Heirs of Acadia - 02 - The Innocent Libertine

by T. Davis Bunn

  Chapter 28

  Lillian was emotionally and physically exhausted. Yet a shared excitement seemed to run like a current through the dark house. Beside her in the large four-poster bed, Abigail had tried to be silent, but the young woman had been restless and stirring constantly through the long hours. Lillian could well understand her anticipation. A day’s journey, two or three at most, and her future would stand there before her. Who would not be both thrilled and terrified at such a prospect. From somewhere down below their bedroom came the quiet rumble of male voices.

  Finally Abigail whispered, “Are you awake?”

  “I am.”

  “I have disturbed your sleep. I am so sorry.”

  “It is not you.”

  “You are excited about tomorrow’s journey?”

  The determination neither to lie to her dear young friend nor dampen her enthusiasm left Lillian in a quandary. Finally she replied, “Everything is mingled together into a great knot that extends from my mind to my stomach.”

  “I know precisely what you mean.”

  No, Lillian silently replied. No, you do not. And may you never be faced with such a dilemma, or such a night. “Whatever do you suppose the men are still talking over downstairs?”

  Abigail said, “No doubt they are planning the route ahead.”

  “No doubt.”

  Abigail rolled over on her back. “Might I ask what you are thinking about?”

  What to tell her? “I wish God were closer just now. Such a desire would never have occurred to me before. But now I yearn for it desperately.”

  “Closer than any brother, that is what the Scriptures promise.”

  “Never did I imagine that such a desire could be possible. Especially for me.” Her throat constricted. Or that she should ever need a friend so desperately.

  “Sometimes the only way I can fathom the Savior’s grace,” Abigail said, “is by light of who I am without Him.”

  Lillian mulled that over for a time, then turned to Abigail’s profile in the moonlight. “Now it is my turn. What are you thinking?”

  “Two things,” she replied slowly. “What my calling might be, beyond that of being Abe’s helpmate and support. And I was also thinking about St. Louis.”

  “You think Abe will want to go there?”

  “I know it. Did you not see his face when Mr. Harrow was speaking?”

  “I am unable to read him as well as you.”

  “I will go where he wishes to lead,” Abigail said, speaking as much to herself as to Lillian. “I will not hold him back.”

  “You will make him a good wife.”

  “Oh, I do hope so.”

  “I am certain of it.”

  Abigail scrunched the covers up close to her chin. Lillian dreaded that she might inquire about her relationship with Reginald. But the young woman merely said, “Might we pray together about tomorrow?”

  “For our futures,” Lillian whispered.

  “Yes,” Abigail agreed. “For God’s help with all that lies ahead.”

  They arose long before dawn. Breakfast was as vast a meal as dinner, and eating enough to satisfy Sylvia Harrow was a terrible chore for Lillian. Reginald’s place at the table was empty. When he finally arrived, he displayed dark circles beneath his eyes and carried the same tensely preoccupied air as the previous night. Lillian could scarcely look his way.

  As they climbed into the carriages, the early-morning sky was star-studded and brilliantly clear, with a moon just three days from full. The lane stretched away from the manor like a silver river, waiting to ferry them into a future Lillian dreaded with all her might.

  Abe and Reginald shared the coach’s top seat. The air held an uncommon chill for September, a bite just a fraction off a hard freeze. Abigail and Lillian bundled into blankets tucked up around their knees. Remnants of both breakfast and the previous dinner were wrapped and stowed in the coach with them. Farewells were said, and said again. With the aid of the moon and lanterns hung from the top posts of each coach, they were away.

  Abigail bobbed from window to window as they passed through Farmington, but the village was dark and silent. They knew when they rejoined the National Road because the coaches’ heavy jolting softened to a constant rocking, and the horses’ cadence picked up to a swift-moving canter. Abigail and Lillian were both exhausted. Soon enough the coach’s steady sway granted them what the four-poster with its down mattress could not, and they fell fast asleep.

  Lillian woke to the brilliant sunshine of a full-fledged day. Abigail slumbered on, her head in Lillian’s lap. They were rising through a heavily forested stretch, with nothing to be seen through either window save rocky promontories and ancient woodlands.

  The road traversed a steep hillside in a series of cutbacks. She could see the roof of the second coach as it negotiated the passage directly below them. Horace was handling the reins, and as he passed below them he whistled and called to the lead horses. But that was not what captured Lillian’s attention. To her astonishment, she realized that the nanny’s husband, seated beside Horace, held a rifle to his chest. She had not even been aware that they carried weapons on the coaches at all. Both men wore taut expressions as they scanned the forests to either side. Lillian glanced back and forth, but as far as she could see the road was empty.

  Lillian craned forward to follow the other coach’s progress. Her motions woke Abigail. “What is it?”

  “I’m not quite—”

  Her words were cut off as the forest about them erupted.

  Shots rang out from the forests to either side. Abigail shrieked and tumbled off the seat and onto the coach’s floor. When she made to rise, Lillian slipped down alongside her. “Stay as you are!”

  “Are they highwaymen?” Abigail’s face still bore the creases of slumber. Yet her features stretched tight in fear. “Abe!”

  More shots were fired. The horses cried in shrill terror. Lillian gripped Abigail harder. “You must stay down!”

  “But he’s exposed up top!”

  “There’s nothing you can do for him except stay safe!” Gunfire seemed to explode from all sides. And shouting, yet she could not make out a single word.

  Then she was terrified further by the sound of Reginald calling for the horses to halt. This could only mean one thing. They were encircled by too large a gang.

  A voice yelled out of the general fray, “We’ve got you surrounded! Throw down your arms!”

  Beside her, Abigail whimpered.

  Lillian felt a deep dread rise to her throat as the coach creaked and the two men jumped down. When the door opened, she could not bring herself to raise her head.

  Then she heard Reginald say, “It’s all right. You’re safe now. You can both come out.”

  Lillian descended from the coach on shaking legs to find herself among grim-faced armed men. Abigail clung to Abe and would not release him. Erica clutched her whimpering child to her chest. Then Lillian spotted Franklin Harrow among the armed horsemen. Beside him was the overseer she had spied outside church. Franklin tipped his hat to her and said, “All right, Mrs. Houghton?”

  “Thanks to you. Thanks to all of you.” She turned to Reginald and asked, “Is anyone hurt?”

  “One of the attackers was winged; he’s laid out back there around the far bend,” Franklin informed her. “But we’re all safe. Thanks to your man here, we got the jump on them. Been tracking them along hunting trails only the locals know about.”

  My man. The words created a false echo of relief and regret. My man. She asked Reginald, “You knew of this in advance?”

  “We suspected.”

  “Reginald spied a horseman following us outside Farming-ton,” Horace explained.

  “The plan was all his,” Franklin said. “Brilliant, it was.”

  “We’re not done yet,” Reginald replied grimly.

  “Right you are,” Franklin agreed, and called over his shoulder, “Bring them forward!”

  Three men shambled up, their w
rists bound and ropes tied to the horns of three saddles. Reginald asked Lillian, “Do you recognize any of them?”

  “How could I possibly?” She tried to hold back the tremors racking her frame. “Were they after me?”

  A burly man she recognized as the sheriff who had spoken to Reginald outside church barked, “Who’s the leader of this band?”

  None of the trio spoke. But two cast furtive glances at the third, a leathery skinned man with a scar that creased his left cheek and eyebrow.

  “You there! I’m the sheriff of Farmington and these are my deputies. I’m telling you this so you understand what’s about here. You attacked folks on the National Road. That’s a hanging offense.”

  The leader spat into the dust at his feet. But the younger of his men cried out, “We was just doing what we was told.”

  “Shut your gob,” the leader snarled.

  “That’s right,” the sheriff agreed. “Do as he says and swing there beside him.”

  “I ain’t hanging for nobody.” The young man was sweating mightily, the whites forming a clear rim around his bulging eyes.

  The sheriff was a bull of a man with a waxed moustache and a rough-edged voice. “Who hired you?”

  The young attacker pointed with his bound hands at the leader. “Was him what met the man paying. Him alone.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Washington. Leastwise, that’s what he told us.”

  The entire group breathed a tight sigh. The leader snarled once more. At a motion from the sheriff, the deputy turned his horse and dragged the leader away.

  When they were out of sight, the sheriff demanded, “Was it just the lady here you were after?”

  The young man trembled, his eyes glazed with feverish terror.

  “Speak up, man. Your words are all that separate you from the noose.”

  “We was told to finish ’em all.”

  The sheriff asked Reginald, “That what you needed to hear, sir?”

  Reginald gave a short nod. “We would be indebted to you if you could deliver us the name of the man back in Washington.”

  “That may be coming soon enough.” The sheriff removed his hat and wiped sweat from a brow that was pale compared to his lower features. “They watch the gallows being built, it’s remarkable how loose their tongues get.”

  The young man cried, “I told you what I know!”

  “And I’ll be telling the judge just how helpful you’ve been.” The sheriff tugged on his reins. “We best be getting this lot back. Don’t want to be caught on the road after sundown. That applies to you folks as well. These ain’t the only scallywags haunting these hills.”

  Chapter 29

  Later that afternoon, they crested a rise to find themselves atop a hill. The forest disappeared, and the vista opened up before them. As though the wide-open spaces were a signal, the coach pulled into a lay-by and the drivers called for the horses to halt.

  Abigail opened the door and called, “Where are we?”

  “The end of the hills.” Abe leaped down. “Come see your new world,” he said, holding out his hand.

  And new it was, or so it appeared. Beyond the plateau where the two coaches stood, the world dropped away. Below and to the west stretched a vast golden plain. Forests were adorned with all the season’s finery, and the sky was china blue.

  Abigail stepped forward to clutch Abe’s hand. “Is this heaven?” she asked in wonder.

  Lillian moved away from the others. In the far distance, sheathed in a cloud, flowed a broad, still river. The plains below them were a patchwork of brown fields and verdant forests.

  Abe asked Abigail, “Do you see Wheeling?”

  “Where?”

  “Just there, beside the Ohio.”

  “The Ohio what?”

  “Did you not hear anything I said along the journey? The Ohio River, of course.”

  Abigail searched in all directions. “Can it truly be this lovely?”

  Abe looked at her with an expression of deepest adoration. “You do like it, then.”

  “Like? Like?” She looked ready to weep. “Never in all my life did I imagine it would be this glorious.”

  “It is just a rough and tumble frontier town, by all accounts.”

  “But the setting of the town is beautiful beyond description.”

  Lillian heard footsteps approach. She knew from the tread it was Reginald. Without glancing his way she turned and stepped further from the others. “Why did you not tell me?” she asked.

  “Until they struck, all we had were raised suspicions. I saw how distressed you were. We all did. I had no interest in adding to your woes.”

  “I thought you were drawing away from me. In preparation . . .”

  Reginald stared at her in astonishment. “Why would you think that?”

  “What else was I to think? You remained so grim and withdrawn.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, why must we even discuss this? We both know what lies ahead.”

  “Do we?”

  “Reginald, Wheeling is a week or more from Washington! When you leave me here . . .” She could not continue.

  “But I cannot.”

  “You can’t what?”

  “You have seen the dangers. Do you really think this will be the last of their attempts? I love you, Lillian. How could I live with myself if I were to leave you alone in such peril?”

  “So you’ll stay here?”

  “I can’t. You know I can’t. Erica is returning to England. Abe and Abigail will remain here. Someone must watch over our emporium and warehouses in Georgetown.” He gripped her hands. “Say you’ll come back with me.”

  She pulled her hands away. “How can you ask such a thing? Haven’t I already brought enough havoc and danger upon your family?”

  “You did not bring this on anyone.”

  “Reginald, they attacked you because of me. They intended to kill us all.”

  “No, they attacked us because of the Langston name. Lillian, listen to me. I beg you. You told me of this banker back in London . . .”

  “Bartholomew.”

  “Yes. He approached you because of us.

  ” “Reginald is right, you know,” Erica said as she approached. “Forgive me for intruding, but I could not remain silent. You know the facts for what they are, Lillian. I first confronted Bartholomew years ago in England to make the bank return the Langston gold it held. Ever since, Gareth and I have battled the slavers as best we can. He and the slavers have remained our enemies. They see those of us who work alongside Wilberforce as a threat to their trade, which we most certainly are.”

  Lillian found herself trembling without being able to say why. All of their little band were observing them now and listening intently. “I don’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  Erica touched her arm. “Give yourself time. You have suffered a great distress. I pray that you would only think this through. Because what my brother says is indeed right. I feel this at the very core of my being. And he speaks for all of us when he wishes for you to become an even closer part of our family.”

  Erica turned to her brother. “Reginald, perhaps you should join her in the carriage and have Abe and Abigail occupy the upper seat. Is it safe enough now?”

  Reginald assured her that it was.

  Erica took a firmer grip upon Lillian’s arm and guided her back. As she helped Lillian into the carriage, she said, “The only advice I can give you is to pray. That, and I will repeat what my brother has said. You have brought nothing upon our house save the joy of finding a new friend.”

  Once the road flattened and straightened, traffic slowed to a crawl. Abigail found herself both impatient and glad for the gentler pace. The attack had shaken her to her core. She felt she had witnessed firsthand the battle being waged against the antislavery movement. Abigail had always deplored slavery, but up to this point she had simply accepted this position because her parents and church opposed it. But only now did she have a faint inkling of what it meant to com
bat evil.

  As they arrived at the town’s outskirts, Abigail did her best to put these thoughts away. There was so much to see, so much to take in. Everywhere she looked, she saw things utterly foreign to her previous life. They had passed the outlying farms, then entered a noisome region of corrals and stables and smithies. One enclosure was given over to a livestock auction. The area was full of dust and bleating animals and the cries of farmers shouting their bids.

  They then passed a second auction arena. Although it was empty, and though Abigail had never seen one before, she knew instantly what it was. The air seemed tainted here, the sunlight quartered by invisible shades. The auction block was a raised wooden platform, almost like a gallows, for at the rear stood four stout posts. Instead of nooses, however, the posts held chains. Abigail felt gripped with a tension so fierce she could not call it fear, nor rage, nor anything she had ever felt before.

  “Turn away,” Abe quietly suggested. “Don’t look at it.”

  “No, I must see it. Understand it. We must fight this.”

  “I agree.”

  She looked at Abe and was heartened by his firm demeanor. She had not seen this side of him before, the fiercely stern resolve. “Do you recall our discussion of taking on a cause?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you wish to share in this fight with Gareth and Erica?”

  His gaze pierced to her depths. “With all my heart.”

  “Oh, I am glad, Abe. This is right. This is our calling.”

  The city itself was split into three distinct portions. The area closest to the river was laid out in clearly defined streets, forming square blocks of wooden and yellow-brick structures, framed by roads of packed golden clay. In the distance, the river was broad and smooth flowing.

  Surrounding this neat section of town, however, were two less orderly boroughs. North and east of the city, the fields were sectioned into temporary camps. Conestoga wagons with their broad canvas backs were ringed by temporary corrals and yet more animals. Children scampered everywhere. Women tended cooking fires while men worked at their wagons and their horses. A long stream of wagons moved slowly toward the flat-bottomed ferries plying the Ohio River.