Velvet Chains (Historical Romance) (38 page)

28

August, 1790

The summer days were hot and humid due to the fact that it rained almost every afternoon. Season felt isolated and cut off from the rest of the world. Sometimes it seemed to her that she was no less a prisoner than she had been while on board the
Andromeda
.

Robert had taken Rebecca to Philadelphia and Season missed them terribly; they were her only friends in Virginia. She was almost sorry now that she had declined their invitation to accompany them to Pennsylvania.

She still waited in vain for some word from Lucas. She tried to tell herself that perhaps he had written and his letters had gone astray, but she had received three letters from her father so it didn't make sense that only Lucas' letters would have been lost.

On an overcast day as Season rode across the green valley, she reined in her mount at the river, noticing that it had swollen almost to the top of the banks. Heavy rains had caused the peaceful river to run rampant like a raging torrent. Glancing across the valley, Season realized in horror that should the river spill over its banks, it would damage the cotton crops and flood much of Rosemont! She wondered why Mr. Walls, the overseer, hadn't seen this danger.

Turning her horse, she urged it back toward the house. She couldn't understand why the overseer wasn't preparing some kind of defense against the floodwaters. She intended to confront him for neglecting his duties.

When she reached the overseer's cottage, she jumped from her horse and banged on his door. Mrs. Walls answered the door, and her mouth gaped open when she saw the lady of the manor standing on her doorstep. Mrs. Walls was an elderly woman with gray hair that was pulled back at the nape of her neck, and her eyes were a nondescript color.

Season had often tried to talk to the woman, but had gotten no response other than a sullen yes or no. She could sense Mrs. Walls's hostility even now.

"I need to talk to your husband at once, Mrs. Walls," Season said hurriedly.

"He ain't feeling well. He's got the fever and is clean out of his head. If n you had taken the time to inquire, you would have knowed he was sick for the past two weeks," the woman said sourly.

"Why wasn't I informed about his illness? I would have sent for the doctor."

"We ain't needing any charity from the likes of you. I been telling my man that we should just pack up and leave, but he won't listen to me. I ain't happy about living under British rule right here on Rosemont. We was just as happy before you came with your fancy ways."

Season pushed past the woman. "Take me to see your husband at once! I have no time to quarrel with you. The river is about to overflow!"

Mrs. Walls moved to the bedroom door and blocked it with her body. "You can't see him. He's too sick."

"I'll send for the doctor immediately," Season said, turning to leave.

Before she reached the exit, the bedroom door opened and Mr. Walls staggered forward. His face was pale as death and his eyes were fever bright. "Don't pay no attention to my wife, Mrs. Carrington, she don't mean no harm," he said, gripping the door to hold himself upright.

"You must not concern yourself about anything, Mr. Walls. I will have the doctor attend you as soon as possible," Season said with concern.

"I…don't bother about me, ma'am. I know you got your own troubles. I been hearing the rain and the river must be . . ." As Mr. Walls gasped for breath and wavered, Season moved quickly across the room and took his arm.

"Help me get your husband back to bed, Mrs. Walls. He should never have been disturbed and I offer you my apology. He needs attention right away."

The two women managed to get the sick man back into bed and Season turned to face a less hostile Mrs. Walls. "I will send my maid, Molly, to help you until the doctor arrives. You were wrong not to tell me of your husband's illness. While my husband is away from Rosemont everyone is my concern."

The older woman looked at the beautiful lady and thought she might have misjudged her. She didn't want to like the mistress of the manor, because in her eyes Season represented the enemy. "I am powerful worried about my man. I hope you won't hold what I said against me," she said slyly.

Season placed her arm about the woman's shoulders. "I'm sure you are out of your mind with worry. You look as though you are dead on your feet. I will instruct Molly to help you in any way she can. Who's the best man on the plantation to help me take charge, Mrs. Walls? I need someone who can take orders as well as give them. If we don't act fast the cotton will be ruined."

"The last time it flooded was back in 1765. At that time it wiped out the slave quarters and many people were drowned. I think Winston would be the man you are needing. My husband says he's a great help to him."

Season knew that time was against her. She had to send for the doctor and then do something about the threat of a flood.

When she reached the door, Mrs. Walls's voice stopped her. "Ma'am, Mrs. Carrington . . . thank you."

Season smiled at the woman. "Don't mention it, Mrs. Walls. All you need to think about is your husband's health, and try to get some rest yourself. In the future I hope you will keep in mind that I am more than willing to help you."

"You mean you ain't going to make us leave for the way I talked to you?"

"No, Mrs. Walls. We all need each other. We will just forget about the incident and not mention it to your husband, or mine."

The older woman watched the young mistress leave, knowing she had badly misjudged her, but her heart was still filled with bitterness. Mrs. Walls resented Mrs. Carrington because she was British, and now her eyes gleamed spitefully; Winston had been giving her husband trouble for years. It would -serve Mrs. Carrington right to have to deal with a rebellious slave, she thought bitterly.

Season mounted her horse and headed toward the slave quarters at a gallop. When she dismounted a crowd quickly surrounded her. She felt as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders as she searched the dark faces about her.

"I am looking for a man called Winston," she said, glancing back toward the river.

"I'm Winston." A mountain of a man stepped forward, a frown on his face.

"Winston, I want you to send someone to the house at once, to tell my maid, Molly, to go immediately to the overseer's cottage. Mr. Walls is very ill, the doctor must also be summoned."

"Does you want me to go get the doctor?" the big black man asked.

"No. We have a grave problem with the river, and I am going to need your help."

The big man smiled, displaying pearly white teeth. "All you gotta do is tell ol' Winston what to do and I'll do it, ma'am."

"As I told you, Mr. Walls is ill, so I am putting you in charge."

Winston looked shocked for a moment and then he raised his head proudly. He turned to the boy standing next to him and instructed him to go to the big house to do as the mistress had ordered and then to bring the doctor to Mr. Walls. That done he turned back to Season.

"I guess you'll be worrying 'bout the flood waters, ma'am? It's gotten mighty dangerous."

"Yes, the banks of the river will surely overflow and we could lose the crops as well as your homes. Tell me what you think we should do, Winston?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, ma'am," Winston replied, scratching his head. No one had ever asked his opinion before and he was taken by surprise. He looked at his mistress, pride in his dark eyes. He felt good that she had asked his advice and was determined not to let her down.

"I guess we could sandbag the banks, ma'am. That's what we always does, but we ain't got a lot of time."

"Tend to that Winston; I'm placing the full responsibility in your hands. Also, I believe if we dig several deep trenches leading toward the woods where the hill slopes, we can divert some of the water in the other direction. The floodwaters will do very little damage to the wooded area. Make sure all the livestock are penned up."

"Ma'am, we ain't never done that before," Winston said, visualizing the whole thing in his mind.

"Well, Winston, I suggest we try it. Set some of your men to making sandbags and give others shovels to dig the trenches."

He smiled brightly. "Yes, ma'am, it just might work. I'll do that right away."

"Good. I am going up to the house to change my clothing and I'll meet you at the river as soon as I can. Make haste, Winston, we don't have much time. It looks as if it might start raining again at any moment."

"Yes, ma'am," the big man replied quickly. "Winston won't let you down."

Season smiled. She mounted her horse and set off for the house at a gallop. She knew time and the weather were both against them.

She found Molly gathering up a basket of supplies to take to the sick Mr. Walls. "Has the doctor been sent for, Molly?" Season asked, stripping off her gloves and running toward the stairs.

"Yes, my lady. I was told that the river might flood. Is that the truth?"

"Yes, and we don't have much time. I am going up to the attic to see if I can find some trousers to wear. I cannot very well work in a gown."

Molly raced after her mistress and caught up with her at the attic door. "You can't go parading around in men's attire! It's just not respectable! Your father wouldn't approve of such actions."

"My father would approve a lot less if I stood by while lives were lost and crops were ruined. What would you have me do, Molly?" Season asked, exasperated.

"My lady, you aren't thinking about putting yourself in danger?" Molly queried suspiciously. "I will not allow it!"

"I will not be in danger. You take yourself off to the Walls's cottage and do what you can to help them."

Molly grumbled to herself, but did as she was told. Gathering up her medicine basket, she made her way to the Walls's. The maid couldn't help thinking she would be gald when Mr. Carrington returned so he could curb Lady Season's impulsive nature.

The afternoon seemed endless as Season labored alongside the slaves to save Rosemont Plantation. Every man and woman, and every child old enough to help had been pressed into service. No one commented on the fact that the mistress wore men's breeches and labored as hard as everyone else.

Season saw a woman who was heavy with child struggling with a heavy sandbag and she ran over to her. "You shouldn't be helping. Go up to the house and tell Drucilla to prepare food for everyone. Then you get cleaned up and lie down to rest. We don't want anything to happen to you and your baby."

The woman looked at the mistress gratefully and hurried off to do as she had been told.

As Season pushed a strand of golden hair off her forehead with a muddy hand she scanned the countryside. Looking toward the distant hills, she noticed it had already started raining there. It was only a matter of time before the rain reached them.

Several wagons were returning from the nearby beach, loaded with sand. Season thankfully watched them return. Perhaps they could just manage to beat the floodwaters.

A sense of urgency drove her as she held one gunnysack after another for the men to fill with sand. The sacks were placed along the swollen banks while a dozen workers dug long trenches that led away from the fields and cabins in the hope of diverting the water down the hill and into the woods.

As Season felt the first drops of rain hit her face, she knew they must work desperately, but suddenly her feet slipped out from under her and she landed in the mud. Winston, who was standing nearby, offered her his hand and helped her up.

"This ain't no place for you, ma'am. Why don't you just go on back up to the house? Mr. Carrington wouldn't like it if he knowed you was laboring like a field hand," Winston told her.

"No, we need every available hand if we are going to lick this, Winston. Mr. Carrington would be a lot more upset if you lost your homes and he lost the cotton. What do you think our chances are of succeeding, Winston?"

He scratched his head. "I'd say our chances are between slim and none."

It was after five when their task had been completed. The part of the river which threatened the fields and cabins had been sandbagged.

Season stood beside Winston in the heavy downpour and he seemed to read her mind. "Them sandbags ain't gonna hold, ma'am."

"No, they won't, Winston," Season answered as she watched the angry river splash over the sides of the banks past the sandbags. "I believe we must now see if the trenches will do their job."

Winston nodded grimly and walked over to the place where the trenches had been dug. Heavy lumber had been stacked up against the banks to help hold the water back while the ditches were being dug. Winston motioned for several men to help him remove the makeshift dam.

Season stood tensely, her hands clasped together, hoping with all her heart that the trenches would take care of the floodwaters. All those who had just stopped working held their breath as the first water ran down the ditches.

Tense moments passed while the ditches filled with the muddy water. After a while a loud cheer went up from everyone as the river began to recede!