York spat into the rain again. Hillard walked into the barn, then reappeared on his horse a few seconds later and pounded away into the murky day. York pivoted and stalked back to his desk. The notion of killing Hillard rose again. He’d already killed Tarleton. What difference would one more make? But he’d killed Tarleton in a fair fight—no sin in that. Was it different to ambush a man?
York took a big breath, knowing he couldn’t do it. Killing a man without warning didn’t sit right with him, no matter how much he wanted to keep the money. York spat toward the fireplace. No, he was a lot of things, but he wouldn’t sink to bushwhacking. He’d just have to cover his tracks, that’s all. Make sure that Hillard never talked to Josh or Ruby. York spat one more time. The tobacco juice sizzled as it hit the fire. Hillard complicated things a lot, he sure did.
Crouched by the door, Ruby had darted away the instant she heard Hillard move his chair. Now, squatting by the side of the house, her heart pounding as hard as horses’ hooves, she held her breath and watched Hillard ride off. Although she’d not heard every word, she’d caught enough of the talk between Hillard and Mr. York to know why Hillard had come to The Oak.
After York left the porch, she rushed back to the manse and entered through the back door. Quickly, she checked the room to make sure it was empty. Seeing no one, she eased to a corner and sagged against the wall. The day at the creek came back to her, the day Mr. York and Mr. Cain found the dead man and his money. She’d wondered every now and again what Mr. York had done with all those dollars. Had he given it to Mrs. Tessier or the sheriff in Beaufort? If so, why hadn’t he told that to Hillard? Since he didn’t, that meant he’d kept it.
Ruby wondered if Mr. York would come remind her to keep her mouth shut. But what if she didn’t? What if she threatened to tell Hillard what she knew? That wouldn’t sit well with Mr. York, she knew that. But what could he do? Wouldn’t the law haul him away for keeping the money? And, if they hauled him away, he couldn’t do a thing to harm her.
A small smile crawled to her face. Knowledge brought some power—maybe not a lot, but some. Was it enough to bargain with Mr. York? If he came to her, she might just try to find out.
After Sharpton Hillard left, York sat for a long time, pondering what it all meant. Was Wallace Swanson alive? Had he sent Hillard down here to look for the man at Mossy Bank? If so, he best take real good care how he handled Hillard. But what did Swanson have to do with Mossy Bank?
York considered another question. What did Sheriff Walt know? Had Josh followed through on his threat to go see him? What had Josh told him? Apparently Walt hadn’t told Hillard that much. Thank goodness for that. But what should he do about Josh? Have it straight out with him? Or stay quiet and see what turned up?
York closed his eyes. Josh had told him plain out he planned to do some asking around. But why did he have to do that? It caused all kinds of troubles. York’s jaw set. His brother seemed weak sometimes, too soft in the conscience. That trait put them at odds from time to time. But how could he get mad at him for that? A man didn’t control his conscience, did he?
Pulling out another chew of tobacco, York opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out the money box, dug out Swanson’s picture, and held it up close. After a few seconds he put it back, closed his eyes, and remembered the woman’s picture Hillard had shown him. Although he’d only briefly seen the picture, the image had cut fast into his memory. He saw her again, a tall, stately looking woman he knew as Lynette Wheeler—never heard any other name. Was Lynette the same as Ruth? Had she somehow survived the typhus after she sent her last letter? Had she changed her name? Although more mature of face and form in the tintype, she appeared as fetching as ever, her hair parted in the middle and flowing down to her shoulders, her eyebrows full and arching, her lips prim and perfectly shaped.
York’s heart pounded as he thought of Lynette. Although he hated her now, he’d once loved her stronger than any man had ever loved a woman. Camellia looked so much like her it hurt.
Slowly, almost reverently, York opened his eyes and let Lynette’s face fade from his mind. Then he slid the money box back into the bottom drawer, locked it, and decided he needed to forget Lynette Wheeler. And, no matter what it took, he had to make sure of one thing—that Camellia never saw Hillard’s picture of her mother.
Chapter Twenty
December 1859 rolled in even wetter and colder on The Oak. Camellia waited every day for Trenton to come home, but he didn’t. She asked her pa over and over what had happened in Charleston that would make Trenton stay away so long, but he just shook his head and said he didn’t know.
“I expect it’s his mama,” he offered. “Or he’s workin’ with Mr. Gerald and Mr. Luther for financin’ to keep The Oak on her feet for another year. Bank business can get complicatious.”
Not knowing what else to think, Camellia accepted the explanation and kept waiting. Toward the end of the first week of the month she received a short letter from Trenton, but it offered little to settle her questions.
Greetings from Charleston,
How wonderful to be able to write you a letter. Glad you can read it.
Please forgive my long-delayed return. As you would expect, these are difficult times and much is at stake. I will divulge all when I see you next.
With deepest affection, Your loving Trenton
She took the letter to Stella and asked her what she thought it meant.
The aged servant sucked her gums and shook her head. “Ain’t for me to say,” she offered. “But that boy got somethin’ goin’ on, that’s for sure.” Christmas came, and the plantation shut down so the Negroes could celebrate. But neither Trenton nor Mrs. Tessier returned home, and Camellia truly started to worry. Folks in the South almost always traded the city for their plantations during Christmastime. For Mrs. Tessier and her whole family to stay away meant something strange was surely happening.
She yearned to ask Josh Cain his opinion about it all, but since she knew how he felt about Trenton and she didn’t want to hear anything mean about her betrothed, she kept away from Josh. He’d stayed distant from her ever since the big storm anyway, his cold shoulder a barrier she didn’t know how to get past.
With nowhere else to turn, she spilled out her concerns to Ruby one day during their reading time. But Ruby didn’t offer any good word either. “Stella says you should get shed of him.”
“I don’t need you repeating Stella’s sorry talk,” Camellia stated, quite offended that the two would take such a stance. “Neither of you know Trenton. He’s a gentleman with me. Never treated me anything but nice.”
December ended, then January as well.
February arrived, with still no word from Trenton. With May only three months away, and a wedding promised for that month, Camellia found it hard to sleep at night. Her appetite dropped off almost as much as in the winter after Mr. Tessier’s death. Even her books failed to comfort her; she lost the desire to read. Without Trenton, why should she bother? Wanting to please him had motivated her desire to better herself. Without that, what was the use?
She studied some over the fact that she’d set so much of her future toward her plans with Trenton and thought maybe she shouldn’t do that quite so much. But what girl wouldn’t? A girl lived her whole life preparing for the man she’d marry. Any charms she enjoyed, any gifts or talents she possessed went into the effort to find and enrapture her man. Well, she had enraptured Trenton, or at least she thought she had. Had something happened to upset that? If so, if he’d changed his mind about their marriage, why care about anything anymore? Toward the end of February a second letter arrived from Trenton, this one even more confusing than the first.
Dearest Camellia,
I know these last months have been as difficult for you as they have for me. Please know of my caring thoughts for you and my desire to see you in the near future and explain all. Things are almost prepared here, and I’m most anxious to return to The Oak. I know you are a woman of gre
at faith and I’m glad for that. Please pray for me. The future is at stake.
With kindest regards, Trenton Tessier
Although not certain about the exact meaning of the words, Camellia knew she disliked their lack of sentiment, the failure to show any statement of love or affection. How could he act so callously toward her?
Her frustration growing deeper every day, Camellia went to her pa. But, once again, he failed to offer much comfort. “Master Trenton is like most every man I know. Not given to a lot of sweet talk in a letter. He’s comin’ home soon, like he says. Stay easy. He’ll get it all straight when he arrives.”
In spite of her pa’s advice, Camellia’s mood soured even more. For the first time, she began to feel angry at Trenton. How could he leave her so uninformed? Was he planning a wedding without even talking to her? Shouldn’t they be making preparations together? True, she didn’t know anything about the kind of wedding that Trenton would want. But did that give him the right to set it all up without her? But what if he wasn’t making preparations? Wasn’t it already too late if he hadn’t started getting ready? She didn’t know what was worse—the notion that he was preparing a wedding without her or that he might not be planning a wedding at all.
March entered as it often did in the low country—a season of winds and rain that left everything soggy and swirling. In the second week of the month, on a Monday, when the rain actually stopped and the sun broke out shiny and glaring, Camellia slumped out of the cookhouse after finishing breakfast. When she heard horses approaching, she faced the cedar-lined road that led to the manse and saw Trenton’s roan stallion pounding homeward, black mane flying freely. For a second, her anger flared. Once again Trenton had acted without telling her! How dare he treat her so poorly? She glanced down at her stained apron and plain dress. Every time he came home he caught her in work clothes, never gave her warning so she could prepare. What kind of man did that to a woman?
Trenton pulled up his horse as he reached the manse and slipped from the saddle with a flourish, his gray cape flaring over his shoulders, his clean black boots hitting the gravel and pivoting like the arriving general of a triumphant army. Leather Joe appeared from the barn and took the horse reins. Trenton patted the old servant on the arm.
Seeing the gentle gesture, Camellia’s anger disappeared. Trenton was a kind man, in spite of his faults. If he wanted to arrive unannounced, he had every right to do so. Besides, he thought her beautiful no matter what she wore; he’d told her that time and time again. She started moving toward him, a wide smile on her face.
“Master Trenton be home!” Leather Joe shouted. Several other servants appeared beside Leather Joe, each of them ready to step lively at the command of the master. Ruby and Stella came down the steps of the manse. Camellia tried to appear unhurried. “An anxious woman can scare off a man,” Stella often told her, “so don’t rush up like a starry-eyed little girl.” After all, Camellia was a woman now and possessed of some comeliness—lots of people said it. That ought to give her confidence.
Then why did her heart race so? Why did her face feel like it had a burning brick under the skin? She slowed as much as she could make herself and noted how much older Trenton seemed. He’d sprouted muttonchops, giving his face a more mature look, more like his father than she’d ever seen him. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them to Ruby, the act of a dashing young master in charge of his surroundings.
Camellia heard hoofbeats again, about thirty yards away, and managed to pull her eyes off Trenton long enough to turn and see two coaches coming up the lane. She recognized the first one—a black carriage pulled by twin chestnut stallions—as Mrs. Tessier’s. The other, a dark brown coach with red curtains pulled over its windows, was unknown to her. She wondered who Mrs. Tessier had brought to visit.
Concerned more about Trenton than the two carriages, she pivoted back to him, her smile wide. To her surprise, he stood at attention facing the carriages, his shoulders straight, his eyes focused, every bit the attendant waiting on someone important. The two carriages rushed past Camellia, the horses’ hooves clopping across the wet earth. Gravel clattered as the coaches reached the manse and ground to a stop. Camellia glanced again at Trenton and tried to catch his eye but failed. More servants poured out of the house and barns, all eyes on their master and his guests. The carriage drivers jumped down, stepped swiftly to the coach doors, and opened them.
Camellia stopped and waited respectfully. As Mrs. Tessier climbed down from the first carriage, Trenton took her hand and led her to the top of the manse steps. She paused there and faced the second carriage. Trenton dropped his mother’s hand and moved to the brown carriage, taking off his hat as he reached the door. The gesture disturbed Camellia; her throat squeezed shut, and she found it hard to breathe. A hat appeared through the door of the carriage—a plumed, forest green hat covering a woman’s head. Auburn hair styled in ringlets spilled from beneath the hat and reached the woman’s shoulders. She wore a tan coat with a long cape and a dress the color of the hat. The woman reached for Trenton’s hand; he gently took it and helped her down. Her boots crunched lightly on the gravel. Trenton tucked her hand under his elbow and turned to his mother.
Stella stepped to Camellia’s side as Trenton led the woman up the steps of the manse. Mrs. Tessier took the woman’s hand and led her to the edge of the porch. Trenton trailed them, then moved to the woman’s side. Mrs. Tessier faced the gathered crowd—at least fifteen people now, house servants included. Everybody held their breath.
“We are home,” Mrs. Tessier pronounced grandly. “My son and I.”
Trenton touched his mother’s elbow, and she paused. He waved his hand over the crowd. “I’m pleased to return,” he proclaimed, his voice deeper than Camellia remembered, “to the home of my birth; to the home where I plan to sire my own children.”
Stella put a hand on Camellia’s back to steady her. Trenton extended a hand toward the woman with auburn hair. Camellia studied her face—the porcelain skin, the high cheekbones, the full red lips. Tears stung Camellia’s eyes.
“Steady child,” whispered Stella.
“This is Miss Eva Rouchard,” Trenton announced. “Of the Columbia, South Carolina, Rouchard family. She is to become my wife in April of next year. She is a woman of great quality, and I know you will come to love her as she will come to love all of you. I ask you to make her welcome at The Oak.”
Camellia’s knees buckled. If not for Stella’s strong grip holding her up, she would surely have fallen to the ground.
Hampton York got the news within the hour as he rode up to the barn from the rice fields. Leather Joe filled him in as he dismounted.
“Master Trenton come home,” said Leather Joe, taking the horse’s reins. “Him and Mrs. Tessier.”
Just then Josh rode up and climbed from his horse. “The Tessiers are home,” York told Josh. “Wish they’d give us a little warnin’.”
“They brung another woman too,” continued Leather Joe. “She be a red-headed lady from Columbia.”
York waved him off and adjusted his hat. He didn’t care to hear the servant’s gossip about some Charleston socialite who had come home to keep company with Mrs. Tessier for a few days before she took off again.
“Master Trenton say he gone marry this woman. Eva Rouchard is her name.”
“What’s that?” York faced Leather Joe.
Leather Joe dropped his eyes. York took him by the shoulder. “Speak it again,” he demanded.
“It be troublesome news, that’s for sho,” said Leather Joe. “But Master Trenton tell us all plain as day that he gone marry this Miss Rouchard come next April.”
York dropped Leather Joe’s arm and stalked toward the manse. Josh caught up with him in five steps, grabbed his elbow, and twisted him around. “There’s nothing you can do! He’s made the announcement!”
York faced Josh, his face set with rage. “He made an announcement to Camellia too! You know that! I’ll not abide this! He thinks he ca
n treat Camellia this way, come traipsin’ in here all high and mighty and throw her aside like she’s nothin’ more than some tart he’s dallied with from a brothel. Tellin’ her nothin’ in advance, givin’ none of us any warnin’. He’s got no right!”
“Rights have nothing to do with it, and you know it. It’s the way of our world. A man like Trenton can do just about anything he wants.”
“But he loves Camellia; I know that, she knows that. It’s his mother. She’s forcin’ this marriage.”
Josh let go of York’s arm. “Maybe he does love her, who can say? But if he loved her the right way, he’d never let his mother force him to this. If he can’t or won’t stand up to her, then maybe it’s best for Camellia; you ever think of that? A man who’s so weak he can’t follow his heart and do what he knows is right is not much of a man, not one I’d want any daughter of mine taking up with.”
“It don’t matter!” growled York. “He broke his vow to Camellia. I can’t let him get off scot-free doin’ that. I got to go to him, talk some sense into him!” He stepped toward the manse again, but Josh grabbed him once more and held him back. York jerked his arm away, his face a dark scowl. But this time he didn’t move.
“What are you going to say?” asked Josh. “What demand can you make? Trenton’s got the power here; you know that! All you’ll do is make him mad, more set in his decision. You’ll set Mrs. Tessier off too, and she’s not a woman you can trifle with.”
“So what advice you givin’?” York asked. “You tellin’ me to just sit by and let this go?”
Josh toed the ground with his boot. “I don’t claim to have any answers to this. But I have to tell you the truth as I see it. I don’t see Trenton Tessier as worthy of Camellia. She’s too fine and pure for him. He’s got some good qualities, sure. He’s smart and determined and willing to labor for what he wants. I admire all that. But he’s mean in his bones too, looking out for what’s best for him, not anybody else. He’s not sensitive to the ways of a woman; like the way he didn’t warn Camellia about this marrriage announcement, didn’t break off their engagement first. What kind of man would do that? Not a good one, that’s for sure. Not honorable either.” He gazed straight into York’s eyes. “You’re blessed that Trenton has done this. So is Camellia.”
Secret Tides Page 24