Legacy of Love and Lies

By Rebecca Matthews

When headstrong southern belle, Felicity Morgan from New Orleans falls in love, she falls hard. Unfortunately, the man her mother has picked out for her to marry is not that man. Unwilling to go into a loveless marriage before she tastes love with the one who holds her heart, she gives herself to the man every mother has warned their daughters to avoid. No matter, she loves a man who has the charm of the serpent in Eden. When you touch a hot stove you get burned, and Felicity willingly puts her hand to the fire, finding the consequences of her actions cost a much higher price than she anticipated. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebecca Matthews
• Release date: Jun 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393739944

Rebecca Matthews

Author Bio Rebecca is a retired R.N. who has yearned to be an author since she was an adolescent. Her first novella, A Gentleman’s Game was published in print and digital in May of 2015.  Since then she has had multiple novellas published by Liquid Silver Publishing, and DreamBigPublishing, as well as many more self-published Indie books. Her books cover a wide variety of themes, locales, and characters. Several of her novels are contemporary, but her lifelong fascination with the South, specifically the Civil War, (the people not the politics) provides an exciting and colorful backdrop for her romance novels. Most of her stories are based in the South. Her characters are varied, colorful, and may even remind you of someone you know. Her plots are as broad as her imagination, themes are as unique as the people she writes about, and settings range from romantic antebellum Savannah, to raucous New Orleans, to the Smoky Mountains, San Francisco and small town mid-America, to name a few. She lives in sunny Florida with her husband of over thirty years and their cat and dog. She has two children, three grandchildren and considers herself very blessed to have spent thirty years working in a career she loves, and then to have realized her lifelong dream of becoming an author. She hasn’t yet decided on what her third career will be. 

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Dedication

This book is dedicated to my loving husband who has taken over my role in our home as chief cook, dishwasher, housekeeper, errand boy, and caretaker of our animals. His support has allowed me the extensive amount of time and attention it takes to write and promote these books. Any success I enjoy therefore, is credited to him.

Thank you, Joe.

Legacy of Love

and Lies

By

Rebecca Matthews

Chapter One

SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD FELICITY Morgan swiped at her dewy brow, fanned her pink-tinged face with her silk fan, and sighed. Her twin sisters Mercedes, and Millicent lounged in the white wooden rockers that had sat on the shaded veranda of Fairwinds plantation outside New Orleans for generations. They were not the only old things around this lovely home. The ancient cypress and oaks providing their cooling shade had been there since the girls’ great grandfather established this plot of land as his home a hundred years ago.

Fairwinds was a city in itself, and Felicity could not imagine living anywhere else. Splaying out around the big house in a huge arc, like a half halo to the majestic mansion was a sawmill, a blacksmith shop, the stables, barn, henhouse, smokehouse, and dugout root cellar. Directly behind the mansion was a cookhouse, and behind that a carriage house, with a sty for pigs even father back to avoid the unpleasant smell of swine. Farther down toward the edge of the cotton and rice fields were the darkies’ quarters.

The main house with its wide, white-columned piazza wrapping around three sides of the massive structure sat like a queen overlooking her kingdom, which indeed was what the locals considered Fairwinds to be. The three sisters were entertaining their three best friends on this sweltering summer day, Bethany Baker, Ivey Longfellow, and Camellia Carson. The six girls sat sipping iced tea and sucking on licorice sticks, fanning themselves languorously and sighing at the state of their world. They had much gossip to exchange on this sultry summer afternoon.

Ooh, you know when we were just down at Perkins’ store, before comin’ out hee-ya there was that ole’ Cletus Graves sittin’ out front chewin’ on his wad of backer and watchin’ everybody goin’ by. He is so creepy, the way he stares at all the females and never says anything. Bethany Baker told them in a Southern drawl as thick as molasses in January.

I know, Camellia. He makes mah skin crawl. Millicent shuddered for added effect. I wish he would go away and nevuh come back!

Yeah, he stares at us like he can see how we look with ow-uh clothes off. He should be locked away someway-uh. Added Ivey, dragging the last word out so that it seemed to have four syllables.

You know what I heard? I heard he kilt his own family and fed ‘em to thuh gators but no one could ever prove it. They lived so fa back in the swamp, no one knew for sure if his granny and grampa just died, or what happened to ‘em.

He sure looks like the kind who could kill someone and not be one bit sorry!

"Yeah, like the old story about Leticia Boggs who disappeared after trying to go through the swamp to meet her beau on the other side of Deeter’s Pond. She nev’uhr got there and no one ev-uh saw her again.

Her poor beau was devastated. Wonder what ever happened to old Derek Sweetwater after that, anyway?"

Folks have always said Cletus killed her or maybe kept her tied up and gagged in his shack to use for whatever he wanted. Ivey’s voice took on a dramatic, eerie tone. No one knows for sure what happened to her. Ivey leaned forward to the edge of her seat, But she is gone fo’evuh and everyone thinks he is responsible for her disappearin’ like she did. We all know she wouldn’t have just gone off and nevuh come home.

Ooh. Let’s talk about something else. This gives me the vapuhs. Felicity interjected, shuddering and rubbing her hands over her arms, feeling the goose bumps that this gruesome talk had raised.

The six girls abandoned the upsetting topic, and moved on to more pleasant topics. It was getting late in the afternoon when the three girls bid their young hostesses goodbye.

Now ya’ll be careful goin’ home and keep an eye out for old Cletus. Millicent called after the departing three young ladies. The Carlton’s darkie pulled up in their landau to take all three girls home. The Carlton place was the farthest away so they had stopped and picked up the other girls along the way. The girls talked, giggled, and poked fun at one another on the ride back home.

That was sure a fun visit with the Morgan girls.

Uh-huh.

Mmm. Yes it was.

I wonder when Felicity is going to marry that old Harlan Hamblin. He is such a stick in the mud. Poor girl. Her mama arranged it with Harlan’s mama when they was jus’ babies. How awful! Camellia sighed.

I’m shore glad my mama didn’t do like Felicity’s and stick me with no sulky old codger.

Bet she hopes she can put it off as long as possible. Marriage is so nasty. The things you have to do! Bethany chimed in.

I think I’d enjoy the huggin’ and kissin’. Don’t know ‘bout the other, tho’. Some folks seem to like it, otherwise the gals at the Brookings house wouldn’t make any money. Giggles rippled through the thick summer air. They always had such fun discussing subjects that were considered off limits for proper young ladies.

Mother certainly doesn’t ever want to talk when I mention ‘it’. I will probably not know anythin’ about what I’m s’posed to do before my weddin’ night and then I’ll have to learn it all at once. I wish we knew what all the fuss was about. Camellia moaned. Again, peals of laughter wafted up into the branches of the shaded lane leading to their homes. Bethany Baker’s was the first stop on their trip home.

Goodbye girls. Remember I am having you all over next week. We are going to learn how to tat lace and some other things Mama thinks are essential to the survival of a female in the year 1860. Bethany rolled her eyes, waved, and scampered off. The ruffles of her pantaloons peeking out beneath her hem as she climbed the wide, white steps to the high porch of her parents’ plantation, Magnolia Trace. The other two girls ran out of things to gab and giggle about by the time they reached Ivey’s house at Carrollwood.

Then came the long silent drive to the Carlton mansion. The trees were casting lengthy shadows by the time the buggy pulled into the oyster shell drive of her expansive estate. Eustis dropped the young miss off at the front door, then rode on to the stables. Somerset was one of the largest, richest plantations in all of Louisiana. Mr. Carlton was a successful cotton and rice farmer, sold lumber, had several prize winning race horses, and served as a statesman.

He was away a good deal of the time doing whatever politicians do when they aren’t home with their families. Camellia knew that everyone said it was a shame he was gone so much because Camellia’s mother was exceptionally beautiful, and it was rather foolish of a husband to leave a woman that pretty all alone so much on their secluded plantation.

AFTER THEIR GUESTS left, Felicity and her sisters went inside to freshen up and change for supper.

That was so much fun having the girls here. I wonder if Teddy Pendleton is going to ask Camellia to the harvest dance next month. She will be just terribly disappointed if he doesn’t.

Well, I don’t know about him, but I am sure hoping that her brother Seth hurries up and asks me to go! That boy certainly drags his feet when it comes to things that require proper timing. Mercedes pushed her full lips out into her signature pout and flounced up the stairs.

Millicent, what about you? Have you been working on getting a date for the ball?

Oh, I don’t know. The younger of the Morgan twins said hesitantly.

I don’t want to say anything in case it doesn’t work out. Then you and Sissy would have something more to tease me about. So...you’ll just have to wait and see.

Ooh, la-tee-dah! Aren’t you the mysterious one? When did you get to be so secretive?

When I saw how you torment Sissy if things don’t go the way she hopes when it comes to boys! You can be utterly cruel Felicity. Just ‘cause you got a husband already lined up, you don’t have the right to pick on us for having to find our own.

"Believe me, I wish it was one of you girls instead of me all set up to marry someone. I would much rather find my own! I want to marry for love, but Mama won’t hear of it. She and Mrs. Hamblin cooked this idea up years and years ago, and she won’t change her mind for nuthin’. It is just awful. Oh, well, I will have to make the best of it I guess. I just hope I can put it off as long as possible."

I know who you wish you were marryin’. Felicity turned on her angelic little sister with fire in her eyes. You are pinin’ for that no account Duke Drayton aren’t ya? Admit it!

Millicent Morgan, I will pummel you with both fists if I catch you saying anything like that again! Millicent took off running up the stairs just ahead of her irate sister’s pounding footsteps, screaming like banshees the entire time.

Once inside her room, Felicity fell panting across her tall, four-poster bed. Oh, yes, how I do wish I were marrying the love of my life, but Duke would never be suitable to Mama and Papa and besides, it is all arranged with Harlan. Just because I am marrying him doesn’t mean he has to know everything I do, however. A wicked chuckle escaped her wine colored lips. She flipped over onto her back, sighed deeply, and holding her clasped hands across her heart, daydreamed of how exciting a forbidden marriage to the exciting scoundrel, Duke would be.

Felicity could spend hours if not days daydreaming her romantic fantasies. She especially had loved the story of her grandmother and grandfather’s courtship and marriage. To her it was like a fairytale romance, an Indian Princess and a white fur trader.

Of the three girls, Felicity was the most intrigued by and carried the most physical resemblance to their Indian heritage. She was darker skinned than the others, and had the long, straight black hair, a telltale trait of her Chitimacha ancestry. Her mother forbade any mention of her mixed bloodline, but Felicity was fascinated by the story of Jasper LaSalle from South Carolina and the Chief ’s daughter from deep in the Louisiana bayou. She was always asking her grandmother to tell her more about their beautiful love story, and Indian traditions.

Of course, no portrait existed of her royal grandmother when she was a young bride-to-be, but Felicity could look at her now as an old woman and know she had to have been beautiful, with her flawless bronze skin, large dark eyes, and flowing, black hair that shimmered in the sun like a raven’s wing, with rarely a gray hair visible. She had to have been something special to catch the eye of the man who would become her husband. Felicity dreamed of an Indian princess wearing an elaborately beaded buckskin dress, intricate hand-made jewelry, and feathers in her hair standing proudly with chin lifted high beside her chieftain father, looking out over the group of hopeful wooers, all hoping to be her choice for a mate. Oh, grandmother, if I were only as lucky as you were and could choose my beloved of my own accord.

Rolling back onto her tummy, she took her gilt-edged hand mirror from her vanity and studied her reflection. She saw a young woman with features strongly reflecting her Indian influence. Felicity loved to wonder about how the star-crossed lovers met and how the white man wooed and won the Indian maiden.

Felicity was always pressing her grandmother for more stories of the two lovebirds. She loved sitting at her grandmother’s knee and listening to her tell tales about the life and culture of the indigenous Chitimacha Indian tribe of Louisiana.

During one session on a sleepy, sunny afternoon, her grandmother sat and worked on the double-weave basket she was making while her beloved granddaughter, as usual, sat at her feet. These traditional baskets of the Chitimacha were unique, useful, and of course, a thing of beauty. It amazed Felicity how the weaving created a different design on the inside than the outside. It was an extremely tedious process, so her grandmother had plenty of time to tell Felicity about her Indian ancestry while her fingers flew weaving the reeds back and forth with a precision Felicity admired.

"The Chitimacha lived on either side of the mighty river since the beginning of time, you see. They were a peaceful and curious people, which unfortunately aided in their downfall. They used to trade with their neighbors, the Choctaw, Creek and Cherokee but became enemies when those tribes were forced from their land and made to move to the west side of the great river. They began hunting the same lands as my mother’s people, and this created a great conflict among the tribes. These other tribes had become loyal to the more powerful French, so with weapons and greater numbers, they drove the Chitimacha deep into the natural fortress of the southern Louisiana bayou. This isolation helped protect them from the exposure to the white man’s diseases and the poison of alcohol that they introduced to other native tribes leading to the destruction of so many.

When I was a little girl, I narrowly escaped a raid by the French, who came with warriors from upriver tribes to capture women and girls for the white men who wanted them, since they could not convince their own women to leave their homes across the ocean. These love raids" continued off and on for years, making the Chitimacha very bitter and more hostile toward the French. They suffered a twelve-year war with the French, and though the warriors fought very bravely to save their women, they were outnumbered and lacked sufficient weapons. Finally, too much blood was shed after many warriors were killed defending their homes and families, and too many women and children were stolen. Once stolen they were sold into slavery to the French settlers in New Orleans. The great chief, my father, saw it was necessary to make a peaceful negotiation with the French, if possible.

I vaguely remember the day when my parents, the grand chief and his wife, dressed in their finest, ceremonial garb rode up in a huge canoe rowed by forty braves for their meeting with the French leader. Proud and strong, my father stood with arms folded, his long dark braids flapping in the breeze, talking through an interpreter to the French leader, Bienville. The peace was shaky, and there were small battles off and on for many years after that, but the Chitimacha were allowed to live mostly in peace near New Orleans from then on.

Oh, Grandmother, tell me more, please. I want to know all about your people. I love hearing all about their ways.

Well, they believed in only having one wife, and only marrying within their own group of people. The tribe was divided into two parts—noblemen and commoners. If a noble married a commoner, they were stripped of their status! Unfortunately, that is what happened to me when I married your father. Being a princess, I was forbidden to marry an outsider, but I chose love over tradition and became an outcast among my own people.

I know. That is so sad. Felicity’s voice rang with disappointment. But I am sure that is what would happen to me too if I chose to marry the one I love instead of the one I must. Her grandmother’s hands paused briefly, and she gave Felicity a sympathetic smile. Then she resumed her weaving and storytelling.

The Chitimacha were excellent farmers in the rich soil along the delta and grew many kinds of fruits and vegetables in great abundance which they supplemented with wild fruits, nuts, and vegetables gathered in the forest. I remember well the times I went into the woods with my brothers and sister when we were children, hunting for the best berries and largest nuts. We were always competing with each other about everything. The women were responsible for the work in the fields, raising corn, beans, squash, pumpkins, and melons. The men were the great hunters and fishermen and provided deer, buffalo, turkey and alligator and fish. We always had plenty to eat, and a varied diet of many different foods.

Umm. You are making me hungry just talkin’ ‘bout it. Tell me more.

Well. She paused briefly. "To make the men more distinctive, they flattened the foreheads of the male children. It was a rather barbaric custom, but they believed it was necessary. Everyone wore long hair, usually braided. With such a warm climate, they wore almost no clothing, just a breechcloth, and proudly wore many tattoos on their bodies. My mother’s brother was a healing shaman. As time went on we traded for cattle raised by the French families who had arrived when I was young. They brought them all the way down from the north to raise for the New Orleans market.

"Cajuns began descending into the area in large numbers too about that time. French Creoles came all the way down from Canada, and black slaves that escaped from slave ships settled here too. So, New Orleans grew as a place of people of many different colors, cultures, and customs.