Undaunted Love (20 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

H
UGH BYRD CALLED LIVVIE INTO his study after everyone had left. The funeral had been elaborate, and Hugh hosted a reception at their home afterwards, taking condolences and handing out emotionless platitudes. He himself wasn’t well loved in Byrd’s Creek, but his wife had been, and he took advantage of her popularity to promote his own ambitions. When Mr. Smith, the grocer, had said, “We’re just so sorry for your loss, Mr. Byrd. Your wife was a true saint.” Hugh had replied with a broad false smile, “And I know she would want you to vote for me next fall, Mr. Smith, to keep her legacy alive.” Looking confused, the portly man had frowned, nodded uncertainly, and made his way to the dining room to partake of Emmy’s scrumptious cream cake.

Hugh was sitting behind his desk when Livvie came in. She was exhausted, as most of the funeral arrangements, entertaining of guests, and clean up had fallen to her. Because of their ruse of Madeline’s difficult pregnancy, Livvie had found herself doing everything alone, tired, grieving, and self-conscious of her small belly every time someone hugged her.

“Sit down, Olivia,” her father said, pointing to an upholstered chair facing the desk. She sank into it gratefully, her skirts billowing around her. She smoothed her hair back and glanced down to make sure her protruding stomach wasn’t noticeable.

“Were you pleased with the funeral, Daddy?” she asked.

Frowning, Hugh seemed to have to think what funeral she was talking about. “Yes, yes, it was all fine. Glad it’s over with, all those women bringing food and crying.”

“Mama did good work in Byrd’s Creek, especially during the War. She was well loved,” Livvie said defensively.

“For all the good it did her,” Hugh said. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, and Livvie steeled herself. He always did this when he was going to launch into a lecture, particularly one he knew wouldn’t be well received.

“Then, what?” she asked hesitantly. She was so tired, all she wanted was a hot bath and her soft bed, not a lecture from her father.

“For one, this nonsense about helping your sister. Your sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and she’s got that former slave… What’s her name?” Livvie didn’t answer, and Hugh looked off in space, searching for the name. “Chloe, isn’t it? Yes, Chloe. She can help with the children.”

Livvie felt her face flush, but she kept her expression calm. “They only have eight former slaves left from the forty they had before the Emancipation. So many men died, Gardner can’t find anyone to help, leastwise this season. So Chloe is working in the fields most of the time. And the doctor told Madeline she must have help, all the time, or she’ll lose the baby.” She held her breath. She didn’t like to lie, but she also knew that she couldn’t withstand her father’s wrath when she was alone and exhausted.

“She has three children. Perhaps she’s not meant to have this one,” Hugh said. Livvie felt her mouth fall open, and snapped it shut.

“It’s a baby, Daddy! Of course she wants it to be born!” She was aghast. She knew that, if her father could feel this way about Madeline’s baby, he’d feel it even more strongly about her own.

Hugh just waved a hand dismissively. “Gardner can hire someone else to care for her, then.”

“She wants me. The children know me, and Gardner agrees that I’m the best person to come.” She was feeling desperate, and remembered her mother’s words:
Then you don’t listen to what anybody says. You listen to what God put in your heart.
She steeled herself. She was going to Wadmalaw to have her baby, and that was that. “I’m going, Daddy. Mama and I talked about it, and she agreed.” Setting her jaw and squinting slightly in defiance, she crossed her arms and stared.

Hugh looked at her for a long moment then shook his head. “Fine. When is this baby to be born?”

“They think early April, best they can tell.”

Tapping his fingers together, he stared at her. “You may go. But when Madeline is well, the election will be mere months away. I will need you to do me a service at that time.”

Warily, she said, “What?”

“Marry Wyman Phelps.”

She stared at him, feeling her mouth once again fall open in shock. She closed it and swallowed. “I’ll not.”

“You will. He has expressed his desire to marry you, and he is a fine young man from an excellent family…”

Livvie stood. “He’s not a fine young man, and by ‘excellent family’ you mean rich. You may not see what he’s really like, but I do, Daddy. All of us do. He’s cruel and ambitious and doesn’t care one whit for me except that I’m your daughter. I will not marry him.” Her fists were clenched and her cheeks were burning with heat.

Hugh seemed unperturbed. “You are almost twenty. One can understand that the War was not the most advantageous time to find a suitable husband, but the War is over, and it doesn’t reflect well upon me for you to be a spinster. Byrd’s Creek has no one suitable, except Wyman, thus you must marry him, before the election.”

Livvie laughed. She couldn’t help it, although she knew that it would infuriate her father. It was such an absurd reason to marry off your daughter, and yet there he sat, perfectly serious, perfectly willing to throw her to the young wolf for the sake of his own overreaching ambitions.

She was right that her laughter infuriated Hugh Byrd. His face turned a deep red, rising up from his neck like a tide of rage. No one laughed at Hugh Byrd and got away with it. He stood, towering over her from behind the desk. In a steely voice he said, “I do not see what is so amusing.”

She continued to laugh, trying to get control of herself. She knew it was laugh or cry, and she was perilously close to the latter. Finally, she got herself reined in.

“You might think you made Madeline marry Gardner, but you didn’t. She wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t loved him, no matter how much you wanted to get close to Mr. Kinney’s gold up in Rhode Island.” At her father’s shocked face, she smiled grimly. “Of course we knew, Daddy. You don’t have stupid daughters. Gardner’s a good man, and he loves Madeline, and Mrs. Kinney told them the day her husband died that you weren’t gettin’ a penny from her husband’s money, ever.” She actually enjoyed taking him down a peg, she had to admit.

“I will not ever,
ever
marry Wyman. I don’t care how much land, how much gold, or how much influence his daddy has in Georgia. I suggest you rethink your plans, and if anything hangs on a wedding, you change it.” She still stood, still clenched her fists, still stared unflinchingly at her father.

Narrowing his eyes, Hugh assessed her. He had to admit, he hadn’t paid much attention to Wyman except as his assistant, at which job he’d performed more than adequately. If Wyman’s assessment of Livvie’s feelings for him were inaccurate, which they clearly were, he would need to come up with a way to mitigate the damage Wyman could do by complaining to his father. Thinking fast, he sat down and deliberately softened his posture and facial expression.

“I can see that Wyman was incorrect about your feelings for him, Olivia. Of course I wouldn’t force you into an unhappy marriage…” He looked at her, making her feel uncomfortable. She sat, straightening her skirts.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Still, the problem remains that there are no men on Edisto or Wadmalaw who are suitable.”

“I’m not thinking of men or marriage, Daddy. I’m leaving tomorrow to help Madeline, and that’s enough to think about for anyone.”

“Yes, I can see that. Well, here’s what we’ll do, then. There will be plenty of time after the baby is born to get you into some of the better societies in the state, into Charleston and Columbia, for instance. I will make some discreet inquiries in the meantime, and we will find a husband for you before the election. At least a fiancé. That shouldn’t be too difficult, after all you’re quite attractive, you won’t be too very old, considering the War years…” He looked at her now as if he were assessing a new sow. “Yes, that should work just fine. After the baby, you will travel with me, and we’ll get it all taken care of.” He sat back, pleased with himself.

Livvie stared. She’d won one battle, but inadvertently started another. Well, it was months away, and Rafe would send for her before then. Or Sheriff Gingras would find the real murderer and Rafe could come back. This wasn’t a fight she was going to have now.

“All right, Daddy, we’ll talk about it after the baby,” she said meekly. “May I go to bed? It’s been quite a long day, and I’m tuckered out.”

Pleased, Hugh said, “Certainly, my dear. Sleep well.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

October 19, 1865

My Dearest Liv,

I am writing this letter to you myself, although my young friend Lucias will address the envelope and post it. It is increasingly difficult to tell a twelve year old boy all the love I have for you, how much I miss you, that I long to hold you and hear your voice and smell the roses in your hair. I have tried not to endanger you, nor myself, by telling you where I am, but I did not realize the loneliness I would feel when I didn’t receive any letters. I didn’t realize how very much all your letters meant to me all those years of the War, until now. Certainly I loved them and cherished them at the time, and the news from home, and even mundane things, like Nackie’s belly aching about laundry, were powerful interesting. But I didn’t know how much of your voice was in those letters, how much love and care. Now that I am truly alone, I can see that you have been even more of a gift to me than I knew.

Harvest will be over and done with soon, and Mrs. S. says she will pay me all my wages and send me off with new boots, half a ham, and a new suit of clothes if I must leave. Part of me would like nothing more than to stay here. They are good people, and the townsfolk, too. But it’s too much like Byrd’s Creek, and nothing for a man like me to do to make his own way. I reckon I’m too much my daddy’s son to be content otherwise. I don’t know yet where I’ll light, but Lord willing it’ll be somewhere we can make a life for ourselves.

I can only hope you are getting these letters, and that Gingras or your daddy aren’t taking them. I pray he’s investigating the murder, and not pinning all his hopes on me, as you and I know I didn’t do this thing. I have some ideas of who might, after many a night thinking on it, but I don’t want to name names without proof – that’s no different than what’s happened to me. It weighs on me, Livvie.

Please go take my love and greetings to Mama and N. I am afraid Mama is gone, but can’t imagine her not in this world. She longs to be with Daddy, I know, as I long to be with you.

Yours Faithfully,

Rafe

November 1, 1865

Darling Rafe,

This is the 20th letter I have written to you since you left, and I decided to write them in a diary from now on. They all sit, hidden in a box, waiting for your return, or for you to tell me where you are, but many things happen, even on small Edisto and Wadmalaw, so I’ll continue to write to you until we’re together again.

I’m feeling really quite well, after that bout of sickness. I think I just wore myself out when Mama was sick, and after she died, but Madeline has nursed me back to health, and the baby is fine. I feel it kicking me now, and wish that you could lay your hand on my belly to feel it, too. The baby is strong, like you.

Nackie went to visit your mama, and says he thinks her time is near. She will only take broth, and is wasting away, he says. I asked if we should bring her here, but she is content with Mrs. Hauser, and Nackie thinks moving her will only hasten the end. Don’t feel sad. She doesn’t seem to know anyone anymore, and there’s nothing any of us can do for her now. We’ll handle everything once she passes, Rafe, I promise you.

I had a letter from Mr. Greene asking after you. I am afraid to write to him about your troubles, as Sheriff Gingras knows he loaned you his horse and might think to speak to him. Gardner says he is going to Charleston soon, and will visit him, and will decide then whether to tell him. Mr. Greene will believe in you, as you know, and will pray for you, too, and we need all the prayers we can find now.

I miss you terribly, but I am well. Madeline and Gardner send their love.

November 9, 1865

How I wish you were here, or that I knew how to reach you by telegram. It is a dreadful thing to not have anyway to tell you that your mama has passed. I know you wouldn’t be surprised, certainly, but for you to have missed her last hours, and, worse, her funeral, seems a sadness almost beyond bearing. Perhaps it is the recent passing of my own mother, and the remembrance of the pain. All I know is that I am so sorry for your loss, and wish I could hold you and tell you so.

She died peacefully at Mrs. Hauser’s. Nackie and I were both there with her those last two days. Mrs. Hauser had sent word to the farm, and Madeline agreed that I should go since the house is so far out of Byrd’s Creek. I met no one on the road, thank God, as there is no doubt now that I am with child! Anyway, Mariah was calm and seemed happy enough. She didn’t know any of us, of course – she hasn’t known anyone for some months now – but she smiled as we took turns singing to her, and I sang the song I’ve learned from Mad, “Shall We Gather at the River”, which seemed to give her joy.

Mrs. Hauser has arranged the funeral for tomorrow. As it’s in town, I shan’t be able to go, but Nackie is going, and Emmy, and many others have sent their best wishes and will go as well. Mr. and Mrs. Smith were particularly gentle with Nackie in their store yesterday, and asked him to tell you they don’t believe you killed anybody, except in the War. Since Nackie can’t write, and we don’t know where to send a letter anyhow, at least this diary will have that encouragement for you.

The baby is well, and I’m feeling fine. The earlier tiredness has passed and I feel quite spry. Madeline laughs and tells me it won’t last, but I’m enjoying it, all the same. I only wish that you were here with me.

January 1, 1866

How many long years have we spent writing letters to each other about what the new year will hold? I know that our heavenly Father has a plan, and that His will is being worked out on this earth, but I am weary beyond measure of missing you, and of being alone. I haven’t received a letter from you in more than two months, and I lie awake at night, wondering if you’re alive, if you’re well, if you think of me as I do you, where you are…

The baby is growing, as am I. I’m afraid you wouldn’t recognize me, as the girlish figure you were so fond of is quite changed. But the babe is strong and healthy, and kicks with a fervor, most especially when I try to sleep. When he wakes me (for I find myself believing it is a boy) I lay a hand on him and think of you, and tell him stories of his daddy. I so longed for a baby when you were away at War, but now that I am here alone, it occurs to me that I didn’t realize how hard it would be without you.

Madeline and Gardner have been wonderful to me, and I am quite comfortable here. Nackie is here, living with Julius, and is happier than he’s been in some time. He has little responsibility beyond that which he enjoys, cooking chickens and johnny cakes, telling stories to the children, helping some with the animals. I know he misses you and your mama, but he is also more peaceful with the weight of responsibility off his shoulders. Would that I could tell him when you are coming back…