Passion's Fury (19 page)

Then it dawned on her that, if she had no money, she couldn’t telegraph Uncle James. I’ll find a way, she told herself.

The balding, potbellied man stared at April over the narrow wooden counter. “You gotta be kidding,” he said around a mouthful of tobacco. “What you think I got going here? You think I give credit?”

April looked down at the floor, hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.” She lifted her eyes to meet his once again. “But I must send a message, and I just don’t have any money with me.”

He shifted his wad of tobacco to the other side of his mouth, cocked his head to one side, and grinned. “Lady, I feel sorry for you, but I don’t own this place. I just work here, and if I don’t have the money to turn in for what telegraphs is sent, then I got to come up with it out of my own pocket. And I can’t afford that.”

If she could not get word to Uncle James, then she would have to deal with Vanessa and Zeke and Whit on her own. Of course, she could go to the sheriff and tell him her story. But what if the sheriff refused to get involved? “After all,” he might say, “Vanessa is your father’s daughter and entitled to live in that house, too. I can’t just throw her out.” Then he would brush her aside.

Her hands felt cold and clammy. She moved them to her throat, slowly, and touched the tiny gold locket she had worn for years and treasured so dearly because it had belonged to her mother. Her father had told her it was pure gold and quite valuable. But she had never thought of the monetary value…until now. Quickly she unfastened it and thrust it at the man. “Can you take this as a gesture of faith in my promise to pay you? I
will
get the money to you, but you can hold this until I do.”

He extended a fleshy hand, and she laid the locket in his open palm. As he turned it over, scrutinizing it carefully, she rushed on, “It was my mother’s. It means more to me than I can say. Surely you can see that I would never give it up for good. All I ask is a few days—a week at the most.”

“Oh, all right,” he said in a bored voice as he stuffed the locket in the pocket of his stained silken vest. He picked up a piece of paper and a pen. “Give me the message and tell me where you want it sent.”

“James Jennings, Hattiesburg, Mississippi,” she told him, gripping the edge of the counter and leaning over to watch him scrawl her words. “Just say, ‘Please come at once. Poppa sick. Many problems. I need you desperately. Love, April.’”

Her voice broke slightly at the last, but the man looked at her with the same bored expression, unmoved. “Is that it?” She nodded. “Okay. I’ll give you a week to get back here with the money, or the locket is mine. Understand?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be back. You can count on that.”

The sinister chuckle stopped her as she hurried toward the door. “I’ll be worrying that you
do
show up, lady. This locket is worth somethin’. I wouldn’t mind keeping it.”

“I’ll be back,” she said firmly.

Outside in the dusty street, April felt sick with hunger, but since there was no means of buying food, she decided she would be better off to hurry on her way. There were smells of bacon frying from a restaurant next door to the telegraph office, and the odor made her dizzy.

The mare had drunk her fill from the wooden trough, so she mounted and headed out of town. From time to time, she looked over her shoulder, still worried that she would see Hinton and Mulhern charging toward her. Each time she saw only an empty road behind, a wave of relief washed over her.

It was becoming apparent that she had miscalculated the time it would take to reach Montgomery. She had to allow the mare to walk leisurely because she did not know enough about horses to know how much exertion they could stand—particularly this chunky little mare. The mare was also going to need some hay or corn or something, she thought anxiously. And she herself must eat soon.

Rounding a curve, she saw what lay to the right and reined the mare in so sharply that she reared up. The sight had taken April by surprise—a church, people milling about, the smell of pigs roasting over open pits, frying chicken. It was a picnic, and the smells were too much to bear. She jerked the reins to the right and rode onto the church grounds. A few people glanced up at her curiously as she got off the horse and tied her to a tree.

She dusted off her trousers and stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to do next. She knew she looked a sight, and oh lord, she hated to beg. A kind-faced man came walking toward her. The preacher, she thought nervously.

“Bless you, brother, and welcome to Shady Grove Baptist church—” His voice trailed off and his eyes widened as she removed he hat. Her hair tumbled down about her face and shoulders. He smiled quickly. “Excuse me, sister.”

“It’s all right.” She licked her lips nervously and began to twist her hat in her hands. “Look, parson, I’ve never begged before in my life, but I’m on my way home, and I haven’t eaten since yesterday. I smelled your food—”

“Of course.” His smile quickened to a broad grin. He offered his arm and she took it as graciously as though she were making a grand entrance. “You just come with me. The lambs in my flock are always ready to open their hearts—and their picnic baskets—to a child of the Lord. Just come with me.”

The others were as friendly as their preacher, and while she received a few curious stares, no one asked any questions. She was given a generous portion of roast pig, along with baked sweet potatoes, corn on the cob, green peas, and hot biscuits dripping with butter. While the crispy, bubbly dish of apple pie was tempting, April declined.

“Then you’ll take a basket with you,” a woman smiled kindly. “You might get hungry again before you reach your destination.”

Though she protested, the good people of Shady Grove Baptist Church would not take no for an answer. They even showed her a grazing place for her mare. She left them carrying a bag of food that would see her through the rest of her journey. “I don’t know how to thank you all,” she murmured, tears in her eyes.

“Just help another stranger along the way,” the preacher smiled and waved. “Pass along the good work of the Lord.”

“And pray for our soldiers,” the woman who had packed the basket called to her. “Pray they defeat the Yankees and save our homeland.”

April promised she would and moved the mare on down the road, feeling a gratitude she had never felt before.

At dusk, she found a deserted barn set back from the road and shrouded with thick vines and weeds. The door hung from rotted hinges, leaving the opening a black and yawning mouth for the green monster that framed it. Poking her head inside, she leaped back, startled at the sound of something unseen scurrying in the dark. All of a sudden the hard ground below her feet seemed a more welcome bed than that black pit.

After a restless night, she continued on her way. She had never been so tired. Every muscle ached from the long hours of riding.

By midafternoon, familiar sights told her she was close to home. She began to pace the weary horse slower, not wanting to get too close to Pinehurst before dark.

At dusk, she reached the stream that ran through the woods far behind her home. After unsaddling the horse and making sure she was secured out of sight, April crouched behind a tree to watch for signs of movement near the plantation.

The field hands had already finished the day’s plowing. Wisps of smoke rose above the trees surrounding the slave cottages, telling her that the workers were inside, preparing their evening meal.

She waited until total darkness covered the land, then made her way slowly toward the house. It was her plan to find out as much as possible, then find a place to hide out until Uncle James arrived. Perhaps she could go to Alton’s family. When they heard her story, they would take her in. She really ought to have gone there first, but curiosity about Pinehurst was eating away at her.

She came to the very edge of the woods. Nothing lay between her and the front of the house except the rolling green lawn. The house looked quiet. Deathly quiet. There was a light in her father’s room, and in the study. The rest of the mansion was dark.

Taking a deep breath, she ran across the lawn, moving as fast as she could. When she reached the side of the house, she crouched down once more and waited. There were no sounds. One quick look, she promised herself, one quick look to make sure Poppa was all right, and she would leave and hurry to the Moseleys’ farm. But she
had
to know about Poppa.

Slowly, stealthily, she made her way up the wide marble steps to the sweeping porch. Pressing her back against the white wood side, she inched along till she reached the parlor window. Slowly she turned to peer through the glass and felt an ominous chill when she saw Vanessa sitting behind their father’s oak desk, looking at the papers spread before her.

Vanessa looked quite at home, and April was briefly surprised to see that she wore a rather formal gown of pale mauve, the sleeves and collar edged in delicate lace. Vanessa had never cared for ruffles and frills, preferring plain dresses if she were forced to wear dresses, but being happiest in breeches and shirts.

A bitter flash moved through April as she caught sight of Zeke Hartley sitting opposite her sister. His booted feet were propped on the edge of the desk, and he held a long cheroot between his teeth. His fingers tapped on the sides of a brandy glass. He, too, looked quite at home, she thought angrily.

Their conversation could not be heard, and April decided she had seen enough. What she wanted desperately to know now was how her father was. She turned and left the porch, slipping around to the rear door, praying all the while that she would not run into anyone. All she wanted was a quick peek in her father’s room and then she would be on her way to the Moseleys.

She tiptoed up the dark back stairs, making her way from memory. She reached the second floor and wrinkled her nose at the musty odor. How many of the servants had run away? Probably many, for Vanessa was often cruel to the Negroes.

A thin shaft of light shone through the crack between her father’s door and the floor. She placed her trembling hand on the knob and turned it ever so slowly. Then she opened the door just far enough to see inside. Her father lay in his bed, eyes closed. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. He appeared to be all right.

Then she scanned his face. Even in sleep, much misery and heartache were etched there. She blinked back the furious tears.

She realized she was gripping the glass knob so hard that her fingers were hurting, and she relaxed her hold. She had to have help.
Had
to. That shadow of a man lying before her did not deserve his treatment, no matter what his sins.

“Hello, April.”

Her spine stiffened. Very slowly, she turned around. A lantern was suddenly lit, flooding the hall with a sickly yellow light.

Vanessa was smiling evilly, blue eyes glittering in the glow of the lantern Zeke Hartley was holding. He was not smiling.

“Welcome home, sister dear,” Vanessa said softly.

April looked about wildly. Was there a chance to run? Any chance at all? She would not give in without a fight.

Zeke handed the lantern to Vanessa and took a step forward as he whispered between clenched teeth, “We’ve got some things to talk about, girl.”

In that moment, April realized that she had never awakened from the nightmare her life had become.

Chapter Twelve

April was furious. Zeke had twisted her arm painfully behind her back, squeezing hard and lifting her up till she was forced to walk along on her tiptoes, down the stairs and into the study. Vanessa leaned against their father’s desk to watch while Zeke shoved April into a chair, then handed her a glass of brandy. It was taking every ounce of self-control to keep from throwing it at Vanessa’s smugly smiling face.

“Well, this is quite a surprise.” Vanessa folded her arms across her bosom. “When Whit told us he had spotted you prowling about, I decided to just sit back and wait and see what you were up to.” She cast an accusing glare in Zeke’s direction. “I think someone is going to have some explaining to do about how you came to be here. I never thought you would be able to escape the monastery.”

April explained in a furious, staccato voice. “Didn’t Zeke tell you that, instead of taking me to the monastery, he used me as the wager on a horse race with Rance Taggart and then lost? I’ve been at Cheaha mountain, Vanessa, held prisoner by that savage, Rance.”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Well, then, I’m sure you can’t be
too
disappointed that you never got to the monks. Knowing Rance—and I do—I’ll bet you found him much more entertaining. Much more, shall we say,
gratifying
?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” April started to get up but Zeke roughly pushed her back down.

“Don’t you touch me, you bastard,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Vanessa moved to sit behind the desk. “Now, now, let’s not get emotional, April. As you can see, I’m quite in charge here, and I’m not about to have you around to mess up things.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Vanessa and Zeke exchanged looks and simultaneously broke into hearty laughter while April watched in seething silence. “You have no choice,” Vanessa told her when she had stopped laughing, adding, “You didn’t see Poppa awake. Too bad. You would have seen how completely docile and helpless he is. He never gets out of bed these days unless Buford picks him up and sits him in a chair. He even has to be spoon fed.”