Morning Song (6 page)

As his hand closed over her shoulder Jessie screamed, thoroughly unnerved by the chase and her capture. Spinning helplessly around toward him, Jessie watched his face twist with rage. She screamed again as he caught her upper arms and gave 44

her a shake. He shook her again, hissing something at her. He looked furious enough to do her a real injury.

Jessie's only thought was escape. The instinct for selfpreservation blazed to life inside her, and it was that which caused her to leap for him instead of jerking away, her fingers curved into talons that raked his cheeks as they strove to reach his eyes.

"You hell-born little bitch!" he bellowed, freeing her as his hands flew to his face. Jessie whirled, but before she could get away he caught her again. She kicked and screamed as he lifted her off her feet.

"Damn you, you little brat, I ought to beat you until you can't sit for weeks!"

He had her arms well secured, and was carrying her back toward the house. Jessie screamed, struggling frantically. She had actually opened her mouth to bite him when, over his shoulder, she saw a slight figure running toward them from the darkness of the orchard, hoe raised.

The sight shocked her back to her senses. More than for herself, she feared for him, for all of them who would soon find themselves in Stuart Edwards' power.

"No!" she cried. "Progress, no! I'm all right, I'm all right, do you hear? It's my fight—leave me to it!"

Stuart Edwards whirled as her cry alerted him to his danger. His eyes sought and found Progress, who had stopped running and now stood just beyond the edge of the orchard. It was too dark for Edwards to make out more than the silhouette of an old, stooped man, but the hoe was still raised, its honed edge glistening threateningly.

45

"Go back, please go back! I'm ordering you!" Jessie's words held an edge of desperation. To her relief, Progress visibly hesitated, then lowered the hoe. Stuart Edwards' eyes never left him. For a moment the issue hung in the balance, and then Stuart swung away again, presenting his unprotected back to Progress as he continued to carry Jessie toward the house.

This time Jessie didn't fight. She feared that to do so might cost Progress his life. For a slave to strike a white man was an offense punishable by death.

"So you care for them, do you? That's the only thing I've seen about you yet that's favorable," Stuart said. Then both of them were silent as he reached the stairs, climbed them, crossed the veranda, and entered the house. To Celia, who waited on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, forehead puckered in a frown, he said only: "Where's her room?"

Celia told him. Then Stuart Edwards carried Jessie into the house, past Sissie and Rosa, who looked on wide-eyed but thankfully silent, and up the stairs to her room. He dropped her unceremoniously on her feet just inside the door.

"You will not come out for the rest of the night, and you will apologize to Celia in the morning," he said icily. Jessie was too shaken to manage a reply. She could only watch, knees wobbling, as he removed the key from the lock and shut the door on her. From the other side she heard the click as he locked her in.

Standing there in the dark, staring sightlessly at the closed portal, all she could think of was his face as he'd shut the door. The light from the hall had shone on it, illuminating it clearly. 46

Six raw gashes had bisected the smooth-shaven cheeks. She'd scratched him badly, and she didn't know whether to be glad or sorry.

V

The
next time the key turned in the lock, it was full morning. Sissie had come up during the night, sent by Tudi and Rosa, to scratch on the door and inquire in a hoarse whisper if Jessie was all right. Though sorely tempted, Jessie refused Sissie's offer to

.release her with the skeleton key that Tudi, as housekeeper, was permitted to carry. If she was to escape—and how she would love to, just to thumb her nose at Stuart Edwards!—she would have to do it under her own steam. Unless she could come up with a means of preventing him, he would soon be master of the house and its servants. Angry as she was, Jessie did not want Tudi or any of the others to get in trouble for helping her. They were her people, her responsibility—and all the real family she had.

As the door opened, Jessie turned away from the tall window, where she had been contemplating her chances of surviving a jump without breaking her neck or a leg. She most dreaded to see Stuart Edwards, but the intruder could not be he. He had left some two hours after he had locked her in the night before, and she was almost certain he had not yet returned. Her window overlooked the drive, so unless he had ridden to Mimosa through the fields, she would know of his presence.

"I hope you slept well, Jessie."

47

Celia smiled unpleasantly as she walked into the room, shutting and locking the door behind her. This morning she was dressed in a charming gown of blue-striped white muslin, and her hair was arranged in girlish ringlets about her neck. Trying to appear younger for her lover, Jessie concluded with a silent sneer as Celia tucked the key into her sash, then gave it an ostentatious little pat. Jessie eyed her. Given their relative difference in size, Jessie had no doubt at all that if driven to it she could wrest the key from Celia in a matter of minutes. But Jessie had never physically challenged her stepmother, and it was clear that Celia expected today to be no different. Celia's very confidence was a deterrent. Jessie considered, hesitated, and was lost. Not seeming to expect an answer, Celia looked with casual interest around the room, which she rarely entered. Except for the substitution of Jessie's parents' marriage bed for the original small one, the decor had not changed much since Jessie was a child. The walls were white and largely unadorned, the curtains plain muslin, the furniture good quality mahogany but unpretentious. The elegantly carved four-poster was the only object of any beauty, and Celia regarded it with a frown.

"That bed looks ridiculous in here. It's far too elaborate for a young girl."

"I like it." Try as she might, Jessie could not keep the sullenness from her voice. It made her sound very young, she knew it did, yet something about Celia invariably brought it out. Biting her lip in chagrin, Jessie fell silent, waiting to hear what Celia wanted.

"I'm sure you do. Your eye for furnishings is about as well developed as your eye for clothes. Look at that dress you have on, for instance. You're far too fat for it, and even if it fitted you 48

perfectly, it's positively hideous." Celia sat in a small carved chair near the wardrobe, her hands complacently smoothing the skirt of her own perfectly fitting dress.

Unable to stop herself from reacting as Celia intended, Jessie glanced down at the green riding habit that was her habitual daily attire. It was too small and badly worn, true, but then so was every other garment she owned. Jessie had not had a new dress in nearly three years, not that she cared. Even if she'd had a wardrobe as extensive as Celia's, she would still have worn the beloved riding habit.

"Be that as it may, I did not come here to discuss your appearance. We need to have a little talk, you and I." Celia's eyes, bright with derision, moved over Jessie once more before fixing on her face. Trying not to fidget beneath that harsh gaze, Jessie bit the inside of her jaw so hard it bled. Of their own volition her hands slid behind her to clench on the edge of the windowsill, out of Celia's sight.

"Last night you called me a name that I never want to hear repeated." The voice Celia used with Jessie was a far cry from the honeyed lisp she affected for Stuart Edwards. Just as the coldness of her eyes and the set look to her mouth were expressions that Jessie was sure no man had ever seen. This woman sitting in her bedroom was the real Celia, the one whom no one save Jessie and the servants ever saw. The one Jessie feared and despised.

"Though that hardly bears saying, does it? I'm sure you're not stupid enough to say such a thing twice. It couldn't have been a pleasant experience, having Stuart slap you. He was so angry! I found it quite delicious, really. He's such a handsome man, and so in love with me. Fancy, he would have killed you for saying 49

that if you'd been a man! Of course, you'll probably never understand what I'm talking about. It's quite doubtful that any man will ever fall in love with you."

Given the fact that the young men thereabouts seemed unaware of Jessie's existence, that was a fair, if unkind, statement. It hurt, though Jessie hoped

Celia didn't realize how much. Celia couldn't possibly know about Mitchell Todd. . . .

"If you were to say such a thing again, why, there's no telling how angry Stuart might get. He might beat you—or he might even send you away. Up north, to a school for young ladies, say—though you're getting a bit old for that. Still, I'm sure something could be arranged."

"You know that what I said is the truth." Jessie knew from experience that the best way to respond to Celia's baiting was to keep quiet, but she couldn't hold back the words any longer. Stuart Edwards might not know the truth, might have reacted in righteous if wrong indignation to Jessie's charge, but Celia knew that Jessie wasn't lying. She'd probably been with more men than Jessie even suspected.

Celia looked her over, smiling.

"That I'm a whore? I certainly am not," she denied briskly. "A whore takes money for pleasing men, and I never do that. What do I need with money? All this"—with a sweeping gesture, she indicated Mimosa—"is mine."

Jessie's face tightened. Celia shook her head, still smiling. The yellow ringlets bounced against her neck.

"You're such a child, Jessie! You don't know the first thing about men—or women. Men are so big, such animals, and yet a clever woman can lead them around by their noses. A man in 50

love will do anything, anything. . . . Especially if a woman refuses to give him what he wants. That's the secret, Jessie: don't give in until you get what you want. Make them beg. . . . Your father married me because he wanted me in his bed and he knew he couldn't get me there any other way. And look what I got out of it: a year of nights spent pleasing him—and he was well enough looking—and all this. Mimosa."

"He—Mr. Edwards—doesn't have anything to offer you." Jessie could barely get the words out. At Celia's casual reference to her father, as if he were just another in Celia's parade of men, Jessie's hands clenched so hard on the sill behind her that her knuckles ached. Celia was making her feel physically sick.

"Doesn't he?" Celia smiled her sly smile and looked genuinely amused. "Stuart's so handsome, he sends shivers down my spine. Don't you find him handsome? Of course you must, whether you'll admit it or not. All women do. And he's so masterful. I
do
like a masterful man." Here her eyes drooped sensuously, while Jessie felt her face start to heat. She'd always known Celia had a coarse streak, but never before had her stepmother displayed it so openly. Despite Jessie's new maturity, such frankness about such an intimate subject embarrassed her. The very fact that she was embarrassed embarrassed her still more. Her face turned three shades of crimson, and she was powerless to do anything about it.

As Celia noticed Jessie's blush, her smile broadened. "Besides his very obvious physical attributes, he comes from a good family, and while I doubt that he's as rich as I am, he has a nice little nest egg. He could marry anyone, anyone at all—and yet he's chosen me over all the sweet young things around, and some 51

of them quite pretty, too. Getting him to propose was quite a coup for me—but, of course, you wouldn't appreciate that."

"Now that you've gotten him to propose—and everybody knows it—isn't that enough? You don't have to marry him. Why would you want to? He'll interfere with your—your trips, and your m-men, and . . . and . . . " Despite her embarrassment, Jessie got the words out. Perhaps if she could just get Celia to think of the disadvantages that came with a husband, she might yet manage to stave off the marriage.

"Much as I hate to admit it, I'm turned thirty years old. My looks have lasted marvelously, but they're bound to fade sooner or later. I've thought about remarrying for some time—without a husband, a woman past a certain age is pitied—but most of the men with the right background are so boring! Or unattractive, or both! But Stuart—" She shivered delicately, the gesture saying far more than words could have. Jessie felt herself blush again at the images that shiver conjured up. "I can see myself married to Stuart. It will be exciting.
He's
exciting."

"But marriage is for a lifetime. The excitement is bound to fade, and then you might—might start getting interested in other men. From what I've seen of Mr. Edwards, I don't think he'd like having his wife step out on him." Even as she spoke, Jessie realized that her words were rolling off Celia like water off a duck's back.

"Do you know, I think Stuart just might be man enough to keep me at home. And if he isn't . . ." Celia shrugged, smiling. "I doubt he'll interfere with what I do. How can he—if he doesn't know anything about it?"

Her voice grew colder, with a steely undertone. "Of course, should anyone be foolhardy enough to tell him that there is 52

occasionally more to my trips than shopping, or that I may have been something less than a properly chaste widow for the past few years, the consequences for that person will be extremely unpleasant, I assure you."

"You must know that he doesn't love you. He's marrying you for Mimosa." It was a desperate try, but even as she said it Jessie knew it wasn't going to work. Either Celia refused to see, or she didn't care.

Celia smiled at Jessie. "Stuart and I are going to be married two weeks from Sunday. He's quite swept me off my feet, and I see no reason to wait any longer. The Misses Edwards—they're Stuart's aunts, by the way; he's from the Charleston branch of the family, and very hoity-toity they are, too—are just thrilled that he's going to be marrying and staying in the vicinity. They are going to have a little

Party for us tonight at Tulip Hill. To celebrate the engagement, of course. You'll attend that, and you'll he pleasant and polite to everyone, especially Stuart. We wouldn't want anyone to think you were unhappy with the situation, now, would we? Gossip is so unpleasant! And you'll also attend the wedding. In fact, I might even let you be my bridesmaid." Celia's eyes narrowed as if she were momentarily considering. "Yes, I'm sure that's a good idea. You will be my bridesmaid. And you'll smile, Jessie." Jessie regarded Celia with loathing. Her stepmother was leaning forward as she talked, delicate and lovely-looking as always, a little smile on her face while she gave instructions to Jessie that she must know Jessie would never follow. Threats or no, Jessie meant to shout her displeasure to the rooftops. And if you're not pleasant and polite, Jessie, if you don't do as I have said—" Celia paused, her face settling into sharp lines of 53