The Color Of The Soul (The Penbrook Diaries) (7 page)

Readers were interested in her travels,
her rise to fame as a poet and author of novels. They wouldn’t care about the
slave girl’s love for a white boy. Henry’s abuses might be of interest to some,
especially Negroes who screamed for civil rights for their southern-born
brothers and sisters, and the northern whites out to prove they weren’t like
their southern counterparts. But those weren’t things he could put into print
if he expected to keep his job. He was not interested in civil rights as a
movement, nor the NAACP. All he cared about was making a respected name for
himself
so he could hold his head high.

Shaking himself from his least favorite
subject, Andy gathered a long breath, rubbed his gritty eyes, and started to
return to the diaries, when his stomach rumbled. Remembering the promised slice
of lemon pie Mrs. Purdue had wrapped up after supper, he decided to sneak
downstairs and grab the snack before resuming his reading.

Quiet darkness met him when he stepped
into the hallway. He pulled off his shoes and set them inside his room, then
tiptoed down the stairs, grimacing when the next-to-last step groaned beneath
his feet. A glance at the grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs
revealed a few minutes past midnight. He blinked in surprise at the late hour.
Perhaps he’d better turn in when he got back to his room.

When he reached the telephone, he paused,
debating whether to try to reach Lexie or wait until morning. She’d been pretty
clear the marriage was over after the last time he’d failed to come home all
night. He’d truly been working. Oh, he didn’t blame her for refusing to believe
him. He hadn’t exactly been a choirboy during their marriage. But it had been a
full year since his resolve to remain faithful to his wife. He loved Lexie. He
had to find a way to get her back when he got home.

The urge to speak to her was too strong
to resist, so he grabbed the receiver and put in a call to Chicago.

A relieved sigh escaped him when she
picked up after a series of rings.

“Hi, Honey,” he said, keeping his voice
low so as not to disturb the Purdues. “It’s me.”

“What time is it?” she asked, sleep thick
in her voice.

“Midnight here, so I guess it’s eleven
there.”

“It’s a little late to be calling, don’t
you think?”

Andy frowned at her cool tone. His
stomach dropped at the thought that he might just have lost her this time. “So,
how are you, Lex?”

“Listen, Andy, I know you didn’t call me
all the way from Georgia just to see how I am.”

“I don’t know why I called. I guess I
just needed to hear your voice. I love you, Honey.”

A short laugh escaped through the line,
burning Andy’s ear. “Mama isn’t sure you even have the capacity to love me.”

“I thought your mother wanted you to take
me back. When did she go over to your side?”

“Oh, Andy. Maybe that’s the problem.
There shouldn’t be your side and my side. Shouldn’t we be in this life together?
Working to make a living? A family?”

A knot formed in Andy’s stomach. Why
bring up a family when she knew that was never going to be? “I guess so.”

“We have some things to discuss. Do you
know when you’ll be home?”

“In a few days. Miss Penbrook is a little
addled. I’m trying to piece my story together through old diaries and bits of
conversation with her, but so far I don’t have much.” A sharp, insistent
knocking interrupted his thought. “Listen, Honey, I have to go. Someone’s at
the door.”

“This late?”

“I’ll try to call again in a few days.”

“All right.” The phone clicked before he
could say good-bye.

Andy replaced the receiver and hurried
down the steps.

He jerked open the door to find a
waterlogged young woman shivering on the porch, her arms wrapped tightly about
her body. “It’s about time,” she snapped. “My hair is ruined.”

Andy gaped as she pushed past him into
the foyer and stepped in front of the mirror that hung beside the coat rack.
She scowled at her reflection and squeezed water from her hair.

“Sorry,” Andy finally managed. “I got to
the door as quick as I could. Hang on. Let me get you a towel.”

“Thanks.”

Andy tore his eyes away long enough to
run up to the bathroom and grab a fluffy towel from the shelf above the sink. “Here
you go. I apologize for being the cause of your soaked condition.” He cleared
his throat. How stupid could he be?
Soaked
condition?

“That’s some fancy talk.” She raised an
eyebrow and observed him through the mirror. “Where’re you from?”

“Chicago.”

She turned and faced him, her eyes
searching his. He felt his ears warm as her gaze slid boldly over his body then
back to his eyes. Andy felt a stirring as a slow smile touched her full lips.
He breathed in sharply, unable to keep himself from returning her appraisal.
The wet, yellow dress clung to full curves, igniting senses in Andy better left
ignored if he had any chance of winning his wife back.

Laughter bubbled from her lips. “I look a
sight.”

Andy thought she was about the most
beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Perfectly shaped mahogany arms, slender hands.
She grabbed a hanky from her purse and dabbed at the raindrops on her face.

“Can you believe that water is standing a
foot deep on some streets?” she chattered. “My date’s car stalled six blocks
from here, so I just decided to walk.” She laughed again, a throaty sound that
quickened Andy’s pulse. “God didn’t bless that man with one lick of mechanical
sense--” She sent him a saucy grin that Andy couldn’t help but return. “--
but
he sure can dance.”

At the mention of another man, Andy’s
senses returned. “Did you need a room or something?”

“Huh? Oh.” She raised her head in
understanding and gave a dismissive wave. “I live here. I’m the Purdues’ maid.
I figure, shoot, if I’m going to have to clean for a living, I might as well
clean for my own kind and be treated a whole lot better. Know what I mean?”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“So, what do you do, Yankee boy?” Her
teasing smile sent warmth up his neck, and he fought to swallow around a sudden
lump in his throat. Lexie hadn’t given him a look like that in longer than he
could remember. As a matter of fact, he couldn’t recall the last time they’d
shared more than a cursory kiss as he hurried out the door for work.

“Call me Andy.” Oh Lord, his voice cracked
like a twelve-year-old boy’s.

A giggle bubbled to her lips and she
stepped forward, reaching toward him. Her long,
blood-red
fingernails tickled his palm as he took her proffered hand.

Lexie’s soft voice and sweet face played
across his mind. He wanted his wife back more than he wanted to be with a woman
he didn’t love. The voluptuous wet figure lost some of its allure. He smiled,
the fire suddenly gone from him. “I’m a writer,” he said, “and I have a ton of
work to finish, so if you’ll excuse
me.
. .”

She brightened. “I
ain’t
never
met a writer.” Keeping his hand firmly gripped in hers, she smiled
up at him. “How about having a cup of tea with me and you can tell me all about
it?”

Gently, he slid his hand from her grasp,
winning him a quick scowl from the beauty. Even with a frown on her face and
bedraggled from the rain, she was lovely.

He tossed out a self-deprecating smile to
let her know he was tempted, but resisting her seduction. “’Fraid not.”

She shrugged and flashed her white teeth
at him again. “If you change your mind, come find me. I’m up the stairs and
four doors down on the right. You didn’t ask my name. But I’ll tell you anyway.
It’s Ella.”

He stepped back. “Nice to meet you, Ella.
Good night.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” she said softly.

He climbed the steps, knowing she was
watching him. When he returned to his room he quickly undressed, shoved the
diaries from the bed, and crawled under the covers. But sleep eluded him as his
thoughts warred inside. He thought of Lexie, her coldness,
her
constant accusations--only a few of which had been warranted. The last one--the
proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back and caused Lexie to leave him and
move back into her mother’s house--had been completely unwarranted. For once,
he was as innocent as a newborn babe. He’d been faithful for a year. But no
amount of explaining had sufficed. He frowned into the dark room. Lexie could
have been with him right now, keeping herself occupied during the day while he
worked, and keeping him occupied at night. Instead, she’d chosen to leave. Had
chosen not to believe him.

 
His mind conjured up the wet form of Ella--warm,
and willing to share more than tea.

With a frustrated growl, Andy flung back the covers,
switched on the lamp beside his bed, and grabbed the next diary. As he skimmed
through the pages of Cat’s anguished words, anger rose in him at the account of
Henry’s brutal beating after he caught her in the barn with Thomas. And he had
resumed his rapes of the poor girl. As a cloudy dawn slowly pushed back the night,
all thoughts of the temptation down the hall were swallowed by Madeline’s
words.

Georgia, September 1861

Cat’s child has been born.

“She’s paid back what she took,” Henry
said when he laid his son in my arms this morning. Henry’s breath smelled of
brandy, his eyes bloodshot from drunkenness. I have never understood the depth
of his agony over losing our baby so long ago, but in that simple sentence, I
finally understood what I have been too blind to see all these years. Henry
doesn’t blame me. He blames Cat.
A little girl who only
wanted to play with a doll.
That is the reason he has poured his hatred
into making her life miserable. Her misery is complete, for he’s taken the
child she bore him and has given him to me to
raise
as
my flesh and blood.

Camilla is fit to be tied and
understandably so, for Henry Jr. will inherit Penbrook House and the lands.
Camilla will be given a dowry and the money I have for her from my own inheritance.
This infuriates her.

 
Mrs. Penbrook has vowed she will never
acknowledge the child as her grandson, but I know she would rather pretend the
boy is mine than to bear the humiliation of her ladies’ society becoming aware
that her son is raising his illegitimate Negro son. With Mr. Penbrook lying in
his grave, no one will protest for long and Henry’s plans for his son will
prevail.

I will never forgive myself for being
unable to stop Henry from sinning with Cat. Nor, I fear, will I ever be able to
forgive Henry. I despise him with every breath in my body for his betrayal. I
bear the poor girl no ill will. A slave has no power over her master.

I have insisted Cat at least be
allowed to be her son’s nurse. I will obey my husband’s wishes and raise young
Henry as my own, but I will not deny Cat access to him. And praise
be
to God, Henry has agreed to this.

Chapter Four

Georgia, December 1861

“Oh, Mother, don’t they look
just marvelous?” Camilla’s face glowed as Toby pulled the carriage to the edge
of the road and allowed a company of home-guard soldiers to march past. They
stepped together without one break in formation--each confederate soldier as
skilled in marching as the most highly trained West Point cadet.

Madeline had to admit they
were a magnificent-looking bunch, though she prayed diligently that they would
soon cast off their uniforms and return to the duties of husbands, fathers,
sons, and brothers.

Though the war had yet to
claim the lives of any of the boys in the Penbrooks’ circle of friends,
Madeline knew it was only a matter of time, if the fighting did not end soon.
And her heart broke for the mothers whose sons were spoiling for the chance to
thrust their swords into the battlegrounds of Virginia.

“Camilla, dear, do not crane
your neck, please.”

Madeline observed her
daughter as the carriage lurched forward once again. Tendrils of her chestnut
curls sprang loose and fanned her flushed cheeks. At barely fifteen the child
was enamored of the men in uniform, and they were equally taken with her.

“Did I see Randall Jones
marching with those men?” Madeline asked. “I understand he spoke to your father
about coming to call on you.”

Camilla sniffed. “As though
I’d want him for my beau.” She cut a glance to the driver’s seat, where Cat sat
next to Toby. “Besides, the Hansons arrive tomorrow, and I much prefer Thomas
to any of the young men in Floyd County.” Her voice rose to slightly louder
than necessary. Why must Camilla be so cruel?

Madeline frowned and shook
her head at her daughter, but Camilla ignored her and continued without so much
as a pause. “That may be the one good thing about this war. Thomas and his
parents can’t go north for the holidays like they always do, so Father invited
them to spend Christmas with us. I believe Thomas will ask me to marry him
during the visit. After all, I imagine he will want to have things settled
between us before he heads to Virginia.”

A smirked twisted Camilla’s
lips as Cat’s back stiffened. “Won’t that be just wonderful, Mother? I know
this may not be the most opportune time to plan a wedding, but ever so many
girls are getting engaged nowadays. Why, Amber Calhoun says it’s our duty to
send our men off to war with the assurance that we’ll be waiting for them upon
their return. She says it gives them something to fight for.”

Cat twisted around in her
seat and looked at Madeline. A frown etched her brow. “Is Thomas going to go
fight, Miss Maddy?”

“Don’t you mean
Mister
Thomas?” Camilla’s blue eyes
flashed like sapphires.

“I said what I meant,” Cat
retorted, never taking her gaze from Madeline’s.

“Why, you insolent girl.
I’ll whip the hide right off you when we get back to Penbrook House.”

“Camilla, please. What do
you expect when you provoke her?”

“It isn’t possible to provoke
a proper slave,” Camilla replied, obviously uncaring of her disrespectful tone.
“I will speak to
Father
about this girl’s conduct.”
She cast her glance to Cat. “What do you think of that?”

A shrug lifted Cat’s
much-too-thin shoulders. “I don’t care what you do, Camilla.”

“You will address me as
Miss
Camilla.”

Maddy released a sigh and
raised her gloved hand to her temple in an attempt to ease the ache. “I wish
you wouldn’t speak of this to your father, Camilla. It will only upset the
household. Cat meant no disrespect, I am sure, but only showed concern for an
old friend. Isn’t that right, Cat?”

Cat stared back at her,
anger slowly receding from her fawn-like brown eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I apologize,
Miss Camilla. I–I forgot my place for a moment.”

“See that you don’t forget
it again!” Camilla straightened in her seat and looked away as though the
matter was suddenly beneath her. Cat slowly turned and stared straight ahead.

Relieved that the incident
appeared to be over, Madeline leaned back and closed her eyes as the swaying
carriage sent waves of nausea through her. More and more lately, her stomach
ached and her head pounded until she took to her bed for days at a time. Henry
despised her for her weakness, as though her frequent bouts of illness were a
personal assault against him.

But she wasn’t the only one
he railed against. Henry seemed to be angry most of the time. Maddy knew the
Penbrook plantation was suffering, mainly, she surmised, from Henry’s
mismanagement since his father’s death. But of course Henry insisted it was
because of the Yankees blockading all ports in and out of the South.

Money was dwindling away,
but for Maddy this was no concern. She knew her inheritance was secure under
her father’s capable control, and if need be, she and Henry could borrow the
money to get back on their feet once the war ended. When she said as much to
Henry just the other day, she saw his fists clench and feared he might strike
her. Instead he only shouted, “I’ll not have my wife trying to manage my affairs!”
He stormed out of the house and had not returned until well into the night.
Madeline suspected he was frequenting one of the gaming houses on the seedier
side of town, but since she would rather die than admit she knew of such
places, she had never confronted him about his return to gambling.

The following morning, he
was in good spirits, so Madeline could only conclude he had not lost. For that
she was grateful.

“Mother?”

Madeline opened her eyes,
then
quickly shut them again as the sun’s blinding rays
stabbed like knives into her sockets.

“We’re home, Mother.”

Madeline groaned in
response.

“Is she all right, Camilla?”
Even with her head spinning, Madeline couldn’t help but warm to the care in
Cat’s tone.

“Miss
Camilla. And I don’t know.”
For once Camilla’s acid tone smoothed to concern.

“I’ll be fine, girls. But it
hurts too much to open my eyes in the sunlight. Will you help me to my room?”

“What should we do, Cat?”

“Take that arm, and I’ll
take the other. We’ll support her as she steps down. You don’t have to carry
her, just guide her.”

Madeline winced as her
daughter’s fingers sank into the fleshy part of her upper arm.

“Gently!” Cat scolded.

“I
am
being gentle.”

“No, you are not.”

“Girls, please do not
argue.”

“I’m sorry, Mother, but she--”

“Yes, Miss Maddy,” Cat
murmured. “We’re sorry. Step down, now. We won’t let you fall.”

 
Maddy allowed
herself
to be led inside and felt the girls guide her toward the stairs.

“What is this?”

Cringing at the sound of Henry’s
clipped voice, Madeline opened her eyes to greet her husband. She nearly cried
out as the light stabbed at her once again.

“Mother is ill,” Camilla
explained, “and we are helping her to her bed.”

“Another headache, Dearest?”
Sarcasm laced his words.

“I’m afraid so.”

He seemed to soften at her
gentle response. “Move away,” he instructed Cat, who still clung protectively
to Maddy’s arm. “I’ll carry her up.” He gave Cat a shove toward the stairs. “Go
feed my son. Cook used up all the sugar in the pies for the Christmas dinner,
so there was none left to make sugar water. Naomi has been trying to get him to
suck on a soaked rag, but he won’t take it. He’s been squalling for an hour and
driving the whole house to distraction.”

“Yes, Mister Henry,” Cat murmured,
and headed up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Swung up into strong arms,
Madeline closed her eyes once more and leaned against Henry’s shoulder. For a
moment, she could almost pretend he was the same man she had lived happily with
for the first six years of their marriage. But after he tenderly laid her on
the bed, the memories were shattered by a stark reality as he climbed in next
to her and buried his face in the curve of her neck. She moaned as his passion
grew and her stomach rebelled against his brandy-laced breath.

“I’m sorry, Henry.” She
rolled from his touch and grabbed the chamber pot in time to prevent herself
from vomiting all over the bed or floor.

“Is this what we’ve come
to?” Henry exploded, shoving himself from their bed. “My attentions cause you
to be ill?”

In misery, Madeline retched,
unable to answer until she was weak and spent and lying back on her bed,
pressing a handkerchief to her lips.

“My illness has nothing to
do with you,” she said with a weary sigh. “I don’t know why these episodes
come. Had I that knowledge, I would do everything possible to prevent them from
interfering with our intimacy.”

He gave a short, mocking
laugh. “One body is as good as another,
Maddy
. Cat’s
for instance. I’m sure she’s missed me since Henry Jr. was born.”

“More likely she feels the
same contempt I feel for you at this instant, Henry. Leave the child alone.
Haven’t you hurt her enough?”

“Hurt her?” Henry came close
until he lay inches from her. “What better position could Cat have than to be
nurse to my only son? And if she bears me another, so much the better for her.”

Opening her eyes, Madeline
couldn’t keep the tears from escaping and trickling down her face and onto her
neck. “Why must you humiliate me so?” Madeline despised her weakness. “Could
you not have picked another woman and remained discreet?”

“Things are as they are,
Dearest.” He stood over her for a long pause, then turned and stalked to the
door. “Do not expect my return to your room this evening. I’ll send Tessa to
tend you.”

Madeline barely noticed when
Tessa quietly entered the room and placed a wet cloth on her head. The coolness
brought some measure of relief, and the pain slowly faded into a merciful
sleep.

Baby Henry’s lusty cries
from the nursery across the hall awoke her sometime later. She opened her eyes,
relieved that the pain in her head had dulled to a minor ache. The moon was low
in the sky, so she knew it was nearing dawn.

With a sigh, she pushed
aside the covers and went to the nursery. Cat’s cot was empty. Cringing,
Madeline couldn’t help the vivid image that sprang to her mind. She knew Cat
had been sent for and could be found in Henry’s bedroom.

Fighting tears, for herself,
for Cat, she reached into the crib. The baby grabbed her finger and brought it
to his mouth. “It’s all right, Sweetums,” she cooed. “We’ll get you out of
those wet clothes and you’ll be more comfortable.”

Baby Henry stopped wailing
at the sound of a sympathetic voice, but as soon as the cool air hit his wet
bottom, he screwed up his face and let out a howl loud enough to raise the
roof.

“Well, now. Aren’t you the
angry little fellow?” Madeline smiled at the baby’s indignant hollering. But
she didn’t know what she would do if Cat didn’t arrive soon to feed her son.

When the baby was properly dry
and comfortable, Madeline scooped him up and snuggled him close. She stroked
his silken head and breathed deeply of his fresh baby scent, accepting comfort
from the warmth of his little body. He sighed softly, his head resting against
her shoulder. Then, as though realizing this wasn’t the comfort he sought, he
bobbed around her neck. Not finding the source of his much-needed meal, he let
out a blood-curdling scream.

 
She bounced him and walked him back and
forth across the nursery floor until finally, Cat hurried in, disheveled, her
dress torn at the collar. “I’m sorry, Miss Maddy.”

Madeline observed the
slightly swollen lip and the purple bruise on her right cheek, and her heart
nearly stopped. Henry had become a monster. She handed over the baby and slipped
her arm about Cat’s shoulders. “It’s all right. He’s hungry, but not starving
to death.”

With a nod, Cat moved to her
cot.

The baby’s cries stopped the
instant he was put to his mother’s breast. Madeline smiled as he suckled and
cooed, euphoric in Cat’s arms. “He’s a dear, isn’t he?”

A light glimmered in Cat’s
eyes. “He’s perfect. I never thought
I’d.
. .” She
broke off her sentence, but kept her loving gaze on baby Henry’s face.

“Oh, Cat. I’m so sorry you’ve
had to give him up to me, though I love him dearly.”

 
“It’s all right. He’s better off being
raised as a white boy.”

“I’ll make sure he knows who
his real mother is.”

A frown creased Cat’s brow.
“He mustn’t know. Not until after he’s received his proper inheritance.” She
took Madeline’s hand. “Please, Miss Maddy. Promise me we will never speak of
this again. Henry is your son.
Yours and the master’s.
He’s a white boy and will grow to be a white man.”

“It’s so unfair.”