He chuckled at the astonished look on her face. “For the adventure. To be the first to settle a new land, like our fathers did when they came to Texas.” He shrugged and extinguished the lantern.
They walked the short distance to the bottom of the steps in silence. Reaching them, Adella proceeded to ascend when his soft touch to her arm stopped her. “I am sure it is only a fanciful dream, my going to the Oregon Territory someday,” he said, his voice low so only she could hear. “But as I intend to keep your visit to Freedom a secret, Miss Ellis, I hope you will return the favor.”
She glanced at the house, knowing windows were open to allow the cool night breeze in. Meeting his gaze, she nodded. “Of course, Mr. Brantley. I am not one to divulge confidences bestowed upon me.”
He bowed politely. “Good night then, Miss Ellis.”
She watched him disappear into the darkness, oddly satisfied at sharing a secret with the handsome man.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As soon as the horizon hinted at morning, with threads of pink and purple edging out the darkness and dimming the multitude of stars, Seth made his way to the kitchen wing at the back of the main house. He’d lain awake far longer than he should have after escorting Adella Rose back to the house last night and was in desperate need of a strong cup of coffee. Their encounter in the barn had filled his head with thoughts that refused to rest, and he’d pay for that lack of sleep today.
“Mornin’, Mistah Brantley, suh,” Aunt Lu said when he arrived at the door. She stood at the large stove, pouring steaming black liquid into a mug from a shiny blue coffee pot.
When she held it out to him, he laughed. “How did you know?” He came forward and accepted it with a nod of thanks.
“I seen you comin’ ’cross the yard, draggin’ yo’ feet like. I says, that man needs hisse’f a good cup o’ coffee is what he needs.” She gave a self-satisfied nod. “Guess I’s right.”
“Yes, you were right.” He took a sip of the hot liquid, letting the pungent aroma rouse his senses. “I didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“Well, you just sit yo’seff down an’ take a minute a’fore you go runnin’ off to start the day. A man cain’t get much done iffen he’s asleep in his saddle.”
He settled onto a stool to sip the strong drink. Though he’d come to the kitchen the previous day to pick up lunch, he hadn’t stayed more than a few minutes. Now he leisurely took in his surroundings while Aunt Lu and two other servants went about preparing breakfast for the family.
The room was spacious and well laid out. An enormous stove occupied the wall directly across from the door, and its surface contained several deep, steaming pots emanating delicious smells. Cabinets with plenty of workspace lined the other walls, with a big sink and hand pump beneath a window. A narrow door stood slightly ajar, and Seth saw stairs leading down, presumably to the cellar and cold pit. He made a mental note to investigate the area one day soon. Runaway slaves were good at hiding just about anywhere, and he certainly couldn’t afford to have one right under his nose.
Aunt Lu hummed a low tune as she stirred a thick batter. After a bit, she began to sing.
“They is a balm in Gilead to make the wounded whole.
They is a balm in Gilead to heal the sin-sick soul.
One o’ these mornin’s bright an’ fair,
I gonna lay down my heavy load.
Gonna kick my wings an’ cleave the air,
I gonna lay down my heavy load.”
While Seth mulled over the words, a pretty young servant woman entered the room, dressed in clothes more fitting for a white woman than a slave. Her black hair was neatly combed and caught up in a thick crocheted net instead of the colorful kerchief most Negro women wore. Her caramel-colored eyes widened when she saw him, and she came to an abrupt halt.
Aunt Lu stopped humming and glanced up. A warm smile filled her wide face. “Mistah Brantley, suh, this here is my daughter, Zina. She Miss Natalie’s maid.” Pride rang in the woman’s voice.
Seth acknowledged the girl, curious that she was so much lighter skinned than her mother. He guessed her to be about the same age as Celia, the young woman Luther had bought in Galveston. The one he has plans for, Seth recalled with distaste.
“Mr. Brantley, sir,” Zina nodded, her voice soft and respectful. Turning to her mother, she said, “Miss Natalie prefers to take her breakfast in her room this morning, Mama.”
Seth noticed her speech didn’t hold the usual diction of most slaves. Clearly, she’d been a house servant the majority of her life and had learned proper English and manners. Glancing at Aunt Lu, he wondered how old Zina had been when she went to work for the Langfords.
“I’ll make up a tray for her right quick an’ you can take it on up.” Aunt Lu bustled about the kitchen. “Zina, get that china teapot from the cupboard. No, not that un. The one with the pink flowers painted on it. An’ the matchin’ cup an’ saucer.”
Celia arrived in the midst of this scene. Seth hadn’t seen her since the day they returned from Galveston. She paused a moment when she saw him, before hurrying to the washtub where a stack of dirty pots and pans awaited cleaning. She plunged her hands into the soapy water and set to work. A look passed between Aunt Lu and Zina he couldn’t quite discern.
With one last gulp, Seth downed the remainder of the liquid in his mug and stood. “Thank you for the coffee,” he said, taking in the women with one glance.
Aunt Lu tossed him a distracted nod. “Yassuh, you’s welcome. I have your lunch packed in a jiffy.”
He exited the kitchen and headed to the front of the house, having suddenly felt out of place with the women. He’d wait outside until breakfast was served. A busy day spread out before him, and he needed his mind cleared of the cobwebs his lack of sleep produced.
Planting himself on the bottom step, he ticked off the mental list of all he had to get done that day: assign the new slaves to a section of land now that they’d proven themselves capable workers; see that a crew was sent to repair a leaking roof on the grain barn; check the crop in the southern fields for black beetles. Workers reported seeing large quantities of the insects, which could mean the entire infested area might need to be burned to prevent further spreading. Luther, ever suspicious, thought it might be a ploy to lay a smoke screen in order to help a slave escape.
He heaved a sigh. Exhaustion nearly overwhelmed him simply thinking about it all. Work and worries never ceased on Rose Hill. He wondered if that was the reason Pa had never desired an operation as big. His father was perfectly satisfied with his five hundred acres and dozen slaves.
The blast of an antelope horn sounded in the quarter. From where he sat, Seth saw Monroe atop his horse, blowing the thing, calling the slaves to work. Because it wasn’t harvest time, they were allowed to sleep a little later. But come August, when the cotton plants were high and prime for picking, Monroe’s horn would sound long before the sun made its appearance on the horizon.
With a tired groan, Seth shifted his position to better view the workers heading out. Some walked, and some climbed into a wagon that would take them to the fields farther away. A group of women went in the direction of the sewing shack where wool from Rose Hill’s sheep was carded, spun, and woven into material for their clothes. Others headed toward the livestock pens, chicken coops, mills, and barns.
Thinking of the barns reminded him of his encounter with Adella last night.
After dinner, he’d retired to his own cabin to continue reading through the ledgers Mr. Haley and the previous overseers kept, but the warmth from the day still lingered in the small space, so instead he’d chosen to sit outside until bedtime. His proximity to the main house afforded him a clear view of any comings and goings, and when he spied a lone figure wearing a wide bell-shaped skirt slip through the front door and disappear into the night, he’d followed her.
Seth chuckled, recalling his surprise when he saw her sneak into the horse barn again. Curious, he’d used a separate entrance, one where
the hinges didn’t announce one’s arrival. It had been easy to shadow her once she lit the lantern. For a brief moment, he’d wondered if she were meeting a lover, and the pang of jealousy that rolled over him still confused Seth. The memory of finding her with Jeptha slid across his mind, but he immediately shoved it away. He’d overheard their friendly banter and found no reason to believe their relationship was untoward.
When she went directly to the wild stallion’s stall, he’d been relieved—and fascinated. His impression of Adella Rose Ellis was that of a spoiled rich man’s daughter. To find her in a dirty barn, sneaking an apple to a wild horse … well, his esteem of her grew immensely. He’d be willing to wager that’s what she was doing the first time he found her down there.
But the memory of their conversation quickly turned his fascination to one of dismay. Why had he revealed his dream of going to Oregon to her? It was pure recklessness to tell the boss’s daughter he had plans that didn’t include staying at Rose Hill indefinitely. Yet their discussion of the ocean and the comfort of being in her presence led him to talk of things better left unsaid. At least he hadn’t told her the details of his plan. That he would stay on as Rose Hill’s overseer only until he’d saved enough money to travel and buy land, where he hoped to raise horses. Though he’d never make a good farmer, he’d always had a natural knack with horses. Perhaps becoming a horse breeder would somehow fill the void losing his position with the Rangers had left.
Voices came from the foyer through the screen door and brought Seth to his feet. A moment later, Luther stepped onto the wide porch.
“Brantley,” he said, his voice and demeanor cool.
“Good morning, sir.”
“I had hoped to speak with you before we go inside.”
The serious tone in the older man’s voice didn’t bode well for the conversation ahead. Seth wondered if he’d done something wrong already.
“Monroe came to see me late last night.” Luther’s eyes narrowed, studying Seth.
Understanding quickly dawned. “Yes, sir, I imagine he did, although I gave him specific instructions that I would speak to you regarding the matter myself.”
It infuriated him that the slave had disobeyed his orders. How he would deal with that infraction, he didn’t know. Clearly, he’d underestimated the closeness between Luther and his driver.
“So it is true?” Luther’s tone hardened. “You have instituted an additional rest period for female workers without asking my permission to do so?”
“Not female workers, sir,” Seth said, refusing to back down under Luther’s intimidating glare, though he kept his tone respectful. “Pregnant female workers.”
“And what makes you believe they need more rest than any other Negro? I have been in this business thirty years now, and I have never heard such foolishness from an overseer.” He shook his head, looking off to the fields where workers had already begun to swing their hoes. “I fear it was a mistake to hire you. I should have listened to George. The son of a corn farmer knows nothing of how a cotton plantation operates.”
Seth felt the position and the salary he’d hoped to save slipping through his fingers. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed this job. At least for a while.
“If I might explain, sir,” he said, keeping emotion out of his voice.
Luther glanced at him and then inclined his head. “Please. I cannot wait to hear this.”
Ignoring the sarcasm in his employer’s words, Seth said, “Mr. Haley, as well as the overseer before him, kept fairly accurate records over the years. I found the ledgers in my cabin, and I’ve been going over them at night.”
“Yes, I am aware of the records. What does that have to do with your being soft on the Negroes?”
“The records over the past several years indicate that quite a large number of female slaves miscarried or went into early labor, resulting in stillborn babies. Some even died in childbirth.” Luther’s expression didn’t change. “You have invested quite a lot of money into the purchase of these slaves, as you yourself have said. It only makes sense that you would want your investment well cared for, especially if it results in a healthy baby that will grow up to work in your fields without your spending any additional funds.”
A heavy silence followed his speech. Seth wondered if he should go pack his bags.
“And you think letting them have extra rest periods will solve these problems?” Skepticism coated Luther’s words.
“I don’t know if it will help, sir, but I remember my own ma needing to rest during the day when she was carrying each of my sisters. A Negro woman may be of a stronger constitution than a white woman, but in the end, they are all just women.”
Luther rubbed his whiskered jaw while staring at Seth. After a long minute, the man gave a humorless laugh. “You are a strange one, Brantley, just like your father. I never could make heads nor tails of some of the things that man said. Heaven help me now, but what you just explained actually makes sense.”
Relief washed through Seth. He wasn’t fired. Yet.
“I will allow this new rule to stand, but from now on see that you discuss your ideas for changes with me before instituting them. Rose Hill is, after all, my plantation.”
“Yes, sir,” Seth said, realizing for the first time how presumptuous his actions in the field had been. No longer was he the owner’s son, as he’d been on his father’s farm, nor was he a Ranger, independent and in charge of his own destiny for the most part. Here he was simply an employee under the rule of Luther and, for that matter, George.
Trailing his employer into the house, the call of the Oregon Territory seemed that much louder.
“Adella Rose, I simply despise the blue wallpaper in my new sitting room.”
Adella looked up from the embroidery hoop in her lap to see Natalie sweep into the parlor with Zina trailing behind. Natalie’s mass of golden curls gleamed in the morning light streaming through the tall windows, and the sky-blue day gown she wore perfectly matched her eyes. Ironically, it was nearly the same hue of blue as the paper she apparently did not like.
“Why, Natalie, dear,” Adella chose her words carefully. She’d already learned her soon-to-be-sister-in-law had a bit of a temper. Just yesterday she’d thrown a fit when one of the Rose Hill servants straightened her room without asking permission. “Isn’t that the paper you chose when you were here last? I specifically had all the papers ordered from the samples you selected.”
With an overly drawn-out sigh, Natalie settled in a chair across from Adella. “Yes, I know I chose it myself,” she said, a faint Southern drawl coloring her words. “But I didn’t realize how overpowering it would be once the entire room was covered with it.” She motioned for Zina to pour her a cup of tea from the service on a low table near the door.
Fighting to hide her annoyance, Adella laid her needlework aside. “What do you propose we do about it? Choose another pattern? I don’t know that it will arrive before the wedding, but with you and George taking a wedding trip to Louisiana, I don’t suppose it matters.”
Zina handed a brimming cup to Natalie and turned to Adella. “May I pour you some tea as well, Missy Ellis?”
“No, but thank you, Zina.” She smiled at the servant. It was good to have Zina back. The girl had a sweet disposition and seeing Aunt Lu happy was worth putting up with Natalie and her never-ending demands.
After a dainty sip of the liquid, Natalie’s brow puckered. “I have never understood why the servants still call you Missy Ellis. It may have been appropriate for a child, but it seems rather odd to call a woman that, don’t you think?”
Adella’s mouth dropped at the rudeness of the remark. “No, I don’t. Miss Adella Rose is a mouthful. I have always been Missy Ellis to our people, and I always will be.”
A snide little smile settled on Natalie’s lips. “I am sure that will change after you’re married. I doubt your future husband would appreciate servants using your former name.”
“Perhaps.” She shrug
ged nonchalantly, refusing to let Natalie’s disagreeable attitude spoil her day. “I suppose it will depend upon the man’s name. Preston Van Middlesworth, for instance, asked Papa’s permission to court me some months back. Imagine if I were to marry him. I would be Mrs. Adella Rose Van Middlesworth. Why, it would take half the day for the servants to simply get my attention with a name that long.”
Zina giggled, and Adella threw her a wink despite Natalie’s scowl.
“Such nonsense. You know perfectly well your papa is not going to allow that Van Middlesworth boy to come calling.” She looked aghast at the very idea. “He is a second son, for mercy’s sake.”
“Gracious, Natalie,” Adella said, weary of the young woman’s condescending manner. Though merely two years older than Natalie, Adella often felt like a mature matron schooling a youngster during discussions with her. “You needn’t say it as though he had a contagious disease simply because he is second born. Preston is a nice young man. I have no interest in pursuing more than friendship with him, but had I felt differently, it would not be such a terrible thing to marry a second son. I have every confidence he will make something of himself.”
Smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her voluminous skirt, Natalie raised her brow. “Well, thankfully your papa has more sense than to let you decide for yourself.”
Adella frowned. Natalie’s tone hinted she knew more on the subject than she revealed. “What are you speaking of?”
Natalie’s big blue eyes met hers, a look of pure innocence on her rosebud face. “Why, nothing, Adella, dear. I have simply come to know your father as a man of purpose. I have no doubt he will make a good match for you when the time comes.”
To argue further would be pointless. Natalie’s engagement to George had been orchestrated by their parents, for the most part, their adjoining plantations playing a large role in the union. The couple did seem fond of one another from what Adella had observed, which hopefully opened the door for a lifetime of happiness. But she wanted more than fondness when she married. She wanted love and passion. The kind demonstrated in the Book of Solomon. Adella didn’t see how marriage to a man her father chose could possibly produce that.
The Planter's Daughter Page 6