Reentering the house to tell Beth he was leaving, Josh’s anger at York boiled higher. York shouldn’t have put him in this position! He’d wanted to tell the truth and hand over the money from the start. But York had insisted that he keep it. Now look what had happened! No matter their innocence, they’d both look guilty when all this came out. Even if people didn’t see them as murderers, they’d at least conclude they were thieves. Josh didn’t have much but his good name, and now he was afraid of losing that.
Grabbing his hat, Josh hugged Beth and Butler and left the house. On the way to the barn for his horse, he realized he couldn’t blame it all on York. He’d failed too. A man of any solid virtue would’ve done the right thing from the beginning, no matter how much his brother told him otherwise. He was weak, Josh concluded, as spineless as one of the jellyfish that washed up dead from time to time on the beach.
At the barn he took his horse from Leather Joe, mounted, and headed to the fields, still trying to figure what to do. Should he go after Hillard and tell him everything and let matters fall out from there? No, not yet. Not until he’d talked to York first; made clear his plans. He owed York at least that; owed it to him for a lot of reasons, one more important than the others. He’d give him one more chance to come clean and hand over the money. After that, well after that, he needed to do something else. He needed a fresh start.
Josh’s mind skipped back over the last few months. Nothing good had happened to him or his family in a long time. Maybe the Lord wanted him to hear something in all this. Maybe the Lord wanted him to pick up his last two children and move away from here, away from York and the constant temptation he seemed to bring. Until he could get stronger and stand up to his brother, he needed to stay away from him.
At the fields Josh dismounted. In front of him the land stretched as far as his eye could see. Scores of servants were already busy, their steady energy the fuel that made the plantation hum. For several seconds Josh studied the darkies. An uneasy feeling rolled through him as it often did when he stopped to think about the system that made his job possible. The servants were trapped. He could leave The Oak and escape his brother’s heavy influence anytime he wanted. But these people couldn’t do that. No matter how heavy the hand that ruled them, they were bound here, their lives not their own, the result of their labor belonging to somebody else. Even their wives and husbands, their children, were owned by another. Did God approve of this? Had God ordained it? If so, why? Why did Josh Cain deserve freedom, but the darkies didn’t?
Josh remembered Ruby and recalled from talks with Camellia that Ruby had a husband and a son. Had she fled The Oak to try to find them? Could he blame her? What would he do in her place? What right did he have to run her down like a horse that had run off? Put dogs after her?
Josh’s heart felt heavy. He’d heard some of the war talk, and part of him wanted it to happen. A war would change things forever; he knew that wars always did. What if the Yankees came? He’d have to fight again, would have to leave Beth and Butler. But he wanted no part of a war; he’d done that once and didn’t want it again. War had changed him … hurt him … made him so guilty. No wonder he felt unworthy to go to church, that he spent every Sunday he could on the shore, reading his Bible, rather than sitting in a church pew.
As a sea gull fluttered overhead, Josh envied its freedom. The bird could come and go as it pleased … no duties, no worries. He took off his hat, wiped his brow from the hot sun, and reached a decision. He did need to leave here, not only to escape his brother but also to free his heart of the guilt caused by what he saw in the fields every day.
Another image crept into his head: Camellia. He didn’t understand his feelings for her. She stirred something in him, but could he trust that? He knew he missed the company of a good woman. Was his attraction to Camellia the result of loneliness and nothing else? No, that wasn’t all of it. Camellia wasn’t just any woman. She had a glow about her, a goodness that attracted him like no one he’d known except Anna. Yet Camellia seemed to have no such feelings about him. How could she? He was an uncle to her, nothing more. If he didn’t leave soon, he’d surely confess his feelings for her.
He put his hat back on. A fresh start would be good for him, and for Beth and Butler too. They could put the hard times behind them; go far away where not even a war could reach them, where he could put his feelings for Camellia out of reach. It would take several weeks to check on a few things. But then he’d go to York and spell out his situation. Yes, he’d loved his time with Anna on The Oak. But the time for a new start had come.
Josh scanned past the fields, toward the ocean. Although he couldn’t see the water, he could sense its movement—in and out, ebb and flow, waves crashing on shore in one moment, waves receding in the next. Crash and foam, then a slow but steady and unstoppable retreat. He took a big breath. Life passed the same way. Full and advancing in one moment, then back and away in the next. Success one day, then failure to follow. Joy and sorrow, one after the other. A wave and a crash, a tide in and a tide out.
Feeling better now that he’d reached his decision, Josh made one final decision. He’d do nothing about Ruby. After all, if he’d been in her place, he probably would have done the same thing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Her hands busy opening jars of preserves, Camellia paid no attention to the sound of approaching horses as the last Friday of March 1861 passed its midway point. What did she care who came and went on The Oak? She had plenty of jobs to do that gave her no time to look about or ask questions about anything beyond her small world.
In the months since the malaria had passed, her days had settled into a dull but steady routine. On every day but Sunday she got up just before daylight, fixed breakfast for her pa and Johnny, then headed off to the cookhouse. She labored there all morning, took a little time off at midday, then went right back to work from midafternoon until suppertime. After supper, she helped Stella and Ruby clean up, then went back home to get food on the table there. Nothing upset the pattern, and she liked it that way. In addition to all the sadness the last year had brought, it had also taught her a couple of hard lessons. One, don’t expect too much because just when you do, some hard thing will snatch it right out of your hand. And two, don’t try to get beyond your station, because no matter how virtuous you live, a person belongs at a certain level. If you try to climb above it, you always get smacked right down.
Camellia dipped the preserves into a dish, then stepped to the back door to dump out some dirty water left over from that morning. The sun hit her face as she reached the porch, and she tilted her eyes so her bonnet could block the light. She heard a horse clomp close by. It sounded like somebody had ridden right up to the front of the cookhouse. Pa, she thought. Come for some food.
She banged the bottom of the pan to get out the last of the water. Her pa had seemed strange the last few weeks, almost pleasant. He walked around with an odd smirk on his lips, almost like he knew something good but couldn’t tell anybody. But she knew if she asked him about his mood, he wouldn’t give her a straight answer. She figured he probably won a few dollars at the races. Gambling winnings always made him feel good, at least for a while.
Camellia scrubbed the pan with a rag. Her pa had felt so good when he came back from Charleston that he hadn’t even punished Ruby for her disappearance from The Oak when she showed up a couple of days after he returned. That surprised everybody, but why should they argue if Mr. York wanted to go easy on the darkies?
Stella and Camellia had questioned Ruby hard about what had happened, and she told them all about Markus, how he’d settled in with another woman and given up his hopes of fleeing. Sad for her, but glad to have her back safely, they took good care of her over the next couple of weeks, giving her extra food, doing her chores so she could recover from her travels. A couple of days after she got back, Josh Cain had come to the cookhouse and pulled Ruby aside.
“He told me never to run again,” Ruby told Stella and Came
llia later. “Said since I came back on my own, Mr. York didn’t plan to do anything this time. If it happens again, though, he said he had no doubt Mr. York would see to it that something rough came to me. Said I’d set a bad example, and Mr. York wouldn’t let me get off free if I did it again.”
“I hope you heed his words,” Stella warned. “You got no reason for takin’ off from here. It’s a good spot. Best you gone get.”
Ruby scowled. “I still aim to go to Theo. Markus or not. You know why.”
“You heard Mr. Cain,” Stella insisted. “And what about Obadiah? He took you back this time. Don’t know about a next.”
Ruby nodded. “He’s a fine man, it’s true. But like I told you, I give up my hope to see Theo, I might as well die.”
Stella shook her head. “You gone learn sooner or later, child. Hard way or easy way, I don’t rightly know. But you gone learn.”
Footsteps behind Camellia brought her back to the present. Heading back inside the cookhouse, she almost dropped the wash pan. Trenton Tessier stood in the kitchen doorway, his brown hair framed in the sunlight, his eyes bright but also somehow sad.
Camellia straightened but kept her reserve. Trenton held his hat in his hands. She waited for him to speak, to tell her why he’d lowered himself to come to the cookhouse. Didn’t he have a wedding fast approaching?
When he finally spoke, his tone sounded gentler than she could remember in a long time. “May I have a few minutes with you?”
Camellia hadn’t heard from him except by letter since he’d left The Oak the fall after the storm; hadn’t seen him except at a distance since he brought Miss Eva Rouchard home. “You’re master of the place,” she said as casually as she could muster. “You can speak with any of the hired hands.”
“I know you’re angry,” he said wistfully. “I cannot blame you for that.”
Again Camellia held her peace.
“May I sit down?” He indicated the table.
“You own the place. You can sit anywhere you like.”
Trenton dropped his hat on the table, pulled out a chair, and sat, his body erect. “Please sit,” he said, indicating a chair.
Camellia took a chair opposite him and studied her hands.
“I should have told you about me and Miss Rouchard. I should have written you a letter, let you know somehow. But I didn’t have any words, didn’t know what to say, how to explain what had happened.”
“You owed me no explanation. White-trash folks like me aren’t worthy of your kind. You can do as you like. We have to live with it; that’s the way of the world. I know that now.” There—she liked the way that sounded, and the firm set of her tone, her face, and jaw. She’d used her best grammar too. There was no reason to sound like an ignorant girl at a time like this.
Trenton put his hands on the table, palms down. “I’m not a good person,” he offered, his voice weaker. “Not good enough for you.”
Camellia’s heart softened a little, but not completely. He could put on the charm when he wanted. She kept her eyes steely as she spoke. “You did what you had to do. For your family, I see that plainly. It hurt me, yes, I cannot deny it. But you had no choice.”
Trenton’s eyes searched hers. “I’m sorry that the malaria took your brother. I feared for you as well.”
“I survived. Many didn’t. You know that, of course. Many of the Negroes passed on.”
“It has gone hard on The Oak,” he continued. “Seems like every day brings some new cause for worry with it.”
“I’m not much versed in the business of The Oak. My pa doesn’t tell me of his work. Are things not better?”
Trenton stroked his forehead, as if in pain. “Worse, if anything. Yield was down again the past year, even though prices stayed steady. Over forty darkies dead from the fever last year, you know that. The bank loan mounts.”
“Does my pa know this?”
“Most of it.”
“He works night and day,” she said, feeling protective of him. “Treats this place like he owns it. Nothing would hurt him more than to see The Oak fail.”
“I know,” Trenton agreed. “Nobody faults him for any of this.”
Camellia pushed back a loose strand of hair. Trenton’s sadness touched her. He seemed more humble than she’d ever seen him. She thought of Eva Rouchard, the money her family possessed. How could she blame Trenton for doing what he’d done? Perhaps she would have made the same choice.
“I wish I could do something,” she said, honestly grieved for Trenton’s worry. “But my limitations are many.” She stood and faced him, her arms folded. She wanted to stay strong and put all this behind her. “Look,” she started, “I don’t know what brought you here today, but I want you to know I forgive you for any meanness you may have displayed toward me. I’ve accepted your decision, made my peace with it, taken it as the will of the Lord. We’re different, you and I, we cannot deny that. I believe we could have made it, but not easily. So let’s leave it in the past and set our hearts forward to the future. That’s my desire, and I’m sure you join me in it.”
She took a deep breath and hoped the speech sounded sincere. Although she didn’t know for sure that she believed all of it, she certainly hoped she’d convinced Trenton she did.
Trenton stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “You’ve changed,” he said, his tone almost reverential. “Much more mature. Not a girl anymore, but a … a woman of deep thought, steady mind.”
Camellia brushed back her hair, wishing she’d had time to prepare for this meeting. Even though Trenton didn’t love her anymore, she still wanted him to think her beautiful.
“I’m less innocent.” She sighed. “Less naive.”
“There’s something else too … your voice, it’s … your language is different, like you’ve been …”
“I’ve learned to read,” she said, moving back to the table opposite him. “I told you that. I’ve continued to learn more in these months since … Mr. Cain loaned me a few books; I got others from the manse library. I didn’t think anybody would mind.”
Trenton smiled slightly. “Nobody stays here long enough to mind. Not that we would anyway. I’m proud of you.”
“I did it for you, wanted to fit better with your friends and family, wanted to make sure my backward ways never shamed you. Figured if I could do my letters, I might learn more of your world, find out how to make my way in it.”
He dropped his eyes. “You could make your way just fine. You have more charm and natural grace in your little finger than most women have in their whole bodies.”
Camellia waved off his compliments. She knew better than to trust them. “No cause to say such things. That time is way past.”
Silence fell on the room. Trenton picked up his hat and stared into it. Dust particles danced in the sun’s rays as they baked through the open window.
“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Trenton said. “That was never my intent.”
Camellia’s heart weakened some more. He sounded so sincere. She wondered again what had happened to him, why he’d come to her now, after all this time, when his wedding was just weeks away. Her heart suddenly pounded harder. Had he broken off his engagement; come to his senses and returned to her? Was that why he sat here now, his eyes troubled, his shoulders slumped? He appeared so frail, like a twig that a light wind could snap at any second.
Trenton stood and walked to the window, his back to her. She stayed still and watched him. Something about his posture made her tense; something in it told her he had something important to say, something that didn’t come out easily. She wondered again what had brought him home. Had he come to ask her forgiveness before his marriage? But she’d just offered it to him. Why was he staying? Was her first thought right? Had he broken off the engagement? But what would she do if he had? What if he again asked her to marry him? Would she say yes?
Camellia squeezed her hands into fists and chastised herself for thinking such silly notions. Trenton hadn’t broken
off any wedding plans. He’d simply come home to make his peace with her before he started his new life. She admired him for that, appreciated his good heart. Nobody had made him do this; he deserved her appreciation.
He pivoted and faced her again. His eyes looked empty, like a swamp drained of every drop of water. She tried to figure why he seemed so blank.
“She’s dead,” he said, as if announcing the color of his hat. “A carriage hit her a month ago.”
Camellia immediately thought of Mrs. Tessier but knew she would have heard if such a thing had happened. So it had to be Eva Rouchard. A carriage had run over Eva Rouchard!
“Most bizarre thing you ever saw,” continued Trenton, his voice a dull monotone. “She stepped out on the street after dinner. Had taken too much wine maybe; nobody knows for sure. The carriage crushed her spine. Doctors did all they could, but she died.”
Camellia’s heart raced with an odd mixture of grief and … hope? Yes, that was it! Hope. Although she knew it wasn’t right, she couldn’t help but think it. Eva Rouchard was dead! What did that mean for her and Trenton?
She shoved the questions away, fought again against the selfish pleasure that tempted her. How tragic for Eva Rouchard! How her parents surely grieved!
Trenton gazed at her, his eyes strangely dry. Against her best instincts, Camellia stood and moved to him, her arms open. He fell into them, his head on her shoulder. Camellia touched his hair and tried to clear her head.
“I need you,” whispered Trenton. “More than ever. You’re the only friend I have in the whole world, the only one who truly cares for me.”
Camellia thought of pushing him away, of telling him he couldn’t just run back to her when things turned sour, that he couldn’t treat her that way, like a loyal dog he came home to every now and again when he felt lonely. What he deserved was her disdain, her unending anger, her strong rejection. Then why couldn’t she do it? Why couldn’t she push him away? Was it love? This sense of pity she now felt? The feeling that he needed her and she’d never turned him away before, not even in his worst moments? Was her kindheartedness a sign she loved him no matter what he did, no matter how poorly he treated her? Unable to answer, she held him close.
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