Calhoun Chronicles Bundle

by Susan Wiggs

  “Her name,” Eliza said. “Do you know what her name was?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. The last anyone in racing circles heard, she had died in childbirth, and Henry Flyte had disappeared.”

  So much of her father became clear to her in that moment. At last she understood why he had been so protective of her and so circumspect about her mother. She now knew why he had secretly devoted himself to the cause of abolition. He was Prospero, she realized. He had built a world of his own creation where his word was law. But like the wizard’s spells, it was all an illusion.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Flyte,” said Lord Alistair.

  She studied him and then his daughter. “Sorry for what?” she asked. “I wanted to know the truth. You told me, and for that I thank you. I am the same person I was just moments ago when you offered me a glass of sherry.”

  “In the eyes of any thinking person, that is true. You won’t find me spreading gossip,” he vowed, “but this is Virginia, where people like your mother are held in bondage.”

  A chill streaked up Eliza’s spine. She was a free person of color, as Noah was. Which meant that marrying Hunter was against the law. And despite the assurances of Lord Alistair and Lady Margaret, Eliza had long known of a force faster than light. And that was gossip in the Tidewater region.

  Eliza thought it strange that Hunter was not in the dining room with his guests. Stranger still that she felt so utterly calm. The very air around her seemed a thick substance, muffled by shock. She checked on the children, finding Blue asleep in his bed, an open book face-down on his chest. She took away the book and covered him up, then carried Belinda to bed. The little girl protested sleepily when Eliza took off her dress. “Is it over, Eliza?” she mumbled. “Did I miss supper?”

  “It’s over, sweet thing,” Eliza whispered, and Belinda tucked her fist under her chin and went back to sleep. What a blessing that she and Hunter had not announced their plans to the children. Because now, of course, those plans had changed.

  Night had fallen, and she could hear a low murmur of conversation from downstairs. She fetched a lamp, holding it steady in front of her, watching the golden glow waver over her bell-shaped gown. She found herself thinking of the Spanish bride who had died so young, never having found her bridegroom.

  Swept by a strange melancholy, Eliza noticed the door to Lacey’s room was ajar. No one went in there. She herself had only ever gone there once, and that had been to—

  “Oh, dear God,” she whispered, and rushed into the room.

  It was too dark to see. She lifted the lamp high and stood in the musty shadows until her eyes adjusted. And then she saw a movement by the bed. It was Hunter, standing over the rosewood box filled with the letters to his late wife.

  “Hunter,” she said in a rush, “I’m so sorry—”

  “Ah,” he said. “So it was you who hid this away. I wondered. They say the husband is always the last to know.” The whiskey added a whip-crack of contempt to his voice. “Where did you find this?”

  No more lies, she thought. Lies and silence had poisoned this family. The truth might hurt, but then the healing could start. “Blue had it,” she stated, aching for the little boy who had stood at his dying mother’s bedside and accepted the terrible burden of Lacey’s secrets. “After the…accident, his mother told him to hide it away. And she said—oh, God—she said that he must never say a word. That’s why Blue didn’t speak for so long.”

  “Goddamn faithless bitch.” Hunter’s oath seared the air. “I hope she’s burning in hell. Where are my dueling pistols? I’ll send Charles to join her.”

  Eliza nearly dropped the lamp. The letters were from Charles, then. She had not recognized the handwriting, but Hunter had. Charles. Yes, it made sense that the tender, frivolous letters had been penned by him. She was so damn lonely, he’d said of Lacey. She needed him so bad, and he never even knew…

  “I won’t let you hurt Charles,” she said, moving in front of the doorway.

  Hunter laughed bitterly. “When I’m sober, I’ll thank you for that.”

  She exhaled silently in relief. The lamp hissed into the quiet room, and an occasional burst of laughter came from below.

  “He’s a good man, my cousin Charles,” Hunter said. “Looks after things for me. Farm, horses, wife…Tell me, when you’re my wife, will he look after you too?”

  Her mouth dried, and every thought evaporated from her head. Long moments stretched out until she finally found her voice. She picked up the lamp and went to the door. “I can’t marry you, Hunter.”

  Hunter slammed his palm against the doorjamb, blocking her exit. He smelled of bay rum and whiskey and despair. “Why?” he asked.

  She ducked away from him, for it was too hard to think straight when he was near, and she couldn’t talk to him when he was drunk. “I learned, only today, that I am a person of color.”

  He loosened his cravat and scowled. “What color?”

  “My mother was a quadroon. She used to be a slave in Jamaica, and then she escaped to London. I don’t know what her name was, only that she died giving birth to me.” She watched Hunter’s face closely. He bore the news with a cold stoicism that hid everything he felt. His scowl softened, then deepened, but he said nothing. “Does that shock you?” she asked him. “Disgust you?”

  Hunter whipped off his cravat and wadded it into a ball. “Hell’s bells, woman, why do you think this changes anything?”

  “It changes everything.”

  “Horseshit. How do you even know it’s true?”

  “It’s true.” She knew it in her bones. She knew it from the way her father had lived his life. She knew it from the way he had died.

  “Then we won’t tell anyone.”

  She laughed incredulously. “That’s absurd. The news will spread. A great number of young ladies will greet the news of our engagement with disappointment.”

  “So?”

  “So your friends and neighbors will search for any reason to discredit me as your bride. It was a simple matter for me to find out about my mother. Anyone else could do the same.” Like a seriously wounded victim, she felt too numb to feel anything for the moment. Things were ending before they had a chance to begin. She knew what would happen if she dared to marry one of their own.

  “Who the hell cares what other folks say?” he demanded. “I thought we settled that last night.”

  “But last night it wasn’t illegal for us to marry. Beyond that, you have to think of your children. Can you imagine what it will be like for them when word gets out?”

  Even Hunter had no answer for that. In that one moment she saw all of their moments together, from the first day when he had landed on her beach, to the instant she had walked in this room to see the hatred in his eyes.

  “I wanted to know who my mother was,” she said. “I had no idea it would change the course of my life.”

  “It’s safer not to know some things.” His gaze shifted to the barn. A light burned in the solitary bunk where Noah lived.

  Hunter said no more. He took out his whiskey bottle and put it to his lips. She had no idea whether he even knew she left the room.

  Part Four

  Be free, and fare thou well.

  —William Shakespeare, The Tempest, V, i

  Twenty-Nine

  Leaving wasn’t so hard, Eliza reflected as she slowly awakened to face her final day at Albion. People did it all the time.

  She blinked at the slant of light through the window. She could tell it was still morning by the position of the sun. Tucking her knees up under her chin, she tried to put some order to her thoughts, but it was no use. How could she think when her heart was breaking?

  “Get up, get up,” sang Blue, bounding into the sun-flooded room. “Don’t sleep the day away.”

  She blinked and rubbed her stinging eyes, and couldn’t help smiling at the two moppets who had climbed onto her bed. “I suppose you’ll make sure of that,” she said.

  “Ay
e aye, sir.” Blue stood on the mattress, grasping the bedpost like the shroud of a sail and peering out the window. Out in the yard below, Albion was a hive of activity, with guests leaving and horse buyers arranging transport. The landing at the end of the dock was crammed with yachts and steamers. Beneath loads of luggage, servants staggered between the house and the carriages.

  “Another storm’s coming,” Blue announced dramatically.

  “A storm, a storm,” Belinda shrieked, falling unquestioningly into the familiar fantasy.

  Watching the children, Eliza fought tears. She’d known true happiness with this damaged, love-hungry family, but now her time here was over. Blue halted in his play, as if sensing the downward shift of her mood. “What’s the matter?” he asked quietly.

  Belinda held still too, waiting for the answer.

  “I…” Eliza looked helplessly from one eager, anxious face to the other. She took a deep breath and began again. “I’m feeling a little sad today.”

  “You’ll make it better,” Blue said earnestly. “You always do.”

  “No, you’ll make it better,” she said. “Come here, you two.” She held out her arms.

  They dove into her embrace, one child on each side, snuggling against her chest. How dear they were, warm as puppies, loving her with complete abandon. The woman Hunter eventually chose to be his wife would be lucky indeed. After yesterday’s revelations, he might swear off women for a good long while, but he would get over his disillusionment one day.

  He’d left Lacey’s room in a rage last night. She’d heard him in the stables, and by the light of a three-quarter moon she’d seen him riding off to the high meadows in his elegant evening clothes. Eventually, he’d have to make his own explanations to the children.

  “I need you to help me today,” she said with a cheeriness she didn’t feel.

  “Help you do what?”

  “Pack my things.”

  Blue caught on first, pulling back to eye her suspiciously. “What for?”

  “For a trip.”

  “Where’re we going?” Belinda asked. “Are we taking the mail packet?”

  Blue shushed her and turned on Eliza. “You’re leaving us, aren’t you? You’re going to California.”

  She smiled, loving this angry, beautiful child. “I am, Blue. I’m going off on a very long trip.”

  “No!” Belinda burst out. Her eyes filled with tears. “You can’t, you can’t, you can’t,” she wailed. “You have to stay with us.”

  Eliza struggled to hold on to her composure through the storm of Blue’s anger and Belinda’s grief. When she got them to calm down, she said, “Remember what I said when I first came here? I said I could only stay a while.” She caressed Belinda’s soft curls, twirling one around her finger. “Everything is so much better now. You are both such wonderful, remarkable children. My work here is done.”

  “Is that what we were?” Blue demanded. “Work? Like the stallion?”

  His insights, for one so young, always amazed her. She could understand why he would think that. She had trained a mad horse and sent him off with Noah when he was calm again. She helped the children with their grief—now they assumed she would walk away from them as well.

  And they were right. They were absolutely right.

  Perhaps it was some flaw in her makeup, but it was the only way she knew how to live her life. Everything was short term. The world in which she had grown up had changed with the seasons, altered with the storms. Restless waves consumed the shifting dunes of Flyte Island. Nothing was permanent. Experience had taught her how to survive.

  But not how to stay.

  “Let me tell you something about the stallion,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “He will always be with me, no matter where I go. In my heart and in my mind, I’ll keep him safe and sound. It’s the same with the two of you, only my feelings are much, much stronger. I feel such an incredible love for you that it doesn’t matter how far away I go. Part of me will always be with you.”

  They didn’t believe her. She could tell by Belinda’s trembling chin and Blue’s fierce scowl. “You’ll be gone,” the boy said. “Not part of you—all of you. Gone.”

  “When you’re older, you’ll understand. I’m like the ship that sails to a far-off shore. You can’t see me, but I’ll still be there. I’ll still love you.” She took each of their hands. “I’ll carry that love wherever I go.”

  “What’s going to happen to us?” Belinda asked.

  “You’ll be fine,” Eliza assured her.

  “But what’s going to happen?” she persisted. “Are we going back to Bonterre for tutoring, or—”

  “Not unless you want to. Your father has made a big success of Albion. If you like, you can have a tutor here. I imagine that, in time, your father might marry again.”

  “No,” Belinda cried. “I don’t want him to marry anyone unless he marries you.”

  The words hammered into her and they hurt. Because that was exactly what she had been thinking. But she was no seven-year-old expecting wishes to come true. She was a grown woman who’d had a taste of this world and discovered that she didn’t fit in, no matter how much she loved Hunter Calhoun.

  “Sweetheart,” she said gently, “your papa needs someone who knows about being a wife and a mother. Not someone who knows about horses.”

  “But you know everything,” Blue snapped. “Everything important.”

  “That’s why it’s not a good idea for me to stay here any longer. It will just make leaving harder.” She threw back the covers and got out of bed. “Now, please. You have to help me make plans for all the animals I brought from the island.”

  “Are you taking them with you?”

  “Just Caliban.” Hearing his name, the big dog belly-crawled out from under the bed and thumped his tail on the floor.

  “How come he gets to go?” Blue asked.

  “Because he’s been mine since he was old enough to leave his mother, and I’ll get too lonely on my trip without him.”

  “Won’t you be lonely without us and Papa?”

  “Of course,” she said. “But I can’t take you with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you have to stay here, at this wonderful farm your papa has made, and you have to live the life he’s given you.”

  “I want to go to California with you,” Blue insisted.

  “No, you don’t. You don’t want to leave Nancy and Willa and Noah and all the animals. You’ll write me letters, and maybe one day you’ll come to California and visit me.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  Missing you. And missing your father more than food or air or life itself.

  She bit her lip and went to the clothespress, choosing a day gown of plain muslin. Over their protests, which grew louder and louder, she put her things in a traveling trunk. There was so little she wanted to take with her—some items of clothing, her two books, the Spanish bride’s things. A feeling of incompleteness nagged at her. Something was missing, but she couldn’t decide what it was. When she shut the lid with a musty thud, the children sobbed openly.

  Eliza wasn’t certain she could hold her own emotions in check, but for the sake of the children, she had to. “Come here.” She held out both hands. “Come and help me say goodbye to everyone.”

  They found Nancy and Willa in the kitchen. Belinda wrenched free of Eliza to slam herself face-first into Nancy’s apron.

  “She’s going away,” the little girl wailed. “Eliza is going to California!”

  “I know, honey,” Nancy said, her unseeing eyes cast down. “I know. I reckon sooner or later everybody goes away.”

  Eliza hugged them each in turn. “I’ll miss you,” she said, trying to memorize the old, wise faces of these two women. With quiet strength they had endured at Albion, faithful to Hunter even when he could barely afford to feed them.

  Eliza took the children outside, into the heavy lush air of high summer. The perfume of magnolia and
camellia rode the breeze, and magpies chattered high in the live oaks that lined the front drive.

  She tried not to hold the children’s hands too tightly. Blue and Belinda had so much promise. She had to step out of the way so they could fulfill that promise. Her presence would only hold them back, and if she stayed until they got older, she knew the day would come when her mother’s background would be revealed. Right now, they were too young to feel the sting of gossip and censure, to know what the whispers and titters meant when friends and neighbors saw Eliza. She knew how it felt to be the outsider. She never wanted Blue or Belinda to feel that ostracism, ever. For their sakes, she had to leave.

  And for the sake of her own heart, she admitted. Too much of it already belonged to the children, and far too much to their father. If she stayed any longer, there would be nothing left of her. Loving Hunter and his children would consume her entirely.

  In the barn, she spent a quiet moment with Finn. The stallion nuzzled at her shoulder, and she stroked his neck thoughtfully. “That was quite a ride you took me on, Sir Finnegan,” she said, then turned to Noah. “Take care of him, Noah.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the youth said. “I surely will.”

  Charles came out to the yard, his shirt askew, as if he had dressed in haste. “Is it true, then?” he asked. “You’re leaving.”

  She nodded, hoping her composure would hold. “Off to California to find my fortune.”

  “Some of us wish you could have found it here,” he said.

  “Ah, Charles. You know better than that.”

  Belinda’s chin started trembling anew.

  Charles went down on one knee. “Guess what happened in the hayrick last night?” he asked, snaring the children’s attention.