Authors: Loves Wine
Holly didn’t care about Dr. Grant’s feelings. “He’ll get paid. I’ll pay him myself.”
“Holly,” Claudia began, hoping she was using her most patient voice. “The girl can’t remain here. You can understand that. There are ruffians who continue to cause trouble, and you don’t want to bring any trouble down on Abby, not after she’s been so good to us. This is an imposition on her hospitality.”
Holly was anxious to return to Sally. “I do understand, and she won’t be staying long. As soon as she’s able, she’ll be on her way. I promise.”
On her way where? Holly asked herself as she ran back upstairs. No telling what she’d been through even before last night’s horror. No home, most likely. What was to become of her?
She found Sally just as she had left her, propped up on the pillows, looking very frightened. Holly drew her chair closer and sat down. “Abby will be up with something soon. She’s a very good cook. Now tell me about yourself, Sally. Do you have family?”
Sally began to pick nervously at the sheet covering her. “I did once, but we got separated when we was sold to different folks. I guess I was seven, maybe eight, the last time I saw my mama. I don’t know, ’cause I don’t even know how old I am now.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to hold back the tears, but they spilled down her dark, sunken cheeks anyhow. She recounted her painful story. She had been torn from her mother’s clutching arms because the plantation owner who bought Sally had no need of an old, pregnant “nigger wench,” as he’d called her mother. Sally was young and would eventually, the man thought, make a good breeder for “good, strong buck-stock” the man already owned.
Sally had become pregnant twice, giving birth to stillborn babies both times. Her master had decided she was worthless and sold her to someone else, who used her in the cotton fields. He mistreated all his slaves. Just before the war ended, Sally, along with all the others the man owned, ran away to hide. None of them had any real place to live.
“You’re free now,” Holly reminded her. “Listen to me. You can stay with me. I want to look after you—and I can certainly use the company.” Quickly she told her about her home in the swamplands, her plans for herself.
Sally’s eyes widened. “You want me to stay with you? But you’re white. What would folks think?”
Holly laughed. “When you come to know me better, you’ll realize how little I care for folks’ opinions.” Sally kept staring at her, disbelieving what she was hearing. “You can work with me, help me fish and raise vegetables in the garden. We’ll share what I have. We’ll make out.”
Sally continued to look doubtful. “I don’t know.”
“But,” Holly prodded, “I’m offering you a home, Sally. And I’ll be grateful for your help.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed. “Tell the truth, missy, I just don’t know what to make of what you offerin’.”
Holly assured her it was not going to be a life of luxury for either of them.
“Bein’ free is the most precious treasure God can give one of his children, missy,” Sally said passionately. “I ain’t askin’ for an easy life. I’m willin’ to work hard.”
“Then it’s settled? You’ll come home with me?”
A smile spread across Sally’s face for the first time. “Yes’m, I will. Maybe I can be of some help to you. Sounds like you need a hand, and I figure it’s the least I can do fo’ you. Thank you, missy.”
Holly assured Sally she was not in her debt. “Just eat, rest, and as soon as you feel up to the ride, we’ll be on our way,” she said, excited by the prospect of having a friend to live with. The cabin got awfully lonely. “Oh, and, Sally,” she finished. “Call me Holly, please, not ‘missy.’”
When Abby arrived with food, she told Holly that Colonel Colter was waiting for her in the back parlor.
The room, at the rear of the house, with a view of a nearby woods, was charming. The walls were bright yellow, and all the furniture was white wicker covered with green cushions. An abundance of windows allowed the morning light to spill into the room, making it cheerful and gay. Dozens of clay pots held healthy-looking plants.
Scott rose when Holly entered. She sat in a chair, eyeing him carefully. “Get to the point, Colonel,” she said without the usual social amenities. “I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and you’re taking up my time.”
He regarded her coldly. “I don’t give a damn about your time, Holly. You’ve sure taken enough of mine lately. I want to know about last night. Tell me everything.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Really, Colonel Colter, must you force me to repeat the sordid details again? I told you everything last night.”
Leaning close to her, placing his hands on the side of her chair, he said, “You were upset. Your concern was for the girl. Fine. I understand that. But now tell me all of it. I’ve got a job to do, and you’re making it difficult. I don’t like that.”
She sat up straight in the chair and pushed her hands against his chest in an effort to make him move away. It was like trying to move a boulder. Indignant, she retorted, “I don’t care what you like and don’t like.”
He smiled slowly, maddeningly. “Talk. I’m losing patience.”
She shook her head, baffled. “Why are you so angry? What have I done?”
For an instant, his eyes opened wide, then narrowed again. He was very angry, more so than she had known.
“I’ll tell you, Holly,” he said harshly. “I’m fed up. You walked out on your mother’s party like a spoiled child, never mind if you ruined the evening for her. You were mad because I was with another woman when I ought to be grieving to death because you’re too good to be courted by a Yankee soldier. Not that I want to court you, mind you. I’d wind up beating the hell, out of you, you little brat.” Holly was too aghast to speak. “But I don’t care about all that now,” he said tightly. “What I do care about is that girl. You said you saw the men and I want to know what they looked like. Tell me anything that might help, because I’m going to bring law to this town if it’s the last thing I do.”
He straightened and sat down on the sofa, waiting.
She was furious. The nerve of him, thinking she was jealous. “I hate to disappoint you, Colonel, but my leaving had nothing to do with you. What vanity!”
He waved impatiently. “Forget that, damn it! It’s not important. Tell me what happened last night. I don’t have all day.”
She told him, bluntly, angrily, all she remembered, and when she finished he asked her to repeat the part about the man recognizing her. She obliged reluctantly.
“And you’re sure he’s the one who spoke to you earlier about helping him and his men?”
“Yes. I think I heard one of them call him ‘Barney.’” She stood. “I can’t remember anything else, and I do have things to do. I would like to go to your post and collect my belongings,” she added sarcastically.
Suddenly, he grinned, warmly. “I’ll have one of my men bring your horse and gun, Holly. I wouldn’t want to cause you any difficulty.”
“How thoughtful,” she snapped. “Now please go, Colonel.” She walked to the door and stood there waiting while he, with insolent slowness, adjusted his scabbard, dusted at an imaginary spot on his dark blue coat, then made his way toward her. He paused and gave her a taunting smile. “Don’t fret too much over Lisa Lou, Holly. I’m just marking time with her until you grow up.” He patted her cheek.
She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you dare touch me, Scott Colter, ever again.”
He grabbed her, pulling her against him as he kissed her. He released her after a long kiss and chuckled, “When are you going to grow up and admit this is what you want, little spitfire?”
“How…how dare you?” she sputtered.
He gave her a mischievous wink. “I dare, Holly—that and much more. It was good, wasn’t it?
All
of it.”
He turned and left, and she fought back the impulse to run after him and tell him a few harsh truths. Damn the man! He was arrogant and conceited and thought every woman in the world swooned over him. But she was not like other women. She was proud of that.
And someday, she vowed furiously, she would make him sorry he’d treated her so casually. Pride demanded she make him pay.
Chapter Twelve
Holly scattered corn, watching the clucking chickens as they fluttered and fought over their food.
She wiped sweat from her face with the back of her hand, glad she always took the time to braid her hair so it wouldn’t be clinging to her. It was the time of dog days, so-called, and the weather was terribly humid. She recalled learning long ago in school that these hot days were named after Sirius, the Dog Star, which rose and set with the sun in July and early August. Well, she thought wearily, the middle of August was almost here, so it was time for that star to go somewhere else.
Mosquitoes hovered above the sleepy waters of the slough, and a bullfrog jumped up onto a rotting stump as Holly watched. Frogs and turtles abounded there. How she hated eating them for supper, but she’d learned to make do. She had no choice.
Things had not been going well for her. Money was scarce. Rain was scarce. The late garden of snap beans and sweet potatoes was parching. The fish had quit biting. Even night shrimping was bad. Too many times the fishermen who took her nets to the Gulf in exchange for half the catch returned to say her nets had been pulled up empty, as had theirs.
No matter, she admonished herself, she was living the way she wanted to live, as a free spirit. She’d kept her promise to herself and her promise to Grandpa.
Things were going well for her mother, and Holly was glad about that. Every Sunday afternoon, Claudia and Jarvis visited her, bringing fried chicken, potato salad, and usually a cake or pie. Always there were fresh vegetables. Holly protested, but they insisted.
She was amazed to know how quickly Magnolia Hall was being rebuilt. She had to give Jarvis credit, too. Hiring nearly fifty people to get the place built fast meant lots of Negroes and whites were employed who otherwise would not have been.
Holly had not returned to Vicksburg since that last trip, but her mother was only too eager to keep her well informed. Her favorite topic was Lisa Lou Pollock. “That girl always did have her way about everything,” she’d said on her most recent visit. “She chases after Roger because he’s rich, and she chases after Colonel Colter because he’s handsome.”
Holly hadn’t responded, so her mother prodded. “Don’t you agree? He
is
handsome. Those eyes, why, a woman could drown in them.”
“Mother, really! I wish you could hear yourself, prattling on about the man like…a giddy schoolgirl.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “Why, Holly, you’re angry. Perhaps you’re jealous, too.”
Holly kept a rein on her tongue. She hadn’t seen Scott and she was glad. Neil Davis had been out several times on patrol, always happy to see her. Holly liked him. He was nothing like Scott. Far too nice for comparison.
One Sunday Claudia and Jarvis arrived in a new, large carriage. The driver was a young Negro named Norman Grady. He and Sally had met that day, and now they spent every possible moment together. Norman was working at Magnolia Hall as a groomsman, preparing the newly built stables for the fine stock of horses Jarvis was buying. It seemed Sally was over there all the time now. Oh, Sally still made time to do her share of chores, but Holly was a little sad to see her moving closer to Norman, because she knew Sally would leave her soon.
It was funny, but she and Sally talked easily about slavery, about the plight of the freed Negroes, about the Night Hawks. But they shied away from discussing their early lives. It was as though neither was willing to part with the only precious thing she had left—memories, personal memories. All had shared equally in the horrors of the war just recently over, and all shared equally in poverty and exhaustion. But a person’s life before the war was his own to keep, and since it was all he had left, most chose not to talk about it. Talking might loosen the boundaries people had constructed around their pasts. Better to leave the past intact by leaving it alone.
On the whole, Holly was glad to have Sally there. She was good company. She worked hard. And when she sensed that Holly wanted to be alone, she let her be.
The sound of a horse approaching brought Holly out of her reverie, and she went around the cabin, smiling, ready to see Sally and Norman. She had caught a big catfish that morning and planned to make a delicious stew, with hand-rolled dumplings. There was plenty if Norman wanted to stay. Holly knew he wanted to.
But it was Roger Bonham, dismounting from a magnificent black stallion. Impeccable, as always, he was wearing red riding breeches and a white, ruffled shirt. He smiled confidently, and began walking briskly toward her, his black knee-boots gleaming.
“Roger, whatever brings you out here?” she asked in a lusterless tone.
He grasped her hand and kissed her fingertips, then pretended to glower at her. “I didn’t trust myself to come out before this. I’ve been so angry with you for running out on me, I’d have turned you over my knee and spanked you.” He smiled. “I
was
hurt. But I’ve also had a lot of business to tend to.” He glanced around, then looked back at her. “I came out to ask if you’re going to allow me to escort you this weekend.”
Holly pursed her lips. The wedding. She hadn’t let herself think about it very much. “Are there many parties planned? I should remember, but I don’t. Mother talks about it, but I must admit she goes on so that my mind wanders.” It was true. Claudia was excited all the time, and she made Holly nervous.