The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  She learned to enjoy his kisses and caresses. Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued a more intimate relationship, though Cat suspected he frequented the fancy women in town.

  Rather than anger her, the thought relieved her. As long as he was satisfied elsewhere, he would leave her be. Once she’d thought he might propose marriage, and she would have accepted in order to have help caring for Penbrook. But one day, it had dawned on Cat that Camilla’s Missouri grandparents were wealthy, and they had investments in the North. It had taken time for mail to start making it to Oak Junction. But once the letters started flowing again, she’d coerced Camilla into writing, and her grandparents had straightaway sent a bank draft.

  Now that ignorant girl wanted to buy gowns and furniture and carpets for the floors. At least she also wanted to buy a cow or two and some chickens and pigs. That was something, but it wasn’t enough to sustain the plantation and leave Henry the inheritance he was promised.

  The library door opened and Camilla flounced into the foyer, followed by Shaw. She slapped a stack of money into Cat’s hand. “There. Take it. Buy your plows and seeds and mules. But I’d like you to also buy enough material for three dresses for me and one for you. No, two. One nice one and one to work in, as I’m sure you won’t allow anyone to oversee the fields but you.”

  Cat fought to squelch the excitement rising at the thought of fields white with cotton. Little Henry’s fields. Penbrook would be more profitable than it had ever been. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Shaw needs a new shirt and some trousers. And little Henry has all but worn through what he hasn’t outgrown. Mind you pick out material for those as well. And everyone must have new shoes.”

  Cat began mentally calculating how much she thought those items might cost. “All right. Shaw and I will go to Atlanta in the morning. We’ll need to go into Oak Junction first and buy another wagon and a couple of mules.” She turned to Shaw. “We’ll need some of your men to help load and unload supplies. Can you speak with them tonight? Bring at least three. Ask them to be ready first thing in the morning, all right?”

  “Yes’m.” He nodded to each woman, then strode across the foyer and out the heavy door.

  “Cat, surely you don’t intend to travel thirty miles with four darkies? How on earth will it look? I mean, we know what you are, but you do look white.”

  Bitter laughter bubbled to Cat’s lips. “I don’t care how it looks. All I know is that I need supplies. And I’m taking no chances that a shopkeeper might not give Shaw a fair deal.”

  “Shaw is smarter than most,” Camilla defended her friend. “He won’t let himself be hornswaggled.”

  “He won’t intentionally, but he doesn’t know how to figure his numbers, nor can he read. He can’t negotiate until he learns those things.”

  “Then I shall teach him.” The determination on Camilla’s face left no room for doubt.

  “I think that would be very nice of you.”

  Surprise shot to Camilla’s eyes. “Well, then, perhaps you’d best buy a couple of books and a slate and pencil while you’re in Atlanta.”

  Cat scowled. If she’d known it would cost more money, she’d have let Shaw stay illiterate. She sighed. “Fine. But that’s all. The rest of the money goes straight for supplies.”

  “You’re doing all this for little Henry, aren’t you?” Camilla asked. “If not for him, you would have left long ago, despite the promise to Mother that we stick together. Wouldn’t you?”

  Cat regarded her evenly. “Yes. Your pa promised Henry would inherit this land and I aim to see he has it.”

  “What about me?”

  “You have your mother’s inheritance. You don’t need Penbrook. My son is going to inherit the land. I know where the will is and I know your pa made good on his word.” That was the one decent thing he had done.

  “Oh, who cares anyway? I don’t intend to live here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

  “Missus, we gots company,” Shaw’s voice carried from the porch.

  Cat frowned and looked at Camilla. “Who on earth?”

  Camilla shrugged and headed toward the door, leaving Cat to follow.

  “Oh, my!” Cat heard Camilla shriek.

  “What?” Camilla blocked her view. Impatiently, Cat pushed around her. She gasped at the sight of the man standing next to Shaw. “Thomas,” she whispered.

  “This be Mister Thomas?” Shaw directed his question to Camilla. Irritation shot through Cat. What exactly had Shaw been told?

  There wasn’t time to wonder. Thomas’s face lit up at the sight of Cat and Camilla. “You two are a refreshing sight.”

  Cat couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat. Quick tears sprang to her eyes.

  Camilla squealed as though she were still the adolescent girl she’d been the last time Thomas had stood on this porch. She flew into his arms. Thomas’s laughter rang into the air as he swung her around. He set her down, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her soundly on the lips. “You’re still as beautiful as I remembered.”

  Jealousy burned in Cat’s stomach. Pain clutched her chest, squeezing breath from her lungs. Her head began to swim, and before she knew it darkness engulfed her.

  From Camilla’s diary

  Thomas is home. Thomas is home. Thomas is home. And I think he loves me. He certainly seemed happy to see me. He brings with him the news of my father’s death. I feel little grief. Cat is, of course, jubilant.

  I’ve watched Cat and Thomas carefully. There seems to be nothing left of the childhood love they shared. She is content with Stuart Riley, I believe.

  Thomas returned to Atlanta to find his home burned to the ground. He discovered from a friend that his mother has traveled to Texas to join his sister’s family. With his father dead the second year of the war, Thomas is alone. We have invited him to live at Penbrook. He has gratefully accepted and vows to help in any way he can. I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he proposes marriage.

  Chapter Nine

  Chicago

  Lexie stared at Dr. Harmon as a slow smile played beneath his mustache. “First time I ever saw you shocked to silence.” He chuckled at his joke, and reached out to help Lexie sit up on the cold, sterile examining table.

  “I. . .Are you sure, doctor?” Another disappointment would be more than she could bear. She had to be absolutely positive before she could stand to get her hopes up.

  “Little girl, I’ve been delivering babies for nearly thirty years. I think I know by now when there’s a bun in the oven.” He patted her leg. “Now, get yourself dressed and come see me in my office. We’ll talk about what to expect the next few months. Not exactly a spring chicken are you? You’ll have to take extra care.”

  Lexie’s cheeks warmed.

  A bubble of excitement shot through her as she watched the doctor leave the room.

  She practically floated along the busy sidewalks toward home, her secret securely tucked away, safe, protected from harm. A smile refused to be stifled, her joy spilling over to everyone who passed by. A baby! Her baby! After all these years.

  Why now?

  No, she wouldn’t even think about the whys of it. Rather she would revel in unspeakable joy and imagine the warmth of holding her baby in her arms.

  Her monthly cycles had been sporadic at best her entire adult life, so cessation had come as no real surprise. When she’d stopped bleeding a few months back, she’d assumed her days for bearing children had ended. She’d almost been relieved. No more hoping month after month. No more crying every time her hopes were dashed.

  The thought that she might be pregnant this time hadn’t even entered her mind. Conception must have occurred right before Andy’s last fling. Right before she moved out of their apartment and into Mama’s house.

  Andy.

  She would stop seeing Robert immediately, of course. Thank God she hadn’t given in to his tempting and repeated offer to share his bed. Andy would have no cause to wonder whether this was his bab
y or not. Given that she was at least four months along, he should know better anyway. But thankfully she could honestly tell him she’d remained faithful.

  They were going to have plenty of hurdles to jump if their marriage was to survive. Andy’s infidelities alone were going to be difficult enough. Her heart clenched at the thought. Funny how only yesterday she’d been sure her love for Andy was a thing of the past. Now, as she looked down at the small bulge in her stomach--a bulge she’d thought a result of Mama’s home cooking--love stronger than reason swelled her heart. Love for her child and for her child’s father.

  Oh, Andy. I’m finally giving you a baby.

  Georgia, 1948

  The old lady was more coherent this time. She rattled on for two hours. Thomas this, Henry Jr. that. Shaw, Camilla, Cat. The sharecroppers. She never spoke in first person. Every time she told a story, it was as though she hadn’t been part of the fascinating tales, but only a spectator. He wasn’t sure how much she was remembering and how much she’d simply learned or remembered from reading the diaries herself.

  The biggest question plaguing his mind since reading the last diary still hadn’t been answered, though. He waited for her to pause, then he broached the topic. “I have a question, Miss Penbrook.”

  She glared at him, her toothless bottom gums pressing out beyond her top lip. “I don’t like being interrupted, boy.”

  Annoyance shot through him. “Then we’re even,” he said without taking even a second to consider his words. “I don’t like being called boy.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. She chuckled. “I supposed I don’t blame you. What’s your question?”

  “You haven’t mentioned Thomas in a while. You’ve talked about buying supplies, gathering sharecroppers from among Shaw’s friends. Talked about plowing and planting and the first profitable harvest. But nothing about Thomas from a personal level. As a writer, I’m aware that you might have kept Penbrook as a pen name. So, which of you did he choose? You or Cat?

  Miss Penbrook heaved a sigh. “I thought you might ask that. It wasn’t so much as who he chose as who we decided should have him.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  She leveled her gaze at him. “You will.”

  From Camilla’s diary

  1867

  Camilla stood on the wide porch and listened for the sound of the wagons returning from the fields. Long, lonely days with only Henry Jr. as company left her desperate for conversation. Why Cat felt the need to work in the fields alongside the Negroes and the men was beyond Camilla’s understanding.

  Thomas, too, spent his days in the fields. At first Camilla fought against the outrage of Thomas working beside the darkies like a common field hand. But Thomas had been adamant. “I have to do my fair share of the work, Camilla. Penbrook needs every able bodied man in the fields, white and Negro.” He’d smiled. “Besides, I think I’m getting the hang of planting and picking cotton. You should be proud of me.”

  She’d stopped protesting after that, and life became routine. Planting, waiting, harvesting. Back to planting. The waiting was finally over and now they were harvesting for the second year. The first year had yielded a minor profit for the plantation, and Cat had allowed Camilla to begin fixing up the house after the years they had been forced to neglect its upkeep.

  Allowed.

  Somehow, Cat had become the unofficial head of the house. Everyone looked to her for guidance, even Thomas. The one time Camilla complained to Thomas about a Negress giving orders, he’d turned on her, fury in his eyes. “Cat is no more a Negress than you are, Camilla Penbrook. She’s the reason you and I have food on the table. For God’s sake, show some gratitude!”

  Stunned to silence and hurt beyond words, Camilla had refrained from mentioning that it was, after all, her money that had funded Cat’s venture, and without Shaw and the other free darkies, Cat wouldn’t have known how to plant or care for the cotton, let alone how to bring in the harvest.

  Was Camilla the only one who saw the truth?

  Despite the fact that Cat was a woman, and therefore had no business managing a plantation, she was also nothing more than a former slave in the Penbrook household. It wasn’t fitting or proper for her to be in charge. But Thomas’s defense of Cat made it impossible for Camilla to restore the correct order of things.

  If Thomas had no objection to taking orders from a woman, then by all rights, Camilla should be in charge. She’d be happy to turn over control to Thomas if he’d propose marriage. He could take his place as the master of Penbrook. But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to ask for her hand.

  In fact, he barely even noticed her anymore. Was there something between Cat and Thomas that had escaped her notice?

  Surely not. After all, Cat still made time to see Captain Riley when he came to visit. The tension between the two men was thick as dumplings. But Camilla wanted the captain to keep coming around. As long as he distracted Cat, she wasn’t focusing her attention on Thomas.

  When she heard the sound of horse’s hooves in the distance, Camilla hurried inside to set the table for supper. She pumped water into the coffeepot, carefully measured grounds into it, and set it on the stove to boil. Thomas enjoyed a cup each day when he came in from the fields.

  She returned to the porch just as the rider dismounted. Disappointment gnawed her stomach. Stuart Riley. Not Thomas.

  He removed his hat. “Good evening, Miss Camilla.”

  “Good evening. What brings you out so late in the day?”

  “I’ve just received news, and I need to speak with Cat. Is she here?”

  Camilla shook her head. “I’m afraid not. She hasn’t returned from the fields. Would you care to come in and wait? I’ve just put on a pot of coffee, and supper will be ready soon. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

  He shook his head, already hanging his boot in the stirrup to remount his horse. “I’m afraid there isn’t time. I’ll just ride out and find her.”

  Camilla watched him ride across the fields into the red horizon, where the sun displayed its glorious departure from this day. Her curiosity mingled with a sense of excitement. Had Riley finally decided the time had come to ask for Cat’s hand? A smile tipped the corners of her lips. What would tomorrow bring?

  From Cat’s diary

  1867

  Cat gripped the reins tighter as the sound of horse’s hooves gave the mules an excuse to nervously pull in different directions. Irritation shot through her as she looked up, trying to figure out who was coming down the dusty road.

  “Riley.” The disgust in Thomas’s voice at Stuart’s presence always gave Cat a bit of a thrill. Thomas maintained his distance from her. But that didn’t keep her from catching him, in unguarded moments, staring at her with longing in his eyes. He’d been home for nearly a year and a half, but had never sought to be alone with her. At first the disappointment had been nearly more than she could bear. But as time went on, she grew accustomed to the pleasure of simple things. Seeing him play with his son, work in the fields alongside Shaw and the others, evenings in the sitting room listening lazily while Camilla read poetry or the occasional novel aloud. The routine had become pleasant and familiar.

  Though she’d been tempted to reveal Henry Jr.’s true paternity, she’d decided against it. Thomas had nothing to give her son. As Henry Penbrook Jr., he would inherit everything she was working so hard to build for him.

  A sense of dread formed a ball in her stomach as Stuart’s eyes met hers in grim greeting.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need to speak with you alone.”

  Thomas reined in his horse alongside the wagon and glared at Stuart. “Cat needs to go home and eat something. She didn’t even stop for lunch today.”

  “This is important.”

  The urgency in his voice sent alarm through her. “It’s all right.” She looked from Shaw to Thomas. “You go on back to the house. I’ll be along soon.”

  Thomas glowered, his jealousy appar
ent. Cat couldn’t understand why he didn’t speak for himself if he still cared for her.

  Riley dismounted and held out his hand to help her down. “Let’s walk by the river.”

  Cat nodded, slipping her hand in his. He helped her into his saddle then swung up behind her. His silence unsettled Cat, and she followed his example, not speaking until they dismounted at the river’s edge. Then she could bear it no more. “What’s this all about, Stuart?”

  He looked across the water, where the setting sun shimmered off the ripples brought on by a south wind. He took a sharp breath and tightened his fingers around hers. “I’m going home.”

  Cat knew the home he was talking about was not Atlanta, where he’d been stationed since the end of the war. After three years away, he was going back to Chicago. Her mind flashed with the image of life without the occasional diversion of Stuart to brighten her life.

  She sighed. “When?”

  “My train leaves in the morning.”

  Alarm seized her. “So soon?”

  “I just received word that my father died two weeks ago. I must return home immediately. My mother needs me to keep the newspapers rolling.

  Disappointment swept through Cat. “I’ll miss you.” Her stomach jumped as she realized her words were true. She would miss Stuart, more than she’d ever imagined. When had he become more than a diversion? Although she knew she didn’t love him the way she loved Thomas, her feelings had grown beyond mere fondness. She’d been so busy working sunup to sundown, she hadn’t even noticed.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something. I tried once before, but. . .” He scowled and shrugged. “I chose the coward’s way out.”

  Cat’s stomach tightened at his words. At the clenching of his jaw. “What is it?”

  He swallowed hard and turned to face her, taking her other hand. “Cat, I--I’m married.”