JASMINE SAT waiting in the parlor with her parasol firmly balanced against the deep-cushioned chair, her trunk packed and stationed beside the front door. Everything was in readiness for the future— everything except her heart. She tapped her foot and pulled at the lace edging on her handkerchief until she could no longer sit still.
Jumping to her feet, she began pacing back and forth in front of the carved marble fireplace, her steps short and frantic. ‘‘I pray Bradley has changed his mind. And if he hasn’t, then I pray something has happened to prevent him from making the journey.’’
Grandmother frowned her disapproval. ‘‘You need to resign yourself to this marriage, Jasmine. Bradley is not going to change his mind, and you’ll be much happier once you accept the fact that you are going to be his wife. Gladly I must admit, I’ve seen changes in him over these past months. I honestly believe he has grown to care for you.’’
Jasmine knew her eyes revealed the unremitting resentment that festered in her heart. She saw it there every time she looked in the mirror. ‘‘I care little whether he’s grown to care for me. I don’t love him, and I don’t want to be his wife. We are unsuited. I pray daily Bradley will decide against the marriage.’’
Before Alice could reply, a knock sounded at the front door.
‘‘Perhaps Nolan has come to tell us Bradley was struck down by a runaway carriage and died a quick and painless death,’’ Jasmine said in a sardonic manner. She hated her own cynicism but felt there was no reason to change it. It wouldn’t win her freedom from this farce of a marriage.
‘‘Jasmine Wainwright! What shameful things you are saying.
You need to ask God’s forgiveness for having such thoughts about your future husband.’’
‘‘Did I hear someone mention a future husband?’’ Bradley asked as he took long strides into the parlor.
Grandmother quickly interceded. ‘‘Jasmine had just mentioned that you were in her prayers each day.’’
‘‘Surely you know I don’t put much stock in prayer—hard work and determination benefit a man more.’’
Jasmine looked at her grandmother with her eyebrows arched.
The older woman immediately turned away, obviously unwilling to acknowledge what Jasmine already knew: Bradley Houston placed his faith in himself—not in God.
‘‘I’ve had your man load the trunks, and we should be on our way,’’ Nolan called out from the foyer. ‘‘If we don’t hurry, the train will leave for Boston and we’ll miss our voyage.’’ He came into the room and immediately went to Jasmine’s grandmother. ‘‘May I escort you to the carriage?’’
‘‘Certainly.’’ She took up a wool cloak and Nolan quickly moved to help her don it. ‘‘There’s a chill in the air,’’ she said as if explaining her actions as they walked out of the room.
‘‘There certainly is a chill,’’ Bradley said dryly as Jasmine moved to take up her own cloak and parasol. ‘‘I do hope you will warm to the idea of this trip and of the celebration to come,’’ he continued as Jasmine swung the voluminous cloak around her shoulders. ‘‘Surely you are anxious to see your family.’’
‘‘Being reunited with my family and Mammy are of utmost importance to me. If my future included plans to remain with them, you would hear pure delight in my voice.’’ She walked from the room, not even bothering to look back.
Bradley lengthened his stride and came alongside her as they approached the carriage. He leaned down close to her ear. ‘‘Perhaps if you could show more enthusiasm toward our marriage, I would be willing to make arrangements for Mammy’s return with us.’’
So that’s how Bradley viewed their future marriage, Jasmine realized—as a bartering system. If she behaved in a fashion he found acceptable, he would reward her efforts. There was little doubt he planned to train her like a pet. Be good, follow orders, and you’ll get the scraps from the table. She didn’t reply. After all, she didn’t need Bradley Houston making arrangements for Mammy’s future . . . or anything else, for that matter.
The carriage came to a halt on Merrimack Street, where the four passengers disembarked. Nolan took charge of their trunks and baggage while Bradley escorted Alice and Jasmine into the train station. Excitement filled the air. Passengers scurried about, anxious to ensure their tickets and baggage were in proper order; small children clung to their mothers’ skirts, obviously frightened by the huge iron monster billowing and puffing like a giant demon; and the remainder sat waiting, their anticipation reaching new heights when the conductor finally called for them to board.
The four of them were alone in the finely appointed coach belonging to the Boston Associates. Jasmine sat down near the center of one of the supple leather-cushioned seats. Her hope had been to sit alone, but Bradley immediately wedged himself into the narrow space beside her. She scooted close to the window and turned her attention away from him. The train jerked and hissed into motion, and Jasmine leaned back and stared at the passing countryside, contemplating her future with this man sitting next to her.
After several curt responses, she was relieved when Bradley finally turned his attention to her grandmother and Nolan. The three of them conversed continually until they arrived in Boston an hour later. Jasmine longed to shout she would go no farther until she was released from this contemptuous engagement.
Instead, she boarded the private carriage awaiting them at the station and rode in silence to the docks, where Captain Harmon greeted them. The jovial bewhiskered captain personally escorted the entourage onboard the Mary Benjamin, one of the few vessels remaining in Bradley’s trimmed-down shipping business. The captain’s dutiful attention left little doubt he understood the primary reason for sailing down the coast to New Orleans. The important cargo on this ship was his four passengers, not the partial shipment of goods loaded on board earlier in the day.
‘‘I believe I’d like to retire to my cabin,’’ Jasmine said.
Bradley offered his arm but instead of leading her to the cabin, held tightly to her hand and moved toward the ship’s railing. ‘‘I think we should remain at the rail. It’s always exhilarating to watch as a ship sets sail. Rather romantic—slowly moving away from land on the rising waves, watching the city finally grow dim on the horizon.’’
Jasmine knew he was toying with her, attempting to play the role of a besotted lover. Had it been anyone but Bradley, she would have found the effort amusing. But everything he did served only to annoy her. If it meant she must stand arm in arm with Bradley, she didn’t want to watch Boston disappear from sight. In fact, she didn’t want to be in Bradley’s company at all. Hurling herself into the depths of the sea seemed a much more appealing alternative.
Alice Wainwright came alongside her granddaughter and patted Jasmine’s shoulder. ‘‘Jasmine didn’t sleep well last night, Bradley. I fear she may become ill if she doesn’t get her proper rest.
Perhaps if she could lie down and take a short nap, the voyage would go more smoothly.’’
‘‘I don’t see how remaining on deck for an hour is going to cause her enough distress to ruin the remainder of our voyage. I can bring a chair for her.’’
‘‘Sitting in a chair isn’t the same as actually resting. Jasmine is prone to excruciating headaches when she doesn’t sleep well.’’
Jasmine stood sandwiched between the two of them, listening while they discussed her until she could abide no more. She pulled away from Bradley. ‘‘Why don’t you two remain at the rail and watch the city ‘grow dim on the horizon’ as Bradley suggested? I, on the other hand, will go to my cabin and rest.’’ She hurried off across the deck, motioning to a deckhand who had carried their trunks on board. ‘‘Take me to the cabin where you placed the large black trunk with engraved hasps.’’
She expected to hear Bradley’s footsteps and feel his fingers clutch her arm. Instead, he let her escape to the safety of her cabin, where she bolted the door and fell upon the bed. Her tears flowed freely. How could she possibly survive a loveless marri
age? There must be a way to convince her father this plan was doomed for failure.
Surely Papa will listen to reason. He loves me and wouldn’t want me unhappy. If I simply tell him the truth, then things could be different, she reasoned. For the first time Jasmine gathered hope from her thoughts. She sat up and dried her eyes.
‘‘I haven’t told Papa of my feelings. We haven’t discussed the marriage,’’ she murmured. ‘‘He has always spoiled me. . . . Perhaps I can convince him to give me my way just one more time.’’
The thought intrigued her. If her father understood the misery she felt, he might very well relent and break his agreement with Bradley. After all, surely her father would rather see his only daughter happy than expand the family fortune.
Wouldn’t he?
‘‘I just need you to keep Bradley occupied while I speak to my father,’’ Jasmine told Nolan. ‘‘If you can draw Bradley’s interest long enough for me to talk in private, perhaps I can convince my father to reconsider this entire situation.’’
Nolan seemed less than convinced. He rubbed his chin and looked past Jasmine. She turned and followed his gaze to where Bradley reprimanded the stevedores who were handling their luggage. ‘‘I suppose I could seek a delay by suggesting the need to stop by the bank. That would keep us here overnight, but Bradley would never allow you to journey to The Willows by yourself.’’
Jasmine returned her gaze to Nolan. ‘‘Leave that to me. You suggest the delay to Bradley, and I’ll speak to my grandmother.
Perhaps I can convince her to request a delay as well. She could explain how much the trip has tired her and that she’d like to rest before we continue to The Willows.’’
‘‘That would seem very reasonable. It’s a good day’s journey from this point to the plantation,’’ Nolan said thoughtfully. ‘‘Bradley surely can’t protest an older woman’s request for rest, while he might very well deny the delay for something as insignificant as bank business.’’
‘‘I’ll speak to my grandmother,’’ Jasmine told him. ‘‘Can you manage to keep Bradley away from us for a few minutes?’’
Nolan nodded solemnly. ‘‘I’ll do what I can. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’’
Jasmine drew a deep breath. ‘‘I hope so too.’’
She went quickly to her grandmother as Nolan ambled down the dock. ‘‘Grandmother,’’ Jasmine said, rather breathlessly, ‘‘we need to talk.’’
Alice Wainwright looked up from where she sat patiently waiting for the next portion of their journey.
‘‘Whatever is wrong?’’
Jasmine sat down. ‘‘I need to talk to Papa without Bradley anywhere around. I’ve had an idea, and I need your help.’’
Her grandmother raised her brows. ‘‘What are you saying?’’
‘‘I’d like you to ask Bradley to delay our trip to The Willows.
Just ask him to allow us to spend the night here—tell him the journey has taxed you overmuch.’’
‘‘Well, that would be no lie,’’ Alice Wainwright admitted.
‘‘But, Jasmine, I don’t know what you hope to gain with this delay.’’
Jasmine squared her shoulders. ‘‘I’d rather not divulge my plan, otherwise you might face Bradley’s wrath. The less you know, the better.’’
‘‘This isn’t like you,’’ Jasmine’s grandmother stated in a worried tone.
‘‘I’m afraid,’’ Jasmine said, feeling somewhat strengthened by her own revelation, ‘‘that I’m not the same girl I used to be.’’ She patted her grandmother’s hand. ‘‘Truly, this is very important. I hope it might even mean changing Papa’s mind regarding the wedding.’’
‘‘I cannot do something that would place you in harm’s way.’’
‘‘I won’t be in harm’s way. This is where I grew up. I know most everyone here in Lorman and in the surrounding countryside. You mustn’t worry. I’ll be as safe here as in Mammy’s arms. Just trust me on this—please.’’
It took some convincing, but Bradley finally relented and the foursome checked into the nearest hotel. Jasmine and her grandmother pleaded to be left to rest for the remainder of the day, while Nolan suggested that Bradley could use the time to speak to other cotton growers in the area.
Jasmine waited until her grandmother went into the adjoining room for an afternoon nap before hastily exchanging her traveling suit for a riding habit. She would borrow a horse from the Bor-dens. Dr. Borden was a good friend of the family and had tended most every Wainwright member for one illness or another. He and his wife were also much more liberal in their beliefs than some of their Southern contemporaries. They wouldn’t think anything amiss or in the leastwise troubling when Jasmine made her request known.
Jasmine knew she would have to hurry if she were to make it home before dark, however. Her father would not be at all sympathetic to her cause if he thought she’d risked her well-being by traveling in the darkness—unescorted. He won’t approve of this, she knew in her heart. But on the other hand, once he saw what she was willing to do in order to plead her case, Jasmine felt confident her father would at least delay the wedding, if not cancel it altogether.
Dr. Borden was gone on rounds when Jasmine arrived at the house, but his wife, Virginia, was more than happy to accommodate her.
‘‘You will hurry back for a long visit, won’t you?’’ Virginia questioned as the groomsman came forward with a fast-looking bay.
Jasmine touched the horse’s dark mane, stroking him gently as a means of introduction. ‘‘I will do my best to see that we have a nice long talk very soon.’’ Jasmine allowed the groom to help her into the sidesaddle. ‘‘Thank you again for the loan,’’ she said. Then without further ceremony, she yanked the reins to the right and quickly headed out.
Her biggest fear was the possibility of running into Bradley as he moved among the folk of Lorman seeking yet someone else to devour. Jasmine thought momentarily that perhaps it wasn’t fair to equate her fiancé with the devil, but it didn’t overly bother her conscience.
The road home was in good condition, much to Jasmine’s relief. The old sights and sounds of her beloved Southern home reached out to embrace her, welcoming her back to that which she loved. Urging the horse to a canter, Jasmine passed from town into the rural areas, where cotton fields were dotted with dark-skinned workers. She slowed the horse momentarily and watched with interest as she remembered the words of the abolitionist speakers back in Lowell. She saw no signs of rough treatment, no proof that these slaves were unhappy or ill-treated.
Picking up her pace again, Jasmine smiled to herself. Surely the things spoken of in Lowell were extreme circumstances and not the normal events of Southern life.
The hours passed as Jasmine urged the horse to his limits. The sun had long since set and the skies were pitch black when Jasmine rounded the final bend for home. Her skin tingled from the exertion of the ride, as well as the overwhelming knowledge that her father would be greatly displeased with her actions. Still, she had seen no other recourse. She had to be allowed to speak her mind and explain her feelings on the matter.
A groomsman approached as Jasmine brought the bay to a stop at the porch stairs. ‘‘Miz Jasmine?’’ the man asked in disbelief. ‘‘Is dat you?’’
‘‘It is indeed,’’ she replied, happy to be home at last. ‘‘I need to speak to my father. Is he here?’’
‘‘Shore ’nuf. He was over to Master Franks, but he comed home nearly half an hour back.’’
Jasmine smoothed her dirty habit and bounded up the steps in an unladylike fashion. She didn’t bother to knock but rather pushed back the ornate oak door and stepped into the sanctuary that had been her home for eighteen years.
‘‘Hello?’’ she called out as she moved through the foyer and into the front sitting room. The room was empty. Jasmine sighed.
She knew in her heart that she’d most likely find her father in his study, but she had hoped that she might encounter him first in the prese
nce of others. That way, she presumed, the shock would be less and his anger would abate more quickly.
Giving up on that hope, however, she made her way to her father’s office and took a deep breath before knocking loudly on the door.
‘‘Come in.’’
Jasmine opened the door and peeked in. ‘‘Hello, Papa.’’
‘‘Jasmine!’’ Her father got to his feet from behind his austere mahogany desk. ‘‘I didn’t realize you were arriving tonight. We’d had no word and had intended to send someone to check on you tomorrow.’’ He came forward and embraced her.
Jasmine enjoyed the moment, knowing that once her father learned the truth there’d be no pleasantries. ‘‘I missed you so much. I just couldn’t wait another moment.’’ She pulled away and eyed her father seriously. With any luck at all, she’d get their conversation started before he realized the situation for what it was.
‘‘We must talk, Papa. I’m not at all happy about this marriage.’’
He looked at her oddly. ‘‘But Bradley assured me . . . well . . . that is to say, he implied you were content with the arrangement.’’
‘‘But I am not. I do not love Bradley Houston. I have no intention of ever loving him. Please reconsider this marriage, Papa.
I am most desperate to be freed from this responsibility.’’
Her father backed away as if she’d struck him. ‘‘I’m afraid I don’t know what to say.’’
Jasmine nodded and tried her best to sound sympathetic. ‘‘I know arrangements have been made and that people are counting on those arrangements. But, Papa, I long to marry for love—not because it suits the family business. Would you deny your only daughter this one request?’’
‘‘Have you discussed this with Bradley?’’
Jasmine wondered how best to answer. ‘‘He knows of my feelings, if that’s what you’re asking. But, Papa, I’d rather all of this conversation stay between you and me. I would rather not worry Mama, and I certainly don’t wish to anger my brothers or bring any further shame down on the family. I wanted to write you and discuss the matter sooner, but then before I realized what was happening, we were on our way back here. That’s why I had to come to you alone—why I had to talk to you before Bradley or Grandmother or anyone else.’’
Tracie Peterson & Judith Miller - [Lights of Lowell 01] Page 13
