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  Sacred Intentions

  Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  Copyright © 2011 Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  smashwords edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from both the copyright owner and the publisher.

  Sacred Intentions is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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  Books by Roxane Tepfer Sanford

  The Arrington Series

  The Girl in the Lighthouse

  All That is Beautiful

  Sacred Intentions

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To my children, as always. You’re the best kids a mother could ever dream of!

  Deborah Dawson, my editor. It’s been a pleasure working with you.

  Caroline Billard, president of my fan club. You’re awesome!

  I’ve been fortunate to have some great people who helped me along the way, including reading over my manuscripts and/or the novels, and sharing quality feedback. Thank you to, Ashley Mitchell, Steve Buffalin, Zach Walters, Sheri Wilkinson, Carolyn Rolfe, Caroline Pip Sharp, Natasha Snell & fellow author, Brenda Lochinger.

  And a special thank you to all my readers and fans!

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  John 1:8 If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.

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  ~ One ~

  My daddy would often tell me, from the time I was no higher than his knee and hardly taller than a wildflower that I was the most beautiful little girl he had ever laid eyes on and that I was going to grow up to be even more breathtaking than my own mummy.

  Mummy, whose name was Charlotte, died hours after my birth, though she struggled to live for the sake of me, her beloved new baby, and Daddy, the man she was born to love. God, however, had other plans for Mummy; her destiny was fulfilled, and he called her to stand by him up in heaven.

  Not long after Mummy’s passing, Daddy moved us from London, England, to the only home I would ever know as a child: Savannah, Georgia, in America. There Daddy acquired a great deal of land, more than two thousand acres, and had a grand mansion built by his many slaves. He named it Sutton Hall. Sutton was his ancestral name, a surname that was derived from his mother’s side. My paternal grandmother’s name was Sarah Sutton Arrington, and like my mummy, she died in childbirth.

  So, as it happened, when Daddy’s own wife, my mummy, passed through the gates of heaven, he vowed never to reside in England again. But he kept his beloved Charlotte close in his heart always.

  Through the years that Sutton Hall was being built, Daddy and I lived in one wing of the mansion at a time until its completion, four years later, in 1849. It was the most majestic mansion among the large plantations of Savannah. There were others that lined the river, but none came close or could even begin to compare to Sutton Hall, which stood nearly three stories high, made of white stuccoed brick, with eight colossal columns that sustained the massive doublewide front galleries. The attic extended the entire length of the mansion and boasted six dormered windows. Surrounding the enormous mansion and its lush gardens were about two dozen modest buildings that served as slave quarters, along with stables, a spinning-house, and an icehouse. Not too far away were the smokehouse, a blacksmith’s shop, and a dairy. Daddy had grand fields of cotton by the river, and closer to the mansion were large dirt fields in which to grow corn and various other vegetables.

  While Daddy spent long days overseeing the huge plantation, I was left early on in the care of my mammy. Her real name was Abigail. I was told that she was purchased when I turned one year old. Mammy had been married once, but her husband had been sold long before to another plantation somewhere in Mississippi. She had a little girl near to my own age, who was like a sister to me.

  Hattie was as pretty as Mammy. Her hair was a rich black, and her skin was a smooth, warm, honey brown. I knew Hattie would grow up to look just like her mother, and I envied both her beauty and the love she and her mother felt for one another. A part of me always remained lost and empty without a mother of my own, though having Mammy was the very next best thing.

  Mammy treated me just as well as she did her own daughter and loved me unconditionally. She always had room on her lap for me and often said to us, “God gave me two knees. One for each girl.” And on her lap we sat and nuzzled up close against her bosom while she sang lullabies to us, every night before bed.

  Hattie and I often shared my room, though she did have one of her own, for the mansion was certainly large enough. We were inseparable, and Daddy allowed Mammy and Hattie to live under our roof and not with the slaves in the rough shanty dwellings in the rear of the plantation.

  If Daddy ever felt lonesome, I was never aware of it. As much as I knew he had loved Mummy, his eyes weren’t filled with sadness, but were always bright and contented, and his gaze would most often fall upon Mammy. At the time, when I was very, very young, I thought he was fond of Mammy only because she took care of me and lovingly tended to my every need. As the years passed, however, I soon began to realize that Mammy was no ordinary servant, but a woman for whom Daddy held a love that I suspected was almost as deep as the love he had once felt for my real mummy.

  Mammy was enamored with Daddy; in fact, most women who crossed his path were. Daddy stood tall and proud, had a firm jaw, and towered over most men. His thick golden hair had turned gray by the time I was four; so I was told, but he carried himself the way any young, distinguished man would. His deep voice was low and melodious and laced with a marked English accent. Daddy’s eyes were sky blue, and every time I looked up at the clear sunny sky, I instantly thought of him.

  He could have had any woman in the state of Georgia, I was sure of that, and one day, I asked him why he didn’t want to have a wife, the way all the other men had.

  “Perhaps someday, Amelia, I will take on a wife. But for now, I am more than content with my beautiful daughter,” he said, and then he placed a gentle kiss on the top of my head. His eyes gazed past me to where Mammy stood, waiting to take me up to bed. Mammy smiled, and then bashfully lowered her eyes to the ground.

  “Now go on with your mammy. Have a good sleep.”

  After placing a quick kiss on Daddy’s cheek, I hurried over to Mammy. Hattie was in bed alr
eady, sick with a fever. Helen, Mammy’s sister, had been tending to Hattie while Mammy took care of all of my needs. Daddy seemed aware of Mammy’s worries, and as I headed up the grand staircase to my room, he pulled her aside and told me to go on.

  “I’ll be right there,” Mammy said. I went on, then I stopped and went quietly back. I peeked around the corner and watched as Daddy embraced Mammy and caressed her back. They whispered things to one another that I couldn’t hear. I believed that was the way Daddy must have loved my mummy.

  Shortly, Mammy came to help me change for bed. Hattie was in another room and I was to sleep alone.

  “I need to see Hattie. Give Mammy a kiss,” she insisted, after I was in my bed clothes. She opened her arms for a hug.

  “Will she be better tomorrow and come to school with me?” I asked, as Mammy closed the heavy velvet drapes for the night.

  “Not sure, Miss Amelia. But hope so.” Mammy turned to leave, and as she did, I reached for her hand.

  “Someday, I hope Daddy marries you.” More than anything, I wanted a real mother.

  Mammy came close, sighed heavily, and looked at me with eyes filled with heartrending pain. She placed her soft hand onto mine and wistfully said, “My sweet girl, that just can’t never be.”

  “Is it because you have a husband somewhere?”

  “You ain’t old enough to understand just yet, Miss Amelia.”

  She was correct in one aspect, although I understood more than she, or Daddy, could ever imagine.

  Life at Sutton Hall was similar to that at other plantations around Savannah. It was a hard working farm, with daily chores that lasted from sunup until sundown. Slaves filled the fields and worked the grounds. Though Daddy was a fairly new plantation owner, unlike the others in the area, who were mostly second generation owners, he was well received and quickly admired. It was the way he handled business and the manner in which he kept his servants loyal that left most of them envious. When Daddy did manage to have some free time, he would always take me into Savannah to shop for dresses and expensive dolls for my growing collection. If he had any extra business in the city to attend to, he would bring Mammy along to watch over me. On those occasions, Mammy would dress in her Sunday best, instead of the simple work dresses she wore around Sutton Hall.

  Those days were always special. And when Mammy joined us, we were like a real family. Though Hattie usually couldn’t come because she was too sickly, I was the happiest ever.

  “Amelia, you are a gift from heaven; you were created in the likeness of angels,” Daddy had told me. “No one, never, could I love more than you.”

  Daddy’s adoring words always melted my heart, and I was certain he would never waiver from his deep devotion and affection for me, and I would always hold the key to his heart - the key I was given after Mummy died. The only person I planned to share that key with was Mammy. She, I would share Daddy with.

  By 1858, when I was thirteen years old, Daddy was one of the wealthiest men in Savannah and was not like most other plantation owners. They were all married, and their wives were as beautiful and sophisticated as the men were pompous and arrogant, unlike Daddy, who remained unpretentious and unspoiled and didn’t like any but one of them.

  Mr. Niles Montgomery and his wife Catherine were frequent visitors to Sutton Hall. They were old friends of Daddy’s from England, and they all got along famously. They were an older couple who often visited their grown son, Perry, and his wife, Myrna on their nearby plantation. Perry and Myrna Montgomery had four girl babies in four years, and expecting their fifth child.

  “They breeding like rabbits,” Mammy snickered one evening as she waited on me. I had to wear my finest dress to supper, for the Montgomery’s were bringing a new guest. “I bet that man ain’t never gonna get a son.”

  “I don’t want to dress up,” I complained.

  “Your daddy is expecting you.”

  “I hate these suppers!”

  “Now, Miss Amelia, you just gonna have to get used to it.”

  I didn’t understand why several times a week I had to wear my finest dress, with a chemise, petticoat, and hoop under my lace skirt, to attend formal, boring, stuffy suppers with people who talked about things I wasn’t the least bit interested in. And this supper in particular, because Daddy insisted Mammy was not to attend. Normally, she waited in the corner and tended to me when necessary. Never once was she not permitted to be in the dining room.

  “It be just fine,” Mammy whispered, and nudged me forward, then fell back into the shadows.

  I stood beside Daddy and greeted each one of our supper guests with a proper curtsey as they spilled from the parlor into the dining room. All were familiar, all but a tall, regal woman who strolled in with Mr. Montgomery. I immediately noticed Daddy’s spine straighten and press his firm chest outward.

  “Mrs. Norton, this is my daughter, Amelia,” Daddy introduced me after placing a quick gentlemanly kiss on her gloved hand.

  The tall, older woman’s brow lifted as she looked me over and then said in a dry voice, “Pleased to meet you. My, you are certainly as lovely as Thomas mentioned.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “Mrs. Eugenia Norton is Mr. Niles Montgomery’s eldest sister. She is visiting from London,” Daddy said. He took her arm and led her to the seat that had been unexpectedly reserved next to him. That was my seat.

  Daddy noticed my surprise and discreetly motioned for me to take the seat down at the end of the long table.

  I noticed Mammy watching us from out in the hall as we were served. Louis and Cordelia stayed on their toes all night and made certain the meal was exactly as Daddy had ordered. They served green pea soup, stewed sea bass, a French ham pie, and baked tongue. For desert there was plum pudding and peach ice cream.

  The air was stuffy, the night dragged on. The conversation was typical of our supper parties: politics, civil unrest, business, travel. Daddy gave more of an ear to the stately woman beside him than I thought was necessary. He laughed when appropriate; his attention was undivided. I tried numerous times to get Daddy to look my way, to notice how miserable I was, but he didn’t glance my way once.

  Mammy had apparently seen enough and made an entrance that caused quite the commotion.

  “What is that slave doing in here unannounced?” Mrs. Norton spat.

  Daddy, looking extremely uncomfortable, reprimanded Mammy.

  “I didn’t call you in,” he stated, though Mrs. Norton was displeased at how mildly he spoke to her. She rolled her pale, stone-colored eyes, and scowled.

  “I’m sorry, Masta Arrington, but it past Miss Amelia’s bedtime,” she stammered, and proceeded to take me out without permission. Mammy never, ever, had to ask permission from Daddy to do anything when it came to my well-being.

  “Thomas, aren’t you going to stop her?” Catherine asked in distress. They all knew Mammy, and I couldn’t understand why everyone, including Daddy, was acting as if the president of the United States of America had joined us for supper.

  Mammy shot Daddy a look of defiance. They locked eyes for a moment as we all waited to see what would happen next. Then Mrs. Norton chimed in. Her voice was sharp and her tone inconsiderate when she gasped, “How dare that slave girl disrespect you!”

  Daddy didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and he ruled Sutton Hall with gloved fists. However, something happened to him that night that seemed to change the way we all lived and breathed from that day on.

  Daddy’s eyes revealed displeasure toward Mammy, and he excused himself to deal with “the matter,” as he called it.

  He whisked passed me and took hold of her arm as I hurried after them. The guests were left aghast and as they whispered, I stopped and listened, just as Daddy swept Mammy outside into the heat of the oppressive August evening.

  “Why does he keep such an unruly slave?” Mrs. Norton asked in disgust.

  Niles Montgomery cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Catherine dabbed he
r mouth with one of our fine silk napkins, shot her husband a look of disapproval, and whispered something in Mrs. Norton’s ear that made her face turn bright red and her mouth fall wide open in astonishment. “That wench?”

  The women nodded in unison as the men excused themselves and headed for the smoking room for some after-supper drinks and cigars. I scurried away and ran up to my room where from my bedroom window I could hear Daddy talking to Mammy.

  “I am trying to deal with all the pressures. You need to understand,” were his last words before he took her in his arms under the dim light of the early evening sky and placed a long kiss on her lips. Then they parted ways.

  Hattie rushed in, followed by Mammy.

  “We caught ten fish!” she exclaimed with a wide smile.

  “You get washed up now, you hear!” Mammy snapped. Hattie’s smile faded, and she looked from her mother to me and dashed back out of the room.

  Without a word, Mammy helped me undress and took me to bed. I sensed her tension, I felt her unhappiness, and most of all, I saw pain and trouble in her dark, sad eyes. I wanted in the worst way to ask why Daddy had treated her so badly, why all of the sudden he’d spoken to her as if she were one of his ordinary servants. I was almost afraid of the answers, and instead of asking, I closed my eyes and curled up with my goose down pillow. Although I wanted to wait for Hattie to return and climb into bed, my eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and I found myself drifting off into a deep sleep.

  The air was heavy and dewy as I stepped outside into the light of the following day. Hattie trailed behind. She was a heavy sleeper and extra slow in the morning.

  “Hurry, Hattie, or we’ll be late for school,” I called, running ahead.

  With her lunch pail, slate, and chalk in hand, she hurried to catch up.