Christie (23 page)

Garrett Randall stood stony-faced as he gave the order to put the
Marianne
on course for Virginia. If John Baxter wondered at the captain's sour mood, he knew better than to question it. Randall had always been a good man to work for, running a tight, safe ship, and he was always more than fair to his men. Baxter was glad to be a part of his crew, and if this meant occasionally having to put up with the captain's strange moods, he would be the last to complain. Swiftly, he gave the crew their orders to set sail with the next tide, and by evening of the same day of Charles's arrival in New York, the
Marianne
was on its way to Fredericksburg.

It was late at night when Garrett finally found himself alone in his cabin after giving the crew their final orders for the night. Grimly, he stared at his empty bunk, preferring not to turn in just yet and trying a bit too hard not to remember the details of what had occurred the last time he had occupied it.

She had to be home by now. Somehow, she had managed to do the impossible and avoid being found in New York. How? He wouldn't have thought it
possible unless she had help. Quickly his thoughts turned to Barnaby Rutledge. Rutledge had to be the key, and yet he would have sworn the man was honest! Besides, hadn't he searched about Rutledge's hotel for that horse of hers and traced the old man's movements for the duration of his stay in the city? If Barnaby was hiding them, he had to have been a magician to pull it off.

Well, somehow, she'd gotten away, but her destination had to be Windreach. He'd find her there for sure, and when he did . . . Once again his thoughts turned black as he considered the situation.

Divorce! Did she think to be rid of him as easily as an old hat? She was his wife! There would be no divorce. But when he found her—if he could keep from killing her with his bare hands—there'd be some changes made in their wedded state. She was going to learn, once and for all, this time, who her master was! The very vows she'd taken bespoke obedience! Oh, just wait until he got his hands on her! She'd be lucky if she could sit down in a week after he tanned that little bottom this time! And afterward there'd be no more thwarting of his wishes! . . . His wishes . . . just what were they, precisely, with regard to her?

Slowly, he looked around at the empty cabin. How solitary he'd felt since she had left! How could that little chit have made such an indentation in his life that by her absence, he would feel such a loss?

He reached for the brandy decanter that was always nearby on the small table near the warming stove. Silently he poured some into a snifter and stared at it.

Here he was, with the first bit of solid information
he'd acquired in all the twenty years of his search, when he'd somehow allowed himself to become involved in a distraction. And what a distraction! If he had any sense at all, he'd do as her letter suggested and head straight for Carlisle's office to arrange the divorce! The last thing in the world he needed right now was a wife to encumber him.

But somehow, unbidden, there came to his mind an image of her, all warm and soft, in his arms, her lips cherry red and bruised from his kisses. . . . Damn! She was only a woman! How
dare
she disturb him thus?

And with an angry gesture, he shrugged off his picture of her and downed his brandy in one burning gulp. Then, blowing out the lone candle which lit the room, he went to his solitary bunk. But it was a long while before he could sleep ... a very long while.

Chapter Sixteen

Aboard the
Southern Star-on
their first night at sea, Lula made her way unsteadily toward Christie's cabin with a tray of food from the galley. She wrinkled her small nose in distaste at the aromas which wafted up to greet it. Seasick! Who would have thought it could happen to her! She'd never been ill a day in her life. Why, even after the birthing of her babies, she'd been back at work the day after. Just then the ship gave a lurch to starboard, and she braced her back against the side of the narrow passageway to keep from falling.

"Oh, Lord! Dis gon' be de end o' po' Lula iffn ah don' git mahse'f t'gethah!"

With great determination, she then drew herself up to her full height—all four feet, eleven and one-half inches—and willed herself to stop feeling this way. A few seconds passed. Then she took a deep breath and continued toward the end of the passageway, pausing only briefly as she passed the door to Philip's cabin and giving a snort of disgust as she did so. She was feeling better!

As she reached Christie's door, she stopped. The
unmistakable sound of wretched sobbing was coming from the other side. Setting her tray clown on the floor briefly, she opened the door, bent to retrieve the food, and went inside.

A red-eyed Christie raised her head from the pillow on the bunk and looked up at her friend through streaming eyes.

"Heah, now, chile, whut you doin' t' yo'se'f? You gon' make yo'se'f sick, you keep dis up!"

She set the tray down on a table and went to the bunk where she sat down next to Christie and took her gently by the shoulders as she addressed her. "Honey, dis ain' no way t' be! You gotta put dat man outa yo' min'. Fo'git 'im, chile, fo'git 'im!"

Christie's voice was shaky as she answered her. "Oh, Lula! Don't you think I'm trying to? Oh, God! Why is it so hard?"

"Ain' nothin' easy 'bout lovin' a man, chile."

"But when does it stop hurting so much, Lula?" she asked, sitting up slowly.

Lula gave her a long, thoughtful look.

"Dat depen' on how deep he got undah de skin. Ah reckon it gonna be a long, long while in yo' case, baby— Now, nuff o' dis cryin' 'n talkin'. See whut ah fetched t' eat?"

"Eat?" said Christie, smelling the food then. "Oh, that's a good idea. I think I'm starving! But what about you?" she asked, uncovering the tray. "Are you still seasick?"

"No, ah ain' no mo'—ah done willed mahse'f outa id-Christie took a careful look at her.

"You know, if anyone could manage to overcome such an awful case of
mal de mer
with sheer will power, I do believe you're the one, Lu. Have you eaten?"

"Not yet," said Lula, eying the food hungrily.

"Then you must join me. I know I said I have an appetite, but I can't possibly consume all this! In fact. . . Lu?"

"Hmm?" said Lula, readying herself to attack a large slice of beef.

"I don't see why you can't share this room with me. There's a double bunk and more room than I need. And I'm sure Jasper won't mind sleeping alone—"

She stopped as she saw Lula's negative shake of the head.

"Cain't. Already done aksed 'bout it when ah saw how upset you wuz."

"Asked? Asked whom?" queried Christie.

"Yo' uncle. Seems he don' take up wif de notion o' white an' black folks stayin' t'gethah. Said ah wuz t' wait on his niece all ah kin, but t' sleep in mah own quahtuhs."

—
"Uncle Philip said such a thing? Oh, but Lu, that's just plain nonsense. You're not just 'black folks' and I'm not just 'white folks.' You're my friend."

"Ah knows dat. An' you knows it. But yo' uncle, he don' wanna see it dat way," muttered Lula, washing down a mouthful of potato with some milk.

"Well, we'll see about this in a few minutes, just as soon as I've finished eating," said Christie in a determined tone. "I'm a favorite of Uncle Philip's and if he thinks he can withstand giving in to my . . . carefully presented wishes any better than

Father, he's sadly mistaken—as he's about to discover," she said with a wink at Lula. " 'White folks,' indeed! Besides, I have a plan in mind that will require us to be together all the time. We'll tell Uncle Philip it's to ensure against my becoming lonely and depressed, but do you know what's really on my mind?"

"Whut?"

"Do you remember, on the
Marianne,
when I took to reading to fill up my time and then, when I suggested you do the same, you told me you can't read or write?"

"Uh-huh," said Lula warily.

"Well, what would you say if I told you I could teach you reading and writing?" asked Christie, her face a study in sparked interest now.

Lula sat and regarded her for a moment.

"Ah wuz afraid dis wuz gonna turn out t' be sumpfin' lahk dis, an' mah fust notion is t' say no. . . ." She continued, "But ah'd do anythin' t' bring back dat braht look on yo' pretty face! When does we staht?"

Christie looked jubilant as she pushed her plate away from her.

"Right now—or just as soon as I've spoken to Uncle Philip. But I thought I'd also include in your lessons some instruction in grammar and diction— that is, if you're interested?"

Lula gave her a look of mock disgust.

"Maht as well trot it
all
out, baby. Jus' hope ah recognizes mahse'f when ah heahs me by de time yo' done wif me! But ah got one condition, an' it's a big un."

Christie looked at her questioningly.

"Jasper's gotta git de lessons, too. Don' know how
much fancy talkin's gonna do fo' me, or readin' 'n
w
ritin neithah, but ah know dat boy kin 'mount t'
su
mpfin' iffn he git it all t'gethah. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" said Christie, her eyes sparkling with
enthusiasm; and she rose to go in search of Philip
S
tanhope.

Christie was right about getting her way with 'hilip. The moment he saw her large eyes about to fill up with tears at the threat of his saying no to her request, he gave in.
But
she was careful not to mention her plan to educate Lula and Jasper, who were each instructed to maintain their present mode of speech around him and anyone else they didn't know and trust.

Christie had some sense of deep southern attitudes toward blacks, especially since she had seen Lula stopped a few times to show her freedman's papers and had noticed the contemptuous looks of those whites who had checked them. Free blacks were not welcome in the deep South.

Lula proved to be an apt pupil, quick and eager, despite her pretended disinterest, but Jasper approached the lessons with all the willingness of a cat being taught to swim. He had become enamored of the sea, and some of the crew had taken to allowing him to assist them in minor tasks, and the call of lessons caused him to do everything he could to be unavailable when their time came. At these moments .Lula would wrap her skirts between her legs and tuck the end into her waistband, set her small, pointed chin at a determined angle, and go off below deck in search of her errant son.

In a few days they reached Richmond, and it was a
bewildered Philip who came back to the ship with the news that Charles was not at the stipulated meeting place near the dock.

Christie, having pleaded with Philip that she needed a little more time before facing Charles, had been helping Lula pack while he had gone to find her father. When he returned with his news, Christie gave a sigh as if relieved of some great burden.

"He must not have received your message, Uncle. Perhaps he isn't even at Windreach, but out somewhere, looking for me."

A look of concern crossed her face as she thought of her father in despair over her disappearance. "Oh, Uncle Philip! I don't know what to do! If Father's not at Windreach, then he may not have received any of the messages which were sent. . . . But surely Aunt Celia would have remained behind and gotten them for him!" She brightened at this thought.

"What are you leading up to, Christie?" asked a perceptive Philip.

Christie gave him a troubled look. "Uncle Philip, perhaps it was Providence that kept Father from meeting us here. As you know, I've been finding it difficult to think about facing him after the way I've botched things up so badly. I—I'm still not sure I'm ready for it, sir."

She threw Philip a pleading look.

"And so, my dear, you were, perhaps, wondering if you might not take an extended vacation with your Charleston relatives, were you not?" He smiled.

"Oh, Uncle Philip, could we?" she cried happily.

"Of course, my dear. I was thinking the very thing myself. If you can put up with your Aunt Margaret, that is," he added, throwing her a knowing look. Christie screwed up her brow for an instant. "Oh, I know it can't be as bad as all that—as long as I have you around to work your benign interference for me," she said, casting a mischievous look at him.

"It's as good as done." Her uncle smiled. "But I insist on one thing; we must send a letter, to both your father and
Celia, explaining where you'll be arid how long you'll be staying. Do you suppose a month's stay would allow sufficient time for you to rest and collect yourself adequately?"

"Oh, it should be," she replied, taking him by the hand affectionately. "Come, let's inform the captain I'll be continuing on to Charleston. . . . Oh, dear," she said, suddenly turning somber. "Garrett lives outside of Charleston, somewhere. You don't suppose—"

"Nonsense, my dear. After over twenty years of living there, l only ran into the man for the first time at your party. It's clear our paths have no reason to cross when we're living at home. You haven't been to Charleston since you were a child. You haven't been able to view the societal make-up of the town. When you do, I think you'll find that Charleston's social circles are extremely closed and select. They wouldn't be likely to admit or mix with those people from the delta country or anyone else living that far outside the city proper. No, Christie, I hardly think you'll be finding your husband there."