CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Spots swam before my eyes, but I held on, convincing myself that I could not help Rebecca if I did not remain strong. I felt a familiar touch on my shoulder, and I melded into John’s side, drawing strength from him.

John spoke, his words clipped, his anger and fear held in tight control. “What do you mean she is gone? Your instructions were to stay with her after she went to bed.”

Delphine began sobbing, her words unintelligible. I went to her and brought her inside, asking for a drink of water. A glass was soon pressed into her shaking hands. As soon as she took a sip, I asked her, “What happened, Delphine? Tell us everything so that we might find her as quickly as possible.”

She took another sip and nodded. “I did as I was told, Miz McMahon. She be in my sight the whole time. And I sat in that chair by her bed until she falls asleep.”

I pressed on, the urge to bolt out the door and run to Whispering Oaks nearly overpowering my calm. “Then what happened?”

“I thought she was asleep, but as I stood to go, she asks for drink of water.” She sniffed and brought the back of her hand across her nose. “So I went down the stairs and I passed Marguerite. She asks what I doin’ and I tells her. Marguerite say I works hard enough and that she bring the water to Miss Rebecca.”

She started sobbing harder, and I felt the claw of fear take hold of my heart with sharp talons.

Through sniffs, Delphine managed to continue. “Later, I starts to worry, since I’s suppose to be in charge. So I went back to her room, and her bed be empty.” Tears leaked out of her dark eyes as she stared up at me with fear and remorse. “I shouted for her, and I looks all over, but she not in the house.”

“What about Marguerite? Where is she?” The panic clawed through my words.

Delphine sobbed louder. “Nowhere. She and Miss Rebecca just be gone!”

John’s grip on my shoulder tightened. “Catherine, I want you and Delphine to stay here with Clara and the other women. Daniel and I will ride back to see what has happened and find Rebecca. I will send Mr. O’Rourke back with news.”

I turned to my husband, my hands wildly clutching at him. “No, John. I must come with you. I cannot stay here and worry.” Hearing the sob at the back of my throat, I lowered my voice. “Please let me help.”

His eyes softened as he regarded me, then gave a sharp nod. Daniel brought our cloaks, and we raced out the door, not bothering with the formalities of saying goodbye.

We tore down the levee road, me clutching John’s arm and staying away from the broken door, while Daniel and Rufus followed closely behind on their own mounts. John’s hand reached for mine and I took it, looking into his eyes and feeling the unity of our spirits. Yes, I thought, this is how it should be. Together, as one, through all the good and bad. It went far deeper than trust, and I pulled our entwined hands to my heart so we could both feel its beating and know that it beat for us, for Rebecca, and for the tiny child growing within me.

When we pulled up in front of Whispering Oaks, I jumped out quickly without waiting for John’s assistance. I noted the lack of servants to meet us and I wondered why until I smelled the smoke. The pungent smell of burning wood carried its way to us in the thin air, like thick fists grabbing us and pulling us around the side of the house.

Daniel saw it first and pointed. “Fire at the sugar mill!”

“Rebecca!” I shouted, ready to run as fast as my legs and full skirts would allow me.

Instead, John held tight to my arms. “Daniel and I will go see what we can do. I need you to sound the alarm so the field hands can come and help us with water. Then go search the house for Rebecca and send word when you find her.”

His dark gaze bored into me and I nodded, understanding his meaning. He needed to be reassured that Rebecca was not in the burning building. Without warning, he grasped my head in his large hands and pulled me toward him, kissing me brutally.

He let go of me and began running toward the burning mill. I nearly stumbled as I turned and ran blindly back toward the house and to the edge of the field, where a large bell hung in its wooden casing. The evening wind whipped inside of it, causing it to moan into the clear night. I pulled on the suspended rope, making the bell chime in a low, monotonous clang, and waited until several men appeared from their quarters to investigate.

I sent one to ride to the neighboring plantations to ask for help, and the remainder to rouse as many people as they could and to go directly to the well with as many buckets as they could gather. Then I ran for the house, frantically searching for Rebecca. I almost sprawled over a large stump of an oak tree, the ax protruding from its middle, where Mr. O’Rourke had left it. Finding my footing again, I continued to run toward the front entrance to the house.

I flung open the door to complete stillness. With the exception of Marguerite and Delphine, I had seen all the house servants outside by the bell. I ran up the stairs two at a time, shouting out Rebecca’s name. My lungs pressed against my stays, searching for air that they could not get. Forcing myself to slow down, I took slow, deep breaths as I walked purposefully toward Rebecca’s room.

The sheets had been turned down and the pillow had the indentation of a small head, but Rebecca was conspicuously absent. My heart lurched when I spotted Samantha on the floor, facedown. I ran out of the room, my voice near hysteria as I shouted Rebecca’s name again and again. She would never willingly go anywhere without her doll, and wherever she was would not be a place she wanted to be.

I ran through the house, opening every door and closet, looking under every bed and calling her name. I even climbed up to the attic, candle held aloft, searching, but found no trace of the child.

A sick dread settled in my stomach as I caught sight of the growing flames from the mill. What if Rebecca was in the mill? Feeling almost faint from my exertion, I sped out of the house toward the burning mill, now the scene of a growing number of men and women who had formed lines from the well, transporting buckets of water to overcome the flames. My eyes stung from the smoke as they searched the crowd for John’s towering form, but he was nowhere to be found. I asked several of the men hauling buckets, but they hadn’t seen him. People swarmed everywhere, the air heavy with smoke, making it difficult to see. My mind screamed. Where are you, John? Where are you?

Thinking that maybe he had found Rebecca and brought her back to the house, I turned back. As my feet fled over the dry grass, I felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck that made me turn around toward the house. I thought I imagined a solid thumping on window glass and I stopped in my tracks, small spots of light gathering before my eyes as I struggled to maintain consciousness. A candle had been lit in my art room, and there, silhouetted against the window, was the sweet face of the child I had come to love as my own flesh and blood.

With a strangled shout, I ran back into the house and up the stairs to the little art room off my bedroom. I smelled candle smoke, as if a candle had just been extinguished, and no light shone under the crack in the door. I approached the room cautiously, wondering if I had just imagined Rebecca’s face in the window.

I pushed at the door, watching it soundlessly glide open. “Rebecca?”

The room was completely black, the mixed odors of smoke and paints turning my stomach and making me feel faint. Pressing one hand against the doorframe to steady myself, I held my other hand to my nose and called Rebecca’s name again.

A small sound came from the far corner of the room, and I approached slowly. “Rebecca, it is your mama. Everything is all right and I am here to take care of you. Can you come out now?”

A slight rasping came from the corner again, quickly followed by the sound of the door shutting behind me and the key turning in the lock.

I spun quickly, my skirts knocking over an easel and dumping the canvas to the floor with a crash. Feeling my way to the door, I grasped at the handle and tugged hard. It did not move.

“Rebecca? Is that you? Please let me out. Somebody please let me out.”

In the inky silence, I heard the rasping sound again, a creeping noise in the far dark corner, and cold perspiration crawled up my skin. Snake. I could almost see the black, scaly skin of a cottonmouth as it slithered toward me in the darkness. I knew it would not attack me unless provoked, but I could not see it nor avoid stepping on it if it came nearer.

I turned back to the door, banging on it in earnest. “Help me. Please, somebody help me. Please let me out!” I thumped louder, feeling the reverberations up to my shoulders.

Again, the white spots appeared before my eyes, but I clung on to consciousness with every fiber of my being. I had not survived so much of life already to die now, now that so much mattered to me. I banged on the door again with renewed strength, knowing my life and the life of my unborn child depended on it.

I stopped for a moment to listen, but heard nothing except the muted shouts from the mill. Gingerly hugging the wall, I crept toward the window, hoping to find somebody in the yard below. I nearly sagged with relief as I spied Mr. O’Rourke, the ax from the stump in his hand, walking quickly back toward the fire. I fumbled with the window latch, scraping my fingers until they bled, but was unable to open it. Instead, I banged loudly on the glass, praying against all hope that I could break it or that he would hear me banging and look up. I imagined I felt something brush against the skirt of my dress, and I pounded even harder.

Mr. O’Rourke glanced up and I waved my hands, hoping he would spot the movement. I hit my fists against the glass again so he would realize where I was and watched, with thin hope nearly smothered with desperation, as he turned back toward the house, ax in hand.

Pressing myself against the wall, I strained my ears, imagining I heard movement from all four corners of the blackened room. The darkness fell all around me, encroaching upon my very mind, but I fought it with my last resources of energy. I placed my cheek against the cool plaster of the wall, concentrating on the reality of it and forcing myself to stay upright.

A pounding sounded from the other side of the door. “Mrs. McMahon, are you in there? Do you need me?”

“Mr. O’Rourke—yes! Somebody has locked me in here and I need to get out. There is a snake in here. Please hurry!”

“There’s no key in the lock. Stand back, and I will use my ax.”

I crouched by the window and listened as the ax shattered the door, splinters of wood flying into the room and hitting my bowed head.

When enough of the door had been destroyed, Mr. O’Rourke kicked the door in, the jamb fracturing in half. I stood, and a movement outside the window caused me to turn my head. Rebecca’s back was toward me and she was walking in the direction of the pond, her long white nightgown glowing in the light of the full moon.

“Rebecca!” I screamed at the closed window. I stepped back and felt something smooth and rigid under my foot. A solid force hit the skirt of my gown and I looked down to see the shimmering scales of the cottonmouth in the light of the open door, its fangs buried in the folds of my skirt. Mr. O’Rourke raised his ax and brought it down with a sickening thud, severing the serpent in half. In a daze, I watched as he grabbed the head of the snake and yanked it from my dress, ripping the silk.

I turned to Mr. O’Rourke. “Go get Mr. McMahon and bring him to the pond—now!” Without another word, I dashed out of the room, my fingers frantically ripping at my dress, then my stays, to loosen them so I could breathe. Or swim. All I knew was that I had to get to Rebecca before she reached the pond. I could not lose another child. The light that had begun to shine in my soul would surely be darkened forever.

I saw Rebecca hesitating by the edge of the pond and heard her sobs. As I neared her, I heard her voice cry out to me, and it sounded so much like Jamie that my steps faltered and I fell.

“Mama, Mama. Where are you, Mama?”

I scraped my fingernails in the dirt, trying to stand, my mind reeling. Was that Jamie’s voice or was it Rebecca’s?

I found my footing again and raced toward her, watching in horror as she stepped into the black water.

“Rebecca, stop! Mama’s here. Stay there and I will come get you.”

Slowly, she turned around and stared at me, her blond hair shimmering in the moonlight like a halo. “Mama?” Her eyes were dreamlike, as if she were walking in her sleep.

I pulled my gown over my head, throwing it on the grass, and stepped out of my underskirts. Reaching out my arms, I walked slowly to her, barely aware of the shouts and running feet approaching from behind.

As if in slow motion, I watched as she seemed to lose her balance, her arms swinging in wide arcs at her side before she fell backward, slowly sinking out of sight within the embrace of the dark, treacherous arms of the pond.

My skin seemed stuck to my bones, making me ponderous, lethargic, unable to move. I smelled salt water and heard a seagull’s cry. The grass under my feet became warm sand, and waves rolled toward me, lapping at my now-bare toes. Jamie was just beyond my reach, his fingers stretching toward me before his head fell beneath the waves one last time. I cried out, his name sweet on my lips, my heart heavy with grief.

Then the fear that had remained so elusive in the last year struck me with the force of a human hand, taking the breath from my lungs and jolting my muscles into action. It was no longer the fear of water but the fear of loss. Without conscious thought, I dove into the pond where I had last seen Rebecca, the chill of the water sending pinpricks of misery to every pore of my skin.

I dove deep into the darkness, my hands reaching out to grab anything. But my fingertips brushed only the cold water, sending it in ripples down the length of my body. I swam to the bottom, feeling the thick, heavy mud, then kicked myself up toward the surface. I followed the light of the moon, its edges soft and uneven through the water but still a beacon for me.

I burst through the water, my lungs hurting. I glanced quickly around, ignoring Mr. O’Rourke and those he had gathered now approaching the bank, and looked for any sign of Rebecca. Only the small ripples caused by my movement marred the still surface of the dark water. With a deep breath, I plunged into the dark depths again.

I used the broadest stroke I could, stretching as far as possible, my fingers lonely hunters in the murky coldness. I reached the empty bottom again, pushing aside my despair that I had not yet found Rebecca. Turning on my back, I stared up to the surface, my loosened hair swimming snakelike around my face. I pushed it away and watched as a dark shadow passed above me.

With my toes finding purchase in the siltlike bottom, I crouched and pushed upward, my fingers reaching for the small flailing hands that seemed to move slower and slower. I skimmed through the water and touched her, then grabbed her around the waist with my other arm before I broke the surface.

Gasping for air, I struggled with Rebecca’s limp form until I felt two strong arms grab hold of us and bring us the rest of the way to the bank, where my feet could touch the bottom. Daniel took the child from my arms, and I was at first reluctant to let her go.

John’s strained voice shook. “Give her to Daniel, Cat. He needs to get the water out of her lungs.”

With shaking hands I let go, then allowed myself to be lifted in my husband’s arms.

*   *   *

We waited until we heard Rebecca’s cry, and then she and I were both carried inside the house. I insisted that Rebecca be put in my bed with me. The threat of pneumonia was real, and I trusted no one to watch her as I could. We were dried and dressed in our nightclothes, then bundled into bed with a roaring fire heating the room.

I cringed when I looked at the shattered door to my art room, trying not to remember the cold sweat of fear. Looking up at John, I grabbed hold of his sleeve. “You have not asked about the door.”

He leaned over to tuck Rebecca in, his sleeve brushing across my chest. “Mr. O’Rourke told me. I will have it replaced tomorrow.”

I fell back, trying to read his inscrutable face. I pulled on his arm as he straightened. “It was no accident. I was led there on purpose and locked inside. Now do you believe me about Marguerite? Do you have any doubts about her intentions now? I know I cannot prove anything, but there is no doubt in my mind that she means us harm. Including Rebecca.”

“Did you see her so that you know for sure? I know that Philip Herndon was here—my burning mill is proof of that. He is the one who swore to take what was most precious to me. If anybody had a motive to harm you, it would be him.”

I pushed myself up, forcing my voice to remain calm. “But what about Rebecca? We know that Marguerite was with her last.” I swallowed thickly. “Rebecca could have died tonight.”

He flinched, then resumed his stolid expression. “Hush, now—you are overwrought. You both need your rest. I have asked Rose to make you a tea to help you sleep. She will bring it up when it is ready.”

He stood, and I held on to his hand. To my surprise, I realized it was shaking. “John, please!”

Gently, he pulled his hand away. “Go to sleep. We will talk when you are feeling better.”

He bent and kissed Rebecca’s forehead and then mine before leaving. I turned to face my art room, as if to make sure nothing would slither out. An unbidden thought crossed my mind: the memory of how I searched in vain for John at the burning mill before returning to the house, lured by Rebecca’s image in the window and where I had been locked in a room with certain death. Where were you, John?

I pushed the recollection aside, dismissing it as nerves brought on by the events of the evening. He could have been lost in the crush of people attempting to put out the fire, and it would have been easy to miss him.

I watched Rebecca fall asleep while I waited for Rose’s tea. It was steaming hot and bitter, but I drank it down, wondering if I would ever feel warm again, and quickly joined Rebecca in oblivious sleep.

*   *   *

The sound of hushed, arguing voices awakened me. The fire had sputtered to a faint glow and a chill enveloped the room. The heated embers were the only source of light, giving me the impression that it was the middle of the night. Something heavy weighed upon my neck and I realized that my pearl necklace had not been removed when I had been dried and dressed in my nightclothes. My fingers patted it lightly, and I remembered the loose clasp, thankful it had not fallen into the water.

After checking Rebecca’s slow, even breathing to make sure she was asleep, I slipped from bed and padded toward the door. Opening it a crack, I listened for voices, but heard nothing but the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer. I was about to close the door again when I heard someone speaking. I recognized the deep voice as John’s and I waited for a long moment to hear to whom he was talking.

It was a woman’s voice, deep and resonant and highly distinguishable. Marguerite. I heard her laugh, a sound from deep in her throat, and it made my blood chill. I stepped into the hallway and closed the door, locking it with a soft click behind me. Slowly, I descended the stairs, gripping the banister to guide my way, following the voices.

A light shone from under the library door, thin like the light of a single candle, and I walked toward it and placed my hand on the knob. The sound of Marguerite’s voice gave me pause.

“You know that if she finds out the truth, she will leave. She will go back to where she belongs. Or maybe that is what you have been wanting all along—for her to be gone. Yet you are afraid that she will take the child with her once she knows.”

With my heart hammering wildly in my chest, my hand flew from the brass doorknob as if scorched.

I heard the control in John’s voice. “You will not blackmail me with this any longer. I will not have it.”

Marguerite laughed a bitter laugh. “You stand to lose a lot more than I ever could. When she finds out how you have been deceiving her, she and that child will be gone. Then you will be left with no child and no one to warm your bed at night.” She chuckled again, low and evil, the sound fighting the rigid pulse in my neck. “Maybe that is what you deserve.”

A glass crashed to the floor, and I jumped back.

“How dare you! Rebecca and Catherine could have been killed tonight because of your negligence, and no amount of threats from you will ever make me ignore that fact.”

Marguerite’s tone darkened. “I put Rebecca to bed. If the voices of the dead spoke to her, then that is the way of it. Those are powers that are stronger than mine, and I cannot stand in their way.” She gave a low chuckle. “And somebody locked Catherine in that room tonight. Who is to say it was not you?”

“Stop it! I should have listened to Catherine and dismissed you long ago. You are a danger to my daughter, and I will no longer tolerate your presence here. You are dismissed, and I never want to see you in this house again.” Two quick and heavy footfalls sounded in the library and I pictured him walking closer to Marguerite, his height towering over her, and she staring defiantly up at him. “Get out. Tonight. And if you ever breathe a word to Catherine, I will kill you. It will be so swift and so sudden that your last living thought will be to wonder how it happened.” He lowered his voice further, making me strain to hear him. “I have killed before and I will do it again. I am not a man to be thwarted.”

Steps approached the door, and I drew back into the alcove under the stairs, my eyes mesmerized by the mirror opposite. It seemed to create its own light, casting an ethereal glow that shimmered in the darkness. I clenched my eyes, not wanting to see whatever should materialize in its corrupted glass.

The door flew open and John hissed, “Get out.”

Opening my eyes, I peered out of my hiding place.

Marguerite turned to John with equal fervor. “I will do that, but you can be sure that once your precious wife finds out that Rebecca is not your child, she will know why you married her. And she will try to leave, just like your Elizabeth. Maybe this wife will be more successful in escaping than her sister.” She barked a mirthless laugh. “Maybe you should show her Elizabeth’s letters before she leaves. If you do not think they will kill her. Or maybe that is what you want.”

I heard John draw in a sudden breath. “You are lucky I am not throwing you in jail or worse. Now leave before I change my mind!”

Her voice was insolent as she turned to him in the threshold of the room. “You have far more to hide than I do.”

She turned to leave, but he grabbed her elbow and pulled her back. “What do you mean?”

Facing him slowly, she turned to smile at him. “I saw Elizabeth before you got to her and took your glove and the gris-gris. Her traveling bag was with her, too, like she was planning on leaving you. The authorities would be interested in hearing all about it.”

“There was nothing to incriminate me—only evidence that would have destroyed Rebecca’s standing in the community.”

“It was your glove, remember? And the gris-gris was one for an unfaithful lover. But you know that, do you not?”

“Get out,” he said again through gritted teeth, letting go of her arm in a rough gesture.

Her skirts swung in a graceful arc as she turned back to the darkened foyer. I flattened myself against the wall, grasping at the necklace around my neck, their words reverberating in my head. I need you, dear sister. I am so afraid. Had I finally discovered what she had been so afraid of? Her husband, the man with a known temper and penchant for violence?

I hugged the wall, blending into the darkened alcove to avoid being seen by Marguerite as she walked by. I heard her words again, and fear curled up in my blood. Rebecca is not your child.

Why had John not told me? I already knew about the unborn child Elizabeth carried when she died, so the fact that Rebecca was not his, either, would have come as no surprise. I almost gasped aloud as the next thought occurred to me. He had no claim to Rebecca, a child he loved as if she were his own flesh and blood. The only sure way to keep her with him would have been to marry the child’s aunt.

The hope that I had carried inside me, the hope that John had married me for other reasons, turned to ash as quickly as a thin leaf in a flame. John was a willful man. He would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. If I were threatening to leave and knew he had no claims to Rebecca, what would he do to stop me? The same thing that had been done to Elizabeth?

I clenched my eyes, pressing my forehead against the wall. Marguerite had gone, but I had not heard John move from the doorway of the library. After a few breathless moments, I heard his slow footsteps walk back into the room and the squeak of his desk chair as he sat.

Taking a step out of the alcove, a loud clattering sound came from the wood floor, as if something had dropped. Not wanting to waste any time to see if John had heard it, too, I fled up the stairs, then hid in the dark corridor above and waited.

John walked out into the middle of the foyer and stopped. “Marguerite? Is that you?” In the stillness of the night, I heard the precise snap of a pistol’s hammer and held my breath.

After several long moments, he retreated back into his library and shut the door, the sound of the lock sliding into place loud and deliberate.

Slowly, I stood on shaking legs and made my way back to my room. After turning the key in the lock, I stirred the fire, the heat unable to penetrate the bone-chilling numbness that seemed to have seeped into my soul.

I had no hope of sleep, but the warmth of the bed beckoned me, so I slipped into the cold sheets and snuggled next to Rebecca. What kind of a man is your father? I wanted to ask. He possesses unknown depths of love and kindness in the same soul that harbors so much darkness. And I am afraid. So afraid.

Too numb to weep, I lay beside Rebecca, absorbing her warmth and keeping my eyes transfixed on the ceiling as I waited for dawn.