Midnight Rose (7 page)

Zachary also straightened, clenching his fists at his sides.

“I can’t see that Erin has done anything wrong,” she said. “And Ryan Youngblood is certainly no rake. He comes from a good family, but that’s not the point. Erin can’t help it if we’re socially ostracized because of you. And you’re wrong in your reasoning,” she dared point out. “Folks don’t look down on you because you had to work for what you’ve got. They shun you because of the way you behave, getting drunk and rowdy and always in a scrap. And they don’t like the way you treat our servants. You try to hide it,
but you’re brutal and word gets out and—”

He gave her another rough shove that sat her back down, towered over her, and shook his fist in her face as he growled, “You shut up! You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, and you oughta know after all these years, I don’t take sass off nobody, ’specially what I own, and I own you just like I own them slaves. And that’s what they are—slaves! And it’s nobody’s business how I treat ’em.

“And I’ll tell you something else,” he went on raggedly, hoarsely. “Don’t you ever throw off at me that it’s my fault you ain’t accepted, ’cause if folks around here knew the truth about what you are, they wouldn’t even let you sit with ’em in church! You’d be up in the balcony with the rest of the darkies!”

Arlene gasped, stricken, instinctively glancing about for fear someone could hear him, relieved no one was about. “That’s got nothing to do with it,” she whispered, aghast that he had flung that in her face—again. Oh, there’d been times in the past when he had, but only when he was rip-roaring drunk and mean and not caring how bad he hurt her.

“Just remember your place, woman!” His upper lip turned back in a scornful snarl. “And don’t you let me hear of you ever pullin’ such a stunt again. Now I’m tellin’ you to get that girl of yours down off her high horse before I do it for you! I’ll see to it she gets a husband without makin’ this family look like a fool!”

Arlene knew he couldn’t stand for her to cry but had no more control. Covering her face with her hands, she bowed her head and wept. Enraged, he wrapped his fingers in her hair, yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him as he continued his tirade. “You’ve made my life hell all these years, you know that? You connived to get me to marry you, put a spell on me, made me so goddamn crazy wantin’ you I was willin’ to marry you even after what you told me, but I ain’t under that spell no more. And if you don’t straighten up, learn your place, and do somethin’ about that snotty daughter of yours, I’ll do the same thing to you I do with slaves I get tired of fuckin’ around with. You understand me? Now get out of here. I can’t stand your sniveling!”

She fled quickly into the house to her sewing room, locking the door behind her before collapsing to the floor to give way to the flood of tears. Dear God, she asked herself for the thousandth time, why had she told him in a weak moment, all those years ago, that she had Negro blood, that her maternal grandmother had been a Negro? He had never suspected because she passed for white, with help from the skin-bleaching potion her mother had taught her to make, the same potion she insisted Erin use, so there’d never be a hint she was a mulatto. But back then she’d foolishly felt the need to be completely honest with Zachary, as she’d been with her beloved Jacob, who’d loved her so much he wouldn’t have cared if she’d been green! Naively, she had believed Zachary when he professed to love her, thinking they would have a good marriage also. So she had told him the secret, and he’d said it didn’t matter. It was only later, when the fires of his loins had cooled, that she painfully realized just how terribly much it did matter.

There were times, when he was drunk, when she felt he truly hated her. He accused her of enticing him, holding out for marriage, making him so crazy wanting her he’d given in. He would beat her then, forcing her to perform the most depraved acts he could think of to humiliate her. Afterward, when he was sober, he would cry and apologize, beg her forgiveness, and swear he loved her. But that was years ago. Now he had no more remorse, no matter how brutal he became.

Too late, Arlene had realized her mistake. Devoting herself to Erin, determined she should not suffer, she resolved to protect her at all costs, even if it meant being totally subservient to Zachary. He knew that gave him the upper hand, that she would tolerate any abuse he handed out. When she lost the baby she was carrying, he said he was glad, because he didn’t want to have a baby by a mulatto. What he didn’t know, what she’d never tell, was that she’d subjected herself to an abortion by a Negro midwife Rosa knew about, who was also adept at ridding slave girls of unwanted babies conceived by their masters.

So life had gone on, becoming more and more miserable with each passing year. Arlene lived in fear that Zachary would one day, in a drunken rage, reveal all to Erin. He’d sworn never to do that, but she no longer trusted him to keep his word about anything. And she never intended for Erin to know the truth, lest she repeat the mistake and confide the secret to the man she married…and subsequently live to regret it.

Arlene knew the only reason Zachary didn’t tell Erin was that he enjoyed holding the threat over her head more. Once, she’d asked him why he didn’t divorce her, since he obviously didn’t love her, but in fact loathed and despised her. In response, he had sneered, then taunted, “Because I own you, Arlene, just like the rest of the darkies on this place, and I’ll keep you as long as it pleases me to do so. When it doesn’t, I’ll sell you, just like I sell them. Remember that, and don’t give me any trouble!”

She wasn’t really worried. After all, no one else suspected there was a drop of anything but Caucasian blood flowing in her veins. So, through the years, she had learned her place, and when he wasn’t drinking, he just ignored her.

When Erin had begged, almost hysterically, to go to Atlanta to live with her aunt, Arlene had given in reluctantly. Filling her lonely hours with charity and church work had been rewarding, and she’d made many friends, even though she accepted the painful reality that friendship could go only so far, due to community disregard for her husband.

And now she was running out of time. She was dying, and soon all the misery would end, but please, God, she prayed, huddled there on the floor, let me live long enough to see my daughter taken care of, so she won’t suffer as I’ve had to suffer all these years.

A sudden knock on the door brought her scrambling to her feet. Dabbing furiously at her eyes with the back of her hands, she anxiously called out, “Yes,
who is it?”

“Me,” Erin responded. “I wanted to let you know I’m going riding.”

Arlene made her voice light, “Oh, go ahead, dear, have a good time. Forgive me for not letting you in, but I’m in the middle of something.”

Erin, bemused by the locked door, lingered only an instant, for she was anxious to be on her way. Horseback riding was one of her few pleasures since coming back, especially since it took her away from the house—and Zachary.

Ben had her favorite horse bridled and waiting outside the stable. She suppressed a knowing smile over the secret that he and Letty were lovers. He tried not to appear shocked, as always, over the way she wore riding breeches, like a man, instead of a skirt, and rode bareback.

The day was hot, sun beating down on the fields of cotton and corn from a sky so deeply blue it appeared to touch the distant horizon in a solid mass. She set out on her favorite trail, which took her beyond the fields to the banks of the meandering stream that eventually fed into the James River. Her favorite spot was the site of the old mill. Zachary had closed it down some years ago, but the water was shallow there in one spot, if anyone wanted to ford to the other side. Beside the waterwheel and the tiny stone millhouse, there was a delightful pool for bathing on a terribly hot day. A graceful weeping willow tree stood sentry atop the grassy, sloping bank.

Erin didn’t feel like wading or bathing. She was in a somber mood, reflecting on how so many things had changed while she was away. It was as though an invisible pall had descended, oppressive and evil. Despite all Letty had dared to tell her, she’d already noticed how the other servants seemed subdued, moving about to do their chores with heads down, shoulders stooped, spirits broken. Even her mother had no real zest for living anymore, though she tried to put up a front. Erin noticed the shadow of misery in her eyes, the desolation and despair mirrored there when she thought no one was looking.

Dismounting, she looped her horse’s reins around a bush, then began to wander absently along the bank to the juncture at the river. Staring at the flowing current with envy, she thought how at least the river knew where it was going. She had no idea what the future held for her.

She was relieved that Zachary had more or less ignored her since she’d returned from Atlanta. Maybe his specialty was molesting children, she thought with a violent shudder of contempt and bitterness.

Never would she forget the terror and revulsion of that night when he’d sneaked into her room to crawl into her bed as she slept. She’d awakened in terror to feel his fingers probing between her legs, and when she’d tried to scream, he’d grabbed her around her throat and choked her till she started to lose consciousness, all the while being blasted by his whiskey breath as he whispered he’d kill her if she didn’t stop struggling, or dared to ever tell a soul. She’d had to lie there, fearing for her life, as he touched her, squeezed her, rubbed his ugly, swollen thing between her thighs till he’d made a lot of grunting noises. Afterwards, she’d felt nasty, defiled.

She hadn’t dared tell anyone, not even Letty, who sensed something was wrong. The next night, and all the nights after till she convinced her mother to let her go stay with her aunt, she had pushed furniture in front of the door, then hidden under the bed till morning.

Now that she was back, Erin no longer dragged furniture in front of the door, but she locked it, and she kept a kitchen knife hidden beneath her mattress. If he dared return to her bed, she was prepared to defend herself, to the death if need be.

Suddenly she was wrenched from the loathsome memories by the sound of a snapping twig in the woods just behind her.

A roll of panic assaulted at the thought that Zachary might have seen her ride out alone and followed her. She’d noticed his horse being rubbed down by another groom at the stable, so she knew he was back from wherever he’d gone. He might have taken another horse, planning to attack her far from the house, where no one would hear her screams. But by God, he’d have a fight on his hands!

Glancing around quickly, she spied a large stone and grabbed it for
a weapon.

Then she felt a wave of sweet relief as the rider came out of the woods, and she saw it wasn’t Zachary—it was Ryan Youngblood, and he was riding a magnificent white stallion.

Looking at the rock she was holding, he realized he’d startled her and apologized, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was about.” Glibly, he lied, “I was just out riding and must have wandered onto your place without realizing it.” Actually, he’d been there every day, even in the rain, waiting for her. He’d about given up hope, figuring Keith had been mistaken, seen someone else out riding along the stream.

Bemused, she told him, “It’s all right. You just took me by surprise.” She noted he was wearing a white shirt, open to his waist, and her gaze helplessly moved from the thick mat of dark blond hairs on his broad chest, downward to rock-hard thighs in form-fitting trousers. He exuded strength, and, yes, there was something almost feral about the way he was looking at her with those smoldering blue eyes, making her tremble, not with fright, but a kind of delicious anticipation.

“Well, it was fate.” He dismounted and slowly approached her. He was toying with the reins, wrapping them absently about his fingers as he drank in the sight of her. “I must say you’ve been on my mind almost constantly since the other night, and…” With a teasing smile, he huskily reminded her, “As I said, I’ve been dancing with you in my heart ever since.”

Erin was warmed by his words but maintained her cool demeanor. “Well, we certainly gave people something to talk about.”

“You like to shock people, don’t you?” he surprised her by bluntly asking.

“I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say that,” she replied with equal candor, “but I pride myself on hiving a mind of my own.”

“We’re a lot alike. I sensed that right away. Maybe that’s why I’m so taken by you—your spirit, plus other attributes…” His gaze raked over her appreciatively before he continued. “This is a nice spot. Do you always come here?”

“Always,” she admitted, her voice even despite the tremors within. “It’s private, till today.”

He walked past her, as though looking for something, then pointed to the bank. “Lots of horses. Wagon wheels. Somebody comes around,” he noted curiously.

“’Coon hunters, probably,” she speculated, noticing the tracks. “They must come at night. I’ve never seen anyone during the day.”

He was quietly thoughtful for a moment, then told her how once, as a boy, he and a friend had built a raft and passed this very place as they ran away from home, heading downriver. “We intended to go all the way to Norfolk, where we hoped to stowaway on a ship and sail to England.”

“How far did you get?” she asked, amused at such antics.

He laughed. “My father was waiting for us at Cooley’s Bridge, about a mile on downriver. Waiting with his belt, I might add.” He rubbed his backside for emphasis. “I walked for the next two weeks, couldn’t even sit on a horse. It was a long time before I thought about sailing to Europe again, believe me.”