The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  “Hey, watch where you’re walking, boy.”

  Andy turned and focused on the deep southern drawl. He glanced up into a red-blonde beard. “I don’t like being called ‘boy.’ ” Angered to see a young, black beauty in the white man’s arms, Andy sneered. “What’s the matter, can’t you find one of your own kind to dance with?”

  “Boy, you better shut your mouth before I forget my manners.”

  Heedless of the warning in the young giant’s voice, Andy continued to vent, all the while seeing Henry’s rotten face. “All you white boys are the same, aren’t you, Bubba? Our girls are good enough for fun, but don’t let anyone see you coming back from the slave quarters.”

  “Leave it alone, Rafe, please,” begged the young black girl in his arms. “He’s just drunk.”

  “That’s right.” Ella grabbed Andy by the arm and tugged. “Come on, Andy. You promised me a dance.”

  Andy jerked away. “I don’t like you, Bubba. I don’t like your kind.” He turned to the girl, whose eyes flashed in anger. “And you should be ashamed, turning your back on your own kind and dancing with this. . .” He pointed at the white man. “. . .this massuh.”

  Rafe glared down at Andy. “Let’s take this outside.”

  “Fine by me.”

  “Please don’t, Rafe. What do we care if he doesn’t like us dancing? He’s just an ignorant drunk. Let’s go, please. Come on, baby. Don’t ruin our time together.”

  Rafe looked into her pleading eyes and, for an instant, Andy recognized a look of tenderness. But when he fixed his steely baby blues on Andy, all traces of tenderness were gone. “Sure, Baby,” he said, never taking his iron gaze from Andy’s. “We’ll go.”

  Ella breathed a sigh of relief as they walked away. She turned to Andy with reproachful eyes. “Honey, you’re going to have to ease up. Rafe and Ruthie have been seeing each other for two years. They’d get married if her family would go for it. And I’d bet my last dime it won’t be long before they run off and do it anyway. Rafe is good to her. Always has been. And I’ve never seen a man more in love. You’re lucky his sweet Ruthie can’t stand violence, or Rafe would have flattened you and hung you on Georgie’s wall for decoration.”

  “I’d like to see him try it,” Andy sneered.

  Ella grinned up at him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I wouldn’t. I you’re your face just the way it is. Besides, I thought we were going to dance.”

  Her soft curves distracted Andy, clouding his senses. He could see her mouth moving, but had no idea what she said.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind, Honey, we don’t have to talk.” She laid her head on his shoulder and began to sway with the music. “My sweet embraceable you.” She sang, her breath tickling his neck.

  Andy’s blood warmed, despite his confusion. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her closer, drinking in her sweet scent. She stroked his head, his shoulders, his back until, unable to take any more, he pulled away, enough so that he could look into her dark eyes. Her message was clear. Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he was resisting her in the first place. It had been months since he’d held a pliable woman in his arms. And he liked it.

  Unbidden, Lexie’s face came to his mind. He hesitated, guilt sifting the desire from him. Then, as quickly, came the memory of Robert. With his family. Just how far had Lexie allowed Robert to replace him anyway?

  “Are you okay?” Ella’s soft voice broke through. He watched her lips as they formed his name. “Andy?”

  In an instant he covered her mouth with his, then became lost as she softened against him, kissing him back with a fervor that fed his passion.

  The music ended and Ella pulled away, bringing Andy slowly to his senses.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.” But he did know. She was a willing body and he was a warm-blooded man trying to forget that the woman he loved wanted someone else. And he had no one to blame but himself. “Let’s go, okay? I need to walk off this booze.” He stumbled as if to punctuate his words.

  Ella chuckled and took his arm. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”

  Andy tried to focus on his feet, wishing the floor would be still before he fell on his face.

  “Oh, boy. You’re sloshed. Wait here,” she commanded. “I’ll get your hat and jacket and we’ll be just in time to catch the last bus home.”

  Andy leaned heavily against the wall for support. He watched the people walking by; they swayed and Andy swayed with them.

  “Whoa, there, Yankee boy.” Ella caught his arm. “Careful. You just about hit the ground.”

  The humid warmth of the evening did nothing to alleviate Andy’s spinning head. If possible, he felt worse. Time seemed to stand still and run together at once, and Andy regretted taking that first drink. Without Ella he would be helpless. Men and women on the sidewalks hooted and called to them as they walked past.

  “Ella, Sweetie,” one man sneered, “what are you doing wasting your time with that fool? You know you could be taking me home and tucking me into bed. All he’s going to do is pass out.”

  “You can dream if it makes you happy, Leroy,” Ella shot back. “You know that’s all of me you’re going to get.”

  Indignant, Andy tried to locate the offensive man, but Ella held him firmly by the arm. “Lemme teach him how to speak to a lady.”

  She laughed. “Honey, you’re having trouble speaking to a lady yourself. Besides, if I let you go you’ll fall on your face, and how’ll I look then? I have my pride, you know.”

  Andy stopped and grabbed her, suddenly filled with an onrush of gratitude. “You’re so nice, Ella. I like you. And I like kissing you.” He leaned forward. Ella’s eyes grew enormous and she gasped, looking past him.

  “Rafe, no!”

  The earth spun, and Andy came face to face with Rafe’s hard eyes and fist.

  *****

  Something bit into Andy’s lip as he slowly came to consciousness. He tried to sit up, but pain slammed into his head and sent him back down with a moan.

  “Don’t try to get up, Son. Ol’ Rafe sure did a number on you.”

  Andy struggled to open his eyes. Panic rose inside him. “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  “Your right eye is completely swollen shut and the other one probably will be by morning.”

  It all came back to him. Rafe. “Who are you?”

  “Dr. Mayfield. A friend of Buck and Lottie’s.”

  “I’m back in my room?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what’s the damage?” he asked. “How long before my eyes work again?”

  “A few days maybe. You probably have a concussion, and your ribs are definitely bruised, if not cracked. I have them taped, and I advise limited to no movement for the next several days. Do you want to know how Ella is?”

  “Ella?” Alarm shot through Andy. “Did he hurt her?”

  “No. She’s fine. Lucky for you, she stepped between you and Rafe or you probably wouldn’t be with us.”

  “There were at least twenty black men on the street. How come they just stood by and let a white man beat one of their kind senseless?”

  “Let me tell you something. Everyone around here knows Rafe. He’s helped more families than I can count in more ways than I can count, and he does it because he wants to. He’s in love with one of ours, but of course he can’t marry her. You, on the other hand, are a married man, kissing and groping one of our girls in public, so drunk you can hardly stand without help.”

  Shame cut a line in Andy’s heart and he swore to himself never to touch another drop of booze as long as he lived. His head pounded, and he wished the doc would just give him some aspirin and let him sleep. But the doctor didn’t seem inclined to put him out of his misery just yet.

  “Loyalty runs deep around here. And those men on the street, who you think should have come to your rescue...Rafe has their loyalty because he’s earned it. You insulted little Ruthie. Ten men would have been
happy to do the same thing Rafe did to you. So be glad he didn’t give them each a turn at your face.”

  “As bad as I feel, I don’t think a few more blows would make much difference anyway.”

  The doctor chuckled, and Andy heard his bag snap shut. “You might be right. Take it easy, and I’ll be back to see you in the morning. I left some pills by your bed in case the pain gets too bad. But I wouldn’t get too used to them if I were you.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  The door closed and Andy settled back. What was he supposed to do now? Lexie’s mother was right. If she’d told him once, she’d told him a hundred times, he was his own worst enemy. And right now, he was inclined to agree. Still, if he couldn’t see to read, he’d never get his research finished. He groaned and slammed his fist against the bed.

  His body felt like he had been hit with a wrecking ball, and he longed for Lexie’s soothing touch. She always seemed to know just what kind of care he needed when he was sick.

  Lexie. . .

  He drifted to sleep, dreaming of her sweet voice and gentle hands.

  *****

  After hours of fitful sleep, Lexie awoke, unable to shake the feeling of dread – her constant companion since Robert’s visit two nights before. She shook her head in the predawn darkness. How could she have come so close to allowing another man to kiss her? Not only had she almost allowed it, she’d been disappointed when they were interrupted. Had she completely lost her sense of morality? She cringed to think what Mama and Pop would say if they knew. Mama had said plenty at the mere suspicion after Robert had left.

  “God, what am I going to do?” She thumbed the gold band Andy had lovingly slipped onto her finger eleven years ago. A smiled touched her lips at the thought of him so long ago. Fresh out of college, he had worked in her parents’ cafe while he pounded the pavement trying to find a writing job. Filled with ambition, he had been rejected by every white-owned and -operated newspaper in Chicago until Mr. Daniel Riley of the Chicago Observer had called him, offering him a job writing obituaries and selling advertisements to local businesses. For some reason, Andy had resisted, but finally, at Lexie’s insistence, he agreed to go to work for the man. Only later had Lexie realized the two men shared some sort of past. Though Andy refused to discuss it.

  He’d moved up quickly, despite the resentment he was forced to contend with every day from his coworkers. White men who felt Andy should work for the Defender or another exclusively black newspaper. But Andy wanted real exposure in the mainstream. He wanted to report on black issues. But also white issues. American issues.

  Andy firmly believed in fighting ignorance with truth. If coloreds were ever to gain equal footing with the whites, he believed it would come as a natural progression of integration into white society. Not by fighting or demanding rights. Lexie had told him he was a dreamer. No white paper was going to hire him. But he refused to give up, and he had been right.

  Lexie still didn’t understand how it had happened. Mama said, “Some things you just have to leave in the hands of almighty God and thank Him for the miracles when they happen.” But even she had to admit, this one was a mighty big miracle, and it wasn’t as though Andy was a praying man.

  With Andy’s first paycheck and the money they’d saved during two years of marriage, they had moved out of Mama and Pop’s basement and into their own little flat. They were so happy back then. Lexie did domestic work, and Andy came home each night, his hands covered in ink. He was ecstatic. Filled with dreams for the future, of the day when they would have a home of their own, a car. And children. Lots and lots of strapping boys to carry on his name. Tears pricked Lexie’s eyes. She’d failed him in that department. Twice.

  Andy said it didn’t matter. But to Lexie, it was all that mattered. She wanted him to have his dreams. And she had ruined this one for him. No wonder he never came home to face the reminder. No wonder he wanted to be with other women. What could a man like Andy possibly want with half a woman?

  *****

  Andy leaned against the four propped pillows on his bed and tried to organize his thoughts into anything that might make sense for a first chapter. An award-winning book that would launch him right into the New York Times or the Washington Post. He would love to move Lexie to New York City.

  A light tap on the door distracted Andy from his Fifth Avenue fantasy. He glanced up, then scowled. Even after three days, he couldn’t see a blasted thing through his swelled eyes.

  “It’s me, Andy. Can I come in?”

  Irritation rolled through him at the honey-toned southern drawl. This was all Ella’s fault. If she hadn’t been trying to seduce him with her luscious curves and perfume and soft lips. . .

  “Andy? Are you sleeping?”

  “Come in,” he said grudgingly.

  She did.

  “What do you want?”

  “Well, shoot, Andy. You don’t have to be so snarly. I just came to change your bedding.”

  “I don’t need it changed.”

  “Yes, you do. And I’m opening a window. It stinks in here. Now, what do you want to wear today?”

  “Are you going to change me, too?”

  “Not unless you want me to, Sweetie.” She kept her voice low and suggestive.

  “What I’m wearing is fine. It’s not like I can go anywhere.”

  Ella clucked her tongue and released a loud sigh.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing,” she said with another sigh.

  “Fine.”

  “I just never took you for the type to bull up and feel sorry for yourself.”

  “Who says I am?”

  “Ha! Don’t freshen my bed.” Her mimicking tone sent heat to Andy’s ears. “Let me stay in dirty, stinky clothes. I want to pout because I got my face bashed in.”

  “Pout?”

  “Yes. And let me tell you, Yankee boy, you deserved that roughing up you got from Rafe.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Andy said wryly.

  “Anyway. . .” Her tone softened. “There’s a bath running for you, and Buck’s coming up in a few minutes to help you get up out of bed and down the hall. By the time you get back here, I’ll have your bed all nice and fresh for you. Now, what clothes should I get out?”

  *****

  Andy returned to his room an hour later to the scent of freshly starched linens, the sounds of traffic and laughter on the street from the open window, and the clean scent of a dusted and swept room. He had to hand it to Ella. She’d made things more comfortable.

  He settled onto his bed just as Ella returned with a tray. “I brought your lunch.”

  Andy wasn’t particularly hungry, but mealtime broke up the monotony of sitting in the half-light.

  “Thanks.”

  She set the tray on his lap, the soft fragrance of her rose-scented perfume quickening his pulse. The bed moved as she sat next to him. “Andy?”

  “Yeah?” He felt around on the tray, self-conscious to know she was watching his feeble attempts at trying to do a task that he had always taken for granted. Eating. One of those things a person should be able to do without thinking. But trying to find his fork, cut his meat, separate his food... He preferred to eat alone, where he wouldn’t humiliate himself.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I think I’ll just wait awhile.”

  “Shoot, Andy. Just eat. Here, take your sandwich.”

  Andy felt the bread in his hands and sent her a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

  “Now, listen. I talked it over with Mr. Purdue, and he says I can stay up here and read to you for a while.” She released a throaty laugh. “As long as I keep the door open.”

  “That’s not really--” He was going to say “necessary,” but she gave him no chance.

  “Don’t mention it. You can’t just sit up here every day all by yourself with nothing to do. You’ll go crazy. The least we can do is read to you.”

  “We?”

  “Yep. Buck liked my idea so m
uch he said we can take turns.”

  Andy shifted uncomfortably. “Why should any of you put yourself out like this?”

  He felt Ella lean closer. “To tell you the truth, I like being around you. But Buck and Lottie are good people and they just want to help.”

  Andy’s blood warmed at her nearness. It was probably a good thing that door had to stay open. “Okay, then. How about grabbing the diary on the nightstand and you can start reading where I have the place marked. And would you mind sitting in the chair instead of on the bed? When you move it makes my ribs hurt.” A small but necessary lie.

  She gave a low chuckle, obviously aware of her effect on him, and moved away. “Okay, Handsome, here goes.”

  Christmas, 1861

  Cat stood in baby Henry’s nursery, staring out at the carriage block below. Her heart raced and she snuggled her son closer. “He’s here,” she whispered against a downy head.

  Mr. Hanson stepped out of the carriage, tall and handsome like Thomas. Cat shuddered, remembering the kindness in his eyes when he’d silently beseeched her to let Thomas go. She had been grateful for his gentleness at the time, but as she watched him bend gracefully over Camilla’s hand, then offer her his arm, hatred surged through Cat.

  Camilla would not have Thomas. Even if Cat couldn’t have him, she’d die before allowing Camilla Penbrook anywhere near him.

  Pushing away the dark thoughts, she caught her breath as Thomas emerged. Even from the window, she could feel the warmth of his presence. Cat noted with a sense of satisfaction that he hesitated before accepting Henry’s proffered hand, then shook it stiffly. He had not forgotten either.

  “Look up, Thomas,” she whispered.

  As though he had heard, Thomas raised his chin. For a moment his gaze captured hers and his eyes widened. Hope sprang inside her. Perhaps Thomas didn’t despise her after all. She raised her hand to the window. He kept his eyes fixed on hers for only a breath of time, then pressed his lips together in a hard line and looked away.

  Tears pricked Cat’s eyes. She turned in defeat from the window. She laid the sleeping baby in his crib, then sat on her cot, tears sliding down her cheeks. Hugging her legs to her chest, she rested her forehead on her knees and allowed the tears to flow.