The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) (14 page)

“Well? What’s it say this time?”

“Oh, the usual.” Lexie waved her hand as the
lie rolled from her tongue. “He wants me to know he’s here for me if I ever
want to talk.”

A snort left Mama. Lexie looked up
slowly, dreading eye contact. Mama’s eyes were narrowed and her lower lip
pushed out with disapproval. “
Talkin
’ is the last thing
on that man’s mind, and you been a married woman long enough to know I’m
tellin
’ the truth.”

Lexie’s cheeks warmed beneath the
scrutiny and frank words. “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean he’s getting more
than talk from me.”

“Be not ignorant of Satan’s devices,
Baby. He knows your weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses? Oh, Mama. What are you
talking about?”

“You
sittin
’
home night after night,
missin
’ your man. Angry
’cause he
ain’t
telephoned you again. Don’t cast your
pearls before swine, girl. You hold out. Wait for your husband to come home,
then be the godly wife he needs.”

“The wife
he
needs? What about the kind of husband
I
need? Andy’s been running around on me since I had my first
miscarriage. I guess I’m just damaged goods to him. I can’t give him a child, so
he’ll go make bastard children with whoever will crawl into bed with him.”

A loud crack split the air as pain
exploded onto Lexie’s cheeks. Her eyes widened as she started at her mother.

“Girl, I hated to smack you, but I won’t
have that kind of language used in my house. I don’t care how old you
is
. You
is
goin’ to respect the
rules.”

Tears burned Lexie’s eyes.
Tears of anger, hurt, humiliation, remorse.
Oh, how she had
ruined her life by marrying Andy Carmichael. What was she now? A woman past her
prime child-bearing years, separated from her husband, and living with her
parents. Why shouldn’t she enjoy a night of music and dancing with a man who
actually thought she was worth investing some time in?

Her cheek still smarted as she rose, took
her daisies, and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

Penbrook
House

The old woman curled into a ball on her
bed, clutching her chest. The pain was unbearable.

“Not yet, Lord,” she gasped. “Not until
he knows. Not until I can make it right. Please. Just few more days.”

Part Two: Bitterness

The heart
knoweth
his own
bitterness.
(Proverbs 14:10)

Chapter Eight

Andy leaned against the porch railing,
hands stuffed in his trouser pockets. He watched the neighborhood children playing
baseball in the street. Buck rocked back and forth in the wooden rocker. “
Yessiree
, ain’t nothin’ like
havin
’
a quiver full of little arrows.”

“Excuse me?” Andy turned.

“Children are a heritage of the Lord.
Blessed is the man who hath his quiver full of them. That’s from the Bible.”

“Oh.” Religion. He’d had enough of it
growing up. Had no need for it now. The thought played his mama’s image across
his mind.
And Lottie’s mention of her.
He still had
questions, but thought better of voicing them. Most likely Lottie’s mother and
his had become friends after he’d been sent to the Riley’s home in Chicago. He
supposed if he really wanted to learn more about her final years, he could
round up some of his siblings. They were likely still living in Oak Junction or
thereabouts.

“You said you
ain’t
got no children of your own, huh?”

Buck’s words startled Andy back to the
present.

“Well, don’t lose heart. Sometimes it
just takes a while.”

Andy turned back to watching the children
in the street. “My wife left me.”

“You say she left you? Seemed awfully
worried about you that day I talked to her on the phone.”

“
Lexie
left me
awhile back. She’s been living with her folks ever since.”

Buck clucked his tongue. “What are you
doin
’ about gettin’ her back?”

Andy shrugged. “Not a thing. She’s
through with me. Can’t say that I blame her all that much.”

“Divorce is just the same as cutting a
man in half. You know that?”

“It feels that way at times.”

“That’s because it is that way.” Leaning
forward, Buck clasped his fingers together. “Marriage is like this. Two people
becoming one person. To divorce or join yourself to another is like ripping
apart that one flesh.”

“Or cutting a man in two.” The way Andy
felt when he thought about
Lexie
pretty
much matched
Buck’s description.

“A woman just wants to be treated with a
gentle hand. Wants to know she’s the most important thing in the whole world to
ya. I bet it wouldn’t take much soft talk from you to get her back.”

A short laugh spurted from Andy’s throat.
“At the moment, another man is giving her enough soft talk for the both of us.”

“Another man, eh?” Buck fell silent for a
few minutes. Then he stopped rocking and sat forward in the chair. “What brings
you to Georgia, Andy?”

Expelling his breath, Andy faced his
newfound friend. “You already know. The chance to write old Miss Penbrook’s
memoirs.”

“Ain’t got much writing done yet, though,
have ya? What with the
beatin
’ and all.”

Andy’s neck warmed. “Are you ready for me
to leave?”

Buck chuckled. “Nope. You’re more than
welcome here for as long as you pay your rent. But if you don’t mind my
sayin
’ so, it sounds like you have things to take care of
at home.”

Ah, so the man hadn’t dropped the subject
after all. “If Lexie’s still my wife when I get home, I’ll try to do right by
her. If not, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Buck resumed his rocking, but didn’t
speak. The silence made Andy as uncomfortable as if Buck had come up with
another sermon.

They remained silent until the door
opened and Lottie appeared on the steps. “Aunt Delta just called.”

Andy perked up. “Did she leave a message
for me?”

Lottie nodded. “Miss Penbrook would like
to see you in the morning.”

Excitement, combined with a sense of
dread, knotted into a ball in Andy’s stomach. He wasn’t sure why he felt such
anxiety. But he did.

The diaries, the women,
the history.
They tore at him. He felt he knew these people. Wanted to
know them better.

After a few more minutes of polite
conversation, he retreated to his bedroom.

He rose before dawn after a fitful
night’s sleep. The town of Oak Junction didn’t stir as he quietly left the
Purdues
’ rooming house and began the five-mile trek. He was
sitting on the steps of Penbrook House as the sun made a grand entrance on the
eastern horizon.

“Nothin’
as pretty as a Georgia sunrise,”
his mama used to say.
“Unless it’s a Georgia sunset.”

He leaned back against a thick white
pillar and stretched out his legs as he watched the orange and pink
fingerprints slide across the sky.

He could hear his mama’s voice, but no
matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t able to connect a face to the soft tones.
He leaned his head back against the pillar and closed his eyes. Sketchy
memories invaded his mind.

“What
are we going to do about him?”

Desperate whispers in
the night.

“Elijah’s
gonna kill ’
im
if I don’ get my boy outta here. I
knows
dat’s
what he’s
plannin
’.”

“Calm
yourself, Rae. We won’t allow Elijah to harm the child. You’ll both stay here
until I work out a solution.”

“He’ll
find me.”

“He
won’t try anything here. You know he hasn’t the gumption.”

Mama’s wet tears on his neck.
Shadows and whispers.
That was the extent of his memories of
that night. Nothing he could put his finger on to make any sense of.

Andy opened his eyes and looked out
across the green field beyond the house. The dew lifted as he stared. His heart
raced for no reason.

Finally, when he thought the hour
acceptable, he rang the bell.

“Took you long enough.” Delta’s amused
scolding greeted him when she opened the door.

“You mean to tell me you knew I was out
there?”

“Naturally. Nothin’ happens around here
that I don’t know about.” She looked him over. “I’m guessing you ain’t had a
bite of breakfast. Follow me.”

“What about Miss Penbrook?”

“She ain’t had no
breakfast neither.
Her mind works better when her stomach’s full.”

Then
by all means feed her. Please.

He followed Delta to the back of the
house, into a large kitchen.

“How are you getting along at Buck’s?”
Delta asked, waving him into a seat at the long wooden table.

“Fine. They’re exceptional people.”

“What’s
exceptional
mean?”

Andy heaved a sigh. “It means extra
special.”

Delta beamed. “They sure are that. Every
single one of ’em.” She eyed him. “’Specially that Lottie. Now, she’s one
exceptional gal. Don’t you think?”

“Mrs. Purdue is a woman any man would be
lucky to have as a wife. Buck’s got himself a winner.”

“Yep.” She placed slices of bacon into a
skillet and lifted the coffeepot from the stove. “Want some? Miz Penbrook only
drinks tea. But I can’t abide it. I prefer me some strong coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.
Me, too.
Thanks.”

She set a couple of cups on the table and
poured the steaming black brew. After returning the pot to the stove, she sank
into the chair across from him.

“How long have you worked for Miss
Penbrook?”

Her face clouded as she tried to recall.
“Let’s see. Your mama hadn’t yet married that no-good
Elijah.
. .”

Andy stared. “What do you mean? You knew
my parents? Then you must’ve been here all the times I came to the house when I
was a boy.”

Her eyes grew round and she stood
quickly. “I best check on that bacon. If it’s too crisp, Miz Penbrook tosses it
on the floor. And the good Lord knows my back aches when I got to bend over too
much.”

“It’s too late to pretend you didn’t just
say something about my mother, Delta. Turn around here and finish your
thought.”

“It ain’t
none of my
business, boy.
And don’t think you can bully me into telling things I
ain’t got no business
tellin
’.”

Andy took a deep breath. “I’ve been
having memories, Delta…flashes in my mind about my past. My mama’s voice, all
afraid and whispering. Somehow I know I’m linked to Miss Penbrook. Maybe I can
figure out why I keep having these memories if you at least tell me what you
know.”

“You ain’t here to figure out nothin’
about you. You’s here to write down Miz Penbrook’s life so she can be
remembered rightly.”

“True.” Still, he couldn’t resist the
memories trying to surface in his mind. Whether he wanted them to surface or
not, his mind seemed to be ready to share hidden parts of his life.

If only Delta were as ready to share what
she knew. But she became a rock wall. Impenetrable. After a couple of attempts
at conversation, Andy gave up. He sipped his coffee, his mind mulling over
Delta’s slip-up. He would definitely get more information out of her another
time. When she wasn’t on the defensive.

Delta set his breakfast before him,
then
made up a tray. “I’ll be back when Miz Penbrook is
ready to see you. Help yourself to more of that coffee if you run out.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Andy finished his breakfast and washed his
dishes. He went to the kitchen door and stepped outside. From the back porch,
he could observe the smoke house, stables, and a path that he instinctively
knew led to slave quarters. The woods beyond called to him.

Remember
.

Somehow he knew that acres and acres
stretched across the vast Penbrook lands.
Remembered walking,
no running, across the field to Penbrook House.

The door groaned open behind him. “Miz
Penbrook is asking for you now.”

Andy nodded and returned to the house. He
followed Delta through the kitchen and toward the long staircase. “Are the
Penbrook lands sharecropped?”

“Some of ’em. Miz Penbrook sold some of
the land to faithful tenants long ago.”

“Were my parents sharecroppers?” He knew
his heritage was tied to this place. His vague memories were growing more
prominent as he allowed them admittance. “I have brothers and sisters. Are they
still living? Do you know where they are?”

Rather than giving him the angry reply he
expected, Delta stopped short, causing him to halt his steps. She placed her
hand on his face, much as a mother might. “I know you be wantin’ answers.
You’re
gonna
get ‘
em
one way
or another. But you best get on in to see Miz Penbrook while her
mind’s
all there. Don’t forget to talk loud so she can hear
ya.”

Delta pushed open the door at the end of
the hallway. “He’s here, ma’am.”

Andy stepped into the dark room and
across the floor until he stood over the old woman. “Good morning, Miss
Penbrook. I hope you’re doing well today.”

“As well as can be expected at my age.”
She gave a tired wave. “Sit down. Are you finding the diaries helpful?”

Andy took the chair she indicated. “I am
enjoying them very much. I’m only just to the entries you made, though.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ma’am. Until yesterday, everything
I’d read was written by Madeline Penbrook and Cat, the slave girl.”

“And what do you think of Cat?”

Andy shrugged. “I admire her spirit. She
was a survivor.”

Miss Penbrook emitted a broken sigh.
“Yes. And much of what she did went beyond morality and good judgment.”

Andy chuckled. “Even now, you can’t see
your way clear to be kind to Cat?”

“You feel sorry for her?”

“Any decent person would. She had it
rough.”

“How far into the diaries have you
gotten?”

Andy told her about the hog in the woods
and the runaway slave.

Miss Penbrook smiled. “Shaw was a
godsend.”

“Shaw?”

“The slave who was almost killed by the
hog. He never left us. Just like he promised. At least not until thirty years
ago.” Her voice seemed to come from far away. “He died.”

“Did he sharecrop?”

“Sharecrop? For a time, but he was the
first of the darkies to buy part of Penbrook.”

“When did you start to sharecrop the
land?”

She fixed her gaze on him. “I suppose
that’s a good story to tell.” She paused a second, then nodded. “Yes, let’s
start there today.”

Andy settled into his chair as Miss
Penbrook retreated eighty years, to a time when she was a young, beautiful, and
strong.

1866

Sunlight streamed through the long
windows, illuminating Camilla’s fair skin as she stood, arms folded across her
chest, looking out at the weeping willow in the yard.

“Camilla,” Cat bellowed at the young
woman, “use the brain God gave you!” She was beyond her wit’s end with the
stubborn ignoramus.

Camilla whipped around, anger flashing in
her wide blue eyes. “How dare you speak to me that way?”

“How dare I? I dare, my dear, because you
are hoarding the money your grandmother sent you for nothing! It must be
invested back into the land or it will soon run out again, and then where will
you be?”

“Grandmother Wilson said she sent only a
portion of my inheritance early, so there is plenty more where that came from.”

Cat gathered a breath and looked to Shaw
for help.

He clutched his hat tightly between
massive, scarred hands. “Miss Camilla.”

Camilla turned to him and her face softened.
It was beyond Cat what sort of relationship these two had. And frankly, she
couldn’t care less. But it did come in handy on occasions such as this one
where she needed someone who could talk sense into Camilla’s thick head.

“Do you agree with Cat?” Her blue eyes
pleaded for him to be on her side. “Should we use all my money to plant
cotton?”