Page 44 of The Gift of Seeds
Dale inhaled the smell of horses and hay, with a pang for the days when he used to ride and drive. He hadn’t been inside a stable in years.
“You’re a fair bit early for the wedding.”
“Wedding?”
Sam’s eyes glowed, and he beamed a broad smile. “Mr. Andre and Miss Rose. Surprised us with the news this morning and sent me driving off to the elder Nortons to fetch them here.”
As if buffeted by a surprising wind, Dale rocked back on his heels, feeling so very pleased. “That’s certainly a change from a few days ago.”
“A change from many, many years ago. Mr. Andre fell in love with Miss Rose when we lived in New York. I won’t go into why they didn’t marry. That’s their business. But it’s put some hurt on the hearts of Tilda, Rufus, and me to know a man so caring could not have what he cared about most.”
Dale only knew the Bellaire housekeeper and butler by sight. But they sounded just as loyal to their employer as Sam was.
“Tilda’s in a right frenzy. She and Rufus and I grew up with Mr. Andre in ’Nawlins. We be his pa’s slaves, but Mr. Andre would sneak off to play with us. Git us all in trouble with the overseer.” He chuckled. “Lucky us, the man had a soft spot for Mr. Andre and never told his father.”
Dale’s whip scars twanged in imaginary solidarity for what the three youngsters would have endured after shirking their work.
“When Mr. Andre turned twenty-one, his pa gave us to him, and he promptly set us free, causing a family explosion the likes of what you never want to see.” His jaw tightened. “That’s when Mr. Andre fled to New York to work with his dour Scottish grandfather, and we escaped with him.”
“So, you’re like family. Then you’ll be at the wedding?”
“I think Tilda will ease up on the frantic preparations long enough to at least allow us to watch through the doorway.”
“Why hasn’t a fine fellow like you ever married?” The curious question, so unlike him, slipped out before Dale could hold back the words.
Sam’s expression shadowed. “I’m a one-woman lovin’ man. I had me a young sweetheart. Back in ’Nawlins, she worked as a maid in the big house.”
“What happened to your sweetheart?”
“One of the other plantation owners took a fancy to her and made Mr. Andre’s father an offer he couldn’t refuse. The other plantation was too far to visit on foot. We moved to New York.” He shrugged. “Then came the war.”
The sadness in Sam’s eyes, so at odds with his usual cheerful demeanor, made Dale regret asking.
“She’s probably married.”
“Not everyone marries,” said one old bachelor to the other, even as he promoted a romantic reconnection for Sam and his sweetheart.
“After Mr. Andre sold his New York house and returned to ’Nawlins, I’d thought to inquire about her. But he was only there a bit when he found Miss Delia and claimed her as his daughter.” His eyes warmed with remembrance. “That caused another family explosion, although not quite as big as the first one. Mr. Andre was wealthy and had sent money after the war so the city house and the plantation could be saved, and the family could go on as if almost nothing had changed.”
Unspoken was the hint that Delia Bellaire Norton must be illegitimate, which if the knowledge became common would cause a scandal and a lot of hurt. Honored by Sam’s trust, he vowed to keep the information a secret. Neither Hester nor Delia deserved to be scorned for an accident of birth.
“There is this organization called theUS Postal Service,” Dale drawled, not beyond giving Sam a little nudge. “You could write to your sweetheart at that plantation. Maybe she’s still there. Or someone can forward the letter to where she moved.”
Listen to me giving romantic advice.
“Maybe she’s dead.” Sam shook his head, as if not even wanting to imagine the worst.
Knowing he had to tread lightly, Dale shrugged. “Maybe. But you’ll know the truth and won’t have to live with wondering. If she’s died, maybe someone will write back and tell you about her life.”
“Neither she nor I knew how to read. None of us slaves were allowed to learn. In New York, Mr. Andre hired the three of us a tutor, who schooled us for years. That’s how—” Sam made his Southern accent as sticky sweet as honey “—we can sound so highfalutin when we want.”
Dale refused to allow the man to sidetrack him. “Like you, she might have learned to read. If not, I’m sure she can find someone to read the letter to her.”
“Maybe so.” He didn’t sound very convinced.
Dale let the man be.For now.He had his own lady friend to focus on.And I’d best get to it.“Your Mr. Andre said I could borrow the Falabellas and the little sleigh.” Dale made a sharp elbow gesture. “Actually, he poked at me to do so.”
Sam gave him a sage nod. “For Miss Smith.”
