Wilde, Jennifer (13 page)

"I'm
Marietta Danver."

"Lands
sake, honey—I hope you don't mind my being frank, but you don't look like no
convict gal
I
ever saw, and you sure as hell didn't pick up that accent
in the slums o' London. I mean no offense, honey."

"None
taken, Mrs. Simmons."

"Maud,
honey, call me Maud. I've been dyin' to meet you so's I could spread the word
to all the other planters. We're a gossipy bunch, like to keep close tabs on
each other. Hawke's a loner, keeps to himself, and that makes him all the more
intriguing."

"What
can I do for you?" I inquired.

"Actually,
one of my horses pulled a muscle and I'm fresh outta liniment. Hawke generally
keeps a bottle in the stables, and I thought I might borrow some."

"I'm
sure he wouldn't mind. I'll go see if there is some."

"I'll
tag along with you, honey. I rarely get a chance to chat with anyone. Runnin' a
big plantation like Magnolia Grove ain't no job for a woman alone. I've been
runnin' myself ragged ever since my Bill died goin' on twelve years ago."

As
we strolled toward the stables, I noticed Caleb lingering under one of the
oaks, watching us closely. Maud Simmons moved along beside me in brisk strides,
chattering merrily. She seemed an amiable soul, frank and earthy, starved for a
chance to talk. A pungent odor clung to the skirt of her emerald riding habit,
and I noticed that her boots were caked with mud. I hoped it was mud. We found
a bottle of liniment on a shelf in the stables, and after we stepped back
outside she seemed reluctant to leave.

"I'm
glad Hawke's got someone like you to take care of him," she confided.
"I've been worried about him for some time, I don't mind tellin' you. Ever
since that awful woman did him the way she did, he's been... well, antisocial
ain't the word for it."

"Oh?"

"He
never has anything to do with the rest of us, never comes visitin', never
invites anyone to Shadow Oaks. Ever since she ran out on him, he's kept to
himself, brooding, nursing his bitterness."

I
could see that she was eager to gossip, and although I knew it was wrong to
encourage her, I couldn't resist the opportunity.

"I...
I suppose you're referring to... Mrs. Hawke," I said. "I'm afraid I
don't know anything about her. He's never mentioned her name."

"I
ain't surprised," Maud replied. "It's been four years now since she
ran off with that actor fellow, three years years since she died uv the fever
in a squalid room in Charleston."

"She...
she was unfaithful?"

"Unfaithful?
Honey, that ain't the word for it. Even when they was first married and had
just moved to Shadow Oaks, she had her eye on the other men. She was a pretty
thing, one of them delicate blonds with sultry blue eyes and finicky ways. She
wasn't finicky about men, though. She came from one of the best families in
Carolina, but she had the morals of a trollop."

"Did
he—love her?"

"He
thought she hung the moon. In the beginning, that is. Later on, he stopped
caring. He
forced
himself to stop caring. Her conduct was an open
scandal, and she couldn't have cared less. Then this group of actors came to
the neighborhood and pitched their tent and put on shows. Alice couldn't take
her eyes off the leading man. When she ran off with him, I think Hawke was
relieved. He refused to take her back. The actor dumped her after a few months,
and she was stranded in Charleston without funds. She wrote to Hawke, begging
him to come fetch her, but he wouldn't even answer the letter—" Maud
paused, shaking her head.

"What
happened?" I prompted.

"She
found herself another man. Her kind always does. We finally heard that she had
the fever—some say it was the fever, some say it was something else, something
polite folks don't mention. A month later she was dead. Hawke sent money for
her burial, but he refused to go to Charleston for the funeral. He's been a
different man ever since."

"I'm
glad you told me all this," I said. "It helps me understand a lot of
things."

Maud
examined me closely, her head tilted to one side. "You in love with him,
girl?"

The
question took me by complete surprise. I flushed, unable to reply.

"You
are," she remarked. "It's plain as day."

"I'm
an indentured servant, a slave, and he—"

"That
don't matter in the least, not when it comes to affairs of the heart."
Maud took my hand and squeezed it tightly. "I don't know anything about
you, girl, don't know how you happened to run afoul of the law, but I know
character and breeding when I see it. Derek Hawke needs a woman like you, and
I'm glad he's got you."

"I'm
not his woman," I said stiffly. "I'm his housekeeper, nothing
more."

Maud's
leathery old face registered complete surprise. "You mean he hasn't—"
She shook her head, the crazy gray bird's nest threatening to topple. "I
find that hard to believe—a gal who looks like you, a man as healthy as
Hawke—"

"Mrs.
Simmons," I interrupted. "I really don't think it's any of—"

"Don't
you fret, gal. He'll come round. He's bound to. That woman hurt him, hurt him bad,
and no doubt he bears a grudge against all women for what she done to him, but
he's a
man
and with a gal like you under the same roof—" She
clicked her tongue. "It's just a matter of time, honey. Just a matter of
time."

I
made no reply, knowing anything I might say would be misinterpreted by this
good-natured busybody. Maud said she'd best be getting back to Magnolia Grove,
and I walked over to the wagon with her. Clutching the bottle of liniment, she
swung nimbly up onto the seat, her swaying skirts exuding a pungent odor. She
thanked me for the liniment, told me she'd had a delightful visit and, clicking
the reins, bade me goodbye. I stood there under the shade of the oak, watching
her turn the wagon around in the back yard and circle around to the front of
the house.

I
lingered under the tree for a long time, thinking of all she had told me. Then,
realizing that it was getting late and knowing I should already have started
dinner, I went back into the house. Cassie had finished cleaning the silver and
was getting ready to mix up the cornbread batter. I had put the beans on much
earlier, and they were bubbling on top of the stove with scraps of ham for
flavor. Cassie seemed apprehensive, her lovely brown eyes full of alarm.

"I'll
do that," I said, taking the wooden spoon from her hand. "Dinner
should be ready on time. I had no idea Mrs. Simmons was going to stay so
long."

I
cracked eggs on the side of the heavy blue bowl and began to beat them into the
meal. At first I thought that Cassie was alarmed because she feared dinner
would be late, but I could see that that wasn't what was bothering her. I asked
her what was wrong, and the girl seemed reluctant to answer. She frowned,
gently gnawing her lower lip.

"It—it's
that pie, Miz Marietta. The one you done baked for th' master."

"What
about it?"

"It's
gone," she said. "One minute it was restin' there on th' window sill,
coolin' off, and th' next minute it was gone. Someone took it, Miz Marietta. It
wuzn't me, I swears it."

"Caleb,"
I said to myself.

"He
was hangin' around in th' back yard. I wuzn't gonna say anything 'bout it—me, I
don't wanna get no one in trouble—but it must-a been him, Miz Marietta. He's
always takin' things, sneakin' into th' kitchen to see what he can tote off.
Mattie used to get after him somethin' awful, but she never told on him—"

"I
shan't tell on him, either, Cassie. I'll reprimand the boy myself. There's no
reason why the master should find out about it."

"Th'
master, he knows Caleb's totin' ways. Mattie never told on him, but th' master
knowed anyway. He called Caleb in an' told him if he ever caught him stealin'
food again, he'd peel his hide. He will, too. Th' master don't make idle
threats."

"Don't
worry, Cassie. I'll cover for him."

Through
the open window I could hear the slaves returning to their cabins. Mattie and
her girls were busy in the cookhouse, preparing the evening meal. I saw Caleb
sauntering across the back yard, a satisfied expression on his face, and a few
minutes later I heard Hawke come in. By the time he had washed and changed
clothes, I had the table set in the dining room and was ready to serve his
meal. He entered just as I was bringing the food in from the kitchen. As I
placed it on the table, I told him that Mrs. Simmons had come by and that I had
loaned her a bottle of liniment. Hawke grimaced, clearly disliking the woman,
but he made no comment.

Returning
to the kitchen, I found Adam and Cassie already sitting at the battered old
wooden table. As Cassie took her meals here with me, I had requested that Adam
be permitted to join us for dinner each evening. Hawke had shrugged his
shoulders, saying that if I wanted the buck to eat in the kitchen with me it
didn't matter to him. Cassie had set a place for me, and she was buttering the
cornbread as I sat down. Both of them looked grim. I could tell that Cassie had
already told her husband about the missing pie.

"That
boy goin' to get his butt skinned yet," Adam said. His voice was deep and
throaty, somewhere between a purr and a growl. "I told him, I says, 'Caleb,
you better watch yore step, boy.' I told him th' master wuz just spoilin' for a
chance to take th' whip to him, but he didn't pay me no mind. Effin th' master
finds out—"

"He
won't, Adam. Caleb's just a boy. I'll speak to him, and I'm sure he won't do anything
like this again."

"That
boy don't have no sense. He don't have no real job, jest gets to idle about
while we's workin' in th' fields. He have it easier'n anyone, and he pulls
somethin' like this. I'd like to whup him myself."

"Eat
your beans before they get cold, Adam," I said, more sharply than I had
intended.

Adam
scowled, his expression quite fierce. With his great size and immense strength
he easily dominated the table. Despite his patched tan breeches and faded blue
workshirt, I could easily imagine him as chief of some proud, savage African
tribe. I thought it a shame that such a splendid man should be little more than
a beast of burden. Slavery had existed ever since the Greeks, of course, but
that made it none the less unsavory. For all practical purposes, I was a slave
myself.

When
Adam finished his plate of beans, Cassie lovingly spooned out more for him,
then got up to fetch more cornbread. As she put it on the table, she rested her
hands on his shoulder, rubbing it gently, her eyes glowing with a love poignant
to behold. Cassie found it hard to believe she had such a man, and she found it
difficult to keep from touching him at every opportunity, as though to reassure
herself that he was real. Adam accepted her worship as his just due, and though
he frequently scowled and pushed her away, pretending indifference, I knew that
he was equally proud of her. On occasion, when he thought no one was observing,
he let his guard down, and I had seen that same love burning in his eyes as he
watched Cassie going about her duties.

Cassie
rested her palm against the side of his thick neck, leaning over so that her
right breast touched his arm. Adam shoved her away from him, his expression
sullen, but as she took her seat again, his dark eyes took in her voluptuous
curves and his face muscles tightened. There could be no mistaking what was on
his mind. Both of them were eager to get back to their cabin. Sometimes, when I
thought of the passionate bouts of love they shared each night, I felt an
emptiness inside. Their love and the pleasure each gave the other in such full
measure made my loneliness seem all the harder to bear.

I
had just finished my meal when I heard the bell ring in the dining room. I went
to see what Hawke wanted, surprised that he was still at the table. Ordinarily
he retired to the library-study for a glass of port as soon as he finished
eating.

"You
wanted something?" I inquired.

"I'm
waiting for the pie," he said.

"It—"
I hesitated, nervous. "I—I'm afraid there isn't any."

"No?
I thought you told me you were going to bake a peach pie."

"Did
I? I—there was so much to do, you see, and then Mrs. Simmons came and—"

"Why
are you so nervous?" Hawke scrutinized me with those dark gray eyes.
"You're hiding something, Marietta."

"That's
absurd. I just—"

"Did
you or did you not bake a pie this afternoon?" His voice was stern, and
there was a deep crease between his brows.

"No,
I didn't," I replied, trying to keep my voice from trembling.

Hawke
got up from the table and moved briskly across the room, throwing open the door
to the kitchen. I followed him, my heart beating rapidly. Cassie and Adam
leaped to their feet, looking at him with guilty expressons.

"You,
Cassie," Hawke said brusquely, "did Miss Marietta bake a pie this
afternoon?"

Cassie
glanced at me, her eyes full of misery. I shook my head quickly, praying the
girl would give the right answer.