Allegheny Hideaway. Kimberly Tanner GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Print ISBNs:

      ISBN10: 1-938434-11-0

      ISBN13: 978-1-938434-11-2

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2012949976

      Dedication

      This book is dedicated to every woman who has suffered any form of abuse. My heart goes out to you. If you are not in a safe place, get to a safe place. God wants good things for us, and that includes a happy future. A portion of the profits from this book will be donated to a safe house for women and children.

      1

      March 15, 1861

      Missus Iris Elaine Picket sat in front of her beautifully carved walnut vanity. Her sad blue eyes cast a slow glance downward. Long black hair hung to her waist. Bringing young hands of only twenty-one years to her face, Iris cried salty tears. She was so sad. Just days before, her life had seemed so gay for the first time in a year and a half. Johnathan Wayne Picket had been a good husband, for a few weeks, but after that first month of marriage, his hot temper had emerged. It was now his habit to hit and slap her, often. And he said cruel things.

      Iris rubbed the ache in her abdomen. Only a week before, she had carried a very small new life in her body. She had been so excited about having a baby. But before she could tell Johnathan, he had punched her in the stomach twice. Needless to say, later that night, she had lost the baby. Ever since then, her days were filled with dread and tears wondering how she could ever escape.

      Iris looked up as her bedroom door squeaked. Her colored twenty year old maid, Hattie, walked into the room. Hattie had been a wedding gift from Iris’ mother in Charleston.

      “You feelin’ sick again, Missus Iris?” the young woman asked.

      “Shut the door Hattie,” Iris spoke gently. Once the door was closed, Iris spoke again. “No Hattie, I’m not sick. Just sad.” She could talk to Hattie. They were friends. Iris didn’t have many friends. Johnathan didn’t allow her out much for social visits. He insisted that her place was in the home.

      “How’d you want me to fix your hair tonight?” Hattie asked softly.

      “I don’t care. Just put it up.” Tonight was one of those rare occasions when she and Johnathan were going to a party together. It was a celebration at a nearby cotton plantation. Johnathan was the local crop broker for Lexington, South Carolina. He made quite good money, despite his temper. She and Johnathan lived in a rather comfortable two story home in town.

      Iris looked at herself in the mirror while Hattie worked on her hair. She noticed puffiness around both eyes.

      “I’m going to need some cool water for my face Hattie, or everyone will know I’ve been crying,” she confessed.

      “Yes’m.”

      “What am I going to do, Hattie? If I stay here, he’ll kill me.”

      Hattie pursed her lips. “Missus Iris, if I was you, I’d kill him first … or run away. Or both,” she added with a tiny snicker.

      Iris grinned out of the corner of her mouth. She had had murderous thoughts too, but reality cautioned otherwise. “If I killed him Hattie, the law would hang me.”

      “You could run away then, like them slaves do that get beat all the time,” she told her mistress.

      Iris looked at Hattie through the reflection in the mirror and asked, “How do you know about that?”

      Hattie raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I hears things.”

      “You do, huh? Well, you had better keep that one to yourself. Don’t ever let Mister Picket hear you say that.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      Iris thought for a moment while Hattie finished putting up her hair. “You know, that’s not a bad idea, Hattie. I could run away. You would have to come too though,” Iris informed her.

      “I got no ties here,” Hattie answered. “Where would we go?”

      Iris shook her head. “I don’t know. He’d find me. It would have to be far away.”

      “We could go back to Charleston and live with your mama. I like her,” the slave admitted freely.

      Iris shook her head again. “That would be the first place he’d look.” No more was spoken on the subject by either young woman that afternoon. Iris pulled on a pretty lilac-colored gown to wear to the party. Her corset was not pulled completely tight since her stomach was still sore from losing the child.

      Johnathan met her downstairs. His brown hair was combed back and he wore a fine black suit. He certainly looked like a gentleman. “Ready to go, Missus Picket?” he asked eagerly.

      “Yes.”

      “You look lovely tonight,” he spoke, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Shall we?”

      Iris and Johnathan arrived at the large brick mansion around seven-thirty. It was all aglow with candles. Fifty people milled about, drinking spirits and enjoying the food. Iris saw a small group of three women that she knew and excused herself to go visit.

      “Be a good girl tonight,” Johnathan whispered before he would let her walk away.

      At nine o’clock, the frivolity increased as a band began to play. Iris and Johnathan danced several times. Iris dared not dance with anyone else, even though she was asked and rudely had to turn them down. Johnathan danced with quite a few women; apparently he was a popular choice for the ladies.

      Just around ten fifteen, Iris’ stomach began to ache terribly. “It must be from the dancing,” she told her husband. “Will you take me home, please?”

      “Why, my dear? The party has just begun!” he stated with annoyance.

      “But Johnathan, I hurt,” she spoke with whispered fervor.

      “Go sit down for a while. If you still hurt in an hour, we’ll go then,” he decreed with callousness.

      Knowing he would not yield, Iris went to a chair near a front corner. For fifteen minutes she went unnoticed. She fought back tears of loneliness and pain.

      “May I be of some service to you, Missus Picket?” a young man asked at last. He was one of the men she had previously turned down for a dance.

      “Please, sir, find my husband. I am ill and really must get home,” she asked of him.

      “Right away, ma’am.”

      Iris leaned her head against the wall as the young man disappeared into the crowd. She guessed him to be about her age. After five minutes, he returned with furrowed brows.

      “I am sorry, Missus Picket. Your husband is quite grossly engaged in a game of cards. He did however give me leave to escort you home. With your permission, ma’am,” he said most sincerely.

      Hoping her husband would not turn on her later for accepting, Iris agreed. “Thank you, sir. I would be most obliged.”

      The young man summoned his family carriage. While they waited, he introduced himself.

      “Missus Picket, my name is Samuel B. Reed. My father is in the lumber business.”

      Iris extended her hand. “It is very nice to meet you, Mister Reed.”