The Rebel Wife Read Online Free PDF Page B

our work is done. It will be like we have brought him back to life. Just like your mother.”
    Judge is waiting patiently in the front parlor. He kisses me on the top of my head. His right hand exerts a gentle pressure through the thick, twining braids that Rachel dressed. He should be pleased that I am in heavy mourning, dressed in black from cuffs to hem.
    “Poor child, you’ve been through so much,” he murmurs and sits next to me. Judge is always dressed impeccably, almost formally, in dark suits and shoes with a high shine. His hair has turned so white since the war. His beard is neatly trimmed. His pale blue eyes are piercingly clear. Mama always said girls threw their heads at him when he was young. Like Buck, I guess. Like father, like son. Mama almost tittered herself to fits about it. She regretted their close kinship, or she would have married him herself.
    “Thank you, Judge,” I murmur. “It’s kind of you to come so quickly.” He pats my hand and sits across from me. “We have seen little of you of late.”
    “Yes. And I am sorry for that.” He nods and exhales, looking at the patterns on the rug, garlands of pink roses and ivy. “My business has preoccupied me. And the party. Politics, you know. I regret it now for your sake, Augusta.”
    I smile at him, a prudent smile, not too strong, modest and deferential. “I understand, Judge. You shouldn’t apologize. You’ve always been such a support for me. And for Mama.” Mama relied on Judge for everything after Pa died. She couldn’t make a decision without asking him what to do.
    A small smile blooms on his lips, and he reaches for my hand, covering it and giving it a squeeze. “I’ve tried to do my best by you. I honestly have.”
    Rachel enters with tall glasses of iced tea. She moves silently and places the tray on the small table in front of me. She nods to me and cuts her eyes at Judge. She turns away abruptly. He barely notices.
    The glasses are covered in sweat from the humidity, and the moisture runs down the sides and pools on the black lacquer tray. The tray was a gift to Eli from a Mobile merchant who imported it from China. The tea looks so cold. I am tempted to take my glass in spite of Judge, but I must wait for him. He looks at the drink but doesn’t move. His head is cocked, listening to Rachel’s soft footfalls as they move down the hall.
    “The funeral arrangements,” he says. “Can I offer you assistance with them?”
    “No, thank you. Mr. Weems is upstairs now.” I look at the ceiling as if I can see through it to Eli’s room. I cannot look at Judge for fear. “I am leaving all the arrangements to him. I told him I want Eli buried soon. In two days’ time.”
    Judge’s eyes follow mine to the ceiling. His face registers no feeling of any kind. “Fine. Fine. Nothing too extravagant, of course. This won’t be like Elsie’s funeral.”
    Little beads of water run down the sides of the frosted glasses. I will take some ice after Judge leaves and wrap it in a towel to rub against my temples. That will help.
    “Weems,” he repeats. “I thought there was some problem between Weems and Eli. That’s what you reap when you try to force nigger voting down men’s throats. Weems might have voted Republican once, but he has sense enough to know what an abomination it is to give the darkies the vote. I told Eli he wouldn’t be able to keep his party together. We scattered them like buckshot in the last election.”
    The sunlight is so bright outside, it makes the parlor seem dark. The Corbins’ dog trots by, a large piebald hound with his tongue hanging out almost to the ground, panting.
    “I wasn’t aware of any dispute. Mr. Weems didn’t say anything.”
    “Well, I suppose it will be fine now. Eli is no more. Weems didn’t bridle at...”
    “No, sir. Not at all. He seemed pleased that I wrote to him.”
    “A dirty scalawag practicing a dirty trade. At least we’ve taken the state back from them. A disgusting