Love and Glory: The Coltrane Saga, Book 3 (29 page)

He gave his horse over to the Negro groom who stood waiting at the foot of the stairs, elegantly dressed in a bright red coat and short black velvet pants. Then he made his way up the stairs toward the open doors where another Negro, resplendent in a white silk coat and black trousers, waited to announce his arrival.

Stepping into the huge, round entrance foyer, Travis was immediately struck by the opulence of the place. The largest crystal chandelier he had ever seen hung from the high, domed ceiling, sparkling with lights. The walls were covered in a rich paper embossed with huge red velvet roses and intertwining bright green vines. Polished cherrywood frames held oil portraits of austere ancestors. Beneath his feet lay an expensive handwoven Oriental rug trimmed in thick gold-braided fringe. On both sides of the foyer rose oak stairways covered in bright red carpet, curving up to the second-floor landing.

Rich. Very rich. There was no doubt about Jordan Barbeau’s wealth.

“I will announce your arrival, Marshal Coltrane,” the Negro butler pronounced in his very excellent English.

“No need.” Travis brushed him aside, handing over his hat but deciding to keep his gun holster. He was not dressed formally but had worn a new leather dress coat, starched white shirt, and black corded tie. His trousers were also new, dark blue, neatly pressed, and he had spit-shined his black riding boots. Thinking it over during the past couple of days he had seen no advantage in pretending to be anything other than what he was, a federal district marshal.

The butler nervously cleared his throat as he hurried after Travis. “Sir,” he called softly, anxiously, “please, sir, allow me to announce you. It is customary, and—”

“It’s quite all right, Willis.
I1
will announce the marshal.” The soft, feminine voice floated down from the staircase.

Alaina Barbeau stood on the staircase looking down at them in quiet amusement. Travis’ eyes swept over her appreciatively. She wore a dark green ball gown of watered silk, its shimmering highlights reflecting her sultry emerald eyes. Stones to match sparkled brilliantly at her throat and in her hair, where jewels held her golden-brown tresses in ringlets and waves.

Her small but firm bosom rose provocatively above the daring décolletage, and he watched as she trailed lace-gloved hands to touch the stones at her throat. She smiled with moist, coral lips. “Marshal Coltrane,” she spoke in a husky whisper, “would you do me the honor of escorting me into the ballroom?”

The butler stepped back, aghast at the flaunting of protocol as Alaina made her way down the stairs. She seemed to float, her dainty green-satin slippers barely brushing the red carpet. Travis met her burning gaze, the challenge there for him and him alone.

Reaching the foyer, she tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and looked up at him with a teasing smile. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you decided to accept my invitation, Travis. I suppose I will have to show you…later.” She gave him a mischievous wink.

Travis held his expression, suppressing the instinct to raise his eyebrows in surprise. A very bold lady, indeed, he thought with amusement. Either that or she was a first-class tease. He had his own way of dealing with coquettish females who carried their ploy too far. He enjoyed no game better, for he had yet to lose.

“Alaina,” he responded quietly, evenly, eyes-moving to her delightful bosom, then returning to her amused expression, “you have offered me hospitality, and that is quite sufficient.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I have much more to offer, Marshal. Will you be spending the weekend?”

“I had planned to. It does get lonely in that small room back in town.”

“You won’t be lonely here. I can promise you that. Now, shall we enter?”

He nodded, and they stepped through the doorway into the ballroom. All eyes turned to them as if on signal. The music trailed away, and a surprised murmuring skipped through the throng. It had, Travis decided at once, been in poor taste to escort Alaina into her own party. He was, after all, a stranger who had not even been announced.

A man emerged from the crowd, and Travis knew at once that this was Jordan Barbeau. He was of average height, but his sturdy build and powerful shoulders made him seem taller. His dark hair was short, silvered at the temples, and curled close to his head in tight ringlets. Clean-shaven, a blue shadow lingered along his square jaw. The same green eyes that sparkled so for Alaina were narrowed and angry in Jordan Barbeau.

He was the host and could not afford to voice his anger at the breach of protocol, so Jordan kissed his daughter’s cheek before turning to Travis and extending a stiff hand. “Marshal,” he murmured politely, “nice of you to come to my daughter’s party.”

“Nice of her to invite me,” Travis offered, noting the pleased expression on Alaina’s face. She seemed to be signaling that he was not to worry, for she could handle her father.

Stewart Mason was another matter, Travis realized as he saw him push through the crowd. Removing Alaina’s hand from Travis’ arm and tucking it beneath his own, Stewart glared at Travis.

Travis found himself shut out as the trio—Jordan, Alaina, and Stewart—faced their guests. “My daughter,” Jordan heralded proudly. “On the occasion of her eighteenth birthday, I present her to you.”

There was a loud ringing of applause, cries of “Happy Birthday,” and the orchestra began to play the traditional song. Everyone, except Travis, joined in to sing it to Alaina.

When the music ended, Jordan held up his hands for silence and everyone waited expectantly. “As on the occasion of my daughter Marilee’s birthday,” he announced jubilantly, “I present to Alaina one thousand acres of my prime land.” Enthusiastic applause interrupted briefly and he waved for silence. “And, as with Marilee, Alaina now receives her generous trust fund as a gift from me and her late mother, God rest her soul.” His voice broke effectively and Travis wondered if he was the only one who saw the show of dramatics for what it was.

Alaina dutifully kissed her father, then allowed herself to be swept into Stewart’s arms as the orchestra began to play a lilting waltz. She was now, officially, an adult and a wealthy young woman in her own right.

Jordan turned to Travis. “My butler should have announced you, Marshal. I would have done so myself, but the moment, as you can see, belonged to Alaina.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Travis shrugged. “I never cared for formalities. Don’t blame your butler. He offered.”

Jordan looked amused. “Alaina’s entrance was another display of her constant struggle for independence. She is quite a little rebel when it comes to social decorum. Quite frankly, it will be a relief to see her married. Someone else can deal with her little insurrections.”

Travis did not comment, and Jordan eyed him suspiciously, the smile fading. “Tell me, how much longer do you think you and the other marshal will be around? I must be candid and say that our people aren’t exactly happy at having the government send in outsiders to deal with
our
problems.”

A nerve twitched in Travis’ jaw. “When local law can’t deal with those problems, Barbeau, it’s the government’s duty to send in outsiders. Marshal Bucher and I will stay…until we are no longer needed.”

A shadow passed over Jordan’s face but quickly disappeared as he gestured toward the door. “I am afraid I am not being a very gracious host, Marshal. Would you care to join me in my study for a glass of my personal stock of brandy?”

Travis nodded, and the two men left the ballroom to cross the foyer and turn down a short hallway which ended at a spacious, oak-paneled room. “Do you like it?” Jordan asked as they entered and he closed heavy double doors behind them. “I had everything shipped from England—the leather furnishings, sofas, chairs, chandeliers, and even the mahogany desk. I love this room. It’s just as well. I spend much of my time here.”

“It’s very nice,” Travis commented while silently wondering if a tomb could be much gloomier.

Jordan took a crystal decanter from a cabinet, poured them both a drink, then toasted to a “pleasant stay in Kentucky.” He sat down in a large leather chair, crossed his legs, and looked straight at Travis. “So. Tell me. What have you decided since your arrival? That we are all a bunch of nigra-haters, out to destroy their race?”

Travis swished the amber liquid around in his glass, frowning as though considering the question. “I don’t think everyone in these parts hates the Negroes, Barbeau, and it would be foolish for anyone to think they could destroy the Negro race. Let’s just say that, after looking over the records in the marshal’s office, I find too many reports of crimes. I intend to find out why these things happened, and to see that more do not take place.”

Jordan looked amused. “That might prove difficult, Marshal. After all, you’re dealing with some Southerners who will never bend to the will of the Yankee bureaucrats. Just because they have given freedom to the slaves does not mean that those very slaves suddenly have the intelligence to vote, to own land, to live like white men. You’re a bright fellow. Surely you understand that.”

“They now have the freedom to try,” Travis said coldly. “It is a crime for anyone to stand in the way of their trying. Beating them, intimidating them, killing them will not be tolerated.”

“Let the nigra learn his place,” Jordan matched his tone. “Then we won’t have any problems. If the nigras don’t like not being able to run roughshod over the whites in Kentucky, then let them move farther south, to Georgia or Alabama. Perhaps they can do so there.”

“Don’t speak for all the whites, Barbeau. Let’s be realistic. The ones responsible for the crimes that have been committed are members of the Ku Klux Klan, for the most part. I’m sure there are many decent white people in Kentucky who don’t feel as you do.”

Jordan’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring slightly.
“I
consider myself decent, sir, and I am not a member of the Klan.”

“But I imagine you know who is.”

“Perhaps. I know everything that goes on around here. But that does not mean that I am necessarily a part of everything that goes on.”

Travis took a sip of brandy, staring thoughtfully at him over the rim. “If you know everything that goes on, then you could tell me who I need to look for, couldn’t you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jordan’s reply was swift. “And you should be aware, sir, that even if I do know whom you seek, I would never betray my neighbors. I’m afraid you are going to find yourself in for a very difficult time here. It could also be dangerous. The Kentuckians I know won’t welcome you.”

Travis looked at him steadily. “I’m not here as a goddamn goodwill ambassador. I’m here to do what I can to stop the mistreatment of the Negroes, and I intend to do my job no matter what,” he added meaningfully, eyes unflinching as he met his host’s angry stare. Travis paused, then continued, “As long as I’m here, there are a few questions I’d like to ask of you.”

“Go ahead,” Jordan snapped. “I won’t promise to answer.”

“To the best of your knowledge, just
why
are the Negroes being persecuted?”

Jordan smiled. “They’re uppity. As I said, they don’t know their place. Maybe the Yankees did set them free, but that does not make them as good as white people. No law can ever do that.” He got up to refill his glass, inviting Travis to join him. “Frankly, Marshal, I don’t like this conversation. I’m not involved in the Klan’s activities, but I must admit to being sympathetic. I’m a businessman, a farmer, and I also have a family. It does not please me that you even consider me involved in this nasty business enough to question me.”

“Look at it this way. I’m questioning you because you are important around here, Barbeau. My job is to find out everything I can. So don’t be offended.”

“No offense taken.” Barbeau smiled stiffly. “Now then, is that all you wanted of me? I do need to join my guests now that we’ve had time for me to make your acquaintance.”

“I have one more question.”

“Ask. Again, I may not answer.”

“Stewart Mason. He’s your foreman. You hold the mortgage on his property. It’s common knowledge he wants to marry Alaina. I don’t suppose you would tell me whether he has any dealings with the Klan.”

Jordan was clearly surprised, both by Travis’ knowledge of Stewart and by his audacious question.

“Come now, Marshal. Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I would allow my own foreman and future son-in-law to be a part of the Klan when you lawmen are out to get them? No. If Stewart is involved with the Klan, he is keeping it a closely guarded secret from me. I’m prominent in this state and well respected, and while everyone knows where my sympathies lie, they also know that I do not deal in anything illegal.”

Travis rose. “Very well, then. I suppose I have no further questions.”

Jordan also stood. “Then let’s get back to the party. The cake is yet to be cut, and I have champagne imported from France especially for Alaina’s birthday.”

They left the study and were entering the foyer as Alaina came in from the ballroom, eyes searching. “Oh, there you are,” she cried, scurrying forward and holding her dress with both hands to just above the tips of her satin slippers. “I want to dance with you, Marshal.”

“Alaina, do you think that’s very ladylike?” Jordan admonished her, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It isn’t proper for a lady to ask a gentleman to dance.”