A Dream of Daring (34 page)

She sat in a mound of red
silk and black lace. He smiled at the notion of the slight figure before him
hauling his tractor up the slope.

“The storm that came at
dawn I think washed away any tracks I might’ve left on the hill. And since
runaways and slaves fish in the stream and take shelter in the factory, I
figured that any dust I disturbed wouldn’t arouse attention. I left your
invention alongside an area of tall shrubs at the top of the hill, so I think
it’s inconspicuous and safe.”

“I see,” he said simply.
His solemn tone said he was profoundly grateful.

“I was heading north in
the storm when a violent flash of lightning struck a tree near me. It was
frightful! My horse bucked and threw me; then he got pinned under the tree. I
was frantic. I still had the rope with me that I had used to haul the
invention, so I tried to free the horse with it. I wasn’t strong enough, and
the rope was about to break. I felt I’d rather crawl under the tree and die
there with the horse than go back to Fowler. It was the most wretched moment of
my life. That’s when you came along and freed my horse.”

She bowed her head. “I’m
afraid I was a bit unkind to you.”

“You socked me in the
face.”

“I wasn’t human any
longer. I had no kindness left in me.”

“You were kind to the
horse.”

She laughed for an
instant. The little puff of air and sweet tone that was her laughter was like a
new music that could easily become his favorite song.

Then she whispered
grimly. “I was dead inside. I felt nothing that could qualify me as human. I
felt no remorse for the man I killed, and I felt nothing but hatred for the man
who whipped me, the man who assaulted me, and any other man too!”

“But you wanted to find
the inventor. You liked him, didn’t you?”

Again, the little laugh.
But quickly it vanished, and she continued her tale.

“After you freed my
horse, I continued north. My progress was slow, with trails flooded and a
bridge down after the storm. I was at Manning Creek when the slave patrol and
their bloodhound caught up with me. They snatched me off my horse. I struggled
to get away. My leg rubbed against the horse’s back as they pulled me off, and
the knife that was tied to my calf came loose and fell into the brush. The men
didn’t notice it as they carried me away. But they did find the money in my
pocket, and they took it.

“They rode back south a
ways and hunted without success for another runaway, and then they camped for
the night. It was the next day when they brought me back to Greenbriar, where
Fowler was waiting for them. That’s when you saw us and stopped him and you
brought me to Indigo Springs.”

He nodded, already
figuring out the rest of the story but wanting to hear it from her.

She looked at him with
the gratitude she had not yet expressed. “After you . . . saved
my life, Indigo Springs became my sanctuary. I felt safe there, safe with
you . . . freer than I’d ever felt before. But I was afraid
to leave the plantation. I stayed clear of town, fearing I might see Markham
there. If the senator sold me in the morning and was killed that very night,
even Markham could put that together.

“I couldn’t tell you who
I was and where I came from. For all I knew, there was already a hunt out for
me.”

Tom nodded, following her
tale.

“I was frantic to see a
newspaper, but you didn’t bring any home. The agricultural weeklies you read
didn’t carry news, so I couldn’t learn about the murder case and discover the
inventor’s name. But I thought maybe he would post a notice in the agricultural
paper about his lost device, since it’s a farm machine. That was why I kept
taking your journals to read the advertisements. And you were there with me in
person all the time!” She shook her head in disbelief. “I should have known the
inventor was you. I mean, you speak about a new age. Your device is part of
that, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“There was no indication
you were an inventor. I didn’t see any books an inventor would read or journals
he’d keep or experiments he’d do.”

“They’re all there in the
shed on top of the hill. That’s my workshop.”

“Oh!” She smiled at the
interesting discovery.

“After the invention went
missing, I didn’t go in there, so it’s been boarded and locked the whole time
you’ve been at Indigo Springs.”

“Now I understand.”

“Tell me about the
unsigned letter that I received about the knife.”

“When you unveiled
Senator Barnwell’s portrait, you said his murderer would hang
the next day
.
I was horrified! I wrote the letter and made it look as if a stranger left it
overnight. I didn’t want an innocent person to die.” She sighed. “Since the
sheriff’s looking for
me
now, I guess I was successful.”

“You were,” he said to
the woman with a conscience.

She sighed and said
nothing more.

“So, is that it? Anything
more to tell?”

“Only that I love the
school we started.”

He smiled as she named
what they both felt. He stood up and curled a hand around her arm, helping her
to rise.

“Now I have a question
for you.” He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. “Why
did you rescue my invention?”

She looked away
introspectively, and her voice quivered with longing. “I always hoped my life
would be . . . special. I always thought, ‘Shouldn’t there
be more to my days than fanning Miss Polly or fetching her glasses or pouring
her tea? Shouldn’t there be something
I
choose? Can’t I just once do
something more important than puffing Miss Polly’s pillow?’ In the shed that
day, the senator said fate had put him there to destroy the invention. ‘Well,
maybe fate put me there too,’ I thought. I, Ladybug, could do something to
change
fate and make it go the way
I
wanted it to. I could save the new
invention of the
horseless age
.”

She leaned back, looking
up at him. His hands curled around her waist. The molten terror he had seen in
her eyes in the past when he was close had now drained away. He had seen the
horror of her fear and the intensity of her anger. But this time she looked
unafraid, her eyes filled with a different kind of fire.

“You’re the only person
around here who saw the promise of my invention and wanted it to succeed,” he whispered.
“Ladybug, you’re part of the new age . . .”

She brightened as if he’d
said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

“. . . and
you’re part of me too.”

He resisted the maddening
urge to draw her closer. Instead he broke away, with his desire yielding to
worry.

“Look, we need to get out
of here now! Fowler and I never exchanged names, but he called me
Yankee.
Now,
everybody calls me that. So when the sheriff gets to Baton Rouge and Fowler
relates how he sold you to a man in Greenbriar who talks like a Yankee, the
sheriff will instantly know it was me. He’ll come back, go to my place, learn
I’m here at Ruby Manor with a slave that fits your description, and he’ll come
riding up that road.” He pointed to the French doors, in the direction of the
winding path they had taken to Ruby Manor. “But we won’t be here. We’ll be long
gone!”

He rushed out to the
gallery and leaned over the railing. “Lance,” he whispered to the slave Rachel
had posted outside to be on the lookout for Markham, “saddle two horses for me,
right now! Bring them around the back.”

He came inside to find
Ladybug shaking her head. “But you’re innocent. You can’t come with me. I have
to leave here
alone
.”

“I’m not abandoning you
to get caught!”

“Then I’ll turn myself
in.”

“You don’t know how
angry—how
terrified
—these people are over what you’ve done! You won’t
get justice. You’ll get
hanged
!”

Her eyes closed in terror
at the thought. “But you mustn’t get involved. You can explain what happened,
and how you didn’t know who I was, which is the truth. If you try to protect
me, after I did
the . . . unthinkable . . . then
you’ll . . . you’ll
be . . . hanged . . . too! You mustn’t
protect me!”

“Oh, no? You watch me!”

He glanced at a clock in
the room and ran his hands through his hair, thinking, planning. “I need to
reach the bank and get access to my funds. Then we’ll get out of the South.
You’ll travel with me as my slave. If we get out of town before the sheriff
comes back, no one will stop us.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

They stood facing each
other. This time it was she who drew closer. Her hair tumbled down her back as
she raised her head to the man who had saved her from a storm, a brute, and a
fire and who now seemed determined to expand that list. She stroked his face,
then wrapped her arms around his neck. Her open mouth warmed his lips, giving
him a taste of the spirit stirring in defiance of her painful scars and her
resolve to despise all men.

He stood still, savoring
the feel of her own desire and will driving their kiss.

Slowly, as if reluctant
to lose contact, she slid her arms off his body and stepped back. “Okay,” she
whispered. “But it’s very important to me to go past the factory, so I can
point out to you where I hid your invention.”

“It’s on the way to town,
and it’ll keep us off the main road.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll grab
Barnwell’s coat. And I’ll take the gun I saw in his room. He won’t be needing
it now.”

“I’ll put on the frock.”
She pointed to the slave’s dress that she had tossed aside.

“It would attract less
attention,” he quipped, trying to ease the tension of the dangers still ahead.
“I’ll be back for you in a minute. We’ll leave quietly, while everyone’s
asleep.”

He was about to open the
door, then turned back to her, jolted by the thought of a telltale mark and her
mysterious relationship to someone else who had that same mark and was in that
house.

“The sooner we get out of
here, the better!” he whispered. “And we mustn’t let anyone see us!”

As he opened the door,
his hand stopped in mid-motion. There in the hall facing him were Charlotte and
Rachel.

Chapter
28

From the half-open door,
Tom was the only one visible inside. He stood there staring in astonishment at
the two women whose flustered faces were nearly as red as their hair.

“Lord in heaven!”
Charlotte gasped. “Consorting with a
slave
! In my house! Is that what
you’re doing?”

Tom offered no denial.

She stammered in
disbelief.
“You . . . you . . . scoundrel to end
all scoundrels!”

“Merciful God! How can
you insult me like this?” Rachel scowled.

“Why aren’t you sleeping,
instead of checking up on me?” Tom asked her simply.

“Your arrogance knows no
limit! It’s
your
fault I couldn’t sleep. You’ve been drifting away for
so long that I went to your room to learn your intentions once and for all,”
Rachel said petulantly. “I thought maybe we
could . . . reconcile . . . our
differences.” She looked at him expectantly. He looked unmoved. “When you
weren’t there, I called Mother. And now we find this . . . this . . . outrage!”

“We’re breaking all ties
with you, Mr. Edmunton!” Charlotte planted her hands on her hips, the strength
in her clenched fists contrasting with the frailty of the lace nightgown
sleeves puffing out under her robe. “You’ve insulted us with your vulgarity!
You can be sure I won’t be needing you any longer to run the Crossroads.”

“Nash is most eager to
help us, Mama. We’ll accept his offer and be rid of this beast!”

“I agree!” Charlotte
jabbed a finger in Tom’s face. “And I forbid you to call on my daughter
ever
again
.”

“I understand completely.
So if you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave.”

Standing firmly in the
doorway, blocking his exit, the women clearly were not finished.

“When your father died,
we opened our hearts to you, and what did we get?” charged Charlotte.

The frill of Rachel’s
negligee in the V slice of her robe billowed like a sail in the angry wind of
her breath. “You dishonor me with a
slave
? A dumb, miserable, wretched
slave
?”

“I see you’re eager for
us to leave, so we’ll oblige you right now.” Tom tried to enter the hallway and
close the door behind him to give the unseen occupant a chance to change.

Rachel eyed him
suspiciously. “What are you hiding?” Suddenly, she swung the door wide open—and
gasped. There was the creature she despised, wearing her best evening dress,
quietly observing the uproar.

“Good Lord Almighty!”
Rachel stormed into the room. “My gown! And
my . . . my . . . 
garnet
cape!
That cape’s worth three times what
you
are. Take it off, wench!” She
reached for the cape.

Ladybug moved away. “I’ll
take it off without your help!”

Tom saw the feral look he
had come to dread creep over Ladybug’s face. He was about to intervene between
the two adversaries when Charlotte grabbed him, shook him by the arms, then
beat her fists against his chest, her voice hissing like a kettle that had finally
reached its boiling point. “I’ve had it with your invention, your arrogance,
your insolence, the misfortune you’ve brought upon our family, and now this
disgrace, this dishonor!” She clutched his shirt. “I’ll
not
have a
scandal! I won’t! I won’t!”

“You needn’t have one.
We’ll leave
now
.” Tom tried to break free of the furious fists.

“I’m
respected
in
this town, something you neither know nor care anything about. I have my
standing to keep!” She had the crazed glare of someone obsessed with a matter beyond
all reason.

While he tried to subdue
Charlotte, the young women pushed each other around the room. Quickly they were
entangled, hitting each other, losing their balance, falling into the French
doors and swinging them open into the gallery, and landing on the floor. Red
and brown hair flew wildly as their heads snapped, their fists flew, and their
nails scratched. First Ladybug rolled on top, her voluminous hooped crinoline
and pantalets exposed in the fray while she slapped Rachel with her left hand
and then her right. Then Rachel was on top, her dressing gown tearing at the
underarms with the brawling swings she took at Ladybug. Neither woman seemed to
notice her immodest condition or care. They pulled each others’ hair, hurling
insults all the while.

“You wicked wench!”
shrilled Rachel.

“You bully!”

“Take those clothes off!”

“I’ll
never
take
them off now!”

Then came a hoarse
whisper that struck a deeper chord. “Stay away from Tom, you bitch!” Rachel
demanded.

“He doesn’t want you.”

“You’re a slave and a
slut. You’ll be whipped and you’ll obey!”

“He still won’t want
you.”

Tom freed himself from
Charlotte’s attacks and tried to break up the girls. He pushed his way past
soft lace and hard fists, perfumed skin and venomous words, silky arms and
flying elbows. While he controlled his strength in an effort not to hurt them,
they intensified theirs in the grip of their fury. They looked like two hissing
cats overwhelming a larger canine that could fight a battle with its own kind
but was disarmed by the wiry little combatants who scratched, clawed, and
jabbed.

Charlotte grabbed a poker
from the fireplace and struck him on the back, the arms, and the chest with it,
screaming, “I’ll not have any scandal. I’ll not lose my reputation!” until he
had to extricate himself from the girls to disarm the raging mother.

He looked astonished. Her
fears seemed too extreme for a guest’s misbehavior in her home.

As the young women
tumbled, the cape was pulled this way and that, but it remained on Ladybug’s
shoulders. Then Rachel straddled Ladybug and loosened the cape’s bow. Ladybug
threw her off and tried to stand. Rachel pulled her down and reached for the
cape. Ladybug blocked her. Finally at an impasse, the combatants sat back on
their haunches, facing each other.

“I’ll tear those clothes
off you and burn them! They must
never
touch me after touching you.”

“They look better on me.
You’re fat!”

In one quick tug, Rachel
pulled the cape off Ladybug’s shoulders.

Ladybug grabbed the
V-shaped panels of Rachel’s robe and pulled the fabric off her shoulders, along
with her nightgown. “There, how do
you
like it when someone pulls at
your
—”
Her voice suddenly choked.

Rachel’s hand fell limp,
and the prized cape she had so ardently sought slipped indifferently through
her fingers to the floor as she stared at the wild creature in her evening
gown. Visible between strands of hair, Rachel saw the mark above Ladybug’s
breast.

Ladybug, frozen, stared
at the same marking on Rachel.

The morning sun was
streaming in through the open French doors. It shone like a spotlight on the
girls’ incredulous faces . . . and on the birthmark above
each of their hearts.

At first, Charlotte
didn’t realize what had occurred. Tom held onto the poker he had wrestled from
her, but he was gaping at the girls. She followed his glance. Ladybug’s back
was to her as she saw Rachel’s clothing torn. The attack on her daughter
inflamed her.

She bent down to Ladybug
and shook her by the shoulders. “Why, you little vixen, you’ll get
fifty
stripes—”
Then Charlotte caught sight of the little mark on Ladybug. Her hands flew off
the girl’s body as from a surface too hot to touch. Startled, she smothered her
gasp with her hands.

Like mirror images,
Ladybug and Rachel faced each other. They slowly rose to their feet, each
open-mouthed, with bruised face, tumbling hair, and disbelieving eyes. Each
touched her own birthmark and eyed the other’s.

Tom sighed in resignation
of that which now had to be faced. He identified her adversaries to Ladybug:
“This is Rachel Barnwell, the senator’s daughter, and Mrs. Barnwell, his
widow.” To Rachel and Charlotte, he said simply, “Meet Ladybug.”

Seeing the two young
women together, the resemblance he hadn’t identified before seemed uncanny: the
tapered nose, the sculpted lips, the petite form.

Bewildered, Ladybug
looked down at her own birthmark, then her eyes slowly traveled to Rachel’s.
She glanced at Tom. “Is this passed down?”

“No, never!” cried
Rachel. She turned to Charlotte. “Oh, Mama, this is terrible!” She embraced the
woman who was still too shocked to speak. Then in a flash she turned back to
Ladybug. “You killed my father!”

Ladybug shot back,
“Whoever killed your father gave him just what he deserved.”

Tom wedged himself
between them. “Rachel, your father sold Ladybug to a vicious man, Fred Fowler,
who assaulted her.”

“And how exactly do
you
fit into that picture? What are
you
doing with
her
?”

“I was in town when
Fowler was there torturing her. I bought her to stop the cruelty. I didn’t
discover till a little while ago who she really was.”

Rachel bristled. “Hmm. I
wonder how you made your discovery.”

Tom shook her by the
arms. “The cruelty I couldn’t bear to watch and had to stop was of your
father’s making.”

“She’ll hang,
regardless!” said Rachel. “Won’t she, Mama?”

Charlotte didn’t reply.
She looked distant and disturbed, in the throes of a vivid memory.

“Mama, are you all
right?”

“Wiley . . . Wiley . . . what
did you do?” Charlotte spoke in the dazed manner of a sleepwalker.

Ladybug looked curiously
at Rachel. “If the senator was your father,” she said, her curiosity turning to
revulsion, “does that mean he was also . . . 
my—
”

“No! He’s nothing to you.
I’m nothing to you!”

“I
wonder . . .” Ladybug stepped away, toward the French doors
opening onto the gallery. She looked out, absorbed in her own recollection,
whispering to herself. “I was left with Miss Polly in the basket of
flowers . . . with the scarlet
ladybug. . . .”

Charlotte was
glassy-eyed, disturbed by something in the past.

Rachel placed her hand on
her mother’s arm. “Mama, are you feeling all right?”

Charlotte absently patted
Rachel’s hand while she stared at the strange new person in their lives. Then
her face looked alarmed. “Wiley, don’t! Don’t!”

“See what you’ve done?”
Rachel said to Ladybug. “You’ve upset my mother. She’s in shock because you’re
trying to ruin us with lies, all lies! You murderess!”

Deep in reflection,
Ladybug didn’t reply. As her eyes were pulled outside the French doors, her
attention was pulled out of the scene and into the distant past. “Miss Polly
said the
flowers
were red too. Yes! I remember, there was a scarlet
ladybug with black spots on the scarlet flowers in the
basket. . . .”

“Goodness, Tom, you’ve
gone and spoiled everything we could’ve had!” cried Rachel. “Tom?”

He wasn’t listening to
her. Ladybug’s recollections had captured his attention. He walked toward the
disheveled figure in the gown, trying to hear her over Rachel’s raving and
Charlotte’s rambling.

“Miss Polly said the
flowers had no stems . . . just the blossoms were in the
basket. . . . Miss Polly said I looked so tiny and fragile
among all those blossoms.”

A few tears dropped
softly from Charlotte’s unblinking eyes. “Wiley, what did you do?”

Rachel vigorously tapped
her mother’s hands. “Now, Mama, snap out of it!”

Then the young redhead
walked close to Tom. She pressed against him, clutching his shirt, her robe and
negligee slipping off her shoulders.

“You know, we’ve suffered
enough already, thanks to your invention and the tragedy it caused. Now you
come here with this girl to bring shame to us. Don’t you see, this whole matter
will ruin Mother? Look at her. She’s in shock. Everyone looks up to her. She’ll
never be able to show her face again in town. And what about me? I have a
standing to maintain too.”

He quietly studied her.

“What if my father had
an . . . indiscretion . . . years ago?
Why stir up ancient ashes to make Mother ill and bring us disgrace?”

Distracted by another
voice, Tom slowly took her arms off his chest and turned back to Ladybug.

“Why would someone snip
off the stems?” Ladybug asked herself aloud.

Tom’s brows arched
sharply, anticipating the direction of her thoughts.

“Unless there were
thorns
on the stems . . . if the flowers
were . . . roses . . . like those.” The
girl from the basket pointed curiously to the perimeter of blossoms outside,
which the morning sun now captured in its full crimson glory.

Charlotte whispered to
herself. “Oh, Lord, we
were . . . so . . . young. . . .”

Ladybug’s finger stood
suspended in space, pointing at the roses beyond the gallery. “Who would wrap
an infant in flowers? I always thought it would be
a . . . woman.” She suddenly looked astonished. Her body
pivoted so that her finger was now pointing inside the room. At Charlotte.

Her look of astonishment
turned to certainty. She lunged at Charlotte. Her formal attire proved no
excuse for manners and femininity, with her elbows high, her eyes ruthless, and
her furious tangle of hair flying through the air and blocking the view of her
prey to anything but her urgent presence.

“Stop! Stop! Leave me
alone!” Charlotte looked like the hapless victim of an attack by a wildcat.
“You mustn’t! Stop!” She tried to throw off the headstrong creature, but
Ladybug was tenacious.

Rachel rushed to stop the
assault on her mother, but she was halted by Tom’s powerful arms thrown around
her.

Ladybug tugged at
Charlotte’s robe and the nightgown beneath it, pulling the fine silk garments
down to expose the older woman’s ivory shoulders and the skin above her
breasts.