Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy

by Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  “I am not hopeless, Patrick; I am a realist. This will not be an effortless war. We need more and stronger troops. That is why I will be returning to my regiment.”

  Eugenia gasped at the thought. “Thomas, no!”

  “I must do my part,” he said without hesitation.

  “Father is right. We will not win this war without using every ounce of courage and determination we can muster,” Patrick said.

  Warren sat quietly as usual, listening intently.

  “You’re injured. You can’t go back to battle. And we need you here to run the plantation. We can’t do it with Hamilton alone!”

  “My injuries are not substantial. And you have Warren here. You will stay on, won’t you?” Daddy asked of Warren. “After all, your memory hasn’t returned, has it?”

  Warren’s back stiffened, and he nervously cleared his throat before replying. “Certainly, sir. I would be honored to look after your family in this time of need.”

  Warren gave me an uneasy look, appearing concerned that his minor deception would somehow be revealed.

  “Warren has nowhere to go. He can’t remember anyone or anything before the terrible wound that some vile Union soldier inflicted upon him. Of course he should stay. And after all, Patrick is leaving in a few weeks, aren’t you Patrick?”

  It pained me to think of Patrick leaving, but I knew it was inevitable and planned to take advantage of the time we still had together.

  “Well…yes, I will be leaving. Nevertheless, I think the plantation can survive until Father returns…”

  “No, Warren will stay on. He can look after the plantation and my family in my absence,” Daddy interrupted.

  “This is all so stressful!” Eugenia cried.

  Just then Jacob Thomas came bursting in. He had his pennywhistle in hand, blowing into it and then laughing with delight at the sound it made. All eyes fell on him, the sweet little boy who hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Why, Jacob, good to see you, young lad,” Daddy greeted him. He spoke merrily, just the way he used to talk to me when I was very young. “Come sit with me.”

  I had never seen Daddy hold Jacob Thomas or speak a word to him. Jacob ran over and jumped onto Daddy’s lap and smiled widely. Eugenia was flustered and couldn’t contain her angry glare.

  “Who gave you the pennywhistle?” Daddy asked, as Jacob pulled on the ends of his newly-acquired beard.

  “Amelia!” Jacob laughed and pointed to me.

  I smiled with delight. Jacob finally knew how to say my name correctly.

  “Oh, I see,” Daddy said. “That was very kind of her.”

  “Amelia my sister,” Jacob added.

  Patrick’s eyes widened in surprise. Eugenia let out a subtle groan as Mammy rushed into the room.

  “Sorry he interrupted your supper,” Mammy said in a fluster and hurried over to take Jacob from Daddy’s arms. “Didn’t notice he had gone off.”

  Mammy was winded and nervous. Daddy’s face flushed as she whisked the little boy from his lap. Eugenia flew out of her chair and ran from the room, with Daddy going after her. Mammy hurried out.

  “What was that all about?” Warren asked after the commotion.

  I didn’t know what to say and stammered as I tried to find the words to explain.

  Patrick sensed my discomfort. “Warren, I need you to split some wood. I will tend to the stable. Amelia, this was a fine supper. Thank you.”

  I rose from my seat and began to clear the table. Warren stole up behind me and placed a quick kiss on my cheek, then set off.

  Patrick noticed and pulled me aside. My heart raced when he took hold of my arm as I stood against the wall, barely able to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “You need to be careful around Mr. Stone,” Patrick warned.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I nervously giggled under the heat of his breath. His face was inches from mine, stern and serious.

  “That little boy . . . he is the product of our father and that slave woman, Abigail?” he asked, shaking me out of my dreamy mindset.

  “Why, yes. Daddy and Mammy loved one another. It was long ago, before he married Eugenia,” I stammered.

  “Our father loves no one. He is a man, a selfish, egotistical man. That’s how men are. That’s how Warren is. You stay away from him, you hear!”

  The fire in his eyes grew as I remained silent, afraid and excited at the same time. I thought back to Perry Montgomery and his lust for me. Then I thought of the kiss between Patrick and me. The kiss we sinfully shared, the one that I wanted again and again.

  “Do you understand what I am saying to you.” It was more a statement than a question. “Our father is addicted to beautiful women. Most men are. It is shameful, but true.” He released his tight grip on my arm. I hadn’t realized my arm was throbbing. I was only aware of my racing heart.

  “I care about you. It is obvious that Father is preoccupied. I don’t want you to ever be hurt.”

  “No one will hurt me. Certainly not Warren. He is a sweet man. He would never . . .”

  Patrick grabbed me again. “You’re acting like such a little girl. Your mother was the same way. Men of all ages were captivated by her beauty. It was as if she had the power to cast spells. Love spells,” he softly added. His look turned far away, just like the last time he spoke of her. But this time, disappointingly, he didn’t lean in for a kiss; he backed away before he lost his senses again.

  “Why does everyone compare me to her?” My cries snapped him out of his daze.

  “I didn’t mean you were just like her, I meant…”

  “I don’t care what you meant!” I fired back and ran off.

  Down the hall in their bedrooms on the second floor, Daddy and Eugenia were arguing. No doubt about Mammy. Eugenia was so jealous of his love for her.

  As Patrick followed after me, he called for me to stop.

  “Wait, Amelia, please. I truly didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I spun around. “Go away, Patrick!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said and stopped before me. I grabbed hold of the door to my room, but he blocked my entrance.

  “All right. I will leave you be. I just want you to know that I care about you. You’re my sister, and I feel a great need to protect you. I feel it’s my duty. I owe that, at the very least, to Charlotte,” he murmured and reached out to touch the ends of my long hair. “She begged me to look after you. She sensed she was going to die.”

  “Then where have you been all these years?” I sniffled.

  “In time I will explain it all to you. But not now.”

  “But you’re leaving soon!”

  I sensed his desperation to disclose secrets of the past and tales of the present, but he remained uncommunicative.

  “Thank you for the Christmas gift. It means so much to me,” he said, changing the subject and backing away to leave me.

  I turned to go into my room. I couldn’t have him see me so distraught over him. Patrick was going to be jealous and needy in time.

  From that moment on, I would seek out all the mysteries of the past and have Patrick for myself, even if I became the image of my own mother in the flesh, the burning flesh that kept men both enamored and frightened at the same time.

  ~ ~ ~

  ~ Nineteen ~

  In the days that followed, I was consumed with thoughts of Patrick and the sporadic revelations of the mother I never knew. I sat motionless for hours on end, trying to figure things out, hoping to have it make sense. What was Patrick’s relationship with her? Why did his mind go back in time so often to be with her again? I wondered. She wasn’t his mother. But maybe she replaced his mother in many ways. That must have been why he adored her so. It wasn’t only for her beauty, but because she nurtured him when he needed so much attention. From the hurt he wore on his sleeve for me to see, I concluded that he needed me. Patrick needed me to fill the wounded place in his heart left by Charlotte, even if it wasn’t her fault.

  It was the
n that I decided I would transform myself into the woman in the portrait in my brooch, for Patrick’s sake and for the hopes and dreams I couldn’t set aside. I carefully studied her image in detail, memorizing every delicate feature, so I could duplicate her look exactly. I styled my hair several times, locking myself away in my room until it was flawless. I managed the undertaking alone and fashioned smaller curls along the top of my head, with the longer locks behind my ears. Not only did I become the exact image of my mother, I became her soul, her heart, her being. I was no longer Amelia. I didn’t want to be myself anymore. I wanted and needed to be her. And as I stared at myself in the mirror for hours on end, I truly believed I had become Charlotte .

  It was not only the stunned expression on Daddy’s face, but how Patrick’s face flushed when he laid eyes on me when we gathered in the parlor for Sunday piano recitals, as was our custom.

  Warren was there as well, and they all huddled around the piano. If I believed Warren was infatuated with me before, now he was unmistakably in love. And who wouldn’t be? I thought to myself. My mother was the most beautiful women ever. But Warren was easy prey, and he wasn’t the man I sought to capture and make mine.

  I couldn’t contain my contented smirk, though I tried hard to mask it as I belted out my favorite hymns. I didn’t feel Eugenia’s heated glare or notice when Daddy’s shock melted into a glazed, blank stare. I did, however, see out of the corner of my eye that Patrick appeared fascinated, a delighted smile etched onto his handsome face.

  “What is this, a costume party?” Eugenia raged. “Go upstairs now and fix yourself, this instant! Take off that face paint and pull down your hair. This is despicable!”

  I purposely ignored her and began another hymn.

  “Now, Mrs. Arrington, let her sing. Her voice is magical,” Warren said, not prying his eyes from me.

  Eugenia rushed over and slammed down the lid to the piano, almost crushing my fingers. Fortunately, my quick reflexes saved my delicate hands from being mutilated for life.

  Instead of reacting like the little girl I used to be, I rose up with dignified grace and calmly turned to face my loyal audience and took a bow. I was now an actress, playing a part, believing I was a character who was adored, not only for her musical talents, but for her timeless beauty. No one, not even Eugenia, would break my role or my steadfast, crazy obsession with making Patrick fall in love with me.

  “I would like to thank you all once again for attending my performance,” I announced formally. “I shall retire for the evening. Goodnight, Father.” I pecked him on the cheek. “Warren.” I acknowledged him with a pretty smile. I made my exit without saying a word to Patrick, though his stare never left me. Even as I fell into my bed and closed my eyes, his stare remained with me.

  Keeping distant from Patrick while we were milling about the mansion was difficult. Daddy assigned daily chores to all, including me. I wanted to follow Patrick about as he took on one task around the plantation after another. All hours of the day he, Warren, and Hamilton worked the fields, tended to the little remaining livestock, and continued to help us survive.

  I was to stay with Mammy and help with all kitchen duties. Hattie was well enough only to tend to Jacob Thomas, and Mammy revealed that Eugenia had ordered them to stay away from the big house. I hadn’t seen Hattie for days on end. She hadn’t even been introduced to Patrick.

  “She ain’t never gonna forgive any of us,” Mammy mumbled unhappily, snapping the ends of the green beans and placing them in the boiling water over the stove. “Don’t she see things are changed? That we all need one another? That we ain’t no different now?”

  I was preoccupied with peering out the window that overlooked the icehouse. Patrick was in there. I’d watched him go in.

  Mammy turned to see if I was listening to her. Frustrated with me and everything else, she turned my head and made me look at her.

  “What all this on your face? And your hair, what you done to it? Don’t look normal.”

  “You don’t think I look pretty?” I pouted.

  “It ain’t what I meant. ’Course you look pretty. Just meaning it ain’t appropriate is all. You look years older, too dressed up and like a full-grown woman.”

  “I am practically a grown woman, Mammy. Grown enough for Warren to want to court me,” I declared.

  “That man has feelings for you?” Mammy wasn’t pleased. “Don’t you go messing with him.”

  I moved away from the window when Patrick strode toward the door of the kitchen carrying a huge block of ice. I grabbed hold of the carrots and began peeling and then sat down at the table and ignored him.

  We were preparing a simple vegetable stew for supper. Supplies were meager and all we could use for meals was what was left on the farm.

  “Supper does smell good. I’m starving,” Patrick said as his nose lingered over the simmering pot.

  Mammy gruffly nudged him back. “Don’t be hovering over my stove. Get back to what you were doing.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied and winked at me, though I continued to pay no mind to him.

  Then Warren arrived with a few logs of split wood and stacked it neatly by the hearth. I jumped up, and as soon as he wiped the dirt off his gloves onto his trousers, I handed him a carrot. “You must be starving, Warren,” I said with a big smile, still avoiding Patrick’s vulnerable gaze.

  “Why, thank you,” he replied and took a bite. “I’ll be finished in about an hour. Would you keep me company while I split the remainder of the wood? You don’t mind, do you, Miss Abigail?”

  “I need Amelia here in the kitchen with me, and if she ain’t here preparing supper for all you folks, then I need her to be cleaning. These chores ain’t gonna get done by themselves!”

  I nudged Mammy on the arm and whispered, “Can’t I just go for a little while?”

  “You stay here and help me finish, then you can go,” Mammy relented. “But not till after you make the beds you somehow forgot to do.”

  “Thank you, Mammy,” I said and kissed her cheek and then spun around.

  Warren was patiently waiting for Mammy’s approval, while Patrick had already left. He predictably avoided the banter, always ill at ease when there was any commotion.

  I hurried through the rest of the food preparations and ran upstairs to check my hair. Then I rushed around making the beds, one room after another, just to finish in time to be with Warren.

  Eugenia and Daddy had gone to Atlanta for a few days to see a doctor before Daddy went back to reunite with his regiment. Daddy hadn’t been pleased with the idea and had fought Eugenia over going. I listened in when they were in his office. I had been polishing the silverware in the dining room when the argument began. Ever since Daddy came home, they had been arguing over one thing or another - Mammy, the war, Daddy’s scheduled departure in only a week, and his wound, which he tried to convince Eugenia was trivial. “I have seen the doctor, Eugenia. I was treated, and it will heal, in time!”

  “You need to see another doctor. We will go to Atlanta and have him examine you. And if he tells me you are well enough to go back to battle, then so be it,” she said, fighting back her tears.

  Daddy was annoyed and sat unyielding behind his desk with his arms folded over his chest.

  “It is because I love you, Thomas. Don’t you understand?” she cried when he refused to look at her.

  “Is it love, or control?” he fired.

  “What do you mean?” she gasped. “I don’t control you, Thomas!”

  Daddy laughed disdainfully, stood up, and hobbled over to her. “Why did you force them to be married if not to control me?”

  Eugenia shivered and turned away. Daddy then grabbed hold of her and insisted she answer him. “Admit to me it was you who forced them into marriage . . . that you threatened to sell Abigail off if she didn’t!”

  My eyes flew open in disbelief, and I stepped further into the shadows, wanting to hear more.

  “Is that what she told you?” Euge
nia barked. “If so, it’s a lie. She and Hamilton fell in love and asked for my permission to be married. I readily agreed. Why wouldn’t? And yes, I was pleased. Why wouldn’t I be? Then you couldn’t go sleep with her again.”

  To my happiness, Daddy hadn’t been ignoring Mammy all this time. He still cared for her!

  Daddy released his hold and pushed Eugenia back, surrendering to his wife once again with great reluctance, and said. “I will go. And just so you are aware, I will not forgive you.”

  After a long pause, Eugenia replied wearily and with hardly a breath left, “And I will not forgive you.”

  I entered their rooms to tidy up and found them in disarray. Not only was the bed unmade, but the drawers to their dresser were left carelessly open and the clothes had been thrown on the floor. Framed family photographs had also toppled onto the floor. I bent down to pick them up. Two had broken glass: the wedding photograph of Eugenia and Daddy, and the other of Violet and Beatrice. The photograph of me, the only one Daddy kept displayed in his room, was missing.

  From up above, I heard the creak of footsteps in the attic. I hadn’t ventured up to the crammed attic in a long time. It was a childhood place where Hattie and I had often escaped. In the beginning, Hattie and I were scared of the spooky attic and rarely stayed more than a few minutes. As we grew older, we ventured further in and began to explore its contents. Scattered throughout were many trunks containing old clothing of another time, and in fun we played dress-up, just the way the actors did in popular theater productions. Hattie normally played the part of the man and wore the frock coats and top hats, and I adorned myself with the once lovely, now moth-eaten gowns, and joyously danced around with old torn parasols.

  “Why Miss Arrington, don’t you look ever so lovely today,” Hattie said in a deep voice, pretending to be a man.

  I enthusiastically placed my arm through hers, and we proceeded to glide down the long, narrow, cobweb-infested pathway, dodging the thick beams as we headed toward the other side of the enormous attic. The air was thick and sunlight filtered through the dusty window panes, faintly revealing dancing dust particles, which tickled our throats and caused us to cough every so often.