Blood Moon (The Mercy Carver Series Book 2)

by Jana Petken

  He sat beneath a tree and sighed with dark thoughts. He had wondered of late about the validity of his enlistment. What was the point, he thought, of being miles from home when home and everything it stood for was on the brink of destruction? Here he was, in a place where days rolled into one another, with sleep in between them the only activity to separate the mind-dulling hours of drilling, target shooting, cleaning weapons, and sitting under a tree’s leafy branches. There were cannons, heavy artillery, horses, supplies, wagons, and more men than Yorktown knew what to do with, yet he couldn’t help but think that the Confederate cause was nothing more than a basis to mourn the South’s glorious past.

  Every decision he had made had been for the good of Stone Plantation and his Southern way of life. But if home no longer existed, what the hell was he fighting for? He pictured in his mind’s eye a crumbling house, overgrown grassy lawns, fields brown with rotting soil, and cotton plants shrivelling up and dying where they once stood proudly in the sunlight. The war had not yet begun, but he was already seeing ruination in his mind’s eye.

  “Jacob, there’s somethin’ George and I want to say to you,” Nathan Coulter said curtly, rousing Jacob from his bleak thoughts. Nathan looked down at Jacob, blocking the sun and displaying his usual disapproving expression. “It’s about Elizabeth. Do you have a minute?”

  Jacob laughed to himself. That was a damn stupid question, he thought. Time was the only thing he had in abundance. “I have a minute. What’s on your mind, Nathan? These conversations with you about your sister are becoming tiresome, and I’m in no mood to listen to you today.”

  “Well, that might be so, but as much as you want to forget your maltreatment of her, she will always be my sister. I will always look out for her,” Nathan answered with thinly veiled contempt.

  “George and I were talking about your trip to Richmond tomorrow, and while we have no desire to go to the ball with the general, we would have liked to have seen Elizabeth. We’ve written lengthy letters to her, asking that she return to our ma and pa. I’m hoping there’s still a thread of decency left in you and that you will see her tomorrow on our behalf.”

  “We would appreciate it, Jacob,” George said with a friendliness that was in sharp contrast to his brother’s surly words. “I don’t believe she should be with that Mallory woman. I know you don’t say much, but I reckon you don’t approve of her either.”

  Jacob nodded. “I reckon you’re right, George. I don’t approve. I tried to warn Elizabeth not to go with Margaret Mallory. I asked her not to believe the poisonous lies coming out of that woman’s filthy mouth, but I’m afraid Elizabeth didn’t listen to me then, and I don’t believe she’ll listen to me now.”

  “Will you take these letters and at least try to persuade Elizabeth to go home?” George said hopefully.

  “George, Jacob will do whatever is best for him,” Nathan said. “He proved to all of us that he doesn’t give a damn about our sister.”

  “If you want to talk, you talk directly to me, Nathan,” Jacob said tersely. He was tired of Nathan’s goading. The man was a hypocrite, Jacob thought, giving Nathan a cold stare. Nathan didn’t give a damn about Elizabeth. He was angry because his parents didn’t receive the settlement that Nathan advised they ask for.

  Jacob flicked his eyes back to George and nodded. “I’ll see to the letters, George. I have no intention of disrespecting Elizabeth. I plan to visit her the moment I arrive in Richmond, but as I said, I can’t promise she’ll listen to me …”

  “And why should she listen to anything that comes out of your mouth?” Nathan interrupted.

  “Indeed, Nathan, why should she? So if you don’t think she’ll entertain me, why are you intent on my going to her?”

  “I reckon I want you to feel the shame you deserve. I’m hoping she’s at the ball you’re going to so that your ass is disgraced in front of the general. That’s what I’d like to see.”

  “Are we done here?” Jacob asked. He stared at Nathan, willing him to say another word. He would like nothing more than to smack that arrogant, self-serving smirk off Coulter’s face.

  “We’re done.” Nathan threw two sealed envelopes at Jacob’s feet and turned to walk away.

  “Good – but before you walk away, I have something to say to you,” Jacob said in a raised voice.

  “What’s that?” Nathan asked. He swung round and gave Jacob an impatient toss of his head.

  “Well, for starters, I’ve come to think that maybe you have a problem serving under me. If I’m right, tell me right now and I’ll get transfer papers whipped up for you – maybe you’d prefer to walk some more in the infantry division, ’cause I sure as hell don’t have time for your temperamental outbursts every five minutes here in the cavalry.”

  “No, it ain’t gonna be a problem,” Nathan mumbled.

  “What ain’t goin’ to be a problem?” Jacob asked.

  “What you said – serving with you.”

  “That’s good, ’cause there’s going to be some changes around here. From now on, you address me as captain or sir. You don’t need to like me, but you will give my rank the respect it deserves. I reckon that’s fair, but if you don’t, we can have it out right here, right now. No rank involved, just two men beating the crap out of each other. Then you can get your ass to another militia.” Jacob stared at him again. He wouldn’t have another conversation like this with Nathan. He was sick and tired of wondering if the Coulter boy was going to stick a knife in his back. “So what do you say?”

  “Like I said – I don’t have a problem serving with you.”

  “Then you’re dismissed, after you pick up those letters and make sure you clean the dirt off them before you put them in my hands.”

  Nathan bent down, picked up the envelopes, and stood for a second with them in his hand. He stared at the ground. Then he wiped both envelopes against his trouser leg and handed them to Jacob. He gave a derisive smile and said, “Sir, as ordered.”

  “Very good – then I guess I’ll see you when I get back from Richmond. Dismissed, Corporate Coulter.”

  Jacob lay on his bunk half dressed, his hat pulled down over his face to block out the sun’s rays streaming through the open windows. What he wouldn’t do to feel Mercy’s arms around his neck, he thought. The little minx had not replied to his last two letters. Her childlike writing and funny stories were a constant form of amusement to him. He could read her letters a hundred times and laugh at her words repeatedly. Every time he read her words, an overwhelming desire for her grew. He wondered where she was right now. What mischief was she getting into? Being separated from her was a constant worry. Never had he met such a wild, obstinate woman. She would drive him crazy one of these days with her shenanigans, he thought, smiling to himself.

  Thank God he’d been given permission to visit Norfolk after the ball. He would have three days to convince Mercy to uproot herself again and join him in Yorktown. There were plenty of women here, and wives often came to visit their husbands. He would find a room or a house for her. His life would a lot simpler with her close by. He needed the peace of mind that would come if he was able to keep his eye on her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Elizabeth Stone lay on top of her bed, dressed but with no desire to join Margaret in the breakfast room. As usual, she had slept little. Bad dreams plagued her of late. They were horrible nightmares that woke her up night after night, leaving her listless and yearning for Portsmouth.

  She had made some terrible decisions. She should never have agreed to come to Richmond. She had asked herself the same question a hundred times: how could she have been so stupid? She had taken Margaret’s advice against her own better judgement, and now she was wallowing in misery, with no way back to her old life in sight.

  Margaret Mallory’s words, with her fancy talk of power to come, in addition to parties and important men who would swoon over her, had come to naught. Margaret was ruining her life. She, Elizabeth Stone, was from the very best of
families, yet she was no higher in standing than a slave, doing as she was told. She was a prisoner in her own home – but it didn’t feel like her house. Ever since Mrs Bartlett’s visit – when that dear woman had so kindly invited her to tea – Margaret had kept her locked inside and out of sight.

  Charles, Margaret’s slave, would be standing outside her room right now, she thought. He was always close by, stopping her from leaving the house. She hated him almost as much as she did Margaret.

  Margaret was a dangerous woman. She was not the friend or mother figure she’d thought her to be. She had manipulated her with ease. Margaret had taken money from her, and as she, Elizabeth, had been so trusting, she hadn’t thought twice about it.

  Elizabeth looked at her face in the dressing table mirror. She could see her own desperation staring back at her. She was going to die in this house alone, without friends or family. She wanted her ma and pa. They would save her. They would deal with Margaret Mallory, that vile creature downstairs. Her pa would whup that nigger Charles too. She wanted the slave to bleed to death. She had hated Stone Plantation, Jacob Stone, and her marriage, but that hatred was nothing compared to the loathing she felt now for the woman downstairs and the slave outside her door.

  Margaret ate her eggs and pork bacon whilst looking at the newspaper brought to her by Charles, her house slave. The particular page she had been looking for was towards the end of the rag and boldly stood out against the depressing accounts of the South’s woes.

  The ball tonight would be attended by the best of Richmond’s society, the article said. She took a sip of tea and untidily replaced the cup on the saucer. At first, she had been pleased to receive the invitation, but she was now apprehensive about attending the function, where the guest list included almost anyone who was anyone, what with Elizabeth in tow.

  She looked up at the ceiling and cursed. Elizabeth was upstairs as usual, probably moping about. The stupid cow would have to go with her tonight. She could not attend such an important function without the bitch by her side, for that would throw even more light on their tenuous relationship.

  Bloody Mrs Bartlett, sticking her nose in all the time, she thought. The woman had become a challenging adversary. She was like a dog gripping a bone with snarling teeth. Bartlett was determined to hold on to Elizabeth, and no amount of turning her away at the door seemed to deter her from coming back every other day. “It’s not easy to get rid of people here,” Margaret mused aloud.

  Margaret walked into the study and went straight to the desk. She sat in the chair that she had recently purchased and rested her palms on the soft leather arms. It was a good chair. Her new furniture was made with only the best materials and wood. The curtains, bedding, cushions, and crockery were expensive and tasteful. Thank God she’d persuaded Elizabeth to buy the stuff before going to the lawyer.

  She opened the desk drawer and lifted out the manila envelope containing the deeds to the house. The document was legal. The lawyer had signed it, as had a judge. There were no loopholes – she had seen to that. There was nothing Elizabeth or the Bartlett woman could do about her ownership. The house belonged to Mrs Margaret Mallory, in black and white, and no court in the land could fight its authenticity.

  She smiled. Elizabeth Stone had been led to the slaughter like a baby lamb following its mother’s teat. “I only want to keep you safe,” she had told Elizabeth. “The house will be yours as soon as the North stops threatening Richmond.” How gullible the Southern woman was.

  Margaret looked at the writing on another document in the same envelope: The last will and testament of Margaret Mallory. She swallowed deeply. The lawyer had insisted on a will to secure Elizabeth’s money and right to inheritance, and Margaret had found herself with no other choice but to agree. “I’m still young,” she mumbled to herself, “and I’m looking good.” She knew she looked better now than she had in her forties. Her skin tone and even her body looked younger. Elizabeth bloody Stone would be dying long before she did, Margaret thought.

  Tonight could be a problem, however. There was no guarantee that Elizabeth wouldn’t shout her mouth off about the house deeds. There might be uncomfortable questions thrown at her, and she would have to defend her actions. She could always blame the lawyer. The stupid git had allowed it to happen, hadn’t he? She didn’t put a gun to his bloody head! Elizabeth had given her permission when handing over her money.

  Margaret returned the documents to the envelope and sighed. She was going to have to spend the entire day making sure Elizabeth knew the consequences of opening her trap tonight. Oh, how she wished for the days when she could just take a blade to a throat or snap a neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jacob stood at the front door, just beneath the porch roof, and nodded with satisfaction. Elizabeth had purchased this house, she had informed her brother George in her last letter to him. She had done well, Jacob thought, looking out at the tree-lined street beyond the small front garden. He was happy for her. She had made her own decision to come to Richmond and had obviously been enamoured enough with the city to settle there.

  He was not worried about seeing Elizabeth. He was here to pay his respects to her and to deliver her brothers’ letters. He believed that if she had moved on – and the purchase of this house certainly seemed to attest to that assumption – she just might have come to forgive him. This, he told himself, would bode well for an easy divorce, which now required only one more signature from both of them to complete the process.

  He thought about the other woman who lived there. Madame du Pont continued to plague him. Every time he thought about or worried about Mercy, du Pont’s face came to mind. He had no desire to see her today. If he were lucky, she would be out. He detested the way she made him feel – the rage she caused within him. The overpowering desire to kill her had been eating at him for far too long; the urge to end her life had not abated with time, nor had it mellowed. She was a curse which had infected the lives of those he loved.

  A slave opened the door. Jacob briefly took in his appearance, noting straight away that his muscled body was that of a field slave, not a house nigger. He was dressed in a formal black suit of trousers, jacket, crisp white shirt, and black bow tie. He stared at Jacob for a moment with an arrogant expression laced with suspicion. Jacob was immediately concerned. Never had a slave greeted him in this fashion. House niggers were gentile in character, at times even more so than their masters. They took pride in their jobs as butlers, with overly exaggerated niceties towards guests. No self-respecting household would tolerate a disrespectful house nigger, for that would bring shame to the slave’s masters.

  Jacob cleared his throat. The nigger looked as though he was ready to manhandle him and throw him out on his ear. “Please inform Mrs Stone that her husband is here,” Jacob said coldly.

  “She sleepin’,” the slave said dismissively.

  “Then tell someone to wake her, boy,” Jacob grunted.

  “Mistress Mallory said to leave Miss Elizabeth be.”

  “And I’m telling you that I want to speak to her.” Jacob felt his anger growing. The slave’s puffed-up chest and angry scowl were intended to intimidate him. This had to be du Pont’s doing. “Du Pont, come to the door right now! I’m not leaving until you fetch Elizabeth!” he shouted past the slave. “Don’t try my patience, woman. Get out here!”

  After a couple of minutes, Margaret Mallory appeared. She stood at the door’s threshold with hands clenched and a face reddened with anger and a hint of surprise. The slave walked to a chair in the reception hall and sat down. Margaret looked Jacob over, from the tip of his grey and gold hat to his shiny black boots, and it was clear that he was the last person she expected to see. “The name is Mrs Mallory. I’ve told you that before. What the bloody hell do you want?” she demanded to know. “Well, what are you gawking at? Has a cat got your tongue?”

  Jacob stared back at her with his contempt clearly visible. “I had hoped that you would have been thrown out on
your ear by now, du Pont. I find it hard to believe you are still able to display false niceties to my wife.”

  “Your wife – you’re having a laugh, aren’t you? When did you ever treat her like a wife? I hope you’ve come to tell her that your divorce has been finalised. There’s nothing I would like more than to tell you to get lost and to never show your face here again.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but it has not been finalised. I’m here to pay my respects to Elizabeth, nothing more. Is she here? Jacob asked tersely.

  “No, she’s out. She’s gone to collect a new gown for the ball tonight, and she won’t be back for a while. I suggest you take yourself off. You’ll not get in this house whilst I’m here alone – not after what you did to me the last time you were in my house.”

  “Your slave told me she was sleeping.”

  “Him? That stupid git hardly speaks English. I wouldn’t take any notice of what he says.”

  “Then I’ll leave. I have no desire to keep company with you. The sight of your face sickens me.”

  “Oh, it does, does it? Well that’s your problem, not mine. And what about your whore, Mercy Carver? Has her face sickened you yet? Have you had your fill of her cunt?”

  “Shut your filthy mouth!” Jacob shouted.

  “Lower your voice, you!”

  “If I could …”

  “What? What do you want to do, rip my wig off and stamp your feet like a spoilt little sissy? Look at you – you look ridiculous in that uniform. It won’t stay new forever, you know. It’ll be riddled with holes and bloodied in no time. I’ll look forward to hearing all about your death, so I will.”

  Jacob sighed. He sometimes thought du Pont was demented. Never had he known a woman who could fill so few sentences with so many insults. His eyes wandered to her neck. He would love to put his hands around it and squeeze until she had no air left in her lungs.