By the Wind's Will

by Nat Burns

  Giles’s eyes widened in surprise and Charles continued. “Oh yes, he had just that much time before he died this morning.”

  He paused for effect and Foxy spoke quietly. “Please sir, I’d like to hear what happened.”

  Charles watched Foxy, noting her defeated air and spoke gently. “I didn’t get the first part too well, lass. Your father, already well into his cups, approached Fid and asked him something about spilled milk. Angered by his answer, your father waited until Fid was mucking out his last stall and snuck up behind him with a scythe.” He directed a damning look at Giles who protested hotly.

  “Damned nigra dumped a bucket of milk on me, wot was I s’pposed to do? Let him get off scot free?”

  Charles shook his head, “Certainly not kill the man, Giles. You should have brought the matter to me.”

  Giles curled his lip in disgust. “What man? It was jus’ a stinkin’ nigra!”

  “Negro or not, he was still a good man and a good worker. Some of my best stock too, pure Maasai, according to his papers.” A note of regret tinged his voice.

  He rose thoughtfully and paced behind his desk. “I don’t know what to do with you, Giles. The bottle has about ruined you and now it’s made you a murderer. I have to decide punishment, too. The law of Savannah won’t take action beyond theft because Fid was a different color. I’ve been thinking on it most of the day and have decided to make you pay for Fid, market price, and I’ll hold back the amount you decide from your wages each week. Maybe that will cut down on your drinking.”

  He sat down heavily, his face pained but his jaw set. “That’s all and I will brook no argument. I’m tired this morning after laying Fid to rest, so I’m done talking about this.”

  REALIZING THAT THEY were dismissed, Foxy and Giles rose and left the room. Outside Giles balled up his fists. “Don’ see why he’s carryin’ on so about ‘at nigra,” he snarled. “I didn’t mean t’ kill him, just scare him a lil. He was way too uppity for me taste.”

  Foxy was silent for a long moment then spoke in a strangely subdued tone. “But you did kill him. Snuck up on him because you were too cowardly to face him in a fair fight.”

  Her father sneered. “I can see you love ‘ese nigras, too. I’ve seen ‘at trait in you, daughter, and I can’ say I much like it.”

  “He was my friend,” Foxy replied simply and walked away from Giles.

  She worked the rest of the day in a haze, confused, torn between loyalty to her father or to her friend.

  Chapter Ten

  June 1758

  CHARLES SHOVED THE distasteful issue of Fid and Giles aside for the whole of Finley was a bustle of activity. Preparations were under way for the first fancy dress ball hosted at Finley since Charles had arrived in Georgia. It was to celebrate Maggie’s sixteenth birthday, with an eye toward betrothal, and Charles had taken the day off from the shipping office to share in the excitement.

  He sat in the quiet, well-appointed study, a smile creasing his face. Everything a man could want was his, a beautiful, genteel wife, a brood of healthy children, and total happiness. He had wealth, too, but it took second place in his way of thinking. People were first. His sons, daughters, wife, slaves, servants, everyone on Finley had a special place in his psyche and it thrilled him to see them this happy.

  He rose, humming softly to himself, to draw back the curtains and open the tall French windows. Stepping out onto the verandah, he took a deep breath of fresh, clean air. In the distance he caught sight of Foxy astride her large mare, Caution, the gift he’d given her this past Christmas. A sudden pang of guilt shot through him. Foxy should be a landowner in her own right—not working for someone else. She certainly worked hard enough, as hard as any man, and was more than deserving in her own right.

  It bothered Charles every time he thought of the Nelson family. Poor bedraggled, bitter Mary, drunken Giles and proud, hard-working Foxy. When had things begun to fall apart? Charles couldn’t help but blame himself. Here he was, living like a king with a happy loving family while...

  Sighing, he turned back inside. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked Giles to come to America. Or maybe he should have let Giles wander off with his family to make his own way in this new country. He slowly shook his head, No, it was better this way. At least he knew they were settled and safe. He forcibly dismissed his guilty thoughts and left the room.

  The hall was a madhouse. Slaves skittered to and fro, laden with last minute flower baskets, linens, mops, brooms, and dusting cloths. He nodded his head to them in an effort to show his satisfaction. Slowly, with hands clasped behind his back he sauntered down the hallway. He heard many a ‘Scuse me, masta’ and ‘How do, masta!’ as the various workers dodged around him. Silently, he praised himself once again for agreeing to this ball. The house was more alive than he’d ever seen it.

  Hearing familiar voices in the parlor, he opened the door to a happy sight. His wife sat calmly in an armchair surrounded by all nine of their children. It was an unusual but gratifying scene, for very seldom at this time of day could all be found in one room. Gingerly, he stepped inside.

  “Hello there, hope I’m not intruding.”

  At the sound of his voice, nine pair of eyes immediately riveted upon him and nine wide smiles welcomed him. Before he was halfway across the room, the younger children were all over him with glad shouts of Papa! Papa! Leaning down, he plucked the smallest, one-year-old Sarah Ellieth, from the group and lifted her high above his head. She squealed and the others laughed heartily at her mock terror. Finding an empty chair, he sat with Sarah on his knee and shushed the clamoring voices.

  “What happened to lessons today?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow teasingly.

  Plucky eight-year-old Wortham answered him. “Old turkey neck had to go home and get ready for the party.” Party was pronounced pahty as he lifted imaginary skirts and minced prissily around the settee, much to the other children’s delight.

  Charles grinned and reprimanded him halfheartedly. “Now, Wortham lad, I’ve told you not to call Master Rasham by that ridiculous nickname.”

  Wortham protested hotly. “But Papa! Have you ever looked at him? Really looked? He does have turkey skin!”

  His father couldn’t help but chuckle. The man did have a rather ugly face.

  Three-year-old Charity plucked at his sleeve. “Papa, see? Maggie’s dwess is pwetty!”

  Before he could answer her, six-year-old Daniel grumbled angrily at him, “Don’t see as why we have to dress up and stay at home when we could be out fishing.”

  The two oldest boys, Charles and Phillip, were having a heated dispute next to him over a torn coat and Sarah began to wail loudly because five-year-old Joshua was pinching her knee. Charles looked up painfully and caught his wife laughing helplessly at his plight. He let out a bellow of laughter that momentarily silenced the group.

  MAGGIE, WHEN HER father entered the parlor, had surreptitiously crept from the room. She stood now, forehead pressed against the dining room window, as she glanced eagerly from side to side, her body tensed with waiting. Finally, she spied Foxy and quickly, lifting her skirts, she sped from the room.

  Foxy was still astride her horse, bantering gaily with Martha about feeding the many guests that were to arrive. As Maggie reached the back doorway, she paused to compose herself, then stepped regally outside. Foxy saw her immediately and her face lit like a brace of candles. How beautiful, nay, handsome she was! Her smile made Maggie breathless and her heart thumped heavily beneath her bodice.

  Martha, as if sensing something, turned her gaze away and soon left to be about her duties and they were alone.

  “Maggie, you are lovely as always,” Foxy said softly, admiration in her eyes. She leaned down from her mount so she could better see Maggie’s gaze.

  Maggie swallowed nervously. “Thank you, Mistress Foxy, but I daresay you speak such rubbish to all those you encounter at Finley.”

  Foxy chuckled at Maggie and shook her head. “Nay, lass, ‘twas only
for you I spoke.”

  Maggie was slightly angered by the excited blush she knew covered her cheeks, but she smiled brightly and changed the subject quickly. “Are you coming to the ball, Foxy? It promises to be an enjoyable evening. You deserve a bit of jolly, you who works from dawn till dusk.”

  Foxy frowned and looked uncertain, “But am I invited?”

  Maggie gasped and covered her mouth. “Lord bless us— you were not spoken to?”

  Her grin reappeared mockingly. “Nay, at least not as I can remember. So, am I to come?”

  “Of course! You are my dearest and oldest friend. How could you not be there?”

  A voice ringing across the lawn attracted their attention and looking up they saw Giles in the distance beckoning to his daughter.

  Foxy turned back to Maggie. “I must go.”

  “Wait! You must promise,” she cried and Foxy smiled gently. She leaned even farther so that her face was very close to Maggie’s.

  Maggie felt her warm, sweet breath brush across her cheek and heard her voice low next to her ear as she whispered. “Yes, love, I promise you anything. Happy birthday.”

  Then shockingly, she laid her lips softly against Maggie’s cheek and one strong hand came around to clasp her closer for a brief few seconds. She was gone then, and Maggie stood alone, flushed and oddly aching from somewhere deep within.

  “WHAT IN THE hell’s wrong with you, Fidelia?” Giles greeted her angrily as she approached.

  “Nothing Father, what’s troubling you?” Foxy replied placidly.

  She was used to these outbursts from her sire and knew better than to argue or get upset. She leaned over, resting her sore arms and upper body on Caution’s large neck to wait her father out.

  “What are you doin’, makin’ over little Maggie Scott like that? Suppose Charles had seen?” Giles looked ready to hop about in his anger.

  Foxy just shrugged. “Suppose he had? I can’t see why you’re raising a fuss, I didn’t try to hurt her, for goodness’ sake! ‘Twas an innocent converse.” She dismounted and faced the old man and once again was surprised at how small and wizened Giles had gotten.

  Giles his perpetually red face flushed even more with anger and embarrassment spoke with a shame-filled voice. “Daughter, please hear me. You don’t understand. She is a landowner’s daughter, wealthy and positioned. Destined to marry another wealthy landowner. You are a woman, for God’s sake, and an overseer for her father. Just that. What can you offer her? You, a poor, working woman.”

  He paused and shook his head sadly. “I know, you think that love will be enough. Love can overcome these obstacles. But it isn’t everything, me lass. ‘Tis not food on the table, clothes for the back, pretty dresses, acceptance by a society that will banish you. Such things are just not allowed. Think on it, you know already that I’m right.”

  Foxy felt consumed with sudden renewed anger at a world that just did not fit her. Her blood heated and pounded through her temples causing them to ache. For a moment, she could only stare at Giles, her eyes cold and hard. Finally, she found her voice.

  “Father! Stop it! I talk to a lady but for a moment and already you have me in love and ostracized. Leave me be and cease your drunken prattle!”

  Giles instinctively took a step back, flinching as though he’d been hit. He stood helplessly as his only child strode angrily away from him, leading her roan mare.

  After stabling Caution, Foxy wandered aimlessly, self-confidence shattered and her heart somehow broken by her father’s words. Could that be what Maggie thought, too? Did she see Foxy as a freak of nature for the forbidden desires that consumed her? Was she just a dear, longtime friend to her but not on her level of social status? How could anyone be so cruel?

  She found a willow tree and sat to fiddle unconsciously with a flexible twig. Surely Maggie would never think so of Foxy. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure. She realized with sudden clarity that she did indeed love Maggie Scott and wanted her for her wife. Impossible, true, but there it was.

  Now, to find out Maggie’s true feelings toward her. Mayhap at the ball that night, at which she seemed to earnestly desire her presence, she could find a moment alone with her, air her feelings and gauge her response. There was much to be done beforehand though, for she’d be damned if she’d look the overseer tonight.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE WARM, BREEZY day had turned into a hot, sultry night and the glittering ballroom was packed to overflowing. All the pungent floral scents of the packed crowd, heightened by the heat, escaped out the door and were cloying to Foxy’s nose. She saw Charles, standing near the doorway, beckon his butler, Amos, to his side and motion him to open the large French windows, even as her glance strayed to beautiful Maggie at his side. Foxy could tell she was impatient to join the dancers for her small foot was tapping in time to the music.

  The guests were arriving in elaborate gilt coaches drawn by gorgeous teams and Foxy felt rather odd approaching the door on foot. She paused at the entrance to the long front walkway and once again mentally checked her appearance. The light poplin dress had come from one of the heavy leather trunks they’d brought from England more than ten years ago. This particular garment had belonged to Foxy’s Grandmother Adams, who had been a bit shorter, so Foxy had spent part of the afternoon ripping out the luckily large hem to make the dress long enough. There was not a lot she could do about the fit, however, as her grandmother had been a bit more rotund than Foxy. Plus, she’d often worn panniers and the dress had been made with extra fabric for that purpose. Nevertheless, a crimson sash tied around the middle of the dark green frock had served to cinch in the extra material and Foxy rather liked the way the weight of all that extra fabric felt as it swayed against her bare legs with every step.

  One thing she’d been grateful for was the fact that neither of her parents had been nearby to witness her dressed this way. She shuddered to think what they might have thought. Scorn might have been one thing, but a longing for the normal female child that Foxy could never be would have been even more painful on both their parts.

  Wiping at the nervous perspiration that beaded her upper lip, she took a deep breath and walked slowly to the heavily carved, mahogany door that led into the ballroom. Having to wait again, which did nothing to help her nervousness, she found herself examining very closely the apparel of the guests gathered in the hallway. Satisfied that she was presentable, a few moments later she was able to step forward and the perfectly attired, elderly butler turned to greet her.

  “Hello, Amos,” Foxy said in her usual quiet way. Amos’s eyes widened in surprise and his mouth gaped open stupidly.

  “Mistress Foxy, it is you! And lookin’ so fine in yore pretty new duds! I ain’t seen you in a dress since you come to Finley so long ago. Amazing, amazing.” He pulled her close. “Come on over here, close, and tell me how you wanna be ‘nounced?”

  Foxy frowned. “What do you mean?”

  He grinned, flashing his large white teeth. “I gotta announce you to the Masta an’ Missus when you go in de room so’s dey know who’s heah.”

  Foxy gulped, suddenly nervous again. “Uh, Fidelia Nelson will be fine.”

  Amos laughed but covered his mouth with his hand to stifle it. “Fidelia? Fidelia?”

  “Just announce me,” Foxy growled and closed her eyes.

  Amos grinned again and opened the door to the ballroom, letting a blast of heated air and lively music out into the hall. He stepped inside and Foxy heard his seemingly too loud voice call out.

  “Please welcome Mistress Fidelia Nelson.”

  Foxy gingerly stepped through the doorway and breathed a large sigh of relief. The only people who noticed her were the Scotts and an elderly group of matrons sitting in the corner closest to her. The matrons immediately began whispering behind their fans and Charles came forward with hands extended. Although Charles took her hand, bowed to her and smiled warmly, Foxy noticed a look of surprise and a ghost of a worriment in his face. And once again, she
wondered, was she really overstepping her position? A sense of injustice rose in Foxy, not for the first time, and she wondered if she did, indeed, want to be part of such a society. Tonight it was too late, however, she was here and she would do anything for her Maggie.

  MAGGIE HAD BEEN watching the dancers with longing until the name of Nelson penetrated her consciousness. She looked toward the door and was startled to see a tall woman who resembled her Foxy. She was impeccably dressed in dark green poplin, with gleaming white smallclothes, a red sash and shiny black shoes with a pewter buckle. Her curly rust-colored hair was simply arranged in a ribbon and left unpowdered but the buttons on her dress were so polished that they caught and shot the candlelight. By God, it was Foxy! Maggie would recognize that smile anywhere. She was so glad to see her that she almost ran forward to fling her arms about her friend. Luckily, propriety intervened, and she blushed a violent crimson at her unmaidenly thoughts. Now, Foxy was coming toward her and she wished to melt into the floor just so her ruby cheeks wouldn’t show. Nevertheless, after Foxy greeted her mother, Maggie dimpled prettily and gave her friend a perfect curtsy. Foxy grinned mockingly and dipped low in her own curtsy. As she rose, she whispered urgently, “I know you can’t leave now, but perhaps we could talk later?”

  Quickly, Maggie reached to her waist sash and lifted her book with its tiny piece of charcoal on a string.

  A much bemused Foxy opened the little booklet and saw five male names listed. Suddenly, the purpose dawned on her and she glanced to the dance floor. Maggie followed her gaze, relieved to see as many women couples dancing as mixed. Foxy grasped the charcoal to sign but paused momentarily. Seeing all the flourishes and titles that the men had included, she impulsively signed simply, Foxy. Maggie gave her an impish smile and turned to greet a pair of newcomers.