East of Orleans (3 page)

Jacob Hartwell
sat there on his horse with a smirk on his face. For a brief moment, he glanced at Isabella, and then a cold stare replaced the smirk. He looked her up and down and smiled at her prettiness. He had tried to court her, but her daddy ran him off every time he got anywhere near her. Even if old man McCoy had permitted him to court Isabella, his own ma would have never stood for a Hartwell with a white trash farmer’s girl. Jacob raised his brow and grinned. “Well, well, look who we have here.” Isabella narrowed her ice blue eyes.

“Don’t talk to me, Jacob Hartwell. I’m gonna pretend you ain’t here. It ain’t gonna be long until my pa’s gonna be out of debt with your pa…”

Jacob gave her a sarcastic look. “I doubt that.”

“Don’t you doubt any such thing. Your pa does not need to threaten us with foreclosure no more. It ain’t gonna be long until we pay back his old bank.”

Jacob curled his lips, smiled and tilted his head. “There ain't any point in you and me talking about matters like that. A girl as pretty as you shouldn't worry about such things.” He removed a small aqua-colored book from the inside of his vest and held it up.

“Look what I found; all your secrets and desires in the palm of my hand.” Jacob watched Isabella back away from him and attempt to free Gracie's bridle that was looped around the pine branch.

“You afraid of me?” he said.

“You give me my diary, Jacob Hartwell. It don’t belong to you!”

Jacob noticed her narrow waist and the feminine curves of her body. She was wearing the same indigo gingham dress that she had on when his pa had called on them early that morning. The neck was scooped just enough so that when she bent over to finish putting on her shoe, he could see her small firm breast cupped inside her dress. He watched her drag the skirt of her dress across the ground, hoping to get away from him quickly. He grew excited at the thought of having her. He would not turn back now. He sat erect on his horse and then spit out a twig that he had been chewing. “Maybe you ought to come and get it.” Jacob tilted his head and waved the little diary in his hand. “I hear your granny put a shotgun to my pa’s head this morning. Can’t let any McCoy go shaming a Hartwell. Ain’t your pa taught you better than that? What yawl need is a little lesson in respect.” He opened the diary and turned a few pages. “Let me see, did I read anywhere in this little book about respect? Nope, I don’t recall a thing about respect. Take your clothes off.”

She turned and started to run. Jacob jumped down from his horse and was right behind her. He caught her and held her tight with one hand while the other ripped open and moved down the front of her dress.

“Like it?” he said in a harsh whisper and jerked her close to him. He thrust his body into hers. She started to scream and he slapped her across the mouth. He was excited, his breathing was rapid, and her feistiness made him want more. He tore her dress from her shoulders, exposing her camisole. Holding her tightly, he buried his face in her chest, wildly kissing and exploring her bosom. All ten fingers dug into her arms as he wrestled her to the ground. She tried to get free, but he caught her arms and forced her up under him. He removed her camisole and groped her small round breast; he lowered his mouth and sucked her soft, pink nipples. He was lost in his obsession. She felt his hand release her breast and pull up her dress. Sweat was popping out all over his body. He pulled her closer, grinding himself against her. He had been drinking; she could smell the liquor on his breath. With one hand, he removed his pants and pulled a handkerchief from the pocket. He smiled a malicious smile and quickly tied her hands behind her back. He lowered his eyes to her bare breast. Isabella raised her head, bit his lip, and spit in his face. He panted and said, “You want to fight awhile? Have it your way, but either way you’re going to get it.”

Hot tears rolled down Isabella’s cheeks. She could feel his hands pull down her pantaloons. The smell of his skin and the moonshine made her nauseous. She closed her eyes, praying it was all a bad dream and if not, that she would die. She thought maybe that he was through with her. With one hand, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her close to him with her hands still tied behind her back. He kissed her and ran his tongue down the back of her mouth. Pulling away, he gave her a wicked smile. She noticed that he had slowed, he exhaled and closed his eyes and then she felt the rhythm of his body rub friction burns on her wrist. The last thing that she remembered seeing was a scarlet red mark the size of a silver dollar on the side of his hip.

Somehow, Isabella untied the rope and by some miracle got back home. Before she changed her mind, she opened the front door. No one heard her as she closed the door to her bedroom and fell to the floor. The decision had been made; she had come this far and she would not turn back. Her ma and pa had always trusted her to tell the truth; but she could not tell them, not this time. She jumped as she inspected her bruises; the pain was almost more than she could bear. Deep into the night she bathed and scrubbed herself until her skin was red and raw. She bowed her head as she saw her reflection in the mirror; she tried not to look. Her face was scratched and her lips had started to swell. What would she tell them? Then she thought about Tom. Her eyes filled with tears. She opened her pine hope chest that her daddy had built for her last Christmas and removed a letter written by Tom.

My Sweet Isabella,

I am writing you this letter to prove that I can write. I do not know why it matters, but it does. I suppose some things in life are just that way. No reason, they just are. I have to be honest and tell you that is not the only reason. Also I want to tell you how much I love you. There I said it. You tell me that I never tell you, well now you have it on paper. You can read Tom Slaughter confessed his love to Isabella McCoy, like a coward on paper. You can read it over and over again as many times as you like for the rest of your life.

I want you to know that I am going on to school in
Atlanta
. Preacher Grindle told Pa that he knew a widow woman that lives down near
Peachtree Street
. I went to visit. She seemed nice; in fact, she said that she had a nephew that works at the
Atlanta
paper and he might be able to get me a job. It would not pay much, but at least I would be around other writers. It will take all I make to pay my rent to the widow. I want you to be proud of me; I would not have even tried had it not been for you.

I dream that someday I will make enough money to buy you a ring, that is, if you will accept it. You are the most beautiful girl in the state of
Georgia
and I loved you from the first day I laid eyes on you. If any man ever caused you harm, or spoke to you in a dishonorable tone, I swear I will kill him. You are my Isabella, my dear sweet Isabella. For now and forever.

Love Always,

Tom

Isabella buried her head in the white pillow as the tears fell from her cheeks. She could never give Tom her love; he could never know. She lay there staring into the dark, and remembering Tom’s soft tender kisses. Mama and Granny were doing their needlework in the front room. Daddy must have ridden into town to the feed store. Her eyes had become heavy and she heard voices as she drifted off to sleep. It was Mama and Granny chatting about Jules McGinnis. She had never met him, but she knew he was an awful man with a bad reputation, or so she had heard.

“Miles has been gone all night,” Isabella’s mother said to Granny, as she stitched a piece of embroidery. “Where do you suppose he is?”

Granny looked up from her mending. “Well, Lila, I didn’t want to say anything, but there’s a notion that crossed my mind.”

Lila stopped the rocker. “I know what’s on your mind and I will not have it. Miles would never ride with that bunch again; he told me so.” Granny looked outside and saw the lantern flicker on the front porch. Lila pretended to ignore her, then said, “Miles would have never gotten involved with that group to begin with, had he known what they believed in, you know that.”

Granny tugged at the hem of her dress and started to hum with the sound of the rocker.

Lila exhaled, put down her embroidery, glanced at Granny, then got up and walked to the door. “Where is he?” she muttered against the chatter of the crickets.

“We can get Isabella up, ride into town and see if anybody has seen Miles,” Granny suggested.

“There ain't any point in that. Why would you want to drag her out in the damp air? She’s been through enough. Rollins Hartwell in here with foreclosure papers and all the commotion with Miles, it ain't no wonder the poor child’s still asleep.” Lila raised her brow, straightened her dress and in a defiant tone continued. “Miles would never burn crosses in anybody’s yard, white or colored. I guess he went hunting with Thomas Slaughter.” Granny stopped the rocker and gave Lila a sidelong glance.

“Granny, how about we change the subject?” Lila’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to hear what I heard about Jules McGinnis?”

“Of course, I do. Let me make sure that Isabella’s asleep.”

“Don’t bother. I looked in on her a few minutes ago. She and that big ol’ cat are as snug as two bugs in a rug. Now as I started to say, Sarah Brewer and I were in front of Mr. Benefield’s store and who do you think came up in the fanciest buggy you have ever seen?”

“Jules McGinnis?” said Granny.

“No, it wasn’t Jules,” said Lila. “The driver was a colored man dressed in fine clothes. He even wore a Sunday hat. Sarah and I were speechless; we had become curious who was in that buggy. All of a sudden Jules McGinnis walked up.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Of course, I spoke to him,” Lila said with a smile. “It wouldn’t have been proper if I hadn’t. He was nervous, he rattled the change in his pockets, and he just stood there with his legs spread far apart. You know how he stands, like he’s King of the
Chattahoochee
.”

Granny’s eyes widened as she snickered and said, “I hear they call him King Cotton.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, too. Well, I don't know what got into me and Sarah, but we just stood there and watched that buggy along with Jules, like we had all the time in the world. Jules looked at his pocket watch and fidgeted. I guess he hoped that we would go on our way. Anyhow, we made a pledge; Sarah and me were not going to move until we saw who was in that fancy buggy. Just like a couple of kids, can you believe the likes of us? Anyway, you ain't ne'er going to believe who came out of that buggy.”

“Who?”

In an eager voice Lila said, “Mae Patterson.”

Granny whispered, “Mae Patterson. Lord, ain’t that the woman who runs that whorehouse down around Norcross? What did she look like?”

“Well, we tried not to stare; the sun was in our eyes. Every time we turned to get a better look, Jules McGinnis stared right at us. She looked like a whore.”

“How you know?”

“Well, all I know is what I seen and I know Mae Patterson is a whore,” said Lila.

“How you know?” Granny insisted. Lila stopped the rocker and leaned toward Granny. “For heavens sake, Granny, you know Mae Patterson is a whore the same as me; everybody knows that. Why you want to give me such a hard time I will never know.”

Granny chuckled. “Oh Lila Mae, don't get yourself all ruffled up ’cause I was jest messing with you. Go on, finish where you left off.”

“Well, all right. Her hair was white as cotton, piled high on her head. Her face was painted like one of the women on McGarrity’s Saloon door. Her dress was a fire engine red. It was cut low in the bodice and exposed her huge breasts; this was all before dinner. You would have thought she’d be ashamed, but I guess there ain't any shame to be found in a woman like that. I thought Jules would be embarrassed, but he seemed to take as much pleasure in her vulgar ways as she did. Sarah could not believe that all this took place not fifty feet from the door of the Southern Baptist Mission.”

Granny grinned out the corners of her thin lips. “Lord, you don’t tell.”

Lila smiled and shook her head. “I hear she has a real fine whore house.”

Granny said, “My, my.”

“Then all of a sudden, Jules McGinnis dug his old pudgy hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a wad of money that would pay off the mortgage and the taxes on this farm. He laid it right in that Patterson woman’s hand.”

“You don’t mean it,” said Granny.