Flight of Fancy: Cora's Daughters (41 page)

Asiza nodded, sniffing from the icy air and finally she found her voice, “Of course I know that. My nerves tremble because this means so much to me. You mean so much to me. I want to please you, with all my might I want to.”

Broc smiled, “You will m’lass, you will.” He started walking again, “Firs’ - you need to know – I, well, there will be time to ready yer’self for me. Before we settle for the night, I mus’ leave you for a spell – but I’ah be rushin’ t’get back t’you.”

Asiza almost sighed in relief. She needed just a bit of time to ready herself. She turned to gaze at the chalet a few steps away. The windows were aglow. Smoke rose from the chimney to show a fire had been set. As they drew near, the door opened. A young girl held it for two boys to hurry out – toting empty buckets. As they passed, a quick nod came from each - the low temperatures had them hurrying to get out of the cold. The girl stood in place for them to enter,

“All is ready. If you wish, I can stay to help you missus.” She offered.

Broc carried his wife in over the threshold, with the warmth from within welcoming them immediately - it felt so good, Asiza sighed.

Pulling the door to, the girl went quiet, waiting for them to instruct her. This was something new to Broc and Asiza - neither had lived a life where servants catered to them. Still holding her, he spoke softly, nuzzling at her ear, “She can help you while I’m gone,” kissing the soft skin at her temple, his eyes went to the steaming slipper bath. She too looked towards it as he finally lowered her feet to the floor, taking her wrap from her shoulders, “Well?” He asked in a soft timbre.

Asiza stood gazing around the room, amazed. It was beyond any extravagance she had ever known.

Not even the boarding house was so breathtaking, so luxurious.

Elegant, costly, brass lanterns were lit around the room, giving off a glow and warmth that were enhancing the mood she was already in.

The bed which sat off to the right of the spacious room was fit for a king. She hadn’t known a bed could be so big. Gleaming, thick and tall, mahogany posts with a gossamer canopy and sheer swags tied to each of them, as the furniture dominated the space. Pillows were piled high with the linens turned down, showing creamy ecru satin sheets and a spread, inviting them to climb in; laying across the foot of the bed, a white satin and gossamer wrap and gown for her.

Asiza’s fingers flew to her lips to cover the soft gasp that escaped from the sight of it. To the left of the bed, before a large picture window with its drapes closed, was a round breakfast table and lace draping cloth. In its center sat a silver three stem candelabra and tall flickering candles. To one side of it - a silver carafe of wine and two silver goblets. To the other - a silver platter of cheeses and meats with a couple of slices of apple pie. In the corner adjacent to the table, the bath stood with a screen beside it to pull before it for privacy. Upon entering the cozy den, they stood in the wide space open from the end of the bed to one of the two high back winged chairs that flanked the fireplace – further bathing the room with its orange glow,  crackling and popping off the burning logs. 

Following the viewing, they turned to look at each simultaneously, stunned by the wonder of it. Finally, in answer to his question, Asiza nodded her head. Softly caressing her cheek, Broc smiled, pleased – proud, “Good, let her help you. I’ah be back in no time.” He kissed her brow, turned and headed for the door. Stopping before the young one, he pulled out a small rawhide coin purse and dropped a silver dollar into her palm. She gasped, “Thank you sir,”

“Take care o’m’missus, be back in no time.” The girl eagerly nodded once more, stepping aside so he could leave.

Asiza turned to face her - green eyes meeting with brown eyes across the room. She was a native Indian, two ponytails to her hips, a full brown face and twinkling eyes, with a ready smile.

Asiza returned it, “I’m thinking, all that I will need is the unfastening of my gown... your name?”

“Li-lili…” –(
pronounced
Lee-LeeLee), she answered. “I will stay, help you until his return.” Coming forward, she excitedly went on to speak with Asiza, “This is a wonderful place.”

“Books - pretty pictures, warm fire, food - wine.”

“Yes, I see, it is a wonderful place. Where do you live?” Asiza asked.

“In the manor - I am an orphan. Mrs. O’Brien took me in.”

“Mrs. O’Brien?” Asiza asked, thinking about her teacher.

The girl nodded, “Hope – she is wonderful, I love her. I like it here, much better than the orphanage. I learn to read, write – I get good clothes – and I help with guests, like you.” She smiled, proud.

Asiza nodded, smiling – thinking, here was something else that could be done, so many ways to help. She turned as Li-lili helped her out of her dress, the many other layers beneath and then into the inviting hot bath of fragrant oils. What she soon came to learn was that Li-lili was a talker – there was little for Asiza to encourage from her. For that she was glad – with such company, time would fly before her husband’s return.

Outside, with a long purposeful stride, Broc made his way across the vast garden. On the way to town, his mind was on where he left his wife. That is what he wanted for her, always. Every little bit that they’d experienced that day, filled his tank of determination. The life he saw for their future would be this way, he refused to have it any other way.

Wasting little time, he was soon in town to speak with the four white men he’d hired. There, he would pay accommodations for them to spend the night - he didn’t want them going back with the others. With Boaz being black and in charge – they might challenge him. Until he knew them better, he could not trust them to cooperate while he was absent.

On a night like this, many men were there instead of at home with their families, because few could afford what the holy day was becoming. Most exchanges on Christmas day came in food parcels at the local church. Saturday night, that eve, was like any other.

By showing up at the bar earlier than he stated due to his change of plans – he walked in to scan the crowded smoky bar to find the four hired on, sitting with Pierre, the Frenchman he had fired. As far as he could see, the group sat friendly, having a good time in a game of cards. Seeing the combo immediately ignited his suspicions. With narrowed sharp eyes, he eased in among the crowd, trying to stay inconspicuous. He wanted to watch them a spell.

That they were playing a game of cards with Pierre could simply be a meeting of chance - but something told Broc that wasn’t the case. Positioning himself at the far end of the bar, he ordered a drink.

This was not a good time for this to happen, his wife was back at the cabin, soaking, waiting for his speedy return. He needed to get back to her. After all, he was the one who had changed the plans from her returning with the other boarders for the evening.

Yet, there he stood - his mistrustful nature and the bounty hunter in him taking over – holding him in place to watch them. With men coming and going, he glanced down the bar for his eyes to catch, to his surprise, of all people, Mr. Webster’s son… Michael. It was obvious he’d left Ramsey Manor, not in the mood for merry making. One didn’t have to study him for long to see he was not a happy man – he could only wonder why? He knew little of him, only that he resided at Ramsey Manor with his sister – he and his six children.

For the moment, he looked agitated. Broc knew the look well – he was brewing, as if something mean was pent up and needing an outlet. Adding alcohol to an already bristling core – could only have one outcome.

He wasn’t his problem. He was a grown man after all, the son of a wealthy Englishman.

He glanced away from him, holding his drink to his lips, checking out the table of five, four of whom were under his employ. A few times, they all moved in close to hear what Pierre was saying to them. In fact, there were a couple of times that the cards were forgotten. He also noticed, that two of the men had something to say to Pierre, who listened – nodded and another time, shook his head.

Heat rushed through Broc… they knew each other.

Within a few moments, he was certain beyond any doubt, that those four men,
no longer
worked for him. By appearance he was sure, they were plotting. Possibly a plan involving his land and his gold. The more he thought of the possibilities, the angrier he became. If indeed he was right, Pierre knew of his wife and where she lived – and that she was a Negro. While his mind searched for a solution to this problem, he tried to remind himself that he and Asiza had come north to start over, to change. Standing where he was, it was abundantly clear, changing wasn’t always as easy as moving to a new place. Sometimes, things you tried to avoid, came to you. The question that plagued his mind was how to deal with it? Which way was the right way?

He knew how he wanted to handle it – lay a trap and be rid of the lot of them.

Killing meant nothing to him, taking the life of someone who might harm him or his own, was like swatting a pestering fly. After all that had been done to his ancestors, on both sides – the Irish and Indian - killing an Englishman was like
breathing
to him – the French were no less guilty. However, despite those feelings, until he could be sure, he would not carry the weight of killing someone innocent of what he only suspected from appearances.

He would need proof.

Trapped as he was in the preoccupation of his thoughts, the shouting and screaming caught him by surprise. A body came flying by him crashing into one of the tables, and then another. He turned to see the source of the sudden burst of violence, Manny’s son in a rage. Two men were trying to hold him while another tore into him. The bar owner yelled to get their attention, grabbing for his club.

Broc shook his head, he couldn’t stay out of it, four men were now on the guy, no matter how big and tough he might be, he was only human. Impossible odds – with little choice, Broc rushed over, grabbing two and the scrap was on…

The very expensive, decorative brass and marble clock on the fire place mantle showed it was after midnight. When Broc had walked out of the door, leaving her to get ready for him, it had been close to nine. “Where are you?” Asiza whimpered, worried.

She’d sent Li-lili off after climbing from her bath – assuring her that she would be fine from there. Wrapped in the long towel provided, she’d donned the gown and wrap – pacing, nibbling on cheese and a bit of meat while glancing towards the door.

No Broc coming through it.

To take her mind off of him and the wait, she’d found a book to read. Taking one of the lanterns, she’d placed it close to the fire - there she snuggled in one of the high back chairs to read. Unfortunately, it helped only minimally to take her mind off of her missing husband. No matter how good the book, her entire being was at ready for his return – nothing could kill that anticipation.

Thus, due to her constantly being distracted, the book was slowly being ignored as her mind set adrift a vivid image of what could be now happening to her husband.

It wasn’t long before she was back to pacing, nibbling at her nails this time, fretting, groaning and on the verge of tears.

He had been gone too long.

He could be somewhere injured - in the snow and cold.

He could be dead.

Just like that, all of her hopes, dreams – the joy he’d brought into her life, could be over.

He had possibly left seeing to something that might have brought him to
their
end. If that were the case, how would she cope with such a loss? After all, hadn’t she always known what life for her would mean? Perhaps she had spent so much time in this dream-world, thinking things were going to get better, that in truth – it might all have been a dream - one in which she was being forced to wake from.

He’d been gone for over three hours!

Ramsey Manor was on the very outskirts of town - on horseback it only took twenty minutes to ride into the very center of town. Surely he wouldn’t have gone further than that when this night was to be their first,
together
as husband and wife? She was trying to be logical in her thinking, but it was hard to do with each moment that ticked by.

Her stomach hurt.

She was fighting tears.

She didn’t know what to do.

She had no way of going to look for him, thanks to the weather. It didn’t matter, because at this time of night it was unsafe to be out for
any
woman, let alone a Negro.

She sat on the bed, clinging to one of the bed posts and started praying, it was all that came to mind to do. It was while praying that she thought,
if he doesn’t show up in the next few moments, I’ll go to the manor and speak with the Webster’s
.

Consequently, her fears made it impossible to wait - she was about to take her wrap off when she heard voices, men’s voices. She rushed to the door, lifting the latch at the same time someone  knocked - snatching it open, she found her husband standing in the center of it, grinning. His coat and clothing were a mess, blood stained, torn and dirty. If that were not enough, he stood holding a blood stained cloth behind his left ear, hat tilted at a cocky angle due to the stained cloth – while looking apologetic.