Contract to Wed (21 page)

“Thank you, Henry. And be assured, I don’t plan on being a
burden.”

Henry opened the door when someone knocked and motioned the
men forward hauling Reed’s luggage. “Yes, bring it right in here.” He turned to
Reed with a smile as he stepped through the door. “I can’t imagine you being a
burden, Reed. This is your home for as long as you like.”

Reed directed the men carrying his trunks where he wanted
them, tipped them and went to the bedroom. Close up to the bed, Reed pulled
himself onto the top coverlet. His mangled right leg ached from travel,
hoisting himself on and off train cars and in and out of hotel beds. Reed
pulled and shifted his leg till it was comfortable. The stub below his left
knee followed. His eyes closed, and he listened briefly to the fairy tale the
woman read to her child as they sat in the swing near his window. He soon
slept.

* * *

Reed’s eyes opened, gritty from
sleep and exhaustion. He pulled his gold timepiece from his pocket. Hell’s
fire. After four. Reed pulled himself into his chair and went straight to the
sink in the bathing room. He washed his hands and face, combed his blond hair
and dug through a trunk for a clean shirt. Reed muttered, knowing he was late
and cursing these heathens for eating the evening meal in the middle of the
day.

Reed struggled to button his jacket and wheeled himself to
the kitchen. The sight he beheld stopped him. A large, clean spacious kitchen,
humming with aromas from bubbling pots with spices and herbs above, hung to dry
on racks. A huge table down the center of the room was covered with a
gingham-checked cloth, and every person Reed had seen so far sat around it.
Others, he didn’t recognize. Henry sat at one end, Mary Ellen on his right and
Beulah at the other end with her back to Reed.

“Apologies for my late arrival,” Reed murmured.

Mary Ellen rose and came to him. “I told Henry I’d bring you
a plate tonight. You must be exhausted.”

“I admit I napped. Something smells delicious.”

A young girl, seated beside Beulah, stood. “Mrs. Ames, I got
to get home now anyway. Your company can have my seat.”

“Thank you, Constance. Tell your mother I hope she feels
better,” Mary Ellen said as she pulled the girl’s chair away. Clean china and a
fresh napkin appeared at the now vacant spot.

Reed wheeled himself in and looked around at the curious stares.
They employ Negroes, eat in the middle of the day and do so with their
employees. He noticed the only person at the table not smiling or eyeing him
was the woman to his left. Beulah continued to eat as if he had never entered.
Arlo sat on his right and handed Reed a constant flurry of bowls and platters.

“Pickles, Mr. Jackson? Miss Beulah, hand Mr. Jackson the
pickles,” the old man said.

She turned to Reed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear Mr. Jackson
ask for the pickles.”

“They do look tempting,” Reed said.

Beulah did not move her gaze from her plate. She gently
dabbed her mouth as the other diners began to talk again amongst themselves.

Reed looked at her and the plate of dill spears just out of
his reach. She nodded regally in conversation to her left.

“Would you pass the pickles?” Reed asked.

“Pardon, Mr. Jackson,” the woman said with a tight smile.

Obviously she had heard. She was less than a foot away from
him. Reed smiled and looked down at his plate. He turned to her and spoke
clearly, “
Miss
Beulah, would you please pass the pickles?”

The woman nodded and picked up the plate. “Certainly Mr.
Jackson. Do be careful of this dish. It’s one of the good set.”

Reed could not stop a slow smile. Beulah made clear her
boundaries over a plate of pickled cucumbers. This adversary may prove a
challenge, he thought. “I will be careful, Miss Beulah. My momma says I can be
clumsy.” The woman turned back to the laundress on her left.

Reed watched the diners as they stood to leave, one at a
time, and carried their dishes and glasses to the wash sink. He laid his napkin
down and pushed back from the table, satisfied. His cousin knew how to choose a
cook. Reed watched the round man, now fluttering from pot to pan, stirring and
shaking.

Arlo stood. “Lets me git that dish for ya, sir.”

“Thank you,” Reed replied, feeling better with a stomach
full of food.

It was then he observed his cousin and wife carry their own
dirty dishes away. Mary Ellen giggled at something Henry said and Reed saw them
smile flirtatiously at each other.

“I’ve got some bookkeeping and such to get done. I’ll bring
a brandy by later,” Henry called to him.

“That would be grand,” he replied.

Reed spent the evening filling the chest of drawers and
unpacking his things. He placed a picture of his mother and father on the
table. Reed stacked books on the huge desk and on the floor beside it. He wrote
a short letter to his parents and brother Winston, assuring them he had arrived
safely.

Much had been made of his traveling alone, especially as
great stretches of the southern tracks were still being repaired. His trip to
Missouri had been a tortuous trek with multiple stops and some day or more
layovers. His mother was convinced a companion should accompany him, but
Winston could not take the time and the plantation’s finances needed no further
stretching. He was crippled and he knew he must learn to negotiate his own way
without staff or servants. His mother had compromised by making arduous
arrangements with hotels and station masters by letter over the course of six
months.

“Come in,” he replied to a knock at his door.

“As promised,” Henry said as he came in, bottle and glasses
in hand.

“I was hoping you remembered,” Reed said and moved to the
small table where Henry was seated and accepted a glass.

“So,” Henry said between sips, “tell me about your family.”

Reed rolled the brandy over his tongue. “What do you want to
know?”

“Father said you’d be tight-lipped. Wasn’t trying to be
nosy. Just hoping they were in good health and all.”  Henry crossed his
legs and looked away.

“Forgive me, cousin. Mother and Father are fine. Winston is
well and set to marry in the fall.”

“Sounds like things are getting back to normal. The girl
Winston will marry, do you know her?”

Reed smiled and raised his brows. “Quite well.”

“Will they be living at the plantation? Father said your
family managed to hang onto it.”

Reed wondered how much his cousin knew. “Father made enough
in gold running blockades to pay the taxes and begin again. Winston brought his
first crop of cotton in without slave labor.”

“I’m glad your family business survived. I am sorry about
you brother Franklin. Terrible loss, a sibling.”

“Thank you,” Reed replied.

The two men sat in companionable silence, listening to the
hushed chatter of guests as the hotel quieted for the night.

Henry leaned forward and stared at Reed. “I know I shouldn’t
ask. Can’t seem to help myself. But if the plantation survived, why didn’t you take
it over rather than a younger brother.” Henry looked at Reed’s stern face and
hurried to continue. “None of my business,” Henry said, smiling at Reed,
“Anyway, why would a successful lawyer want to plow and sow?”

“How is your family, Henry? Your father’s letters to Mother
were always interesting. I would like to meet them.”

Henry chuckled. “Quite an assortment there. Mother and
Father are fine. My younger sisters drive my father crazy with a varied group
of suitors.” Henry poured another brandy from the crystal decanter and sat
back. “Funny we never met. Our families I mean. Your mother and my father
corresponded regularly. Father loved getting letters from Aunt Lily. Said she
was the pride of the South.”

“Pride of the South,” Reed whispered and sipped.

Henry turned the framed daguerreotype around. “Father said
my sister Susan was the spitting image of her. He’s right.”

“How is your father’s business?” Reed asked.

“Doing well. Always be a market for coffee, I imagine.”

“Begs the question, why would a coffee wholesaler’s son,
move west and leave a prosperous business behind?” Reed asked over the cut edge
of his glass.

Henry chuckled. “Turnabout is fair play, I suppose. I tried
my hand at Father’s business for a while.  Didn’t care for it much. Had a
dream of moving west. Wanted to watch this country grow. I love it here. I
found a beautiful woman and my life’s work. Oh, I miss my family and what I
grew up with, but I know I would’ve never been happy in Boston.”

Envy of a clear-cut longing and the fulfillment of that goal
filled Reed’s head. Nothing seemed clear for Reed. He was schooled as an
attorney, yes, but had practiced little. Reed certainly missed nothing of his
life after the war began. Had the war not come, things may have been different.
He would have continued on as the second son to a prosperous cotton farmer and
would have managed a great estate’s affairs. But the war
had
come. Gone
were a genteel existence, his older brother, and Reed’s legs.

Henry corked the brandy and stood. “Mary Ellen told me to
keep this visit short. That you’d be tired. I fear I’ve worn you out more than
you already were.”

“My bed does seem to be calling,” Reed said. “Thank you for
the ramp. An ingenious invention.”

“Mary Ellen and I both would like you to be happy. We have
no family nearby and want you to make your life here,” Henry said. “I know I’ll
never replace your brother, I never had one, of course, but it will be good to
know I have someone to lean on. And that you, too, can count me as family.”

The sincere exposition touched Reed in a way that seemed
foreign. His thoughts of family were as muddy and murky as the bayou, filled
with pride, resentment and the undeniable knowledge that he may have done the
same things under the same circumstances. Maybe, just maybe, his mother’s
encouragement to begin a new life elsewhere came from the heart. And maybe she
was right. He had best try and forget the hurts and the wrongs of the past and
make something of himself in a new land. He had told Henry it was a new world, and
perhaps this was the place for a new beginning.

Reed watched Henry turn the brass door handle. “My brother’s
fiancée was to marry me. Her family’s plantation adjoined ours,” Reed said.

Henry turned back with a confused look. “I’m sorry, Reed.”
He stood unmoving and smiled wistfully. “Maybe it was for the best. If she
loved your brother, you two wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Had nothing to do with love, Henry,” Reed said. “After
Franklin was killed and I returned from the war like this,” Reed said with a
sweep of hands to his chair, “Father decided that Winston should inherit. That
I was not up to the task. Belinda was part and parcel of the deal.”

Henry’s eyes widened. His mouth opened and closed. “Oh.”

Reed watched the man absorb and tackle that bit of Jackson
family chicanery. This was the first time Reed had spoken aloud this tale, and
it sounded sordid and cold to his own ears.
What must this straight-laced
Bostonian think,
Reed wondered
.

“What shit,” Henry said in awe, finally.

Reed laughed. “Well put, cousin. What I think exactly.”

Henry shook his head again and left Reed in his thoughts.

Reed wheeled himself to the window and listened as human
sounds faded and a night orchestra began. Crickets chirped and an owl screeched
in the distance over the low hum of a faraway piano. Reed smelled rain in the
heavy air. He remembered the shocked look on Henry’s face and relived its
source. Betrayal, anger and bitter disappointment filled Reed’s head. But he
could not hate his father even though he wanted to. Reed knew that forging a
new life in the devastated South would require a man fit in all ways. His
father bound and determined to resurrect a lost cause with new rules to follow.

His cousin had proven, against all odds in Reed’s mind, to
be a man he could like. There was no doubt of the sincere outrage in his eyes.
And the straight talk had freed some of Reed’s anger and cleared a space in his
mind to look forward and not back.