Authors: Maggie James
He asked what she meant, and she told him, and before long they were chatting like old friends. She decided he wasn’t frightening, as she’d thought. Actually, he seemed nice and was certainly friendly and polite.
He said he would be glad to take her riding sometime if Ryan didn’t mind. He knew how busy he was.
She thanked him and said she might take him up on his offer. Then they went their separate ways.
It was almost dark. Angele returned to the house but didn’t want to go inside. It was a warm evening, but a cool breeze had managed to drift up from the river. She sat in one of the rockers on the porch and thought about the ball. She had selected a white taffeta dress with lots of lace around the bodice and billowing petticoats beneath the pink, ribboned skirt. She thought the color appropriate since her marriage to Ryan was being formally announced on that occasion. It would make her feel like a bride again.
She had told Selma she wanted her hair done in a very conservative style, pulled straight back from her face and twined with a white net snood. Actually, she’d have liked to leave her long black tresses flowing down her back but knew Clarice would say it wasn’t dignified enough for a married lady. According to her, only young, unmarried women wore their hair loose.
Angele made a face in the darkness.
If Clarice had her way, she’d dress, act, and look like an old woman—as
she
did.
All was quiet and peaceful.
From somewhere in the distance she heard the mournful call of a whippoorwill.
Lazily, she rocked to and fro, wishing Ryan was beside her in the jasmine-scented air.
Suddenly a window slid open not too far behind her, and she jumped, startled, then got very still as she heard Corbett’s voice.
“I don’t know how you stand it so hot in here. If you want to talk to me, I’ve got to have some air…and a whiskey, too.”
“Help yourself. You know where it is.”
Their voices were clear. She did not have to strain to hear every word. She told herself she shouldn’t eavesdrop but reasoned she was there first, enjoying the evening. Why should she go back inside the warm house just because Corbett had opened a window? Besides, she liked the sound of Ryan’s voice, and if she couldn’t be with him, at least she could listen to him.
Corbett sounded annoyed. “What did you want to see me about?”
“I was just going over the roster of field hands, and I see a couple of names have been crossed off,” Ryan explained. “Has Roscoe said anything to you about it?”
“Didn’t I tell you? There was an accident on the river while we were gone. Roscoe said they were unloading lumber, and a slave fell in. He couldn’t swim, and neither could the idiot who tried to save him. Both of them drowned.”
Angele felt a pang of sorrow and made a mental note to ask Selma if it was anyone she had been close to.
Sounding more than a little upset, Ryan said, “No, I didn’t know, and I’m going to crawl all over Roscoe for not telling me the minute we got home. I want to know exactly what happened, damn it. And if it was carelessness, I want to know who was responsible.”
Corbett’s tone indicated he couldn’t have cared less. “What’s two slaves more or less? We can buy more if we get short-handed.”
“We don’t buy or sell at BelleRose. You know that.”
She could tell Ryan was getting angry, and it was obvious Corbett did, too, because he abruptly changed the subject.
“Looks like we’ve got good weather for this weekend. I’m glad. Uncle Roussel is really looking forward to it.”
“So am I.” The tension seemed to have been lifted. “It will be nice to entertain again. There’s a lot of people I haven’t seen in quite awhile.”
“Like Denise?”
Ryan didn’t say anything, and Angele could not resist getting up from the rocker and tiptoeing to stand right beside the window. When he did speak, she didn’t want to miss a single word.
“Well?” Corbett prodded. “You haven’t seen her since we got back from France, have you?”
“No.”
Angele breathed a sigh of relief.
“Clarice has. She says she’s mighty upset over your marriage and thinks you did it to spite her.”
“She can believe whatever she wants.”
“Don’t be like that. You two were always close. I still think you’re in love with her.”
Ryan murmured something Angele couldn’t make out, because just then a bullfrog began to croak loudly just off the porch. She wished she had something to throw at him and thought about taking off her shoe, but Ryan and Corbett might hear, and she didn’t want them to know she was out there.
From then on she caught only snatches of conversation, but it was enough to know that Denise was coming to the ball, and Corbett wanted Ryan to say something to make her feel better about everything. “After all, she’s my wife’s cousin.”
“I know, I know,” Ryan said. “And I suppose for that reason I should have gone to see her so there wouldn’t be any tension between us this weekend.”
Then Corbett asked a question that made Angele snap to attention.
Washed with dread, she strained to hear how Ryan would respond.
“Are you sorry you married so impulsively?”
Before he could answer, Clarice burst into the room to lash out at Corbett, “Don’t think you’re going to sit in here and drink all night. This is our time with Danny. Now, get upstairs right now.”
“All right,” he groaned. “I’ll be back later, Ryan.”
Angele didn’t want to go inside. If she saw Ryan, he might be able to tell she was upset and wonder why.
She decided to go to the slave quarters. She could hear their music from the porch. They were having a good time, and she wanted to join them to get her mind off her worries.
Selma was happy to see her but full of questions to make sure it was safe for her to be there. “Are you all done for the evening? Did you read to Master Roussel? Is he asleep now? Is Miss Clarice bedded down, too, and Master Ryan busy?”
Angele laughed. “Yes to everything. Now, what’s that delicious smell?”
“Brown sugar dumplings with cinnamon and butter. Come on. There’s plenty.”
Angele followed her, waving to everyone, happy and also at peace, because here she was accepted. There was no need to worry about being criticized or having to please anyone. She could be herself and just enjoy living, and she reveled in it.
And she also, for the moment, didn’t have to wonder if, had Clarice not interrupted, Ryan would have told Corbett that, yes, he did regret marrying her.
She raved over the dumplings, and then someone offered to show her how to pick chords on the banjo. She eagerly accepted, losing all track of time.
Selma gently reminded her that it was getting late, and she should be getting back.
She didn’t seem so friendly all of a sudden, and Angele wondered if she was trying to get rid of her. But her feelings weren’t hurt. She was ready to leave, anyway, because the rich dumplings had made her stomach a bit queasy.
“Yes, I guess I should go,” Angele said, “but I want to ask you about something first. I heard about the drownings in the river and was wondering if you were close to either of the victims. If so, I wanted to offer my sympathy.”
Selma blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m talking about the two men who drowned while Ryan was in France.”
“I ain’t heard, and I would’ve if it happened. The big bell rings a special way when somebody dies, and it ain’t rung. They must have been from another plantation, and we haven’t been told about it.”
Angele was baffled, because she was sure she had heard the conversation right. “Master Ryan asked Master Corbett why two names had been crossed off the roster he keeps,” she explained to Selma. “Master Corbett said Mr. Fordham told him there had been an accident at the river while they were away, and the two names were the men who drowned as a result.”
Angele noted how Selma’s face took on a terrified look, but only for an instant before she began to babble, “Yes’m, yes’m, the river, the drownin’. Now I know what you mean, but I didn’t know ’em. Sorry. Now you better go.”
She walked away before Angele could ask anything else. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about the accident, but why had she denied knowing about it in the beginning? It didn’t make sense.
As she headed down the path, Angele heard a faint crashing sound that seemed to come from the woods at the rear of the slaves’ compound. She went back to peek though some bushes to see what was going on.
A young Negro man stumbled into the clearing. Suddenly his knees buckled, and he pitched forward. The others closed about him.
She was too far away to hear what was being said. With a cold chill moving up and down her spine, she reasoned it was probably good that she didn’t. Because, if what she suspected was true…if the Negro was, indeed, a runaway slave, then it was best she didn’t know.
When she reached the house, she circled around to Ryan’s study.
Light was coming from the window, and she peered inside to see him sitting on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. Corbett was beside him. Evidently he had helped get little Danny to bed, then returned.
Their feet were propped on a table, and they were sipping wine, obviously enjoying themselves. Angele felt certain they would be there for some time.
So, with Clarice undoubtedly in bed and sound asleep, Angele decided it would not be necessary to climb back up the trellis. Instead, she went around to the back door.
Quietly, she opened it and stepped inside.
All she had to do was tiptoe up the back stairs.
Suddenly the door to the tea kitchen opened, and Clarice stepped out. She was holding a lantern. “Well, well,” she gloated. “I knew if I waited long enough, I’d catch you sneaking back in.”
Startled and upset, Angele floundered for an explanation. She didn’t want to get the Negroes in trouble by saying she had been with them. “I went for a walk,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Liar,” Clarice sneered. “I saw you from my window when you went through the barnyard and followed you far enough to know you were going to the slave compound. Now, you come along with me.” She grabbed her arm and held tight, nails digging in. “I want Ryan to see once and for all just how
bourgeois
you are.”
Angele was tempted to tear away from her and continue on to her room but feared it might look as though she were ashamed—which she wasn’t.
Clarice yanked her along to Ryan’s study, opened the door, and pushed her inside.
“Now tell him,” she commanded harshly as Ryan leaped to his feet, stunned by the intrusion. “Tell him what you were doing in the woods at this hour of night…and
who
you were with.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ryan’s study was one of Angele’s favorite rooms in the house. It was so masculine…
so like him
.
A huge stone fireplace was at one end, and the walls were adorned with mounted heads of wild boar, deer, and even a black bear. The air was fragrant with the scent of leather and tobacco, and there was a fluffy fur rug made of red fox pelts on the floor.
But Angele wasn’t thinking about how cozy the room was just then.
Ryan had known something was wrong when she and Clarice walked in. He immediately got up from the sofa and went to sit behind his desk before coolly asking, “Well? What’s this all about? How come you two are still up at this hour?”
Angele saw no reason to try to hide what she had done, especially since Clarice thought she had sneaked off for a clandestine rendezvous with some man. Besides, she was not feeling at all well. The nausea was getting worse. “I don’t know why Clarice is so upset,” she began. “All I did was walk back to where the Negroes were, because I heard their music.”
“Dear God,” Clarice moaned. “She was mingling with the slaves…” She clutched her chest, and Corbett moved quickly to help her to the sofa.
Stiffly, Angele challenged, “I see nothing wrong with that.”
“They should have told you it wasn’t proper,” Corbett said quietly. He looked at Ryan. “I’ll have Roscoe talk to them.”
“No, don’t do that,” Angele protested. “They did tell me I shouldn’t be there. It wasn’t their fault. I don’t want them getting in trouble because of me.”
“All that time,” Clarice wailed. “You were there all that time. Ryan, I know she was gone at least two hours, if not longer. This is terrible, just terrible. No Tremayne woman has ever done such a thing.”
Angele threw up her hands. “This is ridiculous. I did nothing wrong. I just watched them sing and dance, and I ate some dumplings, and—”
Clarice threw her head back on the sofa and wailed, “Merciful heavens, she even
ate
with them. The next thing we know, she’ll be inviting them to tea, and then she’ll want them to sit at the table with us. This cannot go on. It simply cannot.”
Ryan had been sitting with templed fingers, listening to everyone. Finally, he said, “Actually, I don’t see anything wrong with it. Before my father got down, he did the same thing. He’d join them when they cooked a catfish stew or killed a hog. I’ve been known to go back there for barbecue chicken once in a while, myself.” He smiled at the memory. “Nobody cooks chicken like Jasper.”