Lilly tilted her head. “I don’t know what?”
Mrs. Smith shooed a fly that dared to land upon her black silk. “Violet is coming with us. That is the reason we’ve come.”
Miss Wesson poked out her lower lip. “You mean you didn’t come just to visit me?”
Mrs. Smith cast a glance to the heavens. “Goodness, Bulla, you sound like a petulant child.”
Miss Wesson pursed her lips and tossed a silver-streaked curl over her shoulder.
“Yes, I did come to see you, as you know I love to do. But you also sent word to have me come meet Violet, so that was another reason to stop by. Or don’t you remember?”
Violet seemed as surprised by this as Lilly, but she said nothing. She was likely used to others deciding her fate.
Mrs. Smith turned to the girl. “What do you think, dear? Would you be interested in coming to New York with Lilly and me? You will receive a wage just as Lilly does.”
The girl turned wide eyes on Mrs. Smith. “I’s gonna get to be like Miss Lilly?”
“I’m going to get to be like Miss Lilly,” Mrs. Smith corrected. Violet stared at her. “Come now, say it properly.”
“I’m going to get to be likes Miss Lilly?” she squeaked out.
“Ah, well, that’s progress, at least.” Mrs. Smith took a sip and set the cup aside. “Yes, you will learn from Lilly all the things you need to know about how to run a house.”
Lilly smiled at the girl, and Violet’s face lit up.
“Yes, that way you’ll have someone to help you when Lilly goes,” Miss Wesson chirped.
Lilly’s heart felt as though it dropped to her slippers. “Go?”
Mrs. Smith cut a scathing look at Miss Wesson, who seemed not to notice. “Well, at the time, I thought perhaps you would be starting a life of your own…” She trailed off, pain evident in her eyes.
Lilly bit her lip. Violet was to have been her replacement, had she wed George. Pain swelled in her chest.
“Are you leaving, Miss Lilly?” Violet asked, the shimmer in her eyes prodding Lilly’s tender heart.
“Oh, no, don’t you worry. I’ll be right there teaching you all about how to put up with Mrs. Smith correcting your words and stuffing you into stays and silks.” She forced a laugh she didn’t feel and was rewarded with the look of excitement on Violet’s face.
Then the girl’s face fell. “But, I’s just a house slave. Ain’t no house slave wearing silks.”
“Ha! There are no slaves in my house. I will teach you to be a lady,” Mrs. Smith interrupted. “Just as I taught Lilly.”
A lot of good it did.
The mean thought stabbed through her like a dagger, and Lilly wondered at the bitterness.
Please, Lord, help me forget. I don’t want to love him.
But love him she did. A plantation master, the last man she ever wanted to be near, had stolen her heart. He’d torn down all her notions of who he was supposed to be and had made her hope for a life she would have never dreamed she’d want. And, oh, how she’d loved him for it.
Right up until the moment when all her fears had proven true and the color of her skin became more important to him than anything else. All along, he’d been no different. He was just another master who looked at her as something less than a person. All her life she’d been seen that way, yet it had never devastated her as it had when that same prejudice cut through the adoration in his eyes and stabbed her with his loathing.
“Don’t worry, sweet Lilly. That George will open his eyes. He seemed a fine fellow.” Miss Wesson giggled. “And a right handsome one.”
Frankie paused from where he’d been plucking grass from the dirt and beamed up at Lilly. “Orge? Where Orge?”
Lilly swallowed. “Mr. George is not here, dear. Miss Wesson only spoke his name.”
Frankie tilted his head. “When Orge come?”
She fought past the constriction in her throat. “He’s not, baby.”
“Like Orge.” Frankie grinned. “Ride.” He plopped back down on the ground and resumed sticking his pudgy fingers into the dirt.
Lilly lifted a hand to her heart, as though that could stop the fierce ache inside. Forcing back tears that threatened to spill, she stood and looked at the other women. “I’m not feeling well. Would it be all right for me to take a rest before evening meal?”
Mrs. Smith offered a sympathetic smile. “Of course, my dear. I’ll keep an eye on the baby. You go rest.”
Unraveling too quickly to protest that Frankie should stay with her, Lilly gave a grateful nod and escaped to the house where she could nurse her tattered heart in private.
“News has just been brought to me that President Davis has been captured. If that be true, all our plans and dangerous risks have been in vain.”
John Surratt.
Rosswood Plantation
May 24, 1865
Home. Annabelle’s heart galloped as the hired coach passed familiar landscape only a mile or so out from her beloved Rosswood. The horses’ hooves pounded out a steady trot, and the rocks and mud that clung to the coach’s wheels periodically slung up and struck the side of the carriage to splatter the vehicle with Mississippi clay. Annabelle drew a deep breath of the earthy air, ripe with the scents of damp ground fresh from a cleansing rain shower.
Beside her, Peggy fiddled with the folds of her sage gown. Annabelle wondered if she’d chosen the plain cotton print as opposed to any of the others because of the looks of distain she’d endured during their brief stops on their way through Mississippi. Oh, how it would be nice to return to the safety of Rosswood, where she and Matthew and Peggy could live out their days in peace, forgetting the world outside their lands.
Fear churned in her gut. What if Uncle’s papers from the family solicitor were not enough to oust Andrew? She glanced at the two men bouncing across from her in the carriage and dismissed the thought. She had two capable men at her side, and another who would fight to see her lands restored to her.
Wouldn’t he?
Oh, Lord. Please, help my Matthew.
The plea rolled through her mind for the thousandth time as the carriage made the final turn into the drive to Rosswood. Unable to contain herself, Annabelle poked her head out of the carriage window and ignored Peggy’s startled yelp.
There! She still stood!
Ahead, Rosswood’s crippled lands gave way to the stately house on the hill, her white columns and welcoming porches waiting to greet Annabelle with comforting arms. Annabelle drew a deep breath and let hope swim through her in a warm current. She’d been afraid that they would return here only to find her home nothing more than a few leaning columns and blistered chimneys like so many they had already passed.
Peggy tugged on her arm, and Annabelle reluctantly pulled her head back inside but could not tear her gaze away from the roll of the land that had once sprouted thick crops. They passed her little cemetery with her crudely shaped markers, and heaviness tempered her joy. So much loss, so much pain. Would this nation ever recover from the wounds they had wrought with their own hands?
The carriage came to a stop, and it took every ounce of Annabelle’s self-control to remain seated until the coachman came to open the door. She hurried out of the carriage, barely placing her hand atop the coachman’s for the briefest instant.
Once free of her confines, Annabelle paused and looked up at her home, emotions swirling within her. She’d feared she may never see Rosswood’s mighty beauty again.
“Harrumph. This place looks as though it’s been left to gypsies.”
Annabelle whirled around to see Uncle peering up at Rosswood with a frown. A retort lodged in her throat. Before she could pluck it free and sling it at her Uncle, Peggy grabbed her arm, pulling her to the side as the men finished with the coachman.
The women exchanged a glance, all that needed to be said contained within. She needed some love, yes, but Rosswood was still here. And that was all that mattered.
A snap of reins and crunch of wheels
, and the carriage rolled away, their luggage sitting on the brick walk just inside the garden wall.
Uncle Michael shooed Peggy away and took Annabelle’s hand, placing it on his arm and patting her fingers. “My poor little Anna. It must have been a burden on you to have been here all alone.” His nostrils flared. “Alone with that cur, anyway.” He acted as though he would spit, but then remembered himself and sniffed instead. “Worthless fool.”
Annabelle felt her cheeks color but said nothing. Uncle may notice Rosswood’s chipping paint, crumbling stairs, and overgrown yard, but Annabelle saw only home. She had not minded staying here, even if it had been ripe with difficulties. Rosswood remained a sweet haven that could be restored, and it was a place where her hopes for a new future would soon begin.
They climbed the front steps, Peggy and an ever-pensive George on their heels. The tall grass swayed with a gentle breeze, and leaves and other debris clung to the corners of the front door and across the porch.
Annabelle’s chest swelled with a breath of honeysuckle air. Perhaps Andrew had moved on once Uncle had threatened him with the legal papers. With him gone, there would be no reason for them to quarrel, and her time of peace could begin all the sooner.
Those thoughts were slashed, however, when the front door swung open with a creak of ungreased hinges. In one quick movement, Uncle thrust Annabelle behind him, causing her to stumble. She had to snatch her skirt out from under her feet to keep from falling.
“Hold it!” someone shouted.
Gaining her balance, Annabelle poked her head out from behind Uncle’s shoulder to see a tall man with a hawkish nose, thinning hair, and hard eyes glaring down at them over the top of a partially rusted rifle. “Not another step, Ross.”
Her heart trembled. Andrew.
As though thinking his name drew his attention, Andrew’s gaze narrowed in on her and he lowered the gun, flinging his arms wide. “Well! My bride has finally returned to me!”
Disgust rolled through her at the predatory look in his gaze, and she trembled behind Uncle. A flash of black broadcloth swept past her vision and George stepped up onto the porch. Startled, Andrew swung his weapon back up and leveled it on George.
“Easy, there, sir. No need for that,” George said, raising his hands. “We are family, here.”
Andrew grunted. “Who are you?”
George made a small mocking bow that made Annabelle cringe. What made George act so foolish?
“Why, I am George Daniels, Master of Westerly, and brother to your niece’s betrothed.”
Andrew sneered. “I am her betrothed. It was agreed upon months ago.”
Bolstering her courage, Annabelle stepped out from behind Uncle. “I agreed to no such thing!”
Andrew’s features tightened, but he flipped a nonchalant hand. “No matter.” His gaze roamed over her. “Though I must say I will regret not getting to enjoy you as wife, you’re no longer needed.”
Uncle Michael stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
Andrew grinned. “Well, see, Belle Andrews Plantation belongs to me now, by way of Union law.”
Annabelle sputtered. “Belle Andrews?”
He winked at her. “It was a surprise, you see, renaming it after me and you. Was supposed to be a wedding gift.” He let the muzzle drift toward the ground again.
Uncle Michael snatched papers from his coat pocket. “I don’t care what you plan on calling it, this land belongs to me. I have the papers from my brother’s lawyer. It’s all here in the will!” With each word Uncle pounded the folded papers into his palm for emphasis.
Andrew just shrugged. “That means nothing now. This here place is crawling with Blues. They wanted to take it, you see, but when Pa told them that we were the remaining family, and not some squatters—they got that fool notion from some loose lips in town—they said it belonged to us.”
Guilty for having forgotten him, Annabelle tried to smooth ruffled feathers. “Does Grandfather fair well?”
Andrew spat on Annabelle’s porch, and she felt her hands tighten at her side. “Don’t pretend you care, girl. Was you that brought the death of him.”
She moved to take a step toward him, but Peggy clamped down on her arm.
Andrew swung the gun back up at them. “So now that that’s all settled up, how about you people get off my land.”
Uncle Michael reddened. “Why you….”
Before he could finish his sentence, George’s fist came out of the side of Annabelle’s vision, catching Andrew right across the jaw. He crumpled to the ground, the gun tumbling to his feet. Stunned, for a breath no one moved. Then, all at once they hurried forward as George rubbed his knuckles. “I was getting tired of his mouth.”
Uncle Michael smirked. “Nice swing, Daniels.”
The other man grinned, and they reached for the limp intruder on the porch. Uncle looked up at the women. “Hurry, now, find something to bind him.”
Annabelle scrambled into the house and to the dining room, only to find it empty. She stopped, her hand fluttering to her heart. Where was Father’s table?
Peggy pushed past her. “Come on. I had me some rope in the kitchen.”
Annabelle swallowed the lump in her throat and scurried after her, passing down the empty hall and out onto the rear steps. What had happened to the last of their furniture?
Peggy flung open the door to the kitchen, and a foul smell smacked Annabelle in the face. She lifted her fingers to shield her nose from the intrusion, but bits of it seeped around her defense. “Ugh! What is that?”
Peggy grumbled something from inside, and hurried back out with a length of course rope. “Ain’t nothing left in there but two of my pots and a rotting rabbit carcass!”
Annabelle cringed and followed Peggy back through the house, finding the men right where they had left them on the porch. She clutched at the fabric at her waist. Oh, heavens. Rosswood stood, but it was as bare as a poorhouse cupboard.
Uncle took the rope from Peggy and bound Andrew’s feet and wrists, then with George’s help propped him against the side of the house. They stood there for a few moments, staring at him.
Annabelle rubbed her temples. “Now what do we do?”
The two men looked at each other. George opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Uncle Michael puffed out his chest and held up a hand.
Annabelle put her hands on her hips, silencing the argument before it began. “Now is not the time for posturing like peacocks!”
George’s mouth unhinged, and Uncle gaped at her.
Annabelle straightened her shoulders and pointed a finger at them. “Now, I am tired and have been run out of my home for too long. My father’s will states that Rosswood belongs to me, and I want to know what you are going to do about this…unwelcomed guest.”
Uncle began to protest, but she silenced him with a wag of her finger. “It will be under Uncle’s name, but only until Matthew and I wed, at which point it reverts to us. That was my father’s wishes, and that is what is going to happen!”
Both men gaped at her. George scratched at his chin and gave a nod. “Indeed. That’s all I’ve come here to do.”
Uncle Michael sniffed and straightened his cravat. “Well, we can settle the details of my niece’s betrothal later. For now, we need to contact the Yanks and show them this paperwork.”
George grunted. “What for? Just toss this lout off at the end of the road and don’t let him come back.”
Though Annabelle wanted to agree with him, she knew that would only be a temporary solution. She shook her head. “No, Uncle is correct. He and I should go to Lorman and speak to someone. You stay here with Andrew and make sure Rosswood is safe.”
George glanced at Andrew and dipped his chin. “Certainly, Miss Ross. I am at your disposal.”
Uncle Michael took her arm. “It is settled then.” He smiled down warmly at her. “Everything will be fine, dear. You’ll see. Don’t fret your little head over it.”
Too tired t
o be annoyed at his patronizing words, she offered him a tight smile. “I’ll be at better peace once this is all settled.”
Uncle flipped out his pocket watch and checked the time. “It’s much too late in the day to make the trip now, I’m afraid, without the coachman.”
Annabelle bit her lip. She hadn’t thought of that. If there wasn’t any furniture in the house, then likely there wouldn’t be a wagon, either. And she’d lost poor old homer months ago.
“So we stay the night here and take on the Union first thing in the morning,” George said.
The others agreed, and after a few moments they had Andrew locked away, still bound, in the dining room. After sharing a few slices of bread with smeared jam, they began offering words of good eve. Exhausted, Annabelle ran her hand along the smooth banister and ascended the steps to the upper floor, finding her room at the end of the hall.
Peggy lumbered up behind her, Father’s carpet bag in tow. “Lawd, but it’s good to be back home!”
Annabelle smiled and stepped into her room, noting with elation that her canopy bed still remained, even though it had been stripped of its feathered mattress.
Peggy huffed. “Why, someone done gone and run off with the bedding!”
Annabelle lifted her shoulders, gliding her fingers over the deep mahogany wood. “At least Rosswood still stands. And look, I still have my bed.”
Peggy patted her shoulder. “Uh-huh, that’s right.” She dropped the bag on the bare floor. “I’s going to go look and see what’s left of my chamber.”
“Very well. If you find anything, bring it back up here and put it in the rose room.”
Peggy paused in the doorway and turned back to look at Annabelle. “What you mean?”
Annabelle tugged pins from her hair. “Certainly you don’t think you’re staying down there. The rose room belongs to you now, and anyone who thinks to say differently can deal with me.”
Peggy’s face broke into a wide smile, and she hurried off without another word. Annabelle let her hair tumble down her back and then flung open her window, gazing at the brown fields out to the side of the house.
The Liberator Series Box Set: Christian Historical Civil War Novels Page 81
