Diamond Duo

by Marcia Gruver

  Maybe Dr. Turner was right. Maybe Annie had found a way to escape.

  Bertha jumped when Papa touched her arm.

  “I’m talking to you, Bertha. Haven’t you heard a word of it?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Sorry, Papa.”

  “I asked if you knew of a place Annie might be hiding.”

  She shook her head. “She never mentioned knowing anyone in Jefferson. Of course, we weren’t friends before she came. Annie’s so kindhearted and outgoing, I can’t assume I’m the only person in town who was drawn to her, now, can I?” Bertha had to admit the thought brought a peculiar sensation to the pit of her stomach. A sensation a little too close to jealousy. Jealously blended and stirred with anger and a generous dose of hurt feelings.

  How could Annie turn to someone else after Bertha’s offer of help? How could she up and leave town without even saying good-bye? Especially after Bertha’s considerable sacrifice.

  Then again, while grieving for Thad, she’d let a whole day pass without finding out what happened to Annie after she left her standing on a street corner in her nightdress.

  God, forgive me. I’ve made a real mess of things.

  “Bertha, what’s ailing you, lass? I might as well be talking to a picket.”

  “Please forgive me. What did you say?”

  “I asked you what’s next, then.”

  His question ricocheted through the empty chambers of Bertha’s heart, once so filled with fond affection from a friend and abiding love from a man. The same question applied to both Annie’s fate and Bertha’s future with Thad.

  She drew a shaky breath. “What’s next? Papa, if only I knew.”

  Henry hadn’t spoken to Sarah since the ugly words he spat at her in the hotel parlor. All the way home he sat silently in the back of Thomas’s wagon, pale and gritting his teeth. When they pulled into the yard, he managed to thank Thomas and the boys, even greeted Dickens on the porch. But then he walked straight to their room and climbed into bed with nary a spare word left for Sarah.

  Desperate to be near him, she followed him inside. “Henry?” she whispered. “Don’t you want to eat something?”

  He turned his face to the wall and drew up his shoulders. She knew he wanted her to leave, but she couldn’t. Instead, she pulled the shade without making a sound, eased her way to the corner rocker, and sat so quietly in the dim room that he didn’t seem to know she was there.

  She watched while he tossed and turned, cried and groaned, twitched and moaned. When his breathing deepened and his face relaxed in sleep, Sarah finally dared to move. Easing her body from the chair, she crept out of the room. To keep the old hinges from squeaking, she left the door open and tiptoed down the hall.

  In the kitchen, she sought the comfort of her red tea can. She took it down from the shelf and shook it, and only then remembered she had enough left for one last cup. While the water heated, Sarah wracked her mind. What had happened to make Henry so angry? What had she done to cause his hateful glare? To lace his voice with spite?

  Dr. Eason said Henry’s mind had shut down like a stubborn mule’s. Well, she didn’t believe it. She knew what a stubborn Henry looked like. The sullen man in the bedroom was a stranger she’d never laid eyes on.

  Sarah lifted the kettle just as it started to whistle and sprinkled the last bit of her tea leaves over steaming water. Before closing the lid, she watched as swirling color leeched from the dried leaves. Some nameless disaster swirled about her in much the same way, threatening to stain her marriage and darken her happy life.

  She found no consolation in the tea and let more than half the cup go wasted while she sat at the kitchen table lost in thought. She knew she should fix something to eat. They hadn’t had a bite since breakfast, and Henry barely touched his plate then.

  Leaning over the table, she folded her arms and rested her forehead there. The day had been the hardest of any she could remember. Of course, it would’ve been unthinkably worse if Dandy had bolted from under Henry. Still, she felt like those men had strung her up and beaten her right alongside her husband. She wondered if Henry’s beating hurt worse than the heartache she felt.

  Beneath the table, her stomach growled. She sucked it in as hard as she could, but it rumbled again in protest. They had pork chops left from supper last night, with baked beans and stewed apples to go with them. She could stir up a batch of biscuits fast, though skillet corn cakes would taste better.

  Startled, she realized how quickly she’d gone from pure misery to thoughts of feasting. How odd the workings of the mind.

  “I need a poultice for my nose.”

  Henry’s voice brought Sarah to her feet as though she’d been bucked from the chair. “You’re awake?”

  He ignored her foolish question. “I can’t abide this pain another minute.”

  She longed to reach for him. Comfort him. Instead, she scurried for the pantry and brought out jars of salves and herbs. “Your nose, you say? What about your ribs? You’d think your ribs would be giving you fits instead of your nose. ’Course, I ain’t never had a broken rib, or a busted nose for that matter, but it just seems a rib would be bound to hurt worse.”

  Why was she babbling like Jennie Simpson? A better question–why was she talking to Henry as if he hadn’t ripped the heart clean out of her chest?

  He settled at the table and sat quietly while she tended his nose. When she finished, she got up without saying a word to pull out the pork chops and beans. After she warmed them and they ate, Henry pushed his empty plate aside. “I reckon I owe you some answers.”

  She put down the bite of apple between her fingers and met his eyes. “I only need one.”

  He looked away. “I’m sorry I treated you so poorly, Sarah. I had no right, and I hope you’ll forgive me.”

  She felt her heart start to mend. “Can you tell me why?”

  He wrinkled his face. “I think so. I’ll try.”

  “Good enough.”

  He shifted in the chair and cleared his throat. “Yesterday, on the road when those men harassed us jus’ for sport, I got real mad. When that little one pointed his gun straight at me and you jumped between us, I had so many thoughts swimming in my head I couldn’t keep ’em straight.” He scooted to the edge of his chair. “First thing, I ain’t never had no gun in my face before. I wasn’t ready for how it made me feel. Second thing, I realized if he had shot that gun, you’d be dead. Maybe both of us. That’s when I passed up mad and went to crazy. Stayed crazy all the rest of the day.”

  She gave him a look. “You didn’t seem mad.”

  He nodded. “I kept it pent up, like I always do. But I tossed in bed half the night thinking. When I woke up this morning, I had it figured you’d been right all along. White folks jus’ plain mean and no ’count. Ain’t a one of ’em care a whit for any of us, and I was wrong not to defend you better in this town.”

  “Oh, Henry.”

  “So I decided I wasn’t about to let them men get by with what they done. I’d go see the sheriff and make sure he doled out proper punishment on those mongrels.” He snorted. “Come to find out, the sheriff done turned ’em loose.” He leaned over the table, looking at her with bulging eyes. “Turned ’em loose, Sarah. Like they ain’t done one thing wrong.” He slapped his hand down so hard he rattled the dishes. “There ain’t no justice in that.”

  Remembering, his eyes glazed. “I didn’t know what I was about to do next. I was in such a state by then I couldn’t think. Wouldn’t you know it, about that time I happened up onto them dogs. Instead of going the other way, like a man with any sense, I pranced past ’em glaring like I owned Austin Street.” He flexed his jaw. “That’s all it took to set those devils off. Next thing I knew, I was trussed up like a butchering hog on Dandy’s back.”

  Sarah shuddered at the memory. “But that still don’t explain–”

  “Sittin’ up there on Dandy, I think I went insane for a spell.” He chewed his bottom lip. “All sorts of crazy thoughts
took over my mind.”

  “What sort?”

  He gave her a sheepish glance. “For one thing, I thought I was about to die, and I decided it was your fault.”

  She swallowed. “My fault? How’d you come up with that?”

  He puffed his cheeks then released his breath in a whoosh. “Before you come to Jefferson, I didn’t have no problems with these folks. I minded my business and stayed out of their way. Shucks, I even cared about most of them and believed they cared about me.”

  “Henry, I–”

  He held up his hand. “Let me finish. Sarah. You put all these uppity thoughts in my head. You the one had me looking at white folks different. That’s why I wound up talking back yesterday on the road. If I’d handled those men the way I know to, they would’ve gone on and left us alone. Jus’ like today when I passed them on the street. If I’d ducked out of their way, I never would’ve wound up with a rope around my neck.”

  “So you think doin’ things the way you always have makes it right?”

  He slammed his hand on the table again, harder this time. “I don’t know what’s right anymore, Sarah. That’s what I think. I jus’ learned how to make it, that’s all. I’ve been ducking and dodging for so long, I don’t know any other way.”

  She knew she shouldn’t lose her temper, too. Not now. Not with Henry hurt and already in such a state. But she did anyway. “If I’m the cause of all the problems in Jefferson, why’d you ever bring me here in the first place?”

  He lifted cold, hard eyes. “I’ve been asking myself that same question lately.”

  They stared, neither giving an inch until Henry propped his elbows on the table and gripped the sides of his head. “All my life I’ve tried to believe what I read in the Good Book, where it says we supposed to love our neighbor like ourselves. That they ain’t no race or color in Christ.

  “When I was a boy, I remember thinking the white folks’ Bible must have different words than mine, because the men coming out of the meetinghouses holding Bibles were the same ones buying and selling our people, cursing and whipping ’em. The Good Book say we all free in Christ, but the last thing they wanted was to see us free. None of it made sense to me then, and it still don’t now.”

  “Henry, slavery didn’t start here, with these people. Papa said slave trade has existed in Africa for thousands of years. He said our own brothers brought us down to the ships, bound and gagged.”

  Henry’s eyes bugged. “Your papa’s been yanking your leg.”

  “No, it’s true.” She patted his hand. “And not only white folks have owned slaves. He told me many colors and races of people are guilty. You want to know what I think? I think slavery’s not a white or black problem, or even a people problem. It’s a sin problem.”

  He snorted. “Well, it sure is a Jefferson problem. They jus’ won’t let us be free.”

  Sarah reached across the table and held his hands. “We don’t need them to let us be free. Or haven’t you heard about emancipation?”

  He shifted his gaze to her. “That’s an awful big word around these parts, Sarah.”

  “Maybe, but now I feel like there’s hope for a life in Jefferson. I didn’t feel that before today.” She stood up and walked around the table, kneeling at his side. “Didn’t you see who came to your rescue?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know.” His forehead wrinkled. “I don’t remember much about it.”

  “Well, I do. They were our white friends and neighbors.”

  He drew back and stared. “When did you ever have a white friend or neighbor in this town?”

  “Since today, and from here on out.” She gripped his arm. “I’m trying to say I’ve been wrong. Well, partly, anyway. Like you said before, it’s wrong to lump everybody into the same barrel. It’s still true that some are wormy, but most of the apples in this town, though they be lumpy and blemished on the outside, are sweet at the core.”

  He made a face, and she stood. “This is so peculiar, Henry. About the time I change my mind, you go and change yours?”

  He gazed up at her with doubtful eyes. “What has you talking like this, Sarah?”

  She didn’t have to think about her answer. “Miss Annie.”

  “Miss Annie?”

  “The pretty lady we first saw in Stilley’s, the one tendin’ Jennie yesterday.”

  “I know who she is. She’d be right hard to forget. What about her?”

  Sarah stared past the kitchen window. “I learned something from her. I ain’t never seen a kinder soul in anyone, black or white. And that’s what I’m starting to understand. It’s the heart that matters, not the color of our skin. Miss Annie taught me that.”

  “So about the time I get you figured out, it’s time to start all over?” He pushed away from the table. “I don’t want to talk about this no more. My whole body hurts. I feel like I done been–” His startled eyes flashed, and he bit off the rest. Sarah knew what he’d almost said, a phrase he used all the time, especially after a long day in the field.

  “I feel like I done been whipped.”

  His jaw worked, and he swallowed, hollow eyes focusing just over her head. “Move out my way, Sarah. I’m going to bed.”

  Tuesday, January 23

  Bertha awoke the next morning with Dr. Turner’s words ringing in her ears. She scooted higher in the bed and propped herself on her pillows. After weighing the facts half the night, she decided it would take a lot more to convince her that Annie ran off without saying a word. In fact, she refused to believe it until she had proof. Something definitely wasn’t right, and in the light of a new day, another visit to Brooks House seemed the only option.

  More than likely she’d find Annie shut up in number four, Abe’s prisoner again. If not, she’d talk to every person there, even knock on Abe’s door if need be and question him on Annie’s whereabouts. And she’d stand right behind Papa while he did the knocking and the asking.

  Her punishment for losing the horrible bronze shoes had started the day before. While pining for Thad, she forgot and barely got done with her regular work. Mulling over Annie’s plight made her aware of how God had blessed her, so she made up her mind to honor her parents with a more obedient daughter. Maybe the extra work and the mystery surrounding Annie’s disappearance would take her mind off Thad for a bit and provide a welcome distraction from her wounded heart.

  She kicked off her quilt and sat up. The odor of fried bacon hit her nose as soon as her feet hit the floor, eliciting a deep groan from the pit of her stomach. Surprisingly, her appetite had come back. She dressed as fast as she could and hustled to the kitchen. “Morning, Mama.”

  Flipping hotcakes, by the warm, buttered-wheat smell in the room, Mama stood by the stove. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, dear. Sit down and I’ll pour your milk.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it. I wouldn’t want to hinder your efforts. It smells like you’re doing a fine job.”

  Laying her spatula aside, Mama turned. “Why, look at you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a different girl.”

  Bertha grinned. “No, it’s me. I saw myself in the mirror.”

  Mama’s stunned look turned to alarm. “Are you all right, Bertha? After the state you were in yesterday, your mood is unnaturally light. You’re not feverish, are you?”

  “I’m fine, Mama. In fact, I’m starving, so don’t let my hotcake burn.”

  Mama crossed to the table and flipped the golden circle onto Bertha’s plate. “I must say, I’m finding this nothing short of miraculous, dear.”

  Bertha served herself two strips of bacon. “It’s no miracle. I didn’t touch a bite all day yesterday.”

  “Not your hunger. Your upbeat mood.”

  Bertha swallowed a big bite then smiled. “Oh, that. Well, I’ve had some time to think and pray, so I have a whole new outlook. Papa counseled me to trust God with the details. After pondering some of those, I’ve come to a few conclusions.”

 
; She counted them off. “As you mentioned yesterday, Thad does live in Jefferson. He has to come home sometime, doesn’t he? Meanwhile, there’s less chance of a girl stealing his heart at a military school. Despite his anger, if he misses me a fraction of how I miss him, he’s still miserable. And last but really first, if God wants us together, we will be. I have to believe that.”

  Mama laughed and forked another steaming flapjack onto her plate from a stack on the stove. “I knew we raised a sensible daughter, but I had no idea of the depths of your wisdom.” She squeezed Bertha’s shoulder. “I’m very proud of you. Papa will be, as well.”

  She grinned. “Oh, pooh. You’ll embarrass me saying such things.” She reached for the ceramic pitcher and poured a glass of milk. “Speaking of Papa, where is the old rascal?”

  At the stove again, Mama poured more batter into the skillet, lowered the empty bowl into a dishpan, and leaned against the counter. “You just missed him. He ate enough breakfast to stagger a horse then rushed out.”

  Bertha craned her neck and looked out the window. “Is he out in the barn?”

  “No, dear. He’s gone off on an errand.”

  Her heart sank. “Without me?”

  “Had you planned another trip into town? Lately you spend more time there than at home. I don’t think you should go today.” Standing with her hand on her hip and a disapproving look on her face, Mama resembled her old stormy self.

  Fearing the damaging winds of the past, Bertha dared to protest. “I plan to do all my chores first, including the extras. I won’t be long, and you can pick which shoes I wear.” Mama’s slight grin gave her courage. “Please?”

  Understanding dawned on Mama’s face. “You’re going to look for Annie again, aren’t you?”

  When she nodded, Mama stiffened. “You can’t go alone. Wait for Papa.”

  “That won’t work. There’s no telling when he’ll be home.”

  “Magda, then.”

  Bertha wiped her mouth and stood. “We have a bargain. Thank you, Mama. Now move aside and let me at those dishes. The morning’s getting away from me.”