Somerset (16 page)

S
ilas set aside his account book. He'd hardly had a moment to tally the receipts of the trip since it began. He liked to do his figuring in the privacy of his Conestoga when all was quiet for the night, but he'd no sooner settle down to his ledger than someone requiring his services would knock at the canvas curtain of his wagon. He poured a small measure of brandy into a glass and sat back to savor it with a sense of satisfaction. So far the costs of the trip had fallen below his budget and without the sacrifice of needed supplies and materials. They were out of Creek territory, but he did not regret the expense of extra ammunition and hobbles to keep animals restrained and safe from theft in case of an Indian attack. There would be plenty of opportunities to be glad of their purchase later on in Texas. The savings in his account, composed of the money for the burned Conestogas, had been due to careful spending. Carson Wyndham did not need to know of the surplus or of any other monies saved from future deposits. If Silas had to adjust his receipts to correspond with the expenditures his father-in-law's payments were meant to cover, he would. Silas did not regard the adjustment as deceit. His thrift would benefit Carson because his son-in-law intended to pay back every cent the man had agreed to pay him to take his daughter off his hands.

Silas did not know how he would do it, but he would start by selling his Conestoga in New Orleans and share Jeremy's into Texas, and already he had mentally devised ways he could saw a little off his expenses here, a little there, and store away the savings while using Carson's funds to get Somerset started. The manor house could wait until he could pay for its construction from his own pocket, but he would not sacrifice his land and its development for the sake of Jessica, his pride, or any other cause, such as his mother's warning he'd never completely shaken off.
If you go through with this marriage for the reason you've contracted it, there will be a curse on your land in Texas.

Poppycock. There was no such thing as a curse, but if there were, he could lift it by setting Jessica free. He would set aside part of his cotton profits to add to his growing bundle, even purchase fewer slaves and land than he intended until the day (he hoped in five years) he wrote a banknote to his loathsome “benefactor” to cover all Silas had sold his soul for—including his daughter. Jessica would have her freedom. She would still be young. She could move up North and live with her aunt, indulge her abolitionist leanings to her heart's content, and her father would have nothing to say about it. It was the least Silas could do for her.

Of course all his plans depended on his arriving in Texas safely and getting started.

Once set free, Jessica might even consider marrying Jeremy. It was clear he admired her greatly. “Never a whimper, whine, or a complaint have I heard from her, Silas,” he'd said recently.

“You would be more likely to hear it than I, Jeremy,” Silas had commented.

“Only because you do not avail yourself of the opportunity to be around her. Jessica has eyes only for you, Silas. If you'd but set yours on her now and then, you'd see for yourself.”

“I would, but I fear she'd spit in them,” Silas had retorted wryly. Eyes for him? Jeremy was losing his keen acumen for reading others if he thought that cold little abolitionist felt anything but loathing for him.

“She's writing a diary, you know,” Jeremy said. “Women confess all to their diaries. Why don't you take a peek in it and enlighten yourself?”

“Because I'm afraid of what I would read.”

“Read the journal, Silas.”

But for all Jessica's cool indifference, Silas came to admire her. His wife wanted to pull her weight in the wagon train and found ways to do so. At night she entertained the children by reading to them from his son's store of books. At first, only Joshua cuddled up next to her by the fire, then gradually other children joined their circle. Naturally, Jessica
would
give him a heart-stopping moment when she waved the slaves' children to gather around as well. There were, of course, grumblings.

“You need to tell your wife the readings are for the white children only,” one woman, a planter's wife, snapped to Silas.

“I have a better idea. Why don't
you
tell her.”

None dared to approach the young, self-possessed, imperious figure in the glow of the campfire, and the mixed gatherings continued.

The sight of Jessica writing in her journal, or diary, on her wagon seat led to hat-in-hand requests from the unlearned to compose letters for them to mail back home, and there were days and sometimes nights when Silas would see her, a humble petitioner by her side, bent over her writing tablet to commit the dictated words to paper. To comfort a sick child, she shared the hard candy and popping corn, nuts, and dried fruits her mother had insisted go with her, and once Silas had overheard Jessica say to Tippy, “Don't let's eat the sweets in this bag. Let's save them for the children.”

Spring arrived when the train entered Creek territory, and, to relieve the tension around the campfire, Jessica had Tippy show the young girls how to weave amazing coronets of flowers from the purple wisteria and redbud trees and white dogwood that abounded in the woods. Also, selflessly, showing not the least reluctance, his wife offered the soft material of her fine dresses for bandages when injuries befell members of the wagon train. The inevitable day came when Silas told her she would have to leave one of her wardrobe trunks by the side of the road.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “It is mostly empty.”

His wife seemed to meet every danger, deprivation, and discomfort with courage and resolve, reminding Silas of Lettie, but it was her way with his son that earned his greatest appreciation. Joshua thought of her as his special playmate, and Silas could not help noticing the possessive pride with which he paraded around the campground, his hand in hers, as if to tell the other children they all counted, but none as much as he. Jessica eased his homesickness and yearnings for Lettie, soothed his fears, and diverted him from danger, but never with the authority of a stepmother. Her approach was that of a friend. When Silas warned her against imposing her anti-slavery views on his son, she'd said, “I can promise no words from me on the subject, Mr. Toliver, but I can't speak for my example.”

So while Silas watched the friendship grow between his son and stepmother, the distance widened between him and Jessica, and by the end of two months, he came to realize that the remarkable young woman who was his wife only by virtue of a signature on a marriage certificate wanted no truck with him. Gradually he formed his plan to pay back Carson Wyndham in full and set her free. He had signed a contract with the man and meant to honor it, though not the terms. If he returned to Carson all he owed him, Jessica would not be bound to stay married to him. She would be free to seek her own life, lived the way she wanted, beyond the reach of her father.

He desired a smoke before turning in for the night. Now that they were out of hostile territory, he slept in his wagon with Joshua close to his side. Careful not to disturb the sleeping boy, he had dropped softly to the ground to light a cheroot from the campfire when his eye caught a ghostly figure floating in the direction of the creek. It was a woman dressed in a flowing gown with something white flung over her shoulder, and Silas recognized the fall of red hair down her back.
Jessica!
By God, she'd been told to stay within the fire-lit circle of the encampment at night. Damn the stubborn little minx! Didn't she know there were animal predators about, snakes, poison ivy? There were men on watch stationed around the perimeter, but Silas pocketed the cheroot, hurriedly retrieved his pistol, and went after her.

She'd had a good head start but walked carefully, her candle lighting her path but hardly necessary in the full glow of the moon. Where was she going and why? She was headed toward the creek and seemed to know the way. Silas had seen her looking over the area when the train had stopped in the afternoon. He watched the wraith disappear into a grove of trees and hastened his steps, reluctant to call out to her for fear of drawing the attention of a lookout who might shoot first and investigate later. He came upon her at the edge of the creek and halted when he realized her intention. Her back was to him and before he could alert her to his presence, her gown—a robe—slipped from her shoulders and dropped to her ankles. Naked, she picked it up and laid it on a rock along with the towel she'd brought and blew out the candle. Then, with hardly a splash, she slipped into the water.

Silas, stunned by her body's beauty in the silvery light of the moon and terrified of the dangers lurking in the creek, swung around at a sound behind him. One of the men standing watch had come to investigate.

“Oh, it's you, Mr. Toliver. Anything wrong? I thought I heard something.”

“It was only me, Johnson. I couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get the saddle kinks out. You can go back to your post.”

“Beautiful night.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, have a good stroll.”

“Good night, Johnson.”

The exchange must have carried to Jessica. Silas found only her red hair fanned out on the surface of the water when he reached the creek bank.

“Jessica!”
he hissed. He did not dare raise his voice for fear of drawing further attention from the guard.
“Come out of there before you get bitten by a snake!”

Jessica's wet head popped up. “Go away,” she said, sputtering water, her silvery arms working to keep her afloat below the quiet current. “I'm…I'm naked.”

“I don't give a rat's piss whether you're naked or not,” he whispered hoarsely.
Get out of there!
” Consumed with fury at the foolhardiness of the girl, he grabbed her robe and the towel and held them behind him. “I'm turning around, and I'll give you five seconds to come out of there before I come in and get you. Understand?”

She did not answer, but there was an immediate splash of water and seconds later the items were snatched from his hand. He could hear her disgruntled shortness of breath as she quickly robed herself.

“I just wanted a bath, for goodness' sake,” Jessica said. “It's been so long since I had a proper one and today was so warm and sticky. Is it supposed to be this hot in Louisiana in May?”

Silas turned around. Her hair hung long and streaming, and the robe clung to her wet body, outlining her full breasts and tapered waist. He felt an involuntary pang of desire. “Do you have any idea of the poisonous critters in that creek—along the bank, in these woods? Don't you ever,
ever
go against my orders for your safety again, do you hear me?”

Jessica toweled her hair. “Forgive me for not considering your investment, Mr. Toliver, but for my own sake, I can see it was foolish to take such a risk for a bath. The creek looked calm and crystal clear this afternoon and too inviting to resist, but you have my word that I will not be so foolish again.”

“Is that what you think—that I was considering my
investment
?” He took a step toward her. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth formed a small, startled O. She looked like a nubile water nymph caught out of her habitat by a ferocious land monster. She moved back.

“Well, weren't you, Mr. Toliver?”

He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. He opened his mouth to explain, then snapped it shut. “Whatever it pleases you to think, Miss Wyndham,” he said. “Now get back to the camp before we both get shot.”