by Jamie Carie
Samuel led them to a hitching post off to one side of the drive. He dismounted and helped Isabelle down by grasping firm hold of her waist and pulling her from the horse into his arms. A long kiss later—a kiss to remind them that, no matter what, they had each other—they turned and wrapped the reins about the hitching posts.
Samuel silently took Isabelle’s hand and led her up the walk to the front door. He raised his hand, hesitated, then knocked.
Moments later the door was opened by a black man wearing a fancy suit. Isabelle suddenly felt every speck of the trail dirt and looked down at her dress, realizing that she wasn’t exactly looking her best. “I probably stink too,” she accidentally mumbled aloud, causing Samuel to turn toward her and chuckle as the old man exclaimed, “Why, Master Samuel. It’s Master Samuel!” His brown eyes lit up, and his lips curved in a big toothy smile. He turned and yelled to the house at large. “Master Samuel’s come home! Master Samuel’s come home, y’all!”
Samuel was swept inside as Isabelle stood blinking in the foyer.
Feminine voices were raised from the back of the house. Samuel appeared braced for anything. A tall, stately woman with upswept silver hair and dressed in an elegant, pale-blue brocade gown entered the room and stopped short upon seeing him, her hand rising to her mouth.
“Samuel?” She whispered it, the sound echoing off the tall ceilings. “I cannot consider it.” There was a slight sheen in her eyes as she came forward and put her arms awkwardly around him. “You have come home, at last.” She sniffed once, pulling herself up straight and tall. Turning her gaze toward Isabelle, she asked, “And who is this?” Her gaze swept from Isabelle’s dirty hair to her mud-caked boots, making Isabelle really wish she had thought to stop and freshen up before they arrived.
Samuel turned and pulled Isabelle forward, his hand a comforting presence on her low back. “Mother, this is Isabelle. My wife.”
“Isabelle? Oh, goodness.”
Isabelle dipped a small curtsy. “So good to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
The three sisters rushed into the room, exclaiming over Samuel, chattering like birds in springtime and examining Isabelle much like their mother had. She soon learned their names. Ruth was the eldest and looked very much the spinster Samuel had described her to be. RaeAnn was plumper than the others, the only dark-haired one of the group, with small eyes that studied Isabelle thoughtfully.
The youngest, though, grasped her hand and gave her a beaming smile. “I’m so pleased to meet you. You can call me Betsy. That is what all of my friends call me.” A southern drawl warmed her voice.
“Rebecca,” corrected her mother in a tone that broached no argument, “stop fawning over the girl. I am sure she is, well, tired from her long journey.” She looked around, and a servant mysteriously appeared. “Show them to their room, Lorena. Samuel’s room. And bring them food and … lots of hot water.”
Samuel laughed, leaning over and kissing her wrinkled cheek. “You haven’t changed a bit, Mother. It is good to see you again.” He seemed relieved. They were to stay.
“And why should I change?” his mother challenged, but there was softness in her eyes as she gazed at the face of her only son. Then she said in a kind voice, “You have changed much since I last saw you.”
Samuel nodded agreement. He had left a boy and come back a man. A married man. “Where is Father? And Belle? I would like to see my daughter.”
Margaret, Samuel’s mother, waved her hand. “Oh, you know your father. I expect he will be home in a day or two. Belle is with her nurse. I will send her up directly.”
They were led upstairs, the house as grand on the inside as it was out. Cream-paneled walls graced every room. The glittering chandeliers and wall sconces would make a festive light when night fell. Samuel’s room was in perfect order—a pale green and gold counterpane on the bed, dark-green curtains drawn at the wide windows, which Lorena opened, flooding the room in light. There was a simple desk and chair, a large bureau of polished walnut, and a matching armoire. Samuel dropped their dusty saddlebags onto the plush rug that covered gleaming wood floors.
“Good heavens, Master Samuel! You look as dirty as pigs. Where you been all these years? Scaring your momma half out of her wits leaving like you did, not that she showed it. I just know her. And your father,” she threw her hands up, “whoo-eee, he was a surly bear for those first months when you didn’t come back. We all thought you was gone for good.”
Samuel laughed, and it was a hearty sound. Apparently Lorena had spoken to him like this often.
Isabelle felt she’d stepped into another world. This was a wealthy home, a wealthy family with a deeply entrenched life. Her father had been successful, providing well for them in their wilderness outpost. But this—this was different. Real wealth, real power, real culture.
Lorena busied herself setting out an enormous amount of silver on a small table that another servant had carried into their room and set up, followed closely by two chairs. Before Isabelle could blink, there were two settings of China plates, silver tableware, linen napkins, and silver dish upon covered dish with steaming hot, heavenly smelling food. Her mouth started to water, and she swallowed quickly as she stared at it.
“Why, look at that girl! She’s fairly starving, she’s so thin. You been feeding your wife?”
Samuel chuckled again. “I sure did miss you, Lorena.” He laughed, squeezing her tight.
The woman promptly burst into tears and smacked him on his big, muscled arm. “Now look what you’ve done. Oh!” Then she fled the room, her wide skirts swaying with her hurried steps. “Jonas, you got that tub ready?” they heard her yell as she fled down the hall.
Isabelle sank into a chair at the table and laughed. “She is quite in love with you.”
Samuel sat across from her, reaching for a juicy-looking chicken leg. “Yep. My nursemaid as a child. And I can tell you, she’s all bark. The girls never could get anything over on her … but me?” He held up his little finger. “Wrapped so tight, I could have told her the moon was blue, and she would have agreed.”
Isabelle laughed, reaching for the food. There was steamed asparagus, so green and dripping butter she could hardly tear her eyes off it. Three kinds of meat—a whole roasted chicken, sliced honeyed ham, and a thick beefsteak with peppercorns smeared over it. Corn pudding, flaky rolls that melted in her mouth, and some other kind of bread Isabelle wasn’t sure of. She took a quick bite, her eyes growing round with delight.
“Good?”
“Oh, yes. This is like nutty pumpkin-apple bread. Mmmmm. Did you eat like this every day?”
Samuel nodded, his mouth full and eyes twinkling at her. “Most days. I guess you will be getting fat if we stay here any time at all.”
Isabelle threw a pea at him. “I guess I will.” She laughed, drinking of the cool apple cider. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Samuel leaned over and took her hand, the one clinging to a chicken wing and teased, “The best thing?”
Isabelle turned her head down a little down and to one side. “Well, maybe not the best thing. We haven’t tried out a real bed yet.”
Samuel groaned and laughed. “I might have known taking you here with me would make it so much better.” He paused, looking at her with such love. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Isabelle Holt.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to.” She felt so happy just being with him that it didn’t really matter what his mother or sisters thought of her, of them.
A sound at the doorway caused them both to turn at the same time.
There in a white, frilly gown, her hair shoulder length, straight and so blonde it was nearly white, stood Samuel’s daughter.
Isabelle heard Samuel’s sudden intake of breath.
“My little Belle.” He said it so quietly that Isabelle was sure the child did not hear him.
But she had.
And all Isabelle could think of was how opposite the girl looked fr
om her. How the past was meeting the present. And how reconciliation would have to be worked out, somehow, between abandoned relatives and the three of them, this new family.
And always, now, the ghost of a mother who could have been.
32
Hello, Father,” the child said with perfect diction, dipping into a curtsey.
Isabelle stifled a laugh, remembering how at this child’s age she would propel herself into her father’s arms and lap when he returned from a long excursion, demanding candy and treats and presents, knowing that she would find them in his haversack or hidden in his curled-up fists. But this child had a pale face, almost as white as her hair, and big, solemn eyes. Isabelle found suddenly a mother’s heart, wanting to gather the child up and hold her. But she knew that look of independent pride and so remained still in her chair, her hands tightly clasped to stop any headlong rush. Something told her—some innate reading of another soul—that she must win this heart with stealth and cunning. It would be hard and slow won. But she was determined.
Samuel rose from the table, walked to the little girl, and squatted down in front of her. “Hello, Belle,” he said, as solemn as she.
They didn’t seem to know what to say to each other, so Isabelle stepped forward, gesturing toward the laden table. “Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?”
The girl’s eyes locked with Isabelle’s, and Isabelle saw a flash of pain and resentment. “I don’t eat at this hour, ma’am.”
Isabelle laughed, not to be put off. “No? Not ever?” She gave her the look her mother used to give her, chin down, eyebrows raised, knowing that such a look somehow, someway impaled the heart and demanded truth.
The girl looked quickly down, turning pink. “Once I went to the kitchens, and the cook gave me a cookie.” She looked up at Isabelle. “But I shouldn’t have taken it.”
Isabelle leaned down, reached out, and touched the little girl softly on the shoulder. “Not such a great sin, I should think,” Isabelle said in a sincere voice. Then she leaned in with a conspirator’s whisper. “Why, one time, I ate a whole pie in the middle of the afternoon. And,” she paused, waiting for the girl’s full attention, then finished in a dramatic whisper, “it came from a neighbor’s window.”
Belle’s eyes grew round with shock. “You stole it?”
Isabelle laughed, winking at the child. “I surely did. And got my behind switched for that one. But it was an awfully good pie, and later I thought it worth the punishment.”
The child didn’t look like she believed her or at least didn’t know what to make of such a tale.
Samuel chuckled, motioning toward Isabelle. “Do you know who this is?”
The little girl slowly shook her head back and forth, staring at Isabelle like she might sprout horns at any moment.
“This is your new mama.”
Belle looked genuinely appalled.
“And you know what?”
Belle looked at her father and shook her head again.
“Her name is Isabelle too.”
That really shook the girl. Isabelle was sure she was wondering how someone like her could sully such a grand name.
“But you won’t call me Isabelle,” Isabelle assured, kneeling in front of the child, locking gazes with those big brown eyes. “I hope, someday, you will call me mama … . or Ma Mère, as that is what I called my mama when I was young.
She didn’t look as if she would ever do anything of the sort but was much too polite to say so, so only responded with a quick nod. Isabelle reached for her hand and brought the girl to the table, seating her in her chair. “I think it’s time for me to remove this grime from the road. And you,” she looked up at Samuel, “should finish this forbidden mid-afternoon meal with your daughter.”
* * *
SAMUEL WATCHED HER go behind the screen in wonderment. He hadn’t known what to think of his Isabelles meeting each other. Couldn’t even fathom how they would be together. She’d always said that children bored her. But his wife had seemed caught and intent, willing this child and them to come together as a whole. He found a knot in his throat tightening with the thought of it.
He picked up a clean plate and set it before his daughter, saying, “You can have anything you want this day, Belle. Because today is a special day. Do you know why?”
Belle shook her head, her eyes on the pumpkin bread Isabelle had so enjoyed.
“Today is the day I found my Belle again.”
“Are you staying, sir?”
The child was to the point and intuitive enough to get to the root of matters right away. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But if I go, you will go with me.”
She swallowed, gingerly picking up the bread her father had placed on her plate. “Going where? I don’t think I would like to leave.”
Samuel laughed. “You might not think so. But Isabelle and I go on grand adventures. Wouldn’t you like a grand adventure?”
She looked as though the idea had never crossed her mind. Thoughtfully she chewed on the sweet bread. “I don’t know. What is a grand adventure?”
Samuel laughed with a huff. He found he didn’t know how to explain it. “Well … I think you might like it.”
Isabelle came from behind the screen a few moments later, washed with wet hair and a clean dress on. She was toweling her hair as she walked over to the table. “Belle, if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?”
Belle’s little brow puckered. She was clearly stumped, and Isabelle had to wonder if the child’s obvious education had included any geography.
“To Williamsburg, with Grandfather,” she finally said.
Samuel laughed, wiping the final crumbs from his mouth. He rose, stretched, and winked at Isabelle. “I think I would have answered the same at her age.”
A young woman appeared in the doorway and, spying Belle, scolded her. “You’ll ruin your dinner, girl. Come on, now, time for lessons.”
Samuel pierced the woman with a stare. “She is sharing a celebratory dinner with her father. I shouldn’t take her to task for it if I were you.”
The woman nodded. “Yes, sir.” But she didn’t look like she liked it.
Samuel gave Belle a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then said, “Go with your nurse now. I will see you again soon.”
* * *
HIS FATHER WAS back.
Samuel and Isabelle had spent the previous evening in the company of his mother and sisters, sharing with them stories of his missions over the years. His sisters had asked a thousand questions about his meeting with Isabelle, but he left out most of the details of the Indian capture. Samuel deftly conveyed the tale in a way that made Isabelle out to be a hero. By the end of the telling, they were looking at their new sister-in-law with something between awe and horror. And he’d only told them the best parts.
They had been so sheltered, their lives so different from his.
Now, after a day of visiting the plantation, talking to the overseer, and spending time with Belle, he and Isabelle had escaped to their bedroom, despite the early hour.
Then the summons had come.
His father was home, and it was time. He gave Isabelle a quick kiss on the forehead, reached for the saddlebag of gold, and turned from her. At the door he turned back around. “I’ll call you down to meet him if it seems right.”
Isabelle nodded, looking forward to the thickly feathered bed. “I understand. I will get myself on my knees and start to pray.” She grinned a wicked-looking grin, making him feel that no matter what happened everything would turn out all right.
The walk to his father’s library reminded him of many other times he had walked down that hall. Times when he was called to the carpet for some misbehavior, times of import when his father shared some important news of the plantation or the family, times of counsel concerning the business of running such a plantation. Looking back on his younger days, Samuel realized that his father had always included him, had tried to make this
life as important to Samuel as it was to him. He had been training Samuel to take possession of it someday.
Now he turned the knob and stepped into the library, his heart beating in his chest like it did when he was rushing into a battle.
Thomas Holt turned in his chair, a smile on his lips. When he saw Samuel standing in the shadows cast by the firelight, his features faltered, then on a rush of breath said, “They didn’t tell me it was you.”
Samuel was surprised. How could they have kept such a thing from him? His mother’s face flashed before his eyes, and he knew that she had planned for and wanted this shock.
“Who did you think was coming?” Samuel asked quietly, walking farther into the room.
His father just stared for a long moment. “She said someone important was here to see me. Someone I had not seen in a long time. I thought maybe Jefferson, or even George Washington himself. It never occurred to me that it might be you.”
Thomas stood, poured two stiff drinks and brought one to Samuel, handing it across the abyss that stretched between them.
“I’m sorry.”
His father laughed, a short, hard sound. “Sorry for what, son? Sorry you left? Sorry you broke my heart?”
Samuel set the glass on the desk, and nodded. “Yes. Sorry for all that. And sorry they didn’t tell you.”
His father sipped at his drink. Returning to his chair behind a huge, scarred desk, he sat down. He looked long and considering at his son.
“I heard you were in Washington’s army. Distinguished yourself. A corporal, am I right?”
Samuel nodded, taking the seat across from him. “It was a volatile time. It fit my mood.”
