Darkwater (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

“Damn her,” Helen Dere said. Then, apparently realizing the impropriety of such a remark in the presence of a stranger, she quickly murmured, “I beg your pardon.”

“What is it?” Jennifer asked, startled into immobility. “Who...?”

“Please, it's all right,” Mrs. Dere said with a tightening of her lips. “Come, I'll take you to your room.” She put a hand on Jennifer's arm, in a seemingly casual manner, but her grip was firm, brooking no argument.

Puzzled by the outbreak and a little frightened, too, Jennifer allowed herself to be hurried along the hallway, casting uneasy glances to right and left at the closed doors past which they hurried.

Helen opened one of the doors and said, “Here you are. You can have this room for tonight. I'll have someone light a fire for you and bring you some hot water.”

“Please, don't go to any trouble,” Jennifer said, her meager confidence undone.

“It's no trouble. But if you'll excuse me now....”

“Yes, please.” Jennifer nodded her head and the other woman was gone, leaving Jennifer alone in the room.

What a strange place, Jennifer thought. She wondered who it could have been who screamed, and why. Apparently it was not an unusual occurrence, as Mrs. Dere seemed to recover her poise at once, although she was certainly annoyed. She was not alarmed enough, however, to drop everything and go running to see who was screaming and what about. That meant surely that she knew the answers to both questions already.

At the same time, though, there was something here, something...Jennifer frowned, trying to think what it was that she felt. She looked around the room. It was cozy, snuggled under the eaves, with a dormer window and an inviting window seat. It was neither opulent nor plain, but a comfortable little room in which it was easy to feel at home.

That was it, she thought suddenly—the feeling of being at home. As if she belonged here, in this house, in this room.

“I think I do,” she said softly, a smile brightening her face. “I think I belong here.”

For some time now she had felt detached from everything. Since her mother's death—no, before that, since the war.

At one time she had felt very much a part of the world, very much alive as only a young woman, healthy, happy, in love, can feel alive. Then had come the War Between the States, and her father had gone to serve. Her fiancé had gone, too.

Neither of the men had come back, ever, and she'd had to face the war alone, alone with her invalid mother after the servants had gone.

At first her mother had been able to get around and it had not been so difficult. But then had come the news that her father was dead in battle, and it was as if a mortal blow had been struck her mother too. True, she lived on, through the war and for years afterward until just a few months ago, but she had never recovered from that blow. It was Jennifer who had to carry the ever increasing burden.

The war. Soldiers. Pillage and looting, and worse. Homes destroyed, and those that were not destroyed, confiscated after the war. The Hales had been reduced from relative prosperity to penury, and in the end, they lost everything.

By then it had not mattered much to Mrs. Hale, who was hardly aware that she lived now in a cheap rented room instead of in her once lovely home. Jennifer had gone to work as a teacher.

At last, perhaps too much later, her mother had died and Jennifer had been left with nothing but a few dollars that she was able to get for their few remaining treasures—and the bills far outweighed those.

Which was how she had come to gamble on this job in a distant location, and why she felt so strongly the need to secure the job and remain here. It was not only that feeling of belonging here, of being at home.

She had nowhere else to go.

She sighed. Then, pulling her shoulders back rigidly, she began to remove her muddy dress. She found herself picturing Walter Dere. What an attractive man he was. For some reason, thinking of him brought back memories of her dear Johnny. She had thought those memories long banished from her mind, and was surprised, not only to discover them still there, but by their intensity.

She shoved those memories determinedly aside. The dead were gone, all of the past vanished. Those memories must be gone too. She could not afford that sort of romantic dream.

Her dreams now were of nothing more thrilling than survival. And for that, she would need all of her wits about her. She couldn't waste her time or her energy on ghosts from the past.

* * * * * * *

Helen Dere had been oddly impressed with their visitor. It was not only that the young woman was very pretty—you were taken at once with that, of course—or that she was obviously well bred despite the shabbiness of her clothes. Since the war, one had gotten used to seeing people dressed in shabby finery, even here in remote Durieville.

What Jennifer Hale had was a look of strength—soft and subtle, but enduring strength.

Of course she would never do. Alicia would never permit it.

Alicia. That woman! How she had disrupted the peace of an otherwise happy house, with her sickness.
We would be better off if she died
, Helen thought, and was at once shocked at herself.

She hurried back down to the first floor and along that hall, to the rear of the house. A young girl of about fourteen slipped from the door of the room at the end of the hall. The slim figure stood poised for a moment, as if for flight. Then she looked down the hall and saw Helen hurrying toward her, Helen's voile skirt making little swishing sounds as she moved.

The stiffness seemed to go from the girl's body. The shoulders slumped, the head drooped. Her young face took on a lethargic expression and her hands toyed listlessly with the pleats of her skirt, which was patently too short for her.

“What are you doing here?” Helen demanded of her.

“I came to see Alicia,” the girl said, avoiding Helen's direct gaze. The defensive note in her voice grated badly on Helen's nerves.

“And haven't you been told time and again not to bother Alicia, especially when she's having one of her spells. What did you want with her anyway? What did you do to make her...?”

From behind Helen, Walter's deep voice asked, “What seems to be the problem here?”

“Walter,” the girl cried. His appearance effected a marvelous change in the girl. Her dispirited pose was abandoned and she was suddenly filled with the vivacity to be expected of a girl her age. She darted around Helen to fling herself wildly into Walter's arms.

“You're back,” she squealed, sounding altogether like a child. “I missed you so.”

“Now, Liza,” he said, ruffling her hair playfully, “I was only gone a short while. What seems to be the problem with Alicia? Were you in there?”

Walter could not see the girl's face, buried as it was against his midsection, but Helen saw the quick, calculating look that flashed over it.

“I only wanted to visit with her. I told her I wanted to be friends.”

“That's my girl.” Walter patted her shoulder.

Helen, not in the least taken in, said sharply, “Why was she screaming? Is that what she thought of your offer of friendship?”

“No, she was screaming because she heard that Walter came back from town with a very pretty lady friend,” Liza said.

Walter's grin faded and he frowned at his mother.

And I'll bet I know who told Alicia about that
, Helen thought angrily. She kept that thought to herself and said aloud, “Liza, I think you had better join the other children and stay out of sight for a while.”

Liza's shoulders automatically stiffened in a gesture of resistance. Walter felt it too and again he patted her shoulder. “That's right, little darling. It won't do for Alicia to see you if she's in one of those moods, as we all know from experience. You go along now.”

“All right, if that is what you want me to do, Walter,” Liza said, emphasizing the “you” and casting a quick glance in Helen's directions. She left them, walking sedately for a few feet, like a young lady, and then breaking into a run.

For a moment Helen watched her go with a peevish expression. She loved children and she was well acquainted with their mischief and their ability to dissimulate, but this girl rankled in some way Helen could not quite put into words.

“What makes you frown like that?” Walter asked.

That Walter was completely attached to the child, she already knew. And she knew too that to express the opinion she had just thought would do nothing more than provoke a quarrel. She ignored his question, and said instead, “Alicia's been wanting to see you. She's been asking for you ever since you left, even before this latest.”

“It's all right now,” he said. “I will go to see her.”

He gave her a smile which did not quite erase the signs of fatigue that played around his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

Helen waited until he had disappeared into his wife's bedroom. Then she went along the hall, through the spacious dining room and into the roomy kitchen.

A huge black woman stood before the stove, stirring something in a large pot. In the heat of the kitchen her skin, black as ebony, gleamed as if it had been polished with wax. She was immensely fat, but when she moved, it was with a surprising grace and with the lightness of movement of a nymph, and when she smiled, opening her vast cavern of a mouth to reveal a full array of teeth and pink flesh, she had a unique beauty of her own.

Several blacks worked in the kitchen with her. Two young girls were busy just now peeling potatoes, but this woman, Bess, had an air of assurance that told you plainly she was the queen here, subservient to no one but the Deres themselves, and sometimes she seemed to manage them as well.

She turned from the stove and, catching sight of her mistress's grim expression, said, “Lord's sake, you look like you've been through the war all over again.”

Although it had been some fifteen years since the war to free the slaves, it remained in Bess's mind as the yardstick by which all other unpleasant experiences were measured. Here at Darkwater it had not made much difference in the lives of the blacks. There had not been so many slaves here as on other plantations and those who were here had lived pretty much the same before the war as after and with nearly as much freedom. The Deres had always been humane people and very progressive in that respect.

Indeed, Bess sometimes pointed out that in some ways things had been better before the war for the blacks here. Prosperity had benefited them as well, and blacks had not always fared well at the hands of Union soldiers either.

She knew, however, that elsewhere blacks had not had it so nice as here at Darkwater. The Deres were the exception, not the rule, and other blacks had plenty of reasons to celebrate their freedom.

These days only a few blacks remained, and they did not do so much farming as in the past. All over the South great plantations had been laid waste, and even many of those that had not been ravaged lay fallow, because the Northerners who had taken them over, breaking them up into little farms, were not farmers, or did not understand cotton or the Southern climate or the intricacies of growing cane.

The Deres had been fortunate in that, even before the war, much of their money was invested in the industrial North, so that their fortune had not suffered so much as their neighbors'. Moreover, Durieville was only a backwater town, not on the road to anywhere, and so had experienced little actual damage from the war.

“It's Walter,” Helen said absentmindedly. “He looks so strained. All this business of an invalid wife....”

Bess gave a disdainful snort. “Invalid? I'd say puttin' on, if you was to ask me.”

“Now, Bess, I can't believe anyone would voluntarily go through all Alicia's gone through,” Helen argued, but without the strength of conviction to her voice. “You've seen her when she is having her spells, she really does suffer.”

“The doctor said,” Bess began, but Helen had heard this tirade countless times before.

“Lest I forget,” she interrupted, “we have a guest. I've put her in the green room and we will need an extra place for dinner.”

“Yes'm,” Bess said. “This'd be the new nurse for Miss Alicia?”

That there was a guest in the house was hardly news to her. In fact, she had been informed of it when the cart first turned up the drive, as she was promptly informed of nearly everything that went on about the plantation. She had seen the newcomer even before Helen had. Peeking through a crack in the door as they alighted from the cart, her eyes had become wide circles of white in her black face and she had murmured to herself, “Land's sake, wait until Miss Alicia has a look at her. Umm hummm.”

She looked now entirely innocent, however, as she turned her attention once more to the pot on the stove. The boy had brought her a huge bowl of peeled potatoes, which she snatched from his hand wordlessly, making him look disappointed that he had not been thanked as he was used to.

“Go on,” she said out of the side of her mouth, shooing him away.

“No, our guest will only be staying the night,” Helen said. She did not offer any further explanation. She knew full well that Bess had already seen the newcomer and would figure out for herself why she would not be staying. She left the kitchen.

Bess grinned to herself and added the potatoes to the pot, making brown gravy splash down the sides.

She had been with the Deres since she was born, and was attached to them, especially to Miss Helen, who was her contemporary, with a passionate devotion. During the war, when other slaves, including some who had, as she put, “been treated like family by the Deres,” were running away or burning and looting their former masters' houses, and the Dere men had been away, Bess had guarded her mistress with an ancient flintlock, defying anyone, white or black, blue or gray coated, to enter the house uninvited. No one had.