by Jane Archer
It had been intensely hot in the kitchen—she'd never felt such humidity before and it seemed to stifle her very breath. How Eleanor had lasted this long, she did not know.
As she stepped out into the cool night, the beautiful mansion loomed large before her as the last rays of the sun bathed it in a golden glow, masking its decay and slow destruction. Alexandra could imagine how it had once been with soft voices floating on the sultry air, and singing coming from the fields and slave quarters. It must have been a beautiful life if one had not looked beyond the house into the shanties behind it, or to the long rows of slaves working in the fields under the hot, southern sun.
The kitchen occupied a separate building from the mansion so that the heat and smells would not intrude on the people living there. Now, it would not have mattered so much, and the walk between the two buildings seemed unnecessarily long to Alexandra, who tottered along on tired feet under her heavy burden. Although there was no reason any longer, proprieties were still followed by Mister Jarmon, and Ebba and Eleanor had to follow his desires no matter how much more work it made for them. He was still head of Jarmon Plantation and they worked for him, as the women always had before them.
Ebba had stayed in the kitchen where she made her home now. It was big enough and warm in the winter without the constant draft of the main house, and then she was black. Mister Jarmon would never allow her a room in his home, no matter that she was no longer a slave. The past had not died for him and the future he ignored.
Alexandra was a little anxious about meeting him for she had seen no one except Ebba and Eleanor. They had told her about him and she wondered how he would accept the sudden appearance of another woman in his home. Well, she would certainly not be an expense to him for she was working for her keep.
Alexandra dared not let herself think of Giles. She could hardly believe that he was really a Jarmon. Why had he kept this fact from her? What more did he and Madame LeBlanc plan for her, or had they already accomplished what they wanted? She couldn't understand them, or their motives, but she was determined to find out soon. She would confront Giles at the first opportunity. She wasn't afraid of him, only confused and curious, and full of loathing.
Following Ebba's instructions, Alexandra hurried into the mansion, shutting the wide door behind her. There was no need of such a wide door now that women no longer wore the wide hoops under their skirts, but the doors remained as a reminder of what once had been.
Her arms aching, Alexandra found her way down the dimly lit hall to the room that Ebba had told her was the main dining room. Balancing the tray on one hand, she pushed wide the door and entered. The light here almost blinded her and she had to stand still a moment while her eyes adjusted.
Finally, she was able to see, and ignoring the eyes that she knew were fastened on her, she quickly approached the huge table and put down her heavy burden. Wiping her hands on the rough cotton apron around her waist, she looked at the faces around the table. Eleanor smiled warmly, looking stronger and more rested. Giles looked quite amused and his brows quirked upward as their eyes met. Mister Jarmon was frowning down his nose at her over his spectacles.
Breaking the heavy silence, Mister Jarmon asked, "Is this the girl, Eleanor?"
"Yes, this is Alexandra Clarke, Mister Jarmon, the young lady I told you about."
"Doesn't look like much. How come she's dressed like that? I thought she was a relative of yours."
"She, she is helping—"
"I've been working all afternoon in your kitchen, Mister Jarmon. Someone has to do the work and Eleanor is obviously too sick." Alexandra was shocked by her words but the explosion came unbidden. She was tired, angry, hurt—and Mister Jarmon's arrogance was too much for her.
Mister Jarmon looked away as if she were a distasteful spectacle and said, "Yankees are all alike. No class or respect for their elders."
"Mister Jarmon," Eleanor began.
"Well, if she wants to act like a servant in my home, then so be it. I suppose that's all these damn Yankees understand, anyway," he said, still not looking at Alexandra. "Well, serve the food before it cools, girl."
Alexandra could not believe her ears. The nerve of this old man. She wanted to throw the food at him and walk out, but instead she took a deep breath to gain control, and began lifting the covers from the food.
"I'll help you, Alexandra," Eleanor said, beginning to rise from her chair.
"No, no, please, Eleanor. I'd rather that you didn't. Your setting the table had been enough already. You need to rest."
"Let the girl serve if she wants, Eleanor. Anyway, we can't afford to feed another Yankee for nothing," Mister Jarmon growled, now watching Alexandra closely.
Alexandra saw Eleanor look down at her lap. What she must have endured at the hands of this proud, unbending family was beginning to become painfully clear. Alexandra did not think that she could have stood being treated as an inferior Northerner—for any reason. But then here she was, silently accepting this man's unkind words and attitude. Yes, there were reasons that could make a woman stand this type of life.
Alexandra set the food down in the middle of the table. She wasn't about to serve everyone individually. She was too tired and there was no need. Fortunately, everyone was sitting at one end of the long table. It was a beautiful room with heavy, dark wood furniture that still gleamed brightly from Eleanor's determined polishing, but there was no fancy silver or china to grace the table anymore. They were using the simple utensils from the kitchen.
When Alexandra had set the food on the table, then seated herself at the empty place by Eleanor, she paused to look around the table. Everyone still stared at her, as if expecting something more, so Alexandra said.
"There's no need for me to serve. I'm tired and we can just pass the bowls—there aren't many."
"Of course, dear," Eleanor said quickly, picking up a bowl and handing it to Mister Jarmon.
He took it, glowering at her, then said, "If it's not too much trouble, we will pray like all good Christians."
Eleanor looked quickly at Alexandra, indicating that it was the custom, so Alexandra bowed her head. She had no objections to this, but she had to be told the customs of the house. Mister Jarmon went on so long that Alexandra was certain the food would be cold before they would eat. Finally, the prayer ended and the food was passed. It was good, though simple, and Alexandra thought wryly that the whores in Madame LeBlanc's brothel ate better than the genteel plantation families. The old aristocracy of the South must surely think the world had been turned upside down.
There was little conversation at the table. Eleanor ate in small bird-like bites, as if afraid of eating too much. Alexandra ate heartily, aware of the old man's glowering eyes frequently watching her. Giles seemed singularly disinterested, and this puzzled her. She ignored him, too, for she didn't want Eleanor to know that they had ever known each other more than casually. But Eleanor seemed beyond noticing anything at the table. In fact, Alexandra realized that she was very uncomfortable and anxious to get away. Perhaps, if she carried a tray to Eleanor's room where she could eat alone, Eleanor might eat more. It was certainly worth a try. The atmosphere here was oppressive, and Mister Jarmon and Giles did nothing to help it.
When the meal was finally over, the men quickly retired to the study for cigars and brandy just as if the war had never been and as if they weren't on the brink of poverty. Alexandra was amazed at their attitude. In their place, she would have been desperately trying to save what was left of the life she had lived. But casting their problems from her mind, she began gathering the dishes. Eleanor started to help her.
"No, Eleanor. You must go back to bed. Rest and perhaps tomorrow you'll feel more like doing something."
Eleanor smiled sweetly, with a touch of sadness. "Thank you, Alexandra. You've helped me so much by being here. Tomorrow I'll be more my old self again and I'll help you and Ebba."
"We'll see how you feel then," Alexandra said as she continued to stack the di
shes on the heavy tray.
"Good night then," Eleanor said as she bent down and kissed Alexandra gently on the cheek. "It's just like having my very own daughter, my dear. I'm so glad you've come."
Alexandra returned the dishes to the kitchen where she and Ebba cleaned up. Stepping outside to go to her room, Alexandra looked around. Night had descended on the plantation and she could hear the night calls of the insects and animals. She shivered slightly, not knowing what made the sounds, and walked hurriedly, aware of the strange shapes all around her that seemed to grow and move in the moonlight. She was unused to the country and the quietness seemed loud to her, filled with menace. Not looking ahead, but watching the ground, she suddenly gasped as she became tangled in the low hanging moss that clung to all the trees. Trying to knock it away, she only became more entangled, feeling its soft, clinging moistness enclosing her, trapping her in its strength. Moaning, she finally wrenched loose and ran toward the house, away from the moss filled trees with their branches turning down toward the ground as if they grew away from the sun. She'd never seen such a place, or such trees. If not for Eleanor, she would never stay.
As she ran, she looked desperately ahead for the light which should have been coming from the door to the house, the door she'd purposefully left open in order to find her way back, but there was no light. Had someone closed the door? Then something grabbed at her foot in the darkness and she fell to the dew drenched ground.
"Alexandra, chérie, allow me to help you up. You seemed to have stumbled."
Stifling a cry of alarm, Alexandra gazed up at the dark shape standing over her.
"What are you doing here?" she asked hotly.
Giles chuckled. "I was indoors, ma chère, but the night beckoned me. Isn't it lovely outside in the moonlight? A perfect time for wooing a lovely lady, wouldn't you say?"
Alexandra began to rise, but Giles quickly helped her up, putting his strong hand under her arm.
"Leave me be, Giles. I must be going inside."
"Must you? I think not, Alexandra," Giles said firmly as he began leading her away from the house and toward the dense growth of trees.
"No. I won't go with you. I'm going inside."
"Don't we have some things to discuss, chérie? Don't you have some questions for me?"
Alexandra hesitated. She did want to speak with him, but not out here in the dark, all alone. "I, I don't know."
"Well, I do know. Come, pretty Alexandra. I will not harm you. Have I ever?"
"Yes, I believe you have."
He laughed softly again, still guiding her away from the house. "Come with me, my little dove. We have much to discuss and I don't want to be overheard, do you?"
"Surely there is a room—"
"No, there is not. The old man wanders the house at night, looking into corners, disturbing old ghosts. He will not let the past die," Giles said harshly.
Alexandra was afraid of this man, this man who had used her body, or had it been that she'd given herself to him? She didn't know for that night was still hazy in her mind, unreal, impossible to believe. But her resolution was shaken. She wanted to talk with Giles and yet she didn't. She hated him and yet she didn't.
He took her back toward the trees, then into the dense growth, holding back the clinging moss so that she could pass ahead of him. It was close in the trees, clammy. It was a heavy, muggy feeling, leaving her listless and lazy. She could feel lethargy creeping over her as they walked further back into the trees, toward a gazebo. It had been lovely once—its wood painted white, and in the moonlight it still looked pretty and romantic. But as they approached, Alexandra could see the fallen planks, the peeling paint, and once more she felt the death and decay of the South strongly upon her. She didn't want to stay in this place, surrounded by the clinging trees, the cloying smell in her nostrils, and the dampness penetrating her body. No, she did not like it here. She wanted to escape, to run away and forget this feeling of helpless death.
But Giles held her arm firmly. He wanted something of Alexandra and he was used to getting his way on the plantation. Once he had hundreds of slaves at his beck and call, and he would never forget the power and importance that had been his then. He planned to have that once again, and if he couldn't control one single girl, he wasn't much of a man. When he thought of the slave girls in all colors, shapes and sizes, his blood grew hot again.
He'd been master then and they'd dared not disobey. His teeth flashed white in the darkness as he thought of the things he'd made them do for him, to him. Yes, that had been the life—all the money and power he could want, all the women he could handle. For not only had there been the slave girls, but the delightful Bella LeBlanc had awaited his pleasure in New Orleans, too. He had owned her as surely as he owned his slaves when he set her up in the Quadroom Quarter, but she had always been unfathomable to him, always keeping a part of herself from him. He'd beaten her for that, but he soon learned that it did no good. She even liked it. There had also been Jacob. He'd seen Bella's eyes on Jacob, and he'd known what he'd not wanted to know. Since he'd never had any proof he had pushed it back in his mind, but it haunted him even yet. Eventually he would have taken a wife to bear him children and run his plantation, but the war came before that. The war had changed everything, but now he had another chance to regain his power, money and a woman, a woman he wanted. He looked down into the wide green eyes and grinned, a wolfish grin that suddenly reminded Alexandra of Stanton Lewis. She shrank back from Giles, but he pushed her into the gazebo.
It was dark there, lighted only by the fitful moonlight that seeped in through the softly swaying branches of the trees, and Alexandra thought she heard the soft rustling of small creatures all around her. The cloying, musty smell was stronger here, invading everything, even herself. She could hardly breathe for the air was thick and strong, and she felt herself grow pliant, losing any desire for control—until she felt Giles' hands on her.
She jerked away from him, determined that he not touch her again. But he was even more determined and pushed her up against the gazebo's wall. He stood closely in front of her, blocking any escape.
"Don't touch me, Giles. You said we would talk," Alexandra said desperately.
Giles smiled. "I won't hurt you, Alexandra. But how could I forget our night together. You were eager for my arms then, my caresses, my kisses—"
"No! No. I don't know what happened that night."
"But you do admit it happened?"
"How can I not?" she asked miserably.
"Indeed. You enjoyed me then. Why shouldn't I hope for more of the same? I brought you here to my home so we could share it. Do you suddenly find me so unpleasant, my home unsatisfactory?"
"I, I—"
He put his hands on her arms. She felt stifled, but stilled her impulse to run. "Now, that's better. We're going to get to know each other well, very well, Alexandra. We are good together. We've already proved that, haven't we?"
"I don't know what happened that night," she whispered, her eyes glowing like twin green lights.
Giles laughed softly close to her ear. "I do, chérie. Sometimes a woman needs a little extra stimulus—"
"What?" Alexandra asked sharply.
"I tried. I really tried with you, chérie, but you didn't seem to grow in affection for me as I did for you. I'd never had trouble before. I couldn't understand it. Bella, Madame LeBlanc, who's wise in these ways, suggested something for your drink that might help stimulate you."
"Oh! You monster!" Alexandra hissed, trying to raise her hand up to slap him, but Giles blocked the blow.
"Easy, my dear. It is not so unusual. And Bella was determined that I should have what I wanted."
"You're both monsters!" Alexandra cried, her fury rising.
"Not at all. We merely have extravagant tastes that we are determined to satisfy."
"Let me go, you, you—"
"Don't provoke me, Alexandra," Giles said, jerking her arms behind her. "I do want to talk with you, too."
His voice had become thick with passion as he felt her body struggling against him. Grasping Alexandra to him, he forced her face up to his, then captured her soft lips with his mouth. God, but she was soft and sweet. Biting into her tender lips, he heard Alexandra cry out in pain and at the same time her mouth opened, allowing him to plunge inside. He thrust deeply, exploring the depths again that he had so recently discovered.
Yes. Yes, she was just as wonderful as he remembered.
Still holding her hands behind her, he adjusted his grip so that one hand could touch her, feel her delights, but he kept her mouth locked with his to satisfy his mounting desire and to keep her quiet. His hand moved around her shoulder down to the peaks of her ripe, full breasts. Quickly he undid the front of her bodice and boldly thrust his hand against her warm, bare flesh for she wore nothing under the dress. She struggled against him as his hand greedily fondled her swelling mounds, and it excited him all the more. Tearing his mouth from hers, he glanced down to see her two white breasts bathed in silvery light, the peaks dark and hard. He caught her tightly to him, his excitement mounting.
"Let me go, Giles," she moaned against his chest. "Don't do this to me. I'm not strong enough to fight you."
And truly Alexandra felt her strength ebbing away in face of this man's desires. She didn't want him to touch her and yet she couldn't seem to fight him.
"You don't want to fight me, Alexandra. You want me to make love to you as I did before, as I will again. Let me love you, let me touch you all over, feel your glorious body against me. Come love, remove your gown. You don't need clothes here. The trees protect us. No one will ever know. I'll make you want me as you did at Bella's place."
