Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5) (10 page)

“Why shouldn't they reach?” Elijah asked.

James shook his head. “Imagine the chaos if dockworkers suddenly decided to be councilmen or the farmers turned lawyers? People are made to be what they are.”

“I'm not sure I agree with that,” Simon said.

Elijah sat up a little straighter and couldn't keep the smile from his face.

“We've all known wealthy, well-positioned men who are, to put it kindly, imbeciles, have we not?”

They all smiled and nodded.

“How do you think my father made all of his money?”

They all laughed and Simon continued, “Conversely, there are men who were born to a lower station, but are capable, with hard work, of achieving more. I think a man should always seek to improve himself and his fortune.”

Elijah raised his glass in salute. “Here, here.” He drank it down and slumped back into his chair.

Simon glanced at him and then back to James. “I also have no patience for the idle rich. Hard work is not just a poor man's burden.”

James glared at his brother and then smiled at Simon. “You're quite right. Of course, all of this is entirely different for Negroes.”

The doctor rolled his cigar thoughtfully between his meaty thumb and forefinger. “Slaves lack the natural ability to understand their situation in all its complexity. Give them difficult choices and a slave trembles in fear and self-doubt. I have seen it. They have neither the mental acuity nor the moral cohesiveness required for such things.”

Simon had to bite his tongue to keep himself from skewering the doctor for spouting such appalling idiocy.

James nodded in agreement with the doctor. “Exactly. Those factories in the North take advantage of those simple, poor souls. I've heard stories that would make your skin crawl. Worse than pigs to slaughter. Giving
them
false hope of things beyond them is cruel to my way of thinking. We have an obligation to care for our lessers, to provide for them.”

Simon knew it would be impossible to change the man's mind, and he could ill-afford to make him an enemy. “A happy and healthy workforce is a productive one?”

“Precisely,” James said. “Productive. And everyone wins.”

Everyone sitting here certainly does, Simon thought. One saving grace of this patriarchal attitude of James', Simon realized, was that it also led to charity. “I was glad to hear that your generous nature extends beyond your people to the rest of Natchez. Your generosity to the Children's Home, for instance.”

“A worthy cause,” James said modestly. “Dr. Walker volunteers there as well.”

Dr. Walker took a puff from his cigar and narrowed his eyes slightly. “I do, on occasion.”

“Mrs. Nolan spoke about the good doctor on our tour,” Simon said. “My wife and I heard about the home and wanted to see it for ourselves. We have more money than we need and are considering establishing one like it in Texas or perhaps England.”

The doctor nodded, disinterested.

“Mrs. Nolan praised your hard work, Doctor. Even mentioned that you brought in one of the children yourself, a young girl, not long ago,” Simon said and pretended to search his memory. “Mary Stewart, I think it was.”

The doctor found the bottom of his glass far more interesting and didn't bother to look up from it. “I do what I can. I am a skilled physician,” the doctor said with no trace of humility false or otherwise, “but even some things are beyond my abilities.”

“She'd been abandoned?” Simon said.

“It's possible, but I really don’t remember.”

“She
died
three days ago,” Simon said, feeling his anger rise. “Does that jog your memory?”

“As a doctor, I deal with death on a regular basis. I am hard-pressed to remember them all. Cherub-faced or not.” The doctor bowed his head toward James. “Your lovely daughter excluded, of course.”

Simon couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't punctuated with a fist in the good doctor's face. “Of course,” he said and let the topic shift again. Between Elijah's indolence and improper attention to Elizabeth, James' bigotry and weakness, and the doctor's possible sociopathic tendencies, Simon felt the distinct beginnings of a headache coming on.

~~~

Elizabeth woke from her nap and rang for the housemaid. Once she was strapped back into her corset and fluffed and primped enough for polite society, she left her room to rejoin Simon and the others. She had just closed her door when she saw a little girl poke her head out of a room at the far end of the landing.

“Hello?”

The little girl smiled and moved out into the doorway. She stood there biting her lip and twisting at the waist as little girls sometimes do when they're curious and unsure. “Hello.”

The girl was pretty and a little pudgy. She had a little girl potbelly and a heart-shaped face. “You must be Louisa,” Elizabeth said as she walked over to her.

The girl gnawed at the inside of her lip and nodded.

“My name's Elizabeth. My, that is a pretty dress. Did your mother pick it out for you?”

Louisa nodded again and plucked at the small tulle flowers that decorated the front of her dress. “Mama ordered it all the way from Paris, France. That's in Europe.”

“That's really far.”

Louisa took Elizabeth's hand and led her into her bedroom. “I went there once when I was a baby, but I don't remember it.”

The bedroom was white and bright, and filled with toys and dolls and everything a little girl's room should be filled with. A dark mahogany children's bed with a tall backboard and white gauzy mosquito netting sat in the far corner of the room. A pint-sized table and chairs were frozen in mid-tea party.

She dropped Elizabeth's hand. “Do you like dolls?”

“Very much. Some of my best friends are dolls.”

Louisa ran over to the tea party and introduced Elizabeth to each doll. Each doll had a finely hand-painted porcelain face and a dress as fancy as any Elizabeth had. Finally, Louisa lifted the covering over a miniature pram and pulled out an odd cloth doll. It had a rough hand-sewn quality to it and the clothing was coarse material in bright colors. It looked almost Mexican or even Caribbean.

“Who's this?” Elizabeth asked.

“Jammy,” Louisa said. “She came all the way from J-Jam…”

“Jamaica,” a voice said from the door. Rose smiled and said it again. “Jamaica. Your father brought that back for you, do you remember?”

Louisa smiled and nodded.

“Did you rest well?” Rose asked Elizabeth.

“I did, thank you. Louisa was just kind enough to give me a tour of her beautiful bedroom.”

Rose walked over to her daughter and touched her hair. She smiled down at the child with such love and tenderness it made Elizabeth feel awkward and perhaps a little envious. “It's time for supper, darling. I'm afraid I have to take Miss Elizabeth away.”

“Can she come back? I didn't even get to introduce her to the rest.”

Rose smiled patiently and then looked to Elizabeth. “I hope so.”

Rose not only sounded sincere, but there seemed to be a bit of longing in her voice as well. Elizabeth could only imagine how lonely it must be as the only woman at River Run. “I'd like to very much.”

“I was going to ask you later, but we are having a few festivities this weekend to celebrate the end of the planting season. We'd love to have you come. Stay for the long weekend? Saves you that horrible drive back into Natchez.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “I'll have to check with Simon, of course.”

“Of course,” Rose said with a hopeful smile.

Elizabeth winked. “But I think I can handle him.”

Rose laughed, but when she spoke there was a twinge of envy. “I have no doubt.”

~~~

The sun began to set on the far side of the river and James and the doctor excused themselves to go over the doctor's reports of his examinations before dinner. Elijah asked to join them, but James insisted he not leave their guest alone. Simon assured them he'd be fine and wished to stretch his legs with a walk before dinner. Thankfully, they agreed and left him to his own devices.

Simon was not used to being so social and he'd had just about his fill of the Harpers and Dr. Walker. God help him, he didn't know how he was going to tolerate dinner. Elizabeth would have to carry them both tonight. He was completely out of small talk.

The grounds of River Run were just the tonic he needed. They were quiet and peaceful and not one of the trees had an opinion or wanted his. He stopped and leaned against a magnolia and breathed in deeply. The magnolia tree's sweet, lemony scent filled the air. The heat from the day was dissipating and a cool breeze began to blow. The yellow light of the setting sun made the Spanish moss hanging from the trees look like spun gold. It was beautiful and he wished Elizabeth were with him. She'd be sorry she missed it.

He pushed himself away from the tree and started to turn toward the garden when he saw her. A small round face poked out from behind a tree and then hid again as though she were playing hide and seek and afraid of being caught. Mary.

Slowly, he walked toward the tree. She peeked around the edge again, blue eyes wide and frightened. His heart beat so fast in his chest he was sure she could hear it. He swallowed and took a deep breath to calm himself before saying, “Hello.”

Her eyes grew even wider, but she didn't hide again.

He stopped walking. “My name is Simon. You're Mary, aren't you?”

She just continued to stare at him as if he was the ghost and she was the living being.

“Mary?” he said again.

Slowly, she stepped out from behind the tree. She was so small and frightened and pale. He hadn't gotten a good look at her at the orphanage. What he'd thought was a white dress was a nightgown and her body wasn't just small, but frail and trembling.

“I'm here to help you.”

Her eyes danced all over his body, trying to take all of him in, torn between wonder and disbelief.

“Can you speak?”

She didn't answer. It wasn't even clear that she knew what he was saying.

“If I'm going to help you, you're going to have to do more than stare at me.”

Mary looked around the woods, her eyes searching for something, until, suddenly she ran off toward the garden. Simon stood and followed after her. She weaved in and out amongst the flowers until she reached a small pergola with vibrant blue flowers. The same flowers the man left at the cemetery. He even noticed a freshly cut stem. The flowers had come from River Run. But why? Who was the man and what did Mary mean to him?

Simon knelt down. “I don't know how to help you. Help me understand.”

Mary took an uncertain step forward. Slowly, she lifted her hand and reached out to him. Simon held out his hand to mirror hers. Tentatively, she took a small step forward and their hands moved closer to each other.

“I won't hurt you.”

Her tiny fingers brushed against his and Simon felt an overwhelming rush of emotion. He closed his eyes to try to keep it away. He'd never felt so much sadness and confusion. It was like a wave crashing over him. A dark wave of despair so heavy it took his breath away. His heart beat faster, louder, the sound echoing in his ears, until the rush of blood and her pain were almost all he could hear and feel.

“Mr. Cross!”

In an instant, the connection was gone. Mary was gone. The oppressive emotions that had choked him moments ago faded quickly. Simon turned around to see a slave standing over him, shaking him by the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Simon bit out, knocking his hand away.

The slave took a step back. “I thought maybe you was ill, suh. I'm sorry, I…”

The sense of anguish felt like no more than a dream now, but Simon still had to struggle to control his emotions. “I'm fine.”

“I been standin' right here while you was talkin' to the flowers—”

“I'm fine,” Simon said more sharply than he meant to. The poor man was obviously frightened he'd done something wrong and would be punished for it. Simon lowered his voice. “Thank you, I'm sorry. I'm fine.”

It took Simon a moment to realize, too, that if the man had been standing there, right behind him, he should have been able to see Mary, but he hadn't.

“They ask me to come find you,” the man said. “Dinner be ready shortly.”

Simon clasped the man on the shoulder in an effort to reassure him. He could feel the man wince in anticipation of a far less friendly gesture.

“Thank you,” Simon said. “I'll be right there.”

The slave nodded confused and still uneasy, and hurried back to the big house.

Simon lingered for a moment, but he knew Mary wouldn't be back. Not tonight. But he spoke to the empty air regardless. “I will help you, Mary. I swear it.”

Chapter Nine

“Are you sure I can't get you more?” Catherine asked.

Elizabeth shook her head. Catherine had kindly invited them over to Cypress Hill for lunch and Elizabeth had eaten more than her share. She sipped the cool sweet tea and enjoyed a breeze as they sat in the garden.

“Thank you though,” Simon said. “It was very kind of you to have us.”

Catherine laughed. “I'm not sure if you've noticed but I'm not the most popular girl in Natchez. More people are going than coming. I'm pleased to have the company. And I do hope you'll come to the ball next week. My father takes the Veterans' Spring Gala quite seriously.”

Elizabeth smiled. “We'd be very pleased to. Everyone's been so kind and it's so beautiful. All of Natchez is,” she said and then, feeling an opening, added. “There's an odd feeling to it though. Maybe it's the river or I've read too many stories.”

Catherine frowned, confused.

“My wife believes in ghosts,” Simon said with a tolerant sigh that set their plan into motion.

After his encounter with Mary, he and Elizabeth had discussed the best way to ferret out more information about any other local supernatural occurrences or paranormal specialists. If they'd been in New Orleans, they could have simply visited Marie Laveau or any of a dozen other voodoo priestesses or mystics. But Natchez was not New Orleans and a more circumspect approach was needed.

“I assured her there are no such things,” Simon said convincingly. “The noises we heard along the road…”