“The only thing he loves is controlling me,” Cameron argued. “He thinks he has the legal right to tell me where I can go and what I can and cannot do. He tells me that if he is not welcome in my bed, he’ll go where he is welcome. Well, I have news for him. He can have his other woman! He can have me thrown in jail for all I care! I’m staying here and he isn’t to stop me.”
Taye sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Cameron, I’ll grant you one thing, you are fervent in your convictions.”
“This is my home,” Cameron argued. “Don’t you think I have a right to come home?”
“What I think right now is that you should go back to Atkins’ Way, take a long bath, drink a tall glass of lemonade, eat a little something and then rest. A woman carrying a baby tires more easily than she realizes.”
“I’m not tired,” Cameron argued. “And I don’t want to rest. I have a million plans to make. I have to locate men willing to work for me so that I can begin to rebuild Elmwood. I want you come to my room so I can tell you my plans. See what you think.”
Taye looked away, her gaze lingering on the overgrown countryside. Through the trees, she could see the Pearl River as it wound its way through a grove of willow trees. “Jackson will return soon enough,” she said, as much to herself as Cameron. “And when he does, I have no intentions of being near.”
Cameron fully intended to begin drawing up plans for the rebuilding of Elmwood immediately, but by the time she reached Atkins’ Way, she wasn’t feeling well. Maybe Taye was right: maybe she did need to lie down and rest for a few minutes.
“What’s wrong?” Taye asked as the two sisters climbed the grand staircase side by side.
“I don’t know. Suddenly I feel…weak. A little dizzy. It must have been the sun.”
“I told you that you needed to lie down,” Taye chastised in her mother hen tone as she slipped her arm around Cameron’s waist. “Now let me tuck you into bed and have Patsy bring up a little something for you to eat.”
At the top of the stairs, Cameron caught her own reflection in the massive gilded mirror and couldn’t help noticing how pale she appeared.
Taye continued to fuss, leaving Cameron in the doorway of the master bedchamber so that she could prepare the bed for her sister.
Cameron slid her hand low over her abdomen. A lump rose in her throat as she realized that part of her discomfort was coming from cramps similar to those she sometimes experienced with her monthlies. Biting back a cry of fear, she looked to Taye, who was busying herself pulling back the bedcovers and fluffing the goose-down pillows. After the baby had survived her illness in Richmond, she had thought that surely—
“Get Naomi,” Cameron cried.
Taye glanced up, a pillow she was fluffing cradled in her arms. “What?”
Cameron pressed her hand to the doorjamb, lowered her head and closed her eyes as she stroked her abdomen. She had never been so terrified in her life. Not when the slavers had chased her. Not when her brother had held a pistol aimed at her head. “Get Naomi, Taye. Please hurry.”
“What do you mean I can’t go in?” Jackson demanded. He reached out and grasped Taye’s arm none too gently. “Taye, you know I care for you, but you will not come between my wife and me. Not this time. Because this time, she’s gone too far.”
“Jackson, listen to me.” Taye didn’t struggle.
When she met his gaze, he realized her blue eyes were filled with tears. “What is it?” he asked, releasing her arm. “What’s wrong, Taye?”
“You can’t go in right now because Naomi is examining her.”
“What are you talking about?” Jackson growled. He tried to reach around her to the doorknob, but she blocked his way. For such a slight, gentle woman, she could be tenacious. “Naomi is examining Cameron? Examining her for what?”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to drag them back and swallow them. As the realization of what was happening behind the closed door seeped into his mind, his heart, he wished he could take it all back.
Jackson’s arms fell to his sides. “Not the baby.”
Taye nodded slowly, tears splashing down her pretty cheeks. “I’m sorry, Jackson. Naomi says this happens sometimes, more often than we realize.”
Jackson turned away from the door, numb. “I shouldn’t have argued with her. I shouldn’t have said the things I said. Not last night. Not today.” He put one foot in front of the next, going down the hallway as if sleepwalking. “I shouldn’t have upset her the way I did. I made her run. Made her take off in the carriage.”
“No. No, this isn’t your fault, Jackson. You mustn’t think that.” She followed him down the hall, taking his cold hand in her warm one. “Jackson, this is no one’s fault. Just God’s will.”
“God’s will? God’s will!” Jackson pulled away from Taye and drew back his arm. He threw his fist as hard as he could into the gilded mirror at the top of the landing and stood in the rain of shattering glass.
Cameron lay curled up on her side, her knees drawn to her chest. Silent tears slipped down her face and dampened the pillow beneath her head.
Naomi sat on the edge of the bed and rested her hand on Cameron’s hip. Even through the bed linens, she could feel the heat of Naomi’s gentle hand.
“Feelin’ better?”
Cameron nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her miscarriage had been swift, almost anticlimactic. And now, after two cups of Naomi’s strange-tasting tea, the cramping was already beginning to ease.
“It’s your body’s way of sayin’ this jest ain’t the right time. Nuthin’ more. There’ll be other babies, Miss Cameron, I can promise you that.”
Cameron didn’t answer, but the mere thought of another pregnancy made her want to cry all over again. She had wanted this baby, loved this baby so much. How could Naomi talk of another?
“Now ole Naomi understand ya don’t feel much like talkin’ right now, so ya jest let me do the talkin’. Now, some women start thinkin’ right off they did something wrong, that they brought this on. But ya got to understand the laws of nature, sweetness. This was jest a soul not meant to be. From the look of yer bleedin’, this happened days ago, probably weeks. Maybe even before ya got sick in Richmond. This is jest yer body’s way of cleanin’ things out, preparin’ a new nest.”
“Maybe if I hadn’t taken off in the carriage that way…” Cameron said in a very small voice.
“Stuff and nonsense, Miss Cameron. You grew up on a plantation. You know how tough women is, how strong.” She continued to rub Cameron’s hip rhythmically. “And don’t be givin’ me nothin’ about slave women bein’ different. Noah been readin’ that Bible of his to me at night and he say God created us all to be like Himself. Way I see it, God made all women strong, stronger than men in ways that count.” She reached up and brushed Cameron’s hair off her face. “Wasn’t no little buggy ride gonna loosen that baby less there was somethin’ wrong with it in the first place. It’s your God’s way of givin’ us them perfect little babies like Ngosi.”
Cameron glanced up at Naomi through teary eyes, wanting desperately to believe her. “Do you truly think that’s so, Naomi?”
“’Course I do. Every woman goes through this sooner or later, black, white, green.”
Cameron didn’t know how, but she smiled. “Thank you for being here, Naomi. For taking care of me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Naomi smiled down at her. “Didn’t I tell ya my bones sent me? That I knew ya needed me.”
Cameron drew back her mouth in fear. “You knew this was going to happen?”
“’Course not, Miss Cameron.” She began to stroke her hair again. “But even if I did, wouldn’t be nuthin’ you or me could do about it.” She sat back on the edge of the bed. “Now why don’t you just hush and rest? You want I should send the captain in?”
“No. No, don’t do that.” Cameron half sat up in bed. Naomi had helped her dress in a fresh nightgown and tied back her hair. “I’m not ready to see him. N
ot yet.”
Naomi patted her shoulder. “Now don’t be gettin’ yourself in a twist, Miss Cameron. This ain’t the place for a man tonight anyway. Men got no business in women’s ’fairs.”
Cameron rested her head on the pillow again, feeling incredibly sleepy, and wondered if it was the events of the day or something in Naomi’s tea that caused it. “Naomi?” she said, letting her eyes drift shut.
Naomi had begun to clean up the room. “Yes, sweetness?”
“Please don’t call me Miss Cameron anymore.”
“You want me to call you Mrs. Logan?” Naomi’s voice rose in pitch.
“No,” Cameron whispered. “I want you to call me Cameron. I was wrong not to have asked you to years ago.” She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily. “You and I have been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
Naomi smiled. “That we have. That we have.”
And then Cameron closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Taye slipped down the rear servant’s hall toward the kitchen, carrying a kerosene lamp to light her way. It was late, after midnight, and she had just left Cameron’s bedside. Cameron hadn’t wakened in hours and Naomi said it would be morning before she did.
Taye was worn out emotionally and physically, but she was hungry, too, and if she didn’t get to something to eat, her grumbling stomach would keep her awake all night. Maybe just a bite of pie, a cup of cool milk, and she’d be satisfied and ready for bed.
She pushed open the kitchen door and was surprised to see the glow of light coming from inside. One of the servants must still be up. But Taye didn’t need someone to make her a meal; she could do it herself. She set down her lamp on the preparation table in the middle of the room and reached for the pie safe door.
“It is late and yet you are still awake.”
Taye spun around. Falcon seemed to be everywhere she turned. Was he following her? Of course, that was a silly notion. He had been in the kitchen first.
“Good evening.” She turned back to the pie safe and opened the door, the sweet smell of apples, cinnamon and cloves filling her nostrils.
“How is Mrs. Logan?”
Taye pressed her lips together, uncomfortable even responding. Women didn’t usually discuss such personal matters as miscarriages with men. “She…she is sleeping. Naomi says she will be fine.” She grasped a pie pan and slid it out, taking it to the table. Against her will she lifted her lashes to gaze at Falcon. His words had struck a chord in her. “It’s kind of you to ask,” she whispered.
“I know this is hard for Mrs. Logan. Even the loss of the possibility of a new soul breaks our hearts. Brings tears to our eyes and those who have gone before us.”
Taye studied his obsidian eyes. She wasn’t used to men speaking of tears…or feelings, either. “Our logic tells us this happens for a good reason and yet—” She left her sentence unfinished.
“And yet,” he continued for her, coming around to her side of the table, “we cannot help but wonder what could have been. Who could have been.”
Taye nodded slowly, the pie held tightly in her arms.
Without breaking eye contact, Falcon took the pie pan from her and set it on the worktable. “You are a good sister. A good friend. I hope she knows that.”
She couldn’t look away from him. She was mesmerized by him, by his voice, the rich woodsy scent of his skin.
“Mrs. Logan must be proud to call you her friend,” he continued. “I know that I would be.”
Taye’s lower lip trembled. Suddenly she feared she was going to burst into tears. Her heart ached, not just for Cameron and Jackson but for that little soul that would never be.
“Shh,” Falcon soothed. He reached out to take her into his arms and she was powerless to resist. She knew it was wrong to let him touch her with such familiarity; she belonged to another. And yet she could find no resistance in herself. His black eyes were pools of hypnotizing water that drew her deeper, closer, with every passing moment.
Taye didn’t realize Falcon was going kiss her until it was too late. His mouth brushed hers ever so gently, like the wings of a mysterious, dark moth, and still she was powerless to pull away.
Taye’s lips parted of their own accord. Her pulse quickened and her eyelids fell. The heat of him, the scent of him, the feel of his mouth on hers…She tasted him, drank him in.
Taye slid her arms up over Falcon’s broad shoulders. She heard herself sigh…no, moan as his kiss deepened.
Thomas’s kiss had never made her moan.
Falcon molded his body to hers, pressing his groin to her hips, and even through the layers of fabric of her gown, she could feel his maleness.
She should have been shocked, horrified. Instead, her heart skipped irregularly and a heat began to fan from her most intimate part. More than a heat, it was an ache.
Taye felt herself sway in Falcon’s arms. Before she was ready, he drew back. His gaze met hers again and for a moment she feared she would beg him for another kiss.
But the spell was broken. She gave a little strangled cry of mortification and turned and ran to the safety of her bedchamber.
17
Jackson hesitated outside the bedchamber door. It was past noon and he had not seen Cameron since the previous day at Elmwood. Last night Naomi and Taye had kept him out, and then this morning he had told himself that she needed time alone. He convinced himself that this bedchamber wasn’t the place for a man, and that she needed her rest. But he knew he had to face her.
Jackson had spent a sleepless night downstairs in Charlie Atkins’s library, sharing a bottle of scotch and war stories with Falcon. He had drunk more than his fair share of the liquor, and he had the blinding headache to prove it.
Falcon had tried to talk to him about Cameron’s miscarriage. He had spoken some nonsense about God’s will and the human desire to control it, but Jackson had silenced him and changed the topic to the new Smith & Wesson rifles being manufactured.
Jackson lifted his hand to grasp the white glass doorknob, then let it fall to his side again. He needed to collect his thoughts before he saw Cameron. He needed to prepare himself. What did he say to her? Simply apologizing for arguing with her, threatening her, saying he would seek solace in another woman’s arms, making her so ill that she had lost the baby, seemed almost sacrilegious. How could she ever accept an apology from him?
Sometime toward dawn, Jackson had realized he couldn’t possibly force Cameron to return to Baltimore now. Not after what had happened…after what he had done. He was still concerned for Cameron’s safety in Jackson, but he would simply have to keep her safe. He’d do what he could personally to protect her, and he would look into what the local law enforcement was doing to make the streets safer for everyone.
He would have to go to Birmingham in a few days and follow that lead, but once he had tracked down Thompson’s Raiders, his government work would end. He would go to Washington, and he would tell Secretary Seward that he had given enough years of his life for his country; it was someone else’s turn. As for Marie…Her image floated through his head, but instead of the feelings of desire he had fought only days ago on the riverboat, he felt nothing. Nothing but regret.
When he went to Washington, he would tell her he would not work with her and he would not see her again, thus removing further temptation. Considering what had happened to his wife, it was the least he could do.
Jackson once again lifted his gaze to the paneled bedchamber door before him. He dreaded going inside. He hated the prospect of looking into Cameron’s amber eyes, knowing he was responsible for the loss of their baby. But he had to get it over with. He’d stay five minutes, tell her about the architect he had contacted this morning who would be out to speak with her about the renovations to Elmwood just as soon as she was receiving.
Jackson rested his hand on the cool doorknob. Before he pulled away again, he rapped on the paneled wood with one hand and turned the knob with the other.
“Yes?”
<
br /> It was Cameron’s voice, husky and surprisingly strong, considering her ordeal.
Naomi swore to Jackson that his wife was fine. She said that Cameron would be up and out of bed within the week, but he needed to see so for himself. He needed to see that she had not died in a pool of blood in her bed, as his own mother had.
Jackson was by no means a coward, but his gut twisted as he walked through the door.
“Jackson,” Cameron murmured.
Her voice cut him deeply.
“Good afternoon,” he said formally.
She was lying back in the bed on a pile of pillows, dressed in a filmy, pale blue sleeping gown. Her long, copper hair was parted and pulled back in two thick, silky plaits. She looked seventeen again and as sweet and innocent as the day they had first met.
“How are you feeling?” he asked awkwardly.
She closed her father’s diary and placed it on the rosewood table beside the bed. “Well. Thank you.” She sounded equally ill at ease.
Jackson walked to the bedside, but not too close, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pressed trousers. “So…you’re feeling better?” He wanted to meet her gaze, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the accusation he knew would be in those amber eyes.
“I really am. Naomi says I should rest a few days, but I’m not sure how long I can stand to lay abed.”
He nodded and then a silence stretched between them, a tense stillness that resulted from words exchanged that could not be taken back no matter how badly either party wanted to. She was his wife, but right now she seemed a stranger to him. The intimacy they had once shared was gone, perhaps forever.
And it was his fault. He had done this to her. To them. How could she ever forgive him? he wondered desperately. And why would she? If she felt half the empty void that loomed in his gut, how could they ever mend the damage he’d done?
“I see you’re reading David’s diary.” He pointed lamely.
She nodded, brushing her fingertips over the smooth leather. “I promised myself just an entry a day, but I can’t help myself. Papa was very poetic in his youth.” She smiled at a memory. “I had never thought of him that way before. Listen to this.”
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