Legacies (11 page)

He waited to make certain they did his bidding, then pulled a kerchief from his pocket and blotted the perspiration from his brow and neck. Taking advantage of these few moments' respite from his duties, he shrugged out of his day coat and hung it on a wall peg. Next to it was another black coat with a top hat and a pair of white gloves on the shelf directly above it, part of his nephew Ike's livery uniform as the Stuarts' driver. Glancing over his shoulder, Shadrach smiled at the young man seated at the kitchen table, taking pride in the way his sister Phoebe's son had grown.

Ike was an intelligent and handsome man. Tall like his grandfather and namesake, he was leaner, without the bulging muscles his grandfather had acquired from working at a blacksmith's forge. Although lighter skinned than Shadrach's father, Ike had the same honed jaw and cheek and long, straight nose that came to a point like an arrowhead, the line of the nostrils flaring back.

Shadrach walked over to the big metal coffeepot and poured a cup. "Where is your father, Ike?" He had expected to find him sitting at the table, eating with his son.

"Outside I guess." Ike sat with both elbows resting on the table, a fork in one hand, a piece of fried bread in the other. "Keeping watch, I imagine. You know how Master Blade is whenever that brother of Miss Temple's around."

But he didn't look up from his plate when he spoke, his answer barely audible. That wasn't like his nephew. Frowning, Shadrach sat down on the long bench opposite Ike. Lifting the cup to his mouth, Shadrach blew on the scalding hot coffee and quietly studied his nephew. From the looks of the plate, Ike hadn't eaten more than three or four mouthfuls.

"Doesn't look like you're very hungry."

Ike shot a quick glance at him, then again lowered his head to stare at the plate, the fork in his hand now idle. "It's too hot outside today, I reckon."

"Or else you have something on your mind. Want to tell me about it?" Calmly, Shadrach took a sip of the coffee and waited, noting Ike's increased tension and vague agitation.

Ike leaned forward, resting all his weight on his forearms and casting an anxious glance at the kitchen staff to see if they were listening. "Haven't you ever wanted to be a free man, Uncle Shad?" His voice vibrated with the effort to keep it low—and the intensity of his feelings.

Shadrach stiffened. He had expected Ike to confide in him about a woman or maybe the new overseer at Grand View, but not this. "You aren't thinking of trying to run away, are you, Ike?"

Resentment and hurt flashed across Ike's face as he tossed the piece of bread and his fork onto the plate, indifferent to the clatter he made. He pushed back and rose to his feet. "I should have known you felt just like them," he muttered and headed for the door.

Stunned by the underlying anger, Shadrach was slow to follow him outside. Ike stood at the far end of the kitchen's sheltering overhang, his hands on his hips, the stance mirroring his frustration as he stared at the milky blue sky.

When Shadrach started toward him, Ike glared. "Go away. Just go away."

Shadrach hesitated, then continued forward. "Your question took me by surprise, Ike."

"Yeah." He expelled a short laughing breath that reeked with bitterness.

"Would you like to hear my answer?"

"Why? I know how much you think of your mistress. I've heard the story a thousand times about Miss Eliza teaching you and my mother, the way she used to leave lessons and books out for you after your own mammy refused to let you go to the school. You feel the same loyalty toward her that my father feels toward Master Blade."

"Loyalty has got nothing to do with being a slave. It's something you give freely because it's been earned—not because you'll feel the lash of a whip otherwise. Slave or free, I would feel the same toward Miss Eliza. And every slave in this world has his dreams of freedom, Ike, and don't you ever think otherwise. But a slave has only got two ways to get his freedom—he can either earn enough money to buy it, Or serve his master the best he can and hope that he will be rewarded with his freedom. Running away isn't being free. It's just running, trading one life of fear for another."

Ike lowered his head. "What about this war everybody is talking about, Uncle Shad? Do you think they will really send armies into the South to free all the slaves?"

"That's what everybody says, and I think it might happen."

Ike heard the hesitancy in his uncle's voice as if he, too, was uncertain whether he should believe freedom could come to them. Somewhere nearby a lark sang. Ike gazed at the plantation, the manor house, the orchards, the distant slave cabins, and the fields of tall corn and cotton. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be free. This was the only life he had known. Every morning he had awoken to the sound of the horn blowing, summoning the slaves to work. Every day, he had done what he was told to do. He had never owned anything in his life, not even the clothes on his back.

"If you were free, Uncle Shad, what would you do?" he wondered.

"I would teach." The answer came quick and strong. Surprised, Ike glanced at the slender wisp of a man who was his uncle. There had never been any size to him. And Ike had never thought of him as being strong. His mind was quick— and filled with many stories and much knowledge, but strong? No, Ike had never thought of him that way. Now he saw his uncle's strength—there, in his face as he dreamed. "I would build a schoolhouse and I would teach as many children as the building would hold. I would free them from ignorance because it enslaves."

Ike said nothing. Instead he let his uncle's words ring in the summer air, quietly spoken yet no less fervent. Dreams. There had to be more than dreams.

 

 

 

7

 

 

Lije stood with the others on the shaded front veranda that served as an impromptu grandstand for the afternoon's match race. The irregular course followed a narrow dirt lane that swung away from the house, curved between two fields, and circled back to the front of it, with the iron ring post serving as the finish line.

"Can you see them yet? Can you see them?" Sorrel bounced up and down with excitement, straining to catch a glimpse of the racers.

"Not yet." Lije scanned the dirt track between the fields. "They should be making the turn at the fields about now. We should see them any minute."

Too impatient to wait, Sorrel dashed off the steps and into the center of the temporary race course. Temple took a step off the veranda. "Sorrel, you come back here this instant."

"I will, Mama. I will." But she continued to peer down the road. Just as Temple started after her, Sorrel turned, all excited. "Here they come! Here they come!" she cried, running back to the veranda.

The sound of drumming hooves reached Lije first; then he saw the two horses racing toward the house, both riders bent low. The sleek black filly was in the lead, stretched out flat and driving effortlessly. On her heels pounded a bright red chestnut. The chestnut surged forward in a burst of speed.

"He's catching her," Will murmured, intent on the racing pair. "He's catching her."

"Come on, Firestorm," Eliza urged, her earlier objections to the race forgotten in the excitement of it. "Come on, boy."

"Run, Shooting Star. Run!" Sorrel shouted in counterpoint.

Off to the side, Alex muttered directions to the jockey. "Stop holding her back. Let her have her head. Let her run."

As the two horses thundered closer, the black filly seemed to flatten out a bit more and shot into the lead. The chestnut tried to answer the challenge but ran out of ground. The duo swept past the finish line with the filly a half-length in front.

In the aftermath of laughter and congratulations that carried the others off the veranda to wait for the racers to canter back, only Lije noticed the one-horse shay coming down the lane. He studied the vehicle, unable to make out its two occupants, but he felt sure he recognized the bald-faced roan pulling it.

Stepping off the veranda, he moved to his father's side just as his ever-alert servant Deu came up. "Someone's coming down the lane, Master Blade."

As his father turned to look, Lije added, "If I'm not mistaken, the horse and shay come from Johnson's Livery."

"I think you are right." The Blade pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it, but his attention remained on the vehicle. The two blowing racers trotted back to the group, distracting the others.

"Can you see who it is?" Lije asked.

"Not yet."

"I think there are two people," Deu said.

As the horse and shay drew closer, Deu's observation was confirmed. The vehicle's hooded top kept the faces of its occupants in shadow, but it was clear there was a man at the reins, accompanied by a woman in a gown of lavender. The sharp
clip-clop
of the roan's hooves and low rumble of the shay's wheels soon attracted the notice of the others.

"We have visitors, Eliza," Will remarked.

She turned with a frown. "Who on earth would come calling today?"

Curious, the others gathered around. Instinctively, The Blade glanced over his shoulder to locate Kipp. But he was on the far side of the group, holding the bridle of his son's filly, absently stroking its black muzzle.

When the driver halted the shay in front of the house, one of the grooms dashed forward to hold the roan's bridle. Lije watched as the man climbed out of the vehicle and straightened to stand tall and erect, his golden beard shot with silver. Lije jerked his gaze to the shay's passenger, recognition jolting through him.

"Why, it's Jed Parmelee," Eliza murmured in surprise as Jed came around to the passenger side and extended a helping hand to his female companion. "But who is that with him?"

Lije knew the answer to that even before the gloved hand appeared and the first dainty foot peeked from beneath the hem of her lavender gown. He steeled himself against the sight of her as Diane Parmelee stepped to the ground and raised her lavender-and-lace parasol. She lifted her head, her glance instantly seeking him out. He found himself staring into the bewitching blue eyes that had haunted him since he left Massachusetts. A smile played across her lips, warm and faintly enigmatic. Lije tried to be indifferent to her, but her mere presence reached deep inside, twisting him in knots as it always had. Sheer pride kept him from joining the others when they went to welcome the pair.

"Jed Parmelee, what a wonderful surprise. I almost didn't recognize you without your uniform," Eliza declared, then turned to his daughter. "This surely can't be Diane. Haven't you grown into a lovely young lady? Your father must be very proud of you."

"I hope he is, Mrs. Gordon."

"Eliza. I insist you call me Eliza."

There were more greetings exchanged, but Lije paid little attention to the chatter of voices until his grandfather voiced the question uppermost in his own mind. "What are you doing back in this area, Jed?"

"Visiting old friends," he replied.

"If we are welcome, that is," Diane added, looking straight at Lije.

"What a thing to say," Eliza exclaimed. "You are always welcome at Oak Hill. Surely you know that."

"I wasn't certain. Lije has yet to speak to me." Again Diane held his gaze, her look bold and lightly challenging, yet filled with confidence.

All attention shifted to him. He sensed the knowing speculation in his father's glance and ignored it. Emotions ran raw through him, too many to unravel. He wanted her, he hated her, he loved her, and most of all, he resented her coming here and putting him through this hell again.

"A visitor is never turned away from the door of a
Cherokee."
Lije stressed his heritage, but kept his voice level, his feelings pushed out of it.

Something flickered in her eyes. Irritation, he decided, certain it couldn't have been hurt. In any case it was too quickly veiled by the lowering of her lashes for Lije to identify it. When she raised them again, her eyes were clear of any reaction.

"I will remember that." Something in her voice told him that he had just given her something she could use to her advantage.

"We were about to have refreshments on the side lawn. It's shady there, with a bit of a breeze. You will join us, won't you?" Eliza invited.

"We would be delighted." Jed Parmelee inclined his head in acceptance.

For a fraction of an instant, Lije had the opportunity to make his excuses and leave. But there was cowardice in such an action, a tacit admission that she still had the power to disturb him. Lije would not give her that satisfaction.

When the general exodus began to the side lawn, Lije trailed along. He stayed slightly apart from the others, refusing the tea cakes Shadrach brought around and drinking the minted lemonade without tasting a drop of it. He rarely looked at Diane, but he was conscious of her every movement, her every breath.

She was the center of attention, the warmth of her smile captivating everyone from Sorrel to Will Gordon. Lije hadn't expected it to be any other way.

"Susannah wrote that you were living in Boston with your mother," Temple remarked.

"I was," Diane replied from her seat on the ornamental iron chair, looking utterly flawless and utterly feminine. "But, with all this talk of war and the call to arms, I naturally wanted to see my father again."

"Naturally." Will Gordon nodded his head in approval.

"What a pity Susannah isn't here," Eliza said with regret. "I know she would so like to see you."

"How is Susannah?"

"I had a letter from her only last week," Eliza replied and proceeded to relate, in detail, the current happenings in her daughter's life.

"I miss the walks Susannah and I used to take." Diane rose from the chair with a grace that came as naturally to her as breathing. "You have no idea how many times I've longed to come back—to see this country and all of you. I was born here in the Nation. I grew up here. Yet, sometimes it seems I have been away much longer than six years."

The ring of sincerity in her voice made Lije turn his head and cast a skeptical glance in her direction.