Wilde, Jennifer (65 page)

My
leaving Bruce had actually been a blessing in disguise, I reasoned. I thought
of Denise's strong features, her intelligent brown eyes, and I remembered the
fond way Brace had spoken of her the night of the ball. I was confident that
the lovely young woman who shared so many of his interests would soon make him
forget all about me.

As
we drove along now, Helmut was scowling. His meeting with the other planters
had not gone well at all. None of the six men who joined him in the cool,
simply furnished plantation parlor was eager to accept loans for the
improvements he suggested for their spreads. Each man was already deeply in
debt to him and had no desire to increase the load. But the menace in his voice
as he described the desirability of the improvements was hardly subtle.
Finally, after he reminded them of the mortgages he held, all but one agreed to
make the improvements with money he would put up. Only Robert Page rebelled,
stubbornly refusing to give Helmut more power over him. I had no doubt he would
soon find himself without a plantation. Helmut would take delight in crushing
him.

I
had married a thoroughly unscrupulous man, but I had known that from the
beginning. Actually, I had found little personal reason to be dissatisfied with
my lot. Helmut expected me to play my social role to perfection, but beyond
that he made very few demands. For some reason he seemed to have lost interest
in me sexually after the initial conquest. He had taken me roughly the night of
the ball with the brutal, battering strength of a bull, but once we were
married, he had made little attempt to exercise his legal rights. I was
puzzled, but I was also greatly relieved. Of course, he did own a house in
Natchez-under-the-hill, which was a strong source of revenue, and I knew that he
made frequent visits to that establishment. The visits were made secretly and
well after midnight. I didn't care to speculate about them. I was merely
thankful that there had been no repetition of that furious assault that had so
closely resembled rape.

He
treated me with cool civility, and if there was a slight derision in his
manner, an underlying sarcasm in his voice, that was no more than could be
expected. I knew what he thought of me, and he knew what I thought of him. Each
of us had precisely what we had bargained for. I lived in a sumptuous mansion,
surrounded by luxury, and Helmut gave me a generous allowance. He had also
given me an incredibly beautiful diamond and emerald necklace with earrings to
match, for Schnieder's wife must have appropriate jewels. I enjoyed giving
dinner parties and acting as hostess, and, even more, I enjoyed the long hours
alone at Roseclay when I could read in the library, stroll in the gardens, and
sketch in the sunshine with sketch pad on my knees, free from any emotional
commitment.

I
tried not to think about the past. That could only lead to pain. Jeff was dead.
Derek was gone. There was no love in my heart, and I was glad. If sometimes I
felt empty, if sometimes I experienced vague longings I was unable to control,
well, that was to be expected. I knew that this cold-blooded arrangement was
far better than the frustration, the anguish, the terrible grief that love's
tender fury had brought into my life. Marrying Helmut Schnieder had been an
extremely sensible move. I was convinced of that. Only on rare occasions was I
prey to small, niggling doubts, and I was able to squelch them almost
immediately.

I
hoped to have a friend and confidante soon, for Helmut's sister Margaret was
arriving tomorrow afternoon, the boat due to dock shortly before three. I found
myself looking forward to her arrival with great anticipation. Although she
might well resent me, at first, I felt sure I could win her over. After four
years in a German school Meg would surely welcome the friendship of a woman
only a few years her senior. What fun it would be to share things with someone.
Perhaps we could plan our wardrobes together. As Helmut deemed it unsuitable
for me to make my own clothes, I made sketches and sent them to Lucille in New
Orleans with minute instructions, and she sent the dresses back to Natchez,
each one perfect in every detail. I would do the same for Meg. Every young
woman was interested in clothes, and there must be many other interests we had
in common, as well.

Immersed
in thought, I didn't hear the horseman approaching our carriage. I emitted a
startled cry as Helmut gave a vicious jerk on the reins, causing the horses to
rear and stop abruptly. Had he not thrown his arm around my shoulders I would
have been hurled forward. Shaken, I clasped a hand to my heart and looked at
him for an explanation. His expression was thunderous, mouth turned down at the
corners, his hard blue eyes filled with a cold fury. He gripped my shoulders
tightly, completely unaware of the pressure he was applying. All his attention
was focused on the man who rode slowly toward us on a sturdy bay stallion.

When
the rider was almost upon us, the man brought his bay to a halt. I stared at
him. Because of the dim afternoon light and my own alarm, I didn't recognize
the man at first, but then I had only seen him once in my life.

"What
are you doing here?" Helmut challenged.

The
man on the bay was unperturbed by Helmut's menacing tone and murderous
expression. He sat lightly in the saddle, hands on his knees, the reins draped
across one thigh. When he spoke, his voice betrayed no emotion.

"That,
Mr. Schnieder, is none of your business, but since you're interested, I'll tell
you. I've just been hired to act as overseer at one of the plantations."

"You'll
be out of work tomorrow, Norman."

The
man allowed himself a faint smile. "My employer is Mr. John Kirkwood. He
was a friend of my father's, you might recall. As he is one of the few
independent planters who's never accepted a penny from you, you'll find it
difficult to get me dismissed. Kirkwood has no great fondness for you, rest
assured."

Helmut's
arm squeezed my shoulders brutally. I gave a small cry in spite of myself and,
scowling, he removed his arm. He looked as though he wanted to hurl me off the
seat, but I knew his anger wasn't directed at me. I couldn't help but be
frightened, nevertheless. I had never witnessed such fury. A tall bullwhip
stood in its holder on his side of the carriage. I was afraid he would pull it
out and slash the young man to ribbons.

"You've
made a mistake coming back here, Norman."

"Have
I, Mr. Schnieder?"

"If
you know what's good for you, you'll leave Natchez immediately."

"You
don't own the town yet, Schnieder."

The
man who so calmly defied my husband had the lean, sturdy build of a young
gladiator, hard and muscular. Four years ago James Norman had been a strikingly
handsome youth charged with vitality and eager to elope with Meg Schnieder. His
brown eyes had flashed with passionate urgency. Now, he was grave and
confident, and there was a mature strength in his features that made him even
more handsome. The impetuous youth had become a man.

"I
broke you before, Norman. I'll break you again!"

"You
caused me to lose my plantation, true, and yes, you were responsible for my
leaving Natchez, but things are different now. You see, I'm no longer a
boy."

"I'll
crush you under my heel!"

"Don't
count on it, Schnieder. I'll fight back this time."

"You've
been corresponding with my sister!"

"Have
I?"

"You
know she's coming back tomorrow. That's why you've returned to Natchez."

"Is
it?"

"If
you come near her, I'll kill you! That's a promise."

"Meg
is no longer sixteen years old. She's twenty now, capable of making her own
decisions. If she wants to see me, I'll see her, and there's not a thing you
can do about it."

The
carriage rocked as Helmut leaped to his feet and jerked the whip out of its
holder. I cried out as the thin black lash streaked through the air with a
hissing crackle. The tip cut across Norman's right shoulder, tearing through his
shirt. When Helmut swung his arm back to deliver another blow, I jumped up and
threw myself in front of him, grabbing his arm.

"No,
Helmut!"

"Get
away, woman!"

"You
mustn't!"

He
tried to shake me off, but, as he did so, the carriage lurched and we both lost
our balance, toppling back down onto the seat. Helmut dropped the whip. It fell
to the floorboard like a coiling black snake. He thrust me away from him, his
cheeks ashen, but he didn't reach for the whip. I could see him struggling to
control himself, trying to overcome that blazing rage. Then, I looked up at the
young man who sat so calmly on the bay. His shirt was torn, and there was a
thin red streak on the exposed flesh. He hadn't so much as flinched.

"Please,"
I said urgently. "Please go now."

James
Norman nodded. Taking up the reins, he tugged on them and nudged the bay gently
with his knees. Horse and rider moved around the carriage and on down the road.
Several moments passed. Helmut was breathing heavily, but his face had regained
its normal ruddy color and his eyes no longer blazed with that insane fury. His
pale blond hair was damp with sweat, the monkish fringe plastered against his
brow. The carriage rocked slightly as the horses stirred in the shafts. Helmut
finally reached down, picked up the whip, and stuck it upright in its holder.
He was thoroughly composed now. That savage incident might never have happened.

"I
was afraid you'd kill him," I said.

"I
probably would have."

"I
had to stop you."

"You
needn't justify yourself, Marietta. You acted wisely. I lost control of myself.
It doesn't happen often."

"Thank
God for that," I retorted.

"You
seem shaken, my dear."

I
ignored
the sarcasm in his voice, his mocking use of the term of endearment. Helmut
would have enjoyed making me angry, but I was immune to his subtle derision.
Turning away, I brushed a lock of hair from my temple and rearranged my skirts.

"Lucky
for Norman you intervened," he said. "It would have given me great
satisfaction to cut him to ribbons."

"I
believe you actually mean that."

Helmut
lifted a brow. "But of course I do."

"You
hate him so much? Just because he wanted to marry your sister?"

"There
are things you don't know. Things you don't understand," Helmut said,
grimly, as he gathered up the reins. "It's time we got back to
Roseclay."

We
started back down the river road at a brisk pace, the wheels skimming over the
hard-packed earth. His last remark had been curiously enigmatic. What didn't I
know? What had happened in the past that would cause even the sight of Norman
to arouse such violent fury? Helmut usually acted with cool premeditation,
every move carefully planned with Machiavellian thoroughness, but for a brief
instant back there he had actually taken leave of his senses. I had known there
was a deep vein of cruelty in him from the first, but I had never seen it take
such a violent form.

The
incident disturbed me far more than I cared to admit.

Monday
was a gloriously beautiful day, the sky, a pale blue, and the sun, a round
white ball half-obscured by puffy clouds. It wasn't nearly as warm as it had
been. I stretched lazily. A fresh breeze caught the thin curtains in my bedroom
causing them to billow inward like white silk sails. Dressed only in a
petticoat with a snug bodice and half a dozen ruffled skirts, I turned as my
maid tapped nervously on the opened door and stepped into the room. Lelia, a
small, delicately boned creature with skin the color of ebony and dark,
luminous eyes, was quite lovely in her blue cotton dress.

"Yes,
Lelia?" I asked.

"Th'
mastah, he wanna know effin you feel awright."

"I
feel fine, Lelia. Oh, I suppose he was concerned because I didn't come down for
lunch. Tell him I simply wasn't hungry. I'll be downstairs in plenty of time to
go with him to meet the boat."

"Yes'um,"
the girl replied and left the room silently.

Though
Lelia brought my breakfast tray each morning and was responsible for taking
care of my room, she had nervously resisted all my efforts to be friendly. Like
all the other slaves, she was silent, efficient, unobtrusive. There was a large
household staff, over twenty, and whenever I encountered any of them they
seemed to withdraw behind an invisible shield, never speaking unless it was
necessary. Helmut had made it clear from the beginning that I was to have no
say in the running of Roseclay. He issued his orders to butler, cook, and chief
footman every morning, and that seemed to be all that was necessary to keep
things running with model efficiency.

How
different they were from the slaves back in Carolina, I thought. There was no
noise from their quarters out back at night, no music, no vitality. They all
seemed cowed, even those who ran the household. But I had never heard Helmut
raise his voice to any of them, and there had certainly been no whippings since
I had arrived. I just assumed they had been strictly trained. Still, it would
be nice to see an occasional smile, hear an occasional rumble of husky
laughter.