Dueling Hearts

by McDonough, Vickie;

  She kept the pistol in sight, counting the money as Mr. Davies did. He held it out like a man giving away his last dollar. She snatched it before he could change his mind. “Remember, it says in our agreement that you’ll treat my people fairly, feed them well, and not beat them.”

  His thick lips tilted to one side, putting her in mind of a snarling wolf that had been in one too many fights. “They ain’t your people for the time bein’. They belong to me now.”

  Her stomach clenched. Had she made a mistake? What other choice did she have? She’d already sold as much land as she could part with and still have a decent harvest. Fighting back more tears, she walked past each of the six Negroes who had served her so faithfully. “Thank you for your service here. I hope that this will be a temporary situation. Please work as hard for Mr. Davies as you would for me.” She wanted to add so he’ll treat you well, but she feared it wasn’t true.

  The four women in the group sniffled and offered her sympathetic glances before ducking their heads again. The two men didn’t look up. She knew they understood she had no other choice, but they were frightened and filled with uncertainty about their futures.

  Mr. Davies flicked his hand at the man who drove the big buckboard. “Isaac, get them Negroes on up in the back of that there wagon.”

  At Mr. Davies’s harsh command, Carina spun around and hurried toward the house, the money in her hand feeling like thirty pieces of silver. She picked up her pace and jogged up the steps. She ran into the house, slammed the front door, and dashed up the stairs with tears racing down her cheeks. She’d always secretly hoped to set her slaves free one day. Buying, selling, and leasing was for produce and livestock, not people, and yet she was as guilty as the men she despised. Hunger and desperation drove people to do things they wouldn’t normally do.

  In her bedroom, she hid the money in a false bottom drawer in her dressing table then fell on her bed, exhausted and heartbroken. She despised crying, but her tears flowed like a swollen river cresting its banks, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

  Would the day ever come when she had someone to lean on?

  She was so tired of being strong.

  ❧

  A fog parted, and Carina strolled along the banks of the river. She should be working, she was certain, but the peacefulness beckoned her. The water swished and splashed gently against the rocks lining the bank, in tune with the songbirds in the thick greenery above her. Across the river, a huge alligator sunned itself in the warm afternoon. They were massive creatures, those ’gators, with few cares in the world except finding something to eat and avoiding hunters who’d kill them for their hide. Would this one end up a pair of boots on some wealthy planter’s feet?

  She sat on a sun-kissed stone and rested her elbows on her knees, chin in her hand. Here, away from her fader’s glare and verbal rantings, she could be the young woman she dreamed of—one whose only worries were which dress she would wear to the ball next week or in what manner she’d style her hair or which of the young men she wanted to marry.

  “May I have this next dance, miss?” The handsome man’s blue eyes gleamed.

  Carina glanced down, pretending to be shy but inwardly delighted. “Of course you may.” She put her hand in his big, capable one then waltzed around the room. No worries, only her and the man, so tall. . .so comely. A suitor to win her affections?

  No, not a suitor at all. The dancer turned into Johan. Sweet, gentle Johan.

  The music suddenly changed. The soft harmonies fled as a harsh clanging bullied them away.

  Bang! Bang!

  Loud horns replaced the lyrical flute. Drums drowned out the violin.

  No, not drums.

  Pistols.

  The stench of gunpowder instead of the sweet scent of flowers.

  Blood. Johan’s blood.

  Her brother fell, his lifeblood draining from the wound in his belly. Carina screamed.

  “Miz C’rina, wake up. I done knocked on yo’ door, but you didn’t answer. You’s having another one of them dreams.”

  A hand jiggled her shoulder, and Carina opened her eyes. Her room took shape as she blinked away the sleepiness weighing down her eyelids. Sweat dampened her shirtwaist, her hair, and the right side of her face where it had lain against her hand. Her head ached, and her eyes felt as if she’d washed them out with salt water.

  Etta stood over her, concern etching the girl’s black eyes. Her frizzy hair refused to stay hidden under her red scarf, instead sticking out everywhere, giving her a whimsical look that fit her flighty personality.

  Carina’s heart still pounded from reliving that horrid day. Sunlight from the west flooded her room, reminding her it was afternoon, not morning. She had no cause to be in bed this time of day, and realizing that Etta of all people had found her so, irritated her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Oh! Silly me. I done forgot.” Etta straightened and lifted her fingers to her mouth. “Daddy said Abel hurt his leg out in the fields. He done sent Enoch over to the neighbors to see if’n Thomas can come and doctah him.”

  Carina’s heart jolted. She couldn’t lose a worker now that she’d leased out so many. “How bad is it?”

  Etta shrugged and spun around, holding out her skirts and studying her reflection in the mirror. She swung back and forth, as if dancing.

  “Etta!”

  “Oh, uh. . .bad, I s’pose. Enoch, he was ridin’ Comet.”

  It must be serious if Woodson allowed Enoch to take their fastest horse. Carina slid off the side of the bed, glanced at her own reflection, and winced. A large red circle resided where her hand had pressed against her cheek. Her hair wasn’t much better than Etta’s, but what did it matter? No one would see her except her people. “Go find your mama and tell her I said to bring the basket of medicines and bandages to the quarters.”

  “Yes’m.” Etta yawned and strolled out of the room as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Hurry!”

  Etta jumped at Carina’s loud bark and scurried down the hall and around the corner. Carina glanced down at her wrinkled skirt then fled the stuffy room. She could worry about her clothing later. Right now, she had to make sure Abel was all right. If anything happened to the jolly old man, she didn’t know what she’d do. He was about the only person who could tug a smile from her solemn face.

  As she passed by her fader’s room, she slowed her steps and peeked in. The drapes were drawn, per his request, leaving the room hot and dusky. How could he stand it?

  She tiptoed past the open door, glad that he was resting quietly. The way her emotions were today, she didn’t know if she could endure another tongue-lashing from him, and once he learned the drastic step she’d taken today, one was sure to be coming. Maybe she just wouldn’t tell him.

  ❧

  Reed stood on the piazza overlooking the Reed Springs gardens. Scotland had been an experience he wouldn’t have traded for anything, but it wasn’t home, and nothing could compare to walking the halls of a home that had been in his family for generations. The garden had changed little in the three-odd years he’d been gone. Still perfectly manicured, like a beautiful woman dressed in her finery on her way to a ball. An artist’s canvas of colors spread out before him—the vivid green of the grass and the palmettos lining the path to the dock; the blue of the Ashley River reflecting the sky; and the purples, yellows, and pinks of his mother’s favorite flowers and shrubs. He’d be hard-pressed to explain to anyone how good it felt to be home again.

  A knock sounded at his bedroom door; then it opened and his mother peeked in. “I heard you walking about. Are you decent yet?”

  He chuckled. He’d been decent for more than two years now, ever since he met his Savior and dedicated his life to serving God. “Yes, Mother. Come on in.”

  Susan Bishop glided into his room, not looking a day older than when he’d left America. Though forty-four, she was still lovely. Her pecan-colored hair had yielded to gray along her hairline, but her face still
had a rosy glow. Her brown eyes sparkled, revealing her delight at having him home again. She paused and glanced behind her, motioning to someone.

  Penny, a new servant he’d met when he returned home yesterday, shuffled through the door, carrying a tray laden with breakfast foods. Reed hurried over to the table where he’d deposited his doctor’s bag last evening and moved it to his bed. The tray clunked as Penny set it down.

  “We didn’t wait breakfast, since I knew you’d be exhausted from your travels and would most likely sleep late.” His mother turned to the servant. “Thank you, Penny, you may go.”

  Penny curtsied then scurried from the room.

  “I wasn’t sure if you still drank coffee or if you’ve reverted back to the ways of your English ancestors and now drink mostly tea.”

  “Either one is fine, Mother.”

  She swatted her hand through the air. “I declare, what is this Mother bit? I’ve missed being called Mama for the past few years.”

  Reed lifted up one of the silver domes, revealing a bowl of porridge with a circle of melted yellow butter forming a pool in the center. He set the lid back down and peeked at another hidden delight. Two thick slices of ham lay nestled beside an omelet. His mouth watered. “You don’t know how much I missed our fine Southern food, Mother.”

  Her thin brows lifted. “Mother?”

  Reed shrugged and grinned. “Don’t you think Mama is a bit childish for a man of twenty-three?”

  She hiked her chin and straightened to her full five-foot-four height. “I do not, at least when we are home.” She pulled out a chair. “Sit. Eat.”

  “Yes, Mama.” He chuckled. “But only if you’ll join me.”

  She nodded, her delight evident in her soft smile. She poured them both a cup of coffee, adding milk and sugar to hers.

  Reed didn’t know where to start first. A trio of tempting pastries formed a triangle on one plate, but it was the lure of the ham that pulled him the strongest. When was the last time he’d eaten meat and been certain what creature it came from? He loved Scotland and the Scots, but they sure ate some disgusting things.

  “What was that shudder for? Is something not to your liking?” She reached to take away his plate of ham and eggs.

  He grabbed it and lifted it out of her reach, grinning playfully at her. “Ah-ah. I’m not done with that yet, Mama.” When she placed her hands back in her lap, he put his plate back on the table. “That shudder was because I was remembering some of the ‘delicacies’ we were encouraged to eat in Scotland.”

  His mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Such as?”

  “The worst of the lot was haggis.” He couldn’t help shuddering again. The one and only time he ate it, he’d spent the rest of the evening outside, retching. “It’s a nasty-tasting dish of sheep’s innards cooked in a sheep’s stomach, and usually served with neeps and tatties.”

  His mother’s eyes widened. “It all sounds so foreign. Haggis? Neets and tatties?”

  “Neeps.” He paused for a sip of coffee, closing his eyes as he relished its strong flavor. “Mmm. . .delicious.” He took another long sip then bit off a hunk of ham. “Actually, the neeps were tolerable. They’re some kind of mashed yellow turnips, and tatties are simply potatoes.”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose I thought much about the food you were eating. I was more concerned that you were working too hard at your studies and then later in that infirmary. I prayed so hard that you wouldn’t catch some horrid disease.”

  Reed reached over and patted her hand. “You needn’t have worried. The Lord took care of me, even before I served Him.”

  Her broad smile warmed his heart.

  “I can’t tell you how it thrills me to hear you talking about our Lord. For so long I worried that you might not turn out well—and look at you now.” She pulled her hand out from under his and laid it on top, squeezing his. “Are you content with your decision to become a doctor?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I have no regrets.”

  Reed winced the moment the words left his mouth. He did have a regret—one that still haunted his dreams on occasion.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He hung his head, trying to put from his mind that terrible day—the day he killed a man.

  “You’re remembering that duel, aren’t you?”

  He nodded, not all that surprised at his mother’s perception.

  “That was a long time ago, son. Fretting over it won’t change anything. God has forgiven you, and you need to forgive yourself.”

  Glancing up, he didn’t try to hide the pain he felt. “Just how do I do that? I’m a doctor—dedicated to helping people—but I shot my neighbor.”

  “Have you never lost a patient to death?”

  Reed clenched his jaw. “Of course I have. But it’s not the same.” He stood and strode out onto the piazza. Leaning on the railing, he hung his head. He’d lost more patients than he could count. Medicine was a science, not a cure-all.

  “It’s not that much different. You had no malicious desire to inflict harm when you shot Johan Zimmer, did you?”

  He shook his head. “I only sought to restore honor to Father and our family name, which Zimmer slandered in public. I should have just walked away and refused to fight.”

  His mother blew out a heavy sigh. “I don’t condone dueling, by any means, but to have refused when Johan challenged you would have affected your standing in our community. There are plenty who think dueling is a barbaric way to settle people’s differences—me included—but there are many others who’d refuse to do business with Reed Shipping if you’d said no. Things are slowly changing, thankfully. There’s talk of initiating legislation to abolish dueling.”

  “That’s a good thing then.”

  Reed dreaded the day when he’d have to face the Zimmers. Apologizing hardly seemed the proper thing to do given that so much time had passed, and even mentioning the deed was likely to cause hurt. But wouldn’t just seeing him have the same effect on the Zimmers? He’d wrestled over and over with the idea of not returning to Charleston—about traveling out West, where no one knew what he’d done, but how could he do that to his mother after she’d waited so long for his return? He’d just have to face the Zimmers when the time came. “Do we still have the same neighbors?”

  “Yes.” His mother nodded. “Your cousins Seth and Emily Madison still live at Madison Gardens, at least when they’re not in Charleston so he can run Reed Shipping.” She gasped and turned toward him, touching his sleeve. “Did I write to you that Emily is with child? Now that you’re home, you can deliver her baby.”

  Reed pursed his lips and shook his head. Though he wondered about the Madisons—had even received two letters from Seth—his mother had failed to discern the real meaning of his question about their neighbors. “Don’t you think that would be a little awkward? Considering that I’ve known both Seth and Emily most of my life.”

  “Oh, pshaw. You’re a doctor, and I’m sure Em would be thrilled to have an educated man tend her instead of a midwife.”

  He wasn’t so sure, but voicing his opinion wouldn’t change his mother’s.

  “And I guess you want to know—the Zimmers still own Tanglewood, although there is much less of it than when Karl first bought it.”

  “Tanglewood?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I write and tell you that’s what Carina finally named it?”

  He searched his mind but knew she hadn’t. The fact that the German family hadn’t named their estate had been fodder at gatherings for as long as they’d lived here. “No.”

  His mother’s chest rose and fell as she sighed. “It’s a fitting name for the place now. With Karl bedridden and Jo—uh. . .” She glanced up with a worried gaze.

  “It’s all right. You can say his name.”

  “Well, Carina has had her hands full hanging on to the place. I bought some land from her even though we didn’t really need it.”

  Carina. He’d always liked that name, but he’d rarely seen the girl it b
elonged to. Before the ship sank with Karl’s whole harvest aboard, he’d ridden over a time or two with his father. The small, dark-haired girl shied away from visitors, but he’d watched her from the window while their fathers conducted business. She was always herding Johan around. He was only an inch or two shorter than her then, but there was no doubt who ran the roost. A little female chick. Pretty, if his memory served him well.

  “I feel so sorry for her. She never does anything but work. Never attends the balls or social events around here or in Charleston. I don’t believe the poor girl knows how to have fun. Bless her heart.”

  In spite of the heaviness of the topic, Reed smiled. He’d missed hearing his mother’s smooth Southern accent after listening to the hard-to-understand Scottish burr for so long.

  Quick steps thumped down the hallway, stopping at his door. He and his mother turned in unison.

  “Miz Bishop, pardon me, but Enoch from the Zimmers’ is at the door. He say one of them’s workers is hurt and can he fetch Thomas back to tend him?”

  “Of course—”

  “No! I’ll go.”

  Reed’s mother sucked in a breath and grabbed his arm. “See that Enoch has a drink if he’s thirsty, Penny.” When the maid had gone, his mother gave him a stern look.

  “What?” He strode across the room and opened his bag, knowing already that everything was in order.

  “You know that most of the Reeds before us and then us Bishops have never owned slaves, but the Zimmers do. I’m not prejudiced, but many people around here would think less of you for tending to an injured slave. Are you certain you want to walk down that path? It could end your career as a doctor before it even begins.”

  “I pledged to care for any hurting person, no matter the color of his skin.” He snapped the bag shut and reached for his frock coat. He was far less concerned about what people thought about him than he was worried about encountering a member of the Zimmer family. But he couldn’t allow a man to suffer because the situation was awkward for him.