Elysium: The Plantation Series Book IV (5 page)

Musette gave him a watery
smile. "Our Major Whiteaker took down that scoundrel all by himself."

Nicolette put her hand on
Whiteaker’s arm. "You’re not hurt, Alistair?"

He patted Nicolette’s
hand. "Not at all."

Finn strode toward them,
his face taut.

"He locked up?"
Whiteaker asked.

"For now. Alistair,
I’d be obliged if you would keep Nicolette company while I’m gone. I’m going
with Chamard to take Valmar to Donaldsonville. Sheriff Paget will at least lock
him up. I’m not so sure but what the sheriff downriver wouldn’t just grin and
let him go soon as we’re out of sight."

"What will the
charge be?"

"I think we’ll have
to be satisfied with disturbing the peace. If we charge Valmar with assault,
then the man Thomas punched could come forward and file charges against Thomas.
That would not be good for Thomas."

"Musette, why don’t
you sit down, dear?" Nicolette said.

Alistair took one look at
her face and hurried a chair behind her knees. "No wonder you feel faint,
Miss Musette. You witnessed a shocking scene."

"Where is Mrs. Palmer
off to in such a tearing hurry?" Finn said. "She’s not going to the
quarters?"

Alistair turned to see
her marching through the orchard, her petticoats frothy white at her hemline.
He pivoted and took off after her with long strides.

"Mrs. Palmer,"
he called as he approached.

She stopped and waited
for him.

"Mrs. Palmer, where
are you going, may I ask?"

"They said those men
whipped Thomas. I’m going to look after him." Her voice trembled and her
hands were clenched.

"His parents are
with him, Mrs. Palmer. The quarters really is not the place for you at this
time. People are worked up."

"But they whipped
Thomas – "

"Thomas will be
fine." Whiteaker gently wrapped his fingers around her arm. He didn’t want
her rushing down there, a stranger, red-faced and upset. She would not be
welcome.

"The boy lives in
the same house I do, Major Whiteaker."

"Yes, I realize. But
his people will take care of him."

She looked at him with
reddened eyes, the irises nearly lavender in this emotional state. He handed
her his handkerchief. "I would like you to come back with me, Mrs. Palmer.
Will you do that?"

She blotted her eyes and
her nose and took in a shuddering breath. She looked through the pecan orchard
toward the scene of the raid, but she relented. "Yes, very well."

He placed her hand on his
arm and led her slowly back, giving her time to settle herself before they
rejoined the others. She was not accustomed to racial issues being at fever
pitch like they were here in the South. And it was only going to get worse. The
more power the ex-slaves gained, the more some of the whites were going to
punish them for it. Thomas Bickell was going to have to take care.

"Do you know who the
men who got away are?"

"Maybe. But they had
bandanas over their faces. No judge would honor a witness accusing a man who
had his face covered."

After a moment, he said, "Mrs.
Palmer."

She turned her face up to
him. He gathered his courage and said, "If you would like to know more, to
understand what is happening here, I could . . . we could . . ." He
swallowed. It had been too long since he had asked to call on a woman. "We
could talk."

He looked off in the
distance. She probably wasn’t ready for callers. She had only arrived a short
while ago. She probably thought he was overbearing. He had looked at her too
much earlier, he knew he had.

"Thank you, Major
Whiteaker. That is kind of you."

He glanced at her. Was
that a yes? Or simply the beginnings of a kind refusal.

"I’d like that,"
she added, looking up at him with a somber face.

She was much prettier
when she smiled. Of course, everyone was. But he very much liked the way she
looked at that moment, her eyes serious, her mouth grim.

"I want this to be Maddie’s
and my home. I want us to be part of everything that’s here. But I … I had hoped
for a quiet life."

He nodded. Then he asked,
"Who is Maddie?"

She smiled and the clouds
in her eyes disappeared. "Maddie is my daughter. She’s six, the light of
my life."

A daughter. Of course.
Why wouldn’t she have children?

"I’ll meet her when
I come to call?"

"Oh, yes. And by
then, she will know how to say, ‘How do you do, Major Whiteaker?’"

Alistair thought he
rather liked the idea of Mrs. Palmer having a daughter. Would three days be
long enough to wait before knocking on her door?

Lily sat at the breakfast
table over a second cup of coffee with Uncle Garvey when Maddie blew in like a
whirlwind.

"Mama!"

Lily smiled at her
excitement and was relieved to see Uncle Garvey was amused rather than annoyed
at the rude interruption.

"What is it, Maddie?"

"Dawn is going to
school! Right now!"

"Is she?"

"She said I can
come. She’s in the wagon with Thomas waiting for me. So I need my bonnet."

"Maddie, take a
breath. You don’t have to go to school until the fall, and even then, the
school may be too far. I may decide to tutor you here at home."

"Mama, no! I want to
go with Dawn. Right now! They’re in the wagon."

"Maddie. Sit down
and behave. This is not acceptable behavior."

Maddie slumped onto a
chair, her eyes pleading.

"What is this
school, Uncle Garvey?"

"It’s the one
Whiteaker built on his property. Set it up soon as he got back from the war. He
was not yet himself, as far his health was concerned. Was a prisoner of war, you
know. Anyway, first thing he did, built the school and hired a teacher."

"So it’s a school
for children of the freedmen."

"There are white
children there, too. I would have no objection to having Maddie among them. At
least until you decide what you want to do in the fall."

"Mama?" Maddie
said softly. "They’re waiting for me in the wagon."

Lily did not want to be a
snob. She knew very well that being poor, white or black, was not an indication
of character. But it was primarily a school for black children, after all.

On the other hand, Uncle
Garvey gave her a little nod, encouraging her. Then he looked at Maddie and
smiled.

Maddie sat up straight
and beamed.

Well, then.

"I’ll come too, Maddie.
We’ll make an outing of it and have a look at Dawn’s school. But, mind, it is
only an outing for today."

Maddie tore out of the
dining room to get her bonnet.

"I’ll get on with my
chores, then, my dear. I believe you’ll find the school in good order, but of
course I leave the decision to you."

The mule pulled them over
rutted back lanes for half an hour before they saw the whitewashed schoolhouse
standing alone in a lush green meadow. A young black woman stood in the yard
ringing a bell, white and black children cavorting around her. Maddie followed
Dawn scrambling off the back of the wagon and made a run for it to the school
house.

The young woman waited
for them on the stoop, smiling warmly.

"Welcome to A. P.
Whiteaker School."

Her eyes were on Thomas
as she spoke, her smile just a little shy.

"Mrs. Palmer, this
is Fanny Brown. Mrs. Palmer is Mr. Bickell’s niece."

Miss Brown curtsied prettily.
She was young and attractive, her features reflecting her ancestry. Medium dark
skin – Lily had been here only two weeks and already she knew the shade of a
freedman’s skin was of consequence in this place, a broad nose, but rather
turned up on the end to be what her husband would have called cute, and,
surprisingly, hazel eyes tilted upwards on the outer corners.

"That was my
daughter Maddie tearing across the lawn behind Dawn," Lily said. "Perhaps
you have all the children you can handle already?"

Miss Brown’s eyes
twinkled. "As long as we can find a place to put them, we want them here,
Mrs. Palmer."

"May we come in for
a few moments? I don’t want to disturb your routine, but I admit to being quite
interested in your school."

"You are welcome,
ma’am."

The schoolroom was well
lit with five windows on the long walls, all of them open to catch the breeze,
and unfortunately, to allow the flies to buzz in and out. Outside the windows,
two saplings enjoyed the sun on either side of the schoolhouse, doing their
best to grow into big shade trees.

The boisterous mayhem subsided
as soon as Miss Brown stood in front of the class.

Lily looked around the
room at the motley collection of students. Dawn and Maddie were the youngest.
Then there were those children who seemed to be between eight and maybe twelve.
Sitting in the back were the oldest children, some of them in the middle of
their growth spurt if the too-short pants and sleeves were any indication. It
must be a sacrifice for the families to send these older children to school.
They were surely needed at home, working in the garden, even laboring for wages
on the plantations.

Miss Brown passed a
basket full of acorns around the room. "Take ten, each of you."

The older children got up
and counted out ten acorns for the ones who needed help. Maddie knew her
numbers and her letters, even if she didn’t know what to do with them yet. She
confidently counted out her own ten acorns, Lily was proud to see.

Thomas joined the older
students in the back of the room, perching on the edge of a boy’s desk. He
spoke to them in a low voice and they all busily wrote a math problem on their
slates.

The hour passed quickly. When
Lily touched her hand and whispered she would be back for her later, Maddie
nodded without taking her eyes from her teacher. Lily slipped down the aisle
and out into the sunshine to find Thomas in conversation with Major Whiteaker.

"Mrs. Palmer." Major
Whiteaker removed his hat and bowed. His yellow hound thumped its tail, happy
to see her. Her heart thumped, too, traitorous thing. She had no intentions
where gentlemen were concerned.

"Major Whiteaker."

"Excuse me,"
Thomas said. "I’ll get a bucket of water for the mule."

"How do you find our
school?" the major asked her. The smile on his face was proud and pleased
when he looked over at the gleaming white schoolhouse.

"Where I grew up,
the school had over a hundred students and three teachers, Major. This is new
to me, a one room schoolhouse."

"We’ll grow, or
we’ll have more schools. Right now we have twenty-two enrolled, though of
course not everyone can come every day. Thomas says you’ve brought your little
girl this morning?"

She didn’t know how to
read the intensity of his gaze. Bringing Maddie seemed to carry a significance
she didn’t understand.

"Maddie and Thomas’s
little sister are inseparable, and what could be more intriguing than school to
a six year old?"

"It’s good to have
her here. We need the children to know one another."

"You would continue
to have the two races in the same classroom, Major, once the school has grown?"

"Yes."

Lily nodded and directed
her gaze at the sparse grass growing at their feet. His gaze was hard to hold
as attentive and direct as it was.

"You don’t approve,
Mrs. Palmer?"

She looked up in
surprise. "Approve? I certainly don’t disapprove. I’ve just never . . . We
never had much to do with each other, Negroes and whites, where I came from."

His deep blue eyes still
bore into hers. He seemed to be waiting for something, for her to say
something.

"I’m just not
accustomed to, well, black and white children in school together."

His smile was gentle. "But
you’re leaving your child here for the day. Thank you."

The sun made his hair and
skin golden. She wanted to raise her hand to his face, to relieve that hint of
loneliness she saw in him.

Oh, my, Lily Palmer, she
thought. Guard your heart.

Neither of them said
another word until Thomas returned with the bucket of water. The major handed
her up into the wagon. "May I call on you tomorrow, Mrs. Palmer?"

She should discourage
him. That part of her life was over. But to say no would be discourteous. They
were neighbors now.

He still had her hand in
his. Lily put on a smile. "Rachel is baking tomorrow morning. I believe we
can offer you lemon cake."

The smile he gave her in
return was bright enough to coax seedlings right out of the ground. He stepped
away as Thomas climbed into the wagon.

"Come tomorrow,
Thomas. I’ll have that horse ready for you."

"Thank you, sir."

Down the road, Lily said,
"He’s giving you a horse?"

"Loaning me one,"
Thomas said. "So I can get around the parish to speak to people. He’s
trying to help me get elected to the state convention."

"Why is that?"

"Why he supports me
or why he’s one of the few who cares about the rights of ex-slaves?"

"Why he’s willing to
buck the people like those men who raided the picnic."

Thomas shook his head. "Between
him and God, I guess."

Lily thought of
Frederick. She didn’t need to wonder what his attitude toward Negro rights
would have been. If there was no benefit in it for himself, he wouldn’t care
two peas whether they had rights or not. But Frederick was dead. She closed her
eyes and tilted her head to feel the sun on her face. He was dead and he always
would be. And she was not sorry. She had yet to work that out with God, but she
could not find it in her heart to be sorry.

The next afternoon, Uncle
Garvey and Lily entertained Major Whiteaker with coffee and cake. The coffee
was dreadful, Lily thought. She was used to unadulterated coffee, not this brew
diluted with chicory nuts, but Uncle Garvey and the major seemed to like it.

"I noticed you
grimacing over our coffee the first few mornings you were here, my dear,"
Uncle Garvey said. "Now I see you are still not accustomed to it."

She smiled at him. "It’s
fine, Uncle Garvey."

"Far better than what
we cooked up during the war," Uncle Garvey said. "But you soldiers
had coffee beans, I believe, even when you had nothing else."

"Most of the time,"
Major Whiteaker agreed. "We weren’t above brewing a pot of acorn mash,
though."

"Oh, that sounds
horrible. Wasn’t it bitter?"

The conversation was easy
and comfortable. Lily relaxed as her uncle and Major Whiteaker discussed the
difficulties of growing cane with enough profit to pay the laborers a fair wage
and to keep the plantation solvent. Nothing simple about it, it seemed.

Major Whiteaker
interrupted her woolgathering. "Would you like to walk outside, Mrs. Palmer?"

Lily tensed. This was
meant to be nothing more than a courtesy call, no more than neighbor calling on
neighbor. But he was looking at her with those intense blue eyes, waiting for
her.

Uncle Garvey stood up. "You
two go ahead. I have chores to get to. Glad you came by, Alistair. Always good
to see you."

So it was settled. "I’ll
get my bonnet."

With his yellow hound at
his heels, Alistair strolled through Uncle Garvey’s small peach orchard with
his hands behind his back, content for the moment simply to be with her. He
glanced at her. How he hated bonnets. A man couldn’t see a woman’s face with those
huge brims. So what, he thought in some irritation, if the sun should touch a
woman’s face? It wasn’t as if freckles were some hideous disfigurement.

Mrs. Palmer interrupted
his discerning thoughts on bonnets. "You fought for the Confederacy with
Mr. Chamard’s son Marcel? I suppose you lost many friends."

"Yes. We all did."

"Musette said she sees
a change in Mr. Chamard’s son since the war. A sadness about him." Lily
looked at him. "I see it in you, too. A sadness."

He could see her face
now. Her eyes were penetrating. Rather bold, actually. Most women of his
acquaintance did not speak of the war. Certainly not of a man’s countenance.

A line appeared between
her brows. "Have I offended you, Major? I beg your pardon."

"You’re a curious
person, Mrs. Palmer?"

She laughed. "I
suppose ‘curious’ is the polite word for ‘nosy.’ Yes, I’m terribly ‘curious.’
Please forgive me. I do realize I have no right to speak of such things."

"And your husband
was in the war?"

"No. He wasn’t,"
she said and turned her face from him so he could see only bonnet.

Ah. No elaboration.
Perhaps her husband had been infirm. A darker thought occurred to Alistair.
Perhaps her husband had been one of those who paid another man to take his
place in the ranks. It had been legal, but he found such side-stepping of
obligation distasteful. He curved his neck to peer under her bonnet and could
just see the set line of her mouth.

Well, it was none of his
business, and he had no wish to distress her. After a few more moments of
silence between them, he said. "We all lost friends. We all saw too much
death."

Alistair drew a deeper
breath. Would it ever be easy to speak of the war? "What bruises the soul,
though, Mrs. Palmer, is not the dying. It’s the killing. Marcel and I – we
killed men. Some of them looking us in the eyes when we did it."

Alistair swallowed. He
didn’t wish to say more on the subject. He hoped she would drop it.

She gave him a searching
look. "I’m sorry for it," she said, then continued on in silence.

Tawny curls escaped the
confines of her bonnet, the perfect color for her blue eyes. When she turned
them on him, he saw sadness lurking in her, too. Perhaps she knew sorrow as
deep as any soldier’s.

Perhaps she had loved her
husband.

"How did your
husband die, Mrs. Palmer? You don’t wear mourning. It was some time ago?"

The turn of her head was
sharp. He had overstepped himself.

"Excuse me. I seem
to be suffering from the same malady as you."

"It’s quite all
right. He died in an accident. On the street."

She hid herself again
behind her bonnet. He supposed it pained her to think of it.

He offered his arm to
take her back and was relieved when she took it. Mrs. Palmer had not given him
much encouragement. On the other hand, she had asked him a personal question. That
did not indicate indifference. She was simply a woman who did not engage in
shallow flirtation. And he liked that about her. He had had enough of silly
young things whose mothers pointed them in his direction.