“Let God be their judge. I’m just glad they’re gone. Once we combine the plantations, things will be normal again. We’ll have cotton and fabrics and food and servants. We shall even replace things that have been lost.”
Eleanor forced a note of cheer to her voice. Maybe things would be better as she said. She looked at her cousin and saw the melancholy there. Immediately, she chastised herself for her careless talk.
“I’m sorry, Mary. I know things will never be the same for you. Not with Morgan gone. How thoughtless of me to say such a thing.”
Eleanor thought she heard a horse’s hooves and looked into the dark night, but only blackness stared back at her.
“Never mind, Ellie. Never mind,” Mary said, and Eleanor was left to wonder if she referred to the night sounds or the loss of Morgan.
Long before Nathaniel reached the infamous Under-the-Hill port, he could hear the raucous noise from Silver Street. Its brick buildings teemed with sailors, drunkards, and bandits. Nearly every night someone was murdered, and Nathaniel prayed tonight wasn’t his night as the boisterous sounds came closer. It was a dark night with no moon in sight, and the Mississippi appeared as only deep blackness. But Nathaniel knew it was there. He could hear the echo of drunken men’s voices bouncing off the calm waters.
The vile scent of the town, something like coal, molasses, and foul liquor, mingled under his nose. Slowing his horse to a trot, he prepared to step into Mississippi’s underworld. He hoped his intuition was wrong, that Andrew had no business here.
As he came onto Silver Street, the noisy tin pianos and fiddles belted his senses. Women offered themselves to him from the boardwalk with a coquettish nod of the head. Nathaniel turned his eyes away, disgusted by the overt display. Rabble-rousers lined the streets, yelling obscenities as he passed. He ignored everything until he reached his destination.
He climbed from his horse and paid a man, who looked as respectable as any he’d seen on Silver Street, to watch his horse, offering more if it was there when he returned. Luckily, horse thievery was still punishable by death, and even drunk men weren’t likely to play with such a heavy sentence. Nathaniel entered the Rumbel and Wensel store, which was just another bar. But this place had nothing on the dirty mining camps of California, and Nathaniel took comfort in the fact that God was beside him.
Approaching the grocery clerk, who was a bartender at night, Nathaniel was careful not to give himself away. One sure way was to order something other than liquor, but Nathaniel had played this game before. “I’m starving. You got any grub back there?”
“I can have the missus cook you up something. You just get off a flatboat?”
“Nah. But I’m hungry just the same.” Nathaniel took out some cash and flashed it. Answers were much easier to get when the prospect of making an easy dollar was obvious. “Been up to Natchez. I’m looking for a man named Mitchell Rouse. You know him?”
The man’s eyes thinned, and he motioned for his wife to cook something. She hurried back to the kitchen. “What do you want to know?”
“His boss is looking for him. Ran off the job, and they want their pay back. You heard anything?”
The bartender bent toward Nathaniel, grabbing a bill for himself. “I might.”
Nathaniel pulled the remainder of the cash toward him. “Word on the plantation is the slaves might have pulled a Nat Turner,” Nathaniel said, referring to the slave who pulled a revolt killing several owners and their families. The story was infamous, and many owners ruled with an iron fist out of fear that such a thing could happen to them. Nathaniel wanted to offer something to the bartender to throw the man off any trail of his identity.
“Slaves most likely got nothing to do with it.” The bartender looked around him before resuming his wiping of the counter. “Rouse was here about a week ago. He was fighting with a man over a shipping tax.”
“What would an overseer have to do with a tariff?” Nathaniel froze at the slipup. No street dweller would use such a term, but the bartender didn’t seem to notice. The man was still salivating over the dollar bills in Nathaniel’s possession.
“He wasn’t just an overseer, from what I hear. He ran a business here at night. A certain business dealing in trade, if you know what I mean.” The man motioned with his brows and looked to a nearby woman drinking with a patron.
Nathaniel’s stomach turned at the thought of dealing in human flesh, and it took all his willpower to keep his disgust from showing in his expression. “Ah,” Nathaniel said casually.
“When a man don’t pay the tax, his haul gets confiscated. No goods, no cash. No cash, your credit catches up with you, if you know what I mean. Rouse probably threatened the wrong man.”
“You think Rouse is dead?” Nathaniel feigned ignorance, knowing the man had been lying in his cotton field the day before.
“That’s what the man said. You’re the second guy who’s been here looking for him today. Some one-armed guy was here this afternoon saying Rouse was dead. Was there any kin?”
“One-armed?” Nathaniel was stunned at the description of his brother.
“He acted like he didn’t know what Rouse was up to, but I seen him in here before. He knew why Rouse was dead; he just wanted to know who did it.” The bartender dried a glass, and his wife appeared with a plate full of potatoes under a slop of gravy.
Nathaniel smiled at the woman. “Do you know who did it?” he asked the bartender.
“I got my ideas. But you ask that one-armed guy. He knows more than he’s saying. I can taste it.”
Nathaniel handed the man three dollars and started in on the feast before him.
Chapter 9
Doctor Hayes glanced over his spectacles. “Your arm looks fine, Miss Senton. I’ll tell your father you are cured.” He stood up, placing his instruments back in his bag. “Anxious to be married, I suppose?” He smiled at her as though she were a lovesick girl waiting for a happy diagnosis.
“What about the color of my arm? Will it go away?” Eleanor asked, hoping to remind the doctor and those concerned that her arm still looked like a ripe blueberry. Surely, no doctor would approve such a vicious bruise on a bride.
“Give it a few weeks,” he answered. “A long-sleeved gown will take care of it presently.”
Eleanor faltered at the advice. A long-sleeved gown wouldn’t hide her heart, which seemed to beat only at the sight of Nathaniel. At least that was the only time she noticed she had a heart, when it thundered as he approached. Her quiet night jolted her back to the present. No pebbles were thrown at the window, although she couldn’t sleep for thinking she might miss Nathaniel. Perhaps this was the time he had gone for good.
“I’ll see myself out, Hattie. She may get into her hoop contraption and rejoin the land of the living,” Doctor Hayes advised.
Eleanor blushed red at the thought of this man discussing her hoop, but she dismissed it. Chivalry hadn’t been the same since the war. It probably never would be. Suddenly, the thought struck her as funny, and she giggled out loud.
Mary came to her side. “Whatever is so funny, Ellie?”
“The war has certainly changed things. Doc Hayes has commented on my hoops. I daresay he wouldn’t mention such things before. I guess we have all seen too much.”
“Andrew is downstairs. He wishes to speak with you.”
Eleanor swallowed hard, and the folly immediately left her voice. “Andrew?”
“Yes, Andrew, your fiancé. I think he may have discussed the wedding date with your father. They seem to be in quite good spirits.”
Now Eleanor’s heart beat rapidly, but it wasn’t the pleasant feeling she anticipated. It was fear. Chances were, she would be married before she ever saw Nathaniel again, and the answers he went searching for would serve them no purpose. After tightening her corset and fastening her hoop, Eleanor checked her reflection in the mirror and practiced a smile. She clenched and grimaced until she saw teeth. When she was satisfied with her playacting, she started down the c
ircular staircase. Her father and Andrew waited in the foyer, and the closer she got, the farther away they both felt. When she stood beside them, it was as though another body had taken her place.
Andrew smiled pleasantly enough, and Eleanor again forced her lips in an upward fashion. “Hello, Andrew.”
“I have a surprise for you, Miss Eleanor.” Andrew clicked his heels together and motioned toward the door.
He followed Eleanor out, and her eyes opened wide, hoping it was not a mere figment of her imagination. Her jaw dropped at the sight of a horse that appeared identical to Lady. She was a chestnut beauty with a black mane, and Eleanor instinctively went toward her.
“She’s beautiful!” Eleanor exclaimed, patting the dark mane. “Whose is she?”
“She’s yours. A cousin of Lady’s. I purchased her from the same horse breeder.”
“You did?” Eleanor was taken aback.
This was something she could appreciate about Andrew. He had figured out where Lady came from and purchased a family member. She looked to the horse’s deep brown eyes and felt a bond. Lady lived on in this mare. She ran to her fiancé and threw her arms about him.
“I’m speechless, Andrew. I don’t know how to show my gratitude. No one’s ever given me a more thoughtful gift.”
She smiled and noticed Andrew’s shy, sheepish grin. This was the kind of gift Nathaniel would have given her. She shook the thought from her head. Perhaps she’d been too harsh on Andrew. This proved he was more than steady, and it was time she started focusing on the future, not her past. Nathaniel was her past.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I’m sorry I was so emotional and uncivil the day of my accident.”
“Never mind, Eleanor. You deserve this horse. I wish you understood how sorry, how truly sorry, I am about Lady.” Andrew bowed. “This mare has been broken. Are you ready to ride her?”
Eleanor brightened. “I can hardly wait.” She dashed up the stairs, with Mary at her heels. “Oh Mary, can you believe she’s such a fine mare? I wish it were Lady of course. But I shan’t act spoiled anymore when Andrew has done me such a service. I should be truly grateful for such a beautiful horse, and I shall be.”
Eleanor ran to her room where Hattie was spreading out her dinner gown. “Hattie, forget about that gown. I need my riding clothes. I have a new horse!”
“A new horse?” Hattie questioned. Eleanor knew her father didn’t have the money for such luxuries right now, and probably Hattie did as well. “You haven’t got time to gallivant before dinner.”
“It’s a wedding gift—from Andrew,” Eleanor explained.
“A gift? Is that what they call it when a man replaces what he shot?” Hattie mumbled.
Eleanor’s gaze fell, her spirits sinking like a spent gunboat to the bottom of the mighty Mississippi.
“He had to shoot Lady, Hattie. Her leg was broken most likely, wasn’t it, Mary?” She looked to her cousin—to someone who could make her believe things weren’t that bad. Mary’s eyes flickered and strayed about the room. Her eyes focused everywhere but on Eleanor. “Right, Mary? He had to shoot Lady. He’s a hero. Tell Hattie, Mary.”
But Mary didn’t answer, and Eleanor looked at Hattie’s disapproving scowl.
“Rosamond is going to go to the codes, Miss Ellie. Make no mistake about it,” Hattie stated, as though it were a known fact. “What does my new horse have to do with that?”
“If a horse can make you forget what you’ve been fighting for—”
“No, Hattie. There will be no codes here. Father will see to it that the men are given their freedom. Mississippi may not see them as people, but Father does. I know he does, Hattie. Rosamond would never turn to the black codes. It’s simply another form of slavery, and Father never treated his men like that.”
“That may well be true, Miss Ellie, but when Master Pemberton owns things, things are going to change.”
Mary interrupted. “I think you’ve stated your opinions quite plainly, Hattie. That’s enough.”
“It won’t. You have my word on it,” Eleanor protested.
“Your word. Has your word stopped you from feeding that poor starving girl from Woodacre? I know what you are doing, Missy. I didn’t raise you from an infant to be fooled by your nightly exits from this house. Why do you think she’s coming here if things are so good at the Pemberton house?”
Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face. She had meant for her marriage to solve problems, not create different, worse problems. Looking at Mary and Hattie, she suddenly felt as if she were a traitor, and that her new horse had chains draping from its hindquarters.
Nathaniel sat on the docks watching as the flatboats and paddle wheelers maneuvered around the Port of Natchez. It had been a long night, and Nathaniel wasn’t any closer to learning the truth about Mitchell Rouse than he’d been the night before. Nathaniel rubbed the back of his kinked neck and tried to stretch out his tired shoulders. On the trail for Rouse, Nathaniel had discovered something unsavory about Andrew’s dealings. Woodacre wasn’t nearly as bad off as Rosamond, and Nathaniel had thought it was Andrew’s tight ledgers. But now he wondered. While most Southerners had burned their cotton rather than let the Yankees get it, Andrew had sold theirs at a healthy profit, not caring who purchased it. Had he done worse?
If the town knew of these scalawag dealings, Woodacre’s reputation would be dashed. It was one thing that Nathaniel had tarnished the family name by “running” rather than fighting in the War between the States, but to know Andrew may have profited from the South’s misfortune would seal their fate forever. In the future no one would do business with Woodacre knowing they were scalawags. It was worse than the carpetbaggers of the North.
“Who you lookin’ fer?” A gruff voice met him, and Nathaniel looked up, thinking Goliath lived again. A huge beast of a man blocked the sun completely, and Nathaniel stood up for fear of getting trounced upon.
“I’m waiting for Jeremiah Coleman. You know him?” Nathaniel stammered.
“What d’ya want with him?”
“I want to know what business he’s had with Mitchell Rouse.” There was no sense playing cat and mouse with this man. Nathaniel knew decidedly who would lose.
The man laughed and spit tobacco into the water. “There’s a name I haven’t heard for a while. I’m a seaman, mister. Don’t do nothing but haul cotton and molasses upstream.” The man walked toward his flatboat, which had just docked, and heaved a box onto the dock.
“Did you haul cotton for Rouse?”
“Maybe some. Who wants to know?” The man turned and held a meaty palm upward, and Nathaniel obliged with a five-dollar bill.
“Nathaniel Pemberton.”
The man looked him up and down and crossed his arms. Then he laughed. “You’re most likely related to the one-armed Pemberton? Why don’t you ask him?” Jeremiah dropped his box, and the dock shook with the action.
“I’d rather hear it from you, if you got a notion to talk.” Nathaniel took out a wad of bills and fanned through them. He watched the man lick his chops and wipe away the remaining saliva.
Jeremiah nodded. “What’s the one-armed scalawag to you?”
“He’s my brother,” Nathaniel admitted.
“Ah,” Jeremiah noted. “You’re the deserter.”
“I left before the war.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I ain’t your judge, boy. Tell it to God.”
“God’s forgiven me,” Nathaniel said, thankful for the chance to be bold in his faith.
“Yeah, but your brother ain’t.” Jeremiah laughed. “I can’t say I care much for that brother of yours. He’d just as soon cheat you as look at you. Losing his arm didn’t do anything for his soul.”
Nathaniel swallowed uncomfortably at the thought. His brother lived for himself. Would he ever humble himself to God? “So does that mean you’re willing to talk?”
Jeremiah handed back the five-dollar bill. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, Pembe
rton. You’re a fellow brother in the Lord, and I got allegiance to Him.” Jeremiah looked up to the blue sky, and Nathaniel nearly fell backward at his luck. “What do you want to know?”
Chapter 10
Mary, please tell me. I know you.” Eleanor pleaded with her cousin, her palms sticky from her desperation. “You know something you’re not divulging. If I should marry Andrew and some dark secret should come about, some dark secret that you have knowledge of, what then? Will your guilt haunt you like a field ghost for the rest of your days? This is for you, as well as for me.” If there was a way out of this predicament, Eleanor wanted to know it. How dare her cousin stand in her way!
Mary pursed her lips and gnawed on them a bit before speaking. “I gave my word, Eleanor. Someone not holding his word is what killed my Morgan. If the Yankees hadn’t known his men were advancing, he might be alive today.” Mary shook her head rapidly. “I won’t do it.”
“So you are willing for me to embark on a marriage such as this one, while you hold this secret to your breast.” Eleanor used every tactic she knew to try to break Mary, but nothing worked. At this moment, she hated the fact that her cousin had such character and devotion to the South. Where was Mary’s devotion to her? Where was their sisterhood?
“If I thought you were in any kind of danger, I would divulge my secret without a care, but you are not in any danger, Ellie. My secret is of the past, not your future.”
“But the Negroes might be in danger, Mary. Will your conscience allow them to suffer? I have worked hard to see that Father complied with the new laws without harming the plantation.”
“What I know has nothing to do with Andrew’s running of the plantation. I know nothing of such things. You can rest easy, my dear cousin.” Mary bent over her knitting, her sterling silver needles clanking wildly as she worked.
“But I cannot rest easy, Mary. Downstairs beckons a beautiful horse, and she is calling my name and my future. Do you know of a reason I shouldn’t accept such a present?”
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