Free A Dream of Daring by Gen LaGreca Page B

house for his beautiful wife,
and the couple and their one-year-old daughter, Rachel, had moved in twenty
years ago.
    Ruby Manor was named for
the hundreds of rosebushes planted along the perimeter, surrounding its
mistress with her favorite flower. Through the years, the hardy little
plantings survived floods, droughts, frosts, and heat waves to mature into
dense, fragrant bushes that created a spectacular sight—an alabaster-white
Greek mansion inside a red picture frame of roses. Wiley Barnwell became known
as Greenbriar’s most romantic husband, and his gift of Ruby Manor to his wife
was the envy of the townswomen. The celebrated story of Wiley and Charlotte
weighed heavily on Tom as he approached the house that was a temple to a
couple’s love.
    Tom knew that a carpenter
who was a slave of the Barnwell family had been the principal builder of the
home. Riding to the entrance, in a momentary reprieve from his problems, the
inventor marveled at the splendor achieved by the talented craftsman.
    On that February day, the
rosebushes were bare. Would there be another spring, Tom wondered, after he
said what he had come there to say? A servant took his horse and another
escorted him into the foyer, and the dreaded moment had come. Waiting to be
received, he hoped Rachel and her mother were made of as hardy a stock as the
roses.
    “Good Lord! Whatever is
wrong, Tom?”
    When Rachel entered the
foyer, she gasped at the sight of Tom’s unshaven face with its puffy, sleepless
eyes, bruises from the fight with Cooper, and mud-stained clothing from the
trip through the storm. She covered her mouth with her hands in horror.
    “You’d better get your
mother,” he whispered.
    She gazed at him,
bewildered, then vanished to call Charlotte. In a moment, Tom stood before two
women who had the same face and who stared at him with the same astonished
eyes, their mouths agape.
    Placing an arm around
each woman’s shoulders, Tom led them into the parlor, their skirts rustling
against his weary legs.
    “You’d better sit down.”
    The women sat on the
sofa, anxiously leaning forward and looking up at him. He stood by the
fireplace facing them. As the story of the past night spewed out, the women
were appalled. He paused only for their gasps. When he finished, he was spent,
with his arms on the mantel and his head buried in his hands.
    When he looked up, his
face was filled with pain. The women were speechless. They seemed to be stunned
beyond tears, their horror producing a dry-eyed, numbing shock.
    “My God!” whispered
Charlotte. “Wiley’s . . . gone?”
    “Pa’s gone?
He’s . . . gone?” a dazed Rachel asked Tom, who nodded
grimly.
    The women looked
incredulous as Tom watched helplessly.
    “How horrible!”
    “I can’t believe it!”
    “This is terrible!”
    Charlotte turned her
white-marble face to her daughter. “What’ll we do, child?”
    In turn, Rachel looked at
Tom, her face searching for an answer.
    “Dear God! We could be
ruined!” Charlotte continued. “Oh, what are we to do?!” She covered her face in
despair. “We could lose our crop!” An even greater fear pulled her voice lower.
“And we could lose control of . . . our people!”
    Tom crouched down by
Charlotte. He placed his hands on her shoulders to console her. “Mrs. Barnwell,
I promise, I’ll help in any way I can. I’ll supervise the crop. You won’t be ruined. I’ll make sure of that!”
    “And the Crossroads,”
said Rachel. “That’s ours too now, isn’t it? I suppose after what you told us,
that utterly despicable Ted Cooper can’t buy it now!”
    “I’ll help you find
another buyer,” said Tom.
    “Father said the
Crossroads had a bad year.”
    “The overseer blamed it
on poor Polly. According to him, it was her fault he couldn’t control
the field hands! Imagine the impertinence!” said Charlotte. “I have my doubts
about him. But what can I do? I never go to the Crossroads. The air there makes
me ill.”