As Roussel listened, he began to tremble with rage.
When Selma got to the part about Roscoe saying Angele was going to run away even though she had changed her mind, Roussel quickly set her on her feet and cried, “Get to Toby as fast as you can! Don’t let anyone stop you. Tell him he’s to ride to Richmond—fast!—and find Ryan and let him know what’s happened.”
Selma assured him between sobs that she would do exactly as he said. “And I’m so sorry,” she whimpered as she rushed to obey. “…so sorry.”
Roscoe had hastily bound Angele’s wrists and stuffed a rag in her mouth. Then he had roughly tossed her into the buckboard and took off for the rendezvous point.
“Wish I had time to teach you a lesson, you little hell cat!” he yelled back at her as they rolled along. “At least you were smart enough to keep your mouth shut about me giving you the old man’s horse”—he laughed—“even if you were so stupid you didn’t figure out I did it on purpose ’cause I knew he’d throw you.
“Ryan knew it, too,” he embellished, wanting to make her suffer as much as possible to get even for how his hand hurt from her bite. “Selma told him she thought you might be gonna have a baby, and he didn’t want it…didn’t want to be tied down to you anymore. And it worked, too, especially when you decided to leave after you found out about him and Denise. Only you changed your mind and put me to a whole lot of extra trouble.”
Angele was no longer scared.
She was angry.
Working furiously with the ropes, they were slowly loosening. He had been in a hurry when he tied them and had not done a very good job.
He walked on, tormenting her, and with each breath she drew she despised Ryan a little bit more. To think how he had been able to deceive her made her more angry with herself than him. How could she have been so blind? And he had even fooled his father.
“It won’t be long now. We’re about to cross the bridge at Cooter’s swamp. The old dock isn’t much farther, and I might just take the time to show you what a real man is like.”
At last, her hands popped free.
Feeling about in the darkness, her fingers closed on a piece of stove wood that had been overlooked the last time a load was carried to the kitchen. Rising to her knees, she crept up behind Roscoe and brought it crashing down on his head.
With a shriek of pain, he yanked back on the reins, and the horses slowed just enough that she was able to leap out of the wagon without getting hurt.
“I…I’ll get you, bitch!” he shouted.
Angele waded into the thick cattails growing at the edge of the swamp. The cold, slimy water was waist-high, and she tried not to think about things like snakes and leeches.
Selma had said the first rendezvous point for runaways was somewhere around Cooter’s swamp. But Roscoe had said he was taking her farther. So maybe, in the beginning, Selma had intended to help her but was forced to betray her. But that didn’t matter now. Angele knew she had to concentrate on surviving, and if a contact for the underground railroad did come to the spot nightly in case a runaway showed up, then he might be around tonight and help her. There was no way of knowing, and she could only hope.
“You better come out, bitch,” Roscoe’s voice echoed through the stillness. Croaking frogs in the distance fell silent, and a nearby whippoorwill ceased calling for a mate.
“When I find you, I’m gonna make you wish you had, and I’m not leaving till I do.”
Something brushed her arm. It was slimy…slick, and she ground her teeth together to keep from screaming.
It moved away, and she dared to breathe again and wondered how long she would have to endure such madness of the night.
Toby had wasted no time getting to Richmond. He knew the road well, and there was a full moon. He gave the horse the reins and let him set his own gait.
It was late when he arrived but still a little ways from midnight, he figured.
He had gone to the house before leaving to make sure what Master Roussel wanted, and he had told him where Ryan might be—in a section where there were saloons and gamblin’ houses.
Toby knew to go around to back doors in alleys. He was polite, respectful, but made it clear that he had to find his master, because there was a crisis at home.
At the fourth place he went to, he breathed a sigh of relief when the man who responded to his frantic pounding said Mr. Tremayne was upstairs, and he would go get him right away. He was much nicer than the others had been. They had cursed and slammed the door in his face.
A few moments later, Ryan appeared, his face taut with worry. “Did you find Doctor Pardee?” he asked at once, assuming whatever Toby had come to tell him had to do with his father.
Toby alleviated that fear. “It ain’t Master Roussel. It’s Miz Angele. Something’s happened to her, and you’ve got to get home fast as you can.”
“What’s this nonsense?” Corbett had followed Ryan and spoke from behind him. He had a stricken, worried look on his face that Ryan couldn’t see.
“We’ve got to go home,” Ryan quickly said. “Right now.” He started out the door, but Corbett caught his arm.
“Wait a minute.” He forced a laugh. “You can’t go tearing off on the word of a stupid slave who doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’ve got a lot of money at stake on the hand you’re holding upstairs. You leave now, and they’ll fold you and keep it.”
Ryan jerked from his grasp. “You think I give a damn? Something’s happened to Angele…’
“But you can’t be sure of that,” Corbett argued. He pushed around him to lean right into Toby’s face. “Tell him you’re only guessing, that you don’t know anything for sure.
“Tell him”—he bit out the words so Toby would grasp his meaning—“that your wife sometimes gets the wrong idea about things. Miss Angele probably went for a walk, and she can’t find her. Isn’t that so?”
Toby looked him straight in the eye, not flinching. “No, sir. That ain’t it at all. It was Master Roussel who told me to hurry and fetch Master Ryan, because he knows for a fact that Miss Angele’s been taken away by somebody.”
At that, Ryan gave Corbett a hard shove out of his way and shouted, “Let’s ride, Toby!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Selma had persuaded Roussel to return to his bed to wait for Ryan. She hoped he would fall asleep, but he was much too worried. He kept asking her to repeat over and over every detail of what had happened…everything that Clarice had asked her to do. That included her lying to Ryan to make him think Angele had known she was going to have a baby before she jumped the horse. And when he heard that, he was livid.
When Toby finally arrived, walking right behind Ryan, Selma had never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life. She ran into Toby’s arms and asked him to take her home and send Willard back, because she was afraid to be there when Miss Clarice found out what she had done.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Roussel said firmly. “And I’ve told you that you’ve got nothing to fear from anybody. Now, tell Ryan what you told me—word for word.”
She quickly proceeded to do so, but Ryan did not wait for her to finish. He’d heard enough, he said grimly.
“I’m going after the son of a bitch. Where was he when you were supposed to take her to meet him?”
“The pier on the other side of Cooter’s swamp.”
“Then what?”
“She thought she’d be goin’ north.”
Ryan knew Roscoe had no intention of seeing she got there. Neither would he be involved in the plot very long himself for fear of being found out. “Where was he taking her then?”
Selma told him she honestly didn’t know. She had only been told to take her to the pier. He would have to ask Master Corbett or Miss Clarice, because they were all in on it together.
“There’s no time.” He started out.
Roussel called to him. “Wait, son. Let me have Toby ride for some of the neighbors to bring some men to go with you. The
re could be trouble.”
Ryan paused at the door. “There will be trouble, all right…and I intend to be the one to make it.”
He ran out.
“Somebody should go with him,” Roussel worried out loud. “But by the time you could get some white men together, Toby, he’d be too far ahead for you to catch him.”
“I could get some of my folks,” Toby offered.
“No. I’d have to arm you, and a bunch of slaves out at night could get you hung if you were to be caught. We’ll just have to let Ryan take care of it.”
“As angry as he was,” Selma said dryly, “I reckon he’ll do just that.”
Angele felt like she was being eaten alive by mosquitoes and gnats.
She continued to crouch in the cattails, but gave thanks that Roscoe’s shouts and threats seemed to fade farther and farther away.
She didn’t know how much longer she could remain where she was. Despite the heat and humidity, her teeth had begun to chatter with cold from standing in the water for so long. There would probably be leeches clinging to her legs, but she dared not look for fear of splashing water, and that might bring Roscoe straight to her.
Finally, his voice faded, and she dared to creep out of the swamp and onto dry land. She might have to dash back in, but, for the moment, could have reprieve from the misery.
Running her hands down her legs, she was horrified to feel slimy little creatures attached to her flesh. She tore them off and flung them away, then cringed to hear the gentle splash they made as they hit the water. She prayed Roscoe could not hear.
After a few moments, she began to breathe easier and started working her way up to the road. During the anguished hours standing in the swamp, she had come to the conclusion that Roussel was her only hope…the only person she could trust. If she could make it back to the house, surely he would be able to help her—or send her to someone who could.
The light of the full moon filtering down through the overhanging trees was not bright enough to show the way, but she finally managed to find the road.
She would not have been able to tell which direction she needed to go except for the buckboard. It was right where Roscoe had left it, which meant BelleRose would be the other way.
She didn’t see the skulking shadow coming up behind her.
She was unaware of anything until a hand closed over her mouth for the second time that night.
Again, she was pulled back against a man’s hard body, but this time he whispered, lips to her ear, “Shush now. You’ve no reason to be afraid. My name is Lucas, and I’m a friend. If I let you go, will you be quiet? You could get us both killed if you scream.”
She nodded furiously.
He released her, and she whirled about. She could barely make out his face, but it was enough for her to know she had never seen him before. “Who are you?” she asked warily.
“I told you—my name is Lucas. I help runaways on their next leg north from Cooter’s swamp. I always come here at night to see if there’s anybody waiting, and tonight I saw you. I also saw the man looking for you, so even though you aren’t a Negro—not a slave—I think you’re in trouble.”
“I am, and if you’ll help me go north, I’ll be so grateful. But I don’t have any money to pay you.”
She could see his wry smile in the moonlight. “Nobody ever does. Come along, and I’ll take you back in the bushes where you can wait till I come for you. I’ve had word there might be a runaway tonight, so I’ve got to wait awhile longer. Then I’ve got a boat hidden on the river, and I can take you to the next person who’ll be waiting to help you both.
“There’re some thick bushes right over here,” he said taking her hand. “And a little ditch just behind. You can crawl down in it and wait.”
After making sure she was settled on the ground, Lucas left her, disappearing as quietly as he had come.
Angele wondered if the waiting would ever end. She had no way of telling time but sensed a lot of it had passed. In the east, above the dark, hulking trees, she could see the first watermelon streaks of dawn.
Panic began to creep into her whole being. If Lucas did not return soon, she was afraid to stay where she was. In daylight, she might be seen. Where was he and what was taking him so long? He’d said he was waiting for a runaway, but surely if the runaway were coming, he’d have made it by now.
Cramped and aching, she struggled to stand and stretch for a moment, but just as she did, Roscoe’s voice rang out again.
“I know you’re around here somewhere, goddamn you, and I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do. Maybe if I start shootin’ in the bushes, you’ll either come out or get hit.”
She was about to duck down in the ditch again but suddenly tensed to hear a horse approaching, hooves striking the road hard and fast.
Then it was Ryan’s voice she heard, calling Roscoe’s name, shouting threats, obscenities. No doubt he was furious she had escaped.
Never had she wanted to scream so loud, to be able to tell him how she despised him for what he had done. If he wanted to be rid of her, she’d have gladly left, even if Roussel had protested. But he had chosen not only to try to sell her into slavery but to destroy their unborn child as well.
And she also wanted to rake her nails down his face, and—
A shot rang out.
A few seconds later, she heard the horse again—this time galloping away.
Easing up, she pushed her way into the bushes to stare out in the milky morning light.
A body lay on the ground, and she could see blood soaking into the ground.
She covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a cry when she realized it was Ryan.
“What are you doing? Get back here!” Lucas grabbed her arm and tugged. “Come on. We’re ready to leave. The runaway finally arrived, and we’ve got to get out of here before it gets any lighter.”
With lips quivering, she pointed at Ryan. “He…he’s shot,” she said uncertainly. “I…I don’t know why Roscoe did it, but he’s left him to die.”
“Then let him. Come on.”
Lucas kept pulling at her, but Angele continued to stare down at Ryan, so still…so helpless.
She was hesitating, because, as much as she loved him, she also hated him.
And if Roscoe had told the truth—if Ryan had, indeed, been behind the macabre scheme and she helped him now, he would eventually do the same thing all over again.
And next time she might not be able to escape.
But despite all the arguments within, she knew she had to take that chance.
“Ma’am, I can’t wait no longer,” Lucas pleaded.
“And neither can I!” she cried, bolting from the bushes and into the road to run to Ryan’s side.
Lucas went behind her, continuing to beg her to go with him, but she refused.
“I know you have to get the runaway to safety, but please help me get him in the wagon first.”
He looked from Angele to Ryan in doubt. “I don’t know if I should. Who is he, anyway?”
“He’s my husband,” she murmured. “And I can’t leave him.”
At the sight of the buckboard coming up the road, Toby ran out to meet it. When he saw Angele, he slowed, apprehension creeping.
She stood up and shifted the reins to one hand so she could frantically wave at him with the other. “Ride for Doctor Pardee, Toby. Go fast! Master Ryan’s been shot.”
Toby yelled to Selma, who was coming up behind him, to help Angele. Then he took off.
As soon as Angele reined to a stop at the front steps, she told Selma to run to find some men to lift Ryan from the wagon and get him inside. Then she climbed down beside him and cradled his head in her arms.
He was so pale and hardly seemed to be breathing at all, his chest rising and falling so very slowly.
After what seemed forever, two brawny field hands came tearing around the house. Gently, with Angele coaching them every step of the way, they lifted Ryan and took him inside an
d put him on the sofa in the parlor.
“A blanket,” she said to no one in particular. “He feels so cold.”
Mammy Lou came running from the back of the house, out of breath. It had taken longer for her to rally from sleep and get there. She took one look at Ryan and wailed, “Oh, Lordy, Lordy, he’s done been killed!”
“No, he’s still alive,” Angele told her. “Toby has gone for Doctor Pardee, but until he gets here we need to try and slow the bleeding. Get towels—rags—anything to press against the wound.
“And don’t let Master Roussel know anything,” she called to Mammy Lou as she took off to do what she had been told.
“Master Roussel already knows.”
Angele moaned to see Roussel coming into the room with the help of a cane. She knew he must have been watching from the window and divine intervention had brought him down the stairs to the side of his wounded son.
“Who did this?”
“Roscoe. I managed to get away from him earlier in the night and hide. He was in the road, about to start shooting in the bushes to try and find me when Ryan rode up. I couldn’t hear what was said. Then Roscoe shot him and took off.”
Selma quickly got him a chair.
In despair, Angele turned to him. “Roscoe said Ryan told him to get rid of me…and to give me your horse, knowing he’d throw me and make me lose the baby.”
Roussel looked aghast. “That’s not true. Ryan didn’t know what was going on till I sent Toby to bring him back from Richmond and tell him. He took off then like a bat out of hell to find you and bring you back. And as for wanting you to lose the baby, how did he know you were that way when you didn’t?”
Selma could keep still no longer. “That’s right, Miz Angele, ’cause Miss Clarice didn’t make me tell him you did till afterwards. He couldn’t have thought that.”
“But I didn’t know!” Angele gasped.
Selma hung her head. “She made me lie. I’m so sorry. I’ve caused you so much trouble.” Tears trickled down her cheek.
Ryan's Bride Page 33
