Passion's Fury Read online

  Once inside her room, she flung herself across the bed, wanting to cry. But no tears would come. Too many had already been shed, and perhaps she had none left. So much had happened, and she did not know what to do. Alton kept sending messages, begging her to come to him, reminding her that time was short. She wanted to escape the misery but could not will herself to leave her father.

  The room grew dark, as silent as the rest of the house. She rolled over on her back to stare up into emptiness for a moment, then got up to grope about for her gown. The night was chilly, but rather than ring for Buford to make a fire, she decided to just snuggle beneath the covers.

  Memories of the past settled upon her like a giant spider’s web. There had been happy times, despite her father’s dominant, iron will. But through it all, there had been his ever-present pain over the loss of her mother…his resentment of Vanessa…Vanessa’s hatred for her…so much pain. Escape would be paradise. But she owed her father her devotion.

  Slowly, sleep took over and she felt herself slipping gratefully away. Tomorrow she would plan the journey to Birmingham. She would talk at length with Dr. Wermer. And she would meet with Alton, ask for his patience. She would do all that tomorrow.

  She felt hot, moist lips on her face. She stirred, moaned, struggled to awaken. Groping hands sought and found her breasts, squeezing possessively.

  “Lorena, my beloved.”

  April awoke, the scream of terror locked in her throat. She struggled to breathe beneath the bulk of the figure pressing down on her. His mouth covered hers. Seeking, probing fingers were everywhere at once, ripping the sheer gown.

  With great effort, she was able to twist her face to one side, away from his hungry mouth, and the scream fought its way past her constricting throat. “Poppa, no…no…it’s me, April! You don’t know what you’re doing. Please, no…”

  “I’m going to love you.” He threw one leg over her, pulling himself up so that he straddled her struggling body. With one hand, he jerked her arms upward, pinning them above her head so that she was powerless beneath him. Twisting and writhing, she begged him to come to his senses.

  “My wife,” he grunted. “My wife, my love, mine…”

  He held her tightly, and for one fragile moment, she felt that she was lost. There was nothing she could do. But this could not happen. She would not let it happen. In that one fleeting moment he loosened his hold on her wrists just long enough for her to bring her hands, wrapped together in a giant fist, slamming downward across the bridge of his nose. With a cry of pain he grabbed his nose, his head jerking backward. Her knees came up into his crotch and he rolled to one side.

  She scrambled from the bed, found the door, and reached up with trembling fingers to grasp the knob. Then the door was opening, and she plunged into the hall and ran as hard as her trembling legs would carry her. Posie would not have heard her screams. Posie slept in the servants’ quarters, away from the great house. She would hear nothing. Oh, God, why hadn’t she begged her to sleep inside?

  Stumbling along, she found the hallway leading to the kitchen. Forgetting her nakedness, she opened the back door and was about to leap into the night when a frightened voice called out behind her, making her scream in surprise.

  “Miss April? Lordy, what’s goin’ on?”

  April pressed her back against the door, struggling to breathe. A match was struck, a lantern lit, and she saw Mandy staring at her, mouth gaping. “Why, Miss April, somethin’ terrible’s happened. I knows it.” She was moving toward her, holding the lantern above her hand. “I’s glad Posie said I had to sleep in the pantry tonight. She was afraid somethin’ would happen. Oh, Lordy, Miss April, you want me to have somebody fetch a doctor? Did yo’ daddy rape you?”

  April shook her head slowly from side to side. She hated, even in her shocked state, to have anyone know what had almost happened.

  “Mandy, you listen to me,” she said when she could find her voice. “You are not to say anything about this to anyone. My father did not rape me. He isn’t himself. He…he’s sick.”

  “Lord, I knows he’s sick,” she cried, bobbing her bead up and down. “So does ever’body else. That’s how come nobody wants to go near him. Lord, look what that man done to you.”

  “He did not do anything!” April realized she was screaming and checked herself. In a low whisper, she attempted to explain. “I told you, Mandy. He’s a sick man. He did not do what he tried to do. I doubt he even knows he tried. But I don’t want you to repeat this to a soul, do you understand me?”

  Mandy’s feeble, hesitant “Yes’m” was barely audible as April made her way to a chair beside the long wooden kitchen table and sat down. She gratefully accepted the blanket the young girl draped over her shoulders.

  “What you gonna do now, Miss April?” Mandy asked once she had sat down opposite her and placed the lantern on the table between them. “What you gonna do about yo’ daddy now?”

  April sucked in her breath, held it, then let it out in one long rush as her body trembled convulsively. “I don’t know. Oh, God, Mandy, I just don’t know.”

  Several moments passed in which neither spoke, then Mandy said, “You just sit right here, and I’ll fetch Buford to see to the mastah. He’s gonna have to know somethin’s goin’ on, ’cause we can’t just not do nothin’.” April nodded in reluctant agreement, and Mandy hurried out of the house.

  Buford was silent as he returned a short while later, merely glancing sympathetically in April’s direction. Mandy sat down again opposite her. “You want me to get you some clothes?” she asked gently.

  “Let Buford get my father back to his own room first,” she said quietly. Then, slowly, she lifted her gaze for the first time to stare at the young Negro girl.

  “I want you to get a message to Alton for me, Mandy. At break of day.”

  “Oh, Lordy, Miss April, you ain’t gonna tell Mastah Moseley about this, is you? He gonna kill yo’ daddy, even if he is plumb loco.”

  “No, I’m not going to tell Alton, and neither are you.” April was surprised at her sudden calm, her sudden decision. It was as though the sun had come out after a storm. “I want you to tell him I will meet him. At midnight tomorrow.”

  “At the stables?” Mandy’s eyes were shining. “You gonna meet him at the stable and run off with him and marry him, ain’t you? That’s what you wants me to tell him?”

  “Tell him only that I will meet him. But not at the stable. That’s too close to the house. Do you know the boat landing? Down by the river?”

  Mandy nodded, shaking with excitement over being included in such important, secret plans.

  “I will meet him there.”

  “You goin’ to run off with him?”

  April reached across the table and touched the girl’s hand. “I must be able to trust you, Mandy. You must give me your word that I can trust you.” Her eyes were pleading, searching for the truth she wished to see in the girl’s face.

  “Yes’m. Oh, Lordy, yes’m. You can trust me.”

  “All right. Yes, I am going to go away with Alton, and I’m going to marry him. It’s the only way. I can’t stay here now. Poppa would destroy himself if he ever knew what he’s been doing. Plans must be made, and they must be made quickly.”

  “You want me to go to Mastah Moseley. Is there anything else?”

  “You can help me pack what few things I intend to take with me. Then, after I’m gone, I want you to send word to Poppa’s brother in Mississippi—James Jennings—and ask him to come here and look after things. He will be able to keep Poppa from losing Pinehurst. I’ll also leave it up to my Uncle James to decide whether or not Poppa should be sent to that hospital. But for now, I just have to get away, or I’m going to lose my mind.”

  She laid her head down on the table, willing the tears to come. She could think of only one thing to do—escape. She hated giving Mandy so much responsibility, but she was afraid to trust Posie. Posie, she knew, was ready to run away herself. Mandy was young en
ough to be enthralled by all the excitement. Posie was older, and not so resilient.

  “James Jennings,” she reminded her. “I’ll write everything down. He may not even come. I don’t know. They were never close. I only remember seeing him once, and that’s when my grandmother died, when Vanessa and I were ten years old. He came to the funeral. I haven’t seen him before or since.

  “Something happened between him and Poppa, something I never knew about. I think it had to do with Poppa being heir to Pinehurst. I once heard that Uncle James was disinherited by my grandfather for marrying a girl who was not pure white. I don’t know. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, Mandy, except that there’s no one else.” She shook her head from side to side, shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “I’ll take care o’ things. Don’t fret.”

  Buford stepped into the doorway, looking shaken. “I got him back to his room,” he said in a sad little voice. “He didn’t even know where he was, missy. He looked like a dead man walkin’ around, just shufflin’ along and mumbling to hisself, wonderin’ how come Miss Lorena wouldn’t let him…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, embarrassed.

  “I know,” April whispered, squeezing her hands together as she held the blanket tightly about her. Hesitantly, she asked, “Do you think he needs to be restrained?”

  “I can lock the door to his room from the outside, but you knows yo’ daddy, honey, and if’n he takes a notion to come outta there, ain’t no lock gonna hold him.”

  She nodded. “Will you just stand by today? In the hall? You will have to pick someone you trust to be on guard tonight.”

  “Yes’m.” She had to strain to hear him. He was deeply upset over his master’s condition. She told him to return to the room for the rest of the night, and he left.

  “Are you afraid to ride to Master Moseley’s, Mandy?” She turned to the girl “At first light of day?”

  “Oh, no’m.” Mandy was almost smiling in her enjoyment of all the excitement. “I’ll be all set and ready to go. Then I’ll come back here and help you pack. You wants me to stay in yo’room the rest of the night?”

  “No, I’ll be all right. Buford will be with Poppa. I want you to go on back to bed now. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  Once in her room, she stood for a long, long time staring out the window that overlooked the rolling lawns of Pinehurst. Would she ever see her home again? She did not know. Perhaps one day her father would be well. But that might not happen, and she had to face the fact that she might never be coming home again.

  Suddenly, her hand felt heavy. She glanced down to see the diamond and ruby and emerald Pinehurst ring her father had so proudly given her months ago. She could not take it with her, not when, by running away, she was denying her heritage.

  The eastern sky was streaked with gold and pink rivers as the sun struggled to rise. Somewhere a bird sang his song of joy. A rooster crowed. It was a new day, a new beginning…and, she realized painfully, an ending as well.

  The ring must be hidden before she did anything else. But not in the house. What if the Yankees did make their way South and into Montgomery? She could not take a chance. It would have to be hidden outside the mansion, in case of looting.

  April hurried to dress in the early morning chill, selecting a warm blue muslin and a thick cape. Then she quietly tiptoed out of her room and into the darkened hall.

  She jumped, startled, as Buford stepped out of the shadows. “Oh, dear God, you scared me,” she cried, hands clutching her throat.

  “I’m sorry, missy,” he said quickly, careful to keep his voice low. “I just been standin’ out here, listenin’ out fo’ yo’ poppa. He’s sleepin’ good now, and I don’t want nothin’ to wake him up.”

  April tensed. “Buford, what do you think happened?” She had hoped the servants would not speculate but knew that was impossible.

  Buford glanced away uncomfortably. “Well, it don’t take much figurin’, missy. It ain’t none o’ my business, and. I ain’t gonna say nothin’ if’n you don’t want me to.”

  “Of course I don’t want you to say anything.” She spoke more sharply than she had intended. “Poppa is sick. I don’t want anyone gossiping or blaming him for things he cannot help. You just stay here in case he needs you. Right now, there’s something I must do.”

  Suspicion shadowed his chocolate eyes. “Where you goin’ this time o’ the mornin’? It ain’t hardly light out yet.”

  “I won’t be gone long. Just do as I say, Buford, please.” Turning away, she made her way on down the stairs, through the back hallway, and into the crisp morning air.

  Where could she hide the ring? She looked toward the stables. The Yankees might burn those. True, the enemy would probably be defeated soon, and she might be worrying for no reason, but she couldn’t take foolish chances with the inheritance ring.

  She looked down at the red Alabama clay. She did not dare dig a hole, for if the terrain were changed in battle, the burial place might not be found again.

  Burial! That was it. Even if the Yankees did come, they would not desecrate the burial places of the dead, would they? Even Yankees would not be so barbaric.

  She walked briskly to the stables, then cut around them to follow the path that led down to a peaceful, sloping hill overlooking the creek that ran from the Fletcher land. In the spring, dogwood trees dotted the lush green woods with dollops of white blossoms, and pink and red azaleas abounded, nature’s magnificence standing guard over the Jennings family burial ground.

  The graves toward the front of the cemetery were raked of leaves and dead limbs, as the field workers knew it was a standing order from Carter Jennings that they be kept cleaned. Long ago, her father had identified all the graves for her, and April knew where each of her great-great-grandmothers and grandfathers and aunts and uncles was buried. As she moved farther along, there were hand-carved stone monuments.

  In the most picturesque spot in the cemetery, stood a small, square, red brick building, the family mausoleum.

  As a child, April had refused to play around the cemetery at all, particularly the red brick building with its double iron gates across the doorway. The ornate gates were adorned with a flowery scrawled “J.”

  Poppa had forced her to come here on special occasions, such as her birthday, or her mother’s, or Easter. He would bring flowers, and he would unlock the iron doors and go inside and make her go with him. Then he would lay the flowers on top of the brick box and get down on his knees and pray for a long, long time. April would be obediently and respectfully quiet, but she hated those times. She did not mind listening to his tales of how wonderful her mother had been, how much she had loved her, but she wished he would talk of these things in another place, anywhere but inside the damp building with its spider webs and unseen creatures scurrying about in the shadows.

  “I could not put your mother in the ground,” Poppa had told her each time they visited. “She was a special, rare beauty, and I wish I could have preserved her for all time. To lay someone like your mother in the ground would have been a sacrilege.”

  Once, April had said, “Posie told me that the Bible says that it’s supposed to be ‘ashes to ashes and dust to dust’ when somebody dies, and it’s not right not to bury someone in the ground so they can turn into ashes.”

  “Posie can’t read,” he had retorted angrily. “What does she know?”

  “She says a preacher said that once at a funeral she went to.”

  “I’ll beat her hide off her back if she ever speaks of such a thing again.” He had ground out the words so vehemently that April vowed never to repeat anything else Posie told her.

  Then one day, when she was perhaps eleven or twelve, her father had taken her to the cemetery on an ordinary day, a day of no special occasion. He had held her hand as they walked. When she asked him fearfully why he wanted to take her there, he murmured quietly, “You’ll see, child. You’ll see.”

  They stood before the closed i
ron gates, and in the faint sunshine that filtered through the thick magnolia trees above, he pointed out two new brick boxes. “For you and me, April darling. We’ll rest with your mother here, not in the ground.”

  She had shivered to think she was staring at the place where her dead body would one day be placed. Her father had hugged her tightly against him and told her not to be afraid. “I think I will welcome death,” he said in a trembling voice. “Then I can be with your mother for all eternity. For now, I find peace only in being with you, child, for you are the living proof of the love your mother and I shared.”

  April stood before the gates now and stared inside. It was as though time never touched this place. Nothing had changed. It was still a room filled with gray light and cold breezes. The sound of unseen creatures still reached her ears as they scurried along the hard clay floor. Like a giant gray hand, a spider web was wrapped around the brick tombs.

  On each side of the gate, there were little niches built into the brick. The niches held tiny marble statues imported from Italy. Her eyes went to the left, to the statue of the kneeling angel. With trembling fingers, she reached beyond, found the tiny, chipped brick that slid outward to reveal a small hole. Groping with her fingertips, she found the key she was looking for.

  April took a deep breath, commanded her throbbing, pounding heart to slow down. And with icy fingers, she fitted the key into the lock, and swung open the creaking gates. The doors to the mausoleum swung open with a creak.

  Chapter Six

  A half hour before midnight, April crept from the dark, silent house. There was neither time nor reason for tears, she told herself as she hurried through the purple night toward the stable. After all, her leaving now did not mean good-bye forever. Mandy would see that word was sent to Uncle James, and he would come to Pinehurst. Then, after she and Alton were married, she would return. With Uncle James’s aid, she would be able to help her father and keep Pinehurst from disaster.