Love and War: The Coltrane Saga, Book 1 (3 page)

Kitty decided it was best to keep silent. She didn’t want to talk about the invitation to the party until she had a chance to talk to her father about it, because if he strongly objected to her going to a party in honor of Weldon Edwards—well, she just wouldn’t go, and there was no need to give Lena more reason to nag.

She was silently praying that he wouldn’t object. Just the thought of being with Nathan, being close to him, dancing with him, was enough to make her blush. But she knew only too well how John Wright felt about the secessionist movement, and he might ask her not to go to the party. If he did…but she didn’t want to think about that. He just had to say it was all right. He just
had
to.

The tall, gangly man with stooped shoulders stepped out of the woods and into a bare field that bordered the farmhouse. He carried the flintlock musket that had belonged to his grandfather, and he wore a ragged wool jacket, faded overalls, and the old straw hat he had woven himself. At his side, the old hound “Killer” loped along lazily. The dog was harmless and it was a known fact that he was no more a hunter than his owner was a rich plantation owner. But the two were inseparable, and sometimes Kitty thought they could even communicate with each other.

His bearded face looked weary, even from a distance, and Kitty warmed with affection at the sight of his lanky body plodding through the knee-high weeds. They had always been closer than most fathers and daughters, and this had come about because Lena had always been on the sickly side, spending days and weeks in bed, complaining with first one ailment, then another. As a child, Kitty’s playing had made her nervous, and since Lena objected to her playing with the children of the few slaves on the farm, she was only too glad for John to take their daughter with him. It was many years later that she realized Kitty was hunting and riding and fishing like a man, and she was upset over the discovery.

Accused of trying to make a son out of his daughter, John laughingly spoofed at Lena’s scorn. That was when she began to spend time with Kitty for the first time in her life, insisting that she learn the socially acceptable talents for a young lady of the day—sewing, tatting, recitation—all of which Kitty detested and rebelled against.

A closeness had developed between John Wright and his daughter that could not easily be dissolved. To pacify his wife, John urged Kitty to allow herself to be taught feminine “qualities”, and Kitty gave in, all the while yearning to be with her father instead. She loved the farm, loved working with the animals and being outdoors in the fresh air and sunshine. The sewing, tatting, weaving, and sitting with hands folded primly in her lap while her mother read poetry—these were the times she hated, loathed, and despised.

And as she watched the approach of her father, Kitty wondered anxiously how he was going to react to Nathan’s declaration of his intentions to become a suitor. She’d heard him speak often of Nathan’s father, Aaron Collins, and how he owned many slaves and allowed his overseer, Luke Tate, to treat them mercilessly. She feared that he was not going to approve, and he would be completely opposed to her being in the company of a man like Weldon Edwards who was fighting for the secession of North Carolina.

John was halfway across the field when Jacob came out of the barn, waving excitedly. He turned in that direction, and Kitty ached to join them, but apprehension over the discussion that was to come held her back. He wouldn’t forbid her to go. That was not his way. He would tell her the decision was hers. But, loving him as she did, respecting him as she did—all it would take for her to abandon thoughts of the party would be to see a flash of anger, or hurt, in his eyes. The question of Nathan was another matter, and this made her feel a bit guilty, for the way she felt about Nathan…well, that was something altogether different. New emotions were rippling though her body now.

Lena had gone into the bedroom and returned to dip a cloth once more into the bucket of water that sat on the table. Wringing it, she pressed it to her forehead, sighing, “If I could only get rid of this wretched headache. I’ve had it ever since that horribly embarrassing scene in the barn. You and that cow!” She shuddered.

“Have you seen your father? I intend to talk to him about the way you acted in front of Nathan this afternoon.” She stared at Kitty scornfully. “The very idea! I hope he gives you the sound thrashing you deserve, young lady.”

Sinking down on the bench that ran alongside the long, wooden table, Lena continued her angry glare. Kitty’s thoughts drifted as she tried to blot out the sounds of the nagging. Her father had made that table when he was but a young man, filled with visions of one day seating his many children along each side, himself at the head.

Her eyes moved about the room. A crude wooden box sat beside the fireplace, where a pot boiled with the night’s stew of fish and potatoes and fresh eggs. The kitchen floor was clay. John never got around to putting in planks. With a chopping block to one side, a few wooden shelves, the room was dismal and bleak.

Suddenly Lena pounded both her fists on the table. Kitty jumped, startled.

“Are you going to tell me why Nathan came here? When you ignore me, Katherine, you make this pain in my head worse. Why won’t you tell me? You’re acting very strangely…”

Kitty continued to stare out the window in the direction of the barn, where her father had disappeared with Jacob.

“Katherine!” the voice rose hysterically. “Why do you treat me this way? Why do you hate me so? Why do you try to shut me out of your life? I love you. You’re my only child. I only want you to be happy. Dear God, what have I ever done to deserve such scorn and disrespect from my own flesh and blood? Will you just tell me what I ever did to you for you to treat me this way?”

Kitty knew only too well what was coming if she didn’t tell her mother what she wanted to know. She would start to cry, and then she might have one of her screaming tantrums, and all of them would be in for a miserable evening. It could go on for days.

Sighing, she turned and looked at the red-faced woman. “He invited me to a party next Sunday afternoon, Mother,” she said quietly, feeling disgust, mingled with pity, over the way her mother instantly calmed herself.

Lena’s face spread into one huge grin. Her face was thin and gaunt, made even more so by her hair being pulled back from her face and wrapped in a bun at her neck. Her eyes were sharp—narrow, but she was not an unattractive woman. If she didn’t cry so much, Kitty thought suddenly, perhaps there would not be so many wrinkles. Like now, when she was smiling, Kitty mused, she was almost pretty, and the wrinkles did not matter so much.

“Oh, Katherine, this is wonderful. Nathan comes from a fine family. Aaron Collins is one of the richest men in the state. This must mean he wants to court you. Think how wonderful that would be! Oh, I hope you didn’t scare him off by letting him see you wallowing beneath that cow in all that blood and straw and dirt.”

She was like a delighted child, Kitty thought, watching her pat her hands together gleefully.

“Maybe you didn’t run him off, after all. He did ask you to go to the party with him
after
he saw you with that old cow. You’ll just have to put your best foot forward at that party and make him glad he invited you, let him know you appreciate the chance to show him you aren’t some white trash farmhand.”

“I have to talk to Poppa first.”

“What do you want to talk to him about?” Her eyes widened with surprise. “I should think you would realize by now that you’ve spent far too much time talking and listening to him instead of me. What does he have to do with any of this?”

Kitty realized she could not tell the complete truth, because if her father did object once he knew who the party was being given for, and she decided not to go, then it would only make her mother angry, and she would place the blame on John. No, she thought, it’s best to leave out the name of the guest of honor.

“I don’t have a dress to wear to a party.”

“Is that all that’s bothering you?” Lena leaped to her feet, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the bedroom. “There’s something in my trunk that I’ve saved all these years, if the moths haven’t ruined it. A few repairs will put it in good shape, though.”

Lena dropped her hand once they were inside the bedroom, then she hurried to a far corner where, beneath a pile of homemade quilts, the trunk was concealed. She fumbled with the top, and it finally opened with a reluctant squeak.

Lena knelt on the floor as she began puffing items from the trunk, lovingly fondling each item. “This was my hope chest. My mother and my grandmother helped me with it. I had fine linens and quilts and tapestries, and they never knew I would never need these things on a poor dirt farm.” There was sadness mixed with bitterness in her tone.

Feeling the need to defend her father, Kitty spoke up quickly. “You loved him when you married him, didn’t you, Mother? He’s done his best…”

“That’s what he’d have you to believe,” Lena scoffed, frowning. She smoothed out a piece of delicate tatted lace. “We could’ve had a rich plantation if he’d bought more slaves, and bred them, and raised them to be a powerful workforce like Aaron Collins had the good sense to do. But no, he felt it was good enough as long as he could feed his family. ‘Fine things and rich living isn’t important enough to beat a man over’ he’d say. Well, you see what it got him, don’t you? Smell the fish cooking? Fish stew every night for a week now. I imagine the food is much better over at the Collins plantation.”

When she was like this, there was no reasoning with her, Kitty thought. It would be wasted breath to try and convince her that John Wright had done the best he could for his family, without going against the principles of life he believed in.

“Ahhh, here it is,” Lena pulled out a faded red velvet gown, smoothing out the tiny rows of bows and lace that were crushed and wrinkled. “We can pound it smooth with the pressing stone, and it will do just fine.”

Trying to hide her disappointment, Kitty moved forward for a closer look at the gown. Maybe it wasn’t all that bad. It was too large, though, because she was a lot smaller than her mother had been even years ago. The velvet was hopelessly flat and crushed. There was nothing to do, she decided, but admit that the dress was all wrong. “Maybe we can make something from the petticoats.” She lifted the skirt and looked at the red taffeta underslips hopefully.

“You can’t make a ball gown out of petticoats, child,” came Lena’s shocked reaction. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

“I can if I want to go badly enough. Maybe I can salvage some of these ribbons, too. And there’s a piece of nice lace. Maybe I can make do…” her voice trailed off dully. It was hopeless, but she didn’t want her mother to realize that fact just yet. When she was all worked up, as she was at the moment, it was best to try and let her down gently.

“Slippers!” Lena cried, extracting a pair of molded ankle-high shoes with pointed toes and tiny buttons up the sides. “I wore these on my wedding day but haven’t had an occasion to have them on since. Try them on and see if they fit.”

Obediently, Kitty slipped one on her foot. It slipped and slid on her heel when she tried to walk around the room. “We can pad the toes with something,” Lena said quickly, “…and where they’re molded, I can scrub them. They’ll do nicely.”

“Well, what’s going on in here?”

They turned at the sound of John’s happily booming voice. Without waiting for a reply to his greeting, he was across the room in two quick steps to wrap his arms around Kitty and cry, “Kitty, baby, you did it. Jacob told me how you pulled ol’ Betsy and her calf through, and I’m real proud of you. I couldn’t have done a better job, and I doubt Doc Musgrave could have, either.”

Before she could speak, Lena slammed the trunk lid and got to her feet. “It was disgusting! It was absolutely sickening for her to be groveling in the straw, reaching inside a cow’s… Disgusting!”

“Well, would you have had the cow and the calf both die?” John looked at her in wonder. “Be thankful Kitty had the good sense to think otherwise. We’ll have meat on our table next year…something we won’t have this winter—you can be sure of that. I didn’t find a single turkey today.”

“Oh, Poppa, I’m sorry,” Kitty hugged him. “I’ll go out with you tomorrow, and maybe between the two of us, we can scare them up. We’ll ask Jacob to go along, too.”

“You’ll be working on your dress for the party,” Lena sniffed.

John scratched at his beard. “What party? Jacob said the Collins lad was by here today. Does he have anything to do with this talk of a party?”

She hadn’t wanted him to hear it this way, but it was too late. Lena was only too eager to tell about Nathan’s visit to invite Kitty to a party at the Collins plantation on Sunday.

John kept scratching at his beard, something he did when he was trying to sort things out in his mind. He pursed his lips, a sign that he was trying to find the right words to
say
what he finally had sorted out.

He went into the kitchen, with Kitty scurrying behind him. “Poppa, what do you think?” she asked anxiously, “Do you approve of Nathan?”

He sat down in his chair at the head of the table, then drew her down to sit on his knee as he’d done when she was a child. “Kitty, you know I’ve raised you to make your own decisions, and this may well be the first really important one you’ve been faced with.”

“Nathan is a gentleman,” she reminded him. “He has a good name.”

Nodding in agreement, he said, “I’m sure you’re right on both counts, honey, but you have to realize we’re living in troubled times. Nathan Collins and his family want slavery. I don’t. They want North Carolina to secede from the union. I don’t. They want war. I don’t. They’re willing to have that war and maybe get killed just so they can preserve the so-called right to own another human being.”

He paused to take a deep breath and look directly into her eyes. “God never meant for a man to be bought and sold like an animal, Kitty. I’m a peaceful, God-fearing man. I’ve freed what slaves I had, and I try to mind my own business and stay out of all this talk of war. I’m mightily afraid, though, if war comes, as it surely will, none of us will be able to stay out of it.