The pattern of her heart, p.5
The Pattern of Her Heart, page 5
McKinley reached for the document. “Does he prohibit the sale?”
“No, there’s no such prohibition. Upon the deaths of David and Samuel, your father rewrote his will. He knew neither of you would have any desire to operate the plantation, nor did he wish to force you into such a situation. However, in his letter he does ask that the crop be harvested if at all possible. Surely you must admit that permitting the crop to sit in the fields and rot would be improvident. Your father would abhor such inaction. On his behalf, I would plead for one of you to come back to The Willows and attend to matters immediately. The cotton will not wait indefinitely.”
Nolan brushed a lock of hair off his forehead and shook his head. “There is no easy answer to this dilemma. Even if Jasmine or McKinley agreed to go and oversee the harvest, how could it be accomplished with so few workers?”
Jasmine gave him a tender smile. Workers. He couldn’t even bring himself to say they’d be using slaves if they brought in the crop.
“Unaffected plantations in Louisiana are willing to hire out some of their slaves, and several plantations are planning to take advantage of the offer. The plantations nearby that suffered a large number of deaths have discussed the possibility of sharing their slaves. They would work one week at one plantation and the next week at another. Of course, you have to hope you don’t get the week when it rains,” he said with a halfhearted smile.
Jasmine fidgeted with her hands, overwhelmed by all she’d been told. It was impossible to imagine that most of her family had perished. But it was equally hard to make a choice about what should be done. “It’s obvious we can’t come to an immediate decision, Mr. Forbes. We need time to discuss the matter more fully before coming to a conclusion.”
“Of course, of course. I didn’t expect you to give me your answer today. I know there is much to digest, but you must remember the crop will be ready for harvest by the time you make the journey. You dare not tarry for too long.”
“I presume arrangements were made . . . properly made . . . for my family,” Jasmine said, suddenly changing the subject.
“Of course. Your father saw to those who went before him and left instructions with me for the remaining deaths, including his.”
“That sounds very much like Father.” Jasmine knew her father would have thought of everyone else, even if it took his last ounce of strength.
I’ll leave these papers with you to peruse, and if you have questions, you know where to reach me. Otherwise, I’ll await your decision.” Mr. Forbes used the arms of the chair to steady himself as he began to stand.
“A moment, Mr. Forbes,” McKinley said, waving for the man to remain seated. “Has any of this information been reported to the Boston Associates? Undoubtedly they need to know the state of affairs among those men with whom they have contracts. The mills are dependent upon receiving the anticipated cotton shipments.”
Forbes nodded in agreement. “I understand. I talked with no one prior to coming here. My first obligation was to your father and the promise I made him. However, I am prepared to speak with the Associates prior to my departure, or you may report on my behalf if you desire.”
“I believe they would appreciate hearing from you directly,” McKinley replied. “I’ll talk with Matthew Cheever, and we’ll arrange a meeting as quickly as possible.”
“Since I plan to depart for Boston once you’ve made a decision regarding The Willows, could we possibly meet in Boston? My ship sails for Mississippi in ten days and I had planned to spend the remainder of my time in the city. I promised to bring my wife some finery, and it may take me a few days to complete my shopping,” he added with an exhausted smile.
“I’m confident we can accommodate you. We can send a telegraph, and once we receive word regarding the time and date, I’ll notify you.”
“Good enough,” Mr. Forbes said, once again struggling to stand.
“Let me retrieve your cane, Mr. Forbes, and I’ll see you to the door,” Jasmine offered.
“No. You remain seated, Mrs. Houston. You’ve had more to contend with this day than I.”
“Indeed, my dear. You remain seated,” Nolan said as he took the older man by one arm. “I’ll accompany Mr. Forbes.”
Mr. Forbes leaned heavily upon his cane as Nolan escorted him across the thick wool carpet. Jasmine waited until she heard the tapping of his cane upon the wooden floor in the hallway before turning her attention to McKinley.
“Do you want to return home and discuss this matter with Violet—or perhaps fetch her and we can all take our noonday meal together?” Jasmine asked.
He shook his head. “No. I can tell you, sister, that I’ll not even entertain the notion of returning to The Willows and bringing in a cotton crop. If you want to do so, then that is all well and good, but I say we should immediately sell the place.”
“That may prove more difficult than you think,” Nolan said as he strode back into the room.
“How so? The Willows turns a handsome profit. There ought to be any number of investors willing to purchase such a plantation.”
“That’s not what Forbes tells me. He just said there are two plantations that have been on the market for over a year now and still have no buyers. Additionally, he tells me that because the fever devastated the area around Lorman, it will prove more difficult to find a purchaser until the fear of a repeat epidemic dies down.”
McKinley stood up and began pacing back and forth between the settee and Nolan’s oversized desk, his shuffling feet brushing the carpet nap first in one direction and then the other. “This is indeed a fine predicament,” he said while raking his fingers through his thick hair. “We can’t even properly mourn the loss of our family because of a cotton crop. I say we let it rot in the fields. What difference does harvesting the cotton make if we’re going to sell the plantation anyway?”
“Not a very fitting tribute to our father or our brothers, do you think? We should at least honor Father’s final request, McKinley.”
“Surely he realized what he was asking would be impossible for either of us to accomplish,” her brother argued.
Leaning slightly forward, Jasmine watched as her brother paced in front of her. McKinley had always been the sensitive male member in their family, yet suddenly he appeared cold and indifferent. She’d never seen him so detached and aloof. His behavior was as disturbing as the decision they must make. Surely he didn’t truly believe they should sit back and permit the crop to lay waste.
“Nothing is impossible if we trust in the Lord and maintain a proper perspective. Perhaps Violet would be willing to remain in Lowell with her parents while you traveled with Nolan and me to The Willows. With three of us, we could conduct the necessary business more rapidly. You or Nolan could oversee the crop, and I could attend to putting the house in order to place it for sale and help with the book-work,” she suggested hopefully.
“Did you not hear me? There is no way I can travel to Mississippi. I’ll not leave Violet with her parents when our child is due to be born in December. You know she’s frightened something will go wrong again.”
Jasmine nodded. Violet had suffered the loss of a stillborn child early in her marriage, and it had nearly incapacitated her throughout this pregnancy. Even though she’d subsequently given birth to one healthy child, the thought of another stillborn baby loomed in her mind, and she was convinced she would have difficulty once again.
“I thought Violet appeared happy and relaxed at Alice Ann’s party. Only two months ago, she wouldn’t have considered such an outing. You could at least ask her, McKinley. She likely relies upon her mother more than you for consolation at this juncture, don’t you think?”
“How would you feel if Nolan left you in such a circumstance, Jasmine? Would you think it his duty to hurry off to harvest a cotton crop, or would you believe he should remain at home with you? I’d venture to say you would not bid him farewell without an argument. Violet’s condition aside, I must see to my position with the Corporation. I cannot merely walk in and say I’ll be back once I’ve harvested the cotton and sold my father’s plantation. No, Jasmine. If one of us is to go to the South, it will be you, for I’ll not be bullied or shamed into going.”
“Is that what you think? That I’m trying to bully or shame you? Go home to your wife and your position at the Corporation, McKinley. Your primary concern appears to rest with the Corporation rather than the plantation,” she said in a soft yet resigned voice. “I’ll manage things in Mississippi without your assistance. However, I’ll not seek your permission for the decisions I make. If you plan to wash your hands of this matter, then I expect you to sign over your right of authority so I may transact business without your signature. Otherwise, I’ll be hampered at every turn as I wait upon the paper work being shuffled back and forth between Mississippi and Massachusetts.”
McKinley leaned against Nolan’s desk in a half sitting, half standing position. “You want me to sign over my portion of the inheritance? Is that what you’re asking? Because I won’t do that—I won’t.”
Her eyes filled with sadness as she met his piercing eyes. “I don’t want your inheritance, McKinley—I want your help. But please understand that although you’ve refused your assistance, I would never consider taking your inheritance. Father intended it for you, and you shall have half of whatever remains when all is said and done. All I’ve asked is that you sign over your authority so that I can conduct business without the necessity of your signature.”
“I’ll ask Mr. Forbes to draw up a paper in the morning.” His voice was cold.
“Until today, I hadn’t realized how much you’ve changed, McKinley. I fear your position with the Corporation has begun to harden you. Please don’t lose your kind heart and generous spirit. We’ve lost the rest of our family— we mustn’t lose each other.”
“You’re right, of course.” His voice cracked with emotion as she embraced him. “I’m sorry, but I just cannot accompany you. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she whispered.
Later that night Jasmine sat alone brushing out her long brown hair. She looked at herself in the mirror with each stroke. She couldn’t comprehend that her father had died. She couldn’t make it real in her mind.
“I suppose I won’t fully believe it until I see The Willows and his grave,” she murmured.
“Did you say something?” Nolan asked as he came into the room.
She sighed and put down the brush. “I can’t believe they are gone.”
He came to her and put his hands upon her shoulders. Bending low, he kissed her cheek. “I cannot imagine a more difficult day for you, and yet you bore it with such grace. It is hard to even imagine one’s entire family wiped out in a matter of weeks.”
“I’ve seen epidemics like that before. There was one when I was a little girl,” Jasmine remembered. “I think I was nearly six. I remember many of the older people dying, yet no one on our plantation seemed to get sick. At least I don’t remember there being sickness.” She turned and stood. “There is always something to worry about. I think of how close we came to losing Alice Ann. I worry every time one of the children starts sniffling.”
“But you cannot live in fear.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “No. I know the truth of that. Still . . . I’m afraid.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Cast your cares upon the Lord.”
“I’m trying to,” she whispered, allowing his embrace to reassure and comfort her. “I’m trying.”
Reverend Chamberlain snapped open his pocket watch and glanced down at the time. The Ladies’ Aid Society would be in the midst of their meeting, but if he entered the church quietly, he could be in and out without being observed. At least that was his plan. He silently chastised himself for leaving his sermon notes at the church when he’d attended last night’s meeting. If he hadn’t had to go searching for Reggie at the last minute, he wouldn’t have laid them down.
No sense blaming the child for her inquisitive nature, he decided. At her age, he, too, would have been off exploring the nooks and crannies of the church. However, he had become concerned when, after a good ten minutes of searching, he’d not located his daughter and been required to enlist the aid of several church members. After another period of searching, Mr. Emory had located Reggie in a narrow crawl space off one end of the sanctuary. Of course, Reggie hadn’t understood all the excitement. After all, she had followed her father’s instructions and had remained inside the church. On their way home, Justin attempted to explain his concerns but had finally given up.
Reggie was correct; she hadn’t disobeyed. Next time he would have to issue more explicit instructions, he decided as he carefully opened the church door and tiptoed across the wooden floor of the vestibule.
He could hear the muffled voices of the women drifting from inside the sanctuary. From the sound of the animated voices, he doubted their meeting would soon be over, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. He took another step toward his small office but stopped short. Had he heard someone utter his daughter’s name?
As surreptitiously as a cat stalking its prey, Justin padded back to the sanctuary doors and placed one ear against the cool, hard wood.
“Well, I can’t tell you the depth of my irritation when Rachel came home from town and told me she’d seen the preacher’s daughter going door to door selling cakes and pies,” Nancy Sanders proclaimed.
“Our cakes and pies?” another woman asked in a sharp voice.
“Well, of course, our cakes and pies. Do you think the preacher or that wretched child can bake?”
“She’s not wretched, Nancy. Unkempt, perhaps, but I believe she’s surely a sweet little girl underneath it all. You need to remember that she hasn’t had the advantages of your Rachel. Growing up without a mother’s influence and training has surely been difficult for the girl—and her father.”
Justin couldn’t determine who made the comment, but his lips curved slightly upward. At least not all of them considered Reggie to be wretched.
“Well, he certainly doesn’t appear interested in doing anything to help the girl. He brushes off every attempt that Rachel and I, as well as these other ladies, have made to assist him,” Mrs. Sanders responded. “And now he’s permitting the child to venture about town selling the pastries we baked for them.”
“She even attempted to sell some of them to Mrs. Whidden at the mercantile. When Mrs. Whidden questioned her, the child stated Elinor Brighton had made the suggestion.”
“Do you suppose she’s set her cap for the preacher and fears that her baked goods can’t compare to ours?” Nancy Sanders inquired.
“Elinor? She’s no more interested in finding a husband than I am,” another woman replied.
“You’re already married, Nettie,” someone said.
“Exactly my point. I’m not looking for a husband, and neither is Elinor Brighton. She’s been twice widowed and has hardened her heart against such matters.”
“I say the entire situation is pitiable and a poor reflection upon the church,” one of the women commented.
“Indeed! My husband tells me they had to drag the girl out of a crawl space she was hiding in last night during the deacons’ meeting.”
Was that Martha Emory speaking? It sounded like her shrill voice, and Harry Emory had been the one to locate Reggie the preceding night.
“There’s little doubt the child needs a woman’s hand. She has come to a point in her life when she needs to be turned down the proper path. I’m sure she has no idea how to properly fashion her hair or put needle to cloth. What’s to become of her when the time comes for her to find a suitable spouse? There isn’t a man alive who desires a wife who can’t keep a proper house.”
“Absolutely! Can you imagine a girl such as Reggie attempting to act as hostess for her father a few years from now? Why, the girl will have absolutely no idea how to handle herself in proper society. Watching her these past few weeks has been a painful experience,” another woman commented.
Justin’s jaw tightened as he listened to the women discussing his only child—the daughter he dearly loved and cherished beyond his wildest expectations. Their words cut like a knife, and a part of him longed to rush through the doors and tell them all that he cared little what they thought—that their scathing words were of no consequence to him or his daughter. Perhaps a good sermon on gossip and maligning others would be in order.
Yet, as Justin crept back to his office, he knew at least a portion of what he’d heard was correct. Reggie did need a woman’s guidance in her life. He should have realized his failure to provide someone to teach Reggie social graces would lead to disastrous results. Without a sound, he closed the door behind him and settled into the oak spindle-backed chair.
“What do I do, Lord? I don’t want a wife, but the child needs a woman’s hand in her life. Who among these women could help my Reggie?” he whispered into the silent room.
He stared out the office window at the grassy side yard, where the parishioners occasionally gathered for summertime picnics and festivities, and hoped he’d be given a divine answer to his query. This was one problem Justin didn’t want to solve on his own, for if he knew nothing else, he knew his daughter. She would resist.
The sound of clattering footsteps and Reggie’s voice startled Justin from his silent reverie.
“Guess what happened!” she shouted, her arms flapping up and down like an agitated chicken as she skidded to a halt in front of his desk.
Justin surveyed his young daughter. Her hair was unkempt, her clothing was soiled, and dirt smudged her forehead and both cheeks. He assessed the child as though she were a stranger and knew he needed an answer to his prayer—immediately.
“Did you hear me, Father? Guess what happened?”
