The Soldier's Lady (30 page)

She turned and left the room, leaving William Mc-Simmons feeling like a scolded child. If he did not even have the guts to stand up to his wife, how would he fare in Washington when going up against the nation's politicians?

He would have to worry about that later. Right now there were more pressing concerns on his mind. And those politicians were no match for his wife!

McSimmons left the house.

Across the yard he saw Weed Jenkins mounting his horse to go. Angered anew at the boy's bold-faced presumption, his forehead clouded over with dark thought. If the kid blabbed about his interest in the Daniels' place, it could cause unpleasant talk. Maybe he had been a little hasty.

He called out and signaled him to wait.

“Hold up there a minute, young Jenkins!” he said, walking toward him. “About that job . . . you just keep quiet about our conversation today and I'll see what I can do. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. McSimmons!”

“If I find I can trust you . . . then I'll take care of you.”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. McSimmons.”

“But it will be just between the two of us.”

“Yes, sir.”

McSimmons watched him ride off a minute later, then went in search of one of his men he knew he could trust.

“Bert,” he said, “there's something I'd like you to do for me. Ride over to the McNally place—you know, east about twelve miles. There's a hand there, white fellow by the name of Griggs. Tell him to come see me.”

Bert nodded.

“Tell him to come at night,” McSimmons added. “No one can see him.”

Three nights later, William McSimmons and his old associate, a man who was resourceful and who could keep his mouth shut, were seated in the former's office with the dim light of a lantern on the desk between them.

“I have a job for you,” said McSimmons. “It's a little out of the ordinary, but if you come through for me, I won't forget it.”

The other man nodded. He was not opposed to getting his hands dirty once in a while.

“There's a plantation between here and Greens Crossing somewhere—west, I think, though I'm not sure. It's those two Daniels' place, the brothers with the niggers.”

“I heard of them.”

“Get a couple of boys, but make sure they know nothing about me. Your arrangements with them are up to you.”

“Whatever you say.”

“There's a nigger girl there,” McSimmons went on. “Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, tall, thin, good-looking for a colored. She's got a brat of a kid. I need you to get over there, keep out of sight, and figure out some way of snatching her and the kid without being seen. We've got to get rid of the two of them if you get my meaning.”

Griggs nodded.

“But it can't be traced to me. So you've got to nab her without being seen, when she's away from the others, or . . . well, I don't know—that's what you've got to find out. See if she's ever away from the place. We've got to have the kid too. It does me no good to get rid of her without the kid. Then get rid of them.”

“How do I know which one's her?”

“I just told you, you—” McSimmons retorted angrily, then stopped.

He needed the man's help . . . there was no use losing his temper.

“I suppose you're right,” he said irritably. “The place is crawling with coloreds and I don't want you making off with the wrong one.”

He grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk where he sat and picked up a pen. He scribbled quickly on it and handed it to the other man. Griggs looked it over.

“Emma Tolan—twenty, tall, black, thin, pretty, dumb as a post,”
he read aloud.
“Brat called William—four years old.”

“Think you can memorize that?” said McSimmons.

“Shouldn't be too hard,” grinned the other man, folding the paper and stuffing it into his pocket. “I'll study the descriptions real good.”

“You do that. Then you just take care of them, that's all.”

“You can count on me, Mr. McSimmons.”

U
NEXPECTED
F
EELINGS

29

M
ICAH
D
UFF WAS DIFFERENT AFTER
E
MMA'S BAPTISM
. No one noticed immediately because they were so caught up in the day's events. The walk to the river had been quiet and peaceful and serene. But the walk back to the house was joyous, with Emma still the center of attention. Everyone was talking and excited.

Everyone, that is, but Micah Duff.

They returned to the house, Emma dripping and glowing, to change her clothes and get ready for the special dinner they had planned for that afternoon. Micah lagged behind the others. Sudden new thoughts and feelings were spinning through his brain. He went straight to his cabin, also to change clothes. Then he sat down on his bed, staring ahead, wondering what was to be done.

His heart was pounding.

Where had this sudden revelation come from? The expression . . . the eyes . . . the smile—why had he not seen them in the same way before that moment back at the river?

Suddenly a whole new world of meaning had exploded into his brain. Everything had changed in an instant.

He had been moving about on his own for so long, and in the army before that, he had encountered but a handful of young women near his age. And then only in passing. He had never given the idea of love much thought. He had certainly not expected his heart suddenly to be turned upside down.

Micah was the last to arrive at the festive dinner two hours later. He found it difficult to enter into the exuberance of the celebration in such close proximity to one who suddenly dominated his every thought. He excused himself at the first opportunity. He left the house and sought the fields. He needed air. He needed to breathe. His heart was beating too fast.

It had been too close in there! It had been all he could do to keep his eyes from betraying him.

Up till now, since the day he had arrived at Rosewood, he had not been attending closely to his own feelings. True, there had been that first day and the unmistakable pull the first time he'd seen her. It hadn't really begun today, he knew that. He had felt it from the first moment. But he had tried to dismiss it from his mind—tried to tell himself it was just a fleeting fancy. He thought he had done so. Apparently he hadn't. It had crept upon him, growing without him realizing it, swelling inside him . . . and now the feeling had suddenly sprouted stronger than ever.

What was he to do?

It was obvious he could no longer ignore what he felt. He had come here to mend and get his health back. Instead he had apparently fallen in love.

He shook his head and tried to dismiss the thought from his mind. How could
he
be in love with
her?
They were so different in so many ways, as different as night and day, from such different backgrounds.

But he could not dismiss it. He knew it was true.

Should he tell her?

How could he? He was still a relative outsider. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the Rosewood family. This unique blend of individuals was too wonderful a thing. He could do nothing, say nothing, to alter the delicate balance of relationship. To declare himself openly might change things in ways he could not foresee. He could not risk it. The Rosewood family must not be disrupted. He cared about them all too much to be responsible for that.

And yet everything within him cried out to tell her. Was it possible they might have a future together? How could love such as he felt remain silent? Was love meant to exist in a lonely vacuum of silence, or to be shouted from the rooftops?

Love or no love, he could never take her away from all this. This was her home. This was her family. He was the stranger, the wandering soldier. She had a family. She had begun to put down roots here. He had nothing to offer her.

And what of his own future? He could not just stay indefinitely. He was still but a guest presuming on their hospitality.

Perhaps, he thought, the best solution would be to leave the way he had come. He was back on his feet. He and his horse were both healthy. He was restored in body and spirit. Perhaps Rosewood had done its work in his life and
it was time to move on . . . as he had always planned to do.

Perhaps, rather than declaring his love, with all the confusion and unsettling it was likely to cause, he merely needed to seek an opportunity to say good-bye.

Micah remained quiet most of the rest of the day, pondering his dilemma, and retired early. He slept, however, but fitfully. He was too preoccupied—alone at night more than ever with the expression, the eyes, the smile . . . so familiar and yet suddenly so new.

The following day, he hoped, would bring clarification, and perhaps decision. He would be on his way the day after that. Templeton had helped him think through his own goals. It was time to follow them . . . time to go west as he had long dreamed of. But he could not go without speaking to her—if not of his love, at least of his decision to leave Rosewood. He needed to for himself. He had to try to make her understand, even if he could not tell her . . .
everything.

Lunch came. The entire family was together. When the meal was over, one by one the men excused themselves—Henry and Jeremiah first, to go into town for the afternoon.

Then Ward stood.

“I think I need a short nap before we get on with that field,” he said. “What about you, Templeton?”

Templeton also stood.

“I think I'll just go out and work a little more on the plough,” he said.

Both men left the kitchen.

“Well, I might jes' lay myself down too as soon as dese dishes is done,” said Josepha.

“Don't worry about that, Josepha,” said Katie. “We'll
take care of them. You go have a rest.”

“Dat right nice ob you, chil'. I think I jes' might at dat.”

She stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Still Micah sat at the table with the three girls. Now at last Emma stood also.

“Come on, William,” she said. “It be time fo yer nap.”

Mother and son left the room and followed Josepha upstairs.

Katie and Mayme stood up and began clearing away the lunch things from the table.

“More coffee, Micah?” asked Mayme.

He glanced up into her face from where he sat and smiled. “Thank you, Mayme,” he said. “Yes . . . I believe I will have another cup.”

Mayme poured most of what remained in the pot into Micah's cup. His eyes now glanced up toward Katie as she pumped water into the tub. Mayme began carrying the dishes from the table to the counter. The conversation lagged. Micah seemed distracted.

Emma returned.

“Get William down?” asked Katie.

“He's almost asleep already,” replied Emma, taking up a dish towel.

“Anyone gather the eggs this morning?” asked Mayme.

“Not me,” said Emma.

“I'm about done with these plates,” said Katie. “I'll go look.” She wiped her hands on her apron and walked outside.

Still Micah sat, sipping slowly at what was now a cold cup of coffee. Neither of the two remaining girls could have
possibly guessed what was going through his mind.

When is she going to leave,
he thought to himself,
so I can talk to her alone?

Perhaps, he thought, he ought to just go back to his cabin himself and find some other time. This did not seem to be working out.

Micah began to rise. But the words from Mayme's mouth as Katie walked back inside with a handful of eggs stopped him.

“I think I'm going to go upstairs and have a rest too,” she said.

“I'll join you,” said Katie.

The two left the kitchen.

Micah remained at the table. It was silent a minute or two. He watched Emma as she continued to dry the last of the dishes and put them away. Gradually she felt his eyes on her back. Her neck grew warm.

“You know, Emma,” said Micah at length, “you are truly beautiful.”

The words did not seem to surprise or embarrass her.

“I knows dat, Mister Duff,” she replied with matter-of-fact simplicity. “People been tellin' me dat all my life. Dumb but fetchin', dat's what dey say. But bein' pretty ain't worth nuthin' ef you ain't got da brains ter go wiff it.”

“You are thinking differently about all that now, aren't you?”

“Dat I is, Mister Duff, thanks ter you. I ain't worried effen I's smart er dumb cuz I knows God loves me. I's special in His sight, ain't dat right, an' dat's all dat matters.”

“I am so happy to hear you say it, Emma—more happy than I can possibly tell you,” said Micah. “But what I
meant a moment ago was that you were beautiful
inside,
not merely on the outside. It's that inside part of you that is changing and growing every day. That's the
you
I meant. The person you are deep down inside is a beautiful, wonderful young lady.”