To Make a Marriage

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Jeff tiredly rubbed at his forehead. “You ever going to tell me the real reason, other than you were just homesick, that you ran away and came home?”

  Victoria hadn’t been expecting that, but she bristled, nevertheless. “I did not run away. I don’t run away from anything. And I don’t need a reason to come here, Jeff. River’s End is my home.”

  “No, I’m afraid not, Sister. Not anymore.”

  The hurt cut through her like a knife. Miss Cicely and Jubal had both said the same thing to her. And now Jeff. Did no one want her here? She supposed, though, when she considered her past behavior and the scandal she’d caused in Savannah, she couldn’t blame them. Still, with equal measures of stung pride and stubbornness to buoy her up, Victoria retorted in kind. “River’s End will always be my home. I was born in that house. My heart is here, and here it remains.”

  “Maybe so. But it won’t ever be your land.”

  In her agitation, Victoria advanced a step. “Jefferson Caldwell Redmond, what has got into you? You have no call to say something like that to me. I never said, or even thought for one minute, River’s End would ever be mine. I know Daddy intends to leave it to you.”

  “It’s good you know that.” Jeff’s tone had become decidedly cool. “You haven’t been home for a few months, Sister. A lot of things have changed.”

  “Things can’t have changed all that much … except for you. You’ve changed. And it hurts me to say it, but not for the better, either.” And that was as close as she intended to come in letting him know she suspected him of something.

  “I could say the same thing about you. I could also say you are certainly no longer the picture of true Southern womanhood. But then again, you never were.” With that, he turned and trudged up the slope of the land.

  “Is that supposed to hurt me, Jeff?” Victoria called out, as loudly as she dared, to her brother’s back. “Well, it doesn’t. In my own heart, I am the woman I want to be. And isn’t it just like a man to say what a woman should be?”

  Jeff made no comeback to that. Silently, Victoria watched her brother climb up onto the dock and walk toward her. Neville took up a position next to him and padded alongside him. Though each booted footstep of Jeff’s made a hollow, somehow threatening, sound on the weathered-wood planking, Victoria held her ground. She wasn’t afraid of him. Even though they’d had words, this was Jeff, after all. Her brother.

  She glanced down at Neville and suddenly recalled how he had yelped when Jeff had first spoken. That was when it struck her: Neville had been caught off guard by Jefferson being on the right side of the dock because he’d been alerted to something he didn’t like off to the left side of it. Did that mean someone was still out there and hiding? Cold dread slipped over Victoria. She started to speak of her concern, but suddenly her brother stood in front of her.

  With the shotgun held loosely in the crook of his arm, and even with the barrel pointing down to the dock, he appeared an imposing figure. Rank disapproval rode his features in the form of a frown as he looked her up and down and then met her waiting gaze. “You’re not out here because you can’t sleep, Sister. You said yourself you took these clothes hours ago. To me, that says you’re up to something you shouldn’t be.”

  Victoria stared at her brother, a tall, handsome, light-haired man she loved with all her heart and suspected of atrocious, or at least heartbreakingly neglectful, deeds. “I told you the truth,” she said, marveling at how cool her voice sounded. “I couldn’t sleep. It’s that simple.”

  “Nothing’s that simple.”

  Victoria held his gaze for a pointed length of time before saying: “I know. Nothing ever is, is it, Jeff?”

  Sober of expression, reminding her too much of their father, and apparently intending to ignore her response, Jeff looked past her to the jonboat and again met her gaze. Under his censorious scrutiny, Victoria felt her face burn with guilt. “You stink of swamp,” he said, his voice calm and even. “You’ve been out in that boat, and you went to see Miss Cicely.”

  Victoria hesitated with her answer, thinking she could of course deny it, but then she decided to take a small chance and see how her brother responded. “Yes, I have, Jeff. I’ve been out to see Miss Cicely.”

  Jeff looked away from her and shook his head. When he looked down at her again, his voice was raw with emotion. “You shouldn’t have gone out there, Victoria. Don’t let Miss Cicely drag you into something you know nothing about.”

  “I never said she was trying to drag me into anything, Jeff.” She hadn’t missed that he’d called her “Victoria.” He only did that when he was trying to be persuasive or serious with her.

  “You don’t have to say it. I know Miss Cicely. She doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Neither do you.”

  Despite his harsh indictment, Victoria felt an urge to reach out and touch him, to put a comforting hand on his arm. In the end, though, she didn’t, but she did take her questioning one step farther. “What is it I should leave alone, Jeff? What are you talking about?”

  She prayed he would open up to her and tell her about Jenny and Sofie; prayed he was on the right side of this and would just tell her and let her help before it was too late for them all.

  Jeff swung his gaze back to her. The slanting light of the waning moon showed Victoria the hard planes and shadowed angles of his unsmiling face. “Nothing. I just know you. If you’ve been out to see Miss Cicely in the middle of the night like this, then you meant for it to be a secret. I don’t know what you’re up to, Sister, but I will say this: You keep on going out there in that swamp and listening to that woman, and she’s bound to get you involved in something that will get you hurt or killed.”

  “How can you talk about her like that, Jeff? We’ve known and loved her all our lives. Miss Cicely would never do anything that would get us hurt.” Victoria’s throat felt constricted with emotion. Her dear, sweet, handsome brother. Jeff could very well be a murderer—or a man who had hired a murderer to do his dirty work. Victoria feared she’d be sick right here. She swallowed convulsively and tensed her leg muscles to keep herself standing upright.

  “You think she wouldn’t? You being out there in that swamp at night to go see her is dangerous. Now, what did Miss Cicely have to say to you? And how did you know she wanted to talk to you?”

  “One of the hands gave me a message.” She’d ignored his first question and answered his second with a lie. The truth was Miss Cicely hadn’t sent for her. She’d gone out there on her own. Another truth was Jeff was interrogating her to see if she knew anything about his secret wrongdoings. If he found out she did, would he shoot her right here on the dock and blame those river rats?

  “What hand was that, Sister?”

  She shrugged, acting unconcerned. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d never met him before. I figured he was new.”

  “We haven’t hired any new hands since you left for England.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that, did I?”

  “And you wonder why I’m out here with a gun? Anything could have happened, Sister. What’d he look like?”

  Oh, Lord. “Jeff, quit getting all bothered. He was harmless enough. Just some tall, skinny colored boy who said Miss Cicely wanted to see me and for me to come tonight.”

  Jeff’s expression could only be called horrified. “What’d he do? Come right up to the house and ask for you?”

  “No, he did not. He saw me outside.”

  “Outside? When was this? I haven’t seen you talking to any colored boys since you’ve been back.”

  “Do you watch me every minute, Jeff?”

  “No. But it’s starting to sound like I’d better.”

  Victoria’s heart nearly tripped over itself. “Oh, for pity’s sake, I hardly think that’s necessary.”

  “Well, I do. What did she want, anyhow? Miss Cicely, I mean.”

  “I know who you mean. And she didn’t want anything special. She just heard I was home and wanted to see me.”

>   “Wasn’t that sociable of her—and at midnight, too.”

  Victoria waved a hand in dismissal. “You know how she is. Likes to make everything all mysterious. It was nothing, and here I am, safe and sound.”

  Jeff shifted his weight to his other leg and looked from her to the swamp behind her. “All right, but don’t go out there again, Sister, you hear me?”

  “I do. I hear you.” And she had … she’d heard him say it.

  “I mean it, too.”

  “I said I heard you. And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go inside.” She had to get away from him and think about this and sort through what she knew and what she suspected. She had no idea how to proceed from here. The trouble just kept getting bigger and bigger—and worse and worse. Victoria started to take a step forward and around Jeff.

  He moved to block her way. “You need to do more than just go inside, Sister.” Jeff’s voice was pleading. “Please. You need to go on home—and I mean to England. Things have changed here. Times are dangerous. I know you and how you get wound up in things. But the hard truth is you are not wanted or needed here.”

  Victoria blinked back sudden tears. “How can you say these things to me, Jeff? How?”

  He was quiet a moment, but then he exhaled, sounding suddenly weary. “I say them for your own good. And I’m sorry, Sister, but that’s just the way of it right now. I wish I could say I’m glad you’re here, but I’m not. And not for any reason you might think, either.”

  Victoria took a step toward her brother. “Then tell me what the reason is, Jeff.”

  “No. I can’t. It’s better for you if I don’t.” He roused himself and moved aside, gesturing for her to go. “You just … go on inside, now. Get up to the house before anyone else sees you.”

  Despite her fears for him and of him, Victoria’s heart went out to her brother. “Jeff, if there’s anything you want to tell me—”

  He held up a hand to stop her words. “Go on up to bed, like I told you to do. Please.”

  Victoria studied his face, seeing lines of worry and grief drawn across his normally smooth forehead and bracketing either side of his mouth. “All right, big brother, I’ll go. But will you come with me?”

  He shook his head. “No. But I’ll be in directly. I just need to … make sure everything is in order out here.”

  His slight hesitation alerted Victoria. She’d been right in thinking someone else was out there and waiting for Jeff. Almost before she even knew she was going to do it, she’d asked: “Why do you really have that gun with you? Who’s out there?”

  Frowning, Jeff pulled back. “What are you talking about? Nobody’s out there. Leastwise, there’d better not be anybody out there. I’m just going to go make sure, is all. So you go on inside. I’ll wait here until you get to the house.”

  What else could she do? “All right, Jeff. Good night.”

  “Good night, Sister. Sleep well.”

  Victoria doubted that she would, but she abruptly brushed by him and hurried down the dock and then started up the spongy lawn, steadily making for the safety of the house. As she trudged up to the back door, a fearful corner of her mind wondered if he suspected she knew what he was involved in and would just shoot her in the back. After all, and as she’d thought a moment ago, he could claim he thought she was a river rat. She could certainly be mistaken for one in the dark and dressed as she was.

  By the time she stepped into a deep shadow cast by the house, she had worked herself into a state and just had to know what Jeff was doing. She slipped in between a flowering bush and the solidness of the house’s wall behind her. Taking a deep breath for courage, she turned around and looked. She half expected to see her brother sighting down his gun’s barrel at her. But what she saw was much worse. Her breath caught before she could exhale it. Jeff was gone. He hadn’t waited for her to go safely inside.

  The only one about was Neville. The dog sat alertly on the weathered planking of the dock … and looked off to his left. Pressing her lips together, gathering her courage, Victoria quietly moved to the corner of the house and peeked around it. She slid her gaze in the direction Neville indicated. There Jeff was—loping for the far end of the house. What was he doing? Where was he going? She thought of following him, but instantly abandoned that idea. For one thing, she was too tired and had no desire to explain to her brother—again—what the devil she was still doing out here, should he detect her.

  And for another thing, she saw no need to go putting herself, and therefore her helpless baby, in further or deliberate danger tonight. Tomorrow would be soon enough to try to figure out what she should do next. Not that she was supposed to do a darned thing. That’s what the letter she’d received in England had said. She was to do nothing and wait for instructions. She hadn’t received any yet … but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gracing the plantation home of River’s End, the elegant though comfortable morning room had lent itself, for many generations, to Redmond family breakfasts. It did so again this morning. Though the large room faced in the general direction of Savannah, that elegant city remained unseen beyond meandering lowland miles of sandy marshes rimmed by forests of cypress, live oak, and loblolly pine. The room, situated on the ground floor in the northeast corner of the white-pillared and verandah-wrapped house, and furnished with cherished antiques and memories, caught the morning’s fresh cross-breeze when its bank of tall windows were thrown open, as they were today.

  Commingling with the salty tang of the low-country air were the mouthwatering smells of sausages, bacon, grits, pancakes, eggs, and fruit preserves. Overriding them all was the pervasive aroma of strong coffee. Inside the room, and seated at one end of a long oak table, were the Redmonds.

  And holding forth on her daughter’s posture and health was the lady of the house. “Victoria, I have called your name three times. Do you hear me? If you don’t sit up straight, you are going to fall face-first into your plate.”

  Blinking, inhaling raggedly, and jerked back to wakefulness by a sudden sound she couldn’t quite identify—like that made by someone delicately rapping on a glass with a piece of silverware in order to gain attention—Victoria stiffened her spine and sat up straight.

  “Victoria?”

  Though her father and brother also stared her way, Victoria quickly focused on her frowning mother, who sat across from her and held a spoon in her hand. She probably had actually tapped her glass with it. Victoria managed a smile, despite the bone-softening lethargy induced by her lack of sleep, and shook her head, trying to make it seem as if she were nothing more than distracted. “I’m sorry, Mama, what did you ask me?”

  “I didn’t ask you anything, honey. I told you to sit up before you fell into your breakfast. Why are you so tired? What’s wrong?”

  Victoria swallowed and stared wide-eyed at her mother. “Nothing’s wrong, Mama.”

  “Well, I think we both know better.”

  “No we do not,” Victoria said quickly … too quickly.

  “We do so.” Catherine Redmond used the soft, dulcet tones that matched her still radiant peaches-and-cream, brunette beauty and belied a will of iron where her family was concerned. “Now, though you have denied being in a delicate condition—”

  “Mother!” Victoria cried, horrified, her face burning with embarrassment—and the knowledge that her mother was correct.

  Right on the heels of her protest came Jeff’s. “Mother, please, we’re at the breakfast table.”

  “Catherine, really. Such indelicacy. I am surprised at you.” This was Victoria’s father, who sat at the head of the table and whose face also was steadily reddening.

  Victoria’s mother calmly placed a lily-white hand over her demurely covered bosom and looked from one to the other of them. “Well, I am sorry if I have shocked you. But Victoria does have all the symptoms. However, if she denies being with child, then a mother can only suppose that her married daughter is coming down with something
dreadful.”

  “I’m not sick, Mama. And I wish you would not worry yourself over me.” Victoria hid a betraying yawn behind her hand. “I’m fine. Really I am.”

  “I saw that yawn, young lady. And this is your mother you are talking to, so I do not care if you are a fine and grand duchess now. You are, first and foremost, my child.”

  Victoria shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “I am painfully aware of that, Mama.”

  Catherine Redmond pursed her lips. “Sarcasm is very unbecoming in a lady of royalty, Victoria.”

  “I hate to disillusion you, Mama, but given the ones I’ve met, it seems to be a prized trait. However, I am not actually royalty. My husband is a hereditary duke, not a royal duke. There’s a big difference.”

  Her mother smiled indulgently, as if Victoria were five years old and had just said something precocious. “No there isn’t, darling, not in society, where it counts. Now, look here, are you aware you have a bruise on your forehead? It wasn’t there yesterday or even last night when you went up to bed. So I do not understand how that could have happened.”

  “I, uh, hit my head on the…” She couldn’t think of a single plausible thing and suddenly felt panicky, but then she came up with: “The, uh, headboard on my bed.”

  “The headboard? How in the world did you come to hit your head on the headboard? Were you thrashing about in a nightmare? And why would you be having nightmares?”

  “Catherine, my dear, will you leave the girl alone?”

  Grateful in the extreme, Victoria turned to her father. A tall, handsome, gray-haired gentleman whom she loved dearly, he’d abandoned the pile of bills and letters next to his heaped-high plate and turned to his wife, who sat on his left. “She’s not a child anymore. She’s a grown woman in her own right.”

  “I am well aware of that, Isaac Redmond. But a mother doesn’t simply turn her worries off because her children have achieved their full growth.”