Brides of Georgia

by Connie Stevens

  Auralie,

  Mrs. Gabrielle Bolden is coming from Athens to visit on Tuesday, the twenty-second of May for the purpose of discussing the planning of your engagement ball. Her plans indicate she will stay through Thursday. Your presence is, of course, required. A carriage will be sent Monday morning, the twenty-first of May, immediately after breakfast to bring you home. Your father will see you upon your return.

  Mother

  Chapter 11

  Auralie tiptoed out of Belle’s room and quietly closed the door. Just when they thought her morning sickness had abated, another bout of nausea seized her cousin this morning.

  Sympathy tugged at Auralie’s heart for the poor girl. She’d finally fallen asleep after Auralie bathed her face and opened the window to allow the cool breeze coming off the mountain to enter. She descended the stairs and exited through the back door. The aroma of fresh bread greeted her at the door of the summer kitchen where she found Maizie and Mammy. “Belle is asleep. I’m going to go for a walk.”

  She followed the stone walkway that led past the vegetable garden where Sam worked. He nodded politely as she passed. She rounded the corner of the house by the east-facing side porch where she liked curling up with a book. But today, not even Wuthering Heights held any appeal.

  Her mother’s note and the anticipation of having to face Mrs. Bolden stole the usual joy with which she entered each day here at Belle’s house. What if her future mother-in-law expected her to have detailed plans for the soiree? Other than writing a list of invitees that Perry had demanded, she’d given no thought to the upcoming event other than to dread its arrival.

  She bent to pluck a clover blossom and twirl it between her thumb and forefinger. Her time would be better spent sitting at the desk in her upstairs room, making assorted lists to appease her mother and Mrs. Bolden, but drinking in the freedom of the beautiful day felt far more pressing.

  The split rail fence of black locust marked the edge of the yard. She wandered past it, searching the meadow in the distance to see if the lambs were cavorting as she’d seen them do on other days.

  “Mr. Danfield said I should come over and get a closer look at them.” She only hesitated a moment. In a few weeks, the privilege of choice would be stripped away and she’d be in bondage, just like her mother. Today, she intended to do as she pleased.

  The meadow grasses swayed in the breeze, ebbing and swelling much like the ocean billows she’d once seen. The motion eased her mind back to her childhood when she twirled and danced to the music she made up in her head. Those carefree days, spent without thought of what she’d have to endure later in life, etched sweet memories on her soul. Did her mother have similar memories? If she did, she’d never shared them. Perhaps those secret recollections were what sustained her mother now.

  She neared the fence line of the Danfield farm and searched the shady slopes for the lambs. A handful of mother sheep grazed while their offspring either played or slept. Mr. Danfield was right. They were even cuter close up than when looking at them from a distance.

  The same black-and-white dog she’d seen on her previous visit paced back and forth between the sheep grazing at the bottom of the hill and a secluded spot at the crest of the slope. He seemed friendly enough, but Auralie wondered if he’d mind her coming into the pasture. She carefully gathered her skirts and climbed over the fence. The dog perked up his ears and barked a couple of times but made no aggressive moves. She stood still to see if any of the lambs might approach her.

  The wind calmed and plaintive bleating sounded. The dog whined and dashed back up to the top of the slope. Curious, Auralie followed.

  Just beyond the crest, a plump sheep lay, periodically thrashing its legs and emitting a pitiful baa. Auralie crept closer and peered at the ewe that seemed in obvious distress.

  Auralie looked around for signs of Mr. Danfield or his helper but could see neither. Kneeling in the deep grass, she reached a tentative hand to stroke the sheep’s head. “Poor thing. Are you sick?”

  The animal grunted, its doleful bleats raking across Auralie’s heart. Alarmed that the sheep might be in trouble, she stood and swept her gaze across the area as far as she could see. Only the nearest portion of the cornfield was visible from where she stood. Perhaps Mr. Danfield was working on the far end of the field. She picked up her skirt and hurried down the slope.

  The dog followed her but halted where the other sheep grazed and didn’t appear to want to leave them. Auralie’s toe caught her hem, and she stumbled and fell face-first in the meadow grass, knocking the air from her lungs. She struggled to her hands and knees, sucking in as much air as she could before getting to her feet. Dirt and grass stains marked her dress, but it mattered little. She hiked up her skirt a few inches higher and resumed her search for Colton Danfield.

  She raced along the fence line that separated the pasture from the cornfield but didn’t see either of the men. Stopping to catch her breath, she sent a plea heavenward.

  “Lord, I know it’s just a sheep, but she’s in trouble, and I’m afraid she might die. Please show me where Colton is.” When she’d begun thinking of him as Colton instead of Mr. Danfield, she couldn’t say. She pushed the thought aside and pressed on.

  Beyond the acres of corn, a small orchard perched on a hillside. She shaded her eyes and squinted. Colton’s helper, the black man, worked among the trees, his back to her.

  She ran toward him, too breathless to call out. As she approached, she realized he was shirtless and she hesitated, but urgency won out over propriety. Holding her skirt to avoid another spill, she hastened through the orchard. Just as she opened her mouth to call to the man, her gaze fell on his bare back. Ugly jagged scars crisscrossed his back. A wave of nausea threatened, but she ordered her stomach to be still and forced her eyes upward to the back of his head where white hairs curled tightly with black ones.

  “Sir…could you please…come help…”

  The black man spun around, his eyes widening when he caught sight of her. He glanced from side to side and took several strides to an adjacent tree. Snatching his shirt from a low-hanging branch, he shoved his arms in the sleeves and pulled the garment around him. He lowered his eyes.

  “Miz Covington. I’s sho’ sorry. Didn’ mean no disrespec’.”

  She shook her head and gulped air. Pointing behind her, she panted. “One of the sheep. I think it’s sick. It’s lying in the grass, kicking…. The poor thing needs help.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Auralie turned. Colton Danfield approached from the opposite side of the orchard. Alarm filled his eyes when he met her gaze.

  “Miss Covington. Are you all right? Is something wrong at the Hancock place?”

  She held up her hand, her respirations still coming in short gasps. “You said I could come and get a closer look at the lambs.” She paused to breathe. “I was walking through the pasture and one of the sheep is down. I think it’s sick or hurt. It sounds like it’s in pain.”

  He lengthened his stride. “Where?”

  She pointed. “Up past the top of that farthest slope. It’s lying in the grass, groaning.”

  He exchanged glances with the black man. “Probably one of the ewes.” He returned his gaze to her. “Most of the sheep can—” His face grew scarlet. “They don’t normally need help—That is, when it’s time for them to—” He sent a pleading look back to his helper who simply pressed his lips together.

  “Please, come.” She hoped the insistence in her tone compelled him. “I’m afraid the poor thing is dying.” Her voice broke and Colton winced.

  “All right. Show me.”

  She clutched her skirts tightly so she’d not embarrass herself by falling on her face again. He took her arm and helped her up the inclines and over the rough terrain. A fleeting thought whisked through her mind that she might enjoy his chivalry had it not been for the urgency of the situation.

  As they approached the spot where the sheep lay struggling, the black-and-white
dog barked furiously.

  “Hush up, Free.”

  Free? An odd name for a dog.

  She stood back a pace or two, twisting her ring, as he knelt by the sheep. He ran his hands over the wooly body and looked up. “It’s as I suspected. She’s in labor.”

  “You mean, she’s going to—she’s having—”

  The sheep let out a groan and sharp bleat. Dizziness invaded Auralie’s senses, and she feared her knees might buckle.

  Colton examined the animal more closely, carefully probing the underbelly. “Well, you were right. She’s in trouble. I need your help.”

  Auralie blanched. Surely he didn’t intend for her to—“Do you want me to go back and get—”

  “There’s no time. Come here and help me.” He sent her an imploring look. “Please.”

  Colton tramped back up the slope with his bandana soaked in water from the tiny rivulet at the bottom of the hill. Auralie sat in the shade of the oak tree, her hem—soiled with grass stains and rumpled from kneeling next to the sheep—primly arranged over her ankles, watching the new mother and her twins get acquainted.

  He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face and tucked the memory of their shared experience into a secret place in his heart where he kept those treasures he never wanted to forget.

  The twin lambs struggled to their feet and bumped against their mother until they found their dinner. Pure exhilaration glowed on Auralie’s face as she watched.

  She’d paled at first when he directed her to hold the ewe, but fascination soon replaced the panicked look, and awe filled her expression as she helped Colton with the birth.

  He walked over and lowered himself to the ground beside her and handed her the wet rag. She cleaned her hands then angled her head to look at Colton. “They’re so beautiful. What a miraculous thing to watch. It was so…so…”

  He grinned at her. “I’m just glad you didn’t swoon.”

  “Oh.” She jerked her head to face him. “Me, too. Look what I would have missed.”

  He tossed his head back and laughed. He remembered wondering what it might feel like to laugh with Auralie Covington. He wasn’t disappointed, and knew at that moment he was losing his heart to her.

  Auralie plucked a few clover and dandelion blossoms and gathered them into a small bouquet. “Have you lived here long?”

  “Just over five years.” Colton relaxed against the trunk of the oak. “When Pastor Winslow retired, he bought this homestead. He’d spent forty-five years in the ministry—thirty of those years as a circuit-riding preacher. He performed my parents’ wedding ceremony.

  “He was up in years, and before long his health began to fail. I came over from Tucker’s Gap—that’s where my parents live—and stayed with him, helping him around the place.” Colton smiled. “He used to say I was the grandson he never had.” His smile faded. “When he went home to be with the Lord, he left this place to me.”

  Auralie shifted her position and tugged her hem discreetly over her ankles. “I don’t remember him.” She shrugged. “But then, my family doesn’t attend church. The only time I ever went to church was when I visited Belle and her family.”

  How sad, to have to visit relatives in order to attend worship services. But Colton kept his musing to himself. “Do you visit your cousin often? I don’t recall seeing you at the Hancock place before.”

  She shook her head. “I was away at school when Belle married Lloyd and moved here. I begged to come and visit her, but my father never allowed it until now.”

  Colton found this puzzling. “But you indicated at dinner last Sunday that the two of you had grown up together.”

  “Well.” She cocked her head as if trying to figure out how to explain. “We didn’t really grow up together. Belle’s family lives south of Athens, so we only got to see each other two or three times a year. Belle is three years older than me, but we got along very well, even when we were young. When I was twelve, my father sent me away to boarding school because he said I needed to make appropriate friends.”

  Colton studied her dark brown eyes. “He didn’t consider your cousin appropriate?”

  A tiny frown creased her brow, and she appeared to be studying blades of grass. Her voice took on a pensive tone. “Not my cousin. He didn’t like me spending time with the slave children. Of course, he especially didn’t like it when he found out I was teaching them to read.”

  So, what Barnabas told him was true. “I see.” He reached over and plucked a dandelion and added it to her diminutive bouquet. “Barnabas told me he remembers you.”

  She raised her eyes to meet his. “Barnabas?”

  “The man who works with me.”

  Her gaze skittered in the direction of the orchard. “How does he know me?”

  “He was a field slave on your father’s plantation for more than fifteen years. He said he remembers seeing you coming to the slave quarters and playing with the children.”

  She stared off at the distant apple trees, fixing her focus on something unseen. Colton could almost hear the thoughts turning over in her mind. When she spoke again, her voice was low and strangled.

  “He—Barnabas—was one of my father’s field slaves?” She turned to look at him, and her eyes held a stricken look, as if some horrible vision had just been revealed to her. She shuddered visibly.

  “Yes.” Colton kept his tone gentle. “I bought Barnabas from your father.”

  She slipped her hand up and touched her trembling fingers to her lips. Tears glistened in her eyes, and an invisible fist punched Colton in the gut. He was about to apologize for upsetting her, but he couldn’t imagine what he’d said to evoke such a response. Before he could say a word, she spoke first.

  “And you gave him his freedom.”

  Colton nodded. What kind of cad was he, to make this sweet young lady cry?

  Auralie dropped her hand to her midsection and her brow furrowed. “Oh mercy.” The words came out as a whisper as if speaking them in a prayer. She turned her eyes back to Colton. “When I came looking for you to tell you the sheep needed help, I saw Barnabas working. He’d…he’d taken his shirt off, and—”

  Understanding dawned. “You saw his scars.”

  She gave a slight nod and dashed away the tears. “I admire you for what you did, giving Barnabas his freedom.”

  Colton glanced off to the side, emotion welling up within his chest. “He carries papers with him, indicating he is indentured to me, but that’s just to prevent a bounty hunter from taking him.” He returned his gaze to her. “Barnabas is free to go whenever he wants, and I wrote a statement on those papers saying exactly that. He chooses to stay.”

  She clasped her hands around her knees. “It must be a glorious thing to be able to take those papers out any time he wants to and read for himself that he is free.”

  Colton wasn’t sure why, but Auralie’s statement sent shafts of guilt needling through him. It had never occurred to him to ask Barnabas if he wanted to learn to read. He had all he could handle worrying about some unscrupulous bounty hunter coming by the place when Barnabas was alone and taking him, papers or no papers.

  When he didn’t answer her, she turned to him with a quizzical arch to her eyebrows. “Can Barnabas read?”

  Colton pictured a courageous twelve-year-old girl sneaking off to the slave quarters to teach little colored children to read, and shame leached into his heart. “No. He can’t.”

  Her lips parted in disbelief. “Why didn’t you ever teach him to read?”

  He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. It never occurred to me.” The moment the words fell out of his mouth, he regretted them. A little thing like breaking the law hadn’t mattered to her at the age of twelve. With Barnabas a free man, what prevented him from teaching his friend to read?

  Chapter 12

  Auralie bit her lip and waited for Mr. Danfield to growl at her, pointing out that how he chose to handle his hired help was none of her business. When would she ever lea
rn to think before she spoke? Sure enough, a frown carved a furrow in his brow, but instead of bellowing his indignation at her comment, he nodded slowly.

  “You’re right. I’ll ask Barnabas if he’d like to learn to read.” A small sheepish grin tilted his mouth at a lopsided angle. “After all, if you can teach a bunch of children to read when you were just a kid yourself, I can teach one man.”

  She gulped. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. It was entirely unfitting of me to ask such a question. My father constantly berates me for stepping out of place. Please forgive me, Mr. Danfield.”

  A smile stretched across his face. He reached out his hand and covered hers, halting the twisting of her ring she hadn’t been aware she was doing. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m glad you pointed out the opportunity to teach Barnabas to read.” He gave her hand a brief squeeze before releasing it. The pressure of his fingers sent tingles up her arm, and she stifled a soft gasp. He must have felt it, too, because his eyes widened, and he glanced down at their hands the instant they parted.

  Warmth stole into her cheeks. She knew she should tell him about her betrothal, but the familiar ache that pinched her stomach every time she thought about the coming marriage swelled, and she swallowed back the words.

  He must have mistaken her reaction for embarrassment over her impulsive statement.

  “Really, I’m not angry at you. You opened my eyes and made me see I’d neglected something very important. I should thank you.”

  She’d never heard a man say such a thing. All her life, she’d witnessed men assert themselves and manipulate others, bluster their authority and wield control like a weapon. Over the years, she’d learned to lower her eyes in submission and shrink into the background to make herself as invisible as possible, quietly excusing herself and tiptoeing away the moment the opportunity presented itself. But Mr. Danfield’s gentle tone unnerved her. All the elocution lessons and deportment exercises she’d endured with Miss Josephine Westbrook at the Rose Hill Female Academy did not equip her with a ready reply to his unexpected response.