A Cry at Midnight (30 page)

"Yes, but you, personally? Surely you can't be against gaining your freedom." He didn't say anything, so she continued. "What would you do if you were free?"

He seemed to be thinking hard. The silence was broken only by the mud-cushioned footsteps of the horses and an occasional creak of the buggy.

"I expect that I'd go on being Jackson Durant's butler."

"Really? But why, if you could go anywhere, do anything you wanted?"

"Because . . . " He shook his head. "I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm going to so I can try to make you understand. I'd go on being his butler because I already am a free man. That doesn't mean a darn thing when you're black and in the South, though."

"You're not a slave? But you call him 'master' just like everyone else."

"No one knows, and I'm hoping you won't tell them. It's nobody's business but mine and Jackson's."

"One night, I overheard the two of you talking. I thought it was odd, but I couldn't imagine what. Now it makes sense."

"I call him 'mas'r' around the other slaves because it's expected."

"I can understand that, I suppose, since you're a role model."

Lebeau snorted. "I'm not trying to be any role model. I'm trying to make my life easier. I don't need them thinking I'm some uppity . . . black man because I'm free and they're not."

"You don't care about your people?"

"Those people aren't mine, Miss Randi," Lebeau said, his eyes cold and assessing. "Those people belong to Jackson Durant. The two of us understand that. I sure hope you don't plan on upsetting things around Black Willow Grove."

"Jackson
, I'd like to learn how to ride a horse," Randi announced the next morning just after breakfast.

She'd waited until he'd finished his meal, then approached him in the hallway. Hopefully, he'd be in a better mood since he had his house back from all the guests and the rain had held off another day.

"Why do you need to know how to ride?"

"Because everyone should know, don't you think?"

"Every lady," he said, brushing past her on his way toward the front door.

She closed her eyes for a second, feeling his insult deep beneath her skin. He was never going to let her forget that she'd gone to bed with someone who wasn't her husband. She supposed she should have lied to him, but that wasn't her style. She'd learned early in life that she couldn't keep up with lies, so she'd usually stuck to the truth. Just look at how poorly she'd lied when she'd first arrived here! Jackson had known all along she wasn't the governess he was expecting, she didn't know Miss Agnes Delacey, and she hadn't lost her trunk overboard from a paddlewheeler.

Still, he'd allowed her stay and care for Rose. She hoped he'd tell her why before she left, but doubted he'd ever admit his feelings.

Catching up to him by running across the marble floor, she grabbed his arm before he went out the door. "Please, Jackson. I know you're frustrated with me, but I'd really love to learn how to ride. Couldn't we just call it payment for taking care of Rose?"

"Payment?"

"Yes," she said, getting irritated with him despite her vow to behave herself until she accomplished her goal--getting him and Rose away from Black Willow Grove. "People are usually paid for their services, aren't they? I'm not one of your slaves, although I know you're used to that particular system of keeping good help."

His face flushed with anger and he shook off her arm. "You go too far."

"Why, because I pointed out the obvious? Or because I had the nerve to touch you?"

Quicker than she could think, his hands closed around her upper arms and pulled her close. "I never denied you the right to touch me. In fact, I distinctly remember encouraging you to use whatever skills you possess to--"

She twisted out of his grasp, then slapped him as hard as she could across his cheek. Immediately horrified at what she'd done, she took a step back, then spun on her heel, picked up her skirts, and ran toward the back of the house.

Flinging open the back door, she cut across the covered walkway, then ran as fast as she could toward the alleyway of flowering trees. White petals rained down on her as she pounded across the damp earth, her skirts pulled high, her lungs burning. She'd just reached the end of the corridor when she heard pounding of another kind.

She looked back in time to see a flash of red. Then a strong arm closed around her, lifting her against the heaving side of a horse that seemed on the verge of being out of control.

"Let me down!"

"Be still or I will. I doubt you'd survive being trampled, even though the ground is soft."

Randi immediately stilled. She'd seen the horror of broken bones in 1849; she had no desire to be a patient of that quack, Dr. Shelton.

"Relax. I'm pulling you up onto this horse because I'm certain you'll try to run again if I let you go."

"No, I--"

"Relax!"

With a command like that, how could she resist? Trying her best not to stiffen up, or pull against him, she let Jackson haul her onto the saddle of the nervous animal.

"I don't think your horse likes me here."

"If I can tolerate you, so can he."

Again, she felt his insult deep inside her soul. Biting her lip so she wouldn't say anything else, she sat silent across the saddle as they galloped away from the house.

How unlike the ride to Franklin's plantation that evening last week. This ride felt angry and stiff. She had no urge to melt into Jackson's warm body, nor did she sense any desire in him to hold her close. On the way to Eastland, he'd asked her to hold him around his neck, encouraged her to snuggle close. Now, he seemed to want to be as far distant from her as possible without shoving her off the saddle.

If he didn't want to be around her, why not just let her go? Why not let her run away, foolishly without any food or money? Why not stop the horse, deposit her near the road, and tell her good riddance?

Jackson's actions didn't make any sense to her . . . not that she was in any emotional condition to rationally consider his reasons. The only thought that popped into her head was that he was carrying her off because he didn't want to murder his daughter's governess inside the house. She'd probably been watching too much television, though.

They rode in silence for what seemed like a long time, but Randi knew couldn't have been more than ten or fifteen minutes. The air was heavy with the smell of muddy water as Jackson urged the chestnut up the steep levee by the Mississippi. Randi's heart seemed to skip a beat at the horse faltered, then got his footing and surged to the top.

She gripped Jackson's coat lapel as he pulled the animal to a stop. The horse's sides heaved with exertion, and Randi felt the same when the reality of where they were hit her. Stretched before them was Ol' Man River, out of his banks and raging strong over willows and up the trunks of huge cottonwoods. Snags of driftwood spun and dived beneath the current, then reappeared farther downstream.

So similar to the time she and Russell had taken their driftwood raft out onto the river, only this was worse. Much worse.

"How long has it been this way?" she whispered.

"Not long. The packet was able to leave early yesterday, but I had word the current was running faster." He looked out over the wide expanse of river, then added. "I'm surprised."

She was too, not to mention alarmed. "Doesn't this make people nervous? Surely they'll take extra precautions against the flood."

"I hope so."

When the horse shifted beneath them, Jackson startled, as though he'd forgotten that they were still sitting together on the mount.

"Sit still," he told her before dismounting.

Within a few seconds, Randi was standing on the solid, damp ground. Through the soles of her feet, she could almost feel the power of the water as it rushed past, much too close for comfort.

"How sturdy is this levee?" she asked nervously, stepping back.

"Reinforced and packed solid," he said, walking the horse a few yards farther down the earthworks. "The best I can build."

I suppose I should be reassured by that comment
, she told herself as she followed a respectful distance behind the chestnut.

Jackson didn't walk far. Apparently he'd found a dryer spot, because he loosened the girth, removed the saddle, and spread the blanket on the ground. Since there were no branches around, he tied the horse's reins to a ring on the saddle.

She hoped the animal didn't get spooked and leave them here. She wasn't ready to spend any more time than necessary beside the raging flood, especially when she kept seeing driftwood and dead animals floating and dipping past like log rides at Opryland.

"Sit," he said, motioning to the blanket.

There was barely room for two, but somehow they both managed to settle fairly comfortably on the ground. Jackson sat with his elbows propped on his spread knees, his black boots resting flat on the clay soil. Randi tucked her long skirts around her ankles and tried to keep her knees together by looping her arms beneath her legs.

"I apologize for the seating arrangements. I wasn't expecting this when I left the house."

"Then why not just go back? Why have you brought me out here, except to torture me with the sight of the river?"

"I didn't realize you'd consider it torture."

"Really? Maybe I wasn't clear about how terrified I am of the water."

"The water isn't that close to us here. This levee is plenty high to handle any flood that they've had in recorded history.

Randi remembered a few years back, when they'd called the Midwest's rising water a "five hundred year flood." She supposed Jackson wouldn't believe her if she reminded him that "recorded history" wasn't very long. "So why am I here?"

"I'm not sure," he said, looking down at the dirt. "I shouldn't have insulted you in the entryway."

"Are you apologizing?"

"Yes, dammit!"

"Well, I'm sorry I slapped you. That was . . . unexpected. I don't think I've ever slapped another person in my life."

"I'm glad to hear that. I don't surround myself by violent people, especially those in contact with my daughter."

"No, you don't want that. You don't have to worry, because I've never struck a child."

He nodded, then remained silent for long seconds as he watched the water rush by. "Why won't you talk about yourself, Randi?"

"I already told you that you wouldn't believe me."

"And what if I don't?"

She drew in a deep breath. "You might send me away."

"You're leaving anyway. You've said so many times. What difference does it make if you leave in a few weeks or tomorrow?"

"I . . . I know I have to leave. I know what's going to happen."

"From your dreams?"

"Look, I can't tell you how, okay. Please don't keep asking."

He sighed. "All right, how about another question? You arrived her saying you'd come to care for Rose. Why did you say that?"

"Because I think that's true. She was a child without a mother and she needed me."

"Then she'll still need you after the flood passes."

Randi looked down at her lap, blinking back tears. All she could do was shake her head.

"Is there something special about my daughter? How did you know that she needed you?"

"I heard her crying . . . in my mind. I knew I had to find out why she was so sad."

"Certainly you've known other babies. You take care of her as though you've done this many times before."

"My nieces and nephew," she added quickly.

"If they mean so much to you, why aren't you home with them?"

"Because Rose needs me!" she said, the words rushing past her frozen throat. "She was lying there crying all alone, and I couldn't stand it! No baby should be like that, all alone, not knowing that someone loves them. Not feeling the warmth of hands holding them, not knowing a mother's love. No baby . . . no baby . . ."

She buried her head in her hands, her chest heaving as she cried for the baby she'd never held, for the life that a senseless accident had snuffed out so prematurely.

She barely felt his arms come around her, but then she was crying against his shirt, her hands clutching his lapels. He murmured words she couldn't understand, his hands stroking her back. When she shivered, he took off his coat and snuggled it around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said, gulping in air. "I'm trying not to cry."

"Maybe it's best that you just go ahead. Let go of whatever is bothering you. Sometimes the secrets we hold so dearly haunt us."

She knew his words held a more meaningful message than she could decipher right now. Her mind refused to think beyond the pain of losing her own child. Her secret . . . the one she didn't even talk about to her parents, because she didn't think they'd understand the emptiness she lived with every day.

"What baby haunts you, Randi?" Jackson asked softly.