mirror, and Pearl’s smile slid into a smirk. Becks went pale, and knew that her sister knew. She managed to croak out, “They weren’t smugglers!”
“Regardless… if you hadn’t kissed your mystery man, Creel probably wouldn’t be so intent on courtin’ you right now. You poked a sleeping gator.”
Becks had felt weak then, wanting to refute her sister’s teasing, but finding her words stuck in her throat. It had been over a month—not that she’d been counting—since that encounter under the oak tree, and Becks had tried her best to forget it. To forget him, forget his touch, forget his kiss.
She hadn’t been entirely successful.
Pearl had chuckled, and patted Becks’ shoulder. “And now you gotta just deal with Major Creel’s courting. He’s a pig.”
A sigh. “At least you’ll be there with me, right?”
Pearl had met her gaze again. “You know it. Always.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad, if he would just keep his bigotry to himself. Or if he understood any of us at all.”
“Your lips to God’s ears, girl.”
She’d been right that evening. Creel would be easier to bear, if he’d made the least attempt to understand her way of life or her love of the people around her. Why, last week, when he’d brought her those flowers, he’d proven that he had no idea what life was like on Beckett.
He’d found her in the kitchens, and complimented her on her charity for those less fortunate. Charity? Did he just not comprehend how life on the island worked now?
She’d been standing in front of the bread board, her sleeves rolled up and flour everywhere while she kneaded, and she’d asked him distractedly what he meant. He’d smiled through his thick mustache and clasped his hands behind his back, which made him look like he was about to give a lecture. “Why, the way you care for the nigras on your estate, of course.” His reply had been so off-handed that she knew he’d meant it. “You’ve lost the war, my dear, and are no longer legally obligated to provide for them. But here you stand like a common kitchen slave, toiling to make more bread than you could possibly eat, for them.”
To say she was flabbergasted would have been an understatement. She stood there, her hands sunk up to the wrists in wet dough, and stared at him. He grinned, like he’d said something charming. “You need a man to take care of you, Miss Middleton. To take you away from this drudgery.”
She wanted to rail at him, to explain that this was her home, and she wouldn’t survive away from it. Instead, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and focused her attention on the dough in front of her. “Major Creel, I’ll allow that you’re new to this area—”
“On the contrary, my dear. I came to South Carolina with Sherman in ‘65.”
Becks thought she could be forgiven for slamming the dough down extra-hard against the wood. Had he thought that little tidbit would be welcome news? She tried to ignore his interruption. “But you must understand how things work here on Beckett. Our people have stayed here because they care for the land and what they have built. They stayed even when my family left. They stayed, and they own parts of Beckett now. This is their home as much as it is mine, and we work together to make sure we’ll all survive.”
He hadn’t understood then, and she doubted he’d understood since. He’d just smiled indulgently at her, like she was a girl who didn’t understand life, and had told her he’d see her at dinner. He’d been back once since then, and each visit was becoming more and more painful.
Her mother sympathized, thinking Creel to be as much of a bother as Becks did. But Eugenia wasn’t ready to alienate him yet. She put up with his predictable visits, kept making polite conversation, kept trying to smooth his feelings over as best as possible. Becks didn’t understand why her mother didn’t just toss the man out, and explain that he wasn’t welcome. But her mother
“Regardless… if you hadn’t kissed your mystery man, Creel probably wouldn’t be so intent on courtin’ you right now. You poked a sleeping gator.”
Becks had felt weak then, wanting to refute her sister’s teasing, but finding her words stuck in her throat. It had been over a month—not that she’d been counting—since that encounter under the oak tree, and Becks had tried her best to forget it. To forget him, forget his touch, forget his kiss.
She hadn’t been entirely successful.
Pearl had chuckled, and patted Becks’ shoulder. “And now you gotta just deal with Major Creel’s courting. He’s a pig.”
A sigh. “At least you’ll be there with me, right?”
Pearl had met her gaze again. “You know it. Always.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad, if he would just keep his bigotry to himself. Or if he understood any of us at all.”
“Your lips to God’s ears, girl.”
She’d been right that evening. Creel would be easier to bear, if he’d made the least attempt to understand her way of life or her love of the people around her. Why, last week, when he’d brought her those flowers, he’d proven that he had no idea what life was like on Beckett.
He’d found her in the kitchens, and complimented her on her charity for those less fortunate. Charity? Did he just not comprehend how life on the island worked now?
She’d been standing in front of the bread board, her sleeves rolled up and flour everywhere while she kneaded, and she’d asked him distractedly what he meant. He’d smiled through his thick mustache and clasped his hands behind his back, which made him look like he was about to give a lecture. “Why, the way you care for the nigras on your estate, of course.” His reply had been so off-handed that she knew he’d meant it. “You’ve lost the war, my dear, and are no longer legally obligated to provide for them. But here you stand like a common kitchen slave, toiling to make more bread than you could possibly eat, for them.”
To say she was flabbergasted would have been an understatement. She stood there, her hands sunk up to the wrists in wet dough, and stared at him. He grinned, like he’d said something charming. “You need a man to take care of you, Miss Middleton. To take you away from this drudgery.”
She wanted to rail at him, to explain that this was her home, and she wouldn’t survive away from it. Instead, she took a deep breath, swallowed, and focused her attention on the dough in front of her. “Major Creel, I’ll allow that you’re new to this area—”
“On the contrary, my dear. I came to South Carolina with Sherman in ‘65.”
Becks thought she could be forgiven for slamming the dough down extra-hard against the wood. Had he thought that little tidbit would be welcome news? She tried to ignore his interruption. “But you must understand how things work here on Beckett. Our people have stayed here because they care for the land and what they have built. They stayed even when my family left. They stayed, and they own parts of Beckett now. This is their home as much as it is mine, and we work together to make sure we’ll all survive.”
He hadn’t understood then, and she doubted he’d understood since. He’d just smiled indulgently at her, like she was a girl who didn’t understand life, and had told her he’d see her at dinner. He’d been back once since then, and each visit was becoming more and more painful.
Her mother sympathized, thinking Creel to be as much of a bother as Becks did. But Eugenia wasn’t ready to alienate him yet. She put up with his predictable visits, kept making polite conversation, kept trying to smooth his feelings over as best as possible. Becks didn’t understand why her mother didn’t just toss the man out, and explain that he wasn’t welcome. But her mother
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