Rapture's Rendezvous (31 page)

Then her thoughts traveled to another name. Maria . . . Hopper. .. .

She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth. Oh, God, how she wished to be heading for Michael's house, to soon become
his
bride. She swallowed back the urge to cry, remembering being in his arms only the previous night. When he had spoken her name while making love, she had then known that he loved her still, just as she loved him. But now? Now she knew the possibilities of never seeing him again.

The wind continued to whip her hair upward from, her shoulders. To her, it seemed that Illinois wasn't only a state filled with great seas of grasses, but also of great winds. But she loved the wind. If she closed her eyes, she could envision it to be Michael's fingers rippling through her hair, lifting it, as he so often had done. Her passion for him soared at this moment. She would now always think of him when the winds blew. A passion in the wind. . . .

She stepped up onto the iron bridge, stopping to take one last look at the Italian community she was leaving behind. She could see smoke spiraling upward from most of the chimneys, and she knew that most of the
women were heating wash water on their stoves, ready to begin their hard day of labor, with no hope for the future of having anything any different.

Some children were playing in the streets, kicking at the coal dust, making it fly upward to settle in gray-blacks on their tattered, worn clothes. Something clutched at Maria's heart, as she wished for so much more for her people. Then she turned and moved into the thigh-high Indian grass, pushing her way through it, smelling its freshness as it continued to blow in the wind. As before, it was like an ocean, dipping and swaying gently, its wine-colored tips edging the sky of blue, resembling an oil painting of magnificence.

Maria's eyes traveled around her, seeing once again the grove of trees that hid Ruby's house so well behind it. A cloud of starlings rose upward from the trees and moved in quivering blacks into the distant sky, and then Maria caught sight of a lone elk cruising in the depths of the brush that surrounded the towering oaks

Lifting the skirt of her dress, Maria moved onward, seeing Nathan Hawkins's house getting closer. Its magnificence was almost overpowering. It stood two stories high, its many windows resembling eyes, watching Maria's approach. She swallowed hard, then stumbled as she came upon a sudden clearing revealing a freshly graveled road that separated this field of grass in two.

Stepping onto the road, Maria stopped and stared down its full width, first one way, then another. She had just discovered the road that led not only to Nathan Hawkins's house, but almost to Ruby's.

Now Maria knew why she hadn't seen any traces of a road next to Ruby's house. The road stopped abruptly
where Ruby's fence began. But on one far side, the side Maria had not been on, a traveled path of muddy ruts sank deeply into the ground.

“So this is how Michael and all those who visit Ruby's arrive? Not over the iron bridge, but on a road that passes right in front of Nathan Hawkins's house,” Maria said aloud, holding the skirt of herdress down as the wind continued to lift and pull at it. She set her jaw firmly. “I guess Nathan can't own the roads as he does everything else around here,” she said further, turning, making her way down the road, again heading for her new way of life … a marriage she already despised. “Knowing this makes me have a bit of hope,” she said further. “If he can't own the roads, surely there must be a way to keep him from owning my people.”

A thundering of hoofbeats made Maria turn with a start. She stepped from the road just as Ruby's husband Clarence pulled a black, sleek horse to a halt next to Maria. Clarence looked even as burly and dark in the daylight as he had the previous night when he had revealed to Maria that he was Ruby's husband.

This truth still confused Maria. How could a husband agree to a wife's so openly bedding up with other men? It was as though it was only a business arrangement, with Ruby being the main breadwinner of the family.

“Land's sake,” Clarence said in a slow drawl, letting the horse's reins grow slack in his hands, leaning, studying Maria. “Don' ya'all have a way of gettin' ‘round?” His dark eyes moved quickly over her. “But I mus' say, ya'all sho' look bettah in a dress. Breeches wuz meant foh men. Didn't yore mammie evah tell ya'all that?”

Maria felt a flush rising from her neck upward. She struggled even more to keep the skirt of her dress from revealing her legs to this colored man. She glanced over him quickly, seeing that he was dressed as he had been the night before, in a red plaid, long-sleeved shirt and loose-fitted dark breeches.

“It's nice seeing you again, Clarence,” she said, smiling.

“So ya'all does remembah mah name?” he said, straightening his back. His eyes showed the gratitude for her remembering him as they twinkled in dark browns back at her.

Maria shook her head in an effort to remove the wind-blown hair from her face. “Yes,” she said. “I remember you
and
your kindness.”

“So mah Ruby took care of ya'all's needs last night?” Clarence said, leaning again in her direction.

Maria cast her eyes downward, embarrassed. Surely Clarence knew exactly what those needs had been. She didn't answer. Suddenly her words seemed caught in her throat. She still had such need for Michael. She hadn't liked being reminded. She was much too close to Nathan Hawkins's house now to let her mind fill up with further thoughts of Michael.

“Wheah ya'all headed?” Clarence said, patting his horse gently.

Maria's eyes shot upward, then on past Clarence, to settle on Nathan Hawkins's house.

Clarence's gaze followed hers, then moved back to Maria. “Ya'all be a headin' foh Mastah Hawkins's place?” he said, in an almost whisper. “Is that be wheah ya'all is a headin'?”

Maria bit a lower lip, then answered. “Yes. Exactly,”
she said, clearing her throat nervously.

Clarence seemed to age right before Maria's eyes as his face became all dark wrinkles. “Wha foh ya'all goin' thea foh?” he mumbled.

“For a wedding,” Maria said, fighting back a fresh urge to cry.

Clarence's brows tilted. “Whose wed din'? I nevah got word of no weddin' takin' place, and Clarence heahs all ‘bout Mastah Hawkins.”

“The wedding is to be mine and Nathan Hawkins's.” Maria said, then flipped the skirt of her dress around and hurried away from Clarence. She closed her eyes, knowing how she had almost choked on those words. When she heard the horse's hoofbeats following behind her, she tensed, then moved aside when Clarence stopped the horse beside her once again.

“Don' marry up with him,” he said. “He's the devil. His house is full of deviltry. Go to Ruby. She can he'p ya'all with whatevah trouble ya'all be in.”

Tears brimmed in Maria's eyes as she stared upward into this dark face of compassion. “No. No one can help me,” she said. “I have to wed Nathan Hawkins. I must.” She lifted the skirt of her dress and rushed away from him once again, glad to hear the hoofbeats move away, instead of toward her.

Wiping her eyes, she moved onward, now seeing through her blur of tears the tiny flowers along the roadside. Somehow, seeing their innocence lightened the burden of her heart. She stooped and picked a bouquet of purple-blossomed blazing stars, sweet coneflowers, yellow with brown centers like daisies, and some pale pink gentians. She tried not to think of Clarence's words, about the house filled with deviltry.
But even a handful of beautiful flowers couldn't erase the words from her mind.

Rising, straightening her back, she stared at Nathan Hawkins's house once again. It looked innocent enough with its stately outer walls of red brick and the tall pillars on the wide front porch. Then her gaze captured what the tall Indian grasses had kept hidden from her eyes till now. It was row after row of grapevines, filled with fresh green leaves. Seeing this made Maria's heart ache, now realizing just how homesick she was for Italy.

She hurried onward, watching the vineyard grow larger and larger as she approached it. It stretched out behind Nathan Hawkins's house on all sides and as far into the distance as Maria's eyes could follow. Though Nathan Hawkins was not of Italian descent, he had not only captured the Italian people and brought them to his town called Hawkinsville, but he had also somehow brought with them their one big love … the growing of grapes.

“Why?” Maria wondered aloud. “Does he wish to inflict hurt even more by reminding us all of what we have left behind?” Yes. Seeing this huge vineyard was a reminder to Maria of the freedom she
and
her family had left behind in Italy. Whether or not Nathan Hawkins had planted the grapes purposely as a reminder to the Italians, she knew that would be the way she would always feel about it.

She doubled her one free fist at her side, grumbling. “Oh, how I hate you, Nathan Hawkins. Oh, how I hate and despise you.”

Now clutching her small bouquet to her bosom,

Maria moved on in front of Nathan Hawkins's house. The yard was surrounded by thick borders of zinnias and marigolds. Bees buzzed around them and monarch butterflies flitted lazily from flower to flower, as hummingbirds darted in and out among gold and red petals.

Maria moved up a narrow walk of white gravel, stopping to read a plaque that had been placed on a wall constructed of blocks of coal mortared together. On this plaque, she read: August 6, 1890, the first carload of coal was carried from Hawkinsville Coal Mine. Nathan Hawkins, Proprietor.

A sick feeling rippled at the pit of Maria's stomach. Had he been using the Italians as slaves since 1890… ? She glared toward the house and its magnificent stature. Had it been the Italians who had helped make Nathan Hawkins so rich?

The front door opened suddenly, drawing Maria's attention to a short, stocky Negress whose hair circled in masses of gray atop her head. She was attired in a thickly gathered cotton dress of small blue-flowered design and a ruffled apron gave her hands something to do as she wiped her fingers on it, all the while moving from the porch toward Maria. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, almost swallowing her dark eyes into the folds. Only her full lips and nose were prominent, those features alone having been left untouched by age.

“You must be Maria,” the Negress said in a squeaky, shrill voice, reminding Maria of Nathan Hawkins's voice. “Ah'm Mama Pearl,” the Negress added, moving quickly to Maria, hugging her as she might do a long lost child.

Maria squirmed, succeeding at setting herself free, looking at her crushed flowers that now hung limply between her fingers. She let them drop to the walk in front of her, trembling. She had dreaded this day. No hugs from a jolly, fat woman were going to make her feel any better about things.

Mama Pearl grabbed Maria by the hand. “Come on inside, Sweet Baby,” she said. “Mastah Hawkins is a waitin' foh ya'all. He's been a pacin' the floah like a true bridegroom for sho. He's proud as punch he is to be gettin' the likes of ya'all as a bride. Now you isn't the first bride on his list, but maybe the last, bless yore heart.”

Maria's heart faltered. “Nathan Hawkins has been married before?” she gasped.

“Moh times than ah wants to count on mah fingahs,” Mama Pearl said, laughing shrilly, still tugging on Maria's arm.

“But where are these women now?” Maria whispered, her face paling.

“When Nathan Hawkins tires of his womenfolk, he just sends them on thea way,” Mama Pearl giggled.

“Do you mean some could still claim to be married to him?” Maria said, paling even more.

“No one would dare ahgue this point with Mastah Hawkins,” Mama Pearl said, glowering. “When he says the marriage is ovah . . . it's ovah.”

“But… the … law … ?”

“In this county, Mastah Hawkins
is
the law.”

Fear and apprehension gripped Maria's insides. It seemed that Nathan Hawkins was even more powerful than she had ever imagined. Would she truly be able to

help her people now, knowing the extent of his strength in this state of Illinois? Was he truly the law?

She moved up the steepness of the front steps, onto the widespread porch, then breathed unevenly as Mama Pearl opened the heavy oak door that led inside.

“Come on, Sweet Baby,” Mama Pearl said, gesturing with her hand for Maria to move on into the house.

Maria lowered her eyes and lifted the skirt of her dress up into her arms. “Yes, ma'am,” she finally murmured, brushing on by Mama Pearl until she found herself standing on a thick oriental carpet that circled beneath heavy oak tables and plushly upholstered chairs and settees clustered about a large, even overpowering room.

Maria lifted her eyes and let her gaze travel across the room to where Nathan Hawkins stood against a large, muraled wall. He was as she remembered. Ugly, short, yet menacing, as his pale gray eyes smoldered beneath his briar-thicket eyebrows. His bushy gray moustache moved as he licked his lips; and all the while he studied her in return.

His black coat fit him perfectly, emphasizing the smallness of his shoulders, and his breeches were tight, showing the bow of his legs.

But it was his bald head that took Maria's full attention. As before, it shone like glass beneath the bright array of electric lightbulbs that decorated a fancy crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling over his head.

“So you have come as I requested,” Nathan said, moving toward her in-a slow stride. He clasped his hands tightly behind him, moving around her.

Maria recoiled, moving away from him. “And did I have any choice but to do so, sir?” she hissed, hating it when his bony fingers touched the flesh of her hand.

“Is the thought of becoming my wife so repulsive?” he said. His voice held no emotion. It was apparent that he always got what he wished for. Even if it was a young lady thirty years younger than himself.

“You are unbearable, Nathan Hawkins,” Maria said, swallowing hard. She seemed to be weakening under his steady gaze. It seemed that his eyes, though gray and empty as they were, had a way of hypnotizing a person. Maria swung around and placed her back to him. She would show him that, yes, soon he would own her body, but never, no never, her mind.