Palmetto Moon (29 page)

“This is awfully late for cocktails, Vada.”

“Relax, Mother. It will be fine.”

She pushes the last bobby pin into the bun piled high on top of my head, and pulls a few wispy tendrils around my face. “Pull the black Dior out of the trunk, the dinner dress. That will be perfect.”

“We didn’t get that one in black. We got it in blue.” My first-date dress. With Frank. My nose begins to sting, and I turn away from the mirror so my mother doesn’t see. “We got the Pierre Balmain in black.”

“I told Rosa Lee to pack your things.” My mother rifles through my closet until she finds the chic black dress, the one with the low neckline she complained about when we bought it. “Now, it took some doing by your father to arrange cocktails with Justin tonight. Make the most of it.”

I resist the urge to ask her what, exactly, that means as she zips me up, then hands me her diamond earrings. “You know your father gave me these the night before our wedding. I was going to give them to you after you were dressed for yours, but they’ll look beautiful on you tonight.”

“They’re too much, Mother. Really.” I close her hand over the earrings and push them back to her, but she knows me well enough. Even in her open palm, they are exquisite, two perfect diamonds in a tastefully beautiful setting, but they aren’t appropriate for cocktails with Justin. “I want to keep things simple tonight.”

“You’ll melt in this heat. Do you want Desmond to drive you?”

“I’ll take my car.”

“How will that look, the night before you’re to be married, your car parked at Justin’s house?”

“It’ll be fine. I’m not meeting him at his house in town. We’ll be at Middleton Place.”

“You should have Desmond take you.” She looks away from me. “He’s the one who drove you the night of your party. Wasn’t he?”

I know better than to answer that question.

“Vada?” She sits down on the bed, looking at her hands folded in her lap. “Desmond and, of course, Rosa Lee always knew what you wanted, what to do with you. It wasn’t easy watching them do what I couldn’t. It still isn’t. I’ve accepted their role in your life, but I want you to know there were times when I wanted to mother you. I just always felt like I was too late.”

“I know you did the best you could.”

“How can you know that? I’m not even sure I believe it.”

“Because you love me, Mother.” It’s been difficult to watch her twisting in her guilt since I returned home, at war with the side of her that was bred to keep up appearances. Preserve the culture. “And I love you.”

My red Cadillac convertible slices down the highway until it comes to the long dirt road lined with century-old magnolias that lead to the house. I drive slowly, feeling each dip and bump, intoxicated by the perfume of the magnolia blossoms. The road stretches past the azalea pool, where two lazy swans glide across the spring-fed waters. All of the gardens are too vast to be seen from the driveway. Tea olives, camellias, and fifty shades of greenery make a fragrant, seductive curtain of swamp lily, bears breeches, and abelia.

Something about Middleton Place has always called to me, and perhaps that’s why Justin chose to meet here, rather than the seclusion. Or perhaps he wants me to return to where we were before I ran away, so that we can start over.

The road ends like the bottom of an hourglass, at the front door of the stately redbrick home. I pull alongside Justin’s sleek black Caddy that matches mine, and wish I’d come up the loop the wrong way, so that I’d be facing the old slave quarters. This view is a promise of what my life will be like, splitting my time between here and the house in town. The exquisite view that rivals anything Europe has to offer whispers there will be travel. Middleton Place herself sighs, reminding me that when I do come home, it will be to this magnificent vista.

Enchanted, I’m out of the car before I realize it and walking around back toward the glorious view of the Ashley River that graciously bent and widened to show off this place. Chameleon-green marsh grass borders the broad expanse. I step across the boards of the dock, waiting to feel the full force of my jealousy of the river and for the sadness to envelop me. But it doesn’t.

Justin’s arms wrap around my waist, and he trails the back of my neck with tiny kisses. “You belong here, Vada. You love this place. I know you do.”

I’m afraid to answer him. Ashamed. Yes, I do love this place.

“You probably don’t remember the first time your parents brought you here. I was twelve, you were four, and even then you were bewitched by this place. Our place.”

“There’s no denying its beauty.”

“Vada, we can be so good together.” He turns me to face him and crooks his finger under my chin, nuzzling my lips. He covers my mouth with a dark, wet kiss, and when it’s over, I am breathless, my forehead pressed against his. “Come inside, Vada. Come let me love you.”

I nod slightly, barely able to breathe, and he picks me up and carries me toward the house.

“Do come in, Frank.” Frank stands in the doorway of Kittie Wentworth’s boudoir, weighing his options, and there aren’t any.

With the exception of Vada’s grandmother’s necklace, the harlot is naked, sprawled out on the sex chair, with her feet in the stirrups, knees high, legs spread wide. Frank throws her a wad of lace fabric he hopes is a robe. “You should put some clothes on.”

“I knew you’d be back.” She sits up, astride the chair, and throws the fabric in his face. “It’s rude of you not to look at me when I’m speaking to you. Look at me, Frank.”

“I don’t have time for this.” He glares at her, trying hard to ignore her nakedness. “Tell me where Darby is.”

“Make. Me.” The harlot purrs, her fingers trailing down her neck, across her breasts.

“Was she in on the scam with you?”

“Come on, Frank. It’s just you and me here, no silly little girl down the hall whose name is written on your heart.

The last time you were here, I wanted you to come to my room. Now you’re here and—”

“Tell me where Darby is now.”

“Would it give you great pleasure to know where she is, Frank?”

“Yes. I want to know.”

“Pleasure is a give-and-take proposition. Come give the chair a try, and if you can still remember your name when I’m done with you, I’ll tell you exactly where she is.”

His fists are balled up by his sides. He can’t very well beat the information out of the harlot, and wouldn’t if he could. She’d bragged about being in bed with the police force and politicians, and he doesn’t doubt her. There’s nothing for him to hold over the woman’s head. But how far is he willing to go for Vada?

The idea of never seeing her again, of her marrying that smug bastard, answers his question.

“I want to unwrap you.” The harlot gets off of the chair. She runs her hands down his chest and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “
Slow
-ly.”

The word stings, reminding him of Vada. He tells himself he’s doing this for her, that he’d do anything for her.

“Now push the shirt off of your shoulders.” The harlot inspects him, running her hands over his belly. He tries to think of something, anything, else. “You are a beautiful man, Frank Darling.”

“I don’t want you. All I care about is Vada.”

“Yes,” she says with her lips pressed against his ear, her naked body melting into his. “Show me how much you care about her, Frank. How much you want her. Show me all the things you want to do to her.”

“This is bullshit,” he says, pushing her away. “I’ll find another way.”

He picks up his shirt just as Reggie opens the door and gives him the high sign.

“You must have gotten yourself in a pretty good bind, Frank.” The harlot laughs. “You’re trying to fix things again, like you did the last time you were here. Stop wasting your time. You’ll never find Darby O’Doul.”

Frank pushes past Reggie, buttoning his shirt. “With all due respect, madam,” Reggie says, turning down Frank’s collar, “we already have.”

Frank revs up the Plymouth and heads back the way they came.

“By my calculation, we barely have enough time to nab Darby and make it to Charleston by six,” Reggie says.

“Where is she?”

“According to Belle, the courtesan I spoke with, Darby lives with her husband, just outside of a little town called Jasper, Alabama. It’s off Highway 78.”

“How did you get the information?”

“Well, I wasn’t willing to go the lengths you were.”

“It wasn’t like that. Do you think the girl was being honest?”

“Yes. Belle was very close to Darby and showed me a half dozen postcards she received from her.”

“Shit.”

“We should be there by one. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” Damned postcards started this whole mess in the first place. “No, I just hope her husband is an understanding man and we don’t get shot for showing up so late.”

“If we wait till closer to dawn, you’ll get to Charleston just in time to wish the happy couple well on their honeymoon,” Reggie snaps. “Now step on it.”

“At least Darby got away from that place.”

“Her situation is a bit precarious. It seems she met a circuit preacher and ran away from the bordello around the same time Vada fled Charleston. She started a new life, and her husband doesn’t know about her old one. I’d like to be positive, Frank, but there’s a good possibility she won’t come with us.”

“If I have to sling her over my shoulder and carry her all the way to Charleston, she’s coming with us.”

Frank floors the Plymouth and makes the outskirts of Jasper in less than three hours. “There,” Reggie says. “Slow down or you’ll miss it.” He points to a small dilapidated clapboard building. The sign out front says Jasper Primitive Baptist. “The house is behind the church.”

Frank pulls into the washboard parking lot and eases the Mayflower around back. The headlights illuminate a tiny house. A ferocious-sounding dog barks and lights come on in the house just as Frank kills the engine.

“Perhaps we should stay here, Frank, until whoever is inside comes out to greet us. Or shoot us.”

“You have a wife now, and a family. Stay here.”

“I won’t argue with you,” Reggie whispers. “What are you going to say to her when her husband answers the door?”

“I have no idea.” Frank opens his car door, and the barking intensifies. The front porch is held up with two-by-fours on cinder blocks, bowing from the weight of the overhanging roof. He takes two steps. A gun cocks, freezing him in his tracks.

“Take one more step,” the woman says through gritted teeth, “and I’ll blow your fucking head off, I will.”

Frank keeps his head down and raises his hands in surrender. The dog inside is snarling, banging against one of the flimsy doors of the house that is sure to give way.

“My name is Frank Darling, and I’m looking for Darby. Darby O’Doul.”

“At one o’clock in the morning? I think you’re looking to meet your maker, and I’m happy to take you there, Mr. Darling.”

Slowly, he raises his head. In the slight palmetto moonlight, a young woman about Vada’s age stands with her feet spread apart and her rifle aimed at his head like she knows her way around a gun.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d put that gun down, Darby.”

“There’s no Darby here.”

“Vada told me you swore you’d always be there for each other. She needs you now. I need you.”

“How do you know Vada?”

“I love her enough to stand here in the dark, not caring if you shoot me, because you’re the only hope I have of her not marrying that bastard Justin.”

The sound of the car door opening makes both of them freeze. “Tell your friend to stay in the car, or he can carry you home in a box.”

Frank nods. “Stay put, Reggie. It’s okay.”

The words are no sooner out of his mouth when the dog lets out a yelp from the door in the back, which gives way. A thick black German-shepherd-looking dog skids to a stop beside his mistress, growling ominously. She commands the dog to heel and motions toward the house with the gun. “Let me see your face. And keep your hands where I can see them.”

The rifle jabs into the small of Frank’s back as he moves slowly toward the house. He can feel the warmth of the dog’s frenzied bark against his pant legs, daring him to run. Frank stands under the naked lightbulb over the doorway and turns slowly to face her. She is smaller than Vada, beautiful, with steely eyes that make her look formidable, even without the gun.

“You’ll have to excuse my keeping this rifle on you. But I meant what I said about dropping you where you stand.”

“That’s fine.” Frank lowers his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Okay.” Frank tries to smile, to put her at ease, but he’s too desperate. He catches sight of a sliver of gold on her ring finger. “You’re married now.”

“A preacher’s wife, and I plan to stay that way.”

“But you’re alone.”

“Not entirely. I have a Smith & Wesson to keep me company while my husband’s away.”

“He knows you worked at a whorehouse?”

“Are you threatening me? In Alabama, that’s cause enough to shoot you where you stand.”

“No. I’m sorry.” He raises his hands again.
Take another tack. A smarter tack.
“Do you know what Vada did for you?”

“Yes, she deserted me. Went off to her fancy fucking college, and I barely heard from her.”

“You sure talk different than any preacher’s wife I’ve ever known.”

“I doubt you’ve known many of us, but it does seem that you bring out the Irish in me, Frank Darling.”

“Vada regrets leaving you, and she told me so. She loves you so much, she paid off your debt to Miss Wentworth.”

“That bitch got hold of Vada?”

“Even when I told her how crazy it was, she was happy to do it. Vada wanted so badly to find you, to say she’s sorry, that she gave Wentworth her grandmother’s diamond necklace to find you. She did that for you.”

“So, what did
you
do to land here on my doorstep?”

“Something stupid. And she’s mad at me. Mad enough at me to marry Justin.”

“What do you want from me, Frank Darling?” She bites out the words, her gun still trained on him.

“In about eighteen hours, she’s going to walk down the aisle of St. Michael’s Church. I want you to come back to Charleston and help me talk her out of marrying the wrong guy.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the best peace offering I know. You’re what she wants.”

Darby pushes a tendril of her long red hair away from her face with one hand and lowers the rifle. “I won’t go with you.”

“But—”

“You don’t need me, Frank. I know Vada Hadley better than I know myself. If she loves you like you think she does, Vada will stop the wedding herself.”

“Please, Darby. I’m begging you.”

“Get off my porch and be on your way, Frank Darling. And when you see Vada Hadley, tell her I love her.”