Conjuring Sight (Becky Jo Chronicles Book 1) (26 page)

Regardless, I ask what has been on my mind for a very long time, “What about slavery? How could you fight against freeing slaves?”

“Neither my father nor I owned any slaves at the time New Orleans was invaded. You are a Southern lady. You should know most Confederate soldiers were not slave owners. My father disagreed with slavery and freed his family’s slaves before he came to Nevada. He had hoped he could convince other slaver owners to do the same. He wanted people to have the choice of doing the right thing.”

“But they didn’t want to do the right thing,” I counter.

“Many did not think they had a choice. Slavery was the economic backbone of the South. My father found another way to make a living. He wanted to show that there were other possibilities open to slave owners. I realize you were very young, but surely, you are not too young to remember what happened in the South?”

Finding my earlier anger weaning, I quietly ask, “Where is your Aunt Mary?”

“New Orleans. She did not want to come west, so I sent her money to rebuild.”

“Having a rich nephew should have some advantages.” I smile faintly.

He silently nods. I think he is angry and insulted. I mean, I was pretty rude. I’m finding there is so much I don’t understand about 1875. Still, I’m not thrilled with his excessive wealth. If he’s mad because I told the truth about the way I feel, I can’t help it. As a twenty-first century girl, Colonel Blair is a continual enigma to me. Still, I need to make amends with him so I can protect him from Samuel.

“I’m sorry I made unfounded assumptions about you,” I say, reining in my pride slightly.

“We have all been guilty of making rash judgments.”

Everything has changed.  He is no longer a scary ghost or a mean slave owner. He is a man with hopes, dreams, and sorrows. In so many ways, he is like me.

When I return to my room, a single candle is burning on my table, and little Ida has fallen asleep, curled up in the corner. I gently shake her. “Ida, why aren’t you in bed?” I ask as she opens her eyes. She smiles when she sees me.

“I been waitin’ to help you out of you dress, Miss Harris,” she answers.

“You don’t have to worry about me.” I lovingly move the hair out of her still bruised face. “You should be happily dreaming in Rose’s cabin.”

She shakes her head. “No, Colonel Blair been gone and da only other one Mr. Samuel be scared of is Gabe. Gabe been in da house, so I done stay in da house.”

“Colonel Blair is home now. You can go to bed.”

“I be carin’ for your gown first.”

“I will help Rebecca,” Clara says, coming into the room. “You are a growing girl. You need to sleep.”

Ida yawns and hugs us goodnight. Then she goes out the door.

“Why do the zombies keep coming?” I ask, kicking off my shoes.

“The Cursed are evil and try to destroy all that is good.” She gestures to my forgotten bouquet of roses. “Rebecca, do you know what Colonel Blair just told Virginia City society by giving those to you?”

“He told them that he liked my violin playing,” I say the obvious.

She shakes her head. “No, red roses mean true love, and they are extremely expensive to ship from California. He just announced that he loves you to the entire city.”

My eyes widen as they return to the roses. “Why would he do something like that?”

“You are an extraordinary woman, and he knows it.” She sits on the bed. “Did you mean those things you said about treating people equally?”

“Of course I did.” I take off my stockings.

“You are very special, and do not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

I change the uncomfortable direction of the conversation. “Clara, do you love White Cloud?”

She nods. “Very much, but he is cautious.”

“He has kissed you and held your hand,” I remind her.

“Yes, but my father offered me to him, and he rejected the offer.”

I gasp. “How could he?”

“He is afraid of getting hurt. Love is complicated.” She begins unbuttoning the back of the gown. She’s just about finished when the door opens and Colonel Blair walks into the room. He has taken off his jacket, boots, and hat.

“Clara, please excuse us,” he says, his eyes are on me.

She takes my gown and gloves and kisses my cheek before disappearing out the door.

“Colonel Blair, is there a problem?” I ask, folding my arms.

“I never thought I could feel as strongly for someone as I do for you,” he says, pacing the room as though he’s in pain.

“I don’t belong here,” I reply.

He gently picks me up and wraps his arms around me. “You belong at my side.”

“I will never fit into this world,”

“I will make you happy here,” he says.

“I admit that I have feelings for you, but I can’t stay. We both know that you will let Samuel come back, even after what he did to Ida, and people aren’t going to change their biases anytime soon.”

“You are right, I will forgive Samuel. I must forgive him. I have to believe he can change. I have to believe he is capable of redemption,” Colonel Blair says softly.

“He is an evil man!” I retort.

He shakes his head. “Regardless, I must believe redemption is available to him, or I am surely damned.”

I suddenly understand Colonel Blair’s motivations. He’s searching for nonexistent good in Samuel in an attempt to come to terms with his own past transgressions.

“You aren’t like him!” I say, wiggling out of his arms. “Don’t ever compare yourself to him! In his heart, he is a murderer!”

“Like him, I profited from slavery.”

“Unlike him, you are loved because you are a good person,” I demand. “Gabe and Henry would do anything for you, and it’s obvious Rose thinks of you as family.”

“And you?” His eyes are on mine. There is misery in them, and I can’t bear it.

I cross the room and remove a single rose from the bouquet. I place it in one of his large hands. He looks at the bloom and takes a deep breath as though he’s finding oxygen for the first time in his life.

Thursday, March 18, 1875

I blissfully sigh while sunning in the meadow. Colorful wildflowers sway in a warm breeze. I stretch my arms above my head, watching a fluffy white cloud float through the sky. I could spend the whole day in the quiet warmth. A call for help interrupts the peace.

“Rebecca!” Colonel Blair’s voice faintly shouts.

“Colonel Blair?” I look around the meadow in confusion. I can’t see him anywhere.

“Help me!” he calls.

I stand from my place in the meadow, following the sound of his voice. “I’m coming. Where are you?”

“I am lost in the darkness!”

I go to the cliff and gaze into the void, seeing nothing but black.

“Colonel Blair?” I hesitantly call.

“Jump, Rebecca,” he says. His voice is louder but still very far away.

“I can’t see anything,” I say with fear.

“I will catch you, but you must jump!” He becomes frantic.

“I will become lost!”

“If you are with me, I will protect you!” he promises.

“I’m scared!”

“It is the only way!”

I stare into the void, unsure of what to do.

*     *     *

It’s not yet dawn, but I have to desperately go to the bathroom. I carefully pull back the blankets, which is difficult because Colonel Blair is sleeping on them. I’m dancing as I get out of bed. My eyes go to the corner of the room, but there’s no way I would use the chamber pot, especially with the Colonel in the room. I wrap myself in a quilt before running out the door to the outhouse.

My feet are freezing by the time I make it back into the house. I hurry up the stairs, hoping for a couple more hours of sleep.

Once in my room, I cautiously climb back into bed so I don’t wake up the Colonel. Just as soon as I get settled, voices sound outside the door.

“You tell him to stay away from Miss Harris!” Samuel says. There is a brusque tone to his voice.

“I do not order James around,” Gabe’s voice replies. “He may see whomever he wishes.”

“Is that what you told your sister? She bewitched my brother into marrying her for my family’s fortune!”

“Emily loved John.”

“Creatures like you do not know what love is!” Samuel snarls. “You are nothing more than animals! Your sister pretended to be white to get her claws herself a rich, white husband so she could pass her nigger children off as whites! Fortunately, she only had the one, and he needs to keep to his own kind!”

“James has more white blood than black,” Gabe counters. “My father was white, and my mother was a three quarters.”

“I do not care! A nigger is a nigger! If Miss Harris knew the truth, she would run from this house, screaming!”

“Then, why have you not told her?” Gabe goads. “You know you want to.”

“And be the one to proclaim my family’s most shameful secret?” Samuel laughs bitterly. “I have decided to take it to the grave, so I will not add to my brother’s disgrace!”

“How thoughtful of you,” Gabe mocks. “It infuriates you that a mulatto like James is worth more than a white man like you. Does it not?”

“You just tell our
nephew
to stay away from white women, boy!” I hear Samuel stomp down the staircase. The front door slams seconds later.

Gabe is Colonel Blair’s
uncle
! I’m stunned by the disclosures I’ve overheard. I stare at the ceiling, deep in thought. Sunny wasn’t able to find information about Colonel Blair because it had been hidden to protect him. The skeletons in the Blairs’ closet were the kinds of things men in 1875 kept locked away. My head begins aching from information overload. I don’t know how I feel about this new development. All I know for sure is that I know very little about the man I am risking everything to save.

Colonel Blair turns over, and his eyes fill with horror when he realizes I overheard the conversation.

My first impulse is to be angry.
If he cares for me the way he says he does, why didn’t he tell me the truth?
His reality avalanches on me. By being white, Colonel Blair is able to provide for and protect those he loves. Still, it hurts that none of them trusted me with this secret. Rose unquestionably knew, and Gabe is his uncle for crying out loud! Regardless, I understand the secrecy. Lives depend on Colonel Blair’s white skin. I decide to forgive him, until he opens his mouth.

“Name your price, and I will pay you for your silence,” he says.

“Pay me?” I question insulted. I sit up. “PAY ME?”

I get out of the bed and grab my shoes.

“Miss Harris…” he begins.

I throw a shoe at him. He barely dodges it.  I yell, “Don’t you dare ‘Miss Harris’ me!  You claim that you love me and then turn around and try to pay me off like a common prostitute! Keep your stupid money! You big, fat, mean jerk!”

I throw the other shoe and storm out the door.

*     *     *

I stumble over the cold, sharp rocks, wishing I hadn’t been so hasty about throwing my shoes. I wrap my arms around my body in an attempt to keep away the morning chill. It doesn’t help much. The nightgown I’m wearing isn’t very warm. Still, I’m so angry I can barely see straight. I don’t know where I’m going, and I really don’t care. I need to clear my mind to determine my next move.

“Miss Harris!” Gabe runs up behind me, carrying a large quilt.

I stop and point an angry finger at him. “This is your fault, also! Colonel Blair is your nephew, and did you bother to tell me? Nope, not a word! Not in my time or 1875!”

“I promised my sister, on her death bed, that I would never speak of it to anyone,” he counters, putting the quilt over my shoulders.

“That might let you off the hook, but it doesn’t help anyone else!” I turn and continue my walk.

He easily catches pace with me with his long legs. “Only three of us knew, Rose, Samuel, and me. Of course there have been rumors among the other Negroes, but we protect our own.”

I stop and glower at him. “There weren’t just three of you who knew. There were five. Colonel Blair knew, and Rosanna knew.”

Rosanna appears next to me. “I did not feel it was time to share this information.”

“And when would be the appropriate time to share this with me?” I question. “I’ve never cared about skin color, but I do expect people to tell me the truth.”

“I had always planned to tell you the truth.”

“When? When were you going to tell me?” I demand.

“I have always known you were different but, to be certain, I was going to wait.”

“Did Colonel Blair’s father find out after the wedding?” I ask rudely.

Gabe sternly shakes his head. “No, John knew from the beginning.”

“Yes,” Rosanna collaborates. “He was in the New Orleans French Quarter when he saw Emily through an open window. He fell in love with her at first sight, not that I can blame him.”

“My sister was the perfect lady: beautiful, kind, demure, and petite,” Gabe says proudly, recalling a distant memory. “Mother died shortly after Emily was born, and Father took us to his home in France. I had more opportunities there, and everyone just assumed Emily was white. Of course, we lived and were raised as brother and sister, but it was thought that we had different mothers. For my sister’s sake, we did not correct this assumption.  I received a fine education, and Emily was treated like royalty. Countless men lined up for the chance to court her. Everything changed when father died. I had to return to Louisiana to claim my inheritance. It was supposed to be a short trip. Then John entered our lives.

“He wanted my permission to court Emily. I adamantly refused.” Gabe kicks a rock. “I knew he was a wealthy plantation owner who bought and sold slaves. I did not want my sister involved with someone like him. John was not to be dissuaded. Within six months of their initial meeting, Emily was pregnant with James. I was furious and made the arrangements for us to return to France, but John pleaded and begged for Emily to marry him. I reminded him that marriage between Negroes and whites was illegal. He said that it was only illegal if someone knew she was a Negress, and what better place for her to masquerade than as the white, French mistress of a plantation? Emily did not want to go along with his plan, but she ultimately conceded for her future child. The child of a plantation owner would have many more opportunities than the illegitimate child of a French Creole, especially if the child was male.”

“She prayed each night that her child would look like his father,” Rosanna interrupts. “She wanted the child to pass for white, as she had. When she saw James for the first time, she wept for joy. She had a son who could pass for white, but she lost her life giving birth to him.”

Gabe looks out over the horizon. “I was so mad at John and at God for taking my sister, I did not speak to either for a year afterward, nor did I leave Louisiana. I stayed with John, so I could watch over my only nephew. I thought I could never love the man who had taken her from me, but my admiration and respect for my brother-in-law grew alongside his son. John was a good man who truly loved my sister, but I only saw it after she was gone.”

“How did Samuel discover the truth?” I ask.

“John trusted his brother too much and spent the rest of his life being blackmailed by him.”

It makes so much sense now that I can put it all together.  John trusted Samuel, his own flesh and blood, and regretted it. Colonel Blair is afraid I will reject and hurt him because of his ancestry. Prejudice and racism are very frightening things. Still, I’m unhappy.

“Please tell Colonel Blair that I will be finding other accommodations.”

“Rebecca, I know you are hurt, but you must put away your pride,” Rosanna says. “Samuel could strike at anytime, and you are the key to stopping him.”

I don’t want to put away my pride. It’s been severely wounded.  “I will return to the Mansion, but only if I stay with Rose.”

“Rose does not need your protection, James does,” says Gabe. “You cannot allow Samuel to hurt him.  You came to protect him, remember?”

It’s so infuriating! I want nothing more than to step away from the situation, but I know I will fail everyone if I do. Sometimes it is very difficult to do the right thing.

“Fine, I’ll go back.” I turn around, calling over my shoulder, “but don’t expect me to be happy about it!”

*     *     *

I quietly moan in relief. The wood floors are heavenly after walking through cold mud and sharp rocks. However, I don’t want to run into Colonel Blair, so I tiptoe through the kitchen, foyer, and up the staircase. I pause for a moment as the fourth step squeaks, but I hear nothing other than Rose singing while coming in the back door. I proceed up the stairs, watching Colonel Blair’s door to make sure it doesn’t open. I head straight to my room, silently closing the door behind me.

“Leave me,” Colonel Blair mournfully says from the rocking chair. He stares into the fireplace, rocking while cradling my shoes in his arms.

“Colonel Blair, I must insist you leave my room!” I put my hands on my hips, giving him the dirtiest look in my arsenal.

At the sound of my voice, he jumps to his feet, dropping the shoes to the floor.  Before I can object, he charges. He throws his massive arms around me, picking me up off the floor.

“Put me down!” I growl.

“You came back,” he says the words in utter astonishment.

I wriggle in his arms. “Let me go, you big brute!”

He behaves as though he hasn’t heard me. “You are ice cold. Back to bed with you.”

“My feet are all muddy!” I object, trying to escape his vice-like grip.

He looks down at my dangling feet and sees I’m telling the truth. Wordlessly, he seats me in the rocking chair and goes for the porcelain pitcher and basin. Kneeling, he gently takes my feet and washes away the mud in the basin.

“I am more than capable of washing my feet,” I snap

The words don’t stop him. Using his hands, he tenderly cleans away the stubborn dirt.

“Rebecca, I love you,” he says with unmistakable reverence. “I love you with my whole being.  I’m sorry for my terrible treatment of you this morning. I should have trusted you. I should have told you the truth, but I was fearful of word getting out.”

“Why would I possibly want to tell complete strangers that you had a black great-grandmother?  I have better things to do with my time,” I retort.

“You do not seem bothered by my heritage.” His forehead creases deeply.

“When I was a little girl, I used to wish for dark skin, hair, and eyes like all the other members of my family. Why would your ancestry bother me? You could have purple skin and, it wouldn’t make a difference to me,” I say truthfully.

He nods, still watching me intently. “It is painful beyond words that the only uncle I have any regard for is treated poorly because of his skin color. And how can I possibly explain how I feel about my heritage? My grandmother was a slave, and my grandfather was a slave owner. That makes me both slave and slave owner.”