Reginald Ball was, as I expected, pacing nervously waiting for me in the parlor, sweaty hands dipping into the sweet tray. If he had bothered to look at my hands rather than my nonexistent bosom, he would have noticed my permanently stained fingertips. Traces of my constant scribbling, as my mother describes it. “Mr. Ball,” I said, smiling at him and stretching out my hand in an unfamiliar movement that I copied from my mother. “I do hope I haven’t...”
Before I could continue, I met the eyes of the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He rose from one of the blue velvet chairs that faced the empty fireplace. He had a thick mop of dark, wavy hair that he wore slightly longer than the current style. He had dark blue eyes that were fringed with curled black lashes. His tanned skin was clear and warm-looking; I felt myself blush but managed a tense smile.
The stranger was half a foot taller than Mr. Ball, who was no short figure. Although his clothing clearly belonged to a gentleman, he appeared dusty and disheveled.
Mr. Ball cleared his throat. “Miss Cottonwood, I took the liberty of bringing this gentleman here, to Seven Sisters, as I found him in dire distress on the road. He says he was set upon by bandits, right on the road north of your home. We couldn’t find his horse or belongings. I do hope you can assist him. I’d like you to meet, oh dear, I haven’t collected your name, sir.” The painter’s face reddened at his oversight.
“Mademoiselle, sir, let me introduce myself. I am Captain David Garrett, at your service.” He had a deep voice and a friendly manner.
We three stood looking at one another for a few seconds before I realized that I must take control of the situation. “Sir, you are most welcome here. If I may ask, how did this happen to you, Captain?”
“Blayliss and I decided to hunt for some rabbits this morning. Blayliss is a bit of a puppy but with a fine pedigree. The rabbit ran across the road in front of us, and we followed him. I rounded the curve, the one near that copse of trees, then two men stepped out onto the road. We exchanged greetings, and suddenly one of the men reached for my saddle. I began to ride on, but the two overpowered me.” He paused here, no doubt feeling embarrassed. I said nothing, and he continued.
“The next thing I remember, I woke along the road with this good man standing over me. What would I have done if Mr. Ball had not found me?”
Hearing his part in the story, Mr. Ball practically glowed under the praise. “My dear sir, I venture to say you’d have found help here at Seven Sisters. However, it was my pleasure to help you in your time of need.”
“Yes, indeed. Thank you, Mr. Ball.” I smiled.
He turned to me. “May I thank your father or mother for your kind attention?”
“Neither is available to receive your gratitude at this time, but I will happily convey it to them. At present, my maid will show you to a room where you can change your shirt; she’ll repair that tear in your shirt for you.” I paused a minute before adding, “We would be happy to have you stay for dinner, sir. I’m sure by then the sheriff or perhaps my father will wish to speak to you.”
“I am in your debt.” His voice was low, quiet, almost intimate. But he made no inappropriate movement and did not leer at me. His perfectly masculine face was the picture of sincerity. With a nod, praying that I walked away without tripping over my ridiculously formal gown. I didn’t look back but imagined the captain watching me as I left. I was pleased that I did not trip and also remembered my manners. I stopped to extend the invitation to my other guest, whom I had been warned not to forget. “Mr. Ball, of course, you must join us for lunch I think we must cancel our appointment for today, though. This is a very disturbing matter. I’m sure you understand.” He nodded and giddily accepted my invitation.
My mind couldn’t keep up with my heart. I barely remembered talking to Hooney and climbing the wooden stairs to my bedroom. I called out for Hannah, who sat in the hall outside my mother’s door. I raced into my room and began to tug impatiently at the silk ribbons of my gown. My face looked pinker in the mirror, and I couldn’t help but smile at myself. I felt the butterflies cavorting in my stomach. This was a new experience for me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I stepped out of the coral silk dress and into the blue cotton gown with the purple stitching at the sleeves. It had tiny purple flowers stitched along the top of the bodice. It was my favorite gown. I had been saving it for Uncle Louis, but I felt pretty in it. I sat down at the vanity table and helped Hannah unwind the braid. “Are you sure, Miss? I like this braid on you. You look like a real lady.”
Determined, I took the brush and pulled it through my hair, working out the braids carefully. “Yes, thank you.” I pulled the top of my hair back away from my face and slid it into a barrette at the back of my head. I attached a blue bow and fluffed it with my fingers. Suddenly, I agreed with Hannah. I looked like a child now.
I traveled down the hall to see my mother, stepping lightly in case she was sleeping. I tapped lightly on her door before opening it. Sitting in the roomy, padded chair next to her sunny window, Mother put her book aside and welcomed me with her outstretched hands. “Well, why are you not dressed in your gown?” she asked quizzically. For the next few minutes, she listened, nodding and widening her eyes occasionally until all the events of the morning had come tumbling out.
Instead of sharing my excitement, my mother sighed heavily, her hands folded perfectly in her lap. Suddenly, I wished that I were a child again, that I could lay my head in that lap and feel her cool hands stroke my hair. “Of course, we’ll have to tell Mr. Cottonwood. He needs to know these roads are not safe. We don’t want anything to happen to Uncle Louis or any of our neighbors. Ask Stokes to come see me. Keep Muncie near you, would you?”
I hated that the peace of our home would be disturbed, as it always was with my father’s arrival. I hated more knowing that, somehow, I had caused this disturbance. I felt guilty for feeling happy just a few moments ago.
“Now then, don’t sulk, Callie. All is well. You have guests to attend to now, so off you go. Ask Hooney to set out the blue and white china and bring in some of the spring fruits. It’s not every day we get the opportunity to entertain a Captain. And do be kind to Mr. Ball.”
There was no sense in arguing with her or saying anything more. She was already reaching for her note paper. Before I joined the gentlemen downstairs, I visited my private library in the corner of my room and looked for a book. Obviously, anything written by Augusta Evans was inappropriate to share with mixed company. I finally selected Tennyson’s Locksley Hall. I had nothing else really to talk about other than my books. I was no singer, and I had kept my love for drawing a secret from Mr. Ball, as a kindness. Sliding the book into the pocket of my blue dress, I walked slowly, as dignified as I could, down the winding stairs. My guests had made themselves at home on the porch where I had left them, and thankfully, our dinner waited for us.
In the distance, someone plucked on a fiddle. Pink azaleas lined the porch, which was cluttered with silky white camellias. We sat intimately at a round table set for three, positioned under a gnarly oak that bent graciously over us, protecting us from the beaming sun. Mr. Ball talked effervescently, snacking on sugared donuts, a generous slice of ham and a bowl of strawberries. Mobile had a new mayor, a Mr. Charles Langdon of Southington, Connecticut. Many Mobilians of Mr. Ball’s acquaintance, namely his influential father, apparently had strong objections to the new mayor, which no doubt stemmed from his northern lineage. Still, he was a direct descendant of a notable hero who had fought in the Revolutionary War. I pretended to be interested as well as I could.
I pushed a strawberry around Mother’s blue and white china and tried not to stare at Captain Garrett like a wide-eyed calf. I noticed he wore his own shirt; perhaps my father’s wasn’t a good fit for him. He was considerably larger than my father. I flushed thinking of David Garrett’s arms. How would they feel wrapped around my waist? My mother was right—I was a silly girl.
Taking advantage of a break in Mr. Ball’s oration
, I took the opportunity to engage Captain Garrett in conversation. “Tell me, Captain, do you travel to Mobile often?”
Mr. Ball slurped on his lemonade and said, “Yes, we do want to hear about your travels. The Delta Queen, that’s the name of your boat, correct?” His short dark hair stuck out above his ears, and his bald spot shone in the sun.
“I have been to Mobile many times, Miss Cottonwood. It is a city I have come to appreciate recently,” he said with a smile. “I have thought many times that if I were to ever take leave of my boat, I would happily call this fair city home. How much more so now that I have found such fair and pleasant company?” He lifted his glass and tilted his head to both Mr. Ball and me.
“Ma’am, the sheriff is here to see you.” Stokes stood officiously in the doorway.
“Thank you, Stokes. Just one moment, please, gentlemen.” The men rose as I left the table.
A tall, lanky man with a bushy black mustache stood in my foyer. After a few pleasantries, I led the sheriff to the porch, poured him a glass of cold water and sat quietly as he interviewed our guest. He drilled through the formalities, writing down a few notes as Captain Garrett recounted this morning’s misfortune. Satisfied with the interview, the sheriff mentioned that the captain’s horse, a dappled gray, had been found already. The thieves must have gotten cold feet and left the horse after realizing what a shameful act they had committed. “Still, we’re taking this very seriously. I have a few ideas about who these troublemakers are, but I can’t be certain without more investigation. I’ll do some checking around, Miss Cottonwood. In the meantime, if anyone sees the men again, please send for me immediately. Don’t take them on yourself, although I can see that you’re hardly alone here.” I could sense that the sheriff didn’t seem to approve of me. “Is your father expected to return soon?” I nodded dumbly. “Well, that’s a good thing. Can’t be too careful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to continue my search.” As he rose with his hat in his hand, he added, “Sir, will you be available if I have more questions?”
“I am at your service, Sheriff.” The captain rose to his feet and nodded slightly.
“Where can I find you? Will you be staying long at Seven Sisters?”
“No. Now that my horse has been found, I’ll return to the Delta Queen before nightfall. You can find me there; I will be in Mobile for another month. I am scheduled to pick up a load of supplies and then head up the river.”
“Mr. Ball, if I may have a word with you, sir,” With a nod, the sheriff left with Mr. Ball, who was now fully sweating after his meal. I was relieved to see the sheriff go but felt immensely embarrassed by how my new guest had been treated.
“Miss Cottonwood, I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I should take my leave before you are further inconvenienced.”
“Not at all, sir. I have enjoyed your company. I’m afraid Mr. Ball and I have little to talk about,” I said honestly.
He laughed softly. “I can well imagine that.”
I smoothed the skirt of my dress as I stood, my hand rubbing over the book in my pocket. I removed it and held it nervously. Books had always comforted me.
He smiled faintly. “Ah, Tennyson… Locksley Hall? ‘When I dipt into the future, far as the human eye could see; saw the vision of the world and all the wonder that would be.” He spoke the words exactly as I had read them.
“Yes! You know Tennyson?” I held my breath.
“Well, there’s not much else to do on a ship but read,” he teased me.
“I would love to see your ship—I mean the Delta Queen. Maybe when my mother feels better, we can take a ride. Or when I get old enough, I can go myself. We rarely travel anymore, but my Uncle Louis, Louis Beaumont, frequently travels all around the world. I guess travel is in my blood, for I want to see everything!”
He stopped and looked at me. “Don’t be in such a hurry to leave home, Miss Cottonwood. It’s much safer to have an adventure in the pages of your book. Many scoundrels await inexperienced travelers, especially ones as lovely as you.”
“Are you a scoundrel, Captain Garrett?” I asked.
He blanched slightly. “I suspect that the sheriff thinks so, and Mr. Ball likely does by now as well. Do you think I am a scoundrel, Miss Cottonwood?”
“If my maid reports missing silverware, I shall know that you are, sir!” He laughed heartily, so I did as well.
“You have a keen wit, Miss Cottonwood.” I acknowledged his comment with a nod, just as I had seen Mother do, but I kept quiet.
Later that evening, I enjoyed a quiet dinner and watched my mother sleep before I scurried back to my bedroom to record this momentous day in my journal. My candles burned brightly into the night, and I ignored the cramping of my hands. I wanted to remember everything, every word, every gesture. I even mentioned Mr. Ball in the history.
I opened my bedroom window; the smell of gardenia filled my room in just a few minutes. Pale moonlight splashed on the walls, and I tossed and turned on my bed, thoughts of Captain Garrett filling my head and burning my heart. With tired eyes and numb fingers, I eventually slept, only to dream of my new friend riding his ship across a sparkling sea.
In my dream, I saw myself standing on the shore, watching the ship sail out of sight. And then, I saw Reginald Ball, walking on the water like Holy Jesu and waving a handkerchief furiously at me.
Startled, I woke and found my father standing at the foot of my bed. Even in the moonlight, I could see he was drunk, swaying under the power of his beloved corn whiskey. Like an angry demon, he cracked his belt at my legs while he grabbed and twisted my foot. I refused to scream. I did not want to satisfy his lust for terrorizing me, nor did I wish for my mother to be his victim. She would certainly try to come to my rescue, as I always tried to help her. The belt stung my leg through the thin cotton of my gown. He sweated and sputtered, calling me vile names and hurling accusations at me. I gathered from his violent diatribe that he had had a visit from the sheriff. I couldn’t prevent the tears from filling my eyes, but I still didn’t cry out. How many times before had I faced this blind fury that was once the father I loved?
He raised his hand over and over again, unleashing his fury on me. My gown ripped, and I could feel the blood rise to the surface. Suddenly, something welled up inside me, something different, a wild defiance, a strange rebellion. I didn’t want to die; I didn’t want to be punished. I wanted to live! Blindly, I kicked at him and landed a blow right in his slim belly. With the help of the whiskey, he toppled over, falling onto a wooden chair with a crack. He howled like one of his beloved dogs, but I raced from the room. I left him, running in the darkness down the stairs. Now sobbing, I ran out of the house, into the Moonlight Garden. I scampered through the familiar maze of marble statues almost to the back fence. I cowered under a tree, my legs tucked underneath me, carefully hiding myself from the revealing moonlight.
I cried and rocked back and forth, listening intently for any intruders into my garden.
Only one came. Muncie. He said nothing but climbed in under the tree with me. He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. I cried until he tapped my shoulder. We heard the dogs barking and sounds from the house, but no one came. I was glad he didn’t try to talk to me, except for when we prayed to the Virgin for protection. We stayed there until it was nearly morning; then we crept to the kitchen house where Hooney waited for me. She clucked at my wounds and said, “Child, child.” She patted the raw, red stripes on my leg with a cloth dabbed with foul-smelling liniment. Unable to stifle my cry, I released a scream and welcomed the stars that clouded my vision…
Chapter 9
I was rudely awakened by the sounds of rapid-fire knocking at my door. “Hello? CJ, I know you’re in there! Come on, girl. Open up!” I rolled over in a tangle of sheets that stuck to my sweaty body. Pushing a handful of curls out of my eyes, I peered at the clock. 7:15!
“Carrie Jo! Open the door, hon!” Once again I was forced to leave my dream world behi
nd, plunged into the reality of today. I peeked through the thin lace curtain to see Mia standing on tiptoe, looking back at me on my small upstairs porch. She had replaced her Egyptian bob with a short shock of blond hair. I was surprised that she wasn’t wearing her trademark black and white clothing. Instead, her curvy body was covered in a short, red and white polka-dot sundress. Her pale skin gave her an ethereal look, but her eyes, large and darkly luminous, were completely earthly and emotional. If I didn’t know her voice so well, I would have never recognized her. Only Mia could so completely transform herself in just a few months.
That was one of the things I loved about her. She had an ability to become whatever she wanted and didn’t appear to feel any pressure at all to conform to anyone else’s idea of who she should be.
“Coming!” I shouted at the door. Except for some mysterious new tattoos on her arm, Mia looked like a cast member from a retro ’50s television show, down to her red slippers.
I opened the door and welcomed her excited embrace. She hugged me, kissed my cheek and invited herself into my muggy apartment. She chattered away about the flight and about me not responding to emails. Finally she looked at me with her perfectly lined eyes and said, “You’re not ready! Get ready! We have to go. I can’t wait to see this house.”
I stepped into the restroom for a quick shower, leaving the door ajar so we could talk. I hopped into the shower and waited for the water to warm while Mia came and sat on the floor. She talked away as I soaped and showered. I only half-listened. I wanted to linger over my dream, but I was forced to push it to the back of my mind. I didn’t feel anxious this time; I knew that I would remember every detail, probably for the rest of my life.
I hated the idea of going to work with wet hair. It didn’t seem professional, but time was not on my side and I had sweated through the night. I couldn’t endure spending the day smelling sweaty hair, and what if anyone got close? Ashland came to mind, and I tried not to let my mind linger on his warm hands, his strong arms or his cologne.
The Ultimate Seven Sisters Collection Page 6
