An Unconditional Freedom

by Alyssa Cole

  He couldn’t see her, as he lay on his side, but she had both arms wrapped around him, and her head rested on his shoulder. She held him tightly—protectively—as if she wouldn’t let him go no matter what.

  It was improper, her lying with him like that. It was absurd, how he wanted to stay and let the comforting warmth of her body continue to seep through the fabric of his coat. It was dangerous that he imagined rolling over and molding himself around her, fantasized what would happen if her eyes fluttered open and that smile of hers curved her lips.

  It was frightening that he felt safe like this, that his first thoughts weren’t terrible memories, that his first sound wasn’t a strangled cry but a suppressed groan.

  He’d been celibate since he’d returned from slavery, and during his enslavement he’d thought only of returning to Elle. He had many reasons to never let anyone close again, but Janeta’s nearness was tempting. Not because he’d lusted after her, though want simmered in his veins, but the heat of her body pressed against his reminded him that there were good things in this world—pleasures as small as the feel of another person’s heartbeat keeping time with your own—and he was trying so very hard to forget.

  There, on the hard ground with the early-morning mist of a Mississippi autumn swirling around them, Daniel could feel himself wanting not only Janeta, but goodness, and light, and laughter, and that terrified him. He knew all too well how easily those things could be stripped away from a person after taking root, ripping away the parts of your heart and soul that they had been grafted to.

  In that moment, he knew why he’d been telling himself he could never be happy, apart from the fact that he didn’t deserve it. Because happiness inevitably died, either taken by force or withered on the vine. He wanted no part of that imminent loss, and especially not with a woman like Janeta.

  He shouldn’t want it, at least.

  “You awake?”

  The voice was thin and high-pitched—Moses’s attempt at a whisper. Daniel tilted his head back to find the boy sitting cross-legged in the dried grass with a large stick resting over his lap.

  “Moses?” he whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “Keepin’ watch,” Moses said proudly, his shoulders dropping back and his chest puffing out.

  A very different emotion filled Daniel as he looked up at the slim, dark boy and the determination in his eyes.

  “You should be sleeping,” Daniel said gently.

  “Ain’t tired,” Moses insisted. Then he yawned, and his determination turned to sheepishness. “Maybe a li’l.”

  The boy stood and Daniel expected him to walk back toward the wagon, but instead he took three quick steps and dropped onto the ground before Daniel, snuggling into the space against his chest.

  Daniel stiffened, buffeted by warmth and emotion on both sides.

  “Daddy let me sleep like this with him and Mama sometimes,” Moses said. “I hope they get here soon. They said they was comin’ after us, but . . . I hope massa ain’t sold them.”

  Daniel’s chest went tight. Children were so resilient. It was easy to forget that as they laughed and played, they were beset by the same fears the adults faced, except they could do even less to counter them. They could only hope that the world would do right by them, hope with the strength of imaginations not yet fettered by chains, even if their bodies were.

  “I hope they arrive soon, too,” was all Daniel replied, but he threw his arm over the boy, who sighed and cuddled closer to him. The boy’s head smelled both sweet and sweaty, and his chest began to rise and fall slowly almost immediately. How long had he sat there wanting to be held?

  Daniel could ask himself the same, he supposed. Janeta shifted behind him, though she didn’t awaken, but Daniel didn’t follow them back into sleep. He stared off into the woods beyond Moses’s head, listening to the sounds of birds and small animals. He accepted the soothing warmth these two people gave him, even if he couldn’t accept that he deserved it.

  Eventually, he moved slowly to stand, extricating himself from the two. As he pulled off his jacket he saw Janeta reach for him and then move closer to Moses instead. Her eyes did flutter open now, and she did smile; then Daniel dropped his jacket over both of them with a nod and walked off toward the trees.

  He washed his face in the creek that ran by near where they’d set up camp, the bracing water jolting him fully awake. If it wasn’t so cold, and the camp wasn’t so close, he would have stripped down and washed completely. He still stank of the anxious sweat that had bathed him as he watched the Confederate soldiers settle around their campfire and eat the food meant for the refugeeing slaves. For the children.

  He was embarrassed Janeta had been so close to him, had been able to smell his fear and anger and impotence.

  He’d wanted to hurt the soldiers badly that night. He’d felt it like a pounding in his blood, driving him toward them, demanding they pay for the pain they so casually wrought by experiencing it in kind. Unfeeling Rebels weren’t deserving of mercy, from either God or man. But hurting them could have had far more dire ramifications. Could he have killed all the soldiers quickly and cleanly? Or would one have shot wildly, perhaps hitting an innocent child, or run off and brought back more Rebs to bear down on them? He hadn’t wanted to see Jim, Augustus, or any of the others hurt because he hadn’t been able to control his anger.

  His hands began to shake as he remembered the way the Rebel had looked down on him from his horse. Daniel had wanted to put fear into that man’s heart, the same fear that resided in his own.

  If he accomplished his goal in Enterprise, that soldier and others like him would know fear. And those like Daniel might feel a moment of vindication—the knowledge that men who did the devil’s work weren’t impervious to justice. As good as Janeta and Moses’s warmth had felt, nothing would feel as good as vengeance. He needed to remember this. If he didn’t, he might lose sight of why he’d joined the Loyal League, and the unique opportunity before him.

  “Are you feeling rested?”

  Her voice came from behind him, and though his thoughts were in a dark place, he felt his face warm beneath his palms and the corners of his lips curl up. He swiped the moisture from his beard and turned to her.

  “I am. I couldn’t help but notice that you were beside me when I awoke.”

  “Yes.” A statement of cold fact divorced from the warm memory of her that Daniel would have to fight against now.

  He waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he sighed. “Why?”

  “I was cold.” She raised a brow, but her gaze was soft. “And you were so worried about . . . making noise. I thought perhaps having someone near you might drive the nightmares away.”

  Daniel had absolutely nothing to say to that. The ugly voice in his mind told him that he should be ashamed that she’d thought he needed her assistance, but he found that something else was crowding out the shame. Gratitude. It didn’t batter into him like a wave, but filled him slowly, like a rivulet pouring into a basin that had been parched by drought.

  In those first months back home after being freed, there had been a brief period where he’d thought that everything would go back to normal. Then the dark thoughts had come, and the nightmares that left his throat hoarse and frightened his parents and neighbors. His father would shake him awake, telling him to pull himself together, that men shouldn’t behave in such an unbecoming way. There had been such fear on his father’s face, and sometimes anger. Daniel couldn’t blame him—Richard Cumberland was the child of formerly enslaved people. How it must have galled to see his son unable to bear for such a brief period what some were born into and departed into the afterlife from without experiencing otherwise. Daniel knew his father had been trying to help in the only way the old man had known how to, but at the time Daniel had grown sullen and frustrated.

  “Can’t you just be there for me? Without judgment? Without pity?”

  The words had flown from his lips, and he’d apologized witho
ut meaning it. Then he’d told himself that it was too much to ask, that he deserved no such grace, and he’d set out to at least die with a purpose if he couldn’t live with one. But Sanchez—Janeta—had given that grace to him without his even having to ask.

  She was dangerous.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “You didn’t have to.”

  “And you didn’t have to protect me when we were on the pook turtle, or carry Moses on your back yesterday though you were too tired to walk in a straight line.”

  Daniel made a noise, and Janeta shrugged.

  “Do not think of yourself as a burden. You’re not,” she said softly, and the words tore into that secret longing he thought he’d shielded from everyone. He wanted to believe her so badly that the hope was a heavy ache in him. “I did it because I wanted to, but also because you deserve it. You deserve to be cared for.”

  Somehow, they were very close together now, despite the wide stretch of land along the water; he realized they’d been taking small steps toward each other ever since she’d answered yes to his inquiry. Had she done it unconsciously, as he had?

  Her lips parted and she looked up at him through those thick lashes of hers. Whether she’d done it unconsciously or not, she was aware of their closeness now, and she wasn’t shying away from it.

  His voice was rough when he spoke. “You take things any man should do and make them seem noble.”

  She shook her head and took another step closer.

  “Don’t you understand? That you think any man should do these things is what makes you noble.”

  She was so close that Daniel needed only to lower his head to capture her mouth with his own. That he even thought of such a scenario was a shock to him, but less so than the sudden certain need he felt for her. It wasn’t just desire that made his skin pebble beneath her gaze. He didn’t deserve to have a woman looking at him like this—like he mattered. Like she would have him know that he did.

  Daniel wondered what it would be like to feel worthy of such an expression. Maybe he could pretend, just for a bit, since they were already acting. Just until they parted ways with the people who thought them to be a man and a woman who were intimate. He leaned his mouth closer to hers, or rather allowed it to go where it would if he stopped holding himself away from her.

  She didn’t pull back. She held her ground as he moved closer, her eyes wide and expectant. He was inches from her face when he saw something peeking through her frizzed hair. A sharp cream edge, like folded paper. It could have been anything, but something about it sent a shock of foreboding disquiet through him. The women in the Loyal League often hid notes plaited into their hair, where prying eyes—and fingers—rarely ventured.

  “You got any dispatches to send out, Sanchez?” he asked suddenly, halting his forward motion.

  “What?” The smile that had teased about her mouth twisted into a grimace of confusion.

  He pressed on. “I was hoping to find a way to send some dispatches before we got to Enterprise, so if you have anything to pass along, you can give it to me.”

  “You really are an interesting man,” she said in what he supposed was a joking tone. “I have nothing.”

  Her hand reached up to smooth over her hair, over the spot where he’d seen the flash of cream, and his stomach clenched.

  “All right,” he said as he turned and headed back to the camp, the mantle of humiliation and anger he’d temporarily shed settling over his shoulders once more.

  He’d forgotten himself for a moment. Dyson had joked about how green Sanchez was when he’d assigned Daniel to partner with her, but she’d always impressed Daniel with her ability to adapt. He remembered her introduction to the other detectives, how she’d picked up so quickly on what people wanted to hear, and responded accordingly. She’d told him flat out that she knew what gave people pleasure and excelled at giving it to them, and she was likely falling into habit, if not something more nefarious.

  No one would be kind to a man like me just for the sake of it.

  Daniel reminded himself of that truth, and that he’d have to watch himself with her from here on out. He’d allowed himself to slip into emotion, but no matter how friendly she was, Sanchez was dangerous. At the very least she’d aroused interests that shouldn’t be aroused, and that alone was enough for him to keep her at arm’s length. He had plans, and he wouldn’t be distracted from them by pretty words and a prettier smile, no matter how much he wished he could believe them.

  CHAPTER 15

  “We should get to Meridian by evening, if the fella I just talked to knows what he’s about,” Jim said. He dragged his feet a bit, scraping away the mud that clung to his boots from venturing into the marshy field beside the road, where he’d spotted a man at work repairing a plow. “Then you two can continue on your way.”

  Daniel sobered. He’d spent so much time spinning fantasies of vengeance against the South or avoiding fantasies of Janeta, he hadn’t actually thought about how he would get to the man who was key to all of this: the British consul. The Russians said he was a lord, or close enough. Unsurprising. The British wasted much breath on the topic of their staunch abolitionism, but the wealth of their empire was drenched in the blood of slaves. Tea and sugar tasted quite fine with scones, but they didn’t appear on the isles by magic.

  He considered discussing the matter with Janeta, but he’d avoided her for most of the day. She’d gotten too close, and it would take time to repair the damage to his mental defenses, and to his ego. He’d allowed himself to think she might really . . . no. None of that mattered, even if embarrassment flooded him at how close he’d come to pressing his mouth to hers. Not just because he knew she couldn’t possibly truly want him, but because given what he knew of her, she might have let him do it anyway. She knew that her greatest skill was seeing what people wanted, but he wasn’t sure she was aware that her greatest weakness was wanting to give it to them.

  Daniel told himself that using that weakness against her wasn’t retribution for stirring feelings he wished still lay dormant. Her smile had abruptly fallen away the first time he had greeted her with coldness after their near kiss. He’d decided he would treat her as he had the other detectives before she’d come into his life. The behavior hadn’t won him any friends.

  “Paranoid fool don’t trust his own shadow creeping up behind him.”

  Daniel didn’t need friends.

  His fellow detectives didn’t understand. How could he explain a night spent toasting his own bravery that ended with him locked in a coffin, choking on bile and fear? How could he explain his behavior on the plantation, his attempts to improve the lives of his fellow slaves that had only made things worse.

  He hated that he’d thought Janeta might understand. No one would.

  His scalp was prickling and his chest was beginning to feel tight, and he needed a distraction to ward off what might become a shameful attack.

  “What will you do when you get to Meridian?” Daniel asked Jim.

  “Well, we’ll set to work preparing the house for our father and the rest of ’em who will come down soon after. He’s got an overseer there waitin’ on us, to make sure we don’t feel too free after traveling all this way alone, I suppose.”

  There was no anger in Jim’s voice. There was nothing at all, and it chilled Daniel to hear a man speak of his own forced servitude so blandly.

  “Do you . . . do you want to get free?” Daniel asked, the words heavy on his tongue. He didn’t know why he asked such a thing, or why he spoke at all.

  “What I want don’t matter,” Jim said bluntly. “What I want don’t change nothing.”

  “But if the North wins, or the Yanks take Meridian—”

  “If the Yanks take Meridian, I’ll think on gettin’ free then.” A deep furrow settled on each side of his frown before he spoke again. “He was supposed to free us, you know. Before this war talk started. He was lettin’ me and Augustus work toward our freedom, or so he said. Then the talk of e
mancipation started up and something went wrong in his head. He said we was his, and he wasn’t letting a one of us go now, even if we could pay him.” Jim tugged at his ear, then wiped a hand across his mouth. “On the day we got word of the proclamation, things got real heavy. Like, the air got all suffocating. He was slamming stuff around and muttering and getting in the way.

  “We got word that our neighbor didn’t want to deal with the bother. He called his slaves together and told them they was free to go, who wanted to go. They left by night, ’fore he could change his mind and ’fore anyone else could hear and lay claim on ’em. My wife was born to that master, and coulda been free if she hadn’t married me.”

  Daniel had heard of such occurrences—masters who had reacted with resignation even as the Confederates marched on toward their supposed God-given glory.

  “We didn’t say nothing, but you could feel that knowin’ buzzing through everything and everyone. We knew. And he didn’t like that one bit. Pulled at his whiskey all the next day, face all scrunched and miserable, then marched us all to the bank of the river. Made me go stand right along the edge of a bluff.” Jim’s voice was rough now, and it cracked a little at that; he cleared his throat. “The sun was setting, and it was hittin’ that muddy water so pretty, but the air was full of evil. And his eyes and his heart was full of evil. He pulled out his gun and fired before I even knew what was happening. I felt a bullet go right past my head.”

  Daniel thought of his annoyance with his own father, how he’d felt the man no longer understood him, but Jim and Augustus’s filial relations gave him new perspective. His father had hurt him, but not like this. He wouldn’t be capable of such malice.

  Augustus cut in, voice hard instead of his normal cheery tone. “He said, ‘You darkies belong to me. And I’d rather line you all up and kill you ’fore I let some Yanks take you from me.’ I thought he was gonna shoot us all right there.”