Return to Me

by Rosemary Rogers

  “And you’ve been on your own ever since?”

  Lacy nodded. “I come here sometime in March.” She half smiled. “Before Mama died, I used to lay beside her and make up stories about us livin’ in this grand house. Drinkin’ lemonade on the veranda like this,” she said feigning importance as she swayed her thin shoulders. Then she gave a girlish laugh, lost in the memory.

  “And so you came here after she died.”

  A shrug. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

  “And you’ve lived here alone all this time?”

  Lacy nodded. “I made me a place up there in the attic. Found food best I could. If anyone came—” she pointed to Jackson “—like your man did month back, I jest hid till they was gone.”

  “But then I returned home,” Cameron offered.

  “And all of a sudden the place was hoppin’ like Main Street on the Fourth of July before the war,” Lacy said. “Workmen comin’ and goin’. You and him down in the garden shoutin’ at each other.”

  Cameron felt her cheeks color. Lacy had been watching them the day she and Jackson had argued?

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Jackson said from the doorway. “I’m going back to town and you’re coming with me, Cameron. I don’t care where she goes.”

  Cameron took her time getting from her chair to repack the basket, saying nothing. When her task was complete, she carefully pushed the chair under the table. “Get whatever you want from the attic and meet me at the carriage out front,” she told Lacy. She turned to Jackson, daring him to object. “You’re going home with me.”

  21

  Cameron walked into the parlor to find Taye and Thomas seated across from each other, each deeply engrossed in a book. Jackson had opened the French doors and stood out on the veranda, staring into the darkness.

  “Heaven knows how she could be afraid to sleep alone in the bedchamber.” Cameron spoke to no one in particular. “She was sleeping alone at Elmwood in the attic, for heaven’s sake. But Naomi placed a pallet on the floor for one of kitchen girls’ daughters, and finally both girls are sound asleep.”

  Taye looked up from her book. “I’m glad Lacy is settled. Now you should sit down and put your feet up. You’ve had a long day.”

  Thomas smiled mildly in Cameron’s direction and continued reading. Jackson was either so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her come into the parlor, or he was ignoring her.

  “I feel quite well, thank you. Tomorrow we’ll need to go into town and see what we can do about getting Lacy something to wear. I thought we could buy a couple of used gowns until we can have some made for her by a seamstress.”

  “I’ll go if you like.” Taye smiled. “I thought I might visit Thomas in his office tomorrow. He tells me they’ve made great progress.” She glanced over at him, but he didn’t look up from his legal tome.

  Cameron walked past her sister and patted her shoulder. “I knew I could count on you, at least.” She eyed Jackson, who still paid her no mind.

  “We could make a day of it. I have several other errands,” she said as she crossed the parlor and walked onto the veranda. She had changed out of her riding skirt and into an apple green bombazine with V’d sleeves that fell to her elbows. The gown had a low décolleté, suitable for evening, and showed her rounded breasts rather nicely.

  Cameron walked to the rail to stand beside Jackson and tipped her head back to feel the warm, humid breeze, inhaling the heavenly scent of honeysuckle on the air. “Where’s Falcon?” she asked, trying to choose some neutral ground on which to speak with her husband.

  “Don’t know. Left after supper.”

  “Probably a woman,” she remarked lightly.

  He didn’t even smile. “I doubt it. Falcon keeps mostly to himself.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Well, he is free to come and go as he pleases, and I certainly don’t have need of a guard here in the house.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure, Cameron. There was another raid on a farm not too far from here two nights ago. They burned the barn, took the man’s horses and chickens, killed and gutted his pregnant sow in front of his children.”

  Cameron shook her head. “Jackson, the war is over. Why—”

  “These men think they’ve been pushed into it. They believe the war gave them no other choice. There are no jobs, no money—”

  She studied Jackson’s shadowed face. “You’re defending the marauders?”

  He scowled. “No. No, of course not. These men and others like them have to be stopped if the South is to recover. I’m only saying that this is a more complicated matter than most realize.

  “I’m going back to Baltimore tomorrow.”

  Cameron glanced at him, her stomach knotted. “So soon?”

  “You don’t need me here. I’ve business to attend to.”

  Cameron turned to face him, unable to control her anger. “So it’s Washington again, is it? Or is it that woman? When you said we would be living here in Mississippi, I assumed you would have to return to Baltimore on occasion for your shipping business. If you’d listened to me weeks ago, you would have known that was to be my suggestion all along. But I also assumed, Jackson, that by moving to Mississippi, you’d be done with this damned spying business.”

  “Would you not say that quite so loud?” he demanded under his breath, looking to see if anyone had heard them.

  “I don’t care who hears me! I don’t want you to go on any more missions for the State Department.”

  His face was so void of emotion, his tone so cool, that his words were hurtful. “We don’t always get what we want, do we, Cam?”

  She groaned in frustration. “If you’re talking about Lacy, why don’t you just say you don’t want her here? She’s a Campbell, Jackson. We can’t hold it against her that she’s Grant’s child.”

  Cameron sighed, staring into the darkness. She knew Jackson was angry about Lacy, but she wasn’t going to budge where the young girl was concerned. She knew in her heart of hearts that Lacy was Grant’s daughter, therefore her niece. The senator would expect Cameron to take care of her brother’s by-blow. Jackson, of course, thought she had to see proof. How could she explain to him that the proof was in the girl’s eyes, in the sadness mixed with pride Cameron had heard in her tone of voice when she spoke of her grandfather, the senator?

  “Lacy is lying, Cameron.”

  “She can’t be lying! She knew too much to make it up.”

  He laughed humorlessly. “Anyone who has lived in this town, or knows anyone who lived in this town, could have repeated the things she knew about Grant and your family.”

  “You’re wrong. It sounds too much like my selfish, cruel brother not to be true.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about this, Cameron,” Jackson said abruptly. “Not tonight.”

  “Good,” she snapped. “Because the discussion is over. Lacy stays.”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I’ve transferred money to an account at the bank in town.”

  “I don’t need your money. You forget, I have my own.”

  “Falcon has agreed to stay here and keep an eye on you,” he continued, ignoring her comment. “You and Taye are not to travel anywhere beyond the plantation’s gates without Thomas or someone appointed by him accompanying you.”

  Cameron opened her mouth to protest, but he grabbed her arm roughly. “That’s not a wish, it’s an order. Falcon has his instructions. You disobey me, you’ll be under house arrest. Trust me, he’ll do it. His loyalty is to me, not the blessed Campbell name.”

  His fingers bit into her arm. “Stop treating me like a child,” she demanded.

  “As soon as you stop acting like one.”

  Cameron searched his gray eyes for a glimmer of the love she had seen in them only a few short weeks ago. When she didn’t see it, she wondered if it had ever been there to begin with.

  Jackson released her arm and Cameron pressed her lips together, filled with anger, hurt. “If that�
��s all you have to say, then, I suppose I will go to bed.” She stared at the toes of her apple green slippers and recalled the night Jackson had pulled them off and tossed them across the room in his haste to make love. “I’ll see you when you return.”

  “I’ll send a telegram to let you know how long I’ll be. It could be a couple of weeks.”

  Cameron longed to tell him that he was her husband and he belonged here with her now. But then she remembered that he had only agreed to allow her to stay as consolation for the loss of the baby.

  She left the parlor without speaking again and retired to her bedchamber. At least there she would find the solace of her father’s words.

  “David, no,” Sukey said softly. “We must not.”

  I clasped her hand tightly, leading her through the woods along the river. Golden moonlight lit our way like a magical sprinkling of fairy dust. I knew no one would miss us. My father and mother were at a ball at a neighboring plantation and thought I was in bed with a stomach ailment. Sukey had completed her duties in the dairy where she worked and would not be missed, either.

  I glanced back at her and just that glimpse of her beautiful rounded face and rich cinnamon eyes made my heart skip a beat. “We’re almost there. Wait until you see this tree.”

  I led Sukey off the path. A hundred yards from the riverbank was an ancient cypress tree whose branches had grown until they reached the forest floor, making a perfect hiding place, like a curtained room. I held back a handful of branches and she stepped through, completely trusting in me.

  “So dark,” she whispered.

  I stepped through the branches. “I brought some candles and something to eat. I thought we could have a picnic.” I turned and bumped into her. Suddenly we were nose to nose. I could feel her light, sweet-smelling breath on my face.

  “Sukey,” I whispered.

  She brushed her hand across my chest. I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t stop myself. If I didn’t taste her at that moment, I would perish. I lowered my head and brushed my lips against hers tentatively, almost expecting lightning to strike.

  It did, but not in the way I expected.

  Her lower lip trembled. She, too, knew this was forbidden.

  “David,” she whispered.

  “Shh,” I breathed. And then her lips parted and she took me hungrily. I knew then that there was no turning back.

  Efia knew Clyde had returned home when she heard the bitch hound on the front porch begin to bark excitedly. It was well after midnight and she was already in bed, dressed in the only shift she owned. It was so hot tonight that she was tempted to sleep naked, but she didn’t dare. That was too big an invitation to Clyde, too big an invitation to any of them.

  “Fee!” Clyde hollered.

  She didn’t want to get out of bed. She was tired and her back was sore from lugging crates from a wagon into an abandoned house not too far from town off the road to Vicksburg. Efia didn’t know what had been in those crates and she didn’t want to know. She didn’t know what Clyde and his boys were using that abandoned house for, and she didn’t want to know that, either.

  “Fee!” Clyde called again. “Where the hell are ya?”

  He was drunk.

  The coonhound howled and then whined in greeting to her master. Efia heard Clyde stamp up the steps. There were others with him. She could hear them laughing, then the sound of their dirty boots on her clean floor as they entered the shack.

  “Got anything to eat?” Clyde barked. “Fee, where the hell are ya? Don’t ya hear me callin’?” He ripped back the curtain that hid their bed.

  Efia shrank back, trying to cover her bare shoulders with a torn sheet she had found in the dump. Someone had lit the kerosene lamp on the table. The men were dragging out chairs, laughing at some private joke. They were all drunk. She could see that one had brought moonshine in a crock jug, and another, a particularly nasty soul, was wearing what looked like a brand-new yellow frock coat.

  “Where you been, Clyde?” she asked, shrinking back from him against the wall. “What you been up to? The sheriff and them soldiers already been through J Town once this week.”

  “None of yer damned business what I been doin’. Now get up and get me somethin’ to eat.”

  When she didn’t move fast enough, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the bed.

  “Let me get dressed, at least,” she murmured. “I’ll make ya up a nice pot of greens. I got fatback.”

  “Ain’t no need for ya to get dressed.” He smacked her hard on her bottom. “Ain’t nuthin’ of yours my boys ain’t seen before.” He laughed and the others echoed.

  “Now get on,” Clyde ordered, “before I put this boot up your skinny, black ass. Rustle up some pone an’ blackstrap ’lasses to go with them greens. I got me a taste for sweets tonight.”

  Efia hurried barefoot to the stove and pulled a rusty pot from a crate against the wall. As she grabbed handfuls of fresh greens from a basket, she eyed the men.

  Someone had pulled out a deck of cards and five of them, including Clyde, sat down to play. There were others out on the porch; she could see the glow of their pipes burning and hear their crude talk.

  At the card table, Bucky was wearing a fancy black top hat like one Efia had seen in the hat shop window in town. As she tossed kindling into the stove to bring up the flames, something glittery around Pot’s neck caught her eye. It looked like a woman’s necklace.

  Efia didn’t dare ask where any of the stuff had come from. In town, she had heard about the thieves who were terrorizing the county. She knew where the clothes and the jewelry were coming from, but it wasn’t her place to say anything about what was right or wrong. She knew speaking up would get her nothing but a shallow grave.

  Efia turned to the stove. As she stirred the greens with a stick she had peeled the bark off of, she thought of Taye Campbell at Atkins’ Way. She didn’t know what made her think of the beautiful mulatto, but she wondered what she was doing right now. Probably sleeping in a proper nightgown in a big bed with clean sheets that smelled of sunshine.

  Clyde caught the hem of her shift and drew it up slowly, showing the men a peek of her bare ass. Efia turned around and swung the stirring stick at him, taking care not to actually hit him. If she hit him, he’d knock her to the floor with one punch and likely take out a tooth.

  The men howled with laughter and Clyde caught the hem of her thin shift again. He was like that, like a mean little boy bully. He never grew tired of the same stupid joke. He’d do it over and over again, not caring who he hurt or how much he hurt them.

  “Fee, I got to go out and take a piss,” Clyde said, his words obviously meant for his audience. “Think you could hold my cards for me?” He slipped his hand beneath her shift, trying to stick his cards between the cheeks of her bottom. The men burst into another round of vulgar laughter and one rocked riotously in his chair.

  Clyde would have managed it had she not sidestepped his hand when she felt the cards touch her skin. “Careful,” she warned, grabbing the pot. “Water’s boilin’ for the greens. Don’t want to burn you.”

  Clyde slapped his hand of cards on the table and walked out the door, still laughing at his own cleverness. Efia caught a glimpse of him standing on the edge of the porch, watching his stream proudly as it arced into the darkness.

  Efia had heard a rumor in town that Taye Campbell was engaged to the lawyer, Thomas Burl. A white man. Efia had herself a white man, too, but she guessed that Taye’s didn’t piss off the porch into her flowers, and that didn’t sit right with Efia. It didn’t sit right one bit.

  Jackson sat in the rear of a seedy tavern on the poor side of Birmingham, Alabama, sipping a mug of homemade beer.

  Jackson felt a twinge of guilt that he was here instead of in Mississippi. His duty was to be at Cameron’s side while she recuperated, but she didn’t want him there. That was plain enough. She had barely batted an eye when he told her he had to go. If she’d asked him to stay, or even protest
ed, he might have sent Falcon in his place to find this Spider Bartlett. But Cameron had said nothing. All she had done was nod and then excuse herself to see to some pressing matter with the household.

  So here he was, drinking warm ale on a hot night, dressed in one of his servants’ clothing. He had a two-day beard and the dust of the road on his hands and face, the taste of it in his mouth. Last night he had slept in a burned-out church, surrounded by a sea of white wooden crosses from the nearby cemetery. A couple of discreet inquiries in a blacksmith’s shop and a whore house had led him here.

  A black man approached his table. “I hear yer lookin’ for Spider. Who you?”

  Jackson caught the glint of a knife nearly hidden by the folds of the man’s dirty shirt and willed his body to remain relaxed. He wore a pistol in the rear waistband of his pants, another in his boot, and could quickly reach them if he had to. “Who’s askin’?”

  The black man grinned. “This’ll go a whole lot faster if one of us trusts the other.”

  Jackson calmly reached for his ale. “You’re the one carrying the blade, friend.” He paused. “Buy you a drink?”

  The man glanced around, noted that no one was paying him any notice and slid onto the bench across from Jackson.

  “You don’t think a free black man can do somethin’ for his country, too, Captain?”

  Jackson looked at him over the rim of the wooden mug. “These are dangerous times. A man has to be careful.”

  “A black man, even more careful.” He chuckled. “Name’s Spider.”

  “I understand, Spider, that you might have some information for me concerning a certain soldier.”

  “This certain soldier got a name?”

  “Thompson.”

  “You lookin’ to join him?”

  Jackson gazed intently at the man. This was always the crux of his spymaster conversation. Sometimes he had to play from both sides to get the information he was looking for. Jackson didn’t know if Spider was with Thompson or against him, but he made an educated guess. “I’m looking to stop him before he does anything stupid.”

  Spider shook his head, reaching for Jackson’s ale. “He’s got a lot of men on his side. A lot of people feedin’ him and his men, hidin’ ’em, helpin’ ’em gather arms and munitions. Not just in Alabama, either. Mississippi and Virginia, too.”