Patricia Rice (11 page)

"Don't give me that damned crap, Payson! Howard saw you. The authorities back in Lexington swear you were seen in the vicinity. If you wanted to keep your damned mistress, then you should have paid for her like any self-respecting man. It's theft, Payson! You're a thief and a liar and no better than you should be, just like I always said, despite all your fancy degrees. God, I can barely stand to see your face."

Dora winced as these words echoed up the stairway.

Words could abuse the soul just as sticks abused the body, and Carlson Nicholls wielded words like a whip. In his own intolerant way, he was right. Legally, helping slaves escape was still theft in this state, no matter what the federal authorities pretended. She wished she hadn't known the young girl was Pace's latest mistress; it made the sickness inside her roil a little stronger.

"I don't have to stand here and take this crap. I'm not a helpless child any longer. I came back here to see if we could have some kind of truce for the holiday, but I'll just go up and say farewell to Mother and I'll get out of your hair. You won't have to look at my face again."

"That's it, break Mother's heart. Tell her we threw you out and then go back and enjoy your fancy pieces instead of standing up for yourself, like the coward you are." Charlie's sneering voice joined the argument.

"Look the hell who's talking! When did you last stop in to talk with her?" Outrage colored Pace's reply to this accusation. "You're no better—"

Dora entered the dining room, the breakfast tray still in her hands. "Thy voices carry," she reprimanded them quietly, drawing on her reserves of strength. She didn't enjoy entering this conflict. For her own sake, she wouldn't. For the sake of others, she had no choice. "Thy mother asks after thee, Payson. She would see thee now."

She turned a flat, unreadable gaze to the handsome man lounging against the sideboard. "I do not believe Annie has seen to thy wife this morning. She must eat properly if she is to carry the child to term."

Her quiet words and presence effectively dampened the fires of fury raging through the room. Pace stalked out—although Dora wondered how he could even stand up this morning. Charlie roared off to the kitchen in search of the dilatory maid. Carlson Nicholls gave her a cold glare and returned to loading his breakfast plate with sausage.

Drained physically by the argument, Dora drifted back to the kitchen and out of the line of fire. Papa John had taught her that nonviolence would end the world's troubles, and sometimes it seemed as if he was right.

But stopping one fight didn't mean another one wouldn't soon break out. The war between father and sons was as difficult to elude as the current one between states. For some reason, men preferred anger and violence to love and reason.

Pace found her later, after she'd done her morning tasks and was walking toward the farm to see how her animals fared. He was riding, and his saddlebags looked full. Dora suspected he had never even unpacked. She didn't know how he'd hung on to the horse last night or how he stayed in the saddle this morning with that gash in his side, but despite her empathy for him, he still remained a mystery to her.

"It is almost Christmas," she murmured sadly as he stopped to ride beside her. "Thou shouldst be with family and friends."

The gold buttons of his blue uniform glittered in the faint sunlight. He removed his hat politely as he spoke, and the sun burnished his hair to copper. "That was my foolish notion, I agree. My regiment has orders to march on the first."

He did not elaborate. He did not need to. Dora knew what he meant. This might be the last time he ever saw his family. She had never seen a war, but she'd seen Pace fight. This time, he would do it with guns and bullets. She couldn't bear imagining him with blood flowing into unknown soil and his lively, all-seeing eyes closed forever. She kept her gaze on the dusty road ahead of her.

"I would thee did not have to go," she finally replied. "If thou must go to war, it should not be like this."

Pace walked his horse beside her for a way before answering. "It's not my choice, either, Dora. Sometimes, I wonder if all the world is crazed but me. They say that is a certain sign of insanity. Perhaps the world will fare better without me. Most certainty, my family will."

"Thou must have been hit in the head last night," she said scornfully. "Self-pity does not become thee. If thou wishes to stay, stay. The stitches in thy side should not be stretched until the wound begins to heal. Thou hast lost a great deal of blood and should rest. If thou canst not stay in thy father's house, then take mine. Jackson will be glad of the company."

Pace returned his hat to his head and his eyes focused on the horizon while he considered the offer. Dora all but held her breath as he scanned the rolling hills and barren trees. This was his home. She knew he loved it if he loved nothing else. She prayed love was a stronger emotion than anger.

"There are others I would say farewell to before I go," he finally responded. "I would not put you out of your home, though. Do you not use the farmhouse yourself?"

Dora gave a prayer of thanks before saying, "It is not safe for a woman alone. I stay with thy mother. I pay Jackson to stay and feed the animals. He had almost enough to buy his freedom if the tobacco had not burned. We are hoping for better next year."

Pace eased himself from his horse, favoring his injured side as he did so. When he stood beside her, he still leaned against the saddle for support. He studied her face before concentrating his attention on hanging onto the horse and walking. "Tell Jackson to save his money. When the war is over, he'll be free without paying a cent for his freedom. He can use his savings to buy land."

Dora contemplated such a strange world where black men could buy land, then shook her head. "I cannot see thy father or his friends selling land to a black man. I cannot see Jackson living at peace with such neighbors. There is a woman he would marry, but she is not free, either, so he refuses to marry her for fear their children will one day be sold away from them. There is hate deep inside him, and he is surrounded by hate. I cannot see how it will work. War cannot change men's hearts."

"Their hearts may not change, but their laws must. You know as well as I do that it cannot go on like this forever. Once, there might have been a chance for peaceful change, but narrow minds prevented that chance and it's lost now. The war will not go away soon. When it ends, Jackson will be a free man. He just must believe that a while longer. He is more fortunate than others. He can wait."

"The girl last night?" she asked quietly.

She felt Pace give her a quick glance, but her bonnet concealed her expression. He returned to looking straight ahead. "Her owner was from New Orleans. She meant to return her there. If she didn't leave now, she would never have another chance. She has just turned old enough to be sold to a brothel."

Dora cringed at such a fate. She had experienced having little freedom of choice, but she could not imagine having no choice at all, especially when the assigned fate was so ... She could not think of a word bad enough to describe the child's intended destiny.

"Violence is not the answer, but I cannot think what is," she finally admitted. "People are so very blind." She hadn't meant for the bitterness to show in her words, but the edge was there.

"Not all people are blind," Pace reminded her. "There are many others who believe as we do. I wish you would stay with your friends across the river. I thank you for your bravery last night, but it was a foolish risk to take."

The simple compliment on her bravery warmed her, even though she knew the truth of her cowardice. Biting her bottom lip, Dora shook her head. "I am of no use over there. I am needed here, so here I will stay."

They came in sight of the shabby farmhouse. There hadn't been funds for whitewash this past spring. Jackson and David had done what they could to mend the fences and barn roof, but they had other lives outside of this one and could spare little of their time for mending. The crops came first. And they were lost.

She could see Pace scanning the deterioration and forced her tongue to ask, "Wilt thou stay? It is not what thou art accustomed to."

Unexpectedly, he reached for her hand and clasped her slender fingers in the largeness of his. "It looks like heaven to me. Isn't that where angels come from?"

Dora laughed and accompanied him down the lane. She hadn't laughed in a long time. It felt good. His hand around hers felt good.

She wouldn't think of anything else but the moment.

* * *

Lord Beaumont sat stiffly in the desk chair of his study, perusing a crude sheet of stationery. He had one hand on the prayer book beside him, whether in preparation to opening it or in a gesture of prayer was not evident. The door opening to admit his son Gareth interrupted his concentration.

"You cannot still be considering sending for the chit?" the tall young man asked in incredulity, seating himself without invitation in one of the high-backed leather chairs.

Grayer now but no less handsome than in his earlier years, the earl tapped his fingers indecisively on the cheap paper. "If it is truly her, I have an obligation to rescue her from those heathens. Alexandra is my daughter, my flesh and blood. I have had an investigator searching for her for years, and here she is served to me without request. God's hand is in this."

Gareth scowled. "Human hands are in this. Someone seeks to profit by a large reward. There is no proof that the chit is really Alexandra. There is no proof that she even survived except for the word of one of those pious old goats. Alexandra is dead. We all know it. Someone has obviously just found Matilda's old papers. They've set this all up, waited until they found someone the proper age and coloring, and now they're meaning to collect."

The earl kneaded his forehead with indecision. "I will send someone to investigate. I cannot ignore the possibility that she is alive."

Gareth slumped in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "There is a bloody civil war going on over there! At least wait until the bloodshed's done. It's not as if you've got the wealth to share. The damned funds crash saw to that."

The earl didn't seem to be listening. His gaze had drifted to the mullioned window where a faint ray of sun peeked out from behind the heavy barrier of clouds. His fingers continued tapping against the ragged letter. He heard his son. His mind accepted the truth of what was said. It wasn't his mind to which he listened.

Chapter 7

I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how that can be?

I know not, but I feel the agony.

~ Catullus,
Poems
(1st c. b.c.)

May 1862

Stricken, Dora stared at David, still unbelieving. "But thou canst not, David. War is the worst form of violence. Peaceable solutions must be found. Thou canst not become a soldier."

David smiled at her sadly from beneath the broad brim of his low-crowned hat. "Dost thou think I have not heard all the arguments? I must follow my own Light, Dora, and it tells me I must stand beside my beliefs. Slavery must end. Can we measure one wrong against another, decide which is the greater sin, slavery or war? If I do not fight, I am allowing slavery to continue."

Dora tightened her lips. "That is specious nonsense, David. It is no better than Charlie saying he's taking that provost's position for our own good. A wrong is a wrong no matter how thou dost justify it. I know full well Charlie benefits from that position, just as thou intendeth to get away from the store and thy parents by going off to war. Do not give me fairy tales as an excuse."

Anger tinged David's reply. "If I speak in fairy tales,
then
I am not the only one. Who dost thou think to fool by living in the big house even when thou hath been offered other homes? Hadst thou taken the Elders' offer, they would have approved our marriage by now, and we could be living together on thy farm. What reason canst thou give for refusing their commands?"

"I need no reason! I am needed here. I would be a burden there. If thou didst truly wish to marry me, thou wouldst go against the Elders' rule as thou art doing now. Thy only interest in me is that dratted farm. Go off to war, then. Spill blood upon thy hands. Just do not think thou canst come home again and find everything still the same."

Dora picked up her basket and marched down the lane, turning her back on the frock-coated man standing beside his old horse. She heard him call her name, but tears streaked her cheeks, and she would not let him see them. She didn't even know if they were tears of self-pity, loss, or fear. She just knew she felt this great gaping emptiness, and only terror rushed in to fill it. Always, there had been this emptiness. She should be used to it by now. But each departure ripped the fabric of her existence a little wider.

She was sobbing and half-running by the time she reached the front yard of the big house. This wouldn't do. She would allow no one to see her pain. She must remain invisible. It was her only protection.