Diamond Duo (21 page)

His thoughts turned to the words King David cried while in distress.
“Have mercy upon me, O L
ORD
, for I am in trouble: mine eye is consumed with grief, yea, my soul and my belly. . . . My strength faileth because of mine iniquity, and my bones are consumed.”

The ancient words twanged a familiar chord with Thad. His joints hurt as much as his empty, knotted stomach.

He should’ve told Bertha days ago. Putting it off had spared him seeing her upset, but waiting only stacked up the pain and gave him so little time to say good-bye.

Well, no more. Though long overdue, today was the day. He swore to himself he’d not return home until he spoke with her.

He came to the cutoff that led to a shortcut into town, a path the mare always took without his bidding. When she plodded right past and kept with the road, he wondered briefly why she chose the long route but didn’t bother to rein her back. Then he wondered at his willingness to let her go the long way and hoped his cowardice hadn’t returned.

He didn’t have far to go before he understood why the mare didn’t turn. Around a bend in the road, Magda’s surrey came into sight, pulled to the side with Magda and Bertha aboard. His mare must’ve smelled the old gray horse and decided a visit was in order. Or maybe God Himself desired a swift end to Thad’s procrastination.

Heart pounding, he approached the carriage. The two girls sat with their heads together, Bertha leaning toward her friend. When Thad saw her wipe her eyes, his heart stopped pounding and crawled up his throat.

She knew. Somehow Bertha knew. It was the reason they were on the road to his house and the reason she cried. He shoved down the yellow-bellied urge to flee and rode their way.

Magda saw him first. She watched him come with a mixture of sorrow and anger on her face. Then she sat up, nudged Bertha, and pointed over her shoulder. He came alongside and Bertha stared into his eyes with a look he couldn’t describe.

He gave her a curt nod. “I was on my way to see you.” It sounded weak, even to him.

She blinked a few times, as if to convince herself she really saw him there. “I was, too. Until I came to my senses.”

He hated himself for her tears, her red-rimmed eyes, the pain so evident on her face. “I should’ve told you myself, Bertha. I tried.”

She looked away, and the rebuff twisted his stomach in knots. He glanced at Magda for help, but she shook her head and put her arms around Bertha.

“Magda, can you leave us alone? I need to talk to her.”

The balance of sorrow and anger shifted, and Magda glared at him over Bertha’s head. “I won’t leave unless she tells me to.”

The wind picked up, whipping and bending the overhead trees, chilling Thad’s poor scattered bones. His insides danced and tossed in time with the treetops while he waited for Bertha to speak, and for the first time that morning, he felt glad he’d had no stomach for breakfast. When her silence stretched on, he thought to turn the mare and ride away, but his heart insisted he stay.

“I’ll beg if I have to, Bertha, but you can spare me muddy knees if you’ll climb down and come here.”

“Why should I spare you anything?” she asked without looking up. “The sight of you on your knees might be just what I need to feel better.”

Thad swung his leg over the horse and dismounted. “Then it’s a small price to pay.”

By the time he reached the surrey, Bertha had turned. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He knelt in the cold, miry clay beside the road. “Making you feel better.”

“No, don’t!” She scurried to the edge of the seat and dropped her legs to the step. “Thad, you stop it right now.” She came even with him and took his arm, trying with little success to pull him to his feet.

Down on his knees, his face wasn’t much lower than hers. “Do you feel better yet? This ground is mighty cold.”

“All right. I feel better.”

“Will you stay awhile with me and let me explain?”

“Whatever you say. Just get up from there.”

The look she returned as he gazed up at her gave him courage. He got to his feet and pulled her in front of him. “I have so much I need to say to you. I just don’t know where to start.”

Magda cleared her throat. “While you’re trying to sort it out, kindly get out of the way so I can turn this thing around.”

Thad eased Bertha off the road, and Magda urged the horse around. She stopped beside them and leaned down. “I suppose you’ll get her safely home, then?”

Thad nodded, and she flicked the reins. He tucked Bertha under his arm, and they stood together while the surrey moved along Line Street toward town. He watched Bertha’s face as she stood staring after Magda. He had powerful feelings for the girl beside him, feelings that had gone unspoken for too long. So many nights he’d wrestled with his thoughts and his sheets, wondering if she felt the same. But he knew then what he knew now. He had no right to ask her.

“Bertha?”

She lifted teary eyes to his. “Yes?”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“It’s true, then. You’re leaving Jefferson.”

“You knew one day I would.”

“Yes, one day. Just not tomorrow.” She blushed. “I thought we had more time.”

He reached to touch the soft spot under her chin. “I have no
choice. My fate was decided a long time ago.”

Her brow furrowed. “Your fate? You make it sound like a trip to the gallows.” She whirled away from him with a swish of petticoats. “Surely a man can decide for himself if he’s ready for hanging?”

He took her by the shoulders. “You don’t understand, sugar. It’s Papa’s dream that I attend a good school and be the first college graduate in our family. I can’t let him down.”

Her frown deepened. “So it’s your Papa’s dream, not yours?”

“The man’s talked of little else since I can remember, planned and saved for years. I’ve watched Mama and Cyrus do without while he stashed away money for school.” Desperate for her understanding, he gripped her arms. “When Papa got wind of Texas AMC opening right there in Brazos County, it was all it took to send him over the edge.”

Thad let go of Bertha and began to plod back and forth. “You should see him when he talks about it. I tell you, his face lights up, and he looks ten years younger. The last few days. . .well, you’d think he was the one leaving for school in the morning.”

Bertha grabbed his arm to stop his pacing. “Do you hear yourself?” She tightened her grip on his arm. “Has any of this ever been about you?”

Her simple words leapt to life, striking hard and boring to the center of his gut, to the secret place where he’d buried the same ungrateful, disloyal question. Bertha, by voicing it aloud in her sweet, sincere voice, had rooted straight through and exposed it and somehow shed a different light on his betrayal.

“What are your dreams?” she persisted.

“My what?”

“Every man has dreams, Thad. What do you want out of life?”

He sighed. “Not much, really. All it would take to make me happy is some farmland, a pond for fishing, and a place to raise dogs.” He blushed and grinned. “And a good woman to share such bounty.”

“Dogs?” She laughed, but not at him, and he loved the throaty sound.

“Hunting dogs. Men pay top dollar for good hunting dogs.

With proper breeding and training, there’s money to be made.” Just talking about it stoked a fire deep in his heart. “Like Henry King’s bloodhound, for instance. Old Dickens is one fine-looking animal. Did you ever get a good look at him, Bertha?” He cupped his hands beside his head. “Ears on him like an elephant’s.”

She laughed louder. “Thaddeus Bloom, you’re glowing. You sure don’t shine like this when you talk about going to school.”

Thad looked away. He’d never clear his head by staring into her bewitching eyes. “Bertha, I should’ve told you I had to go before now. I have no excuse for such ill treatment, and I hope you’ll forgive me. But no matter how much I love you, only one thing really matters. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I don’t know when I’ll be back. Nothing can change it.”

A hurt looked erased her glowing smile. She crossed her arms over her chest and presented him with her back.

He reached to touch her shoulder. “Bertha?”

She jerked her shoulder from under his hand and walked a few steps away. “You really think your leaving is all that matters, Thad? Well, you’re wrong.” She spun and ran at him, burrowing into his shirt. “I think loving each other should be what matters most.”

He didn’t trust himself to hold her the way he wanted, so he patted the top of her head as if she were a sister and then felt silly for having done it. Bertha loved him, too. She’d just said so. And he had nothing to offer for her trouble.

Thad moaned at the sky. “I don’t want to leave you, Bertha. Especially now. But I have to go, and I can’t take you with me.”

She nodded in his arms. “I know you have to go, and I understand. I really do. Though I can hardly bear the thought.”

“Will you write me? Your letters will make the time go by faster.” He mentally kicked himself. He had no right to expect that sort of commitment.

“I’ll write to you every day. I promise.”

“No, sugar. No promises. I can’t ask you to keep them. I can’t even ask you to wait for me. It wouldn’t be fair.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed his finger to
her lips. “Bertha, let’s not think about what comes later. If your Papa will let me come see you tonight, I’ll stay with you as long as I can.”

“Oh, Thad. That sounds so nice. I’m sure Papa will let you stay late if I tell him you’re leaving tomorrow. And Mama will want you to come in time for supper.”

He grinned. “You sure know how to sweeten the pot.”

She laughed, and the lighthearted sound of it lifted the anchor from his heart.

“I wish I’d known sooner I could lure you with food. How about if I ply you with cobbler for dessert?”

“I’d say it sounds like I’d better rush home and pack. I won’t have time later.” He pulled her to him for a chaste hug, as chaste as he could manage, at least. “Bertha, I want us to be together every minute until I leave.”

She leaned back and focused on his eyes. “We will be. If I have to move heaven and earth to be with you tonight, I’ll make sure it happens.”

N
o two ways about it, Miss Annie had the gift. Wonder of wonders, she convinced Doc Turner to put Jennie in a room upstairs at Brooks House while she mended. Thomas, who witnessed the whole thing, said Miss Annie insisted he would be doing her a great kindness, considering she wouldn’t need to walk clear back to the servants’ quarters to tend Jennie’s ankle. Thomas claimed that Doc Turner, who didn’t stand a chance against Miss Annie’s beguiling ways, just lifted his hat and nodded while grinning like a love-struck boy.

When the shock from the unlikely arrangement wore off, Sarah had Henry and Thomas brace the jabbering Jennie between them and help her to the foot of the stairs. Then Henry took over, winding her arm about his neck while she hopped on one leg up the steps. A wide-eyed Thomas followed, holding his fidgety arms out front as if ready to catch Jennie’s tumbling body. Sarah figured he might as well save himself the trouble. If Jennie fell, she’d take them all to the bottom with her.

Sarah brought up the rear, one hand laden with a bowl of Cook’s hot broth, the other with fresh linens. At the top landing, Jennie nodded to the right, too busy talking to stop and give directions. Henry guided his cumbrous burden around the polished banister
post then along the hall to the first door. Thomas bobbed in front to turn a key that dangled from the lock.

Henry glanced back at Sarah and shook his head. By the look on his face, she knew what he had on his mind. He often pondered white folks’ uncommon fixation with bars and bolts, considering his people had fought so hard to be free of them, so a key stored on the outside of a locked door would be just the thing to vex his mind. But Sarah knew the reason. Jennie once mentioned it let the maids know which rooms were empty and needed cleaning.

Thomas swung the door open onto the prettiest room Sarah had ever seen, even counting Miss Blow’s house back home. The walls, so high you could stack two and a half men against them head to toe, were covered in wallpaper the color of a sunset, like pink stirred up with orange peels. Rows of tiny flowers, the shade of eggshells, dotted the pink. Tall mahogany posts of equal height jutted to the ceiling from the four corners of the high bed. The same molasses-colored wood as on the posts, rubbed with carnauba wax to a high shine, made up every stick of furniture in the room.

Jennie pointed at a spindly-legged bench that looked too fragile to hold her. “Jus’ drop me on the settee, Henry, while Sarah makes the bed. Thomas, pull up the stool yonder for my poor old foot. Sarah, you can put my broth on the side table to cool, but lay a napkin over it so no dust settles on top. And by the by, hold the pillow out the window and beat it good a’fore you covers it. Nothing I hates worse’n a dusty pillow.” She chuckled. “Less’n it be dusty soup.” She frowned at Thomas, who had done her bidding but now edged toward the door. “Come back over here and pull in this stool so I can reach it better. My leg ain’t made of rubber.”