Morning Song

by Karen Robards

  The riding dress she wore had been made for her when she was thirteen, five years before. It had once been deep bottle green, but it was so faded by years of hard use that in some spots it was the color of dust-dulled spring grass. To make matters worse, she had been considerably less well developed five years ago. The buttons up the front of the bodice strained to hold it together, mashing her generous bosom nearly flat in the process, and this despite the fact that only the previous year Tudi had added wide insets of fabric to the garment's side seams. The skirt was much darned and some three inches too short, allowing far more of her worn black boots to show than propriety permitted. Not that propriety even entered Jessie's head as she lifted her feet, crossed them at the ankles, and rested her lower heel on the railing that ran around the gallery, putting a scandalous amount of white cotton stocking and thrice-turned petticoat on view.

  "Here, now, you cain't do that! You put your laigs down and sit like a lady!" Tudi protested, scandalized. She was seated in another of the half-dozen rockers that lined the wide porch, her gnarled black hands buried deep in a bowl of string beans she was snapping for supper. Jessie gave an ill-used sigh but obeyed, letting her feet drop loudly. With a satisfied grunt Tudi returned her attention to the beans.

  Beside the porch, a ruby-throated hummingbird flitted in and out of the pink-veined blossoms of the mimosa from which the vast cotton plantation took its name. The tiny bird's characteristic sound and bright plumage drew Jessie's eyes. Watching it, she bit with relish into the cherry tartlet she had purloined from Rosa, 14

  the cook, on her way through the house to tide her over until luncheon.

  From the road that wound past the house came a series of rattles and clops as a buggy rolled smartly into view. Its appearance distracted Jessie from the feeding hummingbird, and she observed its approach with interest. When she saw that it would turn up the long drive that led to the house, instead of continuing on toward the nearby river, she frowned. It could only be a neighbor, none of whom she particularly cared to see, probably because they all disapproved of her and made few bones about it. "That wild Lindsay child," the planters'

  womenfolk called her. Their delicate daughters scorned her as a playmate, and their eligible sons seemed unaware that she was even alive. Which state of affairs, Jessie continually assured herself, suited her just fine!

  Then, with even less enthusiasm than she would have awaited the arrival of one of the neighbors, Jessie recognized the petite, exquisitely turned-out woman perched beside the driver as her stepmother, Celia. Her eyes moved on to the dark-haired driver, where they fixed, narrowing. Him she did not recognize at all, and in a community where one knew all one's neighbors, from the wealthiest planters to the poorest of the dirt farmers, that was cause for surprise.

  "Who's that?" Tudi looked up, too, as the carriage bowled toward them along the oak-lined drive. Her hands, busy with the beans, never faltered, but her eyes were wide and curious as they fastened on the stranger.

  "I don't know," Jessie replied, which was the truth as far as it went. She shunned the neighborhood social doings as

  assiduously as she would a nest of vipers, so it was always 15

  possible that someone had a visitor whom she hadn't met. But it was quite clear that the man, whoever he was, was no stranger to Celia. Celia sat snuggled too closely against his side, so closely that their bodies touched. She wouldn't sit like that with any justmet beau. In addition, Celia smiled and chatted in blatant provocation, and her hand moved every few minutes to stroke the stranger's sleeve, or give his arm a pat. Such behavior was nothing short of fast. Coupled with Jessie's knowledge of her stepmother, it gave her a dreadful, disbelieving inkling of who the stranger must be: Celia's new lover.

  She'd known for several weeks now that Celia had a new man. After ten years of living with her pretty blond stepmother, Jessie could tell. Jessie's father had been dead for nine years, and in that length of time Celia had had easily double that number of men. Celia was careful, but not careful enough to hide her indiscretions from the keen eyes of her lessthan-adoring stepdaughter. Jessie's first realization of the true purpose behind Celia's frequent prolonged absences had come when she'd happened upon a letter Celia had been penning to her latest paramour and had accidentally left in the back parlor. Knowing that it was rude to read others' correspondence, Jessie nevertheless did. The missive's blue language and impassioned tone had made an indelible impression on the innocent youngster she had been then. Once her eyes had been opened, Jessie had learned to read her stepmother like a book: the restlessness and petty meannesses when she was between men, the secretiveness and lack of concern over Jessie's most heinous transgressions when Celia was involved with someone.

  Over the past few weeks, Celia had moved about the house with a sly little I-have-a-secret smile that told Jessie a new lover 16

  was in the offing. From experience, Jessie had guessed that soon Celia would be making another shopping trip to Jackson, or would find herself invited to a house party in New Orleans, or would manage to come up with some other excuse to be gone for several weeks without giving rise to scandal, while she pursued her new interest away from watching eyes and the constraints of propriety. Such deviousness might fool the neighbors, who would be shocked and loudly condemning if they knew that the charming widow Lindsay had had as many lovers as a cat in neat, but it didn't deceive Jessie. After half a lifetime spent observing her, Jessie was thoroughly familiar with the real Celia, who bore only a surface resemblance to the sweet, slightly silly female she pretended to be. The real Celia was as hard and ruthless in pursuit of her desires as a tigress, and about as kindnatured as one, too.

  "First time she's brought one of 'em home," Tudi muttered, scowling, her hands stilling in the bowl of beans at last as the buggy rocked to a stop before the front steps. It was true, Celia never brought her

  en home, and that, of course, was one reason Jessie felt so uneasy at this one's advent. But to hear her disquiet echoed so succinctly by Tudi, before she'd even managed to pin the cause of it down herself . . .

  Jessie glanced in sidelong surprise at her onetime nursemaid, who had taken over the reins of the housekeeping long since, when as a bride Celia had shown no disposition to do so. Though why Jessie should be surprised to discover that Tudi thoroughly understood the situation, Jessie couldn't fathom. Tudi, for all her comfortable girth and placid disposition, had the eyes of a hawk and the brain of a fox. Celia's subterfuges wouldn't have fooled 17

  her any more than had Jessie's inventive excuses for misdeeds when she was small.

  The stranger stepped down from the buggy, and Jessie's eyes swung back to him. One of the yard boys ran up to take charge of the equipage, but Jessie's eyes never left the man. So intent were he and Celia on each other that neither noticed that they were under intense and hostile observation from the upper gallery. Tudi's hands were still plunged deep into the bowl of beans, unmoving, while Jessie had stopped both rocking and eating to watch.

  Even from the back the stranger was worthy of feminine attention. He was tall, with broad shoulders, long muscular legs, and an abundance of wavy black hair. As far as Jessie could tell, his black coat and tan breeches bore not so much as a speck of dust or a wrinkle, which by itself was enough to distinguish him from the planters and their sons who were Celia's official callers. It was mid-May of 1841, not as hot and sultry as it would be later in the summer in the steamy Delta region, but still quite warm, and already the menfolk thereabouts were rumpled and smelled of sweat by midday. But this man-why, his boots even gleamed!

  Something about the very pristineness of that glossy brown leather set Jessie's teeth on edge. Already she knew that this was not a man she was going to like.

  She frowned as the stranger reached up to catch Celia around the waist and swing her from the buggy. Though the gesture was no more than any gentleman might offer to a lady, those longfingered hands in the black leather driving gloves curled around Celia's tiny waist with
far too much intimacy, and he held her for too long to be quite proper. Watching, Jessie felt a stirring of embarrassment, as if she were witnessing something that should 18

  have been private. Celia, of course, was beaming at him—which was nothing to be surprised at. If he was her lover, and Jessie was becoming more convinced with every passing moment that he was, then she would certainly smile at him. And he would look down at her with sickening ardency, and be reluctant to take his hands from her person. In other words, he would behave just as he was doing.

  Celia was giggling appreciatively at something he said, her hands lingering on the impeccably tailored sleeves of his fashionable coat as he set her on her feet and, finally, released his hold on her waist. The rapt way she smiled up into his face, the possessiveness of her hands on his arms, even the way she seemed to lean into him as she talked, clinched the matter, as far as Jessie was concerned. The man was Celia's latest lover, and she had had the appallingly bad taste to bring him home to Mimosa. The question was, why?

  Whatever his name was, wherever he was from, this man was trouble. Jessie felt it in her bones in the same way Tudi felt oncoming rain.

  II

  What do you suppose she's up to?" It was more a case of Jessie thinking aloud than asking a Question, but Tudi answered anyway.

  "Lamb, I gave up tryin' to figure out Miss Celia years ago. Don't stare so, now. It ain't nice."

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  Tudi-s admonition was a case of the pot calling i In* kettle black if Jessie had ever heard one, but that moment wasn't the time to say so. Besides, Tudi had a point. It wouldn't do to be caught gaping. As the horse and buggy were led away, Jessie set the locking chair in motion again with a gentle push of her foot

  against the whitewashed floor, and took another bite out of the cherry tartlet. Beside her, Tudi lowered her eyes to her lap and once again began snapping beans.

  Then the stranger turned to escort Celia up the broad steps that led to the upper gallery and the family sitting rooms beyond. Jessie took one look at his face and stopped eating again. The tartlet was suspended, forgotten, in her hand as she stared in growing dismay.

  Even to her critical, untutored eyes, the man was dazzling. As the pair of them came up the stairs, he was smiling down at Celia, who had tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, his long fingers covering her childlike ones where they rested on his sleeve. His teeth gleamed white against the tan of his face, and his features were handsome and regular. As he threw back his head to laugh at something Celia said, Jessie saw that beneath thick black brows his eyes were very blue, as blue as the halcyon sky that overlay the Yazoo Valley that day.

  Some of the local planters and their sons were attractive men, and Jessie privately thought that Mitchell Todd, whose family owned neighboring Riverview, was very handsome indeed. But Mitch and the rest paled before the sheer physical splendor of this man, who besides his good looks had about him an air of excitement and danger and rakish charm that the others definitely lacked.

  20

  Jessie thought, whoever he is, he's not from these parts. Then they reached the top of the stairs, and both Celia and the stranger saw Jessie and Tudi at last. Jessie put the cherry tartlet carefully in her lap, hoping it would not ooze all over her, and gripped the armrests hard.

  "Why, Jessie! Goodness, you do look a fright! Oh, well, it can't be helped, I suppose. Stuart, dear, this is my wayward stepdaughter." Celia rolled her eyes as if to emphasize whatever she had told the man about Jessie. He smiled at Jessie. It was an utterly disarming smile that made him look handsomer than ever. In response, Jessie's hands tightened on the armrests in an involuntary gesture of physical resistance to that potent charm. Her face tightened, too, and she knew that it had assumed the familiar sullen expression for which Tudi was forever chiding her and which she could not seem to help when she was around Celia. Celia, who in the most artless way imaginable was forever calling attention to her stepdaughter's myriad faults. Ignoring Tudi as she always did the slaves unless she was scolding them or giving them an order, Celia smiled at Jessie, too—unusual enough in itself to underline Jessie's forboding, if Jessie had been in any State to notice—and pulled the man toward the end of the porch where Jessie sat. The hummingbird, alarmed, took wing, adding the whirr of its movement to the jingle of the departing buggy. The silk skirt of Celia's fashionable afternoon dress rustled as she moved.

  Celia was immaculate as always, from the top of her fetching little hat to the toes of the tiny satin slippers that just peeked out from beneath her skirt. Her dress was almost the color of the sky and the Granger's eyes—Celia had a predilection for pale blue

  and in it Celia looked lovely and slender and amazingly young. 21

  Jessie wondered, uncharitably, if her new beau had any notion that Celia had turned thirty the previous winter. Then Celia, the man in tow, stopped before her. Jessie stared stonily up into the stranger's smiling face as Celia prattled on in the artificially sweet voice she affected when she was in the company of men.

  "Jessie, this is Stuart Edwards. Really, dear, you do look like you've been dragged through a bush luck ward! And is that a sweet you're eating? You know you must not eat sweets if you ever want to outgrow that baby fat! You really must make more of an effort with your appearance. You'll never be a beauty, I know, but you could at least strive for presentable! Stuart, pray forgive her! Usually at least her face is clean! Goodness, Jessie, I hadn’t realized until now, but you've just turned into a great gawk of a girl while my back's been turned, haven't you? You'll likely give Stuart a disgust of me and make him think I'm a dreadful stepmama and terribly old to boot, though I was decades younger than my late husband and really am of an age to be a sister to Jessie rather than her stepmama." This last was said with a frown for Jessie and a trilling laugh and a sideways glance for Stuart Edwards.

  "It must be instantly clear to anyone who has the use of his eyes that you and Miss Lindsay are very much of an age," Edwards interrupted gallantly. "How do you do, Miss Lindsay?" The smooth compliment pleased Celia, who fluttered her lashes and simpered at him, uttering a sickening "Oh, Stuart!" Edwards smiled at her, then bowed politely to Jessie, who met his oozing charm with stony silence. Flattery might turn Celia all syrupy sweet, but it was wasted on her! Behind Edward s back Celia narrowed her eyes at Jessie in a look that promised retribution for her rudeness when they were alone. Jessie ignored 22

  the implied threat. One advantage that her size gave her over her doll-like stepmother was that she no longer had to physically fear Celia.

  "Really, Jessie, have you no manners at all? You must at least say, 'How do you do?' when you are introduced to someone." Celia's tone of pretty chiding hid her real urge to box her stepdaughter's ears, Jessie knew. Still Jessie said nothing, just looked up at the pair of them in a way calculated to make known her contempt. At her expression Celia made a disgusted little noise under her breath and took Edward's arm as if to draw him away. "Pray overlook her lack of manners, Stuart! I've tried my best with her, but as you see, she pays me no mind. Perhaps now that she's going to have a father again she'll-"

  "What did you say?" Jessie spoke at last as that sank in, her voice an incredulous squeak. She could not have heard correctly, or understood what she had heard. Celia looked nervously, appealingly, up at the man beside her. Jessie realized that her ears had not deceived her. She got slowly, carefully, to her feet, rescuing the cherry tartlet from her lap without even realizing that she was doing so. Shock caused her to move as if she were suddenly very old.

  Celia was a shade under five feet in height and delicately made, while Jessie was a good six inches taller and very far from delicate. Standing, Jessie loomed over her stepmother, and her demeanor was something less than loving. Edwards made a move as though he would get between them, but he did not and Jessie ignored him. Her eyes were on Celia. Celia, who stood with her back to Edwards looking up at Jessie with the malice that, when they were alone, was her usual attitude toward her stepdaught
er.

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  "Now, Jessie, dear, I feared you'd be a little upset, but you see, Stuart and I are in love and . . ." That artificially sweet voice grated on Jessie like fingernails on a blackboard. The hand that was not holding the cherry tartlet clenched at her side.

  "Your stepmother has done me the great honor to promise to be my wife, Miss Lindsay," Edwards interrupted, moving closer to Celia, his voice and eyes hard in Celia's defense. "We hope you'll wish us happy."

  Clearly his hope was destined to be unrealized, Jessie looked from him to Celia for a long moment without speaking while the awful news sank in. Her stomach churned, and her face went paper-white.

  "You're going to—get married again?" she croaked at last.

  "Just as soon as it can be arranged." It was Edwards who replied, although the disbelieving question had been addressed to Celia. Jessie ignored Edwards as though he weren't there.

  "Does this mean you'll be . . . going away?" Jessie still spoke to Celia in a voice that sounded as if she were being choked. Even as Jessie asked the question she knew the answer: Celia would never go away.

  "Of course we'll take a little wedding trip, but I couldn't leave you for longer than that, could I, dear? No, of course not. Your dear father left you to my care, and I'll never violate that sacred trust, however much you may hate me for it!

  Stuart will be moving in here, to relieve me of some of the burdens I've shouldered in trying to run this place as your father would have wished, and he'll try to be a father to you. Maybe, just maybe, his guidance will have the effect on you that mine has not. I—" "You can't do this!"

  24

  "Oh, Jessie, why must you make everything so difficult? I only want what's best for us all. . . ." Celia's plaintive cry snapped Jessie's control.