“That boy is no longer a boy,” Daddy said.
Momma sighed. “I know, Adrien. But I cannot help it; he’s one of my own. And I swear, he’s always injured when he’s here.”
The first time Asa sprained his foot happened to be at Belgrave. He was ten and Étienne was gloating that when he jumped, his fingers always touched the entryway downstairs. Something no one could believe, considering how high the ceilings were.
Livingston and Asa were shorter and took turns jumping over and over and over.
Momma admonished them. Told them they would hurt themselves. They waited until her back was turned and proved her right. Asa hurt his ankle badly. His daddy was red angry, saying he would never let his son back. But a few months later, he did.
Asa always came back.
Daddy waved her words away. “He’s fine. Asa’s a strong man. He will heal.”
I wished I could see Momma’s face. Something must have shifted because Daddy’s smile faded and he appeared almost concerned. “What is it, Charlotte?”
Momma was quiet for so long that I began to think she hadn’t heard Daddy when she finally answered. “When we met Asa, we knew he was unlike most children, and he’s growin’ into a fine young man, but… I always thought Jameson was rather hard on him.”
“Sometimes fathers can be that way.”
“Yes, but he was too firm with Asa. And now look at the poor boy. His only friends are Livingston, Étienne, and Miles. He lives inside books and reads at a remarkable pace. And when he attempts to hold a conversation, he offends or shocks people by sayin’ exactly what he’s thinkin’.”
Daddy’s chair squeaked as he leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. “I agree with you. Asa is a rather… distinct young man. But you cannot fix him. He’s not your child, Charlotte.”
Momma sighed. “I know, I know. That’s not goin’ to stop me from hopin’ that his future is better than his past.”
“Do you believe Jameson and Edith have been abusive to Asa?”
“Edith? Of course not,” Momma replied at once. “And I don’t think Jameson inflicts physical harm. But I think he hurts him with words.”
Daddy frowned. “You’ve never told me this before.”
“Because I believed my thoughts irrational at times, but when I insisted Asa relax in the sittin’ room with his foot up, he gave me that same confounded expression. As though he didn’t understand why I would be concerned for his welfare.”
Before Momma could say anything else, I stepped back from the door and hurried down the hall. Why did they worry about Asa? Should I worry about him? They spoke of Asa as though he had flaws. Impossible. I knew no one was perfect but to me he was the closest thing there was.
But I could believe that his daddy could be cruel. I had never cared much for Mr. Calhoun. I don’t think he cared very much for me either. I always felt tense in his presence and wouldn’t relax until he was gone.
Asa would never make eye contact with his daddy, and he would move restlessly when he was near. Asa always called him, Sir, as though he was a stranger rather than his daddy. But if what Momma said was true, his response made sense.
As I walked down the hall, I made a vow to be more like Momma. I would take care of Asa and make sure he had a good life. I was young and small. It was easy to disparage me. But this was one vow I knew I could make good on.
Once I reached the foyer, the sitting room was in clear view. There was no one in there to shoo me away from Asa or to stop me from looking after him. Very quietly, I slipped into the room. Asa remained in the same spot as I left him, but far more at ease. A pillow was propped behind his head with his eyes closed. Was he sleeping? I thought he was. Perhaps I should go and let him rest.
“Nat, I know you’re there,” he said, without opening his eyes. “You are not as quiet as you believe yourself to be.”
Quickly, I rushed forward before he could change his mind. I started to sit on the footrest but thought better of it. I didn’t want to accidentally touch his foot. So I sat on the edge of the coffee table.
Nervously, my knees bounced up and down as I looked at the object of my affection. “Are you upset with me for tellin’ Momma?”
Asa opened his eyes and tiredly looked at me. He appeared exasperated. The same way my brothers did when I asked them too many questions. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. I didn’t want to upset him.
“No, I am not upset,” he replied.
I smiled, and with relief, my shoulders sagged. “I’m glad.”
Asa went back to relaxing. I knew I should let him be. But I had one question that was burning a hole in my brain since I listened to Momma and Daddy’s conversation.
“Should I worry about you?” I blurted.
Once again, Asa’s eyes opened. He tilted his head to the side and observed me. The minute the words left my mouth, I wanted to take them back. Why did I say that?
The corner of his mouth lifted, and his beautiful brown eyes sparkled with humor. “Should you worry about me?”
My question was sincere, but Asa believed it to be a joke. I was too embarrassed to say otherwise.
Sheepishly, I shrugged and looked down at my lap.
“Well, as far as I know, there’s nothin’ to worry yourself over.” I lifted my head in time to see Asa gesture to his foot. “Ultimately this will heal, and everythin’ will be okay.”
I nodded, allowing him to think my concern centered around his injury. Asa didn’t know it, but I would worry for him whether he wanted me to or not.
With a heavy grunt, Asa sat up. “Since you’re here. We may as well continue our conversation on clouds. Did you know that a man by the name of Luke Howard named the clouds in 1802?”
Resting my chin between my palms, I leaned forward, eyes wide, knowing I was about to hear a long, riveting story.
This right here was why I loved him. This was why I would marry him and always protect him.
“I did not know that. Please go on.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Asa
“Are you certain our stay in Venice was long enough?”
I understood the true meaning behind her question: was two weeks long enough for the scandal to die down? No, it wasn’t.
This is Charleston. Scandals live in infamy, burn brighter than the sun, and are treasured more than sweet tea.
It would be a long time before people around here forgot about the wedding that Nathalie Claiborne burst upon. In fact, I could see my children telling their children about the beautiful woman with dark, dark hair and light eyes who stormed through the church doors on my wedding day. The story would change through time. Details would be embellished for the sake of the story. But the shock would remain the same.
“Asa?” Juliet gently prods. “Do you think we stayed in Venice long enough?” she repeats.
“I believe so,” I lie. “There’s only so much of Italy you can see before you must return home. Besides, I have work to attend to.”
Juliet blinks at me, her eyes filled with so much childlike trust that she nods.
Nathalie’s an optimistic, but she craves the truth in every situation. Nathalie would have asked what work waited for me, and I would’ve told her. She wouldn’t have been lost because her brother was Étienne and although she could be quiet, she listened when he talked. She knew more about business than most businessmen.