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She feigned absorbing interest as they crossed the Mississippi River, but, indeed, it was a thrilling sight. Several barges that she knew were immense looked like toy boats on the vastness of the river. Camille sighted Natchez-Under-the-Hill, a historic part of the old city. Just as she was about to comment on it, Zack said, “One night we’ll go to Under-the-Hill and have dinner. Cock of the Walk has the best fried catfish anywhere. Please don’t tell Dearly I said so.” His eyes locked with hers and they smiled at each other, his teeth white and gleaming. Why was he so devilishly handsome?
They reached the Louisiana side of the river in a matter of minutes and drove through the small community of Vidalia before continuing west. A few miles farther, Zack turned north into a road spanned by a metal arch. The words “Prescott Plantation” were spelled out with curving metal letters.
For Camille the rest of the morning passed in a kaleidoscope of impressions. Zack drove her over acres of fields, explaining the crops grown in each one, how they rotated them, when they knew to let one lie fallow, the specialized service performed by one piece of equipment or another. As they encountered employees working in various capacities, Zack slowed the pickup down to call out a greeting. He knew everyone by name, which was no small accomplishment. Camille was amazed to see how many workers it took to manage the multifaceted plantation.
Zack’s pet interest was the stud farm he was trying to establish. He showed her his stables and the few horses he already owned. Some of them were ponies only a few months old that had been born in the spring. She commented on how attractive and healthy they appeared, though she knew virtually nothing about horseflesh. Zack admitted that it was a new field for him, too, but he was determined to learn about this lucrative enterprise.
Camille studied him as he spoke about his future plans for this and every aspect of the plantation. His voice became excited and eager. His face shone with anticipation at the goals he had set for himself, and Camille realized that Zack would always have a new horizon. He was not a man to reach a plateau in his life and stop there. He would look for another challenge. She had gained a new insight into his character.
It came to her quietly then that she loved him.
It was a bittersweet awakening. She longed to reach out and touch him, to share her discovery with him, but of course she couldn’t. Didn’t he feel the power of her love? Didn’t he realize the tumult that was raging inside her? Zack, I love you, she cried silently.
He had taken off his felt cowboy hat, which had replaced the straw one in deference to the season, and his sun-burnished curls stirred in the cool autumn breeze. He was leaning against a fence, one booted foot on the bottom rail, his hands dangling casually over the top one. He was the essence of masculinity. From the first time she had seen him in Utah, Camille had recognized his virility and been intimidated by it. She confessed to herself now that it was Zack’s encompassing appeal that had frightened her. When she ran from him… from his bed… had she realized then that this was a man whom she could love with an all-consuming passion? Had she fled, convincing herself that it was from shame and self-loathing, when actually it had been out of a fear of rejection? She remembered experiencing a rushing feeling of love as he had held her in the stillness of the night. Love? she had asked herself. No! It doesn’t happen this way. But it had. She admitted it now. She had loved him from the first.
Zack turned his head and caught her intense perusal of him. Color flooded her cheeks. Could he read her mind? Did he know how much she loved him?
He brushed a stray curl from her forehead; his fingers seemed to brand her flesh. “I think your plantation is wonderful, Zack. I mean that.”
“I know you do,” he
said seriously. Then in a lighter tone he asked if she were hungry.
“Yes!” she declared. “I’m starved.”
He laughed. “Good, because I’m taking you to a very special place for lunch.”
He ushered her back toward the truck, and, when they left the plantation property, they headed east toward Natchez.
* * *
As they drove through the city, Zack pointed out historic sites to Camille, who tried vainly to absorb them all. He was apparently well acquainted with the history of his hometown for he quoted facts like a professor. There were over two hundred antebellum buildings in Natchez, and each one had its own claim to fame. Such illustrious guests as Henry Clay, Aaron Burr, Lafayette, Andrew and Rachel Jackson, Mark Twain, and Stephen Foster were reputed to have visited with Natchez families and spent time in some of the lovely homes.
The restaurant Zack had chosen for lunch was the Post House in the old King’s Tavern. Zack explained that it was the oldest building in Natchez, built before 1798. Indian runners delivered the first United States mail to the King’s Tavern after the city came under United States jurisdiction that year. The site marked the end of the legendary Natchez Trace, which was a well-marked trail through the wilderness to Nashville, Tennessee. As they went through the doorway of the building, Zack pointed out the bullet holes still in the walls, remnants of an early Indian attack.
The restaurant was low-ceilinged and used pioneer memorabilia for is decor. Camille was enchanted. Not only was she here in this historic spot that had been the site of so many colorful events, but she was sharing it with Zachary Prescott; and if he had been a backwoodsman who had just traversed the treacherous Natchez Trace, he couldn’t have been more intriguing to her.
With her permission he ordered for them. They had steaming bowls of seafood gumbo, baked chicken with cornbread dressing, and a variety of vegetables and relishes.
Covertly she watched him as they ate. He seemed to be relaxed and enjoying himself, though spending this day with her had been more or less an order from his father. He spoke to nearly everyone who came in, and introduced her to those who stopped by their table to chat.
They were lingering over cups of coffee when Camille commented, “Your father seems to be feeling better, doesn’t he?”
“Yes. I think having you here and working on the house has lifted his spirits considerably. His health will never be what it was before the attack though, and I worry about it constantly.”
“I’m sure you do, Zack.” She added cautiously, “He loves you very much.”
“Yeah, I know.” He laughed ruefully. “Sometimes I wish I’d had brothers and sisters, someone else to share this responsibility I feel to make him proud and happy. I think I’ve disappointed him.”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked uneasy and shifted in his chair before answering. “Dad has this… obsession… to continue the line, keep Bridal Wreath and the plantation in the hands of a Prescott.” He took a quick sip of coffee and said, “It doesn’t look like that is going to happen.”
There was nothing she could say to that so she stared at a picture on the wall beside her. They were both quiet as Zack settled the check and they returned to the pickup parked in front of the building.
“The lunch was wonderful, Zack, and so was the Post House. Thank you,” Camille said when he had engaged the gears of the truck and merged with the Saturday afternoon traffic in downtown Natchez.
“You liked it?” he asked, smiling.
