Worthy Brown's Daughter (10 page)

CHAPTER 20

C
ourt recessed when Jedidiah Tyler rendered his decision in the last docketed case. The judge was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a quiet evening at home. The sky was threatening by the time Tyler opened the front door of his modest two-story house on the outskirts of downtown, several blocks from the river. There was a white picket fence around his well-tended yard. The house was yellow with white trim, a surprising choice of colors for a man as somber as the judge. Aside from Mrs. McCall, his housekeeper and cook, few people entered the jurist’s sanctuary.

The house was dark. Tyler lit the oil lamp in his bedroom then sat on the bed. He was so tired. Lately, everything seemed to take an extra effort. After taking off his jacket, tie, and boots, Tyler opened his shirt at the throat. There was a mirror across from the bed. He examined his face. Lines of age were beginning to show. Gray tinged his temples.

Tyler picked up the lamp and wandered down the hall to his study. He was aware of the silence in the house, a sign of the emptiness of his life. Tyler’s study was the only room beside the bedroom where he spent much time. Lawbooks filled the shelves, and legal papers covered his desk. The law was Tyler’s passion. On the frontier, where everything was new, it pulsated with life. His dedication to his art had been repaid when he was elevated to the highest legal position in his adopted state. He had achieved everything he could have dreamed of in his profession. Why then did his books and papers seem so lifeless tonight? Why did the legal issues he was charged with resolving seem like petty squabbles between petty men, instead of matters of importance?

Sharon Hill
, a small voice whispered. Justice Tyler’s world had changed during that moment in Phoenix when he saw her in the crowd, but there was no profit in wanting someone he could never have. Benjamin Gillette wanted Sharon Hill, and what Gillette desired his wealth would always secure for him.

Tyler placed the lamp on the edge of his desk and stared into the shadows in the corner of his study. What did he have, a room full of books and a black robe? Before he attained his current position in society, he had imagined that his elevation to the court would fulfill his greatest wish. Now that he’d achieved his goal, he was still consumed by a desire for something more.
Sharon Hill
, a voice whispered, Sharon Hill. He was bewitched by her.

Tyler considered himself a man of influence, one who was respected and even feared. But he did not have power. Wealth brought power with it. When Gillette said something must be done, it was done. To go against Gillette was to risk ruin. A woman as beautiful as Sharon Hill would be drawn to power and wealth. Ben could offer Gillette House, whose very location bespoke Gillette’s place in the hierarchy of society. He could offer Hill wealth beyond the dreams of all but the chosen few. Tyler could offer Sharon a comfortable home and an adequate salary. It did not require deep thought to determine where Hill would come down if presented with a choice between diamonds, silk, and a position in society second to none and his own modest home and equally modest income.

Tyler closed his eyes and tried to beat down the thoughts that besieged him. Envy was a sin, and he was most definitely a sinner because he envied Benjamin Gillette’s wealth, which had ensnared the woman who dominated his thoughts and his dreams.

CHAPTER 21

W
orthy Brown left the courtroom filled with rage. The pain of the lash was nothing compared to the torment Justice Tyler’s ruling caused him. How could a decent man let someone like Caleb Barbour keep hold of his sweet child for even a moment? Roxanne never mentioned it, but Worthy suspected that Barbour beat her. While the thought of Roxanne in pain tore him apart, there was something that frightened Worthy more. Roxanne was maturing, and there was no other woman in Barbour’s house. Worthy had seen the way Barbour eyed Roxanne, and the thought of what might happen to her made him sick.

Worthy walked the five miles to his cabin without seeing an inch of the dusty road. His hatred of Caleb Barbour and the system that kept Roxanne from him was an animal that gnawed at him. His anger stretched his muscles so taut that he felt they might rip free from his bones. As he trudged along, Worthy thought about all the things Roxanne meant to him. Polly was dead. He owned nothing but the clothes on his back and his small cabin. His future was over. Roxanne was his hope. She had a chance to grow up free, and Worthy meant to see that she got that chance, but how would he do it? He had put his faith in the law, and it had failed him. Matthew Penny meant well, but Caleb Barbour had outwitted him. Worthy could not read the words in Barbour’s motion, but he had read the emotions on Matthew’s face. His lawyer had looked defeated, and Worthy had no faith in his ability to turn the case around.

It was late afternoon when Worthy reached his cabin. The walk from town had not diluted his anger and he still had no plan, so he put away his shoes, stripped off his shirt, and did what he always did when he needed to figure out a knotty problem. Worthy took his ax to the woodpile and channeled his hate through it. At first, the logs at his feet exploded, the sound of his blows echoing like pistol shots as chips and splinters flew through the air like bullets. An hour later, Worthy could barely lift the ax. Moments after he made a decision he let it slip through his sweat slicked fingers.

As a slave, Worthy had no choice but to bear every indignity imposed on him. But he was free now. When night fell, Worthy would go to Caleb Barbour’s home. When he left, Roxanne would be with him.

CHAPTER 22

E
arlier in the day, the drapes had been drawn across the bay windows in Benjamin Gillette’s living room to keep the glare of the sun out of the high-ceilinged room, but storm clouds had done a better job than the drapes. Soon after Matthew settled next to Heather on a silk upholstered couch, rain smashed down, rattling the windowpanes, and a darkness that matched Matthew’s mood filled the room.

“Orville believes that the case will not go well for Worthy,” he said despondently.

“It can’t be hopeless.”

“Oh, no, in the end we may prevail, but when will the end come? That’s the problem. The question is close and one of interpretation. Barbour will appeal if he loses. And there may be a federal question, which will bring the case into the federal courts for more hearings and delays and appeals so that it could be years before there’s a resolution.”

“And all that time, Roxanne will be at Barbour’s mercy,” Heather said.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, Matthew, it’s so unfair.”

“Yes, but that’s the way the law works,” Matthew answered bitterly. “Damn Barbour. He’s just doing this to make Worthy suffer.”

“He may also want to get back at you because my father sacked him so he could offer you Barbour’s position.”

“There’s that, too.”

Heather stood and began to pace. “There must be a way to make Barbour give up Roxanne.”

“We can appeal to his conscience,” Matthew said with a harsh laugh.

“That’s it!” Heather shouted.

“I was joking. Barbour doesn’t have a conscience.”

“But he does have debts.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Without my father’s retainer, Barbour will be strapped for cash. The way he spends, he’ll need every penny he can lay his hands on. What would happen if you approached him privately and offered to pay for Roxanne’s freedom?”

Matthew considered Heather’s plan. Then he shook his head. “It might work if I could raise the cash, but Worthy has no money, and I’m sure I haven’t enough to pay the type of ransom Barbour will demand.”

“I, on the other hand, am quite rich,” Heather said, smiling broadly.

“Would your father give Worthy the money?”

“I don’t know, but I would.”

“I couldn’t let you do that,” Matthew said.

Heather stared steadily at Matthew. “We must rescue Roxanne from Caleb. And the cost is no concern to me. I have money of my own, and it is considerable.”

“You’re certain you want to do this?”

“You’ve seen how Worthy suffers, and you saw the fear in his daughter’s eyes. How could I not be certain?”

“Then I’ll go to Barbour and find out if he’ll settle this matter for money.” Matthew stood up.

“Come back when you’re done,” Heather said as she stood with him. “I don’t want to wait until morning to find out what happened.”

Matthew squeezed her hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

Heather walked to the front door. When Matthew ran to his horse, he hunched his shoulders and pulled down on his hat brim in an attempt to shield himself from cascading drops the size of small stones. As soon as he was mounted, he turned in his saddle and waved. Heather waved back.

This vision of Heather bathed in the glow of the crystal chandelier in the entryway would stay with him during the terrible times that followed.

CHAPTER 23

T
he morning of the hearing, Caleb Barbour had been very nice to Roxanne, and that frightened her more than the threat of a beating. Mr. Barbour had told her to cook the same breakfast for herself that she was cooking for him. She was used to porridge with bread and water, so eggs and steak were a treat. After breakfast, he’d told her to bathe. When she was clean, he’d given her a new dress and a new head tie to wear to court. That’s when Roxanne realized that her master wanted everyone to think she was well cared for. Roxanne thought about tearing the dress to pieces, but she was afraid of what Barbour would do to her, and she didn’t believe that anything she did would help. She had tried to imagine her father victorious and the family reunited, but her imagination had failed her. Barbour was white, the judge was white, and everyone who mattered but Roxanne and her father were white. They were going to lose.

Barbour’s gray, two-story house stood in a copse of cottonwoods, a mile outside the city limit. In the morning, they had driven to town in his buckboard with Roxanne seated beside him. On the return trip, she rode in the back on the hardwood slats. When they arrived, Barbour ordered Roxanne to give him her dress and fix him a meal. She’d changed into a dress she wore for housework and went into the kitchen. Barbour’s victory had made him jubilant, and he drank through dinner. Roxanne thought her master was studying her every time she was near him. On one occasion, as she set a plate before him, his hand stroked her arm. The touch made her sick, and she hurried out when Barbour released her.

After dinner, Barbour commanded Roxanne to prepare a bath. She set a fire under a tub she filled with water she drew from the well each day for Barbour’s bath. As she waited for the water to boil, Roxanne prayed that Barbour would go to sleep after he bathed.

When the water was hot enough, Roxanne filled a pail to the brim. The pail was heavy, and Roxanne had to use both hands and bend her back to get it up the stairs to the second floor. The house was dark and quiet, and the only sound other than her heavy breathing was the sound of rain beating against the roof and windows. Barbour’s bedroom was at the end of the hall. Roxanne’s dread increased with every step she took down the shadowy corridor. She set the pail down in front of the door so she could open it. Some of the hot water sloshed over the rim and scalded her foot. Roxanne bit back a cry and squeezed her eyes shut. When the pain ebbed, she turned the knob.

The door opened into the bedroom and revealed a four-poster bed with the fresh sheets she’d put on that morning. A deep metal washtub was sitting by the window. Caleb Barbour was sprawled in a chair near the tub. A whiskey bottle stood on the rug within easy reach. His shirt was undone at the top and his shirttail was out of his pants. His elegant boots had been pitched across the room, coming to rest beside the chiffonier. A flickering oil lamp left most of the room in shadow.

Roxanne kept her head down to avoid eye contact when she lugged the pail across the room. Barbour sat motionless as she emptied it into the tub. When she leaned over, her dress rode up her slim legs and molded to the curve of her buttocks. Roxanne heard Barbour’s breathing grow shallow. The splash of water against metal was the only other sound in the room. Roxanne could feel Barbour’s eyes on her, and she left the room quickly to fetch a second pail. She trembled as she descended the stairs.

Roxanne barely felt the weight of the water as she climbed the stairs a second time. She was so distracted that she stumbled on a runner and burned herself again. Roxanne had left the door partly open. She turned her back to it when she pushed it open so she wouldn’t be facing Barbour when she entered. From the corner of her eye, she could see him sitting in the chair. The steam from the tub fogged the window. When she bent to fill the tub again, she heard Barbour’s chair scrape along the wooden floor.

“Pretty Roxanne,” Barbour said softly. A fist clenched in Roxanne’s chest. She straightened slowly the way she would in the presence of a rabid dog she did not want to alarm. Her legs shook, and she struggled for breath. When she turned, Barbour was standing inches from her, swaying slightly.

“I’ll be right back, Mr. Barbour. The tub gonna take one more pail.”

Barbour reached out slowly and touched her cheek. His hand was coarse. Roxanne drew back.

“One more pail,” she repeated. If she got out of the room, she could hide until he passed out.

“Shhh,” Barbour said soothingly. “There’s no need for another pail. The bath is for you, and there’s plenty of water in the tub.”

“For me? Oh, thank you, suh, but I cleaned myself this morning before court, remember?”

“It’s just a bath, Roxanne,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. Then he reached out and undid the top button of her dress.

“No, Mr. Barbour, you don’t want to do this,” she begged. Barbour undid two more buttons, and she began to sob. When the buttons were undone, Barbour stepped back, and she saw his eyes caress her body. She bit her lip. The dress hung loosely from her slender frame, still covering her breasts but exposing her stomach and the place where her legs met. She kept them clamped together and moved her hands over her groin.

“Take off the dress,” Barbour commanded.

“Please,” Roxanne begged once more.

“You can’t bathe in your dress, Roxanne,” Barbour responded with a dry laugh. “You’ll get it all wet.”

Barbour walked behind her and slid the dress off her shoulders. It glided down her arms and crumpled to the floor, leaving Roxanne naked. She bolted for the door, but Barbour gripped her wrist and wrenched her backward into his arms. Roxanne’s scream was muffled by a sweaty palm. Her feet left the ground and flailed for a moment before she was tipped over and thrown to the floor. Barbour followed her down, crushing the breath out of her.

Barbour rested for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he pushed himself up so he could see Roxanne’s breasts and flat stomach. His eyes moved to the patch of black curly hair between her legs. He seemed paralyzed for a moment. Then he got to work on his pants. With a burst of energy, Roxanne scuttled backward like a crab. She couldn’t see where she was going, and her head smacked into a leg of the bed, stunning her.

Barbour’s pants were down around his knees, but he crawled forward and was on her before she could recover. He gripped her knees to pry them apart. Years of hard work had made Roxanne strong. She struggled to keep her knees together while she fought his hands. Barbour struck her in the face with his fist, breaking her nose. The force of the blow uncoiled her body, and Barbour wedged himself between her legs. Roxanne was dazed. Suns burst behind her closed eyelids, and she repeated over and over a simple prayer she knew by heart.

Barbour labored over her in a frenzy, sucking and biting her breasts and slapping her when he found her dry and rough. Roxanne was dazed when he entered her, but pain cleared her head as he thrust back and forth. She gritted her teeth in agony until Barbour collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily for a moment before rolling onto the floor. Roxanne stayed as quiet as a mouse, her eyes closed, too terrified even to cry. Her head ached where it had struck the bedpost, her eyes and lips were swollen from Barbour’s blows, and she felt as if a razor had been drawn between her legs.

When Barbour struggled to his feet, she risked opening her eyes. His back was to Roxanne, whom he’d forgotten now that he had no further use for her. He groped for his pants. When they were around his ankles, Roxanne sprang up and streaked for the door. As she fled, her hip struck the bed, moving it sideways into the end table and knocking the oil lamp to the floor. Barbour’s eyes fixed on Roxanne, and he failed to notice the flames that licked at the bedroom rug.

Roxanne’s terror made her unconscious of her nakedness. She bolted down the stairs and raced into the night. As she leaped from the porch, she ran by Matthew’s horse, spooking it.