The Wild Belle (St. John Series)

by Lora Thomas

  “I have had experience with sharks in the past and know not to interfere with them. So I take that it’s not safe to swim in the river?” Michael questioned with disappointment to his voice. He loved to swim. He was hoping to cool off in the river once he got settled but with the dangers in these waters he was hesitant. His brothers teased him frequently about his love of the water. They would tell him there are better ways to stay fit than swimming, like fighting. Michael would always inform them that he did not want to be big bruisers like them, just physically fit. They still teased him mercilessly, not only for his choice of staying physically conditioned, but his size. He was the shortest of the St. John brothers standing at six feet tall, which gave him the nickname of Runt.

  “At times. I wouldn’t swim in it just now myself. A bull was spotted the other day ‘bout a mile from Double Oasis.”

  “What is Double Oasis?”

  “That’s the name of Master. Ott’s plantation.”

  Michael nodded his head. “So how did it get its name? Is it twice as nice as the other plantations?”

  A proud smile crossed Young Amos’s face as he described his home. “I think so, but no, that’s not how it got its name. One day after Mr. Ott ‘n Miss Mandy bought the farm, they were out walkin’ tryin’ to decide where to build their house. Miss Mandy came across two crystal clear freshwater lakes, one wuz sittin’ on top of a small hill. It had a waterfall that fell into the second one. The water was too cold fer gators and snakes. So Miss Mandy said it was an oasis for her since she didn’t have to worry about ‘em. Once they found the lakes, they built their home ‘bout a quarter mile away, so that Miss Mandy could go swim without the worry of houseguests a spyin’ on her.”

  “Smart woman,” Michael acknowledged. “But her husband allows her to wander off by herself?”

  Young Amos gave a hearty laugh. “I don’t think he has much choice. If Miss Mandy wants to leave she will, even if Mr. Ott protests.”

  Michael looked into the older man’s eyes. Amos looked back down quickly.

  “It’s all right, Amos,” Michael said, turning away. “You have nothing to fear from me. Do not hesitate to speak to me as an equal. Now, from the way you talk about the Craycrafts, it would appear that you have known them for quite some time.”

  “ ‘Bout twenty-five years now.”

  “They are good to you then.” It wasn’t a question, but a feeling Michael perceived from Amos.

  “Yes, sir. They’re very kind. Mr. Ott makes sure we have good overseers and that any supplies we need, we have. He works side-by-side with us during plantin’ and pickin’ season. He treats us like equals.”

  “I am glad to hear that. I appall slavery and the cruelty that goes with it. Don’t get me wrong, my family owns slaves, but not out of necessity. No, our slaves are . . . are . . . well, they are not actually slaves. They come and go as they please and are paid for their work. No hand has ever been raised to them by my family. My mother taught several how to read, write and work with numbers. And they in turn taught the others.”

  “Is that so?” Young Amos marveled with astonishment. He thought that only Miss Mandy did those things—in secrecy, of course. Having an educated slave was against the law, and if you were caught teaching one how to read or write, the punishment was severe, depending on who was the judge at the time. Sometimes there was a fine of one hundred dollars per slave, imprisonment, or twenty lashes. Miss Mandy was a brave lady for risking those types of punishments for slaves. But she didn’t care. She insisted that everyone should be well educated.

  “Yes. Now then, a change of subject . . . do you think Mr. Craycraft will mind that I am arriving a day early?”

  Young Amos laughed and smiled. “No, sir, he won’t mind.” Before Michael could ask him what that statement meant, Young Amos informed him, “We’re here,” and began moving the boat towards a small dock.

  Young Amos walked past Michael, stood on the bow of the small boat and picked up a thin rope. As they came closer to the dock, he jumped onto the dock and pulled the boat closer. Tying off the boat, he turned towards Michael. “I’ll have yer belongings brought to the big house.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated,” Michael said, climbing out of the boat. “But I can manage to carry my sea chest.”

  “Naw, sir,” Young Amos replied, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be fittin’ fer you to take it to the house. Mum Sally would take a broom to my hide if’n she saw you carryin’ yer belongings.”

  “Who is she?”

  “My mum,” Young Amos stated with a ‘who else’ tone.

  “Of course, how silly of me,” Michael replied as the corner of his mouth turned upward with a half grin.

  “ ‘Bout time you got back, boy,” Michael heard a man yell from behind him. He watched as an elderly black man hobbled towards them. The man took his old wrinkled hand and rubbed the side of his bearded face. The man furrowed his brow together causing a deep crevice to appear between his eyes as he looked at Michael. He then turned his gaze back to Young Amos. “Beg yer pardon, sir. I didn’t know my boy had a guest with ‘em.”

  “Quite all right,” Michael replied, studying the older man a little longer. “I am Michael St. John. Mr. Craycraft is expecting me.”

  A confused expression crossed the older man’s wrinkled face. “I thought he wasn’t expectin’ ya ‘til tomorrow.”

  “My ship made excellent time. I hope my early arrival will not be an inconvenience.”

  The older man looked at Young Amos. Young Amos gave a big smile and nodded in Michael’s direction as an indication that his father could speak freely to this man.

  “Well, ya might be in fer a little surprise is all. Miss Mandy is in one of her moods, but it ought ta straighten out when she sees you. Did my boy treat ya good, Mr. St. John?”

  “He saw to my needs without issue. I have no complaints. Now, since his name is Young Amos, am I to assume your name is Old Amos?”

  The older man looked at Michael and gave a wide toothy grin. He gave a small laugh that sounded more like a “tee hee” than an actual laugh. “Yes, sir, you guessed right.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Old Amos. You may call me Michael. Mr. St. John is too formal for me. Young Amos has assured me he must take care of my belongings or his mother will ‘take a broom to his hide.’ So if you would be so kind as to direct me to Mr. Craycraft, I would be grateful.”

  “This way, Mr. Michael.” Old Amos turned and walked up the dirt-and-sand-covered bank. “Boy, be careful as ta not drop Mr. Michael’s belongin’s. We all know how clumsy ya can be.”

  “I dropped one thing in forty years and ya act like it’s an everyday occurrence,” Young Amos yelled at his father.

  “Yeah, but it was Miss Mandy’s belongings.”

  “And she forgave me, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. Just like to keep remindin’ ya,” Old Amos said as he turned and waited for Michael to meet him on top of the riverbank.

  Michael crested the riverbank and was taken aback by the view before him. The multitude of live oak trees lining the sandy path was breathtaking. They formed a tunnel as their long branches stretched outwards touching each other. Squirrels were taking advantage of the closeness of the trees and hopped from branch to branch as they played. He followed Old Amos down the shady lane and was awestruck by the landscape. Every aspect was well manicured; there wasn’t a weed to be found or a flower out of place. The fragrant scent of magnolias filled his senses. He looked to his left and noticed a colorful display of foliage from the tropical plants. Roses of every color imaginable surrounded crape myrtles blooming in vibrant pinks and whites. As they neared the end of the tree-lined path, Michael could begin to make out the house. It was a large white home in the antebellum architecture style so many of the other homes in this area presented. They were at the back of the home, but he could see the large wraparound veranda with its black iron railing, which he assumed went around the entire house. The large windows had black sh
utters to each side. They approached the side and he noticed that his assumption had been correct. As he neared the front of the grand home, he could see the semicircular extension of the cupola on the front of the home. His examination of the home was cut short by gunfire.

  Michael jumped; Old Amos laughed his “tee hee” laugh. There was another shot followed by the sound of something falling to the ground, then another shot.

  Michael watched in astonishment as a large, red rooster went running past him, feathers flying. Another shot was fired, making a small puff of dust fly up behind the rooster.

  “Get your feather-covered hide off my damn porch, you Godforsaken varmint!” Michael heard a woman yell, followed by another gunshot. “You have this entire plantation and you don’t have to be poopin’ on my clean porch!”

  “Made Miss Mandy mad again,” Old Amos observed, propping his back on one of the large oak trees just out of Mandy’s line of sight.

  “Should we do something?” Michael asked still in shock that he was greeted with gunfire.

  “Naw, she only has . . . ,” Old Amos furrowed his brow. “How many shots has she fired?”

  “Five.”

  “She has two more shots, and then it will be safe.”

  “Safe? Is that woman mad?”

  Old Amos stood up in a defensive stance. His tone was brisk as he defended his mistress. “Don’t go talking bad about Miss Mandy. That’s Mr. Ott’s wife.”

  “I meant no disrespect, but she’s shooting at us.”

  “Naw, just that rooster.” The older man nodded his head in the direction of the fleeing poultry. “She’s been doing that fer years. But don’t ya worry, Mr. Ott had me swap her lead balls out with hard packed rock salt after she shot him.”

  Michael’s brows shot upward in horror. “She shot her husband?!” He was beginning to wonder if he should have just forgone this trip and stayed to help Eli figure out who the mystery woman was or better yet, have gone with Jacob to the pirate-infested waters near Kingstown. Anything was safer than this.

  “Well, yeah, but it was an accident. He just happened to walk around the corner of the house as she was a shootin’.”

  There was another shot at the now resting rooster. The poultry took off running again. The last shot sent several of his long red tail feathers flying off. Michael watched the plumage float gracefully to the ground. Old Amos stood straight again and walked around the house. Michael cautiously followed after the older man, fearful now of being shot. They walked around the side of the house and Michael peered cautiously at the veranda. The view was difficult because of the height of the porch. It was easily over Michael’s six-foot frame. As he tilted his head to peer onto the porch, he could see the woman’s back was turned away from them. He followed Old Amos up the set of stairs that led to the porch.

  Michael studied the tall woman who was so angry. Her blond hair had been pulled up in a tight bun, but there were several wisps of hair protesting their restraint. The wind blew causing the stray strands to dance around, resembling the serpents covering Medusa’s head. The dark grey dress she wore hugged her narrow waist and the three-quarter length sleeves of her gown were accentuated with white lace at the elbows. There were six pistols lying at her feet and she had the seventh still-smoldering pistol in her left hand. The full skirt flared outward as she turned towards a noise at the door.

  “Ott, you better get your ass out here or I’m goin’ to shoot you. That damn rooster you insisted on buyin’ has shi—”

  “Miss Mandy,” Old Amos interrupted before the mistress could continue her profanity-filled tirade.

  “What?!” she snapped, whipping around to give the older man a heated gaze. Her eyes then fixated on Michael. He watched as the woman’s expression changed in an instant from that of anger to slight embarrassment. She blinked rapidly and her hard, angry facial features melted away like snow on a hot summer’s day. Her dark green eyes began to lighten. “Oh, pardon me. Why, Amos, why didn’t you tell me we had guests.”

  “Sorry, Miss Mandy, but he jest got here. This is Mr. Michael St. John, the man Mr. Ott was expectin’.”

  “Oh!” Amanda exclaimed, her eyes growing wider at the recognition of the name. Color flooded her high cheekbones. “Just a moment and I will retrieve Ott for you.”

  “Mandy, what are you doing all that hollering about? You planning on having the sheriff called on us again?” a man asked as he walked out the doorway. His eyes went straight to the stranger beside Old Amos.

  “Ott, Mr. St. John from that shipping company is here—early,” Mandy said accentuating the word “early.” She plastered a smile on her face and gave her husband an owl-eyed look.

  “Hmm?” Ott replied as he took in his wife’s comical expression.

  “Mr. St. John is here,” Mandy repeated, as her eyes grew wider.

  “Oh!” Ott replied. Turning, he extended his hand out to Michael. “Mr. St. John.”

  Michael took the older man’s outstretched hand. “Please, Mr. Craycraft, call me Michael.”

  “Very well. Call me Ott. And you have already met my wife Amanda.”

  Michael smiled at Amanda and picked up her hand. He placed a kiss on her knuckles. “Mrs. Craycraft.” Amanda’s cheeks turned a brighter shade of red as she accepted his greeting.

  “We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow afternoon, Michael,” Ott said, extending his arm toward the door, welcoming Michael to enter.

  “My ship made excellent time. I actually arrived two days ago.”

  Michael took a step towards the door and heard a commotion from the side of the house where he had just been. He watched as a boy came galloping around the corner on a gray horse. The boy lowered his body to the animal. The pair appeared to be one as they went sailing over a small bench. The horse galloped past the front porch. He watched as Amanda raced over to the railing and began yelling at the boy.

  “Andi, you get your hide back here this instant! You promised you’d not leave this house!”

  The boy did not stop, but spurred his steed faster. It one fluid movement the large gray horse and rider jumped the stone fence around the house. They did not stop, horse and rider, but kept going at their present pace.

  “God forbid you should have any children!” Amanda yelled at the disappearing figure. She whipped back around and faced Michael. “Do you have any children, Mr. St. John?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well, I have five. I’ll give them all to you, even the married one.”

  “Mandy,” Ott scolded as he looked at his wife.

  “I swear, Ott, your children will be the death of me.”

  “They’re your children, too.”

  “Only when they behave.”

  “Do they ever? The only one who behaves is Alyssa and that’s because she’s like me. The others are your children. They act just like you.” Ott then turned towards Michael. “Follow me, Michael, I need a drink.”

  Michael smiled. “After you.” Deep down Michael was glad Ott had offered him a drink for he had a feeling he was going to need one—and many more—in order to survive being with this family for the next month.

  Chapter Four

  Michael followed Ott into the large home. Entering the foyer, he couldn’t help but be in awe of the home’s architecture. The floors were a white marble. It had a central grand staircase that you could ascend from two sets of steps on the right or left. The steps joined in the center at a landing. In the center of the landing was another set of steps that led upstairs. The railings to the stairs had a wooden handrail that was mounted onto white iron braces, each in an ornate swirl design. Just above the stairs was a crystal chandelier. The drop-shaped crystals dangled down from the light fixture by gold chains. The ceilings were covered with white tiles, each imprinted with swirl designs. The walls were a shade of mint green with gold-trimmed crown molding.

  Michael followed Ott to the left of the staircase into the study. It was just as elaborately decorated. The large room had
bookshelves that were filled with books and running the entire length of the room’s right side. The walls were a dark wood and there was an ornately carved mahogany desk in front of the floor-length windows. The windows were all open, allowing for the cooling breeze to enter. To the left was a large family portrait. Michael watched as Ott walked to the liquor cabinet. He turned to study the portrait. He recognized the younger image of Ott and his wife. She was sitting, holding an infant, and Ott was standing behind her. There were two girls standing on each side of her. All four of the girls had the same blond hair as their mother. Michael walked closer to examine the portrait.

  “My pride and joy,” Ott beamed, walking over to Michael and handing him a glass of brandy.

  Michael took the beverage offered to him. “I take it these are your children?”

  “Yes. Five girls.” Ott shook his head. “What did I ever do to be saddled with five daughters and no sons is beyond me. I wouldn’t wish that punishment upon any man.” Michael turned and could see the pride in this man’s eyes. “Now don’t get me wrong, I am proud of my girls, but sometimes there are just too many women in this house . . . if you get my meaning.”

  Michael smiled and chuckled. “I have a sister of my own, so I know firsthand how temperamental women can be. But if you think five daughters are bad you should try a redheaded mother and sister. I bet they could make your crew seem calm.”

  Ott laughed. “Don’t count on it, Michael. So, do you have a large family?”

  “Depends on your perception of large. I have eight brothers and one sister, who just happens to be the youngest, along with two beautiful nieces.”

  “Having a large family is wonderful. I was an only child. Sometimes I get a little jealous of the relationship my girls have with each other, and other times, it makes me thankful I was an only child,” Ott replied, recalling Andrea and Ashton’s fight this morning.

  Ott looked at the tall man beside him. Michael was a handsome young man, that was for certain. He hoped his younger daughters could handle being in the same house with this man without falling for him. Michael was tall with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His eyes were a dark, midnight blue with long dark lashes. The top of his Greek nose had a small notch, indicating it had been broken many years ago. Ott watched as Michael placed his beverage to his lips. His waistcoat strained under the muscles of his upper arms. Ott had no doubt in his mind that this young muscular man could handle himself easily, when needed.