“Then we will go,” she said, her voice brisk.
“We?”
“Of course. Unless you don’t want to go back.”
“It appears I have no choice in the matter. It’s my intention, however, to sell the plantation.” But it sounded to Byrony as if he were hesitant.
“It was your home for eighteen years, Brent.”
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “I know. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed it over the years. It’s a beautiful, graceful old place, Byrony, just south of Natchez, quite near the Mississippi, and just north of the Louisiana border. My grandfather built it before the turn of the century. There’s quite a bit of Spanish influence, of course.”
“Please tell me more about it.”
“The slaves. When I left nine years ago, there were more than five hundred Negroes at Wakehurst.”
“Doing what, for heaven’s sake? It sounds like a small army.”
“The majority are field hands, backbreaking work in the cotton fields from dawn to dusk, and there are artisans—blacksmiths, coopers, bricklayers, carpenters—and of course, house slaves, well over two dozen waiting on the white folk. Mammy Bath, old and wrinkled as a prune, was like a second mother to me. At Wakehurst, their existence was better than at most other plantations. That is to say, they got two meals a day, had a hospital of sorts, and for infractions could only receive twelve lashes from the overseer, or the head driver, a slave also, but a more intelligent one. Had I stayed, I probably wouldn’t have given it a great deal of thought. It’s simply a way of life, you see, and an economic necessity. But now—I don’t know if I could stomach seeing it again.” He laughed. “Now I’m the massa, and you, my dear, would be the missis.”
“Free them,” Byrony said without hesitation.
“To do what? They’re ignorant, appallingly so, thanks to the white man. Oh, hell, maybe you’re right. As for dear Laurel—”
“If nothing else, dear Laurel had excellent taste in men. But I don’t think it quite fair for her to seduce an eighteen-year-old boy.” And, as a result, make you so distrustful of women. Make you so distrustful of me. Byrony couldn’t wait to meet Laurel. She wanted to take the bullwhip to her.
“Lord, you’re probably right, but I was a horny little goat. I had my first taste of sex when I was fourteen, and was the scourge of the county by the time I was seventeen. Hell, I even bedded a couple of young Negro girls. Every man did it, you see, every white man, that is. The ladies called me the enfant terrible, and giggled behind their gloves. My father was quite proud of me, I think, until that day. Now you know my rather reprehensible past, Byrony, at least how it all got started.”
She grinned at him. “On the way to Natchez, you can tell me the really reprehensible parts, as in what you’ve done during the past nine years. Have the ladies called you homme terrible?”
“I imagine that some of them did. But no matter now. Are you certain you wish to go back with me, Byrony?”
“You did promise me a honeymoon, you know.”
“What about the whip?”
“My constant companion,” she said. “I’m sorry about your father, Brent.”
“So am I. I don’t know why he didn’t write to me himself before he died. I would have come back.”
“I suspect it probably had something to do with pride.”
He twisted around to look at her. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”
“I bought a whip, didn’t I?”
The next evening, the Hammonds, dressed formally, arrived at the Saxtons’ home for dinner. Horace and Agatha Newton were there, as well as Saint Morris and Tony Dawson.
“How lovely you look, Byrony,” said Chauncey, giving her a brief hug. “Del is delighted you came. He told me he’s forgotten how a normal woman is supposed to look. I think he wants to add me to his shipping line.”
“You look noble, Chauncey,” Brent said, “a clipper, perhaps, under a sail of blue silk.”
“Tony’s my dinner partner?” Saint said to Del as they strolled into the dining room.
“Sorry, old man. Bear up. Tony here can be quite amusing when the muse strikes him.”
“Chauncey isn’t due for another month. I wonder you invited me at all.”
“She’s so big, I’d forgotten,” Del said. “Excuse me, Saint, but you can’t compete with this vision.” Del turned to Byrony, who was seated at his right. “The gold silk becomes you, my dear. As for this village idiot,” he continued at Brent, “I’m delighted he isn’t dead. I heard about your fight.”
“Just a mild difference of opinion,” Brent said easily. “Actually, it wouldn’t have mattered if that other fellow ever had the same opinion. In fact, I don’t even remember any opinions being exchanged.”
“Nothing like a good fight to reaffirm your manhood,” Byrony said to Chauncey and Agatha.
Agatha sent a fond look toward her husband. “The days aren’t too far past when Horace got drunk to the gills and raised a little hell.”
“Poor Saint,” said Byrony. “I don’t know how you manage to keep your male image intact. You’re too large for anyone to want to fight you.”
“The good missionaries used to tell me that God always balanced the scales. A huge fellow like myself is gentle as a lamb. It’s only the scrawny little ones, like Brent, who are constantly trying to prove themselves.”
“Missionaries?” Brent said, quirking a dark brow. “Where the devil did you find that sort?”
“On a little island called Maui. It’s part of the Hawaiian Islands in the Pacific. I was a doctor on a whaler. When I first traveled to the main town on Maui, Lahaina, I decided to stay for a while. It’s a constant battle between the missionaries and the sailors.”
“I say, Saint,” Tony said, “I didn’t know about that. A great story for the Alta, I think. What do you say? All the gory details?”
“Later, my boy, later. There are ladies present.”
Byrony turned to say something to Chauncey, but she seemed lost in thought.
It was Agatha who drew Chauncey’s attention. “My dear, what is to be the name of this prince or princess?”
“How about Beauregard Saxton?” Tony said.
“Or Percival?” said Brent. “After the fellow who was supposed to be my bartender but didn’t show up. We mustn’t forget he’ll be half English.”
“Actually,” Chauncey said, “we can’t agree on a name. Del is digging in his heels and simply won’t be reasonable.”
Saint said, “What is this? What name do you want, Del?”
Delaney shook his head, and calmly continued eating his baked chicken.
“This is ginger, isn’t it?” Brent asked. At Delaney’s nodding grin, he added, “Amazing. Never a predictable moment in this house.” He said to his wife, “I think I’m beginning to like it when things aren’t just as one expects them to be.”
“They will continue not to be what you expect, too,” Byrony said.
“She wants to keep me happy,” Brent said.
“So that’s what she meant,” Agatha said.
Later, as the guests were all seated in the Saxton sitting room, Chauncey suddenly jumped and dropped her cup of coffee. “Oh dear,” she said, looking toward her husband.
Saint smiled and rose from his chair. “I’m glad you waited until after dinner, my dear.”
“The baby’s coming?”
Agatha laughed at Del’s stunned expression. Saint was bending over Chauncey, his large hand splayed over her belly. When he felt her tense with a contraction, he gently patted her shoulder. “How long have you felt the pains, Chauncey?”
“Since this morning. Nothing impressive, until now.”
“Chauncey,” Del shouted at his wife, “why didn’t you tell me? Jesus, you stubborn—”
“Now, Del, if I’d told you, you would have been in an absolute panic all day.” Another contraction seared through her and she gulped. “I think you can panic now.”
“
No need,” said Saint calmly. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me now, my dear. My, my, a month early. The little beggar is eager to see the world.”
“Wait. That is, shouldn’t I do something?”
“My dear Del, you’ve done quite enough,” Saint said. “After all, you did invite me to dinner. Agatha, why don’t you come with us. You can help Chauncey into her nightgown. Del, have a drink. The rest of you hold his hand and keep him amused, all right?”
Byrony jumped to her feet. “I’ll help you,” she said.
“No, my dear. You stay downstairs.”
“But—”
“Byrony,” Brent said sharply, “sit down.”
Delaney helped Chauncey to her feet, and held her when she doubled over. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be with you.”
“Lord, that’s all I need,” Saint said, “a husband who won’t obey me.”
Tony, Byrony, Brent, and Horace were left in the sitting room to stare at each other. Brent felt Byrony’s hand close over his sleeve. “Shouldn’t I go up and be with her? I am a woman, after all.”
“You haven’t had a child,” he said.
“What would you know about it?”
To her utter surprise, Brent paled a bit. “Unfortunately, I didn’t know much of anything. If I had, perhaps Joyce Morgan might still be alive. As it was, I buried her and the child.”
“I say, Brent, what are you talking about?” Horace Newton asked, leaning forward in his chair.
“It was a long time ago,” Brent said. “In the wilds of Colorado. I was riding to Denver and overtook this wagon. A very young woman was driving, and in great pain. She was alone and in labor.” Brent stopped, aware that he’d begun to sweat. He forced himself to shrug. “That’s all. I tried, she tried, but nothing was good enough.”
“Where was her husband?” Byrony asked, her throat dry.
“He was in Denver, selling cattle. When I found him, he’d gotten into a fight and been killed. It was probably just as well. The way I was feeling, I might have killed him myself. He’d left her close to her time, you see, with no one to help her.”
The fury he’d felt, the utter hopelessness that had paralyzed him for weeks thereafter, returned in full measure. He wasn’t aware that his face mirrored that nearly forgotten pain. He bounded to his feet and began to pace. “Chauncey will be all right,” he said, looking upward for a moment.
“Of course she will,” said Horace.
Brent paused a moment, and wiped the sweat from his brow. It occurred to him that this was the real reason he didn’t want Byrony to be pregnant. She could die. He’d buried the memory just as he’d buried the young woman and her baby, so deep that he’d hoped never to remember it again. He shot a look at Byrony, but her head was bowed, her eyes on her folded hands.
Tony began to talk, to everyone’s relief, of David Broderick. “He just gets more and more powerful. To say that California is the land of opportunity is an understatement. Here was Broderick, a New York saloon keeper and a Tammany henchman, and now he’s a United States senator.”
“Careful, Tony,” Horace Newton said. “He’s so powerful, I think he has spies everywhere. I just hope Del doesn’t get it into his head to go against him.”
“Del isn’t stupid,” Tony said. “Our dear mayor, Garrison, keeps Del informed of what is doable and what isn’t.”
There was a scream.
Everyone froze.
“That’s it, love, yell,” Del was saying to his panting wife. “As loud as you want.”
Chauncey was clutching his fingers so tightly they were turning white. “It hurts so much,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, but he didn’t, of course. He met Saint’s eyes.
“Move aside a minute, Del. I want to talk to your wife.”
At first Chauncey wouldn’t let him go. When she did, he backed up only two steps. Saint sat down beside her. “You’re doing quite well, Chauncey,” he said calmly. “Quite well indeed. The baby’s not at all large, since he’s a bit early. In fact, I think you’ll have your son or daughter by midnight. Incidentally, that was a fine dinner. I noticed you didn’t eat much. Just as well.”
“Midnight?” Delaney nearly shouted. “That’s three hours away.”
“This is also your first child,” Saint continued, lightly stroking Chauncey’s hand. “Not a long time at all, actually. Now, practice breathing as I taught you to. That’s it, pant, and don’t fight the pain.” Saint stood and moved away to wash his hands again in the basin of hot water Lin had brought up. “Now,” he said, moving to the foot of the bed, “let’s see where the little fellow is now.”
Chauncey felt his fingers slip inside her just as a strong contraction made her feel as if she were being torn apart. “Pant, Chauncey.”
Close to an hour later, Agatha came into the sitting room. “I’m here to reassure everyone,” she said, eyeing the faces staring at her. “Chauncey’s just fine. Delaney’s even alive, but barely. A round of whiskey for everyone, Horace. Byrony, come with me a moment. I’d meant to speak to you this evening. Now’s as good a time as any.”
Byrony followed Agatha from the sitting room to the entrance hall. “Is she really all right?”
“Yes, my dear. I promise. Saint is telling her jokes right now. She’s smiling, but poor Delaney is looking ready for execution. Now, I just wanted to tell you that I’m relieved you and Brent are leaving San Francisco for a while. The end of the week?” At Byrony’s mute nod, she continued. “It’s Irene, of course. She didn’t institute the gossip, but on the other hand, she didn’t actively try to stop it. She doesn’t play the martyr well, let me tell you, but Sally Stevenson and that snit daughter of hers don’t care. You may be certain that while you’re gone, Chauncey and I will do our best to obliterate all the nastiness and innuendo. I think that when you return, everything will have blown over. Who knows? Maybe some intelligent person might even strangle Penelope.”
“Thank you, Agatha.”
The older woman smiled gently and patted Byrony’s hand. “Everything will work out, my dear, you’ll see. Now, I’m going to go back upstairs. I’ve never thought it reasonable that a woman in labor should be surrounded by men. Lord, what do they know?”
Chauncey felt Saint’s fingers kneading her belly. “Come here, Del. Feel your child.”
Delaney tentatively placed his palm over his wife’s stomach. He felt the contraction, and winced. “Can’t you ease the pain, Saint?”
Saint shook his head. “Not yet, we don’t want the contractions to slow or stop. We want the baby born as soon as possible. I’ll give her chloroform when it’s time.”
Chauncey screamed, a high, thin wail that made Delaney shudder. “Oh, shit,” he said frantically.
“I think we’re there,” Saint said. “The baby’s coming now, Chauncey. Keep pushing. That’s it. Del, help me, and don’t faint. No time now to give her anything.”
Delaney saw the blond mop of hair. Saint quickly moved aside, and watched with a pleased smile as the baby girl slipped out into her father’s waiting hands.
“Oh, my God.”
“A real beauty, isn’t she?” He kept talking as he quickly clipped the umbilical cord. “Now, Del, give her to Agatha and Lin. Listen to those lungs. She’s not too small at all.”
Delaney Saxton felt as though he’d just run a mile. He stood very still, watching Saint speak to Chauncey as he pressed her belly to remove the afterbirth, watching Agatha and Lin wash his little girl and wrap her in a soft blanket.
The clock downstairs chimed twelve strokes.
“Are you never wrong, Saint?” Chauncey asked.
“Never about babies. Now, say something to your poor wretch of a husband. He looks ready to collapse.”
But Chauncey said, “I forgot to ask you where you got your nickname. Now you’ll probably never tell me.”
It was Saint who brought Alexandra Aurora Saxton downstairs to the assembled group.
“I am so relieved,” Byr
ony said to her husband sometime later as she climbed into bed beside him. “Such a beautiful child. She looks like the female counterpart of Del.”
“Chauncey’s labor was blessedly short,” Brent said, as if in surprise. “Of course she had a doctor and her husband with her.”
He turned beside her and took her into his arms. “What is this thing? A nightgown on my bride?”
“It’s cold.”
“I can guarantee you’ll be sweating soon enough.”
“So, the stallion is ready to mount his mare?”
The hand stroking the nape of her neck stilled. I won’t fill her with my seed, Brent thought. I can’t. He released her abruptly and turned onto his back, his arms pillowing his head.
“What is this?” Byrony asked, balancing herself on her elbow above her husband. “You wish the mare to mount the stallion?”
“I’m tired,” Brent said, not looking at her. “Let’s go to sleep. There’s a lot to be done tomorrow if we want to leave for New Orleans on Friday.”
She moved closer and he felt her breasts against his chest. He gritted his teeth. “No, Byrony.”
Byrony realized what was on his mind. He was afraid she would become pregnant. He was afraid she might die, and he would hold himself responsible. She was utterly relieved to learn that his wish for her not to become pregnant was because of his terrible experience and not because he didn’t want to stay with her. At least that’s what she thought were his motives. “Very well,” she said. She slowly, gently spread her fingers over his chest, tangling them in the soft tufts of black hair. “You feel so warm.” He was very still beneath her hand. Her fingers drifted downward.
“No, Byrony.” He sounded like a drowning man even to his own ears.
“Why, Brent? If you are worried that I’ll become pregnant, I will accept that. But why shouldn’t I give you pleasure?”