The Pattern of Her Heart (39 page)

“If we can find a way to reason with Rupert, perhaps we can do so,” McKinley said, rising to address Nolan face-to-face. “If we agree that we will not bring charges against the men who committed these crimes, assuming they are willing to return the slaves and compensate us for the damages, this matter can be brought to a suitable resolution for all concerned.”

Nolan gave a sorrowful laugh. “Do you not understand that these men do not fear the law? In fact, the men who mete out law and justice are among the number who committed these crimes against our family. Like us, you’ll find no assistance by placing your hope in the lawmen.”

“This issue of slavery goes far deeper than you realize, McKinley. Matters are worsening by the day,” Jasmine said. “Soon slavery will divide more than families; it will divide this nation so deeply we will find ourselves entrenched in war.”

McKinley shook his head. “I understand you’ve had a harrowing experience, but I believe you’re overdramatizing the entire issue.”

“Think what you will,” Jasmine said, “but you were not there to see the ugliness that is being called honorable and patriotic by many Southerners. Mark my words, McKinley: you are naiïve if you believe the issue of slavery will pass away or be resolved without a real fight.”

September 1, 1858

M
C
K
INLEY EAGERLY
opened the thick envelope and sat down in his office to read the missive he’d picked up at the post office a short time ago. Though Jasmine remained unaware of his contact with Rupert, McKinley had been communicating with his cousin since shortly after his sister’s return to Lowell. And though he’d had a recent telegram from Rupert, McKinley was anxious for a detailed reply to his latest letter, for he wanted to receive both explanations
and
remuneration. To date, it appeared Rupert was the only answer to his needs. After all, McKinley had never believed Jasmine’s story about forged documents, even though Nolan had stood in agreement that this was exactly what had happened. He figured them both to be simply victims of the moment. Rupert’s correspondence had proven that thought to be correct. Even Jasmine admitted, after receiving a missive from Cousin Levi earlier in the summer, that the property remained in their care. So whatever misunderstanding there had been about forged documents and property being stolen was behind them now.

Still, McKinley had been careful to keep his correspondence a secret from everyone, including his wife. After all, Violet would wonder at his fierce determination to recover the funds, and he could not bear to tell her of their financial losses. Then too she might say something to Jasmine, and McKinley definitely didn’t want his sister to know the truth. At least not until much later—after everything was settled. Jasmine might again misinterpret the matter, and she absolutely wouldn’t understand McKinley writing to Rupert.

Thus far Rupert’s correspondence revealed what McKinley had believed from the time his sister returned home: she had exaggerated the entire incident at The Willows. With great kindness, Rupert had sent several lengthy missives answering McKinley’s myriad of questions and advising him that the entire ordeal had been a complete misunderstanding on Jasmine’s and Nolan’s part. Rupert had eloquently explained that because both of them had become so completely indoctrinated by Northern dogma, they had hastened to recount inaccuracies.

Rupert’s initial letter of explanation had gone on to state that he was confident McKinley knew him to be a true Southern gentleman and that his visit to The Willows after the devastating fire was never meant as a threat to Nolan and Jasmine. His sole purpose in going to them had been based upon his deep love and concern for Jasmine and her family. He had simply wanted to warn them of the possible impending danger.

McKinley’s excitement increased as he read the most recent letter. Rupert wanted to purchase The Willows, and he would soon be arriving in Lowell to finalize their agreement!

He reread the final sentence:
“Do not tell anyone of my
plan to purchase The Willows or my visit to Lowell. As you know,
your sister tends to think the worst of any Southerner, and I do not
want anything to destroy this final opportunity for both of us.”

“Nor do I, cousin; nor do I,” McKinley murmured as he carefully refolded the letter.

Jasmine reached into an old trunk that had been stored in the attic and pulled out a stack of Clara’s outgrown dresses and gowns. One by one, she scrutinized each tiny article of clothing, knowing it would likely fit little Emily now that she was more than a month old. Prissy had experienced an easy birth but now seemed to be languishing in a form of melancholy. She nursed the baby with little enthusiasm and appeared hopelessly uninterested in the child.

Upon her arrival in Lowell, Prissy had eagerly embraced the idea of becoming the head seamstress for the Houston farm, and Jasmine had been delighted by the young woman’s abilities. Prissy, along with several other women, had been hired to operate the sewing shop. With the many workers employed by the farm, it had proven economical to make and furnish clothing to their employees rather than to increase wages. So talented was Prissy at fashioning clothing that the women of the community were soon seeking her services. Jasmine had watched Prissy flourish throughout her pregnancy, though she never did appear enthusiastic about the impending birth.

“Perhaps these clothes will boost her spirits,” Jasmine muttered as she closed the trunk and descended the narrow stairs leading down from the dusty attic.

“Whatever were you doing up there?” Nolan asked as he walked out of their bedroom.

She held up the stack of baby clothes.

“Are you . . .”

Jasmine giggled. “No, my dear. You may breathe easy for a while longer—there’s no baby in our future just yet. I’m taking these to Prissy. I thought she might enjoy dressing Emily in something other than the few plain gowns she made for her. I’m hoping it will cheer her a bit.”

“That’s kind of you, Jasmine. She still doesn’t appear to enjoy being a mother, I take it?”

“No, and I do not understand her behavior. Emily is a beautiful child, though she doesn’t resemble Toby or Prissy in the least—she’s so
white
. I believe she’s as white as Moses. In any event, Prissy’s behavior surprises me. Although I knew she missed Toby, she appeared to adjust so well. I suppose I assumed she would do the same with her baby.”

Nolan placed his arm around his wife. “Do remember, my dear, that having the child has likely caused her to dwell even more upon Toby’s circumstances. To be without the man you love when your child is born would be difficult. Poor Prissy doesn’t know if she will ever see her husband again or if Emily will ever know her father. And now that she’s not busy with her work, she has more time to dwell upon those thoughts.”

“You are a very wise man, Nolan Houston. No wonder I love you so much.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “I believe I had best be off to the stables. We’re to have visitors from West Point today.”

She walked down the wide staircase beside him, their arms entwined. “Paddy should be pleased to see them once again,” she remarked.

“Yes. He’s looking forward to their visit. I can’t tell you how proud I am of that young man. He has exceeded my greatest expectations with both the horses and the customers.”

“And I think it only fitting that you rewarded him with an interest in the farm. He’s added much to the business.”

The couple walked together until they reached Simon and Maisie’s house. “I’ll leave you to your meetings,” she said.

Nolan arched his eyebrows. “Prissy is still living with Simon and Maisie?”

She nodded. “She doesn’t want to go back to her little house, and Maisie doesn’t believe she should just yet.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, let’s hope those clothes cheer her.”

He leaned down to kiss her cheek, then Jasmine watched as he strode off toward the barn before she knocked on the front door of Maisie’s house.

“Come on in,” Maisie said with a broad smile. “I was jes’ fixing me and Prissy a cup of tea. Sit down.”

“I brought some clothes for Emily,” Jasmine whispered. “I’m hoping they’ll bring a bit of pleasure to Prissy.”

Maisie shook her head. “I tell you it’s a battle getting dat gal to show interest in anything, Miz Jasmine. I can hardly force her out of bed all day long. I told Simon I’m beginnin’ to git worried ’bout whether she’s ever gonna come around. I has to force her to put that baby to her breast. It’s a shame—sech a sweet little thing too. Don’ hardly never cry. I keep her out here in da cradle near me. I tried leaving her in da bedroom wit Prissy, but she jes’ ignored her cries.”

Jasmine crouched down by the cradle and stroked the sleeping baby’s soft hair. “Such a beautiful baby. I told Nolan she’s as white as Moses—don’t you think?”

“Oh yessum—sho’ enough.”

The baby wriggled and her eyelids fluttered open. “May I hold her?” Jasmine asked.

“ ’Course you can. Dat chile can use all the loving she can get.”

Jasmine lifted the baby into her arms and smiled as Emily began to suck on her own fist. Jasmine stared at the child, her mind beginning to turn cartwheels as she concentrated on the child’s coloring. Suddenly she felt the blood drain from her face.

“Maisie, do you think there’s any possibility this child could have been fathered by a white man rather than Toby?” She swallowed hard as she watched Maisie’s reaction.

With a tilt of her head she met Jasmine’s questioning eyes with a steady gaze. “Ain’t no doubt in my mind at all. That ain’t Toby’s baby, an’ I figure that’s why Prissy rejected the child.” Maisie paused and stared at Jasmine. “What’s wrong with you, Miz Jasmine? You feeling poorly? You done lost all the pink out of yo’ cheeks.”

Jasmine didn’t want to ask, yet she could not stop herself. “Maisie, tell me the truth. Do you think my father or my brother Samuel could be the father of this child?” she whispered.

“Oh, mercy me! No, ma’am, I ain’t even given that a passing thought. Neither one of dem would have ever done such a thing—and dere’s nobody could convince me no different. This baby ain’t no Wainwright, Miz Jasmine.”

“Has Prissy told you that? Has she even told you Toby’s not the father?”

“No, she ain’t told me nothing ’bout the father, but I know sure as I’m standin’ here afore you that the father of dat baby is white. After she was here at the farm for a week or so, I ’member her watching Moses when he was out in the yard playing with Spencer. She ast me how I come to have such a white chile. I told her about Moses’ real mama and papa. She kept staring at him, and finally she rubbed her belly and said, ‘So dat’s what I got to look forward to.’ I didn’ know what she was talking ’bout den—but I surely do know now.”

Jasmine placed the baby back in the cradle. “May I go and talk to her?”

“ ’Course you can. I’m gonna take this tea in there and see if I can get her to drink it. You come on along.”

“Why don’t
I
take it to her?”

“Dat would be mighty kind of you. You want me to put two cups on da tray so you can have some tea with her?”

“Yes, thank you. In fact, let me take care of that. I’m certain you have other matters that need your attention. The least I can do is prepare the tea.”

Maisie didn’t argue, having learned long ago that Jasmine was quick to help herself and slow to expect others to wait upon her. “Will you keep a listen for the baby while you’s visiting with Prissy? I can go ahead with my washing if I know somebody’s in here with the two of dem.”

“Of course. I’ll leave the door to Prissy’s room open so I can hear. You need not worry about a thing while you’re outdoors.”

Jasmine was pleased she could relieve Maisie in some small way. Moreover, knowing she was alone in the house would permit her to speak openly with Prissy. She stopped in the kitchen to get a second cup and then, carefully balancing the tray upon the stack of baby clothes, Jasmine went to Prissy’s room. After tapping lightly on the door, she paused a moment and then entered.