Laurel felt a knot of fury build in her stomach. The girl was so young, damn her. And lovely. Dear God, what was she to do?
No sooner had all of them come into the gigantic entrance hall than they were surrounded by Negroes of all ages, all crying out, yelling actually, Byrony thought, blinking, all crowding around Brent. All she heard was “Massa. Massa.”
The outside of the plantation had struck Byrony with its clean, simple lines, the two and a half stories supported by slender white columns, and graceful galleries surrounding three sides of the house. But the interior carried the Spanish influence that Brent had described to her. The walls were painted a soft pink, and a black wrought-iron staircase gently curved to the upper floors. Fresh cut flowers were in delicate vases on every surface. She tried not to feel overwhelmed, but she did, nonetheless. Ira’s home in San Francisco had been elegant, rich, but it had none of the Old World grace of this mansion. It looked new and ugly by comparison. She wondered what Brent was thinking. Did it seem to him that their apartment above the saloon was a meager hovel compared to his old home?
“Byrony, come and meet all the house slaves.”
Brent introduced her to several of the older slaves, then paused to allow Laurel to give the names of the newer slaves.
Othello, Desdemona, Portia, Lear, and on and on. Good grief, Byrony thought, it was like a Shakespearean festival. She wondered what their real names had been. She smiled until she felt her face cracking. Everyone smiled back at her, calling her the Little Missis. There wasn’t a shoe on any foot present.
Suddenly Mammy Bath clapped her hands. “Enough. Off with you, you lazy blackies. Missis, you come with me. We’ll get you a nice bath.”
Byrony smiled at Brent, and he nodded. “Yes, go on upstairs. I’ll join you shortly.”
She looked over her shoulder as she preceded Mammy Bath up the stairs. Brent was talking to Laurel. She looked incredibly fragile and delicate and her charming laugh seemed almost intimate. Well, he’d known her intimately. She felt an alarming wave of jealousy. She met Drew’s eyes for a moment, and had the feeling he’d read her feelings. He winked at her, an action so unexpected that she very nearly laughed.
The long hall on the second floor was covered with a thick, patterned carpet. Mammy Bath kept up a nonstop monologue until they reached the end of the corridor. She threw open the double oak doors.
Byrony shivered at the sight of the dreadful room. The furnishings were dark and heavy and thick, and musty-smelling gold draperies covered the windows. Byrony walked quickly to the windows and pulled back the awful brocade. Sunlight poured in. Mammy Bath dutifully opened the glass doors and Byrony breathed in the sweet warm air.
“That’s better, I think,” she said more to herself than to the hovering Mammy Bath. She walked out onto the gallery and leaned over the white wood railing. “So beautiful,” she said, breathed in deeply as she stared down into the immaculate garden.
“Old Massa have bad eyes and the sunlight hurt him. All that change now, missis. We get rid of all this stuff, give it to Josh. Make that boy feel more important than he does already. He’s the head driver, a smart boy.”
Mammy Bath
turned at the entrance of two slaves and directed the placement of their luggage. Within twenty minutes Byrony was submerged to her neck in a huge cedar tub filled with jasmine-scented water. I’ve died and gone to heaven, she thought, in my first full bath since I left New Orleans.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. I’m in Mississippi, she thought vaguely, taking a bath. And there are barefoot slaves about who belong to Brent. Her mind skimmed over the long weeks of travel, dwelling more on her husband’s behavior than on the strange places they’d visited. Just when she thought she was beginning to really understand him, he would change, withdraw. He’d passed part of his time gambling, and they’d arrived in New Orleans with an extra thousand dollars. He’d spent most of it on her. She pictured the new gowns now hanging in the oak armoire in the corner of the bedroom. Had he been afraid that she would shame him? But of course he’d also had new clothes made for himself. She found herself a bit uncomfortable with the elegant Southern gentleman he’d become during the past week. His accent had broadened and he had developed an inexhaustible charm. She wondered if she would ever understand him. And now there were Laurel and his brother, Drew. Beautiful Laurel, who looked at him so intimately.
Byrony forced herself not to stir when she heard Brent’s voice.
“Hello, mermaid. You look as if you’re getting as much pleasure from that bath as I give you.”
She opened her eyes at that and saw his smile. She gave a soft, replete sigh and his smile widened.
“Shall I join you?”
“I’m sure you need to, but with your size you’d best wait.” She began to wash her hair, saying in her most offhand voice, “Your stepmother seems quite charming, as does your brother.”
“Were you expecting recriminations and screams of rage? My dear, this is the South. Ladies are ladies, at least superficially. Laurel will bide her time.” He paused a moment. “This was my father’s room. He refused to allow Laurel to make changes, according to Drew. Lord, it’s depressing. Do what you wish to—anything would be an improvement.”
“Will we be here that long?”
She watched him shrug. “We’ve traveled a long way. I, for one, want to feel firm earth beneath my feet for a while.”
“New Orleans was the most unusual city I’ve ever seen,” Byrony said.
“Wait until I give you a tour of Natchez.”
“It will have to be an improvement over Panama.”
“True enough. Perhaps on our return trip the railroad will be completed.”
“None of the slaves wear shoes,” she said abruptly.
“At least they’re clean, and dressed well enough. That’s Laurel’s doing, of course. As a boy, I remember nothing but filth. At the dining table, we’d be served by footmen who had the dirtiest fingernails you’ve ever seen. Made one lose one’s appetite.”