Riverrun

by Andrews, Felicia

  “Mrs. Vessler, where have you been keepin’ yourself? It’s just like your husband to have an ace up his sleeve.”

  Melissa giggled, slapped Sheriff Garvey softly on the chest, and let him lead her into the ballroom and onto the floor. She knew she had drunk far too much, felt her face flushed and red, her breasts rising with the breaths she had to take … but she didn’t care, not now. She was having too much fun, and there was so much wine.

  “All right, Vessler,” Henshaw said, his grin and twinkle false, “two more months, but that’s all I can give. I’m not an oil man, y’know. I only run a forge.”

  David tried not to clench his fists, failed, and shoved them fast behind his back. “This is hardly the place, Henshaw. The least you could have done was wait until morning.”

  “I got a family to feed, lawyer.”

  “And I’ve got a job. Just don’t bother Mrs. Roe, or you’ll be hearing from me.”

  “That white man touch you one more time, and I break his arm,” Judah said.

  Alice spat dryly on the floor, and when Judah reached angrily for her arm she spun away and snatched up a knife.

  “I’ll tell you, Mrs. Roe, we used to have such lovely parties before the troubles. Why, there wasn’t a night went by when we weren’t gaddin’ about somewhere, to some place or other. ’Course that all changed when Robert E. was on the trail—and we had such high hopes for him, too. Ah well, as my daddy used to say, you take the good with the bad and pray for the spring. You been to Richmond lately? Lord, I hope not. Hardly anthin’ left these days, those damned Yankee—oh, pardon me, Mrs. Roe. Really, I’m sorry. You fit in here just so well, we hardly even know you’re not one of us. But it’s a beautiful party, Mrs. Roe, and I sure hope it gets some of the others to thinkin’ that just because we’re down don’t mean we’re not livin’. You know what I mean, Mrs. Roe? An absolutely beautiful party.”

  David and three other men wandered onto the porch to share the privacy of a slow-burning cigar. They were owners of the neighboring farms, and though their crops were somewhat different, their problems were the same.

  “Chased ’em off with a gun,” muttered Horace McRae, a grizzled old man who’d lost an arm in Atlanta. “Once is all it took.”

  “It’s that damned Tom Jones and Kennedy what’s doin’ all this,” Jenkins declared. “Upstarts from Tennessee think they can run the whole damn thing. ’Course they do got a point, keepin’ the niggers in line, but just the same, they ain’t got no right tryin’ to stop me from workin’.”

  “I thought it was soldiers who didn’t have any jobs,” David said, to no one in particular.

  “Oh, it is, it is,” McRae said hastily. “But these others, these Klanners, they takin’ a dim view of coons what don’t live in trees.”

  Three of the men laughed; David only drew on his cigar and watched the amber glow push back the night.

  All their complaints about minor harassments from the ex-reb troops hiding in the hills contained nothing at all about murders and burning. A few thefts of grain, mostly likely for mash, were about the most serious crimes they could muster. None of them mentioned Chet.

  “Now don’t get me wrong,” Simon Brown said from behind a cloud of blue smoke, “I ain’t above laying the whip around now and again, but these monkeys, they’re gettin’ uppity, you know what I mean? You do ’em wrong and they like as not pack up and leave.”

  “Rights!” Jenkins said with a sneering laugh. “Next thing y’know, why, David, if you ain’t careful that Judah of your’n gonna run for President!”

  Laughter again, choking to silence.

  “Look here, Vessler,” McRae said in a whisper, “you have any trouble with those boys again, you let us know. We’ll send you some men to chase them off prop—”

  “I appreciate that, gentlemen,” he said. “And Mrs. Roe will be awfully grateful. It hasn’t been easy for her, you know, and anything that will keep Riverrun on its feet will be repaid tenfold.”

  There was a muttering of thanks as the group slowly broke up, but David remained outside to move down the steps and walk slowly toward the gardens. The offer of assistance was, he knew, only a pretense. Neither Jenkins, McRae nor Brown had anything really to worry about, and they certainly weren’t going to waste valuable manpower helping Cassandra free herself from trouble. In fact, he very much suspected that they were harboring some of the outlaws themselves. It was an open secret that the three of them had been bitterly disappointed when Cass had showed up and bought the plantation with cash and the loans; the bottomland Riverrun contained was coveted by them all, and they’d only been waiting for a decent-sized crop and a lower price before they moved in themselves and divided the land as equally as their money would allow.

  He wondered, then, if these were the men who were putting the pressure on Cass’s creditors. If she had to default, the land would once again fall to auction, and they would get what they wanted for less than they would have before. It was a possibility, something he should look into; though, on second thought, he had doubts that any of the three had enough clout to exert that kind of economic leverage.

  Damn them, he thought. He ground the cigar under his heel, walked back to the front and into the hall. The music was softer now, slower, and Amos had been busily moving about the front rooms dimming many of the lamps. The light took on a glow that reminded him of the sunsets that accompanied the harvest. He searched briefly for Cass before heading back toward the kitchen.

  Music. Cass wished she could somehow have music all the time—when she was working, when she was sleeping, when she only walked about the grounds and dreamed of the future. She closed her eyes then and leaned slightly closer to Bill Henshaw’s younger son, feeling the strength of his hand on her waist as he led her through the maze of the dance floor. Nearly everyone was on their feet now, the evening slowly drawing to a close. At any moment there would be calls for Judah and Amos to fetch the carriages from the back, and she would have to stand at the door and accept the farewells.

  A slight hesitation, a murmur, and she knew that someone had cut in. A game; she would not open her eyes, she would guess which of the unattached men had latched onto her this time.

  You’re a shameless flirt, Cass Roe, she told herself with a smile, and ignored the harmless chiding as she tried to place her partner.

  She stiffened at the slight, cold brush of steel across her bare back.

  “I think,” a voice said in her ear, “it would be nice to see the moon on the grass, don’t you think, Mrs. Roe?”

  She opened her eyes but would not look. Her limbs had lost their volition, and the smile on her lips was taut and mirthless. She nodded to several of the guests, who nodded back and were puzzled, but she would not look into Geoffrey Hawkins’s face until he door had closed behind them and they were alone outside.

  “What in hell are you doing here?” she said, spitting each word at him like droplets of acid.

  “The end of a long search,” Geoffrey said. He was dressed in black, his long hair flowing straight back from his forehead. And there was no doubt about it, she thought as she watched him; despite the hooked hand and the patch, he was still rather handsome, though evilly so. And arrogant. And foolish, if he thought that by unearthing her he could drop her into fits of hysteria. It had been, after all, part of her plan. She had known he would come, had known he would cause trouble … but this was the open country, not the confining city.

  “Tell me what you want,” she said, stepping away from the house and walking slowly toward the stables. “Tell me, and then get off my land.”

  “I admire you, Cassandra,” he said, following close behind her. “I assure you, Mr. Forrester was strongly chastised for letting you go. His pride is hurt, Cassandra. But I admire your courage for what you did. And this …” She sensed the sweep of his hand encompassing the plantation. “Amazing. You’re a better woman than I thought. Unfortunately, all of this won’t do you any good.”

  She stopped severa
l yards from the stable. There was a low fence around a shallow corral to keep the horses from wandering into the gardens Rachel and Melody were growing for herbs and greens. The animals were in the stalls; all the blacks were up at the house either assisting Judah or working with Alice. She turned and leaned back against the fence’s top rail.

  “You don’t frighten me anymore, Geoffrey,” she said as calmly as she could. And she was thankful for the darkness that hid her nervousness. “I’ve had a long time to think about what happened, and what you think happened, and I can only feel sorry for you now. There’s no fear, and there certainly isn’t any hatred.”

  “Not even for what I did to your husband?”

  “Had he been a stronger man, you wouldn’t have done it.”

  Hawkins took a step toward her and paused, listening to the music filling the midnight air.

  “Cassandra, I didn’t follow you all the way down here just to compliment you on your escape.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “In fact, I’ve found quite a lovely home over in Meridine, and I’m thinking of staying for a while.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  He leaned toward her, his face scowling darkly. “Damn it, woman, I am trying to spare your sensibilities!”

  “You didn’t spare them before, why should you start now?”

  He raised a hand to strike her, then lowered it slowly, trembling.

  Cass closed her eyes briefly, opened them, and waited. She knew she was goading him, and she didn’t know why. Out here, alone, he could do just about anything and no one would be the wiser. But somehow she sensed that keeping him off balance verbally would muddle his plans, whatever they were; and it was vitally important that he knew, that he understand here and now that she was not the same woman he had encountered in Philadelphia. She was older, she was stronger, and she had something more than revenge to fight for now.

  “If you’re going to hit me,” she said, “get it over with, please. Hitting women seems to be your favorite pastime.”

  He pressed his arms to his chest and swayed slightly, lowered them and moved to one side. From out of the shadows behind him another man stepped, and she smiled, nodding, while she slowly moved her left hand to the fencepost—the better to guide her should she have to clamber over.

  “Mr. Forrester,” she said. “Wonderful. Everyone’s here. I hope you’re enjoying the party.”

  Forrester said nothing.

  “Gerald,” Hawkins said, his voice so taut he sounded as though he were being strangled. “Gerald, Mrs. Roe does not appear to be shaken by our appearance. She thinks she has matters well in hand, in fact. I do wish you would dispense a sample of what she can expect if she keeps playing her childish games.”

  A brief flare of light behind them went unnoticed as Forrester deliberately stripped off his gloves and folded them before tucking them into a jacket pocket. Someone, Cass thought, had come out of the kitchen, but she dared not call out; Forrester was too close.

  “It will only take a moment, Mrs. Roe,” Forrester said, grinning.

  “Mrs. Roe, you all right?”

  Cass slumped against the rail and swallowed dryly. “Over here, Judah. Some gentlemen seem to have lost their way out.”

  Before either man could react, Judah was between them, a full head taller than either and twice as broad at the chest. Hawkins stifled a curse, wheeled, and strode away, but Forrester only looked the black over from head to foot and smiled crookedly.

  “I didn’t know, Mrs. Roe,” he said without looking at her, “that you had niggers for guards.”

  “Judah is a friend,” she said stiffly.

  “Judah?” he said. “Fancy name for a goddamn animal.”

  “If you’re trying to provoke him,” Cass said in anticipation, “don’t bother. He’s strong enough for the both of you, and I doubt Geoffrey could manage without his crutch.”

  “Bitch,” Forrester spat, turned to her, then suddenly spun around, aiming a fist directly for Judah’s throat. The black man, however, had already sensed the move and his massive right hand closed over Forrester’s wrist before it reached the mark. Closed, tightened, bent the arm down and to the side, forcing the man to his knees with a painful grunt. And it might have ended there had Cass spoken quickly enough; but before she could tell Judah to drag him away, Forrester had grabbed a handful of dirt and had flung it at the black man’s face. Judah stumbled back, releasing his grip, and Forrester was on him. They stumbled, fell into a tangle, rolled over several times before the gunman sprang to his feet and aimed a kick at Judah’s head. It missed, struck a shoulder instead, and Judah grabbed for the ankle, toppling Forrester onto his back. Then he rose, reached down, yanked the man to his feet, drew back a fist and plunged it hard into his face. Cass winced at the soft sound of flesh meeting flesh, heard Forrester moan in pain. But he could not fall; Judah’s arm was straight and the gunman’s feet were barely touching the ground. Again the fist drew back, and again it struck home. A third time, and Judah let go, and Forrester swayed for a long moment before crumpling to his knees.

  Cass walked over to him, grabbed a handful of hair, and yanked his face up. The blood spilled from his nostrils and two deep cuts—one over each eye—and she surprised herself by feeling no pity at all.

  “You are trespassing, sir,” she said. “Judah will show you to the road. Please be so kind as not to come again.”

  She turned to the black man and thought for a moment, then looked down at Forrester and felt a stone cover her heart. “Judah,” she said calmly, “if he refuses to obey you, show him the well.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She had no idea how she managed to make it through the rest of the evening, but make it she did, with no one the wiser. And when the last guest had left and the servants had been ordered to their beds, she moved out to the porch, a heavy shawl about her shoulders. The satisfaction of seeing Forrester’s blood spilled had long since faded to a numbness she tried to cap with reason; it had been due him, sooner or later, and now he would think twice about drifting ghost-like in and out of her life with his vile threats and condescending manner. It sounded good, and she was almost convinced. But a few moments on her own, in the silence of the hours just before dawn, broke down the wall she had built, and she knew that what she had done, through Judah, had been tantamount to a declaration of war. Forrester would not forget his humiliation. And Hawkins would not let him. Together they would renew the madman’s scheme to bring her to her knees, only now there was an additional motive not born of the hell Geoffrey had suffered in that Gettysburg cellar: they had just as much cause for revenge as she did, and they would exact it as they always had—in their own time, at their own pace, like a noose drawn slowly and inexorably around the curve of her throat.

  She smiled suddenly. For all that grim prediction, she thought as she turned back to the house, it was good, wasn’t it, to see the man humbled? First Melissa had thwarted him and now, indirectly, she had also. How galling it must be to his precious, fine ego!

  She ignored the litter of the party scattered around her and hurried up to her room. She paused only once, outside the Vesslers’ door, hearing the faint sounds of an argument inside. For a moment she thought to knock, feign ignorance of the ruckus and bid them both a good night. Not that it would work, she thought as she moved on. Melissa had drunk enough wine tonight for seven men, had nearly thrown herself bodily at every man who had wanted to dance with her; it was small wonder David was angry. Though, by the same token, he wasn’t entirely blameless. She knew how he neglected her, and how she resented both that and Riverrun. Not that she blamed him for the kind of woman Melissa was turning out to be: vindictive, drinking more and more as each day wore on …

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cass,” she muttered as she entered her room. Here she was leaping from one side to the other as if she were a judge in a separation trial. Taking Missy’s part first, then David’s, then Missy’s … the next thing you know, girl, you
’ll be scolding Rachel, for crying out loud.

  And several months later she very nearly did. By late spring, it was evident to everyone that David and his wife were not going to last out the year in each other’s company. Cass did her best to keep them together, giving as much responsibility for the household as she dared to Missy when she was sober, then doing all the work of supervision herself when the wine levels diminished and Melissa took sick to her bed.

  One evening in May they were sitting on the porch listening to the concert of night creatures and wind, when suddenly Melissa threw down her knitting. “That whore,” she said. “That foul-mouthed whore!”

  “Melissa!” Cass said, surprised.

  “Well, it’s true,” she whined, turning in her seat to stare at Cass. “I know how she’s trying to tie Davy up. I can see the looks she gives him, and the way he follows her around all the time. I’m not blind, Cass. And I probably would expect it of him, my bein’ so ill and all, but … but the damned woman’s black, Cassandra. Black as the goddamned dirt.”

  “Melissa, please, I don’t—”

  But Melissa had already gathered her work together and was heading for the door. Nothing would stop her now, and Cass decided it was about time she stopped pretending it would all blow away like smoke in a summer wind. David was behaving badly, and it appeared that Alice was doing very little to discourage him. There had been a few months during the winter when Judah had seemed to have the upper hand, a few months when peace, restless and fragile, had settled over the Vesslers until something she didn’t know what—separated Alice and Judah again, and David once more wore the look she had come to know so well.

  Insane, she thought. It was bad enough that she was losing sleep waiting for Hawkins to make another move; now she had the makings of a full-blown insurrection right in her own household. And this time there was no vacillation; she knew where the blame lay and she knew what had to be done. The trouble was she wasn’t at all sure she had the strength to do it. Alice was too close to her, despite her independence, and to dismiss her … she shook her head and sighed. It was the only practical solution. She could always get another housekeeper, but she could not, these days, count on the local lawyers to give her the advice she needed.