Morning Song (24 page)

Saber stuck his head over the top of the stall and nudged Clive as he dropped a handful of the molasses-impregnated grain that was the animal's favorite into his trough.

"Good night, fella," Clive told him, rubbing his velvety nose and scratching the itchy spot behind his left ear. Saber's head bobbed up and down appreciatively at this treatment. Clive had to smile, although the smile was wry. It was stupid, he knew, but he loved the horse. Saber was a fine animal, with the proud head of an Arabian and the speed of a Thoroughbred. A mount like Saber had been part and parcel of what he had used to wish for so intensely. And, like the rest of his wish, it had been granted, in spades.

After years of living by his wits, he'd finally gotten everything he'd ever dreamed of. More than he had ever dreamed of, in fact. 205

He was a wealthy man now, owner of a magnificent plantation of the sort he had used to look at enviously in passing from the deck of whatever riverboat he'd happened to be working. His wish had been to buy some land, have a place he could call his own, stay put, and put down some roots. But he'd known, even as he'd been wishing, that he'd never have a place like the vast plantations he saw from the river. Money enough to buy a place like that was not likely to be won on a hand or two of cards.

But by a labyrinthian twist of fate he'd ended up as master of a plantation that covered more territory and housed more souls than some towns. He had acquired more possessions than any man had a right to own. Even Saber, whom he had purchased from a horse breeder near Jackson, was the embodiment of his dream. The animal had cost more than he would ever have considered spending on a horse in his old life. But as master of Mimosa, there was little he couldn't afford.

More than that, he was respected, looked up to even, when deference was something he had never thought to imagine for himself. Clive McClintock, river rat, professional gambler, who even his friends acknowledged was no more honest than he had to be, was now one of the gentry, a gentleman planter. When he'd been wishing, that wish had been so far out of line with what he'd considered possible that it had never even occurred to him.

But it had come true nevertheless.

Carelessly he had wished for land, enough money to work it, an end to the life of constantly hustling for a living. His wish had been granted and somewhere the gods must be laughing.

206

In reaching for wealth, property, and respectability, he'd grabbed a tiger by the tail.

He had a wife whom he hated, whom it was a struggle to keep from strangling, although he had never in his life harmed a woman; who was a bitch and a whore and who hated him at least as much as he hated her.

He had a name that he was beginning to hate, too. When he'd assumed it all those months ago, he had not realized how much it was going to irk him to have to spend the rest of his life being known as Stuart Edwards.

Clive McClintock might not be the name of a gentleman, but it was his name.

There were people he'd grown fond of, such as Miss Flora and Miss Laurel. They thought he was their nephew. He'd told himself, when he'd begun the deception, that'd he'd make a far better nephew for them than the great Stuart Edwards had ever done. And he had. He visited them, didn't he? And he was courteous, protective of their well-being, available for them whenever they cared to send for him. His arrival had given them a new lease on life. He had no doubt that both of them would live to be a hundred.

But the fonder he grew of them, the more he felt like a fraud. When he'd first formulated the plan, he'd meant to help Celia's chubby little stepdaughter come out of her shell and find a husband, thus serving the dual purpose of improving the girl's life and getting her out of his hair at the same time. Who could have guessed that under all that hair and excess weight had lurked a beauty whose merest smile would have the power to steal his breath?

207

Who could have guessed that her belligerence hid a soul of rare sweetness?

Who could have guessed that in trying to improve the chit's lot in life he would lose his head and his heart and wind up wanting her more than he had ever wanted anything?

And there, of course, was the jest that had set the gods to laughing. They had granted him everything he had ever wished for, more than he had ever wished for.

But he had never thought to wish for a woman to love. Love, he would have said, was something that could be pumped out of a man's system after twenty minutes or so between the sheets with his adored.

But he would have been wrong. He knew that now. Love had nothing (well, very little) to do with taking a woman to bed. It was about laughing together, and talking together, and experiencing all the myriad other details of daily living together. It was about caring more for the loved one's well-being than for one's own.

Which was how he felt about Jessie. He loved the girl, and that was the simple, overwhelming truth. Loved her enough not to finish what he had started in the orchard. Loved her enough not to take her maidenhead and in doing so ruin her life. The gods had offered him vast wealth, land, respect. To take it, and keep it, all he had to do was marry and stay married to Celia. And if he was married to Celia, he could not follow his heart and wed Jessie. If he could not wed her, he could not take her maidenhead, or her love.

As he had told her, he was a swine, but not that big a swine. Although he would have been, had he not loved her.

208

So somewhere the gods were laughing. They had given him everything he had ever dreamed of, and more.

Only he, fool that he was, didn t want their munificent gift any longer.

All he wanted was Jessie, and she was the one thing he couldn't have.

XXIX

Mitch came for his answer the following Tuesday. The previous day he'd sent a message over inquiring if it would be convenient for him to call then, so Jessie was expecting him when he arrived. She sat nervously in the front parlor, which Celia had recently refurbished in the newly popular Empire style. A muralist had traveled all the way from Natchez to paint intricate harbor scenes on all four walls. The pale blue of the sky and water was the predominant color in the paintings, while the furniture itself was of ebony wood upholstered in white. When Jessie had dressed, she had forgotten to keep in mind the color of the room where she would receive Mitch. Consequently she was clad in jade-green broadcloth, long-sleeved in deference to the weather, which had finally grown cool. The fitted bodice rose demurely to her neck, where she had pinned a small cameo that had once been her mother's. Three flounces ran diagonally across her shoulders to her waist in front, and three more trimmed the full skirt at the hem. With her hair upswept in back and her face framed by the short curls that Sissie had recently trimmed for her, Jessie looked lovely. She was more than satisfied with her 209

appearance—until she took a seat in the front parlor. Then she wondered if her dress clashed with the

room, and that uncertainty made her even more nervous.

"Lamb, I thought this day would never come," Tudi said under her breath as Mitch was shown into the parlor. Mindful of Stuart's edict about propriety, and fearing that being alone with him would make it more likely that Mitch would argue when presented with her refusal, Jessie had asked Tudi to stay in the room with her. Stolid and unmoving, Tudi stood behind the chair where Jessie sat. In honor of the occasion, her apron and turban were fresh and snowy. Jessie had asked Tudi to stay with her while she answered Mitch; she hadn't told Tudi that the answer was going to be no.

"Hello, Jessie. Afternoon, Tudi."

Mitch looked as nervous as Jessie felt. Too much on edge to stay seated any longer, Jessie stood up to greet him. He took her hand in his and raised it to his mouth. "You're looking beautiful today."

"Thank you."

Still unused to thinking of herself as beautiful—it seemed impossible when Jessie considered it—she flushed a little at the compliment. Mitch still held her hand in his; the imprint of his lips was faintly moist on the back of her hand.

Looking up at him, Jessie was struck anew by how attractive he was. If she had never seen Stuart, she would have considered Mitch, with his tousle of nut-brown curls, twinkling hazel eyes, and sturdy build, the ideal of manhood. If she hadn't seen Stuart .

. .

Holding her hand, Mitch shot a quick glance at Tudi, then drew Jessie away, toward the window. Tudi watched them with a faint, 210

satisfied smile. Jessie knew that Tudi, who loved ber and had nothing but thoughts of her happiness at heart, would be well pleased to see her wed to Mitch.

Mitch would make a kind, attentive husband to some lucky girl. Jessie truly regretted that it wouldn't be she.

"Well, Jessie, I've come for your answer," Mitch said softly when it became apparent that Jessie had been struck dumb. Ever since he had first asked her, Jessie had known this moment was coming. Not wanting to hurt him, she had her answer carefully prepared. Still, it was hard to say no to this boy who'd been the object of her girlhood daydreams for years.

"Mitch ..." Jessie began, then paused helplessly as her tongue became glued to the roof of her mouth. Taking a deep breath, she slid her eyes from his face to glance almost blindly out the window.

But what she saw outside instantly sharpened her gaze. Stuart was out there, just beyond the curve of the drive, astride Saber. Holding onto his stirrup and looking up at him with her back to the window was Celia. It was obvious from the expression on Stuart's face and the tense stance of Celia's body that they were engaging in yet another acrimonious quarrel. A marital quarrel.

"Is it so hard to say, Jessie?" Mitch asked tenderly. Jessie dragged her eyes back to his face. A queer, unsettled feeling churned in her stomach, making her feel almost nauseous. Anger sprang to life inside her, corrosive, eating her insides.

"No, Mitch, it's not hard to say at all," Jessie replied, her voice surprising her with its composure. "I'll be honored to marry you."

"Hooray!" Mitch shouted, startling Jessie, and gave a little jump into the air. Then, before she had recovered from her 211

surprise, he caught her around the waist and twirled her around, then planted a kiss on her lips.

Jessie's head was whirling, from either being spun or the kiss, but almost as soon as she had said it she couldn't believe the words had come out of her mouth. Surely she hadn't just promised to become Mitch's wife!

"Oh, lamb!" Tudi hurried to hug her. Jessie returned Tudi's embrace because she couldn't do anything else. She was in a daze. Good Lord, what did she do now? "You take good care of her, you hear, Mr. Todd?"

"Don't you worry, Tudi, I will!" Mitch was beaming, radiating happiness, while Jessie felt sick to her stomach. Before she could open her mouth to deny what she had just said—could she deny it, now that she'd agreed?—Mitch was catching up her hand and pulling her toward the door.

"There's Mr. and Mrs. Edwards now, outside," he said. "We'll tell your stepparents, honey, and make it official. Yippee, we're engaged!"

He sounded so joyous that Jessie could do nothing but let him drag her after him out to the veranda. Once there, he stopped by the rail and hallooed at Stuart and Celia, who were still arguing down the drive.

"Mrs. Edwards! Mr. Edwards! Look here!"

With that he swept Jessie up in an embrace that almost crushed the air from her lungs. As she clung to his shoulders, from necessity, he proceeded to kiss her with more thoroughness than he had shown the night in the orchard.

When he lifted his head, he was grinning so widely that his face looked as if it might split in two. He glanced around, and Jessie followed his gaze. Stuart and Celia were both staring at them, 212

looking, as well as she could tell from such a distance, equally stunned.

"It's all right this time, Mr. Edwards! We're engaged!" Mitch bellowed. Turning to face them, he grinned widely and slid his arm around Jessie's waist.

XXX

How Jessie got through the rest of that day and evening she never knew. Once the fateful words had left her mouth, she felt as if everything that followed was out of her control. For once in Jessie's life she had managed to truly please Celia, who became immediately full of plans for a lavish engagement party and, later, probably the following summer, an even more lavish wedding. The prospect of hostessing such august social events while at the same time ridding herself of her annoyance of a stepdaughter was the reason for Celia's good humor, Jessie knew, but still it was a welcome change to have Celia smiling rather than sulking. The servants, who heard the news from Tudi even before Jessie got back inside the house, were excited for her. Tudi was even talking about going with her "lamb" to her new home, and possibly bringing Sissie, too, if Miss Celia could be persuaded to permit it.

Stuart, on the other hand, was terse as he congratulated Mitch and pressed a cool kiss on Jessie's cheek. As was usually the case when he was laboring under the grip of some strong emotion, his face became completely unreadable. His eyes as they met Jessie's were as opaque as stone, but Jessie didn't need to see evidence of it in his face to know what he was feeling. He disliked the notion 213

of her engagement intensely, but was powerless to do anything to thwart it. After all, Mitch Todd was the scion of one of the wealthiest planting families in the area. As the only son of three children, he would undoubtedly one day inherit Riverview, which equaled Mimosa for prosperity. With the best will in the world, it was impossible for Stuart to pronounce the match anything but suitable.

Of course Mitch stayed for supper, and since they were engaged, Jessie was permitted to walk with him alone about the grounds afterwards. Several times Jessie opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn't meant it, that it had all been a mistake. But in the face of Mitch's transparent happiness, she couldn't do it. So she suffered silently, secretly appalled at what she had set in motion, as he talked of plans for the future, of how they would grow old together, of how many children they would have. Later, when he was getting ready to leave, he kissed her. Jessie dutifully permitted it, not even pulling away when his tongue slipped daringly into her mouth. But for all her slight hope that perhaps, just perhaps, she might be able to wed Mitch after all, his kiss evoked merely a mild feeling of distaste.