Chapter Six

Clutching a dust rag, Ella stood at Honor's bedroom window gazing down at the rose bushes Meshach had planted among the tombstones. The lovely Apothecary's Rose over little Seth's grave had thrived over the summer months, but now, with winter's arrival, it was naturally dormant. Come next season, its lovely pale red blooms would brighten the entire area. Its fragrance would drift across her and Gentry's bedroom balcony and though her open windows like a gentle greeting. She crossed her arms against the cold and gazed at the remaining garden, regretting how, prior to the war, she had ridiculed old man Thropeshire for growing acres of roses instead of cotton. Were it not for that prissy old man's neglected acres since his passing, Meshach would have small pickings when on his frequent forages around the countryside. Greenpoole was slowly being patched with items and plants left behind by neighbors who had given up and left—or who, because of unpaid taxes, had lost their plantations to Northern carpetbaggers or Southern scalawags.

She wondered if Gentry was having success in New Orleans. He had gone there to collect money owed him for cattle that his men in Texas had shipped there, upon receiving Gentry's wire to do so. Quite a bit of money, she hoped. She missed him and wondered if he missed her. He'd not mentioned Texas since soon after Honor's injuries. Lately, with Honor getting better by the day, she sometimes wondered what he was thinking, but she dare not ask. Why temp a conversation she was not willing to have?

She glanced at the dust rag in her hand as if suddenly reminded why she had gone to the window, then slapped gently at the sash, being careful not to further disturb the long crack in the window pane. Hearing a sound behind her, she glanced over her shoulder to see Honor on her feet, aided by the pair of hickory crutches that Gentry and Meshach had spent days carving and then sanding until they were as smooth as marble. Ella continued dusting while glancing repeatedly over her shoulder to watch her sister practice maneuvering slowly back and forth across the floor. She was glad to see Honor smiling as she hobbled along. There were still days when she burst into tears over Andy's senseless death five months earlier, but true to her old tenacity, her mind and heart were proving to be as resilient as her young body.

Again immersed in her dusting chore, Ella started at Honor's squeal of delight and whirled to see the girl standing flat on her two feet and holding the crutches high over her head.

"Look, Ella! I've got all my weight on my legs!" She let go of the crutches and they made a terrible racket against the wooden floor.

"No! Don't...!" Ella cried, rushing to grasp Honor's arm. "You'll fall, Honor. You're legs aren't strong enough yet."

"Wanna bet?" She jerked her arm from Ella's grasp. "You just watch me walk! And don't you dare touch me again unless I really start to fall. I'm just gonna take a few steps and then I'll use the crutches again. Okay?"

Silent, but hovering close by, Ella was suddenly ashamed of what she was thinking. She'd be rid of those crutches soon. Too soon! She thought for the thousandth time about Beatrice's declaration a month after the accident. "When Honor is on her feet again, I shall bring the twins to pack her and Elizabeth's things and they shall come home to Savannah with me—as was the plan before that husband of hers orchestrated his foolish death! She had looked Ella square in the eyes. "... and then, my dear, you and Gentry can orchestrate his original plan."

Ella clutched at Honor, but Honor wretched away. "Damn it, Ella! What's the matter with you, jumping at me like that?"

"Don't swear, Honor," Ella scolded half-heatedly, and too embarrassed by her attempt to stop Honor's progress, to look her sister in the eyes.

"I won't swear if you will just leave me be, for Heaven's sake!". "I wasn't falling, but you almost made me!" Honor said, and then frowned, as she closely examined Ella's face. "What's the matter with you, anyway? You look like you aren't even listening."

* * *.

Another month passed and Honor had been rid of her crutches for almost as long. Ella, again caught up in the day-in-day-out toil at Greenpoole, had begun to think that their grandmother, in her forgetfulness, had forgotten all about her pledge to drag Honor off to Savannah. Besides, Honor did not want to go; Ella was sure of it, although Honor had never said so. Nearly each week this past month, Beatrice had continued to show up at Greenpoole alone, leaving Sunbeam and Moonbeam behind in Savannah. Finally, Ella allowed herself to relax. Beatrice likely had come to the conclusion that Honor and little Elizabeth should stay where they are, since Honor was doing so well. Besides, little Elizabeth and Adam were the happiest of playmates and Beatrice, the ever adoring great-grandmother, had realized that it would be a shame to separate them.

* * *

Despite hardships at Greenpoole, Ella and Honor found time for enjoyment when the town ladies came out to check on Honor's health and provide the latest gossip. Somehow, the gossip wasn't as much fun as in the old days when they had "stirred the pot of bubbling secrets" with their cousins, the lively Sutton triplets from Hilton Head. Their world had turned too serious. All three Sutton cousins had married soon after the war began, Maureen and Nouveen moving to distant towns, except poor Vestal ... dead of childbirth a short year after her marriage, while trying to deliver her own set of triplets.

Gentry was due home soon, and Ella had missed him, but it seemed that she loved him more when he was away this time, possibly because she dreaded what he was sure to say to her if and when Beatrice regained her memory and came for Honor. She found peace-of-mind only in that Honor would not leave the sister who had all but raised her, no matter how much Grandmother fumed and railed!

Ella knotted her hair into its bun and continued her chore of putting the house in order. This morning she would help Hannah prepare the meals, since Baker Ben was feeling poorly again and had taken to his cot. The servant gal Miffie had married a Negro Yankee soldier and moved to Washington, after which Baker Ben, jubilant in a crabby sort of way, abandoned his old room that was attached to the kitchen house and moved into Miffie's vacated quarters that were accessed through the manor's rear entrance.

She headed downstairs clutching the dust rag, pausing along the way to polish the once beautiful old mahogany banister of which Sherman's men had little regard as they carted away the upstairs furniture, scratching and knocking chinks in the wood as they went. On the landing, Ella pushed open the cracked, stained-glass window, and gazed down at the circle drive, pleased to see Beatrice's old barouche and harnessed mule. She hurried downstairs, wondering what gift grandmother had brought to Greenpoole today. Usually, she brought a box of coveted sweets or a bolt of cloth to sew new clothes for the children. Ella was laughing with expectation at the bottom of the stairs when the wide front doors opened and Beatrice strolled inside—following closely behind by Moonbeam and Sunbeam!

To Ella's shock, it took Honor less than five seconds to inform her that she has been looking forward to moving into Savannah for a very long time, since that is exactly what she and Andy had always planned—this, after Beatrice had handed her the letter from the Cuthbert kin in England, inviting Honor to visit them. They had actually sent steamship fare for her and Elizabeth! Honor did cry, thought, as she hugged Ella, sniffing that they must visit often before she leaves in a couple of weeks. Little Elizabeth was dragged out the door kicking and screaming between Moonbeam and Sunbeam, both of whom had a firm but reluctant grip on the child's tiny arms. After which, Adam refused to kiss his adoring great-grandmother goodbye. Days later, Ella was still angry. How could she walk away from Greenpoole and never look back, the ways she had?

* * *

Ella's anger was only lessened by Gentry's arrival from New Orleans the following week at noon. After a quick meal with her and Adam, he went into Savannah to bank his money. Ella did not ask the amount, but hoped it would be enough. She hadn't told Gentry that the last batch of sharecroppers had moved on, and she wondered if he had noticed. When he was out of sight, she summoned Meshach and Cricket, gave them a dollar each and a large sack of vittles, and sent them on a long journey to Atlanta—where Meshach said a family of Victor's ex-slaves had gone and were now in dire straits. Afoot, they would likely be gone several weeks. Uncomfortable with guilt that she had not told her husband what she intended, she closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her mouth. She'd tell him about the sharecroppers if ... if Meshach's trip was successful.

That evening, as dusk fell and Adam was asleep in his room, she pulled the new tax notice from her apron and laid it atop her bureau. She would not tell Gentry about the tax notice just yet, she decided—in a few days, perhaps, but not tonight. Even before he left, they had scarcely had a conversation these past months that hadn't involved money, and she regretted it. He was so kind to her, so understanding of her moods. She felt a familiar discomfort crawl over her. Sometimes, when she glanced at Gentry and caught him looking at her, she saw something intangible in his black eyes. Was it sadness? She had rather see anger in them, resentment, stubbornness, anything but sadness!

Had she made him doubt her love? Had she been so busy with Honor and everything else at Greenpoole that-! She loved Gentry as much as much as ever! Did he know it?

At the sound of Gentry's footsteps in the hall, she quickly smoothed stray wisps of hair from her face and, forgetting all about he taxes, rushed to the door and pulled it open. The look on her face must have pleased him; his eyes gladdened, and he smiled.

"I've missed you," he said, taking both her hands in his.

"I've missed you, too, Gentry. I'm sorry! I was just so worried about Honor! I'm sorry if I-!"

"Shush." He quieted her with a finger to her lips. "I know, but Honor is fine now." He touched her cheek with the backs of his long, tanned finger. "She doesn't want you worrying about her. She's going to Europe. Getting on with her life, she said. And that's what she wants us do, Ella."

"That's what I want, too, Gentry. She rested against him, pressing her head against his strong shoulder. "You're so good to me, Gentry. I love you so. You know that, don't you?"

She waited for his reply then leaned her head back to smile up at him, expecting to see his eyes warm upon her face, but saw instead that they were on the slip of paper atop her bureau. Oh ... but that's not why...! But something would not let her say it. She grabbed his hand and led him through the French doors to the balcony. "We haven't watched the sun disappear into the river in a long time, Gentry. Look at it. Isn't it beautiful?"

She watched him turn his back to the sunset, lean against the balcony post, and cross his arms over his chest ... as if to keep me away, she thought, fighting a strange panic. Suddenly, she knew what he was about to say and there was no way to stop him.

"It's time to leave here, Ella."

The firmness in his voice made her shutter. She gripped the railing and stared into the glittering twilight for a long while before twisting her head in the opposite direction, away from him. "Please, Gentry ... don't ... don't make me go. Not yet. I ... I can't."

When, at last, she turned back to look at him, he was gone, had left as silently as a shadow moves. Through the open balcony doors, she saw only the door to her bedroom as he pulled it shut behind him. Dejected, she returned to her room and closed the French doors against the cold, knowing that if she remained on the balcony, she would see him riding away toward Savannah. Moments later, she gave out a soft cry, flung open the doors, and watched him ride down the road at a gallop, until the sun's glare on the river absorbed him into it, and he was gone.

* * *

She awoke in the night as the lamp at her bedside flared and Gentry sat down beside her. Silent, he slipped his hand beneath her hair to the back of her neck and pulled her gently forward until his lips pressed against her forehead. After a long moment, she dropped her head back to look at him ... then clenched her eyes shut against sight of his own: Those mesmerizing black eyes that had always thrilled her with their boldness ... their promise ... their sureness, were filled with sadness—a sadness unmistakable now in its intensity. With a soft cry, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, clung to him, frantic in her desire to remove that sadness. His response was immediate, and soon the pleasure of it near maddening to her, his lovemaking carried out with a slow urgency that took her from bliss to ecstasy, and then beyond either.

When at last they lay silent in each others arms, she stroked his dark cheek, happy, a great sense of relief filling her. Did his silence mean that he had thought it over and decided they did not have to leave for Texas just yet? Yes! That was it! That's why he had come to her, so sweet, so filled with desire for her. With a little more time, she could convince him that Greenpoole should be their permanent home. He was weakening, she could sense it. She snuggled against him and slept sounder than she had slept in months.

* * *

She did not know when he awoke and left their bed. During the night she had roused only once to glance sleepily at his shadowed face. His eyes had been closed, his chest rising and falling gently in sleep, but when she tried to roll away to a more comfortable position, his arms tightened around her, and she had quickly fallen back to sleep. Now, wide awake, she pulled herself up on her elbows and looked at the haze of cloudy sunlight visible through her windows. Smiling, she slid from the bed. She was still smiling as she washed her face in the icy water on her washstand, donned her clothes and combed her hair, while pausing occasionally to listen for Adam. He must be playing outside. She stepped onto the balcony and searched the grounds, then retreated inside as the frigid wind whistled eerily thought the trees and around the house, setting her teeth to chattering. Too cold for him to be out, and rain was coming, she thought, but strange he hadn't come running to wake her ... bouncing on their bed and making enough noise to wake every soul on the plantation. For the first time, she noticed that her fireplace, usually stoked and blazing by now, was cold. She opened her bedroom door and called out to Hannah, then went back to light the fire, but soon paused, frowning. Something wasn't right.

She peered out into the wide hall and looked left and right. Then, possibly because of the eerie silence, she tiptoed to the railing and looked down into the colossal foyer. The house was quiet. Too quiet! Whirling, she ran to her son's room, and then into the room at the end of the hall where Hannah slept. Both were empty! Frantic, she ran back to little Adam's room and threw open the wardrobe that held his clothes. Empty! The drawers ... empty! She stumbled into the hall, down the sweeping stairs, and stood, sobbing, in the center of the gigantic entry hall, unmindful of the cold marble beneath her bare feet, crying out her son's name, and then screaming for Hannah!

"They is gone, Miss Ella." Baker Ben said, from the back end of the entry hall. He stood, his frail body leaning against the door frame, as if that were all that held him up. He pointed at the front door, and then waved his arm in a fashion meant to encompass the world. "They is gone to Texas. That ol' Hannah woman, too. Her was right unhappy 'bout goin', but Mister Gen'te, e'say his boy gonna need her more'n ever ... since his Momma done 'side to stay put in Georgia."

Ella felt her legs begin to weaken. She glanced about for something to hang on to, but her feet held her prisoner, moving neither forward nor backward.

Baker Ben drew a feeble breath, clutching the door frame as he, too, swayed a bit. "I wuz wonderin' las' night why he come home in a rented buggy and a'pullin' his hoss behind it. Guess dat buggy how he done took them two off to de boat what's takin' 'em to Texas..."

The color drained from Ella's face. She dropped to her hands and knees, and like an injured animal afraid to lie down for fear of dying, she screamed: "Gentry! Gentry! You bastard! You bastard!"