Patricia Hagan

by Loves Wine

  “How is it you know Mr. Bonham so well?” she asked.

  Claudia averted her gaze, then forced a nervous smile. “I…I do go into town a good bit, dear. You know how I hate that wretched shack. I have tea with old friends, and…and…they tell me things. I’m told Mr. Bonham is becoming the social leader of Vicksburg.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  Claudia’s answer was quick, almost defensive. “I went to a tea one afternoon and he was there. I liked him. He’s quite charming.”

  Instinctively, Holly knew it was more than that. It had been two years since Papa’s death. It was only natural that her mother would be thinking about her future, the company of men. “He’s a widower?”

  Claudia nodded. “A fever. Some years ago.”

  “Children?”

  “A son. Several years older than you.” She stared at Holly, desperate for some morsel of understanding, and cried, “Oh, Holly darling, please understand. I’ve been so lonely. It’s been a terrible time. I don’t want to wither away out here in squalor and poverty. Don’t condemn me.”

  Holly saw a glimmer of tears in her mother’s eyes and felt a true sympathy for her misery. “I don’t condemn you, Mother. I want you to be happy. It’s just that I can’t forget as easily as you can. Or forgive. I won’t interfere with your life if you show me the same respect.”

  Claudia brightened. “Oh, I will,” she said, “but if you’d just come to the party, Holly, and give yourself a chance to meet new people, you’d make me so happy. I’m having a gorgeous gown made for you. Green satin. It will be so lovely with your hair.”

  Holly shook her head. She did not want to go.

  Claudia persisted. “Jarvis is having the party to welcome the new officer assigned to command the Reconstruction army. It can be sort of a debut for you into Vicksburg society. Please?”

  Holly hated the desperation in her mother’s eyes. “I have no interest in meeting men, particularly Yankees. I’ve heard of Jarvis Bonham. He’s a carpetbagger. He came to Mississippi like a vulture after carrion, taking advantage of the starving. You do what you feel is right for you, Mother, and give me the same privilege, please.”

  Claudia shook her head fiercely. “I won’t let you have that opinion of Jarvis. It isn’t fair. He didn’t come here to get wealthy. He’s wealthy already from his many businesses. He wants to be my friend…our friend. He’s brought money to the South, not taken it out.” She paused, pushed a strand of hair back from her face, and gathered a little more nerve. “Very well. Perhaps it’s best I tell you now. Jarvis is buying Magnolia Hall for the taxes owed on it—taxes we can’t pay. He’s going to rebuild it, create a house even more magnificent than the original. He understands how much it means to me to know I won’t be losing my home to a stranger. Why, he’s even agreed to pay me a small sum so I won’t feel that I’ve lost everything.”

  Holly saw the hope in her mother’s eyes and knew Claudia was begging for understanding, but she couldn’t stand any more. “Mother, you can’t let him take our home. He’s nothing but a dirty, greedy carpetbagger!”

  “I have no choice. What else can I do? You should be grateful to Jarvis. He doesn’t have to give me anything. All he has to do is pay the taxes and he can take over the title to this property. There is nothing I can do about it.”

  Holly trembled with her rage. “He’s not taking Grandpa’s place! It’s mine! Grandpa left it to me. I promised him I’d never give it up, and I won’t. Maybe I can’t do anything about this place, but I’ll fight with everything I’ve got to keep what’s rightfully mine.”

  Claudia stiffened. “Can you pay the taxes, Holly? Jarvis says he’s willing to take that parcel as well, so he’ll have the entire estate.”

  “He’ll be damned to hell, and so will I, before I let that happen.”

  With burning, defiant glares, they turned away from each other. Finally, Holly was able to speak calmly. “There is no point in our discussing this any further. I’m not moving to Vicksburg, and I will find a way to pay the taxes on my land. I’m staying.”

  She started away, but Claudia caught her arm and spun her around. Never had Holly seen her mother so angry.

  “How do you propose to do that?” Claudia demanded furiously, but her daughter refused to say. She shook loose of Claudia and kept on going, outside, across the lawn, through the woods. Damn the Yankees, and damn Jarvis Bonham and his money.

  Chapter Two

  Holly took a deep breath and entered the office of the Vicksburg tax collector.

  Early morning light struggled through windowpanes dusted with red clay from the street beyond. There was no furniture in the small office, only a long wooden counter the length of one wall. A tall, balding man stood behind it searching through leather-bound volumes of tax records, the pages grimy and yellowed.

  Holly took her place in line, ignoring the stares of the others waiting. She knew she looked strange. She was wearing an old pair of Grandpa’s trousers, tied at the waist with a length of frayed rope. She had rolled them several times at her ankles to keep from tripping. The shirt had belonged to Grandpa, too. Her hair was twisted into a single braid. She supposed she did look a sight, but what did a young lady wear to town when she had to ride a mule? She felt like posing that question to the rudely staring man in front of her.

  At last, she took her place in front of the counter and found herself staring into the disapproving eyes of the tax clerk.

  “Yes?” He spoke crisply, eyes narrowed, as though accusing her of being somewhere she had no right to be.

  Well, here goes, Holly thought. “My name is Holly Maxwell. I want to know the amount of taxes due on my land.”

  Raising an eyebrow, he exchanged an amused glance with another official who had just come in. “Well, now, Miss Maxwell,” he looked down at her once again. “You’re going to have to give me more information than your name.”

  Holly bit back an angry response. “The land may still be listed in my grandfather’s name—Daniel J. Maxwell. He died and left the property to me. It’s adjacent to my father’s land—Wesley Maxwell’s land.”

  The clerk’s eyebrows shot up at once. “You’re Wesley’s girl? Daniel’s granddaughter? Well, now.” He mellowed, reaching for one of the worn volumes. “Knew you when you was knee-high to a billy goat, girl. Sure didn’t recognize you, though. Let’s see now. Maxwell. Yep.” He nodded. “The deed is still in your grandpa’s name. No trouble to get that changed, though. Just bring me his will, showing you’re the rightful heir.” Then suddenly he leaned over the counter to whisper, “Listen to me, honey. I hate to tell you this, but the taxes on that land haven’t been paid since before the war. Adding on the interest, the amount comes to quite a lot. Almost two hundred dollars. You don’t have that kind of money, I know. Lots of folks with land more valuable than this are losing it right and left, and—”

  “I am well aware of how the carpetbaggers are taking advantage of people’s misfortunes, sir,” Holly interrupted. “I will get the money to pay the taxes.”

  She turned to go, and the clerk called after her, “Today’s Tuesday. The tax sale is going to be Friday on the courthouse steps. So if you don’t have that money in here by midnight Thursday, it’ll be sold. You’d be smart to not waste your time worrying about it, ’cause I hear Mr. Jarvis Bonham is going to buy all your daddy’s land. Your grandpa’s, too, I reckon.”

  Holly turned around slowly, withering him with an icy glare. “You can tell Jarvis Bonham it will snow in hell before he or any damned carpetbagger takes my land.”

  She hurried out, slamming the door. Swiftly, she made her way to Garrington’s jewelry store. The place was empty. At the sound of the bell above the door, a squat little man hurried out from behind velvet curtains. His anticipation quickly dissipated as his eyes swept over Holly in her ragged clothes. “I’m not giving handouts,” he informed her with a repugnant wriggle of his long nose. “But if you’re really hungry you can go around back and my wife might f
ind something for you.”

  He turned to disappear behind the curtains, but Holly rushed forward and called, “Wait. Are you Mr. Garrington? I have business with you.”

  He paused, then asked warily, “What kind of business?”

  Reaching inside the pocket of her trousers, she brought out the carefully knotted handkerchief. Mr. Garrington waited impatiently as she untied it. She held out the emerald brooch. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She forced a smile past the lump in her throat. “It belonged to my grandmother. I want to sell it.”

  The jeweler snatched the brooch from her outstretched hand and turned it over carefully, then stepped behind the counter and picked up his magnifying glass. Finally, he lifted his gaze to her. “It is a magnificent piece. The stone is genuine. Excellent workmanship. Where’d you get this, girl?” His eyes narrowed.

  “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to me, and I need to sell it…to pay the taxes on my land,” she added quickly, “and if you aren’t interested in buying it, then I’ll find someone who is.”

  She held out her hand for the brooch, but he drew back. “I didn’t say I don’t want to buy it. I just asked where you got it.”

  “And I told you.” She continued to hold out her hand.

  He looked through the magnifying glass again, then murmured, “Lovely.” He put the glass aside and flashed her a bright smile. “Tell you what I’m going to do. You obviously need money badly, or you wouldn’t dream of parting with such a sentimental piece. So I’m going to be generous. I’ll give you fifty dollars.”

  Holly snatched the emerald away. “Sir, you can’t be serious. Fifty dollars? That…that’s crazy,” she stammered, stunned.

  He scowled. “Listen, girlie, there’s no money in secondhand jewelry. Especially when folks around here haven’t got any money to start with. I’m doing you a favor. Take it or leave it. Don’t make no difference to me.”

  Holly turned on her heel and started for the door, but he was out from behind the counter in a flash. “A hundred,” he said. Names of wealthy Yankees had begun to occur to him. “A hundred. Not a penny more.”

  Holly pushed on by him. He bolted in front of her. “Now wait a minute. How much do you want? Maybe we should go from there. But I warn you, I can’t go but so high. I’ll try to be fair.”

  Holly knew what she had to have but also knew how to bargain. Grandpa had taught her well. “Four hundred,” she told him evenly.

  Willis Garrington’s mouth dropped open. That was the price he’d figured he could probably get by selling the brooch. “That’s crazy. I’ll give you a hundred.”

  Holly smiled. The man was no fool. He knew how to bargain too. “Three hundred.”

  He slammed his fist on the counter. “Two hundred and I swear, girl, not a cent more.”

  Holly pursed her lips, pretending to give the offer serious thought, then nodded slowly. “Two hundred. I want it right now.”

  Mumbling that he had to be out of his mind, he disappeared behind the curtains and returned a few moments later with the money. He scowled. “I hope you know you robbed me, girl.”

  Holly grinned. “No, I didn’t. I just didn’t give you a chance to rob me.”

  It was only with great effort that Holly was able to walk, not run or skip, to the tax collector’s office. Entering once again, she smiled and nodded all around. When her turn came, she laid the money on the counter and declared, “I’ll have my receipt. This is one piece of land the Yankees won’t get.”

  The astonished clerk stared from the money to her, then leaned forward. “Is it honest money?” he whispered hoarsely.

  Holly stiffened but kept smiling. “How I got it is none of your business. Just give me that receipt so I can get out of here.”

  He took care of the transaction, and Holly watched him. She didn’t notice the darting glances he sent to the well-dressed man who had quietly entered the office. She took her receipt and left as soon as she could.

  The man stepped forward, and anyone in his way moved aside. Dressed in an expensive maroon coat, gray trousers, and shining black boots, he was about the only wealthy-looking man in town. There was a tight set to his jaw, and his eyes were narrowed, brooding. “That is the young lady you told me about?” he asked the clerk.

  The clerk’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes sir, Mr. Bonham. Soon as she left, I sent for you, ’cause I knew you’d want to know. I knew you and your daddy were interested in that land, but there wasn’t anything I could do. She came in here with the money, and I had to take it,” he finished nervously, apologetically.

  Roger Bonham touched gloved fingertips to his neatly trimmed mustache. “Of course you did, Hubert. She paid the taxes on the northeast tract?”

  “Yeah. Said she inherited it from her granddaddy.”

  “Anyone see where she went earlier?” Roger asked of no one in particular.

  A man standing near the door spoke up. “She was going to Garrington’s. Only reason I noticed her was ’cause she’s dressed so scruffy.”

  Roger left the tax office and walked down the street. As he moved along, men stepped out of his path and tipped their hats, ladies smiled. They all believed his smile was a smile of greeting, unaware that he smiled only with smug self-confidence, without any real regard for them. He knew the townspeople of Vicksburg held him in high esteem. Why not? He had planned it that way. Each word, gesture, every act since his arrival had been calculated to win them over. He had succeeded beautifully, as expected.

  He opened the door of Garrington’s jewelry shop and stepped inside. At the sound of the bell, the owner appeared, grinning broadly at the sight of a prosperous customer.

  Roger got right to the point. “A young lady was in here a short while ago and sold you a piece of jewelry. I wish to purchase it.”

  Mr. Garrington’s smile widened. He slipped back behind the curtains and returned with the brooch. Handing it delicately to Roger Bonham for his scrutiny, he said, “It’s a lovely piece. Of course, that young woman robbed me,” he added with a nervous laugh. “I felt sorry for her. I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you have it for the same price she sold it to me. You’ll get a bargain. Four hundred dollars.”

  Roger’s eyes mirrored contempt. “You fool,” he said. “You think I got where I am by being stupid? You paid her two hundred dollars and two hundred dollars is what I’ll pay you.” He reached for his wallet.

  Mr. Garrington coughed, swallowed, and attempted to maintain control. “Well, sir, that’s ridiculous. Begging your pardon, but you can see the brooch is worth a good deal more than that.”

  “It was you who robbed her,” Roger snapped, counting out two hundred dollars and dropping the money on the counter. “I intended to offer you something for your trouble, but you attempted to insult my intelligence, so this is all you’re getting.”

  Roger flippantly gave the brooch a toss, caught it in midair, and put it in his pocket. He turned on his heel and walked out of the store. And now, he thought, for the formidable young woman, Holly Maxwell.

  Chapter Three

  Holly sat on the riverbank, knees hugged tightly against her chest. It was a day of golden sunbeams and enticing, mysterious shadows where the land rose or fell sharply. Weeping willow fronds moved in the warm spring air. A gentle breeze wafted in from the sleepy river beyond. It was a heavenly time in Holly’s special, secret world.

  She laughed at a turtle lying on a rock at the water’s edge, and delighted at the plump catfish swimming teasingly within arm’s reach. “I’ll get you later,” she warned him.

  Leaning back against the willow trunk, Holly felt awash with relief all over again, remembering how she had eluded her mother. Not only had she managed to rise early and go into town and take care of all her business, but she had managed to return in time to pack her haversack and escape to the swamps before Claudia returned. Now, this time, this place was hers and hers alone. She intended to hide away for three whole days and contemplate her future without any interfer
ence.

  There was much planning to be done. It would not be easy to take her living from the land and the water, but Grandpa had managed and so could she. He had taught her well. There were catfish and rabbits and wild turkeys and deer. She knew the soil where Grandpa had planted his garden was rich, hungry for seeds. She would net crayfish to take into Vicksburg and sell when money was needed. And there was a not-too-distant dream of having her own fishing boat, so the catches could be larger and more profitable.

  Life was going to be good once again, she thought with a sleepy sigh. No, there would be no move to Vicksburg for her. Mother and the other spiritless Southerners could cozy up to the Yankees. Holly preferred the tranquility of her beloved private world. She was free there and she always would be.

  Yet she had to come to terms with her fears, too. What lay ahead was as frightening as it was desirable. She would be alone, truly alone, for the first time in her life. Her mother was still beautiful and would have no difficulty finding another husband. Holly had no one.

  Suddenly, she sprang to her knees and crawled forward to the water’s edge to stare at her reflection. Am I pretty? Papa always said so, but fathers never think their daughters are plain.

  Her mother had always lamented that Holly didn’t make the most of what God gave her. Sometimes, she’d said, women had to work at being pretty.

  Holly touched the single braid, which had tumbled forward. Sunlight caught the red highlights of her hair and it glistened. Would she be more attractive if she brushed it to wisp about her face? Or used Mama’s curling iron to make ringlets?