He was home. He was alive. But yet again she had to wonder if he was Phin.
Ridiculous. And yet she couldn’t help but ask, in a low murmur, “What happened to you?”
His hand fell away, and he turned toward the furniture. “Nothing worth telling you about. I was unconscious or out of my head from morphine most of the last few months.”
Nothing? She was supposed to believe that nothing had changed him so? She shook her head, but he didn’t see her, as he was too busy lowering himself onto the sofa. He held a hand for her, and she sat beside him, keeping his fingers in her own. Perhaps he was a more intense Phin than he’d once been. But that was only to be expected. “You needn’t spare me because I’m a female, you know.”
“I’m not. There’s just—” His shoulders jerked in a semblance of a shrug, and his face went hard. “There’s no story to tell you, Delia. Nothing you can weave into some inflated, exaggerated tale to wax romantic about. We were betrayed. I was shot. Then I was unconscious. That’s it.”
That wasn’t even nearly it. She needn’t have any great insight to see that something had happened. Something that made him speak with such reviling, such disdain. To her—about her. Or about her stories anyway, which amounted to the same thing. Her spine snapped straight, her chin edged up.
Then she deliberately lowered it again. She couldn’t act that way, the offended damsel. He had been through something, something obviously traumatic. A proper heroine would see beyond the harsh words to the pain underneath. Would soothe, draw him out instead of nursing her own slight wounds. She would bring him back to health and win his love anew.
Cordelia drew in a long breath and searched her mind for something to say that would demonstrate her gentle spirit and not possibly reveal any offense. “I . . . I prayed for you, Phin. Every day.”
“I thank you for that—perhaps it is what saved me.” Yet his breath of laughter sounded strange. “I didn’t even know how to pray at the start of this.”
“Nonsense.” And why did she feel the need to defend Old Phin to New Phin? “You were always a proper Christian gentleman.”
“No, my dear, I was a proper gentleman bred in a Christian home. I’m afraid it meant nothing more to me than that.” He tapped his cane, and his gaze went distant. “It means far more now. I see now that faith is more than the church to which one belongs.”
She opened her mouth without any idea what words she should speak. Only one question begged to be asked, but she had a feeling he would refuse to answer it. And how did you come to this realization when unconscious? More proof that something had happened. How could she convince him to tell her what?
His gaze refocused and swept over her, lingering, it seemed, on the extravagant detailing of her skirt. “How long have you thought me dead, Delia?”
Heat surged into her face. Why, why had Mama insisted she wear such a vibrant color? “I didn’t. That is, we’ve known you were missing since July—your uncle was in Cienfuegos when the Sumter arrived without you. But your commander didn’t send word about what happened until two weeks ago.”
Somehow the lift of his brow made her feel the fool, and she wasn’t sure why. “Yes, the letter about my getting shot and falling overboard. Yet you didn’t think me dead?”
“I . . .” Her hope ought not to shame her. He was here, after all, proof that it had been well founded. Or at least divinely inspired. But when she considered telling him about those dreams, unease filled her stomach. “I imagined you were on some grand adventure. You know, wrestling alligators or . . .”
The sardonic smile upon his lips stopped her cold. “Of course you did. Well, I’m afraid such heroics will have to be left to those with two strong legs now. That gentleman in here with you a moment ago ought to handle it nicely.”
Julius? The very mention of him made that heat surge again, far differently. “Ha! If it were my tale to tell, the gator would eat him.”
Old Phin would have burst into laughter at that, not just donned a half-smile like New Phin did. But then, Old Phin would have mentioned Julius with a touch of jealousy, so that she could assure him . . .
No, he hadn’t shown the slightest jealousy of Thomas Bacon that day in the garden. But then, she hadn’t spotted Phin until she’d already dismissed Thomas, so he could have . . . she imagined he . . .
Even his half-smile faded. “I see.”
She suspected he did. And had no idea what it was, exactly, he saw—only knew it wasn’t to her credit. “Phin—you . . . I . . . I promised I’d wait forever. I meant it.”
His eyes went soft, yet somehow still lacked in assurance. “I know you did. It was too romantic a notion for you not to. But, darlin—”
“Phineas? Phin?” Willametta’s voice carried down the hall, along with the sound of many hurried footsteps.
But, darlin—what? Cordelia clung to his fingers. He couldn’t mean to abandon her now, could he? When he was finally home again? No, that wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. The grand entrance, the kiss—those had been perfect, but this, this sensation of loss she hadn’t felt all the time he was missing, this aching, gaping hole that yawned open inside . . .
He didn’t love her. That was the only possible explanation. His time away, whatever had happened, had changed him all the way down to his heart. He wasn’t her Phin anymore. And he didn’t . . . she wasn’t . . .
“Phineas! My darling boy!”
Cordelia jerked to her feet as the Dunns stormed the room, habit pulling her up where despair would root her down. Phin stood, too, reclaiming his fingers from her, and moved a few steps toward the door. He held wide his arms, and his mother rushed into them.
What was on his face now? Pain again, at the enthusiastic greeting? Happiness? Reassurance? Would he be able to greet his family with more than he had given her? More of the Phin they would recognize?
She pressed her hands to her skirt, smoothing the fabric over the hoop even though it had fallen into place without assistance. And watched as Willamette and Sidney and Sassy all gathered round Phin. All embracing, all reaching out to touch, all talking at once.
It was as though a curtain had dropped between them. Invisible but impenetrable. She could hear only snippets of what they said. Something about hopes and fears and he-saids and what-abouts. But their voices all melded into one. Their brilliant smiles all seemed a galaxy away. The ringing laughter sounded distant and brassy.
What was she to do? Join them, forcing herself in where she obviously didn’t belong? Or perhaps tiptoe out of the room and take the servants’ stairs up to her bedchamber, neatly avoiding every unwelcome guest in the house?
A worthless question to ask, for she couldn’t move. Even swallowing felt like a foreign action, something done to her rather than by her own will. Maybe . . . maybe she wasn’t really here. Maybe it was another bad dream, maybe she was still crumpled on her bedroom floor. It was all a delusion, the workings of her overactive imagination.
“. . . Delia.”
The sound of her name snapped her back, made the curtain part, made her lips turn up out of breeding and expectation, though she had no idea what Sassy had said. But her friend was smiling—no, positively beaming, her joy untainted by any confusion about whose hand she grasped—and inviting her into their little world.
“Of course.” Willametta held out a hand for her, and Cordelia’s feet moved her forward, her fingers reached for the lady’s. Rote again, expectation, nothing more. “She has been a great comfort to us, and I am so eager for her to become my daughter. We can plan the wedding for—”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Daddy’s voice boomed from the doorway, clanging steel against the hope that had sparked in her chest when Willametta spoke, and when Phin had greeted the words with a smile instead of quick refusal.
What was her father doing? She looked over at him, not fooled for a moment by the congenial smile on his face. It looked carved from granite. “The boy has just returned from the dead, and much ha
s happened in his absence. I daresay he and Delia will need to get reacquainted.”
No. No, even if this wasn’t the Phin she’d known before, the mere thought of turning from him made certainty resonate in her heart. He was still the one she wanted. “Daddy—”
“Now, darlin.” He held a hand to her, brows lifted. Not a request—a command. “We don’t want to impose upon the Dunns. You come with me and let them have some time to themselves. Clearly they’ll want to celebrate, but Phineas hardly looks up to a ball.”
She looked to Phin, praying he would argue, but there was a strange resignation in his eyes, and a muscle in his jaw ticked. “You are right about that much, sir. Though Delia would never be an imposition to our family.”
“Gracious of you.” Still, Daddy’s smile was hard, and when she failed to put her hand into his palm, he reached for her arm. “Even so, I’m afraid Delia has only just made it downstairs and has some obligations to see to before the ball is over altogether.”
Phin opened his mouth, but his father’s hand landed on his shoulder, silencing him. “Of course,” Mr. Dunn said. “If you could ask someone to fetch our carriage, we’ll take our boy home. No doubt he’s exhausted. A good meal, a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow we’ll call the family doctor for you, my son.”
Daddy nodded his approval of that.
Willametta, however, wasn’t so easily deterred as her husband. She reached for Cordelia’s hand. “You and your family must join us for supper tomorrow, Delie-Darlin. I’ll send round a proper invitation first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, ma’am. We’d be delighted.” She shot a glance up at her father. “Wouldn’t we, Daddy?”
He could hardly argue, given the situation. But she could see he wanted to. He jerked his head in a nod before tugging her out the door. “Of course. How kind of you to think of us amidst your joy. I’ll let Mrs. Owens know to expect the invitation.”
She didn’t make a scene and fight her father, though she had half a mind to. She didn’t do more than glance over her shoulder, but it was enough to see that the Dunns were all following them out, Mr. Dunn’s hand still on Phin’s shoulder. Steadying him—or restraining him?
For a moment, their eyes met, hers and Phin’s. There were still far too many unanswered questions, too many words unsaid, too many stories untold. Worse, she could see in his eyes that he didn’t expect to get the chance to put voice to any of them.
She could only pray he saw the hardening of her will reflected in her own eyes. She would not lose Phin now that he was home. And neither her father, nor Julius James, nor whatever horrors had changed Phin would stand in her way.
Chapter Eighteen
Salina gripped her basket tight, directed her gaze right to the ground, and whispered a new prayer with every footstep. Why hadn’t she gone to Mass Owens? She ought to have, ought to have told him that his wife had sent her out here alone, so as he could put a stop to it. He would have, she suspected. Never in all her nineteen years had he permitted her to roam the city alone.
Especially not now, with it being in such a prolonged panic these months. Oh, it was right enough in the upscale shopping district she went to with the mistress and Miss Delia, but not on the outskirts, where the missus had sent her to meet up with Aunt Lila’s boy. And not here, near the tent-dotted parade grounds.
But she hadn’t dared go around the missus. Not with the hate-filled looks she sent her whenever their paths crossed. And besides, Mass Owens had been distracted seeing Miss Lacy off to Miss Ginny. There’d been theatrics aplenty around the house already that morning, and Salina had known better than to add any more to it.
She wore her drabbest brown clothes, a marked contrast to the other gaily clad colored folks strolling along the streets. Still, she wished she could somehow travel under the foot-deep sand of the roads. Better yet, if she could just snap her fingers and be back with Miss Delia.
They’ll take wings and fly away. Fly away. Fly away.
A group of soldiers neared, a few laughing and a few more grumbling. Salina hurried to the edge of the parade grounds and hid herself as best she could behind a post. Which put her nose to nose with a faded, battered sign.
I AM A RATTLESNAKE, IF YOU TOUCH ME I WILL STRIKE.
A shudder clawed up her spine. She’d heard the other slaves talk of all the vigilante groups springing up round the city, determined to root out any Northern supporters and stem the tide of deserters, both white and black, from Confederate lines. She just didn’t run into such things much. No, in their house the panic seizing the rest of the city thanks to all them encroaching Yankees had been focused instead on Mr. Phin.
Course, that ought to be over with now. She drew in a deep breath and shook her head. When she heard all that commotion last night about him coming home, she sure hadn’t expected to find Miss Delia in more of a blue mood than ever. What was wrong with Mass Owens, ruining what should have been a joyful evening by separating them so quickly? Wasn’t right.
“And why is my darlin cousin’s pretty little maid frowning so at an old sign? Wondering what it says?”
She jumped, spun, and pressed her back against the post rather than get so much as an inch closer to the leering face of Mr. Julius. Fly away. Fly away. Fly away. “No sir. I just waitin for the troops to pass so as I can get home is all.”
“Mmm-hmm.” His gaze raked over her, from head to toe, lingering too long in places it shouldn’t. “I’m surprised to see you without Delia. I thought she kept you right beside her. All the time.”
Another shudder clawed. How could he make such innocent words sound so . . . so . . . ? “The missus sent me on an errand. Takin a few things to my cousin, who’s delivering supplies from the plantation to our boys who are diggin trenches.” She bit her tongue to make herself hush up. Then loosened it again. “They expectin me back now, though. So if’n you’ll excuse me, sir.”
“By all means.” Yet he didn’t move away. No, he leaned in, crowded her. Looked down at her with those icy eyes. “You must hurry home to Delia. Your mistress, isn’t she? Her father mentioned she would come with a maid when she married.”
Her hands took to trembling, so she gripped her basket harder to conceal it. And what would the master say to her becoming a white man’s concubine? He wouldn’t allow her to marry her own kind, but would he allow this? Or choose not to know, not to care?
But Miss Delia wouldn’t have Mr. Julius, so it didn’t matter. Wasn’t an issue. He couldn’t touch her, wouldn’t dare, not unless she were in his house. Which she wouldn’t never be. Never. Never.
Fly away.
He arched a brow, his glare going colder still. “I asked you a question, girl.”
She forced a swallow and tried to paste on the false cheer her murruh had taught her as a child. “That’s right, sir, when Miss Delia marries Mr. Phin, I’ll go to the Dunns’ place with her.”
His spine snapped straight again, and his eyes narrowed to two blue slits. Were Miss Delia writing the scene, she no doubt would have had poison dripping from whatever words he next spoke.
“Salina girl!” River? She looked to her right and saw him running her way, shadowed by a man who seemed to go on forever, up to the sky. River wore a grin with more oblivion than she’d ever seen from him before. “There you be. Been lookin all over fo ya, sho nuff.”
Mr. Julius growled low in his throat, like the dog he was. “You again. Haven’t you anything better to do, boy, than show up wherever I am?”
River blinked, slow and dull. “Sorry, suh, I figured you be passin by, not actually talkin to a slave girl. If I be interruptin—well, then I real sorry. I just wanted to introduce Salina to my Uncle Monty.” He motioned to the giant behind him.
She gladly stepped away, dipped her head. “So good to meet you, Monty. River’s told me all about you.” And if Mr. Julius tried to call her on that fib, she’d tell a story to match any of Miss Delia’s.
Monty nodded, too, and smiled, but made no reply.
“He don’t talk much.” River motioned down the street. “We just waitin for Mr. Phin to finish lettin the navy-like folks in Richmond know he alive and git his orders.”
She noted only then that Mr. Phin had been following behind River and Monty and had nearly caught up to them, moving slow and seeming in pain.
River nudged her with a playful elbow. “Sho would like to see you home, Salina girl.”
Would he really, or was he just trying to rescue her?
Mr. Julius folded his arms over his chest. “You would trouble your master to go out of his way so you can see a girl home? I’m surprised he would tolerate such insolence.”
The thud of a cane signaled Mr. Phin’s arrival at their little group. Heavens, but he’d gone all thin, and his eyes looked right haunted. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe that’s what made his jaw pulse as it did too. “You may speak to your own servants however you wish, sir, but I thank you for taking a kinder tone with mine, seeing as how they’ve done nothing wrong.”
“My apologies.” Mr. Julius sketched a bow that looked anything but humble. “We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m afraid. Lieutenant Julius James.”
“Phineas Dunn.”
The skunk’s smile was mocking. “The sailor thought dead, that’s right. I’ve heard your name bandied about a time or two at the Owenses’ table.”
Salina huffed out a breath. “A time or two every minute, you mean.” At the look Mr. Julius shot her, she added a low, “Sir.”
“My Delia does know how to make a man jealous, artful creature that she is.” He looked back to Mr. Phin and gave him a devil of a smile. “But we understand each other.”
Mr. Phin’s brows lifted in exaggerated enlightenment. “Ah. You understand, then, that she would happily feed you to the gators.”
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