by Alyssa Cole
Had her mother truly been the only one to capture Don Sanchez’s attentions? Had Janeta been his only princesa? She thought again of the girl in the cane field.
“She looks like me, Mami.”
She began plucking furiously, focusing on the awful feel of feather tugged from flesh instead of the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. She could never be sure, but that fact made it worse. In her last weeks, her mother had ranted and raved, and no one had known what to do. She’d wasted away in her bed, refusing to eat, murmuring in Spanish and a language that sounded like the whispers in the slave quarters.
Iya ran mi. I tried so hard, iya.
“Did that chicken do you wrong before it met its maker?”
Janeta looked up and felt how her expression was contorted by grief and anger. She forced her features to smooth out as she looked at Daniel, standing just a few feet away. He’d been more open since they joined with the refugees, like the wails of his nightmare had bled some of the bitterness out of him, releasing it up into the gray morning sky.
He’d had longer conversation with Jim, Augustus, and the other refugeeing slaves, had talked freely and not resorted to barbs and anger, though he had gone quiet from time to time. He’d touched her arm, even joked with her, going along with the lie that they were an item.
She hated how much she liked that lie.
She had fallen asleep after their discussion the night before, cursing herself for saying too much, for fooling herself along with everyone else. But Daniel had been more open, and she wondered if that was what he’d been like before he’d been kidnapped.
“This chicken said something rude about the state of my dress,” she replied, a smile curving her lips despite the turmoil in her mind. She glared at the carcass and gave it a shake, drawing a chuckle from him.
“Well, then it brought this aggressive defeathering on itself.” He sat beside her and held his hand out. “Let me.”
She was confused, but she passed over the surprisingly heavy carcass and he took up where she’d left off. He wasn’t quite so good as Moses, but a sight better than her.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
She’d been in the back of a wagon crowded with children and supplies, but her answer to him was honest. “I slept better than I have in some time, after speaking with you.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Good to know my conversation induces slumber.”
She was opening her mouth to explain when he glanced at her, mischief in his eyes. Daniel was joking again, perhaps even flirting. Her pulse sped up.
“Last time it was you who fell asleep. And used me as a pillow I might add.” She was struck then by how even though he’d held her at arm’s length, he’d still fallen asleep against her. It had likely been because of pure exhaustion, but . . . She remembered sitting still, barely breathing as he dozed against her. That had all been forgotten after the attack, but now she remembered—vividly. It seemed Daniel had forgotten, too.
He pressed his lips together and she saw just the quickest flash of his tongue.
“That is true. I guess we’re about even,” he said. His voice was lower than usual, and something flickered in his eyes. She knew what she would have said if they were really a couple, or really flirting.
No, to be even I’d have to use you as a pillow.
But the mere thought of that sent all kinds of ideas tumbling through her mind. Ideas she shouldn’t be having.
“This is a nice way to travel,” she said suddenly, then immediately backtracked. “Well, the destination isn’t nice, and neither is the reason for the journey. I just mean—”
“I got what you meant, Sanchez,” he said quietly, his gaze on the chicken. “It’s not my usual style. I prefer being alone.”
She thought about his crushed soul. She thought of how he’d chuckled quietly when Jim had told a long-winded tall tale earlier as they’d set up camp, then seemed to catch himself mid-laugh, as if such simple joy wasn’t allowed to him.
“Right,” she replied, her ideas stopped mid-tumble. “Everyone has their preferences, I suppose.”
That was an assumption on her behalf, since she usually tailored her preferences to whoever was in her vicinity.
Daniel sighed and brushed feathers from his thigh. “But I have to admit that perhaps companionship isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
She had been speaking of their newfound travel mates, but could he mean her, too? And their discussions?
No. He’d been sharp and cagey with her just two nights before. His newfound sense of humor hadn’t been sparked by her, and she shouldn’t care if it was. She was still untangling what Henry had really been about and didn’t need to start feeling warm about the neck for the next man who happened to show her kindness. Especially a man who would hate her if he ever knew what her intentions had been when she joined.
“No, it is not.” She sighed, and shivered a bit against the breeze. “I don’t think I shall ever get used to this cold. I nearly froze through last night.”
Daniel didn’t respond for a long moment. “I should apologize again, for the other morning. I’m not going to sleep again tonight. I can’t risk everyone here.”
Had he not slept at all while keeping watch? Janeta was struck by how easily he decided to forego his own comfort.
“Do they happen often? These nightmares?”
“No, but I never can tell when they’ll strike. That’s part of why I preferred not having a partner. No one to endanger, and no one to look at me with pity when I woke myself squalling like I was still in a crib.”
His voice was losing its lightness, like the bile was rising up in him again, clawing itself back up his throat to blot out his good feelings. She thought of how he’d listened to her talk about herself the previous night, how he hadn’t judged her.
“Well, it’s not like you wet yourself,” she said absently. “I did that a few months back.”
“Pardon?” His voice was strangled, but not by bile. She didn’t think so at least.
“It was so hot, and I drank an entire pitcher of water before going to bed. I can sleep rather soundly sometimes, and well . . .” She didn’t know where to go with the outrageous lie that had pushed itself out of her mouth to head off his despair. “I suppose the two of us make a fine pair. One who cries like a baby, and one who pisses like one.”
When she turned to him he was staring at her wide-eyed. A tuft of feathers clung to his beard, and the shift of it just before his laughter shook it loose sent a surge of pleasure through her, almost as much as the sound that followed it. Daniel had a fine laugh, low and quiet, and his eyes crinkled at the corners, the crow’s feet like irrigation ditches on the plantation but carrying mirth instead of water, which was no less vital.
She allowed herself to laugh, too. They were pretending after all. That they were a couple. That she was a Loyal League detective. That she wasn’t hopelessly tangled in a knot of her own making. She couldn’t think of Henry, or her father, or her true mission now. Not amongst these people. So she laughed and then grabbed the chicken from Daniel, pulling out the last of its feathers and holding it up.
“You finally done with that?” Shelley called out. She was smiling, too. “Come on and bring that bird over here.”
Dios, I’m tired of pretending, but this part? I don’t want this part to end.
Daniel stood, taking the chicken back from Janeta with a bow before conveying it to Shelley. Janeta followed, in search of a task she could complete without assistance. Shelley set her to cutting up some wrinkled potatoes and withered carrots, and she did, only nicking herself once.
The chicken had crisped up nice and brown, dripping its juices down over the vegetables to mask their age in greasy goodness, and the sun had set, when the sound of approaching hooves startled them.
“Children, get in the wagon,” Jim said. He’d been smiling a moment before, but now his face was blank. His lips pressed together into a blanched line as the children
darted off, looking back longingly at their dinner.
Daniel came to stand beside Jim and Augustus, and Janeta began to walk toward him when he fixed her with a gaze shrouded in his familiar coldness. “Go mind the children with the women.”
She thought of what he’d said to her when she’d tried to wander into the woods, and didn’t argue, though she did pull out her guns as she settled into the wagon, peering out as three men in tattered gray rode up. These were men who, in another time, would have begged work outside of the Sanchez’s Florida farm. Now they were infused with the confidence of uniforms and guns and dominion.
“What you doing out here?” one of the Confederate soldiers said. He looked to be of the lowest rank, the kind of man she’d have passed the note still braided up in her hair. A shiver ran down her spine when she saw how he regarded Daniel and put his hand on the gun at his side. His gaze slid to Jim and Augustus, wary. Could he tell?
“We just refugeeing some slaves,” Augustus said. His voice had a different tone, a kind of aggressive but friendly confidence, and Janeta wondered if he wasn’t imitating his father. She wasn’t an expert at American grammar, but she was certain his words were meant to be vague. He could have meant they were the slaves, or that they were in charge of the journey, and both were true.
“You got some proof of that?” the soldier asked.
Augustus searched about in his pocket with his hand and pulled out a folded paper. The soldier took it and read, slowly, brow creased. His fingers caressed the butt of his gun and Janeta’s heart began to pound. Sweat broke out on her brow as she remembered the bullets hitting the pook turtle—even the thick metal hadn’t been impenetrable, and the canvas of the wagon would pose no threat.
These men, they can do anything to us. And no one would know. And if they did know, few would care, apart from a slave master worried over his losses.
That she couldn’t even imagine Henry mourning her loss was a realization she would deal with later.
The tense silence stretched out. She could faintly make out the man’s lips moving as he read slowly and silently. Daniel, Augustus, and Jim stood still, but the flickering firelight danced across their clothing.
“All right. Looks about true, and even if it weren’t, ain’t no place for darkies to escape to. They’d follow that North Star right into the muzzle of a Rebel rifle.”
He handed back the paper as the other soldiers laughed.
“That’s a mighty fine dinner, though,” another of the men said. “Shame to waste it on darkies.”
Janeta’s momentary relief quickly veered into anger. The hungry children shuffled behind her, and she gripped her pistols.
“We got kids to feed,” Augustus said in a low voice. “Master said we got to keep them in good condition on account of he don’t want no slaves he can’t fetch a good price for.”
The soldier shrugged.
“Well, we’s got orders to commandeer food and all that might be useful to us. Although, now that you mention it, maybe some little darkies would be more useful than chicken and taters. Chicken can’t shine up my shoes and fetch my breakfast.”
Janeta closed her eyes and prayed. She prayed for lightning to strike the man. She prayed to open her eyes and live in a world where she hadn’t been blind to such monstrous acts, but when she blinked them open, nothing had changed. Nothing at all, except the sickening rage that filled her.
This wasn’t fair. In no world could this be seen as fair. But this was reality. The world she had lived in, with pretty porcelain dolls and lacy dresses, was the fraying fantasy stretched thin over the ugliness, and it had been ripped irreparably.
“If it’s to help the Rebs, of course you should take the food,” Jim cut in, trying to sound pleasant.
“You’re damn right,” the soldier said, seemingly annoyed that his chance to take it by force had been undercut by the offer. “We’re fighting to keep these darkies out of the clutches of the Yanks. Ain’t no way in hell they should eat better than us. Bring us some drink, too.”
The soldiers all dismounted—they didn’t mean to just take the food. They would sit and enjoy it. Jim and Augustus moved away, but Daniel stood still, his back hunched and his shoulders stiff.
“Shoo, boy. The men are having dinner now,” one of the soldiers said, knocking his shoulder into Daniel as he passed him. The soldier was a full foot shorter and scrawny—Daniel could have easily smote the man from existence. But the soldier didn’t even think that a possibility worth considering. His friends had weapons and would be happy to use them.
“Over here, Cumberland,” Augustus called out.
Daniel didn’t move for a long moment and the Rebels stared at him. Finally, he turned toward the brothers and walked stiffly away.
The soldiers laughed and ate noisily, singing “Dixie” and other Confederate songs. Janeta had used to accompany Henry on piano as he sang in his slightly off-key voice. The memory made her sick. Had that been her? Really?
The children began to whimper, and she assisted Shelley in shushing them. Moses crawled into her lap and took the edge of her coat’s lapel into his mouth. “I’m hungry,” he mumbled around the material.
She ran her hand over his head and sighed. “It will be all right,” she whispered. “Stay quiet now.”
He nodded into her collarbone and Janeta glanced toward the fire. The men were finally standing. Augustus and Jim walked over, their expressions blank. The soldiers were looking toward the wagon now. One took off his hat and scratched his head, and another burped loudly. Jim shook his head, and the soldier started to get agitated.
“If you want another chicken, we can give you another ’un,” Jim said. “But that’s all you’ll get.”
One of the horses made a soft noise, and Janeta saw a shadow move against other shadows near them.
“Says who?” the soldier who had demanded the dinner asked.
The shadow stopped moving.
“ ’Cause I’m fighting for my country, and that means I get recompense.” His gaze slid toward the wagon again, eyes large and covetous, and Janeta’s blood chilled. She understood what the soldiers wanted now. The same thing the Yanquis who had cornered her in her own home had wanted. What Henry had sweet-talked her out of.
She settled Moses on the floor and pulled out her pistols again. Her hands were shaking too badly to handle knives.
“Are there monsters?” Moses asked.
“Shhh, little one. Go sit with the others.” He scrambled across the wagon, where Mavis and Shelley stared wide-eyed. They couldn’t see what was happening, but they seemed to have guessed. Unlike Janeta, they had probably been tensed for this as soon as the men had arrived. They hadn’t been taught that Confederate soldiers were gentlemen, that they fought to keep women safe.
Suddenly, there was a loud whinny and one of the soldier’s horses reared up before running off into the darkness.
“Aw, shit, that horse’s got the supplies!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Didn’t you tie him, Amos?”
“I did! I swear I did!”
The soldiers ran to the remaining horses, jumping into their saddles, and took off after the horse that had run off. They left nothing but dust and silence, and the lingering residue of their lecherous intent, in their wake.
Janeta didn’t put her guns away, not yet, but she allowed herself to take a deep breath, filling her lungs after the shallow, anxious gasps she’d sipped while watching terror unfold. She’d already figured it out before Daniel reentered the circle of firelight, but still, something warm and proud and victorious pulsed through her when he appeared, resheathing his knife. He didn’t look like he was savoring his hoodwinking the men, though. His face was drawn as Augustus and Jim confronted him.
The three men conferred for a moment; then they all approached the wagon.
“Don’t much like traveling by night, but I believe it’s best we break camp,” Augustus said quietly. “Now.”
He didn’t meet Janeta’s searching gaz
e as she hopped down. Shelley hurried down to help load the wagon around the children; then they all got a move on. Daniel walked behind the wagon, gun at the ready and gaze searching the dense forest, as they slowly passed down the road. The mule took a plodding pace in the darkness, guided by moonlight, but it was better than veering off the road or attracting attention by lighting the lamp.
Janeta hopped down from the wagon to walk beside Daniel.
“I hadn’t planned on sleeping tonight anyhow,” he said. “But you should.”
“I’ll stand guard with you,” she said quietly.
She wanted to be near him and she didn’t know why. It was different from when Henry had rested his hot gaze on her and taken her hand beneath the tablecloth. She felt odd, like she might cry or might scream if she didn’t say what she needed to.
“Daniel?” Her voice shook.
“Sanchez?” His was flat—he didn’t want to talk.
She reached out, bare fingers cutting through the cool night air because she’d dropped her gloves in the darkness of the wagon, and placed her palm over his heart again.
“You are a good man.” Her words came out trembling, but she pressed on. “I know you do not trust easily, but this is something I would never lie about.”
She felt his sharp intake of breath in the swell of his broad chest beneath her hand. She dropped her hand then, but she didn’t leave his side.
They walked in silence broken only by the slow roll of wagon wheels, and together they listened for Rebels in the silent Mississippi night.
CHAPTER 14
Daniel awoke with no recollection of when he’d fallen asleep.
He’d kept watch for two nights after their dinner had been plundered before Janeta had finally forced him to lie down, reminding him that if any Rebels or slavers were to ambush them, he’d be of no use if he was so exhausted he could be knocked over with a feather. She’d said she would stand watch with Augustus as Daniel slept, but he was slowly growing aware of a weight behind him. On him.
