Annie gave him a dubious stare and asked, “How so?”
“Lieutenant Ellyott has agreed to wed you.”
“What?” Annie stood up, shaking in disbelief. “What did you say, Father?”
“I said—Aaron Ellyott is to be your husband.”
“No.” Anne looked at him and screamed louder, “No!”
Master William took hold on his daughter’s shoulder and guided her back to sitting. Then, calmly as possible, he added, “The arrangement has been made. You will be married at Black River the Saturday of Christmas.”
“But . . . I . . . I cannot believe . . . that . . . after . . .” The young girl was submerged by incomprehension. “H . . . how could you do this to me, Father?” Two large eyes stared directly into his chapped face.
William flinched slightly and said, “It is in the best interest of all concerned, given the circumstances. . . .”
“Circumstances?” Annie echoed. “What circumstances?”
Her father evaded her angry glare and muttered, “Everybody is aware that you gave yourself to him. . . .”
“I did not give myself—he forced me. You know that!”
“I do, my dear. But no one is going to believe that of the young lieutenant, are they?”
The reality hit home and Anne realized her tenuous rung on the social ladder. She stared into blackness and calmed her inner turmoil sufficiently to add, “You do not know what such a match will cost me, Father.”
“I do,” he replied sagely. “The entire Black River Plantation.”
So, just like that, William Cormac had sold his daughter to the only bidder and thrown in the rice farm as her dowry. He’d apparently decided that once his daughter left home he’d retire to the house in Charles Towne where there was ample enough profit to live out his days in comfort. Black River was to be handed over lock, stock, barrel, and slaves, with Cormac removing only his most personal items. William had agreed to this additional travesty on the assumption that George Ellyott would give the place back to the newlywed bride as her home (but in fact the wily planter had other plans for such a bountiful estate).
Now, all the time her father was gabbling, explaining the merits of such a deal, Annie was retreating further and further away from the impending sentence. I could tell she’d decided to smile and play nice but she wasn’t fooling me none for an instant. Quite understandably, Anne didn’t want to be in town for the rest of the debut season so by the end of the week she’d persuaded her father to take her back to the plantation on the pretext that they’d a wedding to prepare. Joshua was told he could hire another housekeeper to replace Mrs. Drayton, and with many strained hugs and formal handshakes we all bid him our farewells. The master hired four extra wagons and crew to wheel everything back, yet it still took twice as long to get home as when I’d ridden here after the storm.
I’d been away from Black River so long that my breath again slipped inward when I caught sight of the graceful dripping oaks. Everything looked crisp and new (except for the Big House, which was in want of clean rugs and some fresh coats of paint). Bart and Joy Higgins were overjoyed to see us, and while I was thrilled to find my old room the same as I’d left it, the master began making more frequent demands again so my solitude lost much of its sanctuary. It seemed that we’d about ten weeks left to get everything shipshaped for the coming nuptials so the place would soon be swarming with folks and preparation. Annie, meanwhile, had decided upon a particular wedding gown that could only be made by her Italian seamstress in Charles Towne, which gave us the excuse she needed to stay overnight twice a week. But other than that she showed little interest and couldn’t be prodded to favor any particular flowers, cake, food, or whatnots. So Mrs. Higgins took over planning the big event and was truly in her element.
I’m sure it would have been the grandest celebration this side of Boston . . . except that it never took place. For during our soirees to town Anne and James shared wild secret kisses and were soon protesting their love. I had to watch from the sidelines like a reject—the gooseberry—the one who was never quite good enough for anyone wholesome. Those nights brought me many bitter tears as I raged against the unfairness of the world, cursing the driving need that was growing inside me. When we’d meet in the tavern the lovers would sit in their own realm far removed from the rest of us mortals, and Violet would try to tug me to life at the bar. One night I’d a bit too much rum in me and obviously wasn’t hiding my contempt well enough. Violet pinched my arm with her long pointed nails and hissed, “What the hell’s up with you, Lola? Are you trying to get yourself done in?”
I gave her an unfocused glare and said, “It ain’t fair, Vi. I saw him first. . . .”
She followed my covetous pupils to the lovers in the corner and hissed, “Jim Bonny ain’t worth the bother. Believe me—I know. . . .”
I thought she was just trying to cheer me up so I said, “Thanks, but it still hurts to watch them together.” I swallowed the remainder of my drink and hiccupped. “What’s he see in her anyway?”
Violet grinned and replied, “She’s his treasure chest, that’s what she is.” Treasure chest? Was she suggesting that men were more inclined to Annie’s full, rounded figure instead of my barely bumped flatness? I stared at my blossoming bosom, desperately trying to remember if there was some remedy I might brew to enhance my chances. But then Violet winked and whispered, “He’s only after her money.” I opened my puckered mouth to argue but a meaty burp came out instead. My friend looked into my panic-stricken stare and said, “She’ll find out herself soon enough.” And with that she left on the elbow of a fresh-landed sailor, leaving me to bat off the dregs in the festering night. But it turned out we were both of us wrong. Jim wasn’t just after what he could get (either physically or financially). He wanted to settle down with Miss Cormac and raise himself a family. And my face must have made a proper good laugh on the day I finally found out.
See, two weeks before Christmas the wedding dress was completed and I went to Signora Cassava’s shop for the final fitting. The signora presented the bride in all her splendor and I have to admit that Annie looked just like an angel dropped from the ether—not that I was particularly bothered one way or another (except I secretly hoped Jim might turn to me once Annie was off the market). The dark blue taffeta gown over pale blue silk petticoat shimmered like running water and the stomacher was delightfully etched with a pink and green sprig pattern. There were matching silk gloves, a gorgeous lace bonnet, and a pair of kid-skin boots to complete the ensemble. When I finally found my tongue I murmured, “It fits perfect, ma’am. You’ll do your father proud.”
A weird look washed over Anne’s face as she whispered, “Do you think he will approve?” I imagined any man would be thoroughly delighted but before I could ascertain which he was meant she snapped, “Hush up!” She turned to the seamstress and smiled, saying, “It has turned out quite exquisite. Thank you.” Then instead of taking the dress back to Black River Annie left it upstairs in her room on Broad Street. And she never told her father when the outfit was ready—otherwise there’d be no excuse to still be coming to town.
The week before the big day the Ellyotts and their son arrived at the plantation for dinner. Annie greeted them warmly and chattered away as if she really couldn’t wait to marry the man she would rather have killed. She was most careful not to be left alone with Aaron, but you’d never have guessed from her performance what was really going on in her devious thoughts. I’m sure that by the time her future in-laws left they were singing the virtues of the lovely young lady and musing on the good fortune she’d be bringing their way. The lieutenant was all charm and attention, but how much of him was an act was too hard for even me to read. Nevertheless, in front of the parents he was a proper gentleman, and even Master William seemed at peace with the match. Annie spent the rest of the week packing her trousseau, for the newlywed couple was to honeymoon at the Ellyotts’ other home in New York. Now, if the master noticed that his deceased wife�
��s jewelry and plate suddenly went missing he never voiced no objection, and so the one travel-chest Annie favored above all others grew plumper each day with increasing weight.
Two days before the wedding I awoke in the dead of night feeling prickly and uneasy. Was the master in my room again? No. But the roaring outside set my hairs on edge. The pitch of darkness flickered with a russet glow and I realized something was on fire. Flustered horses snorted and neighed. Black voices were urgently shouting and answering. I heard foot stomps and clamor and chaos. Dressing as quickly as possible I ran downstairs but the open bedroom doors told me I was the last soul to vacate this empty building. The master had organized a bucket chain from the well to the stable where the blaze was rapidly spreading and in danger of reaching the barn. Someone had released the horses and they were galloping toward familiar pasture—but some of the cows were still trapped and needed guiding to safety. Bart Higgins was inside trying to untie the stalls and one of the slaves was herding the terrified creatures as they emerged like shadows through the smoke. I quickly realized the best way for me to help was by quenching the growing thirsts of the crew closest to the flames, so I carried pail upon pail of water along the line and stopped so each mouth could ladle its fill. We thought we’d got the better of the fire when someone yelled and pointed toward the kitchen. Thick black bellows were coiling from the doors and it suddenly occurred to us all—simultaneously—that arson was afoot. Joy Higgins tried to rush in the structure but something popped with a very loud flash and the men wisely pulled her back and held on tight to her waist. We watched in dismay as the roof sank inward and all we could do was temper the surrounding soil to stop the flames from reaching the Big House.
Sometime around dawn our will won out and the tongues of destruction finally sank down to ash, but not before a good portion of the plantation was destroyed. Everyone was exhausted. I was covered in ash from hair to ankle, sweaty, smoky, and slightly singed. The master called everyone to the porch and broke out a keg of brandy. Joy brought some cheese from the well house and found some smoked fish to distribute among the workers. William stood on the steps and thanked his people for the valiant effort made and was trying to ease the calamity by highlighting individual acts of bravery when he suddenly stopped midsentence and queried, “Where is my daughter?” We looked around the smeary faces and as soon as we realized Anne was not among us feet scampered off in all directions to locate her, but at that point no one thought to check if a horse was missing. I ran past William and into the house calling her name as I charged up the stairs. Then I darted into her bedroom and immediately realized what had happened. Annie’s best chest was missing—along with her coat, riding boots, and some of her favorite trinkets. I saw her jewelry casket was opened and rifled and that no one had slept in her bed. The mistress had vanished in the inferno. And I knew sure as hell where she was headed.
When I think back on that night I ain’t got no idea why I did what I did. I mean, I didn’t owe Annie Cormac nothing, and yet she drew this strange loyalty from me that many times almost got me killed. Without hesitation I stuffed the remaining chains back in their box, ruffled the bed so the lines crumpled, and made the chamber look as would be expected. I was trying to buy her enough time to make it to Charles Towne, and then she was on her own. The master was waiting news on the porch and when I returned there I told him the house was vacant so he organized a methodical search of the entire estate, but of course she wasn’t nowhere to be found, and her favorite gelding couldn’t be located either. Everyone was given the rest of the day to recover and I knew Bart Higgins would have more than his hands full trying to console Joy’s heartfelt loss. When I entered the parlor Mrs. Drayton was in a near state of collapse. The smoke and tension were all too much for her frail disposition, so I persuaded her to rest there in the chair and gave her several tonics. I was able to brew tea on the arm over the fireplace and thought I could probably muster up some pottage for supper. As the plantation settled to smoggy calmness Master William stomped about from place to ruin trying to find some trace of his lost daughter. There were no human remains in the burnt ruins so she was obviously not dead. No one had found her wounded or trapped so she was likely unhurt. She wasn’t the type to fluster if the wedding had to be postponed. . . . And then the truth hit him harder than a swinging boom. Annie had got cold feet and had run away into hiding. The furious patriarch ran up to his daughter’s room and shouted that I was to join him there. I slowly pushed open the door and shuddered before the inevitable wrath of this god.
It took William only a few seconds to see through my cover-up. He turned to me and yelled, “Where is she, Lola?”
I ain’t never seen the master so furious so I mumbled, “I . . . I don’t know, sir.”
He didn’t believe my lies and grasped my wrist in a vicious grip. “I want to know where she has gone!”
I quickly estimated enough time had passed to give her the lead so I sheepishly replied, “I think she’s gone to town, sir.”
“Do you know where?” he roared. I nodded. “To the house?”
That seemed the safest explanation so I told him, “Probably.” Then I remembered, “She . . . she left her wedding dress there. Perhaps she’s gone to collect it. . . ?” But my quibble lacked any real conviction. Master William knew me well enough to suspect some involvement so he asked, “Did you know she was leaving?”
“No, sir.”
“She told you nothing?” I shook my head. William considered this information for a moment and said, “Is she coming back?” I froze. I really couldn’t confirm yea or nay but my gut told me she was gone for good. My hesitation answered his question. He pushed me onto the bed and strode to lock both doors.
The master rummaged through Annie’s things until he found suitable material to make restraints, then he lifted my skirt over my head and pushed my struggling face down into the quilt. Before I realized what was happening he’d tied my hands to the bedpost so I was bent with my naked buttocks exposed on the counterpane. He slowly removed his belt and brought his arm down hard in an angry swipe. I felt the leather slash my skin and screamed into the feathers.
“Where is she?” he demanded. He hit me again. “Where is she?”
I counted three—four—five—six—and then I couldn’t be doing with no more so I cried, “She’s with Jim!”
The belt smacked hard again. “Jim who?”
“Please, Master. Don’t . . . I’ll . . . I’ll tell!”
“Jim who?” Another strike.
“Bonny. James Bonny . . . a sailor!”
Shock stopped the arm in midair. William dropped the belt, untied the bonds, and turned me around to face him. I couldn’t sit right on my aching bottom so I knelt at his feet to answer his black booming questions. I snuffled and wept as I revealed Annie’s secrets. The master listened with a face like a wooden figurehead that absorbed and eventually accepted my truth. He said quietly, “So she does not plan to marry Lieutenant Ellyott tomorrow?” I mumbled that it was unlikely. “And you knew about this all the time?” I shook my head. Then another wave of infuriation gripped the ruined father and he started punching and kicking at me in sickening waves until I slumped on the floor and pretended to be silenced. He turned back the key, stomped next door, and rummaged around for his opium bliss.
I lay without moving. I breathed still as possible, pretending I was unconscious, squeezing my cramped muscles, and resisted the urge to rub my sore arse. I listened until his snoring fell into a regular rhythm, then slowly pushed myself to my feet to assess the final damage. I crept to push shut the adjoining door and locked it. Then I washed myself thoroughly at Annie’s toilet stand and dressed myself in her unwanted clothes. When I’d mustered sufficient courage, I limped to the other door and let myself out through Mrs. Drayton’s room into the hallway. I slipped upstairs to collect my boots, cloak, medicine chest, and valuables, then made my way across the burnt fields to the horses out at pasture. It took me longer than anticipated to
soothe a strawberry roan into cooperation, but I’d come prepared to sling the chest across my back and soon was trotting toward Charles Towne. My rump was far too sore to have tolerated a saddle but the cool flesh of the horse’s flank provided some soothing relief. I didn’t have no idea what I’d do when I found Annie. But I feverishly hoped that Violet would.
It was deep into evening when I arrived, and my first stop was the house on Broad Street to see if the lovers were hiding there. Joshua eventually answered my persistent shouts and knocks (once I’d convinced him it was me outside), but he assured me he hadn’t seen Annie for days. I slipped the chest from my back and climbed up to her chamber to see for myself—and there was the dazzling bridal outfit still hung up and waiting. By now I was absolutely exhausted and my rear end felt like it was burning so I let Joshua stable the horse and after I’d filled him in on the drama over supper I flopped on my old bed and fell into an even more fitful nightmare.
I was awoken by a familiar raised voice and made my way to the top of the landing, careful to keep out of sight. The master was downstairs shouting at Joshua for all he was worth. Quick as lightning, I pulled on my boots, picked up the cloak and chest, and tiptoed out of the right-hand door as William slammed the left-hand one in the shop. I scuttled to Bay Street among the early risers setting up for the day and knocked on the rear door of the Red House. Some disheveled slattern opened the door and muttered, “What do you want, eh?” I asked to see Violet and was begrudgingly taken up the staircase to a room with a peeling gilt frame. My hostess rapped hard and yelled, “Visitor for you, Vi.”
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