"Careful." He sounded amused, probably by the wide-eyed fixity of her gaze. Brought abruptly back to reality, Jessie snatched her arm from his grip and backed another few paces away, taking care this time to stay clear of the edge of the porch.
IV
You're not wanted here, Mr. Edwards. It would be easier on everyone if you would just get in your buggy and go away." He stuck the cheroot back in his mouth with his left hand and looked her over for a moment without answering, resuming his indolent lounge against the pillar. His right hand hung motionless at his side, the fingers occasionally flexing as if the hand both36
ered him. It occurred to Jessie that the very casualness of his attitude was insulting, and her hackles rose.
"Polite little thing, aren't you? Well, I can't say Celia didn't warn me. Miss Lindsay, since we are being so charmingly frank, let me say this: I aim to marry your stepmother. What would make things easier on everyone, but most particularly on you, would be for you to just reconcile yourself to that, and spare us the histrionics."
"I have no intention of making things easy for you. In fact, I plan to make things as difficult as possible."
He sighed, and puffed at his cheroot. When he spoke, his voice was almost too gentle. "Miss Lindsay, it obviously hasn't occurred to you that after the wedding I will have some—no, a great deal of— authority over you. I would hope that our relationship can be at least marginally pleasant, but if not, you'll be the one to suffer. Make no mistake about that." Jessie gritted her teeth. "If you are determined to marry Celia—
I don't care about that!— why don't you take her to your property to live? I thought a man was supposed to support his wife, not the other way around."
That irritated him. Jessie could see it in the slight narrowing of his eyes. But that was the only sign of perturbation he revealed, and when he spoke, his voice was as untroubled as it had been before. "Not that it's any of your business, but my holdings do not include a property suitable for the installation of a wife. Besides, Celia is happy here, and I like the place, too—very much."
"Mimosa is mine!"
"You'll always be welcome here. Although your manners may need to be improved upon."
37
"You cannot really wish to marry Celia! Why, she's more than thirty!"
" A great age, to be sure. But your stepmother carries her advanced years so charmingly. '
"You don't love her!"
"And how would a child like you know anything about love?"
"You can't love her! Celia is—is—you can't love her! No one could! So why do you wish to marry her?"
"My reasons, my dear, like my feelings, are none of your concern."
"You're marrying her for Mimosa, aren't you? It's not Celia you want at all, but her money! You're nothing but a dirty fortune hunter!"
There was a moment of pregnant silence. Stuart took a drag on his cheroot so that the tip glowed bright red. Then he pulled it from his mouth.
"You really are a spoiled little brat, aren't you? Let me put you on notice, Miss Lindsay. I have tolerated quite a bit from you today because I realize that you are, understandably, upset. I will not tolerate any more. Very soon I will be in the position of father to you, and I mean to exercise a father's prerogatives and discipline my new daughter. In other words, any rudeness on your part will be more rudely dealt with. Do I make myself clear?"
"You think you can discipline me? Just you try it!" Jessie's head came up and her shoulders squared challengingly. Outrage shimmered in her eyes and in her voice. "The people here will tear you apart! They're my people, just like this is my house! Just you try lifting a hand to me!"
38
"After the wedding, it will be my house," he pointed out quietly. "And the slaves will belong to me. If you have a care for them, you won't encourage them to lift a hand against their new master."
The point he made was so valid that Jessie nearly choked.
"You're vile!"
"And you're pressing your luck. If you keep it up, you'll regret it, I promise you." He took a puff of the cheroot again. "Come, Miss Lindsay, can't we cry friends? I mean to marry your stepmother, and nothing you can say or do is going to make me change my mind. But there's no need for you and me to be at constant loggerheads. I have no intention of playing the heavyhanded steppapa unless you force me to it."
"Steppapa! You—I . . ."
Before Jessie could find the words to adequately express her feelings, the front door opened and Celia stepped onto the veranda. She saw Stuart immediately and crossed to him, smiling. Partially hidden by the shadows, Jessie at first escaped her notice.
"You've been out here so long, Stuart! I was getting quite worried about you!"
"I've been furthering my acquaintance with your delightful stepdaughter." He indicated Jessie with the cheroot. Celia looked in Jessie's direction with a notable lack of enthusiasm. "So you're home at last, are you? Well, you've missed supper. Sissie's already cleared away. Perhaps in future you can contrive to be more prompt."
"I'm not hungry." The sullenness that Celia always seemed to conjure up was there in Jessie's voice. Jessie heard it herself, and 39
hated it. It made her sound weak, when what she needed was to be strong.
"Why, I do believe that's the first time I've ever heard you say that! Really, dear, that's so encouraging! Perhaps, after all, we may be able to whittle you down to a manageable size. Gentlemen don't like ladies who are overplump, you know. But really, you should eat something. If you run along to the cookhouse, I'm sure Rosa will fix you a plate."
"I said I'm not hungry!" Cheeks burning at having a stranger's attention called to her size, Celia glowered at her stepmother. Celia shrugged prettily. "Well, you must suit yourself, of course. Come along inside, Stuart. It's growing chilly out here." Celia took Stuart's arm. He smiled lazily down at her, dropping his half-finished cheroot and grinding it out with his boot as he straightened away from the pillar at last. Jessie saw the potent charm of that smile, the intimacy of his black head bent over Celia's fair one, and felt her temper snap. They were dismissing her, treating her as if she were a child, when she—she, not Celia and certainly not he—was the rightful owner of Mimosa!
"There's something you don't know about my stepmother, Mr. Edwards," she said coldly to their retreating backs. If she had expected to freeze them in their tracks, Jessie was doomed to disappointment. They kept on walking as if they hadn't heard, totally wrapped up in each other.
"Mr. Edwards!"
He threw her an impatient look over his shoulder, but it was Celia who answered.
"Really, Jessie, you are being too tiresome! If you have something to say, you may say it to me in private in the morning."
40
"I have something to say to Mr. Edwards." Jessie walked determinedly forward, moving into the light cast by the open door. Both Celia and Stuart regarded her with varying degrees of annoyance.
"As Celia said, Miss Lindsay, you're growing tiresome. Why don't you run along and get your supper, then go on up to bed like a good chit, before you get yourself in trouble?"
"Not—quite—yet." Jessie bit the words off, infuriated by his condescending attitude almost as much as by his actual presence. But getting the words out took some doing. Jessie started to speak, faltered, and had to take a deep breath before she could continue. Despite her anger, she was surprised to find that her hands were shaking. Telling tales on Celia was harder than she had expected, but it had to be done. Clasping her hands together, she lifted her chin high and met Stuart's gaze squarely. "If you're planning to marry her, there's something you should know."
"And what is that?" He was humoring her, she could tell. It was there in his voice, but there was patience, too. Beside him, Celia fixed her eyes on Jessie. Jessie dared not look at her. Celia could not know what was coming, because she did not know that Jessie knew about her disgusting secret life. Her stepmother would hate her forever for this.
Jessie took another dee
p breath. It was now or never.
"What would you say if I told you that Celia has . . . gentlemen friends?" No, that sounded as if she meant that Celia had perfectly respectable beaux. Jessie knew she would have to be more specific, but her upbringing, haphazard though it was, had not included a means of describing what she was trying to describe. Celia's eyes widened, while Stuart shook his head and looked amused. Jessie searched frantically for a way to say it, 41
then spat it out anyhow before they could interrupt. "What I mean is, Celia is—is a—whore."
Jessie stumbled over the word, but she got it out. Celia gasped and whitened, her hand flying to her mouth. Stuart blinked once, as if it took that long for the word and its meaning to register. Then, without a word, without any indication of what he meant to do, he lifted his hand and slapped Jessie sharply across the cheek. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her stinging face.
"How dare you?" Celia choked, bright flags of color blazing in her cheeks. Her eyes burned into Jessie's, promising dreadful retribution. "You little ingrate, now dare you?" Stuart reached out and caught her arm, hauling her back into the light. Jessie was too stunned even to resist.
"If you ever, ever say such a thing of your stepmother again, I'll give you a hiding you won't forget." Stuart spoke through his teeth, his eyes blazing down at her. "Do you understand me?"
"But it's true. . . ."
"You've just crossed the line of what I'm prepared to tolerate." From the expression on his face, Jessie thought he might be going to repeat the slap. She shrank back in his hold, her free hand flying up automatically to ward off the blow she feared. But to her shock, Celia intervened.
"Don't, Stuart. I'm sure she doesn't realize what she's saying. She's only a child."
Such championship from Celia was totally unprecedented, and for a moment Jessie gaped at her stepmother, uncomprehending.
"You're more tolerant of this foul-mouthed brat than I would be," Stuart said, still talking through his teeth. His hand tightened on Jessie's arm. "If you were a man, Miss Lindsay, I'd kill you for what you just said. As it is, you're getting off far more lightly 42
than you deserve. But I'm putting you on notice: from now on you address your stepmother, and speak of her, with respect. She may be prepared to tolerate less, but I am not. And I'm the one you have to deal with, make no mistake about that.' "But I-"
"That's enough! At this point all I'm prepared to hear from you is an apology to Celia."
"I won't apologize! I won't! You let me go, you—" Jessie, recovering from the shock of having her face slapped, was growing angrier by the second. She yanked at her imprisoned arm to no avail, her face crimson, her eyes snapping. Stuart kept his grip with no apparent effort. Only the ominous tightening of his mouth revealed just how furious he was. Celia, hands clasped in front of her bosom, stood watching the one-sided battle between her new fiancé and her stepdaughter, managing to look both angelic and mortally wounded by Jessie's accusation. Jessie, knowing that she had spoken nothing less than the truth, knew also that she had lost. Celia's secret had been the hope to which she had clung. Jessie had been sure, so sure, that no man would want to marry Celia once he knew about her men. But Stuart Edwards hadn't believed her! She had never even considered that. . . .
"Well?" His voice was ominous.
"Well, what?" Jessie's bravado, heightened by her fury at not being believed, caused his brows to twitch together.
"Celia is waiting for an apology."
"She'll wait a long time, then."
His mouth thinned. His hand tightened on Jessie's arm. But before he could say anything, Celia intervened once more.
"She'll apologize in the morning, I'm sure. Come, Stuart, don't be too harsh with her. As I said, she's little more than a child." 43
"A very spoiled, ill-mannered child," Stuart muttered, his eyes flickering over Celia before moving back to freeze Jessie. "Very well, then, Miss Lindsay, since Celia wishes it, you may offer her an apology in the morning. But you will apologize, make no mistake about that. In the meantime, you will go to your room. You're not to come down again before morning, and then only if you're prepared to apologize."
"You don't give orders around here," Jessie hissed, finally succeeding in jerking her arm free of his hold. "And you never will. I'll do as I please, you—you dirty fortune hunter!" He grabbed for her, but she had already put herself beyond his reach. Whirling, she brushed by Celia and flew down the stairs, her feet barely touching the steps. A man capable of slapping a young lady's face was capable of any degree of violence. . . . Beyond the reach of the lighted windows, the lawn was dark and full of shadows. Jessie gathered up her skirt clear to her knees and ran as if the devil himself were at her heels.
Which he was. Stuart Edwards ran down the stairs and across the lawn after her, his face black with fury. Truly frightened by the single glimpse she got of his face as she cast a quick look over her shoulder, Jessie fled into the night.
He caught her just as she reached the edge of the orchard. She'd thought to hide there amongst the hundreds of trees. But his hand clamped on her shoulder and jerked her back toward him before she could lose herself amongst the twisting black trunks and shifting shadows.
As his hand closed over her shoulder Jessie screamed, thoroughly unnerved by the chase and her capture. Spinning helplessly around toward him, Jessie watched his face twist with rage. She screamed again as he caught her upper arms and gave 44
her a shake. He shook her again, hissing something at her. He looked furious enough to do her a real injury.
Jessie's only thought was escape. The instinct for selfpreservation blazed to life inside her, and it was that which caused her to leap for him instead of jerking away, her fingers curved into talons that raked his cheeks as they strove to reach his eyes.
"You hell-born little bitch!" he bellowed, freeing her as his hands flew to his face. Jessie whirled, but before she could get away he caught her again. She kicked and screamed as he lifted her off her feet.
"Damn you, you little brat, I ought to beat you until you can't sit for weeks!"
He had her arms well secured, and was carrying her back toward the house. Jessie screamed, struggling frantically. She had actually opened her mouth to bite him when, over his shoulder, she saw a slight figure running toward them from the darkness of the orchard, hoe raised.
The sight shocked her back to her senses. More than for herself, she feared for him, for all of them who would soon find themselves in Stuart Edwards' power.
"No!" she cried. "Progress, no! I'm all right, I'm all right, do you hear? It's my fight—leave me to it!"
Stuart Edwards whirled as her cry alerted him to his danger. His eyes sought and found Progress, who had stopped running and now stood just beyond the edge of the orchard. It was too dark for Edwards to make out more than the silhouette of an old, stooped man, but the hoe was still raised, its honed edge glistening threateningly.
45
"Go back, please go back! I'm ordering you!" Jessie's words held an edge of desperation. To her relief, Progress visibly hesitated, then lowered the hoe. Stuart Edwards' eyes never left him. For a moment the issue hung in the balance, and then Stuart swung away again, presenting his unprotected back to Progress as he continued to carry Jessie toward the house.
This time Jessie didn't fight. She feared that to do so might cost Progress his life. For a slave to strike a white man was an offense punishable by death.
"So you care for them, do you? That's the only thing I've seen about you yet that's favorable," Stuart said. Then both of them were silent as he reached the stairs, climbed them, crossed the veranda, and entered the house. To Celia, who waited on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, forehead puckered in a frown, he said only: "Where's her room?"
Celia told him. Then Stuart Edwards carried Jessie into the house, past Sissie and Rosa, who looked on wide-eyed but thankfully silent, and up the stairs to her room. He dropped her unceremoniously on her feet just ins
ide the door.
"You will not come out for the rest of the night, and you will apologize to Celia in the morning," he said icily. Jessie was too shaken to manage a reply. She could only watch, knees wobbling, as he removed the key from the lock and shut the door on her. From the other side she heard the click as he locked her in.
Standing there in the dark, staring sightlessly at the closed portal, all she could think of was his face as he'd shut the door. The light from the hall had shone on it, illuminating it clearly. 46
Six raw gashes had bisected the smooth-shaven cheeks. She'd scratched him badly, and she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.
V
The next time the key turned in the lock, it was full morning. Sissie had come up during the night, sent by Tudi and Rosa, to scratch on the door and inquire in a hoarse whisper if Jessie was all right. Though sorely tempted, Jessie refused Sissie's offer to
.release her with the skeleton key that Tudi, as housekeeper, was permitted to carry. If she was to escape—and how she would love to, just to thumb her nose at Stuart Edwards!—she would have to do it under her own steam. Unless she could come up with a means of preventing him, he would soon be master of the house and its servants. Angry as she was, Jessie did not want Tudi or any of the others to get in trouble for helping her. They were her people, her responsibility—and all the real family she had.
Morning Song Page 4
