East of Orleans (2 page)

Isabella heard a rooster crow, followed by a quick shadow that passed her bedroom window; she figured it was her daddy’s hunting dog Tick.

She smelled fresh coffee and hot biscuits and decided to eat breakfast before sitting down to write in her diary. A flash of blue caused her to jump away from her oak dresser. Hot tears filled her eyes when she realized that she had left her diary down by the
Chattahoochee
river yesterday afternoon. She had been to the river with Tom Slaughter, her childhood friend.

There were not many boys around the river, and there were even less that she would want to court. Except for Tom. His family was dirt poor; everybody around the river was. Most all of the people in Shakerag had children that had gone without shoes in the winter or had gone to bed at night with a hungry stomach. Except Rollins Hartwell and his family. On a few occasions Rollins, his haughty wife Eliza, and their two spoiled brats Catherine and Jacob, had visited the
Shakerag
Baptist
Church
. All eyes had watched as the Hartwells made their way to the front of the church and took their place, tall and proud. They acted as if they had built the church from the ground. Granny said the only reason they were there was so Rollins Hartwell could lure some poor farmers into signing over their souls to his bank, and soon he would own all of
Shakerag
Valley
. Still all the girls in the valley wanted to court Jacob Hartwell, even though there had been talk that he had ruined one girl over in
Forsyth
County
. Isabella understood why girls wanted to court him. He was handsome, cocky and his pa owned the local bank. She thought for a moment about the time Jacob had tied his horse’s rein on the limb of an oak tree, and walked around the back of her house when she was there all alone. She guessed that she was as scared that day as she had ever been. Jacob must have known her ma, pa, and granny were not home. That afternoon she heard the kitchen door screech. She had just taken a sponge bath and had nothing on but her camisole and pantaloons. She hurried into her dress and walked into the kitchen. Jacob was there, just inside the door with focused eyes; his white blond hair fell just below his collar, and in his clenched fist were a bunch of her mama’s wildflowers. He had a boyish look, but he was somehow different than she had ever seen him before. She could feel the tension between them and the heat from his body, and the color left her face.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” he said with fixed eyes. She gave him a quick glance and took the flowers from his hand. While she turned and removed a vase from the cupboard, Jacob walked over, locked his arms around her waist and kissed her on the neck. She arched her back and shoved him away from her.

“I just want a little kiss,” Jacob said with a smirk. “What’s wrong with that?”

Isabella smelled a sour smell and backed away from him. She looked at his face and his dark brown eyes were gazing deep into hers. It was about that time, that her sister Livie’s husband, Henry Berkley, knocked on the kitchen door. Isabella ran to open the door. From the look on her face, Henry knew Jacob was up to no good. He stared hard at Jacob and then told him in a low whisper to leave and not come back unless he was invited. Isabella had never heard Henry speak to anyone like that, but it was more the look he gave Jacob than the sound of his words. However, it worked and she was glad that he was there. Both Isabella and Henry smelled the whiskey on Jacob, but neither of them said a word about it.

There was not a boy in the valley that made her feel like Tom Slaughter did. No one could tell stories like Tom. No one’s eyes were as blue; they danced when he talked to her, and no one could laugh like Tom. At six foot three, he was the tallest boy in the valley. His arms were rippled with muscles, his body tan and lean. There had been times on the river when his sleeves were rolled up and she noticed the muscles in his arms. With her eyes, she had traced the outline of his sculptured arms that stopped at the shirt above his elbows. She had wondered what he looked like beneath the shirt. Her thoughts had been interrupted when he looked over at her, smiled and shook the water from his blond streaked hair. She remembered a slight smile spread across her face and wondered if he could read her thoughts. He jumped out of the river and ran after her as she took off into the woods. That was the first time he had kissed her. Tom removed his wet shirt and she no longer had to use her imagination. He was beautiful in every way she could have imagined. He lay her easy on a bed of magnolia leaves and then lay down beside her; his fingers traced her face as the afternoon sun filtered through the thick canopy of pines and magnolias. His muscles felt warm against her breast. She had never felt so good and so uncomfortable. All at once, she clasped her small dainty hands in his smooth tan hands and he rolled on top of her. She felt his wet mouth cover hers. He pressed his body hard against hers; she could feel that he wanted more. Then he tore himself free and said, “Oh God, what am I doing?” He jumped to his feet and made some excuse about having to get back home. Isabella watched Tom slip into the distance. She knew they both wanted what neither of them had any idea about. She dreamed about what it would be like, and wished that she could talk about it to her only sibling Olivia, whom everyone called Livie, but she had left a few months earlier after marrying Henry Berkley. She remembered that day; Livie was dressed in ivory satin standing there in the front of the church. The sun shone through the rose stained-glass windows and glistened off the altar cross. She thought about what her pa had said, that he would no longer be the most important man in Livie’s life; now Henry Berkley would be. Isabella suddenly felt all alone, and to her, being alone was the worst thing in the world.

The early morning rain blew in the scent of flowers from her mama’s garden. Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she heard loud voices. She cracked open her bedroom door, peered through the crack and saw her mama tell granny to put the rifle down. Granny was motioning Rollins Hartwell toward the rock hearth.

“Granny, Mr. Hartwell ain’t bothered you,” Isabella’s mama said. “Ain’t bothered me? The hell he ain’t!” Granny shook her head at her daughter-in-law “Lila, that bunch has bothered us for as long as I can remember.” Lila McCoy glared at her mother-in-law.

“Go on, put that gun down before tomorrow you wake up and you have done embarrassed yourself and the entire McCoy clan. Besides, all this is liable to land you in jail.”

Isabella knew she was the only one who could calm Granny down. She stepped out into the main room of their small cabin, walked over and slid her arm around Granny’s tiny waist. She looked into her granny’s eyes and pushed down the gun.

“Granny, why do something like this?”

Granny raised her head. “Why? I‘ll tell you why. We all know Hartwell’s here to take our farm.” Granny paused and Isabella took hold of the gun and her granny’s hands. She ran her fingers across Granny’s tight, braided bun. Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. Come on in the kitchen and I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”

Isabella cast Rollins a sidelong glance. She led Granny, hand in hand, with her head held high, into the kitchen and away from Rollins before she shot and killed him, which she thought to herself was what he deserved. She heard a few more muffled exchanges between her mama and Rollins Hartwell, then the front door slammed and he was gone. Mama went to the stove and removed a pan of biscuits. Isabella walked over to the window and stared out into the yard. She saw her horse Gracie in the pasture, chomping on hay. Her pale blue eyes misted over. If her daddy knew the things that Jacob Hartwell had said to her, he would kill him and the whole Hartwell clan.

A short while later, Isabella heard the cabin door open and her daddy walked into the kitchen. He looked at her mama. There was a strong bond between husband and wife, always had been since the day Miles McCoy brought Lila Hopper down from Mule Springs and married her when she was sixteen. Her daddy walked over to her mother and squeezed her hand. She gazed into his eyes, knowing that he was the only man in the world for her and that he had tried to make her happy every day of their life together. He released her hand, walked over to his daughter, laid his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Come on, pull up a chair and let’s eat some biscuits while they’re hot. Granny fried up some ham and she’ll rant and rave if you don’t eat,” Isabella’s mama said. Isabella gazed out into the field that was too wet to plow. Daddy would plow it in the morning. She noticed black holes in the ground where her mama had dug for more marigolds next to the garden gate.

The five- room cabin sat off a dirt road that, when it rained, washed red clay. It was surrounded by tall pines, oak trees, sporadic bunches of wildflowers; black-eyed Susans, daisies, marigolds, and rose bushes that crept and climbed along the side of the house. Behind the place were an old barn and a smokehouse. Some had said that the Union boys used to hide out there during the war. Isabella thought of all the creatures that played along the banks of the river and decided if she could live any place in the world, it would be right here on the
Chattahoochee
.

They only had two mules, Zeke and Blue. Zeke was lazy as a hound dog and Blue was too old to plow much of anything. She wished her daddy were out of debt; she had even prayed about it, but so far, it had not done a bit of good. Isabella laid her hand on her daddy’s lanky arm; she noticed his worn clothes and the tired look on his face. It had been a long time since anyone had gotten any new clothes in their family, but she would never have the heart to mention a word to him. The only income they had was from a few crops and the sale of a pig every now and then. Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the long, pine table, laden with biscuits, molasses syrup, ham, and three generations in tattered clothes and looks of desperation on their faces. She turned and tugged at her daddy’s shirt; he smelled like the barn, hay and horses.

“Daddy, why can’t we plant cotton?” He looked at the floor and then back at her.

“Isabella, we’ve had this conversation before. I’m not about to have you women work in the fields, plant and pick cotton from morning till night.”

“But Mr. Hartwell’s brother-in-law, Jules McGinnis has made a fortune with cotton. If he can do it, why can't we? Do you think we’re not as smart as them Hartwells?”

She saw the sympathetic look on her father’s face. He whipped on his coat and headed to the door, then stopped, looked at Isabella, tilted his head and said, “Girl, it ain't about being smart. You gotta have more than smarts. You gotta have a little bit of money. And we don't even have a little bit; don't you understand?” He turned to face Isabella with a fixed stare and a firm voice. “No, you don't understand. How could you? A girl your age ain’t meant to understand, and you know what else?”

Her eyes searched his. “No, Daddy, what else?”

He ran his fingers through his auburn and gray hair, turned and looked at her as he opened the door. “Sometimes, neither do I.” Isabella buried her head in her hands and released the tears.

Her mother wiped tears from her soft brown eyes. “How could you hurt him that way?”

“I know, Mama,” Isabella’s voice cracked.

Granny got up and said, “Lila, she didn’t mean any harm.”

“He’s a man, how do you think he feels?” With a hard stare, Lila went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Isabella got up hugged her granny's neck. “Granny, why did she look at me like that? I ain’t never thought about how any of this would make him feel. I’m sorry.” Isabella placed her small hands on her hips. “I think I’ll saddle Gracie and ride down by the river.”

“The river. There ain’t no need in you going down there now,” said Granny. “Just because the rain has stopped don’t mean it ain’t going to storm,”

“I left my diary.”

“You left it where? Anyway it don’t matter; I am sure that it’s ruined now.”

“I hope not, but I want to hurry before it rains again.”

Isabella had been riding for a while. She stopped to eat some of Granny's ham and a biscuit that she had wrapped in a towel to take with her. She had just crossed the river when she had an urge to wade in it and cool off. She hopped down off Gracie and removed a pail from her saddle, untied and kicked off her shoes, leaned over into the river and got some cool water to drink. She rolled up her pantaloons, pulled up her skirts and began to hum as she waded out a short distance in the cold water. Gracie jerked the bridle away from Isabella's hand and turned her head to a noise.

Someone was approaching.

Twigs snapped and horse hooves plodded through the leaves against still woods. Isabella halted Gracie and listened. Her heart stopped and she held her breath. She thought it might be one of the Craigs, since their plantation was just a little ways down the river. Gracie shook her head and let out a neigh. Isabella led her horse from the cool river water and turned to roll her pantaloons down. She looked up at the tangerine streaked sky. Afternoon was about to close and the wind had started to blow. She knew she had to get home. She tied Gracie’s bridle to a low pine branch, and stood on one foot and hurriedly put on her shoes. Her dress was up over one knee, leaving a lean shapely thigh exposed. Then Isabella saw a figure move behind her. It moved closer; she dropped a shoe. A muscle tightened in her jaw and she froze in her tracks. Her eyes turned toward him. He was the last person she wanted to see.