The white gown draped over the master bed was brushed to the floor by impatient hands. And the wet, gray dress clinging to Allison found the same fate.
Outside, the storm continued, with bursts of lightning outlining the man and woman in each other's arms.
That night, anger was replaced by tenderness, lust with love, as Rad Meadors taught Allison the pleasures of the body, bringing her to ecstasy and beyond.
Chapter 38
Pheenie Peters sat in a rocking chair on the porch of the Roswell commissary store and slowly chewed his tobacco. He nodded as he listened to Coin Forsyth. At one point, he got up, walked to the edge of the porch, and spat. Then he took his place again with the other three men.
"Bedford's sister, Ellie, was in the group shipped north," he said, pointing to the man in the farthest chair. "He tried to find out what happened to her, but never did."
Coin looked in Bedford's direction. "Did you contact the war department?"
"I went as far as Marietta, where she was put on a train, but a man there said it wasn't no use tryin' to find her. They took her across the Ohio River. I thought once of goin' along the train tracks to Nashville way and askin', but then Martha, my wife, said it would be a waste of time. If Ellie wants to come home, she will."
"If she has enough money for the fare," Coin added.
"You plannin' to go after Miss Allison and the baby, Captain?"
Coin looked again at Pheenie. "Yes. There's a carpetbagger who wants to restore Rose Mallow, so I'm selling it to him. I don’t want to do it, but there's no other way I can raise enough money for the trip."
"When do you leave, Captain?"
"Next week, after the sale of the house."
One of the other men said, "Well, if you ever find out what happened to Alma Brady, let me know. Me and Henry, her husband, were good friends, and when he was killed at Snake Creek Gap, I sorta made a promise to 'im to look after her."
Coin Forsyth left the porch of the commissary and began to walk home. It was a foolhardy trip, he knew, starting out when he had no idea where he was going. But he could follow the tracks; talk with people in Nashville and Louisville; go to the newspapers, and consult the official war records. Even then, Allison could have left the train at any point, and he would have no way of knowing. But he had to go. He knew he would never rest until he discovered what had happened to his wife.
In a week's time, Coin Forsyth boarded the train to begin the long search for Allison, Morrow, and Rebecca.
At Bluegrass Meadors, Allison settled down to being the mistress of the large plantation house. The families who had worked for Rad in the past returned, one by one. Soon, the small houses were filled and the crops were growing—cotton, tobacco, corn, and other vegetables. Rad threw himself into the work as if by laboring harder than his own help, he could erase the ravages of war and bring prosperity to the area that was still divided by old animosities.
Once his uniform had been relegated to the trunk in the attic, along with the family wedding dress that Allison had worn, Rad never spoke of the war to her.
And when he hired an overseer to live in the new cottage built closer to the creek, he and Big Caesar were able to spend more time with the horses, racing them along the sandy track behind the paddocks and clocking Standing Tall, faster than any of the others.
Winter passed, with layers of snow covering the meadows. Then spring came. The apple trees bloomed, the burley tobacco seed was sown in cold frames for the new season, and Allison waited for June and the birth of her child.
One evening, during the last part of June, Rad and Allison sat at the dinner table and listened to the storm outside. With rumblings of thunder in the distance answering the sudden flashes of lightning, Rad smiled and looked at his wife.
"Do you remember our wedding night, Allison? It was the same sort of storm as tonight."
Allison laughed. "How can I ever forget? Probably no civilized bride in history was taken up to her wedding chamber on horseback."
"My mother was," Rad answered.
"Do you mean your father…"
"How else do you think that first hoofprint was embedded in the wooden staircase?"
"I didn't know. I thought perhaps you were the one who made a habit of riding your horse down the hall and up the steps."
With the glow of candles lighting Rad's face and softening the sharp angles, the man lowered his voice so that Rebecca, going back and forth to the kitchen, would not hear. "One day, our own son will look at the second hoofprint and realize the passion of that night when he was conceived.'
"Were you… I mean, did your father…"
"I was born nine months later, so I must have been conceived on my parents' wedding night, too." Rad smiled again. "If you were hoping for another blonde-haired child like Morrow, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed. I have a feeling that this child will be his father's son."
Seeing the briefest frown flicker on Allison's face, Rad said, "What's the matter? Is it not to your liking that a son might resemble his father?"
For a moment, Allison didn't answer. She set her fork down and gripped the table. Then, breathing easier, she said, "Have you thought that the baby might be a girl?"
"The next one, perhaps. This one will be a boy."
Allison did not reply. She watched Rad as he finished his meal. When he had drained his glass and placed his napkin on the table, he looked up again. "Is anything wrong, Allison? You've hardly eaten anything at all tonight."
"I'd like to go to our room now, Rad."
"Allison." Rad immediately stood up and came to her. "Have the pains started?"
"Yes, Rad."
"For how long?"
"For the past several hours."
"Rebecca," Rad shouted. "leave what you're doing. Your mistress needs you right away."
Allison was gathered up into Rad's arms, but she protested, "I can still walk, Rad."
"No. I'll carry you up the stairs. Rebecca," he shouted again, and hurried from the dining room.
Not far from Louisville, at the Asylum for the Insane, Coin Forsyth waited impatiently in the anteroom of the director. His heart was heavy with grief. He had traveled for nine months, checking every lead, every trail that might take him to Allison.
On the day he'd found Marcus Stagg, he had almost challenged him to a duel. But it wouldn't do to kill a man who was already under a death sentence.
Realizing that he was going to meet his Maker sooner than he wished, a poor Marcus, wrapped in blankets to ward off the trembling chill, seemed intent on confessing to anyone who would listen every sin he'd ever committed or thought about.
"Yes, I remember the woman well, Captain Forsyth. She was beautiful, with those large lavender eyes, that beautiful moonbeam hair. I was going to take her, too, that day. Not for the mill, but for my personal use. But then I saw she was sick—and had a sick baby. So she stayed on the train."
The man, sitting propped up in the chair of the seedy rooming-house room, developed a fit of coughing. A scarlet stain seeped onto his handkerchief, and he was unaware when Coin quietly closed the door.
Coin's conversation with Stagg outside of Nashville had been over three months ago. Now, as he waited for Dr. Woodworth, he was desolate. What heartbreak to find Allison at last in a place where the people were chained like animals, with no hope of ever seeing the outside world again.
Coin looked up as the door opened, revealing a stout, gray-bearded man in a white coat.
"Mr. Forsyth?"
"Yes?"
"My assistant told me you were waiting to see me about one of the patients here—Allison Forsyth."
"My wife."
The man's rheumy voice sounded sad. "I'm not sure if you should see her in her present state. She's a pitiful sight, but I guess in the circumstances she has a right to be."
"I'd like to see her, Doctor."
"Well, if you insist. But only from a distance. You realize, of course, that you will not be allowed to take h
er out of the asylum."
"Not even if I vow to take care of her myself?"
"Not even then."
Coin followed the man, walking along the cloistered outside porch to a dingy stone building where the door was locked and chained. The director took a key, opened it, allowed Coin to follow inside, and then relocked it.
A babble of voices rose in the air, with a wail resembling an animal. Then a man's voice cried out, "Repent! Repent! Armageddon is at hand!"
They went through another door, with a burley attendant unlocking it and keeping guard. "She's in the small room before you, Mr. Forsyth. You may look inside for a moment, but I won't open the door. She tried to kill one of the guards just last week, so we're keeping her in isolation for now."
The woman sat in the corner of the padded room. Her body rocked back and forth, with her long, dull hair hanging over her face and obscuring her features. In her arms she held two rag dolls. "Hush, little baby, don’t you cry. Mama's gonna sing you a lullaby."
"She lost both her children," Dr. Woodworth whispered. "But she's content with the dolls now."
"No, Morrow! You mustn't eat Lovey Lou's porridge. Mama will give you some, too, when your turn comes."
At the name, Morrow, Coin turned from the small window, his grief welling up in his throat. It was too unbearable to see her like this. His beautiful Allison was gone—replaced by a hag crooning to her two rag children.
"Where did you find her?"
"Wandering by the train tracks."
Coin nodded. "I think I've seen enough. I'm ready to go."
But there was something that worried Coin. The mention of two children. At the last moment, Coin turned around and walked back to the window. The woman's hair was now pushed away from her face, and her eyes met his as he gazed into the opening.
"Henry? Is that you, Henry?"
Her eyes were not the color of amethysts, her hair, streaked with gray, still had dark patches. "Doctor, that's not my wife," Coin said. "It's someone else."
"It's been a long time, Mr. Forsyth, since you've seen her. People change, especially in a place like this."
"But the color of eyes remains the same. That's not my wife," he reiterated.
The doctor peered through the small opening. "Woman, what's your name?" he called out.
The woman looked at the two faces staring at her. "Allison Forsyth," she said, and burst into hysterical laughter. Then her face became sad. She went back to the corner, sat down, and began rocking back and forth. "Hush, little baby, don’t you cry. Mama's gonna sing you a lullaby."
The faces at the window were forgotten as Alma Brady returned to her world of fantasy, which she inhabited with her two rag children.
At Bluegrass Meadors, Rad paced up and down in the hallway. He had been up the entire night and now the dawn was beginning to edge its way over the hills. The rain had stopped some time during the night, but Rad was hardly aware of it; for he had been listening for another sound—a baby's cry.
When it came, Rad gripped the arms of the straight chair and tears came to his eyes. He wanted to rush into the room, to tell Allison how much he loved her—that he really didn't care whether the child was a boy or a girl. She was the one who mattered to him.
He stood outside the closed door and waited for what seemed an eternity. But it was a mere twenty minutes later when Rebecca finally opened the door. She smiled and said, "You can come in now, Mr. Rad."
He walked slowly, carefully toward the bed where his wife lay. "Allison?"
Her large amethyst eyes held joy mixed with pain as she looked up at him. "You were right, Rad. We have a son. Would you like to see him?"
"In a moment. I just want to be with you for a while, darling. I didn't think I could stand it, being separated from you for so long…not knowing…"
He stood by the bed, his hand reaching out to touch hers. And Allison, seeing him like this, wondered why she had ever been afraid of him. How could she have ever thought of him as some dark, sinister stranger? He was her dear husband and a kind father to Morrow. For the past nine months, he'd treated the child as if she were his own. But Allison was glad that she had been able to give him flesh of his own flesh and blood of his own blood.
"Rebecca, will you please bring the baby to me? It's time his father saw him."
The black woman rose from the chair beside the cradle and brought the tiny bundle to the canopied bed. Allison smiled up at Rad and pushed back the blanket to reveal the face of the baby.
"He's your son, Rad, as you can see. You were even right about his coloring, too."
Rad looked from the fair-haired woman to the dark-haired baby. Tenderly, he took the baby in his arms, but his eyes soon returned to Allison. "Darling, thank you," he whispered. And his entire being proclaimed his vast love for his wife.
That same evening, Coin Forsyth arrived in the town of Louisville, which was less than twenty miles from Bluegrass Meadors.
Chapter 39
In the small mining town of Nugget Canyon, Madrigal O'Laney awoke with a frown. It was already dark and from the clatter coming from the saloon downstairs, she knew the miners were impatient for her to make an appearance.
"You better get your backside out of this bed, Madrigal. Mr. Sudderth said he wasn't payin' you to sleep all afternoon—alone, that is."
"But I'm not feelin' well, Sally Jean. How am I gonna sing and dance when my head's 'bout to split?"
"Drink this cuppa coffee. Sadie put a little rum in it for you. Says there's nothin' to perk you up any more'n a little hot drink."
"Then you drink it, Sally Jean. I don't want to be perked up."
Sally Jean sat down on the bed. "What's the real reason you don’t want to go downstairs tonight, Madrigal? Is it that Wolf Perkin again?"
Madrigal's eyes blazed with anger. "He nearly ruined my life two years ago. And I'm sure not givin' him the time of day. I don’t care how much he spends in the saloon. I'm not sittin' with him, and I'm not bringin' him upstairs. Ever."
Sally Jean was sympathetic. Now old and plump, with faded red hair, she watched over Mr. Sudderth's girls like a mother hen. Madrigal was her favorite, though. Maybe it was because the girl reminded her of herself years before, when her hair was burnished copper and her skin was smooth and white.
"Here, baby. Drink your coffee and then I'll lace up your corset for you."
Soon there was a knock on the door. "Madrigal," a voice called out. "Mr. Sudderth says he ain't waitin' any longer. The piano player's playin' his last tune before you come onstage."
"Tell him to hold his horses," Sally Jean yelled. "She'll be down soon as I get her ready."
The plump woman turned to Madrigal and, in a much softer voice, said, "Now don't sashay your bustle too much. Else you'll have all those miners up on stage with you."
"I'll remember."
Downstairs, the saloon was filled with cigar smoke that swirled upward toward the gaslights, barely reflected in the large glass mirror hanging over the bar.
The rowdy miners were already getting drunk; for it was Saturday—the one day out of the week when they put up their shovels and mining pans and came into town with their gold dust for the assayer's office. The rich veins along the canyon had almost run out. Soon they would all have to go farther west, and then Nugget Canyon, like so many others, would become just another ghost town.
But tonight all cares were forgotten. The men crowded into the saloon, taking up the places at the bar and the gaming tables, to await the entertainment and to get drunker.
Seated at one of the tables at the back was Coin Forsyth, who had arrived in town only an hour and a half earlier on one of the mule-drawn mail-carrying stages called "the jackass mail."
His search for Allison had reached a stalemate in Louisville. The prison where the Roswell women had been kept had burned to the ground and all records of the women had been lost in the fire, too. If it had not been for a chance conversation with a former guard at the prison, Coin might have given up
. But the guard had provided him with a new lead, bringing him west for the man who might have taken Allison out of prison.
"Glenn Meadors pretended to be someone else, but I knew better," the former guard had confided to Coin. "He was a Confederate captain, not a good thing to be in Louisville at that time. Coulda been hanged if he'd been caught. But I remember the four women he signed out of the prison, and one fit the description of your wife, if I recollect rightly."
"Where can I find this Glenn Meadors? Does he live near here?"
"Used to. But he pulled up stakes and went west. Said he wasn't ever comin' back."
Now, Glenn Meadors's trail had grown cold, but Coin had finally located one of the four women, Madrigal O'Laney. He was impatient to talk with her, but the owner of the Gold Nugget Saloon told him he'd have to pay his money and wait until after the show. Without blinking, he had pulled out his last roll of bills, which assured him of being alone with the woman.
After waiting all these months for some news of Allison and the baby, Coin was able to disguise his impatience for a short time longer. But the other men in the saloon were not so prone. They began to slap their hands against the tables and to call Madrigal's name. "We want Madrigal," they shouted, and nothing would appease them but for her to appear.
Jedadiah Calcott, the old-timer seated beside Coin at the far table laughed and leaned toward the newcomer. "She'll be onstage soon—a right cute little gal, singin' and dancin'. Old Sally Jean taught her all of her songs. Good thing, too. Sally Jean's got so fat, you'd have to hoist her with a pulley to get her up those steps."
The music began; the green-tasseled draperies opened, and Coin saw a saucy, young redheaded woman prance onto the rustic stage. Draped over the bar, Wolf Perkin also watched Madrigal. He was determined to have her that night. She'd been avoiding him, but she wouldn't be able to anymore.
Onstage, Madrigal smiled, blew a kiss to the audience and, with a swish of her green boa dyed to match the fancy green dress, began to belt out the lyrics of her opening song. "Mable loves sable; Erma loves ermine; Goldie loves golden charms. But all I ever wanted to be wrapped in, was my man's arms…."
The Roswell Women Page 28
