A Cry at Midnight

by Chancellor, Victoria

  Jackson received the message with barely concealed joy. He'd found the older couple to be tolerable houseguests, requiring little entertainment or companionship, thankful for meals and cordial company. The two young lawyers tested his patience with their need for gaming, and pulled everyone else into their conversations of trials and judges, families and friends.

  And then there was the Widow Sanderson, a healthy young woman who wanted a new liaison in the worst possible way. She hadn't gone so far as to show up unannounced in his bedroom, but he'd found her about the house at all hours of the day, seeking to engage him in conversations that could quickly change to far more. When he looked at her coifed hair and calculating smiles, he kept comparing her to the usually unkempt and unconventional Randi Galloway.

  She and the widow had at least one thing in common, however; both had given themselves to another man. The thought caused Jackson to tighten his grip on the pen he held and clench his jaw in frustration. At least the widow had married the man she'd lain with, probably after the nuptials. Randi hadn't waited for sacred vows, but had jumped--with her usual lack of planning or foresight--into an intimate relationship with an unsuitable man.

  Would she ever change? Had she learned from her ill-fated love affair? Probably not. She was willing to leap into a relationship with him as long as he didn't ask questions of her home, or her knowledge of floods, healing arts, and infant care. Her skills and attitude were too unusual to accept without question. She asked too much.

  As he sat in his study, trying to get some work done on the plantation's account books while he waited for his guests to take their leave, he wondered if Randi wanted to go with them. She'd said she needed to get away from Black Willow Grove and the coming flood. Would this newly docked packet be the way out for her too?

  He threw the pen down in frustration. He owed it to her to mention the boat's arrival and offer to take on passengers. After last night's disturbing encounter on the third floor, he wasn't looking forward to seeing her. No matter how much he told himself she was a foolish, weak, loose woman, he still wanted her. Just like before she'd shocked him with her revelations.

  Pushing away from the desk, he stalked across the room and into the hallway. Darley and Templeton were near the front door, grinning and giving him a wave down the corridor. He offered a weak smile and a dismissing wave in return before making a quick decision to use the back stairs. He wasn't in any mood to chat with the two lawyers, especially since they might insist on getting in one last game of craps or try their newly developed "skill" at monte.

  Turning into the stairwell beside the butler's closet, he took the narrow, dark stairs two at a time. If he was going to see Randi again, he'd prefer that he get the encounter over with quickly. If she decided to leave, then so be it. She'd be out of his life for good. Somehow, he knew that once she left Black Willow Grove, she wouldn't come back.

  "Miss Galloway," he called out at the top of the stairs, making sure she could hear his footsteps so she wouldn't accuse him of sneaking up on her. He'd found her past accusations amusing, since he'd rarely tried to keep silent. She was so often lost in her own thoughts that a gaggle of noisy geese could have waddled through the room without her raising an eyebrow.

  He strolled into Rose's nursery, not surprised to see Randi struggling to rise from the quilt on the floor, fighting her skirts and petticoats. His daughter was sitting up, grinning and shaking what appeared to be a dried gourd in her hand as though it were made of the finest silver. He started to say something, but stopped himself. What did it matter if Randi chose common items, as long as Rose's toys were safe and made her happy?

  "What is it?" Randi asked, her eyes wide and uncertain.

  "Nothing to be excited about," he said quickly. She was no doubt thinking of disasters like the breach of Franklin's levee. "A packet has landed in Randolph. The guests are leaving."

  "I'm sure they'll be happy to get to their destination."

  "Yes, but that's not what I wanted to talk about." He stood a little straighter to counteract the tension in his body. "You've mentioned several times that you couldn't stay. You now have the option of leaving on the packet, going back to New Orleans or wherever you're from."

  "Leaving?" An expression of surprise, even shock, seemed even more dramatic due to her paled complexion.

  "Yes! You've told me over and over that you're frightened of the water, that you believe we'll be flooded, even that we would all die. Here's your chance to get out now, before the disaster you predicted."

  A dozen expression flickered across her face. Thoughtful contemplation, followed by confusion, doubt, panic. She shuddered, her arms stiff at her side. He resisted the urge to cross the floor, take her into his arms and tell her everything would be fine. If he offered comfort and security instead of giving her the option she needed, he wouldn't be fair.

  "I can't leave on the packet."

  "Why?"

  She turned away, looking down at Rose. "It's going south, to New Orleans, right?"

  "That's correct."

  "If it floods here, it will flood there. Besides, I'm going north, not south."

  "Why?"

  "There are too many customs down here that I can't accept."

  "I thought you said you were from the south."

  "Yes, but . . . I can't explain, okay? Just trust me when I say that I can't tolerate slavery or these differences in class. It's ridiculous, you know? Why can't people just accept each other for who they are inside, not how much money they have or the color of their skin?"

  Why indeed? He'd asked himself the same question hundreds of times in the past. Far into the past, he corrected. As a child and a young man, he'd hated the system that labeled him inferior because of his background and lack of money. When he grew older, he'd accepted the system and learned to live with society's restraints. He'd become part of the system . . . which was all that Randi saw in him.

  He dared not reveal his other side. "You cannot change society because you think it unfair."

  "No, I don't think I can. That's why I have to leave."

  "To go north."

  "Or back to my own . . . home."

  Why had she hesitated on such a simple word? He wanted to ask, to demand the truth once and for all. Perhaps if he knew the whole story, he wouldn't feel this fascination with her as a woman. He'd be able to go on with his life, concentrating on the important task of protecting them from floods, then focusing on his private life by finding a suitable wife.

  When Rose reached up her arms to Randi, the sight made him smile despite his dark mood. His daughter was a little angel, especially when she wasn't fussing and fretting. Randi had blamed teething for his daughter's foul humor, but he suspected the baby was now happier due to the attention she received from her new governess.

  If Randi left, Rose would lose the connection to a woman who showed her such care and affection . . .

  "I'm pleased you aren't leaving today. Rose would miss you."

  Randi turned wide, uncertain eyes toward him. "Yes, she probably will."

  "Then you still plan on leaving sometime."

  "I must. I can't stay in this . . . place forever. I miss my family, my customs. I'm trying to be honest with you about the fact I must leave sometime soon."

  "One of the few things," he couldn't help adding.

  "I've told the truth about many things, but you don't believe me."

  "Tell me everything and perhaps I will."

  "No, you wouldn't. You'd think I was crazy."

  "I don't see madness in your eyes," he admitted.

  "And I don't see open-minded acceptance in yours."

  He took a deep breath and raised his chin. "Then we're at our usual impasse. My guests are leaving and I must give my farewells."

  "Don't let the widow linger too long. She may decide to stay."

  Was that jealousy he heard in her voice? Not hardly. Randi must know that she couldn't be compared to the Widow Sanderson. He'd never given that la
dy the impression that he was interested in her affections, whereas with Randi, he'd been quite clear how much he wanted her in his bed.

  But only in his bed. She would never be a suitable wife for a planter in this society, especially since she was opposed to all the customs upon which planter society placed so much importance.

  "I'm certain the widow be leaving promptly," he said as he turned and walked out of the nursery. He stopped at the door. "Unlike you, she has a destination in mind, and she knows her circumstances."

  "You're right, Jackson," Randi said, snuggling up to Rose. "I've always had a problem with that. But my parents always told me that I could do whatever I wanted, if I wanted it enough. I believed them."

  He didn't have anything else to say, so he let her have the last word. With as much frustration as he'd felt coming up to the third floor, he went back down. To say good-bye to his guests, and to try to get his life back in order.

  #

  Randi hugged a sleepy Rose and watched as the houseguests left Black Willow Grove in Jackson's carriage for the awaiting paddlewheeler in Randolph. She could have gone. Jackson was ready to let her go.

  And why not, since she'd told him about her ill-fated love affair with another man, rebuffed his advances, and refused to tell him the truth about where she was from? Jackson was a man who placed a lot of value in having the very best, and to him, she simply wasn't good enough. She'd been looked down on before, by schoolmates and coworkers who placed more value on the "right" clothes, shoes, and accessories than they did on personal values and friendship. But former social slights hadn't hurt like this. She'd never felt as though a part of her heart had been stomped on.

  The odd thing was that Jackson found her both morally and socially inferior. He hadn't mentioned anything about a permanent relationship--not that she could ever agree to one--but he'd obviously wanted to fool around. She supposed he'd never considered the fact that he was applying a huge double standard.

  "I should have expected as much," she said to a cuddly Rose; who'd nestled against her chest so trusting, so sweet. God, how could she leave this baby? Maybe she could take her back to 1998, away from the flood and certain death. Was there anything wrong with that? Other than the fact that Jackson would be devastated . . .

  But would he be any more devastated knowing that he'd caused his daughter's death by remaining stubborn to the end? Randi didn't know. Maybe he would rather he and his daughter perish together than be separated by a hundred and fifty years.

  Randi rocked back and forth, watching the carriage disappear in the distance. She hummed "Candle in the Wind" to Rose, since the baby liked the melody so much.

  "You're goin' ta spoil that baby rotten," Suzette gently chided from the doorway.

  Randi turned toward her, still swaying back and forth. "I know, but I love to hold her. She's such a sweet little thing. So trusting." And she didn't judge, didn't ask questions. Randi wasn't sure that she couldn't have loved her own child more than she loved Rose . . . not that she'd had the chance to find out.

  Her biggest regret in life had been that she never got to hold her child. She'd been unconscious from hitting her head. By the time she woke up, there was no baby. Her arms had felt as empty as her womb.

  Reluctantly, she settled Rose onto the crib mattress. She hugged herself to keep the warmth and cherish the unique baby smell. "I'll miss you," she whispered.

  She couldn't take Rose away with her. As much as she loved Jackson's child, she would be changing history to try something that bold. Besides, Jackson would be devastated. He'd never understand why Randi had left. He probably wouldn't believe her if she left a note. He'd assume she'd gone north, and probably would spend his life looking for his child.

  At least he wouldn't be here when the flood came, a little voice reminded her. Maybe that was the only way to get him away from Black Willow Grove. Or maybe she could just make him think she'd stolen his child.

  Excited by this new idea, she tiptoed from the room, leaving Suzette to watch over Rose as she slept. Her sketch was complete, but she could put that aside for now. What she needed was a plan to get away from the plantation without anyone knowing where she'd gone.

  #

  Randi went back to Franklin's plantation the next day to check on George's arm. She sure hoped he continued to improve, because the thought of him getting a life-threatening infection that could cause an amputation made her green around the gills, as her mom liked to say. What did plantation owners do with field hands who only had one good arm?

  "Lebeau," she asked as they traveled the muddy rutted road to Eastland, "what would happen to George if he lost his arm?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Would Mr. Franklin sell him, do you think? Or would George be given different duties?"

  "Depends on what jobs need to be done. There's always plenty of work, but a one-armed man can't do too much. Master Franklin might just sell him."

  "Like to a neighbor?"

  "Not usually. Causes too many problems."

  "You mean like the person who bought him might think he got a bad deal?"

  "No, that's not it."

  "What, then?"

  Lebeau sighed and flicked the backs of the horses with the reins. "If George is always thinking 'bout his wife and children over at Eastland, he might not keep his mind on his work."

  "You don't think the new owner would buy the whole family?"

  Lebeau shrugged. "Why should they?"

  Randi couldn't believe Lebeau was asking her why someone should be civil or caring. Especially since he was also a slave. Shouldn't he understand?

  "I'll bet Jackson would buy the whole family," she said. "He'd understand why a man would want to be with his family."

  "Yes, he would," Lebeau said in a low, thoughtful tone. His expression seemed closed. He sat in silence, looking only at the team, and Randi decided to be quiet for awhile. Maybe she shouldn't ask these questions, but she didn't have any other way to find out.

  She stayed silent as long as she could, but before they arrived at Eastland, she had something she had to find out. "I asked Suzette what she'd do if she were free. She didn't have any idea."

  "You asked that girl about being free?" Lebeau asked incredulously.

  "Well, yes, I did. Is that wrong?"

  "Why in the world would you ask her something like that?" he asked suspiciously, his dark eyes narrowed as he finally looked at her.

  "Because I wanted to know! This way of life won't go to last forever, you know. Someday, you'll all be free."

  "Are you some kind of abolitionist?"

  "Suzette asked me that too. Are you against abolitionists?"

  "The whole South is against abolition."

  "Yes, but you, personally? Surely you can't be against gaining your freedom." He didn't say anything, so she continued. "What would you do if you were free?"

  He seemed to be thinking hard. The silence was broken only by the mud-cushioned footsteps of the horses and an occasional creak of the buggy.

  "I expect that I'd go on being Jackson Durant's butler."

  "Really? But why, if you could go anywhere, do anything you wanted?"

  "Because . . . " He shook his head. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm going to so I can try to make you understand. I'd go on being his butler because I already am a free man. That doesn't mean a darn thing when you're black and in the South, though."

  "You're not a slave? But you call him 'master' just like everyone else."

  "No one knows, and I'm hoping you won't tell them. It's nobody's business but mine and Jackson's."

  "One night, I overheard the two of you talking. I thought it was odd, but I couldn't imagine what. Now it makes sense."

  "I call him 'mas'r' around the other slaves because it's expected."

  "I can understand that, I suppose, since you're a role model."

  Lebeau snorted. "I'm not trying to be any role model. I'm trying to make my life easier. I don't need them thinking I'm some up
pity . . . black man because I'm free and they're not."

  "You don't care about your people?"

  "Those people aren't mine, Miss Randi," Lebeau said, his eyes cold and assessing. "Those people belong to Jackson Durant. The two of us understand that. I sure hope you don't plan on upsetting things around Black Willow Grove."

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Jackson, I'd like to learn how to ride a horse," Randi announced the next morning just after breakfast.

  She'd waited until he'd finished his meal, then approached him in the hallway. Hopefully, he'd be in a better mood since he had his house back from all the guests and the rain had held off another day.

  "Why do you need to know how to ride?"

  "Because everyone should know, don't you think?"

  "Every lady," he said, brushing past her on his way toward the front door.

  She closed her eyes for a second, feeling his insult deep beneath her skin. He was never going to let her forget that she'd gone to bed with someone who wasn't her husband. She supposed she should have lied to him, but that wasn't her style. She'd learned early in life that she couldn't keep up with lies, so she'd usually stuck to the truth. Just look at how poorly she'd lied when she'd first arrived here! Jackson had known all along she wasn't the governess he was expecting, she didn't know Miss Agnes Delacey, and she hadn't lost her trunk overboard from a paddlewheeler.

  Still, he'd allowed her stay and care for Rose. She hoped he'd tell her why before she left, but doubted he'd ever admit his feelings.

  Catching up to him by running across the marble floor, she grabbed his arm before he went out the door. "Please, Jackson. I know you're frustrated with me, but I'd really love to learn how to ride. Couldn't we just call it payment for taking care of Rose?"

  "Payment?"

  "Yes," she said, getting irritated with him despite her vow to behave herself until she accomplished her goal--getting him and Rose away from Black Willow Grove. "People are usually paid for their services, aren't they? I'm not one of your slaves, although I know you're used to that particular system of keeping good help."