The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  Cat shot her an outraged gaze. How dare they invade her privacy in such a manner? “Did you see any mention of marriage in the message?”

  A frown creased Camilla’s brow. “Well, no, now that you mention it. But he said he would be arranging for two tickets to Chicago after Christmas. I assumed he meant to take you home as his wife.”

  Cat released a bitter, cold laugh. “Well, you’re wrong. Stuart is married already. To a wealthy woman who doesn’t love him and cannot give him children.”

  A gasp escaped Camilla as the news penetrated her sense of propriety. “Does he mean to divorce her in order to marry you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then, I don’t understand why he is coming to visit.”

  “Oh, Camilla, really. Sometimes your stupidity is difficult to believe. Stuart is planning to buy a lovely little home in which I will live as his mistress. Any children I may have will be given his name.”

  Camilla’s eyes grew round and her mouth formed an O.

  “So you see, whether you expose me here or I return to Chicago with Stuart, I will be scandalized.”

  Recovering, Camilla raised her brow and gave Cat a frank stare. “Yes, but if you go north and leave Hank to be raised by Thomas and me, he will inherit Penbrook, just as you want. Thomas will continue sharecropping the land. Penbrook will continue to grow.”

  Silence fell between them. Cat imagined life with Thomas and Henry, but without Penbrook. She imagined life with Stuart, without Penbrook and Henry. Both options fell like rocks in her stomach.

  “You’ve given me no choice but to refuse Thomas. However, that doesn’t mean I have to accept Captain Riley’s offer. I am perfectly happy to let things stay as they are.”

  Camilla’s face twisted with anger.

  Cat rose, squared her shoulders, and smiled to herself as she left the vile woman sitting alone. She would refuse Thomas. And she would not tell him that Henry Jr. was actually her son. . .and his.

  She left the kitchen at loose ends. Normally, when she needed to think, she’d saddle a horse and head to the fields. The sight of cotton growing, at any stage, filled her with a sense of hope. But now the fields lay desolate, harvested, and that only depressed her. Still, a cool autumn wind blew through an open window, beckoning her outside. Standing on the porch, she closed her eyes and drank in the fresh, clean air, heavy with the scent of approaching rain.

  “Storm’s brewin’.”

  She didn’t open her eyes at the sound of Shaw’s voice. She had grown accustomed to his appearing out of nowhere and no longer became startled. “It smells wonderful, doesn’t it?”

  “It surely do, Miss Cat.”

  Cat opened her eyes and looked at him. Shaw. The one person she knew loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt. His handsome, dark features were strong, filled with honesty and faithfulness. “Would you walk with me, Shaw?”

  “Might get caught in the rain.”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  His thick, soft lips widened into a smile.

  Cat’s gaze rested there. “I like it when you smile, Shaw.”

  “Thank ya. I could say da same thing about you. That is, when ya let yo’self smile.”

  “When I let myself smile?” Cat gave a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “C’mon. We best be gettin’ to dat walk iffen ya don’ want to git soakin’ wet.”

  “Let’s go, then.” Shaw’s steady strength fortified her and she felt her optimism returning. “I, uh, heard from Captain Riley. He’s coming for Christmas.”

  “Dat so?”

  “Yes.” Cat stared at the towering oaks. “He’s ready for me to go back to Chicago with him.”

  Shaw released a heavy breath and halted his steps. He reached out and pressed a massive hand to Cat’s arm, turning her to face him. Her heart leaped at his touch. The same unsettling feeling of awareness that crept over her whenever his hand brushed hers. She absolutely could not be falling in love with Shaw of all people. She wouldn’t allow it.

  “What ya thinkin’ on doin’ ’bout that feller?” He stared down at her with intensity. Not with eyes full of passion, like so many other men had. Shaw’s expression bespoke. . .compassion.

  He felt sorry for her? Outrage shot through her, but she pushed it away as he silently waited for her to answer. How nice to know someone truly cared. “I don’t know, Shaw. I can’t decide.”

  In a bold move, he enveloped her hands in his. “Do da right thing.”

  Drawn in by his wonderful brown eyes, Cat couldn’t look away. “What is right? Tell me.”

  “Stop lyin’ to yo’self. Stop tryin’ to be who ya ain’t.”

  Cat stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “Ya knows what I mean.

  “No, Shaw,” Cat replied, yanking her hands away. “I don’t. How about if you enlighten me?”

  Shaw stuffed his hands into his pockets and resumed walking down the lane.

  Cat followed, taking two steps to every one of his. “Shaw, stop. Tell me what you mean.” Silence met her. In frustration, she grabbed his arm. “Stop!” She walked around to face him. “Talk to me.”

  “Nobody can tell ya what ya already knows, darlin’ ” He cupped her cheek. “Ya can’t live forever in a lie. Someday, somebody is gonna find ya out.”

  “You mean to tell me you think I should live as a slave instead of a white woman?”

  His lips curved into an indulgent smile. “We’s free, Miss Cat.”

  Cat refused to find the humor in his remark. “You know what I mean.”

  He released a sigh. “Yeah, I ’spect I do. Still, it ain’t right what ya’s plannin’. Goin’ north to live in sin with a white man.”

  Cat gave a bitter laugh. “I suppose it would be holier if I were to live the same way with a black man like you?”

  A flash of hurt crossed his features, stealing away Cat’s breath. He dropped her hands. “Miss Cat, ya go an’ do ’zactly what ya wants to do.”

  Regret slammed into her gut. “I’m sorry, Shaw.” She placed her hand on his muscled arm. “I had no right to say that. Please forgive me.”

  He turned to her. His hand, dark as night against hers. “I always do, Catherina.”

  Thunder rolled across the gray sky. Lightning followed, splitting the sky. “I ’spect ya better get on inside, afo’ the storm gits bad.” With one more long, melting look, he turned and strode away.

  Cat watched his broad back. For one wild moment, she saw herself falling into his massive arms. Laying her head against his chest and allowing the weight of the world to shift to his shoulders, which were far stronger than hers in every way.

  As if reading her thoughts, he swept around. He stared, long, hard. Cat caught her breath. Everything in her wanted to go to him. Oh, there was so much she wanted to say. She knew he would understand the pain of those years as Henry’s mistress, the struggle of caring for Miss Maddy and the household.

  “Shaw!”

  Slowly he started back to her, his eyes filled with questions. Shaw. . .she didn’t even know his first name. Or his last, if Shaw was his first. Her stomach twisted. He had been a slave. He would never have anything more than what she offered him as a sharecropper on her son’s land. If she went to him as a former slave, neither of them would have anything.

  “Is somethin’ de matter, Miss Cat?”

  Swallowing, she shook her head. “I--I just wondered. . .”

  “What?” He was so close she could have reached out and touched him. Rain splattered on her cheek, trailing downward like a tear as she forced a smile. “I just wondered what your last name is.”

  Instantly, his deferential expression returned. He smiled. “Only gots one name.”

  “J–just Shaw?”

  He moved a wet strand of hair from her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. Cat closed her eyes. “Just Shaw, Cat. Dat be all I kin ever be.”

  Reaching up, she covered his hand. Tears filled her eyes as she met his dar
k gaze. “Good-bye, Shaw.”

  “Den ya’s made yo’ choice?”

  She nodded. “I’m going to accept Captain Riley’s proposition.”

  His eyes misted. “I’s gonna be prayin’ fo’ ya ever’ day fo’ as long as I got bref in my body.”

  “Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to his palm and walked away as tears came, quickly and unstoppable. By the time she reached the porch, she was sobbing.

  From Camilla’s diary

  “I’m going to kill him.” Thomas’s impassioned words sent ripples of fear to Camilla’s belly.

  “Thomas. Think of the repercussions of harming a Yankee officer.”

  He sneered. “Riley’s not in the army any longer.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Cat’s stone-cold voice broke through the tension filling the sitting room. “Thomas isn’t killing anyone. This is my decision.” She stared pointedly at Camilla. “As it was my choice seven years ago. I decide where I go and whom I go with. And I choose Stuart.”

  Thomas sank to the floor at Cat’s feet and gripped her hands. “But he’s asking you to be his mistress, Cat. What kind of a life is that? I’m offering to make you my wife.”

  The sight of Thomas on his knees before a common slave girl filled Camilla with rage. And the look of uncertainty filling Cat’s face clenched her stomach. Cat would not change her mind. Camilla wouldn’t allow it. “Thomas, for mercy’s sake. Get up. Where is your pride? Cat is doing what she feels is best for her.” And if she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t mess this up for Camilla.

  Cat nodded. “That’s right. You can’t change my mind.”

  “But we love each other. We have since childhood.”

  “No, we don’t. Oh, Thomas, you can’t compare the passions of youth with the love a woman feels for a man.” Her voice softened and her face gentled to an expression Camilla had only seen when she looked at little Hank. Was it possible Cat truly did love Captain Riley?

  “ ’Scuse me.”

  Camilla looked toward the door. “What is it, Shaw?”

  His gaze rested on Cat. “Cap’n Riley’s comin’ down da lane.”

  “Thank you, Shaw,” Cat whispered.

  He nodded and turned away.

  Relief flooded Camilla at the news. Just a few more days and Cat would be gone for good.

  Thomas stood. He squared his shoulders with dignity. “Go to your lover.” The disdain in his voice left no doubt of his contempt.

  Cat lifted a trembling hand and smoothed back her hair. “Excuse me, please.”

  Thomas turned away, refusing to watch her as she left the room to welcome Stuart Riley.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas.” Camilla wasn’t sorry at all. She was glad Cat was such a loose woman. Glad she was finally going to be rid of her.

  He jerked his head up and stared at her, eyes blazing. “Will you marry me?”

  She blinked as her breath caught in her throat.

  Thomas closed the distance between them with just two long strides. He gripped her hands in his. “Marry me.”

  Joy shot through her. Her cheeks warmed with excitement. “Yes, Thomas. I’d be honored.”

  He crushed her to him and covered her mouth with his. His hard kiss was almost painful. “Get dressed. We’ll go to the preacher right now.”

  “But what about a wedding with neighbors and a party?”

  “Now, Camilla.” His eyes warned her not to oppose him.

  Camilla pressed her fingers to her throat. “Yes, Thomas.”

  1948

  Andy stared at Miss Penbrook. “If you married Thomas, why do you publish under the name C. Penbrook?”

  She sent him a toothless smile. “Why not just keep reading the diaries? They’ve served you pretty well so far.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  “Young folks always have to have their own way.” She sighed. “I think you already know. Don’t you?”

  Andy searched the wrinkled face, the wizened brown eyes. Brown eyes. Camilla’s eyes were blue. Suddenly the thought he hadn’t quite been able to come to grips with made its way through his mind. “You’re not Camilla.”

  “Ironic, isn’t it? A woman born a slave dies a Southern belle. What do you think people would think if they found out?”

  The pain still slicing through his back was a clear reminder of what could happen to an “uppity colored,” let alone a woman who had pretended for years, attended white functions, drank from their fountains, and eaten in their whites-only restaurants. “I wouldn’t suggest you tell anyone at this late date.”

  “That’s what memoirs are designed to do.” Her gaze rested on the beam of light shining through her window. “I’ve lived my life in a lie. In death, I want the truth to be told.”

  “And you want me to tell it. Why? Why, Miss Cat?”

  She tossed him a wry grin. “No one’s called me by my given name in thirty years. Not since Shaw passed on.”

  “You assumed Camilla’s identity, didn’t you?” He had visions of Camilla being murdered and buried in the backyard.

  She shook her head. “Of course not. I took on the last name of Penbrook when I left Georgia.” She laughed. “Camilla was fit to be tied. But I didn’t care. I figured I had as much right to it as anyone. There would even be a Penbrook House, let alone lands if I hadn’t stepped in.”

  Andy’s lips twitched. He stood to go, then paused. “Which man did you love? Shaw or Thomas?”

  A sigh drifted through her wrinkled lips. “That’s my business, I reckon. Either way, I gave it up. I was a foolish, foolish woman, Andy. I gave up love and decency, all because I resented who I was.”

  “Pardon me, ma’am, but I disagree that you were foolish.” A shrug lifted his shoulders. “Matter of fact, I admire your spirit. Having white skin gave you a life you couldn’t have had otherwise. You had no choice but to take advantage of it.”

  “I had a choice.”

  “But what was the alternative?”

  She smiled. “Love.”

  “There’s a lot to be said for love, I suppose.”

  Miss Penbrook turned her gaze to his. “What about you? You love your wife?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve made some unfortunate choices myself.”

  “I see.” She pursed her lips together as though in thought. “Is it too late?”

  “For my wife and me?”

  “Obviously.” She shivered and pulled at the covers but her tiny muscles didn’t hold the strength to get the comforter to her shoulders.

  Andy walked back to her bed and tucked the covers around her shoulders. She rewarded him with a toothless smile. “Thank you.” She nestled into the bed. “Tell me something, do these unfortunate choices of yours have anything to do with the reason you haven’t introduced your wife to Daniel and Lois?”

  “More likely, that decision was one of those choices.” The image of how different things might have been if he’d just shared Lexie with the Rileys and shared them with her instead of claiming to have no family, played across his mind.

  “Lois thinks you’re ashamed of being raised by a white family.” Miss Penbrook scowled at him. “I think it’s just the opposite. You’re ashamed of marrying a colored girl.”

  “Ashamed? That’s ridiculous.”

  “Don’t deny it to me. You were raised white and you want to be white.” She motioned to the chair. “You might as well sit back down.”

  “I’ve never been ashamed of Lexie. And if I’m ashamed of the Rileys I suppose it’s more about feeling like the proverbial black sheep.” He dropped back into the chair beside her bed. “But you’re wrong about me wanting to be white.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how come you don’t visit your family down here? You weren’t so young that you don’t remember you had brothers and sisters.”

  Andy shifted in the chair, and rested his ankle across the opposite knee. “I don’t mean to be rude, but don’t you think that’s my business?�
��

  She nodded. “I suppose so. But your mama sent you away to give you a better life. Aren’t you even curious as to how the others fared while you were brought up in a nice white home with plenty to eat, books to read, and a good job waiting for you after you finished your schooling?”

  “No. I’m not. I didn’t ask to be sent to the Rileys. I don’t have to feel guilty for being given the benefit of a better life.”

  “That’s like saying you didn’t ask to be born.” She grunted, trying to adjust her pillows. Andy got up and did it for her.

  “Thank you.” She turned her body slightly his direction.

  “And to respond,” he said. He sat once more, determined this was the last time. He had had about enough of her meddling anyway. “…The fact is, I didn’t ask to be born.”

  “Any more than I could help being born a slave in a white girl’s body.”

  “That was different.”

  “Was it?”

  “Yes.”

  Her lips, drawn over toothless gums, pursed as her face twisted in frustration. “Oh, go ahead and leave. I can tell you’re about to bolt.”

  A frown creased Andy’s brow. Had he pushed her too far? “You want me to leave your home?”

  “Of course not. I mean, leave the room. You know you want to get away from me.”

  Well, that much was the truth. “Good night, Miss Cat.”

  “Good night, my boy. Come see me tomorrow.”

  “I will.”

  From Cat’s diary

  1868

  As promised, Captain Riley purchased a lovely house in the country for me. He has also secured a driver, a cook, and two maids. He visits me two nights a week and takes me to town. We attend dinners, parties, theatre. He is not ashamed of me. For the first time in my life, I am living as a woman of leisure and means.

  Camilla writes that she and Thomas are to have a child in a few months. She is having a difficult pregnancy and wishes me not to come for the harvest as I intended. She is afraid I might upset the household and cause her to miscarry.

  As summer pushes away the lovely spring blooms, I long for the sight of Penbrook and my darling son.