The Benders
Smashwords Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
The Benders © 2011 Molly Colton
The Benders Cover Art © 2011 by J.C. Natál for Dark Roast Press
Images ©iStockphoto.com/Steve Rabin, ©iStockphoto.com/Lew Robertson & ©iStockphoto.com/Henk Badenhorst
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The Benders
By
Molly Colton
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Prologue
August 1874
Conception
Georgeanne Quade stood on the second floor veranda, clad only in her nightgown. Her wavy auburn hair hung down her back in damp tendrils, and perspiration was beading on her face and neck. It was a humid night, illuminated by a million stars and a full moon. The air over the massive plantation was still. Crickets were playing their nightly serenade, while downstairs in the music room someone was practicing Chopin on a violin.
She was in a world of her own. Her mind had begun its downward spiral with the war, and the death of her only love, Simon. The responsibility of the gift exacerbated her instability, and if that weren’t enough, there was Bender.
Bender, once known as Silent One, had fallen in love with her when she was only eleven years old. It wasn’t the beauty that attracted him, but the spirit, the kind heart and soul of this woman that drew him. She accepted everyone for who they were, never judging nor criticizing. Though she had yet to see his true form, she did not flee when she heard his voice. This only served to endear her to him. He had become her confidante and closest friend. He remained at her side all these years, and he would not apologize for it. Who else could she rely on for comfort? Relatives thought she was mentally unbalanced.
Georgeanne tilted her head back and closed her eyes, imagining a cool breeze caressing her skin and easing the horrid humidity.
“Why don’t you conjure the wind?” Bender pressed, appearing beside her in the form of a raven. Georgeanne smiled serenely, glanced down at the raven and lifted one finger, slowly reaching to touch him. He shook his feathers.
“Do it. Call the wind.”
Georgeanne smiled. “I like the wind and the rain. Sometimes, I even like the thunder.”
“Then do it,” he urged again. “Lift your arms. Call them. You know how!”
Georgeanne stood still, gazed out into the night and lifted her arms, as if reaching for a lover. “Come to me,” she whispered.
He was apalled by her futile efforts. Her family had kept her under the spell of various medications for so long, she had forgotten how to live and to use her gift. He flew around her in a hypnotic dance. “You’re not trying hard enough.”
Still smiling, arms still reaching to the night sky, Georgeanne repeated in a slightly louder voice, “Rain!”
This would not do. Only when her emotions were heightened, or the true desire was there, could such a feat be achieved. He did not care if there was rain or wind. He wanted proof her powers had not diminished. Only someone with this special gift could give him mortality, and bring him closer to Georgeanne. He hoped it was she who gave him life. It was only fitting. He coveted the woman, body and soul. Not merely lust. It was a growing need to possess her, for she was the closest he would have to a mate.
“Remember the war,” he began, landing on the rail again. “Remember the bloodshed!”
Georgeanne’s smile slowly melted as visions of soldiers and gunfire invaded her memory. It was a melancholy moment, and her heart began to flutter.
“Remember Simon?” he continued. “Remember the night he died?”
Georgeanne’s arms slowly lowered. “He wanted to see me,” she murmured in wonder. “But they came, and called him a deserter.”
“They were wrong. He was no deserter. He came because he loved you.”
Her eyes began to well. “Mama said I was too young.”
“Too young? You were able to defend Bassage Hall. Because of you, they had food during the war. Because of you, they had fresh water. Because of you, the entire family was spared invasion from soldiers. You cloaked them in a shield of protection, and they repaid you with laudanum. They locked you up like a prisoner.”
Georgeanne’s face was now marred by confusion, and a slow burning anger.
Downstairs, the violin music came to an end.
Bender flew to the other side of her, alighting on the wooden rail. “I would not deprive you of your desires. I would allow you anything you wanted.”
“Truly?” she responded, looking at the bird in amazement.
“I would give you anything,” he repeated, feeling suddenly sad. “But you mourn for your Simon.”
“Simon,” she breathed wistfully.
He could trick her by reviving the form of Simon, but he had no desire to inhabit a cold, decaying body. Besides, there were others about. There was still a way to possess her this night. He did not cherish this ploy for it was draining, but it was a last resort. She believed he was a fabrication of her own feeble imagination. How else could he convince her he was real and in love with her?
“I would do anything for you,” Bender whispered, slowly taking his true form: the seductive form of a naked, muscular man with shoulder length black hair, black eyes, narrow nose and full lips. An odd pair of gray wings was tucked behind his back, making it apparent he was not of this earth. Georgeanne could barely see him in the dark, but she showed no fear, reviving his hope. Others had cringed and run away in fright, but not the beautiful Georgeanne. She accepted him, and would remain with him even after this earthly life was over.
This feeling, this need to have a mortal for companionship was baffling and new. He did not understand it, and assumed the Divine had put another plague upon him. After all, the only thing worse than loneliness was to desire someone you could not touch.
“Simon?” She moaned, and looked to the sky.
Bender moved forward, reaching to touch her. His cold fingers went through her, unable to reach her flesh. She was protected from him by the gift. If not for that, she would be so easy to take, right this very minute.
“Do not let them bully you,” he urged. “They are jealous of your power. Use it. Show them!”
Georgeanne raised her arms, imagining the face of Simon. “Simon,” she said, as her bottom lip trembled.
“Simon would be impressed by your power.” By the fires of hell, why wasn’t she listening to him? “He’s down there, now, waiting for a demonstration.”
Georgeanne looked into the night to see where Bender spoke of. “He’s here? My Simon is here? Where?”
“Under the gazebo.” He was excited by his own deceit. Some habits were hard to break. “He won’t see you until you prove yourself.”
Georgeanne ran along the veranda on silent feet, squinting into the night. She could see nothing. “Where is he?”
Bender followed, coaxing in a tender, if yet, resentful tone. “He is there. Show him how much you love him. Reveal your powers.”
Georgeanne looked panicky. “I-I’m not sure how.”
Bender’s voice grew loud, as he demanded, “Reach. Reach to the sky! Demand it rain!”
Georgeanne did so, raising her arms toward the sky. Her hands shook. Bender could see the energy radiating up her spine and along her arms.
“Rain. Rain!” She repeated several times. Not a flicker. She shook in desperate plea, “Come to me, please! Come to me!”
There was the tiniest speck of light in the distance. Her eyes grew wide, startled. “Come to me!” She called louder, and her heart raced. Heat pervaded her body and scorched her skin. She could bear it no longer. “Now!”
The sky burst with lightening and thunder. Rain gushed forth, blowing at a slant, rapidly soaking the folds of her gown.
Bender smiled. “The lightning dances for you.”
Ignoring him, Georgeanne flew down the back stairs of the veranda, and across the sodden lawn toward the gazebo. “Simon!” she called, ignoring the chill of rain. “Simon, I’m here!”
Bender felt a moment’s sadness, but he shoved it aside, for it did not matter. She would be his. They belonged together.
Georgeanne saw no one. Under the cover of the gazebo, she searched the dark, and sank weakly to a marble bench, fearing she had lost him again. Bender stood not far away, on the stone floor, and she stared at him. “Simon is not here.”
Bender needed no light to see her. She was standing there in a sodden nightgown that revealed every feminine curve. She looked fresh and innocent, and the urge to touch her was greater than anything he ever experienced. He would not be denied the pleasure about to be unleashed. A pleasure he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years. Especially, not to a woman he truly cared for.
“Of course, he is. Look!”
A man approached, but she couldn’t see his face. Was this Simon?
“Mistress Georgeanne?” the man enquired, stepping more closely.
Georgeanne did not recognize the voice.
This was it. This was his chance. Very soon, she would forget her pitiful Simon.
“Mistress, what are you doing out in this weather? You’ll catch your death.”
Georgeanne’s breath caught in her throat as the man touched her arm.
Bender’s essence slipped into the body of Gareth Whaley, of the stable and smithy, guiding his every movement. Through Gareth, he could touch his coveted Georgeanne and consummate a union few souls had known.
“It is I, Simon,” Bender whispered, disguising his voice and mesmerizing her.
Gareth, too, was beyond help. His face contorted in a peculiar smile, but Georgeanne only saw the face of her beloved Simon. With each flicker of lightning, she saw his sweet, gentle face. She smiled, even as his hands grew rough and he pushed her back on the marble bench, lifted her gown and legs up, spreading them.
“Simon,” she cried, “I’m yours!”
Bender undid the front of the pants, exposed himself and entered her, beating away like a man driven by anything but passion. He couldn’t help himself. It had been too long, and time was of the essence. In the future, he would take more care with her, but right now, it was uncontrollable.
Georgeanne did not care. She laughed. As rain blew sideways, beneath the gazebo, continuing to soak her face and arms, she laughed. “Yes, my love!”
There was a rush of feet and voices coming across the yard. There were two lamps, swayed by unsteady hands as they approached the gazebo through the pouring rain.
“Fairies?” Georgeanne’s eyes grew bright with expectation as she saw the lights. “Fairies have come!” She reached out her arms, welcoming them. “Look, Simon!”
Bender knew they were coming. But he wasn’t done, yet. Just a moment longer…
Gareth’s body jerked in spasms. As he pulled out, he was thrown to the ground by two other men.
“You filthy man!” Eudora Quade threw a blanket over her daughter to cover her.
Weak from fornication, Bender’s essence couldn’t fight. Releasing the body, he transformed into the raven and took off in flight, watching this with idle curiosity.
“Defiler!” Peter Quade shouted, hitting Gareth Whaley several times. Coming to his senses, Gareth had no recollection of circumstances as he rose to his feet. He lifted beefy arms and strong fists to defend himself. The two struggled, rolling onto the soggy lawn.
Another man, older, cocked a rifle and pointed in the dark, fired and missed. The sound startled everyone. Gareth rose to his feet, tried to flee, and as lightening lit the sky, illuminating his departing back, the older man fired the rifle again, striking him down.
“Simon!” Georgeanne screamed.
Eudora held her close as Georgeanne tried to run towards him. “No, it’s not Simon.”
“It is!” She screamed again. “You’ve killed Simon!”
The lightning and thunder shook the ground. A streak of white hit the rod over the smokehouse. Everyone stilled, waiting. Bender waited, too, for the power, yet it did not transform him. Again mortality eluded him.
#
Nine Months later
Tessa Bassage stood at the head of the bed, wringing her age-spotted hands together in worry. Georgeanne had been in labor for twenty-three hours, and had lost all strength to go on. Doctor Holman was trying desperately to remove the infant, while a young nurse stood at attendance. Behind him, Viola Bassage was waiting expectantly. Tessa held her breath as Dr. Holman murmured, “Yes, yes, I think we have it.”
Viola’s eyes widened as she looked at Tessa. Tessa mimicked her reaction of worry.
“A fine, healthy boy,” Dr. Holman said, smiling.
“That’s impossible!” Tessa gasped aloud. “Are you sure?”
Dr. Holman grinned. “I am quite familiar with the human anatomy.” He slapped the child on the bottom and a wail echoed around the large bedroom.
Viola headed for the door, Tessa close at her heels. Closing the door behind them, they moved briskly down the hall.
“It’s a boy,” Tessa hissed under her breath.
“I know. I saw it,” Viola snapped.
“We cannot handle a boy,” Tessa continued in worry. “They are headstrong.”
“I know!” was the impatient reply.
Tessa wrung her hands together again. “We must do something.”
“Most assuredly!” Viola concurred, as she entered her bedroom, crossed the floor and stopped at a mahogany dresser. She removed the small silver box from the back of one drawer, and with said box in hand, sought out her husband in the parlor downstairs.
Bernard Bassage, two years away from sixty, sat in a chair, a snifter of brandy in one hand. His violin was lying in the open case beside him. He looked up as Viola entered, looking frazzled and worried.
“It’s a boy,” she stated, struggling to keep calm.
He raised eyebrows, and looked from Viola to his sister. “So, there is no power?”
“Of course, there will be,” Viola stated in livid frustration. “We saw the signs.”
Tessa sighed aloud and turned. “I will consult the tea leaves again. Perhaps they were wrong.”
“They were not wrong.” Viola set the box on the table, opened it, and gently, reverently removed a silver coin. “We should have known this day was coming. We should have known by Georgeanne’s addlepated condition.”
Bernard arose from the chair, and limped toward the two women. He put a comforting hand on Viola’s shoulder. “Perhaps it’s not as bad as you think. The family is due for a strong male hand, and I am not fit for running this plantation.”
Viola moved to pace back and forth. The coin was still clutched in one hand. “We should have known when you had to kill poor Gareth Whaley.”
Regret showed on Bernard’s face, and he bowed his head for a moment.
“He pillaged the girl,” Tessa interrupted, defending her brother. “Mr. Whaley was not fit to lay a hand on her.”
Viola shook her head. “Mr. Whaley was no more in his right mind than Georgeanne,” she interjected, throwing an arm in the air dramatically. “Armyworms, cutworms, aphids and all manner of pests have infested the greenhouse and crops. The tobacco is dying. Field hands have been stung several times this year by yellow jackets.”
“Most troublesome,” Bernard murmured. “And I lost my dear sister and her husband.”
“Eudora and Peter wanted to destroy the infant before it was born. That is a crime against God,” Tessa said breathlessly, shaking her head. “That’s why they were punished.”
“They were attacked by a panther,” Viola stated succinctly.
Tessa lifted her chin, announcing silently that she knew what she was talking about. “Fortunately, Mr. Sibbings was close at hand with his hunting rifle and destroyed the beast,” she muttered, and placed a hand to her wrinkled neck, rubbing it nervously.
It was extremely hot in the house. The air was nearly fetid, and she coughed delicately.
Bender appeared as a dragonfly, swooped across the room and alit on the chandelier, listening.
The three were silent for a moment. They heard the cries echoing upstairs.
“He sounds strong,” Bernard attested, trying to keep rational. He was not the kind to break a sweat over something until he knew all the details. “Like a normal, baby boy.”
Viola chewed on one thumbnail. “I see nothing normal in this situation.”
Bernard hobbled back to his chair and sat down, rubbing one gnarled knee. He lifted the snifter to his lips, and paused. “All the ladies preferred Bassage Hall as their home. None ever strayed.”
“It is their duty to take care of the rest of us,” Tessa replied earnestly.
“True,” he nodded. “Men are different. They tend to wander.”
Viola frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We are born adventurers, my dear. We crave excitement, amusement, and a good rollick in the hay.”
Viola lifted an eyebrow in amusement. “Oh, you do, do you?”
He chuckled. “I meant, when I was younger. It’s the natural course of things. We need to sow our wild oats.”
“What about responsibility?” Tessa intervened, standing beside his chair. “He must take care of us. If not, Bassage Hall could die of ruin!”
“I’m sure all will be right.”
Tessa made a face. Her brother could take nothing seriously.
Viola shook her head again. “This just isn’t done. A boy with the gift! What are we to do?”
It was increasingly warm. No, it was stifling in the house. Viola heard the buzz of flies and mosquitoes and went to the window, looking out. The sun was high. Its glare bounced off the painted wooden floor of the outer veranda, making her blink, and she turned back to Bernard.
“We cannot school a boy the way we can a young lady,” she said at last. “What do we do?”
Bernard agreed with a solemn nod, and looked at his wife in all seriousness. “It might surprise you, but I have often considered this moment. And there is one possibility.”
They waited patiently. So did Bender.
“Well?” Tessa pressed. “What is your solution?”
“We send him away for a while.”
Both women waited for him to continue.
“I am by no means a healthy man with a strong, guiding influence. Send him off to travel the country.”
“What will that achieve?” Viola thought he had lost his mind.
Bernard stared into the snifter, gulped down the last swallow of amber liquid, and set the glass gently on the table beside him. “At what age will his powers manifest completely?”
“Sixteen,” the two women said simultaneously.
Bernard reached in his pocket and pulled out his fob watch. He was also the family clockwatcher.
“Go on, Mr. Bassage,” Viola pressed her husband irritably.
“As I said, the boy will need a strong male to guide him. Send him off when he is… I don’t know. Thirteen?”
“Thirteen! So young?” Tessa gasped. “But he’ll be…”
“In the company of responsible men who can teach him the ways of the world.” He looked to both women for support. Both appeared doubtful of his suggestion, but it was time to state the obvious. “The boy must learn to control more than his powers. By sixteen, he will be a man, with all the added yearnings.”
Tessa, who’d never married, was yet unsure of his meaning. He smiled coyly, his eyes twinkling. “He will want to experiment with the ladies.”
Tessa would have blushed, only the years had dulled that reaction to a minor gasp of disgust.
Viola walked back to the table, and set the coin back in the box. “He may use his powers to…” She bit her lip, in embarrassment. “Men like to control women. The power would only make him more unmanageable.”
Bernard smiled at his wife. “Now you see where I am going with this.”
Tessa took the brocade chair across from Bernard and stared fixedly at the jeweled box. “The boy’s blood must be kept pure. Not tainted with all manner of disease.”
“They will find him a companion.”
Viola turned sharply, glaring at her husband. “He does not need a wife at sixteen.”
“I said a companion. Someone to tame the, ahem… wilder side of him.”
Tessa made another noise of disgust in her throat.
“We are what God made us,” Bernard stated quietly.
“By the time he reaches sixteen, we will be too old to handle his questions,” Viola murmured in dread. “And if he proves to be more than we can handle…” She let the words trail away, unspoken.
Bender flitted to another branch of the chandelier. Yes, she was worried, and rightfully so. They would not be able to handle a strapping, strong-minded man with the inhuman powers he possessed. What of the baby? Was the power for good or evil? After all, it was his offspring. Or was it?
No, the child was his, and so was Georgeanne. He would accept nothing else. Bender flew across the room and out the open window.
Tessa saw the dragonfly whiz past her, and she frowned. Then she glanced at Bernard. ”I think I shall consult the tea leaves, just to be sure.”
Viola sighed as Tessa left the room. “What if he cannot be controlled?”
Bernard looked up at the frescoed ceiling to the dozen angels dancing in earnest. “I have good feelings about this.”
“You always have good feelings,” she said dryly.
He shrugged. “I like to think I’m an optimist.”
“Oh, you certainly are that!” she quipped. “Who do you suggest we assign as his chaperone through the wilderness?”
Bernard closed his eyes. “One problem at a time.”
She watched as his breathing slowed. Poor Bernard could fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Some afflictions the doctor could not diagnose or treat.
She glanced at the box, but did not touch it. The coin would be the boy’s protection until his full powers materialized.
But what if he did not have that protection, she wondered. A male with the power could be formidable. Would the powers be taken away? Would the boy be destroyed? This was simply too horrible to contemplate.
Alerted to danger, Bender returned, alit on the windowsill and stared at the back of Viola Bassage. She was thinking again. As with all women, that was a nuisance and a hindrance. Women were the true manipulators and deceivers. She was making plans at that moment, and he was certain he would not like them.
“We cannot handle a boy,” she murmured under her breath. “They are willful. Arrogant. Dictatorial.”
She wanted to destroy his son, did she?
Perspiration trickled down her temple and throat and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe it away. How unbearable was the heat! She couldn’t breathe.
The dragonfly swooped across the room and whirled in front of her, hypnotically. “Go to the cellar,” he ordered.
Viola backed away, waving an arm to shoo him from her sight. He continued to hover.
“Go to the cellar,” he repeated. “It’s much cooler down there.”
Viola’s eyes widened. Her pupils dialated. “Yes,” she agreed woodenly. “It is much cooler down there.”
#
Viola took the steps down to the cellar and set the candle on an old table beside some empty jars.
“Isn’t this much better?” Bender asked her sweetly.
The air in the basement was thinner, cooler. She could breathe, but she could not think. She felt lost between two worlds: one of flesh and one of imagination. She heard the voice, but she wasn’t sure if it was real. “Hello?”
She peered into the dark, looking around for a face, as the candlelight flickered.
Bender took the direct approach. He assumed the form of humankind’s most feared entity. A misconceived vision of a Fallen One: a red-skinned man with tail and horns, and rank breath, for good measure.
Viola turned in a circle, searching the dark. “Who is there?”
Bender drew close enough to the candlelight so that she saw him.
Her eyes widened in fright. Her air passage constricted, preventing a scream. She clutched at her throat and chest.
“You cannot destroy my son,” he stated in a growling tone. “You can only destroy yourself.”
Viola tried to scream. Nothing happened.
“You will never touch him again,” he stated and reached out a hand, laying it against her chest.
Viola’s heart beat rapidly, painfully. Her eyes grew wider in terror, and she tried once more to scream. Her chest hurt. The devil! The devil was in their midst, and she could do nothing. If she only had the coin in her hand…
“My son does not need protection of the coin. He is protected because he is mine. Do you understand?”
Her heart pounded harder in her chest. Coldness gripped her. She could not move.
“He is part of me and you are nothing,” he said on a final, ugly note, and snuffed out the candle.
Viola collapsed in the dark, dead of fright.
Chapter One
1906
Going Home
“Horrible. Simply horrible,” a middle aged man seated across the aisle, and one row back from Griffin, murmured as he studied the newspaper. “People buried or burned alive.”
Seeing the headline, Griffin couldn’t agree more. The story was three weeks old and the country was still reeling from the news. Papers kept the public informed on the progress of cleaning up and rebuilding San Francisco after the devastating earthquake.
“God must have been extremely disappointed in its wretched citizens, to render such a blow,” the man concluded on a gruff note.
Now seeing the collar, Griffin groaned inwardly. Oh, hell, a preacher! One of God’s overzealous, by the sounds of it. Griffin did not believe in anathema. If the Almighty cared one whit, the world would not be full of such ‘wretched’ people, and he, Griffin Peter Quade, would not have been foisted on humanity.
Griffin sighed and leaned back in the seat, staring beyond the windows to the passing scenery. The train rocked and tipped like a woman tipsy on wine, and click-clacked down the rails in pepetual rhythm. Before long, he found himself drifing to sleep and into a land filled with blue skies, pine trees, mountains, ramshackle cabins, and grazing cattle in the distance. He could almost hear the water trickling over rocks and limbs in a nearby creek, and the shriek of an eagle overhead. He hunkered down further into the seat, and allowed sleep to take over, while he lost himself in nature.
But as Morpheus possessed him, the mood and the scene altered…
“I know you’ve had little time to prepare.” It was old Bernard speaking, as he checked his watch. “And don’t think we’re punishing you—“
“Then why are you sending me away?” Griffin, aged thirteen, five foot tall and skinny, demanded with red faced anger.
“You need to grow up, son.”
“I’m not your son,” Griffin snapped. “And I don’t have to leave!”
Bernard bowed his head for a moment, sighing. “There are things coming you need to prepare for, and I don’t know how to help you.”
Griffin’s face registered confusion and alarm. “If it’s about Jimmy Gadson, he didn’t get hurt swinging on those boughs across the creek!”
Bernard patted him on the shoulder. “I know. You like to play pranks, and test wills like most boys, and you spook Tessa every chance you get.”
“Uncle Bern—“
“Listen to me,” he interrupted, squeezing one bony shoulder. “You can be a hellion on two feet, there’s no doubt, and I know you’ve been using your talents unfairly. You’re too young and naïve to realize the threat you pose towards others.”
Griffin’s stomach began to churn. “I don’t mean any harm.”
Bernard shook his head. “We’re family and we love you, but you’ve got to go away for a while, and learn about life. You won’t get that here. I’m too old to teach you, and your young cousins and friends only encourage your tricks.”
Then the dream shifted…
Griffin was sitting on another train, beside Cosmo Batiste. Thomas Sibbings was seated behind them.
“What makes you an expert on life? You’re only twenty six,” Griffin snapped at Cosmo. “And don’t think ‘cause you’re so damned tall and mean lookin’, and we’re distant cousins…”
Cosmo grabbed him by the coat lapel and leaned into him. “Now, you listen to me…”
Griffin was jolted to wakefulness, and squinted out the window to the sunny landscape as they passed. He always listened to Cosmo.
Cosmo’s grandmother was a Bassage. She married a Frenchman and produced three sons, one of whom married a Negro from up north, named Nyla. Nyla gave birth to five children, but only Cosmo survived.
Cosmo was the wisest of the trio, and the sternest. He took no guff from anyone, and he didn’t have to. That six foot, four inch, broad shouldered man could scare anyone. Although, truth be told, underneath he was tame as a puppy. Griffin assumed he would be easy to walk all over, and made a few attempts to control the man, but Cosmo always caught on.
“Boy, I’m not playing your games, and don’t try to make me do anything. You hear me? I’m the guide. You just follow and keep quiet.”
Griffin had raised fists to strike out. The brief fight ended with a busted lip, and blood running down from his nose, and an extremely bruised ego.
For some unknown reason he could not command Cosmo, or Thomas.
Thomas Sibbings was a neighbor and friend. The family thought he might serve well as the third member of this traveling group. He was nineteen at the time of their departure, and the meekest. He made light of every situation, but his mind was filled with young ladies, and adventure. According to Thomas, the two were one and the same.
Griffin shifted as his hips and back dug into the old seat, and a wide grin spread across his face as he took a brief trek through the past.
They’d all had their minds filled with young ladies. How often did Griffin drive Cosmo crazy with his silly questions about the opposite sex? He could still see Cosmo sitting there, oiling down the saddles on the eve of his sixteenth birthday.
He had just finished brushing the horses. Tossing the brush aside, he sat down on a log across the campfire from Cosmo.
Cosmo pursed his lips. “What’s on your mind?”
Griffin hesitated. “If I’m officially to be a man tomorrow, why can’t we just go to town tonight? What difference does a few hours make?”
Cosmo examined a crease in the saddle, as he sat thinking. “None, I reckon. But I promised your family you weren’t to do nothin’ before you were sixteen. Besides,” when Griffin tried to interrupt, “It’s a long walk to town, and I’m goin’ to sleep when this is done.”
Griffin had searched through his pack for some jerky, unwrapped it, pulled off a piece and begun to chew. He was quiet for a moment; then blurted out, “What if I fall in love with one of them hookers?”
Cosmo shook his head, looking serious. “You need a lady in your life. Someone respectful to bear your children.”
“Is that what you want?”
Cosmo looked off in the distance, as if seeing someone. “Any man with good sense wants a stable life.”
“You don’t like all this traveling?”
Cosmo half shrugged, and glanced at the crackling fire. “It’s fine for a spell. But I want a home and family. That’s the way I am.”
Griffin hadn’t known this side of Cosmo. But he persisted with his questions. “I still might take a shine to one of them paid women,” he pointed out insistently. He’d had his eye on one for several days. Each time she smiled encouragingly at him, he blushed crimson.
“I said don’t!” Cosmo made it sound so devastating, and so simple. “You’re still thinking about that little tart at the saloon. If Thomas and I hadn’t stepped in, you’d still be rolling around in the barn with her.”
“We didn’t get very far,” Griffin grumbled.
Cosmo closed the can of oil, reached out for his coffee cup and took a sip of the day old stuff. He spit it out, dumped the cup of coffee behind him, and looked back at Griffin. “What’d you do to her?”
Griffin tried looking innocent. “What d’you mean?”
“How’d you make her come to you?”
Before they left, he was toying with the wildlife at home. Never with people..except for the good-natured cajoling of friends and family. Besides, friends and family never seemed affected or afraid of him. He’d assumed it didn’t work on people, until they ran into that pair of wandering cowpokes in Denver who tried stealing their gear. Just a steady gaze and words of warning, and life had changed.
So now there was no point in lying. He was learning to force others into things they might not normally do. He was, in a sense, controlling them, and though part of him knew it was wrong, he couldn’t help himself. And why the hell not? Any man who discovers some deep seeded talent, is going to use it. That’s part of being a man; being human.
If I am human…
Well, poor Cosmo already knew his talent. Griffin would bet he turned white under that dark skin. Hard to tell at night, though. At least Cosmo got what he wanted in life: a wife and two children…
Griffin was jarred as the train gave a slight lurch. He twisted in the seat again, stretched his legs out sideways, trying to relax. Damnation, this was the most hellish ride.
He glanced out the windows to passing farms. Corn. Wheat. Something else. He never familiarized himself with agriculture. So, why the hell was he going home to the family tobacco plantation? Duty? Imagine some fool paying good money just to set fire to a weed. People never ceased to amaze him.
Griffin tugged on one ear lobe, hidden beneath his shoulder length brown hair, as he thought of his upbringing, and Bassage Hall. He hoped the Gadsens were still working there. He loved Estelle’s cod cakes, and fried chicken. She also had a way with sweet potatoes, mutton and peach pie. His mouth watered, just thinking about them, and feeling hunger pangs, he pulled an apple from his valise, along with a small knife. Cutting into it, he popped a slice in his mouth, chewing. It had a crunch and caught the attention of the preacher across the aisle, who turned and looked at him.
Ignoring him, Griffin slid another slice into his mouth. A nice, firm mattress with clean sheets and a down pillow sounded wonderful, too. A clean house with large rooms where he could think and breathe, were even more encouraging. He was actually looking forward to going home.
Home. His family. His mother. What was she doing right that minute? How was she? Did anyone believe he was coming home? Why should they after nineteen years?
The train slowed, coming into the station at Thomasville, Georgia and he studied the dozen passengers boarding. A young woman wearing a blue dress and white bonnet caught his eye. She had a very pretty face, and the hair beneath was red, if he wasn’t mistaken. He leaned his head against the windowpane, watching her board. A moment later she walked his way, hesitating ever so slightly. He pulled his feet in, to let her pass. She smiled and proceeded further down the aisle. A shame he didn’t have more time or inclination…
Enough. He should know better, by now. The charm he possessed was not normal. He wasn’t sure he could lure a woman the natural way.
As the train loaded and began to move again, he sighed heavily, thinking of the coming chores at Bassage Hall. He needed hard work to occupy him. And the place needed repairs. Thomas said the crops were in dire straits…
“Excuse me.”
Griffin looked up. The woman in the blue dress and white bonnet who boarded the train moments before was standing there, looking down at him.
“Yes?” He didn’t really want to be bothered, but she looked pretty, and harmless. He hoped she wasn’t the chatty type.
“Are you Ned Roper?”
She looked so hopeful, he hated to disappoint her. “Afraid not,” he replied.
“Oh,” she looked disappointed. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“It was no bother.” All right, say something more. Prove you can talk to a woman without all that manipulation. “Why don’t you sit?” He pointed to the seat opposite, and turned to sit up straight, his feet on the floor.
The preacher across the aisle, one row behind cleared his throat in disapproval. Griffin could almost read his thoughts. Some immoral arrangement, the man assumed.
Mind your own business.
The woman looked beyond him to the crowd at the back of the car. Then she glanced at the seat across the aisle from him, and sat down. “I’m Mary Sharp.”
“Nice to meet you.” He sliced into the apple again, and reached out, offering her a thick wedge, which she hesitated taking. “It’s very sweet.”
She thanked him and took it, eating with relish. “You are?”
“Griffin Quade.”
The preacher made a low grumble in his throat.
Pious old goat.
“Who is this man you mistook me for?” Good. He needed to improve on his social graces, and the art of idle conversation. It was not as difficult as he let himself think.
She smiled and glanced through the window. “An old neighbor. I haven’t seen him in… oh, a few years. You look similar to him, except his hair wasn’t so long.”
He hadn’t used a straight edged razor in five days, and his hair hadn’t met with clippers since he left California. Not that he cared what people thought of his disreputable appearance. He was actually growing accustomed to the long hair.
“Are you visiting friends? Family?” she asked by way of further conversation.
“I’m going home. You?”
“I have a cousin living in Jacksonville. She’s invited me to stay, until I can find a teaching position.”
He knew a teacher, once. Very well, in fact. It came out badly, as did all his relations with the fairer sex. He could try to discourage this woman from getting too familiar, but there was no sign she expected anything from him.
“So, you live in…?”
“Madison.”
She hesitated. “I’m not very familiar with Florida. I hear they have some very frightening wildlife.”
Griffin couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind, then. His head swam with his own memories. “I was born there.”
“How long have you been away?”
All right, she’s not prying. Just idling the time with inquiry.
“I left when I was thirteen.” He watched her raise eyebrows. He continued on, before she pressed for more personal information. “I’ve had experiences in the swamps and everglades. Fighting mosquitoes, snakes, and the occasional alligator.” He paused fractionally as she murmured, ‘Oh, my’, then he continued, “But it doesn’t prepare you for the snows of the Northwest.”
She smiled. “I lived in Michigan for years. I’m not very fond of the cold.”
Contrarily he’d loved it. Even if there were many days when the three of them feared dying under the detestable white stuff, the cold was a blessing. It brought relief.
“So, you are an adventurer?” she pressed, almost timidly.
“I suppose that’s an accurate description,” he said, after contemplating her words. In a great sense, it was true. “I traveled with friends. We decided to explore and conquer the world.” Why those particular words, he didn’t know. Maybe to impress the young woman. Isn’t that what young men do?
The preacher across the aisle tsked his disapproval, this time.
“Now, I’m going home to take over the family tobacco plantation.”
“Aspiring to become a powerful businesman?”
The word ‘powerful’ brought him up short.
“No man should have power,” the preacher across the aisle began in earnest, folding his hands together, as if praying. “A powerful man sees himself as some sort of God, when everything falls into his lap. When there are no obstacles, no limitations, no need for honest work, what is left? Taking without resistance is the gravest danger of all to him.”
The power the preacher spoke of was that of wealth and education.
Griffin had never consulted any man of the cloth, for he didn’t need more guilt. Wasn’t that their job, to point out a man’s sins and threaten him with damnation? Had he ever thought himself a god? And what would this sanctimonious old goat do if he revealed what ‘power’ really existed in the world? Should he demonstrate, using the man himself, or Miss Sharp? Would that send the preacher screaming for the nearest exit, or pulling out his Bible and performing an exorcism?
Miss Sharp delicately cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable, and forced a smile.
The rest of the ride was made in veritable silence.
#
Hours later the train pulled into the station at Tallahassee. Griffin rose on stiff legs, bid good luck and goodbye to Mary Sharp, then grabbed his hat and valise.
Standing on the platform as passengers loaded and unloaded, he looked toward the busy little town. Rows of businesses, passing carriages, and pedestrians going about their daily concerns were not much different than any other little town he’d seen. Except that it was warm here, all year round.
Hearing someone call his name, he looked for a familiar face, and grinned the moment he saw Thomas Sibbings.
Thomas grinned back, came forward and they pounded each other on the back in greeting. Both had grown into powerful looking men, muscular from hard work, faces tanned by the sun, and looking the epitome of health. Only Thomas was cleanshaven.
“You haven’t changed!” Thomas bellowed. “You were just as hairy when I left.”
Griffin rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m famished. Let’s get something to eat first.”
“I know a place,” Thomas announced, leading the way toward a little restaurant.
“Tallahasee has grown since we left,” Thomas was saying, as they seated themselves in the small eatery. “Hotels, the Florida Agricultural University. The population is over three thousand. –Hell, everything is changing,” he announced with a grin, looking devilish, and lowered his voice a fraction. “Even the women. There’s a growing consensus among the fairer sex that they deserve equality. I personally know two who have vowed to live single, and enjoy free love.”
Griffin stared out the window, and down the street toward the palms in the distance. No doubt those two young ladies were still shunned by society. That wasn’t going to change in his lifetime.
Thomas leaned across the table, lowering his voice. “Imagine not having to pay for the favors of women.”
Griffin studied him. “Is that what attracted you to your wife?”
Thomas did not take offense. He understood Griffin. “Erin McCarthy was a very virtuous woman, when I met her. She still is.”
“Young and innocent,” Griffin muttered drolly.
“Yep! I met her here, two years ago. Prettiest
thing you ever saw. She was sitting on a bench outside the train
station, and we struck up conversation. She admitted she wanted to
head west, and I did everything in my power to convince her
otherwise.”
“Didn’t want the land littered with the garter
of another soiled dove.”
Thomas nodded, still unaffected by his sarcasm. “I married her a month later-- much to the chagrin of my parents.”
“When is the baby due?”
“A few weeks.” He sighed and glanced at a passing wagon. “I tell you, Griffin, it’s an odd feeling, being married and having a child on the way. It seems natural, somehow. I don’t know why I ever let it scare me.”
Griffin made a face of revulsion.
Thomas laughed. “Your day is coming, too.”
Griffin thanked the woman who set a plate of pork chops and potatoes in front of each of them, lifted a knife and cut into his own meat. “How is my mother?”
Thomas hesitated. “They don’t really know.”
Griffin paused in taking a mouthful. “What?”
“She’s been sleeping the last few days. Stuart’s not sure what the ailment is. I haven’t seen her, myself, mind you. They won’t allow visitors.”
All these years had passed, and now he comes home to find she’s, what? Comatose? Half dead? Griffin supposed he was being nonchalant about this, but after all these years, he and his mother were nearly strangers. In nineteen years he’d written, what? three times. But he sure as hell did not come all this way to bury her.
“Stuart doesn’t know what to do for her,” Thomas said worriedly. “He’s contacted a specialist in Boston, but got no reply yet.”
Of course not. Why would a doctor from Boston travel this far for someone he doesn’t know?
Why had he stayed away for nineteen long years? He should never have gone to San Francisco. He should have…
It was far too late for regrets, and getting him nowhere. As for his mother, he could make his peace and say good-by when the time came, if indeed she was dying.
“Things are shaky around here,” Thomas said suddenly, speaking what was truly on his mind. “My father made most of his fortune mining phosphorous some fifteen-twenty years back. He kept the cotton crop, but he lacks a genuine interest in it. He bets on everything from boxing to cockfights, and plays poker. He and mother travel once a month. Some private ranch where they hold dog races. They use the trip as a guise to visit my sister, but I know better. They both spend too much on art and travel, and trying to impress society. Our foreman, Mr. Bodie, was a careless drunk, and the field hands were far from ambitious. I’ve tried talking my father into citrus groves and forgetting about the cotton, but he refuses. He’s always refusing my advice.”
“He made you come home, because you had the necessary funds,” Griffin said without any feeling. Money did strange things to people, and Mr. Sibbings was obviously no different. He’d met the man a few times when he was younger. Monroe was extremely demanding and selfish, as was his wife, Giselle, if Griffin’s instincts were to be trusted.
“He wanted someone he could rely on, to take over from Bodie.”
Griffin felt for him. Thomas was between that proverbial rock and a hard place: torn between personal needs and family duty. Griffin had a duty, now, too, but there was no family to pound that fact into his head. Rather, none that he would allow.
“What about Palmer? Does he help?”
Thomas denied this with a shake of his head. “Money was set aside for each of us, when we married. Palmer and Mara were the ones lucky enough to wed before the money ran out. Mara lives in Fernandina. They won’t dare ask her for any, as she’s been crippled these last six years. Palmer’s clung to his fortune. He even made a few wise investments to keep it growing. When they began to run out of money, father actually begged him for financial help, so Palmer gave them ten thousand. That was a few months ago. He has not stepped foot on the place since, nor answered their letters, cables or calls. He knows they want more, and he’s afraid to face them again.”
“Is your money gone?”
“I’ve hung onto it. I never told them exactly what we earned in the mines.”
Monroe Sibbings would find out, one way or the other. He treated his children like wards, and he did not like them keeping secrets. Griffin despised the man.
“Lots of rich folks come down here for the warm weather. My parents were in St. Augustine last winter, and father got involved in a high stakes game of poker. He loves his poker,” Thomas added dryly. “The pot was quite huge and he no doubt thought he could impress them. He bet the deed on La Gema del Sur.”
“He lost?” Griffin conjectured without humor.
“To a man named Leif Walkinshaw.”
“This is someone wealthy?”
“From New York. He sits on the board of directors of a big steel corporation, and half a dozen other companies. His hands are into nearly everything.”
“But they’re still living here?”
Thomas nodded. “Leasing the place. They went to New York a few times.”
“To lick Walkinshaw’s boots.”
“More or less,” Thomas concurred tentatively. “There’s something suspicious about the four of them. I can’t put my finger on it. They’ve taken my sister with them several times. She’s marrying James Walkinshaw Jr., Leif’s nephew this Friday. I set up a dowry for her, to save them from as much social disgrace as possible, but that’s all.”
Griffin’s eyes narrowed in contemplation. A peculiar picture sprang to mind of a girl with hair the color of sunlight, being wed to a wolf. Or was it, fed to a wolf?
“He’s using your sister to save his home.”
Thomas shook his head. “It’s too late for that. But my sisters don’t know it.”
It was none of his business. He had his own problems, such as caring for Bassage Hall. There were tobacco crops to tend to, and upkeep of the home, which was costly, or so Thomas had warned him in a letter. There was no money left in the estate to properly care for it. Stuart Bassage was living there now, with wife, Pamela.
“So, you and Cosmo sold the store,” Thomas murmured. “Right before the quake?”
“I didn’t cause it,” Griffin stated curtly, and defensively. He refused to believe the worst, although there were moments he couldn’t help contemplating the possibility.
Thomas frowned as he examined Griffin’s set features. “I’ll never believe you have the power to wreak anything of that enormity.”
Griffin hoped he was right. Did he think too highly of himself? Probably. Well, he could always count on Cosmo and Thomas to give him some perspective, and bring him down a dozen pegs.
“A men’s clothier! Me!” Griffin said suddenly, making a noise of contempt in his throat. Somehow, admtting to such a stuffy venture was more embarrassing than admitting to his more lurid behavior over the years.
The bell over the front door jangled, getting his brief attention. Two middle aged couples departed in tandem, leaving them the last two customers of that hour in the restaurant.
“It was an honorable business,” Thomas stated calmly.
Griffin made a sound of derision. “We were men of the rugged north. We chopped down timber. Hunted for our own food, and mined the Yukon. We lived the wild life, and had a few drunken orgies.”
“I remember,” Thomas said, with a rueful grin.
“You don’t go from all of that to some tedious, haughty shop in San Francisco, selling men’s stuffy suits.”
“We did very well in the mines,” Thomas replied. “Six hundred thousand dollars apiece, Griffin. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. That was the whole point of going, wasn’t it? To discover gold and pave the way for something better? I don’t regret it.”
Griffin was embarrassed by his own fortune. “I couldn’t even walk into that shop, most days. Cosmo and Ada handled the business. I worked one summer in a winery, and two years on a ranch.”
“You always did find the physical side of life preferable to standing still.”
Griffin grunted in agreement. “I refused to stand behind that counter smiling solicitously at snobbish customers.”
Thomas looked as though he were trying to picture such a scene in his head, and grinned. “You’re right, that’s not you.”
Griffin shrugged. “At least I convinced Cosmo we needed to get out. We sold it in March. Cosmo was heading for Los Angeles right before the quake, and I decided to get home.”
“I reckon that’s all that matters.”
Chapter Two
Madison, Florida
Home
Standing in the field under the bright afternoon sun, Bithia Sibbings awkwardly tucked the skirt of her dress into the britches. The fabric bulged out in the back and hung slightly over the sides in comical relief. She looked ridiculous, and didn’t care. She wasn’t exceptionally pretty like her sister. Compared to Artisia, she was plain, with hair a dull shade of brown, and too curly for her liking, and her eyes were an odd gray-green, unlike Artisia’s crystal blue ones. To her advantage, she was five foot, four, with a petite figure and full bosom.
“It might be your only quality that inspires a man,” Artsia teased her once. Palmer and Thomas used to tease her, as well, but of late, Thomas was so busy she rarely saw him. Thanks for that went to helping on the home plantation as well as overseeing Bassage Hall’s tobacco crop. Fortunately for her, he took time to rummage through his wardrobe and give her the old britches and boots she now wore. Father would cringe if he saw her, but she was not about to go picking blackberries in some field while spiders, scorpions and all manner of reptiles skulked about, and quite possibly made their way up her dress. The very thought made her shiver.
Bithia re-adjusted the hat and netting about her face, which was protecting her from mosquitoes and flies, then picked up the tin bucket. It was nearly full, now. They could get at least two blackberry pies out of this, and a dozen jars of preserves.
Coming up behind her was Artisia, a young woman of equal height, but hair the color of sunshine. Even her face glowed. Bithia frequently called her Miss Sunshine, albeit in jealousy, or sarcasm. Of course, Artisia would not be out in britches. She held her skirt up slightly with one hand and tiptoed through the weeds as if they were egg shells.
Artisia scratched her nose beneath the netting, and made a face of discontent. “I thought it was too early for blackberries.”
“Not around here,” Bithia murmured, poking through shoulder high weeds. “I’ve picked them here for the last three years.”
“You must be incredibly bored,” Artisia said on a wry note. “Are you sure they were blackberries?”
“I know what blackberries look like.”
Artisia followed her sister a few more steps through the high weeds. “I should be home, relaxing, you know.”
Bithia stifled a sigh. “You’re getting married in three days. This is the last time we’ll share an excursion in the fields together.”
“Why couldn’t you choose a nice trip to Tallahassee to shop, like normal women? –Oh, I forgot, you are not normal.”
Bithia turned away. “There’s no need to be wicked.”
Artisia giggled. “I am only teasing you. For heaven’s sake, where is your sense of humor? Its no wonder Mr. Prest is afraid of you.”
Bithia thought about the aforementioned man. Mr. Prest was her father’s shy young accountant, and he always seemed to be in a sweat-- not that Florida heat couldn’t provoke any human body to ooze such moisture. But the poor man always seemed to be in a dither as he bent over the books.
“Mr. Prest is afraid of father,” Bithia corrected her with a grunt.
Artisia mused aloud. “He is rather intimidating.”
Bithia wrinkled her nose. “But you always know how to talk your way around him --and every other man.”
Artisia’s expression hardened slightly. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Bithia shrugged and forced her way around overgrowth, as she searched for more blackberries. “I don’t know,” she mumbled.
“You have insulted me, and I want to know why.”
Bithia paused as she saw another blackberry bush. Pink faced from the heat and sun, she turned to her sister. “They fall all over you.”
“Nonsense.”
“Yes, they do. Mama has seen to it. She’s groomed you to look the perfect little lady, just like those women in the magazines,” she bit off testily. “She buys you the latest in fashion. She takes you to all social functions, introduces you to anyone with money, and sings your praises at the top of her lungs, and I am stuck at home with… with Aunt Judith’s chalks and pastels!”
“If you don’t like drawing, why do you do it?” Artisia reasoned snippishly.
“I do like it. However, I resent being the last and the least noticed.”
Artisia studied Bithia. “You have it all wrong. Mother and father have been trying to marry me into money to save our home.” She waved one arm out toward the plantation. “It’s all for show!”
Bithia’s mouth flew open in surprise. That was impossible. The cotton was thriving just fine.
“That’s right,” she continued with irritation. “I am not looking forward to marrying James Walkinshaw. He’s dull and uninspiring.” She snapped off a nearby weed in frustration, and tossed it aside.
“I thought you loved him,” Bithia murmured in wonder.
Artisia walked past her, mindlessly inspecting the mass of weeds and plants surrounding them. “I doubt I’ll ever love anyone.”
Bithia followed her sister’s sluggish footsteps through the brush. It never occurred to her that Artisia was unhappy. Why, she was one of the cheeriest, gayest of females, always laughing, and teasing, and the life of every crowd.
“You don’t have to marry him,” she stated calmly. Surely, her sister was free to decide for herself?