Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (20 page)

"What do you mean?
You’re his kin."

He reached over the
table, grasped her upper arm, and squeezed. "You better change his mind
back, Lily Palmer. I want that stake."

"To do what with?"

"There’s still gold
in those California hills. Or I might buy myself a saloon in San Francisco.
Make a fortune selling whiskey and playing cards."

Lily jerked her arm free.
"You’re not getting your stake from Uncle Garvey, Frederick. You might as
well take yourself to California right now and try your luck at the gambling
tables."

She didn’t tell him she
knew how to get him his stake. She didn’t want him to have Alistair’s money.
She wanted him to just go.

 Frederick scraped his
chair back and grabbed her arm again. The pain was nothing. He was only
bruising her, and she’d been bruised before.

"I told you. Change
the old man’s mind."

"I won’t."

As soon as she heard the
steps on the back porch, she knew it was Alistair. Her face burned. She hated
for him to see her like this, her husband drunk and looming over her, hurting
her. And she in only her chemise and a summer shawl.

"Mr. Palmer. You’re
home," Alistair said as he came in.

Frederick dropped Lily’s
arm. "As you see," he said with a smirk.

"I saw you in the
courtroom today. What do you think of Valmar’s chances?"

"So we’re going to
make polite conversation? I don’t think so, Whiteaker. I’m having a talk with
my wife. Nothing here any of your business."

Whiteaker walked over to
the table and pulled out a chair. "I think this is very much my business."

Frederick scowled. "Lily,
tell your lover-boy to get lost."

Alistair sat down. "If
you’ll take your seat, Mr. Palmer, we have business to discuss."

"Business."

"Yes. I was
eavesdropping outside the window," Alistair said without a trace of
embarrassment. "You want a stake. I want something, too."

"You want my wife.
Well, you can’t have her."

Alistair glanced at her. "Maybe,
maybe not. Depends on Lily."

"You’re talking
about my wife," he snarled. "When I leave, she’s going with me."

Lily turned to look him
fully in the eye. "I am not, Frederick. You will leave here alone."

He gripped a handful of
her hair. "Maddie is mine," he snarled. "I can take her anytime."

Alistair leapt up and
started around the table. Frederick released her and stepped back, wary, maybe
a little frightened.

Lily clasped her elbows
to keep her hands from trembling. "We’ll sit down now, all of us."

Alistair gave Frederick a
look that would give any man cause to think twice about what he did next. Then
he calmly returned to his chair as she and Frederick sat.

"You won’t take
Maddie," Alistair continued in a conversational voice, as if he hadn’t
just tacitly threatened Frederick. "I am going to make it worth your while
to leave here, alone."

There he was, sitting at
his ease, a day old beard on his face, his collar off and his shirt rumpled,
but he was as cool and calm as if he were talking about buying a pig or a goat
instead of a woman and her child. Lily felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up
inside her and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

"What kind of man do
you think I am?" Frederick’s face flushed. She knew from experience he was
going to get louder from here on.

Alistair answered
quietly. "I think you’re a man who wants to start a new life. California,
Texas, Mexico. With money in your pocket."

"That’s ridiculous.
I’m not selling my wife and daughter." He flung his arm wide, making his
point. "They’re mine, and you’re a damned scoundrel for suggesting they’re
for sale."

Alistair nodded. If he
felt any shame at offering to buy her and Maddie, it didn’t show.

" ‘Sell.’ That’s one
way to put it. I prefer to think of it as an incentive for you to leave Lily to
live her own life while you go off and explore the possibilities of being a
single man. With money in his pocket."

Lily watched Frederick’s
jaw clench. He had his pride, oh yes, Frederick had plenty of pride. Maybe the
anger was burning off some of the alcohol. His eyes were furious, but they were
clear now. Maybe he was seeing possibilities.

"Please, Frederick,"
she said softly.

Frederick snorted. "Please,
Frederick," he mocked. "Please sell me to this man, and our daughter,
too. What happened to the little mouse I married? You a strumpet now, Lily
Palmer?"

Alistair leaned back in
his chair, his hands seemingly at ease on the table, but she could see how
white his thumbs were pressing into the wood.

"I’ll thank you to
be civil to Lily, Palmer."

"Or what? You’ll
play the hero?"

"Yes. I will. Here’s
the offer. You give Lily a divorce, sign over your rights to Maddie, and I give
you $5,000."

Lily was stunned.
Frederick was, too, his mouth open. Five thousand dollars.

Alistair stood up then. "Lily,
you look dead on your feet. I think we’re finished here."

She bobbed her head up
and down. "Yes," she whispered. She quickly and quietly left the
room, but she heard Alistair’s last words.

 "I’ll give you a
few days to think about it, Mr. Palmer. It’s a big decision."

Dear Lord, she thought.
He’s really done it. He’s offered to buy Frederick off. It was horrible,
dishonorable, thrilling, and confusing.

It was a night to be
abroad. The sky was clear, the moon full and bright. In groups of four and
five, respected citizens of St. James and Ascension Parishes donned their white
masks and knocked on the doors of those jurors who might be planning to convict
Valmar of murder. The Knights of the White Camellia would not let that happen.

One of these visits was
civil. "You got a nice place here, Mr. Banks. Two girls, a pretty wife. Know
you want to keep them safe." In the same soothing tones, the masked leader
said, "See you in court tomorrow. Know you’ll do the right thing."

The Camellias visiting Joe
Jackson however found him obstreperous. When they departed, they left Mr. Jackson
in a heap out in front of his house, doubled over and bleeding.

Lily rose early, got
Maddie up and dressed, and went downstairs to help Rachel fix breakfast for
Thomas and his friends.

"Is Major Whiteaker
coming in?" Lily asked when the men came into the kitchen, their hair
still wet from washing up.

"Left about two this
morning, Miss Lily," Thomas said. "After he woke Reynard for the next
watch."

"In the dark?"

"Bright night, big
moon," Reynard volunteered around a mouth full of cornbread.

Once everyone was fed and
had left for town to await the verdict on Jacques Valmar, Lily wiped the table
and emptied the dish pan. Her hands stilled as she hung her apron on a peg – those
were Frederick’s footsteps coming down the stairs. She dreaded seeing him this
morning. Even Frederick, as much as he’d changed, would feel the humiliation of
last night’s offer. She wondered if he’d be hurt, or merely angry. Was he
tempted? Five thousand dollars was a lot of money. A fortune. He could pay his
passage to San Francisco and still have a very large stake to pan gold, or buy
into a saloon, or just gamble.

What if he wouldn’t go?
What if he tossed Alistair’s offer back in his face? Did he even think about
what would be best for Maddie?

She put her apron back
on, resigned to fixing his breakfast, but she heard him cross the hallway and
go out the front door.

She let out a breath. He
didn’t want to see her this morning either. So maybe he was thinking about
Alistair’s offer. She put her hand on her forehead. If only, she thought.

Alistair tried not to
fidget, waiting in the courtroom for the jury to return its verdict. Many of
the men stood outside, smoking and debating. He preferred the quiet murmurs of
the few men who sat around the courtroom, leaving him to his own thoughts.

His offer to Frederick
Palmer might backfire. It was a terrible insult, after all, to give a man money
to leave his family. That’s why he’d offered him a fortune. If it’d been less,
it might have been too easy to turn down. A man had his pride, and maybe, in
spite of indications to the contrary, Palmer had some honor. What knotted his
gut was the possibility that Palmer truly wanted Lily and Maddie with him, out
of love, not possession. Alistair could hardly bear the tension of waiting him
out, giving him time to imagine what five thousand dollars could do for him.

The bailiff strode
through the courtroom to the outer door and hollered, "Ya’ll come on. It’s
time." It wasn’t even eleven o’clock. They hadn’t deliberated long.

The room filled with
surprising quiet and order, everyone having already said all they had to say.
Now they’d hear what the jury said.

Valmar was brought in,
cuffed, but smiling and cocky. Everyone rose and the judge took his seat.

Alistair eyed the faces
of the jurors as they were brought in. Joe Jackson, one of the men Fanny had
labeled with a question mark, had a bruised jaw, a split lip, and sore ribs
judging by how stiffly he took his chair.

The judge polled the
jurors, On the charge of disorderly conduct and reckless endangerment – twelve
guilty votes. On the two charges of murder – twelve to acquit.

Alistair of course was
not surprised. Thomas gripped his pencil tightly, but Chamard leaned over and
spoke in his ear. Thomas took a breath and nodded, the pencil going in his
pocket.

The judge had his
sentencing already prepared, for he surely was not surprised either. "For
disorderly conduct and reckless endangerment, Jacques Valmar, you are sentenced
to time served and the fine of $20. Since you are acquitted of all other
charges, you are free to go." He pointed his gavel at Valmar. "Do not
let me see you in my courtroom again."

Valmar turned around and
found Thomas. "Hey, boy. Now you see what messing with a white man gets
you." He laughed, showing his yellow teeth. "Nothing!"

The judge called to the
bailiff over the noise of the courtroom. "Get him out of here."

The bailiff and the
deputy took Valmar by the arms and hustled him out.

There were a lot of
pleased faces and satisfied grins among the men making their way out of the
courtroom. Alistair saw Percy Randolph, the white candidate for the convention,
pull Chamard aside and talk earnestly in his ear. Randolph thought Chamard
might vote for him for the convention, did he? That was certainly a
miscalculation on Randolph’s part. Or maybe he was inviting a fine upstanding
citizen like Chamard to join the White Camellia.

Alistair smiled grimly,
aware he would not be invited into their pure white ranks. His lineage was as
white as any of theirs, whiter than some, he supposed. His service as a
Confederate officer was lauded. But he had built a school, hired a black
teacher, supported Thomas Bickell, and occasionally gave his opinion that the
old ways had to change.

Chamard smiled, patted Randolph
on the back, and offered him a fine cigar out of his breast pocket. Chamard
never made an enemy if he could help it, so he left Mr. Randolph feeling
benignly disposed with his opinion of himself as a mighty fine fellow intact.
But he would not have persuaded Chamard, Alistair was sure of that.

Outside, the sun was
blinding. Alistair put his hat on, thinking how good a glass of whiskey would
be right now.

Thomas came to stand at
his elbow. "Thank you. It meant something, bringing the man to trial even
if he was acquitted."

"Yes. It’s a step,"
Alistair said.

Thomas inclined his head
toward his friends. "We’re going back to campaigning. No speeches
scheduled today, just seeing people where they work, talking, listening."

"You three stick
together, Thomas, at least until after the election," Garvey said. "A
lot of people resent a black man being involved in Valmar’s troubles. And the
way Valmar was taunting you – you be careful."

"Yes, sir. I’m
aware."

"Kind of funny,
considering Thomas wadn’t even there the night we tarred and feathered the man."

Thomas glared at Reynard.
"Your big mouth," he muttered.

Reynard bit his lip and
looked at the dirt.

Alistair laughed out
loud. "I didn’t hear that."

The River Queen, the
least seedy bar in town, buzzed with talk of the trial and who said what and
why. Alistair and Chamard and Garvey took a small table in the back, lucky to
get a chair at all. Garvey wanted coffee, it not yet eleven o’clock. Chamard
ordered brandy, and Alistair had a small carafe of red wine. They’d do precious
little talking in here with the noise level so high.

They sipped their drinks,
listened in on their neighbors’ too-loud conversations, and looked around.

Alistair’s gaze fell on
Frederick Palmer at the poker table. He had sold his house, word was, so he had
money burning holes in his pocket. He couldn’t have got more than a few hundred
for that little house, according to Garvey. If Alistair was lucky, Palmer would
lose every dollar and be desperate for the "incentive" money dangling
in front of him.

Next to Palmer sat a pretty
woman with dark hair and white shoulders displayed in a revealing red dress.
She leaned over and spoke into Palmer’s ear. He laughed and put his arm around
her. Not new acquaintances then? Maybe she’d like a man with five thousand
dollars and big plans for California.

"I said, it’s too
loud in here for me. You ready to go?" Garvey asked.

"Sure."

Outside Alistair heaved a
breath in relief to be out of that din.

"Our Mr. Palmer was
in there, did you see?" Chamard asked.

"Must have walked
all the way in to town," Garvey said, "cause he didn’t borrow any of
my stock."

"He planning to
stay?" Chamard said.

"I’m sure as hell
not giving him any reason to," Garvey said. "Lily neither."

Alistair did not offer an
opinion.

Not so many hours later,
Alistair arrived at the Bickell place just before dusk, sick at heart and
dreading the moments to come. Lily, Rachel and the children were busy on the
other side of the barn chasing fire flies and didn’t see him. Peep was just
inside the barn putting tackle away. Garvey was tending to his mule at the
trough.

And there was Thomas on
the porch, sharpening knives.

"Evening, Alistair,"
Garvey said as he set a bucket of water down. And then he gave Alistair a keen
look. "What’s wrong?"

Alistair glanced over his
shoulder at the women and kept his voice low. "It’s Fanny Brown, Garvey.
Somebody got her on the way to your place after school."

The old man sagged
against the mule. "My Lord. She’s dead?"

"No. There are some
who’d say this is a worse fate for a woman than being dead, but I don’t hold
with that."

"Raped, then."

Alistair nodded. "And
beaten."

"Good God, Alistair."
Garvey wiped a hand across his face. "Why would anybody do such a thing?"

"Thomas had body
guards, and Fanny didn’t."

"So they went after
her to get to him."

"You want me to tell
Thomas, or would you rather?"

Garvey breathed in and
out. "I think we better tell Peep."

Garvey called Peep over.
When he told him, Peep reared his head back like he’d been slapped.

As Peep walked to the
back porch to tell Thomas, Garvey said, "She wasn’t supposed to come out
on the road by herself. We told her and told her. Not with things riled up like
this."

"She wanted to know
about the trial, I expect. Thomas not staying out at the old cabin anymore?"

"He is, but he come by
here late, and Rachel wanted him home for a night."

Thomas set the blade he
was honing aside when his father came up on the porch. A moment later, he leapt
to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards.

Peep held his hand up to
slow him down, but Thomas was off the porch and striding for Alistair. Rachel
was running by now, running for Peep. When she knew the worst, she leaned into
Peep and he held her close.

"Where is she?"
Thomas demanded.

"My house. Musette is
with her. She’s being taken care of."

"I need the wagon,"
Thomas said to Garvey as he strode for the barn.

"I’ll go with you,"
Rachel said. "Mr. Bickell, we’re bringing her back here. Son, let your
daddy hitch up the mule. You put your shoes on. I’ll get blankets for the wagon."
Thomas sprinted for the house, Rachel hurrying behind him.

"Thank you, Garvey. With
Rachel here, I figure this is the best place for her."

"She ought to be
here, Alistair. She and Thomas, well, you can see how Thomas feels about her."

Garvey went in the barn
to help Peep with the wagon. Alistair turned and found Lily staring at him. "What’s
happened?"

Alistair heaved a sigh.
He did not want to tell her this. He didn’t want to tell anyone this.

"It’s Fanny. She was
attacked after school, probably on her way here."

Lily’s hand flew to her
mouth.

"She’s hurt bad,
Lily, but she can get over this. She’s alive. She’s young."

Would she let him take
her in his arms? He could hold her, smooth the hair off her forehead. But it
was not his place to comfort another man’s wife. "Thomas and Rachel will
bring her here."

"Where did it . . .
Who found her?"

"Musette DeBlieux.
She stayed in town visiting friends after the trial. She came back late in the
afternoon and found her on the road, not far from the schoolhouse. Musette’s
with her at my place."

She put her hand on his
forearm. "Thank you, Alistair."

He slid his arm through
her grasp to take her hand. "For bringing bad news?"

"For being kind. For
caring."

She squeezed his hand. "I’ll
get a bed ready."

He watched her take the
girls inside before he mounted his horse. It’d be dark by the time Thomas and
Rachel got to his place. He’d go ahead and collect some lanterns to light the
way.

He’d seen no sigh of
Palmer here on the farm. Had her sorry husband not come home? Did she wonder
where he was?

He’d give the man another
couple of days. By then, Palmer should have made up his mind. Lily could be
free of him as soon as they got the papers made out, signed, and registered.

After that -- he’d have
to give her some time before he asked her to marry him. He didn’t want her to
feel as if he’d bought her like a pig in a poke.

Musette lit the lamp on
the other side of the room from where Fanny lay. The girl was awake, but she
would not talk to either her or Carrie Ann.

They had washed her face
and hands, took off her shoes and the ruined dress, and put her to bed. Musette
had insisted she drink a cup of strong coffee with plenty of sugar in it. She
didn’t know if that was the right thing to give her, but women were not
accustomed to brandy, her father’s and Mr. Chamard’s favorite remedy for
anything from a summer cold to snakebite. Since the coffee, Fanny had rolled
away from them on the bed and turned toward the wall.

They’d found her on the
way back from town. Musette had taken Carrie Ann along as usual, and because
Mr. Chamard insisted these days, she also had Cicero with her. And they had
needed him.