Stephen rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know if you will believe me."
"Give it a try."
"Do you remember that letter I received last summer?"
"Honestly?"
"Of course."
"No."
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Very well, I'll start from the beginning. Last summer an auspicious letter was delivered with the words on the front being almost illegible. But the carrier declared it belonged to me.
"I opened the letter and read it in its entirety before I realized it was a mistake." Turning, he faced his friend. "The letter wasn't for me, but rather for a young woman by the name of Stephenie Treen. Somehow, portions of the name had rubbed away during transport so the postman thought it said Stephen Green."
Charles leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "What did you do next?"
"I replied."
"What?" he said, with a shake of his head.
"I wrote a letter back to the young lady and pretended to be Stephenie. I couldn't help myself. The woman intrigued me. I had to know more about her." Stephen plopped on a plush chair and leaned back.
"This is a bit of a problem," Charles admitted.
"I agree. You see, I've learned quite a bit about her. And well, soon she will have her eighteenth birthday party. I'd already decided I wanted to attend, but not as Stephenie. Foolishly, I believed I had extra time to make arrangements, but this current letter says otherwise."
"What does it say?"
"It declares that Millicent's desire is to move the party's date forward. However, if that doesn't occur, Millicent's father has given permission for Stephenie to arrive early."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem is I have yet to devise a way to be invited to the party. I can't very well show up on her doorstep and tell the truth; that I've intercepted her letters for months and there is no Stephenie."
"You need a plan."
"Precisely."
Charles straightened. "I have an idea."
"You do?"
"Don't look so surprised, my friend. I can be very clever."
Stephen laughed.
Charles leaned forward again. "Here is what we do."
Chapter Three
By the end of September the cotton was sold and moving upriver. The temperature had cooled and Millicent pushed for her party date.
"But you said–"
"I said December may be the most likely time."
"But Father–"
"Millicent Beaumont you will not argue with me. I picked December for a reason and it stands."
Millie stomped out of the library. On the porch she leaned against the railing. A cool breeze wafted around her and she pulled her shawl close. Voices drifted through the open library windows.
"Henri, why not let her have her party in November? What's the harm?" her mother asked in a reasonable tone.
"Alice, darling, I understand your need to please, but don't you realize the significance of this party. Millicent is eighteen. I've received attendance requests from as far away as South Carolina and we must have plenty of time for preparation. At this party some young man may capture her heart."
Millie covered her mouth.
"Henri, that will happen anyway. I'm surprised we've kept her this long. Millicent is the eldest daughter of a wealthy landowner. She is also well-educated and beautiful. Half the boys in the county would have courted her had you not kept them away."
"I want her to make a good match."
"Of course you do. As do I. But what is the difference between celebrating her party in November as she is requesting or having it in December as you want? It would make her so happy."
Poised to run inside and tell her father there was no hurry, Millie held her breath. She didn't want to marry! She only wanted attention and gifts. As far as she was concerned, the guests could leave after the festivities and not return; except for Stephenie, of course. Millie wanted her pen pal to remain for an extended visit.
"Alice, do not be offended by my speech, but in this matter I will not give in. The party will be in December."
Millie fell back against the wall and placed her hand over her racing heart. Two months and she would be surrounded by local suitors vying for her hand, with the hope of increasing their lands and station. Out-of-town suitors would come purely for money and holdings in a different state.
Millie ran down the porch steps and behind the house to the wood shed. A strong breeze made the tools that hung on the outside walls rattle.
"What are you doin', missy?" asked Isaac, sitting on a tree stump outside the shed whittling. The slave was as dark as coal and the white of his teeth flashed when he smiled.
"I'm running away. How far do you think I can get before nightfall?"
Isaac clicked his tongue. "Don't rightly know. Guess it depends on your mode of transportation. You goin' by river or by horse?"
"Whatever you think would be faster is fine with me."
"Might help if I knew what you were runnin' from."
"Not that it's any of your business but I have to run away."
"Don't think its right to argue with a young lady, but that surely ain't a reason."
"Can't you take my word for it and help me because I asked?"
"Maybe. But what if folks come asking 'bout you? Don't you want them to know the reason you took off?"
Millie sighed. "Very well. I'm running away because Father thinks I will marry soon."
Isaac scratched his chin. "And why would he think that?"
"I'm not sure. However, it seems that eighteen is a prime age for women to marry."
"And you don't want to marry?"
"No, I don't."
"Why don't you sit beside me and tell me why?"
Millie resisted the urge to walk away. Isaac was trying to be helpful. Taking a seat beside him on the large stump, she tried to explain. "Do you remember the Jessup girl?"
"I do."
"She turned eighteen last year and within two weeks she was married. I heard her husband…well…he hits her." Millie finished the last part in a whisper.
"Did you now?"
Millie nodded.
"And this is why you're running away; because you don't want to wind up like her? Married to a man who beats you?"
"Yes. Besides that, I don't even think she loved him. Can you imagine being forced to wed someone just because you were told to? Never having a choice–"
Millie stopped talking when heat suffused her cheeks. Isaac grinned broadly and patted her folded hands.
"I know how the other plantations rule their slaves and I count myself blessed that I was born in your grandfather's household."
"I'm sorry Isaac, I didn't mean–"
"Girl, what did I say? Old Isaac's had a good life. God's blessed me. I have a wife and daughter and your father even give me my freedom. I could leave anytime I want."
"If you say so."
"I do. Now back to your problem..."
Millie studied her nails, feeling guilty about complaining to Isaac. "I changed my mind. I think I'll go inside and write a letter."
****
Stephen said to Charles, "Her letter reads like a plea. She's terrified of who might pursue her so she wrote to Stephenie for advice. She said she spoke with one of the slaves about the quickest way to run away, but then she realized the folly of such an action. She compares herself to a slave."
Charles dug into his plate of food. "Do you really think the girl is in that serious of a situation?"
Stephen had invited Charles to dinner after learning his parents and sister were staying in town overnight.
"I don't think so."
"Sounds like typical female behavior to me; riled up over meaningless frivolities. Of course the girl will get married. If you ask me, eighteen is a might old. She should be married by now with a least one child on the way. Her parents, from what you've said, seem to be the considerate sort. I don't think they'd attach her to a ma
n who isn't worthy of her. If they were in the mood to just marry her off, they would have done so by now."
"Perhaps you're correct."
"Has the date changed? I remember you reading something about that."
"No. It seems she wanted to push the date forward, as I read in the last letter, but her father wants potential suitors to have time to make arrangements."
"Ah, so suitors are the reason for her distress."
"It would seem so."
"Do you think attending her party is still the best way to meet her?"
"The invitation has already arrived."
The plan Charles had dreamed up was simple—send a letter to Henri Beaumont informing him that he'd heard of his daughter's eligibility and make a request to meet her. The party invitation had soon followed.
"Perhaps you could arrive in town early, bump into her on the street, sit next to her in church, or buy food in the same store; anything to set you apart from the others."
"You could be right."
"One more question Stephen, why are you doing this? I understand you're intrigued. The young woman holds nothing back in her letters. But what are your intentions toward her?"
"My intentions are to woo her."
Chapter Four
The ride by stagecoach was bitterly cold. Winter had settled across parts of northern Georgia and Alabama. And uncommon snow covered the ground.
"Why did I let you talk me into this?" Charles derided as he huddled under a thick coat, his teeth chattering.
"I believe you said you hoped to meet Millicent's sisters," Stephen replied, trying not to enjoy his friend's misery.
"Humph. I hope this trip is worth freezing temperatures and no inns with adequate heat. Uncivilized."
Stephen laughed. "I'll make sure to lodge your complaints." Secretly, Stephen agreed with Charles. The places they had thus far encountered held little to be desired—ramshackle, dilapidated buildings, with rooms barely large enough to stow their baggage. Infested with fleas and other creatures, they sometimes abandoned their rooms in favor of sleeping outside.
Crossing into Mississippi brought a lower elevation and the snow turned to sleet. Muddy roads slowed their progress. Entering Louisiana, the weather only slightly warmed. Their driver halted the coach and peered inside. "We'll stop here," he said, before retreating.
"I guess we'll stop here," repeated Charles snidely.
Stephen patted him on the back. "Come on; let's see if we can find lodging better than our previous stops."
Weak afternoon sunshine had drifted behind tall buildings and smells of fish and unwashed bodies permeated the air. Stephen asked the driver as they alighted, "Where are we?"
"New Orleans."
"No, this is wrong. I need to reach Bayou Sara in Feliciana Parish."
The driver shrugged. "You said to take you to Louisiana and here we are."
"But how do we get to–"
"Haven't a clue. I got a wife and seven kids waiting for me. Ask around. I'm sure you'll find someone willin' to take you."
Charles shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Perhaps my esteemed uncle was wrong in his choice of travel."
"So it would seem. However, I can't imagine it will take long to acquire further transport."
Hours later, Charles complained, "We've been at this for hours. So far we've found a boat captain sailing upriver a week too late, half-dead nags that couldn't carry us there in a year's time, and a drunken slave offering to haul us on his back. While the situation is not hopeless, I've yet to be encouraged."
Stephen nodded and sipped his tea. Instead of staring out at New Orleans' filthy bay, he should have been sitting on a veranda sipping mint juleps and discussing unusual weather patterns with Millicent's father, or perhaps engaging in a rousing political debate.
Everywhere people filtered through the streets of New Orleans. Stephen thumbed through a brochure and read the city's history aloud to Charles. "The town was founded beside the Mississippi River in 1718 because of its prime location for trade. In 1723 it replaced Biloxi as the capital of French Louisiana. After French occupation, the Spanish added to the population, and then in 1800, France reacquired the land. Napoleon sold Louisiana Territory, a land described by Pierre Francois Xavier de Charlevoix as being filled with serpents and alligators, to the United States in 1803."
Charles yawned and interrupted Stephen's reading. "We need to find a hotel. No way are we traveling tonight."
Stephen agreed and they left the restaurant and walked past townhouses lining both sides of the street. A sign in the window of a conservative looking home advertised rooms for rent. They walked up the flagstone path.
Charles knocked on the faded ornate door and it was opened by a young, dark-skinned girl with unusual green eyes.
"Can I help ya?"
Stephen cleared his throat. "Yes, we are looking for a room to rent for the night and we noticed your sign. Can we speak to the owner?"
"Ain't rentin' no room for jus' one night. Has to be least a month."
The girl fisted her tiny hands at her waist.
"Be that as it may, I would like to speak to the owner–"
"Celeste, who's there?"
"Miz Tina, it's two men wishin' to rent a room for the night. I done told 'em the rent has to be longer but they still insist on speakin' with ya."
"Very well, show them to the parlor. I'll be there shortly."
Stephen grabbed Charles' arm and propelled him forward, following the girl to a room off the foyer. They sat on wooden seats with no cushions and stared at colorless walls, unlike the restaurant they'd just left that was decorated with bold wallpaper. Perhaps insisting on meeting the owner had been a mistake.
A portly woman of around sixty-five swooped into the room surrounded by the scent of cloying perfume. She plopped into a seat across from them. Perched askew on her head, a bright red wig clashed with the faded blue of a gown dotted with stains and frayed at the edges. She snapped her fingers and shortly Celeste carried in a tray laden with cups and a teapot.
The elderly woman, whose hands had a slight tremor, poured light amber liquid into three cups. Daintily lifting one, she leaned back and sipped, sloshing a little onto her skirt. "Please lift your cups gentleman. I don't intend to drink tea alone."
Charles cocked an eyebrow but obeyed, handing Stephen a cup before lifting his own.
"I understand you wish to rent a room for one night."
"Yes," Stephen responded.
"If you wish to rent a room then I require a full month's payment."
"For one night?" Charles exclaimed and half rose from his chair.
The woman arched an eyebrow that had obviously been painted on. "You will watch your tone, sir. If you haven't noticed, I am a woman of means. I will not tolerate disrespect in my home."
Stephen placed a hand on Charles's sleeve and pulled him back into his seat. "Of course not, ma'am." He placed his cup with its chipped rim back on the tray.
"Stephen…" said Charles in a forced whisper.
Stephen stood. "If you will excuse us, we must take our leave. Thank you for your hospitality."
Miss Tina stood. "Oh, no, you mustn't leave. We are just beginning our discussion of rates."
Charles cleared his throat and nudged Stephen toward the door. Celeste grinned broadly as they pushed each other outside. When they looked back, Tina stood at the entrance shaking her gnarled finger. "Don't think of returning. The offer is only good this one time."
Stephen and Charles jogged away. When they were out of sight they doubled over in laughter.
"What was that about?" asked Charles. "The old woman is daft."
Stephen coughed. "Whatever the case, we must be more careful in the future. I don't wish a repeat of that experience."
Spotting a carriage, they rushed over and paid the driver to escort them to a hotel in a better part of town. The two story building they arrived at seemed accommodating and Charles said as he alighted, "This is more like it."
"Indeed. Pay the man and let's take a room."
Chapter Five
Anticipation of the birthday party loomed over the entire plantation. The first week of December brought cooler temperatures for which Millie was elated.
Two weeks before, she had begged her father for a trip to New Orleans to find the perfect dress. Duties at the plantation had caused him to refuse—until today. The entire family, accompanied by a few servants, was gathered in a covered carriage on their way to town. The trip would take most of the day, and, upon arrival, they would check into their favorite hotel. Tomorrow Millie would spend the day shopping for her new dress.
Her mother tapped lightly on the wood behind Millie's head and a curtain spread apart. "Henri, are we almost there? This seat is becoming harder by the second."
"Darling, I assure you the horses are pulling at top speed."
"Very well, if I must endure, then I must," her mother sighed.
"Here, Mother, use this. Mary made it for us to sit on," said Amelia.
Alice accepted the cushion sewn by Isaac's daughter.
"Thank you, dear." She lowered her voice and spoke to Millie. "I do so hate to complain, but why your father insisted on a trip only one week before your party is beyond me. I have a million things to do; none of which include riding in a wagon along a rutted road to New Orleans."
Millicent nodded but didn't speak. How would her mother react if she knew the trip had come at her behest? Surely, she couldn't be expected to wear some worn out gown to the biggest event of her life!
Amelia and Cora sang softly, which caused their Mother to narrow her eyes. Immediately, they folded their hands in their lap and fell silent.
Millie squirmed at her mother's obvious displeasure.
Cora started humming, her fingers playing with her gown as her feet tapped against the floor.
"Cora! Please stop that incessant noise." Alice pinched her nose and massaged her temples. "Millicent, inform the driver to stop this contraption this instant!"
Millie beat on the roof signaling the driver to pull off the road. Her mother impatiently waited for her husband to help her down.
Millicent, Southern Hearts Series, Book One Page 2
