The Flame and the Flower (34 page)

"Hearty little rascal, isn't he, sweet?" he murmured softly.

Louisa was upset over Brandon's display toward his wife. "What did you say, Brandon?" she questioned in a rather demanding tone.

"It appears, Louie," Jeff grinned, "that it is none of our business. But I think their child approves of the match."

The remark was lost upon Louisa. She looked in confusion between the two men who exchanged amused glances in brotherly communication. It was not the first time their wit had flown over her head, and it maddened her to be left out, especially now when that intruding chit of a girl seemed to know what her brother-in-law meant. But she could handle her.

"Brandon, darling, would you care for another drink?" Louisa asked.

He declined and the woman now looked to Heather. "I hope you don't mind if I call your husband by his given name, my dear. After all, I've known him so long it doesn't seem right to call him anything else, and we
were
to be married—remember."

Heather turned her smile on Louisa, feeling some confidence now. "I see no reason why you should not remain on friendly terms with the family, Miss Wells," she replied softly. "And please feel free to call upon us anytime you desire."

Jeff chuckled with delight. "Well, Louie, I do believe the girl can teach you something of the good grace of a sincere hostess. Too bad you can't appreciate the lessons."

Louisa jerked upright and glared at him. "Will you please keep your dirty mouth shut and refrain from showing what a clod you are!" she spat.

Brandon laughed softly as he caressed his wife's shoulder. "My dear brother, you'll be fighting for your life if you continue with this madness. Have you forgotten Louisa's temper?"

"No, Brandon," Jeff grinned. "But apparently you have. If you continue fondling your wife in front of Louie, you'll find that you're the one clawed."

The older brother chuckled good naturedly and almost sorrowfully withdrew his arm from around Heather, then rose. "We really must be going, Louisa. The voyage was most tiresome for Heather, and she's anxious to get settled. I too am eager to get home."

He thanked her for the refreshments and then, giving Heather his hand, assisted her from the settee as Jeff drained his glass. In the hall he helped his wife on with her coat and held her muff as she fastened the garment. Louisa watched his attentions with a sick feeling, knowing she had been preempted in this affair of the heart. She followed them out, at a loss for words to further torment the young wife.

Brandon handed Heather into the waiting carriage and said a polite farewell as Jeff climbed in and took a seat opposite his sister-in-law, leaving the space at her side for Brandon. As the carriage rolled away Louisa stood alone upon the veranda in the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon and watched them go.

Once upon the road, Jeff and Brandon conversed with an easy camaraderie, and it soon became apparent that these two brothers understood each other with a clarity not found in normal friendships. As the matched pair of horses clip-clopped along through the quiet afternoon, they renewed the companionship of a lifetime. Brandon pointed out to Heather a large squared stone that marked the boundary of his property, and she strained to catch some sight of the house from the carriage windows. Seeing nothing but endless forests, she drew her bewildered gaze within to find Jeff wearing an amused smile.

"It will be some time yet before we arrive," he informed her. "We have nearly two miles to go."

She turned to Brandon with blue eyes wide. "Do you mean you own all of this?" she asked, gesturing outside.

Brandon nodded slowly and Jeff grinned.

"You just didn't realize what you were letting yourself in for when you married a Birmingham, little sister."

Suddenly Brandon pointed. "That's Harthaven."

She followed his finger, leaning against him to see, but could glimpse only a slight haze of smoke rising above the treetops some distance from the road. Above the clatter of wheels and hooves she could hear the sound of happy voices. They approached a lane lined with huge live oaks from which gray streamers of Spanish moss hung swaying. The carriage turned into the lane and she gasped, for at its far end stood a house the likes of which she had never seen before. Huge doric columns held a roof level with the tops of the oaks and supported a wide veranda for the second floor. From the center of this veranda hung the huge antlers of some great buck of the forests. Both brothers sat smiling at her astonishment, and she realized that here was the place she would raise the child she had within her and, with great hopes—many more. She leaned back, now filled with a calm contentment and a new trust in the future.

Two small Negro children were playing in the dust in front of the house as the carriage jolted to a halt. At the first sight of Brandon's face they scurried away, leaving a few moments of dead silence. Only an occasional sound of a voice in the distance broke the quiet. A child's giggle was heard from the corner of the house and another came from the other end of the porch. There was a loud
shhh
and then a whole chorus of giggles. From the back of the house sounded a youngster's strident voice.

"Mister Brandon's here! He done come home!"

Then from an older female throat, "Lordy me! That boy's finally got home."

Footsteps pounded through the house coming toward the front. Children began to filter out from every crack and from behind every bush until more than a score stood goggling at the carriage. The front door flew open and a more than ample Negress strolled onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She squinted into the carriage.

"Lordy me, Mister Jeff. What you bother bringing that waterfront trash home with you for?"

Brandon swung open the carriage door and jumped down, grinning broadly, "Hatti, you old hounddog, one of these days I'm going to twist your tail proper."

The woman cackled gleefully and rushed to meet him, arms held wide, and Brandon swept her into a hearty embrace, squeezing her tightly as he laughed. When he released her she let out her breath with a whoof.

"Oooeee, Mister Bran, you ain't getting no weaker. You gonna crack my ribs for sure one of these days." She peered past him into the carriage. "Who that in there with you, Mister Jeff? You trying to hide somebody from old Hatti? You just bring her out here and let me look at her so I can see what Mister Bran done gone and got for himself this time. Last time he brought that big old bull Bartholomew home with him. But it sure don't look like no bull this time and I can see it ain't Miss Louisa."

As she spoke Jeff rose and got out of the carriage and turned to help Heather down. With hardly a pause Hatti continued her chatter.

"Hurry up, Mister Jeff," she directed impatiently. "Get her down here so I can see her. And get out of the way, boy. You always was a clumsy one for your age."

Jeff moved aside, a merry twinkle lighting his eyes, and let the old Negress have her first look at Heather. Hatti's eyes roamed across Heather's face and she smiled with satisfaction.

"Why, she ain't hardly more'n a child. Where'd you find something this sweet, Mister Bran?"

She grew serious as her gaze fell to Heather's stomach, and she turned to Brandon with eyes deep and troubled, having no doubt that he was to blame. Dropping his given name, she inquired with a raised eyebrow:

"Mister Birmingham, you gonna marry this child? She needs you more'n Miss Louisa. Your poor mother would turn over in her grave you didn't do right by this girl."

Brandon grinned at the old woman. "I took care of that in London, Hatti. This is my wife, Heather."

Her big, broad, toothy smile reappeared, and her eyes lit up. "Oh, Lordy me, Mister Bran," she cried happily. "You done stopped your tomfoolery and got us a new Mrs. Birmingham for Harthaven, and now we gonna have babies in this house, lots and lots of babies. It's about time. Yassah, you sure took your time and scared us plenty with that other woman, giving my old heart a hard time. I almost gave this family up."

She turned to Heather, beaming brightly, and put her hands on broad hips. "Mrs. Birmingham," she grinned. "The name sure fits. Ain't nobody what got the good looks like the Birminghams. You is pretty as a peach, child, and such a little slip of a flower."

She gave no time for replies and took her smiling mistress by the hand. "Come with me, you little sweet honey. Don't let these menfolk keep you standing out here in the dust no longer and in your condition." She cast a shaming eye to Brandon. "Traveling all that way on a little boat with nothing but men to take care of you, you must be plumb tuckered. But don't you worry none, Miss Heather. You is here with old Hatti now and you is gonna be took care of proper. We get you out of them traveling clothes and get you nice and comfortable. That's a long ride from Charleston for you and the baby. You gonna need your rest before supper is ready."

Heather looked over her shoulder at Brandon in complete helplessness as the woman drew her past him and laughed gaily.

Hatti gave rapid orders to two young girls they passed. "You get yourself out back and get some water for the Missus' bath, and don't dillydally, you hear?"

Jeff guffawed, leaning against the carriage in his glee. Brandon shook his head and chuckled.

"That old woman," he muttered. "She hasn't changed one bit."

"You tell George and Luke to get the Missus' trunks upstairs fast when they get here," Hatti ordered back over her shoulder. "Those mules sure take their time."

The front door slammed behind her and Heather found herself in an enormous hall that smelled nicely of beeswax where the floors shone with a soft velvety sheen under her feet and not one speck of dust could be seen. A large curving stairway led to the second floor and some pieces of furniture occupied the room, elegant in the rococo manner and bright and fresh in color. Yellow and royal blue velvets and multi-colored brocades were used in upholstering, and the light blue walls were clean and spotless.

Heather gazed around her with wide eyes, and Hatti, seeing her interest in the house, made a detour through double doors into the drawing room, never ceasing her chatter. She pointed to a portrait over the fireplace of a man looking a great deal like Brandon and Jeff but with dark eyes and a much sterner line of face.

"That's the old Master. He and the Missus built this house."

In this room the walls were covered with a mustard flocking with a cream background, and velvet of the darker hue was draped over windows with soft silk draperies criss-crossed beneath. French doors led onto the porch and the woodwork was a warm gray magnolia wood. Fresh green silk covered the settee and there were Lows XV chairs of light blue and of mustard. A luxurious cream and pale gold Aubusson carpet covered the floor, and a bombe Louis XV commode took its place of honor between a pair of cane-backed chairs of the same era with a gilt Chippendale mirror above the piece, complimenting the beauty of the commode. A tall, elegant French secretary stood by double doors leading into the dining room through which they passed. As in the rooms before, this was decorated in the rococo manner. A long dining table dominated the room and a crystal chandelier sparkled brilliantly above it.

Heather stared agog at the splendid furnishings and Hatti chuckled with pride as she pulled her along again into the central hall and up the stairs.

"Where you from, Miss Heather?" the woman continued, but she gave her mistress no chance to reply. "You must be from that place London. Did Mister Bran meet you there? He sure do get around, that boy. We got a nice fire in his room to take the chill off it, and your bath will be up here shortly. We'll have you nice and comfortable in just a little while."

The Negress turned at the top of the stairs and led the way to the master bedroom, a large room occupied by a huge four-poster canopied bed, with the family crest carved into the headboard and yards of mosquito netting tied to the posters. It was a warm and cheery room, and Heather immediately felt content. It seemed a place where she belonged, and as she went to stand beside the bed, her heart pounded a little faster as she thought of the coming night when her husband and she would again share a bed. Then a thought flashed through her mind that this was where she would give birth to their child when the time came—and where others would be created—if there were to be others.

The bath was readied and as Hatti helped her undress, Heather's eyes fell on a gilt framed miniature portrait of a woman on the dressing table. She picked it up in curiosity and stared at it. The green eyes unmistakably declared her heritage to Brandon and the smile carried a hint of Jeff's perpetual gaiety. Neither the light brown hair nor the small face resembled anyone she had ever seen before. But the eyes—oh, the eyes!

"That's Miss Catherine," Hatti beamed proudly, "the Master's mama. She was a little sweet thing like you, but Lordy, she sure run this house. She had a way with her that made those two young bucks she bore and their pa bend over backward to do for her. And if those boys did something they not suppose to, she just speak soft to them and they'd go crawling under the front porch. But they don't know she run this house and them. Leastwise if they did, they liked it that way, 'cause there never was no complaining. She was soft and all honey. And she love the old Master and her boys like there wasn't no others in the world like them. Now the Master, he was something else. He was so contrary and ornery, he could have fought the war alone and won. Mister Bran's just like him. He's so contrary he'd spite himself. And proud, Lordy! Ain't nobody like him. I done thought that Miss Louisa caught Mister Bran for sure. But that would have been bad trouble. He'd a killed her before too long."