The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Shoot, Andy. No need to be mean.” She stood between him and the steps. He’d have to brush past her to return to his room. But he’d definitely made a new commitment today while standing with a rope around his neck.

  “Excuse me.”

  “Sure, Andy.” Her sultry voice had its intended effect. Andy felt himself responding to the way she swayed to the side to let him pass.

  He let his eyes linger too long. A smile slid across her lips and she pressed close as he walked by. She wrapped long, slender fingers around his arm. “We’re alone in the house,” she said, her lips close to his ear. “The family went to a church meeting two counties away. They won’t be back until the wee hours of the morning.”

  Fire shot through his belly as temptation wound a chain around his heart.

  Ella laid her head against his shoulder, her soft breath tickling his neck, her fragrance wafting to his nostrils, clouding his senses.

  He truly did want to make a new start with Lexie. But Ella. . .

  Swallowing hard, he tried something new. Help, God.

  In a beat, he had the answer. “No.” The word seemed to come from outside of him, though he knew he had spoken it.

  “What did you say?” Ella lifted her head and stared into his eyes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her curves against him.

  Help, God. Andy shook her off. “I said no.”

  She stepped back, pressing her hand to her cheek as though she’d received a hard slap. “Do you mean that?”

  “I love my wife. I want to make things right between us. The only way I can do that is to stay away from you.”

  “Aw, Andy. She’d never know.”

  “I would. And that’s enough.”

  “Don’t expect me to offer again.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” A wry grin twisted his lips. “You’re not so easy to resist.”

  She let out a huff, and her face twisted in anger. In that instant, Andy felt no attraction for her at all.

  As she walked away, a feeling of exultation rose inside him. He felt as though he’d passed a test, grown some as a man.

  A smile remained on his lips as he retreated to his room, stretched out on the bed, and opened the diary on his nightstand.

  Chapter Eleven

  December 1867

  After two months passed with no word from Chicago, Cat had begun to believe Stuart Riley had forgotten all about her. But as she stared at the telegram in her trembling hands, the truth came back with startling reality.

  Will arrive in Oak Junction three days before Christmas

  STOP

  Will purchase two tickets for return trip dated December twenty-six

  STOP

  Looking forward to seeing you again

  STOP

  She couldn’t stall much longer. Soon, she would have to make a decision one way or another. Would she accept Stuart’s proposition, or stay at Penbrook?

  “What’s that?”

  Cat jumped at the sound of Camilla’s voice. “Mercy, Camilla. Don’t sneak up on people like that.”

  “I didn’t sneak.” She eyed the telegram. “Who’s it from?”

  “Stuart.”

  Camilla smiled. “That’s lovely. How is he?”

  “You can ask him yourself.” Cat shrugged. “He’s coming for Christmas.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Yes. Isn’t it?” Cat said absently.

  Camilla gave an exasperated huff and planted her hands on her hips, which had become quite round since the lean days of the war. “For heaven’s sake, Cat. He was your beau for three years. Aren’t you the least bit excited that he’s coming?”

  Cat faced Camilla with a forced smile. “Of course I am. I’ll bake a sweet potato pie and we can fix that chestnut stuffing your ma used to make. We haven’t had that since the Christmas--”

  A high-pitched scream pierced the air, cutting off the rest of her comment.

  Henry!

  Cat’s heart lurched at the sound of her boy’s cry. She and Camilla both sprang into action. “Where is he?” Cat said, more to herself than Camilla, as they ran out of the study and into the foyer.

  The door flew open and Shaw rushed inside, cradling the screeching child in his arms. Cat nearly fainted at the sight of blood covering his mouth. “What happened?”

  “He done took a fall.”

  “A fall off of what?” Cat demanded. She looked down at her son’s tearstained face. “You’ve been told over and over not to--”

  “For heaven’s sake, Cat. Let’s take care of his injuries before you fuss at the child.”

  The two women followed on Shaw’s heels as he hurried to the kitchen. He laid Henry on the table.

  “I don’ think he be hurt too awful bad, Miss Cat.” He held the thrashing child down. “Get somethin’ to clean up the blood.”

  Cat could no more have crossed the room for water than she could have carried the cast iron stove on her back. She grabbed Henry’s trembling hand as the room began to spin. Shaw snatched up a wooden chair and pressed it into the back of her knees. “Here, Miss Cat. Sit befo’ you falls down.”

  Giving a grateful nod, she sat heavily, staying firmly at Henry’s side.

  Camilla pumped water into a bowl. She wet a towel and gently began to cleanse away the blood. “There now,” she soothed. “You lost your front tooth. But guess what? You were going to lose it anyway in another year or so.”

  “I wath?”

  Camilla caught him close, mindless of the sticky blood from his shirt staining her yellow bodice. “I’m so happy you’re all right.” She set him back on the table and held him at arm’s length. “Now, young man. Tell me how you lost that tooth.”

  Henry hesitated, averting his gaze.

  “Come on now.” Camilla’s expression held a combination of affection and admonishment. “Let’s have it. The truth.”

  “I fell off Claud.”

  A gasp escaped Cat’s lips. “What were you doing on Claud in the first place? How many times have you been told to stay away from that crazy cow?”

  Henry frowned, undaunted by her scolding. “I had to get on her. Lenny dared me.”

  Shaw chortled. Camilla’s lips tipped upward in an indulgent smile.

  Cat’s ire rose. “Henry Jr., I ought to tan your hide. You could have been killed.”

  Henry scrunched his nose. “I don’t like being called Henry.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Uncle Thomas calls me Hank. So does Uncle Stuart. That’s what I want to be called.”

  “Well, too bad.” Cat stared down the six-year-old. “Your name is Henry Jr. and that is what I will call you.”

  “You have to do as I say. Sissy says you’re nothing more than a servant.”

  Shock weakened Cat’s knees. She shot a glare at Camilla, whose face had suddenly reddened. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, Cat really. Don’t get into a snit about it.”

  Shaw lifted Henry from the table. “C’mon, boy. Let’s go see iffen we can find dat missin’ tooth.”

  Cat turned on Camilla, this close to slapping her stupid face. “How dare you tell him I’m nothing more than a slave!”

  “I never used the word slave.” Lifting the bowl of bloody water, Camilla walked to the door and tossed the contents outside. She looked Cat squarely in the eye. “If memory serves, my exact words were ‘field hand’. Which you are, running about in trousers and riding astride.” Camilla lifted her chin in unrepentant defiance.

  Cat would have loved nothing better than to slap that arrogance right off her face. Instead, she gathered a breath and stared her down. Camilla could rail all she wanted, but the truth of the matter was that Cat ran things at Penbrook. The field hands, male and female, turned to her for instruction. So no matter how spiteful Camilla’s words might be, in truth, she had no power to do anything.

  “Perhaps I should take Henry with me to the fields
in order to keep him from your poorly executed upbringing. I will not have my son become a spoiled lord of the manor with no regard for the feelings of others.” She stepped closer, standing inches from Camilla. “My son will never be like your pa.”

  “No one wants him to be like Pa,” Camilla hissed. “And stop calling Hank your son.”

  “He is my son.” She narrowed her gaze. “And stop calling him Hank.”

  Camilla regarded her, shaking her head. “Do you want him to lose all hope of inheriting Penbrook?”

  Cat grabbed her arm and yanked her close. “I warn you, Camilla, do not even threaten such a thing.”

  “I’m not the one threatening his future, Cat.” Camilla jerked free. “Your recklessness is.”

  “My recklessness? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you know what people are saying about you?”

  Cat narrowed her gaze. “What are people saying?”

  “That you’re an unnatural woman. That you unsex yourself by wearing men’s britches and strutting around in the fields like you’re a man.”

  Laughter formed on Cat’s lips. “Oh, Camilla, what do I care what they think about that? If I don’t run things, who will care for Henry’s inheritance?”

  “You don’t think I would? After all, I love him, too.”

  That much was true. As far as Camilla was capable of loving anything or anyone. But Camilla still held to the notion that one spec of Negro blood lowered a person’s worth. No matter how miniscule the African blood in her son’s body, the taint was there in Camilla’s mind.

  “Do you love the part of him that I contributed?”

  Camilla’s face grew red.

  “If you don’t love all of him, then you don’t love him at all.” Cat turned on her heel and stomped out of the kitchen.

  From Camilla’s diary

  Camilla watched Cat storm out of the kitchen. For heaven’s sake, she could get into a snit quicker than anyone Camilla knew. Or cared to know, for that matter. Of course Camilla loved her little brother. And thankfully, that African part of his blood made up such a small part of him that one couldn’t see it. Even if you looked hard, there was simply no hint of Negro blood in the look of him.

  Camilla wiped down the table, and rinsed and put away the bowl. She set a pot of coffee to brew on the stove and sat at the table, feeling the weight of loneliness.

  The kitchen door swung open just as she was pouring herself a cup.

  “Where’s Cat?” Thomas stood, shaking, in the doorway.

  Camilla shot to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  He held out the telegram Cat had been reading before Henry’s accident. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, Thomas. She was here earlier, but we had words and she stormed off. Probably to the fields.”

  “She’s not in the fields. I just came from there.”

  “Well, there are lots of them, aren’t there? How would you know if you missed her?”

  He scowled and scratched his head, but didn’t argue with her logic. “I suppose I’ll have to wait until she returns to speak to her.” He eyed the coffee. “Any more of that?”

  “Of course.” Camilla’s heart dipped and soared at his boyish grin. “Please sit down and I’ll bring it to you.”

  “Thank you.” He sat, eyeing the telegram once more.

  “You’re positively shaking, Thomas,” Camilla said, setting down a steaming mug in front of him. “What’s that about?”

  “You don’t know what’s in this telegram?”

  “Just that Captain Riley is going to visit at Christmas. Cat was about to tell me more when we heard Hank screaming.” The first part of her statement was the truth, of course. The second a bold lie. Cat hadn’t seen fit to elaborate. But Camilla knew there was something more to Thomas’s angst than simply Stuart coming for a visit.

  Thomas’s head jerk up. “Is Hank all right?”

  Sitting across from him, Camilla spooned sugar into her coffee. “Oh, sure. He just fell off Claud and lost a tooth. Cat overreacted as usual.” She exhaled a breath. “There sure was a lot of blood, though.”

  Thomas shook his head. “That boy is fearless.”

  “Yes.” Impatience grated Camilla’s insides. She had to get the conversation back to that telegram. “So, why are you so upset about Captain Riley coming for Christmas? We’re all quite fond of him, even if he is a Yankee. Is that why you’re so upset? I assumed you’d reconciled yourself to Stuart’s presence long ago. To forbid him a place at dinner would be unforgivable after all he’s done for us.”

  “I’m not talking about the visit. I mean what he has in mind afterward.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He slid the telegram across the table. Camilla read it, her eyes going wide at the implication. “Riley wants to marry Cat and take her away?”

  “It seems so.”

  In a bold move, Camilla reached out and covered Thomas’s hand. “Why shouldn’t she? He knows about her and doesn’t mind that she’s a Negro.”

  Thomas glared and jerked his hand away. “Cat isn’t a Negro.”

  Stung, Camilla clasped her fingers and stared downward. “She really is,” she murmured. “You knew that years ago, when--”

  Thomas shot from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. “For the love of God, Camilla.” He glared down at her. “Have some decency.”

  Shaking, Camilla rose slowly and faced him. “You dare to tell me to have decency? When you and she were found undressed in the hay?”

  He raked his hand through his hair in a frustrated swipe. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Then why didn’t you marry her, take her away?”

  He frowned. “You know I wanted to. She was the one who refused.”

  Heat seared Camilla’s cheeks at the memory of a secret only she carried. A secret she had every intention of taking to her grave.

  “Well, that’s all behind you. Cat made her choice. There’s really nothing you can do about it.”

  He jerked his head up, his eyes blazing with a determination that made Camilla shudder. “Yes, there is something I can do about it. Something I should have done seven years ago.” His boots thudded on the floor as he walked with purposeful strides across the kitchen.

  “Thomas, wait!” Desperation drove Camilla to lower herself to running after a man. Something she swore she’d never do, even if it meant remaining a spinster forever. She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t make a fool of yourself over her. Hasn’t she made fools enough of us?”

  “Fools of us?” He shook his head, his eyes sparking with disgust. “She’s saved us. I intend to convince her to marry me, if she’ll have me.”

  “No! I won’t allow it. I--I’ll expose her for what she is.”

  He gave her a final look of disdain before leaving her standing, staring after him, her heart shattered into a million pieces.

  1948

  The front door crashed open downstairs. Andy heard high-pitched laughter and the hiss of someone being shushed. It had to be Ella. The foolish woman had obviously brought a man home. Buck would fire her in a heartbeat if he knew.

  He set aside Miss Penbrook’s diary and walked across the room. He opened the door just as Ella stumbled up the stairs, intoxicated. “What are you doing, Ella?” He stared past her to a man, who didn’t appear to have been drinking at all.

  Ella sneered and waved her hand. “Go back to your books, Andy. You had your chance.”

  The man laughed and pressed his face against her ear. “He must be a fool.”

  “No, not a fool,” Andy said. “Just decent enough not to take unfair advantage of a woman who has had too many drinks.”

  The man laughed. “You the same decent fella almost got yourself killed by Rafe a couple of weeks ago?”

  Andy’s ears burned. “Maybe I got some sense knocked into me. You think you might need the same thing?”

  “Oh, shoot, Andy. Don’t start acting all tough and manly
. Leroy don’t mean me no harm.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “Do you, Baby?”

  “You know I don’t mean you nothin’ but good, beautiful woman.”

  Andy bristled. “Leroy, if you know Ella very well, you know she works for religious people who wouldn’t want her to have a man in the house.”

  He laughed again. A laugh that was starting to grate on Andy’s nerves. “I don’t see no one around here but you.”

  “That’s not the point. If Buck finds out about you, Ella will lose her job.”

  Ella gasped. “You think so?”

  “You know it’s true. Don’t act like you don’t.”

  She pulled away from Leroy and overcompensated, landing her squarely in Andy’s arms. She pressed her head against his chest and sighed. “Oh, Andy. You trying to save me from getting canned? Thank you.”

  Leroy reached for her, but she yanked her arm away. “Go home, Leroy. I can’t be losing my job.”

  “Woman, you’re driving me crazy!” Leroy plunked his fedora on his head and stomped down the steps. “Don’t expect me to keep coming around after this. I’m through with you this time. For good!”

  “Good riddance,” she said through a yawn.

  Andy slid his arms behind her knees and swung her off her feet. She was half passed out and he didn’t relish trying to coax her down the hall to her room. This seemed easier.

  He maneuvered around her to open the door. Carried her across the room, stooped, and struggled to pull down her covers. Finally, he laid her down, slipped off her shoes, and pulled the quilt to her shoulders.

  With a sigh, she snuggled into her pillow.

  When he reached the door, her soft voice called to him. He turned.

  “Thank you, Andy. Ain’t no one took care of me like this since before my mama died.”

  “It’s okay. Good night, Ella.”

  “Night.” By her mumbled reply, Andy knew she’d most likely be asleep before he reached his own room.

  Chicago

  Lexie tossed on her bed until the bed clothes were wound tightly around her legs. She tugged and wiggled until they came free. Fresh tears slid down her face. She reached for her handkerchief on the nightstand and blew her nose.