Authors: Patricia Hagan
“Where is Poppa?”
“Buford took him some whiskey and said he was gonna sit with him till he got hold of hisself. He wanted to get a gun and kill that Taggart boy. He’s mad at Miss Vanessa, too. She’s sho’ gonna hear about this fo’ a long, long time.”
“I don’t think any of us will ever forget it, Posie,” April sighed. “I’m going to bed now, though I doubt I’ll sleep.”
“Want me to bring you up somethin’ to eat? We got plenty of food left. Won’t hardly none of it touched.”
“I can’t eat. Thank you.” She went to her room and started to pull the bell cord for Lucy, but decided she would rather be alone. She struggled out of the crinolines and hoops by herself. She put out the lantern, crawled under the satin coverlet and stared into the darkness.
Sleep would not come. It was a nightmare. She knew she would never forget the sight of Vanessa lying there, her breasts exposed, being fondled by Rance Taggart.
Rance Taggart. She could feel only hatred for him. Cold, consuming hatred. She trembled with it.
It was difficult now to recall the cobwebs of childhood memories when they had played together. The times had been rare, for as soon as her father discovered she was with the son of a hired hand, he had reprimanded her. But there had been some warm summer afternoons splashing in a secret pond, and hours spent whispering in the shadows of the stable as he confided his love of horses, and dreams of growing up to conquer the West.
Then he had gone away, she could not remember exactly when. The years passed, and when he returned, he was a man. A very handsome man. One day, while strolling through the woods and savoring the sweet smell of spring’s arrival, she overheard two Negro stableboys talking nearby. Hearing Rance’s name, she paused and listened. Perhaps it was the pity in their voices that caught her interest. The gossip was that Rance Taggart had returned to Pinehurst after his wandering years to escape some anguish over a young Mexican girl. She had wondered about that for some time.
Now her thoughts wandered back to the way Rance had looked, there on the bed with her sister. A warm flush crept through her body, making her feel ashamed. He was a fiercely desirable man.
He had not looked the least bit frightened when he and Vanessa were discovered. There had been the play of an arrogant smile on his full, sensuous lips. It was difficult to imagine
any
woman being capable of breaking
his
heart. Had the Mexican girl done so?
But after tonight, she found him unbearable. Her father had been good to Rance, paying him well and giving him a comfortable place to live. Nothing justified his being a party to Vanessa’s vicious scheme.
Slowly, the great hand of sleep waved over her weary body. There would be ample time tomorrow to remember the agony of the evening. She would talk to Vanessa again, and to Poppa, and maybe she could make peace between them.
April’s eyes flashed open. She stared into the darkness, struggling to bring herself to full awareness. What was that strange noise?
She heard it again—the rhythmic sound of dull thuds. Throwing back the covers, she sat up, her feet touching the cold floor. There was another sound—as though someone were grunting and someone else was struggling to breathe. It was coming from across the hall. Vanessa’s room!
She groped for her robe, jerked it about her shoulders, then padded quickly across the floor, to fumble for the doorknob. She stepped into the hall. The sound was louder, and now she was sure she heard muffled cries.
She did not pause to knock at Vanessa’s door but opened it and rushed in. She screamed.
Vanessa lay across the bed on her stomach, completely naked. Her back was crisscrossed with bleeding welts. Their father towered above her, methodically wielding a leather strap. Vanessa was writhing in pain beneath the onslaught, her fists bloodied as she bit down on them to stifle her screams.
“Poppa, no!” April lunged forward, flinging her own body across Vanessa’s, catching the next blow herself and crying out with pain.
“April, get out of here!” Carter Jennings cried, reaching down to jerk her from the bed. “Go back to your room. This is
none of your business.”
April twisted away from him, once more shielding Vanessa with her own body. “I won’t leave, and don’t you dare strike her again. You’re beating her to death.”
“I don’t care! The she-devil deserves to die. Now get out of the way. She’s needed this for a long time. I’ll beat the demons out of her.”
He reeked of whiskey, and was struggling to stay on his feet. She began to scream as loudly as she could, until he begged her to stop.
Footsteps thundered down the ball, and April was grateful to see Buford standing in the doorway. “Do something,” she cried out to him. “He’s killing Vanessa. He’s drunk, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”
Buford came forward reluctantly and put his arm around his master’s waist. “This ain’t the answer, Massa,” he said in a trembling voice. “You had too much to drink, and tomorrow, you gonna feel bad about all this. Now let’s go on back to yo’ room, and I’ll help you into bed.”
“No!” Carter lurched away, giving him a shove that sent the old Negro staggering backward. “Get Mandy in here. Tell her to put some clothes on this trollop. Then I want you to drag her out the front door. She’s no longer my daughter.”
“I never was your daughter,” Vanessa rasped feebly. “You’ve always hated me, and for something I couldn’t help! I’ll leave this house, gladly. I don’t want to spend another night under your roof.”
Carter stood swaying, eyes opening and closing slowly as he watched her crawl from the bed, blood trickling from her back. April tried to help her, but Vanessa used what little strength she had to fend her sister off. “Leave me alone. I don’t want you to touch me,” she cried. “I don’t want any of you hypocrites to touch me. I just want to get out of here.”
“Vanessa, you can’t leave. Where would you go? Please, listen. We’ll talk all of this out tomorrow. I’ll send for Reverend Filmore. He’ll help us. I know he will. You just can’t go, Vanessa. Please listen to me!” April began to cry.
“…wasn’t my fault my mother died,” Vanessa panted as she struggled into a dress she had yanked from her wardrobe. “Only a crazy person would blame me for that.” She cast hate-filled eyes at her father.
Carter raised the strap ominously and yelled, “You watch your tongue, or I’ll finish beating every scrap of skin from your worthless hide.”
“You won’t!” April turned on him. “You touch her again, and I’ll leave, too, Poppa. Now stop it! You’re drunk!”
“He’s crazy as a loon!” Vanessa jerked a shawl from a drawer, wincing as it touched her back. Blood was already seeping through her dress. Suddenly she whirled on April. “And you’re crazy, too, if you think I’ll let you just take over and have everything! You won’t get Pinehurst, April. I have a heritage, too!”
“I never said you didn’t, Vanessa. I will always share with you, you know that!”
Carter started around the bed, but Buford blocked him. “You won’t get a goddamn thing I own, you little bitch!” he screamed, waving the strap as Buford struggled to hold him back. Vanessa inched her way to the door. “I’ll see to it that your name is never mentioned in this house or on my property again. If I ever see your face, I’ll kill you—just as you killed your mother!”
He sagged against Buford, knees buckling, and the old Negro lowered him quickly to the bed. “I think he’s havin’ some kind of attack, Miss April,” he cried in fright. “You better get somebody to fetch the doctor quick.”
“I hope he dies!” Vanessa paused at the door to scream. “I hope all of you die!”
“Vanessa, wait!” April wanted to go after her, but she knew that her father really was stricken. Vanessa would not go far, and help had to be summoned for her father. She told Buford to open his shirt, try to help him breathe.
She ran into her own room and yanked the bell cord, then decided that Posie might be so sound asleep she would not hear it. Returning to the hall, she saw Mandy standing beside Vanessa at the top of the stairs, holding a candle. “Don’t let her leave,” she called out to the black girl as she made her way to the first floor. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Get her into bed. I’ll want the doctor to check her after he sees to Poppa.”
She found a lantern, lit it, then went to the rear of the house to awaken Posie and send her up to help Buford. Then she made her way through the chilling night to the servants’ quarters, ordering one of the men to fetch the doctor at once.
By the time she returned to the house, Vanessa was gone, and Mandy was sitting on the bottom step crying brokenly. “She wouldn’t listen to me. She say she’d rather die than stay here another night. She just walked out the door. Wasn’t nothin’ I could do to stop her, and I tried, Miz April, I swear to the Lord, I tried.”
April gave her a quick pat on the shoulder as she moved by. “She won’t get far, Mandy. It’s cold out there, and she’s hurt. Let me see to Poppa, and then we’ll find her and bring her back. I know you did all you could.”
She ran up the steps, her heart racing. Though she was indoors, the night wind still surrounded her, wrapping icy fingers around her.
Somehow, April Jennings knew that this night marked the beginning of an agony such as none of them had ever known.
Chapter Three
The women were gathered in front of the fireplace in the Pinehurst parlor. The fire had begun to die down, and Buford entered to place fresh logs in the grate. The first chill of autumn was in the air, and a cold north wind blew, rattling the windows. Posie kept the teapots filled and promised that a lunch of chicken and drap dumplings would soon be ready. Even in a region where drap dumplings appeared regularly on everyone’s table, Posie was famous for hers. A creation of flour and water, they were dropped into hot fat and cooked quickly.
The women were working deftly on a quilt which was mounted on a stretching rack. Katherine Downing complained, “It takes so long to make these. We could put our time to better use if we went to Mary Dobbins’s house, where the ladies are making bandages.”
Isabelle Fletcher made a face as she pushed a threaded needle in and out of the material. “It’s depressing to make bandages and lint, Katherine. I’d rather think my efforts were being used to keep a poor, freezing soldier warm than to sop up blood.”
Katherine stiffened, lips pursing tightly. “But bandages could save a life and keep a soldier from bleeding to death. I think tomorrow I’ll just go over to Mary’s and work there.”
“You won’t hear all the latest gossip,” laughed Thalia Morrow, a plump woman with apple-red cheeks. She had always disliked Isabelle Fletcher. “Mary frowns on gossip. But it’s doted on around here, it seems.”
“I do not gossip,” Isabelle retorted, “and I get so tired of your sniping, Thalia. The only reason you come here is to try and start a quarrel.”
Thalia stopped stitching to glare across the blanket at Isabelle. “That’s not true. I come because it’s closer to my home. And I love April Jennings and feel she needs company, with her father so sickly—”
“Sickly. Hmph! The word is crazy. Everyone says so. Ever since that night he caught that trollop daughter of his naked in her own bed with that stableboy, he’s been tetched in the head. Everybody says so.”
“He had a stroke,” Katherine interjected. “The doctor said he just got so angry that something happened inside. I say it’s his spirit that’s broken. That was a terrible thing. After all, it was the most lavish ball in all of Montgomery. People passed up invitations to several others to be here. To have Vanessa do what she did…” She shook her head in pity. “It was awful. I’m surprised the poor man didn’t just drop dead.”
Isabelle sniffed. “Stroke, my eye. The man went crazy, that’s all. Where do you think April is this minute? Upstairs coddling him, trying to get him to eat. One of their servants told one of my servants that all he does is sit and stare out the window. He never says a word unless it’s to call out to his dead wife.”
She glanced about to make sure none of the servants was hovering about, then spoke so softly that the rest of the ladies had to strain to hear. “The servant also said that she heard him talk to April like he thinks
she
is his dead wife. If you ask me, that’s proof that he’s tetched.”
“I don’t know.” Katherine sighed. “I grieve so for April. She’s had so much on her shoulders these past months. She’s tried to run things, but it’s just too much for her. I hear the Pinehurst cotton crop was so poor that they didn’t make a thing from it this year. You can tell things are getting run down.”
Isabelle commented, “It’s a shame. But in one way, it’s what Carter Jennings deserved. He always was pompous. Now he’s getting his comeuppance.”
Thalia laughed. “Carter was a powerful man and you know it, Isabelle. Heaven knows, that son of yours tried his best to court April. He wanted to marry into the family and get some of that wealth and power. But April wouldn’t have him.”
“That’s not true!
She
chased
him
! I was the one who put a stop to that romance. I didn’t want my son marrying into trash, and that’s all you can call it.
I
was there that night, remember? I saw Vanessa Jennings lying naked in the arms of that stableboy, and I
knew
what they were doing.”
“I should hope you would,” Katherine giggled. “Or did you find Graham under a collard plant?”