Amelia watched Al drive his buggy around the sprawling mansion to the corral fence that came out to the road and stretched back to a large white barn. He gripped the arm of the buggy seat, swung himself to the ground, and motioned to a towering man in loose-fitting work clothes. As they walked toward her, Al held himself straight, failing to disguise the limp.
A tall woman with sandy-colored skin emerged from a side door on the lower level of the big house. She moved with a regal grace––a dramatically wrapped tignon covering her hair. Except for the fairness of her skin, she could have been one of the elegant Negro flower sellers Amelia remembered from New Orleans. A tiny colored girl of about ten gripped the woman’s flowing blue plaid skirt.
Al approached, his eyes holding hers. He reached for her hand to help her from the wagon. Having him stand so near took her breath as she tried to listen to the introductions and smile at the woman he called Mama Zoé and the child named Ella. “Hébert is the man who runs this entire operation.” Al gripped the manager’s shoulder and nodded as if to emphasize the importance of that position.
Hébert towered over all of them, and his smile took in the little group. “We’ll help you get unloaded before dark.”
Mama Zoé reached for Amelia’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. That house could use a woman’s touch.” She smiled at Al. “This man keeps it clean, but he doesn’t know the first thing about making it homey.”
Amelia moved in a daze behind Mama Zoé and Ella to the narrow porch tucked under the sloping roof of the plain white frame cottage. An ancient red cedar dominated the front of the house, offering the only green among the winter-bare branches of the surrounding cottonwoods.
Why had Al been living in this sparse place, away from the big house and across the road from the barn? That mansion didn’t fit with the man she had known, but this little cottage looked even more out of character from his handsome townhouse in New Orleans’ French Quarter.
“I don’t think Al’s ever used this front door.” Mama Zoé stepped back to let Amelia enter. “He never put a thing in this parlor except for his grandpére’s clock. He’s moved it to the big house. It announces every quarter hour all night long.” She sighed and led the way into a narrow hall.
“This room was Tob’s until he went off to school. The big one across the hall is Al’s. It gets a good southeast breeze, except in winter.” She shivered and hugged Ella who shadowed her every move. “We’ll get the stove lit as soon as the men finish unloading.”
So Tob was Al’s son, and they lived in this little place together? Amelia murmured sounds of appreciation as she followed the genial woman onto the broad back porch that opened into the kitchen.
“Al left his table and bench. That stove’s a good one. You’ll not have any trouble with it.”
Amelia pulled her cape tight around herself, pleasuring in the moment. “The stove is similar to the one I’ve used for several years.” She saw no point in saying that it and every piece of furniture she owned had been blown away in the storm. “I’ll get something cooked by the time the men finish unloading.”
Mama Zoé waved her hand. “I’ve got leftover biscuits and chicken in my quarters. I’ll make a little gravy. While the men set up your bed, come with me and rest yourself a bit after that jolting wagon ride.”
When she started across the road with Mama Zoé, Amelia saw Al glance at her through the window while he helped set up her bed. Then a Negro boy ran up the road toward them, all smiles.
“I saw you pass. I was doing my chores. I’m Ezra.” He reached for Ella’s shoulder. “We’re twins.”
“How nice to meet you. I’ve never known twins. You’re very special.”
“Yep. It don’t happen often. Pappy used to say twins always died before they got born.”
Mama Zoé’s fingers brushed Ezra’s cheek. “Help the men unload. Then tell them to come eat.”
Ezra turned to leave, then whirled around. “I used to live in that little house with Mister Al. When Miss Regina and Hébert got married, they wanted me to live with them.”
Amelia’s head buzzed in confusion as she and Mama Zoé walked arm-in-arm along the broad path leading to a side door of the mansion. Who were all these people? Some black and others who appeared to be deeply tanned. How were they connected? How did Al relate to them?
The first floor spread like a cavern into the darkness beyond a lamp on the oilcloth-covered table. The rich aroma of herbs hanging from the rafters stirred New Orleans memories so vivid that she folded her arms to control the building tension.
“Sit at the table, and I’ll pour you some tea.” Mama Zoé’s eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Or, would you prefer Creole coffee?”
Amelia laughed. “I’ll take tea. It’s been so long since I’ve had Creole coffee that I must learn to drink it again.”
Supper became a blur of tedious discussion––Eagle questioning Hébert about cotton planting time, the best price for seeds––all beneath the steady gaze of Al’s eyes. She’d been hungry earlier, but now she wanted the meal to end. She wanted to get away from all the talk. She wanted to find a way to be alone with Al.
Mama Zoé insisted on giving her an extra wash tub. “Take mine and have a relaxing bath.” She held out a bar of Johann Heínrich Keller soap.
“I feel so welcomed to have that delicious soap.” She looked at Al wondering if he remembered and clutched the soap against her breast, trying to calm the thumping.
The water burned her cheeks that had chafed in the steady blow of winter wind. But, the soap’s luxurious scent stirred the longing she had shut down so many years ago. She couldn’t slow down, enjoy the pleasure of a soaking bath. She hurriedly washed her hair and scrubbed six days of grime from her body that ached with every move. She pulled on her gown, quickly shaped one long braid, and dragged the tub out to the back porch. As she tilted it toward the rose bushes next to the house, Al stepped on the porch and slipped his hand onto the handle and then threw the tub aside.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” He held her shoulders and gazed at her face, warm in the soft glow of the lamp.
“I had to come. I had to find out––”
“I never stopped loving you. Let’s go inside before Eagle finds us out here.”
She clutched his hand, suddenly embarrassed. “Do I seem forward? Bursting in on you like this?” She watched his face, sensing a question, a hesitation.
“Oh, God, no. When I knew you had survived that storm, I was going to come to you.”
She turned, blew out the lamp, and pressed her body against him. “Hold me, please hold me.”
“Oh, Amelia.” It sounded like a groan. “How much I’ve wanted this.” His mouth searched for her neck, moving to her shoulder.
She pulled him toward her bed.
“Wait, Amelia. I need to talk to you.” His breath came hard as he pulled his hand out from under her gown. “You have to know I have a son.”
“Cora told me you and Samantha had a boy.” She spoke against the crush of his chest. “He’s at school.”
He cupped her face in both his hands. “Samantha’s not his mother.” He knew he said it too quickly. He had practiced all the way back from Brenham. He’d intended to break it to her gently but touching her roused him with such desire that he spit it out. Wanting to get it over with, aching to return to what they had in New Orleans. She kept pulling him to her with the same eagerness he remembered.
Then, she stopped and grasped his shirt. She said, “What are you saying?”
“You’ve got to know. Tobias’s mother was a slave.” He held her shoulders and tried to see her eyes in the dark, to see what she was thinking as she began to lower her head––a morning glory folding into itself.
“A slave girl?” It was a whisper. He felt her wet braid drip down her back, soak through her gown as she pulled back, wrapped her arms around herself. “You took a slave?”
He reached for a quilt, wrapped it around her shoulders. Her body wilted as he eased her onto the bed and sat beside her. He pulled her cupped hands to his lips. “I had a one-time drunken encounter. It resulted in Tobias.”
“Encounter?” Her voice sounded flat.
“It was lust. I was drunk. The girl offered herself, and I took her.” He hated the sound of his words, hated being the man he had become.
“You had already freed your slaves when we were together. Long before the war. You were appalled at your brother moving here, keeping his slaves.” She pulled her hands away and tucked them into her belly. “You wrote that you were marrying Samantha and freeing her slaves.”
“I did free them.”
She stood. “Then, who did you have?”
He reached for her as she stepped away. “It was in New Orleans, only one time. She died in childbirth. I was tempted not to tell you, but I need you to know who I became after being with you. My son carries Negro blood.”
“Those few days in New Orleans? Was I one of your encounters?”
“Never.” Al stood perfectly still. “I loved you then,” he bowed his head. “And I still love you. When I couldn’t have you, I acted like a fool. The marriage to Samantha was what I told you it would be. A stupid business arrangement I should never have made.”
“I never thought you’d take a slave girl.”
Al stood motionless in the dark, Amelia’s words searing him with shame. Finally, his voice croaked, “I can’t change it.” He reached for her shoulder then dropped his hand. “I’ll be across the road praying you’ll forgive me. I’ll leave the lamp in my window.” He turned and tried not to step with the clump of a cripple as he disappeared into the shadows.
She collapsed onto the bed needing to cry, needing to scream, but she was wrung dry. Nothing would come but a wrenching pain that drew her body into a knot.
She rose, pulled the quilt tight around her, and paced the floor. The lamp in Al’s second-floor room sat on a table near the window. He waited for her. She had wanted him. She had barely heard the dinner conversation for thinking of him, for imagining the night with him. Now it was over, and he still burned that lamp.
What kind of desires did he have for that slave? She knew he wouldn’t have forced the girl. Was she jealous? She’d felt a tinge of jealousy in the store when Cora said he had a son. She had wanted to believe he had lived as she had, with nothing.
When she realized that Dr. Stein had been unfaithful with men, she still admired him for his dedication to his patients and for his secret business of buying slaves and then freeing them.
Could she still find qualities like that in Al? He said it happened only once. Just lust? For a slave when he pretended to hate slavery?
His lamp continued to burn, to call. She had to be clear. She had to clean out all the webs of revulsion. She couldn’t go to him and be thinking of that slave girl.
She lit the lamp, tried to distract herself by writing a letter to Helga. If only she could tell her sister, ask her if it was crazy not to cross the road, climb those grand stairs to Al’s room. He would take her into his bed, and they would erase all the years they had lost.
Al listened for her steps, imagined her holding up her gown, climbing the stairs. Then, he saw the lamp burning in her room, and he knew he had thrown away his chance. He paced the floor until his leg throbbed with such intensity that he lay down, propped it against the footboard of the bed. Despite the regrets, the disgust with himself for taking advantage of Rachel’s desperation to get away from her father, he was not sorry for having Toby. The one good thing in his life had been that boy. Nothing would erase that. Not even Amelia could take Toby from him.
Maybe she needed time to realize that he’d never stopped loving her. But he could not hang around, staring across the road at her every move, waiting to see if she would forgive him. He’d give her time. Get far enough away that she could sort it all out—far enough away that he didn’t bawl like a sick calf for half the night.
He went to his work table, propped his leg in a nearby chair, and wrote a list of things that he needed Hébert to handle in his absence. Then he went to the storeroom behind Mama Zoé’s quarters and carried his trunk up to his room.
She had just completed a long, glowing letter to Helga, encouraging her to visit, to see for herself the beautiful land when Eagle began stirring in his room. She folded the letter and went to prepare breakfast.
As she washed dishes, she heard the rattle of the wagon moving out of the corral and onto the road. She hurried to say goodbye and stopped short when she saw Al sitting on the seat next to Eagle.
“I’ve got a passenger for Brenham. We’ve got to hurry so he can catch the morning train.”
“Train?” She pressed her hands into her breast.
“I haven’t been to New Orleans on a buying trip in a long time.” Al’s voice sounded raspy as he looked down at her.
“Take care. We’ll surprise you with rows of the best cotton you’ve seen in a long time.” Hébert called after them as they pulled away. He shook his head, stared after the wagon disappearing around the bend beyond the school. “That’s the beatingest man. He’s been talking about a buying trip. But I’ve never seen him decide to go overnight.”
“When’s he returning?” She spoke from a hollow that had opened inside of her.
“Says he’ll be back before Tob gets home in mid-July.”
Mama Zoé called from her door. “Come for a cup of tea?”
I don’t want tea. I want to saddle a horse and chase him, beg him to come back. She looked up at Hébert still gazing off down the empty road. “He’s worried you, hasn’t he?”
Hébert nodded and turned back toward the corral. “It’s not like him to take off like this.”
Mama Zoé motioned Amelia toward a settee in the corner of the room next to windows looking out over the road. “Ella’s doing her studies at the table. We can visit here by this good morning light.”
“I think I’ll have some of your Creole coffee. It’s time I get accustomed to it again.”
“I’ll cut it with plenty of milk.”
Amelia threw herself into making the farmhouse a real home. When the winter rains stopped, she cleaned out the hen house, mixing the manure into Al’s compost heap beside the garden. She weeded and added mulch to the flower beds, allowing her fingers to sift through the soil that Al’s hands had worked.
Mama Zoé told her that Al and Tob planted all the rose bushes. Amelia pruned each bush imagining Al kneeling in that very spot. Did he think of her, or did he get too occupied with running this place and the stores and with caring for his son? Until Helga and her family came from Germany, Amelia had kept from thinking of Al by working long hours in Stein Mercantile.
As sweet as the little house would look when spring dressed it in a canopy of cottonwoods, it remained dwarfed by the mansion across the way. Al and his son apparently lived for years in this house. Perhaps, one day the time would be ripe for Mama Zoé to tell her of the circumstances.