Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

Janie put her hand on Maggie’s arm to stop her. “Clay,” she said quietly, “are you sober enough to listen to me?”

He looked up from the plate of eggs. His brown eyes were sunk deep into his skull. His mouth was a straight line, the corners deeply etched. He looked older than Janie remembered. “What is it you have to say?” he asked flatly.

“Are you aware of what the rain’s doing to your crops?”

He frowned, then pushed his plate away. Janie pushed it back toward him. He obeyed her and began to eat again. “I may be drunk, but I’m afraid I haven’t been able to block out everything that’s happened to me. Maybe I should say, everything that I’ve caused. I’m well aware of what the rain’s doing. Don’t you think it’s a fitting end? After all my wife,” he snarled the word, “has done to get this plantation, it looks like we’re both going to lose it.”

“And you’re willing to allow that?” Janie demanded. “The Clay I’ve always known would fight for what he wanted. I remember you and James fighting a fire for three days.”

“Oh yes, James,” Clay said quietly. “I cared then.”

“You may not care about yourself,” Janie said fiercely, “but other people do. Right now, Wesley and Nicole are out in the rain trying to slice off a few acres of Nicole’s land to save yours. And all you do is sit here and wallow in your own selfish pride.”

“Pride? I haven’t had any pride since…since one morning in a cave.”

“Stop it!” Janie shouted. “Stop thinking of yourself and listen to me. Didn’t you hear a word I said? Wes told Nicole that your land would probably be flooded, and she figured out a way to save your crops.”

“Save them?” Clay’s head came up. “The only way is if the rain stopped, or maybe a dam could be built upriver.”

“Or, if the river had someplace else to go besides your land—”

“What are you talking about?”

Maggie sat down beside Clay. “You said Nicole is going to save Clay’s crops. How?”

Janie looked from one interested pair of eyes to the next. “You know the sharp bend in the river just below the mill?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Nicole figured out that if she dug a trench through there, the river just might take that course instead of flooding your bottomland where your tobacco is.”

Clay leaned back in his chair and stared. He knew exactly what Janie meant. The excess river water needed an outlet, and one place was as good as another. It was a while before he spoke. “She’d lose several acres of her land if the river did take that course,” he said at last.

“That’s what Wes said.” Janie poured all three of them more coffee. “He tried to talk her out of it, but she said—” She paused and looked at Clay. “She said you needed someone to believe in you, that you need to feel someone cares about you.”

Clay stood up abruptly and walked to the kitchen window. It was raining so hard that he had only an impression of the outside beyond the window. Nicole, he thought. He’d been drunk for nearly a year just so he couldn’t think or feel, yet it hadn’t come close to working. There wasn’t a minute, drunk or sober, when he hadn’t thought of her, what could have been, what would have been if only he’d…The more he thought, the more he drank.

Janie was right, he did feel sorry for himself. All his life, he’d felt he was in control, but then his parents had been taken, then Beth and James. He thought he wanted Bianca, but Nicole had confused him. When he realized how much he loved her, it was too late. By then, he’d already hurt her so much that she’d never trust him again.

The rain whipped against the glass. Somewhere, out in that cold deluge, she worked for him. She sacrificed her land, her crops, the security of all the people who depended on her, for him. What had Janie said? To show him that someone cares.

He turned to Janie. “I have about six men left on the plantation. I’ll get them and some shovels.” He started toward the door. “They’re going to need food. Empty the larders.”

“Yes, sir!” Maggie grinned.

The two women stared at the door after Clay shut it behind him.

“That sweet little lady still loves him, doesn’t she?” Maggie asked.

“She’s never stopped for a minute, although I’ve sure tried to get her to stop. In my opinion, no man’s good enough for her.”

“What about that Frenchman who lives with her?” Maggie said hostilely.

“Maggie, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I got a few hours to listen,” she said, and began to throw food into burlap bags. They’d return to the mill to cook. It was better to get the raw food wet than to try to transport it when it was hot.

Janie smiled. “Let’s get busy. I have a year’s worth of gossip to tell you.”

The rain was coming down so hard, Clay could hardly see to get his men across the river. The water lapped over the edges of the shallow rowboats and threatened to swallow the men along with

the land. Already the river had risen enough that it had eaten several rows of Clay’s tobacco.