The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) (22 page)

“Do you have any objections?”

“I sure don’t. Not even one.”

He patted her hand and stood. “We’ll have
to see about getting that boy back here as soon as possible.”

Georgia

Andy tossed on his bed, unable to sleep.
Tired of reading. He needed air. He tiptoed out of his small room that, Delta
had informed him, was once Henry Penbrook’s study. They had converted it into a
bedroom around the turn of the century, she said, and it had remained that way
ever since.

Under cover of night, he slipped through
the enormous front door and looked across the field. He knew exactly where he
was headed. And he knew how to get there without going to the road.
At least if his memory served.

The cicadas called to one another as the
smell of the freshly harvested fields filled his senses with the nostalgia of
childhood memories. He followed the beaten footpath a mile and a half until he
reached the spot where his parents’ cabin had stood. It was still there. Or
something was anyway. Twenty-six years was a long time to hang on to a memory
when all you wanted to do was forget. Still, something inside compelled him to
get closer. Did his family still live on this land? In the distance, he heard a
cow’s mournful cry.

He knew his mother and the man he’d
thought to be his father were both dead, but what of his four brothers and
three sisters? Despite telling Miss
Penbrook
he
wasn’t even curious, their conversation had ignited a sense of nostalgia he couldn’t
shake. One he’d thought long gone.

Movement behind him caught his attention.
Before he could turn, he felt something press into his back.
The
business end of a rifle, from the feel of it.

“Don’ move.”

“Take it easy.” He kept his hands where
they could be seen. “I don’t mean any harm.”

“That so? Then what you
doin
’
sneakin
’
aroun
’ a man’s house in the dark of night?”

“I lived here when I was a boy. I was
just curious, I suppose.”

“Name?”

“Andy Carmichael. My folks lived here
when I was younger. I just thought I’d take a look. I didn’t mean to trespass.”

“Andy, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“I heard tell you was back in these parts
doin
’ some
writin
’ for Miss
Penbrook
.”

“News travels fast around here.” Cold
sweat trailed down Andy’s back.

“It surely
do
.
Heard tell the Klan come after you too.”

“That’s true too. Although I’m pretty
sure they gave up after I moved my things to Miss
Penbrook’s
house.”

“Don’ be too sure ‘bout that. If
you’s
a target, they
ain’t
gonna
stop
comin
’ after you ‘til
you’s
dead.”

“Are you planning to finish their job for
them?”

“Nope.
I’s
Jerome. Yo’ big brother.”

 
“Would you mind lowering your rifle?”

“I ’
spect
I can
do that. Never can be too careful.”

“I suppose not.”

When the gun barrel was removed from his
back, Andy turned and faced his brother. In the light of the lantern, Andy
could see that the man wore dirty overalls. Typical. A man who poured sweat and
blood into someone else’s land just to buy his children one pair of shoes a
year and barely enough food to fill his belly. Andy’s chest felt heavy. Would
this have been him?

“Well, you best come on inside. My Bessie
was fit to be tied when she
heared
that cow bawling.
She thought it be the Klan.”

“I’d best be getting back. But please
give your wife my apologies.”

“You don’ want to meet
yo
’ family?”

“The middle of the night might not be the
best time.”

“My Bessie won’
kere
at all.”

Andy’s insides quaked. He had to get away
from here. This wasn’t who he
was.
. .who he wanted to
be. His head was beginning to spin with memories of beatings, pain. “I’m sorry,
Jerome. I have to go.” Turning, he stumbled back down the path to
Penbrook
. “It was…good…to see you again.”

“Sure was good to see you too. Wish Mama
was still alive to see it.”

Andy was still shaking when he reached
his room. Stretching out on the bed, he closed his eyes, but sleep refused to
come. What had made him decide to go to the old cabin anyway? He’d had no
intention of trying to look up relatives that he didn’t even know anymore. The
Rileys
had raised him, and he felt more at home with their
family than he ever could with dirt farmers and sharecroppers. Or did he? Why
hadn’t he taken
Lexie
to meet them? Why had he made
up excuses when they invited him for Christmas and other family holidays?
Still, he worked and walked in the white world, and he didn’t want to think
about what ifs. What if his mama had never sent him away? Would he have an
education? Career?

There
but for the grace of God go I.

The saying wouldn’t go away. His mind
repeated it over and over. He already knew the answer. If his mother hadn’t
sent him away, he would have ended up precisely like Jerome and, most likely,
his other brothers.

Still, in being sent away, he’d become
something in between. He wasn’t a black man in his soul. He couldn’t be. He
wasn’t raised to be. It wasn’t until he’d gone to work that he’d felt the
weight of his heritage bearing down on him. The
Rileys
had been
kind.
. .no, more than kind. They had taken
him into their hearts.
Every last one of them.
And he
had always been made to feel as though he belonged. But he didn’t belong. He
was somewhere between white and black.

Exactly how Cat felt, growing up as a
white child until the reality of her heritage caught up with her.

Andy sat up in bed. The old woman, Miss
Catherina Penbrook, had known his mother, had helped him escape an abusive
stepfather. And now, all these years later, she had beckoned him to write her
memoirs.

When Uncle Daniel had first called him
into his office to inform him of the assignment, he’d refused to accept it
because it meant stepping foot on Georgia soil. When Daniel explained that Miss
Penbrook would allow no one else to speak with her, he’d relented and accepted.

Why weren’t the pieces falling into
place? There was still something missing. He switched on his light and riffled
through the boxes until he found the next of Cat’s diaries.

How
could I have been foolish enough to allow this to happen? I mustn’t tell Stuart
that I’m carrying his child. I will simply insist on a trip to Georgia. After
all, it has been ten years since I’ve seen my home. Surely he will not deny me.
I must visit Madame Flora. Her sons sharecrop the fields of Penbrook, though
Shaw has never thought very highly of her. He calls her a witch, an abomination
to God, and an evildoer.

But
I’ve heard she has a way of helping a woman miscarry if she isn’t too far gone,
and I need to avail myself of her services as soon as possible before it’s too
late. I pray she can help me.

Chapter Fourteen

1877

In the shadowy light of impending dusk,
the sight of Penbrook brought tears to Cat’s eyes. The hired buggy dipped and
swayed through the oak-canopied lane leading up to the house. Even the initial
irritation she’d felt when she found no one waiting for her at the train
station couldn’t dampen the joy swelling her heart at the prospect of seeing
her beloved son’s inheritance prospering under his father’s wise management.

The driver pulled his buggy to a halt in
front of the steps. Cat accepted his help down. She glanced up at the pillared
plantation home and placed her hands on her hips. There was not a sound from
anywhere. Had they forgotten she was coming? The cabbie heaved her trunk from
the carriage and clanged it to the ground. “Ya got
menfolks
to be a-
carryin
’ dis here thing? It be too big for
you.”

“I’ll be right back.” She fixed him with
a stern gaze. “Don’t you go anywhere until I come back, or you won’t get a
cent.”

“Yes’m.”

Cat stomped up the steps. She opened the
door easily, with a twist of the knob. “Hello?” she called. No lamps or candles
burned to brighten the rooms against the graying sky. Apparently no one was
home.

Cat returned to the porch, closing the
door behind her. She scanned the horizon in all directions. The place had an
eerie, abandoned feel to it that unsettled Cat. Even the sharecropper cabins on
the edges of the north fields had been quiet during their approach. Empty
fields, no children playing, no old men milling about their porches. Had there
been some sort of exodus?

“Ma’am?”

Turning back to the driver, Cat began to
untie her reticule. “I suppose I’ll have to give you an extra two bits to carry
the trunk inside for me. I can manage the smaller bags.”

He shook his head. “Ma’am, I ain’t
gots
time.
I’s
already late to git
Miss Lucy
Tremaine
from her music lesson. Her mama
won’ pay me
iffen
I’s late again.”

Narrowing her gaze, Cat studied the
driver. “What is your name?”

“Joe-Joe, ma’am.”

“All right, Joe-Joe. I’ll give you an
extra dollar.”

“
Dat’s
right kindly
of ya, but I’s afraid dat ain’t de only reason.
Iffen
I don’ pick up de missy on time, I’s
gonna
lose my
position wif dat family.
Dey’ll
tell
dey
friends. An’ I’ll lose my position wif dem, too. Den I
cain’t feed my family.”

Cat stomped the ground. “I’m sure it
isn’t as worrisome as all that.”

His expression remained stoic, and he
looked at the reticule in her hand.

Cat let out a huff. “Oh, all right. Can
you at least carry them up the steps so
they won’t get
damaged by the rain
? I haven’t the faintest idea when my family will
return.”

His face twisted in regret and
indecision.

“For mercy’s sake. Never mind. Just leave
them where you unloaded them.”

“I’s truly sorry, ma’am.”

Cat released a sigh and reached into her
bag. She drew out the fare plus an extra dollar. “Here,” she said, sarcasm
dripping from her lips. “I hope I haven’t caused you to lose your standing with
the oh-so-influential
Tremaines
, whoever they happen
to be.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, no, ma’am. I
cain’t take dis.”

Cat’s heart softened. She gave him a
gentle smile and curled his fingers around the money. “I’d be insulted if you
didn’t. Now, hurry before you’re any later.”

“Yes’m.
Thankee
kindly.” She watched him go, amazed at how easily a mere ten years up North had
caused the plight of men such as that driver to fade from her mind. It was easy
to push back unpleasantness when all you wanted to do was forget.

As the buggy rattled back up the lane,
she looked down at her bags. What on earth was she going to do about them?
Exhaustion overcame her and she sat heavily on her trunk. She buried her face
in her hands. It angered her that Joe-Joe couldn’t take ten minutes to carry in
her things. Be had to fetch little missies instead or risk losing his entire
livelihood. Unbidden, her mind conjured up the faces of her Negro servants in
Chicago. Stuart had hired several to attend to things for her. He’d wanted to
hire poor Irish. He’d thought the irony of a former slave being served by white
women would be quite humorous, but Cat hadn’t agreed. So he’d hired former
slaves, free and ready to make a humble wage for an honest day’s labor. He
would have hired whites if she’d preferred, but Cat wanted former slaves
working for her. Perhaps it was her guilt over passing for white. She knew if
they worked for her, they wouldn’t be mistreated.

At the first droplets of rain, all
thought left Cat except for the need to get her beautiful cherry-wood trunk, a
parting gift from Stuart, out of the rain. Seeing no other choice but to
somehow get the thing inside, she grabbed hold of the hand strap and tugged.

By the time she got it to the bottom of
the steps, her back ached and she was breathing heavily. A sob caught in her
throat at the sheer impossibility of the task. It wasn’t even something she
could almost do. And she knew better than to try.

“Dat Miss Cat?” Shaw’s familiar, warm
voice came from the top of the steps.

She jerked her head up and looked at the
dear face. In a heartbeat, she flew up the steps and flung herself into his
massive arms. “Oh, Shaw. It’s so good to see you. I thought everyone was gone.”

“
Dey’s
all at a
barbeque on
de river
. De sharecroppers be
celebratin
’ de harvest
bein
’
done, and Mister Thomas done killed a pig for de occasion.”

“Camilla is attending a barbeque given by
the darkies?”

Shaw’s eyes flashed at her use of the
word. “Yes, Miss Cat,” he said, lowering his gaze. “I ’
spect
I best be gettin’
yo
’ trunk outta dis here rain.”

Heat flushed Cat’s cheeks and regret shot
through her heart. “I’m sorry, Shaw. I don’t know why that came out.”

He shrugged. “It be what’s in
yo
’ heart, Miss Cat.”

“No. That’s not true.
Especially
not about you.
You know that.” She sent him a wry grin. “I’m just
surprised Camilla would lower herself to such depths.”

He turned, his gaze penetrating.
“Catherina, I knows dere’s a fight inside o’ ya. Like dis here war de white
folks fought over us slaves. Ya
gots
to decide what
side is gonna win.”

Cat felt heat rise to her cheeks. Shaw
knew that decision had been made for her ten years ago. She was who she was.
A white woman.
A mistress to an
influential man.
She’d come to accept her place. But beneath Shaw’s
gaze, filled with love and longing, confusion clouded her brain. “Every time
you try to reach deep inside my soul, it rains, Shaw. Do you think that means
anything?”

He gave her a sad smile. “I don’ hold de
heavens in my hand, Miss Cat. Only God commands de rain.” He reached out and
took her white-gloved hand, pressing it to his chest. Cat could feel the
strong, steady beat of his heart. How she would love to lay her head against
his shoulder. What would it be like to be loved by this man? But one look into
his passion-filled eyes and she knew Shaw wasn’t thinking romance. His passion
was for his God.

 
“Oh, Catherina, why won’t ya bow to His
holy name? I pray ever’ day dat He will bring ya de peace dat only He can. But
He can’t do dat while ya hold
yo
’ sin so tight.
You
gots
to let it go.
It won’ be
so hard, once ya set
yo
’ mind on
repentin
’.”

Panic rose and lodged in her throat. Why
couldn’t he be like other men? Why couldn’t he want her in a way she could
understand? A way she could satisfy and be done with?
But no,
not Shaw.
He wanted her to find peace that came with religion.

“Cat?” Shaw frowned. “Can’t ya give up de
fightin
’ and let God shine His light into de darkness
of your soul?”

Anger poured through Cat. He thought her
dark?

She sputtered, but he pressed
work-hardened fingers to her lips. “Anybody can be white as a lamb on de
outside, but jus’ as dark as night on de inside. My outside be dark, but
inside, God’s light shines,
makin
’ me His.
Ain’t no
white nor Negro inside the soul of mankind. Not
where God lives.”

She highly doubted that. Besides, her
trunk was getting soaked and her stomach was beginning to feel queasy.
A side effect of her little secret.
The secret she would
soon be rid of if all went well. She cleared her throat and pasted on a smile.

“I don’t know what you mean, Shaw. For
mercy’s sake, you run on and on, while I’m standing here in the rain getting
soaked to the skin. Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“No, Miss Cat.” Shaw’s face was suddenly
void of emotion. He hurried down the steps and hoisted the trunk effortlessly
across his back.

“Is my room still available, or has
Camilla stripped it bare and set fire to it to rid the house of my foul
presence?”

An indulgent smile tipped his lips. “It
be ’
zactly
like it was when ya went away.”

“Lovely. Will you please take my things
up there?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

Before he could do as she asked, a young
maid entered the foyer from the hall leading to the kitchen. “Oh, Shaw. Thank
de Lawd dat be you.”

“Everything be all right, Annie?”

The young woman’s cheeks darkened. “Yes.
I jus’ thought it might be bad people
comin
’ in when
de missus and mister be away from de house. I jus’ got spooked a little,
dat’s
all.”

Cat bristled at the girl’s reference to
Camilla as the missus. She bristled further over the girl’s failure to notice
her and behave in a respectful manner, and she felt a sense of outrage at the
way the girl fawned all over Shaw. It was obvious the man couldn’t just stand
on the step all day with a heavy trunk on his back.

Without even a proper introduction, she
fixed the girl with a steady gaze. “Well,
Annie,
as you can plainly see, we are not bad people out to rape and pillage.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, ma’am.”

“It’s
miss
,
and I am sure you have work to attend to while the family is away. Or do you
shirk your duties unless there is someone watching you every minute?”

“Now, Miss Cat.
Ain’t
no need to fuss at de gal. She be a good, hard-workin’ young
thang
.”

“Thank ya, Shaw.” The pretty face,
beaming with adoration, was more than Cat could take.

“Well, then, if you’ve time to stand
around and blather all day, perhaps you need a few more duties.

“Oh, no, miss. I’s goin’ back to de
kitchen to scrub de
flo
’--
agin
.”

“Fine. Then perhaps poor Shaw may
continue up the steps before he falls over from the weight of my trunk, which
he kindly agreed to carry upstairs to my room.”

For the first time, the foolish girl
seemed to notice Shaw’s burden. “Oh, my. I’s sorry, Shaw. I’s just
rattlin
’ away like some magpie, and here ya is
totin
’ dat heavy thing.”

He smiled. “It ain’t so bad, Annie. Don’
ya go
worryin
’
yo’self
.”
But a grunt combined with the sweat beading on his brow belied the comment.

“Please continue up the steps, Shaw.
There’s no point in injuring yourself trying to be brave.”

“Yes, miss.”

Cat followed behind him. “And stop
calling me miss. How many times have we discussed that?”

“I don’ rightly know, miss.”

“Stop that!” She walked around him.
“Here, let me get the door for you.”

“Thank you, m– --” Breathing
heavily, Shaw entered the room. “Thank you.”

Cat took in the sight of her old, familiar
room. It needed a good airing out. Apparently, Camilla hadn’t even bothered to
open a window in God knew how long. She went to the doors leading to the
balcony and unlatched the lock. She grabbed the handles and pushed, expecting
to release the doors and feel a rush of fresh air. Instead, the doors resisted.
She jiggled and yanked and still they wouldn’t budge. Just as she was getting
frustrated, she felt Shaw behind her. Warm, strong.
Oh, Shaw.

“Step aside, Catherina,” he said. His
voice was low and husky, and Cat knew he, too, was moved. If she turned, she’d
be in his arms. She couldn’t resist. To her disappointment, his arms stayed at
his side. Still, his chest rose and fell, his tension palpable.

“Shaw?”

“Don’, Miss Cat. It
ain’t
right. I can’t have ya like dat. And ya knows how things be betwixt me an’ de
Lawd.”

Feeling the weight of defeat, Cat moved
aside and let him open the doors. How could a woman compete against an
invisible God?

“Shaw, is Madame Flora still living on
the land?”

Air, thick and moist, breezed in as the
doors finally gave way. Shaw turned, his dark brow puckered, eyes narrowed.
“Why ya wantin’ to know dat?”

Cat had no intention of allowing him to
read into her soul this time. She turned her back and pretended to swipe at the
dust on her bureau. “Oh, I just wondered. You know how I always liked her.”

“Yeah, and I remember she be a servant of
the
debil
.
Dat’s
all
dey
is to it, Miss Cat. An’ ya best be
stayin
’
away from dat wickedness.”