Deciding to forego the dress fitting, she snagged Mammy’s arm and hurried toward the carriage, barely waiting long enough for their driver to open the door and hand her up to the seat.
“What is it, honey girl? What dem folks say what’s got you all upset?”
Auralie sat in silence for a full minute clutching Mammy’s hand. When she trusted her voice to speak without breaking, she replied in a voice so hushed, Mammy had to lean close.
“I don’t think it’s what they said so much as it is that I fear they are right. Father has always preached to me about the Covington name and how respected it is, but how can he force his own daughter into a marriage just so it will benefit him politically? Where is the respect in that?” Tears threatened and she pressed her eyes closed.
“You been prayin’ on it like I tol’ you?”
Auralie shook her head. “Sometimes I still feel like God is so far off, so big and mighty and powerful. How could He care about someone like me?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mammy wrapped Auralie in her arms and hummed while rocking back and forth. “Oh honey girl, jes’ you look at me. I ain’t nuthin’ but an ol’ slave woman, and He care ‘bout me.”
Auralie straightened. “But how do you know?”
Pure bliss and adoration filled Mammy’s face. “‘Cause I done talked to Him jus’ dis mornin’.”
When the carriage finally turned into the long, winding drive that led to the main house, another carriage approached from the opposite direction heading toward the road. Auralie stared. The fine, ornate gray carriage drawn by a pair of perfectly matched black horses looked vaguely familiar. As the two carriages passed, Auralie’s stomach clenched. She’d seen that carriage before. It belonged to Thaddeus Bolden, Perry’s father.
She twisted in her seat trying to see the occupants, but the interior of the carriage was too shadowed. A shudder began in the pit of her stomach and traveled up her spine. Had Perry returned? Was he here? With trembling hands, she gripped the seat, wishing she could fly away like the dove in the psalm.
Chapter 5
Colton bent his back and swung the hoe at the weeds growing between the rows of knee-high corn, wishing he could rid himself of worries as easily as he hacked away the unwanted undergrowth. Rumblings about the upcoming elections and rumors of secession continued to spin out of control, and every time Colton went into town—even to church—the topic of discussion was as predictable as the sunrise. He carried on a running conversation with God, bringing the burdens of his heart to the throne, but it seemed no sooner had he laid one worry down another sprang up.
“Kind of like weeds.” Colton and the Lord shared a smile.
He straightened and twisted to stretch the kinks in his muscles. Putting a hand to his forehead to shade his eyes, he searched the next field for Barnabas. The man could work circles around Colton. Judging by Barnabas’s position, he had already planted more than half of the second cornfield.
Across the footpath, Free patrolled the meadow where the sheep grazed. A soft breeze stirred the trees, and the sun warmed the earth to bring forth a bountiful crop. Colton couldn’t ask for a more peaceful scene. But an unsettled feeling of impending danger lurked, taunting him like a schoolyard bully.
“Lord, I don’t know why I keep looking over my shoulder, waiting for some unseen catastrophe, but it’s like an ache that won’t go away, no matter how much I rub it. Pastor Winslow used to be able to tell when a storm was coming, even when the sky was clear. That’s the way I feel. There’s a storm on the horizon that I can’t prevent. All I can do is ask You to be with us and give us shelter from the storm. Forgive me for trying to carry burdens that aren’t mine to carry or control. Only You, Lord, can control the winds and the storms, no matter what form they take.”
Free’s bark interrupted Colton’s prayer. He looked beyond the meadow and past the second cornfield into the trees. To the south of the cornfields lay a small apple orchard. Colton’s searching gaze swept across the fields and beyond the orchard, but couldn’t see any intruders—of the two- or four-legged variety. In the distance, his neighbor’s house perched between several tall pines, but Colton could see no one stirring around there either.
When the sun was high overhead, Barnabas came tramping up the slope, carrying his shirt in one hand, his canteen slung over his shoulder. Colton joined him, and they hiked back to the house to see what they could scrape together for lunch.
Colton pumped water into a bucket and raised handfuls to his face to rinse off the sweat and dirt. “You’ve made great progress on that second field.” He shook the water from his hair.
“It be finished by sundown. I’s holdin’ out some seed fo’ one more plantin’, jus’ ‘nough fo’ another acre.” Barnabas gulped down a dipper of water and then poured a second dipper over his head. “Ahh.”
Colton tossed him a towel and went inside the cabin to put their lunch together. Barnabas came to the open door and knocked on the doorframe before stepping inside. Despite Colton’s repeated invitations, the former slave couldn’t seem to leave behind his old habits of submission. “Come on in. Grab a jar of those peaches from the pantry. There’s some coffee left from breakfast. Push the pot over the fire while I make some biscuit and bacon sandwiches.”
Barnabas smacked his lips. “Real coffee. Don’ wanna waste none o’ that.”
They settled at the table, and Colton asked the blessing on the food. As they dug in, Barnabas pushed a stray crumb into his mouth. “Seen some men pokin’ around in the woods out pas’ the orchard this mornin’ while I’s workin’.”
Colton almost choked on the bite of biscuit in his mouth. “Slave catchers? What were they doing? I wondered what Free was barking at.”
“Don’ think dey’s bounty hunters, didn’t look like it. Dey seen me workin’ but didn’ pay much mind. Deys mo’ interested in the trees, and they done some pointin’ and lookin’ ‘round. One of ‘em had some kind o’ spyglass settin’ up on three legs. He point it ‘cross yo’ land and look through it and write sumpin’ on a paper.”
Colton leaned back in his chair. “Surveyors maybe? But I can’t imagine what they were looking at across my fields. Have you ever seen any of them before?”
Barnabas’s hesitation in answering piqued Colton’s concern.
“Meybe. One of ‘em look familiar, like meybe I seen him long time ago.” He took another bite of biscuit and rubbed his chin while he chewed, like he was turning something over in his mind. “Don’ wanna say fo’ sho’. I might be wrong.”
Colton let him think on it while they ate in silence for a couple of minutes. After they finished off the peaches, Colton poured the last of the coffee into their tin cups. “Well, do you think you know who the man was that you saw?”
Barnabas blew on his coffee and took a noisy slurp. “Could be. Seem like the one fella put me in mind o’ Massah Covington’s boy.”
“Shelby Covington’s son?”
“Mm hm. Massah Dale Covington. I ain’t seen him in a mighty long time, but sho’ did look like him.”
“That’s peculiar—if it was him. What would Dale Covington be doing tramping around in the woods next to my land?”
Auralie tapped on the door of her mother’s sitting room and cocked her head to listen for Phoebe Covington’s soft response. The woman never raised her voice, and most times spoke so softly one had to strain to hear her.
Auralie cracked the door open. “Mother? May I come in?”
“Come in, Auralie.”
Mother sat on her ivory satin brocade chaise with flowing skirts primly arranged around her ankles. Her impeccably coiffed ash blond hair crowned her delicate features, and a leather-bound volume with gold filigree edging the corners graced her soft hands. One might think she was posing to have her portrait painted.
“Mother, I need to ask you something.”
A hint of disapproval flickered across her mother’s porcelain complexion, dipping her eyebrows and accentuating the tiny lines across her f
orehead—lines she never admitted existed.
“Auralie. You are no longer a child, and therefore should have learned long ago how a refined lady enters a room.” She wafted the air with one hand in a graceful gesture. “Proper etiquette dictates we step softly, courteously greet those present, and engage in polite conversation.”
Auralie stifled a sigh. She loved her mother but grieved the distance between them, even when they were in the same room. Phoebe Covington embodied the epitome of everything Auralie resented but dared not express. “I apologize, Mother. How are you this morning?”
“I’m quite well, thank you. And you?” Mother gave a slight nod, as if prompting Auralie to respond in kind.
Eager to dispense with the formalities, Auralie answered with the replies she’d been trained to give. For a fleeting moment she envied the daughters who could share trivial things with their mothers, like the new dresses she’d ordered from Frances Hyatt.
“Please sit down.” Mother gestured to a nearby chair, also upholstered in ivory brocade. “Shall I ring for tea?”
“No thank you.” Auralie took her seat. The request she came to make fidgeted within her for expression. “It’s a lovely morning.”
Her mother sent her gaze to the window. “Yes it is. Perhaps this afternoon I shall walk in the garden before tea.”
“I’m sure the outing will be quite pleasant.”
“Auralie, will you please refrain from doing that.”
Auralie blinked and dropped her guarded bearing. “Doing what?”
Exasperation edged her mother’s carefully controlled tone. “A proper lady does not show nervousness by twisting her ring.”
Auralie glanced down at her hands and pulled her fingers away from the sapphire ring, gently interlacing them instead. “Mother, I’ve received a message this morning from Cousin Belle.”
“And what does your cousin have to say?”
Auralie willed her hands to be still. “As you know, her husband, Lloyd, is away in Atlanta on business.”
“I was not aware of that.”
“Yes, an architectural firm in Atlanta has requested several drawings from him for a project. It seems they admire his work and have retained him for a rather prestigious undertaking.” She paused to gauge her mother’s reaction, but could not detect any emotion one way or the other on the woman’s face. “It will require that he be away from home for several weeks, and Belle hasn’t been feeling well. She has asked that I come and stay with her for a while, until Lloyd returns home.”
Her mother pressed a lace handkerchief to her lips. “I see. Have you spoken with your father about this?”
“No.” Her fingers encircled the ring again. “I was hoping you could ask him for me.”
For the first time since Auralie entered the room, her mother allowed her poised demeanor to slip, and Auralie glimpsed apprehension.
“You must send word to your father that you wish to speak with him and request that he inform you what time would be convenient.” Her mother’s reply wasn’t what Auralie wanted to hear. She’d hoped for an advocate in coaxing her father to give his permission, but now she must enter the lion’s den alone.
Auralie drew in a silent breath and held it, awaiting her father’s response to Cousin Belle’s request. Stepping inside his study felt akin to approaching a king’s throne room, and Auralie fought the urge to run. She sat on the fine leather chair in front of the massive polished desk and locked her crossed ankles under her skirt in an attempt to imitate her mother’s perfect posture.
Her father’s scowl made her shrink into the chair despite her best efforts to emulate her mother’s grace. He tossed the folded note across the desk, and his voice boomed within the walnut walls of the stately room.
“Do I need to remind you we are awaiting Perry Bolden’s return, which could be any time.” He picked up a brandy snifter and swirled the amber liquid in the glass before taking a sip. Auralie hated the effect the drink had on her father and usually hid herself away in her room whenever he indulged—especially so early in the day.
“Yes sir, I’m aware of that. The new gowns I commissioned are ready, the invitations have been written and are waiting to be sent, and Cook is planning the menu for the—” The word strangled in her throat. She covered her mouth with her fingertips and coughed. “Excuse me. The menu for the…engagement party.”
“Then you know that your presence is required here.” Father stood and paced behind his desk. “Thaddeus Bolden was here last week to finalize some…details. He said the last letter he received from his son indicated Perry would set sail from England on April twenty-fifth.”
“But that was just a week ago. A trans-Atlantic voyage takes—”
“I’m well aware of how long it takes.” He tossed down the remainder of his brandy and poured himself another.
Auralie’s pulse pounded in her ears and her throat tightened. Her fingers shook as she twisted the ring and waited for her father to continue the tirade she knew was imminent.
As she expected, his voice gained volume as he repeated his expectations that she make herself available to the Boldens and reminded her how important this union would be to his political aspirations. He slammed the brandy glass down on his desk, sending shards of glass sailing in multiple directions. An involuntary flinch rippled over her. She instinctively yanked up her hands in a defensive posture and drew back.
“When are you going to learn to maintain an attitude of dignity instead of sitting there simpering like an empty-headed fool? Perry Bolden wants a woman of elegance and composure by his side, not one that quavers at the sound of a man’s voice.”
Auralie’s stomach twisted into a knot, and her trembling hands grew clammy. Without warning, the image of Colton Danfield manifested in her mind along with a fleeting thought that she doubted he was the type of man to intimidate a woman. She had no basis for her belief, other than the warmth of his dark eyes and the quiet way he’d recommended the people around him seek God’s wisdom in casting their vote. She blinked the image away. Her father towered before her like an overlord awaiting her response.
She raised her chin and adjusted her posture. Her voice must sound perfectly modulated and controlled, ringing with the grace her father demanded. And it was.
“Of course, Father. I’m merely requesting your permission to visit with Cousin Belle for a time. She lives less than an hour away. I could return home immediately should we receive word that Perry has arrived.”
Father planted both hands on the desk and leaned forward, leveling a sinister glare at her. “You’d better hope to Saint Peter you’ll return home immediately.”
A spark of hope ignited in her middle. Did that mean he was letting her go?
Father bellowed for one of the house slaves to bring him another glass then resumed his barking about “her duty.” With one final admonition, laced with a threat about her not embarrassing him, he waved his hand in dismissal.
She struggled to control her feet to refrain from taking wing as she exited the study. The moment the door was closed, she fairly flew up the grand, curving staircase to find Mammy. When Auralie burst into her bedroom, Mammy startled, jerking her head away from her task of putting freshly laundered clothes in Auralie’s bureau.
“Mercy, chile. Where you goin’ in such a hurry?”
A silly grin stretched her lips, and she grasped Mammy’s hands. “I’m going to visit Cousin Belle. And you’re coming with me.”
“Massah Covington say yes? Dat be a s’prise to me.”
Giddiness crept up Auralie’s throat and emerged as a giggle. “He didn’t say no. He just said I have to return immediately if we get word that Perry Bolden has arrived.”
A smile played around Mammy’s lips. “I send one of the menservants to bring yo’ trunk down. When we leavin’?”
“As soon as possible.” She sat down at the small secretary and pulled out her stationery box and pot of ink. “It will only take a minute to write this note to Cousin B
elle. Can you please call Reuben to take it over to her? Then I’ll help you pack.”
“Give my heart joy to see you this happy, honey girl. You deserve dis kind o’ happiness.”
She scribbled the note and blew on the ink to hasten its drying while Mammy went to find the coachman to transport the note to Belle. Auralie sat back and closed her eyes. Imagine having the freedom to come and go as she pleased indefinitely. Realization pinched her stomach. Her happiness was short-lived. Looming in her future like a vulture over a dead animal was her forthcoming marriage to Perry and a lifetime of living just like her mother.
Chapter 6
Auralie sipped the glass of lemonade Belle handed her and leaned back against the porch swing. Regardless of how long or short her visit with her cousin, she intended to enjoy every minute, like a prisoner being handed a commuted sentence.
Squirrels argued in a nearby oak tree, and a pair of wrens flitted back and forth to their nest where three scrawny heads raised up with beaks wide open every time one of the parents landed on the adjacent branch. A lazy white cat stretched out at the opposite end of the porch.
“Aren’t you afraid the cat will get to the baby birds?”
Belle laughed, a delightful tinkling sound, and shook her head. “No. Frank is too old and fat to be a danger to anything other than the scraps we feed him. I’ve never seen a cat sleep as much as he does.” She picked up a sugar cookie and nibbled on the golden edge. “Have you decided how long you can stay?”
Auralie sighed. “If it was up to me, I’d stay indefinitely—at least until Lloyd comes back. But Father says I must return home the moment we receive word that Perry Bolden has arrived.”
Belle pooched her bottom lip out in a feigned pout. “I still can’t believe that you didn’t tell me you were engaged. I thought I was your favorite cousin.”
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