So sorry for the super long wait on this chapter and update for this fic. Writer's block really shot my muse in the head, multiple times. Though, I have recently found myself wanting to write this again and, after watching the film again, decided to give it another go. I hope this chapter doesn't suck too badly. :)
Warning: Due to the film's language and how closely this fic will be following the movie at some points, the N-word will be used. I am simply using it for Canon. I do not in any way, shape, or form, like the word, nor do I use it outside this fic. I am willing to bump ratings if it bothers enough people, but for now I am putting this as fair warning.
Cooper's Gold
...
Chapter Four
They were talking like she wasn't in the room.
It didn't bother her this time, though, as Grace really had nothing to add to the conversation. Her mind was still reeling about the whole conversation she had with Calvin earlier about her "anger issues", and now Lara had just been told what Calvin's supposed solution to that was. Grace kept her eyes downward, the tips of her fork picking at and pulling apart the piece of cake that was sitting on her plate. She had a look of concentration on her face, like she was deeply studying the treat while her aunt's voice filled her ears once again.
"I will not have my niece takin' part in such a bloodsport!" she exclaimed, Grace somewhat surprised and relieved at how her aunt was actually coming to her rescue. She knew how much Calvin loved his sister, maybe her refusal to the idea might be enough to sway him against the notion. For a few moments, Grace believed that she might not have to witness a fight to death, though the belief started to crack somewhat as she heard Calvin's voice, his tone firm.
"Now, Lara-Lee," he stated, the smell of whatever he had been smoking lingering in Grace's nose for a few moments, "I ain't forcin' her to come watch a fight with me. Though, I do believe that it will help her with her lashin' out and she will need to know these things when she is older. I ain't goin' to be living forever."
"You would really want her to run your plantation?" Lara asked, almost sounding more disbelieving about that notion more than having Grace witness a Mandigo fight. Grace glanced up from her plate, looking at Lara, who was watching Calvin as he leaned back in his chair slightly.
"O' course not," he said after a few moments, taking a glance towards Grace, who now had her attention on him as well, "What other choice do I have? I don't see one. She doesn't appear to be wantin' to get married, she barely leaves Candieland."
"Well, of course she doesn't," Lara said, "You have her locked up in here, surrounded by servants. I do believe she is lucky that I'm here to keep her company. No wonder she is lashin' out," she seemed to straighten out, one of her smiles crossing her face as she did so, "I also believe I can offer an alternative."
"Well, let's hear it."
Grace really would have been fine if Lara offered more alone time with her, maybe to pay someone to be another companion. She honestly wasn't prepared for what Lara offered up, though she really should have been.
"George Bakeman has been lookin' for a wife for a while now," Lara said, grinning at Grace while the young woman shifted awkwardly in her seat. "He comes from a wealthy plantation, it could be well worth the business, an' he would be capable of runnin' Candieland when the time comes."
"No."
The word slipped through Grace's mouth so easily, she barely had to think about it. As soon as the name "George" slipped through Lara's smiling lips, her decision had been made. Lara looked over at her like she had grown a second head, and in her mind, it was within reason.
George was a rather attractive man in his mid-thirties, who was known for his...less than faithful ways. He was a man that had entitlement written across his forehead, and certainly had the attitude to match it. Having Candieland left in his name would not just carve the word further into his head, but probably explode it as well. Sure, Grace knew that Calvin's plantation wasn't the most wealthiest plantation, but it was certainly up there. It was the fourth, actually.
Still, as much as part of her said otherwise, there was no way she was going to go from a plantation owner's daughter to a plantation owner's wife.
Grace doubted that Calvin or Lara knew how many times she fantasized about escaping the plantation. It was more than once each day. Though, two things always stopped her from doing so.
The first reason was Calvin's head slave, Stephen, who seemed to be the most observant man she had ever encountered. He was a silver haired house slave, who shook and wobbled around on his cane, and kissed Calvin's ass so much that it honestly amazed Grace sometimes. There had been a number of hits and lectures that she had received from Calvin, courtesy of Stephen's voice in his ear and Grace's failure to notice the slave's presence. She was sure that, even when he wasn't looking, somehow he knew what she was doing.
The second reason was the trackers that remained in a shack on the edge of the plantation, a rowdy bunch of people who always seemed ready to go after any slave that attempted to escape. Grace figured that if Calvin cared that much about runaway slaves, he would be relentless about her. It was the main reason for her not to just hike up her skirts and run, she would need to plan.
"Why ever not?" Lara asked suddenly, breaking Grace's train of thought, the focus returning back into the young woman's eyes.
"George, he's..." Grace started, bringing her hand up to scratch at her dark hair, "he's disgusting. Unfaithful, as cocky as a damn rooster, and would more likely feign affection for the idea of running Papa's plantation. I would rather watch a Mandigo fight than..." she trailed off, seeming to realize what she was saying.
Calvin brought his hand down on the table, a little too forcefully to match with the grin on his face.
"See? It's settled, then."
"Calvin-" Lara began, her tone sharp, though she seemed to soften slightly as she spoke to Grace again, "Gracie, darlin', you've never even met George. You don't even know what you are sayin'. You would rather watch such a...violent sport in comparison to marryin' George Bakeman?"
"If you're so damn excited 'bout George Bakeman, why don't you fuckin' marry him?" Grace snapped, eating utensils gripped tightly in her hands, "He's closer to your damn age, anyway."
"Grace!" Lara exclaimed, her eyes wide and hand resting on her chest. Grace, who was starting to feel like she was much to hot to be sitting with the two of them, placed the items in her hands down on the table, sitting back in her chair.
"You won't be talkin' to your aunt like that," Calvin stated, Grace looking him in the eyes, knowing it would upset him more if she didn't, "You and I will be havin' a conversation about this later. Leave the table."
Like the scolded child she felt, Grace quickly rose from her chair, offering her offended aunt a quick apology before leaving the room, passing a glaring Stephen on her way. She managed to catch something Calvin muttered, only seeming to fuel the anger she was pushing down.
"Do ya see what I'm talkin' about?"
You fuckin' idiot! Grace yelled at herself, trying not to look at the person in front of her, watching him lead her own towards the study as her nose burned with the tears she was holding back. If there was one thing she was ashamed of, it was crying about saying what she wanted to say. A sigh escaped her mouth, her cheeks wet with the few tears that had managed to slip through. She was scared, of course. Grace figured that the best way to get along with Calvin and Lara was to agree with everything they say, nod along like a simpleton and just carry on as she was. Though, she just couldn't.
There was so much to say, like a box stuffed with items. Some were bound to fall out eventually.
"I don' understand why ya always step on Monsieur Candie's toes, he's always doin' what's best for ya," Stephen spoke up from in front of her, giving her a look over his shoulder, "Maybe if ya'll was actually related..."
Grace felt a snap coming up, but it faded slightly. Why would she try and defend the right to claim she was related to a man she hated more often than not? Maybe it was the fact that anymore confrontation would leave her crying like a baby, she certainly felt that way. She could always correct Stephen, he seemed to speak his mind with her. Grace knew why, too. Because she would never correct him or assert whatever twisted authority she had over him, even if he deserved it sometimes.
Though, she knew for certain he would never make a comment like his last one in front of Calvin. For a reason that Grace could never really understand, he always seemed so insistent that people believe that she was related to him. She had gotten enough bruising grips on her shoulder from introducing him as her adoptive father in public, even if Grace was sure he knew that fact all too well.
"Monsieur Candie?" Stephen called, opening the door to the all too familiar study, "Mademoiselle Grace is here to see ya."
Miss, Grace corrected in her head, I don't have a drop of French in me, for fuck's sake.
"Yeah, great, Stephen," she heard her father say, "let her in and leave us."
Grace walked into the study, hearing the door close behind her as she watched Calvin look up from his desk. There was something off about it, she had been so used to see him up when she would walk in, especially if she was expecting a beating. He looked so casual, though he seemed to notice the look on his daughter's face, the redness of her eyes, her hands shaking. Calvin rose up, stepping around his desk so that he was standing in front of it.
"I ain't mad at you," he said, gesturing that she came closer. Grace stared at him, wondering what sort of game he was playing, though she still walked towards him. There were a few moments of shock when she found herself pressing her face against the fabric of his jacket, being held there tightly as Calvin ran a hand through her hair. While Grace would have to be blind or an idiot not to see that, despite the anger and violence that Calvin displays towards her sometimes, he obviously cared for her. Though, aside from the kisses on the cheek, that was as close as they got.
So, Grace wasn't sure what made her cry, the relief that she wasn't going to get hit for her comments towards Lara, or that she was close enough to Calvin to smell the whiskey and smoke on his jacket. It wasn't sobbing, but she seemed to shake a little more harshly than before.
...She had no idea what to do about that situation.
"Now, now," Calvin said after a few moments, Grace's arms still resting limply at her sides. The closest she got to returning the embrace was her right hand gripping at the bottom of his jacket. She quickly wiped tears away from her eyes as he pulled back, partly relieved to be away from him and yet she kind of wished she had returned the hug. "Now, why don't you tell me what is goin' on in the head of yours? Lara asked you a perfectly innocent question and you snapped at her. You realize you hurt her?"
"I'm aware I hurt her. I will apologize to her as soon as I can," she paused for a few moments, looking down at her feet. "I don't want to marry George Bakeman. I don't know why, but I just don't."
"We aren't forcin' you to marry him," Calvin said, "Lara just wants you to consider it, Darlin'. If you do marry him, it could be very beneficial to both Candieland and the Bakeman plantation. The idea ain't a bad one."
"I don't know..." Grace muttered, knowing all to well that she did know what she wanted to do about the George Bakeman situation. It felt like a double-edged sword. Marry George and spend the rest of her life living on yet another plantation, where she would still be forced to smile politely and push out children. Then she could very well go to Greenville with her father, get mentally scarred for life, and probably worsen her issues even more than before.
Hell, they could probably make her do both. Have her newlywed husband sitting beside her, a grin on his face and arm slung over her shoulder while both him and her father would cheer on two people killing each other.
She could feel a cold sweat dot the back of her neck. Still, the more rational part of her knew what was the better choice. Grace could even attempt to make her escape while living with George Bakeman. She could see it now, her dear husband leaving to sleep with another woman, Grace leaving in the night and starting her own life.
It was fucking delusional.
It was fucking brilliant.
"Think about it," Calvin placing his hand on her shoulder, "though, don't go thinkin' that Lara's idea is cancellin' mine out. We don't need you lashin' out at George Bakeman."
"Yes, Papa," Grace stated, emotionless. No anger, no irritation, just a growing sense of numbness.
Though, a little fire still burned deep down inside her. She could never stomp it out, so she figured she should slowly keep building it.
"Tell Lara I will be willin' to meet George Bakeman," she stated after a few moments, looking at Calvin, "that doesn't mean that I will be ready to run off with him."
"Of course, Gracie," Calvin said, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, "What makes you think I would allow that?"
