Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  “Depends on what I’ve got in mind for her.”

  “And that would be?” Keith raised an eyebrow.

  “As you said yourself,” Ryan gave a lazy grin, “maybe they should have presentation balls for potential mistresses…and maybe we actually went to one last night.”

  Keith joined him with a smirk of his own. “I’m beginning to understand.”

  “Good. So tell me. Does Erin go anywhere that I might be able to run into her so it looks like a chance meeting?” He related his fears of calling formally, lest her mother jump to conclusions.

  Keith obliged by telling him he’d seen Erin riding by the mill stream that fed into the James River at the southeast corner of the Tremayne plantation. “Before Tremayne won that adjoining tract in a poker game, which, I heard, he cheated to win, Pete Dabnem owned it, had a grist house there for grinding corn. Tremayne shut it down, ran everybody off, posted signs. I used to like to fish there, but he’s such a maniac, I was afraid he’d shoot me if I kept going, so I moved up farther. But I can still see his place as I’m coming or going across the ridge. Twice, I’ve seen Erin headed there on horseback.”

  “Late in the day?”

  “Around four o’clock.”

  Ryan nodded to himself. Now he knew how he would make first contact.

  Chapter Four

  After several days of drizzling rain and overcast skies, Arlene relished the afternoon of sunshine and cool breezes. She could breathe better in fresh air, didn’t cough as much, so she stayed outdoors as often as weather permitted.

  Concentrating on her tatting as she sat on the front porch, she hummed to herself, rocking gently to and fro. Maybe with the nice weather, she mused, Ryan Youngblood would come calling. If not, then maybe she’d have to be so bold as to send Roscoe to Jasmine Hill with a written invitation to tea. When she’d mentioned that possibility to Erin at breakfast only that morning, she’d been surprised that she hadn’t protested, actually appeared to approve the idea, though she hadn’t come right out and said so. The fact was, she seemed to have mellowed a bit since the ball, didn’t seem quite so defiant, though she did appear to be deep in thought about something. But when asked if there was anything she’d like to talk about, she’d said not. Arlene had noticed, however, that she and Letty seemed to have picked up where they left off in their friendship. She’d seen Letty slipping up the back stairs after dark, despite Zachary’s decree that no servants, except Roscoe, were allowed indoors at night. He didn’t trust them, he said, and Arlene didn’t blame him. They all hated him, would probably love to stick a knife in his throat as he slept. She didn’t blame them, either. Not that she was prone to violence or condoned it. She just candidly acknowledged they hated him, had good reason to. But it worried her about Letty and Erin getting chummy again. Zachary had made it very clear he didn’t approve, and she feared he’d take drastic steps if he found out.

  Rosa came out on the porch with a glass of cool lemonade topped with a sprig of fresh mint. Arlene felt a special bond with Rosa, who also happened to be Letty’s mother. In fact, it was at her urging Zachary had bought the two at a slave auction in Wilmington. They hadn’t been married but a few days and were heading for Richmond and her new home. Passing through the coastal North Carolina town, Zachary had heard there was a big auction going on, because a slave ship had just arrived from Africa. He’d told her it was a good opportunity for her to pick out some household help of her own liking.

  She hadn’t wanted to go, hated the idea of bidding on people, buying them as if they were no more than cattle, but dared not say so, any more than she’d expound on her hatred for slavery in general. But he’d insisted, and then when she’d seen Rosa standing there on the block, her heart had melted. The auctioneer, callous bastard that he was, had stripped her naked, made her turn around in front of the hundreds of spectators, most of them men. “A good breeder!” he’d bellowed matter-of-factly, pointing at her wide hips and large breasts with the crop of his whip. “Already got a pickaninny, too.” He pointed to Letty, who was still a baby, clinging to her mother’s legs in terror as she stared out at the sea of impassive faces. She had no way of knowing what was happening to her. The auctioneer had then barked, “She’s bound to be a strong one. It ain’t too often pickaninnies survive the voyage.”

  Something had struck Arlene right in her heart as she’d witnessed the pathetic scene. Perhaps it was the fact that she had a baby daughter too, or maybe her reaction was provoked by her own close-locked secret. She knew only that she wanted to spare that wretched woman and her pitiful child any more humiliation. Clutching Zachary’s arm, she’d whispered, “Please. Buy them.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, I guess I could use a good breeder.” Then he made a bid so high everyone else backed off. When they left Wilmington, Rosa and her baby rode on top of the carriage, crowded in among the luggage and trunks. No amount of begging from Arlene could move Zachary to allow them to ride inside, out of the broiling hot sun.

  Rosa had gone on to have three healthy sons whom Zachary had sold, and it was only due to Arlene’s constant, desperate pleas that he’d not done the same with Letty. She intended to remind Erin about that, as a warning that he might now sell Letty if he found out the two were renewing their intimacy.

  Rosa had begun to water the potted ferns that lined the porch. They both looked up curiously as they heard the sound of a rider coming up the road. Shading her eyes with one hand, Rosa speculated, “That looks like Mastah Zachary. If it is, he sho is comin’ in fast.”

  Arlene saw it was indeed her husband, and tensed instinctively. She’d thought he’d be back the night before, and when he hadn’t returned, knew he’d probably stayed over in town to get liquored up. She had no idea where he went on his business trips, as he called them. Actually, she didn’t want to know, fearing he was up to no good. All she knew was that whatever he was doing, it made him a lot of money. Now, however, she’d have to cope with him either being sick from drinking all night, or, worse, he’d still be drunk. Getting to her feet slowly, she walked to the edge of the porch in fearful anticipation of what she’d have to deal with.

  Rosa had started to go back inside, then hung back out of curiosity, sensing something was wrong.

  Zachary reined in his horse so hard, the animal reared up in panic before landing on all fours to stomp about in agitation as he quickly dismounted. He threw the reins at Ben, who’d rushed from the stable at the sound of his galloping approach. Arlene saw at once he was not only drunk, he was livid with rage.

  “You!” He pointed at Rosa, who had frozen where she stood. “Get inside. You know I can’t stand you eavesdroppin’.”

  She rushed to obey, daring only to throw a sympathetic glance at her mistress.

  Arlene was also frightened but mustered the bravado to meet his fiery glare. He was tall, heavy-set, with a big barrel chest. Heavily bearded, he had the eyes of a snake, and she wondered how she could ever have found him even remotely attractive. But that had been years ago, when heavy drinking hadn’t caused broken veins all over his nose, and just plain meanness hadn’t made him appear uglier than he actually was.

  He didn’t like the arrogant way she was looking at him and gave her a rough shove that sent her stumbling backward into the rocker. The jolt set off a coughing spell, and as she covered her mouth with shaking hands, he bellowed, “Don’t start that goddamn barkin’ of yours. You know it drives me crazy.”

  She tried to control herself, choked out the burning question, “What on earth is wrong with you? Dear God, you’re like a madman.”

  “You’re damn right!” He squatted before her, looked up into her reddening face as she wheezed, tried to catch her breath. “I just came from Sully’s Tavern in town, and I heard how the whole county is laughin’ at you and Erin for showin’ up at the Rose Ball without bein’ invited. I should’ve known somethin’ was funny when you said you were, after all the years when you weren’t.

  “Have you lost your goddamn m
ind, woman?” he raved on. “You think you can bull your way in and find a husband for Erin amongst them snotty, holier-than-thou, pompous asses?”

  She drew in her breath slowly, trying to calm herself as she framed her answer carefully. “I knew it was just an oversight, a mistake, and we were really supposed to be on the invitation list, and—”

  “Goddamn it, woman, that’s a lie, and you know it!” He struck at the air with his fist. “You’ve never been invited to a ball or a social in this county, and you never will be. Folks look down their noses at me, ’cause I work for a livin’. I didn’t come from a rich family to hand down wealth to me like those lazy, uppity sons of bitches. I had to work for everything I got. Folks can’t stand knowin’ that, and that’s why I’m shunned and always will be, and the sooner you and that high-minded daughter of yours realize that, the better off you’ll be.

  “Furthermore,” he went on, nostrils flaring, cords standing out in his neck, “they were also talkin’ about what a spectacle Erin made of herself doin’ some kind of lewd dance with that rake, Ryan Youngblood. And you let her do it, so that makes you guilty as she is!”

  “Guilty of what?” Arlene was slowly getting to her feet once more, ire rising despite her fear of him, intensified in that moment by the way he reeked with the odor of whiskey.

  Zachary also straightened, clenching his fists at his sides.

  “I can’t see that Erin has done anything wrong,” she said. “And Ryan Youngblood is certainly no rake. He comes from a good family, but that’s not the point. Erin can’t help it if we’re socially ostracized because of you. And you’re wrong in your reasoning,” she dared point out. “Folks don’t look down on you because you had to work for what you’ve got. They shun you because of the way you behave, getting drunk and rowdy and always in a scrap. And they don’t like the way you treat our servants. You try to hide it, but you’re brutal and word gets out and—”

  He gave her another rough shove that sat her back down, towered over her, and shook his fist in her face as he growled, “You shut up! You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, and you oughta know after all these years, I don’t take sass off nobody, ’specially what I own, and I own you just like I own them slaves. And that’s what they are—slaves! And it’s nobody’s business how I treat ’em.

  “And I’ll tell you something else,” he went on raggedly, hoarsely. “Don’t you ever throw off at me that it’s my fault you ain’t accepted, ’cause if folks around here knew the truth about what you are, they wouldn’t even let you sit with ’em in church! You’d be up in the balcony with the rest of the darkies!”

  Arlene gasped, stricken, instinctively glancing about for fear someone could hear him, relieved no one was about. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” she whispered, aghast that he had flung that in her face—again. Oh, there’d been times in the past when he had, but only when he was rip-roaring drunk and mean and not caring how bad he hurt her.

  “Just remember your place, woman!” His upper lip turned back in a scornful snarl. “And don’t you let me hear of you ever pullin’ such a stunt again. Now I’m tellin’ you to get that girl of yours down off her high horse before I do it for you! I’ll see to it she gets a husband without makin’ this family look like a fool!”

  Arlene knew he couldn’t stand for her to cry but had no more control. Covering her face with her hands, she bowed her head and wept. Enraged, he wrapped his fingers in her hair, yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him as he continued his tirade. “You’ve made my life hell all these years, you know that? You connived to get me to marry you, put a spell on me, made me so goddamn crazy wantin’ you I was willin’ to marry you even after what you told me, but I ain’t under that spell no more. And if you don’t straighten up, learn your place, and do somethin’ about that snotty daughter of yours, I’ll do the same thing to you I do with slaves I get tired of fuckin’ around with. You understand me? Now get out of here. I can’t stand your sniveling!”

  She fled quickly into the house to her sewing room, locking the door behind her before collapsing to the floor to give way to the flood of tears. Dear God, she asked herself for the thousandth time, why had she told him in a weak moment, all those years ago, that she had Negro blood, that her maternal grandmother had been a Negro? He had never suspected because she passed for white, with help from the skin-bleaching potion her mother had taught her to make, the same potion she insisted Erin use, so there’d never be a hint she was a mulatto. But back then she’d foolishly felt the need to be completely honest with Zachary, as she’d been with her beloved Jacob, who’d loved her so much he wouldn’t have cared if she’d been green! Naively, she had believed Zachary when he professed to love her, thinking they would have a good marriage also. So she had told him the secret, and he’d said it didn’t matter. It was only later, when the fires of his loins had cooled, that she painfully realized just how terribly much it did matter.

  There were times, when he was drunk, when she felt he truly hated her. He accused her of enticing him, holding out for marriage, making him so crazy wanting her he’d given in. He would beat her then, forcing her to perform the most depraved acts he could think of to humiliate her. Afterward, when he was sober, he would cry and apologize, beg her forgiveness, and swear he loved her. But that was years ago. Now he had no more remorse, no matter how brutal he became.

  Too late, Arlene had realized her mistake. Devoting herself to Erin, determined she should not suffer, she resolved to protect her at all costs, even if it meant being totally subservient to Zachary. He knew that gave him the upper hand, that she would tolerate any abuse he handed out. When she lost the baby she was carrying, he said he was glad, because he didn’t want to have a baby by a mulatto. What he didn’t know, what she’d never tell, was that she’d subjected herself to an abortion by a Negro midwife Rosa knew about, who was also adept at ridding slave girls of unwanted babies conceived by their masters.

  So life had gone on, becoming more and more miserable with each passing year. Arlene lived in fear that Zachary would one day, in a drunken rage, reveal all to Erin. He’d sworn never to do that, but she no longer trusted him to keep his word about anything. And she never intended for Erin to know the truth, lest she repeat the mistake and confide the secret to the man she married…and subsequently live to regret it.

  Arlene knew the only reason Zachary didn’t tell Erin was that he enjoyed holding the threat over her head more. Once, she’d asked him why he didn’t divorce her, since he obviously didn’t love her, but in fact loathed and despised her. In response, he had sneered, then taunted, “Because I own you, Arlene, just like the rest of the darkies on this place, and I’ll keep you as long as it pleases me to do so. When it doesn’t, I’ll sell you, just like I sell them. Remember that, and don’t give me any trouble!”

  She wasn’t really worried. After all, no one else suspected there was a drop of anything but Caucasian blood flowing in her veins. So, through the years, she had learned her place, and when he wasn’t drinking, he just ignored her.

  When Erin had begged, almost hysterically, to go to Atlanta to live with her aunt, Arlene had given in reluctantly. Filling her lonely hours with charity and church work had been rewarding, and she’d made many friends, even though she accepted the painful reality that friendship could go only so far, due to community disregard for her husband.

  And now she was running out of time. She was dying, and soon all the misery would end, but please, God, she prayed, huddled there on the floor, let me live long enough to see my daughter taken care of, so she won’t suffer as I’ve had to suffer all these years.

  A sudden knock on the door brought her scrambling to her feet. Dabbing furiously at her eyes with the back of her hands, she anxiously called out, “Yes, who is it?”

  “Me,” Erin responded. “I wanted to let you know I’m going riding.”

  Arlene made her voice light, “Oh, go ahead, dear, have a good time. Forgive me for not letting you in, b
ut I’m in the middle of something.”

  Erin, bemused by the locked door, lingered only an instant, for she was anxious to be on her way. Horseback riding was one of her few pleasures since coming back, especially since it took her away from the house—and Zachary.

  Ben had her favorite horse bridled and waiting outside the stable. She suppressed a knowing smile over the secret that he and Letty were lovers. He tried not to appear shocked, as always, over the way she wore riding breeches, like a man, instead of a skirt, and rode bareback.

  The day was hot, sun beating down on the fields of cotton and corn from a sky so deeply blue it appeared to touch the distant horizon in a solid mass. She set out on her favorite trail, which took her beyond the fields to the banks of the meandering stream that eventually fed into the James River. Her favorite spot was the site of the old mill. Zachary had closed it down some years ago, but the water was shallow there in one spot, if anyone wanted to ford to the other side. Beside the waterwheel and the tiny stone millhouse, there was a delightful pool for bathing on a terribly hot day. A graceful weeping willow tree stood sentry atop the grassy, sloping bank.

  Erin didn’t feel like wading or bathing. She was in a somber mood, reflecting on how so many things had changed while she was away. It was as though an invisible pall had descended, oppressive and evil. Despite all Letty had dared to tell her, she’d already noticed how the other servants seemed subdued, moving about to do their chores with heads down, shoulders stooped, spirits broken. Even her mother had no real zest for living anymore, though she tried to put up a front. Erin noticed the shadow of misery in her eyes, the desolation and despair mirrored there when she thought no one was looking.

  Dismounting, she looped her horse’s reins around a bush, then began to wander absently along the bank to the juncture at the river. Staring at the flowing current with envy, she thought how at least the river knew where it was going. She had no idea what the future held for her.