Authors: Patricia Hagan
“Go on. Laugh. How would you two have felt if your son had been smitten by one of those girls?”
Katherine quickly said, “Well, I would have no qualms whatsoever if my Thaddeus married April Jennings. She’s a sweet and beautiful girl. I’d be proud to have her for a daughter-in-law.”
“Not I!” Isabelle shook her head firmly. “I’d disinherit Graham, and his father and I both told him so. Thank heavens he’s put that woman out of his mind. He’s so involved with the war. He’s Company Captain now, you know. He was at Wilson’s Creek in August. He came out without a scratch.”
“Maybe he wasn’t really
in
the battle,” Thalia pointed out slyly. “Maybe he was behind the lines in a tent, mapping strategy. I’ve heard that’s what the officers do. They seldom get into the fighting.”
Isabelle’s cheeks reddened. “That’s not so. I will have you to know that the Union commander, General Lyon, was killed in that battle. Officers are always being killed or wounded. Graham just happens to be a good soldier and a good officer, and he’s careful. His father and I are quite proud of him.
“Besides,” she continued, her fingers working fast and furiously, whipping the needle in and out of the quilt. “According to all reports, the war won’t last much longer. The South has won most of the battles so far.”
“Only because both sides are just unruly mobs,” Thalia snapped. “My brother, Monroe, is up in Richmond, and he wrote his wife that we haven’t begun to see the bloodshed.”
Katherine sighed, “Well, I’m just thankful they decided to move the capital out of Montgomery up to Richmond. That makes Virginia the major battleground and Richmond the primary Union target. It keeps the war out of Alabama, which suits me just fine.”
“You’re forgetting Selma,” Thalia was quick to point out. “They’re making powder there, and once they finish building that big arsenal, they’re going to start making cannons. You can be sure the Yankees will want to do something about Selma, and that’s not too far from here, ladies.”
“Oh, hogwash and turkey feathers!” Isabelle laughed. “The Yankees will never, ever, get this far. My Graham promised it.”
April entered the room and they all fell silent for a moment, taking in her haggard appearance. Katherine was the first to speak. “Dear, I hope you don’t mind that we came on in and got started. You look as though you don’t feel well. If you would like to go upstairs and lie down, we can work without you. I think we’ll even finish this quilt today and be able to start another.”
“Yes, you do that,” Thalia spoke up, voice filled with concern. “Posie said she’ll be bringing in lunch soon. Chicken and dumplings. You could eat a bite and then go lie down.”
“No, I’d like to work for a while. I like to keep busy.” She sat down next to Isabelle only because it was the last place left from which to work on the quilt. After that horrible night so many months ago, when the woman had witnessed the awful scene, April had not wanted to be around Isabelle Fletcher. She knew Isabelle was responsible for a lot of the gossip about her family.
“Is your father not feeling well today?” Isabelle asked in a too-sweet voice.
“He had a bad night,” she answered quietly. “He hardly slept at all.”
Isabelle turned to stare directly into April’s face. “Seems to me he gets worse all the time. Tell me, is it true that he has spells when he thinks you are your mother? That must be dreadful for you, dear.”
“No, that isn’t so. I don’t know how you could have heard such a thing.” April kept her head down, working her needle in and out, afraid that the lie would show on her face. Which one of the servants had been gossiping again? she wondered furiously. “Actually, Poppa is better. He just feels bad once in a while and needs to rest. There’s no need for concern.”
Isabelle glanced around the parlor significantly as she said, “Goodness, April dear, you can tell he’s allowing the place to become run down. The crops weren’t good this year, and I hear he’s lost all interest in those expensive horses of his. It’s such a pity that despicable Rance Taggart stole your father’s prize colt when he ran away that night.”
April held her temper with great effort. She was aware that Thalia Morrow and Katherine Downing were waiting to see what she would do. This confrontation with Isabelle had been coming for some time. In the weeks they had all been gathering to make quilts, Isabelle had been goading her methodically.
Isabelle Fletcher was watching, too. She enjoyed seeing April squirm. It compensated a little for the callous way April had rebuked Graham’s request to court her. “Do you ever hear from Vanessa? I don’t see how she could have survived on her own. I understand she left with only the clothes on her back. How many months has it been now? This is October, and that ugly thing happened in February, just before President Davis was inaugurated. So, let me see…that would make it about eight months. And what if she were
pregnant
when she ran away?”
April stood so quickly that the quilting frame tilted and fell to the floor. She pointed a trembling finger. “Mrs. Fletcher, I will thank you to leave this house at once. I’ve tolerated your nosy questions and cruel remarks as long as I can. You only come over here to see what you can find out so you can gossip about my family.”
“Well, of all the nerve—” Isabelle stood, stunned.
“Yes, I would say you do have a lot of nerve, Mrs. Fletcher. What I would like to know is why? Did that spoiled, lecherous son of yours tell you I refused to allow him to court me? I would rather die an old maid than marry that revolting despicable cad. When I think of all the times he practically attacked me, I wish I’d had my father give him the thrashing he deserved.”
“How dare you talk about my son that way? How dare you? I would never have him court you, you little trollop. Why, you’re no better than your sister. I saw her naked in the arms of that stableboy.”
“You saw them kissing and caressing and no more. My sister’s breasts were exposed but the rest of her clothes were intact. Mr. Taggart was fully clothed. But you had to make the story worse than it was! Why? What possible pleasure could you derive from doing such a thing, Mrs. Fletcher? I think you have a warped mind, and as angry as you make me, I still pity you. But I also want you to leave my house and never come back. You are no longer welcome.”
“Oh, I’ll leave, all right.” Isabelle Fletcher grabbed her shawl from the back of her chair. Her chin jutted upward. Her eyes were narrow slits of malice. “And I promise you one thing, you little snit. Pinehurst has not seen the problems it is going to encounter. When I tell my husband about this, you may be sure your water rights will be curtailed.”
The others gasped, but April said coolly, “I have carefully studied all my father’s business papers, and I know that there is a legal binding agreement concerning the water rights. Before you make threats, I suggest you know what you are talking about. If you attempt to break the agreement, you may rest assured the matter will be dealt with in court.”
Buford had heard the loud voices and appeared then, standing apprehensively in the doorway. April saw him and spoke in a cool, controlled tone. “Show Mrs. Fletcher to the door, please, and advise the other servants that she is not to be admitted to Pinehurst again unless I inform them otherwise.”
Isabelle’s eyes flashed fire. “You will pay for this, April Jennings. Just wait and see! Who do you think you are?” She whirled toward the door, then stopped to look back at Thalia and Katherine. “Why are you sitting there? Aren’t you leaving with me? Certainly you don’t want to be in the company of such a rude woman!”
“No, we certainly don’t,” Thalia said quietly as she picked up her needle and began stitching once more. “That’s why we aren’t leaving with you, Isabelle.”
With a final cry of indignation, Isabelle stormed out the door.
April sat down again, suddenly very tired. “I apologize to you ladies. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
Thalia gave her hand a comforting pat as Katherine clucked approval. “Dear, we understand. We’re glad you stood up to her. She’s had it coming for a long time.”
April bent her head over the quilt and began to stitch. She hoped they would not notice the tears that filled her eyes. Lately, she felt as though she spent most of her time around others fighting to hold back, not give way to the turmoil inside. Only when she was alone, could she succumb. Dear God, how much longer would this go on?
There had been no word from Vanessa. The colt had disappeared when she did. Perhaps Rance Taggart stole the animal, and he and Vanessa had left together. What was worse, her father was crumbling before her eyes. Since that night, he seemed to be only a shadow of himself, and she often wondered whether it had been caused by his stroke or by the humiliation Vanessa had caused him.
The doctor had said there was no medical reason to explain her father’s condition. Carter Jennings spent almost all his waking hours sitting in a chair, staring out his bedroom window, the expression on his face suggesting that he was somewhere far, far away, in a world of his
own.
What frightened her most, and what she could not tell anyone, was the way he often looked at her, smiling as he whispered: “Lorena, my beloved. You’ve come back to me.”
She had tried to reason. “No, Poppa. It’s me, April. Not Momma. Momma died a long, long time ago.”
The first few times it had happened, a sad awareness had washed over him, and he’d blinked several times and murmured in a sad voice, “Oh. It’s you, April.”
Then one day the awareness did not come. He had laughed, “Don’t tease me, darling. I know it’s you. Could I ever forget your beautiful face?” And April had run from the room to weep.
Perhaps she would not have lost all patience with Isabelle had it not been for a scene that morning. Once again, he had seen her as her mother, but before she could turn and hurry from the room, he had reached out for her with a strength she did not realize he still possessed. She cried out, startled, as he pulled her into his lap, his arms about her, lips seeking hers, and whispered huskily, “My darling, how I’ve wanted you. I could never find the passion with another woman to match what I knew in your arms.”
“No!” April screamed in horror, struggling to release herself. “No, Poppa, stop! It’s me! Not Momma. Momma’s dead!”
“Let me hold you.” He slipped a hand upward to caress her breast. “I want to hear you moan with pleasure.”
With a lunge that caught him off balance, April managed to spring to her feet. He was right behind her, catching her skirt as she rushed through the door. The fabric tore, and he stood there clutching it in his hand, staring after her with a lost, pained look. “I don’t understand, Lorena,” he called after her. “You never refused me before. You always wanted me to make love to you…”
April locked her door and stood there gasping as a great chill spread through her. Dry sobs racked from her throat, and then her stomach pitched and rolled, and she staggered quickly to the chamber pot barely in time
to lose her breakfast. She sagged onto the bed, shuddering in horror. If she had not escaped him, he would have taken her. Dear Lord, her own father!
He was losing his mind. She was sure of it. Perhaps the death of her mother had been the start of it all, and ever since, insanity had been digging into his brain. That might explain his rejection of Vanessa over the years, the feeling that had eventually turned to hatred.
Lost in thought, she did not hear Thalia tell her that Posie had announced lunch. A firm hand was clamped on her shoulder, shaking her, and she glanced up. “My dear, you are in a stupor.” Thalia was looking at her with great concern. “Perhaps when Dr. Grainger visits your father next, he should have a look at you.”
“I agree,” Katherine chimed in. “With your father ill, you’re probably doing too much. After we eat lunch, you just go lie down. We’ll finish up this quilt.”
“Yes, you need the rest,” Thalia agreed, and then the two women took up positions on either side of April, as though afraid she would not be able to make it to the dining room unescorted.
April forced herself to eat, though the food was tasteless to her. When Mandy appeared in the doorway and beckoned to her, she excused herself gratefully and followed her into the back hallway.
“It’s Mastah Moseley.” Mandy grinned secretively, holding on to her full skirt with her fingertips and swaying from side to side. “I reckon he’s come to court again, ’cause he’s hidin’ down in the stable and told one of the hands to send word to you he was there.”
April bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then asked, “Have you said anything about this to anyone, Mandy?”
The Negro girl’s eyes grew wide, and she shook her head. “No’m. I ain’t said nothin’, just like you tol’ me not to. I come right heah to tell you, just like the other times. I ain’t even said nothin’ to Posie.”
“I can trust Posie. I just don’t want you talking to all the servants. Someone here has been gossiping to the servants at Mrs. Fletcher’s, and I don’t know who it is, so I’m not taking any chances. Now you go to the stable yourself and tell Master Moseley that I will be there shortly.”
Mandy started to turn away, but paused, looking thoughtful Her eyes danced mischievously. “Seems funny fo’ me to be callin’ Mastah Moseley, Mastah, when he’s ’bout as poor as I is.”
April stiffened, felt her cheeks coloring. Mandy scooted down the hall, lifting her skirts as she skipped along.
April knew that the girl had been quite fond of Vanessa. Mandy was about the only human being Vanessa had ever been even slightly tolerant of. Several times Vanessa had even given her old gowns to the girl. As a result, Mandy defended her mistress when the other servants criticized her.