Ask a Shadow to Dance (9 page)

“Jacob Morgan? Are you sure?”

“Yep.
Here’s where it gets interesting. Jacob’s sister, Portia, is listed as co-owner and manager after 1873. There was a bad yellow fever epidemic that year. Maybe Morgan caught the fever and his sister had to step in. No way to verify that either. Speculation. There’s no wife’s name listed, but there is one child. Jacob Morgan had a daughter.”

David knew what Candy was going to say, but still couldn’t believe it.

“Her name was Lisette.”

Chapter Four

“Lisette, wake up!”

Aunt Portia’s voice penetrated the fog in Lisette’s mind and the residue of the dream. She opened her eyes. “Doctor Stewart?”

“It’s time to get up. We have to go to the police station, remember?” Aunt Portia poured water into the bowl on the sideboard. “This cool water should feel good on your face this morning.”

Lisette tried to clear her mind. “I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

“So do I, but it’s necessary to keep that ruffian from bothering us again. Get dressed. I’ll start breakfast.”

Lying there a few moments, Lisette recalled the dream and how concerned Doctor Stewart had been about her bruised face. He had to be one of the kindest men she’d ever known. His eyes had seethed with anger when he heard Andrew had struck her.

She closed her eyes for a moment to clear away the cobwebs. It made no sense to react to a dream as though it were real. The only reality was Andrew.

At the sideboard, she washed her face and noticed much of the swelling was gone. Only the dark blue of the bruise remained. Her lips were still sore, but better. She peered closely into the mirror. The bruises were abnormally better than they should have been. The injection that rude nurse had given her—but she was part of the dream too. Her left arm, where she dreamed the injection had been given, felt sore, tender, just as Doctor Stewart had warned. But none of it made sense. How could her arm be sore from a dream?

She selected a black dress from one of her trunks, pulled it over her head,
then buttoned it from waist to neck. The collar was a piece of ecru tatted lace that Aunt Portia had made for her before she’d gone to New Orleans with James. She had moved the collar from dress to dress through the years, attempting to brighten the dull material she’d been forced to use in making her clothes. The collar was a warm reminder of the hours she’d spent as a child watching Aunt Portia tat, listening to stories about her parents.

What would Mother think about all this? Lisette wondered. Her memory of Brianna Morgan was so vague, dimmed by the years and by Lisette’s youth at the time of her mother’s death, she couldn’t be sure any longer if the picture in her mind was real or simply borrowed from the family portrait that had been made the year Lisette was born. Brianna had golden blond hair and incredibly large eyes, which Aunt Portia said were the color of amber. It was easy to see why Jacob fell in love with Brianna at their first meeting. Lisette had inherited her mother’s eyes and full lips, but not the blond hair. Lisette’s hair was auburn, red-gold in sunshine, a combination of the blond and Papa’s once reddish-brown hair.

Aunt Portia appeared at the door. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“I just have to do my hair.” Lisette picked up the brush from the chiffonier and pulled it through the tangled curls with difficulty.

“Let me help. I haven’t brushed your hair—”

“—in eight years.”
It had been one of their special times together. The memory tugged at her heart, just as the family portrait had done. She handed the brush to Aunt Portia. She pulled it through Lisette’s hair until it shone like the sunshine streaming through the lace curtains. It felt heavenly to receive this attention after so many years of loneliness and neglect.

“That will have to do for now. You can do a full hundred strokes tonight. I let you sleep longer than I should have. It’s past ten already.”

Lisette twisted her hair into a long coil, wound it on the crown of her head and secured it with a hairpin, then followed Aunt Portia downstairs to the kitchen for a breakfast of flapjacks and molasses. She had already instructed Seth to ready the carriage.

After they’d eaten, Aunt Portia took their plates to the sink and dunked them into hot, soapy water, scrubbing until they gleamed. “I’ll be so relieved when Andrew is locked up and things can get back to normal.” She dried the dishes carefully and put them in the cupboard.

Lisette wasn’t sure she knew what Aunt Portia meant by “normal,” but agreed that having Andrew out of their lives would lift a tremendous burden from her shoulders.

There came a sharp rapping at the front door.

Lisette held one finger to her lips, then tiptoed through the house to the parlor windows and peered around the draperies cautiously to see who was calling.

Andrew.

Aunt Portia appeared at her elbow. “Why, that—”

Lisette shushed her again,
then motioned for her to follow. Back in the kitchen, she whispered, worried that Andrew might somehow overhear.

“We have to get to the police station. Is there a way to leave without Andrew seeing us?”

Andrew pounded harder on the door. Lisette feared the stained glass would shatter in its frame if he continued much longer.

“Out the kitchen door and around to the shed.”

“I should have remembered. It’s been so long . . . I have to get my wrap. Tell Seth to be ready to leave the minute I get back.” Aunt Portia nodded and hurried out the back door, careful not to let it make the slightest noise when it closed.

Lisette hurried back upstairs. There was no sound coming from the front door now. She prayed with all her heart that he’d left. She grabbed her coat,
then crept down the stairs, through the hallway and back to the kitchen. When she opened the back door, she pulled too hard, too fast, and it squeaked. The sound seemed amplified to ten times normal. She took care to pull it closed slowly. It made no sound this time.

Skirting the brilliant yellow ginkgos, Lisette tiptoed through the junipers, then, once she’d cleared the back yard, ran to the shed where the carriage was kept. The shed door stood open with no sign of the carriage anywhere.

“Aunt Portia!” she called in a loud whisper.

“Back here, child.”

Lisette went around to the far side of the shed. The boy she’d seen last night, who had toted her baggage, sat on the front seat with Aunt Portia in the back. His pale blue eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Hurry, child! I saw Andrew, not a minute ago, walking around the house. If we don’t leave now, he’ll see us for sure!”

Lisette climbed in, Seth slapped the horses with a buggy whip, clucking his tongue at them, and the carriage jerked into motion. In a few seconds they were into the street. Andrew came running from the back of the house just as they sped away.

Portia leaned forward. “Boy, if you can’t make those horses go any faster than that, I’ll have your mama whip your behind until your nose bleeds! Now, go!”

“Yessum!” He slapped the horses’ rumps again, harder this time. They responded with a faster gait. Lisette breathed a sigh of relief but only for the moment. She had no hopes Andrew would give up so easily.

It took about twenty minutes to reach the station. Seth stayed in the carriage. The minute Lisette stepped inside, she saw Andrew at the counter, speaking to the officer in charge. Her throat tightened and she touched her cheek nervously. He must have had a horse close by to have beaten us there.

“Here they are now, Lieutenant. I told you they’d be along shortly.” He took a few steps toward Lisette. “Lisa, how are you feeling after your ordeal? You look absolutely worn out.”

She glared at him but said nothing. Perhaps it was fortunate he was here to witness her accusations against him. They could take him into custody immediately. Aunt Portia was already at the counter. Her exchange with Andrew was anything but cordial.

“Stand aside. I don’t want you anywhere near my niece ever again, do you hear?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Morgan. I was just telling the Lieutenant about the intruder you had at your home last evening. He and his men are going to be on the lookout for this scoundrel in hopes you will not be bothered again.”

Aunt Portia gaped at him, speechless.

Lisette stepped forward. “Lieutenant, the intruder at our home last evening was Mr. Westmoreland. He forced his way into the house and struck me several times, as you can see by the bruises on my face. I want him arrested.” She refused to look at Andrew, feeling her cheeks flame with anxiety and anger. The bruises throbbed painfully.

The Lieutenant frowned. “Well, now, Miss …”

“
Mrs
. Westmoreland.”

His expression changed to surprise.

“My late husband was Mr. Westmoreland’s father. Andrew Westmoreland is, I regret to say, my stepson, which makes his behavior even more reprehensible. I’ve just arrived in Memphis from New Orleans. My father is ill and I was needed to help my aunt care for him.” She nodded toward Aunt Portia. “I did not expect my stepson to leave New Orleans when I did. In fact, I urged him to remain there and see to his father’s farming business, but he chose to follow me to Memphis. I’m hoping he will conclude whatever business he may have here and go back to New Orleans where he is needed to continue his father’s work.”

It was easy to see Andrew didn’t like this pronouncement one bit. “There is a perfectly competent manager to see to the farming at home,” he said. “I came to Memphis to provide assistance and protection for my stepmother. I am grieved that she has chosen not to avail herself of my help.”

The lieutenant cleared his throat noisily. “Well, now, Mrs. Westmoreland, I feel we should get back to the subject of the intruder. Your stepson has given me a completely different account of what occurred at your home. He says he arrived just as the intruder was leaving and that you were hysterical and distraught and mistakenly accused him of being the man who attacked you.”

She should have expected such treachery from Andrew. “He is lying. There was no other intruder.” She faced Andrew squarely. “He threatened to harm my father or my aunt if I told anyone about his treatment of me. But I am not one to obey cowards who feel they must brutalize women.”

Andrew’s face reddened. His mouth quivered with undisguised rage. “I’m afraid Mrs. Westmoreland is still overwrought from her experience. As I explained before, her attacker grabbed her from behind. The first face she saw was mine. It’s understandable that she was mistaken, but I am appalled at her insistence that I was that attacker. During the eight years she was married to my father, I never laid a hand on her in anger. Ask her. She’ll tell you.”

She knew at that point she was defeated. She could not tell the Lieutenant how Andrew had come to her bedroom repeatedly during the eight years of her marriage, trying to force himself on her, because doing so would humiliate her beyond that which she had already suffered—and would alert Aunt Portia to the fact she’d been lying all those years about the treatment she’d received. Andrew had laid hands on her after his father’s funeral, claiming he’d inherited everything—including Lisette—but he knew she would never admit it to anyone. It would ruin her reputation in Memphis and any chances she had for social acceptability among Aunt Portia’s friends. She had vowed no one would ever know what had happened in New Orleans, the indignities she’d endured. Andrew was forcing her to choose between exposing him and exposing herself.

The Lieutenant waited for Lisette to confirm or deny what Andrew had just said. She had no choice. “The past is past. He accosted me—in anger—last night.” She clamped her lips shut, determined to maintain dignity at any cost. She could only hope the lieutenant would see she was telling the truth.

The lieutenant shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s your word against his, ma’am. Did anyone see the attacker strike you?” He peered at Portia expectantly.

Aunt Portia straightened her spine. “I did not witness the actual attack, sir, but my niece was not harmed before Mr. Westmoreland arrived at our home. When he left, her face was swollen and her lips cut and bleeding. There was no other attacker.”

“Did you see Mr. Westmoreland arrive?”

Aunt Portia squirmed a little before answering. “No, I did not.”

“Then another man could have been there without your knowledge.”

“There was no one else!” Portia placed her hands on the counter separating herself from the lieutenant and leaned toward him. “I tell you, this man struck my niece! You must arrest him so he will not harm her again!”

He shook his head. “I can’t, Miss Morgan. Without a witness it’s her word against his, as I told you. I have no legal reason to detain this man.”

Lisette knew there was no use in persisting. She eased Aunt Portia away from the counter. “Well, then, Lieutenant, how do you suggest we protect ourselves from further attacks from this
intruder
?” She glared at Andrew, loathing him, yet fearful as well of what he might do to them for testifying against him.

“My men will try to keep an eye on your home, ma’am. I suggest you keep your doors bolted at all times.”

Portia straightened her dress. “You may be certain we shall notify you at the slightest hint of any further intrusion.”