Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (22 page)

Thomas came back to the
house every evening just before dark. He knew he should go on to the old cabin,
but he had to see Fanny. Somebody had shot at him two days ago when he was on
the other side of Donaldsonville. It was just a pot shot, didn’t even come
close to him or to Reynard or Cabel. They could have shot him easy any day for
weeks now. They just meant to scare him.

And they had. He was
cautious now, waiting in the bushes for half an hour before he took the turn
off to home rather than going on to the cabin. Nobody followed him. Nobody knew
he was here.

He wished he could stay
with Fanny during the day. He wanted to, but he only had three more weeks to
campaign. Besides talking the live long day, he had to keep up with the
proposals coming from the Republican Party as well as keep an ear open for
dirty tricks and last minute strategies coming from Percy Randolph.

If Fanny had smiled since
the attack, it hadn’t been when he was around. Give her time, his mother said.
Well, he would.

He sat with her in the
evening. Read to her. Told her everything he heard about the convention coming
up. Now and then she’d say, "I see." That’s all. And she wouldn’t
even let him sit next to her much less let him touch her. What else was he
supposed to do?

Well, he hadn’t tried
flowers. He could do that.

"Where you going,
Thomas?" Rachel said Sunday morning.

He ran a hand over his
hair. "I’m going out to pick flowers. You don’t mind me cutting your
roses, Mama."

She tipped her head to
the side. "Roses are nice."

"What?" he
said. She was looking at him like maybe they weren’t so nice.

"Fanny’s been hiding
in that room a solid week. Might be she’d like to go out and look for
wildflowers. With you."

"Hiding?"

"Why you think she
didn’t go to church this morning?"

The heat rushed into his
face and he looked at his shoes. "I thought maybe it hurt her to walk."

Rachel tipped her head to
the side, looking at him. "I didn’t think I raised a stupid child."

Thomas lifted his hands,
helpless, mystified. "Just tell me, Mama. What am I supposed to do?"

"Get her out of this
house. Make her smile."

His hands on his hips, he
contemplated the floor. "All right."

Before he turned to go
get her, Rachel handed him a basket. "Here. Let her fill this. Don’t
matter with what – flowers or butterbeans. Just get her doing something."

Thomas tapped on the
door. "Come in," he heard.

Fanny was sitting in the
chair, facing the window, her hands in her lap.

"Hi," he said. Should
he come in and sit a while? Ask her what she was thinking about just sitting
there?

He perched on the side of
the bed. "What are you thinking about?" Was his voice gentle enough?
Too gentle?

Fanny looked at her hands
and then back out the window. "Nothing."

"I don’t see how it
could be nothing."

She kept a steady gaze on
something outside. In spite of himself, he was getting annoyed. "You have
to talk to me, Fanny. We’re going to be married. We’re going to spend the rest
of our lives together. You have to talk to me."

"I’m not marrying
you, Thomas."

"What?"

Now she looked at him. "I’m
not marrying you. I’m not marrying anybody."

"That’s ridiculous."

Well, that was a mistake.
He could see that immediately by the way her face went hard and blank. He shook
his head.

"Fanny, please
explain this to me."

She breathed in and out. "I’m
not marrying anyone."

"You said that. This
is because of what those men . . . did to you?"

"You can’t even say
it, Thomas. Rape. That’s what they did."

"Why does that mean
you can’t marry me? I told you it doesn’t matter. I meant it."

"It matters to me."

Her back was straight and
stiff. He was not doing this right.

He had their future all
mapped out. He would be a delegate to the state convention. They would marry.
He would become a lawyer. They would have kids, and if the first one was from .
. . this, then they’d handle it, together. All of that future had Fanny right
in the middle of it.

He closed his eyes. He
breathed in. Fanny was going to marry him. They just had this bad patch to get
through.

He reached for her hand. She
resisted, but he insisted. "Fanny. I’m just a man. I don’t know what to do
for you. All I know is that I love you and you love me. For now, will you
please just – let’s just enjoy the morning. Come outside. Mama needs that
basket filled up."

The tension in her arm
relaxed a bit. She quit tugging her hand away from his.

"Filled up with
what?"

"Butterbeans, I
think."

She blinked. He’d made
her tear up. But at least she wasn’t so stiff.

"Well, then,"
she said. "Let’s go pick butterbeans."

It wasn’t the best time
of day to be out picking beans. The sun was hot enough to fry an egg, but it
was a little basket. They had it filled up pretty quick.

"Come on down to the
river," Thomas said. "We can get a breeze, maybe find a patch of
shade."

They left the basket on
the back stoop and ambled down the lane. Thomas offered his arm like he was
some grand gentleman and she took it.

He didn’t feel any need
to make conversation. It just felt good to have her walking along beside him.
She seemed more herself this last half hour. Mama had been right. She’d needed
to get out.

He squeezed her arm next
to his ribs and tried a smile. Instead of an answering smile, she teared up and
looked away. He slid his hand down to grip hers and held it tight as they
walked along.

They were in the lane
that divided Toulouse from Cherleu, Mr. Chamard’s property. Shade from the
sycamores and bay laurel kept the sun from baking their brains. Ahead of them,
where the lane met the stables behind the DeBlieux house, Mr. Chamard and
Musette DeBlieux were walking their horses toward the stables.

"Good afternoon,"
Mr. Chamard called. "Thomas, Fanny," he said, his horse’s nose
companionably hooked over his shoulder.

"Miss Musette, Mr.
Chamard, how do you do?" Thomas said.

Fanny’s grip tightened on
his hand.

"I am glad to see
you recovering, Fanny," Musette said.

"Thank you for the
flowers, Miss DeBlieux."

"You’re welcome, of
course."

"We’re just coming
home from a ride," Mr. Chamard said. "Went as far as Alistair’s but
he wasn’t home to offer us a lemonade."

"I won’t keep you,
sir. You’ll be thirsty."

"I am indeed,"
Chamard said. He turned his horse to take her to her oat bag. "Come on,
Sugar."

"How are you,
Thomas?" Musette blurted.

He smiled at her. "I’m
fine, Miss Musette. We’re headed for the river to catch the breeze."

She gave him one of those
over-bright smiles. "Give me a hand up, Thomas?"

It was only a few yards
to the stables, but if she wanted to ride. "Of course."

He stepped up to
Musette’s horse and cupped his hands for her foot. She placed her hand lightly
on his shoulder and he lifted her into the saddle.

"Thank you,"
she said. She hesitated before she rode off. "Fanny, I’m very glad to see
you out and feeling better."

Thomas took hold of
Fanny’s hand again. When they were nearly to the river, Fanny said, "She’s
in love with you."

When he didn’t answer,
she said, "You know that, don’t you?"

He shook his head,
uncomfortable. "She’s just lonely. She’ll get over it."

"Maybe."

They walked a few steps. "She
should marry Major Whiteaker," Fanny said. "I think he’s lonely, too."

Thomas smiled. "I
think Major Whiteaker has designs on our Mrs. Palmer."

"But she’s married."

"Yeah. He knows
that. At least his head does. His heart, though." He gave her hand a
squeeze and smiled at her. "You women, niggling your way into a man’s most
private organ."

"That’s your most
private organ?" Fanny said and laughed at him. Maybe he’d get another laugh
out of her before he took her home.

Alistair couldn’t sleep.
What if Palmer turned the offer down? What if he really cared for Lily and
Maddie? What if he had some honor after all?

He stayed away. It was
what Lily wanted. What he ought to do. And if he didn’t press Palmer for an
answer, well, then, he wouldn’t get a no, would he?

He kept up with Fanny,
getting reports from his own servants and from Chamard. But Fanny didn’t know
that. He wanted her to be well, to know she had friends. He really should stop
by to see her.

Anxiety gnawed at him as
he hitched his horse to the rail behind the Bickell’s house – maybe he should
have offered Palmer $8,000.

"Settle yourself in
the shade, P.G." He waited while his hound circled a couple of times
before he lay down. "Good boy."

He retrieved two books
from his saddlebag and knocked on the front door.

Lily answered his knock. He
took his hat off. "Hello, Lily."

She looked worn down. Like
she wasn’t sleeping well, either. And she wasn’t used to this infernal heat.

"He isn’t here."

"I didn’t come to
see Garvey."

"No. I mean my
husband isn’t here."

He didn’t like her
calling him ‘my husband.’ She could just say ‘Mr. Palmer,’ couldn’t she?

"I came to see
Fanny."

Lily’s face flushed. "Of
course." She opened the door wider. "I don’t know what I was thinking
keeping you on the porch. Come in, Major."

Ah, back to Major and
Mrs. "How is she doing?" he asked.

Lily sighed. "Her
body is healing, but she is still quite, well, morose. Which of course is
understandable."

"Yes. Of course."

How long would it be
before she knew whether her rapist had impregnated her, he wondered. Six weeks?
Two months? It was unlikely, but she must be miserable, waiting.

"Go on into the
sitting room, Alistair. I’ll get her."

‘Alistair’ that time. He
had to admit, it was damned confusing. They were – what were they to each
other? Not sweethearts, not really. Almost though. They had taken steps down
that road, certainly.

He was at the window
looking at the red petunias wilting in the afternoon heat when Fanny came into
the room, Lily with her.

"Hello, Major
Whiteaker. It’s kind of you to come see me."

"I was worried. I
mean, Mr. Chamard kept me apprised of your health. But it . . . " It was
what? What did you say to a young woman, a virgin, he thought, who’d been
raped? All over now? Cheerful again? "I wanted to see for myself."

"Rachel made lemonade
earlier. I’ll get us some," Lily said.

"Please, sit down,
Major," Fanny said. The colored women’s academy in Opelousas had done well
by her. She had the manners and the poise of a society belle, and a far better
education than most of them.

Alistair made a vague
circular gesture around his face. "You look much better, Fanny. The
swelling is all gone."

"Yes. I’m healing
fine."

"Good. I brought you
these."

She turned the books over
in her hand. "
Oliver Twist.
One of my favorites. I shall be glad to
read it again." She looked at the other book. "
The Celebrated
Jumping Frog of Calaveras County
. Mark Twain. I don’t know him."

"Twain is lots of
fun. You should read it aloud for the family, Fanny. You’ll all be snickering
before you get past page three."

Fanny crossed the room
and kissed his cheek. He swallowed, oddly moved. "Thank you, Major. You’re
the kindest man I know."

He didn’t know if bribing
Frederick Palmer to leave his wife and child could be counted kind. Kinder than
killing the man, he supposed.

"You’re very
welcome."

He should go now. He’d
done what he came for. It wouldn’t do for Palmer to come in while he was here.
Really, he should just go.

Lily came in with a tray
of lemonade, so of course he couldn’t leave yet.

They talked about
Dickens. About where Rachel got her lemons. And about the school.

"Fanny, take your
time," Alistair said. "Most schools are not open at all in the
summer, so you’ve earned your time off."

"But the reason we
were open was because our need is so urgent. The Negroes have got to learn to
read, fast as we can teach them."

"Yes. I agree. But
teachers are remarkably human. They need a break now and then. Give yourself
this time, Fanny."

Lily got up to pour more
lemonade. "No thank you, Lily. Please tell Rachel how much I enjoyed it."

When he stood up, he was
very close to her. There was that fine sheen of perspiration on her upper lip
again, and she smelled of soap and starch. He dragged his gaze from her mouth
and picked up his hat.

"I’ll come back to
see you in a week or so, Fanny. Please don’t push yourself. Just rest."

"Yes, sir. Thank
you."

"I’ll show you out,"
Lily said.

At the front door, he
asked her, "Palmer in town?"

"I assume so."

He raised his eyebrows.

"I haven’t seen him
since, well, since you were here last."

Alistair counted up the
days. Well, that was interesting. "His things are still here?"

He could see she knew
what he was thinking. But if he were going to leave, he would want the money.

"They’re here."

He could so easily lean
over and kiss her. But he wanted more than a stolen kiss in the hallway.

Maybe it was time he went
to town himself. Time to see what the man was up to. Alistair could sweeten the
offer if that would nudge him to take the leap. Whatever it took to make her
free.

If that’s what she wanted.

"Lily, I don’t mean
to push you if you don’t really want me to interfere. Do you truly want him to
go, to leave you and Maddie here?"

She took her time,
thinking, her eyes focused on his shirt front. "Alistair, I want to be
free, but you mustn’t feel it’s because of you, of us." She hesitated. "I’ve
found myself again here. I’m not ever going to be the frightened, subservient
wife again." Finally she looked into his eyes. "I won’t take him
back, even if I remain his wife."

And that could be the way
it played out. Palmer claiming her and Maddie, not letting go. And Lily might
have to live with that.

But not if he could help
it.