Others weren’t so lucky though. The other maids always talked about it. They’d all have to marry well in order to enjoy half the spoils they’d so far only had the privilege of hanging up or cleaning.
It hadn’t taken much for him to lure her. He was after all one of the dreamiest things she’d ever seen. Even at age eleven when he first showed an interest… and he was so persuasive. It started innocently enough- her lips were bruised but still she managed a smile over the word. The rubbing across barely there breasts and below… he said it’d prepare her. God if only she’d known what he was preparing her for. Marrying well to rescue her parents from their lives of never-ending work wasn’t worth this. Nothing was worth this.
She wouldn’t stop running. Even when she made it back to the grand house on the hill. What would she tell her parents? Would she tell her parents? They’d surely notice the blood running down her leg in a continuous stream. Her mother would definitely recognize the signs of what she’d been doing. Then what? It would be her word against his. Against his, her word would count for nothing.
~~~
Far away from the grand house on the hill, a quaint cottage stood. From the outside, the construction was an appealing oasis amidst the beautiful wooded area that circumferenced the estate. Inside, the cottage was stocked with every necessity making it an exquisite retreat for lovers… and others.
The fireplace blaze burned more ferociously than it should have. The bloody sheets had to be gotten rid of though. He’d wait for the fire to die before he left.
Walking out to the porch, he leaned against one of the banisters aligning the steps leading to the porch. Marcus Ramsey’s satisfied smile deepened as he buttoned his shirt.
~R~
PART ONE
1960-1964
~R~
R
~CHAPTER ONE~
Savannah, Georgia~ Summer 1960…
Thirteen year old Carmen Ramsey gave a frustrated tug at the hem of the flowing chiffon skirt of her dress. Jackie Wilson’s “Doggin Around” had fast become one of her favorites when it was released earlier that summer, but even the song’s affective rhythms weren’t inducing a positive effect on her mood. If the annual Ramsey cotillion wasn’t over soon she truly believed she’d scream.
While her sister Georgia thrived on such festivities, Carmen felt like running for shelter whenever the mention of one was in the air.
Drawing a hand through her wind tangled Shirley Temples; she cast a tired look towards the imposing white brick house in the distance. For a moment, she revered the construction which had been in her family since slavery. She then headed in the opposite direction toward the lush fields where the horses grazed.
Carmen smirked. Horses. What a life her family led. So many people envied what they had- that a black family could boast such trappings.
She shivered delightfully at her quiet use of the word she’d just come across while reading a news article the week before. It was such a fitting word. All the beauty and elegance had certainly trapped her family- some of them more horrifically than others.
Wild laughter caught her ears when she neared one of the stables. Her thoughts on family and trappings cleared as curiosity set in. On softer steps, she ventured nearer towards the sturdy structure.
The laughter was sparse, but never lost its wild intensity. Carmen cast a quick look across her shoulder. Satisfied that she was alone, she took a closer look and gasped at what she saw.
Marcus Ramsey smiled his approval and settled back more comfortably against the tufts of hay lining the stall. To the casual onlooker it would have appeared that he was simply relaxing. But nothing was ever quite what it appeared where Marc was concerned. He smirked and looked down at the young woman draped across his lap. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed her dazzling oral treat and lost his hand in her hair.
He squeezed his fingers in her thick tresses when she would have pulled back for air.
“Stay on it,” his voice was soft yet the intent was crude.
Rosselle Simon didn’t seem to mind and whispered her own sultry taunts while following Marc’s orders.
Clearly, the couple was involved in the act and; for a time, oblivious to all else. That is, until Marc opened his eyes and looked directly at his younger sister.
Carmen blinked, wanting to look away but unable to. Running was out of the question as well for she couldn’t move. Their gazes held. Then, in a purely lurid manner, Marc licked his lips and beckoned her forward with a wave.
Heart lurching to her chest, Carmen jerked away from the stable opening and raced away.
Marcus remained calmed. Instead of panic, Carmen’s discovery had sent a rush of sensation through him. The feeling was so intense that he released his need. Rosselle of course took full credit for the reaction even when Marc pushed her aside.
“Run along now before Daniel and Martha start to worry.”
“Bastard,” Rosselle hissed, lying half naked amidst the hay. Her mouth glistened with tell-tale moisture.
Marc grinned and smoothly fixed his clothes. Thankfully, Rosselle made quick work of leaving and; alone, Marc let his thoughts drift back to his sister watching as he was pleasured.
~~~
Carmen was running like the devil was at her back. The chiffon skirts of her dress rivaled the rustling sound the leaves made as she raced back toward the party.
‘The devil’ however was more of a figurative term just then. After all, she’d bet her brother was still on his back and being treated by the Simon spinster she’d caught him with.
In truth, ‘the devil’ in that instance referred to the surge of fear Marcus instilled whenever he looked her way. When she saw him moments ago, that fear had been amplified. Carmen was so muddled in her thoughts that she screamed when her running brought her up against a warm, solid wall of flesh.
Jasper Stone smiled, though concern was etched in his deep brown eyes.
“Hey? Carmen? Carmen?” He took her shoulders in a gentle hold noticing the terror on her face when they’d collided. “It’s Jasper, you’re okay…”
Melting then, Carmen lay against him and took time to catch her breath.
Jasper was bending to look directly into her face. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The soft coaxing tone of his voice only made her shiver more deeply. Her fingers curled like talons into his black dress shirt and she shook her head.
“Alright then, let’s get you home.”
“No!” She shivered then as though the idea of “home” repulsed her. “Stay with me? Stay with me here?” Without a care for her dress, she sat in the grassy clearing.
As it was a mild Savannah afternoon and full of festivity, Jasper didn’t see the harm in spending a few minutes with the youngest Ramsey daughter. It was no surprise though that those ‘few minutes’ stirred needs that were best left alone.
Carmen Moiselle Ramsey was only thirteen- young but already portioned into the stunning woman she would become. The face of a heart stopping beauty was developing daily. Her soft easy manner mirrored the look in her alluring dark stare. Scores of young suitors had already found their way to her door.
“Do you feel like talkin’, Carm?” Jasper asked when the silence sent his thoughts too far in the wrong direction.
“You deserve better that than Ross Simon.”
Clearly stunned, Jasper blinked owlishly at Carmen’s hissed advice. “Why?” Was all he’d dare ask.
“You’re so handsome and sweet. You really care about what a girl says when she opens her mouth- not just whether her mouth could adequately accommodate your cock.”
Of course he cared about what a girl had to say. Just then however, Carmen’s attempt at flattery simply had him imagining things involving her that he could be killed for.
“We need to head back.” He stood and expelled a sigh of relief when she followed suit.
Carmen took Jasper’s arm, but squeezed in a warning manner before he could take a step.
�
�Watch my brother. Don’t ever trust him.”
Jasper watched her walk on ahead. He didn’t need her to clarify which brother for he knew without a doubt that it was Marcus Ramsey.
***
“Thank you, Dora.” Marcella Ramsey smiled up at the lovely dark woman who’d placed a glass of iced tea to the woven end table. The cool observation returned to her slate gray stare when the young maid walked off. “Has Westin done anything?” She asked, turning back to watch Sybil Deas.
“Oh no, no Marcella- nothing like that.” The woman shook her head. “Westin is a wonderful boy- handsome, smart, mannerly- did I say how handsome he is?”
Laughter resonated between the two friends. It wasn’t long though, before concern returned to dull the usual sparkle in Sybil’s light hazel eyes.
“The kids are in their twenties Marcy,” Sybil began to wring her lace-gloved hands. “Westin’s yet to propose and-” she glanced across her shoulder, “and I’m certain the two of them are having relations- sexual relations. Now, Elton may be too nervous to say anything but that’s not the case between us, is it?” Sybil straightened a bit while questioning her old friend.
Marcella appeared skeptical. “I’m sure if Elton felt concern he would’ve said something to Quent by now- they’ve been friends as long as we have.”
“Yes, but Quentin is Elton’s boss.” Sybil cleared her throat. “There’s only so much he’d say about something like that and you know how men can be. But you and I-” She reached for her tea glass and tilted it toward Marcella. “We go way back and I don’t feel a bit shy about bringing this up. I have to look out for my daughter’s future. Having your own daughters, I’m sure you can understand that.” Losing her taste for the tea, Sybil set aside the glass and fisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t want Bris giving up her goodies with no commitments.”
Marcella bristled beneath the fabric of her cream linen dress. She felt no anger towards her friend’s perceptions however. Eyes crinkling when she smiled, Marcella leaned over to pat Sybil’s clenched hands. “I understand where you’re coming from girl, but… from what I’ve been told by my son, it’s Briselle who’s shunning commitment in return for her… goodies.”
Sybil gasped and then looked around quickly to see whether anyone strolling the wide back porch had heard her outburst. “What are you saying?”
“Sweetie Westin’s been proposing for years only to have Briselle turn him down every time.”
Stunned, Sybil Deas could only stare open-mouthed at her dearest friend.
At that moment, Briselle Deas was in fact turning down another proposal from her boyfriend of nine years. Lying upon a sea of hay, she stared at the gleaming diamond positioned inside its black velvet box.
“Westin why-”
“Just stop, Bri. Stop. You know what this is and you damn well know why.”
Briselle rolled her eyes and tried to sit up. Westin stopped her by smothering her slight form with his lanky, muscular one.
“This isn’t going to happen.”
She spoke in that soft, breathy tone that never failed to arouse him. Whatever else she was preparing to say was effectively silenced when he thrust his tongue inside her mouth.
Of course, Bri couldn’t resist. She’d never been able to resist him and snuggled deeper into their embrace. Boldly, she thrust her tongue eagerly against his. A delicious interlude surfaced and; in seconds, the bodice of her demure white frock was open and his handsome dark face was nestled between her small, full breasts.
Keeping one hand secure about Briselle’s wrists, Westin feasted on her firming nipples until he heard her pleading for him to do more. Stopping then, he raised his head.
“Do you really think I’d ever let you go, Bri?”
“Why?” She stiffened and the affect was mirrored on her delicate features. “Why West? Because I’ll lift my skirt and drop my panties for you anytime you ask? You could get any girl at this cotillion to do the same.”
“But do you really believe I could stand you not being mine?” Softly enraged then, his sleek brows drew close. “Do you think I could function knowing someone else could have you?”
She looked away then as tears pooled her eyes. Covering her face, she quietly willed them away.
“Baby…” West felt on the verge of tears himself.
“Don’t,” she shook her head and moved to pull her dress together. “We’ve been going steady nine years West and I’ve lost two babies already.”
“Bri-”
“No. Please West. I’ve lost two.” She let him see her wet face. “What does that mean?”
He cupped her chin. “It means we keep trying.”
She wrenched her chin from his fingers. “We aren’t even married. Now, maybe that’s why or maybe it’s because it’ll never be meant for us to have a child. I can’t let you-”
“What? Love you. Love only you?”
She sucked her teeth. “You know what I’m saying.”
“And what I’m saying is I love you and that means more to me than anything- anything Bri.” He kissed fresh tears from her eyes and tugged her into a crushing embrace.
***
“Daniel!” Quentin Ramsey’s voice bellowed above the mingled conversation and laughter energizing the party. He extended hands toward local carpenter Daniel Simon and his wife Martha.
The two men had maintained an easy relationship over the years despite the fact that Daniel had declined Quentin’s numerous requests that he dissolve his successful carpentry business and come head his own team at Ramsey.
“Glad you’re here and with all these lovelies.” Quent teased the dark towering man and then nodded towards Martha and the couple’s four daughters.
“Thanks so much for inviting us, Quentin.” Martha Simon’s honey gaze rivaled the tone of her skin for radiance as she took in the scope of the event and the guests dressed in their finest attire.
Quentin shrugged. “I’ll keep trying to win y’all over anyway I can ‘til Dan comes to work for Ramsey.”
“Precisely why I’ll never come over,” Daniel’s words always carried on a chuckle. “I’d be a fool to give up this kind of bribery!”
As the trio laughed merrily, Marcus Ramsey strolled up to greet his father’s guests and their daughters. The girls stood behind their parents and smiled graciously. Like the dutiful and respectful son, Marc greeted the Simons- with special charming attention reserved for the daughters.
The three eldest made no secret of their soft spots for the Ramsey’s dashing, second eldest son. Rosselle Simon in particular braced back her shoulders and held her head a smidge higher in expectation of a special greeting from Marc. The expectancy in her wide browns dimmed noticeably when he offered no such sweetness in light of the intimacies they’d just shared. Her mood quickly improved though when he spared her a sly wink.
Surprisingly, no one noticed Marc’s expression sharpen with intense interest when his dark gaze settled on the caramel-toned beauty that stood a foot shorter than her robust sisters. Marcus moved on before anyone noticed the look he spent on eighteen year old Josephine Simon. Josephine certainly didn’t notice, for she’d kept her eyes downcast when the gorgeous Ramsey approached.
***
Boisterous laughter filled the gazebo. The five young women there enjoyed delicious cool cider, the delights of the day and the bawdy yet amusing comments of their often times naughty girlfriend.
Georgia Ramsey made the act of tucking a lock of wavy hair behind an ear; the most seductively glamorous move one could muster without breaking a sweat. Georgia’s four friends envied and loved her as much as they feared and disliked her. The girl’s allure was intriguing to say the least. She could cut down a friend and build them up in one breath.
It was a difficult thing for one to tell whether Georgia Ramsey was being honest or cruel when she struck out with her words. To Georgia, honesty and cruelty were one in the same as people could rarely accept the truth when it was spoke in reference to them.
>
“You better keep it down before our mother’s get a whiff of what we’re discussing.” Priscilla Dartmouth scolded her friend.
“Fuck it; they know what we talk about. They talk about it themselves.” Georgia inspected her fresh manicure. “My Mama knew the very day I gave it up to Felix. She said I was walkin’ different.”
The laughter rose to a voluminous roar.
“But that’s not so bad Georgia,” Greta Weeks was saying before the laughter totally faded. “You and Felix been together for years. Hell, it’s almost like you’re sleepin’ with your husband.”
“Almost,” Georgia appeared to shudder. “And almost is all it’ll ever be unless that nigga got some money and prospects in his future.”
“Well Mr. Q would see to that, right?” Melody Brown asked in reference to Quentin Ramsey.
“I’d hope so,” Georgia came down a little. “Felix ain’t interested in ‘hand me down success’- that’s what he calls it. Talkin’ ‘bout he’s tryin’ to make it on his own.”
“Well that’s commendable girl.” Denise Orey raved.
Georgia sucked her teeth and focused on her other manicured hand. “Probably,” she sighed, “but that still leaves him bein’ a broke nigga and I need a man who’ll keep me livin’ like my daddy meant for me to.”
“Well why are you with Felix, then?” Priscilla smoothed a hand across her chignon, hoping to downplay her interest in the matter. “I mean, I know tons of girls who’d love a chance with his fine ass.”
“I’m with him because his fine ass is damn good in bed.” Georgia’s smile was cool and deadly while adding a sharper loveliness to her pecan brown face. “In light of that, I’ll just be keeping him for a while.”
The boisterous laughter rose once more.
***
The Ramseys Boxed Set Page 156
