Passion's Fury (10 page)

Suspicion shadowed his chocolate eyes. “Where you goin’ this time o’ the mornin’? It ain’t hardly light out yet.”

“I won’t be gone long. Just do as I say, Buford, please.” Turning away, she made her way on down the stairs, through the back hallway, and into the crisp morning air.

Where could she hide the ring? She looked toward the stables. The Yankees might burn those. True, the enemy would probably be defeated soon, and she might be worrying for no reason, but she couldn’t take foolish chances with the inheritance ring.

She looked down at the red Alabama clay. She did not dare dig a hole, for if the terrain were changed in battle, the burial place might not be found again.

Burial! That was it. Even if the Yankees did come, they would not desecrate the burial places of the dead, would they? Even Yankees would not be so barbaric.

She walked briskly to the stables, then cut around them to follow the path that led down to a peaceful, sloping hill overlooking the creek that ran from the Fletcher land. In the spring, dogwood trees dotted the lush green woods with dollops of white blossoms, and pink and red azaleas abounded, nature’s magnificence standing guard over the Jennings family burial ground.

The graves toward the front of the cemetery were raked of leaves and dead limbs, as the field workers knew it was a standing order from Carter Jennings that they be kept cleaned. Long ago, her father had identified all the graves for her, and April knew where each of her great-great-grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and uncles was buried. As she moved farther along, there were hand-carved stone monuments.

In the most picturesque spot in the cemetery, stood a small, square, red brick building, the family mausoleum.

As a child, April had refused to play around the cemetery at all, particularly the red brick building with its double iron gates across the doorway. The ornate gates were adorned with a flowery scrawled “J.”

Poppa had forced her to come here on special occasions, such as her birthday, or her mother’s, or Easter. He would bring flowers, and he would unlock the iron doors and go inside and make her go with him. Then he would lay the flowers on top of the brick box and get down on his knees and pray for a long, long time. April would be obediently and respectfully quiet, but she hated those times. She did not mind listening to his tales of how wonderful her mother had been, how much she had loved her, but she wished he would talk of these things in another place, anywhere but inside the damp building with its spider webs and unseen creatures scurrying about in the shadows.

“I could not put your mother in the ground,” Poppa had told her each time they visited. “She was a special, rare beauty, and I wish I could have preserved her for all time. To lay someone like your mother in the ground would have been a sacrilege.”

Once, April had said, “Posie told me that the Bible says that it’s supposed to be ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust’ when somebody dies, and it’s not right not to bury someone in the ground so they can turn into ashes.”

“Posie can’t read,” he had retorted angrily. “What does she know?”

“She says a preacher said that once at a funeral she went to.”

“I’ll beat her hide off her back if she ever speaks of such a thing again.” He had ground out the words so vehemently that April vowed never to repeat anything else Posie told her.

Then one day, when she was perhaps eleven or twelve, her father had taken her to the cemetery on an ordinary day, a day of no special occasion. He had held her hand as they walked. When she asked him fearfully why he wanted to take her there, he murmured quietly, “You’ll see, child. You’ll see.”

They stood before the closed iron gates, and in the faint sunshine that filtered through the thick magnolia trees above, he pointed out two new brick boxes. “For you and me, April darling. We’ll rest with your mother here, not in the ground.”

She had shivered to think she was staring at the place where her dead body would one day be placed. Her father had hugged her tightly against him and told her not to be afraid. “I think I will welcome death,” he said in a trembling voice. “Then I can be with your mother for all eternity. For now, I find peace only in being with you, child, for you are the living proof of the love your mother and I shared.”

April stood before the gates now and stared inside. It was as though time never touched this place. Nothing had changed. It was still a room filled with gray light and cold breezes. The sound of unseen creatures still reached her ears as they scurried along the hard clay floor. Like a giant gray hand, a spider web was wrapped around the brick tombs.

On each side of the gate, there were little niches built into the brick. The niches held tiny marble statues imported from Italy. Her eyes went to the left, to the statue of the kneeling angel. With trembling fingers, she reached beyond, found the tiny, chipped brick that slid outward to reveal a small hole. Groping with her fingertips, she found the key she was looking for.

April took a deep breath, commanded her throbbing, pounding heart to slow down. And with icy fingers, she fitted the key into the lock, and swung open the creaking gates. The doors to the mausoleum swung open with a creak.

Chapter Six

A half hour before midnight, April crept from the dark, silent house. There was neither time nor reason for tears, she told herself as she hurried through the purple night toward the stable. After all, her leaving now did not mean good-bye forever. Mandy would see that word was sent to Uncle James, and he would come to Pinehurst. Then, after she and Alton were married, she would return. With Uncle James’s aid, she would be able to help her father and keep Pinehurst from disaster.

There was no moon, and she had to follow the path from memory. The stable loomed ahead, a hulking shadow. Any other time she might have been frightened, but there was no time now to be afraid. Alton would be waiting by the river, and they would leave together, probably going to his family’s home. By sundown tomorrow they would be married.

Married! She trembled at the thought. To lie in a man’s arms, to be possessed—the idea of doing so with a man she did not love made her feel ill, sick at heart. Yet, she might learn to love him in time, and just
wanting
to love was important, wasn’t it? Yes, she told herself as she hurried along. She
wanted
to love Alton, wanted to make him happy, to be a good wife to him. And there was a war going on. Many people were getting married even though they were not starry-eyed in love. War made people desperate.

She reached the stable and set her tapestry bags down while she wrestled with the heavy doors. With a loud creak, they opened. The smell of hay and manure reached her at the same time she heard the horse whinny. Just before dark, she had hitched one of the mares to a wagon. The stable hands had left for the day, and she was careful that no one would notice.

She moved toward the horse, wrapped her fingers around her harness and led her from the barn. When her bags were in the rear of the wagon, she lifted her thick skirts and hoisted herself up onto the rough wooden bench.

The mare moved forward, and soon they were out from beneath the wall of crepe myrtles. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her eyes were adjusted to the darkness, and with care, she would be able to see her way.

The horse moved slowly, but April did not dare urge her on lest she lose the sight and feel of the road. Finally, the sound of gurgling water reached her ears. She could make out the black ribbon of the twisting river and the boat landing just ahead. She gave the reins a jerk, and the mare snapped to a quick halt. April scrambled from the wagon to the ground so quickly that she almost fell.

“Alton…” Her voice was a whisper, lost in the wind. She admonished herself for being afraid to call loudly, and then called out, “Alton? Are you here?”

There was no answer. She could hear only the night wind dancing through the cottonwoods and cypress trees lining the riverbank. She trembled involuntarily and pulled her cape tightly about her shoulders, moving closer to the mare as though the horse could protect her from the darkness.

It was ridiculous to be frightened. He might have been detained. There was nothing to do but wait, and there was no need to be nervous.

Suddenly, leaves crackled. April whirled about and looked toward the dark river, the thick underbrush and trees. “Alton, is that you?” She called out, her voice a shaky whisper.

The crackling sound was louder. Then there was another. Someone was walking toward her. “Alton, for God’s sake, will you answer me?” She laughed, a high-pitched, tinny sound that belied her growing fright. “This is no time to tease me.”

The sound was closer…a few feet away. April pressed back against the mare, feeling her warmth.

“Alton, answer me, please…” She could not keep the tears from stinging her eyes. Her fingers laced around the leather harness, squeezing. Alton would not frighten her this way, no, not Alton.

She wondered frantically if there were time to climb up into the wagon, to ride away. She had to get away—now! Her mind was spinning and her body began to shake, as though in the throes of a deep chill. She gave her frozen body the silent command to move…now!

“Hello, April.”

She spun completely around, searching for a face to go with the voice. Was it fear playing tricks on her?

“Can’t you even speak to your own twin sister?”

“Vanessa?” April gasped, finding the direction from which the voice came. She could make out only a figure in the shadows. “Vanessa? Is…is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s really me.” The voice was mocking, with the hint of an angry snarl. “Did you really think you could get rid of me forever, dear sister?”

“
Rid
of you?” April echoed, stunned.

“Yes, like you planned. Like you always planned. You wanted me out of the way so you could have Poppa and Pinehurst all to yourself.”

“Oh, Vanessa, that’s not true.” She took a step toward her, but something felt, rather than seen, made her stop. She swallowed hard. “I’ve worried about you so much, prayed you were all right—”

“You can stop your lying, April. I had eighteen years to learn how cunning and convincing you can be.”

“I’m not lying,” she cried in exasperation. “What’s wrong with you, Vanessa?
I
had nothing to do with what happened the night of our party. But let’s not argue about that. Why didn’t you come to the house to see me? And how did you know I’d be here tonight?”

Vanessa’s laugh was taunting. “Come to the house? Are you serious, dear sister? You made sure that could never happen. Poppa would’ve had me beaten or killed me himself. Who can say what a crazy man might do?”

“Crazy man? Who told you that? He’s sick, but—”

“Sick!” She spat out the word. “I suppose you blame his trying to rape you this morning on the influenza? He
did
try to rape you, didn’t he? He’s had spells these past months. He thinks you are our mother, doesn’t he?”

April was furious. “Who told you all this? And I asked you how you knew I’d be here! Suppose you tell me what’s going on, Vanessa.”

Vanessa moved closer. April could see her face now, but she felt the hatred even before she saw her sister. “I’m here because Mandy told me you would be here, just as she’s told me everything that’s gone on since I was kicked out of my own home. She’s very loyal to me. I know all about your plans to marry Alton despite Poppa’s objections—”

“If you wanted to talk to me,” April interrupted sharply, “why didn’t you just have Mandy bring me a message to meet you somewhere? I would’ve come to you. You’ve no reason to hate me. I’ve always loved you, and—”

She reeled as a hand whipped out of the darkness to slap her cheek. “Shut up, damn you!” Vanessa screamed shrilly. “Just shut your lying mouth! You’ve plotted and schemed against me all your life, because you wanted Poppa to disown me and disinherit me. You wanted Pinehurst for yourself. And I know how it’s falling to ruins because Poppa’s too crazy to keep it going. And
you
aren’t smart enough to take over. But
I
am. Poppa can’t stop me now, and neither can you.”

April faced her with fury blazing through her. “How dare you strike me? And you’ve no right to accuse me of all these things. You’re the one who’s behaving like someone insane. When Alton gets here—”

Again the shrill laughter pierced the air. Vanessa gave her long hair an insolent toss as she taunted, “Do you really think Mandy gave him your message to meet you here, you little fool? She told Alton what
I
told her to tell him—which was that you don’t ever want to see him again, because you would never go against your dear father’s wishes.”

She rushed on and April stared in horror. “She also told him that you don’t love him and wouldn’t marry him anyway, and that you want him to leave you alone. I’ll wager Alton’s so angry with you that he wouldn’t come now if you begged him.”

“He’ll listen to me. I’ll tell him what you did, and he’ll understand. He’ll help me keep you from hurting Poppa.”

“You won’t be around to help Poppa, dear sister.”

Before April understood the threat, a torch appeared and she whipped her head about to see two men approaching, ominously smiling in the orange glow.

“I don’t believe you’ve met these gentlemen,” Vanessa mocked. “I’d like to present Zeke Hartley and Whit Brandon. They’re going to be looking after you for a while, so it would be a good idea to make friends with them.”