Sixteen
Adria walked fast away from church. She didn’t run. Ladies didn’t run through town. Another of those unspoken rules about a woman’s behavior. Perhaps a good one. She might trip over all the required petticoats and fall flat on her face. Not to mention that a running woman would attract entirely too much attention.
Just as standing up in church and demanding people do something to stop George Sanderson’s family from selling Louis would have brought disbelief and censure. A woman standing up in church and demanding anything would surely bring down the roof. Sometimes Adria thought it might be good to bring down some church roofs, to make some changes, but Ruth was always there to pull her back and make her consider the results of her impetuous leanings.
Bringing down the church roof would do nothing more than mess up the church and embarrass Ruth. Nobody would listen. Not even the new pastor, in spite of how he acted as though he wanted to help with whatever was bothering her. He didn’t know what that was. He didn’t realize she was ready to go against the whole town, even against the law, to save Louis from being sold down the river.
Louis wouldn’t go against the law. She knew that as surely as she knew money was the reason people didn’t want to consider the evils of slavery. Money. Maybe that was the answer. She could buy Louis. Ruth said they had a little money saved. Adria had a job. They could mortgage the house. Even with all that, it probably wouldn’t be enough. Not for a man like Louis.
Adria was so caught up in the whirlwind of her thoughts that she almost walked past the hotel. She looked at the front entrance but then headed down the alley to the back of the hotel. At this time of day, Bet would be in the kitchen serving up the midday meal. Ruth was probably fixing dinner for them at home, but she wouldn’t worry if Adria was late. At least not about her missing dinner. More likely she would be worrying about what trouble Adria might stir up while she missed dinner.
Bet came to the back door when Adria knocked. “Missus Starr, what are you doing here on a Sunday?” She slid her eyes to the side without moving her head to let Adria know they weren’t alone. “Were you comin’ to see what cakes we might be needin’ for the funeral meal?”
A tall man stepped up behind Bet to stare at Adria. One of George Sanderson’s sons. “You should come to the front desk to make inquiries,” he said.
“I suppose that might have been best,” Adria said quickly. “But I usually brought whatever Mr. Sanderson ordered from my aunt to the kitchen.”
Ruth was always warning her she was going to get in trouble for not keeping the proper social conventions. White people in the front doors. Black people in the back doors. The man’s frown got darker.
Adria grabbed at words to lessen the tension in the air. “I, my aunt and I, were both very sorry to hear of your father’s passing. He was a fine man. Springfield will miss him.” Adria pushed a sympathetic smile across her face. “We want to offer a couple of cakes to show we’re thinking of you and all his family. I hoped Bet would know what kind might be best.”
“I see.” The man’s face didn’t soften.
Adria began to wonder if it ever did, but perhaps she was being unfair. The man had just lost his father. “I can bring them over in the morning, or if you want them this evening, you could send one of your servants to get them. Louis knows where we live.”
The man’s face changed, lightened a bit. “I remember you now. You’re that little girl Louis brought here during the cholera epidemic after your parents died. My father told me how he found you a place with a schoolteacher.”
Adria bit the inside of her lip. George Sanderson had nothing to do with her finding a home with Ruth. She very well remembered the conversation right here in this kitchen with George Sanderson ready to send her off anywhere to get her out of his hotel. Louis and Aunt Tilda had been the ones who made sure she got a good home. But it did no good to pull that memory out into the open.
“Yes, he was very kind.” Adria dipped her head a little.
“Where is Louis anyway?” The man’s frown came back as he looked around.
“Don’t you remember, sir?” Bet spoke up. “He wanted to go start diggin’ Massa George’s grave. Said it was the last service he could do for him.”
“Yes, he did ask me about that.” The man rubbed his forehead and then looked at Adria. Finally a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. “So many arrangements to make and not enough sleep. Louis has kept things going around here while Father was sick.”
“He kept things going for your father during the cholera epidemic too. Were you in Springfield then?” Adria asked.
“No, but it hit hard in Louisville too. My family and I fortunately were summering in the country at the time.” He pulled his watch out of his pocket and looked at it. He was obviously ready to be through with their conversation. “Bring whatever kind of cakes you like, Miss Starr, but you’ll have to deliver them. If Louis is digging Father’s grave, he’ll be too busy to pick them up.”
“You know he dug all the graves for the victims of the cholera epidemic. More than fifty people. Your father appreciated that. The whole town did.” Adria wanted to make sure the man knew how valuable Louis had been to the town.
The man had turned partially away, but now he looked back at Adria. “Were you old enough to remember much about that time?”
“A person remembers when she loses her parents.”
“I suppose so, but I’d just as soon forget this week and remember my father in happier times.”
“You have my sympathy, sir.”
He acknowledged her words with a lift of his hand as he left the kitchen.
Adria waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps in the hallway. Then she put her hand on Bet’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“Ain’t no way to be all right with what’s goin’ on here. Doom hangin’ over all our heads.”
“I’m sorry, Bet.”
“I knows you are, Miss Adria. You best be gone ’fore that mister comes on back about somethin’ or other. You be wantin’ to see Louis anyhow. But I tell you, he just like always. He don’t let nothin’ bother him. Says it ain’t no use worryin’ what we can’t change, but I shore enough is worryin’ plenty for him and me too.”
“Whoever buys the hotel will need a cook.”
“I be obligin’ if you pray that’s so, Miss Adria. I like it here where I knows folks and I ain’t thinkin’ I’ll like standin’ on an auction block for who knows who to be pinchin’ and proddin’ on me to see what kind of shape I be in.”
Adria said she was sorry again. Nothing but words that didn’t help anything. Bet just shook her head and closed the door.
It wasn’t far back to the cemetery. And she had to see Louis. He had to know she wasn’t going to stand idly by and do nothing to help him. What she might do remained a mystery, but mysteries could be solved. Ruth would help. As long as it didn’t threaten her schoolteacher reputation. As long as it wasn’t illegal.
Illegal. Slavery was what should be illegal. People agreed with her and they weren’t all in the north. Some were surely here in Springfield too, but just afraid to speak up the same as she was.
She had no doubt that if she did ever have the nerve to speak up, George Sanderson’s son wouldn’t be the only one staring at her as though she were some kind of miscreant.
She hadn’t liked him. On sight. Not exactly a Christian attitude for someone who just came from church, but no use pretending. The Lord could see right through any kind of smoke screen straight into a person’s heart.
She started walking faster. She was smothering in her church dress with sleeves to her wrists and two petticoats under the full skirt. Its dark umber color soaked in the heat of the sun. Perhaps she should slip by the house and change into something more suited to the late June day. But no, if Louis finished digging the grave and headed back to the hotel, she might miss him. She couldn’t very well show up at the hotel again.
At least not until she had cakes in
hand. They did have that applesauce cake no one had picked up yesterday, but that still left one to bake. She shouldn’t have promised two. Ruth wouldn’t be pleased about baking on a Sunday afternoon.
A man stepped in front of her. Logan Farrell. This was getting to be a habit, one that she wasn’t at all happy about at the moment.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
The smile he flashed at her didn’t have the same effect on her as it had the day before. She really couldn’t be bothered with him right now. “Mr. Farrell, you do have a way of surprising a person. But you are right. I am in a hurry, so if you’ll excuse me.” She softened the words with a smile.
“Late to Sunday dinner, are you? If so, it appears you’re heading in the wrong direction. Your house is that way.” He pointed back toward Elm Street.
“Thank you for the reminder, but I do know where my house is.” She moved past him.
He fell into step beside her. “I was heading this way. Mind if I walk along?”
“It’s a free country,” she said, then muttered. “At least for some people.”
“So it is.” He walked along a ways without saying more. “You seem upset. You aren’t holding it against me that your boyfriend came to church with another girl on his arm? I mean after our little set-to yesterday.”
“I haven’t given you a thought.” At least she hadn’t since she heard George Sanderson died. Before that, she had given this drifter too much thought.
“You know how to hurt a fellow.” He laughed a little. “But whether you’ve given me any thought or not, I’ve been thinking plenty about you. I can’t say I was sorry to see your fellow squiring a different girl to church this day. Figured that might free you up to take a new look around. See if you might do better than Damon.”
“It would be hard to do better than Carlton Damon. His family is very influential in this area.”
“So why aren’t you married then? If he’s such a catch. Unless I’m reading the signs wrong, I’m guessing he’d be more than glad to make you Mrs. Damon.”
“Really, Mr. Farrell, that’s none of your concern.” She frowned to let him know he had crossed the line of politeness.
He didn’t seem to care. “True, but I’m just a little curious about it all. The way he was mad enough to spit nails yesterday when he saw you walking with me. He was ready to fight.”
“But no punches flew.” She didn’t look at him as she kept walking.
“That didn’t mean he didn’t want to knock me silly. Then at church this morning he was hoping you’d be that mad at him, but seeing him with that other girl didn’t appear to bother you in the least.”
“Carlton is free to escort whomever he wishes to church.” Adria kept her voice cool.
“That may be, but I can tell you he didn’t have the girl he wanted on his arm today.” His smile was back as though amused by the whole situation.
“Do you laugh about everything?” Adria didn’t try to hide her irritation as she looked over at him. Dark stitches laced together the cut on his head that he hadn’t bothered to cover with a bandage, and the skin around his eye was a motley green and black. “Even black eyes?”
“Not the first shiner I ever had.” His smile didn’t fade as he gingerly touched his eye. “But I didn’t have to fight for this one. This colorful eye is a badge of honor, since it resulted from me saving the life of one beautiful woman, my lady.” He made a little bow toward her.
She didn’t bother insisting again that she would have gotten out of the way of the horses without ending up facedown in the dirt with him. Instead she said, “It looks like it would hurt. Especially when you smile.”
“You’ve never smiled even when something hurts?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Trust me, it’s better to keep smiling. I learned a long time ago that you can stew through life or you can glide along on a smile.”
“But there are many reasons not to smile in life. Sorrows. Injustices. Troubles of all kinds.” She stopped to look directly at him.
“I can’t deny that, and you can believe I’ve seen my share.” His mouth stopped smiling, but the smile lurked in his eyes. “But I never saw the need to wallow in them. Best move on to an easier time.”
“What if you can’t? What then?”
“I guess I haven’t run up on any of those kinds of times.” His smile came back.
“Then you must be a very fortunate man.” She began walking again. She needed to get on to the cemetery.
“Some men have to make their own fortune.”
“With a smile, I suppose.”
“Why not?” He looked around at the buildings they were passing. They had moved away from the storefronts to pass by a hog slaughtering place. “Are you sure you haven’t lost your way?”
The smell was less than pleasant, and the hogs squealing in pens waiting their turn to be turned into bacon and hams the next day made Adria anxious to be past them and on up the hill to the cemetery. She pulled a scented handkerchief from her pocket to dab her nose.
“I haven’t lost my way at all, Mr. Farrell. If you must know, I am heading to the cemetery here on the edge of town to visit my parents’ grave. Something I prefer to do alone. I’m sure you understand.”
The smile did leave his face then. “I do. Watched my own dear mother buried last year. She never gave up on me once, even though there were plenty of times my stepfather thought she should.”
“I’m sorry.” Adria seemed to be saying that a lot, but the sorrow in his eyes touched her more than his smile. A man still grieving for his mother didn’t seem to be such a carefree drifter.
“That’s kind of you. She did her best by me, but after my father died when I was five, we had some struggles. Barely remember my pa, but I do remember the hard times. I didn’t blame her for marrying again, but my stepfather never took to me. I used to worry he’d take me to the river and drown me like an unwanted pup. I figured Ma must have kept him from it. Could be that’s when I learned to keep a smile on my face.”
“To fool the world.”
His smile came back. “You know, it did start out that way, but after a few years it changed. The smile made a difference in how I looked at life. Gave me a leg up.” He cocked his eyebrow at her. “You should try it.”
“It’s hard to smile when a person is on the way to the cemetery.”
“We’re all on the way to the cemetery, Miss Starr. Some of us are taking a longer road there than others, but long or short, a person might as well enjoy the trip.”
“That’s profound. Are you sure you’re not a philosopher instead of a drover?”
“I’m whoever I want to be. Philosopher. Drover. Escort of a beautiful lady.” His smile was practically bouncing in his eyes.
“You’re irrepressible.” Adria laughed. The man did have a way about him. A dangerous way, she could almost hear Ruth warning her.
“So I am, but I did make you laugh. Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you the rest of the way to the cemetery? This part of town looks a little rough.”
“I’ll be fine. I come this way all the time.” Adria gave him a real smile. “Now, good day, Mr. Farrell. Perhaps our paths will cross again on another day.”
“What day is that?”
Adria stepped away from him and looked back over her shoulder. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”
“I like a woman who keeps me guessing,” Logan called after her.
A smile played around Adria’s lips as she continued on up the hill. She couldn’t keep from liking Logan Farrell. He was as different from Carlton Damon as night from day. Not that there was anything wrong with Carlton. At least nothing that Adria hadn’t caused with her reluctance to set a wedding date when Carlton was so ready to get married.
They used to have fun together, with Carlton in and out of their house all the time. When they were kids, they climbed the big old oak in the backyard and got a bird’s-eye view of the world. They played in the field behin
d his house, where she liked to catch toads and make up stories about them. That would make Carlton laugh, and in turn, she laughed at the stories he told about the people who bought hats from his father.
Ruth used to say that Carlton’s feet were surely under their dinner table more than his mother’s. But that was before Carlton decided it was time they got their own dinner table. His eagerness to make that happen and Adria’s hesitation had them forever at odds now. Then here was Logan Farrell with his smiling eyes to play with Adria’s emotions. He had a way of making her heart beat faster in a way Carlton didn’t. A way she liked.
Ruth wouldn’t be happy that she’d let Logan walk with her. She would tell Adria all the reasons she should be wary of a man like Logan Farrell. But what could it hurt to get to know the man better? It might make Adria appreciate Carlton’s steadiness more.
Seventeen
Adria had the feeling Logan watched her walk on up the hill to the cemetery, but she didn’t look back at him. Perhaps he was being chivalrous, making sure she made it to her destination safely. More likely, her behavior simply awakened his curiosity.
No time to worry about that now. She had to think about Louis. She paused at the entrance to the cemetery and looked around. The grass had been knocked down with a scythe. Adria wondered if Louis had done that too. To make the place presentable for the burying.
He was working up toward the middle of the cemetery. A tall stone monument marked the grave of George Sanderson’s wife there. Nearly the whole town had been in attendance at her interment. Not like all these townspeople buried in unmarked graves from the cholera epidemic. They had lonely burials, perhaps attended by only one person—Louis.
At her parents’ and little brother’s grave, she paused and shut her eyes, but try as she might, she couldn’t pull up clear images of their faces. They’d been gone so long now, they seemed no more than the fragments of a dream she couldn’t quite capture. The family love was there. That memory was secure in her heart. When she married, she wanted to be happy the way her mother had been. She had so loved her family.
River to Redemption Page 13