Box Set: The ArringtonTrilogy (26 page)

Jacob Thomas waved and then buried his small
face against Hattie’s shoulder to keep the freezing winds from
stinging his delicate skin. Hamilton, who had been assigned to walk
beside the wagon, swooped the little boy up into his giant arms and
hugged him close, then carefully put him down and began the long
walk beside the wagon as it slowly rolled on its way.

Patrick came and stood near me as I waved
frantically and shouted, “See you in a few weeks.”

Warren turned, looking back over his shoulder
and, to my surprise, mouthed, “I love you.”

“He loves you, does he?” Patrick mumbled
under his frosty breath.

I didn’t respond to his question but instead
kept a watchful eye on Hattie. My stomach turned into a giant knot
as she made her way up to the gallery and stopped before
Patrick.

“I finished sewing the tear in your sleeve,
Patrick,” she said.

“I will come retrieve it shortly. Thank you,
Hattie,” he replied, then reached out to cover her shoulder with
the wrap that had slid down the side of her arm.

“It’s cold. I’m going inside. Come along,
Jacob, I’ll make you a warm cup of milk,” I said sharply, tugging
him along.

“I’ll see to him, Amelia,” Hattie called.

I swung around and snapped, “Jacob Thomas is
fine with me. You tend to Mr. Arrington’s needs.”

I slammed the doors shut. With Jacob in tow,
I headed to the kitchen. I sat him on the chair and reached up on
the rack for a small pot. From upstairs, I heard the floor boards
creak. Eugenia sometimes wandered the halls, still in her
nightgown, going back and forth in a peculiar mental haze from the
twins’ bedroom to hers. Daddy had sent for the doctor, who gave her
medicines to help her sleep, but she refused to take them.
Sometimes she wandered the cold mansion at all hours of the night
and slept throughout the next day. She was losing weight and looked
pale and gaunt. The skin on her face sagged, and her lips had
turned a pasty shade of pale. The sight of her was awful, and I
stayed as far from her as possible, though with Mammy gone to North
Carolina I was, unfortunately, left to tend to Eugenia.

After situating Jacob with a warm glass of
milk and my chalk and a slate to scribble on, I made my way up to
Eugenia’s rooms with a hot cup of milk. I passed Patrick in the
halls and ignored him. Though he made me feel tense and irritated,
I wouldn’t let on. I sang merrily and continued up the stairs,
careful not to spill the milk and scald my hands.

Eugenia wasn’t in her room. I put the cup
down and headed out to the hall to find her and take her back to
bed. Figuring she would be up in the twins’ room, I went there
first. The room was dark and cold, and Eugenia wasn’t in there. I
was still afraid to confront her. Though she was sick with grief,
she still had a menacing disposition.

I called for her once and checked the other
rooms. She was neither in my room nor Warren’s. I went to Patrick’s
next. I hesitated at first and listened against the door for any
noises coming from inside the room. I heard nothing. Instead of
going about finding Eugenia as I should have, I slipped into his
room and closed the door quietly behind me.

I had been in his room before, but only to
make the bed and tidy up. He always expected Mammy to carry out
that daily chore and kept the room spotless so she never had to
tidy up too much. Patrick’s years in the military had trained him
to keep his quarters shipshape.

I opened the drapes slightly, just to let
enough light in to see. The bed was made, and the remainder of the
room was clean and well kept. Patrick had one lamp on a small
dresser beside the bed. Displayed on top of a tall dresser were his
medals and ribbons from his years of military service. I inspected
each of them and carefully put them back in place so as not to
reveal that they had been touched.

It felt good to be near to his belongings,
since he would not allow me near to him personally. I didn’t feel
guilty about opening the drawers and touching his shirts and
sitting on his bed clinging to them. Everything about Patrick had
me enraptured. I was trapped in some love spell that I couldn’t, or
didn’t want to, find a way out of. The thought of him never
allowing me into his heart pained me deeply, and I sighed heavily,
laying my head on his pillow. I closed my eyes and drifted into a
light dream.

Patrick came and found me in his room. At
first he was angry and accused me of spying on him. As I tried to
explain, he rushed over and pulled me up and began shaking me. “You
tell me the truth, Amelia!” he ordered.

“The truth about what?” I cried.

“You love me. Tell me you love me and not
Warren Stone.”

He was crazed, and before I could answer and
admit that I was shamelessly in love with him, he pushed me down
onto the bed and began smothering me with kisses. Patrick didn’t
waste another moment, and in a passionate frenzy, he undressed
me.

Before we could unite as lovers for the first
time, my eyes snapped open and I shot up out of my dream. There was
a loud thump and crying coming from downstairs. I quickly gathered
myself, shoved Patrick’s shirts back in the drawer, and hurried
downstairs.

I found Eugenia towering over a crying Jacob
Thomas. His whole body was covered in flour; the sack beside him
was empty.

“Look what that bastard child has done! He
ruined our last sack of flour!” Eugenia screeched.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to, Eugenia,” I
stammered and lifted him up, trying to hush him. Jacob’s eyes were
wide with fright, and I couldn’t console him.

“Silence that child!”

“Hush, Jacob, it’s all right. It was just an
accident,” I crooned.

“Get that good-for-nothing child out of here.
Take him to the cabin!”

“Eugenia, I left you a warm cup of milk by
your bed. Please go rest. You look tired. I will reprimand Hattie,”
I said assertively, desperately trying to mask my fears.

Eugenia fell into the nearest chair and
clutched her heaving chest.

“Where is Thomas? He should be here taking
care of me. I don’t feel well, don’t feel well at all,” she
groaned.

“Daddy will be back shortly. He went to
Savannah to acquire some kind of loan. Go and rest,” I said and
turned to leave, carrying Jacob, whose crying had simmered down to
a subdued whimper.

“You’re right, Amelia. I need to rest,” she
mumbled.

I took a much-needed breath as soon as I
stepped outside, grateful that she had done no lasting harm to my
brother and glad I had put nearly a spoonful of sleeping powder in
her milk earlier. For certain she would sleep for the remainder of
the day.

I hurried along, returning Jacob to the cabin
and out of the cold so Hattie could wash him up. The snow flurries
turned into a heavy squall. At least an inch of snow covered the
ground. The bottom of my skirt was weighed down with ice, and my
legs were numb.

Finally, I reached the small front porch of
the cabin and couldn’t get the door open fast enough. I had
unintentionally startled Hattie, who stood facing Patrick. She
instantly swung around as Patrick quickly worked to button up his
shirt. I nearly dropped Jacob from my tired arms.

“Amelia, it’s not what you think!” Hattie
called as I ran away through the narrow path in the snow I had
created on my way to the cabin, without looking back.

As soon as I flew into the kitchen, I lit the
stove and filled the pot with water from the pump. The tears now
ran freely down my red, frozen face, and I didn’t stop to wipe them
away. I pumped the water without stopping, though my arm burned.
When the pot was full, I lugged it out of the sink and nearly
spilled half of it onto my blouse before placing it on the stove.
“I have to get this cleaned up,” I sniffled to myself.

I was rummaging through Mammy’s cleaning
closet when the door slammed shut.

“Amelia?”

I passed Patrick with broom in hand and
hastily began to sweep up the flour. The white flour dust went
everywhere, sticking to my clothes and leaving a pasty mess, but I
didn’t care.

“Amelia, it’s not what you think. Listen to
me,” he insisted.

I threw the broom down and marched over to
the stove to check the water. It was near to a boil.

“You disgust me, Patrick Garrett Arrington,”
I fumed, refusing to look at him. Then I went to lift the handle of
the pot, forgetting to use a cloth to protect my hand, and screamed
out.

Patrick moved me over to the sink and pumped
the cold well water onto my burning hand.

“Come with me to the barn and we’ll get some
milk on the burn,” he said.

“I will not go anywhere with you,” I snapped
and pulled away, then wrapped the water-soaked cloth around my
hand.

“Why are you such an obstinate, stubborn
woman?” he flared. “All I want to do is help you.”

“Oh, you want to help me?” I snapped.
“Really? Are you certain you haven’t got me confused with someone
else?”

My hand was throbbing from the burn, and my
body was tired. I was soaked, shivering, and fed up.

“Leave me alone,” I said, turning away.

Without my consent, Patrick threw me over his
shoulder and carried me outside.

“Put me down this instant!” I demanded.

“You need to do as you’re told for once!”

“You’re not my father. You can’t tell me what
to do! You put me down, Patrick!”

Once we were inside the barn, he set me down
in the straw inside the empty horse stall. Because of the pain that
afflicted my hand, I decided to stop fighting his help. Patrick
kindly wrapped me with a heavy horse blanket and left me sitting in
the straw while he went to milk the cow. I sat quietly and watched
him, simmering down and patiently waiting for him to finish. With
pail in hand, he carried the milk over. He gently took away the
cloth, soaked it in the milk, and wrapped it back around my
hand.

“This will help with the pain,” he said,
sitting beside me. He was obviously cold, though trying not to
shiver.

“Here, have some of the blanket,” I offered
and eased half over to him.

“Thank you,” he said moving beside me.

We were huddled together facing the wall of
the stall. We sat in silence for a while, neither one of us looking
at the other. He continued to hold my hand in his, and I wondered
if he realized it.

Finally, Patrick broke the awkward
silence.

“I wasn’t doing anything improper with
Hattie. She had kindly mended my shirt and I was trying it on. I
swear nothing happened between us,” Patrick said in a low
voice.

“I don’t know what to say,” I replied. I
wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. The incident looked very
suspicious to me.

“Say you believe me.”

“All right, I believe you.”

“You’re just saying that because I asked you
to.”

“She is pretty. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Yes, Hattie is pretty,” he replied.

My heart sank.

Again there was a long silence between us. It
frustrated me to be hurt by Patrick all the time.

“But not as pretty as you. In fact, you’re
not pretty, you are stunning,” he said, taking me by surprise. This
time his mind was not clouded with alcohol.

“Just like my mother,” I said dully and
lowered my face so he wouldn’t see my disappointment. I believed
that all he thought about was her when he complimented me.

He eased his finger under my chin and lifted
it so our eyes could meet. We were so close, his breath warmed my
face.

“You’re Amelia, not Charlotte. You are your
own person. I see you for who you are and not someone else,” he
said in a most serious tone. I felt his racing heart against my
body. Or perhaps it was the beating of our hearts together,
becoming one. I wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry for being so cruel to you.
I wish you understood.”

“What should I understand?” I nervously
asked, just above a whisper.

Patrick cleared his throat and took a long,
deep breath. “Understand how hard I am trying to fight off my
inappropriate urges for you when I fear you don’t feel the same way
for me. And dare I ask you to have feelings for me, the kind of
feelings that shouldn’t be?”

I held onto him and closed my eyes, praying
it wasn’t another dream, that I was really lying in Patrick’s arms
and he was tenderly stroking my hair.

It was then that the habitual friction
between us unexpectedly ended and our true feelings for another
came alive for the first time. Finally, Patrick timidly made the
first confession. He was saying the words I had been longing for
since the day I met him.

“I wish you weren’t leaving soon,” I
whispered. “I wish we could have more time together.”

“I want to spend every waking minute with you
before I leave,” he confessed, “because when I leave, I know Warren
will win your heart. I suspect you will marry him someday. And I
don’t blame you. He loves you, and I imagine you love him as
well.”

I could hear the honest disappointment in his
voice.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I replied,
then slowly sat up. “Unless
you
secretly love someone
else.”

“I don’t love anyone else.”

We stared serenely at one another in
disbelief and apprehension, unsure what destiny had planned for us.
Time seemed to stop in anticipation of what was about to happen
next.

~ ~ ~

There was no possible way Patrick and I could
contain the emotional and physical attraction we felt for each
other. We didn’t seek an explanation, for that matter. He knew as
well as I that we could try to deny it as hard as we wanted, but we
were madly in love. We melted into one another’s arms, and our lips
united with a fervor that only two people in love can share. It was
my fate, I told myself as our immoral love unfolded, only to desire
things in life that were irrefutably prohibited.