The Wild Belle (2 page)

“Andrea!” her mother scolded.

“What?” Andrea repeated again with disdain, “She has ‘
courted’
almost every man from here to halfway to Savannah and still hasn’t found a suitable match. Maybe Lord Something-or-other would be a perfect match for her.”

“No,” Amanda stated coldly. She turned her gaze to Ashton. “Out, Ashton.”

Ashton opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when she noticed her mother’s expression. She lowered her gaze towards the floor and proceeded to the door. Walking past Andrea, she mumbled, “I hope he beats you.”

Andrea’s eyes grew large. Her parents watched in horror as she grabbed Ashton by her hair and jerked her backwards to her. Ashton whipped around to face her sister and was taken off guard as Andrea proceeded to slap her cheek.

Ashton’s look of shock was satisfying to Andrea. “Why, you ungrateful witch!” Ashton hissed raising her hand to return her sister’s slap. Her hand was caught by Ott.

“Enough! Both of you! Andrea, you are going to marry the Earl and, Ashton, you will accept this offer. And both of you had better learn to get along—if not for each other, then for Alyssa’s sake. Her coming out is next week, and if you two get into so much as one argument before then, I will refuse to let either of you attend.” Ott then added, “And neither will she,” knowing that if he didn’t, Andrea would not do as ordered. Andrea detested formal balls, but one thing that she would not do is prevent her sister from attending her debutante ball.

Ashton bustled up like a wet hen and stormed out. Andrea inwardly groaned. Why did they have to bring her baby sister into this? Alyssa was so looking forward to her debutante ball. She had turned eighteen two months ago. There was ten months difference between Ashton and Alyssa. Their parents wanted to have their coming outs together, but both girls refused. So Ashton had hers the week after she turned eighteen. But Alyssa wanted to wait. She wanted her ball to be in May, after the planting season, so all the eligible bachelors would be able to attend. The temperatures during May were not overly hot either, allowing the festivities to begin earlier in the day with a pig roast and ending with the ball that would last well into the night.

Andrea looked at her parents and nodded her head.

“Oh, Andrea, a few more things,” her mother said.

“Yes,” Andrea replied with dread.

“Number one, the Peterson’s nephew is arriving at their home today. I do not want you sneaking out in that sinful attire you insist on wearing. Number two, when Mr. St. John arrives tomorrow, I don’t want you to be gallivanting around in that same attire. This is a very important business arrangement he is bringing to your father. If all goes well, everyone’s dowry increases, not just yours but all of your sisters’. We need you to make a good impression. And number three—I don’t want you out of your room the rest of the day.”

“Mammy!” Andrea protested. This was her last day of freedom and now they were taking that from her, too?

“Don’t complain. You are to stay there for your actions towards Ashton.”

“All day? But it’s so hot today.”

Amanda looked into her daughter’s eyes and saw such sadness in them. Andrea was so much like her. She loved the outdoors and hated confinement. It was breaking her heart to force marriage on her unmarriageable daughter and now to force her to stay in her room. But if she gave in, it would show weakness and give Andi hope that they would not force her to marry either.

“All day,” Amanda ordered.

Andrea nodded her head and climbed the stairs. She didn’t go straight to her room. She stopped by Alyssa’s room first. Cracking open the door, she peeped in on her sleeping youngest sister, the one who looked most like her. She would behave for Alyssa’s sake. Just because she didn’t want to marry didn’t mean that her other sisters didn’t. Her oldest sister, Annabel, had married her childhood sweetheart five years ago and was now a mother of three feisty boys. Her three other sisters were still on the marriage market.

Abigail was twenty-one, which made her a year-and-a-half older than Andrea. She had a healthy line of suitors almost every day after her debutante ball. It took her two years to find someone suitable, because she had certain criteria she wanted in a husband. They had to be tall and muscular, but not overly so, with dark hair and brown eyes. She finally found a match in one of their neighbors, Stephen Calhoun.

Ashton was eighteen. She was constantly on the lookout for beaus. At her debut, the men were lined up out the door to meet her. She had the refined elegant look all wanted with a porcelain complexion and perfect poise. However, she was cynical, coldhearted and calculating. Even after they got to know her, they all still found an excuse to call on her . . . especially at night. Her hateful nature did not dissuade her suitors. They all would return because of her promiscuous nature. Andi lost count of the number of times she had caught Ashton sneaking back into her room, wearing only her shift with her hair covered in grass and damp from dew.

Then there was Alyssa. Alyssa and Andrea were equal in height and build. They had similar facial features. However, where Andi’s hair was the color of honey, Alyssa’s had a red cast, a true strawberry-blonde, many called it. Andi had her mother’s feisty dark green eyes and Alyssa had their father’s kind gray eyes. Unlike Andi, Alyssa was immediately trusting of others. She wanted only to find happiness like in fairy tales. Alyssa was their father’s daughter. She wanted to help anyone and everyone she met. She only saw the good in people. Andi had tried to tell her many times that people are not always as they seem. Alyssa would always smile and tell her that everyone has good inside them, even Ashton.

Andi quietly closed the door and walked to her room. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A mischievous smile crossed her face. Did her mother actually expect her to stay in her room all day? Well, for Alyssa she would . . . only for a little while. Andi decided to wait until after lunch to sneak out. By that time, her mother and sisters would take their customary afternoon nap. Andi closed her eyes and smiled. A nap would be nice. After all she had such a busy day planned.

Chapter Three

Michael watched his sea chest being loaded into the small boat and wondered how such a small vessel was going to hold his belongings and the guide, along with him. It looked like it could barely float as it was. The top of the vessel was sitting just at water level, and Michael was afraid that the extra weight would sink the small wooden craft.

He could hear the man he hired to bring him to the landing clear his throat. Michael looked in his direction. The man looked nervously around and began transferring his weight from one foot to the other.

“Is something amiss, Mr. Johnson?” Michael asked.

The elderly man shook his head. “Naw, everything’s fine, I jest need to be gettin’ back ‘fore I’m a needed elsewhere.”

Michael nodded his head in acknowledgement and walked over to the man. He pulled out several coins and handed them to the man. “Thank you for bringing me here on such short notice.”

Mr. Johnson nodded his head. “Yer welcome.” He turned and climbed back up on the buggy. “Young Amos should be here any minute now. It’s not like him to stray too far from his boat. You jest tell him Mr. Ott sent fer ya, and he’ll take ya where ya need to go.”

Michael nodded his head in understanding and watched the old man leave. He turned his eyes back to the boat, still wondering how this vessel would manage to get him where he needed to go without sinking. His thoughts were disrupted a few minutes later by rustling in the overgrown bushes surrounding the landing. A moment later a short, stocky black man appeared. He was carrying a rope with two slain rabbits handing upside down. The man looked at Michael with surprise in his eyes and then quickly turned his gaze to the ground.

Michael watched as the man walked over to him, all the while with his gaze on the ground. The man went to toss his prey into the boat but stopped when he saw the trunk. Michael could sense the man’s confusion.

Michael was not unfamiliar with the customs of slavery. Several land owners in the Caribbean owned them, even his own family owned several. Most of the slaves had come from the towns along the coast of South Carolina during the Revolutionary War. The British would raid the towns, steal the slaves along with anything else of value, and take them to the West Indies to sell. This practice made bitter enemies—still to this day.

Michael broke the uncomfortable silence. He understood the rule that slaves did not speak first, nor did they look any white man in the eye. He found it ridiculous—men were men, all created by God, none above the other.

“Are you Young Amos?”

“Yes, sir,” Young Amos applied, all the while keeping his gaze on the ground.

“I am Michael St. John. I was told you could assist me in locating Ott Craycraft. Is this correct?”

“Yes, sir. I can take ya right to him. That’s where I’s a headin’ now.”

“Good. Mr. Johnson has taken the liberty of loading your vessel with my belongings. How long will it take to navigate the river to get to our destination?”

“Not long,” Young Amos said as he scratched his graying hair. “About twenty minutes, give er take.”

“Splendid,” Michael replied. “Then let us be on our way.”

Young Amos nodded his head and followed Michael into the boat.

Michael was amazed that the boat held them. He turned and watched as Amos untied the boat from the landing. The black man reached down and picked up a long, thick pole and pushed the boat forward using the pole. His wrinkled dark hands worked the pole back and forth from one side of the vessel to the other. The pole was pushed and it would go deeper and deeper into the water, until only the very top was visible.

Michael’s eyes turned to the landscape around him. The low country was very different from what he was expecting. He had heard of the thick brush and tall weeping live oak trees, but he never dreamed of the exceptional beauty and tranquility of the land. The Spanish moss laced across the old live oak trees and then dipped into the water, giving it a mystical feel. The palmetto trees swayed gently in the cooling breeze giving relief to the sweltering heat and humidity that was dramatically different than what Michael was accustomed to. He spotted a snake slithering quickly across the slow moving river. As the serpent made its way to the bank, an osprey dove down and snatched the slithering serpent up in its razor-like talons. The bird flew off with its prey. Michael’s eyes turned back towards the bank of the river and he noticed a dark object slide quietly into the water.

“What was that?” Michael asked pointing towards the shore.

Amos didn’t even look in the direction Michael had pointed. “A gator.”

“Gator?”

“Yeah. Ain’t ya ever seen a gator before?”

“Yes, I have, but they are such elusive creatures. To catch a glimpse of one so close is unusual. Do they reside in the waters around our location?”

“Yes, sir. A boy was attacked ‘n killed by one a few days ago.”

“Was it here in the river and someone you know?”

“No, sir, I didn’t know him, but I knew his mother. She was downright inconsolable. It wasn’t in the river though. He was swimmin’ in a pond. Wasn’t supposed to be, though. He knew Big Gus was living there.”

“Big Gus?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what we named the gator. He was nearly twelve-foot long. Took about seven of us to pull Big Gus out of that pond once we killed him.”

“I’m saddened to hear of the loss of the child, but at least no one else will have to worry about the gator.”

“Naw, now we just have to worry about the sharks.”

“This is fresh water,” Michael said, turning to face Young Amos. “Sharks stay mainly in salt water.”

“Not the bulls. I heard that some have been spotted as far inland as five hundred miles.”

“Really?” Michael questioned with skepticism in his voice.

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t lie to ya, especially ‘bout them bulls. Them are mean critters.”

“I have had experience with sharks in the past and know not to interfere with them. So I take that it’s not safe to swim in the river?” Michael questioned with disappointment to his voice. He loved to swim. He was hoping to cool off in the river once he got settled but with the dangers in these waters he was hesitant. His brothers teased him frequently about his love of the water. They would tell him there are better ways to stay fit than swimming, like fighting. Michael would always inform them that he did not want to be big bruisers like them, just physically fit. They still teased him mercilessly, not only for his choice of staying physically conditioned, but his size. He was the shortest of the St. John brothers standing at six feet tall, which gave him the nickname of Runt.

“At times. I wouldn’t swim in it just now myself. A bull was spotted the other day ‘bout a mile from
Double Oasis.”

“What is
Double Oasis
?”

“That’s the name of Master. Ott’s plantation.”

Michael nodded his head. “So how did it get its name? Is it twice as nice as the other plantations?”

A proud smile crossed Young Amos’s face as he described his home. “I think so, but no, that’s not how it got its name. One day after Mr. Ott ‘n Miss Mandy bought the farm, they were out walkin’ tryin’ to decide where to build their house. Miss Mandy came across two crystal clear freshwater lakes, one wuz sittin’ on top of a small hill. It had a waterfall that fell into the second one. The water was too cold fer gators and snakes. So Miss Mandy said it was an oasis for her since she didn’t have to worry about ‘em. Once they found the lakes, they built their home ‘bout a quarter mile away, so that Miss Mandy could go swim without the worry of houseguests a spyin’ on her.”

“Smart woman,” Michael acknowledged. “But her husband allows her to wander off by herself?”

Young Amos gave a hearty laugh. “I don’t think he has much choice. If Miss Mandy wants to leave she will, even if Mr. Ott protests.”

Michael looked into the older man’s eyes. Amos looked back down quickly.

“It’s all right, Amos,” Michael said, turning away. “You have nothing to fear from me. Do not hesitate to speak to me as an equal. Now, from the way you talk about the Craycrafts, it would appear that you have known them for quite some time.”

“ ‘Bout twenty-five years now.”

“They are good to you then.” It wasn’t a question, but a feeling Michael perceived from Amos.

“Yes, sir. They’re very kind. Mr. Ott makes sure we have good overseers and that any supplies we need, we have. He works side-by-side with us during plantin’ and pickin’ season. He treats us like equals.”

“I am glad to hear that. I appall slavery and the cruelty that goes with it. Don’t get me wrong, my family owns slaves, but not out of necessity. No, our slaves are . . . are . . . well, they are not actually slaves. They come and go as they please and are paid for their work. No hand has ever been raised to them by my family. My mother taught several how to read, write and work with numbers. And they in turn taught the others.”

“Is that so?” Young Amos marveled with astonishment. He thought that only Miss Mandy did those things—in secrecy, of course. Having an educated slave was against the law, and if you were caught teaching one how to read or write, the punishment was severe, depending on who was the judge at the time. Sometimes there was a fine of one hundred dollars per slave, imprisonment, or twenty lashes. Miss Mandy was a brave lady for risking those types of punishments for slaves. But she didn’t care. She insisted that everyone should be well educated.

“Yes. Now then, a change of subject . . . do you think Mr. Craycraft will mind that I am arriving a day early?”

Young Amos laughed and smiled. “No, sir,
he
won’t mind.” Before Michael could ask him what that statement meant, Young Amos informed him, “We’re here,” and began moving the boat towards a small dock.

Young Amos walked past Michael, stood on the bow of the small boat and picked up a thin rope. As they came closer to the dock, he jumped onto the dock and pulled the boat closer. Tying off the boat, he turned towards Michael. “I’ll have yer belongings brought to the big house.”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Michael said, climbing out of the boat. “But I can manage to carry my sea chest.”

“Naw, sir,” Young Amos replied, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be fittin’ fer you to take it to the house. Mum Sally would take a broom to my hide if’n she saw you carryin’ yer belongings.”

“Who is she?”

“My mum,” Young Amos stated with a ‘who else’ tone.

“Of course, how silly of me,” Michael replied as the corner of his mouth turned upward with a half grin.

“ ‘Bout time you got back, boy,” Michael heard a man yell from behind him. He watched as an elderly black man hobbled towards them. The man took his old wrinkled hand and rubbed the side of his bearded face. The man furrowed his brow together causing a deep crevice to appear between his eyes as he looked at Michael. He then turned his gaze back to Young Amos. “Beg yer pardon, sir. I didn’t know my boy had a guest with ‘em.”

“Quite all right,” Michael replied, studying the older man a little longer. “I am Michael St. John. Mr. Craycraft is expecting me.”

A confused expression crossed the older man’s wrinkled face. “I thought he wasn’t expectin’ ya ‘til tomorrow.”

“My ship made excellent time. I hope my early arrival will not be an inconvenience.”

The older man looked at Young Amos. Young Amos gave a big smile and nodded in Michael’s direction as an indication that his father could speak freely to this man.

“Well, ya might be in fer a little surprise is all. Miss Mandy is in one of her moods, but it ought ta straighten out when she sees you. Did my boy treat ya good, Mr. St. John?”

“He saw to my needs without issue. I have no complaints. Now, since his name is Young Amos, am I to assume your name is Old Amos?”

The older man looked at Michael and gave a wide toothy grin. He gave a small laugh that sounded more like a “tee hee” than an actual laugh. “Yes, sir, you guessed right.”

“Very nice to meet you, Old Amos. You may call me Michael. Mr. St. John is too formal for me. Young Amos has assured me he must take care of my belongings or his mother will ‘take a broom to his hide.’ So if you would be so kind as to direct me to Mr. Craycraft, I would be grateful.”

“This way, Mr. Michael.” Old Amos turned and walked up the dirt-and-sand-covered bank. “Boy, be careful as ta not drop Mr. Michael’s belongin’s. We all know how clumsy ya can be.”

“I dropped one thing in forty years and ya act like it’s an everyday occurrence,” Young Amos yelled at his father.

“Yeah, but it was Miss Mandy’s belongings.”

“And she forgave me, too.”

“Yeah, I know. Just like to keep remindin’ ya,” Old Amos said as he turned and waited for Michael to meet him on top of the riverbank.

Michael crested the riverbank and was taken aback by the view before him. The multitude of live oak trees lining the sandy path was breathtaking. They formed a tunnel as their long branches stretched outwards touching each other. Squirrels were taking advantage of the closeness of the trees and hopped from branch to branch as they played. He followed Old Amos down the shady lane and was awestruck by the landscape. Every aspect was well manicured; there wasn’t a weed to be found or a flower out of place. The fragrant scent of magnolias filled his senses. He looked to his left and noticed a colorful display of foliage from the tropical plants. Roses of every color imaginable surrounded crape myrtles blooming in vibrant pinks and whites. As they neared the end of the tree-lined path, Michael could begin to make out the house. It was a large white home in the antebellum architecture style so many of the other homes in this area presented. They were at the back of the home, but he could see the large wraparound veranda with its black iron railing, which he assumed went around the entire house. The large windows had black shutters to each side. They approached the side and he noticed that his assumption had been correct. As he neared the front of the grand home, he could see the semicircular extension of the cupola on the front of the home. His examination of the home was cut short by gunfire.