Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins
Chapter 3
Madison studied the feisty woman with the flashing black eyes and didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh. “A tinhorn.”
“Yes. Where I hail from, it’s what we call cheap flashy gamblers.”
Madison decided he was angry.
Mrs. Nance hid her startled laugh beneath a feigned coughing spell.
Teresa turned her way. “I figured he was down here tattling, so it’s okay if you want me to move out.”
“Move out? What are you talking about?”
“I thought you’d be mad at me for sassing him earlier—you being his mother and all.”
“Of course not.”
Madison’s exasperation flared, but she ignored it. “I’m certainly not going to lie, Madison,” she told him. “Of course I’m not upset. It’s not often someone in a skirt sets you back on your heels, and frankly, I’m enjoying it.”
“When your gems turn up missing, there’ll be no crying allowed.”
Teresa gritted out, “If you accuse me of wanting to steal from her one more time, the only person crying will be you.”
Madison had had it, but before he could give her the verbal lashing he felt she so richly deserved, she tossed back sagely, “And I’ve never known a pretty boy who could take a punch.”
He thundered, “You’re threatening me?”
Ignoring him, she said to his mother, “I’ll let you all finish your visiting. I’ll be in the kitchen.” And she left the library without a backward glance.
Teresa marched into the kitchen and plopped down into a chair at the table. Emma took one look at her cross face and asked, “What is the matter?”
“Do you like Mrs. Nance’s son?”
“Of course. Madison is a fine man. He and his bank have helped many people here in Philadelphia. He’s kind and upstanding.”
“Must be an acquired taste—like eating alligator.”
“Alligator?” Emma was thoroughly confused.
Teresa waved her off. “Never mind.”
“You and Madison have a row?”
“Yes ma’am. He thinks I’m going to steal everything in the house that isn’t nailed down.” Before Emma could comment, Teresa declared emotionally, “Does he know how grateful I am that his mother took me in? I could be living in a cramped, nasty boardinghouse somewhere fighting rats for a place to sleep, instead of being here where it’s so nice. I’d shoot myself if I ever stole from her.”
She was too busy simmering to see the small smile on Emma’s face. But then Emma said, “I know it’s almost time for supper, but do you think a small piece of peach cobbler might turn off the steam pouring out of your ears?” Teresa’s mood brightened.
“I think it might,” she replied. And once she got a taste of the still warm cobbler, she forgot all about Madison Nance’s smug attitude, and his nice brown eyes.
“That certainly went well,” Mrs. Nance declared after Teresa’s icy exit.
The glower on Madison’s face told all. “Did you hear her threaten me?”
“I did.”
“What kind of woman does that?”
Mrs. Nance’s eyes were shining with mirth. “Apparently the kind that hails from where she’s from.”
“This isn’t funny, Mother.”
“Sure it is, dear, and I’m hoping to have a front row seat for the second act.”
Madison couldn’t believe she’d actually threatened to punch him. “You’re determined to have her here.”
“Oh yes. More than ever. Tinhorn.” Unable to control herself, his mother chuckled.
Madison had never met such an ornery woman in his life. He preferred the sleeping version of Teresa July. “She’s going to be trouble.”
“No. She’s a young woman raised under extraordinary circumstances who tried to make the best out of what she knew.”
“By robbing banks? Surely, you aren’t condoning that now too?”
“Of course not. But darling, who would you be had you grown up in her circumstances instead of being the coddled son of your well-to-do father and adoring mother?”
He didn’t respond.
“Your father was the guiding hand in your life. Hers were her brothers. She told me all she wanted to do when she grew up was to ride with them. What would you have wanted to be had you been her?”
Madison got the point even though he didn’t care for it. He knew Teresa July was Black Seminole and that the once proud people had been brought low by the U.S. government. The fact that she hadn’t had the advantages he’d enjoyed growing was a given too. But…“As always, Mother, your argument rules the day, but if she threatens me again, I’m going to paddle her train robbing little behind.”
“That might be easier said than done. Remember what she said about your face.”
His scowling features showed he wasn’t amused. Admittedly, he knew women found him attractive, but he’d never had a woman mock him because of it.
“I imagine the house will be a lot more lively with her around,” his mother was saying. “And we’ve probably only seen the tip of the iceberg. What a warrior she is. Makes me want to rob a few trains myself.”
The mental image of his mother holding up a train was such a ridiculous one, he couldn’t hide the humor it brought to his eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’d never do something so foolish, but I’ll bet it would be exciting.”
“Not as exciting as seeing your name splashed across the front of the Tribune.” He moved his hand to highlight the imaginary headline. “‘Society Matron Molly Nance—Jailed for Bank Robbery.’”
Grinning at his play, she said, “Speaking of foolishness. Tell me about Princess Paula’s birthday temper tantrum. I heard a few whispers at the church this afternoon that after you walked out of the party, she spent the rest of the evening crying in her room.”
He rolled his eyes then told her the tale.
When he finished, his mother wasn’t pleased. “I hope you aren’t feeling remorseful. You never told the silly girl to expect a ring, or did you?”
Madison found her pointed question amusing. “No, Mother, not in any shape or form. I took her to the ball last year as a courtesy to the Carters. Who knew she’d attach herself to me like shoe black on boots?”
“Maybe the gossip will be enough to send her back to Memphis. Are she and that wretched aunt still bothering you at the bank?”
“No, I put a stop to it months ago.” The women were trying to make a habit of coming into the bank wanting to chitchat or get his opinion on Paula’s newest hat or gown. By the third visit in two days, he’d stopped being polite.
“Let’s hope the twit takes her hunting elsewhere,” his mother said.
“Or maybe we can sic your houseguest on her. She’s spoiling for a fight.”
“I’d purchase a front row seat for that bout. Can you imagine?”
“After meeting July, yes I can.” If she truly represented femininity out West, he felt sorry for the men. Having to put up with all that sass and bad attitude probably drove them all to drink. His mother’s voice broke his musing.
“Would you do something for me?”
He replied genuinely, “Whatever it is.”
“I know you and Teresa got off on the wrong foot, but would you give her the benefit of the doubt for now? I think she could be such a fine young woman with the proper training.”
Madison thought pigs would fly first. “Mother, not even you can turn that wildcat into a swan.”
“I believe I can.”
“Then you have my sympathies because you have your work cut out for you.” In his mind’s ear he could hear Teresa’s western-accented voice threatening to make him cry. He silenced it forcibly.
“I’ll wager five double eagles I can have her so polished in six months every eligible man in Philadelphia will be calling on her.”
Madison shook his head at his mother’s unfailing optimism. “If you just want to throw your money away, I can recommend plenty of worthless stocks for you to purchase.”
“One hundred dollars, tinhorn. You in or not?”
He enjoyed the determination on her face and the sparkle of challenge in her eyes. Being a gambler, he never turned down a bet, and she knew it. “I’m in, but don’t expect me to return your eagles when I win.”
“You just be ready to pay up when you lose.”
Their twin smiles met.
His mother asked, “So we have a deal?”
“Yes, we do.”
She nodded, confident she’d be victorious in the end.
Madison was just as confident Teresa July would have her pulling out her hair by week’s end.
Teresa didn’t say much during dinner. What with all the different forks and plates, and Emma bringing in courses and taking them away, she was at sixes and sevens trying not to show just how ignorant she was of proper etiquette. She was smart enough to watch Mrs. Nance, though, so when Molly picked up a fork, Teresa followed suit.
She was well aware that the tinhorn was watching her, but she did her best to ignore him. It was difficult however. She’d never been around a refined man before. The outlaws, bank robbers, and gunslingers of her world rarely had polished manners, never wore nice suits except for weddings and buryings, and for sure knew nothing about eating at a fancy table. They also didn’t wear cologne that smelled of spices and smoke, being more partial to the scents of horses and sweat. Where she hailed from, refined men were often viewed as effeminate, weak, but Madison Nance, with his sardonic brown eyes, appeared to be neither. She had to admit that he was handsome as all get out, but it would take more than his pretty face for her to like him.
Madison was indeed watching Teresa. Her efforts to conceal her unfamiliarity with the cutlery were admirable but obvious. Having been raised in his parents’ home, he’d learned proper etiquette at an early age. What had she learned at an early age? he wondered. Unable to answer that question, he took in her patchy skin, wan figure, and chopped-off hair. He still didn’t believe his mother would have her ready for society in six months, but if she did manage it, the men would come flocking strictly for the novelty July represented. Anyone looking for a beauty would have to search elsewhere.
“Is there a fly on my nose?” Teresa asked him.
His reverie broken, Madison asked, “Excuse me?”
“You’re staring.”
“My apologies.”
Teresa went back to her cobbler but wondered what he’d been thinking about while staring at her that way.
Molly asked her son, “So how did the meeting go this afternoon?”
He shook his head and forked up some cobbler. “Not well. We couldn’t come to agreement on anything. There’s going to be a convention next week in Boston. Ida Wells and other radicals will be speaking on the lynching epidemic in the South. The local conservatives don’t think anyone from Philadelphia should attend.”
“Are you going anyway?”
“Of course, and while I’m there, I’ll be looking over a shipyard some of my investors are interested in buying.”
“How long do you plan to be away?”
“Two weeks, give or take a few days.”
“What lynching epidemic?” Teresa asked.
Madison studied her silently, and was about to ask how she could not have heard of the lynchings, but then remembered that she’d been in prison. “Nearly two hundred people have been lynched in the past two years,” he told her, “and those are only the documented deaths. It’s anyone’s guess as to how high the numbers really are.”
“Things have gotten that bad?”
He responded somberly. “Yes, they have.”
Teresa found that upsetting. “What’s the President and the Congress saying?”
“Nothing.”
“Any of us still in Congress?”
Madison was both surprised and impressed by her question. Was there an intelligence beneath all that bad skin and vinegar? “Only one. George Murray from South Carolina.”
“My people stopped looking to the government for help a long time ago.”
“From what I hear, you had good reason.”
“We’d have been better off putting our trust in a nest of rattlers.”
Mrs. Nance said, “We also lost old Fred Douglass, back in February, if you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t.”
Molly added, “His personal life was a scandal, but the race couldn’t have had a better champion. He will be missed.”
After the meal, Teresa asked Mrs. Nance, “Do you mind if I take a walk out back?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thanks.” Giving Madison a quick, uncertain glance, Teresa left them at the table.
Madison watched her go. The fading notes of her scent were left behind, the same fragrance she’d been wearing when he carried her to bed last night. It smelled faintly of oranges, and seemed way more familiar to his nose than it should have been, considering the few times he’d come in close contact with her. Pushing that disturbing admission out of his mind, he pondered instead the effect of their fighting on his mother. “I suppose if she’s going to be a guest here,” he said, “I ought to try and get along with her.”
“I’d appreciate that, Madison. I really would.”
Madison sighed and finished his dessert.
Teresa stepped out onto the small sitting porch attached to the back of the house and looked around. Out in the yard, she saw a covered gazebo trimmed with gingerbread and shaded by a stand of oaks. Its latticed sides were threaded through with the long, leafy canes of the rosebushes growing around it. The wooden bench inside beckoned invitingly, so she went to answer its call. The sun had set and dusk was rising. As she walked toward the gazebo, the tall grass plucked at her skirt, making her wish she were wearing her leathers, especially when a few mosquitoes snuck beneath the hem to take bites out of her bare legs above her shoes. Swatting at the beasties, she took a seat. She spied a few other houses off in the distance, but none were close enough to impinge on her privacy.
The quiet was relaxing; the breeze an added bonus. The summer day had been hot, but with the approach of evening, the air had cooled. Once again she wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Evenings in the prison were never serene like this. Never. She sat back and let herself be soothed by the sounds of wind rustling the grasses and the birds calling lyrically from the trees.
Just as she got comfortable, Madison Nance stepped out onto the porch. Teresa watched him approach the gazebo with his fine fluid walk and tailored brown suit. Even though she thought him the best looking man this side of the divide, she was not pleased by his interruption.
“Did you come to make sure I wasn’t stealing the roses?”
His brown eyes blazed. “No. I came to say good evening.”
“How kind of you.”
“Look, Miss July, my mother’s not going to be happy if we fight every time our paths cross, so I’ve come bearing an olive branch.”
“And that means what, exactly?”
“A truce.”
“Ah. Never heard that one before.” Teresa studied him. “So how’s this truce going to work?”
“We agree to be civil.”
“Sounds fine to me, but you sure you can hold up your end? I am a thief, you know.”
“You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Nope. You’re the one with your nuts in a wringer.”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not something a lady says.”
“Good thing I’m not one, then, isn’t it?”
Madison wanted to turn her over his knee. She was the most maddening, cocky woman he’d ever had the misfortune to meet. “Do we declare a truce or not?”
She shrugged. “Sure. I can be civil, if you can.”
“Then we have an agreement and I’ll take my leave.” He gave her a terse nod. “Have a good evening, Miss July.”
“You too, Mr. Nance.”
He turned away and walked back across the grass. As he entered the house, she stuck out her tongue, then settled in to watch the moon rise.
The next morning was Sunday, and since Mrs. Nance had already informed Teresa that they would be going to church, she looked through her clothing for a dress to wear. She wasn’t much for churchgoing. The missionaries she’d encountered in her youth had spent more time berating her people for having so-called savages for ancestors than sharing the Christian message. She finally settled on a simple high-collared dress. It fit reasonably well once she put it on. In the mirror, she could see that the olive green cotton was shiny with age and the gray cuffs were frayed, but it was clean, so she shrugged off her reflection and left the room.
When Teresa came downstairs, Mrs. Nance took one look at her and said, “We have to get you some new clothing. That dress is in a lot worse shape than I thought.”
Teresa looked down at herself. “It’s fine, Mrs. Nance.”
“No, it isn’t. The sooner Emma fattens you up, the sooner we can begin sewing. Go back upstairs and see if there’s something nicer in your armoire.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m fine, really.”
Mrs. Nance was all spiffed up in her stylish Sunday dress, gloves, and hat. She looked like the society lady that she was. Teresa didn’t mind the differences in their clothing, though. Dresses were not her attire of choice, so it didn’t matter to her that the one she wore was old.
“All right,” Mrs. Nance said. “Soon as Madison arrives, we’ll leave.”
Teresa was surprised. “He’s going with us?” Truce or not, she was not looking forward to the gambling banker’s company.
“Of course, dear. Madison is a member of Mother Bethel too.”
Another surprise, but Teresa had a question. “I know that AME stands for African Methodist Episcopal because there are AME churches back home, but why is the one here in Philadelphia called Mother Bethel?”
“Because it was the first AME church established in the nation.”
While they waited for Madison, Mrs. Nance told Teresa about Richard Allen, Mother Bethel’s founder. “To make a long story short, one Sunday, Mr. Allen and two of his friends were worshipping at St. George’s—a White Methodist church. In the middle of prayers the men were asked to remove themselves because they weren’t praying in the pews relegated to Blacks. Mr. Allen and the church’s White elders had been having disagreements for years over the race’s inclusion in the congregation, so when Mr. Allen was asked to leave, he did so permanently and formed his own church.”
“When was this?”
“Around 1787. Mr. Allen—or Bishop Allen, as he became after being ordained—was one of the first prominent leaders of our race, and Bethel was our first real institution.”
Teresa was impressed. “Back then my people were still living in Florida. I wonder if they knew about Bishop Allen and his church?”
“It’s possible.”
Madison’s arrival brought an end to the short history lesson. He was impeccably dressed in a black vested suit and snow white shirt with a fashionably round collar. To Teresa, he looked both wealthy and important, but he was still an ass.
“Are you two ready?” he asked.
His mother nodded.
Madison scanned Teresa with a critical eye. The dress was obviously one of his mother’s charity finds. The color was faded, and the crease above the hem showed it had been let down more than once. It fit her thin frame, but that was the only positive. The straw boater on her head covered up the bad hair and made her look like a country girl from the Deep South. He could already hear the snide comments that were surely going to be whispered behind her back by the congregation’s cattier female members.
Teresa saw the disapproval in his eyes and took it personally. “Am I too ill dressed to be seen with you?”
Madison didn’t sugarcoat his response. “Frankly, yes. Don’t you have something better she can wear, Mother?”
“I tried to get her to change but she says she’s content.”
Teresa replied coolly, “If my attire isn’t suitable, I can always stay here.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Nance countered. “Church attendance is mandatory in this household.”
Madison told the outlaw, “I’m just trying to save you from rude comments.”
“Thanks, but I can save myself.”
Even though Madison didn’t care for her, he’d been genuinely trying to spare her feelings by asking her to change clothes, but all he’d gotten for his trouble was sass. Convinced that his mother’s plan to turn this prickly pear into a lady was doomed to failure, he escorted the two women from the house.
On the ride to Mother Bethel in Madison’s fine carriage, Teresa divided her time between ignoring him and trying not to act like a rube as she took in the hustle and bustle in the city’s busy streets. None of the cities back home were as large as Philadelphia and she’d never seen so much vehicle traffic in her life. There were beetle-shaped streetcars that ran on tracks laid into the streets, carriages and delivery wagons pulled by large-chested horses. People were everywhere. Having lived her life against the quiet open spaces of the West, she found the cacophony of noise deafening and the tall brick buildings eye popping. Mrs. Nance’s voice drew her attention.
“Teresa, the parole board doesn’t want the press to know you’re in town until you get settled in because of all the hubbub it will probably cause. I plan to introduce you as a distant family cousin. Do you have a name you’d like to be known by for the time being?”
“Sure, I’ll be Tamar. Tamar August.”
Molly chuckled. “Very clever.”
Madison thought the play on her last name clever as well, but kept it to himself. He doubted the outlaw wanted any compliments from him, and after butting heads with her this morning, he wasn’t of a mind to offer any—truce or not.
They arrived at the brick-spired church a short time later, and there was a slew of carriages and nicely dressed Black people outside. For a woman who’d never met a situation she couldn’t face down, Teresa was uncharacteristically nervous. She knew she lacked polish. Back home she’d never needed any, but she wasn’t at home now, and she didn’t want to embarrass Mrs. Nance by saying or doing something uncouth.
“I’ll try not to embarrass you, ma’am,” she said.
Mrs. Nance patted her hand. “You’ll be fine.”
The genuineness in July’s tone gave Madison pause. There were obviously parts of Teresa July that he hadn’t seen. Not that he cared one way or the other, but he was pleased she understood that any untoward actions could reflect on his mother.
He found a place to park and came around to help the ladies down. His mother was first. When it was Teresa’s turn, she stuck out her hand and he took it in his own, noting the warmth of the flesh, how perfect her hand seemed to fit, and the rough, callused feel of it. He was oddly struck by that, and found himself slowly turning her hand over to scan the toughened skin of her palm.
Teresa wondered what he was about. She wanted to yank her hand back because she thought he was going to make fun of her unladylike calluses. She was also shaking like a leaf. Not wanting him to know how rattled he was making her, she asked impatiently, “Are you done?”
“No.” Fueled by unknown forces, Madison moved the pad of his thumb gently over the calluses at the base of her fingers, then looked into her eyes. The silent contact was charged, electric, and something neither of them could name uncoiled and came alive.
Teresa didn’t know what was happening, but the softness of his touch against her skin and the curiosity in his blazing gaze made her go all strange inside and her heart beat way too fast.
“Come on, you two. Let’s go inside.”
Molly’s words broke the connection, and they shook off the encounter as if emerging from a dream. Madison slowly relinquished his hold on Teresa’s hand, and they followed Molly to the church door.
Teresa spent the entire service conscious of Madison seated beside her on the pew. The church was crowded, and although there was a decent amount of space between her body and his, he sat much closer than she wanted him to be; so close that the heat of his body floated against hers like warmth rising from a stove in winter. Telling herself that it was just a hot day and in reality the heat was emanating from all the bodies inside the church didn’t work, and more important, there was nothing she could do to take charge of the situation. Jumping to her feet and demanding in a loud voice that he and his heat move over was out of the question. Mrs. Nance would probably be so mortified that she would make her leave her house. Teresa didn’t want that, so she silently endured the situation and tried not to think about Madison’s thumb moving gently over her bark-rough palm earlier, and the way her breath caught from his touch.
Madison was as aware of Teresa as she was of him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her callused hand. Not only had he no explanation for his actions earlier, but the idea that he had been somehow moved by her was disturbing. He didn’t like her, and she certainly didn’t like him. As the service ended and they stood for the recessional hymn, his eyes strayed her way. Nothing about her appealed to him as a man; she was skinny as a street hound, smart-mouthed, and it was a toss-up between what made her look worse, the dress or the hat. Yet there was something going on inside of him that seemed intent upon looking at the woman underneath and that disturbed him as well.
After the service, the congregation gathered outside to greet each other and socialize for a few moments before heading home. As planned, Mrs. Nance introduced Teresa as a distant cousin, and she was greeted warmly.
They meandered through the congregation, stopping here and there, and no matter how much Teresa tried not to, her eyes kept straying to Madison. While Mrs. Nance talked with a group of her friends, she surreptitiously watched his black-suited form moving through the crowd as he shook hands with the men and received hugs from some of the older women. The younger women he stopped to speak with had stars in their eyes when he moved away, and Teresa shook her head at their mooning.
Mrs. Nance broke into her observations, asking, “Do you see Madison? We should be getting home.”
He was a short distance away, having a conversation with a beautiful woman dressed in blue. He was smiling, and the lady was too. “He’s there,” Teresa replied.
“Ah. I see him now. That’s Millie Cummings he’s with. A few years back I thought maybe she’d be my daughter-in-law, but nothing ever happened. She’s a nice girl.”
Who, by the looks of her, probably had nice soft hands, Teresa thought sarcastically, remembering the way he’d looked at her own rough-skinned hand.
Teresa watched Madison and the young woman say their good-byes, then he walked over to where she and his mother stood waiting. “Millie’s invited me for dinner. You don’t mind if I skip out on you this Sunday? She’s leaving for Atlanta in the morning to take care of a sick aunt.”
“Of course not. Enjoy yourself.”
He then turned to Teresa. “Do you mind?”
She didn’t blink. “Yeah, I do. Who are me and my callused hands going to fight with at the table?”
Her reply made him study her and her black eyes closely. “You think I was poking fun at your hands?”
“Weren’t you?”
He shook his head and said truthfully, softly, “No. Their condition caught me off guard. My apologies if my actions were upsetting.”
Admittedly, they were upsetting to her, but not in the way he thought. Even now her palm tingled with the memory. “My hands are the way they are because of who I am,” she explained quietly. “They’ve chopped wood, set bricks, and done a hundred other unladylike jobs both in an out of jail. My right is also my gun hand. It’s supposed to be tough, not soft like Millie’s.”
“Who said anything about Millie?”
“You did when you asked me if I minded you having dinner with her.”
A silent Molly watched them with great interest, but thought it wise that they leave now, before the discussion disintegrated into the argument that always seemed to follow whenever they were together. “Come, children. I’m ready to go home.”
On the drive back, Teresa saw very little of the scenery. She was too busy trying to figure out what it was about Madison Nance that rubbed her the wrong way. But had no answer.
Behind the reins, Madison was thinking the same about her.
When they reached the house, he pulled the carriage to a stop out front, and Molly said, “Thank you for the chauffeuring, Madison. Have a good visit with Millie.”
He set the brake. “Let me help you down.”
He came around to offer his gentlemanly assistance. As before, his mother was first, but when it came time for Teresa, she shook her head. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help.” She didn’t want her hand to catch fire again.
She stepped down and avoiding his eyes, moved past him and left him and his mother talking by the curb. As she neared the front door, she took a hasty look back and found him watching her. The odd sensations caused by his silent gaze made her stumble. Cursing silently, she composed herself and entered the house.
Standing by the buggy, Madison smiled.