Beneath the Black Moon (Root Sisters) (4 page)

He
hunts. Of course he does.
Now he was hunting her.

“Riding
and hunting?” Cam sighed. “How predictable. You’re no more interesting than I
am.” He was staring at her, so she stared back, letting some of her anger creep
into her eyes.

“I
think you’re very interesting,” Brent said, and he looked strangely satisfied.

Cam
didn’t smile back. “I think you’re wrong.”

“Cam!
Mr. Anderson. Did you miss me terribly?” Marianne had returned, her dress
almost dry, though there was still a mark where the lemonade had been.
Strangely enough, Cam was rather pleased to have Marianne back. As catty as
Marianne was, at least she was familiar and predictable. Brent was very
unsettling, and it was relieving to have Marianne there to limit his intensity.

“We
could think of nothing else,” Brent said gallantly, and Marianne beamed.

“Yes,
indeed,” Cam said, trying not to be miffed. She stood up, “if you’ll both
excuse me, I think my Aunt Beth needs me.” There was nothing left for her to
do. She had played Brent’s game long enough to confirm Caro’s story, and if she
stayed any longer, she might accidentally give him one of the clues that he was
searching for.

“Oh,
yes dear,” Marianne said. From the glint in her eyes, Cam could tell that the
redhead wasn’t sorry to see her go.

“Your
aunt doesn’t seem to require any assistance at the moment,” Brent said, gesturing
to where Aunt Beth stood, calmly exchanging pleasantries with an elderly
couple. He didn’t want her to go. Cam would have been smug if she didn’t know
that he only wanted her so that he could wring information from her. The real
question was: why did he want so desperately to know?  What stake did he, a
stranger to Gaynor County, have in it?

“I
must greet some of the other guests,” Cam said firmly, and Marianne was already
waving goodbye. She bid them both farewell and could tell from the faint frown
on Brent’s face that he wasn’t pleased. Good, that meant that he hadn’t learned
anything useful from her yet.

Cam
walked slowly away from Brent and Marianne, making an effort to appear
unruffled and unhurried, even though all she wanted to do was go back to the
kitchen and report to Caro and Grandma. She couldn’t leave now, though. People
would notice and her Aunt Beth would never forgive her. Cam glanced around the
barbecue, trying to find someone she wouldn’t mind passing a few minutes with.
It was difficult. It had been difficult ever since Diana’s scandal, when people
who were supposed to be her friends had turned on her swiftly and ruthlessly.
Now, Cam no longer saw neighbors, but enemies. There was Missy Dalton, who had been
envious of Diana since they were all children. Missy had been one of the first
to start circulating rumors. Then there was Thomas Brighton, who. . . .

Ah,
there was Helen. Cam quickly pushed away thoughts of the many traitors who
stood on her lawn and started toward her younger sister. Helen was standing in
the filtered shade of an oak tree in her cherry organdy gown. She was staring
at the guests around her with an expression that matched the way Cam felt.
Neither woman could help but feel like a traitor to Diana for attending the
barbecue.

Cam
looked over her shoulder and saw Aunt Beth glance discreetly in Helen’s direction,
the faintest of frowns evident in the slight wrinkle on her brow.

“Our
Aunt isn’t pleased,” Cam said.

Helen
nodded, already looking chastised. “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“What
were you doing?” Cam asked, casually leading her sister away from the barbecue
so that they could speak privately together.

“I
was writing.” Helen said. “I meant to come back soon, but I had a very strange
dream last night which I wanted to record. By the time I’d reached the bit
where I woke up, the barbecue had already started. Is something wrong?” She
asked Cam. She seemed to realize that Cam’s question wasn’t an idle one.

“I
don’t know,” Cam said honestly. “You’re sure that’s all you were doing in the
woods? You weren’t meeting anyone, were you?” Cam asked. She kept her voice so
low that it was barely audible. Those were dangerous words to speak aloud,
especially given Diana’s scandal.

“Meeting
someone?” Helen looked stunned by the very idea. “Who would I meet?”

She
had a point. Helen was popular enough, despite the fact that she was a Johnson
girl, but she had never seemed particularly interested in any of her admirers.
Helen wasn’t very fond of most people.  She was honest and sincere, and most
social interactions exhausted her.

“Very
well,” Cam allowed, and turned to go. Her mind was churning.

“Why
would you ask that?” Helen asked. “Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

“Don’t
worry about anything,” Cam said. Of all of them, Helen was the most protected
the most sheltered from the horrors of their world. “Enjoy the barbecue.” She
turned to go, but Helen followed her.

“I
saw you speaking to Mr. Anderson,” Helen said, walking alongside Cam.

“Yes.”

“He’s
quite . . . handsome, isn’t he?” Helen said. She couldn’t even speak the word
without blushing. Cam sighed inwardly. This was the girl that Aunt Beth was
hoping would ruthlessly pursue the local bachelors until she made an acceptable
match.

I’m
sorry, Aunt Beth, but a new strategy is in order.

“I
hadn’t noticed,” Cam lied.

“They
say that because his family is from Philadelphia, they don’t keep any slaves.
They say that their cook and maids and everyone else, that they’re all… hired.
Freedmen.”

“I
don’t particularly care who he has working for him,” Cam said abruptly, though
that wasn’t entirely true. She and both of her sisters were closet
abolitionists, and she couldn’t quite suppress the pang of admiration she felt
when she heard that Brent didn’t have any slaves.

“Oh.”
Helen said in surprise. “I thought it was quite admirable. I thought maybe that
was why you were talking to him.”

“Do
you know Mr. Anderson?” Cam asked. Helen appeared to have given a great deal of
thought to their new neighbor. Then again, that wasn’t unusual. Helen liked to
know every detail there was about everybody, so that she could record even the
most insignificant ones in her diary.

“No.
Well, we were introduced, but I haven’t spoken with him beyond that.”

“Good,”
Cam said firmly. “Whatever you do, don’t answer any of his questions.” They had
reached the porch of Cypress Hall, and she stared at her sister meaningfully.

The
smile slid from Helen’s face. “Questions? What questions?”

“Just
don’t answer them,” Cam said, turning away.

“Where
are you going?”

“I’m
going to lie down for a few minutes.”

“Aunt
Beth won’t be happy.”

“I
won’t be absent for long. I can’t be. I have to make a satisfactory appearance
at the barbecue, since I have no intention of attending the ball tonight.”

Cam
slipped indoors and closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to lock it.
She stared at the foyer around her before sighing and climbing the stairs.
Cypress Hall had been completed by Cam’s paternal grandfather Miles Johnson in
1827, just a year before his death. It was built in the Greek revival style,
with tall white plaster columns and a small balcony. The dark marble that had
been used to detail the façade was beautiful and expensive, if a bit cheerless,
and a shortage of windows made the interior darker than Cam would have
preferred. But beyond these slight faults it was a lovely house, and the only
home that Cam had ever known. She knew by heart which floorboards creaked and
which were silent, and when she sat up at night completing charm bags or
writing letters by the light of a single candle, she was familiar with every
shadow. She could identify every sound, from the scrape of branches against the
glass to the sigh of the wind as it rushed across the porch.

To
the left of Cypress Hall stood the first Johnson homestead, an old brick
building almost seventy years old that had been converted into a kitchen
following the construction of Cypress Hall. The kitchen was the domain of Caro
and Cam’s grandmother, Daphne. Cam was the only one of her sisters who
regularly passed time there. Aunt Beth came out occasionally to supervise, but
she seemed to sense that there was something unusual, perhaps even dangerous,
about the kitchen, and she never stayed long.

Cam
had just placed her hand on the knob of her bedroom door when there was a low
creaking sound, and her sister Diana emerged from her bedroom. Diana was
twenty-three, and though many Southern belles were thought to be past their
prime at that age, Diana seemed to be getting lovelier every day. It was a
shame that since her affair with Edgar and her resulting ruin she was so rarely
seen, because she was still the most beautiful woman in the county. Her eyes
were the same as Cam’s, but her hair was black and straight, not brown and
curly. There was something darkly ethereal about her, all piercing dark eyes,
black hair and deep red lips.

“Is
it a pleasant barbecue?” Diana asked, lounging in her doorway. She was still
wearing her dressing gown, and the darkness of her room suggested that her
curtains were closed. Her state of undress was probably some form of protest
against Aunt Beth, who had specifically asked Diana not to attend the barbecue.

“Not
really,” Cam said honestly.

Surprisingly
enough, that didn’t seem to be what Diana wanted to hear. Her eyes narrowed,
and she stared at Cam hostilely. “Society is wasted on you,” she said finally.
“You and Helen both,” and before Cam could answer Diana had slipped back into
her room and closed the door behind her.

Cam
briefly debated knocking on her sister’s door, but so far her day had been one
difficult conversation after another, and she didn’t have the energy to talk to
Diana too.

Diana
hadn’t always been this way. It had taken her some time to recover after their
mother’s death, but eventually Diana had put on a brave face and soldiered on.
She was one of those people who could act happy even when she was most
miserable. For most of Cam’s childhood, Diana had been bright, vivacious, the
life of every party and their father’s favorite. But after Edgar Marlkress had
told a few of his friends about his relationship with Diana, and they had told
a few of their friends, who had told a few of their friends, and so on, Diana’s
life had changed. It had become apparent that she would never be able to find a
decent husband, and girls who couldn’t find decent husbands lived at home, a
burden to their families. It had been difficult for Diana to make the
transition from Papa’s Little Darling to Papa’s Big Burden, and while at first
Diana had done her best to rise to the occasion, lately she seemed increasingly
angry and resentful. Not that Cam could blame her.

Fortunately,
Cam didn’t have long to dwell on her sister’s plight. Aunt Beth would expect
her back downstairs soon, so Cam had just a few minutes to savor the peace and
quiet of her room before she would be thrust back downstairs and forced to
continue the charade.

“Cam,
you can wear the taffeta. You have had it for three months and haven't worn it.
Don't you like it?” Aunt Beth asked from where she stood in the hall, and Cam
was grateful for the lock on her bedroom door. Aunt Beth was normally the
picture of propriety, but she had occasionally been known to enter her nieces’
bedrooms without knocking, if she considered her errand important enough. If
Aunt Beth barged in tonight, she would see that Cam was sitting on her bed in a
simple visiting dress, not dressing for the ball. Cam was waiting for everyone
else in the house to go downstairs so that she could retire to the kitchen with
her grandmother and Caro.

“I'm
very tired. I think it's the heat,” Cam told her aunt, taking the small
portrait of her mother that sat by her bedside and turning it over, as was her
habit when she was lying. She hated the idea of her mother witnessing her
dishonesty.

“Are
you sure that's all?” Cam heard her aunt's hand on the doorknob and smiled to
herself when the door refused to open.

“Quite
sure. Some rest and I will be as good as new. Please don't worry on my account.
I want you to enjoy the ball. You took such time and care planning it.”

“Very
well,” her aunt said reluctantly, and as she turned to go, Cam just barely
caught her aunt's words, “the ball wasn't for me, it’s for you girls.”

Cam
experienced a sharp pang of guilt at that. Her aunt was trying so hard. Beth
always had, from the day that she had first come to live with them. Elizabeth
had been widowed young and made up her mind never to marry again. When her baby
brother had been left with three small girls to raise, she had moved in to help
care for them without a second thought.

Cam
knew that her aunt tried to connect with them, tried to share her interests
with them. When Elizabeth was their age, dances had excited her, so she tried
to organize balls and social events for them. She had loved dresses when she
was young (and still did, though as an aging widow she usually chose only the
most sedate clothing for herself) and so the three of them always had the
finest gowns. Diana loved pretty dresses, but couldn't wear them anywhere
because she wasn't entertained anymore. Cam hated dressing up, and Helen
submitted to her aunt’s grooming and then scrambled over walls or trekked
through the forest in her finery. Together, the three of them left Aunt Beth at
a loss.