Morning Fawn stood immobile, her long red shawl covering most of her nightgown and her honey hair falling over her shoulders, while the other two pushed past. Her gaze flittered between him and Lucy. Her brow furrowed deep as she turned to follow her aunt.
Great. She’d probably think of him lower than scum. Ruin any hope?—
Hope of what?
“It’s my fault.” Lucy sniffled. “I lured him to my room. Weren’t Lieutenant Reynolds doing.”
“Shut up and get out of here.” LeBeau scuffed his slippered foot across the floor, stopping just short of kicking her.
She scurried to her feet, shooting Devon a quick glance before she hurried down the hall, swiping her cheeks.
“You.” LeBeau stormed over, toe to toe with Devon. “You have no right to my slave girls. Not without permission. You have a need? There’s plenty down in the slave quarter I could give you to warm your bed, but not Lucy. Do what you like on your own plantation, but this and them are my property.”
Devon walled his face and met the man’s glare. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Owens thundered in, rifle still in hand. Chaw bulged in his jaw. “What happened?”
“Reynolds had himself a little visit.” LeBeau tugged on the shawl collar of his silk dressing gown. “Finally owned up to it.”
Owens snickered and aimed his lips toward a spittoon. Black tobacco juice spewed toward the tarnished brass container. “Should have spoken up and saved me the trouble of heading halfway to the kennel.”
How many little visits had that man had? Devon swallowed back the retort and turned to LeBeau. “I apologize, sir. It won’t happen again.” He slunk up the stairs to the second floor. It didn’t matter that he had never gone anywhere near Lucy or any slave for that purpose, ever. Shame hung over his head like a millstone.
CHAPTER 16
The next morning, Devon trudged into the back row of the small clapboard church and dropped onto the worn pew. Dr. Arthur LeBeau’s borrowed black wool frock coat stretched tight across his shoulders.
The scents of lamp oil, fresh-cut cedar boughs, and wood smoke drifted his way. He couldn’t recall the last time he was in a church. His visits to a formal house of worship had been few and far between since Isabelle’s death. By the time he’d enlisted in the Federal Army over two years later, he was so hollowed out, he’d dropped to his knees before the Lord when he heard the circuit rider preach at the camp meeting in New Orleans.
Up front, a plump lady dressed in mourning black played “The Church Is One Foundation” on the piano.
The congregants, mostly women tugging their children, filed past. Their stares lingered on Devon as they walked to their seats. Because he was new or because of his eye…or perhaps because he was one of the few men under fifty? His fingers twitched to adjust his eyepatch. He crumpled his hat instead. They couldn’t possibly know what he’d confessed to last night. At least not this quickly.
Would Morning Fawn come to church? He’d grabbed a roll from Flora in the kitchen and hurried out the door. When he’d passed Mrs. LeBeau in the hall, she’d gathered her skirts and scooted close to the wall as if being in his shadow might contaminate her.
In the stables this morning, George had gone out of his way to help him. That man knew the truth. Maybe he was even the one who’d paid Lucy a visit.
Morning Fawn wouldn’t understand. She’d see him as lower than a dog. The way she’d gotten her feathers in a ruffle for him calling Miss SchrammFrieda, she’d be ready to skewer him for this. Could he trust her enough to tell her the truth? And why should he bother, especially now that Moyer all but had a lasso around her?
“That’s him.”
He glanced up as Thea trailed by on the arm of a middle-aged man with a paunch and receding hairline.
Two ladies who followed in her wake scowled at him as well, then fell to whispering as they hurried past and entered an engraved pew. The whole town would be aware of his supposed sin by the time Thea was done.
The bites of roll felt like lead in his stomach. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled.
What did God think of what he’d done last night? Surely, it was right to save Lucy and her lover, but maybe there could have been a better way.
A step and a green skirt moved his way. He glanced up and blinked wide. Morning Fawn.
Rosy-cheeked, with her honey-colored hair caught up in a loose knot at the back of her head, she made her way down the row, dangling her bonnet by its strings.
Goosebumps ran up his arms. Words escaped him.
Mrs. LeBeau stopped in the aisle, her tone sharp. “This isn’twhere we’re sitting, Beth, dear.” She looked down her nose at Devon as if he were a smudge to be wiped away.
Morning Fawn sat down beside him with hardly more than a glance in her aunt’s direction. “This is where I’m sitting.”
