by Kaki Warner
Five
People were already streaming into the tent when they arrived. Every day more came, and every evening more vendors’ carts crowded the street beside the meadow. The sound of happy voices blended with the smell of roasting sausages, creating a fair-like atmosphere despite the chill in the evening air. Pru hoped people were coming for the worship, not the food.
“Wait here,” she told Thomas and Lillie when they reached the tent’s entrance. “I’ll be right back after I speak to Brother about leaving Lillie.”
Thomas didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on something inside the tent toward the small raised stage at the front. Turning, Pru saw Marsh speaking with the reverend.
Drat. She had hoped he wouldn’t attend tonight. Now it would be more difficult to leave to meet Chester. She was debating what to do when she saw a familiar face huffing and puffing across the field toward them, a bulky contraption under her arm.
“Bessie Prescott,” she called. “You’re just the person I was hoping to see.”
“Evenin’.” Bessie waved her free hand, setting off jiggles of motion in the ample breasts swaying beneath her dress. “A glorious day for the Lord’s Word.”
“It certainly is.” Smiling, Pru brought Lillie forward to meet the elderly black woman, who served as the choir director, joyfully leading the hymns on her ancient, wheezy accordion. “Might I ask a favor?”
“Sho’ you can, child.” Panting for breath, Bessie shifted the accordion to her other arm. “What you need?”
Pru introduced Lillie, explaining about her blindness, and that she needed someone to keep an eye on the girl while she ran an errand. “I won’t be long and she’ll be no trouble at all. Will you, Lillie?”
“A fly on the windowpane, that me. Singin’ praises to the Lawd.”
Pru heard a snort behind her.
Bessie beamed down at the grinning scamp. “Ain’t she the cutest thing? I happy to watch her. Come along, child. You sit up front with me.” Hefting the accordion higher on her hip, Bessie took Lillie’s hand and started down the aisle between the rows of rapidly filling benches.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Pru called to her retreating back.
“Take you time. We be fine.”
Pru shoved Thomas away from the opening. “Hurry, before Marsh sees us.” Although, judging by the prickle between her shoulder blades, he might have already spotted them. She didn’t turn around to find out, but ushered Thomas through the crowds gathered around the carts.
“Do you fear he will follow us?”
“I don’t want to find out.”
As they passed a vendor’s cart, he looked with interest at a rack of dripping sausages. “Those smell good.”
“We don’t have time for that. After that supper you ate, I don’t know how you could still be hungry, anyway.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“All of two hours. Keep moving.”
A few minutes later, they arrived at the abandoned machine shop and rail yard on the far side of the depot. Pru was glad Thomas had come with her. It was quite dark, although he didn’t seem to have any trouble making his way through the discarded railroad equipment, crates, and bent rails.
“I hope this is the right place,” she murmured.
“When do you meet him?”
“Not for a while yet,” she whispered. “Seven thirty.”
“Then why are you whispering?”
She refrained from punching his shoulder and clung to his arm instead. “I can’t see a thing. Can you?”
“Of course. I am Cheyenne.”
It was exhilarating and a little frightening to be lurking about in the dark. It reminded her of the haunting games she and Edwina had played as children, tiptoeing around the raised vaults in the resting place at Rose Hill—until they frightened themselves so badly they had run shrieking back to the slave cabins and the safety of Pru’s mother’s arms. “Can you hear anything?”
“Not with you talking.”
“What if we’re in the wrong place?”
“Then we will miss him.”
“But what if—”
“You worry too much, heme’oone. Now be silent so I can hear.”
For a long time he stood motionless, his face turned into the slight breeze that rustled through the weeds growing along the tracks. Pru moved closer, seeking his warmth. She listened, too, but heard nothing.
After a few minutes, Thomas said in a low voice, “He comes.”
Surprised, Pru glanced around. “He does? Where?”
“You will wait here. I will be nearby. When I am sure he is alone, I will return to you.” Looping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her hard against his strong body and kissed her. “Do not be afraid, Eho’nehevehohtse,” he whispered against her lips. “I will let nothing harm you.” Another hard, quick kiss that left her mouth tingling, then he released her and faded soundlessly into the shadows.
“Don’t scare him, Thomas,” she whispered in warning.
Low laughter sounded on the right. No, the left. Behind her? She looked around, but saw nothing move. The man was a ghost. Shivering, she thrust her gloved hands into her coat pockets. She spied a long crate nearby and went over to it. She tested it for soundness, then, satisfied it would hold her weight, she sat, shoulders hunched against the cold.
The night was so still she could hear the faint sound of singing coming from the direction of the tent. The call to worship. The meeting had begun, which meant it was a little past seven thirty. Where was Chester?
She tugged her collar higher, wishing Thomas were still there to keep her warm. She also wished he would relent about keeping her at arm’s length. Having him close kept her body humming with frustration. Doubtless, that was his plan all along. He knew that when she was around him she couldn’t think. When they were apart, reason told her this odd, mismatched relationship would never work, but as soon as he came near, all she wanted was to do was lose herself in his arms.
She sighed. But he was right about one thing—even if she was barren, it was still unwise to be intimate until they had made the decision to continue on together. But was there truly a decision to make? The idea of not having Thomas in her life was unthinkable. He was the one constant she could depend on. The strength she’d never had. Yet she was loath to give up her dream of advancing education for Negroes. Was there no way she could have both?
Moments dragged by. She was beginning to think Thomas was wrong and Chester wasn’t coming when she heard the scuff of a shoe on gravel to her right. She rose, poised to flee, when a familiar voice called out.
“Miss Lincoln? You here?”
She let out a shaky breath. “Yes, Chester. Over here.”
“I can’t see nothing.”
A figure stepped out of the shadows. “I will help you.”
“Christamighty!”
“Thomas, don’t hurt him!”
Heavy breathing, scrabbling noises, and muttered words, then Chester stumbled up beside her, Thomas gripping his shoulder. “He came alone, Prudence.”
Even in the faraway light from the lanterns by the tent, Pru could see the fear in Chester’s eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thomas! Stop frightening the poor man. Chester, it’s all right. He won’t hurt you.”
Thomas took his hand away, but continued to stand at Chester’s side.
Fearing the man’s legs might give out from the fright Thomas had given him, Pru gestured to the crate. “Perhaps you should sit down, Chester.”
He sat, and Prudence sat next to him. Thomas stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest.
“Now tell me about the man who needs our help. Mose, is it?”
“Y-yes, ma’am. Mose Solomon.”
It was a dismal story. Pru had read about it in a newspaper left in the hotel lobby. But since the article
had been written by a white man, she suspected a bias against the blacks involved. The whole affair was shameful—not only because of the four lives lost, but because of the apathy on the part of those who were supposed to uphold the law.
That indifference to suffering awakened memories of what had happened to her in the Indian camp, bringing up such a well of bitterness it almost clogged her throat. How could people witness such brutality and do nothing?
“I read about the massacre, Chester,” she said in a tight voice. “Was Mose a part of that?”
“He only protectin’ what was his, ma’am. They was wrong on both sides. But the Irish got the best of it. And they start it.”
“This happened in Patenburg, New Jersey?”
Chester nodded. “On Mulhockaway Creek in Hunterdon County. The railroad hire Irish and colored gangs to dig a tunnel through Musconetcong Mountain. Pay’s good, but it hard work, I hear.”
“You’d best begin at the beginning.”
Chester settled more comfortably, hands tucked against the chill. “It all start on payday, when the Irish boys set on some blacks after a night of drinkin’. ’Fore long they shooting at each other. Then the Irish break into the colored shanties, steal they wages, and set everything on fire. An Irishman named Colls got shot, but it warn’t the coloreds what did it. The whites got to fightin’ amongst theyselves and they the ones did him in, but they tell everybody the black boys do it. By the time the smoke clear, Colls and three blacks all dead.”
Memories of her own helplessness surged into Pru’s mind. “Did no one do anything? The sheriff? Somebody?”
“Oh, yessum, the sheriff do something.” Chester’s voice shook with pent-up anger. “He round up three coloreds right off and start huntin’ more. Governor Parker even offer a reward. He and the sheriff afraid to go against the Irish, so they blame everything on the black boys. Most of the coloreds run off, hidin’ wherever they can. But Mose, he big like a house and bald as a cannonball. He hard to hide.”
“Where is he now?”
“Tumbledown barn north of town. But he need to get away pretty quick.” Chester heaved a great sigh and shook his head. “It not right. None of it. Mose didn’t kill nobody, Miss Lincoln. I swear it.”
“He wants to go to Canada?”
“Yes, ma’am. He got family escaped up there ’fore the war.”
“Then we’ll make arrangements to get him started.” Pru pushed herself to her feet. “Meanwhile, does Mose have food and water and a way to stay warm?”
Chester nodded as he rose. “He fine fo’ now.”
“Then bring him here tomorrow night. I’ll find out where the next station is and tell you then.”
“Thank you, ma’am, and God bless.”
After Chester disappeared into the night, Pru turned to Thomas, who had remained silent throughout Chester’s recitation. “What do you think?”
“I think it is a sad story. One I have heard around many campfires. Whites, whether they are Irish or English or American, are not to be trusted.”
“We both have white blood.”
He didn’t respond.
“My sister is white. We have white friends in Heartbreak Creek.”
He still didn’t respond.
“It wasn’t a white man who beat me.” Bitterness rose inside. “Nor white people who watched and did nothing. Am I to hate all Indians now?” She realized her hands were shaking and thrust them into the pockets of her coat. “I would have, I think, if I hadn’t known you.”
He pulled her hard against his chest. “It is not the same, Eho’nehevehohtse. I am not the one who hurt you.”
“No, Thomas, you’re not. For that reason, I don’t blame all Indians because of what Lone Tree did. There is too much hate and injustice and brutality as it is.”
He leaned back to study her in the dim light. “Do you try to civilize me, Prudence?” He asked it in a chiding way, but she heard the serious intent behind the words. “I am as Ma’heo’o made me. Even if I wear city clothes, and cut off my topknot, and write books in English, I will still be what the whites call a savage.”
“Only the whites who don’t know you.”
The tension left his big body. Dipping his head, he kissed her forehead. “We must return to Lillian now. But later, after she sleeps, you will come to my room. You have never told me what Lone Tree did to you. Tonight you will, and together, we will banish him from your mind.”
She shivered, reluctant to dredge up all those horrid memories. But Thomas would press her until she did, and perhaps he was right. Maybe the telling of it would close that distance between them. At least for a while.
They returned later than Pru had anticipated, and the meeting was breaking up when they arrived back at the tent. Stepping past those crowding around the exit, she made her way toward the front, where Bessie Prescott spoke to the two ladies who sang in the small choir.
“I apologize for taking so long,” she said, joining them. “Did Lillie behave?”
“Like an angel,” Bessie said.
“She a sweet little thing,” one of the ladies added.
“And that voice,” the other put in with a hearty laugh. “Mercy sakes.”
Thomas stepped forward. “Where is she?”
At his harsh tone, Pru felt a prickle of alarm. She turned and scanned the empty benches, but didn’t see Lillie.
“She go to the carts out front,” Bessie said. “Mistuh Marsh think she deserve a treat for being so good.”
Thomas began shoving his way through the line of people filing out of the tent, Pru right behind him.
“I’m sure she all right,” Bessie called after them. “Mr. Marsh say he take good care of her.”
Alarm building, Pru rushed toward the carts at the edge of the field. If he hurts her, I . . . I’ll . . . She couldn’t think of a punishment dire enough.
Thomas pulled her to a stop. “Calm your fear, Prudence. Katse’e is safe.”
“How do you know that?” She looked fearfully at the crowd gathered around the vendors’ carts. “He could have—”
“Why would he hurt her when people know she is with him?” His eyes narrowed in speculation. “And why are you so afraid, Prudence? Has he said he would hurt her?”
She should have told him about Marsh’s threats. But she had seen what Thomas had done to the man who had tried to hurt Brin, her niece through her sister’s marriage to Declan Brodie. She was there when he went after Lone Tree with his bare hands. And she remembered the spent bullet he once carried in a pouch around his neck, and his vow to shove the piece of metal into the beating heart of the trapper who had killed his wife and son. She knew if he was aware of Marsh’s threats, he wouldn’t allow them to go unchallenged. He would act in some violent, lethal way that would bring ruin down on all of them. This wasn’t the mountains where he could strike, then disappear like mist through the trees. Here, they would hunt him down and cage him like the savage they thought him to be.
She couldn’t tell him and put him at such risk.
And yet . . . what if her silence brought harm to Lillie?
Terror building, she hurried toward the carts.
Thomas fell into step beside her. “I know you do not like to cause trouble, Prudence. But sometimes it is not enough to endure. Sometimes you must fight—if not for yourself, then for those you love. And I will not let you fight alone.”
“I am not a coward,” she said stiffly.
“No, you are not. You would not be part of this Underground Railroad if you were. But you have a gentle heart, which can blind you to the truth. And the truth, Eho’nehevehohtse, is that Marsh means to frighten you, not Lillian.”
She stopped and blinked at him. “Me?”
“To make you behave and do as he says. You must show him he has failed.”
“And if that pushes him to do
something worse to get my attention?”
“Then I will take care of it.” He smiled with such malice she almost flinched.
She knew he blamed himself for her abduction by Lone Tree, and this drive to protect her was probably a reaction to that. But if he put himself in danger on her account . . . “Thomas, please . . .”
“Please, what, Prudence? Let this man bring harm to you and Lillian?”
“What if Marsh provokes you into doing something that lands you in jail? How will you help us then?”
“I will keep you safe,” he said stubbornly. He started to say more, then his gaze focused on something behind her. Sudden tension stiffened his shoulders.
“You see her?” Pru spun around, searching faces, but there were too many people milling about. “Is she all right?”
“She is safe. Now hide your fear.”
She tried, but almost cried out in relief when she saw Marsh strolling toward them, holding Lillie’s hand.
He was smiling.
Lillie wasn’t, even though she clutched a greasy bag of popped corn in her free hand.
“There you are,” Marsh said amiably. “We missed you at the service. Had something more important to do?”
“An errand,” Pru said distractedly, searching Lillie for signs of harm.
At the sound of Pru’s voice, Lillie’s face brightened. “You back!” Jerking free of Marsh’s grip, she stumbled forward, her free hand grabbing at air. “Daddy here, too?”
Marsh frowned. “Daddy?”
Thomas went down on one knee, catching Lillie before she fell. “I am here, Katse’e.”
She clung to him, the desperation on her face sending a chill through Pru. What had Marsh said or done to put such fear into the child’s eyes?
“I thought you gone fo’ever,” Lillie whispered against Thomas’s neck.
“I will always come back to you, Lillian. You know this.” He patted her back, then rose, bits of popped corn trickling down the front of his jacket. Taking her small hand in his, he looked levelly at Marsh in a way that made the other man step back a pace.
