The Loom (36 page)

on the waist of her dress, she pulled the pleats full and wide around her, lifted her head high, and strolled out to meet early arrivals.

“Where’s Jackson?” Lydia whispered to Annie, scanning the dining room.

“Not here yet. Left early this morning. Ain’t been back since.”

Probably drunk somewhere.

“That’s fine.”

Perhaps he wouldn’t show up at all.

Lydia watched the field slaves Annie had recruited to help with the event. They mumbled and fumbled with everything. She could care less. She was just waiting to see what she was compelled to do. Until then, she would stay put.

“I’m here about Jackson.”

“Come in, Rex,” Mae said, swinging her front door wide open. The smell of pork wafted through. “You all right? You hungry?

You look terrible.”

He hadn’t bathed in days, mostly out of fear of wetting the silky red snake that bit every time the wind blew. And his mind had been on other things. Like a lynching. It would be the best revenge.

Mae’s eyes were painted sky-blue from lash to brow.

“You going somewhere?”

“No.”

“No?” You just sit around all caked up for no good reason? Her puckered pink lips made him heave. A salty wave watered his mouth. He swallowed. “Well, I was on my way to the Whitfields’ and decided to pay you a visit.” Rex flopped back on the low sofa and crossed his arms. “You’re not going to the wedding?”

“Wedding? Who’s getting married?”

“Jackson’s marrying that Caroline gal.”

“What? I thought they were already married.” When she narrowed her eyes, it looked like the sky was falling. “That Jackson’s a big liar.”

“Oh, he’s more than that.” Rex leaned forward into the pulsing at his waist. “And I’m here to tell you.”

Lydia watched Annie and the other servants swarming around the room, greeting guests and offering stem glasses of white wine while James stood near the foyer armoire, hanging coats. The house had filled quickly with a crowd larger than Lydia expected.

Jackson had apparently invited more than his family, but he himself still had not arrived. Every few minutes, she glanced at the door, waiting.

“Ma’am, a couple is looking for Master Whitfield,” Annie informed her. “A Mr. and Mrs. Brewer.”

“Who?”

Lydia turned. Behind her, Andrew helped Lizzy shrug out of an ankle-length, dark gray wool cloak. She should have run, she should have hidden, but she stood staring at her friend.

When Lizzy saw her, she startled, then walked to her, the space between them closed in seconds.

“Lydia? Is that you?” She touched her face with the tips of her fingers. “I didn’t know where you were! I didn’t know where you had gone. You’re alive.” Lizzy wrapped her arms around her, then stepped back. “And you’re the bride?” She laughed and cupped her hand over her mouth. “You look beautiful. I would’ve never thought in all my life I’d see you again.”

Lydia gripped her hand and smiled. It was so good to see her.

“What happened to John?” Lizzy whispered.

“I don’t know.” It hurt to say.

“You and Jackson…”

“Are you angry?”

“No. I’m quite happy. Happy with the husband I have and happy to see you.” She beamed, then leaned in close. “So he doesn’t know…”

“No.”

“Then he never will.” Lizzy nodded and with her arm linked through her husband’s, moved through the crowd.

Rex dragged, holding his stomach, across the field to the Coloreds’ quarters, hoping the boy was dumb enough to return. He

fingered the snake. It was waking up. Sharp, piercing pain stabbed him again and again as he staggered on. He stopped when he felt the tongue and looked at his wet fingers under the moonlight. It oozed, yellow, green, he couldn’t tell, but the throbbing made him want to shoot somebody in the head. Why hadn’t he brought his gun? Could’ve taken care of everybody at once.

He thought of Caroline and spat. Now, he just wanted that slave. Wanted to stab that boy right through the heart and let the blood rush like a river. Death was the only price for what he’d done. It didn’t matter he had stumbled on his own knife, because he never would have had to pull it if that boy would’ve known his place. Out there with a White woman. And now Henry…

He pressed the water back that tried to seep through the corners of his eyes.

Or maybe he’d just break his neck like his pal’s.

Jackson scanned the dining room when he entered the house. Caroline had done a marvelous job instructing the servants while he was out nursing his final bachelor hours with healing drink. Made all things right.

“Excuse me, Mr. Whitfield,” James interrupted. “We have an uninvited guest.”

“Handle it, will you?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” The butler’s face tensed. “But she’s pretty upset. A Mrs. Mae Drake. She said she would like to speak with you.

Should I tell her—?”

“Tell her…” Jackson looked around, trying to think. That was all he needed. Mae with her questions. “Tell her I’ll speak with her later.”

“She says it’s important.”

“I’ll talk to her when I talk to her!”

Mae pranced into the room, her hands on her hips. “You will speak to me right this moment!”

Jackson glanced at the few guests in the dining room, watching.

“That’s fine.” He nodded and smiled at the observers. He needed a drink. Badly. “Mae, I’m so glad you could make it this evening.”

“To your wedding, Jackson? Henry told me you had already married the girl.”

“I did. It’s just a formality. This evening.”

“Are you lying again?” She stepped closer and closer until her breasts pressed against his stomach. He stepped back. She inched closer until he was against the wall and forced to look down into her glaring eyes. “You hurt Henry, Jackson?”

“Mae, of course not.” He grabbed her arm, whispering over the hushed voices around them, “Let’s go into the other room so we can talk.”

“I’m not going nowhere!” She yanked her arm away and stumbled backward. “Did you kill my husband?”

All fluttering stopped. Everyone stared. Jackson could feel the blood rushing to his face.

He unbuttoned his black jacket and walked into the foyer, nodding and smiling at guests as he marched by.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mae chased after him.

He whispered in James’s ear and waited at the entrance.

Seconds later the butler and a field slave had Mae by the elbows. She kicked and flailed and screamed as they carried her out the door. “Put me down! I mean it, put me down! Jackson, yours is coming!” They whisked her down the steps and around the corner.

Jackson turned to the spectators and grinned. “Not to worry, she won’t be back.” He turned to slam the door when he saw a frail-looking man on his property in the distance. He squinted. Rex? This was ridiculous.

“Excuse me a moment, won’t you?”

Jackson skipped down the steps and jogged over to him.

“Rex, what are you doing here?”

“You told me you were going to talk to Caroline. You lied to me. You wasn’t never gonna ask her, were you?”

“Actually, I was, but somebody sent a crazy heifer to my house.”

“I was just mad.”

“I don’t care what you were. You knew you were supposed to keep your mouth shut. So no, now you won’t get to speak to her. You’re going to get nothing but an old-fashioned beating if you don’t get off my property right now.”

“I can’t. I think I’m dying.” Rex slithered to the ground.

“Your choice. Get up or I’ll—”

“Break my neck?” He squirmed into a ball on the grass.

“If you’re not up and out of here by the time I get back upstairs, I’m going to send some of my boys to take care of you.”

“Isn’t that funny? Me and Henry used to be your boys.”

“Get off my land.”

“Yeah, we was your boys, but now, now, you’re for the other side just like your wife!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve never been for nobody. Just against most.” He spat at him. Rex flinched out of the way.

“And tonight, it’s me against you.”

“You sure about that? I’ve got something for you.”

“I’m leaving. I’ve got a wedding waiting on me.”

“I don’t think you do.”

Jackson stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him. He had to keep it together until he got to Caroline. He needed to get to that woman.

“Jack!” Andrew walked up to him, gripped his shoulder. “Great seeing you, friend.”

“You too,” Jackson murmured, still moving through the crowd.

“Whoa, slow down. I haven’t seen you in months, and this is the kind of greeting I get?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Nerves getting to you? I understand. Listen, I just wanted to congratulate you.”

Jackson extended his hand and smiled. “Thank you.”

“You and Lydia—”

“What did you say?” He blinked.

“I’m sorry, I meant Caroline.”

“Who’s Lydia?”

“Caroline.” Andrew chuckled. “Elizabeth calls her Lydia sometimes.”

Jackson couldn’t move. A dagger. That was all he felt. A dagger straight through his heart.

“What did you say?” His words came out shaky. He cleared his throat.

“Jackson?”

He stormed into the living room and downed two glasses of wine as he scanned the crowd of dark-haired women, searching for one. He marched back into the dining room. A tall blonde in red stood near, laughing loudly and wagging her finger at the man beside her. When she stepped aside, the hairs on Jackson’s neck raised. There she was. Caroline. In perfect view.

He dangled a woven cotton patch of red circles and purple diamonds in his hand and stepped closer. “What is this, Lydia?”

“What?” In the back corner of the dining room, Caroline stood, trembling.

“You heard me. Rex found this in one of my worker’s cabins.”

Her wide eyes, her tremor, told him everything, weakened him at his core.

“I’m sorry.” She stepped away from him.

“Were you with that Colored? Did Rex and Henry see you?”

Jackson leaned into her. “Answer me, Caroline!”

She stumbled backward over the hem of her dress into the wall.

With a sweep of his arm, he slid the tablecloth and the candles to the floor, the sound of glass permeating the room.

But that was all Jackson heard. Glass falling. In all the movement of men and women slipping by him, scattering through the room, grabbing coats and stoles, servants rushing, smoke rising and flames igniting, all Jackson heard was glass. Shattering. His heart breaking. He watched Caroline clutching her necklace, crumpling to the floor.

A pearl clinked against the wood, then another. One by one they fell, like a flood.

Lydia scrambled out of the dining room, slipping on pearls.

“Caroline!” Jackson yelled from the smoky dining room floor, stumbling and staggering toward the one disappearing down the hall. Smoke billowed into the hallway and quickly filled his lungs, but it was the fire that frightened him. It had flared so quickly, he could see flames raging from the dining table to the foyer. He would have to figure another way out. “Caroline!” After he got to that woman.

She was a liar. But he knew that. He always knew deep down she was dishonest. In time, he could feel it, feel her lies rotting inside him. Knew it the day he found her on the side of the road, but lust kept him coming.

Jackson dragged himself down the hall toward Caroline’s quarters. Halfway there, he propped himself up against a wall, panting. He was panicking. He could feel his chest closing up on him. Coughing, he doubled over with his arms wrapped across his stomach. He was weak, weaker than he’d ever remembered. He tumbled to his knees. On his stomach, he crawled, slithered his way to her room. Out of breath, he glanced up at the doorknob several feet away.

He should’ve never let her in his house. None of them. Annie. James. They were bad news. He coughed. The smoke was burning his eyes, altering his vision. Timothy had died because of them. Jackson couldn’t breathe. He was getting light-headed.

Timothy died because… He inched his way forward, stretching for the knob, but his fingers slipped.

He died because of me.

Jackson’s breath was fading.