Master Of Paradise

by Virginia Henley

  Slowly, slowly, she opened sleep-heavy eyelids and yawned wide. "Oh Mammy, I'm so fatigued, I declare I could sleep for a month of Sundays."

  "Y'all fatigued? What yo' think ol' Mammy is? Ah spent two whole hours pickin' de burs from yore hair, Miz Mandy, an' then ah had to use Miz Jenny's best face cream to finish de job. An' then ah had to wash an' dry yore hair before y'all could go to bed!"

  Amanda gave an enormous yawn.

  "Ah had to burn dat dress o' yores. Second one yo' ruined dis week." Mammy was only just warming up, but when Amanda looked truly repentant, her big soft heart relented instantly. "Honey chile, yo' just curl up an' go back to sleep. But remember next picnic yo' can't go runnin' off into de swamp with the other childrens. Yo' thirteen years old now, chile. Yo' got to start actin' like a lady. Yo' be de death o' yore sweet mother one o' dese days!"

  Amanda Virginia felt a painful pang of guilt that was genuine at mention of her mother. Caroline Jackson was an invalid who had to be carried downstairs each afternoon to her chaise-lounge. Amanda had heard the whispers and knew it had something to do with when she'd been born. She vowed to keep out of trouble, and flung back the bedcovers to devour the breakfast Mammy Lou had left her.

  Amanda was not made in the ordinary mold. Her family excused her to friends and neighbors by explaining that she was eccentric. She had a fabulously rich fantasy life, currently peopled by all the gods and goddesses of mythology. She had discovered a book on the subject, abandoned in the attic years before, which had totally captured her imagination.

  It had been difficult to decide at first who she would be. The nymph Daphne was most appealing, especially since she was constantly being pursued by the god, Apollo, but she had been saved from his advances by being turned into a laurel, and Mandy didn't like that part. In fact she thought it silly to be turned into a bush.

  She finally decided upon Aurora, Goddess of the Dawn. The secret of her great beauty was due to the fact that she bathed in the dew of wood violets. In fact, Aurora had been drenching her naked form in the dew one morning when Apollo came upon her on his golden arrow and fell hopelessly under her spell. That part about the arrow was obviously a mistake. They must mean his golden steed, named Arrow, she decided.

  The violets were in bloom all over her beloved Paradise Hill, and that was Amanda's destination this morning. She grabbed the first dress that presented itself when she opened her armoire. She was more careful selecting her shoes, and chose black kid slippers, since white would get hopelessly discolored by grass stains. She had no intention of combing the night tangles from her flowing mane of hair, as it took hours and hurt like the devil. The color of her tresses defied description. Some of it was dark, then when the sunlight struck it, red highlights showed up vividly. Other parts were sun streaked, making the whole mass tawny, like the mane of a young lioness. She stroked at it impatiently with her brush a few times, then flung it back over her shoulders without another thought.

  She crept out quietly past Jennifer Joy's room. Not much need for worry there; her sister never arose before ten o'clock. Down the hallway was Aunt Billie's apartment. Nothing to fear in that direction either, since she never appeared before noon. Amanda's father would have been up and out for hours, so all she had to worry about was Mammy Lou. She knew the old woman found the stairs heavy going these days and wouldn't torture her bulk by unnecessary exertions, but she had ears that could detect a bed spring, a slippered miss-step on a creaky floorboard, or the hinge-squeak of the back porch door. She was capable of adding these sounds up and coming to the exact conclusion of what Amanda Virginia was up to.

  Free at last! Amanda took in a great gulp of fresh morning air filled with the scent of dogwood and peach blossom and ran like the wind toward the river bottom. The rich fields on this side of the water all stood cultivated, ready for planting. She crossed the stream bed at its shallowest point, using the stepping stones she had used for years. She noticed the water was higher than usual, high enough to wet her slippers and the hem of her gown. Her mood swung higher now that she was on the far side of the river, her side of the river, where it was all a tangled wilderness. The mockingbirds were singing their throats out to the warm sun, and the red cardinals flashed their brilliance as they flew among the trees.

  The woods were ablaze with wild crab apple blossom, early azaleas, and the white stars of the dogwood. Beneath her feet, the grass was filled with wild flowers and the first jonquils were alive with honeybees, and big wild bumble bees. A cobweb held a million drops of dew, so that it sparkled like a diamond necklace in the early morning sunshine.

  Some of this land belonged to Amanda's father, even though it had yet to be cleared. Some of it belonged to the county, but the place known as Paradise Hill was hers, at least in her heart. It has always been just mine, and it always will be.

  She ran on through the stand of tall pines, quite dark in places where the branches blotted out the sunlight. She gasped as a large red-tailed hawk swooped down almost beside her, after a small bird. Mercifully it escaped the hawk's talons and she heaved a great sigh of relief. Then she felt a small pang of pity for the hawk and the hunger that drove it to such destruction.

  She emerged into the sunshine and lifted her golden gaze upward to the summit of the hill. As usual, its beauty took her breath away. A tiny waterfall fell down one side, curiously bubbling from a spring only halfway up. The top of Paradise Hill flattened out into a plateau. In actuality it was an escarpment rather than a hill. It was a primeval wilderness with marshland at the foot of the waterfall and beyond the marshland, to the left, lay a swamp, its water black from the thick-rooted cypress that shaded it. A white heron arose with a single cry, and Amanda wondered it it were a prince who had been turned into a heron by an angry goddess.

  As she climbed the hill, she noted with satisfaction that the violets were in full bloom, their tiny purple and yellow faces still moist from the heavy dew. She removed her dress, as a token gesture to the naked part of the ritual, and also because Mammy Lou would scold until she drove her mad if she ruined another gown this week. At this moment she felt transformed. I am Aurora, Goddess of the Dawn. She poised delicately in her batiste shift, took a deep breath and flung herself down the hillside, rolling over and over through the damp, fragrant violets.

  Suddenly a horse screamed in fright and she opened her eyes to find herself amid a flurry of plunging legs, flailing hooves and a rain of profane curses.

  Nicholas dismounted in a flash and went on his knees to the girl whom he thought he had killed or at least maimed. He saw a female with wide-set golden eyes framed by sooty lashes, with the wildest mane of tawny hair that fell about her shoulders in untamed abandon. She was golden-skinned, as if kissed by the sun. Miraculously, she was unhurt.

  She stared at him in disbelief and asked solemnly, "Are you Apollo?"

  From relief, a sharp bark of laughter escaped his lips. "I've been called a devil before, but never a God! Who are you?"

  "I am Aurora, Goddess of the Dawn," she said seriously.

  She was such an unusual creature, he almost believed her. "And this, no doubt, is Mount Olympus?" he asked with equal seriousness.

  "No," she said, "it is Paradise." She looked into the bronzed face and saw that his eyes were neither blue nor green, but a pale aqua, the exact shade of robin's eggs. "Are you a mortal?" she asked suspiciously.

  "I'm afraid I am, and what's more, I suspect you are too.

  Fleeting dimples appeared and vanished instantly, so that he found himself watching for their reappearance.

  "My other name is Amanda Virginia Jackson," she said haughtily. "I was Aurora, bathing naked in the dew of the violets, but of course my pantalets were as close to naked as I dared."

  Nick smiled his delight. She was a captivating creature, past being a little girl, yet not quite a young lady. She was a child-woman and he was enchanted. Her face and eyes were so expressive when she spoke, yet her thoughts flitting about behind her golden eyes lent an a
ura of mystery that was seductive.

  "Is this really called Paradise Hill? 'Tis certainly beautiful enough for such a name."

  "Oh yes, that part wasn't make-believe."

  "Who owns it?"

  "I do," she said simply.

  "Are you sure?" he asked with skepticism.

  "Purely and absolutely!" she said with conviction.

  Nicholas hid a grin as Samuel rode into view. "You'd better put your dress on. This isn't the secluded sylvan glade you thought."

  There were the dimples again. She scampered back up the hill, agile as a fawn, and Nicholas led his horse up to the top of the escarpment so he could see the view.

  "Tabernac! Tabernac!" swore Amanda, her head caught in the armhole of her dress.

  "Hey, stop that cursing," Nicholas admonished as he assisted her into her dress.

  She pulled herself away from him haughtily and gave him a scathing glance. "What the hellfire does it have to do with you, pray?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Whoever has control of you, isn't doing a good job."

  For a moment he looked so threatening, she feared him, then quick as a flash she set him straight. "No one has control of me, and no one ever will! I curse in French because my mammy doesn't understand it."

  "Your mother may understand more than you suspect, little madam."

  She giggled, her hostility dissolving. "Not my mother. My mammy! Mammy Lou."

  Samuel explained to Amanda, "This genlmuns all de way from England across de seas. Ah ain't explained to him about no mammies yet."

  "Are y'all visiting my father?"

  Nick said, "I haven't had the pleasure yet, Miss Jackson, but if your father is the owner of all this wonderful, uncleared land, then I am about to make his acquaintance."

  She curtsied formally. "Our plantation is across the river, over that way." She hesitated. "When you visit us, I hope the fact that you are a gentleman of breeding will seal your lips about my behavior?"

  He strove to keep the amusement from his face. He bowed. "Purely and absolutely."

  The first time Nicholas dined at the Jackson Plantation stood out in his memory for years. Bernard Jackson was a true Southern gentleman whose welcome to his home could not have been warmer if Nick had been his own son. That day he realized that Southern hospitality was not some myth, but a very real and pleasant way of life. Business could not be discussed before dining, nor before mere acquaintance developed into friendship.

  The invitation to be an overnight guest was more like a command that could not be refused without appearing churlish. Samuel blended smoothly into the multitude of house servants, and it was understood without a word being spoken that the hospitality was also extended to Nick's servant.

  Bernard Jackson was a distinguished-looking man with carefully clipped gray beard and mustache, still attractive and slim despite his middle years. Nicholas thought he looked more the politician than land owner. He soon learned that his host had been active in the Congress in Richmond, Virginia, but had unselfishly decided to spend more time at the plantation because of his wife's deteriorating health.

  Miz Caroline, as he affectionately referred to his delicate wife, was indeed a frail, faded lady, but withal so sweet and gentle, always deferred to her husband to assure that he appeared intelligent, contented, and uncontradicted. In return she was lavished with exaggerated gallantry.

  Nicholas liked Miz Caroline. He could clearly see that she had borne her burdens and managed to retain her charm like a true lady. From her chaise longue she managed to run a household of more than thirty individuals, both black and white.

  Upon close inspection the plantation house was only a log structure. It was the magnificent trees and flowering shrubs that lent it an air of elegance. Inside however, was most surprising. Its furnishings were designed for both elegance and comfort. It was clear to Nicholas that planters had such prosperity of land, slaves, and money, they could afford anything they desired.

  The planters' favorite drink was a pony of bourbon over sugar and crushed mint. Nicholas found bourbon more to his taste than the whisky his father had favored. He sipped the cool drink appreciatively and again broached the subject of the land he wished to purchase.

  Bernard Jackson waved his arm. "Time aplenty to discuss business tomorrow. We'll ride over the whole place and I'll show you what's for sale, suh. All the uncleared land for certain sure. Got more than I'll ever need right now. In fact, I might just sell off some acreage that's already cleared. It plumb does my heart good to see ambition in someone as young as you. 'Course I have an overseer looks after the field hands and planting. Had to, bein' away at Richmond. My only son, Brandon, attends Virginia Military College. Don't suppose Brandon will be interested in expandin' the place none whatsoever. Boy's only interested in ridin' an' shootin'," he said indulgently.

  The meal in the dining room was served most formally, with more servants dancing attendance than Nicholas had ever seen in his life, and he had often dined with royalty. Miz Caroline had one slave aptly named Porter, whose sole duty it was to carry her from bedroom to parlor; from parlor to kitchen; and from kitchen to dining room. After she was formally seated, the other family members took their places.

  An elderly lady entered and Bernard Jackson introduced her. "This is my half-sister Billie, who makes her home with us now."

  Nick's eyes were drawn to her, and it was all he could do to keep from staring. At kindest she could be described as suffering from excedent de poids, or cruelly as a gross mass of quivering flesh. He held his breath as she lowered herself onto a Chippendale dining chair. He released the breath when it was not smashed into smithereens.

  Jennifer Joy made her curtsy next. If a young woman could be described as having perfect features, it would be Jennifer Joy. She was a vision of loveliness with blonde curls arranged exquisitely to frame her angelic face, and set off her eyes, which were the blue of a summer sky. She wore a frilly confection of a dress, embroidered with forget-me-nots. It had puffed sleeves and allowed her creamy arms to be displayed in all their pale loveliness.

  Nicholas found it difficult to guess her age. She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen, just flowering into womanhood.

  Mammy Lou had allowed her to wear her hair up because a gentleman was dining with them. Jennifer Joy was just beginning to feel the heady power a beautiful young belle held over the opposite sex. She had learned all the nuances of flirtation and practiced them relentlessly on Nicholas.

  Amanda Virginia was seated last. Nicholas gallantly held her chair and she sank to the floor in a graceful curtsy. The change was so startling, he could scarce believe what he saw. She had been scrubbed thoroughly. A strong pair of hands had tamed her wild masses of hair into neat braids, coiled primly over each ear, and her starched lace collar and cuffs were immaculate.

  "This is our baby, Amanda Virginia."

  Nicholas leaned forward and looked down the table at her. She leaned forward and gave him a solemn, conspiratorial wink.

  The damask napery, the Georgian silver, the brilliant candles and the livery-clad slaves anticipating their every move pointed up the opulent way of life that was completely taken for granted. I will never take things for granted again, Nicholas thought. Life is tenuous and with one stroke of Fate, all can be snatched away.

  Aunt Billie never spoke. She nodded, almost as if she had been trained to do so. Miz Caroline graciously encouraged Nicholas to tell them about himself and about his home in England. He obliged, but kept in mind that females were treated differently her in the South. Many things were not discussed in front of ladies. No business, no matter that was the least unpleasant, no politics, and nothing that even remotely hinted at uprisings or trouble with the slaves.

  Jennifer Joy smiled at him, but when he smiled back, she turned all distant with lowered lashes. She alternated with the warm-cool treatment until he couldn't even taste what he was eating, but he could imagine his mouth on hers, especially when it pouted, just so. Then he chastised himself
for having lustful thoughts about a young lady of her tender years.

  After dinner Nicholas excused himself on the pretext of going outside to smoke, but actually he wanted to see the outbuildings and slave cabins to get an idea of what to build to house his own men when he got them.

  When he entered the stables, they were so clean that only the smell of hay and leather and horses could be detected. He turned at a noise behind him and discovered Amanda. Her hair had obviously been confined long enough, and had started to unravel from the braids so that all semblance of neatness had totally vanished.

  She regarded him solemnly with a long, golden gaze, then asked frankly, "What did you think of them?"

  Nicholas hid a smile. "I think your father a very fine man, and your mother a real lady. They have been most hospitable to me."

  "Don't patronize me! I don't mean my parents; you know that very well sir. What about the others?"

  He teased, "Well, I didn't get to meet your brother yet."

  She flung her head back to toss her hair over her shoulders. "That's because daddy packed him off to school for pestering the wenches. They feared if he got himself a yard-child, it would purely kill mother."

  Nicholas was shocked at the outrageous things she was saying. This little madam is wise beyond her tender years. He frowned. "You've been listening to gossip, Mandy. I hardly believe anyone has discussed these things with you."

  "Oh, I listen to Mammy Lou and the house servants' gossip all the time. Mammy says if a young man hankers after a wench night and day, it stunts his growth and send him lunatic!"