The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  Apparently taking her silence for consideration, Mrs. Riley spoke again. “I am willing to make it worth your while to do as I ask.”

  Cat jerked her head and caught the woman’s gaze. “You want to buy my boy from me?”

  “No. I want you to give him to his father to raise, and allow me to adopt him as mine. If you do that for me, I will do something for you.”

  Curiosity got the better of Cat. She frowned. “What?”

  Mrs. Riley rose and walked to her bags. She opened one satchel and pulled out a book.

  Cat maneuvered the baby in order to take the book. When she saw the title on the cover, her jaw went slack.

  The Poems and Prose of C. Penbrook.

  She looked up at the woman. “You’re saying you will publish my works if I give you my son?” A fierce love for her child rose within her and she dropped the book on the porch.

  Mrs. Riley retrieved the volume. “No. I know you love your son and wouldn’t give him up for something so trivial. However, sending him away will create an empty place in your heart. Writing for publication will keep you occupied. Unless my father misses his guess, and he rarely does, these will be quite popular sellers.”

  “Mrs. Riley, I’m sorry you came down here for nothing. I can’t give up my son. I’ll fetch Shaw to drive you to a rooming house.”

  Disappointment washed across her features, but she lifted her head graciously. “I understand.”

  Cat snuggled the baby close to her heart as she hurried down the steps and toward the barn. Tears formed in her eyes and dripped on the downy head. “Shaw!” Her lips trembled the name.

  He came to her without hesitation and gathered her close. “What dat woman want, Honey? She upset you?”

  “She wants me to give up my baby so that she and Stuart can raise him.” She poured out the whole story, including the arrangement Mrs. Riley wanted to make.

  “Do you think God saved the baby so I could let Stuart and his wife raise him?”

  He rested his chin on her head and stroked her hair. “I’s not de one to be askin’.”

  “If not you, then whom should I ask?”

  “Honey, dat be somethin’ ya gots to ask de Lawd.”

  Cat pulled away. “Mrs. Riley is ready to go into town. And please don’t tell me I should have invited her to stay at Penbrook.”

  “I won’t.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Follow yo’ heart, Miss Cat. Ya heard God’s voice once in a time of trouble. Listen again, an’ He’ll tell ya what His will be for dat boy.”

  For three days, Cat wrestled with God. By the time Joe-Joe delivered Stuart to Penbrook’s door, she knew what she had to do.

  Camilla ushered him into the parlor, appearing genuinely happy to see him.

  His face lit with pleasure when he saw Cat. “You are as lovely as the day we met, my dear.”

  “And you’re a liar.” She chuckled along with him. “It’s good to see you, Stuart.”

  “And you.” His eyes trailed over her and Cat realized Mrs. Riley had been right. Stuart might want to do things right, but she would be more temptation than he could resist.

  “Camilla, will you please give me a few minutes alone with Stuart?”

  “Of course.”

  Cat waited for her to leave, then stood and faced her baby’s father. “Stuart, I’ve made a decision. I will not be returning to Chicago with you.”

  He hurried to her side. “Cat, please reconsider. I need to be in my son’s life.”

  “Until he’s five, and then you’d send him away to boarding school? What kind of life would that be for him?”

  Stuart’s gaze darkened. “How did you know?”

  “Your wife was here a few days ago.”

  “Sarah?”

  “Yes. She told me of your offer to take care of me, and to send our son away to school. She also told me that the two of you have renewed your love for each other and that I would have no place in your life other than the fact that I am your son’s mother.”

  Stuart’s face grew red. “It has to be that way. I’ve committed my life to Christ and living right.”

  “I understand. And believe me, I’m pleased for you. But I can’t accept the life you’re offering.”

  Defeat clouded his eyes. “May I see him?”

  “Yes, of course. Come with me.”

  Cat led him to the nursery. Their son’s wide-eyed, contented face greeted them. “Well, lookie there. I thought you were asleep, young man.” The baby twisted his lips into a tentative smile at the sound of his mother’s voice.

  “He’s my son.” Stuart’s awe-filled tone sent a tremor to Cat’s heart. She knew her decision was the right one. She lifted the baby and held him close, kissing the downy head. Then she placed him in his father’s arms.

  “I am giving him to you, Stuart. To you and Sarah.”

  “Y–you’re. . .what?”

  “I don’t want him to be raised the way you suggested. That’s no life for a boy. Your wife is a lovely woman. She loves you, and I’m certain she’ll raise him the way God wants him raised.”

  Stuart cradled him close. “What’s his name?”

  “Daniel. Because, as Shaw said, God pulled him from the lion’s mouth.”

  1948

  Andy stared at the old lady in disbelief. “Daniel Riley, the man who raised me, is your son?”

  She nodded.

  “Does he know?”

  “He learned of it when he was grown. His father told him. Believe it or not, I became friends with Stuart’s wife and visited often. She raised him remarkably well.”

  “That’s how you knew you could trust him when my mother came to you for help on my behalf.”

  “I knew Daniel would love you and treat you as one of his own. He’s always been special.”

  “What happened with Henry Jr.?”

  Miss Penbrook closed her eyes. “Another time.”

  Andy left the room, his mind buzzing with excitement despite his lack of sleep. He felt sure he would get the rest of his answers today, and tomorrow he could be on his way home to his wife.

  He went in search of Delta to let her know Miss Penbrook was alone, but sleeping. He found the housekeeper at the kitchen table, her face buried in the crook of her arm. Her sobs filled the room.

  Andy crouched down next to her chair. “Miss Delta, what’s wrong?”

  The woman raised her tear-soaked face. She looked at him with such anguish that Andy felt it himself. “They’ve killed our little Ruthie.”

  “What?”

  “Last night. They was waiting for ’em. Down at the crossroads. Hung ’em both.”

  “Rafe, too?” Andy’s head began to spin.

  “Dear God,” Delta moaned. “Why?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Andy retreated to his room, unable to breathe, unable to think, his mind swirling in a black mist. It could have been me. It could have been me.

  Panic seized him. He had to get away from this godforsaken place before the Klan came back to finish the job. He couldn’t remove the mental image of the two of them hanging side by side. It played over and over, like a scratched record.

  He started packing his clothes, with every intention of leaving Georgia immediately, story or no story.

  Delta burst through the door. “Buck was right.”

  “About what?” he asked without stopping.

  “He said you’d be hightailin’ it outta here.”

  “Good for him. He was right.” Andy tossed the last of his clothing into the suitcase and snapped it shut. “I have a wife back home who needs me. And I don’t intend to become an evening of sport to a group of white cowards too afraid to show their faces.”

  “Buck also said you’d feel guilty.” Delta’s gentle tone fed Andy’s raw emotions.

  Tears formed in his eyes. “The man responsible for this is Sam Dane. He hates Rafe and Ruthie because of what happened between my mother and his father. If he’d never met me, the anger wouldn’t be so fr
esh. Rafe and Ruthie would have had a little more time to make their plans to run away together.”

  “Now, you’s gonna stop this right now. The way that fool Rafe was flauntin’ his love for Ruthie, you’d have thought he wanted to be a target. Or he thought he couldn’t be a target because his pa’s the sheriff and his brother is a member of the Klan.”

  “For such a secret society, an awful lot of people know who’s who.”

  Andy’s fear mingled with contempt. For the Klan. For the blacks who hung their heads in fear and shame. For the whites who honestly believed they were justified in killing a person for having the wrong-colored skin. He was leaving this ignorant, mixed-up society and going home where he belonged, and he’d never return as long as whites reigned supreme. He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

  Delta blocked his exit. “Just like that? You is gonna leave?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about Miz Penbrook?”

  “I have enough to write her story.”

  “No, you ain’t. The las’ part is the most important. It’s what she’s been waitin’ on.”

  “Waiting?”

  “Waitin’ to die. If you leaves, she gonna lose all heart.”

  Andy lowered his bag and dropped to the bed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “All right. One more day. Then I’m gone foe good.”

  1880

  Camilla stood on the porch and stared at her husband, without emotion, as he told her he was leaving her.

  “There’s nothing left for me here, now that my son is gone.”

  Taking the sharp edge of his words without feeling the cut, Camilla knew she would survive whatever the future brought to her.

  “I’m going to join my sister and her family in Texas. Perhaps have a chance at a real life.”

  “When will you leave?”

  “As soon as the rest of my arrangements are made. In the meantime, I have procured a room above the saloon. I won’t be back to Penbrook.”

  “I suppose you’ll be wanting a divorce.”

  “I already have Mr. Sutter looking into it.”

  Camilla heaved a sigh. “I once believed that the worst thing that could happen to a woman was living her life without a husband and children.” She glanced up and captured his gaze. “I imagine being divorced with no children will probably be worse.”

  “You brought it on yourself. Nothing about our marriage was true.”

  “My love for you was real.”

  Thomas stared at her silently. “I’m afraid any affection I felt for you has long since been snuffed out.”

  “And I for you, unfortunately.” She gave a tentative, sad smile. “I wish you well, Thomas.”

  She watched him ride away, then turned back to the house. Cat hadn’t left her room in the week since Stuart had taken her son. Shaw brought her food, tried to make her eat. But Cat’s sorrow would not be consoled.

  Camilla knew she was probably the last person Cat wanted to speak to. Still, she climbed the steps and knocked on Cat’s door. When no answer came, she twisted the knob and went inside.

  Cat lay on the bed, staring out the window as though in a trance. “Shaw thinks I have to have light,” she said, her voice flat. “That perhaps the sun shining through my window will lift my spirits and make me forget that I’ve borne two sons and neither are mine.”

  Camilla lifted the coverlet and climbed into the bed. “Thomas is divorcing me and leaving for Texas. He’s gone for good.”

  Cat reached across the bed and clasped her hand. “We’re alone again.”

  “Not completely. At least we have Shaw to look after us.”

  “Yes, Shaw.”

  Camilla angled her head to look at Cat. “You love him, you know.”

  “I know.” Her chest lifted and fell with a heavy breath. “But it can never be.”

  “I suppose not. What will become of us, Cat?”

  Cat turned to her, capturing Camilla’s gaze. “I suppose we’ll survive. Together. Just like we promised Miss Maddy.”

  “Like sisters?” Somehow, the years of animosity seemed pointless. As she lay there, her hand clasped tightly in Cat’s, the old hatred fell away like leaves in the fall.

  “Yes.”

  Camilla swallowed hard. “I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “My head hurts constantly. My vision blurs from time to time.”

  A gasp escaped Cat’s throat. “Camilla.”

  Camilla felt gratified that she cared. “I suppose I’ll die the way Mother did.”

  “Oh, Camilla. We’ll send you to doctors. Big-city doctors. Miss Maddy didn’t have the choice. But you do.”

  “No. I’ve seen too many already. They probe and prod, but no one has a cure.”

  A tear slid down Cat’s cheek. “I’ll take care of you. The same way I cared for your ma.”

  Camilla tightened her grip on Cat’s hand. She supposed this was how her mother must have felt when she was dying and Cat was the only person she had to hold on to. Now that Camilla understood, shame filled her at the memory of her behavior back then. Without Cat, Penbrook plantation would have died in the aftermath of the war. Whatever Cat may have done wrong, she had also done so much right.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”

  Cat’s fingers curled around hers, and Camilla knew she understood.

  From Cat’s diary

  Cat crawled out of bed while Camilla snored softly, her cheek resting against the fluffy feather pillow. She walked to the bureau mirror and smoothed back her hair. She knew the time had come for her to pull herself together. Camilla would need every ounce of strength Cat could give her. She stared down at the woman who had been both enemy and friend since they were barely more than babies. Sadness welled up within her. She allowed a few tears to slip down her cheeks. Poor Camilla.

  1948

  Andy spent two days reading, taking notes, referencing and cross-referencing. Comparing Camilla’s entries to Cat’s.

  Camilla had no more entries after Thomas left. And Cat’s were sketchy at best. The years seemed to slip by unnoticed until five years later.

  1885

  Camilla left me today. I know she’s in a better place and is no longer in pain. I thank the Lord for this. But I shall miss her terribly. She left Penbrook to me. I am humbled.

  1886

  Stuart sends word that our son is quite popular among his schoolmates and shows promising aptitude for his studies. They’ve invited me for the holidays.

  The next few years were filled with short entries detailing Daniel’s life. He and Cat had a special rapport even before he discovered she was his mother, which grew even stronger afterward.

  1897

  Word arrived from Canada. Henry Jr. has succumbed to pneumonia. He was buried last week. Annie is coming back to Georgia with their little girl, Rae. I’m sure her parents are overjoyed their daughter is coming home. I ache that I shall never see my son’s face again this side of heaven.

  During entries such as this one, Andy was able to surmise that Cat had finally made peace with God. Somehow it gratified him to know this. His own peace with God was fragile at best. Still, he knew something inside his heart had changed. Softened.

  1901

  Cat sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea. Once she’d preferred the bitter taste of coffee, but over the years, her stomach had become sensitive and she found tea more to her liking.

  Her Bible lay open to the Psalms. She read aloud the words she had come to know by heart: “I will praise thee for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” That Scripture always reminded her that God had created her with a purpose in mind. To be sure, she had gone about things in a way He’d never intended. Even now, when she was all alone and older than she’d ever thought she’d become, she had to believe that God somehow had a plan for the rest of her days.

  A quiet knock drew her from her musings. She looked toward the back door. “Come in.” Sh
aw filled the doorway. Gentle affection lifted Cat’s heart at the sight of him. “Good morning, Shaw,” she said. “I have your coffee ready on the stove.”

  She started to rise, but he waved her back to her seat. “I’ll git it.”

  “How’s the harvest coming along?”

  He sat across from her and spooned sugar into his cup. “Fine. I think dis gonna be da best year in a long time.”

  “That’s good news.”

  His eyes perused her face with affection and familiarity. “God done blessed dis land, Catherina.”

  “Yes, He has.” She looked at the aging man sitting before her and, not for the first time, imagined that he shared this house with her. Shared her life. Was free to take her into his arms. Though time had softened the passion between them, it had deepened their friendship. And their love.

  A sigh escaped her lips. Shaw reached across the table and covered her hand.

  “Would it really matter now if you and I got married?” she asked. “After all, what could people do to us at our ages?”

  She didn’t expect him to reply. They’d discussed this more than once over the past decade, but it invariably came down to one reality. “You gots to think about yo’ grandbaby,” he always said.

  Rae’s sweet face came to her mind. Not really a baby anymore, the ten-year-old girl was the spitting image of little Henry.

  Cat peered into his dark eyes. “Do you really think the day will come when white folks around these parts will allow a colored to own land?

  “Lot’s of colored folks owns land.”

  Cat waved her hand toward him. “Oh, I know that. But land like this. The plantation house. All of this. Can you even imagine what the Klan would do if a colored family moved into Penbrook? They’d be dead in a night.”

  “Well, dat mos’ likely true.”

  “I’d like to will all of Penbrook to Henry’s daughter. Perhaps when that time comes, things will be different.”