“This late?”
“I’ll try to call again in a few days.”
“All right.” The phone clicked before he could say good-bye.
Andy replaced the receiver and hurried down the steps.
He jerked open the door to find a waterlogged young woman shivering on the porch, her arms wrapped tightly about her body. “It’s about time,” she snapped. “My hair is ruined.”
Andy gaped as she pushed past him into the foyer and stepped in front of the mirror that hung beside the coat rack. She scowled at her reflection and squeezed water from her hair.
“Sorry,” Andy finally managed. “I got to the door as quick as I could. Hang on. Let me get you a towel.”
“Thanks.”
Andy tore his eyes away long enough to run up to the bathroom and grab a fluffy towel from the shelf above the sink. “Here you go. I apologize for being the cause of your soaked condition.” He cleared his throat. How stupid could he be? Soaked condition?
“That’s some fancy talk.” She raised an eyebrow and observed him through the mirror. “Where’re you from?”
“Chicago.”
She turned and faced him, her eyes searching his. He felt his ears warm as her gaze slid boldly over his body then back to his eyes. Andy felt a stirring as a slow smile touched her full lips. He breathed in sharply, unable to keep himself from returning her appraisal. The wet, yellow dress clung to full curves, igniting senses in Andy better left ignored if he had any chance of winning his wife back.
Laughter bubbled from her lips. “I look a sight.”
Andy thought she was about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Perfectly shaped mahogany arms, slender hands. She grabbed a hanky from her purse and dabbed at the raindrops on her face.
“Can you believe that water is standing a foot deep on some streets?” she chattered. “My date’s car stalled six blocks from here, so I just decided to walk.” She laughed again, a throaty sound that quickened Andy’s pulse. “God didn’t bless that man with one lick of mechanical sense--” She sent him a saucy grin that Andy couldn’t help but return. “--but he sure can dance.”
At the mention of another man, Andy’s senses returned. “Did you need a room or something?”
“Huh? Oh.” She raised her head in understanding and gave a dismissive wave. “I live here. I’m the Purdues’ maid. I figure, shoot, if I’m going to have to clean for a living, I might as well clean for my own kind and be treated a whole lot better. Know what I mean?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”
“So, what do you do, Yankee boy?” Her teasing smile sent warmth up his neck, and he fought to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat. Lexie hadn’t given him a look like that in longer than he could remember. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t recall the last time they’d shared more than a cursory kiss as he hurried out the door for work.
“Call me Andy.” Oh Lord, his voice cracked like a twelve-year-old boy’s.
A giggle bubbled to her lips and she stepped forward, reaching toward him. Her long, blood-red fingernails tickled his palm as he took her proffered hand.
Lexie’s soft voice and sweet face played across his mind. He wanted his wife back more than he wanted to be with a woman he didn’t love. The voluptuous wet figure lost some of its allure. He smiled, the fire suddenly gone from him. “I’m a writer,” he said, “and I have a ton of work to finish, so if you’ll excuse me. . .”
She brightened. “I ain’t never met a writer.” Keeping his hand firmly gripped in hers, she smiled up at him. “How about having a cup of tea with me and you can tell me all about it?”
Gently, he slid his hand from her grasp, winning him a quick scowl from the beauty. Even with a frown on her face and bedraggled from the rain, she was lovely.
He tossed out a self-deprecating smile to let her know he was tempted, but resisting her seduction. “’Fraid not.”
She shrugged and flashed her white teeth at him again. “If you change your mind, come find me. I’m up the stairs and four doors down on the right. You didn’t ask my name. But I’ll tell you anyway. It’s Ella.”
He stepped back. “Nice to meet you, Ella. Good night.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” she said softly.
He climbed the steps, knowing she was watching him. When he returned to his room he quickly undressed, shoved the diaries from the bed, and crawled under the covers. But sleep eluded him as his thoughts warred inside. He thought of Lexie, her coldness, her constant accusations--only a few of which had been warranted. The last one--the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and caused Lexie to leave him and move back into her mother’s house--had been completely unwarranted. For once, he was as innocent as a newborn babe. He’d been faithful for a year. But no amount of explaining had sufficed. He frowned into the dark room. Lexie could have been with him right now, keeping herself occupied during the day while he worked, and keeping him occupied at night. Instead, she’d chosen to leave. Had chosen not to believe him.
His mind conjured up the wet form of Ella--warm, and willing to share more than tea.
With a frustrated growl, Andy flung back the covers, switched on the lamp beside his bed, and grabbed the next diary. As he skimmed through the pages of Cat’s anguished words, anger rose in him at the account of Henry’s brutal beating after he caught her in the barn with Thomas. And he had resumed his rapes of the poor girl. As a cloudy dawn slowly pushed back the night, all thoughts of the temptation down the hall were swallowed by Madeline’s words.
Georgia, September 1861
Cat’s child has been born.
“She’s paid back what she took,” Henry said when he laid his son in my arms this morning. Henry’s breath smelled of brandy, his eyes bloodshot from drunkenness. I have never understood the depth of his agony over losing our baby so long ago, but in that simple sentence, I finally understood what I have been too blind to see all these years. Henry doesn’t blame me. He blames Cat. A little girl who only wanted to play with a doll. That is the reason he has poured his hatred into making her life miserable. Her misery is complete, for he’s taken the child she bore him and has given him to me to raise as my flesh and blood.
Camilla is fit to be tied and understandably so, for Henry Jr. will inherit Penbrook House and the lands. Camilla will be given a dowry and the money I have for her from my own inheritance. This infuriates her.
Mrs. Penbrook has vowed she will never acknowledge the child as her grandson, but I know she would rather pretend the boy is mine than to bear the humiliation of her ladies’ society becoming aware that her son is raising his illegitimate Negro son. With Mr. Penbrook lying in his grave, no one will protest for long and Henry’s plans for his son will prevail.
I will never forgive myself for being unable to stop Henry from sinning with Cat. Nor, I fear, will I ever be able to forgive Henry. I despise him with every breath in my body for his betrayal. I bear the poor girl no ill will. A slave has no power over her master.
I have insisted Cat at least be allowed to be her son’s nurse. I will obey my husband’s wishes and raise young Henry as my own, but I will not deny Cat access to him. And praise be to God, Henry has agreed to this.
Chapter Four
Georgia, December 1861
“Oh, Mother, don’t they look just marvelous?” Camilla’s face glowed as Toby pulled the carriage to the edge of the road and allowed a company of home-guard soldiers to march past. They stepped together without one break in formation--each confederate soldier as skilled in marching as the most highly trained West Point cadet.
Madeline had to admit they were a magnificent-looking bunch, though she prayed diligently that they would soon cast off their uniforms and return to the duties of husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers.
Though the war had yet to claim the lives of any of the boys in the Penbrooks’ circle of friends, Madeline knew it was only a matter of time, if the fighting did not end soon. And her heart broke for the mothers
whose sons were spoiling for the chance to thrust their swords into the battlegrounds of Virginia.
“Camilla, dear, do not crane your neck, please.”
Madeline observed her daughter as the carriage lurched forward once again. Tendrils of her chestnut curls sprang loose and fanned her flushed cheeks. At barely fifteen the child was enamored of the men in uniform, and they were equally taken with her.
“Did I see Randall Jones marching with those men?” Madeline asked. “I understand he spoke to your father about coming to call on you.”
Camilla sniffed. “As though I’d want him for my beau.” She cut a glance to the driver’s seat, where Cat sat next to Toby. “Besides, the Hansons arrive tomorrow, and I much prefer Thomas to any of the young men in Floyd County.” Her voice rose to slightly louder than necessary. Why must Camilla be so cruel?
Madeline frowned and shook her head at her daughter, but Camilla ignored her and continued without so much as a pause. “That may be the one good thing about this war. Thomas and his parents can’t go north for the holidays like they always do, so Father invited them to spend Christmas with us. I believe Thomas will ask me to marry him during the visit. After all, I imagine he will want to have things settled between us before he heads to Virginia.”
A smirked twisted Camilla’s lips as Cat’s back stiffened. “Won’t that be just wonderful, Mother? I know this may not be the most opportune time to plan a wedding, but ever so many girls are getting engaged nowadays. Why, Amber Calhoun says it’s our duty to send our men off to war with the assurance that we’ll be waiting for them upon their return. She says it gives them something to fight for.”
Cat twisted around in her seat and looked at Madeline. A frown etched her brow. “Is Thomas going to go fight, Miss Maddy?”
“Don’t you mean Mister Thomas?” Camilla’s blue eyes flashed like sapphires.
“I said what I meant,” Cat retorted, never taking her gaze from Madeline’s.
“Why, you insolent girl. I’ll whip the hide right off you when we get back to Penbrook House.”
“Camilla, please. What do you expect when you provoke her?”
“It isn’t possible to provoke a proper slave,” Camilla replied, obviously uncaring of her disrespectful tone. “I will speak to Father about this girl’s conduct.” She cast her glance to Cat. “What do you think of that?”
A shrug lifted Cat’s much-too-thin shoulders. “I don’t care what you do, Camilla.”
“You will address me as Miss Camilla.”
Maddy released a sigh and raised her gloved hand to her temple in an attempt to ease the ache. “I wish you wouldn’t speak of this to your father, Camilla. It will only upset the household. Cat meant no disrespect, I am sure, but only showed concern for an old friend. Isn’t that right, Cat?”
Cat stared back at her, anger slowly receding from her fawn-like brown eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize, Miss Camilla. I–I forgot my place for a moment.”
“See that you don’t forget it again!” Camilla straightened in her seat and looked away as though the matter was suddenly beneath her. Cat slowly turned and stared straight ahead.
Relieved that the incident appeared to be over, Madeline leaned back and closed her eyes as the swaying carriage sent waves of nausea through her. More and more lately, her stomach ached and her head pounded until she took to her bed for days at a time. Henry despised her for her weakness, as though her frequent bouts of illness were a personal assault against him.
But she wasn’t the only one he railed against. Henry seemed to be angry most of the time. Maddy knew the Penbrook plantation was suffering, mainly, she surmised, from Henry’s mismanagement since his father’s death. But of course Henry insisted it was because of the Yankees blockading all ports in and out of the South.
Money was dwindling away, but for Maddy this was no concern. She knew her inheritance was secure under her father’s capable control, and if need be, she and Henry could borrow the money to get back on their feet once the war ended. When she said as much to Henry just the other day, she saw his fists clench and feared he might strike her. Instead he only shouted, “I’ll not have my wife trying to manage my affairs!” He stormed out of the house and had not returned until well into the night. Madeline suspected he was frequenting one of the gaming houses on the seedier side of town, but since she would rather die than admit she knew of such places, she had never confronted him about his return to gambling.
The following morning, he was in good spirits, so Madeline could only conclude he had not lost. For that she was grateful.
“Mother?”
Madeline opened her eyes, then quickly shut them again as the sun’s blinding rays stabbed like knives into her sockets.
“We’re home, Mother.”
Madeline groaned in response.
“Is she all right, Camilla?” Even with her head spinning, Madeline couldn’t help but warm to the care in Cat’s tone.
“Miss Camilla. And I don’t know.” For once Camilla’s acid tone smoothed to concern.
“I’ll be fine, girls. But it hurts too much to open my eyes in the sunlight. Will you help me to my room?”
“What should we do, Cat?”
“Take that arm, and I’ll take the other. We’ll support her as she steps down. You don’t have to carry her, just guide her.”
Madeline winced as her daughter’s fingers sank into the fleshy part of her upper arm.
“Gently!” Cat scolded.
“I am being gentle.”
“No, you are not.”
“Girls, please do not argue.”
“I’m sorry, Mother, but she--”
“Yes, Miss Maddy,” Cat murmured. “We’re sorry. Step down, now. We won’t let you fall.”
Maddy allowed herself to be led inside and felt the girls guide her toward the stairs.
“What is this?”
Cringing at the sound of Henry’s clipped voice, Madeline opened her eyes to greet her husband. She nearly cried out as the light stabbed at her once again.
“Mother is ill,” Camilla explained, “and we are helping her to her bed.”
“Another headache, Dearest?” Sarcasm laced his words.
“I’m afraid so.”
He seemed to soften at her gentle response. “Move away,” he instructed Cat, who still clung protectively to Maddy’s arm. “I’ll carry her up.” He gave Cat a shove toward the stairs. “Go feed my son. Cook used up all the sugar in the pies for the Christmas dinner, so there was none left to make sugar water. Naomi has been trying to get him to suck on a soaked rag, but he won’t take it. He’s been squalling for an hour and driving the whole house to distraction.”
“Yes, Mister Henry,” Cat murmured, and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.
Swung up into strong arms, Madeline closed her eyes once more and leaned against Henry’s shoulder. For a moment, she could almost pretend he was the same man she had lived happily with for the first six years of their marriage. But after he tenderly laid her on the bed, the memories were shattered by a stark reality as he climbed in next to her and buried his face in the curve of her neck. She moaned as his passion grew and her stomach rebelled against his brandy-laced breath.
“I’m sorry, Henry.” She rolled from his touch and grabbed the chamber pot in time to prevent herself from vomiting all over the bed or floor.
“Is this what we’ve come to?” Henry exploded, shoving himself from their bed. “My attentions cause you to be ill?”
In misery, Madeline retched, unable to answer until she was weak and spent and lying back on her bed, pressing a handkerchief to her lips.
“My illness has nothing to do with you,” she said with a weary sigh. “I don’t know why these episodes come. Had I that knowledge, I would do everything possible to prevent them from interfering with our intimacy.”
He gave a short, mocking laugh. “One body is as good as another, Maddy. Cat’s for instance. I’m sure she’s missed me since Henry Jr. was b
orn.”
“More likely she feels the same contempt I feel for you at this instant, Henry. Leave the child alone. Haven’t you hurt her enough?”
“Hurt her?” Henry came close until he lay inches from her. “What better position could Cat have than to be nurse to my only son? And if she bears me another, so much the better for her.”
Opening her eyes, Madeline couldn’t keep the tears from escaping and trickling down her face and onto her neck. “Why must you humiliate me so?” Madeline despised her weakness. “Could you not have picked another woman and remained discreet?”
“Things are as they are, Dearest.” He stood over her for a long pause, then turned and stalked to the door. “Do not expect my return to your room this evening. I’ll send Tessa to tend you.”
Madeline barely noticed when Tessa quietly entered the room and placed a wet cloth on her head. The coolness brought some measure of relief, and the pain slowly faded into a merciful sleep.
Baby Henry’s lusty cries from the nursery across the hall awoke her sometime later. She opened her eyes, relieved that the pain in her head had dulled to a minor ache. The moon was low in the sky, so she knew it was nearing dawn.
With a sigh, she pushed aside the covers and went to the nursery. Cat’s cot was empty. Cringing, Madeline couldn’t help the vivid image that sprang to her mind. She knew Cat had been sent for and could be found in Henry’s bedroom.
Fighting tears, for herself, for Cat, she reached into the crib. The baby grabbed her finger and brought it to his mouth. “It’s all right, Sweetums,” she cooed. “We’ll get you out of those wet clothes and you’ll be more comfortable.”
Baby Henry stopped wailing at the sound of a sympathetic voice, but as soon as the cool air hit his wet bottom, he screwed up his face and let out a howl loud enough to raise the roof.
“Well, now. Aren’t you the angry little fellow?” Madeline smiled at the baby’s indignant hollering. But she didn’t know what she would do if Cat didn’t arrive soon to feed her son.
When the baby was properly dry and comfortable, Madeline scooped him up and snuggled him close. She stroked his silken head and breathed deeply of his fresh baby scent, accepting comfort from the warmth of his little body. He sighed softly, his head resting against her shoulder. Then, as though realizing this wasn’t the comfort he sought, he bobbed around her neck. Not finding the source of his much-needed meal, he let out a blood-curdling scream.
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 6