by Jenny Lykins
"My parents say Cyprian and I cannot be friends any longer, Miss Elise. They say I am too old to have a darky for a playmate. But he is my best friend in the whole wide world."
Nicholas's voice quavered at the end of his little speech. Cyprian didn't look as if he could speak at all.
"Miss Elise, why do people look down on darkies? Cyprian looks just like me, only darker." Elise saw the resemblance now and mentally shook her head at society's double standards. "Why, his blood looks just like mine when we bleed. I know for a fact ‘cause we're blood brothers."
She smiled at the pride in Nicholas's voice and wished she could do something to help.
"I know it's not right to choose friends by the color of their skin. Maybe it will make you feel better if I tell you that someday boys like you will be able to stay friends forever. They'll go to the same schools, live side-by-side as neighbors, work together. Why, when you boys are men, slavery will cease to exist."
Elise wondered if she hadn't gone a little too far with this last statement, but the obvious looks of disbelief on the youngsters' faces set her mind at ease.
"How will slavery go away, Miss Elise?"
"Nich-o-lassss." A lovely, dark-haired young woman in a yellow sprigged day gown stepped through the thick foliage. Elise offered up a silent "thank you" for rescuing her from having to answer that question, before the soggy trio stood up.
"Nicholas, there you are! I have looked everywhere for you. And here you are with Cyprian. What did your father tell you about that?"
The young woman wore an accusing frown, but when she drew close enough to see the condition of Nicholas's clothes she cried out and ran to him.
He squirmed under her motherly clucking and tried without success to get a word in edgewise.
Elise recognized the slender woman as one of the guests at the ball. She only hoped the woman had not been one of the witnesses to her impromptu entertainment last night.
"Excuse me. I'm Elise Gerard. Perhaps I can explain what happened."
The woman looked up as though she'd just noticed her presence. The look of recognition destroyed Elise's hopes for anonymity, but she pressed on.
"You see, I was walking along the path and heard voices," Elise began, mentally editing the story as she told it. "They sounded upset, and by the time I reached the boys Nicholas was struggling to keep his head above water. Cyprian begged me to help, but I fell in, too." Here she pierced Cyprian with a "be quiet" look. "Cyprian tried his best to pull us both out, but we were too much for him and we pulled him in. Fortunately, we found shallow water before anything disastrous happened."
Elise felt like she should add "Yeah, yeah, that's the ticket" to the end of her speech. But, she consoled herself, there wasn't anything untrue about it. She’d just rearranged the sequence of events a bit.
"Why, I hate to think what might have occurred if Cyprian hadn't been close by." A thoughtful shaking of her head drove home the suggestion that Cyprian had, in all probability, prevented a catastrophe.
The young woman's face softened. She kept one hand on Nicholas but knelt in front of Cyprian to take his hand in her other.
"Cyprian, how brave of you. I cannot begin to thank you."
The little woolly head stayed bowed, his face hidden.
"I will talk to Nicholas's father and recommend he reconsider. Perhaps he will allow you boys to remain friends. How would you like that?"
Cyprian's head popped up. A smile broke across his face like a sunrise out of the darkness. Nicholas's expression mirrored his and the two friends engaged in some vigorous head nodding.
The young lady rose and turned to Elise. She offered her hands when she spoke.
"I am Marisa Trahan, Nicholas's mother. I am so very grateful for your help."
Her two soft hands encased Elise's, and she patted them with genuine warmth. It was the first time Elise had felt completely comfortable with someone since she'd arrived here. It was a good feeling. One that she missed more than she'd realized.
"I really didn't do anything except complicate matters," Elise said with a grin. Then she wrinkled up her nose and shook her head. "I seem to be an expert at complicating things." A rerun of the previous night flashed through her mind.
As if reading her thoughts Marisa waved away her protests.
"Oh, fiddle. You only did what half the women at the ball would like to do. Very few of us have walked away from Ballard Fetter without his handprint on us somewhere." She giggled and her soft brown eyes lit with delight. "Why, I bet he thinks twice before he tries that again on a lady."
Elise couldn't help but laugh. Marisa's cheerfulness was contagious.
"Now, we need to get the three of you out of these wet clothes before you catch your deaths," Marisa said between giggles. Then, her voice laden with mischief, "Would you show me how you did that to Ballard?"
Shadows on the creek bank created a natural camouflage, and Reed realized he hadn't been seen when the group walked within a few feet of him on their trip back to the house. The chatter of the foursome faded as they moved farther away.
The stillness of the clearing, the moist, rich smell of earth mingling with a profusion of honeysuckle called to Reed. He found a patch of sunlight and stretched out in the warmth, staring up at a china blue sky and savoring the solitude.
When he reflected on all he'd witnessed in the last twenty minutes, a feeling of uneasy wonder tapped him on the shoulder.
He had followed Elise when she'd run from him in the foyer. His intent was to allow her to walk off some of her anger before he tried to approach her to talk.
Just as he had been about to catch up to her, he'd heard the boys and watched Elise cut through the trees to the creek. At first he hadn't wanted to interrupt. Then when they all took a dunk in the water he was laughing too hard to help them. He knew how shallow the creek was there and how still the water. There had been no danger. He had, however, been ready to hit the water, clothes and all, if there had been any sign of trouble.
By the time Elise had climbed to shore he was completely enchanted with her methods of reassuring the boys - not to mention the charming picture a thoroughly wet day gown created. He hadn't considered it eavesdropping when he'd watched to see what would happen next.
A blade of tall grass scratched at his fingers as he lay in the sun, thinking. He snapped it off and chewed on it in contemplation while he continued to study the sky and mull over what he'd heard.
He wasn't sure what it was that had made him so uneasy, but he'd felt chillbumps ripple up and down his arms when Elise told the boys about the end of slavery. It had not been a prediction. It had been a promise - one to which she had given a time period.
Dark tendrils of awareness had tickled the corners of his memory when Nicholas had asked how slavery would go away. Why would a child's innocent question cause such a flutter to his heart? It was almost as if he had known the answer.
A huge, white bank of clouds skidded across the cerulean sky. Like generous helpings of meringue, the flat-bottomed mounds climbed upward. Reed stared at the perfectly flat base of the clouds, and his mind drifted along with them.
An awareness, a knowledge began to filter into his consciousness.
He knew. Dear God, he knew.
A film of sweat erupted on his skin and his breathing became shallow. He knew exactly what those clouds looked like from above. He could see the blinding reflection of the sun against their pristine whiteness. He had the desire to fall back into them - like a feather mattress. Just him and Elise.
The film became beads of perspiration. He sat up, plucked the long-forgotten blade of grass from tense lips. The bank of clouds tumbled out of view. Now he imagined white lines of mist criss-crossing against the azure backdrop.
Contrails. Good God, what are contrails?
He jumped to his feet and scrubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. A perfectly blue, cloudless sky hung above him. There were no signs of criss-crossing lines, the likes of which
he'd never seen before in his life.
*******
He was going to throw up. The rat-like gnawing in his stomach grew worse with every word out of Angeline's mouth. The only possible end to this growing feeling was to throw up.
Maybe he could aim it toward Angeline. That would certainly shut her up - at least temporarily. Better yet, he could kill her, and then he wouldn't have this urge.
Guilt assailed him. He had no one to blame but himself for having to marry the woman. And he'd damned well better get used to her talking, without suffering any reguritative or homicidal tendencies. His life was going to be enough of a hell.
"And we really must invite the Governor. Let's see, he and his family will bring the guest list up to...thirty-five, thirty-six...three hundred and thirty-six. Now. Have I left anyone out?"
He nearly sprayed a mouthful of brandy all over her precious, considerable guest list.
"You can't be serious, woman! What do you plan to do, invite the entire state of Louisiana?"
"Why Reed, sugar, we cannot take a chance on slighting someone." Angeline laid her pen on the escritoire and flitted to the loveseat. "Besides, Momma and Daddy are paying for the wedding, so why should you care how many people we invite?"
Reed's only answer was to slosh another finger of brandy into his glass.
"Now, I think London and a jaunt to the Continent is the perfect place for the honeymoon. We shall take a ship from New Orleans to..."
Her voice faded from his thoughts. The word "honeymoon" clanged around in his head like a ricocheting bullet. Honeymoon! He had not even considered that aspect of marriage. How in the world could he go off on a honeymoon with this woman? Why, he could no more bed her now than...
"...and then return to London before coming home. It will be so wonderful. Just what I have always dreamed of."
"Angeline, there will be no honeymoon. It is out of the question."
Her eyes narrowed and one perfect brow lifted in silent challenge.
"This is a very important season. I can't just go off and leave the fields in the hands of an overseer. I need to be here in case of an emergency. The...honeymoon...will have to wait until after the harvest." It would wait forever if he had his way.
Angeline's expression didn't waver. But her hand slowly slid from the necklace she'd been toying with downward to the still flat region below her waist. Reed's glance caught the gesture, and he read the meaning as clearly as if she'd spoken the words, "You owe it to me." Their eyes locked and they stared each other down. His conscience battered away at his resolve, and when a tear collected and spilled onto her cheek, his resolve lost.
"Very well. But not abroad. Find somewhere over here for a...honeymoon." Lord, he could barely force the word from his lips.
She brightened at once and picked up a calendar, however he knew the subject wasn't closed. He stifled a moan but didn't bother to suppress the curse he uttered under his breath.
Damn his memory. Damn himself for having that contemptible ball. Damn. Damn. Damn.
"We really do need to settle on a date for the wedding, sugar."
Oh, God.
"I believe the twenty-second of June is the best day. That gives me twenty days to plan and have a gown and trousseau made. I realize it is an obscenely short period of time, but...under the circumstances, we mustn't wait overly long."
Elise's birthday. He couldn't marry Angeline on Elise's birthday.
How do I know that? When did she tell me she was born on June twenty-second? He couldn't remember the subject ever being discussed, but there was no doubt in his mind about the date.
"No!" He very nearly barked the word. "Not the twenty-second."
"But whyever not?" Angeline's whine at this latest obstacle pierced his eardrums. "The almanac says the weather will be perfect for an outdoor wedding. And with over three hundred guests it will have to be out of doors, so I..."
"Let's just say I have a personal aversion to getting married on the twenty-second of June, and leave it at that. If you want to wed on that day, find someone else with whom to do it." Please!
His vehement tone must have convinced her not to press the issue. She gave a little huff and flicked out a fold or two in her skirts before turning back to the calendar.
"Do you have any prejudices against the twenty-third? Or perhaps you should tell me what days you do not have aversions to."
Reed passed a weary hand over his eyes. He looked heavenward for strength.
"I have no preference, Angeline, other than what I have already stated. Consult your almanac. Plan the wedding for any day you wish, other than the twenty-second, and I will show up."
"Really, Reed. You act as though I am planning no more than a casual outing. This is your wedding, too, I will have you know. And under the circumstances...Reed! Where are you going? Reed Blackwell, you come back here!"
He slid the parlor doors closed and made it all the way to the foyer before the crash of breaking glass sounded against them. Probably the Waterford decanter. Nell would not be happy about that.
A freshening breeze swirled around him when he stepped onto the veranda. It blew away some of the miasma blanketing his brain and gave birth to a longing to plunge into the cool stream Elise had frolicked in earlier.
He pulled out the gold pocket watch left to him by his father and snapped the cover open. Two o'clock. Plenty of time for a swim before the horse race. Most of his guests were already lounging or napping in their rooms. The only ones braving the heat of the day were the younger folk, involved in a competitive game of croquet.
He discouraged any idle conversation seekers by striding purposefully away from the house. He didn't care if he looked like a man trying to escape something. He was deep in thought, and the farther he moved into the woods, the deeper his thoughts became.
Elise. Never had a woman so intrigued him. She invaded his waking and sleeping thoughts completely. How was he to ever find any happiness married to one woman and in love with another? Could he ever take Angeline to his bed? He doubted if it would be physically possible, if he were to remain in this frame of mind.
He only wished he had found it so impossible several weeks ago.
God, what a mess.
The stream appeared through the trees, and Reed followed the bank north to a section he knew was deep enough for his needs.
Overwhelmed with the need for the cool water to wash away his thoughts, he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it over his head. The boots and socks came off next, and his breeches ended up on top of the pile, inside-out. His fingers fumbled on the drawstring to his smallclothes before he faltered. Best to leave those on with all the extra people roaming the grounds.
He trotted to a flat rock protruding above the stream, and without slowing, hurled himself into the air. Muscles knotted with tension as he slid into the water with barely a splash.
A passerby would have feared for Reed's life, so long was he under the water. The surface remained smooth and undisturbed until he exploded from it, clear to his waist, at least fifty feet upstream.
The water was cool enough to be refreshing and take his mind from his problems. He blinked the water from his eyes, then dove deep to reach the bed and stir up murky clouds. He followed the slimy bottom until his lungs began to burn, then surfaced to race upstream again.
He didn't know or care how long he'd been swimming. He kept at it until his muscles ached and a welcome fatigue crept over him. The pile of clothing he'd left on the bank was not far, so he submerged one last time, then rose to fling his hair from his eyes and wade to the sandy shore.
Waves of heat engulfed Elise's neck, then moved to more disconcerting parts of her body. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears over her shallow, ragged breathing.
He looked like one of those perfect men in cologne commercials, rising out of the water. But a Speedo never looked as sexy as the clinging, transparent fabric hanging lop-sided and precarious on Reed's hips.
In her mind, s
he could feel her hands trace the uniform ridges outlining his stomach. Her index finger would draw a lazy, winding path from his chest to his navel, and she would watch his muscles contract and hear his indrawn breath when her finger slipped under the drawstring to flick it loose.
She inhaled sharply to avoid releasing a sob. Her eyes burned, then swelled with hot tears. The pain inside was a living thing, with claws that ripped and tore at her soul.
How can I stay here and watch him marry someone else? How can I leave and never see him again?
Reed flopped to the ground beside his pile of clothes. He lay back, one knee drawn up, his right arm draped over his eyes.
He looked the picture of relaxation until his left hand balled into a fist and slammed onto the grass beside his hip.
He cursed, grabbed his pants from the pile and jumped to his feet, all in one movement. One leg rammed into a pant leg, then the other. He swore again and yanked them off, only to turn them right-side-out and repeat the process.
Elise ducked and started backing away. She hadn't expected to find him here; she'd thought he was in the parlor with the witch, planning their wedding. That's why she'd borrowed a horse from the stable and taken a long, hard ride. Now if she could just get to the tree where she'd tied the mare. The last thing she needed right now was to come face to face with Reed.
Her eyes stayed on him and the flurry of clothing while she backed away from the scene. That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was stepping into the front door of a ground squirrel’ burrow. She only had time to grab for the spindly shrub branches before she crashed to the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Reed jerked his head up at the thrashing in the underbrush. His shirt hung from his fingers, forgotten. With eyes squinted, he peered into the shadows lining the woods and saw yellow flashes of movement. He finished pulling his sleeve right-side-out and slipped on his shirt before going to investigate.
His heart lurched with a mixture of pain and joy when he saw Elise yank the skirt of her gown from a bush. She looked up and stared at him.
