A Cry at Midnight (37 page)

"The only thing any of us can do is pray," Randi said, "unless we want to go outside with a shovel."

"The men took all the shovels over to the Crowder place," Suzette said, her voice rising and falling as she walked back and forth. "That silly man never did believe Mas'r Jackson. I know he didn't build his levees high enough or wide enough to hold back the water."

"How do you know that?"

"I heard Mr. Lebeau tell Mas'r Jackson that he'd talked to one of the drivers who delivered lumber to the Crowder place. He said they didn't put timber in the levees. Mr. Crowder said wasn't any reason to spend the money on something that wasn't gonna come to pass."

"He was wrong," Randi whispered.

She wished she could look outside and see a whole crew of strong men reinforcing the levee around the house. Today, only two watched for breaks. Most of the men were at Crowder's plantation, trying to mend the break, which Jackson had called a crevasse. She wasn't sure what good fixing the break would do now, since to her the entire Mississippi River appeared to be surrounding the house.

"I wish I knew if they were all safe."

"I imagine we'd hear if anything happened to Mas'r Jackson. You can bet Mas'r Crowder would be over here in a snap, even if he had to float."

"Why do you say that?"

"There ain't no one else to take over this place if something happened to Mas'r Jackson."

"Oh, my God," Randi whispered, the thought of Violet Crowder running this house, and of Thomas Crowder issuing orders to the staff made her blood chill. Surely that wouldn't happen. Surely Jackson had made arrangements in his will.

Randi turned and walked to where Suzette paced. "Take Rose, please. You just reminded me that there are some things I need to check on."

Suzette nodded, continuing her pacing with the baby.

Randi hurried downstairs, headed for Jackson's study. If she had to pry open the drawers, she was going to discover if he had a will, who would be guardian of Rose, and who would take over this plantation. Blinking back tears at the idea of Jackson not surviving this flood, she pushed open the door to his private sanctuary. If history was correct, someone else would be looking for his will very soon.

#

"Lebeau, I need your help."

Randi cornered the butler when he came into Jackson's study some time later. She wasn't sure how long; she'd been digging through papers in all the open drawers for what seemed like forever. With the rainy day and surrealistic experience of being an island in the middle of a flood, she could no longer tell if it was morning or afternoon.

"What are you doing?" Lebeau asked, each word emphatically pronounced in that deep, booming voice of his.

"Going through Jackson's things," she answered honestly. "I need to find his will."

"Why would you need to find his will?"

"Because when Suzette and I were talking, she told me that if something happens to Jackson, Thomas Crowder would probably take control of Black Willow Grove. Do you think she's right?"

Lebeau nodded, but looked skeptical. "You say you know what's going to happen. How?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I tried to tell Jackson, and even show me, but then the rider came . . . Darn it, where does he keep important papers?"

"There's a lawyer in Randolph. He might have a copy."

"We can't get to Randolph!"

"There's no reason to assume anything will happen to Jackson. The water is rising, but not that high."

"I don't know how it happens," Randi said as she shoved a drawer closed, "but history says that Jackson Durant and his daughter died in the flood of 1849."

"History? What are you talking about?"

She faced Lebeau with her hands on her hips. "Do you remember the day we drove to Franklin's plantation and I told you about what would happen in the future?"

"What you thought would happen."

"You sound just like Jackson," she said, feeling intensely frustrated. Helping save Black Willow Grove from Thomas Crowder was something constructive she could do while Jackson was off battling the flood, but not if she couldn't find any legal records.

"Why don't you discuss this with Jackson when he returns."

"I will, but I have to
do
something. I'm not sure when he'll die--today, tomorrow, or fifty years from now, if somehow I've changed history--but he's got to protect what he loves. That means making provisions for Rose and for his plantation."

"Jackson will take care of his own."

"He'll try, but he doesn't believe me."

"Can you blame him? You claim to have knowledge of events yet to happen."

"I do. I read all about the history of this place in a book."

"There are no books about Black Willow Grove."

"Not now, but there will be, a hundred and fifty years into the future."

Lebeau looked shocked, taking a step back.

"I'm not crazy. Look, I can prove it to you. Stay right here."

She hurried from the room, her footsteps pounding up the stairs. Again, she retrieved her fanny pack, then ran back downstairs.

"Look," she said to Lebeau, who had walked over to stand by the windows. She moved the lamp on the desk closer, then lay the purse flat on the mahogany. She unzipped the compartment and pulled out her wallet.

"What is that device?"

"A zipper. They haven't been invented yet, probably, but we use them for everything."

Over the next few minutes, Randi showed Lebeau her photos, driver's license, and each item in the fanny pack. He seemed fascinated, examining all the pieces with great curiosity. By the time they sat down to talk, he asked her what was going to happen.

Finally, someone believed her.

She told him what she remembered from high school history, although she still couldn't recall the exact dates. Lebeau seemed concerned about what would happen to the plantations and the people who lived and worked on them. She remembered criticizing him for not caring for "his people." She'd probably been way out of line, but she was encouraged that he no longer seemed so disconnected from the slaves and freemen in this society.

"If something happened to Jackson, what would happen to people like Birdie and Suzette?" she asked Lebeau.

"They'd be part of the estate, going to whoever inherited the plantation."

Randi shuddered. "So whoever inherited could do whatever they wanted with the people, the house, and the land?"

"Within the law. There are some constraints that are supposed to keep slave owners from mistreating their property," he answered, his tone and expression telling her he didn't believe those laws were regularly enforced.

"We've got to make sure that Jackson has made provisions for them. I can't stand the idea of Thomas Crowder selling people off. Suzette, especially. She's been through a lot in her young life. To think she could be abused by someone else . . ." Randi shuddered.

"She never told me anything about being abused."

Briefly, Randi told him about Suzette's former owner, the baby she'd given birth to and lost, and her mistrust of most men. "She needs someone to love," Randi told him, "not someone who will use her like that horrible man."

"Many slave owners use the women that way."

"I know, but it doesn't make it right." Randi leaned toward him, touching his hand. "You'll watch out for her, won't you, Lebeau? She needs someone to protect her."

"I'll do what I can, Miss Randi."

"You don't have to call me that."

The butler shrugged. "Everyone calls you that. In your case, it's a sign of affection and respect."

"You're sure it's not just a required title?"

"No."

"Then I'm very flattered. I know I'm different than what you're used to. I never did blend in very well."

"Your hair," Lebeau said, offering her a rare smile.

She smiled in return. "It's a dead giveaway." She kicked out her feet so her tennis shoes showed from beneath the hem of the skirt. "And my shoes. You don't have Keds in 1849."

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Lebeau jumped up from the settee. At the same time, Micah entered the room holding a bucket of steaming water.

"Mas'r Jackson's just arrived. He's comin' in from the stable."

"I'll see to his meal."

Micah nodded and hurried out of the room.

"Can I do anything?" Randi asked.

"No, just give him some time before you talk to him. He always was more agreeable with a full stomach."

Jackson
finished his dinner, even though he was nearly too tired to eat. The crevasse at Crowder's Point was wider than he'd hoped--too large to mend without a pile-driving steamboat. They'd never get one upriver from New Orleans in this flood. He doubted they'd be able to get a boat or a rider downstream before the levee fell apart and the river flowed, rather than trickled, over their land. All they could do now was postpone the inevitable--or pray for a miracle.

Randi had been right when she'd said a flood was coming. A lucky guess, a nightmare caused by her near-drowning as a child, or true knowledge from the future? Of the three, he'd say a combination of luck and bad dreams caused her to believe so strongly in the impending disaster.

Of course, there was the unusual leather pouch she'd produced from under the bed. He hadn't remembered the item, but, as he'd told her, he'd been so angry to find a stranger inside his house, holding his daughter, that he'd been blind to nearly everything else. He wished he'd had the opportunity to examine the items inside.

Micah had faithfully brought hot water for washing. Lebeau had brought a report of their provisions. Too bad they hadn't made it to Randolph. Now it would be days, maybe weeks, before they could get a wagon through.

Damn the flood. Jackson rubbed his eyes and wished with all his heart he could make the water go away. He needed time to explore his relationship to Randi, because even though he knew her story was absurd, he still wanted her in his life. He loved her. He hadn't been able to tell her so last night before she'd denied his proposal and asserted she was from the future.

He'd tell her now, if she were here. He wondered if he had the energy to go find her. His arms and legs felt leaden from wading through knee-deep water, carrying logs, straw, and mud to rebuild a levee that had never been more than poor at best.

As if his thoughts of Randi conjured her up, she appeared in the doorway, holding his daughter. He smiled as well as he could.

"Jackson," Randi whispered, then hurried into the room. "You look terrible," she said, kneeling beside his chair.

"I'm happy to see you too," he said, reaching out his hand. Rose grabbed one of his fingers and held on. His precious daughter. She didn't care that he was bone-weary and half-drowned.

"I was worried. You were gone so long . . ."

"There's so much work . . ."

"Then the break can be fixed?"

Jackson closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't think so. Not without more equipment than we have available."

"Oh."

He opened his eyes. Randi still knelt in front of him, her expression one of concern and love. Rose wiggled to get down.

"I know you're tired," Randi said, "but there's something important I have to ask you."

"Go ahead."

"If something happened to you . . . something awful . . . who would become Rose's guardian? Who would take over Black Willow Grove?"

"More nightmares?"

"No, but please, Jackson, I need to know. I even went way over the line and looked for a will in your office. I'm sorry, but I was really worried. I still am."

"You looked through my papers?"

"Yes, like I said, I'm sorry, but I had to. I told Lebeau what I was doing."

"And he allowed you to continue?" Where did the man's loyalty lie? With an old friend or a young woman who believed she was from another time?

"Yes. I talked him into it, so don't be angry with him. You know how I can be when I want something."

"Persistent," Jackson said, offering another weak smile.

"That's me. Now, back to the subject. Would Thomas Crowder get control of your plantation and Rose?"

"As her closest living relative, yes, he would."

"That's terrible! Do you want him raising your child?"

"No, but there is no one else."

"What about me? I could take her away from this flood, Jackson. Maybe you too. Would you come away with me? I don't know if we can, but we could try."

"What are you talking about?"

"The sketch I made of the museum in my time. I got here through the replica of your house, so I thought maybe I could get back through a drawing of the replica in my time."

Jackson frowned. "You're not making any sense."

"I'm sorry. I know you're exhausted. I'm just so worried. According to the history books, you and Rose perish in the flood. I can't let that happen, Jackson. I love you both. I want you to come away with me. Come and be safe. I'll help you."