Flowers of the Bayou (3 page)

“True, but most gals get married long fo’ then.” Sighing Morgan decided to relent. “I ain't gonna talk ta ya no more bout it today. Just lookin out fo you is all.”

“I thank you kindly,” Amelia stated, averting her eyes to her hands and he climbed in and urged the mule on. The ride to the Bradford house was full of awkward silence and Amelia had to endure the impropriety of the man’s hand on her shoulder the whole ride.

As soon as he came to a complete stop, she hopped down and ran around back of the house without even a goodbye.

She was out of breath when she knocked on the large cherry wood door and tried to compose herself before anyone could have a chance to answer. Of course the darn thing was thrown open before she got the chance. Wiping her hands on her beige skirt, Amelia thought better of holding her hand out to the pretty blonde woman. Instead she nodded in greeting. “Hello, I’m Amelia. Mrs. McMahon sent me.”

Vivian Townes looked over the young woman and smiled. Her chest was heaving and she’d let her words tumble out, but she had a warm smile upon her lips the whole time. “Welcome, Amelia. I’m Vivian, the keeper of the estate while Mr. Bradford is away. Come on, child. Come in and get out of the sun.”

Amelia timidly stepped into the house and already it was more than she ever could have expected. Searching the great room, she came to realize it was the kitchen and great counters were placed at the far end. She watched as the woman called Vivian pulled two crystal glasses from a curio cabinet and poured two glasses of lemonade, handing her one.

“No, ma’am I couldn’t.” Amelia exclaimed backing away from the beverage as if it might bite her.

“Of course you can and you will.” Vivian insisted. “We’ll have none of that in this house. Mr. Bradford wouldn’t have it either, I assure you. Besides, I kept the whole pitcher in the ice house so it could cool just for you. I wanted to give you a nice welcoming and in the heat, what could be better than a cold glass of lemonade?”

 She made a good argument but Amelia was no fool. You just didn’t drink out of the same cups as whites and if anyone seen her she’d get what she deserved, even if it was being offered. “Thank you, but I’m fine I assure you.”

Vivian frowned. “Girl, if you don’t drink that lemonade I’m going to send you away right now.” Vivian declared trying to remain stern and not smile as the girl took the glass and gulped the contents down. “Now was that so hard?  Besides, who’s going to tell on you anyway?” Vivian took the girl by her hand and set her down at one of the tables. “So, tell me Amelia, can you cook?”

New Orleans

That had been a year ago and now at the age of sixteen, Amelia once again came running to the back door of the Bradford manor, but this time in tears and straight into Vivian’s arms.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Vivian tossed the apron she wore to the floor and led the girl out of the kitchen and into the library, where she set her down on the couch and tried to make out what was amiss amongst the girls sobs.

“Morgan was right; why did I ever think he could want someone like me? I’m fat and I’m ugly.” Amelia cried into the lap of the woman who had become like a mother to her.

“My darling, what happened?” Vivian cooed, pushing Amelia’s thick mane back over her shoulders.

“Daniel’s going to marry Nelly!” Amelia wailed. “I thought it didn’t matter to him how I looked. He said it didn’t and now he’s gone and asked Nelly to marry him.”

Vivian remained silent, but inside she wanted to go down to Daniel’s house and slap him. How dare he treat Amelia this way, the damn fool.

Patiently, Vivian allowed Amelia to cry until she couldn’t cry anymore, then patting her back she took out a handkerchief and wiped the girl's face. “Don’t fret, you were meant for greater things, Amelia and a better man. One day, you’ll find him.”

Amelia shook her head vehemently. “How can I? I’m nothing. No one would want a woman like me.”

“I swear Morgan and Lorraine are trying to poison your mind. When I look at you, do you know what I see?”

“You’re biased,” Amelia countered but, for the first time all day, managed a bit of a smile.

“That may be so but I’m also honest. When I look at you, Amelia, I see a beautiful young woman, a woman who deserves the world. And one day, some deserving man is going to be lucky enough to give it to you.”

“That man is going to be Morgan,” Amelia said, her face taut and her eyes sad.

“Only if you want him to, Amelia.”

“How can I stop him?”

“You don’t have to wait for someone to rescue you. You can always rescue yourself.” With that, Vivian rose from her position and headed out of the library.

Amelia lay there on the red couch for a while before she finally got the strength to move. She’d been in the library before but she never really looked at it, just dusted and wiped down the desk and shelves.

Running her index finger along a shelf of books, she closed her eyes and after a few moments, she stopped and plucked the one her finger landed on.

She could have laughed outright at the selection, The Betrayal.  She should have laughed but she just couldn’t.  Taking it over to a heavily cushioned chair, she opened it to reveal the scrawling of a message.

To Samantha,

a story most appropriate,

Jordan

Amelia’s curiosity was peaked; it had to belong to Mr. Bradford’s wife. Portraits of the stunning blonde could be seen on most of the walls in the manor. Yet she could not recall one of Mr. Bradford, himself. Amelia had been employed over a year at the house but had yet to lay eyes on him.

Vivian said he was in London, and the one time he did return, he resided at his cousin’s house and sent for his sister. They didn’t see Georgia for a month, and Vivian and herself moped around the house until the child’s return.

It was funny, but now that she thought of it, she had not seen one portrait lining the great walls of Mr. Bradford, himself. Surely there had to be one.

Setting the book aside, Amelia thought back to every room.  Closing her eyes she thought hard, where would one be? She’d roamed up and down the house for months now; she should be able to find one.

Then it dawned on her. There was an adjoining room to Mr. Bradford’s quarters that she’d not once stepped foot in. Vivian always said there was no need because Mrs. Bradford would not be coming back to New Orleans.

Taking her time going up the winding staircase, Amelia came to the door and turned the knob. Entering, she found the room to be dark and dank.

Pulling open the blue and white velvet curtains, she squinted her eyes as light filtered through and dust flew up into the air only to float back down slowly and settle.

Vivian might not think it necessary but the room needed some attention. Everything in it was untouched. It was eerie. The bed was made and the boudoir held a bevy of perfumes and brushes.

Picking one up, Amelia blew the dust from the article before placing it back down. Moving to the bed she turned about in the room and that’s when she saw it.

The large portrait was hung directly across from the four poster bed and Amelia felt her heart catch, a funny feeling, she must say.

The man was striking; in the portrait, he stood next to a black horse. Piercing blue-violet eyes stared blankly back at her and Amelia felt her heart skip once more.

She could tell he was tall and from the looks of it, he was not an idle man. His figure was impressive; blinking, Amelia found that she almost felt entranced.

Shaking her head, she gave the portrait one last look before leaving the room and decided that, at least if left to her, there would be more than one picture of Mr. Bradford gracing the halls.

***

That night, Amelia lay in her uncomfortable cot lost in thought.  When she’d arrived home from work, Morgan was there and it was almost more than she could bear.

He went on about how he’d warned her against Daniel, how he’d told her that no young man would want a woman like her. He liked rubbing salt in the wound—that much was apparent. Off to the side, Lorraine sat by and agreed wholeheartedly and Amelia felt drained by the time the whole ordeal was over.

After supper, she’d asked to be excused early and nearly ran to her room. Throwing herself on her bed, she clinched her eyes shut and the only comfort she could find was in Vivian’s words.

Maybe she was meant for something different, perhaps something great. Most importantly, perhaps she didn’t have to be shackled to Morgan. She didn’t need to wait around to be rescued. She could rescue herself.

That night, she fell asleep with a smile on her lips, and though when she woke she wouldn’t remember, she dreamed of a man with piercing blue-violet eyes.

Part Three

Jessie

The Southern Wildflower

The Wildflower

New Orleans, 1875

“For once, will you just listen to me and keep your hide inside!” Anthony was exasperated. The woman was just too hard headed for her own good. Didn’t she know it would kill him if anything were ever to happen to her? Jessie looked at Anthony as if he’d lost his mind. “Why should I? I know that you’ve got no business out in the woods at this time of night.”

“I told you, I promised Harold I’d help him bring this cargo in tonight. That’s all. 'Sides you ain't got no business out here at all. Your mama find you and she gonna tear you up.” He teased.

“I’m a grown woman!”

Anthony shrugged at this and then grinned at her. “How’s Wilson doing?”

“Anthony Moore, I ought to smack you!” The pretty chocolate-skinned woman advanced on the much larger man.

“Oh stop it. Everybody knows about you and Wilson already. Ya’ll been sweet on each other for months.” There, that had done it. Anthony watched as the petite woman turned on her heel and stomped back inside the house.

If the woman hated anything, it was bringing up Wilson. It wasn’t as if it was a secret but she sure acted as though it was. He’d spotted the two dancing at the Jackson’s cotillion and the sight shook him to the core.

Just a few days prior, Jessie had sworn she was never going to talk to Wilson again. The boy neglected to ask her to attend the event with him. He’d never seen Jessie so mad. Even mild-mannered Amelia Marriot saw fit to steer clear of her friend, stating she'd rather spend a day with Morgan Allen and that was saying something.

Everyone who was close to Amelia knew how she felt about the man. Anthony didn’t blame Amelia either. He harbored some hard feelings toward the man as well.

Anthony could not figure out why Jessie expected coy old Wilson to ask her anyway. The man was quieter than a church mouse and just as boring. What she saw in him was beyond Anthony’s reckoning, but he knew Wilson would never be able to handle a woman like Jessie.

No Jessie needed a man that was strong and smart and adventurous because that was the type of woman she was. She would be miserable with Wilson; sad thing was she didn’t realize it. Climbing up onto his horse, Anthony spurred the beast quietly on down the road. It was getting dark and he needed to get down to the bayou to meet the boys. Looking behind him after a ways, he veered off the main road into the woods. He couldn’t risk being seen.

New Orleans, 1866

Jessie glared down at Anthony sternly. “You’ve got to stand up for yourself or everybody gonna take advantage of you.”

“I ain't letting no one take advantage. I got to take care of my family now is all.” He hated having to borrow money from Morgan, the man was the sole reason they were in the situation they were now.

“The man stole from your pa.”

“And I’m gonna make him pay for it, you’ll see.”

“I’ll see alright, when he take you for your horse, too.”

“You never can trust me. I’m supposed to be your friend and you don’t got no faith in me.”

Jessie gave this pause. She believed in him more than she believed in anyone. He would do big things, she just knew it. She was just frustrated to see that old coot Morgan taking even more from him and his family. “I got faith in you,” she whispered. “Morgan just makes me so mad; he got his claws in Amelia, now he haggling you.”

“I can fight my own battles, Jessie. Lord, I got a plan; just trust me.”

“I trust you; just let me know if you need my help. I always will help you. You are my best friend.”

Anthony grinned at her now. He was late getting to work for Mrs. Susanna Bradford. He liked working for the woman. She was kind and treated his people with dignity.

This was a rare trait in his white counterparts, especially since the days after the war. She paid him well and, once she found out how smart he was, began teaching him to read and write.

Jessie didn’t know this yet. It was going to be a surprise. Her family was never poor, never slaves like his family. They were creole and lived a life he one day hoped to give his mother and siblings.