The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  I have taken to writing poetry to entertain myself, or perhaps it is by way of consoling my aching heart. Miss Maddy once said that writing down one’s thoughts helps to sort through life’s setbacks and joys. I have done this faithfully through the years, and have found that taking the writing to a creative level brings me even more pleasure. I intend to share this with Stuart. Perhaps he will publish some short pieces in his paper.

  Part Three: Darkness

  They know not, neither will they understand; they walk on in darkness. (Psalm 82:5)

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chicago, 1879

  Cat forced a smile to her lips as she looked about the tiresome group of gluttons and drunkards sitting around her dining room table. All of Stuart’s friends whom he couldn’t invite to his wife’s precious table, he brought here to her home to entertain. Gamblers who enjoyed the racetrack as much as Stuart did. Upstarts and merchants who bought expensive ads in his paper.

  Cat hated every one of them. From the loud, fat, painted wives and mistresses to the expensive-cigar-wielding, foul-mouthed, groping men.

  But she and Stuart had made a bargain years ago when she’d tried to refuse their company.

  “You want me to publish the poetry and short stories you write?”

  “You know I do, Stuart.” She’d written in journals for years and started writing for creative outlet after moving to Chicago. After all, Stuart had publishing connections and said she was quite good.

  “Then you play hostess to my clients and friends.”

  She hadn’t had to think twice.

  A smile tugged her lips at the memory. She and Stuart both knew how to get what they wanted.

  From across the table, Stuart caught her eye. His face lit and he lifted his glass to her, halting the dinner conversation. “You’re beautiful tonight, Darling.”

  Affection for Stuart played across her heart. She lifted her glass to him. “Thank you, my dear.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes. Even after all their time together, he still stared at her with adoration. For the past twelve years, she’d never doubted his love and devotion. If his wife died, he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her. Cat was glad his wife seemed to be in the best of health. Marriage didn’t seem necessary, and she knew she was free to leave any time she chose. Which, she had to admit, had crossed her mind more than once over the past months.

  Restlessness had overtaken the tranquil life she’d built for herself. Quiet days and nights alone to pour out her words on stacks and stacks of paper. Five nights a week, she penned her poetry and stories.

  At first she’d believed perhaps the restlessness would go away, as it had at other times. But it persisted. She missed Penbrook. She needed to go home. She knew that. But over the years, Camilla had found ways to keep her away. Her pregnancies and subsequent miscarriages. Six of them. She and Thomas were still childless and she has poured herself into Henry Jr. And though she kept Cat at bay, she faithfully sent photographs of Henry Jr. and updates about his successes.

  Much to Cat’s disappointment, Camilla and Thomas had sent Henry Jr. away to a boy’s school in New York less than two years after she’d come to Chicago. She had finally stopped fighting them at Camilla’s assurance Henry would receive a better education in a northern boy’s school than he could ever get in a rundown school in the South--thus enabling him to better run Penbrook. Now he had graduated and Cat had received word that he was back at Penbrook. At eighteen years of age, the next step in his education would be learning from Thomas and dear Shaw to run the plantation.

  Cat’s heart nearly burst with longing to be home, to watch her son transform from a boy into a man, capable of taking his rightful place as master of Penbrook.

  Chicago, 1948

  Lexie’s heart nearly burst from her chest as the operator placed her call to Oak Junction, Georgia. Would Andy reject her once again? She’d promised Mama that she wouldn’t go alone without someone to meet her at the bus station. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t keep trying to change his mind. It had been more than a week. Of course, she’d said she had no intention of ever calling him again, but what a woman said in a moment of rejection and what she meant weren’t necessarily the same thing.

  “Hello?” A woman’s voice answered the phone.

  “I’d like to speak with Andy Carmichael, please.”

  “He ain’t here no more, Honey.”

  Lexie’s heart plummeted. “What do you mean? Has he left for home?”

  “I don’t know. He’s been gone for a week. Never said so much as a good-bye and hasn’t called since.”

  A week? Andy had plenty of time to get home, or at least contact her. Anger rose inside her. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck. And when you see him, tell him Ella says hello.”

  Ella? Jealousy shot through Lexie as the line went dead. No doubt Andy had been up to his old tricks. His so-called concern for her safety had been nothing more than a desire to hang on to his newest lady. Just as she’d suspected in the first place.

  Tears pricked her eyes. She ran up to her room, grabbed her jacket, hat, and purse, and stomped back down the steps. Mama stopped her just before she slammed through the door.

  “Wait. Lex, Honey. Where ya goin’?”

  “To get a divorce!”

  “Over my dead body, little girl.”

  “Mama, he ran around with another woman while he was in Georgia.”

  “I’m sorry, Baby. I know how that must hurt ya. But don’t ya think ya should talk to him before going off half-cocked to get some demon-possessed divorced.”

  “Demon-possessed? Oh, Mama. For goodness sake, even Jesus said adultery justified divorce. How many times has Andy done this?”

  “I don’t know, baby girl. And neither do you. He ain’t owned up to anything in a long time.”

  “Of course not. Would you expect him to admit it?”

  Mama’s ample shoulders lifted in shrug. “He did the first time. And the second.”

  “I just don’t know what to believe.”

  “All ya can do is turn this over to the Lord.”

  “I need to go for a walk.”

  A frown pushed Mama’s brows together. “Ya ain’t gonna go do somethin’ awful like getting’ some sinful divorce, are ya?”

  “Not that I think it would be a sin in this case, but no. I’ll wait to see Andy before I do anything like that. I just need to cool off.”

  “If it’s cooling off you need, I can pour ya a nice glass of lemonade.”

  Lexie smiled and wrapped her arms around her mother. “Thanks, Mama. But I need to walk. Please don’t worry.”

  Her concerned frown didn’t ease as Lexie left her standing on the porch and took off down the street in the mild autumn air.

  She walked until she knew what she had to do. If Andy wasn’t coming to her, she would go to him. At least she would go to where someone was most likely to know when he was coming home. She went to the nearest bus station and sat on the bench until the bus headed downtown arrived.

  An hour later, she walked through the front door of the Chicago Pen and stepped up to the reception desk. “Excuse me.”

  The red-haired woman behind the desk reminded Lexie of Lucille Ball. She looked Lexie up and down. “The agency send you over, Sweetie?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Didn’t think so. They don’t usually send your kind.”

  Heat rose to Lexie’s cheeks. She bristled. “My kind?”

  “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t care if you work here. We got us a colored reporter. Kind of the boss’s pet, if you want the truth.”

  The red-headed woman’s brash honesty was starting to grow on Lexie. She smiled. “That reporter wouldn’t happen to be Andy Carmichael, would it?”

  The redhead smacked her gum and curved her red lips into a grin. “Sure is. You his girlfriend?”

  “No. I’m his wife.”

 
“You don’t say?” Her grin broadened. “Nice to meet you. My name’s Clara. I didn’t know Andy even had a wife.”

  “Yes, he doesn’t seem to remember it at the moment, either.”

  “Oh, one of those, eh? Send him packing, Honey. No one needs that kind of heartbreak.”

  “I just might, Clara. But first I have to find him. Any chance he’s been around here since he left Georgia?”

  “I haven’t seen him in weeks.” The door opened and Clara’s expression slipped into deference. “Morning, Mr. Riley.”

  “Good morning, Clara. How are you today?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  Mr. Riley had a kindly face despite his imposing height. He smiled at Lexie, his eyes gentle, and tipped his hat. “You must be the new girl. Your name?”

  “No, sir.” Lexie swallowed hard, fighting the tremors in her stomach.

  His lips twitched. “You don’t have a name?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. But I’m not the new girl.”

  He sent her a wink. “My mistake. Clara, please bring a cup of coffee to my office and bring your pad. I need to send a letter.” He turned toward the hallway.

  “Yes, sir. Right away.” Clara stood, sympathy written across her long face. “Sorry, Honey. Looks like you’re out of luck today. You got a number where I can reach you if I see him?”

  Lexie sucked in a breath as she watched Mr. Riley disappear into an office at the end of the hall. “You might not know where he is, but I bet I know who does.” Without waiting for permission, she bolted down the hall.

  “Wait. Ma’am, you can’t go down there.”

  Just try to stop me.

  She burst into Mr. Riley’s office before Clara reached her. He turned around, surprise raising his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Can I help you, young lady?”

  Clara reached her, grabbing her by the shoulders. “I am so sorry, Mr. Riley. She followed before I could stop her.”

  Lexie pulled away from Clara. “Please, sir. I must speak with you.”

  “It’s all right, Clara.” He pointed to a chair across the desk from him. “Come, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” Lexie fought dizziness as she moved forward.

  Mr. Riley glanced behind her. “How about a cup of coffee for Miss. . .”

  “Mrs.,” Lexie corrected. “Carmichael. And I wouldn’t care for any coffee, thank you.”

  “Just some for me, then.” He dismissed the secretary with a glance.

  “I apologize for barging in on you, sir, but I had to speak with you.”

  “Mrs. Carmichael. Any relation to Andy?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m his wife.”

  Delight shone in Mr. Riley’s eyes. “What a pleasure to meet you at last. Andy has kept you from us for so long, I feared you must be an abominable-looking woman.”

  Lexie’s cheeks bloomed. “Andy never mentioned that his employer wanted to meet me.”

  The amusement dimmed from Mr. Riley’s eyes. “How much has Andy told you about his upbringing?”

  Lexie blinked at the sudden question. “Only that his parents sent him away when he was young, and he lived with a family in Chicago until he was grown. His folks are both dead now so I’m all the family he has.”

  “I see.” Mr. Riley shook his head. “I don’t suppose I should divulge information Andy hasn’t seen fit to share, but I will.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  “Andy came to live with my wife and our four children when he was ten years old. We raised him like a son.”

  Lexie’s eyes grew wide at the revelation. “You…raised Andy?”

  A chuckle formed on his lips. “That’s right. A white man. I consider him as much a son as I do my own.”

  Betrayal burned through Lexie’s heart. How could Andy have kept something so important from her for twelve years? And the way he’d broken his back to find work when the man who loved and raised him owned The Observer? “He must have been ashamed of me, not wanting to introduce me to his family.” Tears burned her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  Standing, Mr. Riley came around to her side of the desk. He pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “Here, now. Take this.” He knelt beside her chair. “How on earth could he ever be ashamed of such a lovely creature? More than likely he simply wanted to keep you all to himself. We have a large, imposing family.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  “And you are very beautiful. It’s easy to see why Andy fell in love with you.”

  At his compassionate words, Lexie burst into tears. “He doesn’t want me anymore. We’ve been having trouble and I wanted to come down to Georgia and he said no. So I tried to call him to beg him again to let me come. But the woman at the rooming house said he’s been gone for a week. That’s why I came here, to ask if you’ve seen him.”

  He held her hand during the hysterical blather. “Sweetheart, Andy hasn’t come back from Georgia yet. He was hurt and moved to a safer place for the duration of his visit.”

  Alarm seized Lexie. “He was hurt? What happened?”

  “Unfortunately, the South isn’t always friendly to people of your color, Mrs. Carmichael.”

  “Please call me Lexie. Are you telling me that Andy was beaten up for being black?”

  He gathered a breath. “I’m afraid he was. So you see, he was right to keep you away. He loves you too much to put you in harm’s way.”

  “I have to see him. I have to go to him.” She looked up. “Can you help me?”

  “Now, Lexie, Honey, I can’t go against Andy’s wishes in this. You might not be safe.”

  “But I have to tell him about the baby.”

  Hurt clouded his eyes. “You and Andy have a baby?”

  “Not yet.”

  His face brightened and a wide smile split his lips. “Andy’s going to be a father?”

  Laughter bubbled up inside Lexie at his excitement. “Yes, sir. In a few months.”

  “You realize what this means, don’t you? I’m going to be a grandfather again.”

  Lexie’s eyes widened and she laughed out loud.

  “What? You don’t think I’ll be a good grandpop to your young ’un? I have references, you know. Three of them.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” His excitement bewildered Lexie. Maybe Mr. Riley truly did love Andy like a son.

  “Do you have any objections?”

  “I sure don’t. Not even one.”

  He patted her hand and stood. “We’ll have to see about getting that boy back here as soon as possible.”

  Georgia

  Andy tossed on his bed, unable to sleep. Tired of reading. He needed air. He tiptoed out of his small room that, Delta had informed him, was once Henry Penbrook’s study. They had converted it into a bedroom around the turn of the century, she said, and it had remained that way ever since.

  Under cover of night, he slipped through the enormous front door and looked across the field. He knew exactly where he was headed. And he knew how to get there without going to the road. At least if his memory served.

  The cicadas called to one another as the smell of the freshly harvested fields filled his senses with the nostalgia of childhood memories. He followed the beaten footpath a mile and a half until he reached the spot where his parents’ cabin had stood. It was still there. Or something was anyway. Twenty-six years was a long time to hang on to a memory when all you wanted to do was forget. Still, something inside compelled him to get closer. Did his family still live on this land? In the distance, he heard a cow’s mournful cry.

  He knew his mother and the man he’d thought to be his father were both dead, but what of his four brothers and three sisters? Despite telling Miss Penbrook he wasn’t even curious, their conversation had ignited a sense of nostalgia he couldn’t shake. One he’d thought long gone.

  Movement behind him caught his attention. Before he could turn, he felt something press into his back. The business end of a rifle, from the feel of it.

  “Don�
�� move.”

  “Take it easy.” He kept his hands where they could be seen. “I don’t mean any harm.”

  “That so? Then what you doin’ sneakin’ aroun’ a man’s house in the dark of night?”

  “I lived here when I was a boy. I was just curious, I suppose.”

  “Name?”

  “Andy Carmichael. My folks lived here when I was younger. I just thought I’d take a look. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

  “Andy, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I heard tell you was back in these parts doin’ some writin’ for Miss Penbrook.”

  “News travels fast around here.” Cold sweat trailed down Andy’s back.

  “It surely do. Heard tell the Klan come after you too.”

  “That’s true too. Although I’m pretty sure they gave up after I moved my things to Miss Penbrook’s house.”

  “Don’ be too sure ‘bout that. If you’s a target, they ain’t gonna stop comin’ after you ‘til you’s dead.”

  “Are you planning to finish their job for them?”

  “Nope. I’s Jerome. Yo’ big brother.”

  “Would you mind lowering your rifle?”

  “I ’spect I can do that. Never can be too careful.”

  “I suppose not.”

  When the gun barrel was removed from his back, Andy turned and faced his brother. In the light of the lantern, Andy could see that the man wore dirty overalls. Typical. A man who poured sweat and blood into someone else’s land just to buy his children one pair of shoes a year and barely enough food to fill his belly. Andy’s chest felt heavy. Would this have been him?

  “Well, you best come on inside. My Bessie was fit to be tied when she heared that cow bawling. She thought it be the Klan.”

  “I’d best be getting back. But please give your wife my apologies.”

  “You don’ want to meet yo’ family?”

  “The middle of the night might not be the best time.”

  “My Bessie won’ kere at all.”

  Andy’s insides quaked. He had to get away from here. This wasn’t who he was. . .who he wanted to be. His head was beginning to spin with memories of beatings, pain. “I’m sorry, Jerome. I have to go.” Turning, he stumbled back down the path to Penbrook. “It was…good…to see you again.”