by Bobbi Smith
Sprawled on the bed like a broken, lifeless doll, Delight didn’t stir. It was only when she heard him enter his own bedroom that she spurred herself to sluggish action. Her arms were leaden as she pushed herself up and off the bed. Staggering dazedly, Delight leaned weakly against the wall. She had to get away. There was no doubt in her now active mind that Martin would return, and when he did…swallowing nervously, she moved to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Although there was no sign of him, the door to the master bedroom was ajar and Delight knew she would have to use the servants’ steps. With thought to little save escaping Martin, she fled her room.
The chiming of the mantel clock in the front parlor as it sounded the quarter hour startled her as she made her way furtively down the narrow, curving stairway. Breathless in fearful anticipation of being discovered, Delight hurriedly buttoned her bodice. Racing as silently as possible through the kitchen, she paused only long enough to grab Sue’s cloak. With shaking fingers, she unlocked the bolt and fled the only home she’d ever known.
Delight knew not what awaited her in the blackness of the frigid winter night, but surely any fate would be better than submitting to Martin’s lecherous advances. Clutching the cloak about her, Delight ran out into the shadowed darkness of the back alley.
Panting, straining to breathe in the bitter night air, Delight paused in the narrow passageway to listen. When she was certain no one followed closely, she leaned heavily against the rough-hewn siding of the shanty. She was safe…for the moment. Drawing an agonized breath, she pushed herself upright and struggled on. There was only one place she could go, and she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to stay. Rose’s house was bound to be one of the first places he would search.
A sense of peace welled inside of her, temporarily easing her feelings of panic, as she thought of her friend Rose O’Brien.
It had hurt Delight when she’d returned home and found that Rose was no longer in the family employ, but Martin had assured her that Rose had only left because she’d gotten a better job. Delight had visited her at her home several times since her return, but their conversations had been strained somehow, and she had had no idea why.
A sudden thought of Martin caused Delight to shiver with disgust as drug-clouded memories of his hands and mouth upon her continued to assail her. She wanted to bathe…to scrub every reminder of his slimy touch from her body. She felt dirty—soiled—and she wondered if she would ever feel clean again.
Hurrying onward, Delight was relieved to see a soft light shining from Rose’s window. Hiding momentarily, she watched the street to make certain that Martin wasn’t already there, waiting. When she finally felt it was safe to venture forth, she moved quickly to the deeply shadowed door and knocked softly.
“Rose?” her voice was hushed yet full of panic. “Rose, it’s me…Delight. Please…open up!”
“Delight?” Rose questioned, her voice muffled through the door.
“Yes, Rose. Please…let me in!” she pleaded, glancing nervously down the deserted street.
The moment the door opened, Delight rushed inside and quickly pushed it shut behind her. She took the time to slide the bolt back into place before turning to her friend.
“Thank you,” she breathed in relief. “Oh, Rose, thank you.”
“Delight…what’s wrong? Why are you here? It’s practically the middle of the night!” Rose demanded.
“I had to leave….”
“It’s not your mother? She isn’t…?” Rose had heard that Clara de Vries was ill.
“No, no,” Delight hastened to reassure her. “It’s nothing like that….”
“Then what?”
A noise sounded outside and Delight jumped guiltily.
Her eyes wide with fear, she spoke, “I’ve got to get away…will you help me?”
Rose looked at Delight, her confusion evident. “Of course, I’ll help you. But what’s happened? Are you sure you don’t want to go back home?”
“No!” Delight exclaimed, her tone desperate. “I can’t go back.”
“Well, sit down. I’ll get you a hot cup of tea and then we can talk,” Rose instructed as she moved to put the kettle on her small stove.
Delight nodded mutely and somehow, with numb fingers, she managed to unfasten Sue’s cloak.
“Let me take that.” Rose took the wrapper and looked at it questioningly. “Why this isn’t yours.”
“No—it’s Sue’s—I had to—um—borrow it,” Delight tried to explain, but she started to shiver uncontrollably as the shock of the past hours became a reality to her.
Rose hung the cloak on a peg by the door and hurried to pour the hot tea into the mismatched and chipped china cups.
“Here you are.” She handed Delight the soothing brew and watched the trembling of the young girl’s hands worriedly. “Are you still cold?” Rose sat down beside her and took back the cup. Setting it aside, she took Delight’s hands in hers and rubbed warmth into them.
“It’s not the cold,” Delight finally spoke, her voice quivering. “It was Martin.”
Rose was stunned. How could he? Rage shook her. It had been bad enough when she’d been forced to quit her job at the de Vries home. Martin Montgomery had made his intentions toward her clear shortly after marrying Clara, and the only way for her to retain her virtue was to leave their employ. She might do scullery work and take in laundry and mending, but she was no whore! No matter what that filthy man had thought.
Delight was not so unaware that she didn’t sense the change in Rose.
“Rose? What’s wrong?” She was concerned at her friend’s pale, stricken features.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Tell me what happened. How can I help you?” Rose’s concern was real.
“Did you know that Mother has been ill?”
“Yes,” Rose responded sympathetically.
“Well, I’ve been nursing her. She was so weak.…And Martin was helping, too….” Delight frowned as her concentration faded. Why couldn’t she think straight? Surely, she wasn’t that tired. Rubbing her forehead in a gesture of confusion, she continued, “I’m sorry, Rose…I can’t seem to remember….”
Rose, wise to the ways of men like Martin Montgomery, asked gently, “Did you have anything to drink earlier?”
“Why—yes. Martin brought me a hot drink before I went to bed.”
Rose nodded, “Just relax and take your time. I’m sure it’ll all come to you as your mind clears.”
Delight lay back against the sofa, closing her eyes. Again she shivered with revulsion as she remembered his touch, and she looked at Rose quickly, a wildness in her eyes. Her voice was low and laced with determination when she spoke. “I’ve got to leave…to get away. This will be the first place he’ll come, and then he’ll force me to do those awful things again!”
“Did he take you, Delight?” Rose questioned gently.
Delight, her eyes cast downward, shook her head. “No.”
Rose breathed a sigh of relief and said a quick prayer of thanks. “Good.”
“It was so close. Thank God, Mother called out for him and he had to go to her. But he told me not to move or he’d do something terrible to me….”
“Darling, you did the right thing. If you had stayed, something terrible definitely would have happened to you.”
“He was like a crazy man.”
“I know,” Rose said flatly.
“You do?”
“Why do you suppose I quit working for your mother?”
“Martin told me that you’d gotten a better job.”
“If I had, do you really think I’d be living like this?”
For the first time, Delight was aware of her surroundings. She’d never noticed before. On her previous visits, she’d been so glad to see Rose that she’d paid scant attention to the furnishings in the small two-room home. But now, it struck her glaringly.
The wind picked up just then, rattling the poorly fitted windows. Both women looked up startled.
/> “Rose, I’m so sorry…”
“Don’t be. I can take care of myself. I always have. It’s you we’ve got to worry about. How quickly do you think he’ll come after you?”
Delight could feel her sanity slowly returning, and she looked up at Rose, a plan forming in her now-clearing mind. “I’m not really sure. It all depends on Mother. If she fell back asleep right away, he could be here at any time. But if she’s restless, we might have until morning.”
“We can’t take the chance. What ever we’re going to do, we have to do now.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Delight began.
Rose listened intently as the younger woman explained.
A half an hour later, Rose stood back, staring in disbelief at Delight.
“If I didn’t know….” She shook her head in amazement as she circled her, studying every angle.
“It’s the only way. Martin will never expect this.” Delight managed a smile, feeling better now that she had bathed and taken charge of her life. “Do you think I make a good boy?”
“Yes—but your hair…” Rose surveyed Delight’s short-cropped curls. “It was so beautiful.”
Delight ran a hand through what was left of her long, silken hair and shrugged. “It’ll grow back.”
“Well, I’m just glad those boy’s clothes fit you. It was a stroke of luck that I even had them. I mended them for a woman, but she never came back to claim them.”
“Thank you, Rose,” Delight told her in earnest and hugged her tightly. “I’d better go now. Martin might show up any minute.”
“Delight,” Rose stopped her. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“I have. There’s nothing else for me to do but run,” she responded sadly. “At least until Mother’s well. Check on her for me, will you?”
“Of course. And you’ll be back?”
Delight nodded, “As often as I can.”
“You’re welcome to stay here, you know, once it’s safe.”
“I know. And I will. I promise.”
“Wait!” Rose halted her exit again. She took a small knotted handkerchief from under her mattress. “Take this. It’s not much, but it’ll help some.”
“I can’t take your money, Rose.”
“You most certainly can, Delight de Vries. You’ll need it.” She put the gift in her hand. “Now, go with God, and please be careful.”
Delight hugged her again quickly and then squared her shoulders bravely. Leaving the warmth of Rose’s protection, she faced the cold night unflinchingly. There could be no turning back. Not now…
Chapter Two
“Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?” Ollie Fitzgerald asked his captain and friend, Jim Westlake.
Jim looked up quickly from his seat at the desk in his cabin, and, noting his first mate’s anxiety, he replied reassuringly, “Of course. Don’t tell me you’re going to change your mind now?”
“It’s not my mind I’m worried about!” Ollie snapped, irritated at Jim’s lighthearted approach to so serious a decision.
Jim grinned easily. “It’s time. You know how everybody’s been after me to do this.”
“But shouldn’t you think about it a little longer?” his friend argued.
“What for?” Jim countered. “I know everything I need to know about her. She’s beautiful and she says she’s in love with me. Isn’t that enough?”
Ollie snorted derisively and commented cuttingly, “Sometimes, Jimmy, beauty is only skin deep.”
For a moment, Jim Westlake seemed angry, his expression hardening, but then he masked it behind his usual easygoing facade. “Enough said, Ollie. I have proposed and Anna-belle Morgan has accepted. We’re going to announce our engagement at a ball the Saturday after we get back from this trip.”
Ollie slowly shook his head. “You know I just want what’s best for you. Do you love her?”
Jim was put off by his astute question. His mind raced. Love—Annabelle? He cared for her…found her attractive and enjoyed her company…but love? Jim knew the truth. No, he did not love her.
Jim had been in love with only one woman in all of his thirty-odd years, Renee Fontaine, and she had married his brother. There was no bitterness in having lost her to Marshall, simply resigned acceptance, but he was determined never to allow himself to fall in love again. He would marry now because he felt that it was time.
Forcing himself to lie, he answered, “Yes, I do.”
Ollie sensed Jim’s hesitation, but let it go, “Have you told your family?”
“This afternoon,” Jim affirmed.
“Good. I take it they were happy about it.”
“All except Renee.” Jim chuckled. “She had another friend lined up for me to meet. The girl had a unusual name, too….” Frowning, he tried to recall the name of the young woman whose praises his sister-in-law had been singing before he had told her the news of his engagement. “I know—Delight…that was it.”
“Delight?” Ollie smiled.
“Yes, Delight de Vries. Renee said she was very attractive, but I told her she was too late. I’d already made my choice.”
“I bet they were in shock.”
“Only for a little while,” Jim laughed. “Mother seemed most pleased, and I think Father was just glad that my ‘wayward’ days are coming to an end.”
“What about you? Are you glad to give up your freedom?”
Jim was thoughtful for a long moment. “I really don’t see that there will be that much change in my life. You know how busy we are.”
“Does your fiancée understand about your work? She knows you’re going to have to travel with the boat, doesn’t she?”
“We’ve already discussed it, and Annabelle is very understanding.”
“Good.” Ollie was relieved. Jim was one of the best steamboat captains on the Mississippi and he didn’t want to lose him. His business expertise was needed on the long trips between St. Louis and points south. “Well, I think a celebration is in order. What do you say we go to Harry’s and raise a few?”
“Excellent idea,” Jim agreed.
The noise level in the seclusion of the smoke-filled back room was deafening as the men who were gathered there assailed one another for being totally ineffectual in their quest to help the Cause. Fists slammed the tabletop in anger as tempers grew heated, and it was only the sharp knock at the locked door that prevented some of them from coming to blows. Shocked into silence by the unexpected intrusion, they stood poised for flight as the pounding came again.
Gordon Tyndale, the unofficial leader of the small covert group, stood and walked to the door with slow, deliberate steps.
“It’s Nathan, Gordon.” The voice was muffled by the closed portal.
Gordon smiled weakly in relief and quickly unlocked the door. The men behind him gave a collective startled gasp as an unknown Union major entered their midst, and their hands reached nervously for their sidearms.
“It’s all right,” Gordon told them. “He’s one of us.”
When Nathan Morgan followed the Yankee into the room, they relaxed a little, but their expressions grew even more guarded and skeptical when a woman, wearing a heavy cloak that hid her features, came through the door.
“Gentlemen.” Captain Wade MacIntosh spoke confidently to the frightened men.
“Wade, Nathan.” Gordon greeted them warmly. “Thank you for coming.”
“It was important that we come. We have news that I’m sure you’ll be interested in,” Nathan replied, ushering the mysterious female into the room before closing and bolting the door behind them.
“You have news?” Gordon was indeed surprised.
“Good news,” Wade affirmed.
“In case you haven’t met before,” Gordon turned to face the group, “this is Nathan Morgan.” He introduced the older man first. “And this is Captain MacIntosh.”
A murmur of approval ran through the crowd. They had heard that there were other Southern sympathizers in St. Louis, but they h
ad never had the opportunity to meet them before.
“It’s an honor.”
“Thank you.” Nathan returned their warming welcome. “I’m sure you’re wondering what Captain MacIntosh is doing here, but let me reassure you. He is as loyal to the Cause as all of us. In fact, in many ways he is more so.”
“Nathan,” Gordon interrupted, concerned about the identity of the woman standing so quietly by the doorway. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting your other companion.”
Nathan smiled and turned to extend his hand. “My dear, the gentlemen would like to meet you.”
Moving gracefully forward, Annabelle Morgan lifted the concealing hood, revealing her identity to the room full of men.
“My daughter, Annabelle.” Nathan introduced her.
“But Nathan!” Gordon was outraged. “You know women aren’t allowed here.”
“Gordon.” Nathan spoke sternly to his acquaintance. “An-nabelle is the one with the news. I trust you will extend her every courtesy?”
Gordon blustered momentarily and then managed to get control of himself. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured expansively, and the three visitors sat at the front table. “And now, if we may continue?”
“I want to know what he is doing here,” one of the more hostile men challenged, glaring at Wade.
All eyes turned to the Yankee.
“Wade MacIntosh is a very good friend. He has family in Mississippi and is most anxious to be of ser vice to us.”
“Really?” the man sneered. “And how will you help us, Captain? By turning us in?”
Wade pinned the fat little man with a glacial glare, his ice blue eyes freezing the next derogatory comment that he was about to make. The man swallowed nervously as he sensed MacIntosh’s barely contained fury.
“Your name, sir?”
“I am Elroy Lucas,” he managed.
“Mr. Lucas.” Wade spoke, his jaw rigid with leashed anger, “if I had wanted to stop your meager activities, I could have turned you over to the proper authorities weeks ago and made myself into an instant hero.”
“But you’re a Yankee!” Elroy spat out, and several other men murmured in agreement.
