Passion's Joy (11 page)

Ram smiled at his young lady's fearlessness.

The logic of this was lost on Ambrosia, who was quite stricken with the entire idea, while Katie found Joy's courage remarkable. "Well, who's escorting you on this adventure?" she asked, looking around for Sammy or the Reverend.

"Escort?" Joy questioned with a glance at Cory.

Ram thought he could actually see her mischievous mind forming the lie before she announced: "Sammy's joining us at the crossroads."

"Even with him, I'll be praying for you," Katie said, but then was suddenly struck with a thought. "Joy darling! If you're really going to see that woman, I mean if you're quite determined,

then could you ask her something for me?" She rose from her seat to whisper something, and Joy leaned over to hear it. The whispered conference lasted a minute, finishing with: "It's so bad that I find I spend two days every month in bed. Will you ask her for me?"

Joy assured her friend she most certainly would and bid them all a good day. Katie watched her ride off and predictably, as was always the case whenever she chanced to meet Joy Claret in the company of others, especially Ambrosia, she faced an argument.

"I hardly believe my ears!" Ambrosia exclaimed. "Why, my mama's so right! She is the wildest thing! If she doesn't catch a husband real soon, she's as good as ruined!"

"She has had two proposals already and that is more than any of—”

Ambrosia never let her finish, "Doctor Reubens had the nerve to turn them down, too, as though she's going to get a better offer!"

"She introduced her darky." Melissa still didn't quite understand.

Katie addressed this first. "She doesn't think of Cory May as a darky. Not really. Why, they're more like friends or even sisters."

The contempt on Ambrosia's pretty face suggested this was beneath contemplation. "And Joy Claret's too good and charitable to ever be ruined!" Katie then addressed

Ambrosia's criticism.

"My mama says all her charity's for naught but to detract from her wildness. Visiting sick houses, sending those boring books to the infirmed and imagine, volunteering services at the Negro infirmary! The Negro infirmary!" She shuttered with disgust. "She just does it so folks will feel bad when they talk about her, but I refuse to be a hypocrite, and"—she leaned forward conspiratorially

—"did you see her skirt? Our field darkies wear better homespun than that!"

Katie blushed at her friend's cattiness, always embarrassed by such things. She hardly knew where to begin to defend Joy. Yet Melissa, with a far softer temperament, perceived Katie's difficulty and tried to ease between the two. "Is her family very poor?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Katie replied. "You see, her guardian, Dr. Joshua Reubens, is quite ill with consumption. It leaves him bedridden most of the time. Oh, but Joy Claret is so devoted to him! Their household is quite small, but still, they have almost no earnings to support it. They do have the Reverend Doddered with them, but his earnings are from Negro sermonizing and I'm afraid not very much. You see," she whispered, "the doctor refuses to lend their darkies out.

Somehow he even came up with enough money to send their man Sammy to trade school!"

They each knew what a pretty sum this generosity cost. Sending a darky to trade school was the ultimate reward for good service. Even the best and most wealthy families reserved the honor for precious few, maybe one Negro each generation.

"I suppose she didn't have the benefit of a finishin' school, then?" Melissa asked curiously, this being the distinguishing mark of a lady—one separating the clerical class from the menial.

It was the worst question possible; Katie braced herself for what came next.

"Did she ever!" Ambrosia met the question as a warrior meets battle—fiercely. "She was at my finishing school, Prinkley's Girls' College of Virginia, and how Dr. Reubens ever found the tuition for the best, no one knows! Joy was hopelessly in trouble from the start, and she didn't last but months. I was a year older than she, but I can assure you, the entire school knew all about her. First, she insisted on showing she knew far more than the teachers, and as you might imagine, this didn't set right, not at all. For a while the teachers tried placing her with the upper class girls—my class—but then finally, she was just such a know it all, the head mistress was forced to personally take over her instruction. Why, she has a mind for figuring and books like ... like a man!"

"She is very smart," Katie added. "Why she's always at the library and her French is perfect!

Even the most stuffy French families here like her, for she speaks so beautifully and fluently. The Arcadians, too, and you know how much they isolate themselves—"

"That was not all though," Ambrosia quickly interrupted. "She was always exposing the most disturbing niggerite notions one ever did hear. She wouldn't even be quiet about it after repeated thrashings! And she would do outrageous things, like, like once she took her boots off, unlaced them and set them under her desk, right in the middle of class!"

"Really!" Melissa exclaimed in a wonder tinged with horror.

"Some say she was dismissed, but I heard a rumor that she actually ran away! I was there when it happened—the last straw so to speak. It all came about with this booklet the upper class girls were given to read: Every Christian Wife's Duty. Did you all read that in Memphis?"

Melissa felt a hot blush at the mere mentioning of it but determined to maturely meet this flirting with impropriety, she calmly replied, "Why, hasn't everyone?"

"Indeed, well," Ambrosia continued, "the next day we were all standing around discussing it in a circle. Seems everyone knew that the book discussed somethin’ unpleasant in the extreme, somethin' that required a lady's good Christian fortitude and forbearance, but not one of us could put our finger on exactly what this duty was. Well, Joy Claret overheard us and she stepped right

into our circle and said, 'Why you silly ninnies, the book is discussing—'" Ambrosia leaned forward to spell in a whisper, "f-o-r-n-i-c-a-t-i-o-n with your husband!"'

All three heads turned at the sound of the devastatingly handsome man's sudden laughter. He rose, still laughing, thankful for Bart's arrival just in time to spare him the ending of this story, no doubt filled with young ladies fainting at his wild young girl's frank explanation of their wifely duty. Besides, he had to rush if he was going to catch Joy at the crossroads.

Joy Claret thought the lovely day a great portent of fortune, and she and Cory raised their voices in pretty song as they made their way down the long river road. They had traveled less than two miles from town when Joy reined Libertine to a sudden stop and stared in apprehension down the road.

"What's wrong?" Cory asked in whispered alarm. "His ship is docked down there a ways."

"You mean that man?"

She nodded. "Cory, let's head back and catch the back bayou. I don't want to risk seeing him again! Ever!"

"Lawd, to hear you tell of him, the man's meaner than a mad dog and stronger and taller than a Injun."

"I wasn't exaggerating," she reiterated and not for the first time.

"No matter," Cory replied, leaning her head against Joy. "The back road's a long haul safer all 'round."

Joy turned her horse around, but then, just fifty paces from the turn off, she looked up and gasped, seeing who rode in her direction.

Curse the blasted luck!

She suffered a paralyzing minute of indecision, first questioning if he had spotted her yet, then wondering why it mattered, for every fiber of her body shouted the one word— run! What stopped her though—admittedly it was not the thought of Cory's precarious position for such a flight—was that she discerned the expression on Ram's handsome face as he and his man approached. He wanted her to run! He knew her predicament—somehow, he knew—and his amusement dared her to try.

She wisely held Libertine at bay, trying to steady her heart and breathing—how he affected her! Why it irked her that he kept his own beige stallion at a nicely controlled walk, as though he had all the time in the world, she could not say.

"Oh, no!" Though Cory really did not want to know, she found herself asking in a whisper, "Don't a tell me—that's him?"

"Yes, that is indeed Ram Barrington."

The two men stopped in front of them, and Libertine, much like her mistress, danced nervously at the sheer force of the masculine threat suddenly surrounding them. Joy tightened the bite, while simultaneously petting and calming her frightened mount.

"What a pleasant surprise," Ram offered first, though there was no mistaking his sarcasm. "Bart, you remember our young lad, Joy Claret?"

"Don't see how I could forget." Bart dipped his head with a smile.

Joy did not know which angered her more: the condescension in his sarcastic amusement— oh, how she'd love to slap it from his face!—or the questions pressing foremost in her mind as she glared at him. Why, oh why, did he have to be so terribly, terribly, handsome? Wasn't it enough that he was rich, titled, smart, strong and the ten other superlatives she attached to his person? And how could that small scar, the patch, be the final stroke to complete the devastating picture?

She bit her lip; do not think of his kiss now!

Ram did not bother to hide an interested appraisal of unsurpassed thoroughness. She abruptly felt the heat of it raking her; she might have been bare skinned and naked. Blushing, she resisted the ridiculous impulse to cover herself. Trying to recover, feeling an odd comfort as Cory tightened her arms around her waist, Joy forced a stilted greeting. "Good day to you both."

"A lovely day for a pleasant ride, is it not, Bart?" "Oh aye, very pleasant."

"How far do you ladies plan on going?" Ram asked, not seeing Joy's efforts to calm her horse, he reached into his saddle bag then out to Libertine. He rubbed the horse's nose, and Joy felt a sharp pang of betrayal and some small wonder as Libertine threw her head back, danced a bit and then returned to nudge Ram's hand and steal the treat offered.

"Not far," she said, passing a meaningful glance to Cory. "Not far at all." She forced a

smile.

"Just where are you two headed?"

"Oh, just out and about. You know."

"I do indeed know—out and about. Of course, I also know that after last week you wouldn't dream of traveling out and about without an escort."

"Oh, no Ram." Bart vigorously shook his head. “I’ve never had much faith in a woman's sense—fair as the fairer sex be—but no lass could be that dim-witted!"

All Joy could think of was his threat, and while she fancied herself an honest person, she admittedly knew, the virtue's opposite and when best to use it. "But we do have an escort!"

"Oh?" Ram said, enjoying the apprehension lifting on both young ladies' faces. "And where is this person?"

"Where? Why we're meeting him." "Where?"

"At the crossroads."

"You mean that crossroad?"

There was no other she knew of, and so she looked where he pointed and nodded. "Odd, I don't see anyone."

"Well, he'll be here any minute, I'm sure. Don't worry. Sammy will be here any minute now and well... as Fm sure you have things to do and—"

"Nonsense. We'll wait with you, won't we Bart?"

"Aye, wouldn't be right at all leavin' two defenseless young ladies on the road without a proper escort." "I assure you that won't be necessary—" "I assure you, it is," Ram promptly returned.

The trap was perfectly clear. What was much less clear was how she could get out of it. Her anxiety was hardly appeased when Bart inquired with feigned politeness, "How long a wait are you expectin', lass? I don't inquire for meself, but for Ram here. I know how he hates a wait. Don't ye, me lord?"

"Indeed."

"Well." She glanced meaningfully at him. "I can't say. Exactly. He said he would meet us by the midday sun." She was pleased with the credibility the specification lent her cause, and she felt suddenly brave; she had only to pretend and stick to her lie. "That was all."

Ram did not bother to look at the sun's position but pointed out. "The sun is well past the midday point."

"So it is. Well honestly, I don't know what could be keeping him. Cory? Do you have any idea? Oh yes, please may I introduce Cory May." She remembered. "Cory, this here is Mr.

Barrington and Mr. Bart."

Why did it bother her that it didn't bother him that she neglected to give him his title?

Cory was too frightened to speak, much less pass a friendly pleased to meet you. She turned shyly from the two polite nods.

"Well, no matter. I suppose you're determined to wait?" Bart asked Ram and received an affirmative nod and a smile. "Let's say we dismount and spread a blanket. I've a bit of cheese and a bag of apples. We can pretend the water's wine and have a picnic while we wait."

"An imaginative idea!" Ram declared. "Unless—speaking of imagination—the lady doesn't think her ah, escort will ever manifest?"

This seemed to leave her absolutely no choice, and soon she and Cory were sitting on a red plaid blanket spread over a thick cushion of dark green moss beneath the pleasant shade of an ancient oak. The river rolled lazily nearby, providing the pleasant sound of rushing water. After Bart attended to the mounts, he assumed a seat at the trunk of the tree, watching her and Ram with curious bemusement.

Ram lay lengthwise on the blanket, resting on his side. His crossed legs in a casually disarming pose, he expertly sliced apples and cheese with the jeweled dagger Joy remembered well. She felt so acutely conscious of him, every detail of his person pressed like a poet's word to her mind. He wore tall brown boots, tight-fitting brown breeches and a white cotton shirt. The sleeves were rolled over strong muscled forearms, forearms marked with an athletic show of veins, rippling ever so slightly as he swiftly flicked his wrist in task. A small scar cut directly across his right hand. The gold belt buckle was an expression of the finest craftsmanship: a magnificent Ram's head over two crossed swords. This same symbol appeared on a gold ring he wore on his right hand, and as she studied these details offered by his nearness, her mind swam with a hundred questions she would like to ask of him.