Fletcher and Sydnee wound their way through this chaos, not speaking until they reached a quiet residential street. “Where are we going?” Sydnee asked.
“They said at the hotel that most of the sales are at a place on Clark Street.”
“Look at this,” Sydnee said, bending down and picking up a handbill. It was an advertisement for a slave sale at Murphy’s Exchange on Clark Street followed by an orphan adoption meeting. “Every Sunday at the Exchange,” she said. “Just like Giselle’s husband said in his letter.”
“Orphan sales every Sunday? That’s a lot of children.”
“They must be sweeping cities up and down the river gathering youngsters,” Sydnee said. “I am guessing they are holding sales as far north as Dubuque. Remember Ruth? She escaped from Hannibal. I think this is a much larger operation than we realized.”
Murphy’s Exchange was only a few blocks away. It was a massive domed structure, which was not only a hotel, but an auction house, a maison de café by day, and a drinking establishment by night.
Neither Sydnee nor Dr. Locke wanted to watch the slave auction and waited in a doorway nearby until they were finished. “There are many things I detest about England, but at least we don’t enslave the African,” he said as he watched slaves leave the Exchange with their masters.
Sydnee chuckled cynically. “That’s right. Why bother when you have the Irish?”
Locke opened his mouth to argue, and then changed his mind.
At last it was time for the orphan sale, and they entered the building. People were pulling up in wagons, others came on foot. Most of them looked like farmers or settlers traveling west coming to find low cost labor. Gaunt and sinewy, the men were in work boots, wore threadbare clothing and had tanned leathery skin. The women were equally weather-beaten. They wore shabby bonnets and had dingy shawls draped over their thin shoulders. There were a few smartly-dressed people who Sydnee thought were probably looking for servants. She hoped a few of these people were sincerely interested in welcoming an orphaned child into their home.
The atrium of Murphy’s Exchange was a large pillared area with a chandelier overhead, stone floors and a faux marble platform suitable for displaying merchandise. A worker stepped up with a broom, swept the platform off quickly, and then nodded to a man in a dirty black suit coat standing in a doorway. The man in the suit coat had on the collar of a preacher, long shaggy side burns, and dirty unkempt hair.
He stepped up onto the platform and addressed the crowd in a drawl. “Good day, folks. My name is Brother Jackson and God bless ya’ll for coming. In a moment you will witness God’s finest creation--his children. These children have been dealt cruel blows and orphaned at tender ages in New Orleans, Baton Rouge, and Natchez.”
Fletcher looked at Sydnee and whispered, “Multiple cities.”
“They have lost their parents but escaped the ravages of disease themselves because of their fine constitutions. Nevertheless they have been rendered destitute and homeless, and I appeal to your hearts today to give them loving homes.”
He swept his arm, and a chubby, middle-aged woman directed the orphans onto the platform. The tallest orphans came out first, mostly boys and girls around the age of eleven or twelve followed by younger children. Some of the older girls held the hands of toddlers or carried infants. In all, there were about sixty orphans. Their eyes looked too big for their faces because they were emaciated, and their clothes were hanging on them like scarecrows. It was obvious someone had washed their faces and hands before the sale, but their hair was dirty and matted.
“These poor unfortunates have come a long way to unite with you today. Granted they are thin but with good food and hard work they will be back to full health in a jiffy.”
Then Brother Jackson put his hands up in a dramatic gesture. “Now, we ask nothing from you for these dear children of God. They are not for sale. The only recompense we ask is the cost for bringing them upriver to you today. In one easy transaction with my colleague in the back of the atrium, you may take them home. Now step right up and feel free to converse with our angels and examine them. You will find them in excellent health.”
Sydnee and Fletcher watched people step up and quickly surround the older boys. They picked up their arms to examine their biceps, had them bend over and touch their toes or jump up and down. Many of the customers had children open their mouths to examine their teeth while others checked the whites of their eyes. Several women took infants into their arms and rocked them. Some customers talked with the girls, but they were not a popular commodity. It was the boys they wanted for labor on the wagon trains or farms.
“Have you noticed there are no mulattos or Negros in the group?” Fletcher muttered to Sydnee. “They don’t want anyone accusing them of stealing slaves.”
Customers were now taking children to the desk in the rear of the atrium to pay. Almost all of the boys over the age of eight were taken, most of the infants, and a few of the girls. As the crowd thinned out, Jackson stepped off the platform to pressure customers who had not yet made up their minds.
Sydnee felt queasy and stepped over to lean against a pillar. A humming started in her ears and her heart started to pound. She anticipated the sale would sicken her, but this seemed excessive. The humming became louder and louder. Suddenly, with a jolt, she realized that this was the droning that preceded a vision.
Panicking, she appealed to the spirits. Not now! I must not attract attention. No, please! Panting, she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples, trying to block the vision.
Fletcher noticed her, and in two steps he was upon her. “Are you ill? What is it?”
With that, Sydnee’s head snapped forward, and her eyes opened. She realized the spirits had been trying to warn her about someone. She looked across the atrium and there he was, looking just like he had looked years ago on The Trace. It was the man who had come for a reading from Margarite in the shed that stormy night long ago when Sydnee was only fourteen. It was the man who Cumptico, the snake, had cornered. There was no mistaking him, tall and thin, rounded shoulders, heavy brow and sunken cheeks.
Sydnee stared at him with horror. Just like it was yesterday, he wore his threadbare greatcoat and heavy boots. His head was down, and his collar was up.
When Brother Jackson finished with one of the couples he started talking to him. They seemed to be conducting a transaction regarding the remaining children.
“What is it?” Fletcher asked.
She reached up and pushed the damp hair from her forehead. “Find out what that Jackson man is saying to that creature,” she murmured.
He nodded, looking at the men. “Very well.”
Fletcher strolled over casually. When he returned, he told her that the man in the greatcoat was purchasing the remaining children.
“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t let him!” she blurted, taking his lapels.
“Quiet,” he said, grabbing her arms and whisking her behind a pillar. Locke had never seen her so agitated. Sydnee’s eyes were on fire, and she was shaking.
“Don’t let him near those children. This man is evil, capable of anything. You must stop him!”
“Hush,” he said. “Lower your voice.”
Tears started to run down her cheeks.
“There, there,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. “Be still. Don’t worry. I will take care of it.”
As Sydnee buried her face in his jacket, Fletcher frowned. He had to think of something and think fast. Pulling out his handkerchief, he bent over, dried her tears and said, “Stay here.”
Stepping onto the platform, he approached one of the girls and asked her to open her mouth. He looked down her throat, felt the glands in her neck and then approached the next child.
Brother Jackson came over. “Good day, friend,” he said to Locke. “Do you see someone who interests you?”
Locke ignored him. He went to the next child, looked down the boy’s throat and felt his neck as well. He turned to Br
other Jackson and said abruptly, “No one is taking any more orphans. These children have diphtheria.”
Jackson’s eyes grew large, and he barked, “Impossible! They are as healthy as horses. Just exactly who are you, sir?”
“I am a doctor, and these children are going to the hospital. They need to be quarantined immediately.”
“How dare you!” Jackson roared. With a flourish, he signaled to the woman to start taking the children off the platform.
In a flash, Locke grabbed Jackson by the jacket and snarled, “I’ll let the constables know that you are contributing to a contagion.”
Jackson’s eyes grew wide, and he babbled, “No, no, not necessary. Take them. Take them all. I have no use for sick children.”
Dr. Locke stepped back. Never taking his eyes off Jackson, he motioned to Sydnee saying, “Mademoiselle, if you please!”
Sydnee scurried up.
“Take these children to the hospital,” he said.
“Very well,” she murmured and began to direct the children to come with her.
Locke dragged his eyes from Jackson’s face and looked at the orphans. Instantly his demeanor softened. “You will be just fine,” he said, going from one to the other. “Do not worry. We will take care of you.”
When Locke turned around, Brother Jackson, and his assistants were darting out the door. The man who terrified Sydnee had disappeared as well.
“What the hell are we supposed to do with all these children?” Fletcher said to Sydnee. “There must be thirty of them.”
Sydnee smiled, looking relieved. “I don’t know Dr. Locke. This was your idea.”
He mustered a smile, running his hand through his tangled hair. As quickly as possible they whisked the orphans out of The Exchange. With Sydnee in the back and Fletcher in the front they hustled the children down several blocks to a quiet street and stopped. “Where are we going?” Sydnee asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t think,” Locke said. The toddler he had on his back was crying. Sydnee handed the child to an older girl. “We need to get them back to New Orleans somehow,” he said, straightening his shoulders.
“A paddle wheeler?” she suggested.
“I haven’t the fare for thirty children. Besides, once Jackson and his thugs see that we aren’t at the hospital, the first place they’ll look is the landing.”
“I have a friend in Memphis who could help us. He could certainly lend us the fare for the rest of the way,” Sydnee stated.
“Memphis is a long way!” Fletcher exclaimed, but after a moment’s consideration, he sighed and said, “Very well, there is little choice. We will travel overland until we can hire a flat boat.”
“It will be a long walk, but we can do it,” Sydnee said. “People have walked The Trace for years with children.”
“This is going to be difficult.”
Sydnee put her fist to her lips, thinking. “We will need supplies. It is a stroke of luck that we have hundreds of outfitters here in St. Louis for overland travel.”
“Until we get organized, we need to hide them somewhere,” Fletcher said, looking up and down the block. “A warehouse or a school.”
“What about a church?”
“That’s it!”
After making a few inquiries, they found that they were not far from The Basilica of St. Louis, a large cathedral by the river with an imposing spire and four huge stone pillars at the entrance. Sydnee and Fletcher rushed the children inside and sat them down in the pews. After quieting them, Sydnee counted heads while Fletcher tended a skinned knee.
“I will go out to get the supplies we need for the journey,” she said stepping up beside him.
He nodded, patted the boy on the head and stood up. He stuffed a wad of bills into her hand and added, “Hurry.”
When Sydnee turned to go, he caught her arm and whispered, “Buy rifles for us.”
She nodded and dashed out onto the street, afraid she would see the man from The Trace again, but he was nowhere in sight. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed on. It did not take long to find an outfitter and after inspecting several packages she bought fifteen knapsacks suitable for people traveling on foot, complete with supplies. She also purchased food and two rifles. Sydnee and a clerk from the outfitters hauled everything in a wagon and unloaded it outside the church.
“Has anyone been in the church?” she asked Fletcher as he helped her haul the packs inside.
He shook his head. “Only a few old ladies came in to light candles.”
“Good,” she said as she opened a large burlap bag and began to pass out bread, apples, and cheese to the orphans.
“Eat quickly now, children, and you must be quiet,” she said.
Locke went outside to inspect the rifles and then left to make inquiries about trails to the south. It turned out there was only one which followed the Mississippi to St. Genevieve, and there they could hire a flatboat.
“It should be quiet along there,” he said. “Most of the traffic is steam travel now on the river.”
Fletcher took a bite of an apple and looked down at the children’s feet. Many of them had no shoes. “Look there,” he said with a scowl. “They cannot walk any distance barefoot.”
Sydnee shook her head. “That’s not true. If you have gone barefoot your whole life, shoes are worse. I walked to Natchez barefoot.”
Fletcher stopped chewing and looked at her. There were so many things that he did not know or understand about Sydnee. “I must fetch my medical bag. Is there anything you need from the hotel?” he asked.
“No, leave my things. There were just a few useless gowns anyway. By the way, I just purchased some clothes for overland travel for all of us,” she said, picking up one of the packs and pulling out some garments. “They are a bit worn but more suitable than what we are wearing now.” She tossed him a pair of cotton duck trousers, a dark red shirt and a black vest.
Fletcher took the clothes and left. He changed at the hotel, settled the bill and returned to the church with his medical bag. Sydnee had changed by that time too. She was dressed in a faded, yellow print gown.
“Very well, let’s go,” Fletcher said. “We still have several hours of daylight left.”
The surrounding area of St. Louis became rural quickly, and at last Sydnee and Fletcher could relax. They followed a wooded trail along the shore. They walked in a line with Fletcher in the front and Sydnee in the back. They would alternate with the older children carrying either packs or toddlers because no one could ever manage both. Just about everyone who could walk carried something.
Sydnee observed a few abandoned stands along the way, but the trail was nothing compared to the Natchez Trace. It was obvious this thoroughfare had not been as heavily traveled.
After several hours of walking they stopped to rest on the shore of the river in the breeze away from the bugs. Sydnee and Fletcher knew that the children were anxious to know where they were going. In their haste to escape St. Louis, there had been no time for explanations. Everyone sat down on the sand or rocks looking up expectantly at Fletcher and Sydnee while the older children kept an eye on the toddlers.
For the first time, Sydnee was able to look at each one of the orphans individually. There were thirty-two children in all. Eight of them were girls around the age eleven, and they were of great help. They carried the infants and toddlers, helped with food and with discipline. There was only one older boy in the group, about the age of twelve, who was passed over by the customers because he was blind in one eye and had a paralyzed right hand. The younger children were a mix of ages including two infants.
Fletcher and Sydnee called for everyone’s attention. “Children, I want you to know that you are safe now,” Fletcher announced. He paused while Sydnee translated into French. Some of the children spoke English, others did not. Fletcher had been learning French, but his skills were limited. “We are taking you home, and we will try to find someone kind to take care of you. We want you to be safe and well cared for.
If you are wondering, my name is Dr. Locke, and this is Mademoiselle Sauveterre. Her name means ‘safe haven’.”
Sydnee looked at him with surprise.
He muttered, “You’re not the only one who knows French.”
It pleased her.
“We are going to be walking during the day,” he continued. “And sleeping at night under the stars for many nights. But do not worry, you will always have enough to eat, and we will keep you safe.”
Looking at Sydnee, he asked, “What do you want to say?”
“This will be a long journey, and we will eventually be taking a boat,” she added. “You will get tired, but we all must stay strong and help each other.”
The toddlers were growing restless and starting to squirm. “We will walk until it gets dark tonight and then camp outside,” she said in closing.
Fletcher put his felt hat on, slung a rifle over his shoulder and picked up the heaviest pack as Sydnee dropped to the rear of the line to make sure there were no stragglers. One of the girls helped her strap a toddler onto her back with a large scarf, and Sydnee slung a rifle over her shoulder. She hunted only minimally on The Trace for rabbits and squirrels before her father lost the shotgun gambling, but she would not hesitate to use the weapon if necessary.
At sunset they stopped at a clearing by the river where, once again, the breeze would sweep the bugs away. They built a fire and cooked side pork, potatoes and some collard greens. They were amazed at how much the children ate.
“I hope they slow down or we will be boiling bark,” Sydnee said.
“Right now they are panicked about food. When they see they are getting enough to eat regularly, they will slow down.”
“Really?” she said, feeling relieved.
“Actually I’m not sure. Did I sound convincing?”
Sydnee rolled her eyes and laughed. “Let’s pretend you know what you are talking about.”
Before the sun set they tied their food in the trees and distributed bedrolls pairing older children with younger children for the night. Everyone was near the fire for safety and warmth, and they stretched two large tarps between trees for shelter in case it rained.
The Grand Masquerade (The Bold Women Series Book 4) Page 30
