’s can come back home.”

  His words pierced her heart. The former slaves might return, but she knew she never would. She fought back tears and climbed into the buggy. Dante took the reins from Saul and handed them to her.

  “It’s getting late, Miss Carmichael. I’d be happy to follow you home.”

  In his face she saw genuine concern for her safety, but she couldn’t be swayed by his attempts to gain her friendship. He was still her enemy. She turned a cool look toward him. “Home? Haven’t you heard? I don’t have one anymore.”

  She snapped the reins, and the horse surged forward.

  ❧

  Saul, a confused expression on his face, turned to Dante. “What she mean she ain’t got no home?”

  Dante shook his head. “Miss Carmichael’s angry at me for buying her land.”

  Saul’s mouth formed a large circle. “Oh.”

  They walked back to the wagon and climbed aboard. Neither spoke all the way back to the cabins. The sting of Savannah’s words echoed through Dante’s mind. There had to be some way he could make her understand his position. He’d worked and saved for years, and now he couldn’t abandon his dream. Not even for a woman who filled his thoughts and made him long for something that could never be.

  The wagon rumbled to a stop outside the still-standing barn. Dante was thankful that Saul and his sons had kept it in good repair.

  “Go on, Mistuh Dante. I’ll take care of the hosses.”

  Dante hopped from the wagon and nodded. “Thanks.”

  He strode toward the cabin where he was living. It sat away from the rows of ramshackle buildings where slaves had once lived, but it wasn’t much better than the other houses. He stopped on the front porch and clutched one of the posts that supported the extended roof.

  When the additional tenant farmers came, perhaps building new cabins should be one of the priorities. Men worked better when they had adequate housing and food. He’d wanted to have a good portion of the land producing by next spring, but perhaps he needed a new timeline. He had to provide for his workers first.

  He stepped through the door and glanced around at the dreary interior of the two-room cabin. And what about himself? He also needed better quarters. What if he decided to marry? A woman would have to love a man a lot to share such a life as his.

  Certainly a woman like Savannah Carmichael would want better. She’d been used to the best, not a cabin built of rotting wood.

  He raked his hand through his hair and groaned. “Why can’t I quit thinking about her?”

  Walking back to the front door, he looked out across the hard-packed earth that covered the area where the cabins stood. Mamie would bring him some supper in a while, but she’d go back to Saul and her sons. He’d be alone like so many other nights in the past, but tonight the loneliness crushed him more than ever.

  The vision of Savannah Carmichael drifted through his thoughts, and the words she’d spoken sent guilt racing through his body.

  “Home? Haven’t you heard? I don’t have one anymore.”

  Four

  Dante strode from the cabin as soon as the sun was up the next morning. He ignored the ache in his back and shoulders from the labor in the canebrake the day before. The pain was little enough to bear if it meant his land would be cleared and ready for planting by spring.

  Today he and Saul were going to the Crossroads to see if they could enlist more men to join them as tenant farmers. From what Saul had told him, the freed slaves couldn’t wait to get away from Cottonwood, but they had found it hard to live on their own. Maybe some of them would want to come back to the land they’d worked for the Carmichaels. This time, though, they would be working for themselves.

  “Good mornin’, Mistuh Dante.”

  The voice startled him, and he turned as Saul rounded the corner of the cabin. “I didn’t see you there. What are you doing out
so early?”

  Saul’s eyes grew wide. “The sun done come up, so it’s time to git to work. Mamie got you some breakfast cooked. Come on over and eat.”

  Dante smiled. “I hope she’s made some more biscuits like those she had last night.”

  Saul laughed and slapped his leg. “I ain’t never seen no woman so happy to have anything as she was what you done bought yestiday. It’s been a long time since we had such good eatin’. I ’spect the Lord blessed us when you come to Cottonwood.”

  Savannah Carmichael’s face flashed before his eyes, but he tried to ignore her words that still rang through his mind. “I hope I can be a blessing to more than just your family, Saul. If we can get some more tenant farmers and get the fields ready for planting, we can restore Miss Carmichael’s land to what it was before the war.”

  Saul pulled off the straw hat he wore, held it in front of him, and gazed down at the ground. “I don’t means to be speakin’ bad about Mistuh Vance, but the land done started to grow wild ’fore the war came. He never seemed to know what to do like his pappy did. Now Miss ’Vanna, she got a good head on her shoulders. After the war, she tried to talk to Mistuh Vance ’bout gittin’ some tenant farmers to help clear those canebrakes and plantin’ more crops, but he wouldn’t listen. Sometimes I thought even if Miss ’Vanna was just a young girl, she ought to be runnin’ Cottonwood.”

  Dante smiled and glanced up at the sun. “We better hurry. After we eat, I want to leave right away for the Crossroads. We’ve got a big day ahead of us, Saul.”

  Saul nodded. “I ’spect we do, Mr. Dante. I ’spect we do.”

  ❧

  Two hours later, Dante stood in the center of the shantytown known as the Crossroads. The makeshift hovels that dotted the area made the abandoned slave quarters at Cottonwood look like comfortable houses. Saul had told him he didn’t know how many people lived in the small community that had sprung up after the war, and he couldn’t estimate the number either.

  Small children ran along the dirt paths that twisted between the shelters, and a group of older young people sat underneath a tree to his left. Suspicion gleamed in their unblinking eyes. He wondered what memories had made them wary of strangers. He smiled, but they gave no response.