The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries)

by Tracey Bateman

  He said it so quickly that for an instant, Cat wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Then understanding shot through her, igniting her ire. She jerked her hands free and stomped away toward the bank of the river.

  Stuart remained rooted to his spot. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times. But I couldn’t take the chance you’d refuse to see me.”

  “Which I most certainly would have done,” Cat retorted over her shoulder. This betrayal brought a tremble to her lips.

  “I know.” A twig snapped as Stuart closed the distance between them. He stood behind her, circling her waist with his arms.

  Cat wanted to fight him, wanted to hit him, make him hurt like she was hurting. Lash out at him for making a fool of her. Instead, the fight sifted from her, and she leaned back against him. “Why tell me now, when it’s too late for us anyway?”

  He turned her to face him, then tipped her chin to meet her gaze. “Do you care about me, Cat? Even a little?”

  “How can you even ask? Of course I do.”

  “You never said.”

  “I’ve kissed you, haven’t I? Many times.”

  His gaze moved to her mouth and back to her eyes. “Yes. You have. But a man like me needs to hear the words.” He pulled her against him. “How many times have I said ‘I love you’ over the last three years?”

  Too many to count.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Don’t ask me to say the words, Stuart. It isn’t fair. Not with you leaving. Not when you’re going home to your wife.”

  He scowled. “Fine. Don’t say the words, then. It will make what I’m about to say easier for me.”

  She jerked her chin. “Say what you have to say and leave.”

  “If I could, I would ask you to marry me and take you away from all this backbreaking work and sweat and dirt.”

  Cat frowned. She loved working the land. The dirt didn’t bother her. She was working for Henry Jr.’s future. But Stuart didn’t know that. He didn’t know that the little boy he often carried across his shoulders, or held in his lap while sitting on the porch in the lazy twilight, was flesh of her flesh.

  “I understand, Stuart.”

  “My wife is not an affectionate woman. She is barren, and I believe that has made her indifferent toward me. I am not proud of the fact that I have not been faithful to her.”

  “I’m sure you tried to be.”

  His mustache twitched. “Thank you for your confidence. Unfortunately, I haven’t tried very hard.”

  Cat saw no humor in his flippant reply. Riley was the one thing she’d come to count on. She’d expected him to ask her to marry him someday. That’s why she’d allowed his continued presence in her life. If he loved her enough to marry her, she could finally have a life of her own. Security. Respectability. But that dream was now impossible. She thought back on the last few years of hoping for a proposal and felt like a fool.

  “Cat, I--I want to ask you something. I--I want you to come to Chicago with me.”

  Cat’s jaw went slack. “What do you mean? You just said you’re married.”

  His gaze never faltered. “I know. I can’t make you my wife. But I’m offering you a life away from this drudgery. I’ll buy you a home of your own and take care of you as though you were my wife. Any children born of the union would be given my name.”

  Any children born of the union? “What about your wife?” Cat released a short laugh. “Do you honestly believe she’s going to stand for her husband keeping another woman right under her nose?”

  “Chicago is a big city.”

  “No city is so big that a wife will put up with people laughing behind her back. Or worse yet, pitying her.”

  “Believe me,” Stuart drawled, “she won’t be pitied. Sarah is quite wealthy and has many admirers of her own.” His arms tightened and he pulled her closer. “I don’t care about your bloodline, or if you were another man’s slave. All I know is that I love you and this is the only way I can have you in my life.”

  Cat observed him with frank appraisal. “If you didn’t know what I was to Camilla’s father, would you still ask this of me?”

  His averted gaze told her all she needed to know. Anger snapped through her. How would this relationship be any different than the one she had endured at the hands of Henry Sr.?

  She pushed at his arms and backed away. “You may say I am no different to you than a white woman, but your actions say differently. You would never insult someone like Camilla by asking her to be your mistress, yet you don’t hesitate to do so with me. I’d be nothing more to you than I was to Henry.”

  Anger flashed in Stuart’s eyes and Cat’s stomach tightened, ancient fears igniting within her. She wanted to cower, to run, to fight. But she stood her ground and watched in wary readiness as he stepped toward her.

  “Maybe, if you were a virgin, I wouldn’t ask you to be my mistress,” he conceded. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t lessen my love for you. I would marry you if I could.”

  “So you say.”

  A frustrated growl rumbled deep in his throat. He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his in one swift movement. Cat didn’t fight him.

  “I know you love me,” Stuart whispered, his voice filled with passion.

  “Oh, Stuart.” She lay her head against his chest. “I do care for you. But I can’t leave Penbrook. It’s my home.”

  Stuart gripped her arms and looked her in the eye. “A home where you are a virtual prisoner, a slave, Cat. Nothing more than a possession. You don’t owe Camilla anything. You’ve made a success of this plantation when practically every other planter around here was either burned out during the war or became so poor they can barely scratch out a living. Penbrook is thriving. Camilla will be the queen of the county if she keeps up the sharecropping. She and Thomas can marry and raise Hank as their own.”

  Cat bristled. “Thomas doesn’t love Camilla.” And there was no way she’d allow Camilla to raise her son.

  “There are other reasons to marry a woman.”

  “Oh? And what were the reasons you married your wife, Stuart? Is she rich? Beautiful?” She didn’t even try to hide her contempt. Let him rescind his offer. She didn’t need to be another man’s whore.

  He offered her a sheepish grin. “I married Sarah at my father’s suggestion. He was in the newspaper business, and Sarah’s dad was in publishing. It seemed a good match. At the time.” He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close again. Inches from her face, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Please say yes.”

  “I don’t know, Stuart. I just can’t leave on a whim.” How could she tell him what was really keeping her at Penbrook? That little Henry was her child. That she could never take him away from his inheritance.

  For the first time a hint of doubt niggled at her. What if Thomas and Camilla were to marry? Staying at Penbrook would be intolerable. Perhaps she could take Henry with her after all. Penbrook would still be his. He could come back when he was grown.

  “Look, I’m not asking you to come with me tomorrow. It’ll take a few weeks for me to settle in, take care of business, and find you a place to live. But if you say yes, I will send for you when the time is right.”

  Cat clenched her fists so tightly her broken nails dug into her palms. “I–I have to think about it.”

  And think about it she did. All the way back to the house. To leave the South and move north. . .to Chicago. To finally get away from the land of her oppression. And from Camilla.

  Her growing enthusiasm at the possibilities was dulled by only one thought. If she left, Thomas would certainly marry Camilla. Then again, Cat could never have him anyway. He knew the truth about her and had already made his contempt clear.

  When they neared the house, the sun had completely descended, leaving the earth covered in darkness. Stuart declined a dinner invitation. “I have to return tonight. My train leaves early in the morning.” Without waiting for permission, he pulled her close and kissed her l
ong and passionately.

  Cat wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggled closer, and allowed his embrace.

  “I’ll send for you in a few weeks.”

  “I haven’t agreed to go.”

  He gave her another long look. “You will. You hate the memories in that house. This may not be the kind of future you envisioned for us. But be honest for once. You’ve been waiting for me to take you away from this place, haven’t you?”

  Cat fought for the gumption to order him away from Penbrook once and for all. “You seem very sure of yourself.”

  “I’m sure of you.” With that, he mounted his horse and cantered off.

  Cat watched him ride away, then turned to walk into the house. She stopped short at the sight of Shaw standing in the shadows of the porch.

  “Mercy, Shaw. You nearly scared me to death.” How much had he heard? “What do you mean lurking around, listening to people’s private conversations?”

  “What are peoples doin’ havin’ private talks wifout first makin’ sure ain’t nobody on da porch?”

  Cat scowled. For all of his ignorant grammar and lack of education, Shaw had a pretty quick wit and a morality about him that always made her feel a little unclean.

  “Well, you should have stepped out. That would have been the polite thing to do.”

  He shrugged. “Seems like I’d a been interruptin’ somethin’ special.”

  Cat plopped down on the bench Shaw had crafted soon after his recovery from the hog attack. They had spent many evenings together on that bench, enjoying the cool of the night.

  “It wasn’t really anything special, Shaw.” She turned her gaze toward the man whose presence filled her with such confusion. Her defenses rose. “I guess you think I have no business kissing a man I don’t love.”

  “Ain’t none of my business, Miss Cat.”

  “Stop calling me that. You know I was just as much a slave as you were. Technically, we’re no different.”

  He made no move to contradict her. Irritation bit her hard and her defenses rose. Why didn’t he state the obvious differences? She was almost white, while he was black as pitch. She was educated. To be sure, her station in life was higher than his. But only because she lived as a white woman. Shaw was one of the few people who knew her secret.

  “You think we’re no different?”

  Her snappy tone must have taken him by surprise. “What you mean, miss?”

  “I said we’re no different and you never said one word.”

  He expelled a heavy breath. “One thing I’s learned, Miss Cat, is da Bible say day ain’t no difference ’twixt any of us.”

  “What do you mean? That God agrees with the slaveholders? That one drop of Negro blood makes us equal?”

  By the light of the moon, Shaw leaned in close, the whites of his eyes startling against skin made even darker by the night. He took her hand and pressed it against his chest. Cat’s pulse picked up at his closeness. She tried to pull away, but he held her palm there. “Feel dat?”

  Confused, Cat couldn’t look away from the dark brown eyes. Warmth flooded her stomach. “F–feel what?”

  “My heart beating fast-like.” His whisper sent a shiver up her spine. “I’s a man. You is a woman. Dere ain’t no denyin’ it. It ain’t about color, Miss Cat. Dere ain’t no mans nor womens, no black nor white. In Jesus, we’s da same. We’s equal in God’s eyes.”

  “Religion again, huh?” Swift disappointment shot through her. Why did he always have to speak of ‘the good Lawd’ this and Jesus that?

  “Not religion, Miss Cat.” He turned her loose. “Jus’ de truth.”

  “It’s only truth in your mind. If you honestly believe there is no difference between black and white, men and women, then you’re nothing but a fool.”

  “De world don’ think de way de Lawd do.” He smiled, his eyes sad. “I’d rather be a fool for believin’ what de Bible say dan agreein’ wif folks who don’ know no better.”

  Cat sniffed and jerked her head. She stared up at the moon. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know any better.”

  He smiled and stood, holding out his hand to assist her up. Surprise raised her brow. He’d never shown such familiarity. But as she took his rough, calloused hand, she suddenly didn’t care. “Do you have a family, Shaw?”

  “A fambly?”

  Heat rushed to her face and she was glad for the cover of darkness to hide her blush. “A wife, children?”

  “Oh, no. De only woman I ever loved was my ma, and dey sold me away when I was jus’ a boy.”

  “How old are you?”

  He shrugged. “Somewheres ’bout thirty, near as I can figger.”

  “And you’ve never been in love?”

  “Not ’til now.” He tightened his grip on her hand and Cat felt the sheer force of his admission.

  For a second, her breath refused to come. They had never spoken of their feelings. Shaw was her friend, the one who understood her. The one she could always count on. But she could never. . .

  She looked into his dear face and tears misted her eyes. “Oh, Shaw.”

  “Don’ feel bad for ol’ Shaw. I knows you be too good for de likes of me. I jus’ couldn’ be tellin’ no lies.”

  “Too good for you, Shaw? I thought we were all equal.” Cat nudged him with her elbow, trying to lighten the tension.

  A deep chuckled rumbled as he stared up into the star-filled sky. “See, Lawd? She be listenin’ after all.” He turned to her and dropped her hand. “G’night, Miss Cat. Oh, and about dat cap’n. . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Love ain’t selfish.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Shaw shrugged. “If de cap’n truly loved ya, he wouldn’t ask ya to live dat life o’ sin. He be wantin’ to use ya for his own pleasure. Is he thinkin’ what’s best fer you?” He shook his head.

  Anger flashed through Cat. Mostly because she knew he was right. “Well, maybe I’m the one using him. Maybe I want to leave this godforsaken place. Maybe I just want to live like a queen. Stuart is rich, you know. I’d have my own house and basically be able to come and go as I please.”

  Shaw shook his head again.

  “What?”

  “You’d be more a slave dan ya ever been if ya do dis thing.”

  “That’s my business.” Without awaiting an answer, Cat slammed into the house and stomped upstairs to her room.

  From Camilla’s diary

  My fear has been realized. Captain Riley has been gone for several weeks and Cat has turned her attention to Thomas. What is it about her that men seem to find so hard to resist? My Pa, Thomas, Stuart Riley, even Shaw is in love with her, though he tries hard not to show it. Sometimes I think she cares for him as well, but I suppose that is a silly thought. Though it would be a fitting union.

  Each day I watch as Thomas falls more and more under her spell. I am powerless, as he has eyes only for Cat.

  What shall I do if they marry? My life will be unbearable living in this house, though I know they will not ask me to leave my home. Common decency prevents such a thing. But I know they will only suffer my presence. I must somehow prevent their union. I accomplished that very thing once. I can do it again. I must.

  Chapter Ten

  Andy hooked the collar of his jacket with his index finger and slung it over his shoulder as he walked the dusty road back to town. The midday sun beat down, scorching the red dirt beneath his feet. Sweat trickled along his spine and soaked his white shirt. His mind replayed Miss Penbrook’s latest story. He would have to confer with the diaries as soon as he arrived back at Buck’s place. The old lady had trailed off in her mind once again before revealing which of the women ended up with Thomas.

  Andy shook his head and smiled. Romance had never interested him before. But he had a real curiosity about Thomas and which woman he’d chosen. Why take so long to declare himself one way or the other? According to Miss Penbrook, he’d been home more than a year and a half before Stuart Rile
y’s little proposition to Cat.

  Riley. . .Riley. . .the name bothered him. Was it too much to be coincidence?

  As he walked, his mind drifted back twenty-six years.

  “Hello, Andy.”

  Ten-year-old Andy stared way up. The man standing before him was so tall, he could probably knock a bird right out of the sky with his head. With a smile, he bent so that he came eye to eye with Andy. His eyes creased with humor. Andy relaxed and took the massive proffered hand.

  “I’m Daniel Riley. You’re going to be living with my family. Do you know why?”

  Andy shook his head.

  Mama had never told him why. All he remembered were wild whispers. Mama’s wet tears on his neck. Being shoved onto the train as it slowly inched forward. Mama walked then ran alongside, her hand stretched toward him. “You be a good boy for them white folks. Don’t ya make no trouble, ya hear?”

  He’d promised, fear and confusion playing a discordant tune inside him.

  The shrill of the train whistle had drowned out his pleas to stay with his mama.

  Hours later, he stood on the wooden platform, being greeted by the tall, white Mr. Riley, who had kind eyes and a deep, rumbly voice.

  “Where’s your bag, Son?”

  “Ain’t got no bag, suh.”

  “What about your clothes?”

  Andy felt the embarrassment clear to his worn-out boots. “All I gots is on me.”

  “Well, no worry. We’ll fix that lickety-split.”

  “You mean I’s gettin’ me some new britches?”

  “Of course. I’ll have my wife take you shopping tomorrow.”

  “Ain’t never had me no new britches befo’.”

  Mr. Riley chuckled and rubbed Andy’s head. “Well, I can see the first thing we’re going to have to work on is your speech. I’m told you’re about the brightest boy who ever lived. So I’m sure you’ll catch on fast.”

  Andy felt a stab of pride at the praise. Someone thought he was a bright boy? “Yes, suh.”

  Maybe living in Chicago wouldn’t be so bad after all. But geez, he was gonna miss his mama and the other kids.