The Right Wife

by Beverly Barton

  “I want us to be friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Avoiding each other will only make us want each other more,” he reasoned. “If we can learn to be friends, then I think we can control these other feelings we have.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I want you to spend the day with me tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “As friends,” he told her. “I want to take you to see White Orchard. I know you’ll love the old place.” While forming this idea, he had never once thought about the fact that Eunice had never seen the plantation, even though he had bought it to be their home once they were married.

  “Aunt Tilly would never allow it.”

  “Think of some way to get out of the house,” he suggested. “Tell her you’re going to a friend’s house. That won’t be a lie.”

  “Aaron, I don’t think I can.”

  “It’s important to me,” he said, turning to face her for the first time during their conversation.

  She thought she would drown in the depths of his emerald eyes, so hypnotic was his stare. “I’m not sure this is going to work, our being friends.”

  “Yes, it will. It has to, or I’ll go insane.” He wanted to take her in his arms, but knew she would say that friends didn’t react to one another that way.

  “I—”

  “We will work on it,” he said, stopping the buggy in front of the Gower house.

  “This isn’t another bet you’ve made with Thayer, is it?”

  “God, Maggie,” he groaned, pulling her into his arms. “Forgive me. Thayer was trying to be a friend, trying to prove a point. Sometimes he knows me better than I know myself.”

  It felt so right being in his strong arms that Maggie snuggled closer, her arms circling his neck. “This being friends isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

  “No,” Aaron moaned, his lips hovering hesitantly over hers. “Damn, Maggie, what are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to be friends,” she replied, touching his lips with a quick kiss. “Very good friends.”

  He returned the kiss, gentle and sweet. She responded, her mouth parting slightly as she whispered, “Kiss me good night, friend.”

  His mouth covered hers, and his tongue entered her welcoming warmth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that friends never kissed like this, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but loving Maggie.

  She broke away, ending the heated kiss. Stunned, he gazed into her amber eyes, so filled with desire.

  “Maggie . . .”

  “Good night, Aaron. I’ll try to get Aunt Tilly’s permission to go with you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Maggie. Send me word.”

  “Yes. I will.”

  She stood on the porch and watched him drive away, wondering if she had made the right decision. She knew Aaron Stone could never be just a friend to her because she loved him too passionately. She had to have all or nothing.

  Chapter 7

  “Where is Daisy?” Maggie asked, watching Auntie Gem place kindling wood in the cook stove.

  “She’s . . . uh . . . she ain’t feeling none too good this morning, Miss Maggie.” The old woman did not look up from her task.

  “Is she sick?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes’am.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” Maggie’s concerned voice sounded overly loud in the early morning quiet.

  “She just ain’t well. That’s all.”

  “I’ll go see about her myself,” an aggravated Maggie said, turning toward the kitchen’s back door.

  “No, Miss Maggie, don’t do that,” Auntie Gem pleaded, reaching out a hand toward the door.

  “Why not? What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Miss Maggie,” the old servant groaned. “She ain’t out there.”

  “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes’am.” Auntie Gem’s worried black eyes met Maggie’s, a plea for understanding radiating from them. “She left early. Before daybreak.”

  “Where did she go?” Maggie demanded. “And why?”

  “She done gone over to the Coleman place.”

  “Has she run off to be with Phineas?” Maggie laughed. “Oh, Auntie Gem, you had me worried. I thought something was bad wrong.”

  “She ain’t run off to be with Phineas,” Auntie Gem whispered, looking about the room as if afraid of being watched. “She ran to him to get away . . .”

  “To get away from what?”

  The old woman, head bowed and voice barely audible, cut her eyes toward the inside door where Wesley Peterson stood staring at the two women. “She won’t come back.”

  “Auntie Gem, tell me.”

  “I done said too much,” the elderly servent said, returning to her chore.

  “Good morning, Margaret,” Wesley greeted her solemnly, a weariness in his gray eyes.

  “Morning,” she replied. “Wesley, something’s happened to Daisy. She’s run off to the Colemans’.”

  Maggie noticed the deathly pallor of her cousin’s face and the quick exchange of glances between him and the old woman.

  “Do you know something about her leaving?”

  “My dear Margaret, why would I concern myself with the comings and goings of a servant girl?” Wesley asked sternly.

  “There’s something very wrong here, and I intend to find out what,” she told him.

  “No doubt, she’s gone to her lover. They’re all like that, you know. They have no control over their animal instincts.”

  Maggie looked at him as if she had never seen him before in her life. Even knowing he could be sanctimonious at times, she had never heard him sound quite so judgmental.

  “They mate like dogs,” he said. “Out where anybody can see them. They’ll burn in hell, mark my word.”

  “Auntie Gem said she ran off to Phineas because she was scared,” Maggie said, stunned by his outburst. “Why would she be afraid?”

  “How would I know? Perhaps Auntie Gem can tell you.”

  They both turned to the old woman who continued working as if she hadn’t heard a word.

  “Auntie Gem?” Maggie said. “Please tell me.”

  The servant looked up, shaking her head. “I don’t know nothing.”

  “I’ll go to Mr. Coleman’s and find out myself,” Maggie told them.

  “That would be highly improper,” Wesley snapped.

  “I’ll ask Uncle Chester’s permission. I know he hasn’t left for the store yet.”

  “Margaret, you concern yourself much too much with that nigger when you should be thinking about your own reputation,” he said bitterly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you think no one would tell me?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “That Aaron Stone brought you home from the meeting last night.”

  “And what if he did?” She knew that she had reason to feel ashamed, but refused to allow this man to humiliate her.

  “One of my own flock came to me, in front of Brother Osborne, to relay the news.”

  “Mr. Stone and I are friends,” Maggie told him. “There was nothing improper about our buggy ride.”

  “Mother will be greatly displeased.”

  “I’ll talk to Aunt Tilly and explain as soon as I return from Mr. Coleman’s.”

  “You mustn’t go.”

  “I’m sorry, Wesley, but I must.”

  Phineas opened the door, his dark eyes void of emotion, his clothes rumpled, and his face unshaven.

  “Where is she?” Maggie asked, walking past him into the foyer.

  “She’s in my cabin out back.” The huge black man closed the door and turned to face Daisy’s mistress.

  “Why did she run off?” Maggie questioned. “Auntie Gem wouldn’t say anything except she ran away because she was scared.”

  “She’s afraid of somebody, Miss Maggie,” he replied. “She’s been beat somet
hing awful.”

  “Oh my Lord, no!”

  “Auntie Gem helped her get over here. She was beat so bad she could hardly walk.”

  “Who did it, Phineas?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Maggie. She won’t tell me nothing. She’s scared half to death. Wouldn’t even let me touch her at first.”

  “Have you called a doctor?”

  “Me and Auntie Gem doctored her up,” Phineas explained. “Ain’t no bones broke.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “Yes’am,” he replied. “I’ll show you the way.”

  Maggie eased open the door to the two-room dwelling at the back of the Coleman mansion. The closed curtains prevented daylight from entering the darkened room where Daisy lay in a bed, her slender form huddled into a ball.

  “Daisy?”

  “Please go away, Miss Maggie,” a soft, broken voice answered.

  Maggie looked behind her, up into Phineas’s face. “I’ll see her by myself.”

  “Yes’am,” he said as Maggie slowly made her way across the dimly lit room.

  “Daisy, who beat you?”

  “Go away, Miss Maggie.”

  Maggie inched closer to the bed, reached up to open the curtains of a nearby window, and took a good look at the golden-skinned woman.

  “Oh, Lord,” Maggie cried, staring at the woman’s swollen face, bruised eyes, and cut lip. “You tell me who did this!”

  “I didn’t think I’d ever get beat again,” Daisy mumbled.

  “Who was it?” Maggie asked again, shock and anger consuming her.

  “When your pa brought me to your farm, he said wouldn’t nobody ever beat me again.”

  Maggie sat down on the bed, taking the woman’s trembling hands. “Who beat you like this, and why did they do it?”

  “Silas used to beat my ma all the time,” Daisy said, her blue eyes glazed with remembered fear. “He was a mean old nigger. He took me my first time when I was just a little girl. Oh, Miss Maggie, I fought him. I tried to make him stop.”

  Maggie grasped Daisy’s face, her fingers holding the woman gently. “Who? Are you talking about Silas or the man who beat you last night?”

  “He killed my ma.”

  “I know, Daisy. I know Silas beat your ma to death.”

  “I told him I didn’t want him to touch me,” Daisy cried, huge dry sobs racking her body.

  “What else happened?” Maggie feared the answer. “Did he do more than beat you?”

  “He said I was the devil’s seed,” Daisy moaned. “He said I was evil, that all women are evil.”

  “Oh, Daisy.”

  “Don’t tell Phineas. I’ll tell him in my own good time.”

  “I want you to tell me who did this.”

  “It don’t matter, Miss Maggie. Ain’t nothing you can do about it.”

  “Surely, if I tell Uncle Chester and Wesley, they could see that the man is punished.”

  For several minutes Daisy remained quiet. “He was a white man.”

  “Oh.” Maggie knew that there was nothing that could be done under the circumstances. Even if Daisy were to accuse the man to his face, no lawman in the state would arrest him.

  “Miss Maggie, you be careful.”

  “Why do I need to be careful?”

  “That’s all I can say. You just be careful.”

  Puzzled, but understanding enough not to demand more of an explanation, Maggie replied, “All right, I will.”

  She sat on the side of Daisy’s bed until the servant girl drifted off to sleep. When she opened the cabin door to leave, Phineas met her.

  “She’s asleep,” Maggie said.

  “I’ll stay with her. I’m going to take care of her. If I ever find out who did this to her, I’ll—”

  “Hush, Phineas,” Maggie warned. “Think what you will, but hold your tongue. I’ve heard that there are those who kill black men just for talking.”

  “Yes’am.”

  “I’ll come every day,” she told him. “If Daisy needs anything, send for me.”

  “Yes’am, Miss Maggie. I’ll sure do that.” Phineas entered the cabin, leaving Maggie standing alone in the backyard.

  Deciding that there was no reason to reenter the Coleman mansion, Maggie looked for a path to the front of the house. Tall shrubbery on each side seemed to block any entry into the front yard, but a passageway to the side beckoned her attention. Following the opening, she soon found herself approaching the carriage house and stables where a tall, golden-haired man stood stroking a Tennessee Walker, soothing the animal with sweet words.

  Maggie wanted to run back, but realized it was too late when Aaron turned around and smiled at her.

  “Well, good morning, Miss Maggie. Have you come for our trip to White Orchard?” His smile warmed his roughly handsome face.

  “I came to see about Daisy,” she informed him, her heart beating wildly just from the sight of him.

  “Would she tell you who beat her?”

  “No,” Maggie said. “But it was a white man.”

  “I thought as much.”

  “Why?”

  “Daisy is a beautiful woman. A beautiful Negro woman. There are men who can’t resist the temptation.” Aaron patted the sleek stallion’s neck.

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “That she was raped as well as beaten? Yes, I suspected as much. So does Phineas. If he ever learns the man’s identity, he’ll probably kill him.”

  “He loves her very much, doesn’t he?” Maggie hoped that love would help Daisy survive this horrible thing, this reminder of a nightmarish childhood and an inhuman stepfather.

  “Phineas is a man who loves well and hates well,” Aaron said.

  “I’m leaving her in good hands then. I have to get home. I have sewing to finish before going to the meeting tonight.”

  “Don’t go,” he said, reaching out to take her small hand in his. “Stay and let me take you to see White Orchard today.”

  “I can’t. Aunt Tilly would never give her permission.”

  “Don’t ask. I’ll send a messenger to say that you’re staying here with Daisy all day. No one need know.”

  “Wesley knows you brought me home from the meeting last night. He was very displeased. I’m sure he’ll tell Aunt Tilly.”

  “He’s jealous.”

  “Yes, I know.” Maggie pulled her hand free, moving close to the black horse. “Is he yours?”

  “Thayer’s. Mine are already at White Orchard.”

  They both stroked the horse, their fingers touching, their eyes meeting.

  “I want today with you, Maggie Campbell,” he confessed. “If we never have a time alone again, I want today.”

  “It would be wrong.”

  “Yes, it probably would.”

  “Wesley will be hurt. Aunt Tilly will never forgive me.”

  “They need never know. We’ll leave now, and go by a back road until we get out of town.”

  “I can’t.” Even as she was refusing, Maggie’s heart was relenting. She wanted to spend the day alone with Aaron. She wanted to see his new home.

  “I’ll send a boy with a message saying that you can’t leave Daisy until her fever breaks.”

  “What fever?”

  “The fever that will keep you here, but will keep Mathilda Gower and the good Reverend Peterson away.”

  “Oh, Aaron,” Maggie gasped. “What if Daisy were to need me while I’m gone off with you?”

  He brought her hand away from the horse and upward to his lips, kissing it tenderly.

  “Daisy will sleep all day and all night,” Aaron said. “I sent to Dr. Cooper for some morphine. Phineas has probably already given it to her.”

  “Morphine?”

  “She was badly beaten. She’s been in terrible pain.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Put it out of your mind,” Aaron advised, coming around the horse to stand directly in front of Maggie. “The time may come when Daisy will tell
us. Until then, there’s nothing we can do except take care of her.”

  “She warned me to be careful, but wouldn’t say anything else. Why should she do that?”

  Aaron pulled the trembling girl into his arms as she began to cry. She snuggled into his comforting embrace and allowed the tears to flow freely. His big hand stroked her as gently as he had the stallion, his whispered words soothing her.

  “Don’t be afraid, sweet Maggie.”

  “It’s . . . it’s someone I know,” she wept. “It’s someone I’d never suspect, isn’t it?”

  “Probably,” he agreed. “But whoever he is, he’d think twice about attacking a white woman.”

  She stood there, enfolded within his strength, safe and secure, a woman with the man she loved. “Send the message. I . . . I want to go with you to White Orchard.”

  Aaron’s Whitechapel Buggy gleamed a shiny black in the bright morning sunshine, the silver mountings reflecting the light like polished mirrors. The soft summer breeze caressed Maggie’s face, blowing tiny strands of titian hair into her eyes. The horse galloped speedily down Memphis Pike, jostling the passengers within the buggy as it moved mile after mile down the unpaved roadway.

  Maggie felt so alive, so free, and so happy to be at Aaron’s side. She wanted this day, even if there could never be another. Even if he married Eunice. She needed the memory of one perfect day spent with the only man she would ever love.

  Aaron ran his fingers through her hair, loosening the pins holding it in place. He smiled as the fiery mass began to fall free. She shook her head, a swirl of red curls circling her face. She laughed, loving the feel of her long hair flying about her.

  “I love it down, Maggie mine,” Aaron said.

  She laughed again, moving closer to his side.

  He adored the way she laughed, so honestly, so spontaneously. The sound excited him. He knew what a passionate woman she was, a woman capable of experiencing life through all her senses. He thanked God for this one day alone with her.

  “Is it a long way to White Orchard?” she asked.

  “It’ll take a few hours to get there. It’s past Barton, not too far from Cherokee, near the river.”