Rescued (Flowers of the Bayou) Read online

  Rescued

  By

  Arlene D. Lam

  Rescued

  Copyright 2012 Arlene D. Lam

  All rights reserved.

  Edited By Kristin N. Hamm

  Cover Art By Dawn Austin

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  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 author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Dedication

  To my family and to Kamal Moore, I finally finished. Hideous # 1.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  About The Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  New Orleans, Louisiana 1872

  Tonight was going to be hell. Amelia placed a pin in her thick mane, securing it into the matronly tight chignon that pleased her aunt Lorraine.

  Her plain brown skirt needed to be let out as it was a little tight in the waist, but she’d have to make due. The old brooch pinned to her front served two purposes, to hide the red stain which stood out against the starched white blouse, and as a sweet reminder of her mother, gone ever since she was a small child. She was nothing like her aunt Lorraine and Amelia missed her.

  She gave a sigh; Amelia’s mother had been comforting and kind while Lorraine was unforgiving and concise. They were literally night and day. Lorraine had fair skin with sharp hazel eyes; her mother had been dark like coffee with a dash of crème. Lorraine was tall and slender; Millie had been short and plump.

  The differences had been obvious and Lorraine told her time and again no one could see how they were sisters. The two only shared the same mother and not fathers. Lorraine’s father had been a free Louisiana Creole. However Millie’s father had been a slave just like their mother.

  “Amelia! Hurry that big tail up before you’re late.” Lorraine Dubois peered up the stairs and shook her head as her niece could be seen nearly tumbling down them in a crumpled mess. Why she was so awkward was beyond her understanding. Every day she prayed for patience to care for her sister’s child as she should, but lord help her, Amelia was a burden.

  She’d worked hard to secure herself a nice place and wanted to enjoy it. Something she found hard to do with Amelia around. The sooner that girl married the better and after searching far and wide for someone fit to marry her it seemed to Lorraine that Amelia was hell bent on ruining it.

  Lorraine waited and watched with more patience than she actually felt as Amelia smoothed over her dress and went to pinning up a few stray stands of hair away from her face. “At the age of twenty one you should be able to keep up with responsibility. You know Morgan has been waiting downstairs for what seems like hours? You know what gonna happen if you keep this up?” Lorraine placed an accusing finger in the air wagging it as a warning. “He gonna just up and stop comin’ round, that’s what’s gonna happen.”

  Amelia shook her head obediently, only appearing to be agreeing with all the things Lorraine said, it was expected of her. He might be due to become her husband but it didn’t mean it had been a smooth journey to accepting this fact. Even now she was not completely resolved with the circumstance or wanted him to be. Everyday was a mental battle for her. Morgan was nearly three times her age.

  When she was younger she truly struggled with the thought of marrying him. At times the mere thought brought her to tears. But things changed and necessity meant she needed to learn to adjust to the reality that was her future with Morgan.

  With age and rejection Amelia had found one thing to be true. Morgan was determined to marry her and she didn’t have any suitors to deter him. She’d learned that point the hard way and had to come to grips with the knowledge that Morgan was as good as it got for a woman like her.

  It was just he was so mean and so damn old. She would not have minded his age so much if he didn’t look as if he was seven times older than his true years. That and the fact she had grown up with him around, she thought of him more as a pestering uncle than anything else. Marrying him always seemed somehow wrong, even if everyone in her life told her it was the most natural and right thing to do.

  She respected Morgan and that was what she figured would make their marriage work, and with time love might follow. He was a hard worker and had a decent job as a miller. He built himself a fine home and was willing to share it with her. Black and even white alike respected him. He could be generous to those less fortunate yet he had a mean streak seldom seen by anyone other than Amelia herself.

  Groaning, Amelia again surrendered to her fate—one that had been decided years ago when Morgan had first set his cap off for her. She hadn’t been more than thirteen and enamored by a young boy. However that never did quite pan out apparently, and though Morgan was old, he wanted her.

  She couldn’t say the same of the rest of the colored men in New Orleans, in all her twenty-one years she’d only had a handful of suitors. Of them all, only one had she loved, and he hadn’t proposed.

  Daniel Gravis already had two sons and another child on the way, Amelia had heard. How she had loved him. He had loved her too at one time; a short time that had been the happiest in Amelia’s whole life.

  They had such dreams and he would tell her he loved her time and time again. She believed he would be the man she would marry. One day he showed up on the porch, with this look on his face and she knew it was not to be.

  He had told her he was in love with Nelly Taylor, and he was sorry for ever leading her on. Two weeks later they were married. After that it was as if she had fallen off of the auction block, as Lorraine would say, and not many more suitors had come calling, except of course for Morgan.

  He would bring by knick-knacks for Lorraine and bolts of cloth for her so that she could fashion dresses. Lorraine liked the gifts therefore she liked Morgan and saw past their obvious age differences and gave her blessing for Morgan to court her. When Amelia had protested, she was quickly put i
n her place. He’d bought her with cheap trinkets and sometimes Amelia felt that the days of the past would again be thrust upon her.

  Amelia was no fool, she knew her options were waning, if not because of looks but age and she’d been told by Lorraine that she wasn’t anything to hoot or holler about. Never thin like the other girls, nor a classic beauty, and with Lorraine always ready to confirm her fears, she was sure it was true.

  That’s why she had to marry Morgan. He was her only chance for a family of her own. Peeking around the corner to look at the aging sixty year old, Amelia could not help but sigh. She swallowed the big lump of dread she felt and plastered on a smile. “I know I’m late, sorry.”

  “You’re always late.” Morgan mumbled.

  “I keep telling that child.” Lorraine began. “If she keeps it up you’re not gonna marry her.”

  Staring down at her feet Amelia hid the slight frown that marred her face. Well wouldn’t that just be a tragedy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Lord don’t I know it, if you’ll excuse me.” She said to Morgan scurrying out the small sitting room.

  “What you doin’ anyway day dreamin?” Morgan smirked.

  It was amazing she thought, how they could always make her feel two feet tall—passing Lorraine, Amelia stood next to Morgan.

  “How’s my gal.” Morgan rose from his seat slowly with the help of his cane “I got ya somethin’ special.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Side stepping around him, Amelia grabbed her shawl and started for the door.

  “Well it ain’t free.” He laughed snaking his arm around her waist.

  She shivered inwardly, she knew this game. “How much is it then.” “A kiss.”

  She fought a frown, there was nothing worse, she thought, than kissing Morgan; the man was missing a tooth and had bad breath. Before she could even prepare herself, his hard lips were upon hers prying them apart. She felt his sodden tongue on her teeth and tried in vain to push away. But for all of his old and tired routine he was actually still quite strong and held on to her fast for what seemed like ages.

  All the while his hand roamed over her bottom and chest. All she knew was that she couldn’t think or breathe, and she felt dirty and quickly she shoved him forcefully away winning herself a somewhat satisfying yelp from her attacker.

  “That is filthy.” She blurted without thinking. “I mean I’m sorry but why ever would you want to put your tongue in my mouth?” She stared at him wildly, the very thought of it didn’t seem to make a bit of sense, the memory repulsive.

  “You act like I ain’t neva’ kiss you before.” Grabbing his cane Morgan shook his head.

  “Not like that, not ever. Have you ever kissed someone like that before? Maybe someone was playing a trick on you because I have never heard of anything like that being done before. Have you? Or maybe…”

  “I’m the only one you ever kiss?” Morgan already knew the answer but just for foolish pride wanted reassurance.

  “Yes.” She hated when he asked her that.

  “I swear you better ask Lorraine ta’ tell you about da’ world and how a man and a woman act, cause if’ she don’t you bout’ to be in for some real big surprises.”

  Amelia nodded a yes and held the door that made the loud squeak every time it was opened out to Morgan and closed it after she too had exited.

  Morgan puffed on his cigar. Amelia didn’t know the first thing about pleasing a man. At first it was a satisfying thought but lately it was aggravating. The soft creaking of the door closing drew him away from his thoughts.

  “Are we still going to your cousins’ for supper?”

  “Naw’ I think it best we don’t tonight.” Morgan dismissed her. “Make sho' to ask Lorraine about what I told ya, you gone and irritated me beyond reason tonight go on ta’ bed now.”

  Bed? Was she a child? It was only a little past sunset, yet if she played along the sooner she’d be free. Free to leave Lorraine and Morgan both behind until next Saturday. Nodding shakily as she knew she was supposed to, Amelia took his hand in her own. Leaning into him, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek hoping it didn’t come off as so.

  He gave her a disapproving look but said no more. Choosing to limp back to the old mare he’d managed to ride over without assistance. Amelia was smart enough to make sure he mounted securely and didn’t leave until he and the horse were just a tiny speck on the beaten trail. Only then did she look to the sky and judged the rain clouds were far enough for her to walk to her weekly slice of heaven which was anywhere away from Lorraine and Morgan, and in this case her place of employment, the Bradford mansion. All she would really need was a coat to keep off the chill.

  Dashing in the house Amelia gathered up a few things and shoved them in her woven hand basket for the week, really there was no need but it was a habit. Most of her belongings were at the Bradford estate anyway. She’d been the main cook and maid along with the head of staff, Vivian, and butler, Andrew, going on two years now. In all that time she’d never seen its owner, only staunch portraits of a tall young man whom she knew to be him.

  His young sister Georgia however was a different matter and the two were close. Georgia was the most brilliant little girl she’d ever encountered and if one thing could be said about her it was just that, and that she missed her brother very much. The last time he’d come to visit, he’d only stayed a few days, and had not come to his home, choosing to stay at his cousin Margaret’s with whom Amelia was well acquainted. In truth, she was the reason Amelia had gotten the position at the Bradford’s. One word from Margaret and the job was hers.

  Opening the front door quietly, Amelia made sure to side step the screeching plank enabling herself to slip out undetected.

  Lorraine had most likely gone upstairs but not to bed. She was scarce when Morgan was visiting. Never caring what he might try to do or where Morgan was taking Amelia, she trusted him to a fault.

  Amelia tightened a scarf about her neck as the clouds above started to darken and the moment she did, little droplets of rain began to fall on Amelia’s head. “Dang it,” was all she could manage. Of course she’d misjudged her leeway but getting wet was better than staying at home… Reaching into her basket Amelia produced a large white bandana and wrapped it about her head; hopefully it would help, if only a little. As if to warn her against trying to beat Mother Nature, the sky opened up and it began to pour.

  The rain was relentless as she made her way on the muddy trail to the large estate and it was cold. The thin coat she wore was soaked through. It felt like she was getting nowhere fast. Picking up her skirt she decided to take matters into her own hands and began to run. She ran until tired, and then began to walk again with long purposeful strides. It took nearly a half an hour more before the house could be spotted through the hard rain. It was barely visible, but at least she knew it was there.

  A few minutes more and she was entering around the back of the large mansion dripping wet, but grateful. She didn’t want to see anyone. All she really wanted to do was take off her sopping clothes, lay in bed and rest. Yet she knew that wouldn’t be possible.

  She would need to cook and clean and most of all play with Georgia. After that she needed to think about how to patch things with Morgan. Lorraine would demand that she did. After all, her time with him had not gone as planned.

  In silence, she made her way through the back of the house to her little room and stripped bare faster than ever before. Replacing cold wet clothes, left without a thought on the floor, with the medium sized towel she kept thrown over her bed post and began to dry off.

  When her body began to warm again she searched in her wooden dresser for the thick green cotton dress that was her favorite and pulled it out. Sitting on her bed, she took the time to rest her sore feet before pulling it on.

  Amelia then began to dry her hair which now curled mercilessly. She preferred it straight—one thing Lorraine and she had in common—and she would sit under a hot comb for hours as Lorraine s
traightened it every weekend. With it curly the job would be harder the coming weekend.

  Pulling thick hair into a simple braid, Amelia knew it was time to get to work. Securing the braid with a piece of tulle Amelia scuttled down to the kitchen. Sliding down into a chair in front of the table she started peeling away at the potatoes inside.

  It seemed to her she had left that same bowl of potatoes in the same spot last week. She was going to use them for a beef stew. The carrots were probably on the counter to the left. Vivian hardly ever touched what Amelia left out; never wanting to use what Amelia might to make a “fine feast” she would say.

  Amelia enjoyed cooking for the people in the house. They all loved her food and it made her feel special, cooking for them, sometimes she found herself cooking enough for a small army wanting everyone to get as much as they liked. Needless to say there were often leftovers. Georgia loved her stew, tonight would be a special treat for her as Amelia didn’t cook it too often.

  At six she was very smart and always wanted to help Vivian and Amelia. She told stories to them for hours about adventures or would go over every detail of some tall tale book her brother had purchased for her in China and other far off places.

  She was very proud of him, would brag about his exploits to all who would listen; which most of the time was Amelia. Georgia had been requesting stew for the past few days because her brother was due back sometime this week. Georgia’s cousin, Margaret, had let Amelia know on good authority that today would be the day.

  Amelia had to admit she would be looking over her shoulder if she heard a door open or close. He could already be there it was evening after all.

  She didn’t know what to expect. Amelia had never seen anything of him besides pictures. Yes he’d been there before, it was his house, but it was either for such a short amount of time she somehow managed to miss him he was like a phantom when he came home to visit. All she knew was he was married once when he lived in England, but it ended unhappily and he moved back to the states with his little sister to expand his shipping industry.