Millicent, Southern Hearts Series, Book One

by Felicia Rogers

  "What's wrong with you? Isn't this what you wanted? A big party where you can be the center of attention?" remarked Cora, as she sat on Millie's bed and smoothed her lovely skirt.

  "No, that's not what I wanted. I wanted a birthday party that I could invite Stephenie to."

  "Is she coming?" asked Amelia, looking up from her needlepoint.

  Millie glanced at her sister. They had only arrived home a few hours earlier and already she was busy with another project. Did she never stop working?

  "Is she?" Amelia asked again.

  "What?"

  "I asked if Stephenie is coming."

  "I don't know. I never received a reply to the invitation."

  "Maybe a letter came while we were gone," suggested Cora.

  Millicent tapped her index finger to her lip. Perhaps Cora was right. Still feeling unprepared to receive any guests, she was hesitant to visit the small table in the foyer where the mail was kept. "Cora, will you go downstairs and check the mail?"

  "Me? You're the one who wants it."

  "Please. I don't want to be seen just yet."

  Cora plumped a pillow as she stood. "Very well. I'll get the mail." In a swish of skirts, she stalked out of the room and Amelia went back to her needlework.

  "I hope you aren't too disappointed if your writing friend is unable to attend. South Carolina is a long distance from Louisiana."

  Millie sat on a chair, put her elbow on the armrest, and cradled her chin in her palm. She wouldn't be happy if Stephenie missed her party. She wouldn't be happy at all.

  Millie got impatient after a few minutes. What was taking her sister so long? She'd probably stopped by the kitchen to grab some leftovers. She was forever eating.

  "I'm back," said Cora, bounding into the room in a jolly fashion.

  "What took you so long?"

  "What? I wasn't gone long. You are much too touchy today. I think I'll go back downstairs to get a snack."

  Millie rolled her eyes as she flipped through the envelopes Cora handed her.

  "Cora?"

  With one hand on the open door, Cora paused. "Yes?"

  "This is all?"

  "Yes, but I almost forgot, Isaac said this week's mail is still in Bayou Sara."

  Disgruntled, Millie slouched in her chair. How was she to know if Stephenie was coming? She'd held such high hopes of meeting her friend and imagined them running through her mother's vast gardens. The grove would make the perfect hiding place when the boys chased them. Besides, Stephenie knew all Millie's dreams and fears; things she wouldn't even share with Amelia and Cora.

  Amelia placed her needlepoint on the table, stood, and stretched. "I think I'll go downstairs for refreshment. Can I bring you something?"

  "No, I'm fine."

  Amelia left and Millie was alone. Standing at the window, she glanced along the drive to the stables. Dark forms of horses and carriages littered the yard. If more people arrived there would be no place to house them. How her mother was going to manage the sleeping arrangements, Millie didn't know, nor did she care to know.

  The pack of letters drew her attention so she flipped through them one more time. Nothing had changed in the past five minutes. There was still no letter from Stephenie.

  The whinny of a horse reached her ears and she returned to her window. Light from the barn illuminated a horse rearing on its hind legs. Servants corralled the horse and managed to haul it inside the stables.

  Millie looked behind her. Her door was closed. Slipping across the room, she opened it a crack and peeked along the hallway. No one was there.

  Hurrying to her balcony door, she stepped outside. A trellis extended from the ground to the second floor balcony. Night shadowed the gardens below as she climbed over the railing and reached toward the trellis, something she had done hundreds of times before.

  Her heart pounded as she located foot holds amongst the interwoven branches.

  Finally, her feet touched ground.

  Courage gathered, she straightened her skirts and glanced quickly around. Moving swiftly past carriages and horses, she reached the stables. The black horse jumped and kicked in its stall. Millie moved closer to the gate and whispered to the beast. The horse stilled but continued to snort. Millie grabbed an apple. "Here you go, big fella."

  The horse accepted the apple and Millie patted his head and rubbed his mane. "Why are you so upset? Don't you like being told what to do? Is your owner trying to marry you off and you're not ready? Or maybe you're being sold and don't want to leave home? Trust me, I understand."

  Millie opened the gate and stepped inside the stall with the horse. She nuzzled the animal's snout. After a few minutes she left the stable in the direction of her favorite bench in the East garden. Settling her skirts around her, she stared into the night sky and tried to relax. Everything would be so much better if she just knew Stephenie was coming. Stephenie would understand her dilemma and become her ally. She would understand that if a gentleman at the party desired Millie's hand in marriage, he should first have to prove his worth. Millie shouldn't be required to accept her father's choice just because he was her father.

  Stephenie also knew Millie didn't want to leave home and live elsewhere and that she wasn't interested in running her own household. She was content to live under her mother's thumb, well, not really, but the thought of becoming mistress to a plantation was too overwhelming. What if she one day had a daughter who had a party this huge and she was responsible for housing all the guests? There was no way she could accomplish such a feat. Millie rubbed her arms and sighed. The only one who understood was Stephenie. She was Millie's best friend.

  There had to be a way to know if Stephenie had written. If only she could get to town and check the mail. Millie picked up her skirts and hurried back to the stable as a plan took root. She returned to the black horse. He appeared calm.

  Grabbing the horse's bridal, she pulled him out of the stall and saddled him. Being an excellent horsewoman, she mentally tossed away rules of decorum and climbed astride. She kicked the animal's flank and they sailed into the darkening night.

  ****

  Rousing bar songs filled the room. Soused and enjoying the patrons company, Stephen and Charles joined in. They stumbled, knocked over chairs, and kissed barmaids.

  A barmaid placed another mug of porter in front of them. Stephen tried to send it away. "I think I've had enough. I need to remember what I have to do tomorrow."

  "What?" the barmaid asked.

  A fresh wave of hiccups stole over him. "I-I don't remember."

  Charles laughed and slapped his leg. "I don't remember either!"

  The barmaid rolled her eyes and grabbed the mug from the table. "These two should call it a night, Gus. You might want to have someone help them upstairs."

  "I think they need a dip in the trough."

  The room echoed with laughter when someone shouted. "Trough! Trough!"

  Addled by the loud noise, Stephen wasn't aware of what was happening until his head was shoved under water outside.

  Gasping, he jerked himself up and shook his head. Water droplets flew from his hair and landed on Charles as he also jumped away from the water.

  "Stop! Stop!" slurred Stephen.

  Again, men dunked their heads. Spurting and spewing, Stephen and Charles sank to their knees beside the tub and watched the jovial group leave and head back inside.

  "Why did they do that?" asked Stephen.

  "I don't know. Maybe we stink. I'm sure that girl will appreciate the bath they gave us." Charles pointed into the darkness.

  "What girl are you talking about?"

  "The girl over there trying to open that window? Maybe we should offer our help."

  Stephen looked in the direction Charles pointed. Indeed, barely lit by a street lantern, a young lady appeared to be attempting to push a window up.

  Staggering to his feet, Stephen wobbled toward her. He stopped behind her and bowed, almost falling on his face when he bent over.

/>   "Pardon me, miss," he said, fighting to keep from slurring his words, "but may I be of some assistance."

  In the dim light, the lady turned. "Shh, be quiet."

  "If you would allow a gentleman to assist you, I would be happy to assist you, but you will have to explain what you're doing so I can assist you."

  "Be quiet, you idiot."

  "Do I know you?"

  The girl stepped from the windowsill and leaned against the frame. Placing her hand over her mouth and nose, she said, "Even from here, you smell terrible. Will you please go away?"

  "I don't think I can. You are a damsel in distress and I feel that I should assist you. How may I assist you?"

  She smacked her forehead. "Look, I just need for you to go away and be quiet. I don't need your assistance."

  "But I think you do. Obviously you are having trouble getting through that window. Just let me…" He stopped talking, walked to the window, and tried to push it up. "It's stuck."

  She rolled her eyes.

  He followed her as she walked away.

  She stopped and looked at him. "What do you want?"

  "I've already told you. To assist you."

  "Then go away," she repeated. She studied his face. Her eyes widened and she picked up her skirts and turned swiftly around. Stephen grabbed her arm before she could flee.

  "You!" he exclaimed, suddenly sobering

  "What?"

  "It's you. The girl I kissed at the hotel."

  "You must be mistaken. Please release me."

  "I will not. You are the girl from the hotel and you're trying to break into that building. Why?" He released his grip.

  "You're drunk."

  Stephen cocked an eyebrow and leaned backward. The building he'd expected to catch him wasn't there and he fell on his bum. The young woman took the opportunity to step around him and continue on her way.

  Jumping to his feet, he ran after her. "I won't let you get away so easily this time. I deserve an explanation."

  She stopped and faced him. "You deserve nothing. I don't know you, sir, and you don't know me. Now kindly be on your way and allow me to go on mine. My problems do not concern you."

  Her harsh words reverberated in his ears and made his head ache. He watched her run from him. Walking back to where Charles rested against the trough, he slid down beside him.

  "I take it she wasn't very receptive to meeting you again?" Charles observed.

  "I fear not. It seems the young lady doesn't want to be my friend at the moment."

  "Does that mean you've given up?"

  "Hardly. I think the fun has just begun."

  Chapter Ten

  Millie shook from head to toe. Taking deep gulps of air, she leaned against the side of the building and waited to see if the man from New Orleans would return.

  She'd arrived in Bayou Sara without incident. After the horse's display of temper at the house, he'd been amazingly gentle during the ride there. Of course, the post office was closed and no amount of wiggling the handle would open the door. If she wanted her mail she would have to climb through a window.

  When a drunken man had walked up from behind and offered assistance, her heart had almost leapt from her chest. But when she'd recognized him as the gentleman from the masked ball, she almost fainted. What was he doing here? Had he followed her from the hotel? Did he know who she was? What would happen if her father discovered her forwardness?

  Millie peered around the corner, happy to be alone. Only a few people walked the streets as they filtered in and out of the tavern. Everyone else was snug in their beds.

  She gnawed her lip. What should she do? She'd come this far to see if Stephenie had written and she didn't want to leave empty-handed.

  Soon it would be daylight and the post office would open. Maybe her absence at home would go unnoticed until she could get her mail and return. And maybe pigs would fly.

  Several times she stepped off the post office porch and started toward her waiting horse, only to turn around and flop back onto the bench. She couldn't leave. She needed to know if Stephenie was coming.

  If she'd had pen and paper at her disposal she would have composed a letter to Stephenie at that very moment. Details about the mystery man would have been at the top of her list. Even in his drunken state and with coal black hair hanging wet against his cheek, he was handsome. And with his coat missing and his shirt drawn taunt, his muscular chest was evident. The feel of his rough hand against her smooth skin had sent tingles throughout her body. Butterflies swirled in her stomach and she couldn't sit still. She paced the small porch. Time passed slowly. Finally, the sun rose.

  A short man with eyeglasses perched atop his beaked nose and with his hair slicked to one side, approached and eyed her curiously.

  "Good morning," he said, as he passed and placed a key in the door.

  "Good morning," she replied, shifting from side-to-side with anxiety and the urge to relieve herself.

  He opened the door and stepped through but turned and barred her entrance. She frowned.

  "Pardon miss, but the office doesn't open for–" he flipped open a pocket watch, "precisely twenty-seven minutes." He shut the door in her face with a resounding thud.

  Her eyes widened and she drew back her fist and pounded against the planks.

  The mousey man cracked the door. "Yes?"

  "I must get my mail. It's a matter of upmost importance."

  "I'm afraid that is impossible. Procedures dictate–"

  Millie shoved the door with her shoulder. "I care not for excuses. It's my mail and I aim to have it."

  The postmaster shoved back. "Not until the appropriate time."

  He was stronger and the door snapped shut barely missing her finger. She fought the urge to kick the door.

  With only two options available; wait thirty more minutes or go home, Millie was at an impasse. The morning light would have her parents searching for her, if they weren't already. If Father knew of her departure he would be furious. Accusations against her impetuous and reckless behavior would probably be yelled from the roof tops.

  However, what was thirty minutes in the grand scheme of things? The decision made, she returned to the bench and crossed her legs. Everything would be better if she only had access to a privy.

  ****

  Stephen awoke cold and wet. Mud seeped into his trousers. His eyes were matted together and a heavy weight lay across his legs, holding him in place. Squinting, he glanced down and saw Charles.

  Charles moved slowly, pushing himself into an upright position. He held his head in his hands and moaned.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  Stephen shook his head and then grabbed his roiling stomach. The contents sloshed, threatening to reemerge.

  "I don't know."

  "How did we get out here? And why are we so wet?"

  "I remember being in the tavern," said Stephen.

  "And we had a few drinks."

  "And they carried us outside and dunked us in the water trough."

  "Yes, multiple times," said Charles.

  "And there was something else—something I didn't want to forget. I can almost remember. Oh, no!" Stephen rasped and dropped his head in his hands. "I saw the girl!"

  Charles jumped at Stephen's words but quickly let out a moan. "Don't startle me like that. My head is pounding. What are you talking about? What girl?"

  "The one from the hotel. She was here. Well, I think she was here."

  "You can't be serious? Did she follow us? What did she want?"

  Stephen cradled his own aching head. Why had they gotten soused? Continuing on horseback to Millicent's party would have them both sick. They should have gone to bed early.

  "Are you going to answer me?" asked Charles.

  "I'm trying to remember. She had her leg hoisted onto a window sill trying to break into a building."

  Charles looked at him and lifted a brow. "Are you sure you weren't just seeing things in your drunken state?"

>   "Don't you remember pointing her out to me?"

  Charles shook his head and groaned.

  "Well, you did. And it was no dream. I know what I saw. In fact, I talked to her. I even offered to help."

  "You offered to help the girl break inside a closed building? Now I know it was the drink."

  "I wasn't myself, but I know what I saw."

  "Which building was it?"

  Stephen lifted a finger and pointed in the direction he believed the building to be.

  Charles squinted and used his hand to cover his eyes. He gasped.

  "What?"

  Charles laughed. "You won't believe me even if I tell you."

  Stephen pushed against the trough until he stood. With short, precise movements, he twisted his head to look at what Charles was seeing. Sitting on a bench on the front porch was the young woman in question. She swung her legs back and forth and her lips moved as if she talked to herself.

  "I can't believe it," whispered Stephen.

  "Nor can I. But you're right, she was there, and still is. What is she doing?"

  "I have no idea."

  Stephen thought about going over and asking. He steadied himself against Charles.

  Charles said, "What's the plan? Do you want to pursue the girl or go inside and sober up enough to ride to the plantation? It's your call."

  The girl stood and walked inside the building as he contemplated his decision. Time was running out.

  Taking a deep breath, he took a step forward with Charles close behind. They reached the door of the post office in time to hear raised voices.

  "I don't care about that. I need my family's mail."

  "I'm sorry miss, but rules are rules. I can't give it to you."

  The woman stomped her foot and wagged her finger at the man behind the counter. "I've waited here half the night for my mail and I'm not leaving until you hand it over."

  "Now, Miss–"

  Stephen stepped inside. The postmaster sent him a pleading look.

  "Can I be of some assistance?"

  The woman turned to look at him.

  The postmaster said, "This young lady doesn't understand that I can't just give out other folks' mail."

  "And what this postmaster doesn't seem to understand is that the mail belongs to me!"