The Brightest Day: A Juneteenth Historical Romance Anthology

by Alexander, Kianna

  “Take your time. We don’t want any mishaps.” Will had been building ships for more than a decade, he knew that since the vessels were constructed primarily of wood, any little un-exstinguished spark could spell utter disaster.

  He left the two of them to their work, searching out Clem and Earl. Clem was cleaning up the refuse in the parlor, and Earl was down below, moving some items the Goodmans wanted put away into the storage room. Will assisted Earl with the moving of some of the heavier items before going back above deck.

  Once he’d been assured by Bret that all was well in the kitchen, he and his captain got their valises and left the ship via the gangplank, making their way toward the boardinghouse.

  Bret quipped, “You seem eager to reach our destination.”

  Will stifled a yawn. “I’m tired. It’s been quite a day.”

  “That’s true, but I know you’re rushing to meet Rosaline.”

  Will stopped mid-step and turned to Bret.

  Bret offered a chuckle. “The parlor does have windows, you know. I saw you with her on the deck earlier.”

  He frowned. If Bret had seen them, only heaven knew who else had witnessed their little tryst.

  Slapping him on the shoulder, Bret chuckled again. “Don’t worry, you’ll hear no scolding from me.” He gave an exaggerated wink.

  Shaking his head, Will set his feet moving again.

  They arrived at the boardinghouse within a few minutes. He glanced around the lobby for any sign of Rosaline, and spotted her reclining in an upholstered chair by the window, engrossed in reading a newspaper. She’d taken off the flowered hat, revealing the curly dark locks of her hair. Smiling, he went to the desk to check in.

  He didn’t want to disturb her until it was necessary, so he didn’t call out to her. Instead he and Bret got their keys and went upstairs to their separate rooms. Once he’d deposited the small bag containing a clean change of clothes and his shaving supplies in the room, he spent a moment refreshing himself. He removed his tie and opened the top button of his shirt, ran a boar bristle brush through his hair and left it unbound. Then he locked the door and went back downstairs to meet her.

  Before he could call her name, she lowered the newspaper and greeted him with a sweet smile. He reached out to her with his hand, and she placed hers within it. With a gentle tug he helped her to stand.

  As he pulled her close to him, she asked, “Are we going somewhere? It’s so late.”

  “Come with me outside to the riverbank, so we can sit and talk.” He wanted to take her away from the prying eyes of the others staying at the boardinghouse, some of whom had gathered in the lobby to chat and play cards.

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.”

  Hand in hand, they strolled out of the boardinghouse and into the cool evening air.

  A soft breeze rustled the grass as they walked toward the river front. A number of boats were docked in the slips, but there were no people about. It was nearly eleven o’clock now, and even though he knew it wasn’t proper to be alone with her at this hour, he could think of nothing else he’d rather do.

  He eyed a spot close to the water’s edge, where thin blades of summer green grass poked up through the sandy soil. Leading her there, he sat, and gestured for her to sit next to him.

  She brushed her long skirt beneath her hips and sat where he’d indicated.

  For a moment, he simply enjoyed sitting next to her in the quiet. The only sounds were the wind rustling the trees across the river, and the rippling of the water. He looked at her, his eyes drinking in the profile of her face as a breeze lifted the wispy tendrils of hair hanging loose around her face. A serene expression graced her lovely face as she looked out over the moonlit surface of the water.

  “Tell me your story, Rosaline.” More than anything, he wanted to learn all there was to know about her, or at least as much as she felt comfortable enough to reveal.

  She inhaled deeply, her shoulders drooping. “My story is a bit sad. Perhaps you should go first.”

  He wondered what she meant by that, but if it would put her at ease to hear him tell his tale first, so be it. “I was born in Fayetteville. My mother’s name was Annette, and my father’s name was John. I don’t remember much about either of them.”

  “Why not?”

  “My mother was the sister of Mistress Pruett, and my father was a slave.”

  She said nothing, but her wide eyes belied her surprise.

  A bitter laugh preceded his next words. “When my master found out about their dealings, my father was sold Deep South, to a master known for his brutality. As for my mother, she was shunned by the family and sent away with orders never to set foot on Pruett land again.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “About two or three. They’d managed to hide their relationship up until then. After they left, the cook, Tilly, saw to my raising. Tilly’s the one who told me the story of my parents. She was up in age, and she died back in ‘63. Miss her something awful. “

  She blinked a few times. “It seems we both have a sad story, then.”

  He shrugged. The years of emotional pain he’d suffered over the absence of his parents, along with the physical pain of toiling from sunup to sundown at the shipyard, had left him numb to some degree. “Being raised in captivity, I guess it’s to be expected.”

  With tears standing in her eyes, she asked, “Did they force you to breed with the females?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Spent my whole life working in the yard, as far back as I can remember, that’s all the master wanted me to do.”

  She fell silent for a moment, and a fat tear slid down her cheek.

  He wondered why she’d asked that question. What had brought that subject to mind? The longer he looked at her, sitting there with the tears filling her beautiful eyes, the clearer it became. “Rosie my sweet.”

  She nodded, the same sadness he’d seen earlier returning to her face. “They tried to breed me, but I couldn’t carry. No matter how many times they sent a buck to my cabin, they could never get me with child.”

  His heart wrenched in his chest as if being squeezed by a vice. How could anyone treat her so cruelly, when she was such a delicate flower? The evils of slavery were many and varied, but among them all, the vicious tradition of rape bothered him the most. The very idea of such barbarism set his stomach roiling. He didn’t know why his master and mistress never forced him to breed, but hearing her tale made him glad they hadn’t.

  He laced his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her close to him. A volatile mixture of hatred and anger coursed through him, but he let the sympathy and care he felt for her cool them. He knew he could not undo the pain of her past, still he hoped she’d find some solace within the shelter of his arms.

  She wept openly now, and he held her, with his free hand stroking the top of her head. He said nothing, instead letting her release the sorrow pent up within her.

  Finally she brought the back of her hand up to her face, to wipe away her tears. With wet eyes, she looked up to him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. No one should have to endure that kind of treatment.”

  She sniffled, dashed away another tear. “Thank you for hearing me.”

  He squeezed her shoulder. “I want to learn everything I can about you, Rosie.”

  Her damp eyes widened into a curious stare. “Why?”

  He brush his lips against one damp cheek, then the other. “If I’m to love you in the way you need me to, I should know all there is to know about you.”

  Her lip trembled, and her open palm went to his jawline. “Then where shall I begin?”

  “Wherever you like.” And he meant it. Whatever she had to say, he wanted to hear it.

  So, with the evening breeze playing though her hair, she began. “I never knew my mother. I’m told her name was Polly. She was fifteen when she gave birth to me, and the birthing killed her. I have no siblings that I’m aware of, because
I never knew who fathered me, either. Iola, the woman who raised me, tells me it could have been any one of four men sent to breed my mother.”

  Will held her even closer to him as he listened to the tale. The grim reality of life in captivity was such that he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy; he knew that. But hearing such a tragic story from her made him want to travel back in time and kill the ones who conceived such an egregious institution, before the treachery could ever be carried out.

  “Is Iola still living?”

  She shook her head. “No. She lived long enough to be freed, but by the summer of ‘66, she was gone from me.”

  He noted the sadness stinging her words, and he could relate all too easily. While Tilly had not birthed him, she had raised him in love. Losing her had been very painful, almost as painful as... he tried to push the thoughts away.

  She seemed to pick up on his tension, because she asked, “Will? What’s the matter?”

  He sighed, knowing he could not lie to her. “There was a woman I loved, many years ago.”

  She dropped her hand from his face, and her gaze lowered. “There was?”

  He took a deep breath, and braced himself to tell her what he’d never told anyone else. “Yes. Her name was Starla Gates, and she was owned by a family on a neighboring plantation. I was just a boy then, about seventeen. I thought her the most lovely creature in the world, but I never had the courage to tell her how I felt.”

  She asked the inevitable question. “What happened to her?”

  He swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “She was caught trying to escape in December of ‘64. The master was so angry, he beat her to death.”

  Tears sprang anew to her eyes. “In ‘64?”

  He nodded, not needing to say what they were both thinking: If Starla had lived a few months longer, she would have gotten the freedom she so desperately sought.

  The pain of losing her had dulled much over the years, leaving only a few traces that surfaced from time to time.

  Now Rosaline changed position, coming to sit atop his lap. There, she settled in, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “I’m sorry, Will. Truly I am.”

  Her embrace did much to soothe the remnants of hurt and anger inside him. She’d given him the gift of a listening ear, allowing him to cleanse his soul of the darkness that had followed him for more than a decade. So he spoke his heart to her, in recompense for her kindness. “The day Starla was buried, I vowed to never hold back my feelings again. It hurt me so deeply, I didn’t know if another woman would ever capture my heart. But I promised myself that if I ever loved again, I would do so fully, fearlessly.”

  She gazed up at him, the moonlight illuminating the lines of her lovely face. As he looked at her, he felt his burden lifting, as if he were finally free of the specter of his unspoken love for Starla.

  ~~~

  She trembled as the intensity in his eyes touched every soft and vulnerable place within her.

  Neither of them spoke a word, yet their gazes remained locked. She felt herself falling into the depths of his dark eyes, felt her soul opening to him the way a blooming flower spread its petals toward the sun.

  There was affection there, sparking between them. She loved him and she knew it, there was no getting around it. But she knew better than to tell him that, lest she be cut to the core if he didn’t return her feelings. Though she felt nearly certain she’d won his heart, she could not risk the pain of discovering him to be unwilling to admit it. Now that he knew her secret shame, and of her inability to bear him strong sons, she knew he might never fully surrender to the feelings between them.

  She touched his brow with gentle fingers, tracing along his hairline and letting her finger graze the line of his strong jaw. She wanted to remember his face this way, wanted to etch the sight of his heated gaze in her mind. If he never revealed his heart to her, if he never returned the love growing in her heart, she would at least have her memories of this night.

  She eyed him expectantly, waiting to see if he would speak.

  He said nothing, but moved his hands to her head, reaching into the mass of curls to remove the pins that bound her hair up. It was another impropriety; letting her hair down outdoors this way.

  She could not have cared less, and made no move to stop him as he extracted pin after pin. He stopped when her hair fell free around her shoulders. With her hair unbound, she felt a measure of vulnerability, as if her heart and soul were laid bare to him.

  He raked his hands through her hair, the pads of his fingers massaging her scalp. “Your hair is beautiful, my love.”

  Love? Had he really said that, or had her amorous mind fooled her into thinking he did?

  He said it again. “You are my love.”

  She was sure of it this time. His endearment, coupled with his gentle touch, entranced her. She sighed, her eyes closing against the blissful sensation.

  “Did you hear me, Rosie? I love you. I love you, darling.”

  “I can’t give you babies.” It pained her to say the words, but she felt she must remind him of that unfortunate truth.

  “I don’t need babies. All I need is you.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, feeling her heart thumping in her chest like the drums of the Motherland.

  “A woman should be able to bear...”

  He cut her off. “Don’t. I only need you. Your love is the greatest treasure I could ever hope to possess.”

  She was so overcome by his touch and his sweet declarations, she could not speak.

  “Let me love you, Rosie.”

  Her breaths came faster and shorter now, stacking up in her throat.

  He repeated himself, his fingertips never leaving her their place in the depths of her hair. “You don’t have to say you love me now, Rosie. But I promise to love you so sweetly, so deeply, you will choose to love me back.”

  The tears of emotion welled in her eyes, and at that moment, she felt her soul opening to him. The knots and snarls of pain she held inside began to unravel; released by the intensity of his caring for her. At last she found her voice, and she expressed the feelings blossoming inside. “I love you, Will.”

  Her words were breathless, hushed, and truer than any other words she’d ever said. Every encounter they’d shared over the last year or more, when she stopped to chat with him in town, the many smiles and pleasantries they’d exchanged, had all been leading to this moment. She could never have guessed what was happening between them, hadn’t even sensed the subtle way he’d stolen her heart. But in this moment, sitting with him on the shore of the river, she felt safer than she ever had before. He’d enraptured her, and now, she had no choice but to give herself over to him, for as long as she drew breath.

  The ministrations of his fingers on her scalp slowed, then stopped. She opened her eyes to see him watching her, desire glittering in his gaze. She recalled the dream she’d had about him. The gown-singeing look he’d given her then paled in comparison to the one he was giving her now. It made her glad they were near a water source, just in case she burst into flames.

  He was hard for her, she could feel it. The iron length of him had expanded, and was pressed into her bottom due to her rather comfortable seat atop his lap.

  He slid his hand around to the back of her neck and pulled her in to his kiss. Her lips parted almost immediately, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, twisting and stroking against her own.

  Wild, hot passion flowed between them. Her hands gripped the corded muscles of his shoulders, while his fingertips toured the small of her back. His touch seemed to penetrate the fabric of her shirtwaist and corset, singeing the tender skin beneath. Their tongues mated and played against each other until she thought she’d melt into a puddle, right there on his lap.

  Finally she drew back, breathless, panting. His eyes were still on her, and still held the heat of a thousand suns.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable, my sweet?”

  She managed a smile eve
n as she tried to get her wits about her. “No. I rather enjoy this. It’s just that I’d prefer not to make love out here, in the open.”

  He showed her a broad grin. “I suppose I can understand that.”

  She felt a modicum of relief, noting that he didn’t seem to be angered by her request to slow things down. At the pace they’d been moving, she knew she’d been mere moments away from casting aside all good sense, and letting him have his wicked way with her, right where they sat.

  She turned on his lap, so that her back was to him, willing her racing pulse to slow as she focused on the surface of the water.

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use some cooling off.”

  She nodded when she heard his softly spoken words. “I could as well. Do you want to go back into the boardinghouse for a cool drink?”

  “Not yet.” He shifted a bit, and used his hands to lift her from his lap.

  She moved aside, watched him as he stood and walked to the very edge of the water. “I hope you’re not going for a swim, because if you are, I’m not going with you.” Only the good Lord knew what was lurking in the dark depths of the river, and she was of no mind to find out.

  He squatted on the bank, chuckling. “Don’t worry. I’ve got no more desire to swim than you.” He undid the laces of his boot and pulled them off, setting them in the sand beside him. Next he removed his socks, and when his feet were bare, he slid as close as he could to the river’s edge.

  When she saw him dangling his feet into the water, she giggled. Deciding that baring her feet was the least scandalous of all the things she’d like to do right now, she stripped off her own slippers and stockings, and joined him. Soon, they were sitting hip to hip in the sand, and she gasped as she lowered her feet into the chilly water.

  It took a few moments for her to become accustomed to the temperature of the water, but she soon did. Submerged to the ankles, she relished the feeling of the cool liquid lapping around her feet. She’d not dangled her feet in the river this way in years. She recalled the way she and a number of the slaves from her plantation had waded into the water on the day they’d been set free. That day, they’d frolicked and splashed in the water, while shouting the joy of liberty to the heavens above.