The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) (15 page)

“Well, Miss,” he said, carefully choosing
his words, “the facts be dat dis here money ya
gots
.
. .well, if ya was to
spend it on
purty
clothes and furniture and
sech
, ya’d just be
sprucin
’
things up around here and
makin
’
yo’self
look even
purtier
than ya already are.”

Camilla preened like a peacock at his
praise.

“But, if ya use
jes
’
a little bit and buy the
fixin’s
to make a nice dress
for
yo’self
and one for Miss Cat, then ya might have
enough left to buy the plow and a couple o’ mules, like Miss Cat suggests.”

“And seed.” Unable to keep quiet any
longer, Cat reentered the negotiations. “Listen, Camilla, we have to get the
land going again. That’s the most important thing. Shaw has been talking to
some of the other free darkies. Lots of them are talking about going back to
the plantations where they were slaves.”

“If they had any gratitude, they would
never have left to begin with. I think they should go back and beg
forgiveness.” She looked at Shaw. “Not you, of course. You belong with us.”

His face softened to what Cat could only
describe as pure affection. She pushed the odd relationship away once more.
“The point is, Camilla, that if we can get extra plows and mules, we can
sharecrop the land.”

“Sharecrop? Whatever is that?”

Camilla’s frown irritated Cat. Was the
girl completely ignorant?

“We give the slaves a certain amount of
land to work. In exchange, they owe us a percentage of the profits from their
crops.”

Camilla gasped. She glared at Cat, her
eyes blazing. “I might have expected you’d want to give all my land to your
darkie friends. No. I will not do it.”

Cat had to fight to keep from slapping
the foolish girl across the cheek. “Shaw, try to explain it to her, will you?
Though I sincerely doubt she has enough brains to understand.” She turned on
the worn heels of her boots, leaving Camilla sputtering in anger.

The low tones of Shaw’s deep voice
followed her from the room.

The war had been over barely a year. Soon
after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, Captain Riley and his company had been
called to Atlanta to help keep the peace there. He came to see her often. Cat
had grown fond of him. He didn’t concern himself with her heritage. He told her
she looked every bit as white as his own mother, who was of French descent.

She learned to enjoy his kisses and
caresses. Thankfully, he hadn’t pursued a more intimate relationship, though
Cat suspected he frequented the fancy women in town.

Rather than anger her, the thought
relieved her. As long as he was satisfied elsewhere, he would leave her be.
Once she’d thought he might propose marriage, and she would have accepted in
order to have help caring for Penbrook. But one day, it had dawned on Cat that
Camilla’s Missouri grandparents were wealthy, and they had investments in the
North. It had taken time for mail to start making it to Oak Junction. But once
the letters started flowing again, she’d coerced Camilla into writing, and her
grandparents had straightaway sent a bank draft.

Now that ignorant girl wanted to buy
gowns and furniture and carpets for the floors. At least she also wanted to buy
a cow or two and some chickens and pigs. That was something, but it wasn’t
enough to sustain the plantation and leave Henry the inheritance he was
promised.

The library door opened and Camilla
flounced into the foyer, followed by Shaw. She slapped a stack of money into
Cat’s hand. “There. Take it. Buy your plows and seeds and mules. But I’d like
you to also buy enough material for three dresses
for me and
one for you
. No, two. One nice one and one to work in, as I’m sure you
won’t allow anyone to oversee the fields but you.”

Cat fought to squelch the excitement
rising at the thought of fields white with cotton.
Little
Henry’s fields.
Penbrook would be more profitable than it had ever been.
“Anything else?”

“Yes. Shaw needs a new shirt and some
trousers. And little Henry has all but worn through what he hasn’t outgrown.
Mind you pick out material for those as well. And everyone must have new
shoes.”

Cat began mentally calculating how much
she thought those items might cost. “All right. Shaw and I will go to Atlanta
in the morning. We’ll need to go into Oak Junction first and buy another wagon
and a couple of mules.” She turned to Shaw. “We’ll need some of your men to
help load and unload supplies. Can you speak with them tonight? Bring at least
three. Ask them to be ready first thing in the morning, all right?”

“Yes’m.” He nodded to each woman,
then
strode across the foyer and out the heavy door.

“Cat, surely you don’t intend to travel
thirty miles with four darkies? How on earth will it look? I mean, we know what
you are, but you do look white.”

Bitter laughter bubbled to Cat’s lips. “I
don’t care how it looks. All I know is that I need supplies. And I’m taking no
chances that a shopkeeper might not give Shaw a fair deal.”

“Shaw is smarter than most,” Camilla
defended her friend. “He won’t let himself be
hornswaggled
.”

“He won’t intentionally, but he doesn’t
know how to figure his numbers, nor can he read. He can’t negotiate until he
learns those things.”

“Then I shall teach him.” The
determination on Camilla’s face left no room for doubt.

“I think that would be very nice of you.”

Surprise shot to Camilla’s eyes. “Well,
then, perhaps you’d best buy a couple of books and a slate and pencil while
you’re in Atlanta.”

Cat scowled. If she’d known it would cost
more money, she’d have let Shaw stay illiterate. She sighed. “Fine. But that’s
all. The rest of the money goes straight for supplies.”

“You’re doing all this for little Henry,
aren’t you?” Camilla asked. “If not for him, you would have left long ago,
despite the promise to Mother that we stick together. Wouldn’t you?”

Cat regarded her evenly. “Yes. Your pa promised
Henry would inherit this land and I aim to see he has it.”

“What about me?”

“You have your mother’s inheritance. You
don’t need Penbrook. My son is going to inherit the land. I know where the will
is and I know your pa made good on his word.” That was the one decent thing he
had done.

“Oh, who cares anyway? I don’t intend to
live here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Missus, we
gots
company,” Shaw’s voice carried from the porch.

Cat frowned and looked at Camilla. “Who
on earth?”

Camilla shrugged and headed toward the
door, leaving Cat to follow.

“Oh, my!” Cat heard Camilla shriek.

“What?” Camilla blocked her view.
Impatiently, Cat pushed around her. She gasped at the sight of the man standing
next to Shaw. “Thomas,” she whispered.

“This
be
Mister
Thomas?” Shaw directed his question to Camilla. Irritation shot through Cat.
What exactly had Shaw been told?

There wasn’t time to wonder. Thomas’s
face lit up at the sight of Cat and Camilla. “You two are a refreshing sight.”

Cat couldn’t speak past the lump in her
throat. Quick tears sprang to her eyes.

Camilla squealed as though she were still
the adolescent girl she’d been the last time Thomas had stood on this porch.
She flew into his arms. Thomas’s laughter rang into the air as he swung her
around. He set her down, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her soundly
on the lips. “You’re still as beautiful as I remembered.”

Jealousy burned in Cat’s stomach. Pain
clutched her chest, squeezing breath from her lungs. Her head began to swim,
and before she knew it darkness engulfed her.

From
Camilla’s diary

Thomas
is home. Thomas is home. Thomas is home. And I think he loves me. He certainly
seemed happy to see me. He brings with him the news of my father’s death. I
feel little grief. Cat is, of course, jubilant.

I’ve
watched Cat and Thomas carefully. There seems to be nothing left of the
childhood love they shared. She is content with Stuart Riley, I believe.

Thomas
returned to Atlanta to find his home burned to the ground. He discovered from a
friend that his mother has traveled to Texas to join his sister’s family. With
his father dead the second year of the war, Thomas is alone. We have invited
him to live at Penbrook. He has gratefully accepted and vows to help in any way
he can. I suspect it will only be a matter of time before he proposes marriage.

Chapter Nine

Chicago

Lexie stared at Dr. Harmon as a slow
smile played beneath his mustache. “First time I ever saw you shocked to
silence.” He chuckled at his joke, and reached out to help
Lexie
sit up on the cold, sterile examining table.

“
I.
. .Are you
sure, doctor?” Another disappointment would be more than she could bear. She
had to be absolutely positive before she could stand to get her hopes up.

“Little girl, I’ve been delivering babies
for nearly thirty years. I think I know by now when there’s a bun in the oven.”
He patted her leg. “Now, get yourself dressed and come see me in my office.
We’ll talk about what to expect the next few months. Not exactly a spring chicken
are you? You’ll have to take extra care.”

Lexie’s cheeks warmed.

A bubble of excitement shot through her
as she watched the doctor leave the room.

She practically floated along the busy
sidewalks toward home, her secret securely tucked away, safe, protected from
harm. A smile refused to be stifled, her joy spilling over to everyone who
passed by. A baby! Her baby!
After all these years.

Why now?

No, she wouldn’t even think about the
whys of it. Rather she would revel in unspeakable joy and imagine the warmth of
holding her baby in her arms.

Her monthly cycles had been sporadic at
best her entire adult life, so cessation had come as no real surprise. When
she’d stopped bleeding a few months back, she’d assumed her days for bearing
children had ended. She’d almost been relieved. No more hoping month after
month. No more crying every time her hopes were dashed.

The thought that she might be pregnant
this time hadn’t even entered her mind. Conception must have occurred right
before Andy’s last fling. Right before she moved out of their apartment and
into Mama’s house.

Andy.

She would stop seeing Robert immediately,
of course. Thank God she hadn’t given in to his tempting and repeated offer to
share his bed. Andy would have no cause to wonder whether this was his baby or
not. Given that she was at least four months along, he should know better
anyway. But thankfully she could honestly tell him she’d remained faithful.

They were going to have plenty of hurdles
to jump if their marriage was to survive. Andy’s infidelities alone were going
to be difficult enough. Her heart clenched at the thought. Funny how only
yesterday she’d been sure her love for Andy was a thing of the past. Now, as
she looked down at the small bulge in her stomach--a bulge she’d thought a
result of Mama’s home cooking--love stronger than reason swelled her heart.
Love for her child and for her child’s father.

Oh,
Andy. I’m finally giving you a baby.

Georgia,
1948

The old lady was more coherent this time.
She rattled on for two hours.
Thomas this, Henry Jr. that.
Shaw, Camilla, Cat. The sharecroppers. She never spoke in first person. Every
time she told a story, it was as though she hadn’t been part of the fascinating
tales, but only a spectator. He wasn’t sure how much she was remembering and
how much she’d simply learned or remembered from reading the diaries herself.

The biggest question plaguing his mind
since reading the last diary still hadn’t been answered, though. He waited for
her to pause,
then
he broached the topic. “I have a
question, Miss Penbrook.”

She glared at him, her toothless bottom
gums pressing out beyond her top lip. “I don’t like being interrupted, boy.”

Annoyance shot through him. “Then we’re
even,” he said without taking even a second to consider his words. “I don’t
like being called boy.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She chuckled. “I
supposed I don’t blame you. What’s your question?”

“You haven’t mentioned Thomas in a while.
You’ve talked about buying supplies, gathering sharecroppers from among Shaw’s
friends. Talked about plowing and planting and the first profitable harvest.
But nothing about Thomas from a personal level.
As a writer,
I’m aware that you might have kept Penbrook as a pen name. So, which of you did
he choose?
You or Cat?

Miss Penbrook heaved a sigh. “I thought
you might ask that. It wasn’t so much as who he chose as who
we
decided should have him.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

She leveled her gaze at him. “You will.”

From
Camilla’s diary

1867

Camilla stood on the wide porch and
listened for the sound of the wagons returning from the fields. Long, lonely
days with only Henry Jr. as company left her desperate for conversation. Why
Cat felt the need to work in the fields alongside the Negroes and the men was
beyond Camilla’s understanding.

Thomas, too, spent his days in the
fields. At first Camilla fought against the outrage of Thomas working beside
the darkies like a common field hand. But Thomas had been adamant. “I have to
do my fair share of the work, Camilla. Penbrook needs every able bodied man in the
fields, white and Negro.” He’d smiled. “Besides, I think I’m getting the hang
of planting and picking cotton. You should be proud of me.”

She’d stopped protesting after that, and
life became routine. Planting, waiting, harvesting. Back to planting. The waiting
was finally over and now they were harvesting for the second year. The first
year had yielded a minor profit for the plantation, and Cat had allowed Camilla
to begin fixing up the house after the years they had been forced to neglect
its upkeep.

Allowed
.

Somehow, Cat had become the unofficial
head of the house. Everyone looked to her for guidance, even Thomas. The one
time Camilla complained to Thomas about a Negress giving orders, he’d turned on
her, fury in his eyes. “Cat is no more a Negress than you are, Camilla
Penbrook. She’s the reason you and I have food on the table. For God’s sake,
show some gratitude!”

Stunned to silence and hurt beyond words,
Camilla had refrained from mentioning that it was, after all, her money that
had funded Cat’s venture, and without Shaw and the other free darkies, Cat
wouldn’t have known how to plant or care for the cotton, let alone how to bring
in the harvest.

Was Camilla the only one who saw the
truth?

Despite the fact that Cat was a woman,
and therefore had no business managing a plantation, she was also nothing more
than a former slave in the Penbrook household. It wasn’t fitting or proper for
her to be in charge. But Thomas’s defense of Cat made it impossible for Camilla
to restore the correct order of things.

If Thomas had no objection to taking
orders from a woman, then by all rights, Camilla should be in charge. She’d be
happy to turn over control to Thomas if he’d propose marriage. He could take
his place as the master of Penbrook. But he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to ask
for her hand.

In fact, he barely even noticed her
anymore. Was there something between Cat and Thomas that had escaped her
notice?

Surely not.
After all, Cat still made time to see Captain Riley when he came to visit. The
tension between the two men was thick as dumplings. But Camilla wanted the
captain to keep coming around. As long as he distracted Cat, she wasn’t
focusing her attention on Thomas.

When she heard the sound of horse’s
hooves in the distance, Camilla hurried inside to set the table for supper. She
pumped water into the coffeepot, carefully measured grounds into it, and set it
on the stove to boil. Thomas enjoyed a cup each day when he came in from the
fields.

She returned to the porch just as the rider
dismounted. Disappointment gnawed her stomach. Stuart Riley. Not Thomas.

He removed his hat. “Good evening, Miss
Camilla.”

“Good evening. What brings you out so
late in the day?”

“I’ve just received news, and I need to
speak with Cat. Is she here?”

Camilla shook her head. “I’m afraid not.
She hasn’t returned from the fields. Would you care to come in and wait? I’ve
just put on a pot of coffee, and supper will be ready soon. You’re more than
welcome to join us.”

He shook his head, already hanging his boot
in the stirrup to remount his horse. “I’m afraid there isn’t time. I’ll just
ride out and find her.”

Camilla watched him ride across the
fields into the red horizon, where the sun displayed its glorious departure
from this day. Her curiosity mingled with a sense of excitement. Had Riley
finally decided the time had come to ask for Cat’s hand? A smile tipped the
corners of her lips. What would tomorrow bring?

From
Cat’s diary

1867

Cat gripped the reins tighter as the
sound of horse’s hooves gave the mules an excuse to nervously pull in different
directions. Irritation shot through her as she looked up, trying to figure out
who was coming down the dusty road.

“Riley.” The disgust in Thomas’s voice at
Stuart’s presence always gave Cat a bit of a thrill. Thomas maintained his
distance from her. But that didn’t keep her from catching him, in unguarded
moments, staring at her with longing in his eyes. He’d been home for nearly a
year and a half, but had never sought to be alone with her. At first the disappointment
had been nearly more than she could bear. But as time went on, she grew
accustomed to the pleasure of simple things. Seeing him play with his son, work
in the fields alongside Shaw and the others, evenings in the sitting room
listening lazily while Camilla read poetry or the occasional novel aloud. The
routine had become pleasant and familiar.

Though she’d been tempted to reveal Henry
Jr.’s true paternity, she’d decided against it. Thomas had nothing to give her
son. As Henry Penbrook Jr., he would inherit everything she was working so hard
to build for him.

A sense of dread formed a ball in her
stomach as Stuart’s eyes met hers in grim greeting.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need to speak with you alone.”

Thomas reined in his horse alongside the
wagon and glared at Stuart. “Cat needs to go home and eat something. She didn’t
even stop for lunch today.”

“This is important.”

The urgency in his voice sent alarm
through her. “It’s all right.” She looked from Shaw to Thomas. “You go on back
to the house. I’ll be along soon.”

Thomas glowered, his jealousy apparent.
Cat couldn’t understand why he didn’t speak for himself if he still cared for
her.

Riley dismounted and held out his hand to
help her down. “Let’s walk by the river.”

Cat nodded, slipping her hand in his. He
helped her into his saddle then swung up behind her. His silence unsettled Cat,
and she followed his example, not speaking until they dismounted at the river’s
edge. Then she could bear it no more. “What’s this all about, Stuart?”

He looked across the water, where the
setting sun shimmered off the ripples brought on by a south wind. He took a
sharp breath and tightened his fingers around hers. “I’m going home.”

Cat knew the home he was talking about
was not Atlanta, where he’d been stationed since the end of the war. After
three years away, he was going back to Chicago. Her mind flashed with the image
of life without the occasional diversion of Stuart to brighten her life.

She sighed. “When?”

“My train leaves in the morning.”

Alarm seized her. “So soon?”

“I just received word that my father died
two weeks ago. I must return home immediately. My mother needs me to keep the
newspapers rolling.

Disappointment swept through Cat. “I’ll miss
you.” Her stomach jumped as she realized her words were true. She would miss
Stuart, more than she’d ever imagined. When had he become more than a
diversion? Although she knew she didn’t love him the way she loved Thomas, her
feelings had grown beyond mere fondness. She’d been so busy working sunup to
sundown, she hadn’t even noticed.

He cleared his throat. “I need to tell
you something. I tried once before,
but.
. .” He
scowled and shrugged. “I chose the coward’s way out.”

Cat’s stomach tightened at his words.
At the clenching of his jaw.
“What is it?”

He swallowed hard and turned to face her,
taking her other hand. “Cat, I--I’m married.”

He said it so quickly that for an
instant, Cat wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Then understanding shot
through her, igniting her ire. She jerked her hands free and stomped away
toward the bank of the river.

Stuart remained rooted to his spot. “I’m
sorry. I wanted to tell you so many times. But I couldn’t take the chance you’d
refuse to see me.”

“Which I most certainly would have done,”
Cat retorted over her shoulder. This betrayal brought a tremble to her lips.

“I know.” A twig snapped as Stuart closed
the distance between them. He stood behind her, circling her waist with his
arms.

Cat wanted to fight him, wanted to hit
him, make him hurt like she was hurting. Lash out at him for making a fool of
her. Instead, the fight sifted from her, and she leaned back against him. “Why
tell me now, when it’s too late for us anyway?”

He turned her to face him,
then
tipped her chin to meet her gaze. “Do you care about
me, Cat? Even a little?”

“How can you even ask? Of course I do.”

“You never said.”

“I’ve kissed you, haven’t I? Many times.”

His gaze moved to her mouth and back to
her eyes. “Yes. You have. But a man like me needs to hear the words.” He pulled
her against him. “How many times have I said ‘I love you’ over the last three
years?”

Too many to count.

“Do you love me?”