Captain's Bride (4 page)

“Yes, sir, Massa Julian,” the heavy slave called over
her shoulder.

“Good morning, Julian, Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas
greeted them as he seated himself before an elegant service of
porcelain and silver.

“Good morning, Captain.” Bright blue eyes met his
boldly and staunchly refused to glance away.

“Bah,” Julian said, swallowing a sip of his
richsmelling coffee while a tall thin Negro poured Nicholas a cup.
“I’m sure my daughter prefers to dispense with formality between
friends. Don’t you, my dear?” He shot her a hard glance.

“Oh, course, Father. Captain, you may call me
Gloria.”

Nicholas almost smiled. “I’m honored, Glory,” he said
pointedly and saw warm color brighten her cheeks to the same soft
coral shade as her lips.

Julian grinned broadly and took another sip of his
coffee. “Something’s come up this morning, Nicholas. I’m afraid I
won’t be able to show you the plantation as I had planned. My
daughter has volunteered for the task. I was certain you wouldn’t
mind.”

Touché
, Nicholas thought. Julian always was a
sly old dog, but this time his efforts might prove his undoing.
Sending the fox to guard the chickens was always a risky move.

“You’re certain I won’t be interrupting your plans?”
Nicholas directed the question to Glory.

“Well, I had planned to—”

“Nonsense!” Julian cut in. “Of course you won’t.”

Nicholas fought the pull of a smile. The thin slave
returned to the dining room with silver platters filled to
overflowing: succulent honeyed ham, fried potatoes, fluffy
scrambled eggs, and fresh hot biscuits. Porcelain gravy boats ran
with thick red-eye gravy, and a big bowl steamed with grits.

“Dig in, my boy,” Julian said with a satisfied smile,
and Nicholas wasted no time in doing just that. Glory only picked
at her food and said little. When the meal ended, Julian excused
himself and so did Glory. She would meet Nicholas out at the
stables.

Nicholas wandered the grounds of the plantation
absorbed in the hustle and bustle around him. Women in
bright-colored skirts, their kinky hair hidden beneath equally
bright-colored turbans, chattered noisily while tiny children
played at their feet. Some hooked laundry from iron cauldrons of
boiling water with long wooden poles, while others dug in the huge
vegetable garden that ran beside the main barn.

Nicholas passed through the dairy, where two Negro
women butchered lambs, two more churned butter, and a young boy
forked hay into the manger. Even after his lengthy perusal,
Nicholas reached the stable ahead of Glory.

A barrel-chested, mud-faced Negro stood ready to
serve him. “Massa Julian say you ride Hannibal,” the man said. “He
a mighty fine horse. One o’ the massa’s favorites.” He sauntered to
a back stall, his heavy-legged stride unhurried, and returned with
a big black stallion. A second trip brought a dancing blood-bay
gelding with four white-stockinged feet.

“This be Raider. He for the missy.”

“They’re both fine animals,” Nicholas said, running
his hand along Hannibal’s sleek black withers. “Julian always did
have an eye for horseflesh.”

“I’m glad you approve, Captain,” Glory called out
from the doorway. “I take it you like horses.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Glory eyed him thoughtfully. He looked exceedingly
handsome in his snug-fitting breeches and billowy white linen
shirt. At her father’s urging—and for his sake alone, she told
herself—she was determined to make a fresh start with the captain
this morning. The fact that he liked horses at least gave them
something in common.

She took the big gelding’s reins in a slim gloved
hand. “Thank you, Zeke,” she said, smiling warmly at the thickset
slave. “Looks as if you’re taking very good care of them.” The man
beamed with pride as she turned her attention to Nicholas. “Horses
are one of my passions in life,” she told him, patting the bay’s
neck. “I’ve loved them since I was a little girl. Father had me
riding almost before I could walk.”

Glory smiled up at Nicholas, the first real smile
she’d graced him with since Julian had introduced them. Her eyes
sparkled and her cheeks bloomed, and Nicholas began to understand
why so many men had fallen prey to her charms.

“Hannibal,” she continued, “the horse you’re riding,
is a direct descendant of the Godolphin Arabian. His sons have
raced and won at Plaquemine and Donaldsonville. I believe he could
have been a champion—he has the stamina and the speed—but Father
wanted him kept for breeding.”

Nicholas arched a brow. “Your father said you were
more than a pretty face.”

“
Did
he?” This time she smiled mischievously,
and Nicholas felt his resolve begin to slip. “What else did he
say?”

“He said you’d probably turn your husband into a
cowering mass of jelly. I believe those were his words.”

Glory laughed aloud, a sparkling, crystalline sound
Nicholas found enchanting. Sunlight streamed through the open bam
door, lighting several tendrils of pale hair that had escaped from
the smart chignon at the back of her head. A dark green veiled
riding hat, which matched her habit, sat at a jaunty angle atop her
head. Tiny kidskin boots peeped from beneath the hem of her
skirt.

“Sometimes Father gets a little carried away.”

Her anger was gone today and though Nicholas knew he
should rekindle the flame, he simply hadn’t the heart. He was
entitled to a few hours of pleasure, he told himself. When the time
was right, he’d spark her anger again, keep her at bay. For now he
would indulge himself.

“Since we seem to be making better progress this
morning than we did last night,” he said, “I propose we continue
our truce and enjoy the day.”

“I believe that’s a splendid idea, Captain.” She
smiled again, caught up in the excitement of the ride, perhaps, or
the warmth of the sunshine after three days of rain.

Once the black groom had led the horses out of the
bam, Nicholas lifted Glory into her sidesaddle, noting the way her
tiny waist fit neatly into his hands, and handed up her riding
crop. Hannibal, the stallion he would ride, pranced and pawed the
earth in anticipation.

“Glory, chile!”

Nicholas glanced up as the buxom Negro woman from the
house called to her mistress and waddled toward the barn carrying a
wicker basket in her plump hands.

“I done made you and the cap’n some lunch. Cap’n need
to keep up his strength if’n he’s gonna ride with you.” The old
woman winked at Nicholas and grinned broadly.

“Thank you, Plenty,” Glory said.

Nicholas packed the lunch in a leather bag the big
Negro named Zeke found for him, tied it behind the saddle, and
mounted. Glory set her booted heel to the bay’s side and the horse
broke into a trot. Nicholas caught them easily, the big black
settling into a mile-eating gait.

They rode the muddy lanes in silence, enjoying the
sun, the brisk morning air, and the smell of magnolias. Negro
slaves worked among the rows of newly planted cotton, weeding and
thinning, some of them singing softly as they worked.

“Summerfield Manor has sixty-five hundred acres,”
Glory told him. “Twenty-five hundred in cotton, twelve hundred in
rice, three hundred in grain for our own use, and the rest is left
fallow. Father feels it keeps the land from losing its
strength.”

“And I thought you only had time for your beaux.”
Glory laughed. “I like helping my father.”

They rode for miles along the lane, beneath sweeping
oaks draped with whispy strands of moss, along marshy waterways,
through dense yellow and loblolly pine forests. When they came to
the rice fields along the river, Glory described the planting
procedures and again Nicholas was impressed with her
intelligence.

“After the land is cleared, a complex series of
trenches called quarter divides and cross ditches is constructed to
secure an even flow of water over each section during the growing
season. We use floodgates to control the tides.” She pointed toward
the end of one of the fields. “You can see one over there.”

Nicholas followed the line of her slender arm, her
gloved finger indicating a massive wooden gate.

“To flood the field the operator opens the gate and
the water rushes in. It’s let off at the ebb tide.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“Most of the fields have already been planted, but if
you look through the oaks, you can see some of the mules at work.
The ground is so soggy they have to wear huge boots—kind of like
snowshoes for mud. A square piece of heavy leather on the bottom,
tied over the feet with rawhide thongs.”

Nicholas watched her closely, noticing the way she
seemed to come alive as she spoke. “I thought women were supposed
to run the household on a plantation.”

“My mother takes care of all that. Actually I have
very few responsibilities. If father didn’t let me help with the
ledgers, I’m sure I’d go out of my mind with boredom.”

“I should think with all your admirers, you’d have
more than enough to keep you occupied.”

She shot him a fiery glance, but he looked as if he
meant no insult, so Glory decided to let the comment pass. “I enjoy
frivolity, as my mother calls it, just as much as any other woman.
But I also enjoy the challenge of working with Father. I’m really
only involved in the book work—profit margins, buying and selling,
things like that— but I enjoy it just the same.” The captain only
nodded. He seemed to be sizing her up, weighing her words, and
Glory wondered at his thoughts.

The morning progressed far differently than Glory
expected. At first the captain was attentive, bantering lightly
back and forth with her. Though he rarely smiled, he seemed to be
relaxed and enjoying himself. As the hours passed, Nicholas became
more and more subdued, and Glory wondered at the cause.

“Look! There’s a big blue heron!” She pointed toward
the edge of the rice field. “And there’s a snowy egret sitting on
his left.” As she finished speaking, she caught a movement just
outside her line of vision. Turning, she spotted Jonas Fry, the
head overseer, in what appeared to be a heated conversation with
one of the slaves, a slender youth she recognized as a Negro her
father had just purchased off the dock in Charleston.

“Would you excuse me a moment, Captain?” she said. “I
believe I’ve forgotten something.”

Before he could answer, she whirled the bay and
headed toward the overseer. Just as she feared, his face was puffed
up with anger. At any moment he would resort to the whip he carried
at his waist, and the slender youth would suffer the biting
sting.

“What seems to be the problem, Jonas?” Glory asked as
she reached them. The boy glanced up at her with huge frightened
eyes.

“Nothin’ for you to fret about, Miss Glory. Boy’s
never planted before. He’s thick between the ears and clumsy as an
ox. Couple of good strokes’ll set him to payin’ closer attention.”
It was obvious by the overseer’s even angrier expression the boy
would suffer for certain now. She probably shouldn’t have
interfered, but it was too late to back down. She decided on a
change of tactic.

“Oh, Jonas,” Glory said, smiling at him sweetly, “I
know he probably needs a lesson, but I do wish you’d let me borrow
him. I forgot my oilcloth, and the ground is so wet that I’m sure
to ruin my habit.”

For a moment Jonas wavered, thrown off by the
mistress’s dazzling smile; then his dark look brightened, and his
puffy face split into a satisfied grin. “It’s a four-mile walk to
the main house and back. Long walk for an oilcloth. But if that’ll
make you happy, Miss Glory, it’ll be my pleasure to send this here
nigger to do yer biddin’.” Glory felt a hint of annoyance at the
man’s coarse language, then a surge of relief. She smiled down at
the overseer as if he’d had no choice but to gratify the silly whim
of the master’s daughter.

Glory was feeling secretly pleased with herself when
Nicholas Blackwell rode up beside her. It was obvious from his
disapproving scowl he’d overhead the conversation. For a moment
Glory regretted her impulsiveness. The Captain already believed she
was pampered and spoiled; now he would be more convinced than ever.
Then Glory remembered the huge round eyes of the young Negro boy
about to receive the lash and lifted her chin in defiance. Why
should she care what Nicholas Blackwell thought!

“Have him leave the oilcloth on the old log up on
Honeysuckle Knoll,” she told the overseer. “And, Jonas”—she batted
her thick dark lashes in his direction— “thank you so very
much.”

Nicholas made no comment, just sat a little
straighter in his saddle, his mouth set in a thin, disapproving
line. They rode the lane in silence, Glory wishing she could
explain, but refusing to give the captain the satisfaction of
knowing she cared. If he wanted to think the worst, then let
him!

“Are you getting hungry?” she asked after nearly an
hour had passed.

“Think your
oilcloth
will have arrived?” he
responded dryly.

“If it hasn’t, I’ll just have to manage somehow.”
Nicholas looked at her askance, and she stiffened at his continued
withdrawal. “It’ll be drier up on Honeysuckle Knoll,” she told
him.

Saddle leather creaked in rhythm to the horses’
steady gait as they rode along the path, Glory determined to enjoy
the warm spring sun, Nicholas growing more solemn by the
moment.

“My brother and I used to come up this way when we
were children,” she said, hoping to draw him into conversation and
make him forget the scene at the rice field. “One of our tutors,
Mr. Eisner, loved the out-of-doors. He would tell us the names of
the different plants and animals we passed along the way.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Nicholas said.