Chapter Sixteen
Josie awoke to the soft orange light filtering through the window, her body wrapped in a fresh nightdress and covered by clean sheets.
The red quilt had been replaced by a calming baby blue one, decorated with cheerful green and red flowers.
She stared at the wooden ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened hours ago.
Her limbs were too heavy to lift, and her stomach churned at every little movement.
Pushing herself hadn’t been a wise choice, but she had wanted to prove her strength, to show she was more than a spoiled Southern belle, Travis thought her to be.
That act was all a lie.
Weak-willed, she had allowed her father to talk her into marrying a man twice her age, naively believing he would be a romantic hero like the ones in her cherished novels.
It was foolish to think Marcus would let her keep Belle Vallée; she had been ignorant to believe she could make a difference in the lives of the Negro children on the streets of Statesville with her practiced teaching skills.
It was weakness to think Marcus wouldn’t find out and beat her until she couldn’t walk.
It was stupid to believe that being bedridden would somehow shield her from her duties afterward. Weak. So weak.
Josie breathed in and out, trying to hold back her tears. You’re useless to me, Marcus’s gruff voice echoed in her mind. You are worthless.
Dr. Gordon's confirmation—that her affliction was simply a sign that her body needed rest—was a sudden miracle. “It’s going to be all right, Mrs. Blythe,” he told her.
“It’s normal for a woman in your state to experience pain.
Get some rest. You shouldn’t be working so hard.
” Josie had been speechless, a wave of relief washing over her as she realized her baby was safe in her womb.
A heavy weight settled in her chest. Travis knew now, no doubt about it.
What must he think of her now? Dr. Gordon was oblivious of the truth; he assumed Travis was a happy father.
A chill ran down Josie’s spine as she imagined Travis’s clear blue eyes darkening into a glaring furnace, just as Marcus’s had every time she hid secrets from him.
Josie was a liar. A deceiver. And above all, she was a murderess sleeping under Travis’s roof and raising his children. She sat up in bed, her eyes falling on Ivy, who was curled up in the rocking chair next to Gideon’s crib. Ivy looked up, revealing the tears glistening in her eyes.
“Ivy, dear, what’s the matter?”
She watched as Ivy wiped her nose with her sleeve, her small voice trembling. “I was so s-scared. I thought you were going to die . . . like Ma.”
Josie’s eyes stung. It wasn’t so long ago she lost her mama, too.
Josie tried everything in her power to keep Mama and Susannah alive, and she failed.
No wonder her father had been so eager to rid himself of her for the sake of his plantation.
Josie didn’t blame him one bit. She was willing then to do whatever it took to win his affection back.
However, that situation was different entirely.
Ivy had a father who loved her, and now she had a new mother, who loved her more than she loved herself.
Josie patted the mattress. “Come here, Ivy. I need to speak with you.”
Ivy stood and walked over to Josie’s bed. As she sat beside her, Josie took the girl’s hands. “I know this is so hard for you. I lost my Ma, too.”
Ivy’s eyes widened. “You did?”
Josie nodded, consumed with memories. She could see her mother’s face clear as day, thinking back to the days they had together. She remembered her smile and sweet voice. Mama was everything Josie wanted to be. She was a tough woman, hardly ever shedding a tear.
When Josie’s three brothers died, her mother grieved in a way that Josie had never known possible.
Instead of staying at home, wearing black and locking herself away, her mother dedicated her time to caring for the wounded and sick, pouring her heart into helping others.
Josie had been right there beside her, assisting in the hospitals, doing everything they could to help the men make it back to their families since Zane, Trellis, and Oliver never would.
Then scarlet fever struck, and it spread through Belle Vallée like wildfire.
Josie had been lucky, not having the worst case, but it didn’t spare anyone else.
Many of their slaves never saw freedom, succumbing to the terrible disease.
Josie remembered how she nursed them until their last breaths, but in the end, it hadn’t been enough to save them.
“My Ma died when I was sixteen. It still feels like yesterday.”
“Do you miss her?”
Josie nodded. “Yes, but I remember she’s still here with me, just like your ma is here with you.”
“How?”
Josie smiled softly and pressed her hand against the child’s beating heart. “In here. Your ma’s memory will always be with you. Then when you leave this world, you will be reunited with her again. It will be in Heaven.”
Ivy’s thin pink lips curled in one corner. “I can’t wait.”
“Me too.”
Ivy scooted closer to Josie and laid her head on her chest. “I’m sorry, Josie. I’m sorry I was so rude. I . . . I didn’t mean it.”
Josie kissed Ivy’s forehead. “I know you didn’t. I’m never going to replace your ma, but I want to help and care for you. I love you and your siblings, Ivy.”
Ivy met her gaze. “You aren’t going to leave us too, right?”
Ivy’s question pierced Josie’s heart. She couldn’t lie to the child.
She had yet to speak with Travis; it had been hours, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was likely thinking of ways to be rid of her—just as Marcus had before his fall.
The thought tightened in her chest like a vise.
Surely he wouldn’t, but anger could make a man do anything.
Before Josie could answer, Aunt Polly opened the door, carrying a tray of tea. She glanced over at Ivy, who was snuggled up against Josie, and a soft smile crossed her lips.
“It’s nice to see you’re both keeping each other company,” Aunt Polly said gently. “How are you feeling, Josie?”
“Fine, thank you.”
Aunt Polly set the tray down and extended a hand to Ivy. “Come, come child. I need you and the other mites to get ready for bed while I check on Josie.”
Ivy jumped off the bed and headed for the door. “Bye, Josie. I hope you feel better soon.”
The hairs on Josie’s neck stood as Aunt Polly shut the door behind her. The woman crossed her arms and stared at the floor. The silence caused bumps to rise on Josie’s arms, especially when she couldn’t see Aunt Polly’s face. Was it wearing worry? Disappointment? Hatred?
“I assume you know,” Josie said, her nails digging into her arm.
Aunt Polly nodded and stepped closer. She settled on the mattress, clasping her hands in front of her. “I do, and I can see from your standpoint why you did it.”
“What does Travis think?”
Aunt Polly sighed. “He’s been tending to the crops all day. I thought it best for him to be alone.”
Josie envisioned the man slicing through the wheat, imagining he was striking her. He probably was planning her punishment, just as Marcus would have done for betrayal and lies. How would Travis make her suffer? Would he beat her? Lock her in her room? Starve her? Or worse, send her home?
“Tell me about the father,” Aunt Polly said.
Josie closed her eyes, seeing Marcus suffocating her with his hands latched around her throat, blocking every airway.
She wouldn’t tell him about the baby—not for anything.
Marcus falling down the stairs was nothing shorter than a miracle—one Josie would pay for eventually.
She couldn’t tell Aunt Polly or Travis the truth, but she could say part of it.
“He’s dead . . . He was my husband.”
“No inheritance?”
None that she could have control of now, especially with the law pursuing her. “No.”
Aunt Polly folded her arms. “I understand why you wanted to come here, being a destitute widow, pregnant and alone. But it was still wrong. You should have told Travis the truth.”
“I know,” Josie whispered, gripping the quilt. “I tried, but . . . he told me about his wife and how she died. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Aunt Polly shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “Watching Sophie go through that nearly broke him. He couldn’t do anything but watch. Childbirth is supposed to be a beautiful thing, but it turned to horror quickly.”
Josie sniffed, her eyes burning. “I can see why . . . I can see why he just wants a mother for those poor dears. I was selfish, though. So selfish. I should have confessed, but . . . I was frightened.”
Aunt Polly placed her hand on Josie’s as her tears fell. “Why did you keep your marriage a secret? Travis would have understood.”
“Why would he believe a woman he barely knew?” Josie asked sharply, as though Aunt Tia was speaking through her. “Isn’t that exactly what an unmarried woman would claim—I’m a widow?”
“You don’t know Travis then,” Aunt Polly said calmly, pulling back her hand. “He sent you nearly all his savings to bring you here after your first letter. He trusted you. I know he would have understood. The man has a soft heart.”
Josie felt like a fool. She gained Travis’s trust by being honest about her experiences and returning his money, but now that trust was broken.
She was no longer an honest woman in his eyes.
He would no longer view her as the sweet Josie—an answer to prayer who longed for a family, not romance or wealth.
“You need to explain yourself to him.”
“I can’t,” Josie croaked, pulling her hair behind her ears. “I can’t face him.”
Aunt Polly rose from the bed. “Well, you can’t stay in here, locked away forever.” Aunt Polly shot her a friendly smile before walking out the door. “Think about it.”