With her long finger pointed at me and her face twisted in rage, she screamed and screamed, “I wish you were dead, not them!” until I ran out. I ran blindly down the hall and didn’t see Warren until I bumped straight into him, and he lifted me up.
“Amelia, what’s wrong?” I gasped for air in panic and tried to wrench myself out of his hold.
“Calm down,” he insisted.
“Let me go! Leave me alone!” I cried, pushing myself back like a crazed animal.
Warren wouldn’t listen and carried me down the halls, with me protesting all the way until we got to his room. Then he put me down and I began to sob. Tenderly, he folded me into his embrace and hushed me.
“It can’t be all that bad.”
“She said she wished I were dead, that she loathed me,” I cried out between sobs. “All I did was try to help.”
“Eugenia said this to you?”
I nodded yes and began to take slow, deep breaths to calm myself.
“Those were terrible things to say. No doubt she wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Warren and I were standing in the middle of his room. I quickly glanced around and realized I shouldn’t have been in there with him.
“I will be all right, Warren.” I tried to smile. I had no intention of having Warren soothe me. I felt uneasy and politely excused myself. “Thank you for making me feel better. I think I will go rest for a while.”
“Amelia, wait!” He grabbed my hand. Before I had a chance to leave, he pulled me against him and began kissing me on my lips.
Instantly, I pulled back and slapped him across the face. “How dare you, Warren Stone!”
He was stunned and frantically apologized. “I don’t know what came over me. I got caught up in the moment. I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“Don’t you ever do that again! Do you understand me?”
My head was pounding, my face heated. I didn’t wait for his reply and stormed out. I thought I saw Patrick peering down the hall from his room, but I wasn’t certain and didn’t stop to see.
As soon as I got to my room, I locked my door and fell against it, shaking my head in disbelief. I knew better, I told myself. I should never have agreed to Daddy’s request. I needed to stay isolated. There was nothing outside the doors of my room for me. Eugenia hated me, Daddy used me, Hattie and I were no longer friends, Mammy was too busy for me, and Warren only lusted for me. Then there was Patrick. How my heart ached for him and cried with the rejection he inflicted upon me.
I went to the armoire and pulled out my journal and began to write feverishly. It had been so long since I’d revealed my most intimate thoughts of love, loss, and despair. I needed to feel the burden off my heavy-hearted chest and put it somewhere else.
For hours I wrote, until the moon set high above the thick layer of clouds in the dark Georgia sky. I crawled into bed and spent the rest of the night and most of the next day, lost in dreams of yesteryear, far from the reality of my every day.
It was to be three weeks before the bodies of Violet and Beatrice could be returned to Savannah for burial, and Daddy had no choice but return to the war. Patrick was due to leave shortly after the funerals. Eugenia was a dreadful mess. The days before Daddy departed, she continually begged him to stay. No one could help but overhear her day and night as she cried for him to understand, but to no avail.
I stayed locked away in my rooms, forsaking chores and companionship. Even when Warren left flowers outside my room and slipped loving notes under my door, I remained steadfast and unwilling to have anyone near me.
Mammy seemed to understand and brought my meals and helped me bathe. She always had words of wisdom, sensing that the transition I was going through was one every girl experienced. She believed I loved Warren, and it was I who led her to believe so. When she spoke, I took her words of advice and applied them to my feelings for Patrick.
“I know you having troubled times. I see the way Warren looks at you, even when you don’t see it. I know that’s why you staying locked away most of the time,” she said, filling the tub with water. I shivered and cradled myself in the half-filled tub. Then I relaxed and closed my eyes, listening.
“As much as I do not want to see it, you a woman now, and it natural for men to want to court you and for you to be falling in love. It can be scary sometimes.”
I leaned my head back, allowing the water she poured over me to saturate my hair.
“Is that the way you feel, Mammy? About Daddy?” I asked innocently.
She stopped and set the pitcher down. She was kneeling beside me, and I opened my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mammy. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No need to worry,” she said, smiling wearily. “You right, that is the way I felt for your Daddy. I was scared at first, especially since it ain’t ever proper for a Negro to be with a white man. But I loved him, no matter what anyone said, and he loved me,” she said with conviction.
I sank back into the water.
“What is true love like, Mammy? Is it when you can’t think of anything else but him? That he invades your every waking thought and dream, and your heart races when he’s near? And he can cause you to lose your breath while making your head spin?”
She didn’t have to answer. It was the far away, idyllic look in her eyes told me I was right. Then she met my eyes with serious concern. “Mr. Stone may be in love you, and you may love him in return. I see no way to stop it. Only you keep yourself pure. You understand me?”
I gulped hard and nodded yes.
“You know what’s bound to happen, don’t you?” she asked, peering down at me, looking to see if I truly understood the consequences of an intimate union.
“Yes, Mammy, Eugenia told me.”
Mammy sighed with slight relief, picked up the cloth, and wiped my bare back.
“Good then. You keep yourself pure and Warren Stone honorable. Promise me, Miss Amelia.”
“I promise,” I said, and she left me to my bath.
I instantly thought back to Warren’s uninvited kiss, then to my incident with Patrick. I recalled the desire those men possessed for me. Both their images flashed in my mind. I felt their kisses again and remembered how good it felt to have Patrick yearn for me.
I sank down into the water and imagined what it would be like to become lovers with a man, though I would wait as I’d promised Mammy. For my own good and so not to suffer the way my mummy had, I struggled to keep her sinful ways from controlling me. Each day the task became more challenging, especially when I finally saw a glimmer of hope as Patrick’s wall of resistance began to crumble.
~ ~ ~
~ Twenty-two ~
The days leading up to Daddy’s departure were wretched. Eugenia’s continual pleas for him to stay went unheard. In between her crying spells, she would rant and rave. She would beg him not to leave, and then her fits would turn to rage, and she would command him to stay. Daddy went on ignoring her. Instead of finding a way to comfort his wife through her most troubled time, he withdrew from her altogether.
Daddy moved out of their rooms, and since all the guest bedrooms were full, he slept on the floor of his office. Eugenia cried all hours of the night, and I hoped it would all end soon.
Hamilton, Warren, and Mammy set out on a very dangerous journey to North Carolina, where the ship from England was scheduled to dock. Normally, the undertaker would have this duty; however he was now overwhelmed with the dead from the war and had no time to make the trip, especially when there was a great risk of being killed by the Union troops who were slowly battling their way through the Confederacy, infiltrating the South. When I asked Mammy why she volunteered to go along, she told me, “Those baby girls need a momma to watch over them on their return to Savannah. Mrs. Arrington can’t handle such a hard trip.”
“Did Daddy ask you to do this, Mammy?” I asked skeptically.
“No, Miss Amelia. No one had to ask me. It’s the right thing to do is all. And if he had asked me, ’c
ourse I would have agreed.”
I stood outside on the front gallery, shivering and wringing my hands as I watched Patrick and Warren cover the wagon. Hamilton was in the barn fetching the horses. Mammy and I had packed some food for the trip, in the hope it would last their entire journey. Mammy and Hamilton shared one travel bag for their clothing, and Warren borrowed Patrick’s.
While Warren worked the heavy canvas over the bent wood bows, he occasionally peered under his hat looking over at me. That morning, he came to me and asked for a private moment.
“Please hear me out,” he asked solemnly. “I promise not to take more than a moment of your time.”
I granted him his request with some hesitation. We stood in the parlor warming ourselves next to the blazing fire. Warren held his hat in hand and appeared deferential. This time, he wasn’t out to fulfill any lustful desires, but appeared to be attempting to properly win my affections.
“Go on, Warren, tell me what it is that’s on your mind,” I instructed.
He cleared his throat and took my hand. I allowed him to hold it, silently amused by his discomfort.
“Amelia, since the day I met you, since my eyes opened and gazed upon you as I lay there dying in the woods, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. Not that I want to, I confess,” he said, and fiddled with my hand. He was so nervous, it was all I could do to keep from smiling.
“I know I have been too forward with you, and I regret making you uncomfortable with me. I have thought long about my behavior that night you came out of Mrs. Arrington’s room crying. I was startled to see you so distraught and wanted to comfort you.”
“I forgive you,” I said. “I have thought about that night as well.”
Warren signed with relief and smiled. “It does my heart good to know you are no longer angry with me. I didn’t want to leave until I apologized to you, and…” he stopped and met my eyes.
From the half-opened pocket doors, Patrick strolled downstairs and casually walked by. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
Not wanting to waste the opportunity, I leaned into Warren and threw my arms around his neck. Though the action took Warren by surprise, he received my hug and reciprocated, holding me close. I snuggled against his neck, knowing Patrick was there lurking in the shadows, witnessing the affection Warren and I were sharing.
“I will miss you while I’m gone. I want nothing more than to hurry back to you.”
Warren wanted to kiss me, but I pulled away just before his lips could meet mine.
Shortly before they departed, Daddy loaded the wagon with several muskets. The team was hitched and the canvas securely tied down. The air was bitter as a north wind continued to bluster through the South. Scattered snow squalls frequented the late morning, leaving a dusting of snow on the ground. I stayed frozen cold on the gallery, waiting to watch them leave. Mammy gave me a warm hug and kissed my cold cheek. “You take care of everyone. Watch over Hattie and Jacob for me until I get back.”
“I will, Mammy.”
“You’re a good girl,” she said to me.
Daddy led her to the wagon, lifted her onto the wooden bench seat next to Warren and whispered something into her ear. She gave him a nod and then looked away. Hattie and Jacob Thomas ran over to the wagon and called out to her as Daddy headed off to Savannah on horseback. He was going to the bank to secure a small loan to help us through the tough economic times we would experience when he returned to battle.
Jacob Thomas waved and then buried his small face against Hattie’s shoulder to keep the freezing winds from stinging his delicate skin. Hamilton, who had been assigned to walk beside the wagon, swooped the little boy up into his giant arms and hugged him close, then carefully put him down and began the long walk beside the wagon as it slowly rolled on its way.
Patrick came and stood near me as I waved frantically and shouted, “See you in a few weeks.”
Warren turned, looking back over his shoulder and, to my surprise, mouthed, “I love you.”
“He loves you, does he?” Patrick mumbled under his frosty breath.
I didn’t respond to his question but instead kept a watchful eye on Hattie. My stomach turned into a giant knot as she made her way up to the gallery and stopped before Patrick.
“I finished sewing the tear in your sleeve, Patrick,” she said.
“I will come retrieve it shortly. Thank you, Hattie,” he replied, then reached out to cover her shoulder with the wrap that had slid down the side of her arm.
“It’s cold. I’m going inside. Come along, Jacob, I’ll make you a warm cup of milk,” I said sharply, tugging him along.
“I’ll see to him, Amelia,” Hattie called.
I swung around and snapped, “Jacob Thomas is fine with me. You tend to Mr. Arrington’s needs.”
I slammed the doors shut. With Jacob in tow, I headed to the kitchen. I sat him on the chair and reached up on the rack for a small pot. From upstairs, I heard the floor boards creak. Eugenia sometimes wandered the halls, still in her nightgown, going back and forth in a peculiar mental haze from the twins’ bedroom to hers. Daddy had sent for the doctor, who gave her medicines to help her sleep, but she refused to take them. Sometimes she wandered the cold mansion at all hours of the night and slept throughout the next day. She was losing weight and looked pale and gaunt. The skin on her face sagged, and her lips had turned a pasty shade of pale. The sight of her was awful, and I stayed as far from her as possible, though with Mammy gone to North Carolina I was, unfortunately, left to tend to Eugenia.
After situating Jacob with a warm glass of milk and my chalk and a slate to scribble on, I made my way up to Eugenia’s rooms with a hot cup of milk. I passed Patrick in the halls and ignored him. Though he made me feel tense and irritated, I wouldn’t let on. I sang merrily and continued up the stairs, careful not to spill the milk and scald my hands.
Eugenia wasn’t in her room. I put the cup down and headed out to the hall to find her and take her back to bed. Figuring she would be up in the twins’ room, I went there first. The room was dark and cold, and Eugenia wasn’t in there. I was still afraid to confront her. Though she was sick with grief, she still had a menacing disposition.
I called for her once and checked the other rooms. She was neither in my room nor Warren’s. I went to Patrick’s next. I hesitated at first and listened against the door for any noises coming from inside the room. I heard nothing. Instead of going about finding Eugenia as I should have, I slipped into his room and closed the door quietly behind me.
I had been in his room before, but only to make the bed and tidy up. He always expected Mammy to carry out that daily chore and kept the room spotless so she never had to tidy up too much. Patrick’s years in the military had trained him to keep his quarters shipshape.
I opened the drapes slightly, just to let enough light in to see. The bed was made, and the remainder of the room was clean and well kept. Patrick had one lamp on a small dresser beside the bed. Displayed on top of a tall dresser were his medals and ribbons from his years of military service. I inspected each of them and carefully put them back in place so as not to reveal that they had been touched.
It felt good to be near to his belongings, since he would not allow me near to him personally. I didn’t feel guilty about opening the drawers and touching his shirts and sitting on his bed clinging to them. Everything about Patrick had me enraptured. I was trapped in some love spell that I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, find a way out of. The thought of him never allowing me into his heart pained me deeply, and I sighed heavily, laying my head on his pillow. I closed my eyes and drifted into a light dream.
Patrick came and found me in his room. At first he was angry and accused me of spying on him. As I tried to explain, he rushed over and pulled me up and began shaking me. “You tell me the truth, Amelia!” he ordered.
“The truth about what?” I cried.
“You love me. Tell me you love me and not Warren Stone.”
H
e was crazed, and before I could answer and admit that I was shamelessly in love with him, he pushed me down onto the bed and began smothering me with kisses. Patrick didn’t waste another moment, and in a passionate frenzy, he undressed me.
Before we could unite as lovers for the first time, my eyes snapped open and I shot up out of my dream. There was a loud thump and crying coming from downstairs. I quickly gathered myself, shoved Patrick’s shirts back in the drawer, and hurried downstairs.
I found Eugenia towering over a crying Jacob Thomas. His whole body was covered in flour; the sack beside him was empty.
“Look what that bastard child has done! He ruined our last sack of flour!” Eugenia screeched.
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to, Eugenia,” I stammered and lifted him up, trying to hush him. Jacob’s eyes were wide with fright, and I couldn’t console him.
“Silence that child!”
“Hush, Jacob, it’s all right. It was just an accident,” I crooned.
“Get that good-for-nothing child out of here. Take him to the cabin!”
“Eugenia, I left you a warm cup of milk by your bed. Please go rest. You look tired. I will reprimand Hattie,” I said assertively, desperately trying to mask my fears.
Eugenia fell into the nearest chair and clutched her heaving chest.
“Where is Thomas? He should be here taking care of me. I don’t feel well, don’t feel well at all,” she groaned.
“Daddy will be back shortly. He went to Savannah to acquire some kind of loan. Go and rest,” I said and turned to leave, carrying Jacob, whose crying had simmered down to a subdued whimper.
“You’re right, Amelia. I need to rest,” she mumbled.
I took a much-needed breath as soon as I stepped outside, grateful that she had done no lasting harm to my brother and glad I had put nearly a spoonful of sleeping powder in her milk earlier. For certain she would sleep for the remainder of the day.
Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy Page 19
