Suddenly the tiny presence inside her protested the lack of food in her stomach. She slung off the wrinkled sheets and beelined for the bathroom, retching, dry heaving, then collapsing into a heap on the bathroom floor, sobbing her misery and loneliness.
After a time, she heard the creak of the door. Mama knelt beside her and gathered her into warm, comforting arms. A gentle hand caressed her head. “Oh, my baby girl.”
“What am I going to do, Mama? Andy doesn’t want me anymore.”
“Did he say that?”
“All but.”
“Well, ‘all but’ ain’t saying, now, is it?” Mama adjusted so she faced Lexie. “I ’spect he don’ want ya where ya might get hurt.”
“So he says.”
“Well, now. Den ya jus’ gots to trust him.”
Lexie gave a short laugh and pulled away, standing. “Sure, Mama. I’ll wait and trust him.”
“Now, don’ be disrespectful.” She grunted. “Honey, help yo’ mama up from dis here flo’.” She heaved up from the floor and draped a flabby arm around Lexie’s shoulders. “Come on. I’s gonna hep you back to yo’ bed an’ tuck ya in jus’ like a little lamb.”
Lexie allowed it. It was nice to be taken care of. If only Andy could find it in his heart to be protective toward her. Toward their baby. If only he still wanted her.
Georgia
A crash woke Andy from a sound sleep. He sat bolt upright. Exasperated, he flung off the covers. That Ella. She was going to get herself fired. He opened the bedroom door. Rough hands grabbed him either side of the door frame.
“I told you this wasn’t over, nigger.” The voice came from behind a white hood, but there was no mistaking the hate-filled eyes staring out from the holes. Sam. Hot fear seared through every nerve in Andy’s body.
“Get him outside,” Sam ordered the two men in white behind him.
They dragged Andy down the steps and muscled him to the lawn. There would be no saving him this time. He was dead for sure.
Protect Ella, God. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt.
A dozen men, all dressed in white, let up a roar when he appeared. A flaming cross stood in the yard, burning part of Lottie’s lawn. More rough hands seized him and tore Andy’s shirt from his body. Two men bound his wrists and slung the end of the rope over a low-hanging branch of Lottie’s favorite maple tree. His arms burned as the men stretched them above his head.
Relief that the rope wasn’t around his neck quickly gave way to horror at the first snap of a bullwhip. Pain sliced through him as his back ripped open beneath the blow. A scream tore from his lips before he could bite it back. With the second lash, he held it in. By the tenth, he was losing consciousness. How did his ancestors stand up under the abuse?
The crack of a gun stopped the whipping. “You boys get on outta here.”
“Mind your own business, sheriff. This uppity colored needs a lesson, and we’re giving him one.”
“What’s he done?”
Silence. What a bunch of cowards.
“That’s what I figured. If you’re not gone in the next two minutes, I’m going to arrest every last one of you.”
Slowly, mumbling, the Klan dispersed.
Andy felt the rope slacken and he would have lost his footing had the sheriff not caught him. “Take it easy, boy. We’ll get you to the hospital lickety-split.”
“No!”
“Andy, don’t be a mule.” Ella’s voice penetrated the fuzzy darkness. “You have to go to the hospital this time. I’m going to try to put a temporary dressing on your wounds. It’s going to hurt like the dickens.”
At her first ministering touch, Andy succumbed to darkness.
He awoke in the hospital, pain lacing his body, his mind screaming against the injustice.
“Well, look who’s finally awake.”
He turned his head toward the sound of Buck’s voice. “Sorry for bringing this to your doorstep.”
Buck nodded. “I guess it ain’t your fault.”
“I’ll leave as soon as I get out of here.”
“No need for that kinda talk. ‘Sides, the doc says you’re gonna need a few days to rest an’ make sure infection don’t set in.”
Pain screamed through his body every waking minute for three days. Medication kept him in and out of sleep during that time. Finally, on the fourth day after the whipping, he woke finally believing he might actually live through his ordeal.
He fussed incessantly to be allowed to go home. But his requests fell on the deaf ears of every nurse attending him. Finally, late that evening, a large, commanding black nurse brought him a set of clothing. “Get yourself ready to go.”
“At night?”
“You want to get shot leaving the hospital?” She pushed out her lower lip and waddled to the door. “Leaving in the dark is your best chance of getting home without getting lynched.”
Submitting to the logic, Andy waited for her to exit the room, then he dressed, eager to get out of the sterile environment.
He couldn’t help the dread at the thought of what might happen to him next. So far he’d been beaten practically senseless--but he supposed he deserved that one--had almost been dragged down the road tied to the back of a truck, and now was whipped to within an inch of his life. He could easily have been killed all three times. Why was he still alive?
When he reached the back entrance of the hospital, a horse and wagon stood there waiting. He vaguely recognized the old-timer who had given him a ride his first day in Oak Junction.
“’Evenin’, young feller. Ole Jeb’s here to take you home.”
“I’m obliged.” With great difficulty, Andy climbed into the seat.
The jostling wagon took him through parts of town he’d never seen. Nothing looked familiar, but Andy figured the old man was just trying to avoid being seen. When they left town, suspicion began to nip his mind.
“Where are we going?”
“Jus’ takin’ ya where I’s told.”
“Where’s that?”
“Miz Penbrook tol’ me you jus’ gonna get yo’self kilt if ya stay anywheres else. So Miz Delta done tole me, ‘Ol’ Jeb, you go fetch that fool boy’s things and don’t you forget dem books. He gonna be needin’ ’em.’ So tha’s jus’ what I done.”
“They moved me out to Miss Penbrook’s without even asking?”
“I reckon. And betwixt you an’ me, it seem like de best thing.”
“I guess.”
“Fo’ sho’. No one gonna burn no crosses at Miz Penbrook’s place. No black nor white. Prob’ly the only place you is gonna be safe until ya go back to that Chi-ca-gy ya come from.”
Andy let the man’s assessment sink in. As long as he remained at Buck’s he’d be putting them in danger. Jeb was right. Staying at the Penbrook plantation was the smartest choice.
They approached the enormous home beneath the light of a large moon. A startling sense of déjà vu shook him. He pushed the feeling aside and focused on the good fortune of staying at Penbrook. He would get answers much faster this way.
Still, unease tightened his gut. The more he read the diaries, the more vivid his memories had become. The more disturbing the questions about his childhood down here in Georgia. Did he really want to find answers? Or, as Miss Penbrook had mentioned the day he’d arrived, would knowledge be more of a chain around his neck?
From Cat’s diary
I overheard something today that could change everything. Thomas wanted to marry me all those years ago. I’m not sure why he believes I refused him. But I am positive Camilla knows. I have not allowed myself to be alone with Thomas, as he vowed to marry me. I heard the words, but the joy I expected to feel at such a declaration was absent from my heart. Oh, why? Why am I not beside myself with happiness? Isn’t this what I’ve dreamed of for seven years? That Thomas would marry me and take me away from here to raise our son?
Camilla has threatened to reveal my true heritage. To tell anyone who will listen that I’m nothing more than
a former slave. I heard her say so to Thomas. She hates me that much.
I must speak with her before I go. I wonder if I should I confess to Thomas that little Henry is his son?
I’m so confused. The only thing I am absolutely sure of is that Henry Jr. must have what is rightfully his. I will not jeopardize his future for anything. Not even his father.
Chapter Twelve
“What sort of fool are you, Sam?” Samuel Andrew Dane, young Sam’s father, slammed his fist down hard on his desk, knocking over the photograph of Mary Ann, his late wife. “If you’d killed that boy, you’d have been arrested for murder. He isn’t like the coloreds around here. He has connections in the North, and believe me, you’d never have gotten away with it.”
“I know who he is, Father.” His son glared at him, accusation shooting from his eyes. A sneer curled his lips. “What do you think will happen when your constituents find out you fathered a colored son?”
Samuel gathered a deep breath and sat back. “No one needs to know. And there’s no need to harm Andy. He’s done nothing.”
“Andy.” Sam shook his head and stared out the window behind the desk. “Both your sons named after you. You must be so proud of your virility. Did you know that colored gal was going to have your child?”
“Not at first. We didn’t know for sure if he was mine or her husband’s until a few days after his birth.”
“Yes, the resemblance is uncanny. All the way down to the Dane cleft.” He pointed to the dimple in his own chin. “You shame me, father. And you shame every Dane man who fought for the Confederacy.”
Samuel confronted his son’s rage and disdain with a steady calm. Surprisingly steady. He’d always wondered how he might react if faced with the truth. “There’s no shame in loving someone. Only in the sin we committed.”
“Love? That is the sin. A white man was never meant to love a nigger. It’s an abomination to God.” He leaned across the desk, the look in his eye dangerous and filled with hatred. “And the only way to remove an abomination is through death.”
“Listen to me, Sam. Andy’s mother sent him away to protect him and us from this scandal. Miss Penbrook brought him back only to write her memoirs. The old lady will be dead before long, Andy will be back in Chicago, and no one will be the wiser. Rae never told a soul, other than Miss Penbrook, that Andy wasn’t her husband’s, although he figured it out. But he’s dead, too, so he can’t threaten our family honor.”
Sam gave a short laugh. “Honor? What honor?” He strode with long, hard steps to the door.
“Son, give me your word that no harm will come to Andy from you or your Klan.”
“Klan? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then let me put it to you this way. If any harm comes to Andy, you’ll be out of my will.”
Sam’s jaw dropped. “You would deprive me of my inheritance over some nigger you sired?”
“Yes.”
“You disgust me.”
“Be that as it may, I need your word.”
Sam reached for the door and spoke through clenched teeth. “You have it.”
Relief coursed through Samuel as he watched his son yank the door open and disappear on the other side.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Rae,” he whispered. “Our sin has come back to visit our children.”
*****
Andy sat painfully in the chair next to Miss Penbrook’s bedside, listening with fascinated horror as the pieces fell into place at last. “So my father. . .wasn’t Elijah Carmichael.” He didn’t ask it as a question, but rather stated it as a fact. A fact he had somehow known, though exactly how he’d known evaded his conscious mind. “I’m half white.”
“That’s right. And Elijah knew it. That’s why he hated you so much.” She peered closer with those eyes that seemed to see everything. “Do you remember the beatings he used to give you?”
Andy shook his head. “Not really.”
She nodded. “Just as well. I don’t suppose you remember much about your life before you went to be with the Rileys, do you?”
“No, ma’am. I only remember images of Mama crying and putting me on the train. I remember coming here, and sitting in the kitchen eating cookies.”
“Yes, you came here often.”
“I remember.”
“Your mama came to me for help. Elijah was drunk and threatening to kill you.”
Andy swallowed hard. “Not much has changed. People down here are still trying to kill me.”
“But the Rileys treated you well?”
A smile touched his lips. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”
“Put two and two together, did you?”
“Sort of. But who is Captain Stuart Riley?”
“Daniel’s father. He died the year before you went to live with Daniel and Lois.”
“They treated me like one of their own. And of course, you’re aware that I work for Daniel Riley’s publication.”
“The Observer. I know. I also know how hard you tried not to.” She let out a laugh. “I admired you for wanting to find a position at a different paper instead of letting Daniel give you work.”
“It was either that or never be able to take care of my wife.” He gave a bitter shake of his head. “Yet look where I ended up.”
“Daniel says you’re the best writer and reporter he’s ever worked with.”
“That’s very generous of him.”
“It’s more than generosity. He wouldn’t say so if it weren’t true.” Miss Penbrook’s brow creased. “Why haven’t you introduced him to your wife after all these years?”
“Mr. Riley told you that?”
She shook her head. “Lois did. She says it’s like not knowing her own daughter-in-law.”
Guilt gnawed at him. “I visit sometimes.” A couple times a year, if he was being honest.
“But you don’t share your life with them.”
“Doesn’t show much gratitude on my part, does it?”
“Daniel and Lois don’t want gratitude. They want love. They think you’re the prodigal son.”
Andy gave a short laugh. “I’m no one’s son.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged. He’d felt like an orphan since he was ten years old? No mother nor father to hold him in the night. To love him, teach him, reassure him. Mr. and Mrs. Riley were wonderful people and had raised him in a loving home, but a black boy being raised by a white family, even in the North, didn’t bode well. He knew he was different. Knew he didn’t belong. And most folks treated him like a servant boy.
Once they reached high school, even he and Jonas had drifted apart--Jonas to his sports and Andy to his academics. From that time on, he’d been utterly alone.
He looked back to Miss Penbrook. Her frail chest rose and fell in sleep.
So much for asking her whether Cat married Thomas or went to Stuart.
He’d have to look to the diaries. . .
1867
“I heard you talking to Thomas, Camilla.” Cat seethed at the look of innocence on the woman’s face.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“So what are you saying? That I was imagining things? That Thomas didn’t want to marry me? Perhaps I should go to him. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to explain it all to me.”
Camilla scowled. “Fine. I’ll tell you. Though I don’t see why it matters anymore.” She sipped her cup of coffee and stared over the brim of her cup, a piece of the fine china she’d received from her mother after her death.
Cat shook off the memory of Madeline sipping from a similar cup. The woman’s grace, dignity, and kindness were all things Camilla lacked. It took great effort to keep from slapping the cup out of her hand. Miss Maddy’s last request still lingered in her mind. But that promise couldn’t keep her from hating Camilla at that moment. “Tell me.”
“The day after the incident in the barn, Thomas found me walking in the woods
that separated our property from his uncle’s. I suspect he was hoping you’d be there.”
But she couldn’t have been. Henry had chained her in the barn. He’d stripped her, beaten and raped her. He’d kept her chained for days with no food, allowing only small amounts of water, until Madeline had threatened to disgrace him with a divorce.
She shuddered at the memories she had tried so hard to shove to the back of her mind. Without Madeline sneaking her food and water, she was sure she wouldn’t have lived through those days. “What did Thomas say?”
“He asked me to speak to you for him. To meet him in the barn that night. He planned to steal you away to Canada, passing you off as a white girl so he could marry you.”
“And you didn’t tell him that your father had chained me in the barn like a dog?” Cat’s bitterness grew with each word.
Camilla shook her head.
“I despise you.”
“And I despise you.” Her steely voice commanded Cat’s attention. The two women were caught in a trancelike state, neither speaking or moving, barely breathing.
Finally, Camilla broke the silence. “Here’s the way I see it. You have two men vying for you. I want one of them. So you must choose the other.”
A short laugh spurted from Cat’s mouth. “Oh, must I? And what makes you think I must?”
Camilla’s full lips tilted in a humorless smile. “Because if you take Thomas away from me, I’ll tell everyone Hank is your son. I swear I’ll do it.”
Trembling with anger, Cat clenched her fists to keep from scratching Camilla’s eyes out. “I knew you were vindictive, Camilla, but I never thought you’d force a man who doesn’t love you into marriage.”
Camilla’s eyes narrowed. “I have no intention of forcing him. But with you gone, he’ll naturally turn to me. Don’t you think?”
“I can see you’ve thought this out.”
“I have. Quite carefully.”
Cat fingered the rim of her cup. “Stuart doesn’t want to marry me.”
“Don’t lie to me. Thomas found the telegram where you left it when Hank had his accident.”
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 17