The Planter's Daughter Read online

Rendered speechless, her insides quivered as a sudden thought burst into her consciousness. Had Papa brought Seth Brantley home as a possible suitor? He was dressed more like a cowboy than a gentleman farmer—perhaps he took a more active role in running his plantation than Papa. While the men conversed, a warm flush filled her cheeks at the thought of being courted by the handsome man. Admittedly, she found the idea rather appealing.

  “We will keep the new stock in the barn tonight,” Papa was saying to Seth, motioning down the hill from the main house toward several large structures. “Monroe can find room for them in the quarter tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” Seth donned his hat, politely nodding to Adella before he made his way back down the steps to confer with Old Joseph.

  Confusion swirled through Adella’s mind. “Papa.” She trailed him as he made his way into the house, the crinoline beneath her full skirt swishing against her legs in her haste. One last look toward the yard revealed Seth mounting his horse to follow the wagon to the barn. “Why is your guest tending to the slaves? Shouldn’t we invite him in for refreshments after your long journey?”

  Servants who’d gathered to welcome home their master scurried away like mice after the cat awoke from its nap.

  “Brantley is not my guest, Adella Rose.” Papa chuckled as though her question was the silliest thing he’d heard all day. He handed his wide-brimmed hat to Anderson, his waiting manservant, and then faced Adella.

  “Seth Brantley is the new overseer of Rose Hill.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Overseer.

  It wasn’t a title Seth ever thought he’d wear. It certainly wasn’t one he’d sought. He didn’t associate with many plantation overseers, who were often known for their cruelty and brutish ways. But when a man has few choices in front of him, Providence may step in and force his hand. At least that’s what Pa called it when he met up with his old friend, Luther Ellis, in San Antonio and learned Luther’s overseer had died unexpectedly.

  With his shoulder propped against the doorpost of his small cottage and his lungs full of fresh morning air, sweetened by a light overnight rain, Seth stifled a yawn. He’d been up long before the mockingbird began its mixed-up melody, mentally preparing for his first day. What exactly it would entail, he wasn’t certain. But he knew Luther Ellis expected him to maintain control over the workers from the very beginning. Seth hoped they wouldn’t test him since he’d never been an overseer before. He’d rather earn their respect than their fear, yet he couldn’t afford for even one slave to believe he didn’t hold things firmly in his command.

  A frown tugged his brow. Pa owned a dozen slaves to help work the farm, so Seth had some knowledge of how to handle them. But Pa didn’t whip his slaves into submission and wouldn’t allow Seth’s older brother, Stephen, who’d taken over running the farm a few years ago, to beat them either. Luther already let Seth know that Monroe, an enormous black man who served as the plantation driver, took care of the “rough treatment” of the slaves. As overseer, Luther explained, one of Seth’s duties was to make certain the driver didn’t overstep his authority and injure the stock beyond what could heal.

  Stock.

  That was another word Seth didn’t much care for, at least not when talking about people. Luther referred to all his slaves as stock, as though they were some of the famed Texas Longhorn cattle. The newspapers said northern abolitionists believed the black man was the white man’s equal. Until recently, Seth hadn’t given it much thought, considering most of his dealings with Negroes took place on his family’s farm, where they seemed content. He’d known of landowners who experienced trouble with their slaves, which was why most dealt harsh punishment for even the smallest infraction. But for Seth, people with dark skin had been a benign part of his world.

  That is, until the night a black man shot him.

  Rubbing his sore thigh, Seth battled threads of all-too-familiar anger that snaked into his thoughts as memories flashed across his mind. He wouldn’t be working for Luther Ellis if it wasn’t for the runaway slave he’d tracked down to the Mexican border. The look of pity in Captain Clark’s eyes when he informed Seth he could no longer serve as a Texas Ranger still ignited a smoldering hatred for the slave months later. It left little room for sympathetic thoughts toward the dead runaway or his kind.

  The smell of fried bacon wafted down the hill from the main house. Seth’s empty stomach rumbled in answer. Before turning in last night, Luther unexpectedly invited him to join the family at table in the morning, despite Seth’s lowly position as overseer. It seemed Pa’s longstanding friendship with Luther superseded tradition. Grinning, he had to admit he was looking forward to the meal. Not only would he eat well, but it would give him the opportunity to see the planter’s pretty daughter again.

  Stepping off the cottage’s narrow porch, he ambled up a well-worn path toward the two-story mansion, his leg stiff from too many days in the saddle. The big house sat at the end of a long expanse of lawn, gleaming white in the bright morning sunshine. Impressive was the only word adequate to describe it. Four grand columns held up the second-floor balcony, while a wide wraparound porch surrounded the lower level. The house was far larger than he remembered from his visit as a boy, with several wings jutting off the sides and back. During the ride from Galveston, Luther boasted of adding land and slaves over the years, too. Clearly, the Ellis plantation was doing well.

  Still a bit early for the meal, Seth stopped under the branches of a large oak tree and took in his surroundings with the practiced eye of a Ranger. The modest cottage he now called home sat between the main house and the slave quarter. Anyone coming or going from the quarter had to pass his house—no doubt the location was planned for that very reason. Beyond the two rows of small log cabins were several oversized barns and various outbuildings, including a pigpen and a sizeable hen house. Worn footpaths and roads led here and there, disappearing behind a building or into a clump of trees where he could hear a gurgling creek. The vast cotton fields surrounded the main house and extended far beyond Seth’s view. Already groups of slaves made their way to the fields, carrying hoes and lunch buckets, with Monroe leading the way on horseback. After the meal, Seth would follow on his own mount.

  He formed a mental list of what he’d need to accomplish in these early days. Learning the lay o’ the land was a priority. The slaves held an advantage over him with their familiarity with the extensive plantation. The sheer size of the property meant he would be on his horse much of each day. Becoming acquainted with every inch of dirt, every tree, and every road coming in and out was vital if he had any hope of keeping track of the ninety-seven Negroes Luther Ellis owned. The task seemed more daunting today, after waking up on the plantation, than it had two weeks ago when Pa met Luther in San Antonio where Seth had recuperated after the shooting.

  It still puzzled him why Luther offered him the job. Farm work and a few months behind the counter of Uncle Earl’s mercantile, after the captain’s discouraging visit, was all the experience he possessed beyond the four years he’d spent with the Texas Rangers. Yet Luther told Pa he felt sure Seth could handle any type of trouble that might arise, which, if Seth were honest, produced a measure of confidence he’d lacked since being told he couldn’t ranger anymore. However, Luther had stated with his unmistakable Virginia accent and a cool look in his piercing blue eyes, he would withhold Seth’s wages the first few months, until Seth proved himself.

  Footfalls slapped the dirt behind him, drawing his attention. A slave girl of no more than eight or nine years ran in his direction, apparently coming from the house, with braids flapping against her ears. When she saw him in the shade of the tree, she skidded to a stop.

  “Mistah Brantley, suh,” she squeaked, her dark eyes wide and fearful. “Aunt Lu says breakfast ready shortly.”

  Before he could reply or even ask her name, the child turned and bolted back up the hill, reminding him of the time he had a rabid coyote on his tail. He couldn’t fault the girl for being afraid
of the new overseer. The passage of time, he hoped, would teach her and the others they could trust him to be fair. If they tended their business without trouble, he’d have no cause to seek Monroe’s whip.

  Seth started up the slight incline, recalling the ledgers he’d found in his cabin last night. The name, gender, and age of each slave, along with notations regarding punishments, illnesses, and births, were recorded on lined pages of the thin books. They also contained a column for a purchase date and a column for a sale date. He hoped Mr. Haley, the former overseer, had kept current records. When he had more time, Seth planned to go through the ledgers to learn more about the slaves and the practices at Rose Hill regarding buying and selling.

  A baby’s hungry wail sounded from the quarter.

  A memory surfaced.

  He’d never seen a slave auction before the one in Galveston. Screaming children ripped from their mothers’ arms. Men and women stripped bare, only to be poked and prodded like animals. The experience would not be easily forgotten. Watching the little girl ahead of him, whose hurried run had turned to skipping the closer she drew to the house, he hoped he wouldn’t be asked to attend another auction. Overseeing slaves on the plantation was one thing—taking part in the sale of humans was another entirely.

  When he reached the yard in front of the house, Seth glanced up to the front door. Should he use the main entry? His employee status left him uncertain. He’d resolved not to take advantage of the friendship between Luther and his pa. He would do his work as best he could, proving himself to Luther and earning his wages fairly. It might take some time, but he’d slowly add to the meager amount in his bank account. Once he had enough saved—he grinned—he’d head for Oregon, where a man could forget the past and start over.

  “Good morning, Mr. Brantley.”

  The soft voice came from his right. He’d thought himself alone and was surprised to find Adella Rose seated in a wicker chair on the porch. A large potted palm partially hid her from view, and if she hadn’t spoken, Seth would have walked right past her.

  “Good morning, Miss Ellis. It is a beautiful day.” He moved to where he had a clear view of her. Her long, dark curls were properly tamed this morning with combs and pins, instead of flowing loosely down her back as they’d done the day before. A chuckle threatened as he recalled seeing pink toes beneath the hem of her skirt when she’d greeted her father. As becoming as she looked in her pale yellow day gown and neat appearance, he secretly preferred the less genteel woman he’d met the previous day.

  “It is a lovely morning, yes. I always enjoy watching the sun rise.” A little frown tugged her smooth brow. “However, I hope the afternoon won’t be quite as warm as the past few days have been.”

  Seth nodded at her polite banter and mounted the steps. “We did receive a bit of rain during the night, though. I suppose we must be grateful for that.” He planted his booted foot on the top step to relieve the pressure on his injured leg. Doc Harding had given him some tips to keep his leg from aching so, and one was to keep his weight off it when standing. But Doc had also been perfectly blunt in his prognosis of Seth’s injury: “You’ll have pain in that leg the rest of your life. Might as well get used to it.” The sage advice was easier said than done.

  “Indeed, we are always grateful for any amount of rain, unless it’s harvest time. Then Papa rails at the sky if it even hints of rain.” She glanced at him, then quickly looked away.

  Seth found her shyness charming. “I have been admiring the plantation grounds this morning,” he said, hoping to lengthen their conversation. “I’m sure it was enjoyable growing up here.”

  Her blue eyes found him again. A slight smile touched her pink lips. “It was. I found more mischief to get into than my poor mother ever imagined.” At his chuckle, she sighed and looked out on the property. “I do love it here. Those roses”—she indicated the dozens of manicured bushes that surrounded the house, bursting with fragrant, colorful blossoms—“were my mother’s pride and joy. She brought the plants all the way from Virginia as a new bride. Papa named the plantation Rose Hill in her honor. I hope to follow in her footsteps and tend to them as well as she did.”

  A stout female servant appeared in the screened doorway. The bright red kerchief tied around her head contrasted sharply with her dull gray dress. “Missy Ellis, it be time for breakfast.” Her dark eyes grazed Seth. “Mistah Brantley, suh.”

  Adella Rose stood. Seth hurried to meet her at the door. He extended his elbow. “May I?”

  Surprise lit her eyes. She looked at his arm, then met his gaze. “Why, thank you, Mr. Brantley. It is refreshing to find our new overseer is also a gentleman.”

  Satisfaction slanted Seth’s grin as he escorted his new employer’s beautiful daughter to breakfast. Perhaps this job wouldn’t be quite as dismal as he’d imagined.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “They look like a fine batch of Negroes, Father. I would say you got your money’s worth.”

  George stuffed a large bite of buttered toast into his mouth. He chose to forgo the napkin in his lap and instead used the back of his hand to wipe errant crumbs from his chin. Adella, who was seated across from him, wondered if Natalie knew what an ill-mannered creature her brother was at the table. Despite years of Mama tutoring to the point of nagging, George was almost as bad as a pig at trough when it came to mealtime.

  “They may be fine, but I doubt I will ever get my money’s worth from them,” Papa said, dabbing the corners of his mouth with his linen napkin. Did he hope George would take notice and follow suit? “The markets in Galveston are just as overpriced as New O’leans. The six we brought back are good stock, but we will need several more if we want to plant the new acreage we bought from Dobbs.”

  Not really hungry, but not wanting to draw her father’s attention, Adella took a small bite of fried potato. Her normal morning appetite had disappeared the moment she sat down across from their new overseer, seated to her brother’s right. Throughout the meal, while George peppered Seth with questions about his life as a Texas Ranger, her gaze repeatedly drifted to the new man. And more than once she found him studying her with those rich hazel eyes framed by dark lashes.

  “Brantley, I want you to take charge of the new stock the next few days. George can show you where to put them to work.”

  Papa pushed his plate away. Young Carolina stepped from her place in the corner of the room and quickly removed the dish from the table. The girl made eye contact with Adella, seeking approval. When Adella gave a slight nod, Carolina grinned and disappeared into the hallway leading to the kitchen wing, carefully holding the china plate with both hands. Adella made a mental note to convey her satisfaction in Carolina’s training with Aunt Lu, particularly after the lamp fiasco. Aunt Lu, she knew, could be hard on the younger girls, especially if they made mistakes.

  Seth Brantley’s deep voice drew her attention back to the table conversation. “Pa understands why I couldn’t come back to the farm. Stephen has always been more of a farmer than I will ever be. I look forward to meeting the challenges this new job will present.”

  “Good.” Papa nodded. “Monroe will see to the field workers, making sure they get to the fields on time and such. You can make your presence known from time to time throughout the day, but I want the new group put on the south fields, closest to the house. I’d like to see how they perform before we put them out with the others.”

  With his concentration on Papa, asking questions about the plantation to which both Papa and George answered in turn, Adella took the opportunity to sneak long looks at their new employee. He hadn’t shaved this morning, and the same week-old whiskers he’d arrived with yesterday lent him a roguish look. To his credit, his long hair was neatly combed, though he desperately needed a trim. His cotton shirt bore the telltale wrinkles of being stuffed into a pack for many days, but it appeared clean and fairly new.

  Seth lifted his coffee cup to his lips, listening intently to something Papa was saying about a wild must
ang stallion he’d acquired. Adella watched the movement, remembering the strength she’d felt in his arm when he escorted her to breakfast. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would feel like to have his strong arms wrapped around her.

  Embarrassed by her own silly thoughts, she quickly looked away, lest he find her staring. She knew little about the man beyond that he was the son of her father’s longtime friend. That he’d been a Texas Ranger spoke well of him, yet why wasn’t he with his company? This morning, rampant gossip among the servants reached Adella through Hulda as she helped Adella prepare for the day, with the consensus being Mr. Brantley must have done something mighty terrible and could no longer be a Ranger. She’d firmly put the tall tale to rest before breakfast, reminding two housemaids in particular who were known to spread tittle-tattle that it was not permitted.

  But one simple fact learned through the years could not be ignored, neither by her nor by the slaves. Overseers—even those with captivating hazel eyes—were of the same breed. And former Texas Ranger or not, an overseer was not the type of man Adella should have been daydreaming about.

  “I think you should know,” George said around a mouthful of food, pointing the tines of his fork at Seth. “I was not in agreement with Father’s decision to hire you, but he convinced me your years as a Ranger would be beneficial to us. I hope you will prove him right.”

  “I will do my best,” Seth said.

  George set his fork down on his plate with a loud clatter. When Carolina, who’d quietly returned to her station in the corner of the room, moved to take the plate, he gave her hand a stinging slap. “I am not finished, girl. Can’t you see I am still eating?”

  Carolina’s eyes grew round, and she sprang back. Her chin quivered when she looked to Adella before her gaze sought the floor. A tear slid down her smooth cheek.

  Mindful of the new man at the table, Adella couldn’t remain quiet. “George, you needn’t speak so harshly. Carolina is doing a fine job. She has only worked in the kitchen a few weeks. She will learn.” She smiled at the young servant, but Carolina continued to stare at the floor.