Page 19 of A Late-Blooming Rose
Since Sam’s arrival in Sweetwater Springs, Andre hadn’t wanted to bring up the past. “Do you regret remaining in New Orleans after I freed you?”
Sam looked to the side, obviously thinking, and then met Andre’s gaze, his eyes dark with sorrow. “Perhaps if I’d taken my wife and family and headed to New York with you and the others, she’d still be alive. Same for those babies we lost to yellow fever. Those deaths sucked the heart and strength from her. When cholera came along, she didn’t stand a chance.”
“You loved Bess, so you indulged her wish to remain in a familiar place.”
“In New York, with plenty to eat, good doctors and such.” He nodded at Andre. “You would have seen to my family’s care.”
“Goes without saying.”
“Maybe I’d still have Bess and more than one grown child. Maybe my son wouldn’t be off serving in the army, because he didn’t see no chance for bettering himself in a land ground to dirt under the victor’s feet—even so many years after the war.”
Not for the first time, Andre thought about how almost everything in the South changed after theWarBetween the States—labeled by the subjugated losing side with the nonsensical title ofThe War of Northern Aggression.
Not that Civil War wasn’t just as ridiculous a moniker. Nothing was civil about a war that tore their country apart and cost over six hundred thousand men their lives.
“I have plenty of regrets of my own. I know how they can haunt a man.” Andre tilted his head in the direction of the house. “Come. Let’s leave the past in the past.”
Sam opened the gate and followed Andre down the path.
Mrs. Hatter must have been watching, for she opened the door before he could knock. “Oh, thank you, gentlemen. I’m so very appreciative, and I know my husband will be, too.”
“This is Sam Herbert, my coachman, who will help store away your new supplies. I’ll give him a hand.”
Together, they carried everything through the kitchen to the back door and out to the root cellar, separate from the house. Sam insisted on climbing up and down the stairs, and Andre handed him the various crates, crocks, baskets, and loose items.
Once back inside, Mrs. Hatter clasped her hands in front of her chest and profusely thanked them. “Tea’s ready. Gentlemen, can I persuade you to partake in some cookies or a slice of pie? Apple. Mariah Salter assured me when she dropped by with the pie before going to her job at the hotel. The first apples from her tree just picked a few days ago.”
“Absolutely,” Andre told her. Not that he wanted to eat anything with his stomach still knotted, but he sensed feeding him would help the woman keep her pride.
“Mrs. Salter also left a jug of cider, if you’d prefer that over tea. So thoughtful, don’t you think, when she has those four growing boys to feed? Thank goodness they’ve filled out. I hated to see them so thin and hungry-looking last year.” She sighed. “But the Salters wouldn’t accept help—too proud, they were. Still, I was able to have Matthew over to do some yard work. I fed him right up, paid him a quarter, and sent him home with a loaf of fresh baked bread.”
Remembering how he told Delia the Hatters would also be too proud to accept money, Andre suppressed a smile. The stubborn insistence of standing on their own two feet in the face of poverty and adversity was a fascinating, and sometimes frustrating, characteristic of the people of his adopted town. “I’ll take one of Mrs. Murphy’s cookies. And I know for a fact that Sam—” he jerked his chin at the man “—won’t say no to a slice of apple pie.”
“No, ma’am.” Sam spoke with a Southern drawl and flashed Mrs. Hatter a wide, white grin. “Surely, I won’t say no to pie of any kind.”
The woman’s withered cheeks pinked. “Well, then. Let me dish you up a generous slice.”
Sam moved past her to stand next to Andre. “You need to visit here more often—” he teased in a low undertone “—and bring me along.”
“You’re not a slave anymore,” Andre retorted. “Haven’t been one for a long time. You could visit on your own. As you can see, you’d be welcome.”
Sam winked. “Might just do that. Perhaps Mrs. Hatter will need more help moving things to the cellar, and I’ll git another piece.”
“As if you don’t get enough pie at home. You have Cook eating out of your hand.”
“Can nevah git enough pie.” The words came out slow and syrupy, accompanied by a wink.
Andre just shook his head, knowing the man trotted out that drawl whenever he wanted to charm.Well, I suppose I do, too. When it suits me.“You don’t fool me. You’d help whether or not you’d get more pie.”
Mrs. Hatter handed Andre a blue transferware plate with two cookies.
Sam received one with a fork next to a big piece of pie.
“The tea has steeped enough,” Delia announced.
“Let me pour.” Mrs. Hatter moved toward the kitchen. “Well, first I need to wash the other cups I used today with company. Over the years, I’ve broken a few pieces of my mother’s china.”
Immediately deciding to order the Hatters half a dozen new teacups and saucers, Andre surreptitiously turned over his plate to see the maker.Spode, with the numbers2614in red.I’ll order them from the mercantile today.He righted the plate, wondering if Mrs. Hatter would accept the china. Hopefully, if she knew they were a gift from the heart….
