George blew out a sigh full of impatience. “The girl won’t learn if she’s not shown her mistakes. Natalie won’t tolerate servants who cannot perform their jobs correctly. We will be entertaining quite a bit after we’re married. I won’t have my new wife distraught over servants who are incapable of carrying out a simple task.”
Adella bit back a tart reply, knowing Papa disliked it when she argued in favor of the slaves. Mama had always shown patience with the house servants, and she taught Adella to do the same. A kind word, she’d said, was a far better teacher than chastisement. Sadly, neither her father nor her brother subscribed to this way of thinking.
“I don’t condone brutality toward the slaves as a general rule, Brantley,” Papa said, as though reading her thoughts, “but discipline must be fast and firm with the darkies, or they won’t learn. We keep a shed behind the quarter you can make use of as you see fit. If the bullwhip is needed, Monroe will handle it.” Papa eyed Seth. “Unless, of course, you prefer to administer it yourself.”
Adella held her breath, waiting for his response.
The mantel clock ticked off several seconds. “If it is all the same to you, sir,” Seth said, seeming to measure his words. “I’m not partial to the bullwhip. Pa believes there are better ways to punish a slave who misbehaves than to ruin him with the whip.”
For reasons she couldn’t pin down, Adella nearly wilted with relief at his bold answer. But what would Papa think? She sneaked a glance to find his narrowed eyes studying Seth before his lips slowly turned upward in a smirk.
“Daniel and I never did see eye to eye on things,” Papa said, chuckling. The tension in the room dissipated with the sound. “We came to Texas together in thirty-five. I was bound and determined to create the largest cotton plantation this side of the Mississippi, but all Daniel wanted was a plot of ground to grow a few acres of corn. He won’t listen even now when I tell him he would make far more profit growing cotton.”
Seth nodded. “Pa has always said he prefers a simple life. Stephen is anxious to expand the farm, though. He is looking into growing sugar cane.”
“He will need to purchase more stock if he goes into cane. The dozen Negroes your Pa keeps won’t be sufficient for work in the cane fields,” Papa said, rubbing his bare chin where his long side-whiskers ended. “I would be happy to accompany him down to Galveston when he’s ready. I am always in the market for a strong specimen or two.”
Seth’s smile ebbed. “I will be sure to mention that to Stephen.”
George pushed his plate away, apparently finished with the meal after all. Carolina sought Adella with terror-filled eyes—she responded with a nod and an encouraging smile. As she watched Carolina execute her task and practically run from the room, she came to a decision. If Natalie didn’t show any more kindness to the girl than her brother had just demonstrated, Adella would speak to Papa about taking charge of Carolina. Her own maid, Hulda, was getting on in years. Carolina was a sweet girl and eager to please. Adella would enjoy having her around.
Papa stood. Seth and George followed suit. “We’d best get the day started, gentlemen.”
Adella waited for Papa to step behind her chair and pull it out so she could rise.
“And what do you have planned today, Adella Rose?” he said as she stood. “I am sure there is still much to do to prepare for Natalie’s arrival, what with the wedding in less than two weeks.”
Feeling little excitement regarding her brother’s upcoming nuptials and the changes it would bring, she forced some cheerfulness into her words. “Yes, work in the east wing is right on schedule. While Natalie is here visiting, we will choose fabric for the sitting room curtains and pillows. I have samples ready for her to look over.”
Papa’s attention had already moved on. “Brantley, come to my study to discuss a few matters before you head to the fields.”
Seth nodded and fell into step beside her father and George. The three men headed into the foyer and down the hall toward Papa’s private office, leaving Adella feeling forgotten and useless.
“There have been five runaways in the area lately,” Luther said as soon as the three men were seated in the masculine room, with Luther behind a massive mahogany desk and George and Seth facing him in matching horsehair chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the chamber and held more books than Seth had ever seen in one place.
“Two darkies ran from a plantation further east of us, but one escaped from Langford’s and two from Carter’s. The patrol caught Carter’s, but Langford’s man is still missing.” A hard line formed on Luther’s mouth. “I have invested too much in these Negroes to allow them to simply vanish. If there is an uprising in the making, I do not want any Rose Hill slaves to take part in it. Do I make myself clear?”
Seth’s jaw clenched at the mention of escaped slaves. “It was a runaway who shot me near the Mexican border last year. Believe me when I say I have no sympathy for them.”
Luther nodded, his eyes scrutinizing. “I believe you. I would hold a grudge too if I were in your shoes. It’s bad enough your leg is forever damaged, but that you had to give up your position with the Rangers because of a no-good Negro wouldn’t sit well, I imagine.”
Seth’s gut twisted at the memory of the night he was shot. He hadn’t known the black man hiding in the brush had a gun. “No sir, it doesn’t sit well at all.”
Nodding with approval, Luther continued. “When new slaves are integrated, we keep a watchful eye on things to be sure the new stock doesn’t infect the existing slaves with ideas of escape. The right word from the overseer, especially one who’s seen the dead body of a runaway, can go a long way in cases like this.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across the mound of belly fat overlapping his trousers. “Those young bucks I brought back from Galveston will bear some watching.”
“What about the new yellow gal you bought?” George asked, a glint in his eyes. “She’s too fine for field work.”
“I have plans for that gal, so leave her be,” Luther said, lowering his voice even though the heavy door was closed. An unmistakable warning edged his tone.
Seth glanced between father and son. It wasn’t uncommon for white slave owners to freely use their female slaves, but Pa frowned on such behavior. Seth had a feeling, however, that the Ellis men held no such convictions.
“What kind of plans?” A petulant look filled George’s face, reminding Seth of his visit to Rose Hill as a boy. He recalled how he and George were sent outside to play, but each time Seth won a game or a race, George would pout.
Luther ignored his son. “I believe it is high time I breed my own slaves instead of buying them at the markets. Galveston. New O’leans. They are all the same. The slave traders charge far more than any Negro is worth, yet what can us planters do but pay the exorbitant prices.”
It took a moment for Seth to comprehend what the older man meant. “You are going to breed slaves?”
A look of giddy pleasure crossed Luther’s face. “Yes. It is brilliant, don’t you think? I have the perfect man for her, too— Jeptha. I bought him years ago with his mother when he was just a baby. Now he’s a strapping man, bulging with muscles, so I suspect his father was a large Negro. I have kept him out of the fields, saving him for something special. That gal”—he pointed out the partially curtained window that looked out to the cotton fields— “and Jeptha will make some mighty fine children. Who knows? I might go into the slave trade myself. However, it is a shame it takes nine months for a Negro gal to drop a young’un.”
While George congratulated his father on his new enterprise, Seth sat mute, stunned by the revelation. His mind recalled Luther’s interest in the young slave woman at the Galveston market. With golden skin and pale eyes, she’d been highly sought after. Luther outbid several men, gloating when he won the prize despite the outrageous price of three thousand dollars.
“’Course, that is privileged information, you understand,” Luther continued, apparently unaware that his a
dmission shocked his new overseer. “Don’t mention it to Adella Rose. She would have a fit if she knew. She is just like her mother, God rest her soul. Doesn’t have the least understanding of the business of runnin’ a plantation.”
The sound George made revealed his disgust. “My sister coddles the darkies. If it were up to Adella, she would probably give them their freedom papers, never minding it would be the demise of the plantation.”
“My dear wife allowed Adella Rose to play with the slave children when she was growing up because George never had the patience for his sister.” Luther gave George an unhappy glare. “I am afraid it caused my daughter to become much too sympathetic when it comes to the Negroes. George and I don’t discuss plantation business in front of her for that reason. She would not approve of my plans for Jeptha, though I daresay Jeptha won’t mind.” He chuckled.
“But we won’t have to worry about Adella’s hurt feelings much longer,” Luther continued, exchanging a satisfied look with George. “I have consented to her marriage to Marshall Brevard. He owns a large plantation in Rusk County. The engagement will be announced as soon as George and Natalie are wed.”
“Missy Ellis, what you doing sneakin’ around this here barn?”
Adella jumped, startled by the male voice that came from the shadowed horse stall she’d just tiptoed past. Tucking the apple she snuck from the kitchen into the deep pocket of her skirt, she turned to see Jeptha in the dim light of the barn, hammer in hand.
“Jeptha, you scared me.” She gave a mock scowl. “You should give a body more warning of your presence.” Biting her lip for a brief moment, Adella searched her mind for a valid excuse for being in the barn. “I thought to check on Clementine since her foal is due any day now.” She grinned, satisfied with her ploy.
“You can’t fool me.” The young man shook his head. Beads of sweat dotted his dark skin, and he used his rolled-up shirtsleeve to mop his brow. “Since when you check on a hoss what’s due to foal? You gonna get us both in trouble if Massa Ellis hear you been down yonder. It ain’t ladylike for you to hang around a smelly ol’ barn now that you all growed up.”
A smile tickled Adella’s lips, knowing her secret was safe with him. “Papa is far too busy with the new overseer to notice my absence. Besides, with Natalie arriving this afternoon, I won’t have a minute to call my own.” She glanced down the straw-covered aisle. “Now tell me, where are you keeping him?”
Jeptha shook his head again and set his hammer on the ledge of the empty stall. The nails and freshly cut planks on the ground around him spoke of the job assigned to him this morning. When his black eyes met hers, Adella saw the mischievous twinkle she’d come to know when they were children. “Who you talkin’ about?”
She laughed. “Now who is trying to fool who? I know there is a wild stallion somewhere in this barn. I heard Papa talking about it, and I am determined to see him.”
“Massa Ellis have my hide if he find out I took you anywhere near that devil hoss.” Jeptha glanced toward the door, worry tugging his brow. “Monroe sure to tell him, too, just to get me in trouble.”
“I saw Monroe ride out to the fields. He won’t be back for hours.” She hoped so anyway. The beefy plantation driver unsettled her. His beady eyes took far more liberty than they should when she happened to be nearby.
Jeptha shrugged. “I know you ain’t gonna give up ’til you see him. Come on, then.”
They set off to the far end of the horse barn. The smell of fresh hay mingled with the musty odor of manure and horseflesh, though all the barns on Rose Hill were meticulously maintained. Papa wouldn’t have it any other way.
An angry nicker came from the last stall when they approached, followed by what sounded like wood splintering. Their steps slowed, and Jeptha reached a hand to still Adella.
“You got to go real slow now,” he whispered. “He’s tied tight, but that don’t mean he ain’t a’workin’ on getting loose.”
With a nod of understanding, Adella took a small step forward and peeked around the corner of the stall. Her breath caught at the sight of the magnificent creature. “He’s beautiful,” she breathed, taking in the matted black coat and powerful muscles of the stallion. His long mane and flowing tail held burrs and tangles, but Adella could well imagine what the horse would look like fully groomed. The beast’s large eyes stared at her while his nostrils flared. He snorted angrily and lunged forward, causing Adella to back into Jeptha, though the sturdy ropes tied to either side of the horse’s neck kept him in place.
“Whoo-wee, that one’s a devil, I tell ya. I don’t ’spect no one will ever tame him.”
Jeptha backed away from the stall, but Adella stood watching the beast, its breath coming out in hard blows. She wished she could stroke his neck, reassuring him she wouldn’t hurt him, but she dared not get any closer. “I suppose I would be mad too if some strange men came and took me away from my home and family, then kept me tied up.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jeptha said with a wry nod.
His tone made Adella wonder if he felt a kinship with the animal. They didn’t speak of it often, mainly because it was too dangerous to do so, but on more than one occasion—usually at Adella’s prodding—Jeptha confessed his longing for freedom. It was especially keen after her mother’s sister had arrived from Boston for the funeral with two free black servants in tow. Word of the free blacks spread through the quarter like flames in a dry cornfield, convincing Papa an uprising would soon follow. He hadn’t been at all pleased when Aunt Beth announced her involvement in the abolitionist movement up north, but Adella secretly tucked away everything her aunt revealed, wondering if there would ever come a day when slaves were truly free. Papa scoffed at the idea, declaring the South would never allow such a thing, but something about the determined gleam in her aunt’s eye convinced Adella the possibility wasn’t so far-fetched.
She returned her attention to the horse. “Can I give him the apple I brought?”
Jeptha chuckled. “Since when do you ask permission to do anything? Just keep your distance.”
Reaching into her pocket, Adella pulled out the piece of fruit. The horse’s ears perked, and his eyes followed her movement. His nostrils twitched at the scent. “I brought this for you,” she said, hoping her soothing tone would calm him. Holding it on the palm of her flattened hand, she inched forward with her arm outstretched, though she wasn’t near enough for the animal to snatch the apple away even if he’d tried. “I would like to be your friend. I will bring you one of these every day—”
A loud snort interrupted her speech. “Your pappy ain’t gonna let you come down yonder every day to give that devil hoss an apple.”
She tossed a glare over her shoulder. “Hush, Jeptha. I am having a conversation with … with …” Her longstanding habit of giving the animals names made her grin. “Freedom. Yes, that’s it. Freedom and I are getting acquainted.”
Jeptha rolled his eyes heavenward and went back to cleaning harnesses.
“As I was saying, Freedom”—she edged closer to the stall, keeping an eye on the horse’s powerful body. It wouldn’t do well to spook him, thus causing him to injure himself. “I would like to be your friend.”
Ever so slowly she sank to her knees, unconcerned that her yellow silk gown could get dirty. With a practiced aim from years of playing marbles with Jeptha, Adella rolled the apple beneath the stall door, directly in front of the horse. Freedom glanced down, then looked at her. She held her breath. After a long moment, the horse turned his head away from the apple and from Adella.
Her shoulders fell. She’d been snubbed. By a horse.
“Don’t look like he aims to be your friend, Missy. Best you get on back to the big house before someone starts a’wonderin’ where you at.”
Disappointed but not defeated, Adella turned to follow Jeptha back up the aisle. Her thoughts on the horse, she nearly collided with Jeptha when he skidded to a stop. Before she could ask why, a tall figure moved out of the shadows ahead of them.
Fearing Monroe was upon them, Adella’s heart thrummed a nervous beat before Seth Brantley emerged into the dim light. Her relief at seeing him was short-lived, however, when his gaze traveled between Jeptha and herself, his scowl growing darker by the second.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Well?” Aunt Lu’s brow tugged into a worried frown beneath the red kerchief tied around her short-cropped hair. Her ample bosom stilled while she waited for Adella’s reply.
From her perch at the long kitchen worktable, Adella took a second taste of creamy cake batter dripping from her finger. “Maybe a bit more cinnamon.”
Aunt Lu’s shoulders sagged. She heaved a sigh while adding more of the spice to the bowl. “Who the Prince a’ Wales anyhow? And why he got to have such a fancy cake named after him? I tells ya, I ain’t never gonna get this here recipe right, Missy Ellis. We gonna be in all kinds a trouble if Miss Langford get here an’ this here cake ain’t right. Why cain’t we just make a nice honey cake? I do them real good.”
“Because,” Adella said, dipping her finger into the delicious batter one last time. “According to George, Prince of Wales cake is Natalie’s favorite. He wants to surprise her.”
Aunt Lu’s frown deepened. “My Zina done her best to get the recipe from ol’ Harriet over to the Langford place, but that ol’ gal don’t cotton to me learnin’ her secrets. I ’spect she left out somethin’ important, and that’s why we cain’t get it right.”
Secretly, Adella worried Aunt Lu wasn’t too far off the mark. Zina, Aunt Lu’s sixteen-year-old daughter who served as Natalie’s maid, sent instructions that made no sense, at least to someone who possessed little knowledge regarding baking and cooking. The recipe evidently called for two separate batters that were combined into one pan, using a knife to cut and swirl them together. Muttering under her breath about the Prince and his high and mighty ways, Aunt Lu puttered around the kitchen, adding a few more ingredients of her own device—for good measure, Adella supposed.
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