The Pattern of Her Heart (17 page)

“My buggy is at the end of the street,” he said, leading her through the crowd.

“Timothy said there would be some strawboys comin’ to call at Granna Murphy’s later this evenin’. I do wish I could stay and see that bit of fun,” Mary Margaret said as they reached the buggy.

“I do na know who told him there would be strawboys, but I’ve heard nothin’ of it. The custom of going strawing is not often practiced in the Acre.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve never seen strawboys, and I’m thinkin’ it would be amusing to see the young men dressed in their straw costumes while performing a jig or singing a song. Of course, I would na be able to guess their identity, but all the same, ’twould be fun trying.”

“Aye. ’Tis true that the performance of a group of straw-boys can add much to the weddin’ festivities, but I think Timothy Rourke was speaking out of turn. I do na think ya’ll be seeing any special performances this evenin’. Timothy would say whatever words he thought might entice ya to remain in his company a little longer.”

“Ya seem mighty anxious to discredit him.”

“I’m only speakin’ the truth. Ya can ask any of the lasses he’s trifled with,” Paddy said as he helped her into the buggy.

“So ya think I’m a lass whose head is easily turned by the smooth talk of an Irishman?”

He thought for a moment as he pulled on the reins to direct the horses into a right turn down John Street. “I canna say for certain, but it appears ya might be.”

Her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. “Ya are an incorrigible man, Padraig O’Neill. Since the first time I set eyes upon ya, ya’ve done nothing but find fault with me.”

“I’m merely attemptin’ to direct ya down the right path,” he explained.

She bristled at his reply, and her eyes darkened with anger. “When I need help making my decisions, I’ll ask. Until then, I’ll thank ya to keep yar opinions to yarself.”

They rode in silence, Paddy’s gaze firmly fixed upon the horses and Mary Margaret’s back to him and her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Once again he’d managed to alienate the lass. Why couldn’t she see that he was merely attempting to look out for her best interests?

“Like I told ya earlier, if ya ever plan to wed, ya’re going to have to learn to control yar temper,” Paddy finally said as he pulled back on the reins and they came to a stop in front of her boardinghouse.

Her lips puckered into a tight knot as she turned to face him. “Plan to wed? Is
that
what ya think? That the only thing I have to look forward to in my entire life is finding a man to marry? Ya flatter yarself, Padraig O’Neill!”

Before he could make his way around the buggy, Mary Margaret had jumped down and rushed toward the boardinghouse. She vanished behind the front door before he could say another word.

October 1857

N
OLAN LEANED
back in his chair and rubbed his weary eyes. He’d been staring at the ledgers, bills, and records of the plantation all morning. Fortunately, Malcolm Wainwright had been a meticulous man when it came to his holdings. Any information Nolan needed was at his fingertips— including papers of ownership for every slave now living at The Willows, along with a ledger listing personal facts about each one. The slave’s name was followed by notations for medical treatment, type of clothing supplied, Christmas gifts, and a listing of special abilities and characteristics. A carefully inscribed date of entry preceded each detailed fact.

The swishing sound of Jasmine’s skirt caused him to turn as she entered the library. “You look particularly lovely today,” he said, enjoying the sight of her even more than he had years ago when they’d first wed.

“You are becoming quite the Southern charmer, Mr. Houston,” she said with an exaggerated drawl.

“What I say is entirely true—I’ve always said you look stunning in yellow. You’re like a ray of sunshine on a dreary day.”

Jasmine laughed as she drew closer. “I believe the South has also rekindled your desire to write poetry. What have you been doing in here all morning? The children were hoping you might join us outdoors for a noonday picnic under the trees.”

“Going through this paper work.”

“I told you I would take care of the ledgers, my dear. I don’t expect you to assist Mr. Draper and do the bookwork as well.”

“Wendell doesn’t need my assistance at this point. Besides, your father’s slaves are now freed men. They can come and go, work or not—it’s their own choice. Mr. Draper no longer makes their decisions; he merely directs those wanting to work to the tasks that must be accomplished.”

“Miz Jasmine?” Prissy stood in the library doorway, twisting her hands.

“Yes, Prissy? Is something wrong?”

“Massa Wade from Bedford Plantation has come calling. I had him wait in da parlor. He says he has business wib Massa Nolan. Should I show him in?” The girl’s voice quivered as she spoke.

“Did he say something to frighten you, Prissy?” Jasmine inquired.

“No, ma’am. But yo’ daddy bought some slaves from Massa Wade one time. He treats his people real bad—likes to use da whip.”

“There’s no need to worry, Prissy. We’ll not let anything happen to you or any of the others. You go back to what you were doing, and I’ll see to Mr. Wade.”

The girl’s even ivory teeth shone like a string of fine pearls as she beamed at Jasmine. “Thank you, Missus,” she said before hurrying off toward the back of the house.

Nolan arched his eyebrows. “I assume you know Mr. Wade?”

“The Bedford Plantation has been in Harold Wade’s family for years. None of the Wainwrights have had a close association with the Wade family, however, because Father didn’t particularly like Harold. I can’t imagine why he’s come. Do you want to see him here in the library, or do you prefer to entertain him in the parlor?”

Nolan stood and walked around the desk. “Why don’t
we
entertain him in the parlor. Perhaps he won’t stay long, and we’ll be able to join the children for their picnic.”

She clasped his arm and gave him a winsome smile. “And here I thought you’d completely forgotten the picnic.”

Harold Wade stood with his elbow perched on the fireplace and his gaze fixed upon the foyer. Except for turning toward the young couple as they entered the room, he remained motionless.

“Mr. Wade. It has been some time since I’ve seen you,” Jasmine said. “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband, Nolan Houston.”

Mr. Wade gave a slight nod of his head and finally stepped away from the fireplace to shake hands with Nolan. “My pleasure, Mr. Houston. Sorry about your family, Jasmine. We were never close, but I always respected your father.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wade,” she said. “Won’t you be seated?”

“I prefer to stand—problems with my back. Besides, my business shouldn’t take long. I’ve come to make a proposition, Mr. Houston.”

Nolan sat beside Jasmine on the brocade-upholstered settee. “What kind of proposition might that be?”

“Like most everyone in these parts, I lost slaves to the fever. From what I’m told, I lost more than the rest of you. Then, to make matters worse, a lot of my field slaves aren’t recovering as quickly as I had hoped. I thought it was probably their usual laziness, but the doctor tells me they need more time to fully recover. Says I’ll never get another good day’s work out of any of them if they go back to the fields before they’re back to full strength,” he complained.

“Perhaps if your slaves had been healthy and well fed before the fever hit, they would have fared better throughout the epidemic,” Jasmine said.

Mr. Wade ignored her remark and turned his attention to Nolan. “I’m wondering if you’d consider striking up a bargain with me whereby we would share the use of our slaves until the cotton crop has been harvested. Some of the other owners have worked out such an arrangement, and I thought you might be interested in doing the same. Or have you already made such an arrangement with others?”

“No, I haven’t entered into an agreement with any of the other owners. I understand your dilemma, Mr. Wade, but I doubt we’d be interested in doing such a thing for the entire harvest. If you’re in dire straits at the present time, I can ask our folks if they’d be willing to go and help out for a short time.”

Mr. Wade looked at Nolan as though he’d taken leave of his senses. “Ask your folks if they’d be willing?” he asked before emitting a harsh laugh. “Those
folks,
as you call them, are
slaves
. And they’ve got no say in whether they’d be willing or not. They do
what
they’re told,
when
they’re told, and
how
they’re told. Now, I realize you live up north, and likely you don’t hold with the idea of slavery, but you need to readjust your thinking while you’re in Mississippi.”

“Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Wade, but we appear to be doing just fine with our own method. If you’d care to ride out to the fields with me, we can inquire about your proposition. However, I don’t anticipate a large number will agree.”

Harold Wade looked at Jasmine as though he expected her to explain Nolan’s behavior, but she merely smiled and nodded at him.

“We shan’t be long, my dear. Please tell the children that if they are willing to wait a little longer, I’ll join you for that picnic you mentioned.”

Nolan realized their visitor thought he was completely daft. Men such as Harold Wade didn’t stop to have picnics with their wives and children during the harvest, and they certainly didn’t inquire whether their slaves were willing to work. But Harold didn’t realize the men, women, and children harvesting the crop at The Willows were no longer slaves. And this was a fact Nolan didn’t wish to divulge at this juncture.

“I got about ten healthy men and maybe five women that I could trade off with you,” Mr. Wade said. “They’re all good pickers. Overseer might have to take a whip to one or two to keep them moving, but otherwise they’re well trained. You think you could spare that many of your
folks
?” he asked as they rode to the cotton fields.

Nolan gave the man a sidelong glance. “I can spare as many as are willing to go,” he said while waving at Mr. Draper.

“Something wrong?” Wendell Draper asked as he pulled on his reins and brought his horse alongside Nolan.

“Would you gather together everyone working in the fields so we can talk to them for a few minutes?”

Mr. Draper tipped his hat and then bounced his heels into the horse’s shanks, signaling his animal into a gallop. When Nolan and Harold Wade reached the south cotton field, all of the hands were awaiting them, their heavy canvas bags bulging with the morning’s pickings.

“I apologize for taking you away from your work,” Nolan started, “but Mr. Wade from over at Bedford Plantation is wondering if any of you would be interested in helping him bring in his crop. He wants to trade off workers. I told him I didn’t think any of you would be interested, but it’s up to you.”

Mr. Wade rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head. “Craziest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. One of these mornings you’re going to come down here and every one of these darkies is going to be gone.”

Nolan shrugged. “Guess that could happen.” The two men watched as the workers gathered into small groups to discuss the proposal.

“Massa Nolan,” one of the men said as he approached.

“Yes, Henry?”

“There’s twenty of us men who’s willin’ to go over an’ work at the Bedford place, but how’s that gonna work when you do the weighin’ here at The Willows?”

“You won’t get anything on the days you’re at Mr. Wade’s, but I’ll give you double what you pick on the days when Mr. Wade’s men are here. Does that sound reasonable?”

Henry nodded. “Can we stop going over there any time we decide we’d rather stay here and work?”

“Absolutely. You can go for half a day, every other day, or however you decide, and you can quit whenever you decide.”

Mr. Wade motioned to Nolan. “You can’t do it that way—you’ll need an overseer to bring them back and forth. They need to be on a schedule.”

“For their own protection, I’ll write out a pass for each of them to travel back and forth, and I’ll furnish a wagon for those who want to travel to your place as a group. If they decide to leave without the group, they can walk back on their own. It won’t take any additional overseer. I wouldn’t say anything to discourage them, or they may decide not to help at all.”

“If it’s not overstepping my bounds, Henry, can you tell me when you think you and the others will come to the Bedford?” Mr. Wade asked between clenched teeth.

“We’s thinkin’ on comin’ tomorrow mornin’, unless it’s rainin’. Iffen it’s rainin’, we be stayin’ here.”

“Absolutely! After all, I wouldn’t want any of you to get wet,” Wade retorted sourly before turning his attention back to Nolan. “I keep thinking this entire ordeal must be a bad dream and that any moment, I’m going to awaken.”

“Bad dream? You should ask these people about bad dreams, Mr. Wade. They’ve been living a nightmare for years!” Nolan considered something for a moment, then added, “One more thing: you may not lay the whip to any of these men nor discipline them in any fashion.”