by Lam, Arlene
“Honey, why would you want to? The woman is, for a lack of a better word, tacky.”
Margaret chuckled at this. “I’ve been in love with him my whole life, Patty. I haven’t seen him in years and now I’m going to lose him.”
“Only if you want to, which we both know you don’t. Margaret, I’m going to help you make Jasper see you for who you are and, honey, I better be an honored guest at the wedding.”
Her Southern belle drawl held a hint of mischief. And Margaret knew then that catching her man would be the most fun she'd ever had in her life
Part Two
Amelia
The Blooming Magnolia
The Magnolia
New Orleans, 1866
The thing about it was she just didn’t like Morgan in that way. Seeing him come down the dirt trail, Amelia immediately wished she’d taken the main road. She couldn’t turn back now. If she did, he would tell Lorraine and then she’d never hear the end of it.
As of late, whatever Morgan Allen wanted, Aunt Lorraine saw fit he got. Sadly, it seemed that now included her.
Morgan could be her daddy, but that didn’t matter. What did matter, at least to Lorraine, was that he was well received in the prominent colored community. That meant he could gain Lorraine much desired status, a thing Lorraine craved.
The creole woman was itching to just get her foot in the door of the elite world of the Couleur La Société Elite. If that meant selling Amelia, well so be it. Apparently some forms of slavery were never meant to fade.
Taking a breath, she stood off to the side so that his old hackney could stop before her. For a man of means, he sure didn’t look it. Forcing a smile, Amelia waved up at him. “How are you?”
“Reckon’ I better now I’s done seen ya.” Morgan dismounted with difficulty, ailed by a wound from the troubled days as he would call them, before he was able to purchase his own freedom. Amelia would never know how lucky she was not to have to go through slavery times. She was born free.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Morgan put his hand to the girl’s cheek. “You sho’ turning out to be a right fine woman. You fillin' out alright.” And she was; the golden-eyed girl was beautiful. Always had been, but now that she was getting older, it was no longer a thing Morgan was willing to ignore. He’d made his mind up, and Amelia was going to be a part of his life. “How old you now?”
“Fifteen.” Amelia replied blandly inching away from the intimidating form before her. He was always so close. He didn’t give her any room to think. “I’ll tell Aunt Lorraine I saw you. I got to be going now. Nice seeing you Mr. Allen.”
“Where ya goin? I can take ya. Can’t have a girl like you walking.”
Amelia sighed in irritation “I’m going to meet Daniel and the girls down by the river before I go over to the Bradford house. You know Mrs. Margaret McMahon hired me on to work there early days, just cleaning and doing a little cooking. Only one left in that house since the poor folks passed on is the older son, and the sister but she just a baby. I’m going to help out with her as well.” Amelia rattled on.
Morgan barely heard anything after Daniel. The boy was always sniffing around Amelia and it needed to stop. “You know dat boy want nothing more from ya done to see up ya skirt. You’d be smart ta stay away from him.”
Amelia felt her jaw drop. She simply could not comprehend what the man had just said. Daniel loved her. They were going to be married one day. If she had any say so, he was going to rescue her from Lorraine and Morgan. “That’s not true!” If she could have got away with slapping him she would have.
“What you say ta me?” Morgan flared. Lorraine wasn’t doing her part. Hadn’t he explained to the woman that if Amelia was not trained up right there would be no money?
He would not stand for back talk or being told what to do. His whole life he had to do as he was told but now things had changed. He was in charge, he made the rules. “Don’t you eva’ talk back to me, ya hear?”
Amelia stood there blinking shocked. Where did this come from? She’d always been leery of Morgan but now, as he stood in front of her scowling and yelling, she’d make sure to always avoid him.
“Get up in the cart. I told you I’d take you to da Bradford house.” Morgan tried to calm himself after all they were not married yet. He’d have to play his cards right for now. “Girl, don’ be upset, I just care 'bout ya is all. I know how boys like Daniel work. After all, I was once his age.” Looking to her, he gave his next move much thought. “You know what type girl you be?”
Amelia ignored him as she climbed onto the back of the hackney, not making eye contact. She would just remain quiet until she could get away from the man.
Morgan saw that she was trying to ignore him but pressed on anyway. “You a girl only a man like me can appreciate. You ain't pretty like the rest; you big and a young man like a small girl, one he can wrap his arms 'bout at night, but I can except that I’m older. I wants a woman who can work hard, cook, and keep me warm at night. You my type of girl, understand. Boy like Daniel only want ta use you.”
Amelia wrapped her arms about herself. Was she really that unattractive? Lorraine told her these same things but Daniel didn’t seem to notice. Staring down at her figure she concluded that maybe she could lose a few pounds.
Still, what if they were right? Lately, Nelly Taylor had been trying to spend more time with Daniel. Amelia was wary of the situation but she trusted Daniel, just not Nelly.
“Now you listen ta me. Ain't no boy gonna take care of ya like I can. I know what you are and I can settle for it. Marry one em hard headed boys and you ain't gonna be happy.”
What did he want her to say, she wondered? Right now, he was staring at her so intently she felt her skin crawl. “I’m not thinking about marrying anyone. I’m only fifteen.”
“True, but most gals get married long fo’ then.” Sighing Morgan decided to relent. “I ain't gonna talk ta ya no more bout it today. Just lookin out fo you is all.”
“I thank you kindly,” Amelia stated, averting her eyes to her hands and he climbed in and urged the mule on. The ride to the Bradford house was full of awkward silence and Amelia had to endure the impropriety of the man’s hand on her shoulder the whole ride.
As soon as he came to a complete stop, she hopped down and ran around back of the house without even a goodbye.
She was out of breath when she knocked on the large cherry wood door and tried to compose herself before anyone could have a chance to answer. Of course the darn thing was thrown open before she got the chance. Wiping her hands on her beige skirt, Amelia thought better of holding her hand out to the pretty blonde woman. Instead she nodded in greeting. “Hello, I’m Amelia. Mrs. McMahon sent me.”
Vivian Townes looked over the young woman and smiled. Her chest was heaving and she’d let her words tumble out, but she had a warm smile upon her lips the whole time. “Welcome, Amelia. I’m Vivian, the keeper of the estate while Mr. Bradford is away. Come on, child. Come in and get out of the sun.”
Amelia timidly stepped into the house and already it was more than she ever could have expected. Searching the great room, she came to realize it was the kitchen and great counters were placed at the far end. She watched as the woman called Vivian pulled two crystal glasses from a curio cabinet and poured two glasses of lemonade, handing her one.
“No, ma’am I couldn’t.” Amelia exclaimed backing away from the beverage as if it might bite her.
“Of course you can and you will.” Vivian insisted. “We’ll have none of that in this house. Mr. Bradford wouldn’t have it either, I assure you. Besides, I kept the whole pitcher in the ice house so it could cool just for you. I wanted to give you a nice welcoming and in the heat, what could be better than a cold glass of lemonade?”
She made a good argument but Amelia was no fool. You just didn’t drink out of the same cups as whites and if anyone seen her she’d get what she deserved, even if it was being offered. “Thank you, but I’m fine I assure you.�
��
Vivian frowned. “Girl, if you don’t drink that lemonade I’m going to send you away right now.” Vivian declared trying to remain stern and not smile as the girl took the glass and gulped the contents down. “Now was that so hard? Besides, who’s going to tell on you anyway?” Vivian took the girl by her hand and set her down at one of the tables. “So, tell me Amelia, can you cook?”
New Orleans
That had been a year ago and now at the age of sixteen, Amelia once again came running to the back door of the Bradford manor, but this time in tears and straight into Vivian’s arms.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Vivian tossed the apron she wore to the floor and led the girl out of the kitchen and into the library, where she set her down on the couch and tried to make out what was amiss amongst the girls sobs.
“Morgan was right; why did I ever think he could want someone like me? I’m fat and I’m ugly.” Amelia cried into the lap of the woman who had become like a mother to her.
“My darling, what happened?” Vivian cooed, pushing Amelia’s thick mane back over her shoulders.
“Daniel’s going to marry Nelly!” Amelia wailed. “I thought it didn’t matter to him how I looked. He said it didn’t and now he’s gone and asked Nelly to marry him.”
Vivian remained silent, but inside she wanted to go down to Daniel’s house and slap him. How dare he treat Amelia this way, the damn fool.
Patiently, Vivian allowed Amelia to cry until she couldn’t cry anymore, then patting her back she took out a handkerchief and wiped the girl's face. “Don’t fret, you were meant for greater things, Amelia and a better man. One day, you’ll find him.”
Amelia shook her head vehemently. “How can I? I’m nothing. No one would want a woman like me.”
“I swear Morgan and Lorraine are trying to poison your mind. When I look at you, do you know what I see?”
“You’re biased,” Amelia countered but, for the first time all day, managed a bit of a smile.
“That may be so but I’m also honest. When I look at you, Amelia, I see a beautiful young woman, a woman who deserves the world. And one day, some deserving man is going to be lucky enough to give it to you.”
“That man is going to be Morgan,” Amelia said, her face taut and her eyes sad.
“Only if you want him to, Amelia.”
“How can I stop him?”
“You don’t have to wait for someone to rescue you. You can always rescue yourself.” With that, Vivian rose from her position and headed out of the library.
Amelia lay there on the red couch for a while before she finally got the strength to move. She’d been in the library before but she never really looked at it, just dusted and wiped down the desk and shelves.
Running her index finger along a shelf of books, she closed her eyes and after a few moments, she stopped and plucked the one her finger landed on.
She could have laughed outright at the selection, The Betrayal. She should have laughed but she just couldn’t. Taking it over to a heavily cushioned chair, she opened it to reveal the scrawling of a message.
To Samantha,
a story most appropriate,
Jordan
Amelia’s curiosity was peaked; it had to belong to Mr. Bradford’s wife. Portraits of the stunning blonde could be seen on most of the walls in the manor. Yet she could not recall one of Mr. Bradford, himself. Amelia had been employed over a year at the house but had yet to lay eyes on him.
Vivian said he was in London, and the one time he did return, he resided at his cousin’s house and sent for his sister. They didn’t see Georgia for a month, and Vivian and herself moped around the house until the child’s return.
It was funny, but now that she thought of it, she had not seen one portrait lining the great walls of Mr. Bradford, himself. Surely there had to be one.
Setting the book aside, Amelia thought back to every room. Closing her eyes she thought hard, where would one be? She’d roamed up and down the house for months now; she should be able to find one.
Then it dawned on her. There was an adjoining room to Mr. Bradford’s quarters that she’d not once stepped foot in. Vivian always said there was no need because Mrs. Bradford would not be coming back to New Orleans.
Taking her time going up the winding staircase, Amelia came to the door and turned the knob. Entering, she found the room to be dark and dank.
Pulling open the blue and white velvet curtains, she squinted her eyes as light filtered through and dust flew up into the air only to float back down slowly and settle.
Vivian might not think it necessary but the room needed some attention. Everything in it was untouched. It was eerie. The bed was made and the boudoir held a bevy of perfumes and brushes.
Picking one up, Amelia blew the dust from the article before placing it back down. Moving to the bed she turned about in the room and that’s when she saw it.
The large portrait was hung directly across from the four poster bed and Amelia felt her heart catch, a funny feeling, she must say.
The man was striking; in the portrait, he stood next to a black horse. Piercing blue-violet eyes stared blankly back at her and Amelia felt her heart skip once more.
She could tell he was tall and from the looks of it, he was not an idle man. His figure was impressive; blinking, Amelia found that she almost felt entranced.
Shaking her head, she gave the portrait one last look before leaving the room and decided that, at least if left to her, there would be more than one picture of Mr. Bradford gracing the halls.
***
That night, Amelia lay in her uncomfortable cot lost in thought. When she’d arrived home from work, Morgan was there and it was almost more than she could bear.
He went on about how he’d warned her against Daniel, how he’d told her that no young man would want a woman like her. He liked rubbing salt in the wound—that much was apparent. Off to the side, Lorraine sat by and agreed wholeheartedly and Amelia felt drained by the time the whole ordeal was over.
After supper, she’d asked to be excused early and nearly ran to her room. Throwing herself on her bed, she clinched her eyes shut and the only comfort she could find was in Vivian’s words.
Maybe she was meant for something different, perhaps something great. Most importantly, perhaps she didn’t have to be shackled to Morgan. She didn’t need to wait around to be rescued. She could rescue herself.
That night, she fell asleep with a smile on her lips, and though when she woke she wouldn’t remember, she dreamed of a man with piercing blue-violet eyes.
Part Three
Jessie
The Southern Wildflower
The Wildflower
New Orleans, 1875
“For once, will you just listen to me and keep your hide inside!” Anthony was exasperated. The woman was just too hard headed for her own good. Didn’t she know it would kill him if anything were ever to happen to her? Jessie looked at Anthony as if he’d lost his mind. “Why should I? I know that you’ve got no business out in the woods at this time of night.”
“I told you, I promised Harold I’d help him bring this cargo in tonight. That’s all. 'Sides you ain't got no business out here at all. Your mama find you and she gonna tear you up.” He teased.
“I’m a grown woman!”
Anthony shrugged at this and then grinned at her. “How’s Wilson doing?”
“Anthony Moore, I ought to smack you!” The pretty chocolate-skinned woman advanced on the much larger man.
“Oh stop it. Everybody knows about you and Wilson already. Ya’ll been sweet on each other for months.” There, that had done it. Anthony watched as the petite woman turned on her heel and stomped back inside the house.
If the woman hated anything, it was bringing up Wilson. It wasn’t as if it was a secret but she sure acted as though it was. He’d spotted the two dancing at the Jackson’s cotillion and the sight shook him to the core.
Just a few days prior, Jessie had sworn she was never
going to talk to Wilson again. The boy neglected to ask her to attend the event with him. He’d never seen Jessie so mad. Even mild-mannered Amelia Marriot saw fit to steer clear of her friend, stating she'd rather spend a day with Morgan Allen and that was saying something.
Everyone who was close to Amelia knew how she felt about the man. Anthony didn’t blame Amelia either. He harbored some hard feelings toward the man as well.
Anthony could not figure out why Jessie expected coy old Wilson to ask her anyway. The man was quieter than a church mouse and just as boring. What she saw in him was beyond Anthony’s reckoning, but he knew Wilson would never be able to handle a woman like Jessie.
No Jessie needed a man that was strong and smart and adventurous because that was the type of woman she was. She would be miserable with Wilson; sad thing was she didn’t realize it. Climbing up onto his horse, Anthony spurred the beast quietly on down the road. It was getting dark and he needed to get down to the bayou to meet the boys. Looking behind him after a ways, he veered off the main road into the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen.
New Orleans, 1866
Jessie glared down at Anthony sternly. “You’ve got to stand up for yourself or everybody gonna take advantage of you.”
“I ain't letting no one take advantage. I got to take care of my family now is all.” He hated having to borrow money from Morgan, the man was the sole reason they were in the situation they were now.
“The man stole from your pa.”
“And I’m gonna make him pay for it, you’ll see.”
“I’ll see alright, when he take you for your horse, too.”
“You never can trust me. I’m supposed to be your friend and you don’t got no faith in me.”
Jessie gave this pause. She believed in him more than she believed in anyone. He would do big things, she just knew it. She was just frustrated to see that old coot Morgan taking even more from him and his family. “I got faith in you,” she whispered. “Morgan just makes me so mad; he got his claws in Amelia, now he haggling you.”
