“Sure was good to see you too. Wish Mama was still alive to see it.”
Andy was still shaking when he reached his room. Stretching out on the bed, he closed his eyes, but sleep refused to come. What had made him decide to go to the old cabin anyway? He’d had no intention of trying to look up relatives that he didn’t even know anymore. The Rileys had raised him, and he felt more at home with their family than he ever could with dirt farmers and sharecroppers. Or did he? Why hadn’t he taken Lexie to meet them? Why had he made up excuses when they invited him for Christmas and other family holidays? Still, he worked and walked in the white world, and he didn’t want to think about what ifs. What if his mama had never sent him away? Would he have an education? Career?
There but for the grace of God go I.
The saying wouldn’t go away. His mind repeated it over and over. He already knew the answer. If his mother hadn’t sent him away, he would have ended up precisely like Jerome and, most likely, his other brothers.
Still, in being sent away, he’d become something in between. He wasn’t a black man in his soul. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t raised to be. It wasn’t until he’d gone to work that he’d felt the weight of his heritage bearing down on him. The Rileys had been kind. . .no, more than kind. They had taken him into their hearts. Every last one of them. And he had always been made to feel as though he belonged. But he didn’t belong. He was somewhere between white and black.
Exactly how Cat felt, growing up as a white child until the reality of her heritage caught up with her.
Andy sat up in bed. The old woman, Miss Catherina Penbrook, had known his mother, had helped him escape an abusive stepfather. And now, all these years later, she had beckoned him to write her memoirs.
When Uncle Daniel had first called him into his office to inform him of the assignment, he’d refused to accept it because it meant stepping foot on Georgia soil. When Daniel explained that Miss Penbrook would allow no one else to speak with her, he’d relented and accepted.
Why weren’t the pieces falling into place? There was still something missing. He switched on his light and riffled through the boxes until he found the next of Cat’s diaries.
How could I have been foolish enough to allow this to happen? I mustn’t tell Stuart that I’m carrying his child. I will simply insist on a trip to Georgia. After all, it has been ten years since I’ve seen my home. Surely he will not deny me. I must visit Madame Flora. Her sons sharecrop the fields of Penbrook, though Shaw has never thought very highly of her. He calls her a witch, an abomination to God, and an evildoer.
But I’ve heard she has a way of helping a woman miscarry if she isn’t too far gone, and I need to avail myself of her services as soon as possible before it’s too late. I pray she can help me.
Chapter Fourteen
1877
In the shadowy light of impending dusk, the sight of Penbrook brought tears to Cat’s eyes. The hired buggy dipped and swayed through the oak-canopied lane leading up to the house. Even the initial irritation she’d felt when she found no one waiting for her at the train station couldn’t dampen the joy swelling her heart at the prospect of seeing her beloved son’s inheritance prospering under his father’s wise management.
The driver pulled his buggy to a halt in front of the steps. Cat accepted his help down. She glanced up at the pillared plantation home and placed her hands on her hips. There was not a sound from anywhere. Had they forgotten she was coming? The cabbie heaved her trunk from the carriage and clanged it to the ground. “Ya got menfolks to be a-carryin’ dis here thing? It be too big for you.”
“I’ll be right back.” She fixed him with a stern gaze. “Don’t you go anywhere until I come back, or you won’t get a cent.”
“Yes’m.”
Cat stomped up the steps. She opened the door easily, with a twist of the knob. “Hello?” she called. No lamps or candles burned to brighten the rooms against the graying sky. Apparently no one was home.
Cat returned to the porch, closing the door behind her. She scanned the horizon in all directions. The place had an eerie, abandoned feel to it that unsettled Cat. Even the sharecropper cabins on the edges of the north fields had been quiet during their approach. Empty fields, no children playing, no old men milling about their porches. Had there been some sort of exodus?
“Ma’am?”
Turning back to the driver, Cat began to untie her reticule. “I suppose I’ll have to give you an extra two bits to carry the trunk inside for me. I can manage the smaller bags.”
He shook his head. “Ma’am, I ain’t gots time. I’s already late to git Miss Lucy Tremaine from her music lesson. Her mama won’ pay me iffen I’s late again.”
Narrowing her gaze, Cat studied the driver. “What is your name?”
“Joe-Joe, ma’am.”
“All right, Joe-Joe. I’ll give you an extra dollar.”
“Dat’s right kindly of ya, but I’s afraid dat ain’t de only reason. Iffen I don’ pick up de missy on time, I’s gonna lose my position wif dat family. Dey’ll tell dey friends. An’ I’ll lose my position wif dem, too. Den I cain’t feed my family.”
Cat stomped the ground. “I’m sure it isn’t as worrisome as all that.”
His expression remained stoic, and he looked at the reticule in her hand.
Cat let out a huff. “Oh, all right. Can you at least carry them up the steps so they won’t get damaged by the rain? I haven’t the faintest idea when my family will return.”
His face twisted in regret and indecision.
“For mercy’s sake. Never mind. Just leave them where you unloaded them.”
“I’s truly sorry, ma’am.”
Cat released a sigh and reached into her bag. She drew out the fare plus an extra dollar. “Here,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her lips. “I hope I haven’t caused you to lose your standing with the oh-so-influential Tremaines, whoever they happen to be.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, no, ma’am. I cain’t take dis.”
Cat’s heart softened. She gave him a gentle smile and curled his fingers around the money. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t. Now, hurry before you’re any later.”
“Yes’m. Thankee kindly.” She watched him go, amazed at how easily a mere ten years up North had caused the plight of men such as that driver to fade from her mind. It was easy to push back unpleasantness when all you wanted to do was forget.
As the buggy rattled back up the lane, she looked down at her bags. What on earth was she going to do about them? Exhaustion overcame her and she sat heavily on her trunk. She buried her face in her hands. It angered her that Joe-Joe couldn’t take ten minutes to carry in her things. Be had to fetch little missies instead or risk losing his entire livelihood. Unbidden, her mind conjured up the faces of her Negro servants in Chicago. Stuart had hired several to attend to things for her. He’d wanted to hire poor Irish. He’d thought the irony of a former slave being served by white women would be quite humorous, but Cat hadn’t agreed. So he’d hired former slaves, free and ready to make a humble wage for an honest day’s labor. He would have hired whites if she’d preferred, but Cat wanted former slaves working for her. Perhaps it was her guilt over passing for white. She knew if they worked for her, they wouldn’t be mistreated.
At the first droplets of rain, all thought left Cat except for the need to get her beautiful cherry-wood trunk, a parting gift from Stuart, out of the rain. Seeing no other choice but to somehow get the thing inside, she grabbed hold of the hand strap and tugged.
By the time she got it to the bottom of the steps, her back ached and she was breathing heavily. A sob caught in her throat at the sheer impossibility of the task. It wasn’t even something she could almost do. And she knew better than to try.
“Dat Miss Cat?” Shaw’s familiar, warm voice came from the top of the steps.
She jerked her head up and looked at the dear face. In a heartbeat, she flew up the steps and flung herself into his massive arms. “Oh, Shaw. It’s
so good to see you. I thought everyone was gone.”
“Dey’s all at a barbeque on de river. De sharecroppers be celebratin’ de harvest bein’ done, and Mister Thomas done killed a pig for de occasion.”
“Camilla is attending a barbeque given by the darkies?”
Shaw’s eyes flashed at her use of the word. “Yes, Miss Cat,” he said, lowering his gaze. “I ’spect I best be gettin’ yo’ trunk outta dis here rain.”
Heat flushed Cat’s cheeks and regret shot through her heart. “I’m sorry, Shaw. I don’t know why that came out.”
He shrugged. “It be what’s in yo’ heart, Miss Cat.”
“No. That’s not true. Especially not about you. You know that.” She sent him a wry grin. “I’m just surprised Camilla would lower herself to such depths.”
He turned, his gaze penetrating. “Catherina, I knows dere’s a fight inside o’ ya. Like dis here war de white folks fought over us slaves. Ya gots to decide what side is gonna win.”
Cat felt heat rise to her cheeks. Shaw knew that decision had been made for her ten years ago. She was who she was. A white woman. A mistress to an influential man. She’d come to accept her place. But beneath Shaw’s gaze, filled with love and longing, confusion clouded her brain. “Every time you try to reach deep inside my soul, it rains, Shaw. Do you think that means anything?”
He gave her a sad smile. “I don’ hold de heavens in my hand, Miss Cat. Only God commands de rain.” He reached out and took her white-gloved hand, pressing it to his chest. Cat could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart. How she would love to lay her head against his shoulder. What would it be like to be loved by this man? But one look into his passion-filled eyes and she knew Shaw wasn’t thinking romance. His passion was for his God.
“Oh, Catherina, why won’t ya bow to His holy name? I pray ever’ day dat He will bring ya de peace dat only He can. But He can’t do dat while ya hold yo’ sin so tight. You gots to let it go. It won’ be so hard, once ya set yo’ mind on repentin’.”
Panic rose and lodged in her throat. Why couldn’t he be like other men? Why couldn’t he want her in a way she could understand? A way she could satisfy and be done with? But no, not Shaw. He wanted her to find peace that came with religion.
“Cat?” Shaw frowned. “Can’t ya give up de fightin’ and let God shine His light into de darkness of your soul?”
Anger poured through Cat. He thought her dark?
She sputtered, but he pressed work-hardened fingers to her lips. “Anybody can be white as a lamb on de outside, but jus’ as dark as night on de inside. My outside be dark, but inside, God’s light shines, makin’ me His. Ain’t no white nor Negro inside the soul of mankind. Not where God lives.”
She highly doubted that. Besides, her trunk was getting soaked and her stomach was beginning to feel queasy. A side effect of her little secret. The secret she would soon be rid of if all went well. She cleared her throat and pasted on a smile.
“I don’t know what you mean, Shaw. For mercy’s sake, you run on and on, while I’m standing here in the rain getting soaked to the skin. Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
“No, Miss Cat.” Shaw’s face was suddenly void of emotion. He hurried down the steps and hoisted the trunk effortlessly across his back.
“Is my room still available, or has Camilla stripped it bare and set fire to it to rid the house of my foul presence?”
An indulgent smile tipped his lips. “It be ’zactly like it was when ya went away.”
“Lovely. Will you please take my things up there?”
“It’d be my pleasure.”
Before he could do as she asked, a young maid entered the foyer from the hall leading to the kitchen. “Oh, Shaw. Thank de Lawd dat be you.”
“Everything be all right, Annie?”
The young woman’s cheeks darkened. “Yes. I jus’ thought it might be bad people comin’ in when de missus and mister be away from de house. I jus’ got spooked a little, dat’s all.”
Cat bristled at the girl’s reference to Camilla as the missus. She bristled further over the girl’s failure to notice her and behave in a respectful manner, and she felt a sense of outrage at the way the girl fawned all over Shaw. It was obvious the man couldn’t just stand on the step all day with a heavy trunk on his back.
Without even a proper introduction, she fixed the girl with a steady gaze. “Well, Annie, as you can plainly see, we are not bad people out to rape and pillage.”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am.”
“It’s miss, and I am sure you have work to attend to while the family is away. Or do you shirk your duties unless there is someone watching you every minute?”
“Now, Miss Cat. Ain’t no need to fuss at de gal. She be a good, hard-workin’ young thang.”
“Thank ya, Shaw.” The pretty face, beaming with adoration, was more than Cat could take.
“Well, then, if you’ve time to stand around and blather all day, perhaps you need a few more duties.
“Oh, no, miss. I’s goin’ back to de kitchen to scrub de flo’--agin.”
“Fine. Then perhaps poor Shaw may continue up the steps before he falls over from the weight of my trunk, which he kindly agreed to carry upstairs to my room.”
For the first time, the foolish girl seemed to notice Shaw’s burden. “Oh, my. I’s sorry, Shaw. I’s just rattlin’ away like some magpie, and here ya is totin’ dat heavy thing.”
He smiled. “It ain’t so bad, Annie. Don’ ya go worryin’ yo’self.” But a grunt combined with the sweat beading on his brow belied the comment.
“Please continue up the steps, Shaw. There’s no point in injuring yourself trying to be brave.”
“Yes, miss.”
Cat followed behind him. “And stop calling me miss. How many times have we discussed that?”
“I don’ rightly know, miss.”
“Stop that!” She walked around him. “Here, let me get the door for you.”
“Thank you, m– --” Breathing heavily, Shaw entered the room. “Thank you.”
Cat took in the sight of her old, familiar room. It needed a good airing out. Apparently, Camilla hadn’t even bothered to open a window in God knew how long. She went to the doors leading to the balcony and unlatched the lock. She grabbed the handles and pushed, expecting to release the doors and feel a rush of fresh air. Instead, the doors resisted. She jiggled and yanked and still they wouldn’t budge. Just as she was getting frustrated, she felt Shaw behind her. Warm, strong. Oh, Shaw.
“Step aside, Catherina,” he said. His voice was low and husky, and Cat knew he, too, was moved. If she turned, she’d be in his arms. She couldn’t resist. To her disappointment, his arms stayed at his side. Still, his chest rose and fell, his tension palpable.
“Shaw?”
“Don’, Miss Cat. It ain’t right. I can’t have ya like dat. And ya knows how things be betwixt me an’ de Lawd.”
Feeling the weight of defeat, Cat moved aside and let him open the doors. How could a woman compete against an invisible God?
“Shaw, is Madame Flora still living on the land?”
Air, thick and moist, breezed in as the doors finally gave way. Shaw turned, his dark brow puckered, eyes narrowed. “Why ya wantin’ to know dat?”
Cat had no intention of allowing him to read into her soul this time. She turned her back and pretended to swipe at the dust on her bureau. “Oh, I just wondered. You know how I always liked her.”
“Yeah, and I remember she be a servant of the debil. Dat’s all dey is to it, Miss Cat. An’ ya best be stayin’ away from dat wickedness.”
“So, I gather she’s still living on the land?”
Shaw scowled and released a frustrated breath. He gave a stubborn lift of his chin. “I ain’t tellin’ ya one way or de other.”
“You just did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m very tired from my day. Will you please send that simple-minded little maid up here to help me change the bedding and freshen
up the room a bit?”
“Annie ain’t simple-minded, Cat. She’s right smart.” His smug grin grated on Cat’s fragile ego.
Jealousy flowed like molten lava through Cat’s veins. She sniffed. “Well, maybe you don’t know she’s simple-minded because you’re even more simple than she is.”
1948
Andy’s lips twitched at Cat’s obvious jealousy over the young maid. He closed the diary and leaned back against the pillow, lacing his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and allowed his thoughts to take shape.
Learning that Miss Penbrook was actually Catherina had infused Andy with the makings of a fantastic book. Miss Penbrook had fallen in love with a black man while living with a white man. Did she honestly want all of that coming out in a book after her death? It seemed the old lady was finally ready to shed her false image.
But why bother at this late stage? Everyone who mattered was gone. Or so he assumed. Then again, perhaps not.
His eyes grew heavy as he pondered the possibility that some of the younger people in the diaries might still be alive.
The next the thing he knew, a hard knock pulled him from sleep. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and he squinted against the glare as he sat up and called a greeting.
Delta opened the door. She frowned at his disheveled appearance. “You sleep in your clothes, boy?”
“I fell asleep reading. Something I can do for you?”
“You gots a call on the telephone.”
“This early?”
She sent him a look of disdain. “It be nigh onto eleven o’clock. You’s sleepin’ the day away.”
“I worked late,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “Do you happen to know who is calling?”
“Mr. Riley from Chicago.”
“Uncle Daniel?”
“Uncle?”
Andy’s face warmed. “I’m coming.”
On the way to the kitchen, where the only phone in the house sat on a small table, Andy tried to come up with a convincing argument why he should stay in Georgia a little longer.
The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) Page 20