She cried out as her entire being seemed to tumble and then burst into bright shards of hot white light and pleasure. She heard Jackson groan in release and felt his entire body shudder as ripples of ecstasy washed through him.
After a few moments they lay still, listening to each other’s breath as it came easier. Jackson eased from her body and rolled onto his side, gathering her in his arms. Darkness was falling quickly, and she could no longer see the forms of the barn timbers, which stood around them.
Jackson kissed her damp cheeks, the tip of her nose, her love-bruised mouth. She opened her eyes and reached up to stroke his cheek. “Welcome home,” she murmured.
“Do I look presentable?” Cameron asked Jackson as she tried to smooth the hopelessly wrinkled bodice of her gown. He had helped her locate her hairpins, scattered in the grass, and she had done an acceptable job of tucking her hair back into its chignon, but the skirt of the apple green gown was hopelessly grass-stained. She was concerned that she might not be able to slip into the house at Atkins’ Way and change before anyone saw her.
“You look beautiful,” Jackson assured her as he plucked a tiny leaf from her hair and dropped it to watch it flutter to the ground.
She cut her eyes to him. “What do you know? A man who has just had his way with a woman outside in the light of day will say anything.”
“Just about,” he teased. “Especially when he’s hoping for another go after supper.”
The heat of the blush that crept across her cheeks pleasantly surprised Cameron. Jackson had once been able to make her redden. If he could do it again now, perhaps there was a chance they could go back to where they had strayed, and mend their relationship. “I’m going to go upstairs and change. I could meet you in the parlor for a glass of wine before supper, if you like.”
He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her lips and opened the front door for her. “I would like that very much.”
Jackson looked both ways as they stepped inside the lamp-lit marble hall and Cameron hurried for the grand staircase. “Are you certain it’s safe for me to come inside, no one hiding in wait to shoot me with their slingshot?”
She spun around, already halfway up the stairs. “Jackson, please, I thought we weren’t going to talk about Lacy tonight. That was your suggestion, wasn’t it?”
They had ridden their horses slowly back to Atkins’ Way, enjoying their time together. They had briefly discussed Lacy, then agreed to disagree on her for the present. Neither broached the subject of the terms they’d parted on, nor did either mention the baby they had lost. As they had ridden down the drive, they’d also agreed they would call a truce for the night. Tomorrow they would see what the day brought.
Jackson grinned happily, lifting his arms high in surrender. “A chardonnay or a burgundy, my dear?”
“You pick.” Cameron started up the stairs again, her skirts bunched in both fists, feeling happier than she had in months. Jackson had said she looked seventeen again; tonight, she almost felt like it. “I’ll be down shortly.”
Jackson wandered into the parlor and walked out onto the veranda to lean on the railing. He smiled to himself in the darkness, pleased with his homecoming. Cameron hadn’t said anything, but he felt that while she might not have forgiven him for what had happened yet, she was on her way. He drew in a deep breath. If Cameron forgave him, perhaps he could forgive himself.
“Good even’, Capt’n.”
Jackson turned to see Patsy standing in the doorway. “Good evening, young lady.”
She smiled shyly and swished her white skirting. “Someone to see you at the door, Capt’n. A Capt’n Grey. He got a soldier uniform on.”
Jackson frowned. He knew John Grey vaguely. He was a career soldier from New Jersey who’d recently been assigned to the Jackson jailhouse. Grey, and Union soldiers like him, would remain in place until every Confederate state was in compliance with all federal and constitutional laws and was accepted back into the Union. Jackson had no idea why John Grey would be here to see him, though.
He strode out of the parlor and into the front hall.
“John.” Jackson offered his hand, taking note that two more soldiers escorted the army captain.
“Captain Logan, good to see you again, sir.”
“What can I do for you?” Jackson asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to accept my invitation for a drink on my veranda.”
The army captain slipped a piece of paper from his uniform and gazed down at it. It was obvious that whatever his mission, he was uncomfortable with it. “I’m sorry to say it’s official business that brings me here, sir. I’ve a writ for Taye Campbell’s arrest.”
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, thinking he must have misheard. “What was that?”
Captain Grey took a strangled breath and repeated himself. “I have orders for the arrest of Taye Campbell, daughter of Senator David Campbell.”
“Oh, my God!” Cameron said from the top of the staircase.
Jackson looked up.
“What is this about?” she demanded, racing down the stairs as quickly as she could in a belled crinoline. She had dressed in a lovely beige-and-white silk evening gown that revealed her bare shoulders and the swell of her breasts quite nicely.
“I don’t know,” Jackson said. He turned back to the captain, keeping his voice low and calm. “I believe there’s been a mistake, sir. One which I’m sure can be quickly righted.”
“No mistake,” Grey said. “There is only one Taye Campbell of Elmwood Plantation in Jackson, Mississippi.”
Cameron reached the bottom of the staircase and hustled across the marble floor, shaking a teakwood lady’s fan at the army captain. “Arrest Taye? That’s the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. What has Taye done? Bought too many bonnets? Fed too many starving women and children from our back door?”
The captain kept his gaze locked on the paper in his hands. “Ma’am, she’s to be arrested for the murder of your brother, Grant Campbell.”
Taye stood in the upper hallway, her back pressed to the floral papered wall. She couldn’t breathe and for a moment feared she might faint.
She touched her hand to her breast and felt her heart pounding as if it might spring from her chest. Her breath now came in short pants.
“Taye?” Falcon strode down the hallway toward her wearing a faded red shirt with silver buttons that she loved on him. “You look as if you have seen an evil spirit. What is wrong?”
She reached out to him, covering his mouth with her hand for fear the soldiers below might hear him. “S-soldiers,” she whispered.
His dark brow furrowed. “I do not understand.” He took her hand, whispering. “Come to my room and tell me what is wrong. I will fix it, if it is in my power.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes filling with tears. She shook her head furiously.
He stepped closer, slipping his arm around her waist. “Tell me.”
Her lower lip trembled as she searched for the right words. How could she tell Falcon? Would he hate her when he learned what she had done? That, she couldn’t bear. “There are soldiers downstairs,” she breathed, her mouth close to his ear. “They have come to arrest me.”
He held both her hands in his and gazed down at her, his black eyes filled with compassion. “For what?”
“The murder of Grant, Cameron’s…our brother.”
“That is ridiculous. You should not be afraid. We will go to these men and tell them they have made a mistake.”
Tears ran down her cheeks as she shook her head no again. She stared at the floor. “I can’t go down there. I can’t face them.”
“Why?”
Slowly Taye lifted her lashes. “Because I did kill Grant Campbell. And if I had to, I would shoot him all over again.”
27
Cameron stared at Captain Grey for a moment, lost in memories better left buried. Taye had shot their brother Grant. It was a plain fact that both she and Taye had simply tried to forget.
Taye had killed him on that hot August evening four years earlier, and Cameron and Jackson had buried his body in Elmwood’s graveyard, beside his father. There had been no funeral, no prayers said over the grave, no tears shed. There was only relief, relief to feel safe at last.
After Taye and Cameron fled north to safety, Jackson had quietly let it be known in town that Grant had died and been laid to rest. He had then ordered headstones for both Grant’s and Sukey’s graves and paid to have them set in place. No one in the town had liked Grant enough to even ask how he had died.
Cameron’s lower lip trembled and she bit down on it until the metallic taste of blood seeped onto her tongue. She gazed at Captain Grey. He knew nothing of Grant Campbell; he knew nothing of the evil, vile man Grant had been.
It had been Jackson’s opinion that Grant’s passing from this earth had gone too easily. Because he’d not wanted to see Elmwood’s slaves freed and his own luxurious life altered, Grant had knowingly pushed his father over a second-story veranda rail to his death. He had sold off Elmwood’s slaves, then sent slavers to hunt those who tried to escape. Sukey, Taye’s mother, the love of Senator Campbell’s life, had been shot and bled to death on the banks of the Pearl River trying to flee the men Grant had hired. Not satisfied with the evil he’d wrought, Grant had then attempted to auction Taye’s virginity in a Baton Rouge whorehouse. Who on this earth could have argued that Grant Campbell did not deserve to die for those offenses?
But Taye had not shot her half brother for the crimes he had already committed. No, she’d done it to save Cameron. And Cameron was as certain now as she had been that night, that Taye would never have killed for any other reason.
Cameron tried to push the memories aside, but she couldn’t. Suddenly she could feel the perspiration trailing down her back; she could smell the scent of the honeysuckle near her father’s balcony. In her mind, she could still see her brother leaning over the rail, their father’s pistol gripped in his hand, his eyes wild with madness.
Grant had stood on the same bedchamber balcony he had pushed his father from and shot at her. He missed the first time, but in her heart of hearts she had known he would not miss the second time. Driven by hatred, greediness, lust and jealousy, he would kill his own sister.
Taye must have known Grant would not stop until Cameron lay in a grave beside the senator and Sukey. She had stepped from the falling darkness and fired one shot, killing him instantly.
“How dare you come into my home, Captain?” Cameron flared, the reality of the situation startling her as suddenly as a slap on the cheek. “How dare you come here spreading these lies?”
“Ma’am, I’m only doing my job. This is a serious charge, and justice must be done. Especially now when we are trying to return the states to—”
“Serious charge!” she interrupted. “Instead of chasing after ghosts, why aren’t you hunting down the men who are raiding this county? How many women will have to be raped? How many will die before you get off your lazy a—”
Jackson laid his hand gently, but firmly, on Cameron’s forearm and squeezed, effectively silencing her. “May I ask how this has come up? Grant Campbell passed away in the summer of ’61. That was four years ago.”
“All I can tell you, sir, is that evidence has come to light. We would not being doing our job if we did not take this matter seriously.”
“What kind of evidence?” Cameron demanded, her mind spinning. No one could have known that Taye shot Grant. No one but Naomi, perhaps, who had been at the house. But Naomi would never have told; Cameron would bet her life on it. Grant had been holding Naomi prisoner here in Elmwood as his sex slave, chaining her to the bed at night to prevent her from escaping.
“I cannot say what evidence has been presented, ma’am.” Captain Grey looked to Jackson, perhaps for a male’s sense of reason. “If you could call Miss Campbell, she’ll have to come along with us, Captain.”
“You’re going to take her to jail?” Cameron tapped the army captain with her fan and he flinched. “You’re going to lock her up with men who steal and rape?”
Captain Grey looked to Jackson. “Arrangements will be made to be certain that she is safe and has as much privacy as can be allowed. If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you should hire a lawyer for Miss Campbell immediately.”
“A lawyer?” Cameron’s eyes grew round with insult. “Let me tell you, sir—”
“Cameron.” Jackson met her gaze meaningfully. “Please go upstairs and bring Taye down.”
“Surely you don’t mean you’re just going to turn her over to them?” She stared at him in disbelief. He knew Taye had killed Grant, but he also knew Grant’s reputation, what kind of man Grant had been.
“Captain Grey is not accountable for the charges,” Jackson said quietly, his voice ominous. “We cannot hold him responsible. Now bring Taye down, or these gentlemen will be forced to search the house and drag her out.” His gray eyes met hers. “Is that what you want?”
His words chilled her to her core. Her first reaction was one of anger—at the soldiers, at Jackson—but she knew they were right and fought her anger. Once charged, Taye had to face her accuser, whomever that might be.
Jackson laid his hand on the small of her back and gave her the tiniest push toward the grand staircase. Cameron wanted to be angry with Jackson, but she couldn’t be. He had helped them hide Grant’s unnatural death. He had taken care of the gravestones. And more importantly, he had never again spoken of the incident.
“I’ll bring her down,” Cameron said softly, fighting a sense of defeat as she took the stairs slowly. They would have to hire a lawyer quickly. Taye could not languish in jail.
Would Thomas defend Taye? More importantly, would Thomas defend her once she admitted to him that she was guilty?
At the top landing, Cameron turned right down the hall toward the multiple guest bedchambers. She halted at Taye’s closed door, breathed deeply and then tapped on the paneled wood. “Taye?” she called softly.
“Aunt Cameron?” Lacy called from behind the door.
“Lacy? Where’s Aunt Taye?” Cameron pushed open the door to find Lacy dressed in one of Taye’s favorite gowns, the blue silk with scalloped skirting trailing along the floor.
“Aunt Taye said I could put on any of her gowns, long as my hands was clean.” She swished the skirt of the blue silk and spun in a circle. Minus a petticoat and crinoline, the dress yawned like a flower opening its petals.
“As long as your hands were clean,” Cameron corrected, distracted by Taye’s absence. “Lacy, where is Taye?”
Lacy danced her way across the polished floor, taking no heed of the gown as she trampled over the hem. “Aunt Taye is teaching me to waltz.” She lifted her hands to an invisible partner and practiced her smile, her hazel eyes bright with excitement. “You want to dance with me, Aunt Cam? My mama was a good dancer.”
“Lacy, listen to me.” Cameron tossed her fan to Taye’s bed and walked to her charge, grasping both of Lacy’s hands in her own. “I need you to tell me where Taye has gone.”
Lacy pressed her lips together as if they had been glued with sap from a tropical gum tree.
“Lacy Campbell!”
The girl somehow pressed her lips tighter. “You can torture me and hang me by my thumbs, I ain’t telling,” she mumbled, her words garbled by her sealed lips.
“I am not telling.” Cameron reached out and grabbed her arm. “Listen to me. I am not playing, Lacy. I need to know where she is this minute.”
Lacy thrust out her jaw. “I promised I wouldn’t.”
Cameron exhaled, realizing that this was not the way to deal with Lacy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, throwing her arm around her niece’s thin shoulders. “It’s just that some men are here to talk to her and—”
“Soldiers, they come to arrest her. She was smart to run ’cause they ain’t gonna—are not going to,” Lacy corrected, “listen to anything she says. Not a negra girl like her.”
>
“Lacy! Taye is not—” Cameron caught herself. Taye was half African, and Cameron knew in her heart that while that should make no difference in a court of law, it might. Only last night she had read her father’s words in his diary.
Sukey’s skin is as dark as polished ebony, and I have been brought up to believe that that alone somehow makes her of less worth than myself, a white man. But when I look into her dark eyes, I know it is I who am not worthy of her.
Cameron bit down on the lip that she had already bloodied. She needed Lacy to grow up believing that the color of one’s skin, the circumstances of one’s birth, should not matter. It was what her father had taught her and what he would have taught his granddaughter had he been here today.
“It’s not true, Lacy. Taye has a right to a trial. A trial of her peers. There she will be innocent unless she can be proven guilty.”
“Well, I don’t know if she was the one who killed my papa or not, but I can tell you, Aunt Cameron, there won’t be no negra girls on that jury you’re talking about. And no women, neither. I lived on them streets. I know who your justice is for and who it ain—isn’t. And it shore ain’t for negra wenches what shot a white man to death.”
Cameron threw her arms around Lacy and hugged her tightly, knowing the child, wise beyond her years, hit closer to the truth than she realized. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Your father did die the night they are talking about, but they don’t know the circumstances.”
Lacy didn’t return the embrace, but she didn’t try to escape, either. “I’m not upset ’bout him, Aunt Cam. Mama said he was a futterin’ bastard who deserved to die by havin’ his pizzle rot off.”
Had it been any other time or place, Cameron would have laughed. “I’m sorry, anyway.” She pulled back to gaze into Lacy’s eyes, trying not to see Grant in them. “Now can’t you tell me where Taye went?” she whispered.
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