Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (3 page)

“So
Camilla,” Marianne said, and Cam braced herself. For all that Marianne seemed
silly and flirty and not very clever, she could be like a dog with a bone, and
she usually got what she wanted. “Didn't Katherine Varennes and your poor dear
mother die the same week?” Only Marianne would think it was appropriate to ask
someone about the exact date of the death of their poor dear mother. Cam
swallowed, and for a minute the smoky scent of the barbecue took on a different
smell. Cam could almost taste ash in the air, and the warm breath of the sun on
her face was like a flame.

It
took Cam a minute to formulate a suitable response, and during that time she
could feel Brent watching her closely. “You need not feel obliged to answer,
Miss Johnson,” he told her, “I do not mean to distress you.”

So,
he thought she was distressed, did he? He was right, but Cam straightened her
shoulders and shook her head anyway. “It’s quite alright, Mr. Anderson,” she
told him firmly. “I am always happy to satisfy another’s curiosity— no matter
how morbid,” the last part was directed, with a sweet smile, at Marianne. The
redhead gave her an equally false smile in return. Lord, this sort of thing was
exactly why Cam avoided social functions in the first place. People like
Marianne abounded and their games were exhausting. Especially today, when Cam
had a game of her own to play.

“I
believe that my mother and Mrs. Varennes did die within a few days of each
other, but I can't tell you for sure. I was but six at the time.” She could
have told them, down to the hour, exactly how much time had passed between her
mother's death and Kat Varennes’, but the lie slipped smoothly from her lips. It
was always easier to deceive people with uncertainty than certainty.

“Hm.
I was three.” Marianne responded. It was a subtle jab at Cam's age, which, at
twenty, was already considered advanced for an unmarried girl.

“It
sounds like a very difficult time for your family, and everyone else in the
community,” Brent put in.  He wanted badly to ask what exactly had happened to
Cam’s mother. He had heard several different accounts of her death, but despite
Cam’s insistence that she was perfectly fine, thank-you-very-much, there had
been a moment after Marianne’s question when there had been something hollow
and sick inside of her eyes, and guilt had pressed down on his chest like a
millstone.

He
wasn’t probing to torment her. He was doing it for his family, specifically his
brother. But he couldn’t help but think about her family, about all of the ways
in which they were still suffering. It was a loss that he couldn’t imagine.
Both his parents were alive and well, cheerfully touring Europe together.

“Oh,
yes, it was very difficult,” Marianne said. “Such a tragedy. Two deaths in just
a few short days.”

“Three,”
Cam corrected.  Next to her, Brent didn’t make a sound, but she was aware of
him shifting in his seat, of his silent interest.  Clearly no one had told him
about Sam.

“What?”
Marianne fluttered her eyelashes, and Cam resisted the urge to yank them out.

“There
were three deaths,” Cam said. If Aunt Beth heard about this then Cam would be
in for a lecture, but she didn’t really care. It wasn’t right the way that
people mourned Kat and Solange and never mentioned Sam. “Samuel, our cook’s
son, was killed in the same fire as my mother.” Sam was Caro’s son, and that
was the root of the sister like bond between Caro and Cam’s grandmother. They
had both lost their firstborns in the same flames.

Marianne,
realizing that this of course meant that Sam had been black, was immediately
indifferent. “Oh.”  Cam turned away before Marianne could see the contempt on
her face.

A
furtive movement from across the lawn caught her eye. Someone was standing in
the shadows on the edge of the forest. The forest wasn’t on Johnson land;
otherwise Cam’s father would have cleared it and planted cotton over it long
ago. Half of it was part of the Wickers estate, which meant that Brent’s
brother owned it. The other half had changed hands many times over the past few
years, so frequently that Cam was no longer sure exactly who it belonged to. A
number of squatters and other poverty-stricken folk made their home in there,
clearing small gardens and surviving off of deer, possums and fish from the
creek. Perhaps it was one of the forest-dwellers who stood there, just out of
sight in the shade of a mossy oak. Whoever the stranger was, he would be in
trouble if Cam’s father caught sight of him. Mr. Johnson valued his privacy and
would not appreciate someone observing his barbecue from afar.

Perhaps
it was one of the Charmon boys. The Charmons were one of the largest families
living in the forest. Mrs. Charmon had given birth thirteen times, and ten of
her children were still living, though the youngest two were sickly. Cam had
been bringing them food and other necessities every week. Perhaps the children
had taken a turn for the worse and Mrs. Charmon had sent one of the boys to
fetch Cam. Taking a step forward, Cam shaded her face to see if it was one of
the Charmon boys.

The
figure quickly moved backwards, deeper into the shadows. A chill ran down Cam’s
spine. Whoever it was was not only watching Cam back, but wanted to remain
unseen. 

“Cam,
are you alright honey?” Marianne asked from next to her.

“Just
fine.” Cam said, still watching the figure in the shadows. This was the second
time today that she had felt someone watching her, and she was beginning to feel
haunted.

Behind
her, she heard Marianne stand up to take a look. “My word, is that Helen?”

“Where?”
Cam turned to the redhead in surprise. Marianne pointed to a spot in the forest
maybe thirty yards from where Cam had been looking. Sure enough, Cam’s little
sister was emerging from the forest, gripping her full skirts tightly. “Oh my .
. .” Cam sighed.

“Ah,
is that your youngest sister?” Brent spoke up. Cam wasn’t sure, but it sounded
like there was an edge of humor in his voice. Oh yes, it was all very funny
when it was someone else’s family that was quickly becoming the talk of the
county.

“That’s
Helen,” Cam answered reluctantly. She wondered what whether Helen knew that
there was someone lurking in the shadow of the woods. Helen was obviously trying
to join the barbecue as inconspicuously as possible, but there was still a
fence between her and the lawn. Helen’s skirts were wider than Cam’s, and Cam
couldn’t even imagine how her sister would manage to climb a fence in a hoop
skirt. Helen seemed to be prepared to try, though.

A
rare breeze blew as Cam shifted, directing her gaze back to the shadows where
the stranger had stood. The Spanish moss was swaying gently in the wind as a
few leaves fell, but there was no sign of the man who had been standing there
only a minute earlier.

“Oh
dear,” Marianne said as Helen began to gingerly climb the fence, holding her
skirt very high to keep it from catching on the rough wood posts. “Oh dear,”
Marianne said again, breaking out into an unkind but melodic laugh, one pale,
fine-boned hand gently covering her lips. Cam wanted to reach over and slowly
break each one of her fingers. Marianne’s loud giggles were going to draw
attention to Helen, which was probably Marianne’s intention.  

Cam
glanced in her Aunt’s direction. She could tell from the stiff set of
Elizabeth’s shoulders that her aunt had already seen Helen, but was doing her
best to pretend that she hadn’t to avoid drawing any more attention to the
scene. It was a noble effort, but everyone would be staring soon enough if
Marianne didn’t close her mouth.

On
the arm of Marianne’s chair, her half-full glass of lemonade wobbled
dangerously. Cam raised her eyebrows, sorely tempted.

No.

It
would be terribly immature.

I’m
much too old for this.

Then
again, Cam thought, tilting her head thoughtfully, she hadn’t ever returned the
favor for that time when she was ten and Marianne pushed her into the Bransons’
pond.

Little
snake.

Almost
of its own accord, Cam’s elbow knocked against the glass, flinging the lemonade
straight into Marianne’s lap where it drenched her pink watered silk. The
laughter froze on Marianne’s lips immediately, and she stood up with a shrill
scream. Helen’s antics were immediately forgotten, and all eyes turned to
Marianne as the girl brushed frantically at her dress. Cam hid her smile as
Marianne turned to her furiously. A movement to the side made her suddenly
aware of Brent, and when she glanced up at him she was alarmed to see him
watching her closely, the barest trace of a smirk on his face. If he had been
watching long enough, he would have seen her eying the glass before she tipped
it over.

“Oh,
Cam, how could you?” Marianne said. She had calmed down a little bit. Ladies
weren’t supposed to make scenes like the display she had just indulged in.

“It
was an accident,” Cam said firmly. She resisted the urge to tell Marianne to
cheer up, the pink dress had clashed with her red hair anyway. “Wasn’t it, Mr.
Anderson?” She asked, gazing up at him with an innocent expression worthy of
Marianne and daring him to out her.

“Very
clumsy,” he agreed, a grin turning up the corners of his mouth as he watched
her. Cam let her gaze slip to his lips and then looked away quickly.

“Marianne,
dear, your poor dress.” Aunt Beth, ever the dutiful hostess, arrived at
Marianne’s side immediately, linen napkins in hand. “It’s so lovely, too. Let’s
see if we can’t have it dried.” She beckoned to Marianne, who hesitated,
glancing from Brent to Cam almost suspiciously.

Is
she…?
Cam wondered, watching the expression on Marianne’s
face.

She
is
.

Marianne
was worried to leave Cam alone with Brent. She actually saw Cam as a threat.

Honey,
you can have him
, Cam thought, but she couldn’t help but
feel a little victorious as her Aunt Beth led the unwilling Marianne away.

She
waited a few minutes until the other guests had returned to their conversations
before she risked a glance in Helen’s direction. Mercifully, her sister had
finished climbing the fence and was demurely crossing the lawn towards the
barbecue, with barely a hair out of place.

“I’ve
had the pleasure of meeting your younger sister several times this season,”
Brent said. His voice was easy and his posture was lazy, but Cam’s eyes
narrowed. She was beginning to recognize that Brent sounded most at ease when
he was about to make someone else very uncomfortable. “You, on the other hand,”
Brent said, shifting so that he was facing her directly, rather than standing
to one side of her. “You have proved most elusive.”

“Had
I known you were looking for me,” Cam said sweetly, “I would have changed my
schedule.”
Yes, canceled all public appearances and gone into hiding
,
Cam added silently.

Brent
smiled, almost as though he had caught the snide addition. “It’s unusual to
find an unmarried young woman as . . . isolated, as you.”

“My
friends know where to find me,” Cam said smoothly. “And I am not the only one.
My sister Diana rarely makes public appearances.” She had been hoping to catch
him off guard by mentioning Diana. She wasn’t supposed to mention her sister in
polite company, unless someone else mentioned Diana first. Her Aunt Beth had
said it was in poor taste, and Cam still burned with fury at the memory.

Brent,
however, did not seem particularly uncomfortable. “Your eldest sister? I met
her once, I believe, a few weeks before I met you. So how do you pass the days
then, when you aren’t gracing us with your company?”

Oh,
Northerner or not, he was just as smooth as any Southern boy she had ever met.
But he wasn’t any Southern boy, and he was digging. For him to ask about Kat
Varennes was one thing, her murder had shocked the community and people still
talked about it, but his interest in her family was too obvious. “I sew. I
read. I visit the poor.” Cam said, picking three of the most innocuous pastimes
she could think of. The fact was that the only things she sewed were charm
bags, and while she did visit the poor, she wasn’t a reader. She had been born
with restless feet, with a desire to be active, to be involved. Helen could
read for hours at a time without even standing to stretch, but Cam could hardly
manage five minutes before she wanted to put the book down and go for a walk or
see what was happening in the kitchen.

“How
interesting,” Brent said, and from the expression on his face Cam could tell
that he didn’t believe a word of it.

“It’s
actually quite boring,” Cam said, “but I don’t mind. I like leading a quiet
life.”

“Really?”
The cad even had the nerve to grin at that. “Like your grandmother?”

“My
grandmother?” Cam hid her rising panic with a smile. “You ask ever so many
questions, Mr. Anderson.  Whatever are you up to?” She said it the way Marianne
would have, as though she was flirting, but she had no intention of answering
any more of his questions. “What are your hobbies, Mr. Anderson?  Or do you
only inquire after other people?”

“I
ride. I hunt.” His smile was wolfish.