by Sandra Jones
Heat fanned up her neck at his words spoken in a low teasing voice. She studied his face, exposed by the neat lay of his hair swept back for the dance. Fine lines spread beneath his eyes, his golden skin and tawny hair—effects of a life spent on open decks. Rory had grown into a striking man and dressed in fine clothing meant to accentuate his looks.
He should be dancing, not talking to the likes of her. He’d singled her out again, but she knew no reason why he should.
Hellfire! Why couldn’t she read him?
“Yesterday, when you saw me outside, I was speaking with your uncle and your aunt—I believe she was Eleanor’s sister?” His fingers tightened slightly on her elbow, and Dell wondered if he even realized he was still holding her. If only she could ignore his touch as easily. “Your aunt said you were betrothed. I suppose I should offer my congratulations.”
Dell shook her head vigorously. “They’re mistaken. I’m not. I would never marry him.”
His grip loosened. “How unfortunate for the gentleman.” Thunder boomed overhead, causing a few youngsters in the room to gasp, but the fiddlers continued on, playing louder. Rory leaned to her ear to continue their conversation. “Dell, I must be frank. This weather…the river will be rising soon, if it hasn’t already, and we’ll be on our way back to Memphis. I’m sure you’ll find it no surprise your stepfather never quit searching for your mother. She was the greatest…loss he’s ever suffered.”
His words, spoken with seriousness, seemed planned and measured. Was this the part where he threatened to expose her unless…unless what? Dell glanced around, hoping no one would overhear. “I don’t understand.”
“If you were to come back with us, leaving this place, I know my employer would welcome you as a daughter.”
His cheek hovered inches from hers, and the spicy scent of him confused her.
She blinked rapidly to clear her head. “Not a chance. How could I believe that? If he’d wanted us—or me—my mother wouldn’t have left him.”
Rory leaned back, studying her face. “Are you so sure of your mother’s motives? You were just a small child. I believe Moreaux wishes to make amends. He’s growing older. He has no family of his own. I’ve no doubt he’d make sure you lived comfortably.” He grunted. “Certainly more comfortable than in a dog-trot house making moonshine.”
Of all the arrogant—
Backing up, Dell tugged her elbow free from his hand. “As I told you before, I don’t plan on staying here forever, and I don’t need anything from a man like Quintus Moreaux.”
Rory’s jaw tightened. She could see him thinking, studying her as if she were a problem to be solved. Why?
He glanced over the top of her head, and his mouth curved at whatever he saw. He tweaked one of her curls. “You really should leave your bonnet at home more often. I’m not going to let it be said I allowed the most beautiful woman in the room to stand here talking. Come dance with me, Philadelphia.”
He caught her hand, but she stood her ground. “I am not interested in dancing, Captain.”
He chuckled, adjusting his hold on her hand. Tingles from the contact spread up her arm. “What are you afraid of? You used to dance jigs on the wharf to old Pierre’s fiddle with everyone to see.” His fingers linked with hers as he pulled her a step closer to the dancing.
That wasn’t her. Surely. She had no recollection of it, anyway, or of anyone named Pierre.
Had she been happy once, living on the Mississippi? All she remembered now was fear, powerful and constant. But maybe that had been because of her mother’s illness.
She could feel the warmth of Rory’s body. His pull on her hand compelled her along with the invitation in his bright green eyes. In his company, she was always the envy of the other girls. He’d been witty, clever, kind. Dancing with him now promised to be the most exhilarating moment in her dreary life. A few minutes in his arms—
“Damn the Millers to hell!” A man’s voice rose above the festivities.
One of the fiddlers stopped playing while the others continued. Several heads turned toward the double doors.
“They got no right!” Ephraim shoved a farmer out of his way and stormed out into the rain.
A handful of men trailed after him, throwing on hats and coats as they went. Uncle Reuben wove through the crowd toward Dell. Rory released her hand when he reached them.
“What’s going on?” she demanded, noting her uncle’s reddened face.
“Ephraim’s slave. The Miller boys have him.”
“Jeremiah? Why?” Alarm zipped through her.
He grabbed her arm in a grip hard enough to bruise. “C’mon. This is your doin.’ You need to be a witness.” He dragged her toward the exit.
“Miss Samuels?” Rory called.
She had no time to answer him, catching his frown before she turned away. She struggled to keep up with the long strides of her uncle. “What about Jeremiah?”
Once they emerged from the noisy building into the rain, he stopped and yanked her around to face him. Rain splattered on his cheekbones, drawn tight with anger.
He lowered his voice. “Mrs. Sharpe said you and the darky hid together behind the clothes rack at the mercantile, twice, and God knows what else you did. I know better than to ask you for the truth, so don’t even try to explain.”
Dell gasped. She’d been the one pulling Jeremiah away from eyes to see and gossips to overhear. She hadn’t stopped to consider…
His lip curled with disgust. “So now they got him outside, waiting on me and Ephraim so we can whip him for messin’ with a…”
He didn’t say the rest. Didn’t have to.
For messing with a white woman.
Chapter Seven
Fisting her skirt, Dell ran as fast as she could to join the group assembled in the dark street, while her uncle followed her. The rain pelted down on their wide-brimmed hats, and a farm boy held a lantern under the roof of the nearest building.
They were too late. The men formed a tight circle around Jeremiah. He lay in the mud, supine and beaten with his hands held before his face.
Seeing him, she felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “Leave him alone!” she yelled.
“That’s what you get!” Ephraim, standing over Jeremiah with his sleeves rolled up, kicked his worker hard in the side. Wheezing with pain, he curled in on himself. “Look what you made me do.”
“Stop it, you bastard!” Dell cried again.
“Philadelphia!”
Her uncle’s growl fell on deaf ears. She slammed into Ephraim with both fists. He lifted his hands to defend himself, but her Uncle Reuben grabbed her waist, pulling her back.
“Let me at that bitch too!” The gold miner roared, coming at her with a raised fist.
Reuben thrust her behind him and blocked Ephraim’s swing. “You best save your strength for your slave and what he’s got coming to him.”
“I told you we should’ve gone to get my Brunswick!” Dell pushed against her uncle’s restraining arm. She’d kill the man. Kill any one of them. Jeremiah had done nothing to deserve the treatment. She railed at the gold miner, “You just took Mrs. Sharpe’s word for it, didn’t even ask me what happened. I could’ve told you he was innocent! I was helping him read labels for you, Ephraim!”
Dell wiped the rainwater out of her eyes. Her hair now banded her head in a damp cowl, but she was past caring. Devil take them all.
“He’s guilty, all right. I saw the way the slave looked at the fortune teller when she wasn’t looking.” One of the men spoke up.
Jeremiah rocked back and forth on the ground in a fetal position. A farmer tossed a length of rope beside him. Nausea rose in Dell’s chest. The rope meant they were far from done.
Ephraim squatted beside Jeremiah to address him. “Biggest waste of my money is what you are to me! I should’ve bought a second m
ule. Now look at you.” He pulled the rope across Jeremiah’s twisted body.
Dell scanned the crowd for a weapon, something, anything to change their minds.
“My friends,” a voice hailed them from down the street, “perhaps you’d prefer to continue your congress inside, under our roof?”
Captain Campbell, wearing a black hat to thwart the rain, stood with three men—perhaps crew members—behind him. He came closer. “The ladies inside are eager for dance partners, and some whiskey will surely warm you while your clothes dry.”
“He’s right. Tie him up, Ephraim. You and I’ll deal with him later.” Reuben put a hand on the gold miner’s shoulder.
Her uncle’s response came as no surprise to Dell. Of course he was concerned about the money he would be losing if he had to take home the unused whiskey.
Looking between the men and Rory, the words to free Jeremiah were on the tip of her tongue. If the others wouldn’t believe their innocence, she could tell them the one thing that would likely save him from all wrongdoing.
The truth about her.
Life as she knew it would be over, but she’d rather endure a lifetime without freedom than allow an innocent man to pay for her silence. She cleared her throat.
Rory caught her eye and gave her a subtle shake of his head. His lips formed one word.
No.
Against her protests, Dell’s uncle brought her and the rest of the family home from the dance, leaving Jeremiah to be trussed and thrown into the Sharpe’s shed. Dell shot straight into her bedroom and slammed the door so hard the walls shook, barring Sarah, with whom she shared a bed, from the room. Then she flung herself on the worn quilt. Beating the mattress with her fists, she sobbed, ignoring the mess her clothes made of her bed, releasing all her anguish while no one could see. Oh God, Jeremiah. What could she do for him?
On the way home, her Aunt Ida had railed her for her behavior, ranting about how she’d brought them ridicule and censure, how she’d lost her best chance at a prosperous husband, and how if she chose to expose her color, she’d find herself without a roof. The Samuels wouldn’t claim her as kin. “Think of the children—your poor cousins!” After which Sarah chimed in with her own whining pleas, begging Dell not to make her a pariah.
She could buy Jeremiah if she had the money. He could work for her uncle, if Reuben would consider it after the shame he’d supposedly caused them, but none of them had that kind of money anyway. Ephraim would want what he’d paid for the man, especially after the humiliation he’d suffered that night.
No one in town had that much wealth except Ephraim.
Dell sat up with a jolt. She knew where he kept the rest of what he’d made from gold mining. Jeremiah had told her where he’d buried it. But even if she did dig up Ephraim’s own fortune and used it to buy Jeremiah, the bastard would find out quickly enough. Then he’d take Jeremiah back. It wouldn’t work.
There was one other soul in town with money. Rory Campbell.
His sense of honor was questionable at best, but steamboats always needed roustabouts and crewmen. Maybe he could use a pair of hands on one of Quintus’s ships. Perhaps he could buy Jeremiah for his boss and take him far from Posey Hollow.
Hope spread its wings in her chest. Waiting until the house fell asleep, she finally stood and began peeling off her wet garments. She dried, dressed and stuffed her mop of hair into a bonnet before climbing over Sarah sleeping outside their door. Then leaving her quiet house, she walked to town.
Fortune seemed to be smiling on her for once that day, since the rain had finally stopped. The lumber mill barn stood quiet in the early hours of morning. The last mule wagon pulled away from the entrance as she approached, taking its lantern and the only source of light with it. Alone in the darkness, her knees shook as she stepped up on the damp threshold of the barn where she’d been hours earlier, feeling much more confident then than now. It wasn’t every day she asked a pirate captain for a favor.
She rapped on the side door, her heart in her throat. After some muffled voices from behind the door, it opened. The freedman from The Dark Enchantress appeared and lifted an eyebrow. “The dance is over now. No lightskirts allowed.”
“A lightskirt?” Dell bristled. She’d heard fur-traders speak of harlots working in the larger towns where they traded, but the idea seemed ludicrous for a tiny settlement such as hers to maintain whores when they had regular church assemblies and with most men married.
When the door started to close, she shoved her boot inside, blocking him. “I’m not here to dance, and I’m not a lightskirt. I’ve come to see the captain.”
The freedman pushed the door against her boot. When she refused to budge, he looked her up and down. “If you’re not a lightskirt, then the captain won’t want to see you anyhow. Least not at this hour.”
Dell braced her hands on the door, applying all her weight against the man. “Tell him—”
“Sir?” The freedman spoke to someone behind the door, “A woman.” His expression smoothed slightly as he faced her again. “Wait outside.”
She withdrew her boot and the door slammed, narrowly missing the bill of her bonnet. Decorum wasn’t part of her upbringing, at least not since coming to their dead-end river town, but even moonshiners exhibited more respect for strangers than Rory’s crewman. She backed away from the door and waited. A few minutes passed before the door opened again, and Rory came out, closing the door behind him. He hung a lantern on a nail and came to greet her.
Dell’s face heated at the sight of him. Perhaps she was too late for visiting. Dressed in the same buff britches he’d worn earlier, his shirttail hung loose. The neckline gaped open where he’d removed his cravat. His hair hung in waves around his collar from his brief time in the rain earlier. However, his eyes were clear and alert—no trace of drunkenness. She sighed, relieved.
He rubbed his forehead. “I apologize for Frederick, but at this hour the man—especially a man from New Orleans—assumes a woman knocking on the door to the crew’s quarters is only there for one reason.” A line appeared between his brows. “I would invite you inside, but the men…”
His awkward apology only sent more heat into her cheeks. The handsome captain would no doubt have plenty of experience with women of ill-repute—for money or not. At that thought, her gaze was drawn to the golden triangle of skin exposed beneath his throat and the fine gold hair peeking out. No. Remember why you’re here!
“It’s me who should apologize for coming here unannounced. And for my uncle and the others for ruinin’ your night. I guess you saw what they were doing?”
He gave a somber nod. His eyes traveled over her face. “Who is that man to you, Philadelphia?”
“An acquaintance. A friend.” Yes, a friend. She lifted her chin. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you on his behalf.”
“From me? I don’t see how I could help in a matter between a man and his slave. Arkansas’s laws favor the slaveowner’s rights.” His eyes regarded her warily. “I half-expected you’d be at the outbuilding where they’re keeping him, wielding your gun. You’ve defended this man twice this week already. Just why are you in such a dander to help him?”
New tears pricked her eyes. “Because I owe Jeremiah. He fell into bondage to Ephraim after one of my fortunes went awry.”
His cheek pinched. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out between them. His knuckle traced her cheekbone. “I’d help if I could, but the laws, Dell. Aiding an escaped slave is a serious crime.”
His touch was sincere and so natural she couldn’t break contact. “So don’t break the law. All I’m askin’ is for you to pay Ephraim for him. Take him with you on The Enchantress. If you don’t, they’ll beat him worse than they already have or even kill him.”
His hand rested lightly her shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. “What was his offense?”
“He didn’t do anything.
But they think I’m white.”
“Ah.” He looked at the ground, thinking. “As much as I’m sure Moreaux would appreciate more help, I’ve long believed his greatest virtue is his disregard for slavery. He doesn’t own any. He won’t.”
“Oh, even better!” His words lifted some of the heaviness from her heart. “You could set Jeremiah free once he’s worked off his debt.”
His gaze flicked back to her, and then his hand caressed the slope of her shoulder. She shivered beneath the calming touch of his hand. “How would we be able to pay? A slave is no small investment, and I’m sure your gold miner spent a pretty penny on such a strong-looking man. Contrary to my attire,” he plucked at his shirt with his other hand, “I’m penniless until we return to Memphis.”
She frowned. The captain wouldn’t know the meaning of being penniless, unlike her, but if he was lying, he gave none of the usual indications. Dell smirked. “I know where to get enough money. I can get it tonight.”
Rory laughed softly and untied the bow of her bonnet string with a finger. “There’s Eleanor’s daughter! You’d make her proud. Or Moreaux.” He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She sensed bitterness behind his words, but he gave her no time to question him. “Tell me, how much skill did your mother pass to you? Like everyone else, I believed her gift for prophecy-making was real, you know, until the day the both of you ran.”
Dell burned with envy. He probably remembered her mother much more clearly than she did. “I know a few of her tricks. I learned most on my own.” Her pulse set into a wild frenzy beneath his touch, feeling his hand moving across her throat. She should move away. Surely this wasn’t proper. But he moved closer so that his side pressed against her body.
“I’ll help you, Dell.”
Relief and delight poured into her. She smiled and flattened her hands against his chest affectionately. His eyes darkened in response. She took a step back to correct herself, but his arm dropped, barring the small of her back, keeping her close.
