“Monsieur, go away,” La Rue said, turning on his side.
“I’m afraid it cannot be done. Half the Territory is searching for you. They think you have been dead these four days complete.”
“I am found, monsieur, go away,” La Rue said, his eyes crossing as he attempted to rise up on one elbow, groaned, and then collapsed. “I would die in peace.”
“Aye, but not today. Today I am forced to take you back. They have arrested Mister Chester for murder and they’ll hang him...if they’ve not hung him already.”
La Rue pushed himself up to a sitting position and quickly put his head in his hands. “He has murdered me?” La Rue asked, peeking between his fingers.
“And there’s the pity, you are quite alive. Are you injured?”
“Oui, monsieur, my heart is broken.”
John took off his hat, rubbed the back of his neck and put his hat back on. “Mister La Rue, unlike my father, I am not so easily fooled. You do not love Polly nearly as well as you hate me.”
“I am a Frenchman. We are born hating the British.”
“I grew up in Virginia, learned contempt for redcoats quite young and killed my share of them in the war. I am not British, I am an American, Mister La Rue.”
“Can this be so?”
“Indeed, and the truth be told, Papa hates redcoats more than me. Not that he’s come to love the French, naturally.”
“Naturally,” La Rue said, lightly touching his temples.
“But should we again see war with the British, you’ll no doubt find the both of us on your side. Now, shall I help you up? You have a wife waiting who loves you dearly.”
“Love? Madam Eleanor hates me.”
“Does she? Then why is it she’s not stopped crying since your horse arrived without you?”
“Madam Eleanor cries for me? But monsieur, when I touch her, she does not excite. She is without passion.”
“I see. As I recall, you took her as your wife without exhibiting the least affection. One moment she was a child, and the next, a woman in your bed. She is confused and rightly so. You have my father to blame for that.”
La Rue thought for a moment and then raised an eyebrow. “Oui, monsieur, without him she would not consent.”
John frowned. “Do you mean you desired her, even without his trickery?”
“What man could resist? She is beautiful, no?”
“Mister La Rue, I salute you. You have outwitted my father, a thing not easily done. I say, you are a complicated man. You take an Indian wife and set her aside without just cause. You—”
“Without cause? Monsieur, she tried to scalp me!” La Rue said, pulling his hair back to reveal a long, jagged scar.
John’s eyes grew large. “I’d have set her aside myself.”
“Oui.”
“The point is, at times you are a good man. You’ve been seen leaving shoes for the children of widows. You take food to the sick, and isn’t it you who tends the grave of Polly’s mother?”
“She was a good woman.”
“That she was. But Mister La Rue, you drink far more than is a comfort and then happily throw families off their land. I daresay, that is not the sort of thing your children should have to endure. The whole Territory will hate them. Now, do come along, Mister La Rue, we must save Mister Chester.”
John got to his feet, helped La Rue up and held him steady until he got his balance. “Tell me, why was there blood on your saddle?”
La Rue stared at John for a moment and began to look around. “Impossible,” he muttered.
“What?”
“The deer, monsieur, have I lost it?”
“It would appear so,” John said, kicking dirt on the fire. He collected the weapons, handed La Rue his hat and led the way down the hill. “When you are able, perhaps you might bring Eleanor, take tea with us and tell of New Orleans. I hope to see it someday.”
“You like me, no?” La Rue asked, grabbing hold of branches to keep from sliding down the hill.
“I might, once we’ve become better acquainted.”
“Then you will sell to me Gideon?”
“No.”
GIDEON HAD NOT COME back. In mid-November, John took Polly, Adam and another load of provisions to the Cherokee village, but Gideon was not there, nor had they seen him. Laughing Rain and Shining Woman wept for joy at the sight of Polly. The first night, what little remained of the Cherokee, gathered to hear Polly sing. By the second night, their brothers, the Chickamauga, came. And on the third night, enough Muskhogeans showed up to make a nervous Adam think of returning to Virginia politics. The Great Spirit’s daughter was back, and the meadows, the hills, the forests, the waters, and the hearts of all people seemed to leap with joy at the sounds of her music.
“BUT I WAS QUITE CERTAIN he fancied Emiline,” John said, slipping into his bed at Maryridge. He put his arms around his wife and held her close. “Yet, he seems not at all bothered to see Thomas court her.”
“He loves thy mother still, he told me so.”
“Are you warm enough? Shall I get another blanket?”
“Thou worries too much,” she giggled. “Thou art worse than an old hen. Besides, thy arms are the warmth I need.”
“If only I did not love you so,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“Does thou think we’ll see snow for Christmas?”
“It feels cold enough. You’ve done wonders with the place, hanging boughs and berries so cleverly all around. Have you thought of what to give Papa?”
“Emiline found a pink ribbon.”
“Why pink?”
“Thy father hopes for a boy to carry his name. Best we remind him of the other possibility.”
“I see. I cannot wait to see his joy when he learns. And what, pray tell, are you giving me for Christmas?”
“I’ve a better question, what is thy father up to? He’ll not let me in the barn.”
John moved his head away just enough to watch her face. “Polly, I don’t imagine my gift to you will arrive in time. It is winter and I hadn’t expected it to. But do allow me to tell you, even though we are a day away from Christmas?”
“Is it a sleigh for the horse to pull, warm slippers for my feet or...”
“You want a sleigh?”
“No, John,” she giggled, “I only wanted to guess.”
“I sent for your family the day after La Rue gave the land back. Are you pleased?”
Polly did not speak. Instead, she buried her face in his chest and cuddled closer. Then a tear dropped from her eye.
“I did not mean to make you cry,” he said. “Are you in pain, is something amiss?”
She wiped the tears off her cheeks, rolled her eyes and clucked like an old mother hen.
“You think to mock me, do you,” he said, his arms firmly around her, his grin widening and his eyes filling with love.
“Shhhh, thou wilt wake the family.”
“I am not afraid,” he said, laying her back and letting her hair spill onto the pillow.
CHRISTMAS EVE HAD COME to Maryridge and with it, large fluffy snowflakes. The day was filled with children playing in the snow, coming in to warm themselves and then going back out. The men, African and whites alike, kept the hearths ablaze, enjoyed pipes and talked about politics and women. The women baked cakes and pies, kept watch over the children, tried to guess Uriah’s surprise and talked about men.
Cesha tried to be as cheerful as the others. She was free, but there would be no happy Christmas for her without Gideon. For weeks, she had filled her lonely hours with work, but this day, her work was finished and there was nothing to do but sit and talk.
It was Rose who finally asked the question everyone had avoided, “How did you end up in France?”
“A French general bought me and sent me there to tend his wife,” Cesha explained. “I was heavy with child. When I arrived, the wife took one look at me, accused me of bedding her husband and threw me out.”
“And the general allo
wed it?” Polly asked, sitting down beside her at the kitchen table.
“He was not there, he stayed in America,” Cesha answered, looking down at her simple brown frock and white apron. “I had no money, no papers, and nowhere to go. For days, I walked the streets of Paris begging for food. No one noticed I was a slave with no master. Worse still, I knew no French. I could have run away had I known which direction to run. Finally, a white woman took pity on me and gave me shelter. A month later, Reanie was born. When the general’s wife heard that my child was completely African, she took us both back. I think she feared her husband would hear what she had done.”
“No doubt she did,” Polly said, laying strips of dough crisscross on top of an apple-pie. “Was she unkind to thee?”
“Not until her husband came home. In less than a week, she again accused me of bedding her husband and sold me away...but she kept Reanie.”
Rose finished wiping a plate, put it in the cupboard and then joined them at the table. “She kept your child?”
“I would have shot her,” Polly said.
Cesha giggled. “I thought to poison her myself.”
“Where’s she sends you?” Lilly asked, dipping fresh water out of a bucket into her dishpan.
“To an elderly widow,” Cesha answered, toying with a freshly ironed dinner napkin. “This woman was very kind and I liked her. At first, she spoke only French and I did not know that many words. Then one night she took me aside and confessed she was actually British.”
“A Brit living in France?” Rose asked.
Cesha shrugged. “Even her French husband did not know. She missed speaking English and was surprised I spoke so well. It was then I told her about Gideon being sold into slavery. In a rage she sent a letter to Mister Rodes. I prayed Mister Rodes would come, but I did not believe it.”
Lilly left the dishes to sit down at the table. “It be Massah Rodes what comes to get ya?”
“It was,” Cesha smiled. “And my old mistress nearly fainted when he and MacGreagor showed up to buy Reanie. Miss Polly, could you send a post to France for me? I’d very much like to tell the kind woman we are safe.”
“I’d be pleased,” Polly said, getting up to put the last pie in the Dutch oven.
Cesha’s expression turned sad. “If only I could tell her I found Gideon.”
“He be back,” Lilly comforted. “He’s say he’s come’n back, soon as he can.”
“Of course he’ll be back,” Rose put in. “He feels safe here.”
“I do hope you are right, I miss him so very much,” Cesha said.
WITH DINNER LONG SINCE over and the dishes washed, Polly led the way upstairs to the small sitting room. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, tasty treats were spread out on the table and the room was filled with the scent of pine boughs and berries.
Polly chose a chair near the double windows overlooking the snow-covered backyard. She gathered the children around her, waited for the adults to sit down, opened Uriah’s Bible and began to read the Christmas story. “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Ceasar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.”
Seated in the back of the room, Uriah leaned closer to John, “Son, I desire a word with you,” he whispered, nodding toward the door. He quietly got up and led the way halfway down the stairs.
“What is it, Papa?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Uriah started, glancing at the open door, then grabbing John’s sleeve and pulling him further down the stairs.
“Yes, go on,” John said.
“It occurred to me I might have been remiss in your education.”
“In what way?”
“Well, it’s just that this is your second wife and neither has managed to conceive. Therefore, I wondered if perhaps you might have...questions.”
“Questions?”
“Yes, about...you know.”
John grinned and quickly hugged his father, “Papa, I love you,” he said, hurrying back up the stairs.
“What kind of answer is that?”
“Monsieur Carson,” little Reanie said, darting out the door and down the stairs, “you forgot the surprise.”
“No, I did not, it is not yet time.”
“What time is it, monsieur?”
“Come along, I’ll show you,” he said, taking her hand. “We’ve a very fine clock downstairs.”
“Oui, monsieur, I have seen it,” Reanie said, letting go of his hand at the bottom of the steps and racing through the foyer into the sitting room. When he finally caught up, he walked to the mantel, easily lifted the clock – minus the jewels, and brought it to a table. “You can tell time, Can you not?”
“No.”
“I see. Well then, this is the long hand. When the long hand moves to the top, it will be time.”
“Oh,” Reanie said, climbing into a nearby chair. She put both elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands.
“Very good. I’ll expect you to notify me,” he said, leaving to go back upstairs.
The long hand moved once, twice, then a third time. But it was still a long way from the top. The front door opened, a gust of cold air filled the room and then it closed. Reanie started to hop down, but just then, the long hand moved again. Shrugging, she put her chin back on her hands to watch. The long hand moved twice more.
“Hello,” a black man said, his large frame filling the doorway.
Her big brown eyes grew large as she watched the stranger walk to the hearth and stretch his hands out over the fire. “Are you my père?”
“Your what?” Gideon asked.
“My père? You know, Papa.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine I am.”
“Oh,” Reanie said, letting out a long sigh and then turning her attention back to the clock.
“Tell me, who sings?” Gideon asked, turning his hands to warm the backs. His hat and coat were off, but he still wore a long woolen scarf around his neck.
“Madame Polly.”
“Indeed? John has found her?”
“Oui, monsieur. Her song is beautiful, no?”
“Very,” Gideon answered, turning his backside toward the fire. “And where have you come from?”
“France, naturally. I was born there.”
“Naturally,” Gideon said, rubbing his hands together.
“Monsieur, is you a slave?”
Gideon smiled. “Some say yes, some say no. For the most part, I am free. Have you a name?”
“Of course I do, it is Reanie.”
“And how did you get from France to Maryridge?”
“Mister Ickaker brung us.”
“You mean brought you.”
“Oui, across an ocean this big, monsieur,” she said, stretching her arms out wide. Even so, she kept her eyes on the clock. “The ship rocks, monsieur, very much. And Mister Ickacker nearly fell off,” she went on, covering her mouth to giggle. Reanie suddenly hopped out of her chair, raced across the room and climbed into one closer to Gideon. “Monsieur Ickacker has only one arm.”
“Do you mean MacGreagor?” he asked, sitting down across from her. His hands were still ice cold so he began rubbing the warmth back into them.
“Oui, he’s a Scotsman. What’s a Scotsman?”
“It’s rather like an Englishman, only farther north.”
“An Englishman!” Reanie said, her eyes lighting up. “I’m an Englishman too, monsieur.”
“Fancy that, an Englishman born in France. Did MacGreagor come with you?”
“Oh no, he could not. Monsieur Ickacker is needed at sea. Monsieur Rodes—”
Gideon instantly stopped rubbing his hands. “Rodes?”
“Uh huh, he’s a Brit. I already know what a Brit is. He’s come with us. He’d have it no other way. I like him, he’s funny. Monsieur...Monsieur...”
Reanie suddenly put her hands on top of her head. “I forgot the clock!” she said, scrambling back to the first chair. She studied it for a full minute until finally, it moved again. “This clock is too slow. Monsieur Carson has a big surprise. Monsieur Carson is very old. He is cranky when he’s woked up. We must be very quiet, monsieur. Lilly says, ‘Miz Ross, you best keep that Reanie...’”
“What did you say?” Gideon interrupted.
“What?”
“Reanie, did you say Mrs. Ross?”
“Of course I did. That’s her name, isn’t it—Madame Cesha Ross.”
CHAPTER 14
His heart was beating too fast, his mouth was dry and his feet felt like iron. His hands were trembling, the stairwell seemed too narrow, the door was too far away, and his thoughts were in utter chaos – when Gideon started up the stairs. Afraid to hope, afraid to pray even, he slowly climbed until he was standing in the open doorway. Their backs were to him and Polly’s voice was filling the room:
“Glo ... o ... o ... o ... o ... oria, in excelsis deo.
Glo ... o....”
Finally, he took a forgotten breath and let his eyes sweep quickly past the white people. Then there was Whistler, Lilly, Seth, Harry, Isabelle, and...
Polly had stopped singing and all eyes were turning toward him. Then suddenly, Cesha was in his arms with her head thrown back and her mouth uttering shrieks of joy.
He was stunned. For a long moment, his brow was deeply wrinkled and his mouth agape. “You are alive?” he finally managed to ask.
“Yes!” Cesha shouted.
Then the words began tumbling out of his mouth, “I did not think you could be, I’ve looked everywhere. How did you get to France? Is Reanie mine? Have they hurt you—”
“Gideon,” Cesha whispered.
“What?”
Broken Pledge Page 30