Passion's Fury Read online

  “You saw them kissing and caressing and no more. My sister’s breasts were exposed but the rest of her clothes were intact. Mr. Taggart was fully clothed. But you had to make the story worse than it was! Why? What possible pleasure could you derive from doing such a thing, Mrs. Fletcher? I think you have a warped mind, and as angry as you make me, I still pity you. But I also want you to leave my house and never come back. You are no longer welcome.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave, all right.” Isabelle Fletcher grabbed her shawl from the back of her chair. Her chin jutted upward. Her eyes were narrow slits of malice. “And I promise you one thing, you little snit. Pinehurst has not seen the problems it is going to encounter. When I tell my husband about this, you may be sure your water rights will be curtailed.”

  The others gasped, but April said coolly, “I have carefully studied all my father’s business papers, and I know that there is a legal binding agreement concerning the water rights. Before you make threats, I suggest you know what you are talking about. If you attempt to break the agreement, you may rest assured the matter will be dealt with in court.”

  Buford had heard the loud voices and appeared then, standing apprehensively in the doorway. April saw him and spoke in a cool, controlled tone. “Show Mrs. Fletcher to the door, please, and advise the other servants that she is not to be admitted to Pinehurst again unless I inform them otherwise.”

  Isabelle’s eyes flashed fire. “You will pay for this, April Jennings. Just wait and see! Who do you think you are?” She whirled toward the door, then stopped to look back at Thalia and Katherine. “Why are you sitting there? Aren’t you leaving with me? Certainly you don’t want to be in the company of such a rude woman!”

  “No, we certainly don’t,” Thalia said quietly as she picked up her needle and began stitching once more. “That’s why we aren’t leaving with you, Isabelle.”

  With a final cry of indignation, Isabelle stormed out the door.

  April sat down again, suddenly very tired. “I apologize to you ladies. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

  Thalia gave her hand a comforting pat as Katherine clucked approval. “Dear, we understand. We’re glad you stood up to her. She’s had it coming for a long time.”

  April bent her head over the quilt and began to stitch. She hoped they would not notice the tears that filled her eyes. Lately, she felt as though she spent most of her time around others fighting to hold back, not give way to the turmoil inside. Only when she was alone, could she succumb. Dear God, how much longer would this go on?

  There had been no word from Vanessa. The colt had disappeared when she did. Perhaps Rance Taggart stole the animal, and he and Vanessa had left together. What was worse, her father was crumbling before her eyes. Since that night, he seemed to be only a shadow of himself, and she often wondered whether it had been caused by his stroke or by the humiliation Vanessa had caused him.

  The doctor had said there was no medical reason to explain her father’s condition. Carter Jennings spent almost all his waking hours sitting in a chair, staring out his bedroom window, the expression on his face suggesting that he was somewhere far, far away, in a world of his own.

  What frightened her most, and what she could not tell anyone, was the way he often looked at her, smiling as he whispered: “Lorena, my beloved. You’ve come back to me.”

  She had tried to reason. “No, Poppa. It’s me, April. Not Momma. Momma died a long, long time ago.”

  The first few times it had happened, a sad awareness had washed over him, and he’d blinked several times and murmured in a sad voice, “Oh. It’s you, April.”

  Then one day the awareness did not come. He had laughed, “Don’t tease me, darling. I know it’s you. Could I ever forget your beautiful face?” And April had run from the room to weep.

  Perhaps she would not have lost all patience with Isabelle had it not been for a scene that morning. Once again, he had seen her as her mother, but before she could turn and hurry from the room, he had reached out for her with a strength she did not realize he still possessed. She cried out, startled, as he pulled her into his lap, his arms about her, lips seeking hers, and whispered huskily, “My darling, how I’ve wanted you. I could never find the passion with another woman to match what I knew in your arms.”

  “No!” April screamed in horror, struggling to release herself. “No, Poppa, stop! It’s me! Not Momma. Momma’s dead!”

  “Let me hold you.” He slipped a hand upward to caress her breast. “I want to hear you moan with pleasure.”

  With a lunge that caught him off balance, April managed to spring to her feet. He was right behind her, catching her skirt as she rushed through the door. The fabric tore, and he stood there clutching it in his hand, staring after her with a lost, pained look. “I don’t understand, Lorena,” he called after her. “You never refused me before. You always wanted me to make love to you…”

  April locked her door and stood there gasping as a great chill spread through her. Dry sobs racked from her throat, and then her stomach pitched and rolled, and she staggered quickly to the chamber pot barely in time to lose her breakfast. She sagged onto the bed, shuddering in horror. If she had not escaped him, he would have taken her. Dear Lord, her own father!

  He was losing his mind. She was sure of it. Perhaps the death of her mother had been the start of it all, and ever since, insanity had been digging into his brain. That might explain his rejection of Vanessa over the years, the feeling that had eventually turned to hatred.

  Lost in thought, she did not hear Thalia tell her that Posie had announced lunch. A firm hand was clamped on her shoulder, shaking her, and she glanced up. “My dear, you are in a stupor.” Thalia was looking at her with great concern. “Perhaps when Dr. Grainger visits your father next, he should have a look at you.”

  “I agree,” Katherine chimed in. “With your father ill, you’re probably doing too much. After we eat lunch, you just go lie down. We’ll finish up this quilt.”

  “Yes, you need the rest,” Thalia agreed, and then the two women took up positions on either side of April, as though afraid she would not be able to make it to the dining room unescorted.

  April forced herself to eat, though the food was tasteless to her. When Mandy appeared in the doorway and beckoned to her, she excused herself gratefully and followed her into the back hallway.

  “It’s Mastah Moseley.” Mandy grinned secretively, holding on to her full skirt with her fingertips and swaying from side to side. “I reckon he’s come to court again, ’cause he’s hidin’ down in the stable and told one of the hands to send word to you he was there.”

  April bit her lower lip thoughtfully, then asked, “Have you said anything about this to anyone, Mandy?”

  The Negro girl’s eyes grew wide, and she shook her head. “No’m. I ain’t said nothin’, just like you tol’ me not to. I come right heah to tell you, just like the other times. I ain’t even said nothin’ to Posie.”

  “I can trust Posie. I just don’t want you talking to all the servants. Someone here has been gossiping to the servants at Mrs. Fletcher’s, and I don’t know who it is, so I’m not taking any chances. Now you go to the stable yourself and tell Master Moseley that I will be there shortly.”

  Mandy started to turn away, but paused, looking thoughtful Her eyes danced mischievously. “Seems funny fo’ me to be callin’ Mastah Moseley, Mastah, when he’s ’bout as poor as I is.”

  April stiffened, felt her cheeks coloring. Mandy scooted down the hall, lifting her skirts as she skipped along.

  April knew that the girl had been quite fond of Vanessa. Mandy was about the only human being Vanessa had ever been even slightly tolerant of. Several times Vanessa had even given her old gowns to the girl. As a result, Mandy defended her mistress when the other servants criticized her.

  After Vanessa left, Mandy had cried for days. But then almost overnight, she seemed to be her old self again. She hovered around April, as though replacing her devotion to Vanessa w
ith devotion to her. April accepted this graciously, wanting to ease her loss. Gradually, Mandy became her personal maid. Everything had worked out satisfactorily, except for those distressing times when Mandy became uppity, even sassy.

  Mandy did not like Alton Moseley. April was aware of that. Mandy had belligerently hinted that he had no right to be calling. April reminded her angrily that she was out of place. There had been an apology, but the slips still came.

  True, Alton was poor. April had seen the two-room shack that was home for Alton and his parents and the seven other Moseley children. But wealth made no difference. He had been a friend to her when she needed one most. And now that Frank Taggart and his wife were gone, as well as Rance, it was Alton who had charge of the stables.

  April began to spend a lot of time at the stables. At first she meant only to get away from her father. But then she and Alton became friends. She found herself confiding in him, telling him of her miseries, except for her father’s thinking that she was her mother. She could not make herself divulge that to anyone, not yet.

  She thought of him only as a friend, but had lately realized that he had more in mind than friendship. It disturbed her, but what could she do?

  Now April went to her room and changed to something warmer. Even as far south as Alabama, the October afternoons could be quite chilly. With a shawl wrapped about her shoulders, she walked quietly down the back stairway, careful not to be seen; then slipped out the rear door and hurried toward the stables.

  The crepe myrtles had bloomed all summer. Now the leaves were patches of gold and brown against the cloudy sky. A few already skittered and danced their way to the ground. In the field to her left, the parched, gnarled cotton plants were already dead. On her right, she could see the Negro slaves—or servants as she preferred to call them, or field hands, anything but slaves—moving through the cornfields, gathering the last of the crop. She hoped the corn would bring a lot of money. Goodness knows, they needed money.

  When she reached the stables, she entered the larger building. Alton had improvised sleeping quarters in the back room there, so he would not have to return to his home every night. April suspected he liked the extra room, even if it was in a stable.

  The warm smell of manure mingled with the faint odor of polished leather. April loved the stables and the horses. She felt peaceful here. Back in the huge house, she felt as though she were suffocating.

  Alton stepped out of a nearby stall, a bucket of feed in his hand. “Hello,” he greeted her, a bit uneasily, she thought. “I see you got my message. I never know if Mandy will deliver it. She’s a funny one.”

  “She…she teased me. Said you were coming to court me.” April tried to sound light, humorous, but her brows were already knitting together.

  They made the usual small talk, discussing the horses as she followed him from stall to stall to fill the feed bins. She sensed that there was something wrong and soon she asked bluntly, “What’s wrong, Alton? You’re behaving quite strangely.”

  He set the bucket down at his feet, then reached to brush a golden tendril back from her forehead. She waited, sensing that he was gathering courage. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then said, “I’ve got to go to war, honey. There’s just no getting around it any longer. I’ve hung back, because of you, wanting to be around to look out for you. Now things seem to be getting ready to bust loose, I’ve got to go fight for the South. I feel I must. Can you understand that?”

  She felt as though the air were being sucked from her lungs. Alton leaving? His friendship was all that kept her going. To lose him was more than she could bear.

  Suddenly, she was washed with shame. Her thoughts had been only of herself, not of the dangers he would face in war. And he was right. All the able-bodied men were marching off to defend their homeland.

  She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand and whispered, “I’ll pray for your safe return, Alton, and I shall miss you deeply.”

  “I knew you’d be this way,” he cried suddenly, joyfully. He placed his hands on her shoulders and gathered her close, his lips touching hers. Strangely, she felt herself responding, but even then she knew her reaction had nothing to do with love. She did not love Alton. He was shelter from the storm.

  He stepped back to give her a lopsided grin, his hair tumbling down over his forehead. “I knew you’d be upset when I told you, April. You do care for me! Maybe not a whole lot, but you feel something. And I want you to marry me. I want you to be my wife.”

  He was speaking rapidly, as though he knew if he hesitated, for even a second, she would begin reciting reasons for refusing. “You don’t have to go live with my folks, though you could if things got real bad here. Shucks, they might not have a big house, but they all got big hearts, and they’d take you in and see you didn’t go hungry. Maybe you think I’m a fool to ask you to marry me, when I’m poor as a church mouse, but when you love somebody like I love you, you act like a fool, I reckon.

  “I mean,” he rushed on, brushing away the tears that were slowly moving down her smooth cheeks, “I see that big mansion you live in, your fine clothes and all, and I know I can’t ever give you those things. But God knows, I love you with every beat of my heart, April, and I’d never do anything to hurt you, I swear to you.”

  It had all happened so quickly, like the flash of lightning in a summer storm. Her brain was spinning. Her lips moved but she made no sound.

  “I’m going to speak to your daddy,” Alton said firmly as he folded her in his arms and held her tightly against him. “I’m going to go to him and respectfully ask for your hand in marriage.”

  Once more, April was ashamed, for her mind was now telling her that this was the way out of her misery. This was the chance to get away from her father and his increasing insanity. As wrong as it might be to marry a man she did not love, there seemed to be no other answer.

  He cupped her chin, lifting her face for his kiss. “I’ll make you happy, April,” he smiled. She saw the glimmer of unshed tears and knew he was ecstatic.

  She responded to his kiss and, as he held her, she prayed silently that God would understand and forgive her.

  Chapter Four

  Noon shadows danced along the ceiling. April knew she should get out of bed, but she did not move. She was weary from crying since early dawn. More than that, she was frustrated from the constant struggle to hide her tears. Most of all, she hated herself for not being able to do anything about the miserable existence her life had become.

  Coward. She winced as she scalded herself with the word. That’s what she was. A coward for finding only one road left open—escape. Marriage to Alton would be an escape. But even if she remained at home, there was nothing she could do for her father.

  True, there were times when he seemed his old self, but these occasions were becoming rare. The servants were gossiping openly now, and only faithful old Posie and Buford would even go near him. The others whispered fearfully that their master was mad…and dangerous.

  Dangerous. The word danced about in her mind, stabbing painfully. He did not mean to harm her. But only that morning, in the early hours, he had come to her door and, finding it locked, rapped softly and called out, “Lorena. Why are you locking me out? I want you, darling, and you know how good it will be.”

  She had covered her face with her pillows, trying to shut out his voice. When she did not answer, he began to pound on the door with his fists. She had huddled beneath the covers, sobbing in terror, frightened that he would break down the door.

  Finally he petulantly called, “This isn’t like you, Lorena. You’ve never refused me before. I’m quite angry with you. I’m your husband, and I have my rights.”

  After what seemed forever, he gave up, and she heard the sound of his shuffling footsteps as he returned to his own room.

  Dear God, how much more could she take? How much longer could she fend him off?

  Someone knocked on her door, and she cringed. She would not answer. Let
him think she had gone out for the day.

  “Miss April, is you sick?”

  Posie! She leaped from the bed, almost tripping in her haste to unlock the door.

  “How come you ain’t been downstairs?” Posie looked at her suspiciously as she entered the room. “Mandy said she knocked early this mornin’, and you didn’t answer. What’s wrong child? You look might poorsome.”

  April turned away, not wanting Posie to see her red-rimmed eyes. “I’m fine. I must’ve been asleep when Mandy knocked. I guess I’m just being lazy.”

  “Well, I come up to tell you this is one of yo’ daddy’s good days. He’s up and dressed and been downstairs in his study workin’. He tol’ me to come up here and see if you is comin’ down for lunch. I got collards and fatback and some sweet tater puddin’.”

  April sighed with relief. If her father was having a good day, then he would behave normally, and there was no need to be afraid.

  Then, with a wave of joy, she thought of Alton. It would not do for him to speak to her father when he was in one of his dazes. She would send for Alton today.

  There was no other way. She could only pray to God that Alton would never know she did not truly love him, and she vowed silently to do everything in her power to make him happy.

  She took a deep breath, gathering her wits about her as she turned to face Posie. “I want you to send Mandy to the stables to find Alton,” she said. “I want her to invite him here for lunch today.”

  “Mastah Alton Moseley?” Posie’s eyes bugged. “You ain’t serious, is you, chile? You know how yo’ poppa is, and he ain’t gonna want no po’ white trash eatin’ at his table.”

  “Alton is not white trash!” April flared.

  Posie was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I know he’s a fine young man, but he is po’, and yo’ poppa ain’t gonna want him eatin’ here. You mark my words. Yo’ poppa gonna be mad. All Mastah Moseley is around here is a stable hand, and ye’ poppa ain’t never had none o’ them at his table. Not even the Taggarts, when they was here.”