Chapter 31
Light poured in through the attic window. Morning Fawn never wanted to move again. Her mouth tasted like cotton. She hated cotton. That’s what Devon had come here to destroy. Risked his life for. Had he died for it? Or was that still to come?
She rolled over and curled into a ball. She had failed him.
The realization ricocheted through her. She should have told him about Thea being awake that night they’d been in the kitchen.
She should have gotten away last night and led them on a wild goose chase south.
If only she’d moved a little quicker, fought a little harder.
Her stomach clenched. She scrambled off the bare mattress, dropped to her knees, and emptied the dregs of her stomach into the chamber pot. The result of the laudanum which they’d shoved down her throat or guilt? Either way, she swiped her mouth on her torn skirt and hung her head.
Replacing the lid, she shoved the pot back under the bed and curled toward her lap. Devon had trusted her. Now he was either dead or in jail with no hope but a noose.
Flashes of memory burst through her clogged brain. Shouts around dawn. Her uncle had returned and who else? LeBeau had thrown open her door and shook his fist. “We got him. We got him. We got the mangy-hide, bloodsucking Yankee you sold your soul to. Moyer put a bullet in him. Beat him to a pulp.”
Later, he’d burst into her room again, and someone else had grabbed her. Owens? They’d torn the room apart, ripping off the bedding, overturning her chair and desk, everything a mess, scouring the place for any secrets. LeBeau had waved the journal in her face.
He’d said more. What? It didn’t matter. They had Devon. Wounded and bloodied and in pain. How seriously had he been shot? If he survived, they’d execute him. Her heart had caved in.
Sobs rocked through her. Her fault. She should have never followed him that day.
Stayed away. Stayed out of it. Her and her big mouth.
Her and her jealousy. The hours in the garden, in his arms, sharing their hearts.
The kiss that had swept her to heaven and back.
The kitchen…that first night when he’d come to her room and promised her the moon… his friendship, his love…lost.
The sun had shifted to the other side of the pane by the time the door clicked. Late afternoon. Morning Fawn’s tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. She stirred at the sound of steps, her body a concoction of aches too numerous to count.
“Let me help you up.” Flora’s rich voice broke the dull air.
Morning Fawn pushed up to her knees and rocked back onto her folded legs.
Kind eyes shone from beneath a wrinkled brow. “The missus done sent me up to get you cleaned up a bit.”
“Are they going to take me to jail?”
The middle-aged servant clucked her tongue. “I’s don’t knows their plans. I reckon the missus doesn’t either.” The hefty lady dressed in a red floral dress and a white apron bent over and offered her hand. “I’ll get you a wet washcloth and a change of clothes.”
Flora tsked at the shards of pottery from the broken pitcher and shoved them out of the way with her shoe as she led her to the other side of the room.
Morning Fawn dropped onto the wooden seat Flora righted. The room spun.
“Least they had sense enough to not break the lamps.” She heaved the desk upright and stepped over the strewn contents of Morning Fawn’s trunk. “I’ll be back with water. You sit tight.” She exited, and the lock clicked.
Why lock it? Where would she run? What was there left to do? Morning Fawn rubbed her hands over her arms. Why couldn’t she stop trembling?
Minutes later, Flora returned with a new pitcher, a glass, and the sweetest water Morning Fawn had ever tasted. She swallowed deeply and sat numbly as Flora washed her face and cleaned the scrapes on her face, hands, and limbs.
“You put up quite a fight.” Flora dabbed away with water and ointment.
“Do…do you know anything else about the lieutenant?”
Flora exhaled. “He’s alive, I reckon. In bad shape. They’s got him in jail. Can’t wait to hang him. Mister Moyer wants it done proper. Your uncle’s ready to have it done today.”
Morning Fawn closed her eyes. Her stomach threatened to erupt again. “And the cotton warehouse?”
Flora wriggled the filthy dress off her.
“Some of the cotton burned. But they’s saved most of it.
Now, that quartermaster’s place is a different story.
Blowed most of the supplies to kingdom come.
All them fancy-dressed gents and soldiers are fit to be tied.
And it being on Christmas Day and all. Massar done cancelled Christmas. ”
A partial success? None of it was worth Devon’s life.
“And Lucy?” Morning Fawn shivered.
Flora tugged a clean chemise from the pile on the floor. “They’s got her locked up in the cellar.”
“Did they beat her?”
“Slapped her around a bit, but when you tried to take off on that horse, that got them all scattered. All they could think of was getting to town.”
At least her actions had helped somebody.
Flora nudged Morning Fawn’s arms upward. “Only someone done went and told about the wedding.”
“Who?” Feeling more like a marionette than a living, breathing person, Morning Fawn held her arms up while the garment shimmered downward.
“I’s don’t know. If we’s find out, he’ll done be shunned.”
“What…what will happen to Lucy?”
“I’s don’t know. Massar had a fit. Might sell her. Right now, he’s too busy with the mess in town and you.” Flora had her stand and take off her pantalettes as the chemise flowed past her knees.
Tears stung her eyes once more.
Flora took her in her arms and held her. “The good Lord will watch over ya, girl.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
“He’ll watch over your loved ones.” The servant patted her back. “You pray and keep on praying.”
What if He didn’t watch over them? What if He let Devon die, just as He’d allowed her mother to die?
Footsteps on the stairs.
Flora started. “They’s coming.” She jumped back and grabbed the green wool dress from the trunk. “Don’t tell ’em I told you nothing. Massar says anyone help you, they’s be taken to the caboose, whipped to within an inch of their lives, and sold.”
Morning Fawn swiped her nose.
A rapid knock rattled the door.
Flora worked the dress over her head. “Just a minute, Massar, Miss Beth still dressing. Just a minute.” She whipped the dress into place. “Keep your courage up, girl, and keep praying,” she whispered as Morning Fawn quickly buttoned up the front.
The door burst open. Her uncle marched in, his riding whip in hand. “What are you doing up here, woman?”
“Missus’s orders, sir.” Flora curtseyed. “Wanted me to wash her up. In case you had plans of taking her into town.”
“Get out. And don’t come back unless I or Owens say so.” His mouth contorted like a tree burl.
Flora scurried out.
No fine suit today. LeBeau wore his hunting trousers and coat. He smacked the whip against the doorjamb. “You have disgraced this family with a deeper stain than can ever be washed out with blood. I will. Never. Forgive. You.”
She shuddered and hung her head. There were no words to buffet his wrath. “I’m ready to go to jail.”
He snorted, a chilling laugh that sent goosebumps up her arms like a January norther.
“I’d like nothing better, but I’ll not have you disgrace this family further.
I’ll be living down the scourge Reynolds has brought to this house for the rest of my life.
He traded on my good name.” LeBeau’s fingers curled until his hands were white-knuckled.
“As far as anyone outside this plantation is concerned, you had no prior knowledge of Reynolds’s plans.
You were just a silly girl fooled by that traitor scum, giving away a few moonlit kisses.
If anyone says differently, they’ll answer to me for it. ”
No threat of execution or arrest? She gaped at him. His good name? His reputation? “I’d rather be locked away in town than be your prisoner in this attic.”
He scoffed. “That sounds like something you’d say.
Cut off your nose to spite your face. But you aren’t going to have any say about your fate.
Don’t worry. I have no desire to have you under this roof a minute longer than you have to be.
I have no intention of leaving you around here to cause any more trouble. ”
“I’d say or do anything you asked if only you’d convince the authorities to spare Devon’s life.”
“You’ll do what I say or end up in a locked room in an asylum. As for Reynolds, the only choices left regarding him are whether he’ll die by hanging or a firing squad, and whether we’ll have the pleasure here in Alleyton, or if that will be saved for San Antonio.”
Dear God, no. Please don’t let it be so. Her legs wavered. She closed her eyes.
She blinked as the door slammed. LeBeau was gone for now. If only he could stay away forever. Nick too.
Devon. She dropped to her knees by a pile of clothing. His Bible lay amongst the garments. She grabbed it and pressed it to her chest. The only thing she had of his.
Dear God, help me. Help Devon. Please. She folded over and wept. I can’t do this on my own. Please, Lord, I can’t lose him. I’ve lost so much. I need You to scrape me off the floor and put me back together. I cannot bear this.
A seed of comfort awoke within her chest. She was not alone.