The Night the Stars Fell

____________________

Birch Bend Plantation

Lauderdale County, Alabama

April, 1820

The grown-ups were arguing again, and this time it was about her.

Catharine Anne Taylor, lovingly called Cat by her family, sat on the flowered print cushion of the window seat in her bedroom, staring out the window. But now she cocked her head slightly to better hear the raised voices. It was the first real interest she had shown in anything since the death of her parents almost a year ago.

Don't waste your excuses on me, William Taylor, she heard her great aunt, Lydia, say in a demanding, frosty tone from the room below. I'll hear no more about it. Your niece is only five years old and she is withering away up there. She needs someone to love, someone who understands the pain she is going through. I don't care what you say, William. I'm moving that girl out of Ginny's cabin and into Catharine's room today!

With those stern words to her uncle, Cat then heard her Great Aunt Lydia storm out of the parlor. The house became quiet. Her mind slipped back into the blankness that had enveloped her thoughts for most of the past year.

Devastated and confused by the loss of her parents, she had no memory of the grief stricken little girl who woke every night for months calling for her mother and father, or of the countless tears she had shed. The endless nights her Aunt Sarah had spent trying to comfort her were also long forgotten. Nothing existed for Cat except the emptiness she felt inside.

She didn't respond when the bedroom door creaked open, or to the soft, padding footsteps approaching her across the hardwood floor. She continued looking out the window until she felt Aunt Sarah's gentle touch on her cheek as the woman brushed aside her strands of copper red curls. Then she slowly turned her head. Her aunt stood before her, holding the hand of a frightened, barefooted little girl with light brown skin.

Cat, Sarah said softly, stooping down to her niece's eye level. She paused, rendered silent for a moment by the way her niece's sapphire blue eyes glistened in the sunlight that streamed in through the pane of glass. The sadness she saw in them tore at her heart. She pulled her gaze away long enough to tug the little slave girl closer. This is Lizzie. She's three years old. Her mama died not long ago, and she's all alone and scared. She needs someone to take care of her.

A tiny spark of curiosity flickered inside Cat.

From behind Sarah came another kind, gentle voice. She needs a friend, Kitty Cat.

Cat looked up to see Ruth standing in the doorway.

As on many plantations, a slave woman watched over the plantation children and provided tender care for those she oversaw. Knowledgeable in everything from scraped knees to broken hearts, her smile was enough to let her charges know everything was going to be all right. This was the woman Cat now looked to.

Ruth smiled and nodded.

Cat looked back to her aunt. Without saying a word, she slid down off the window seat and took Lizzie's hand.

Before many days had passed, joyous sounds of children’s laughter could be heard coming from the bedroom. By the end of the week, the two little girls were inseparable.

No one had thought to tell the girls there should be limits to their friendship. They were much too young to understand that the difference in their skin color mattered.

Chapter 1

____________________

Birch Bend Plantation

November, 1832

Sarah Taylor, mistress of the plantation, had just entered the front hall when one of the slaves opened the door and admitted an unkempt man. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew he had brought bad news even before he spoke. The way he twisted his hat out of shape and avoided looking her in the eyes only added to her fast growing suspicion.

I’m sorry to disturb ya, Mrs. Taylor. The sheriff sent me to let ya know Robert Monroe was found dead this morning near the pier in Florence. Looks like he was strangled to death.

When the man saw Mrs. Taylor jerk her head to the side and look into the parlor, he followed her pain-filled gaze. Only then did the messenger realize that Miss Cat Taylor, the dead man’s fiancée, had heard every heart wrenching word from where she stood in the next room.

The color drained from Cat's face when she heard the news. Lizzie tried to reach out and catch her, but the gesture was pointless since she was standing a good ten feet away. She had to watch helplessly as Cat crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

The Big House exploded into panic. Everyone screamed as they rushed over to help the unconscious young woman. Lizzie reached her first and dropped down beside her. She lifted Cat's head and cradled it on her lap. This can't be happenin' again, she whispered. It just ain't fair.

Lizzie heard Miz Sarah yell for Ruth to bring water to splash on Cat's face, but amid the many voices it seemed to be coming from a great distance instead of just a few feet away. A second later the double door to the parlor was flung open; it slammed against the wall with a thunderous bang. Lizzie felt the vibration deep inside her chest.

Dear God, William Taylor muttered in a choked voice when he saw his niece lying on the floor in the middle of the confusion. He hurried across the room, roughly shoving one of the house slaves out of his way in his haste to reach her. He knelt down beside Cat; she did not appear to be breathing. He clutched her hand in his and leaned in closer.

Catharine, can you hear me? She did not answer, but to his vast relief he saw her chest rising and falling.

Ruth rushed in with a glass of water in one hand and a wet, dripping rag in the other. William snatched the rag from her hand and squeezed it, sending a stream of cold liquid onto Cat's face. There was no response.

The man who had brought the bad news saw the whole scene from his position near the parlor doorway and wished he were anywhere else but here. The sheriff did not pay him enough to witness the anguish he had seen on that poor girl's face when she heard what had happened. In the midst of the chaos, he saw his chance to slip away unnoticed; he did not want to be around when William Taylor started asking questions. It might be against the law in this day and age to kill the messenger, but he had seen far too many examples of the man's temper over the years and saw no reason to stay and risk it. If he hurried, he could be back in the town of Florence before anyone realized he was gone.

Luck was on the messenger's side, because William's attention was focused solely on his niece. He scooped her up into his arms and watched in horror as her arm flopped lifelessly to the side. In his mind's eye he pictured the floppy rag doll she carried around as a little girl.

Lizzie, he said, his voice quivering. Send Caesar for the doctor. Tell him to hurry. He turned abruptly and charged up the stairs with Cat's limp body, taking the steps two at a time. Sarah and Ruth followed behind.

Without hesitation, Lizzie bolted through the front door with her skirts lifted knee high to keep from tripping and ran down the gravel path towards the river, screaming Caesar's name.

Caesar was busy on the river bank, struggling to pull the plantation boat out of the water and onto the shore to make some much needed repairs. Every muscle in his body felt ready to burst from the strain. Even the cool November breeze could not compete with the extreme exertion involved in the massive undertaking and although he had removed his shirt, torrential streams of sweat still rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. His broad, black shoulders and chest glistened from it wherever the sunlight hit, making the ancient whip scars stand out with vivid clarity. With a loud grunt, he gave one last tug on the bow of the boat while several other slaves, knee-deep in the cold river, pushed on the stern. The combined effort finally succeeded in forcing the boat out of the water and onto the riverbank. It would take what was left of the day to repair the leaks, but it had to be done.

Just as Caesar stuck the brush into the bucket of pine tar, he heard someone shouting his name. Never fails, he thought, wiping his hands on a rag. Soon as I gits busy, someone comes 'long and wants somethin'. He tossed the rag aside and walked around the corner of the boat house, jumping out of the way at the last second to keep from colliding with the frantic girl. He grabbed Lizzie by the shoulders to stop her, alarmed by the look of sheer panic on her face. What-

Hurry, she gasped, trying to catch her breath, Cat just got word Master Robert done been murdered. She fainted and nobody can get her to wake up. Master said for you to fetch the doctor quick. With the message delivered, Lizzie sank to the ground, covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

Caesar grabbed his shirt and sprinted towards the stables with a swiftness he did not know he possessed. Simon! he shouted from the middle of the yard. Saddle a horse!

Hearing the urgency in Caesar's voice, the stable slave dashed back into the barn and emerged with a saddled horse just as Caesar reached the stable doors.

He leaped onto the steed, kicked its sides and slapped the reins. Gidup, horse! They tore out through the plantation gate, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Caesar’s mind raced as fast as the horse. This can't be happenin', he thought. That girl already done been through this when Master Joseph wuz murdered. How can the good Lawd let 'nother man she 'bout ter marry git kilt?

Lizzie raised her head in time to see Caesar speed through the gate and disappear behind the tree-lined curve. She could do nothing more here and crying would not help; she had to get back to Cat. She rushed back to the Big House, wiping her tears on her apron. Strands of her long, dark brown hair slipped from the grasp of the hair clip beneath her day cap and trailed behind her as she ran.

God, she whispered as she dashed into the house, I don't know why You would allow this to happen again, but please, help Cat. She sure don't deserve this. Lizzie scrambled up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom she shared with Cat, the prayer still issuing from her lips.

In her hurry to get to Cat, she sped through the open bedroom door, almost colliding with the master who was pacing back and forth inside the room. His expression stopped her in her tracks. It held a combination of worry and something else; something Lizzie could not quite put her finger on. The word guilt popped into her head. She tucked the notion away in the back of her mind. She did not have time to dwell on it right now.

Miz Sarah sat on the bed silently crying while she held a wet cloth on her niece’s head. Ruth and Miz Sarah's aunt, Ole Miz Lydia, stood next to her, hovering between the unconscious girl and the bowl of cold water on the bedside table. Lizzie hurried to the other side of the bed and crouched down. She grabbed Cat's hand and squeezed.

Cat? Can you hear me? Please wake up.

At the sound of Lizzie's voice, Cat's eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened.

Lizzie, she whispered. What happened? Where am I?

Sarah did not give Lizzie a chance to answer. Oh thank God, she said. She had not realized how tense her muscles were until she felt her shoulders sag with relief. You fainted, Cat. Uncle William carried you up to your room.

Lydia maneuvered her way in closer. Just lie still and rest, honey, the doctor is on the way.

Cat stared at them. I fainted? I...I don't remember.

William saw her eyebrows drawn together in confusion and moved into her line of view. You don't remember anything?

The concern in his voice made her more confused. She tried to shake her head, but the movement produced a sharp pain that made her wince.

The last thing in the world William wanted to do was bring up the reason that had caused her to faint, but this was beginning to look serious. He had no choice but to ask, What's the last thing you remember? The blank look on her face shook him to the core.

Cat had to think about it before she answered. I remember finishing breakfast.

Sarah gasped and stared at her niece. Her hand moved up to the base of her throat as she turned to look at her husband. William, that was almost three hours ago.

William ran his fingers through his thick, black hair, and then rubbed his hand across his mouth several times before leaning to the side to see out the window. What's keeping that damn doctor? I swear if he isn't on his way here, I'll have him horsewhipped. He glanced back at Cat before turning to leave the room. The sound of his boots on the stairs echoed throughout the upper floor.

With a knowing smirk tightening her lips, Lydia followed William down the stairs to wait for the doctor. Her presence would insure he was not falling down drunk by the time the doctor arrived.

Sarah watched them leave before turning back to Cat. Dear Lord, she looks so pale, she thought. She noticed the rapid swallowing a few seconds before her niece announced, Aunt Sarah, I'm going to be sick.

When Cat finished heaving, she fell back onto the pillow and closed her eyes while her aunt wiped the traces of vomit from her lips. She made herself take slow, shallow breaths so she would not begin vomiting again. Her head had already been pounding, but now the bout of the retching nausea had made it worse. The cold rag Aunt Sarah placed on her forehead did help some, but not nearly enough. She attempted to will away the pain without success.

I fainted, she thought. The words repeated over and over in her mind without making any sense. She felt Lizzie grasp her hand again and Cat squeezed it to let her know how comforting it was to have her there beside her. It was a signal they had worked out years ago when Cat first began to get those awful sick headaches every time she started her monthly.

Lizzie squeezed back. Don't worry, Cat, Lizzie whispered while she brushed back a stray, copper curl from Cat's eyes. I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll be right here beside you.

Cat licked her lips and swallowed before speaking. Don't say ain't, she whispered.

Lizzie’s use of the word ain’t had been a joke between them for years. Cat would correct her whenever she used it and without fail, Lizzie would poke out her tongue like a naughty child. It always sent both of them into gales of laughter.

Since you got your eyes closed I guess I have to tell you I poked out my tongue, Lizzie said.

A small smile appeared on Cat's face. Lizzie always knows just what to do to make me feel better, she thought, giving Lizzie's hand another quick squeeze.

Then, without warning, it all came back to her. The pain in her head forgotten, Cat jerked herself up, her eyes opened wide. Her lower lip began to quiver. She stared at her aunt in disbelief and began to sob uncontrollably.

Robert...no...Oh no...

Sarah pulled Cat into her arms and hugged her. Lizzie brought Cat's hand up and pressed it against her cheek. There was nothing either could say to ease her heartbreak.

Chapter 2

____________________

When Dr. Clarke arrived he was rushed upstairs to Cat's room. After a quick examination and a couple of questions, he went back downstairs to join William in the parlor. Motioning for Cat's uncle to pour him a glass of whiskey, he gulped down half of the drink, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before rendering his diagnosis.

She's taking it hard, William. To make matters worse, she hit her head on something when she fell. She has a knot on the back of her head the size of a goose egg. That's why she didn't remember what happened right away and why she started vomiting. He stopped talking long enough to drain his glass and hand it back for a refill.

I gave her a dose of laudanum so she will sleep.

The doctor saw that William was about to say something and held up his hand to stop him. I know it's best to keep an eye on an injury like that and keep a person awake for a while, but between the news she received and the pain she's in from hitting her head, it's more important that she get some rest. Once the pain eases up she will be in better shape to deal with the grief.

William rested his arm on the fireplace mantle and breathed a sigh of relief. She’s going to be fine, then? He sighed again when the doctor nodded. I don’t mind telling you, I was terrified when I came into the room and saw her on the floor like that. I swear to you I didn’t think she was breathing.

Dr. Clarke gave an understanding nod. Yes, it's frightening to see a loved one in that condition, he said, then swallowed the last drops of the liquor in his glass. He gave his mouth a quick swipe before he continued, this time using his sleeve. I am reasonably sure Catharine is going to recover from her injury without any problems. Her mental state, on the other hand, bears watching. I'm not sure I could keep my own sanity if I were in her place. That poor girl sure has had more than her fair share of tragedy.

The doctor turned and walked into the front hall, wishing he could have another glass of that wonderful whiskey William always had on hand, but he had another stop to make on his way back to town. He retrieved his coat from a waiting slave and folded it over his arm.

I told Mrs. Taylor to keep her in bed and to give her a spoonful of laudanum as needed. I'll check back in a couple of days to see how she is doing. Send your boy Caesar for me if you need me sooner.

William escorted Dr. Clarke out the door and stood on the veranda steps until the doctor rode out of sight. He started to go back upstairs to check on his niece, but hesitated at the bottom of the staircase and licked his lips. With no more than a glance at the second floor, he turned and walked into the parlor. He needed another drink.

Lizzie heard the parlor door close and sighed with relief. She had been given the task of keeping an eye on Cat, who was sleeping from the dose of laudanum the doctor gave her. The last thing in the world she wanted was to have the master in here with them; not when she needed time alone to think. She began to pace the small confines of the bedroom, deep in thought, glancing over at Cat each time she passed the bed.

Her heart wanted to believe there had to be a reasonable explanation for what was going on; her mind, however, said otherwise. How could the murder of Cat’s fiancé, Joseph, two years ago, and now the murder of Robert, be a coincidence? It was just too bizarre.

It ain't possible for someone to have two fiancés who both end up gettin' murdered exactly one month before their weddin's, she thought. It almost seems like someone is tryin' to keep Cat from gettin' married. But who? And why? What possible reason could there be? Lizzie thought about every person Cat knew, searching for any motive they might have. She finally shook her head and sighed, unable to think of a single person who would want to hurt her or have a reason to stop either of the weddings.

Lizzie’s pacing came to a stop in front of the bedroom window and she looked down at the river without really seeing it. Her worry and concern for Cat had caused her to forget about the expression she had seen on the master's face earlier, but now it flashed back into her mind with vivid clarity. She spun around and stared at the door, picturing the scene as it happened.

Her eyes narrowed. He had something to do with it, she thought. He looked as guilty as a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. Then her shoulders slumped. But that doesn't make any sense, she whispered. Why would Master William want Cat's fiancés dead?

Lizzie took a deep breath and exhaled as she turned back to the window. The rays from the late afternoon sun danced across the river making it glitter. She watched it for a few moments, but the look of guilt she had seen on the master’s face preyed on her mind, taking away all of the joy she usually found in the beautiful view.

She looked back over at Cat and a shiver raced up her spine, adding to the uneasiness she felt. In a trembling voice, she whispered, Why am I so sure your uncle had somethin' to do with both of your fiancé’s deaths?

Chapter 3

____________________

Lizzie was exhausted.

Her anxiety over what the doctor had said about the seriousness of Cat's head injury had caused her to spend two long, sleepless nights watching Cat as she slept to make sure she did not stop breathing. Now the sun had set on another day and although she had managed to grab a short nap here and there, her sleep deprived body could take no more; Lizzie thought she would die if she did not get a full night of sleep. Since Cat had shown no signs of trouble, Lizzie finally gave in to her exhaustion and lay down beside her, curling up next to her friend like they used to do when they were young and easily frightened by the dark. She fell asleep the moment her head touched the soft feather pillow.

She was sure she was dreaming when she heard Cat say, Lizzie, I need a drink of water, so she did nothing more than tug the quilt up tighter under her chin. Then she felt Cat shake her shoulder and heard her repeat the request. It was the first time Cat had spoken since seeing the doctor.

Lizzie sat up yawning and rubbed her eyes, positive she had just drifted off to sleep a few minutes ago. When she glanced out the window she was surprised to see that the first rays of the sun were trying to sneak over the horizon.

Give me a minute, Cat.

She yawned again and pushed the warm, nine patch quilt to the side, exposing herself to the chilly air inside the room. The instant her feet touched the floor she shivered and looked over at the fireplace. All that remained of the fire was a few glowing embers; more proof she had slept longer than a few minutes. Lizzie grabbed the other quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her, then carefully placed a couple of sticks of kindling onto the lingering fireplace coals. In a matter of seconds a small flame burst forth. She used it to light a candle.

How you feelin'? Lizzie asked, handing Cat a cup of water.

Cat swallowed all the cold liquid before answering. The back of my head is still a little tender, but the swelling has gone down. She paused and looked at Lizzie. Tears filled her blue eyes, making them shimmer in the candlelight. It wasn't a bad dream, was it? Robert is really dead.

Lizzie nodded. I'm so sorry, Cat.

She leaned back against the headboard. Her aunt had kept her so dosed with laudanum since learning of Robert's death, that she had not been given a chance to think before drifting back off to sleep. Right now, however, her head was clear. Pulling forth the inner strength she possessed in abundance, she forced herself to face the awful reality that it had happened again. Another fiancé had been murdered. Tears trickled down her face. It seemed like too much trouble to wipe them away.

Who could have done this, Lizzie?

Lizzie swallowed back the words she wanted to say. It would not be right to burden Cat with her suspicions when she had a funeral to attend a few short hours from now. She offered instead a simple. I don’t know, Cat.

It wasn’t a lie. Other than the strange look she had seen on the master’s face, she had no proof that he was involved in either of the murders. All she had was a deep-rooted gut feeling that refused to go away.

Has anyone heard from the sheriff?

Lizzie got up and put a bigger piece of wood on the fire, careful to keep her gaze from Cat. After living in the same room for so many years, they could almost read each other’s thoughts and Lizzie was determined to keep quiet about her fears until she had more proof.

Ruth heard master tellin' Miz Sarah that the sheriff doesn't have any leads. The sheriff seems sure Master Robert must have been killed somewhere else and then just dumped near the river, because he can't find a single witness that saw or heard a thin'.

Cat played with the ties on the quilt while she thought about what Lizzie had learned.

I feel so guilty, she said at last, finally wiping the tears away with her fingers. When I think about how many times I prayed for a way out of marrying him, I get sick to my stomach. I know I have told you this too many times to count, but I really thought I was over Joseph's death when I agreed to marry Robert. I didn't realize I wasn't until after I had said yes and by then it was too late. It would have hurt him so if I had broken off the engagement. Now he's...he's dead. I feel like it was my prayers that killed him.

Lizzie had walked over to the dresser to get a handkerchief, but her friend’s words caused her to turn and stare at Cat, her eyes wide with disbelief.

Cat, do you hear yourself? You don’t really think your prayers had anything to do with Robert's death, do you?

Cat reached for the handkerchief and dabbed her tears while she spoke. "I know how ridiculous it sounds, but how many times have we heard Aunt Sarah say be careful what you wish