ROSEDALE IN APRIL
Chapter One
March, 1863
Rosedale Plantation
Jefferson, Texas
"I refuse to do it, Father! I despise
the man…he’s everything I abhor and loathe in the male species! And besides
that deplorable fact…he’s a damn, dirty Yankee!"
"Rose Bukater! How dare you use such
vulgar obscenities! You fail to remember that a fine, genteel southern born
lady never swears…ever!"
"I’m a Texan, Father…far and
apart from your average, upstanding, well bred southern belle!"
Forcefully exhaling and losing what very
little patience he possessed, Confederate Colonel Sterling Bukater
exasperatedly began again. This time in a deceitfully cautious albeit
cajoling manner.
"Rose, it’s a good match with Henley…it
will ensure our survival."
Taking a deep steadying breath to still the
thunderous rage that had dangerously consumed her, Rose DeWitt Bukater stood
ready in battle. Her father, Confederate Colonel Sterling Bukater, was
authoritatively issuing her death warrant…an ultimatum that would virtually
destroy her spirit and independence…those inborn virtues that were her mere
essence of survival. Marriage to a near stranger…a rich, proper northern
"dandy" and heir to the largest steel factory in the currently
divided States. The man made her skin crawl…he falsely wreaked of
sophistication, respectability, and good manners. But deep in her heart, Rose
knew what he really was. Somehow, she had been gifted with the uncanny
ability of really seeing people for what they were, and consequently,
she wanted no part of the contemptuous, arrogant Union Major Caledon Henley.
For the pompous, conceited Pittsburgh steel tycoon was greedy, cowardly,
decadent, and…cruel. Man of good breeding…my ass!
"Rose, I’ve already arranged it. In a
fortnight, I will be leaving again to join up with the Confederate army in
Richmond. By marrying Caledon now, it will give us formidable and
respectable ties to the North, if we should lose this bloody war. And I
feel it coming like a dark ominous cloud gathering on the horizon. The South
has no resources except for cotton and sugar cane…and the Yanks are blockading
our ports even as we speak. Fortunately, I’ve already converted all our stocks,
bonds, and currency to gold and silver just for safe measure. And after the
last shot is fired, if the North should win…we win. Yet, if the South
should miraculously rise up and defeat the Union Army…we still win. I’m merely
covering all our bases, which just makes good business sense. Not that you
could even begin to comprehend such a clever maneuver in that addled female pea
brain of yours!"
"You arrogant, contemptible traitor! My
father…an unimaginable treasonous vulture that sits both sides of the fence!
Thank God that General Sam Houston has just passed away in Huntsville so as not
to bear witness to such cowardly acts of treachery! I’m ashamed and despise all
that you stand for!"
Although Rose knew that General Sam was
broken hearted about Texas seceding from the Union, she was convinced he would
have abhorred the dishonorable deed her father was contemplating. For once one
committed themselves to a cause, they should be ready to die for it. And if
that cause was not worth dying for, then stay the hell out of it! And
her father…it made her stomach lurch at the treasonous route he was intent on
pursuing…and with her as the scapegoat!
With no regard to the potential dire
repercussions, Rose continued to vehemently berate the Colonel with all the
disgust and appall her heart was capable of embracing. This just couldn’t
be the father of her blood. Yellow-bellied, selfish traitor that he was! But
furthermore, to arbitrarily force her into an arranged marriage for
blasphemous financial security and so-called societal respectability! It was so
unfair!
At Rose’s contemptuous barbs that cut like
sharp tiny knives into his insufferable male pride, Sterling Bukater lost all
semblance of his barely controlled composure. Finally, he snapped and viciously
grabbed the defiant heathen by both arms shaking her copper head so hard that
her delicate neck threatened to snap. Raring back his hand, he maliciously
slapped her across a furiously flushed face. But he knew Rose well enough to realize
that she stubbornly would never let him see her hurt or cry. Narrowing
his cold gray eyes in malice, he glared in venomous rage and fury. For in that
seething instant, Rose was the mirror image of that slut of a mother of hers,
his late wife, Sable DeWitt Bukater.
"God damn it all to hell…you will
honor me as a daughter is supposed to honor her father. And furthermore,
you will marry Caledon next week. And if you get any silly ideas in that
empty scheming little head of yours, I have every intention of disinheriting
you from Rosedale! Because, I won’t be made out of a fool, Rose! Is this
in any way unclear?"
Rose stood with her mouth wide open in
incredulity and shock. Rosedale had been in her mother’s family since before
the Republic of Texas was born…the entire far eastern region of Texas had been
disbursed to her maternal grandfather in the form of a Spanish land grant in
the 1700’s. Rosedale was hers, regardless. And to have this traitorous
encroacher dictate to her whether she was entitled to her birthright! Damn
the man straight to hell!
Trying to calm her raging heart, she ignored
the stinging slap that was already swelling her cheekbone and protested again,
but this time with a bit more decorum. "Father, we already have
northern ties. Mother’s Uncle U.S…"
"That drunkard can’t even ties his own
boots! Blast it all…it’s settled…no more of your useless, ludicrous objections.
It’s done…there are no choices, Rose!"
"You say what you want, Father! But this
plantation is mine! And neither you nor anybody else can ever
take it from me…is that in any way unclear?"
Sterling Bukater felt like the wind had been
knocked out of his lungs…gut punched was more like it. This willful, spiteful,
rebellious hellion just didn’t behave as a proper well-brought up girl was
supposed to act. Viciously mocking him like she had every right to! Besides,
she was just a mere female…a pawn to play and sacrifice in his bid for
more power, wealth, and influence. Rose was just a piece of his property like
the numerous slaves that endlessly toiled for him day in and day out...a
necessary evil to sustain his way of life…in austere grandeur. And unbeknownst
to her…not even the product of his own loins.
Oh, he knew the truth. Had known it
from the very first. Sable’s father, Larkin DeWitt, had confidentially come to
Sterling Bukater, from a fine prominent Jeffersonian family, just after his
unwed daughter and only child had conceived. Old man DeWitt had been devastated
and promised him control of Rosedale, the sparkling jewel of the pines as it
was referred, in exchange for discreetly taking Sable to wife. That huge,
prosperous cotton plantation that had every eligible bachelor and widower in
the South sniffing out the beautiful Sable DeWitt’s skirts. Of course if he was
truthful, Sterling had to admit, she had been the epitome of every man’s sexual
fantasy. A lady on a man’s arm in polite society…a whore in his bed at
nightfall. The perfect woman and wife.
And he, Sterling Bukater had ambitiously
albeit gratefully agreed upon the overly generous offer…in fact, proud
to become the gorgeous auburn-haired, green-eyed goddess’ husband—pregnant or
not! Of course at the time, there were rumors that the father of this illegitimate
spawn currently stabbing him with green eyes of hell fire was a lowbred filthy
gypsy by the name of Rafael Bouvier. Of course, old man DeWitt laid down his
authoritative law all those years ago. For Sable would lose Rosedale if she
married or ran off with Bouvier. Not only was that ominous threat hanging over
her lovely head, but Sterling Bukater had made absolutely sure she had
never left him. Although Sable had never conceived his seed, he had
convinced the lady that if she ever tried bolting, her daughter would remain
behind with him. And the misery he was capable of inflicting on a person if
the notion ever moved him was well known, especially to Sable DeWitt Bukater.
For Sable loved her child with every ounce of her being…and would never risk seeing
Rose hurt in any way.
Alas, once a whore, always a whore. Again, his mind tumbled back to that sultry, hot
sweltering day in August two years ago that he found his wife with Bouvier.
Sterling wasn’t expected back from Shreveport until the next day. He had
arrived home early intent on batting down the hatches from an approaching
hurricane stalling out in the Gulf.
Rose had been out riding and shamelessly
hanging out with that filthy band of gypsy children that always managed to
secretly camp nearby in the swamps when they made their semi-annual visits to
east Texas before moving on to New Orleans.
Approaching the manor house, something had
prompted him to peer up and what he had seen had sent him into a black
murderous cold-hearted rage. Sable was dancing through her bedroom balcony door
dressed only in a shift, so thin she might as well have been wearing nothing at
all, her torrent of dark red hair pouring over creamy full breasts and
shoulders. Then he’d watched as Bouvier tore away what little clothing she wore
and mounted her right there against the wall. And even as the vile vermin had
rammed himself into her, Sable had turned her limpid emerald eyes down to
Sterling…and smiled with those ruby red lips that drove men crazy with fevered
lust.
God, have mercy on his soul! For he had committed murder that fateful, hellishly
hot August night. Of course, no one had ever suspected it as such. Tragically,
Sable had taken a nasty tumble down the sweeping staircase and broken her
lovely neck that evening! Acting the grieving, distraught widower, he had
deceptively mourned and been overwhelmed with sympathetic condolences of
practically every fellow planter and industrialist throughout the Union. Even
Sable’s uncle, Ulysses S. Grant had attended the rosary, mass and burial at
Rosedale. However, this devil spawn of a girl had never believed his
remorse and grief…not really. It never quite reached those pained,
sorrowful hardened chips of green ice. Her rebellious nature had really come to
the fore in the last couple of years since her mother’s untimely demise. Now,
it was past time for Rose’s comeuppance and to learn her place in this strictly
male-dominated society. Better she learn it from him…than from her future
husband, Union Major Caledon Henley!
"I won’t do it, Father, and that’s
final. You can’t take Rosedale from me. Besides, I’m your only legitimate heir!"
Sterling Bukater turned with an incredulous
shocked visage. Rose saw it and tragically pressed onward, intent on her
purpose.
"I’m not a blind idiot, Father! I know
of the numerous mulattos among your many slaves. Who else would sire
them but you? But not to worry…I’ll always take care of them. More so, than
you! Because despite their paternity, I take my responsibilities
seriously. And my half brothers and half sisters are just that…they’re my next
of kin regardless of their skin color. We’ve always known amongst ourselves and
it has never mattered…to any of us!"
"Oh, is that the way of it? Well, Miss
High and Mighty…if you refuse to marry Caledon, each and every one of
your so called bastard siblings will be sold at auction. Have you ever heard of
breeding farms, Rose? Because if you haven’t, let me enlighten
you!"
"You wouldn’t dare!"
"Oh, I most certainly would. Those
worthless spawns of my loins mean nothing to me…they’re just necessary working
hands in my eyes, dear daughter. Nothing else…nothing more!"
Satan himself had no equal except for this
demon standing before her. Murdering him with eyes of pure unadulterated
hatred, Rose heatedly spit, "All right…you win… for now. But hear
this, dear father of mine…you’ll burn in hell for this atrocity!"
Not giving him a chance for an instant’s
rebuke, she disgustedly spun around and stomped out of the room, slamming the
door so hard it dangerously rattled the crystal chandeliers in the main
hallway. Rose’s green eyes were misting with furious tears and the only relief
she could muster was to whirl around and shoot the vile piece of trash the
international sign of contempt albeit behind the still trembling door.
"Miss Rose!" It was Nanny, her
lifelong black governess, who was standing outside in the hallway completely
hidden until Rose disembarked. And it was Nanny that immediately and severely
reprimanded her for the dishonorable, blatant, and obscene gesture. Rose turned
in surprise but nevertheless, Nanny rushed to embrace her coddled and adored
charge. Nonetheless, Rose refused to cry…she was seething and shaking in
helpless fury. Recognizing the red mark on her mistress’s flushed face, she
took her apron and gingerly held it against her reddened cheek.
"Oh my babe…wassah Mastah Sturlin do to
my precious girl now? He punch you, Miss Rose?"
Determinedly pulling away from her, Rose
solemnly hid some of her ire, not wishing to upset her Nanny further.
"I’ll be all right, Nanny. Don’t worry
about me." Feeling her pitying eyes on her back, Rose slowly turned.
"Nanny, first thing in the morning have
Lizzie meet me up in my room…and tell her we have an appointment at the
dressmaker’s in Jefferson…I’m having my wedding dress made!"
And with that, Rose DeWitt Bukater flew up
the stairs in tears.
All Nanny could do was shake her old graying
head in sympathy and then…she impulsively and forcefully thrust up her middle
finger at the study and maliciously grinned in satisfaction. Immediately, she
covered her mouth in shock at her vulgar action.
"Lawdy…lawdy…that girl done made her
nanny act like poor ol’ white trash. I’za better git down on these here ol’
knees tonight and pray fo’ mercy! But it just ain’t fittin’ what that mean ol’
Massah Sturlin’ iza doin’ to Miss Rose. She gonna put a hex on dat man fo’
sure! I jes’ prays it work…fo’ all our sakes!"
Scuffling to the back of the house, all that
could be heard throughout the grand old antebellum mansion was Nanny’s
disgruntled sounds of disgust. "Umpf…umpf…umpf!"