Love's Tender Fury

by Jennifer Wilde

  “I want her, Rawlins.” There was menace in his voice.

  “That’s too bad, fella.”

  There was a tense silence as the two men eyed each other. Schnieder was an inch or so taller than Jeff and much heavier. Beneath that civilized façade lurked the brute strength of a German peasant, and I was worried for Jeff’s sake. Schnieder’s facial muscles were taut, his eyes dark with hostility. Jeff appeared utterly relaxed, the suggestion of a grin playing at the corner of his mouth. He seemed to be inviting the larger man to start something. Several moments passed, and Schnieder finally backed down, scowling.

  “If you ever change your mind—”

  “I ain’t plannin’ to. Come along, Marietta.”

  He took my arm and led me away from the Royal Star, past the docks and up the gradually sloping road toward the town above. Neither of us spoke. He didn’t seem to be at all angry or upset about my attempted escape. We might have been taking a pleasant stroll. Reaching the bluff, we turned, walking through the town toward the inn. Jeff nodded to several people, stopped once to exchange a few friendly words with a man in black, holding my arm all the while. It was only when we were on the front verandah of the inn that he released me. He grinned and held out his hand. I took the roll of money from the pocket of my skirt and placed it in his palm. He shook his head slowly in mock disappointment.

  “Just outta curiosity—how’d you get down there? I kept my eye peeled every minute, never saw you pass.”

  “I climbed down the cliff in back of the inn.”

  “You did what?” he exclaimed.

  “I climbed down the cliff.”

  “You coulda broken your bloody neck!”

  He took hold of my arm again, tightly this time, his fingers squeezing viciously. He took me inside and through the main room and up the curving white staircase. By the time we reached our room his anger had dissipated. He let go of my arm and looked at me with perplexed brown eyes. I rubbed my arm.

  “You knew I’d try it,” I said.

  “Hell, you practically drew me a picture—tellin’ me goodbye like that, fightin’ back the tears, holdin’ on to me like you didn’t wanna let go. I’d uv had to be blind not to know what you was plannin’.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “I figured the exercise’d do you good, knew you wouldn’t get no further than the docks. I didn’t know you was gonna do anything as damnfool stupid as climbin’ down a cliff or I’d uv left you tied to the bed. I could beat you for that.”

  “Go ahead. I—I just don’t care.”

  “Christ! Look at you. You look like some kinda wretched waif. There’s dirt all over your dress, all over your face. Your hair looks like—like you oughta be stirrin’ a kettle full of frogs and cacklin’.”

  “Thanks!” I snapped.

  Jeff grinned, delighted to see my spirit returning. He stepped over to the wardrobe and took out the pack. He peeled a few more bills off the roll and then put it back in the pack, slung the pack into the wardrobe, and kicked the door shut. As I looked around, I noticed the stack of boxes on the bed. There were three of them, all white, two extremely large, the other small. He must have brought them back here before coming after me. He was so insufferably sure of himself!

  “I still got a lot of things to tend to,” he told me. “I’ll be back here around seven. You be ready to go down to dinner. Better yet, be waitin’ for me downstairs. I’ll tell ’em to arrange for a bath as I go out.”

  He sauntered out of the room then, leaving the door wide open. I slammed it shut, wondering why I wasn’t really upset, wondering why I was almost glad he had come after me and found me so easily. I wasn’t going to try to escape again. Both of us knew that. I resented his knowing it, resented his blithe, airy manner, putting the money back into the pack, leaving the door open like that. It was infuriating. It also gave me a poignant, aching feeling inside and made me want to dissolve into tears.

  Stepping over to the bed, I opened the boxes. When I saw what was inside them I felt even more like crying. I was amazed that he had been able to buy such things in Natchez, for the undergarments were elegant and the gown one of the loveliest I had ever seen. The high-heeled slippers that matched were gorgeous, too, a perfect fit. I realized that he must have taken one of my old dresses and a pair of shoes from the pack that hadn’t been brought up and carried them to the shop with him in order to make sure everything was the right size. Damn him, I thought. Damn him for doing it, for making me feel this way—happy, beholden, defenseless.

  A few minutes later there was a brisk knock on the door. I opened it to discover an exceedingly plump young girl with tousled blond curls and jolly brown eyes. She wore a blue cotton dress, a starched white apron and, incongrously enough, a pair of dangling jet earrings. Merry, effusive, she identified herself as Lizzie, confessed that she was the proprietor’s daughter, and added that she detested being a maid and longed to be an adventuress.

  “My, you do need a bath, don’t you? It’s ready—that little room at the end of the hall. Here’s the key. Don’t dawdle now. The water’s good and hot. There’s a big fluffy towel and a bar of the sweetest smellin’ soap! I wish I had hair that color.”

  “Your hair is lovely, Lizzie.”

  “Wish I had a figure like that, too. I’m giving up sweets, I swear it. That Mister Rawlins—I wish I had a man like him sleepin’ in my room. He’s ever so excitin’.”

  “I’ll tell him you said so.”

  “Cripes! You wouldn’t? He’d think I was awful!” And she scurried off down the hall, giggling merrily.

  I felt marvelous after the long, hot bath in the huge white porcelain tub filled with steaming water. Later, wearing the lovely new petticoat with its billowing, lace-trimmed skirts, I spent over an hour working with my hair, using the brush and the pair of tongs Lizzie had brought to me with a brazier of burning coals. I was quite pleased with the results, hair pulled up sleekly and fastened in back, a mass of long, perfectly shaped sausage ringlets spilling down to my shoulders.

  I was ready to go downstairs a few minutes before seven, and I took a final look at myself in the mirror. The gown was a rich brown satin with great puffed sleeves dropping off at the shoulder. My breasts were caught up in an inset of dark beige lace, a blue velvet bow centered beneath, and the skirt was composed of huge puffy brown flounces adorned with blue bows, parting in front to reveal the underskirt covered with row upon row of beige lace ruffles. It was the kind of gown the ladies in the French court were wearing, a magnificent creation that made me feel like a queen … or an extremely elegant courtesan. Du Barry herself would have been jealous, I thought, sweeping out of the room and moving down the curving staircase.

  Jeff was nowhere in sight. The main room was empty but for a slender, nervous-looking girl with light-brown hair and violet-blue eyes and an unusually handsome young man who seemed to be upbraiding her about something. The girl, who wore a white silk gown sprigged with tiny blue and violet flowers, was obviously from a wealthy family. The young man had unruly black hair and angry brown eyes. His black boots were old, poorly polished, his brown suit beginning to grow shiny with age. He was an appealing figure, nevertheless, aglow with youth and vitality. The girl was pale and would have been plain but for those lovely, tormented eyes and the hair so light a brown it had a silvery sheen. She kept glancing over her shoulder toward the crowded dining room, and she seemed to be on the verge of tears. Immersed in their intense, intimate private drama, neither of them so much as looked up when I moved down the last steps and entered the room.

  “I don’t care what he says!” the man protested. “It’s your life, Meg, your decision. I’m almost twenty years old! When Pa died I inherited everything. Oh, the plantation isn’t much now, I grant that, but in a few years, with a lot of hard work—”

  “James, you—you don’t understand. He would—” The girl cut herself short, again glancing toward the dining room. “We’ll have to wait. I’ll be eighteen in two years,
and then—”

  “I want you now!”

  How bold and impetuous he was, fiery with the passions of youth and eager to assert himself. The girl loved him, too, desperately. That was quite evident. Seeing them together made me feel a curious sadness. Although both were more or less my contemporaries, I felt immeasurably older, wiser, and it was not necessarily a pleasant feeling. The innocence, the wonder, the surging intensity of young love as they knew it had been denied me. How beautiful it was, how sad.

  “After we’re married there’s not a thing he can do,” the handsome youth continued. “You may be scared to death of him, but he doesn’t frighten me one bit! I want you to come with me now, Meg, tonight, this minute! I don’t intend to sneak around any longer!”

  The girl looked up at him with anguished violet-blue eyes, and then she shook her head mournfully and hurried on into the dining room. The young man slammed his fist into his palm, emitted a colorful curse, and stalked out of the room and down the short hallway leading to the front door. He was just a few months younger than I, yet he seemed like a frisky pup compared to the men I had known. I wished I could be young and dewy-eyed again, wished there were still beautiful illusions to cling to.

  “I see the gown fits,” Jeff remarked. “Woman who sold it to me assured me it would. You look gorgeous.”

  “Jeff. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Almost didn’t make it. Young James Norman swept out the door just as I was about to enter—damned near knocked me down. Didn’t even apologize. If I didn’t like him so much I’da given him a good shakin’.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Norman? Owns a plantation outside of town, right next to Schnieder’s. His folks died of the fever a year or so ago, and Norman’s runnin’ the place all by himself, tryin’ to make a go of it. Refused to sell out, even though Schnieder offered him a small fortune.”

  “He’s very good-looking.”

  “Reckon he is,” Jeff agreed.

  He was silent. He seemed to be waiting for something. Finally he shook his head in exasperation, took several steps backward, and turned around slowly. I had been so immersed in thought that I hadn’t even noticed his new clothes. No wonder he was exasperated. Gone were the dirty buckskins. He wore shiny new black boots, a splendid blue suit, and a blue-and-brown-striped waistcoat. His brown silk stock was impeccably folded, and for once his hair was neatly brushed, not a lock out of place. I hardly recognized him. I told him so. He made a face.

  “Took you long enough to notice! I coulda been stark naked for all the attention you paid. James Norman is handsome, but me—me, I’m an old shoe you don’t even pay any mind to. These duds cost me a pretty penny, I don’t mind tellin’ you, and I had to wait hours while they took the breeches up.”

  “You look extremely dashing.”

  “Feel like a fool,” he grumbled, “but I’ve worn buckskins for the last time. From now on, it’s Jeffrey Rawlins, gentleman, at your service. Think you can stand me like this?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then let’s go on in to dinner. I’m starvin’.”

  The dining room was crowded, but Jeff had reserved a table. As we took our seats, I noticed the girl with light-brown hair sitting at a table across the way. I recognized the man with her immediately. Helmut Schnieder had donned a blue waistcoat and the gray jacket that went with the breeches he had been wearing on the docks. Catching sight of us, he stared openly, as though amazed at the transformation both of us had undergone.

  “Who is that woman with Schnieder?” I asked.

  Jeff glanced across the room. “His sister, Margaret. I mentioned her to you earlier.”

  “You said she was a mousy little thing. She’s almost pretty. Lovely eyes, and that hair—”

  “Look, Marietta, would you mind payin’ just a little attention to me for a change?”

  “I’m sorry. Have I hurt your feelings?”

  “Don’t be bitchy! I sold the mules this afternoon. Hated to part with ’em, I’ll admit, but that phase of my life is over. Soon as I get to New Orleans I’m buyin’ a place. It’s kinda run down now, but after I spend a little money on it, it’s gonna be plush as all get-out.”

  “What kind of place are you talking about?”

  “Gamblin’ hall,” Jeff said. His voice was sharp with enthusiasm. “It’s gonna be somethin’. There’ll be all kinds of tables, a roulette wheel, a fancy bar, the works. There’ll be a ballroom, too, for dancin’—this’ll be the kinda place the ladies can come to—well, a certain kinda ladies. No whores, mind you, but the men can bring their lady friends. There’ll be white marble and gold curtains and—”

  “How do you intend to pay for all this?” I interrupted.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I’m a rich man—well, fair to middlin’ rich. I got a lot of investments, and I’ve been savin’ all the while, savin’ for the day I could open my own place, be a gentleman.”

  “Gentlemen don’t own gambling houses,” I informed him.

  “Hell, you really are a wet blanket tonight, aren’t you? Here I have all these excitin’ things to tell you and—oh, forget it! Let’s order dinner!”

  He was like a petulant little boy, and I couldn’t help but smile. Feeling sorry for having teased him, I reached across the table and gave his hand a pat. Jeff jerked his hand away, scowling. He continued to sulk for a few moments, and then he looked up and grinned his sheepish grin, waved the waiter over to the table, and ordered our meal. Though plain, the food was excellent, and there was a bottle of sparkling wine to go with it. Jeff continued to talk enthusiastically about the gambling house. I tried to be an appreciative audience, but it was difficult. Although Jeff didn’t seem to notice, I could feel Helmut Schnieder staring. I turned once, glancing in the direction of his table. He didn’t bother to lower his eyes, simply stared, openly and rudely. I was relieved when he and his sister finally left the dining room.

  When we had finished our meal and drunk the last of the wine, Jeff suggested we take a stroll in the gardens out back. He was in a thoughtful mood as we stepped outside, his hands thrust into his pockets, his exuberance released. I had paid little attention to them this afternoon, but now the gardens seemed lovely. The moon was almost full, the pink and white roses silvered with moonlight, the small, neat shrubs casting velvety black shadows across the flagstones. We strolled slowly, my skirts rustling softly, Jeff’s new boots squeaking ever so slightly. Reaching the foot of the gardens, we stood looking at the Mississippi below, a vast silver ribbon shimmering in the night, banks shrouded in darkness.

  “You really climb down this cliff?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Right over there. It was … rather frightening.”

  “Fool, you silly little fool.”

  “I almost wish I had fallen. It would make things so much simpler.”

  “Hey, this is supposed to be a celebration. We’re supposed to be happy.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t feel very happy.”

  “I wonder why.”

  “Jeff—”

  Before I could continue he pulled me to him, slipping one arm around the back of my neck, the other around my waist and drawing me even closer. He kissed me for a long, long time, with incredible tenderness, his lips pressing and probing with a delicious languor that had little to do with passion and everything to do with love. After a while he released me and, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulled out a much folded square of paper and showed it to me.

  “Watch,” he said.

  He tore the paper in two, then tore it again, continuing to tear until the paper was a handful of tiny pieces. These he tossed into the air. The wind caught them, and for a moment they fluttered in the moonlight like frenzied white moths, then disappeared into the night. Jeff sighed and turned to me, grinning again.

  “You’re a free woman,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “That was your Articles of Indenture, purchased by me from Derek Hawke for a whopping eighte
en hundred pounds. You’re free, Marietta. You belong to no one.”

  “You …” I was too moved to continue.

  “Aw, I know what you thought. You thought I was gonna sell you to a brothel. I never told you any different, but I never intended to do that. You see, I was thinkin’ about the place all the time, thinkin’ I ought to have a gorgeous woman to … well, kind of act as hostess. A sort of special attraction, you might say.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was savin’ it for a surprise.”

  “That’s—”

  “Wretched of me, I know. I didn’t intend to set you free, Marietta, not at first. And then—somethin’ happened. I reckon you know what I’m referrin’ to. I reckon you know I’m in love with you. Don’t guess you could help but know.”

  “I—I’m not in love with you, Jeff.”

  “You think you’re not. You think you’re still in love with Hawke. I think differently. I gave you your freedom, Marietta, but now I want to take it back again. I want you to marry me. ’Stead of bein’ my hostess, you’ll be a partner. Christ, what a team we’ll make!”

  He was standing behind me now. He wrapped his arms around in front of my waist and, leaning forward, rested his cheek against mine. Below us, far below, the river shimmered, silver and black, silver-blue, and I stared at it and felt his cheek resting on mine and felt something hard inside that I recognized as determination. I didn’t love him, but he loved me and I could use that love. I was going to succeed. I was going to have all the things a woman could desire, and because Jeff Rawlins loved me he would help me begin to acquire them.

  “I won’t marry you, Jeff,” I said. “I’ll go to New Orleans with you. I’ll act as hostess at your gambling house, but I don’t intend to marry you.”

  “Reckon I’ll have to persuade you to change your mind.”

  “Don’t. You’d only be wasting your time.”

  “We’ll see,” he replied.

  PART THREE: New Orleans 1774