A Cry at Midnight (8 page)

"Yes, tomorrow . . ." Randi said, distracted by the sight of the very virile man and his sleepy baby daughter, wishing her head wasn't swirling with images and feelings she'd rather not face. As Mr. Durant settled Rose more comfortably on his shoulder, Randi's hand drifted to her stomach, feeling the emptiness more strongly than ever.

"Do you need Lebeau to show you to your room?"

"No, I'll find it."

"Did you have a meal this evening?"

He thought her hand on her stomach meant she was hungry. If only he knew about her loss . . . but then, he wouldn't allow her around his daughter. Having short hair and wearing jeans was sin enough to be condemned. She didn't dare admit she'd slept with a man who wasn't her husband.

"Melody brought me a plate to my room earlier."

"I can have something sent from the kitchen, if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. I'm not really hungry." Besides, she could just imagine him waking the cook to fix something complicated and time-consuming for her. She couldn't do that to the servants, who no doubt worked hard without having extra duties. If she were at home, she'd pop a Lean Cuisine dinner into the microwave, but she knew pre-packaged food wasn't an option in this time.

"Very well." Mr. Durant walked toward the doorway, but stopped before leaving. "Please don't linger, Miss Galloway."

"Of course not." Apparently he didn't want her wandering around his house unattended. She couldn't really blame him; after all, he didn't know her very well, and she wasn't sure he totally believed her story about losing her clothes. The lie was already told, though, and she couldn't take it back. Besides, she didn't have a better story.

She raised her skirt slightly, following him to the door. Once in the hallway, he motioned her to precede him up the stairs.

"I'll have someone nearby in case you require any assistance during the night."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she lied, knowing she'd felt this emotionally whipped only once before in her life. She wouldn't think about that other time, however. She had enough on her mind for now.

Randi walked slowly up the stairs, depressed and confused about her reason for traveling to the past, her options while she was here, and how she'd return. The longer she stayed, the more she'd care about the little girl in her daddy's arms.

If she didn't watch herself, she might even start caring about Jackson Durant. She'd be better off staying half-afraid of him, half-angry at him. He certainly gave her plenty of ammunition.

"I insist," he said, breaking into her thoughts, bringing her back to their conversation. And reminding her of how bossy he was.

Randi stopped on the landing where the stairway split into two sections and continued upward. Turning toward the "master," she asked, "Do you mean that someone will sleep outside my door?"

"That's common, Miss Galloway, or have you forgotten?"

"No, I haven't forgotten. I just don't appreciate the custom."

"Nevertheless, you're a guest in my home. I would feel remiss as a host if I didn't make one of the servants available to you."

"Someone like Melody."

"Yes," he said, his tone suspicious.

"I don't want her sleeping on the floor. I'd feel terrible knowing that she didn't have a bed."

"Miss Galloway, the conditions of my servants is hardly your concern. I assure you that she'll be quite comfortable. It's an honor for her to stay in the house."

"Rather than in the slave quarters," she finished for him, knowing she was again stepping over the bounds, but unable to stop herself from expressing her disapproval of the lifestyle of this time.

"Exactly. Now, if you'll continue to your room, I'm sure everyone will be able to get settled for the night."

"Can she sleep inside my room?" Randi asked, not budging from her place in the middle of the landing.

He stepped closer. "Why is this important to you?"

"I . . . I'm not sure. All I know is it feels wrong to make another human being lie on the floor like a dog just because I might need a drink of water or have a bad dream."

"Do you have bad dreams often, Miss Galloway?" he asked, stepping closer.

"No," she said, ignoring memories of the occasional night tremors that had no form or substance, waking her from a sound sleep, drenching her in sweat and making her shiver in dread.

"If you don't wish to start now, I suggest you get to your room. My patience is wearing thin."

"I'll go," she said, tipping her chin up to look into his eyes, "but if you send Melody to me, I'm having her sleep inside my room."

His eyes flared with some emotion Randi couldn't determine, then his lips settled into a thin line. "Do what you must, but remember I'll judge your character by your actions. If you wish to be employed at Black Willow Grove, you'd best keep that in mind."

"I will. But I must also remind you that strength of character is one of the traits you'd want for your daughter."

"What I want for my daughter, Miss Galloway, is my concern. Now get to your room before I have
you
sleeping on the floor."

She opened her mouth to argue, but quickly realized further comments would do no good. "Very well, Mr. Durant. I just wanted to express my opinion."

"I'm well aware of your unseemly preference for expressing yourself, Miss Galloway. Now get to your room. I'll expect you downstairs for breakfast. We have other things to discuss."

She turned and ran up the remaining stairs, glad she didn't trip over the long skirts or catch a step with the ill-fitting shoes. With a last glance at the man behind her, she slipped inside and shut the door.

As soon as she was alone, a single candle lighting the darkness, she slumped against the door. Exhausted, disheartened, and unsure of her future, she wanted to be safely back home. She didn't have an easy life; her family had few material possessions and even fewer plans to change their lives. But they had love. They had each other.

In a month, Jackson Durant and his daughter wouldn't even have that . . . except they'd be forever together in death.

She absolutely couldn't begin to care. Losing another baby would be like having her heart ripped out and stomped all over again.

#

From his second floor verandah, Jackson watched the half moon rise through low clouds hurrying southeast, as though they were glad to have given up their moisture and were now free to play. More rain up north meant a rise in the river level, which no one needed. He was worried, even though his neighbors didn't think much of his concerns. When he'd built the levee to it's current level around the bend of the river for his new cotton field, Thomas Crowder had laughed, calling Jackson a fussy maiden aunt.

He'd endure some ribbing from his peers if his actions meant he'd saved his crop. He wasn't about to underestimate the Mississippi, which was both the giver and taker of life.

Years ago, stories told by many men, from experienced boat captains to stevedores, had impressed him. One old man had been on board the early steamboat
New Orleans
during the earthquake at New Madrid in 1811, which changed the course of the river and destroyed the town. Another claimed that once the Mississippi had been so wide with floodwater, he'd been unable to see the far bank. Jackson didn't know if all the stories were true, but he'd seen enough of the river to believe most of the tales were at least possible.

Chances were the water level would recede once the snowmelt from up north had passed by, but Jackson had been a cautious man too long to ignore any possibility.

Thankfully, Brewster was just also observant and cautious. The overseer had lived alongside the river for thirty years, had built up new levees and shored up old ones, had watched cotton fields flood and seen livestock swept away. Not this year. Black Willow Grove would be safe behind thick, strong walls of earth. His precautions probably weren't necessary, but just in case, Jackson wanted to be prepared.

He wanted to be prepared when it came to Miss Randi Galloway, too, but he had no idea how to anticipate her questions or her answers. She was as unfathomable as the river and nearly as unpredictable. Her only consistency seemed to be the story of traveling to Black Willow Grove for the purpose of taking Miss Delacey's place as Rose's governess. He didn't for a moment believe that Miss Galloway had jumped or fallen into the river after her errant trunk, then ripped up her clothes on driftwood, hitting her head in the process, leaving her memory full of holes.

He wondered how long she'd worked on that story. He wondered
why
she'd felt it necessary.

She frustrated him even as he felt amazement at her ability to spin such tales. While he'd told his own share of lies, he'd constructed his much more carefully. He hadn't spoken the first words that came into his head. The real story of her odd clothing and manners would be even more interesting than the concocted version she clung to.

At times, he'd wanted to smile at her tale. Fortunately, he'd stopped himself in time. He didn't want his guest to believe that he found her amusing, not when he was determined to find the truth.

Persistence was a trait he'd always possessed. Patience was a virtue he'd developed over the years. And he could still tell the difference between someone who held four aces and someone who tried to bluff with a single pair.

Randi nearly missed breakfast the next morning, but fortunately, Melody woke her in time to get dressed in the various undergarments and fastened with hooks and eyes into a bell-skirted, low-waisted lavender dress. The bodice fit tight, right up to her neck. The upper sleeves were also snug, but flared out at the elbows--a truly ridiculous feature. How could anyone tolerate all that material bunching up around their forearms when they could barely move their shoulders?

Casting a covetous glance to where she'd hidden her tennis shoes, she forced her feet into the too-tight leather slippers. Then, still fuming over the fashions of the 1800's, Randi carefully descended the stairs, following the smell of savory meat and yeasty bread. Her stomach growled in response, making her aware that she hadn't eaten a meal in a long time.

She wanted to linger over the rooms of beautiful, ornate furniture and heavy, lush fabrics, but she figured she should get to breakfast while it was still being served. The "master" might be a little peeved if she ignored his directive to meet this morning. Perhaps later she'd have time to look around the house.

She found the dining room, the long table set with one place at the end, another setting halfway down the side. Jackson Durant presided, looking up at her over the edge of his newspaper.

"I'm glad you decided to join me, Miss Galloway. I was afraid you'd decided to take breakfast in your room."

Based on his comment last night, she assumed sleeping in, then snacking on a half-dozen Hostess mini-donuts wasn't an option, but she wasn't about to argue with him this early in the day. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"Not at all. I've already eaten. However, I'll have coffee while we talk."

She cast a covetous glance at the sideboard's steaming content.

"My intention is not to starve you," he said with amusement in his voice as he nodded toward the chafing dishes.

Deciding not to wait for him to change his mind, she took a plate from the sideboard and reached for a silver serving dish cover.

Before she could lift the lid, he rang a bell. Immediately a servant--little more than a boy--entered, went toward her, and served.

"I can get this," Randi said quietly, hoping not to alert "the master" to what was bound to be unorthodox behavior.

"Since Miss Galloway is intent on serving herself, please fetch her coffee."

"Coffee would be great." Anything to help get her through another interrogation by the man who held her fate in his hands--even if he didn't realize it.

As soon as she took her seat, their conversation began. "Tell me about your relationship with Miss Agnes Delacey."

Randi popped a bite of sausage into her mouth before answering, taking her time chewing the unfamiliar taste. Not unpleasant, just different than the Jimmy Dean patties her mother cooked. She watched Mr. Durant out of the corner of her eye, but he seemed patient.

"This is very good," she said, stalling for time.

"Yes, our cook is the best. Now, about you and Miss Delacey."

"We met at school," Randi improvised. "She was from a very good family, of course, whereas I . . . well, we didn't have as much."

"Your circumstances were reduced?"

"Yes, that's a good way of putting it." Again, she tried to stay as close to the truth as possible to spin this tale. Maybe she wouldn't blunder too much.

"And why didn't Miss Delacey make this trip?"

"She fell and broke her leg," Randi said impulsively. "She knew she wouldn't be able to get around, up and down those stairs, taking care of a baby, so she asked me to take her place."

"Did she send a letter along with you, explaining her reasoning?"

"Yes . . . but it was in my trunk," Randi said, thinking that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. "She was so anxious for Rose to be raised with a woman's influence that dear Agnes insisted I come. Fortunately, I was available to leave at a moment's notice."