The Storm (35 page)

Molly couldn't believe her ears. In all the years she'd known Mother Russell, not once had she praised her cooking.

Clyde still didn't have much to say, even though Mother Russell kept prodding him. But when Patrick looked at him with adoration, he seemed to soften and described what it was like to sail back on a big ship with thousands of men. He sneered when he described how everybody but him got seasick.

She half listened. He resembled his mother and acted like he thought he was a cut above all the men he'd served with. And he certainly had her hurtful tongue. But she paid attention when Mother Russell said, “Why don't you stay here with us for a spell? You could use the company and we could use the help. You could sleep in one of the rooms in the attic. That's where the hired help stay.” Why would she invite him to stay here when he already had a place of his own?

“Yeah, Uncle Clyde,” Patrick said. “It'd be nice to have another man around the house.”

Patrick's words really set off the warning bells in Molly's head. They seemed like something he'd heard Mother Russell say more than once.

Clyde nodded as if he was doing everyone a big favor. “If you'll let me sleep in the guest room, you've got a deal, Ma.”

She smiled like a Cheshire cat, and right then Molly knew something was up.

“I got one of the hired men to put new tires on the Overland, and it still runs like a top,” Mother Russell said. “Why, Molly here has learned to drive. She carries me into town of a Saturday, when the road's not too muddy.”

Molly was really getting the message now. Every time she'd driven Mother Russell to town, all she'd heard were snide remarks and orders for her to slow down or speed up or drive in the center of the pike so she wouldn't bog down.

Clyde laughed. “Molly driving? When James and I tried to teach her, she ended up in a pasture with the front bumper hugging a tree.”

“I had a better teacher this time.” She used a sharp tone, tired of him still making fun of her about that after all these years. He and Mr. James had been so impatient they'd confused her and made her nervous.

“You don't say.” He looked at her with something that resembled respect, yet could have been either disbelief or contention. “I'll have to get you to run me over to the house so I can get my truck. It should still be in pretty good shape. It's a man's vehicle, fit for real work. And fine-looking too, especially with the Rebel flag painted on the tailgate.”

Maybe he wouldn't stay long, but Mother Russell had apparently set her sights on just the opposite. Well, she could hope all she wanted to. Molly didn't intend to fall for another Mr. Russell, but she needed to come up with a plan of her own instead of sitting here and letting Mother Russell try to shove something down her throat.

If only Jaq would telephone. She could hardly think of anything but hearing Jaq's voice. She'd a million times rather be with Jaq than anyone she could think of, and she needed to stop pussyfooting around and let her know it.

“Where did I put that last sheet of music I wrote yesterday?” Molly mumbled to herself. “Surely I didn't wad it up and throw it in the trashcan. I've been so addled the past few months, I wouldn't be surprised.”

She dug through the big trash bin near the back door, all the way to the bottom, surprised to find a big brown envelope folded about six times into the size of a ruler. Undoing it, she noticed the New Orleans return address. And the handwriting. Why, it was Jaq's. She'd recognize it anywhere. Why was the envelope here, and what had been in it?

She carefully memorized the return address and put the envelope back where she'd found it. Then she began to search for clues to this mystery.

Two days later, she found a contract deeding all the farm property to Mr. James, signed by him and Mother Russell. It was buried in a neat stack of papers in the top left drawer of her private desk. The news astounded her. She owned the farm. She could order Mother Russell to leave. But what would she do with this place? She didn't want to stay here, and she wasn't totally heartless, no matter how badly Mother Russell had treated her.

The day after that, on a Sunday afternoon while Mother Russell was out walking the muddy fields with Clyde, she found a letter addressed to Jaq in the bottom of Mother Russell's trunk. What in the world? It was from a woman named Willie, most likely the one Jaq had mentioned.

Jaq, if I let myself, I could develop some powerful feelings for you, and I refuse to do that. Mama lived her life for a man she can't even be buried next to, and I've always promised myself I'd never follow her example. When you read this letter I'll soon be on my way north, and then I'll head across the ocean to a place that treats colored people like human beings, not freaks of nature, and that won't look down on me because my great-grandmother was a slave.

She was colored? Or perhaps half colored? Molly already had powerful feelings for Jaq, and she wanted that type of acceptance too. If she had to leave this part of the world to get it, she was willing to do so. That would be the best legacy she could give Patrick—not to live a lie. But did Jaq feel the same way? Did she want an older woman with a young son to care for?

She straightened the contents of the trunk and felt a little bad for snooping. But Mother Russell didn't have any right to this letter, so she kept it and looked around the bedroom she so seldom entered. The picture of Mr. James's papa hung on the wall, like it always had. It seemed like he was staring at the well-worn Bible that lay on the small table next to Mother Russell's bed. She picked it up. Several pictures were stuck in between the pages of Revelations.

She cried as she gazed at the likenesses of Mr. James and Eric and Patrick. So that's what was in the envelope she'd found in the trash bin. Mr. James looked so tall and strong and wise, there on the porch beside Patrick. She couldn't deny that she missed him—his stories and his kindness. But marrying him had been one of the biggest mistakes of her life, just as Jaq said she'd been wrong to marry Eric. But if she hadn't married Mr. James, she wouldn't have Patrick. She touched Patrick's image lightly, grateful she still had him with her after that terrible influenza. With a last look at Mr. James, she sighed, slid the photographs into the Bible again, and put it back where it belonged.

It was almost time for Mother Russell to get back from her walk with Clyde, so she went into the parlor. As she played a loud Chopin prelude with its clashing chords, she thought,
Jaq sent those pictures. She's still thinking about me. I've got to talk to her face to face.
I've got to find a way to get to New Orleans, and I will, if it's the last thing I do.
Then she played her new composition, “The Storm,” pounding out the notes. She didn't know what she'd do, but she had to do something.

The next morning at breakfast, she said, “Mother Russell, I've decided to go visit Eric's aunt and uncle in Logansport tomorrow. They were so kind when they came to visit during my convalescence. Don't you remember how they asked me and Patrick to come see them when we got better? It's slacked off enough for the roads to dry out a little. There's no telling when it'll start pouring again. We'll just stay a couple of days.”

Mother Russell frowned, but she'd been unusually accommodating since Clyde's return. “I guess you've earned yourself a little vacation, Molly. Clyde and I can manage on our own for a while, so you go enjoy yourself while we stay here and do all the work.”

Molly grabbed everything she treasured, which wasn't much, and threw most of Patrick's belongings into a small bag. Wherever they ended up, they could buy more. She was certainly glad she'd never mentioned the five dollars Mr. James had been putting in a cigar box every Saturday since their wedding day. He'd accumulated almost seventeen hundred dollars and called it their mad-at-Ma money. Well, she was certainly mad.

She could leave here and support herself and Patrick on that savings and what she could earn from teaching music lessons. If Jaq hadn't meant what she'd said, or at least hinted at, she could move to Dallas and make a life for herself there. But she'd go to New Orleans first. If Jaq thought half as much of her as she did of Jaq, they belonged together.

*

Jaq had hoped she'd get some response to the pictures she'd sent, but nothing came.

“I've tried everything I can think of, Mother, and I can't get in touch with Molly.” They were supposed to be eating a leisurely breakfast, but she sat drumming her fingers on the table. “I need to get away from here. I want to get on with my life.”

“Well, the estate you inherited from Eric will certainly help you do that. That, on top of what your grandparents left you, should set you up nicely.”

“Yeah, I can't believe how wealthy Mr. McCade turned out to be, in addition to all that acreage. If I ever want to sell it, maybe it'll be worth something someday. But right now I'm content to rent it to some enterprising young family who'll treat it well.”

She had been involved in legal matters lately, though she'd let their family lawyer work out all the details.

“After I sign the final papers next week, I'm planning to drive up to Washington. Miss Paul still needs some help, though I suspect the hardest part of winning the right to vote is behind her. Then I might head back to New York and maybe on to France and see what's going on over there. I'll leave my automobile with Aunt Anna.”

She didn't tell her mother that she was going to detour through East Texas and talk to Molly, like she'd been wanting to for months.

“I'll worry about you, Jacqueline. And I wish you didn't have to go alone.”

So did she. She'd dreamed of having Molly and Patrick with her, and maybe she could. If she'd guessed right and Mrs. Russell was trying to keep Molly and her apart, she'd show Mrs. Russell a thing or two. But maybe Molly had found someone else to take Mr. James's place. Since her talk with her mother in the rose garden, Jaq had finally realized that she hadn't caused all those people to die. Dropping the burden of her long-held belief had made her feel lighter than she had since she was a child before the Storm.

She couldn't think of anyone she'd rather make a life with than Molly, but if she had to, she could make it alone. She just hoped she wouldn't have to.

*

Molly drove carefully from New Hope to Logansport, hoping it wouldn't keep raining. While she'd visited with Eric's aunt and uncle, she discussed her interest in the state of Louisiana, especially the state of the roads that led to New Orleans. And when she left their house early the next morning, she headed east instead of west.

“How would you like to go see Miss Jacqueline?” she asked Patrick.

“That'd be swell. New Orleans is a lot bigger than Harrison, isn't it?”

“It certainly is. I imagine they have wonderful ice-cream sodas there.”

“I can't wait to get there and see Miss Jacqueline. She's nice.”

She couldn't believe she was running away, and she guessed she might be stealing the Overland. But if Mr. James had owned it, didn't it belong to her now? She wouldn't worry about that now. She just wanted to see Jaq, had to see her with an urge so strong it'd take more than a long drive like this to stop her. If only Jaq felt that way, she wouldn't worry about anything else.

Had Jaq written to her and had Mother Russell intercepted the letter and hidden it, as she had the photographs? If she had, what had Jaq said? She might have gone to see that woman named Willie and reunited with her. They could be planning to go to France together, since that's where Jaq had said she'd like to go. Or maybe Jaq had other girlfriends and was amusing herself with them right now.

But Jaq hadn't sent those pictures all that long ago, and she'd been in New Orleans then. Molly needed to stop creating monsters in her mind and trust her feelings for Jaq. If she was wrong, at least she would have escaped from Mother Russell and Clyde. But she hoped with all her heart that she was right, that Jaq cared for her as much as she cared for Jaq.

*

Late in the afternoon after Molly left for Logansport, Mrs. Russell went into Molly's room to look for the broom. That gal was always forgetting to put things back where they belonged. She glanced around but something didn't seem right, so she checked closer. Molly had taken practically everything, including all her music-writing junk. The same thing in Patrick's room.

She rushed into her own bedroom and checked her desk and Bible, but nothing was missing. Then she dug to the bottom of her trunk to check on the letter the postman had given her for Jacqueline. It was gone. Molly must have figgered out what was going on.

“Clyde!” She hollered out the window, and he came hotfooting it up from the barn.

“What's wrong?”

“Molly's run away. She's kidnapped Patrick and stolen the Overland. No telling what else she took. And to think I trusted her. Get in your truck and go find her. And don't come back until you do.”

“But Ma, it's raining—”

“Don't
but Ma
me. I want her and Patrick back here. And if she won't come, bring Patrick. Drive over to Logansport this afternoon. You know where Eric's uncle lives. Surely you can track her down. And if you have to go all the way to New Orleans, because I reckon that's where she'll wind up, you'll most likely find her at this address. Here. I've written it down for you.”

“But Ma, it's almost dark and—”

“Don't waste any more time. Skedaddle. This is as important for you as it is for me.”

*

“I'm worn out, Mama,” Patrick said. “Why couldn't we stop in that town with the funny name back there? It was pretty. You said we could stay in a hotel.”

“Don't you want to see Miss Jacqueline, son? Let's drive a little farther today, and then it won't take us so many days to make this long trip.”