A Cry at Midnight (19 page)

Even if he'd wanted to ask Randi to sit with him so Rose would be in the family pew, he wouldn't have done so. To go against convention meant explaining his reasons to Thomas, and then tolerating the inquisitive gazes of the other planters. Such a minor point wasn't worthy of openly flaunting the rules of society.

The minister built his sermon to a crescendo. The very rafters of the church seemed to tremble in reaction to his impassioned plea from the Gospel of St. Paul. Immediately, the choir launched into their final hymn, their voices blending together quite well on this pleasant Sunday. At least the weather had remained clear. The rain which had threatened last night hadn't yet arrived, so their ten mile trip to the church in Randolph had been uneventful.

Jackson stood with the rest of the congregation for the benediction. Although he hadn't been raised in this faith, he'd taken to the services rather well, he thought. This was the church where Rose had been baptized, and where she would no doubt marry when she came of age. Perhaps he would even see a grandchild baptized here, among the other planters' families.

"An excellent sermon," Violet whispered as he gathered his gloves and hat.

"Yes, the reverend was in fine form today." In truth, Jackson thought the man had gone on too long in his admonishments to the faithful, but what did he know about religion? Surely the minister had a better grasp of the needs of the congregation.

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Violet asked, her girlish voice somewhat more mature, he noticed. She was growing up fast, her fine blond hair curled in ringlets around her pretty face. Just two years ago she'd been far less mature, but now she was growing into a stylish and appealing young lady.

The observation made him feel older than his thirty years.

"I fear I won't have that pleasure today," he replied with a smile as he offered his arm. "I must escort my daughter home, then oversee some important improvements to the property."

"You're off building more levees, aren't you?" Violet asked in a way that sounded coquettish. Surely she wasn't setting her cap for him. The idea that Pansy's little sister would think he'd be interested made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. Still, he couldn't openly address the issue without feeling foolish. What if he was wrong?

"The flood is something we've discussed, and we're all taking precautions so you won't need to worry."

"I'm not at all worried," she replied with a shake of her ringlets. "I don't think there's going to be any old flood this year. Just some dreary rain and more mud," she added with distaste.

"We need the rain for our crops."

"Well, it's a mess on our hems and slippers!"

Jackson smiled at Violet's attempts at flirting as they neared the back of the church. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Randi holding Rose. They'd best be off soon. Rose looked as though she was beginning to fret.

He conversed briefly with Thomas, offering help shore up the levees to the north. As he handed Violet over to her father, he bowed to them both and made his excuses. Within seconds, he walked to where Randi waited.

"Are you ready to leave?"

"I'm more than ready," she said in a cool tone of voice that told him indeed, she was peeved about something.

"The carriage should be outside." He urged her forward with a hand to her elbow, but she pushed ahead, walking through the crowd with her shoulders back and her head high. She showed particular interest in the Crowder family. No doubt Randi was curious about Rose's relatives. Probably some of the other women at the back of the church had told her their identity.

She didn't seem inclined to talk, so he remained silent as his driver guided the team along the rutted road.

"Did you enjoy the sermon?" he finally asked when she failed to comment on their journey or his daughter's growing displeasure at being held so long.

"I'm sure it was fine."

"Could you hear it clearly? I assumed Reverend Bond's voice carried especially well."

"All the way to the back of the church," Randi answered.

Jackson mulled over her choice of words, finally deciding that she was indeed unhappy at their seating arrangements.

"Surely you realized that only family members sit in the pews," he said cautiously.

"I do now," she said, not meeting his eyes.

"That's a social custom that is the same everywhere."

"Not where I come from," she said sharply.

"Ah, yes, that mysterious land of Randi Galloway. Are you ready to tell me exactly where that kingdom is located?"

She remained silent, her lips pressed together until they looked bloodless.

"I didn't think so." He crossed his arms and fell silent, his own mouth tight with displeasure. There was no talking to the woman, so why did he try? Her concept of what was proper defied every principle he'd subscribed to for years.

Rose began to fuss just as they crossed Hurricane Creek. He leaned over the side, checking the water level. The placid, normal depth mollified his apprehension about rising water. Perhaps they would be safe after all.

"The creek looks normal," he told Randi, hoping to ease her fears about an impending flood. She was busy with Rose, however, and didn't answer or look at him.

They continued in silence toward the house. He felt Randi's seething resentment as she bounced Rose on her lap. What did she expect from him? She'd apologized for her earlier behavior and promised to be a vision of propriety. He should have also required her to take a vow of amicability. The woman acted as no other, and he didn't understand why he didn't send her on her way with a few dollars and his wife's old dresses.

She should be grateful to have a roof over her head and food to eat. Instead, she seemed to believe the world should march to the cadence of her bizarre values. How could she profess to have high moral principles when she refused to answer simple questions, and lie about other equally important issues?

Dammit, she'd needed this visit to church to think about her station in life and the importance of truth. True, the minister's sermon on humility and chastity hadn't dealt directly with Randi's major problems, but just being in the building should have prompted some feelings of redemption in her.

Instead, she was in an even worse temper now than she earlier.

He apparently didn't understand women--at least not women who made their way in life somehow other than on their backs. He got along famously with them, their relationships simple and straightforward. He needed a trip downriver to an exclusive bordello where he could lose himself in the soft, scented depths of a woman who knew how to please a man. No expectations other than coin, no demands for anything other than decent treatment. Hell, he enjoyed giving more than they expected, pleasing them if at all possible. He'd never been a selfish lover, even with a whore.

But until he knew for certain that the water coming downriver wasn't going to flood his land, he wouldn't leave. He'd keep his desire in check until the crisis passed, then he'd head for New Orleans and a well-deserved week of carnal pleasure. He'd forget all about Randi Galloway, rising water, crying babies, and difficult in-laws.

#

Randi carried Rose upstairs to Suzette, who was napping on the narrow bed in the room beside the nursery. Without a word, she handed the fussing baby to her wet nurse and tromped back downstairs to her bedroom.

She couldn't remember being this angry and frustrated in her entire life, she thought as she jerked off the ugly bonnet and threw it on the bed. Even when she'd told Cleve that he was going to be a father, and he'd stared at her with a growing look of horrified comprehension, she'd been more hurt than frustrated. She'd wanted to hurt him--she couldn't deny that basic urge to shake some sense into his scheming, self-centered head--but she'd simply walked away when she'd realized he didn't care.

He hadn't wanted to be a father. Jackson Durant, on the other hand, enjoyed being a dad. He was good with Rose, although Randi knew he was too restrained. He only showed her affection when they were in private, she'd noticed. Before long, Rose would notice his behavior too, and she'd want to know why her daddy didn't love her.

If Randi were ever going to speak to him again, she'd bring the problem to his attention. However, he'd no doubt question how she knew what Rose would think. Another premonition? He'd scoff at her explanation. He'd also tell her his behavior was none of her business.

Whose business was it? Probably that eye-batting Southern belle who'd draped herself all over him at church this morning. Did the man have no shame? That little blond bimbette was way to young for him, even though she'd apparently decided to sink her hooks in.

Randi sank to the low-seated upholstered chair, pushing her petticoats down when they threatened to jump up and smother her. She hated these clothes, she hated this time, and she especially despised Jackson Durant. The big jerk.

When Melody came into the room a few minutes later, Randi lifted her head from her propped up elbows and blinked back tears that threatened to spill out of her burning eyes.

"I want to go home," she said, as though the young maid could help her achieve her goal.

"Where is your home, Miss Randi?" Melody asked, laying out one of the plain gowns on the bed.

"Far, far away," Randi whispered, resting her chin in her palm. "I don't know how to get there."

"How did you get here?"

Randi frowned, thinking back to what seemed like ages, but in actuality, had been only a week. The replica had been the key, but she'd also heard a baby crying. The little plastic doll in the nursery hadn't been Rose until Randi had touched her. Then somehow she'd fallen into the past through the dollhouse.

Could she fall back into her own time? She couldn't build a dollhouse, but maybe her sketches would take her back.

She'd been practicing the last two days so she could create a reasonable version of the room at the museum that she'd left. She wasn't sure if she could go back somewhere else. Besides, showing up out the blue in her mother's kitchen, or popping into her bedroom at some odd hour, would be unsettling to her family. She didn't know if they'd believe her right away, because the story was totally preposterous. She wouldn't believe time-traveling could happen if it hadn't happened to her.

"Miss Randi?"

She looked up, suddenly remembering she wasn't alone. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted me to unfasten that dress for you?"

"Yes," Randi said, pushing herself up from the low chair. "I sure do. I've got things to do."

"Are you havin' a meal with Mas'r Jackson?"

"No! Absolutely not."

Melody looked at her with a confused expression on her face, but didn't say anything. Within minutes, Randi wore one of the plain dresses, although she yearned to pull on her faded, soft jeans and comfortable shirt.

She hurried Melody out the door, then pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil. She placed the completed practice sketches of the rooms of Black Willow Grove on the bottom of the stack.

Alone, she lay flat on the floor and reached underneath the bed. Tucked between two bed slats, her fanny pack snuggled next to her jeans and velour top. She eased the straps from beneath the boards, then held her prize close. Already she felt more comfortable.

After locking the door, she settled cross-legged on the bed and unzipped the fanny pack. She brought each item to her nose, inhaling the familiar, Twentieth Century fragrance of plastic and chemicals in the mascara, the waxy, perfumed smell of lipstick, and the odor of worn leather from her wallet. Her keys jangled on the souvenir Graceland key ring, the brassy scent rubbing off on her fingers.

She breathed deeply, homesickness swamping her. She wanted to be at her mom and dad's house, sitting down to rump roast cooked with potatoes, onions, and carrots. Her mom fixed green beans when she could find good tender ones. And the inevitable Jello salad, which no one really liked that much, but her mom made anyway because it wouldn't be Sunday without congealed fruit salad.

And those melt-in-your-mouth, brown and serve rolls. Her family went through at least two packages of them. The bread wasn't gourmet. Heck, they weren't even as good as the cook's yeasty loaves, which she'd come to enjoy so much this week. But those little rolls were such a tradition that no other type of bread could substitute.

Her stomach growled, but she ignored her hunger. She had more important things to do than eat. She should have at least an hour or so before Rose wakened from her nap. Besides, didn't she get a day off? Or did she have a job? Jackson hadn't really resolved that issue, except to say that she could help Suzette care for Rose.

Someday, Randi thought with a grimace, she was going to have to start talking to him again. When she did, she'd ask about her job.

She no longer believed there was a reason she'd gone back into the past. She'd gotten pulled into some natural phenomena, maybe, like a wormhole she'd seen in a space movie once. She wasn't supposed to be here, Jackson wasn't going to believe her, and she needed to go home.

With renewed determination, she started sketching.