“The only slave girl I know of named Jessie belongs to Mr. Ludlow, not Mr. Cole.”
“But why would she be in the possession of Mr. Cole if she is owned by Mr. Ludlow?”
Peter shrugged. “Don’t know, but the reason doesn’t matter now that she and the child are safe. Anythin’ else I should know about?”
“Last night I overheard Mr. Grant speaking with Daddy and Mr. Ludlow about his conversation with Mr. Cole over the stolen slaves. Mr. Grant said that Mr. Cole thought he saw a woman running off with them.”
“Mr. Cole doesn’t exactly have a dependable reputation in this town,” he laughed.
“I don’t think Mr. Grant believed him.”
“Clive should reach the Burkle estate within a week. I’ll await word from Jacob on his available rooms, and then we’ll make another run.”
I nodded. Within seconds, Peter disappeared just as quickly and silently as he had appeared, leaving me standing alone between the two shelves. Sometimes I envied his stealthy nature, a gift I lacked.
Sarah sighed deeply as she snuck up behind me and nudged my shoulder. “We bes’ be gettin’ home. Lot’s a chores to be gettin’ done ’fore puttin’ supper on the table. Thanks for helpin’ us, Mrs. O’Brien.”
“T’was no problem, Sarah. I’ll see yeh next week.”
“Thank you, Mrs. O’Brien,” I said as I gave her a farewell embrace.
“Yeh’re most welcome, dear. Now, I don’t want yeh to be a stranger anymore, yeh hear. I want to see yeh face in here more often.”
“I won’t be.”
I shut the door behind me and stepped onto the cobble footpath once more. Though I knew the young man was gone, I looked down the street one last time before climbing into the carriage. Why, I didn’t know.
Surely, only a fool would do such a thing.
“Who ya lookin’ for?” Sarah asked, heaving a few sacks full of supplies into the carriage.
I didn’t answer her question, nor did I look at her when she climbed in the carriage and slapped the reins against the horse’s back.
We sat in silence, and my body swayed from side-to-side as I glanced down every street, searching for him. Disappointment in the likelihood of never seeing him again weighed heavy on my shoulders, and confused me. In the blink of an eye, and without speaking to me, a stranger had captivated me so greatly that I thought of him and desired him in a manner that was wrong.
Why can I not stop thinking about him?
Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I jerked my head around toward Sarah and forced myself to pay attention.
“Did ya enjoy the afternoon, Miss Alexandra?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Somethin’ wrong, child?”
I need to forget about that Muscogee, and I don’t want to.
I shook my head. “I just lost my thoughts.”
“That young man in front of the store looked quite handsome,” she said, nudging my shoulder.
“I didn’t notice him much.” I shrugged, and gazed at the cotton plantation we were passing. The long path lined with oak trees, and the white manor with large white columns and bright red shutters, were all elegant reminders of why I needed to forget about him.
Everyone understood the laws of this country, the ones appointed by the government and the ones society deemed as moral directives. Different race courtships would not be tolerated, nor accepted.
Even the young man’s own actions spoke my truth when he did not speak to me. If the group of men caught sight of a young Indian man running into and engaging in a conversation with an innocent young southern lady, tempers would have sparked. Furthermore, even if the outside world would accept such a couple, Mama would surely slit my throat.
The sun was setting across the land into another beautiful, distracting Alabama evening. The natural color of the trees masked in the glistening orange and red reflection. Wildlife scampered all around as if trying to drink in every ounce of heat before the sun vanished, nestling into a bed of clouds until dawn.
“He certainly seemed quite smitten, he did,” Sarah laughed. “Thought maybe I saws interest in y’all’s eyes, too.”
I was afraid she saw that.
“Running into him was insignificant, and I want to forget about him.” The sting of regret pierced a part of my heart and I could hardly finish my sentence.
“But—”
“Sarah, I don’t wish to speak of him again, please.”
She stared at me for a moment and let out a deep sigh. “Ya know, when I met George, I knew he was brought to this earth jus’ for me. I ‘member ‘at fine day he came strollin’ into the manor with an arm full of firewood. All those years I thought I’d never see him again an’ there he be, standin’ in front of me, still as handsome as ever.”
I always thought of Sarah and George’s love as a storybook love. One so amazing, a person hearing the story might believe it could only happen in a book, too perfect and too poetic to be real. Ripped apart after falling in love and forced to spend years and years not knowing what happened to the other until Daddy won George in a card game.
Today, her words were not as encouraging as she hoped, though. Considering the last few days, I didn’t necessarily need the reminder of how their love withstood heartbreak and time. Although, I smiled and nodded, I just wanted the conversation to be over and forgotten.
My parents’ manor emerged in the distance, eclipsing the rows of giant scarlet oak trees lining the pathway. Sunlight peeked through the trees, flecking the white paint with golden sparkles. Even with the beautiful gold color, the house remained dark to me, secretive and indifferent, a perfect reflection of my life the last eighteen years.
While I loved living in a household so rich in memories and money, I felt my parents’ social ambitions had made the residence too ostentatious for my taste. It existed more for profitable connections than for the well-being and happiness of my brother and me.
Gazing upon the legacy that chained me, bound and tied to an uncertain life, only one thought repeated in my mind. Forget about him.
Chapter 5
“Ouch,” I yelped, as Sarah wrapped my cut finger.
“I told ya don’t hold an apple like that.”
My finger stung under the dishrag for a few seconds, and blood stained the white rag. Sunlight streamed in through every window, illuminating the kitchen house and making it hard to glare at Sarah. Pots simmered on top of the stove while the roast baked in the oven, emitting an herbal, mouthwatering scent.
Our youngest housemaid, Maggie, winked at me and patted my shoulder as she passed by. Then, in her deep, southern drawl, she said. “I hear ya had quite the evenin’ the other night, Miss Alexandra.”
“I do believe gossip travels quickly,” I laughed, grabbing the knife and apple again. “I don’t know if I would call it quite an evening, Maggie, but I had a wonderful time.”
Rhetta, our other housemaid and the crotchety old bitty that she was, threw down her broom. “Sarah, Mis’res Alexandra shouldn’t be in here,” she hollered as she watched her daughter, Maggie, resting her elbows on the counter in front of me. Maggie’s young face glowed with the excitement I should have felt about the party.
“Ya ain’t gonna get whipped for her being in here, Rhetta,” Sarah snapped.
Rhetta’s constant fear annoyed me. She ran from the room if Daddy raised his voice, or ducked and hid in corners if Mama slammed a door too hard. Even if life in the McClendon house for Rhetta was quite arduous before Daddy bought her, her behavior was all nonsense if you asked me. Daddy wasn’t a drunk like Robert McClendon—who was known all over town for drunken rages and earth shattering fights with his wife because she had caught her husband, more than once, in bed with one of their slaves. Especially, according to ru
mor, the pretty, young Maggie, who at a year older than me had more experience with men than my imagination dared to conjure.
“Rhetta, in all these years, I have yet to be caught in here,” I said, trying to soothe the tension in the room. “Mama would rather perish penniless than stroll into this kitchen house.”
“Besides, Ma, I wanna hear the details of all those handsome young fellas fawnin’ over her all night,” Maggie gushed.
“Get that mind off men, young lady,” Rhetta said.
“But they is such a pleasure to think on.”
“An’ can be nothin’ but heartbreak, Maggie,” Sarah interrupted. “But, they’re sure hard to resist when intrigue an’ love run into one another.”
I dropped the knife, unable to concentrate with Sarah’s obvious tone. For the last few days, I forced thoughts of the young Muscogee man from my head, not allowing myself to remember his face or touch. Distracting myself from thoughts of him had become a pastime, and yet, the constant need for the diversions reminded me of him every day. Their persistence mocked me, like a guest who had worn out his welcome, but whom you hated to see leave.
“Heartbreak’s for ones in love, not the foolish who spends their days in lonely beds,” Rhetta said, shaking her finger at Maggie.
“And just what are ya talkin’ about, Ma?”
“Ya know who I speak of, don’t make me say his name front of Mis’ress.”
“You are always free to speak your mind, Rhetta, no need to worry about me,” I said.
With a big heaving sigh, Rhetta continued, though the fear in her eyes never diminished. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout John Monroe, Mags. That boy ain’t gonna love a slave his whole life. Ya ain’t nothin’ more than a whore keepin’ his bed warm till he finds hims a southern belle like his sister. Don’t mean nothin’ to him, I keep sayin’, ya need to close those legs, and work.”
“John’s not like his pa.”
“Ya need to quit whorin’ yourself off out to that boy.”
“The Lord don’t care for Mamas who call their daughters whores,” Maggie snapped.
George walked through the door of the kitchen house just as the two women stepped toe to toe with one another. Nearly losing his grip on the chicken in his arms, his eyes widened as he looked from them to Sarah and me, and back to them.
“Don’cha bring the Lord into ya sins. If ya think he’s gonna love a slave, ya be dumber than those hogs out back,” Rhetta shouted as she grabbed the chicken from George’s arms and snapped its neck. George ran from the kitchen, an escape from the drama in the room that I envied. Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes and she ran for the door.
“’Cuse me,” she said, before she slammed the door, leaving the kitchen house.
My heart broke for Maggie. Not only for her mama’s stinging words, but also for the truth they held. Although, John certainly wouldn’t wish to hurt her on purpose, he would never marry her. Slaves were for work and the enjoyment of the men of the household, if they desired, and nothing more.
“Hello ma’am,” spoke a deep, unfamiliar voice behind me. “My name is William Graysden. Someone sent word to my father you wished to purchase supplies.”
Sarah cleared her throat and nudged my arm. I glanced over my shoulder, and met a pair of familiar brown eyes. Shocked to see the young Muscogee man from a few days ago at the O’Brien’s store, I spun around on the chair too fast and fell off, landing on my rump.
William knelt beside me, clutched my arms, and helped me stand. His broad shoulders dwarfed mine, engulfing me in the scent of nature mixed with sweat, the most intoxicating smell. Keeping a steady breath while in his strong arms proved to be difficult. The warmth from his skin scorched my senses.
My eyes traced his shirt. A few buttons were missing exposing his caramel chest. As I steadied my balance, my fingers brushed the cotton material, inching closer and closer to his bare skin. For a second my mind teased with the idea of touching him, a foolish notion, but one I thought just the same.
“I’m afraid, sir, that is the second time you’ve witnessed my clumsiness.” I laughed.
He released my arms and took a few steps away from me. His stiff movements and wandering eyes suggested that perhaps he wanted to look at me, but yet he didn’t—which cut deep and sent a crushing blow to my ego.
Why? What is so wrong with me that he won’t look at me?
“Wha’do ya have up for sale today?” Sarah interrupted.
“We have sugar, flour, and many different bushels of fruits and vegetables, along with several beef and pork slabs. Do you want me to bring a few items for you?” His voice was deep and strong, yet soft and smooth, like a warm, protective blanket wrapped around me on a cold day.
Sarah grabbed her chin, tapping her index finger against the side of her cheek. “I’m quite picky with food, Mr. Graysden, I need to look ’fore we buy. Come on, Rhetta, come with me.”
William began to follow her, but she stopped him before he could take a step.
“I’d rather look myself. Ya’re more than welcome to wait here.”
He gaped at her, but nodded and stayed in the kitchen with his arms clasped behind his lower back. Nervously, I stood alone with him, watching him, and waiting for him to speak. His gaze never left the floor, though, and he never uttered a single word.
“I am Alexandra Monroe,” I finally said, annoyed with his silence.
He glanced at my out-stretched hand before giving it a tiny shake and released it.
“William Graysden,” he whispered.
Nearly deafened by my own heartbeat, I stared at him, tracing him with my eyes and hoping he would return my gaze. He never did. Instead, he ignored me with a confusing passion, not of loathing and yet not of fondness, but a sense of forced determination.
“Alexandra?” Maggie called from outside the door Sarah left open. “Thomas’s waitin’ in the foyer for ya.”
Drat.
“I’ll be there in a moment, Maggie.”
“I better let you entertain your guest,” he said, striding toward the door.
“No, wait, please don’t leave yet.”
“Why?” His body froze with his hand on the doorknob, and the crinkle in his forehead deepened with an expression I didn’t like. He waited for me to answer his question, a question I couldn’t answer, at least not without total honesty. Ignoring him was rude and lying was childish. He sighed in annoyance. His patience was diminishing and he began to turn away.
“When will I see you again?” I finally blurted out. Nearly biting my tongue off after the words left my lips.
“I don’t know, Miss Monroe. But I hope I don’t see you again, and you should hope to not see me.” His curt words cut through the air as he left the kitchen house.
In shock, my butt thumped down on the stool. I was confused, hurt, and quite honestly annoyed. I behaved nicely towards him, spoke to him, laughed at myself while acting coy over my clumsiness, and what did I receive in return? Indifference and coldness, not looking me in the eye, and then left with the knowledge he hoped not to see me again.
“Miss Alexandra, Thomas’s waitin’ in the parlor,” Maggie said, appearing in the doorway.
I untied my apron, threw it onto the table, and growled.
“Ya all right?” Maggie called after me though I ignored her.
After the day William ran into me, I’d forced him from my thoughts. Every time I caught myself imagining meeting him again or daydreaming about his captivating touch, I distracted myself. And, clearly I’d been smart to do so. He was obviously not the man I envisioned.
Stomping into the hallway, I came face to face with Thomas, who was holding out a bouquet of flowers and smiling.
“I brought these for you,” he said. “They reminded me of your smile when I saw them. I hope you like the
m.”
My anger melted. “They are beautiful, Thomas. Thank you.”
Why should I care about that rude Mr. Graysden? The dang fool didn’t even know how to be nice. Twice now, I hadn’t seen any quality that would tell me he has any regard for a lady.
Besides, I had distracted myself for a reason. I needed Thomas, and I needed to remind myself of this fact. Thomas was my future, and I would never hold regret for my choice, or embrace it with despair. He was, after all, a fine young gentleman. Handsome, charming, successful with his career, and he had the ability to give me a wonderful and privileged life.
“Shall we retire to the parlor?” I asked, letting the soft liverleaf flower petals trace my lips and the delicate, sweetness in the scent tickle my nose.
“Actually, I was hoping we could enjoy the day on the veranda,” he said with his arm out-stretched for me to take.
I set the flowers down on the foyer table, and we strolled out onto the porch into the typical Alabama afternoon—oppressive heat and sticky humidity, uncomfortable enough in their own right without the added displeasure of my raw nerves. Blinded by the sun for a few moments, I leaned against the railing.
“I apologize for not announcing my visit first, Alexandra, but I simply had to see you, and formalities can have a hindrance on spontaneous calls.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Thomas, your calls don’t require announcement,” I said, facing him and giving him a big smile.
He stepped closer to me with a seductively amused expression. The hot breeze blew a few curls of my hair into my face and his fingers brushed them away. He grasped my hand with a gentle touch, kissed it, and gave me the same wide smile from a few nights ago.
“You do not know how happy I am to hear you say that.”
Excitement stirred as it had the other evening, but the anticipation had somewhat diminished. Perhaps I shouldn’t fear the lacking eagerness, though. Perhaps it was merely a prelude to the contentment of sharing a life with one person. Knowing I have his affection, I don’t have to worry about obtaining it, or worse, losing it. Steady and solid, Thomas and I would flourish and be happy, and all those silly dreams of excitement and passion running wild and outlasting time would fade, as they should. Who could ever feel that way for their entire life?
The Woman on the Painted Horse Page 4