Patricia Potter

by Rainbow

  Rainbow

  Patricia Potter

  Copyright © 2012, Patricia Potter

  For the Potter clan, one and all

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Seaton Plantation,

  Vicksburg, Mississippi, 1839

  MEREDITH SEATON tried not to tremble.

  She struggled desperately to stand up straight, to keep her lips from quivering, as she defied her father for the first time in her young life.

  He was so big, so tall, and his mouth was frowning in an all too familiar manner. That expression was always the beginning of a rage, and rage meant punishment. Though she couldn’t stop the fear that shook her legs, she had to let him know how important Lissa was to her. Perhaps, just this once, he would understand and relent.

  Meredith had thought about it all day, ever since she found Alma in tears that morning, and was told she could no longer play with Alma’s daughter, Lissa.

  Meredith had listened in stunned astonishment. Lissa, who looked like her own self, had been her playmate since she could remember. They had done everything together except sleep. Meredith retired at night to a beautiful large room while Lissa shared a bed with her mother in the slave quarters.

  They were only two years apart in age: Meredith was now eight and Lissa six. In spite of that small difference, Meredith had always felt motherly and protective about Lissa, giving her many of her toys and dolls, and directing their games. She loved Lissa, who looked up to her with faithful adoration, and followed her lead in everything. Meredith didn’t really have anyone else. Her mother had died when she was a baby, and her father, who had never remarried, was distant and harsh. She had one older brother, but he thought her a nuisance and paid attention to her only when he scolded her for one mischief or another.

  There was only Alma, who was the closest thing she had to a mother, and Lissa, who was almost as light as she and who had the same dark brown eyes. Only their hair was different. Lissa’s was black while her own was blond.

  That morning, when she ran downstairs to the kitchen, she did not find Lissa in her usual place beside Alma. And she saw that Alma’s eyes were red with weeping.

  “Where’s Lissa?” she asked hesitantly, suddenly afraid.

  The question brought a new burst of tears, and Meredith moved to place a comforting hand on the woman who had done the same to her so many times. But Alma jerked away and looked at Meredith as if she hated her.

  Meredith stepped back. “Alma,” she whispered.

  The black woman glared at her through tears shining in dark eyes. “It’s your fault,” she said. “The master saw you givin’ your new doll to Lissa and decided you were too familiar.” She spit out the last word, bitterness flowing from her like lava from a volcano, boiling and deadly. “Familiar!” she said again, and laughed, but the sound was ugly to Meredith’s ears.

  “And why shouldn’t sisters be familiar?” Alma continued in her vitriolic tone.

  “Sisters,” Meredith whispered. “But Lissa is a—”

  “A slave,” Alma said. “A slave to be sold. Even by her own father.”

  “Father…?”

  Meredith didn’t understand any of it. She knew they had slaves, and many of them, particularly the house servants, were her friends. Some disappeared occasionally, but she had never questioned that. As for Lissa, how could she be her sister? They looked alike, of course, but Lissa was…

  Lissa was what? Meredith had never thought much about their different status. Lissa was required to help her mother in the kitchen, while Meredith spent hours in the classroom. She had asked once why Lissa couldn’t share her studies—it would be much more fun—but her governess had only said Lissa had other duties and changed the subject. No one had seemed to object when the two of them played, though, not if she had finished her lessons and Lissa her chores.

  Until yesterday. Meredith had just given Lissa one of the dolls she received for Christmas and Lissa was hugging it to her when Meredith looked up and saw her father watching them closely, a grim look on his face.

  “Go to Alma,” he had directed Lissa. Then he turned to Meredith with a frown. “And you, miss, have you no studies?”

  “I’m all through, Papa,” she said.

  “Then I shall have to ask Miss Wentworth to increase her efforts.”

  “Yes, Papa,” Meredith said obediently. She couldn’t remember when he had said something kind to her, or touched her with affection no matter how hard she tried to please him.

  “Why does Lissa have your doll?” he asked abruptly.

  “I gave it to her,” Meredith replied, surprised at his attention.

  “That doll was a present to you from your brother,” her papa said.

  “But I have others…and Lissa admired it.”

  “Lissa has no need of such things,” he said. “It just gives her ideas.”

  “But—”

  “That’s enough, miss. Go up to your room and stay there.”

  Meredith recognized the tone of voice. It scared her. It always scared her, ever since the first time she had unknowingly angered him and felt his belt on her back. She retreated and went up to her room, wondering what she had done.

  It was several hours later when, restless and unhappy, she had ventured carefully downstairs to get one of Alma’s cookies. She heard voices in her father’s office but didn’t understand what they meant.

  “We have to do it.” Her father’s voice came through the door. “She and Meredith look too much alike and they’re much too friendly. It’s not proper. I should have done it years ago before it went too far, but Alma…”

  Her brother’s reply was soothing. “You can always get another black wench. There’s Ruby for instance. She’s real fine in bed. Pretty, too, and eager.” His tone hardened. “I don’t fancy seeing a black half-sister here.”

  “It’s done, then,” her father said. “I’ll send for Sanders in the morning.”

  “You better lock the girl up. Alma might try to take her and run.”

  “You’re right. I would hate to have to punish her.”

  “She’ll get over it. She’s just a nigra. She always knew it would happen.”

  Meredith heard footsteps and scampered back upstairs. None of it had made much sense until now as she looked at Alma’s ravaged face and blazing yet hopeless eyes.

  “Lissa?” Meredith said, an enormous dread spreading from the pit of her stomach.

  “The master’s selling her,” Alma said. “She’s in the slave jail until the slave trader arrives.”

  Meredith backed away. “No. He can’t. Not Lissa. She’s my friend.”

  “Bein’ your frien’ is gettin’ her sold,” Alma said, sinking into a chair. “God knows what will happen to her, pretty and light as she is.”

  “But…”

  Alma’s usually impassive face was ugly with pain and hate. “They will put he
r on an auction block, all alone and terrified. To be sold like a horse or a mule or…” She couldn’t say anything else. Years of hiding her feelings, her hurts, her humiliation while she serviced a man she despised were ending in the final terrible tragedy. Nothing mattered anymore. She looked at the motherless girl she once pitied. She had tried to give the child love, and her efforts resulted in the sale of her own daughter, the only source of happiness in her hopeless life. And now she hated Meredith, as she hated the girl’s father. “Go away,” she said tonelessly.

  Meredith felt her world crumbling. Alma and Lissa had been her only allies, their friendship the only haven in a lonely world.

  “I’ll talk to father,” she said. “Maybe I can change his mind….”

  And Meredith, despite her fear, tried. How she tried as her knees quaked and her heart pounded.

  “She’s my friend,” she said.

  “Slaves aren’t friends, they’re property. To be bought and sold,” her father said. “I’ll hear no more about it.”

  “Please…I’ll do anything. I’ll be ever so good. I won’t talk to her anymore, if you wish.”

  “That’s enough,” her father roared. “Get up to your room.”

  Meredith bravely stood her ground. “But—”

  Her father picked her up roughly and carried her to her room. Once there, he pulled up her bulky dress and petticoats. Meredith bit her lip. I will not cry. I will not. She felt the heavy blows as pain coursed through her, but although tears formed in her eyes no sound came from her lips. The blows finally stopped and she heard his footsteps retreat, the door open and close, and the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  For hours she lay on her bed silently, tears flowing, her heart hurting. Finally, she rose and walked over to the window seat where she could see the road in front. She tried to sit, but it hurt too much, so she stood there, watching through the branches of the tree that shaded the room.

  Meredith didn’t know how much time had passed before she saw a wagon come up the long drive. A man, unkempt and fat, stepped down and talked briefly to the overseer. Minutes later Lissa, her face streaked with tears, appeared and was placed in the wagon. Horrified, Meredith saw a chain locked around her ankle.

  “Mama!” her friend screamed. “Mama!” Meredith saw Alma run out, only to be caught by the overseer who struck her to the ground.

  “Miss Merry!” the terrified girl in the wagon yelled. Meredith felt her heart crumble. She had to go to Lissa, had to help her. She opened the window and reached out for one of the branches of the huge tree. In agonizing fear, she began to climb out. But her hand lost its grip, and she screamed as her body tumbled through the air, her own terrible screech mixing with that of Lissa.

  Chapter 1

  Lucky Lady,

  New Orleans, 1855

  QUINN DEVEREUX looked around the spacious cabin of the riverboat. After the eight years of hell he had endured, it seemed like Eden. He often wondered if he would ever become accustomed to its luxury.

  He had personally designed everything in the cabin. A large bed dominated the room, reminding him only too well of the nights he had been squeezed together with other convicts in a portable prison wagon. Books, which he had craved during years of loneliness and boredom, lined the mahogany walls. Soft comfortable furniture welcomed the few visitors he permitted inside. A cabinet, filled with the finest wines, sat in a corner.

  Windows lined two sides of the cabin, wide spacious windows that he could open to welcome the fresh breeze flowing in from the ocean or river. Centered on the back wall was an oil painting of a rainbow, and as his eyes hovered on the canvas, an odd dissatisfaction gnawed at him. The damned picture, at times, seemed to taunt him.

  He shook off the melancholy feeling, trying, instead, to restore the usual pleasure he received when entering this cabin, a quiet but profound pleasure that had only recently returned to his life. He had once thought any enjoyment, any contentment, had been completely whipped and worked out of him on the Australian road gang to which he had been condemned. He had once been certain he would die without tasting freedom again.

  Even after his miraculous escape, he had wondered if he would ever feel anything but hatred and bitterness. But slowly, very slowly, some measure of peace, if not happiness, had slipped into his life. His covert activities with the Underground Railroad for the past three years gave him a release from the terrible tension that had maintained its grip months after he’d arrived back in America. At times he even felt a renewed zest for life. But he was always cautious. One mistake, and he could well be back in prison—or dead. The latter, he knew now, was preferable to the former. He could never suffer captivity again. Never.

  A knock came sharply on the door. Cam! Only Cam would knock in quite that impatient way and with the suppressed rage that was so much a part of the former slave.

  “Come in,” Quinn called out as he loosened the frilly cravat at his throat and threw it down on the chair in disgust.

  A large black figure filled the doorway. Cam was huge, three inches taller than Quinn, who towered over most men.

  “The special cargo’s been stored,” Cam reported.

  “What kind of shape was it in?”

  “Not the best, Capt’n.”

  “The passengers all boarded?”

  “There’s still a few coming.”

  “Anyone look suspicious?”

  “Two of them. I seen them before, and they are looking.”

  “I’ll just have to distract them with a little game of cards.”

  “Yes suh.” Cam smiled slightly. It had taken him a year to smile after being purchased by Quinn Devereux. It was not until he received his manumission papers that he really believed he could trust Quinn’s word. Now he would willingly die for his former owner. Captain Devereux, quite simply, had given him back his soul.

  “Any other interestin’ passengers?” Quinn asked with an air of indifference.

  Cam regarded Captain Devereux with curiosity. The man wore a cynical facade, but Cam knew it hid a deep commitment to justice and a heart that bled only too freely for others. It had taken him a long time to discover that, and sometimes even he doubted when he caught the whip of Captain Devereux’s savagely caustic tongue. He often thought he would never really understand the man. He wondered if anyone would.

  Cam smiled suddenly. “A woman…pretty. But she giggles a lot.”

  Quinn arched an eyebrow over one of his deep blue eyes. “How far is she going?”

  “Vicksburg.”

  “Any company?”

  “An elderly lady and a maid.”

  “Is the maid pretty?”

  This time Cam looked askance.

  “The maid,” Quinn said, pressing him. “There must be some reason that party caught your notice. You don’t usually help me look for the ladies.”

  Cam’s smile broadened. “I don’t usually have to. However, recently…”

  Quinn’s crooked grin was quicksilver. Fast to come, faster to go. “What about her mistress? I’m sure you’ve discovered her name by now.”

  “A Miss Seaton. Miss Meredith Seaton.”

  “Meredith Seaton.” There was surprise in Quinn’s voice.

  “Do you know her?”

  For a moment, Quinn’s eyes softened as he remembered a June day nearly sixteen years before. Or was it more? His life before Australia seemed centuries, rather than years, away. He remembered being twenty-one and ready to embark on the Grand Tour, but first he had stopped with his father to visit the Seaton plantation. Meredith Seaton had been a charming child: a little shy but still as bright as a new silver coin. He had built her a swing, and she had been embarrassingly grateful, as if no one had ever been kind to her before. Since he had returned to America, he had heard his brother speak of her, and she apparently had changed greatly from the enchanting child he remembered.

  “I met her once…years ago,” Quinn said. “My brother controls a trust in her name. He doesn’t think much of her. A
n empty-headed flirt, he said, who runs through money like it was water.” He grinned. “Just like me. He doesn’t approve of either of us. He nearly agrees with you though. Says she could be pretty if she ever learned how to dress.”

  There was a touch of pain in his lighthearted words, and he’d stopped smiling. Quinn was aware of how much his younger brother disapproved of his life. Although Brett said little, Quinn knew he was considered a gambler, womanizer and profligate, and no credit to a father who had risked a fortune for him.

  His lips twisted into a wry grimace. That was the hardest part of this charade: his brother’s disappointment. He tried to shrug off his sadness. “I think I would like to meet this…female counterpart. Why don’t you invite the lady and her chaperon to my table tonight, Cam?”

  “I’ll see it’s done.”

  “Along with your two suspicious men.”

  Cam nodded, not even puzzling over the strange combination of dinner guests. Captain Devereux always had a reason for what he did. Even if it wasn’t immediately evident.

  “You can take care of everything below?”

  “Yes, Capt’n.” It was said with indulgent patience, and Quinn sighed at the hint of impertinence.

  “I should have left you on the block in New Orleans.”

  “Yes suh, Capt’n, suh,” Cam replied, thinking that particular day had been the luckiest in a life filled with unlucky ones.

  Their eyes met, remembering the scene, and then their faces again became impassive as they had both learned to do so very well. Cam turned without another word, limping slightly as he walked out, and closed the door behind him.

  Meredith watched as the new maid carefully unpacked her clothing. The girl constantly looked back at her mistress for approval and Meredith nodded reassuringly.

  But Meredith couldn’t rid herself of her own haunting depression.

  It had been another wasted trip as far as Lissa was concerned. Her whereabouts continued to elude Meredith’s best efforts. But she had found Daphne, and Daphne probably needed her as much as Lissa.

  Her new maid was like a frightened rabbit. She had been at the slave jail, awaiting auction. Meredith, after her private detective told her a young mulatto girl was there, had visited the jail looking for Lissa, using the excuse that she’d needed a new maid.