Morning Song (30 page)

would be sent on to the lint room and then the cotton press. Finally it would be baled, and rolled to the landing just this side of Elmway, where the riverboats docked. As always at the end of the cotton-growing season, the river was clogged with traffic as the cotton was transported from the plantations to a large cotton port such as New Orleans. From there the cotton would be shipped to England. The noise and activity that surrounded the successful conclusion of the cotton season had always been something that Jessie looked forward to, and this year was no exception. But now she saw the wagons and heard the braying of the mules and smelled the fresh-picked cotton with senses far keener than they ever had been before. Being in love clearly increased one's awareness of the everyday pleasures of life. Stuart would no doubt be out there in the vicinity of the gin building. Jessie blushed a little at the thought of confronting him in broad daylight after all that had passed between them during the night, but her hunger to see him outweighed her instinctive shyness. Turning her back on the scene outside the window, she hurried to dress.

Sissie had left a can of hot water outside Jessie's door as she always did. Jessie retrieved it, poured the water into the basin, and washed her face. Her body felt vaguely sticky. She would have liked a bath, but ordering one in the morning when her usual practice was to bathe at night might cause Tudi or even Sissie to wonder why. Happy as she was, Jessie was fully aware that what had happened between her and Stuart last night would be condemned by the rest of the world as wickedly scandalous. It was shameful enough that she had lain with a man to whom she was not wed, but when that man was married already, and to her dead father's widow ... It was downright sinful, and Jessie knew 260

it. Should anyone discover the truth, she would be branded a scarlet woman and tittered about and shunned. But she refused to let grim reality dim her enjoyment of the day. There would be time enough later to ponder the more distressing aspects of loving Stuart.

Shucking her nightgown, Jessie sponged her body as well as she could. Brownish stains on the whiteness of her inner thighs puzzled her briefly, until she determined that they were blood. Her virgin's blood, meant to be her gift to her husband on their wedding night. For the first time it truly hit Jessie that she was no longer a virgin. As far as the marriage mart was concerned, she was now soiled goods. Marriage was out of the question for her after last night. A niggle of fear rose inside Jessie as she considered that. She loved Stuart madly, and trusted him to resolve the situation in some unforeseen way that would result in the two of them being together forever, but the grim truth of the matter was that he was already wed and could not marry her. Was she to spend the rest of her life at Mimosa as his paramour while her stepmother claimed the honorable title of his wife?

Was their true love to be confined to stolen trysts at midnight?

Or would Stuart try to get a divorce, the very idea of which made Jessie shudder? The reality of the situation into which she had tumbled began to rear its ugly head, but Jessie determinedly beat such unpleasant thoughts back.

For today, just today, she would enjoy being happy. She loved, and was loved in return. For just a little while she would pretend that none of the barriers between her and Stuart existed, and that they were free to love as they would.

Jessie dressed quickly in the peacock-blue riding habit that was so wonderfully becoming, then sat before her dressing table 261

brushing out her hair. Kernels of grain and bits of straw were caught up in the thick mass, and she thanked heaven that she was in the habit of tending to herself in the mornings. If Tudi or Sissie had seen such debris in her hair, there would have been some highly awkward questions asked.

When she had finished styling her hair, Jessie gathered up every little bit of straw and grain that she had brushed from it and threw them in the back of the fireplace where they were unlikely to be noticed. Then she shook out her nightgown and wrapper to check them for bloodstains, and was relieved to find none. Finally the bloodstained cloth with which she had bathed her thighs was rinsed until no stains remained, and the murky water emptied into the slop jar.

Doing all this, she felt as guilty as a murderess. But when it was done, and she paused before her cheval glass for a final check of her appearance, her spirits rose again. Soon, soon she would be with Stuart. Nothing else mattered.

The morning was cool, though not as cool as the night. The long-sleeved, nip-waisted riding dress was welcome in such weather, and she had tied her hair with a blue ribbon at the crown and left the rest of the curly auburn tresses to hang down her back to her hips. The style made her look very young, she decided as she turned this way and that to admire her reflection in the mirror, and also, she hoped, very pretty.

Stuart had said she was beautiful. Could he really think that?

Smiling beatifically at the memory, Jessie left her bedroom and headed for the stable by way of the back stairs. She passed Tudi, who was carrying an armful of linen up, and startled her by giving her a quick hug in passing. From Rosa in the cookhouse she snitched a corn pone, bestowing on her a radiant smile in the 262

process. Despite her utter unaware-ness that she was behaving in any way out of the ordinary, her unaccustomed ebullience left both women staring after her as she went merrily along.

"Don't my lamb
never
grin like that," Tudi muttered starkly to the stairway at large, and turned completely around on the landing to watch Jessie skip the rest of the way down the stairs. In the kitchen, Rosa just shook her head and continued with the preparations for luncheon.

Jessie, unaware of the speculation she was leaving in her wake, went on to the stable, where she bade Progress a cheery goodmorning, bestowed the last of the corn pone along with a pat on Jasper, and swung nimbly into the saddle. Firefly greeted her with a dancing sidestep that exactly suited Jessie's mood. She patted the mare, too, and rode out of the barn near giddy with anticipation. In just a few minutes she would see Stuart again. Celia was picking her way across the ground that separated the house from the privy, her skirts lifted high with exaggerated care that they not come into contact with the fresh-scythed grass. Even at such a distance she looked exceedingly cross, and even thinner than Jessie remembered.

Celia glanced up then and saw her stepdaughter. Jessie felt some of her precarious happiness fade. She would have ridden away from her stepmother with no more than a token wave, except Celia beckoned. Reluctantly, Jessie reined Firefly toward the wife of the man she loved.

"You look to be in exceptionally high spirits this morning," Celia observed coldly, regarding Jessie with distaste as the younger woman drew rein in front of her. Her face was very pale, and her hair was slightly untidy, which was so unlike Celia that Jessie wondered if she might be ill. And there was 263

something in her tone, some edge that had never been there before. Of course, Celia was habitually unpleasant toward her, her animosity increasing daily as Jessie's looks began to eclipse Celia's own, but still . . .

Could her stepmother possibly know what had passed between her and Stuart during the night?

No, of course not. No one knew, save herself and Stuart. Still, Jessie could not help the tide of guilty color that rose in her cheeks.

"Did you want me for something in particular, Celia?" she asked, hoping to get away before Celia could notice the telltale blush.

"If you run across my husband, as you usually seem to do, I wish you would send him to me. Honestly, the man is never to be found—by me, that is. I understand you manage to find him a good deal." The petty disagreeableness in Celia's voice was no more pronounced than usual, Jessie told herself. For months Celia had been making insinuations about the time and attention Stuart accorded Jessie. Celia's comments were no more than another salvo on the same old front—were they?

"If I run into him, I'll send him to you." Already Jessie was edging Firefly away.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll run into him. You make it a point to, don't you?"

"I'll tell him you want to see him," Jessie said evenly, and turned Firefly toward the road.

"On second thought, don't bother," Celia called after her, malice plain in her voice. "What could be more appropriate than having
you
be the bearer of my good tidings? Just give Stuart a 264

message for me. Tell the randy bastard that he finally got what he wanted: I'm fairly certain I'm with child."

XXXVI

Jessie boarded the
River Queen
early that afternoon. Once she had made up her mind that leaving Mimosa was the only thing she could do under the circumstances, the details had become surprisingly simple. For a while after Celia had blown her world to smithereens Jessie had ridden blindly, sick at heart and stomach, her mind in turmoil. Then, when she forced herself to truly face the realities of the situation, an icy calm descended upon her, and she knew what she had to do. She returned to the house, packed a small valise, and wrote a note, which she left between her coverlet and pillow so that it would not be found until Sissie came by that evening to turn down her bed. Getting out of the house with her valise did not even present the difficulty Jessie had feared it might. The house staff was busy with the usual tasks, and Celia was either in her room or absent from the house altogether, which she usually was during most of the daylight hours. Jessie encountered no one as she left by the front (rather than the back, where she might have run into Tudi or Sissie) stairs.

Money had been the greatest obstacle when she had formulated the determination to leave, but it turned out not to be a problem. At this time of the year everyone, including Graydon Bradshaw, who ordinarily spent most of his working hours in the plantation office, was busy in the fields. The office, a small, separate brick building some way from the main house, was deserted. It was 265

also locked, but Jessie knew where the key was kept. Running her hand along the top of the doorjamb, she found it just where she expected it to be. That key unlocked the door. Once inside, Jessie went straight to where the strongbox, containing enough cash to cover any contingencies that might arise, was concealed beneath a loose plank in the floor. Lifting the board and removing the strongbox was the work of a moment, but like the door, the strongbox was locked. Fortunately the key was in the top drawer of Bradshaw's desk.

The theft was ridiculously easy.

Jessie was careful to return the strongbox to its hiding place and lock up behind her so that no one would be alerted to what had happened until her note was found. Then she mounted Firefly and rode to the landing where the riverboats docked. Getting Firefly safely back home again was another problem, though she could have just turned the little mare loose. Firefly would have returned to her stable before the day was out, but again Jessie did not want to alert anyone at Mimosa to her plan until it was too late to stop her. Fortunately some supplies for the Chandlers were being unloaded. Jessie knew the two Elmway hands who were piling the goods on the wagon. The obvious solution was to ask them to tie Firefly to the back of their wagon and convey her to Elmway for the day.

"You goin' on a trip, Miss Jessie?" one of the men, George, asked her in some surprise as he accepted Firefly's reins.

"Yes, indeed. I'm going to Natchez for a spell. Doesn't that sound lovely?" Jessie hoped that the gaiety in her voice didn't sound as forced to George's ears as it did to her own.

"It does, Miss Jessie. You got your girl Sissie with you?" 266

Half the bucks in the valley were sniffing around Sissie's skirts. Jessie made a mental note to talk to Stuart about finding the girl a husband amongst the people at Mimosa before she could lose her heart to someone from another plantation, which could cause endless complications. Only as the thought was filed away did Jessie remember that she was leaving, and thus would not have the opportunity to talk to Stuart about anything, much less Sissie's love life, for a very long time.

Anguish smote her even as she lied brightly for George's benefit.

"She's already gone aboard. I'll tell her you asked after her, shall I?"

"You do that, Miss Jessie."

With a pat for Firefly and a wave for George, Jessie headed up the gangplank. She had a bad moment then, since it occurred to her that she had not the least idea how to go about securing passage. Fortunately the captain was more concerned with his cargo than his passengers, and seemed to require no more than payment to let her aboard. After the money changed hands, and she was walking along the deck with a key to her cabin in her hand, Jessie allowed herself a moment of relief. Funny, wasn't it, how terribly easy it was to tear one's life up by the roots?

Except for her trip to Jackson with Miss Flora and Miss Laurel, Jessie had never traveled. If she hadn't been so sick at heart over Stuart, she would almost have enjoyed the journey downriver. The Yazoo River had never seemed to her particularly small, but when the
River Queen
churned out of the tributary into the vast muddy waters of the Mississippi, Jessie was awed by the sheer grandness of it. Boats of every size and description chugged up 267

and down the huge waterway. Along the silty banks activity flourished.

When the
River Queen
docked briefly at Vicksburg, Jessie moved off the deck and returned to her cabin. Ladies rarely traveled alone, and to do so left her open to insult. One or two gentlemen on board had already eyed her in a fashion she could not like. It would be best to keep to her cabin as much as possible until the
River Queen
reached her final destination of New Orleans. She could use the time to plan what she would do when she finally had to disembark. The eight hundred dollars she had appropriated from the strongbox would not last forever. It was conceivable that she might at some point have to find paid employment, but as what? And how did one go about securing a position, anyway? Panic threatened to swamp Jessie as it became clearer by the moment just how very sheltered her life had been, but she refused to give in to it. If she was ill equipped to make her own way in the world, well, she would just have to learn how best to go about things. Somehow, some way, she would manage, because she had to. She was young, healthy, intelligent, and unafraid of hard work. So why should the world beyond the safe confines of Mimosa seem so overwhelming?