Not Quite Right (A Lowcountry Mystery) (Lowcountry Mysteries Book 6) (29 page)

“Just one?” The snotty hostess grins, delighting in me being here alone.
 

“Yep.” I give her a smile in return, a genuine if slightly patronizing one, because there’s no better way to piss someone off than to refuse to rise to the bait.
 

She deflates when she realizes there isn’t a catfight in sight and grabs a menu, heading toward the bar. There’s no one at the high chairs surrounding the bar top, and the bartender, a woman a few years older than me who used to babysit us, gives me a smile and a wave.

I return the greeting, then slide into a booth. I push the menu to the side, not needing it, and pull the journals out of my bag while waiting for someone to come take my drink order.
 

It turns out that Louisa’s the one handling the tables in the bar area, as well as tending the bar, and when she’s done mixing a fresh batch of margaritas, she scoots over. “Hey, Graciela. How’s it hanging?”

“Not too bad.” It’s a lie, and the understanding tilt of her head says she hears it. Louisa is solid with girl code, though, and also picks up on the fact that I don’t want to talk about it.
 

“Fish tacos?” she guesses. I nod, and she shakes her head. “It wouldn’t kill you to mix it up.”

“Hey, why mess with a good thing?” My mouth salivates just thinking about my meal. “And a tea, unsweet.”

“Nothing to drink? Whoa. It must be worse than I thought.” She pokes her pen toward the journals. “What’s all this?”

“Nothing, just research. The work of a librarian and history buff is never done and all that.”

“Hmm. Those things are just hobbies for you, though. More like the work of a devoted snoop is never done.” Her tone is teasing, and her eyes sparkle. If anyone else called me a snoop I would bristle immediately, but Louisa has known me forever. There’s no point trying to deny it.

“Shut up and bring me my tacos,” I grumble playfully.

“Sure thing, baby doll. Three fish tacos, rice, no beans, and a tea—no sugar—coming up.” She winks, grabbing the menu off the end of the table. “I’ll let you get to work.”

It’s like she read my mind. Now that I have more insight into what happened to Charlotta, James, and their baby, I don’t want to waste another moment finding out what happened next.

12 January 1900

I don’t know how long this baby has been growing inside me, but probably longer than I think. My belly hasn’t expanded yet, but I feel him moving sometimes, and I’ve been sick as a dog for no reason. It’s good fortune, perhaps, that Mama’s been awful ill this winter as it means no one has noticed anything strange with me. But I don’t wish sickness on my mother.
 

In truth, I didn’t begin to suspect anything myself until perhaps a week ago. It’s been harder to find times to see James, now that the weather keeps everyone indoors more often than not and it would be suspicious of me to go rambling in the chill, but I’ve got to see him. I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him the news—that not only do I plan to leave the plantation with him before spring but the three of us will be a family. Somewhere in the North, where they say people don’t care who loves whom.
 

Or at least, they don’t care as much as they do in the South.

Oddly enough, it’s little Charles who brings me the message of where and when we can meet. It was tricky, sneaking out after Bessie had gone to sleep, but she’s exhausted after spending so much time with Mama all hours of the day and night. I’m getting better at moving around unnoticed, too, and even though that shouldn’t make me proud, sometimes it does. I ask God for forgiveness, but maybe I should be asking Him to help me change, instead, because it’s not working on my own.

As I walked to one of the vacant servant quarters, the one with smoke curling from the small chimney, telling me that James is waiting, I wonder what God thinks about our baby. Some people—maybe many people, or even most—would say the love James and I share is wrong. That we’re sinning, and not only because our skins are different colors. We’re not married
.
He never asked my daddy for permission, and I know that giving myself to him was wrong. The Bible says so.

But it also says we’re all sinners, every last one of us. Daddy has a terrible temper, Bessie lies all the time, and Charles struggles to respect his elders. Maybe my sin isn’t any worse than any of theirs, not to God. Maybe it’s only worse to people because I’m a young woman and they think that means it’s their job to control me.

James doesn’t think that. He thinks I’m beautiful and free, and it makes him angry when I say that I’m not. My whole body gets hot thinking about it, and about the things we do together. For the life of me, I cannot feel shame for this little life we’ve created.

Even if God is angry with me, or with James, I don’t think He could be mad at our baby. He didn’t do anything, after all, and he didn’t ask for his parents to fall in love or to do it so irresponsibly.
 

Truthfully, I don’t think God could be all that upset with James and me. How can I believe in Him yet also believe that He did not give us this love and wants us to treasure it? Where can true love come from, if not from God? He wants us to have the perfect partner in life and I have found mine, so what’s the harm if things happen the tiniest bit out of the proper order?

I’m aware that I spent that ten-minute walk trying to make myself feel better. Maybe I was preparing the words for when we speak to my parents, or more likely, the words I will write in the letter to my parents. I think it might be better for all of us if James and I leave quietly, then speak to my parents once we’ve all had time to settle down and accept things the way they’re going to be.

My stomach was tight with nerves, so bad I wondered if I was going to throw up again, even if the nausea usually bothers me most in the mornings or just after I eat.
 

When I saw James, when his face lit up like it always does, I fell into his arms, letting him cover my face in kisses All of the worry went away. We would do this together.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathed onto my mouth between sweet, stolen kisses. “The winter is too long.”

“Mmm,” I agreed, because real words go up like smoke in my mind when James’s arms are around me.

“Charles said you need to talk to me. Are you okay? Is something wrong?” He smoothed strands of hair away from my face.

“Nothing is wrong. I wanted to tell you something, and I need you to listen until I’m done talking and not say anything until then. Can you do that?” My heart started to beat fast then, because even though I felt sure that James loved me and that he would love our baby from the moment he learned of him, I was scared that he wouldn’t agree to leave with me.
 

That he would want me to stay behind, and refuse to see that now it’s more impossible than ever for me to do that.

“I can do that.” His midnight eyes turn serious, all of the laughter escaping while the affection remained.

James always takes me seriously. It’s one of the things I love the most about him.

“Okay. Well, here’s the thing… I’ve made up my mind that you and I will leave the plantation together come spring and move north so that we can be together and people won’t bother us.” I swallowed hard and checked his face, which was impassive and gave me no clue as to what he was thinking. He promised, of course, so he stayed quiet. Waiting.
 

I took a deep breath and kept going.

“I know you think I’m ruining my future, but I don’t want a future without you. I could never marry anyone else.” I knew I had to get the rest of it out before I lost my nerve, or before he couldn’t help it anymore and started telling me all of the reasons it wouldn’t work. “And that goes double now, because I’m pregnant. We’re having a baby, and I want us to be a family more than anything in this whole world.”

James couldn’t keep his face straight once those words found their way into his ears. A parade of funny expressions marched over him, starting with shock, with maybe a little denial and horror, and ending up in a sweet disbelief that switched so fast to happiness it brought tears to my eyes.
 

He raised his hands and cupped my face, gentle like he thought he might break me even though he never acted that way before. His eyes traveled down to my belly, and when they looked into mine again, they were wet, too.

It was then that I saw the fear in them, not before, but after it never truly left.

“You’re having a baby.” He smiled big, despite the fear.

“We’re having a baby,” I corrected, grinning so big my cheeks hurt.

We stood like that for a while, the three of us basking in the knowledge and love and possibility. When James stepped away, I could see that something else was coming and prepared myself to do battle.

“I don’t want you to think I’m not about to burst with happiness at this news, Charlotta Drayton. I am. I don’t even mind you thinking we can run away and be happy together, because maybe we can.”

“But…” I heard the word he hadn’t added and figured no amount of avoiding it would make it go away. If he had fears or doubts, we’d better get them out in the open and deal with them right then, I thought.

“You don’t…” he started. “You don’t know everything about me. Having a baby that’s part me…it might not be a good thing.”

Before I could think of a way to respond to such a preposterous comment, we heard the rude call of a starling from outside the old structure. It was Charles Jr., who has a wonderful knack for imitating wildlife, warning us that our time had come to an end. Either someone was looking for me in the house or one of my family members had stirred, but regardless, we needed to go.

“We can talk more about this later. I’ll send Charles out every day, and you can tell him when we can meet again.” I rubbed my finger over his lips and brought them to mine, taking longer than I should have to taste the excitement on them.

He nodded, and I knew in my heart, more than ever before, that we would be together. James wanted that, even if he tried to let good sense and propriety rule his actions far more than I did.

I couldn’t deny, though, as I slipped back into bed and pretended to be asleep when Bessie came back from tending Mama, that the fear in his eyes nagged me. At first I thought it the usual terror over becoming a father and what an amazing responsibility it would be to raise a child from a baby to an adult. I’ve met those same fears around every corner since realizing the truth, and they’re as frequent as the wonder the baby has already brought into my life.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it was something more. If what he thought was so bad about what made him up would make him worry about our child…

And if that’s the case, I would bet all the phosphorus on this plot of land that it comes straight from his terrible mother.

My cell phone rings, pulling me from the past the way it insists on doing more often than not. The entry was ending, anyway, with some diddling about naming the baby. How she would hide her condition for the months before she and James left filled the remainder of the page.

I skim it as my fingers slide open the call, which is from Mel.

“Hello?” I frown at the plate of fish tacos on the table, having no recollection of Louisa setting them down or asking me if I needed anything else. How long had I been reading?

“Gracie? Where are you?”

My heart skips a beat at Mel’s breathless tone. “At the Wreck, why? Is something wrong?”

Please don’t let something bad have happened to Amelia. I can’t take it, I can’t.

For a moment, I miss my easy faith. It came so naturally to Charlotta, even as she critiqued the judgments around her, and I could use a little of that. A little belief that someone all-powerful is on my side.

“No, no. I’ve been chasing Grant around the playground trying to get him to come in for a bath, but he thinks we’re playing a game of goddamn chase or something. I’m out of shape.”

“You’re about to have a baby.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out parenting is a contact sport. I need to work on my stamina if I’m going to keep up with two of these little buggers.”

“Do you need reinforcements? Is that why you’re calling?” I look longingly at my tacos, hoping whatever she wants can at least wait the ten minutes it will take me to wolf them down.

“No, though I’ll take you up on it another time, no argument.” She muffles the phone to yell something at Grant that most parents probably wouldn’t even whisper in public. It makes me smile. Same old Mel.

“Brick called,” she goes on. “He said he thinks the proof we need to get the Middletons to back off is in the file, and he wants us to confront them. Will and I are going in a little bit, and I think you should call Leo and come with us.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell her. “I can go alone, so they don’t think you were involved.”

Mel snorts as delicately as a person can. “Gracie, I want those assholes to know it was me who stuck it to them so don’t even try. Will’s mom agreed to give Grant dinner and then put him to bed, so meet us at Leo’s in an hour,
capice
?”

“
Si
, Don Corleone. Expect me then.”
 

I hang up to the sound of her ringing laughter and can’t help but smile to myself. If we can truly wrap this thing up with the Middletons, it would be a huge weight off my shoulders. Mel and Leo could go back to their lives, and I could stop worrying that I’ve ruined the happiness of two families, which leaves me free to focus on the other crap swirling around my shitshow of a life.

But first, the tacos.