Mathias cleared his throat. "You heading to Fort Mose?"
"Yessuh, near St. Augustine, it run by escaped slaves. All you got to do to get in is become a Catholic. Lila and me got no problem with that."
"It was destroyed about forty years ago by the British."
"Yessuh. We heard they built it back."
"There have been recent rebel forays into East Florida. What if your sanctuary isn't standing when you get there?"
"Indians sometimes help runaways."
"And Indians sometimes enslave or kill runaways."
Ulysses's jaw became obstinate. "Yessuh. Everywhere we go, we taking our chances. Ain't going back to the massuh."
"Very well. We've extra horses. You may ride with us if you agree to some rules first."
"Thank you, suh."
"Follow our orders. Don't wander off. Don't snoop in our property or take what belongs to us. Assist with camp chores and sentry duties. Help defend us, if necessary. Understood?"
His head bobbed. "Yessuh." Lila nodded, dark eyes large.
"Good. I'm Mathias, and that's Jacques. David. Sophie. Sehoyee Yahuh. And Assayceeta Corackall."
"Mistuh Mathias, I only got a knife." The Negro's biceps rippled beneath his sleeves. "Who do I defend you against?"
The blacksmith's tone was nonchalant. "Bandits. Spanish assassins. Loyalists and Whigs. Redcoats."
Disbelief creased Ulysses's brow, and he blotted sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. "Yessuh, you running, all right. You be running from everybody in this land. Any chance you running from them camped redcoats we sneaked around earlier?"
Sophie pared emotion from her voice. "How many were there?"
He swiveled his gaze to her. "Ten, Miz Sophie."
They just couldn't seem to get far enough ahead of Edward to breathe easy. "Let's just say we're avoiding all redcoats."
"Yessum."
***
After she'd nursed the baby, Lila was up and about and stabilized enough to travel. Had she still been on a plantation, she'd have been back in the fields at daybreak, the baby with her in a sling. Sophie found herself pondering the significance that out of all the children she and Mathias had conceived, only the child they had begotten together, Betsy, had survived.
The drama of the birth and the proximity of the soldiers chased sleep from all of them. After a cold meal, they packed up and moved on at three in the morning, even though lack of sleep dragged at all of them. They paced the horses, with Runs With Horses and Standing Wolf scouting before and behind. Ulysses and Lila rode well, despite having blankets for saddles and no stirrups. Lulled by the warmth of her mother and the motion of the horse, the baby slept.
South of St. Simon's Island just after dawn, Runs With Horses rode back, expression grim. "Slave catchers return."
They headed west, downwind, into a thicket of palmettos and live oaks a hundred feet from the road. Jacques brought up the rear spreading pepper. Everyone dismounted, readied firearms.
To the east, sunlight sparkled on the Atlantic Ocean, and salt flavored the air. Sophie heard the jingle of metal, the whine of hounds, and the crack of a whip, followed by a man's hoarse command: "Get up, you colored rat!" She squinted at the road. Ulysses wrapped an arm about Lila, and they trembled.
Three men on horseback dragged six roped Negroes. Bringing up the rear were three more men on horseback and five hounds. One of the hounds scented the other party and bayed, only to be neutralized with sneezing when he encountered the pepper. A man dismounted and kicked the beast out of the brush back onto the road. "Move, worthless varmint!" Another such encouragement, and the dog obliged and galloped north. The man remounted his horse and caught up with the rest of his party. Sounds of their passage dwindled.
Ulysses and Lila clutched each other breathing hard, the baby between them. "Your people?" Sophie whispered. He nodded.
David walked over beside her. "We cannot help them. We need them to spread word to our pursuers that we've not been seen on this road. You understand?"
"Yessuh." Ulysses swallowed. "Yessuh, we do."
Chapter Twenty-One
AT THE CAMPSITE Sunday evening in East Florida, south of the St. Marys River, Lila flopped onto a blanket with almost no strength to nurse her infant. Ulysses staggered about trying to help with chores but was so dazed from lack of sleep that he was ordered to the blanket with his wife and daughter. The runaways deserved honors. In one day, they'd covered mileage that would have challenged a cavalry unit.
Since David was still mending from the pistol wound, Sophie and Jacques built the fire while Mathias and his cousins hunted. Wood smoke clashed with a breeze reeking of seaweed, dumping the taste of smoked brine into Sophie's throat. "Gods, it's hot."
"And it stinks worse than London." Jacques inspected her, his expression pensive. "What is between you and Mathias? For two days, you have not spoken with each other except to argue."
She fanned off mosquitoes that the limpid breeze failed to flush — mosquitoes twice the size of Alton's. "It's none of your business — or David's, either, so you may tell him that."
"It is my business if I see it disrupting the mission. So you tell me the problem, and I will act as your messenger, oui?"
She scowled. "Jacob Hale's the problem. And the poor judgment of Madeleine for marrying him."
Jacques flinched as if she'd slapped his jaw. Old sadness haunted his dark eyes, and his shoulders slumped. "Belle Sophie, let me share a story with you." He escorted her to the edge of camp. "For half a year after the ambush, I thought Madeleine was dead. Then I heard she had been the sole survivor of the massacre. I spent three years tracking her from New Orleans into Georgia and found her with the Creek, married to Toókóhee Nókúse.
"The brother of our dead father died, and Madeleine and I inherited the family wine estate. In Bordeaux I dealt with my aunt, the administrator." He glowered. "A foul woman with such airs about herself. She had respectable spouses picked out for my sister and me.
"Fearing Madeleine would lose her inheritance, I told Aunt that she had married a colonist. Aunt wanted to see her, meet her husband. By the time I returned to Georgia, the smallpox had claimed Toókóhee Nókúse. Madeleine agreed to return to France with me. I thought we would have Aunt's blessings at last. Then Madeleine told me she carried Toókóhee Nókúse's child. Mathias." Jacques rubbed his hand over his face.
Understanding and sadness crept through Sophie. "Jacob seemed respectable, successful. You convinced her to marry him."
Jacques nodded. "We did not foresee that he would grow fanatic for a god who curses women and people with other gods."
"Did your aunt disown you and Madeleine?"
"Non. I sailed back to France with the story that Madeleine was pregnant and could not travel. Aunt's health was failing. She accepted my story. In exchange for her blessings, I was to marry a girl from a minor aristocratic family."
"You're married?"
Slyness creased the corners of his eyes. "Two weeks before the wedding, Aunt died. Back I went to America, before the girl, her father, and the village priest could tie me down for vows."
Aware that her jaw dangled in surprise, Sophie close it. "You and Madeleine still inherited the estate?"
"We inherited the estate."
"Well, how do you like that? Susana was right about you concealing a fortune somewhere."
"Bah. Men have made bigger fortunes here overnight. But I will be certain to tease her about it when next I see her." They both snickered a moment before Jacques sobered. "My nephew isn't at rest with himself."
"True. He's created masterpieces at the forge and built a bridge of peace between two civilizations, but he allows himself little pride in his accomplishments." Why had Mathias told her two nights before that he had no material assets to offer her? "Does he know about the estate?"
"Mais oui. Bien sur. Mathias does not hunger for wealth of substance. He hungers for wealth of spirit. Something to fill the treasury of his soul, the comp
anionship of people who appreciate his worth and accept him as he is. And a partner."
"Many of us hunger for that. How hard it must have been for him when Teekin Keyta died."
"Oui, but she was not his partner. He did not love her."
She frowned. "He married her. I thought surely —"
"For at least ten years I have wondered." Jacques caught her hand in his. "Your daughter resembles my sister."
She pondered who else besides her parents might have seen the resemblance. Jacob Hale? Jonah and Joshua? David and Susana?
Jacques nodded, wise. "I see. We will leave it at that."
"Yes," she whispered. "Let's leave it at that."
***
They broke camp Monday before daybreak, everyone sensing the journey's end by the following evening. With dawn came the view of cattle ranches and indigo plantations to the west, palmettos cluttering the sandy soil, and curtains of moss choking live oaks and cypress trees. Dawn also brought company. The broad avenue they traveled, known as the King's Highway, led to St. Augustine through the Crown-held settlement of Cow Ford, supporting far more traffic than the road between Augusta and Savannah.
Early that afternoon, with sun and humidity smothering them like a giant forge, they crossed Thomas Creek. A mile south, soldiers had blockaded the highway in both directions. Before they reached the roadblock, David, riding at the rear, trotted his horse and the horse he towed up front. "All right, everyone follow my lead."
Jacques, riding beside Sophie, chuckled. "Your brother never ceases to amaze me with the fiction he spins."
She regarded David's sweaty back. "You wouldn't believe the number of times our parents swallowed that fiction."
"I would indeed."
They pulled up before wooden barricades. A sweat-drenched ensign emerged from a scrap of shade shared with several other soldiers. "Good afternoon. Sorry to detain you, but we've a bit of trouble in these parts with cattle thieving the last week." He swelled his chest, face florid in the heat. "Bother. It's the most those rebels can manage."
Indignation screwed up David's expression. "My property agent never told me East Florida had that sort of problem with rebel scum. I shall box the fellow's ears when I see him next."
"The problem is but infrequent, and we've hanged quite a few of the thieves."
"Jolly good show." David layered on the ire. "Cattle thieving. Hrumph. Fortunately my concern is with indigo."
"Ah, yes, sir." The ensign nodded to a scribe, who dipped his quill in an inkwell and readied paper. "We're recording information about all travelers in the area. Please state your name, destination, and business."
"Daniel Hazelton. That's my sister, Sarah, her husband, Mark, and his father, Jonathan."
Sophie refrained from glancing at Mathias. So she was his wife again. He must be squirming.
"We've brought household slaves and native guides to help us through Georgia and East Florida." The ensign eyed Lila's baby. "The baby came Friday night, five weeks early."
"I hear a great deal of riding will do that. I take it you're from the Carolinas, then?"
David nodded. "North Carolina."
"And your destination and business in East Florida, sir?"
"Cow Ford. I'm not satisfied with the returns I'm getting from naval stores, and frankly, the winters in North Carolina are bloody cold. Far worse than what Mother England hands out. Been researching indigo. My agent has property picked out for us to inspect. If we like what we see, I shall sell my business, buy into indigo, and move south."
"Very good, sir. I wish you success. You may proceed. Thank you for your time." The ensign stepped aside, pulling the barrier open with him. Sweat streamed down his face. "Oh, I should advise you that the summers in East Florida are as ferocious as you claim the winters in North Carolina to be."
David laughed and motioned Sophie and the others through. "This heat is marvelous." While sucking in a deep breath, he straightened in his saddle and slapped his palm to his chest. "And that salty air — so invigorating!"
From the revulsion on his face, the ensign found East Florida an antechamber to hell. "It isn't even the hottest part of the season, yet."
"Excellent! This venture sounds better and better!" The ensign shook his head in disbelief, and David paraded his gelding past. "Oh, can you recommend an inn of distinction in Cow Ford?"
"Try the Lark and Dove, sir."
David tipped his hat. "Many thanks. Good day!"
They passed northbound travelers waiting at the blockade, and David caught up to Sophie beaming as if he'd dropped live lizards down the shirts of a few redcoats. "How was I?"
"A consummate liar." The smirk she'd been holding back seized her lips. "I take it we shan't be staying at the Lark and Dove tonight."
"Indeed, no. Major Hunt might search the Lark and Dove to his heart's delight, but we shall be long gone from town."
***
Cow Ford, named for a narrow point on the St. Johns River, had sprung up near ruins of Fort Caroline, site of the Spaniards' massacre of French Huguenots two centuries earlier. Sophie and the others stepped off the ferry Monday afternoon and assessed the kaleidoscope. With all the Lower Creek Indians, Negroes, redcoats, militia, plantation gentry, backwoodsmen, merchants and their wives and children, ranchers, slatterns, and pickpockets in the dusty streets, no one gave travelers from Georgia a second glance. However, Sophie did notice the absence of Spaniards, so some selectivity existed within the community.
They bypassed the Lark and Dove at the heart of the commerce area and, farther south, dismounted near three modest wooden taverns like the Red Rock in Alton. All three were doing brisk business — horses hitched in front, patrons smoking pipes on porches. Sophie gestured to one tavern. "The Wolf and the Dove. Hmm. Sounds too much like the Lark and Dove. That one isn't for me."
"Indeed." David stroked his chin. "The Queen Charlotte. I wonder whether anyone in there is playing cards."
Jacques leered across the street. "Personally, I prefer the implications of the Stocking and Slipper."
Amusement livened Mathias's expression. "We shan't be here above two hours."
"I may be old, but do you think I need two hours?"
In the next second, the report of a pistol from the porch of the Queen Charlotte had all eight adults ready to dive into the dust for cover. They jerked around to discover the source of the shot. David said, "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
Several patrons on the porch guffawed. A fat innkeeper waved his pistol to clear black powder smoke and grinned at them. "Five o'clock, and all's well! Afternoon, folks! You obviously ain't from round here. My clock broke two years ago. Come on in and refresh yourselves. The wife just pulled bread from the oven."
Fresh bread. Sophie's mouth watered. Nothing like a week on the trail to make one appreciate simple comforts.
Jacques nudged Mathias and gave the Stocking and Slipper across the street a nod. "I shall butter my bread elsewhere."
Sophie eyed the Frenchman. "We meet right here in two hours."
Jacques smiled, tipped his hat, and sauntered across the street with his horses. David said to the innkeeper, "Anyone playing piquet inside?"
"Yes, sir, and there's a spot for you at the table."
David sighed, a happy sound. "I'm in." He turned to Sophie and Mathias, a wicked gleam in his eyes, and lowered his voice. "I wonder how much interest I can earn on the rebels' bribe."
Sophie's eyes widened. "Those emeralds aren't yours."
"I've made small fortunes for lenders."
Mathias frowned, his voice also low. "You flash emeralds around, and you won't be leaving here in two hours."
David's smile dazzled. "Come in and watch me manage it."
Mathias cast a look at a smithy next door. "Only while I loosen the dust off my throat. I've another site to visit."
Sophie assented with a grumpy sigh. David turned back to the proprietor. "What about our slaves and Indian guides?"
"Indians come on inside a
nd get fed. Slaves go round the rear." He bustled back indoors.
The party went forward to the hitching post of the Queen Charlotte and secured the horses so each had access to the water trough. After assuring everyone that they understood the timing, the Negroes bowed their heads and shuffled around the side of the inn. The others headed inside the tavern with their saddlebags.
The first thing Sophie saw through the tobacco smoke was a British flag covering most of one wall. Well, after all, Charlotte was King George's wife. Next she noticed five redcoats sprawled on chairs around a table, a dice game between them and tankards before them. They directed languid interest at the newcomers, and after David waved a greeting, nodded and returned to the dice. Mathias's cousins migrated to the rear of the tavern and three members of a Lower Creek tribe. David homed in on a corner table populated by three civilians, one soldier, four tankards, and playing cards.
Sophie and Mathias followed him and slid into a window seat nearby. At the next table sat a plump young woman accompanied by an even plumper older woman. Both were fanning themselves and heavily rouged.
The younger woman smiled at Mathias and brushed his elbow. "It's so hot." Mathias scooted closer to Sophie, who could tell the woman's lower leg was rubbing his. "Don't you agree it's hot?" Mathias eyed Sophie and seemed embarrassed.
Sophie grinned at the women. "Forgive him. He's a deaf mute." Beneath the table, Mathias prodded her shoe with his moccasin. She enlarged her smile. "But there's a Frenchman in the Stocking and Slipper looking for someone to talk to."
The women gaped, having realized only when Sophie spoke that she was a woman. Then they rose, bobbed curtsies, and hastened out the door and across the street. Sophie muffled a laugh. "Vive le Montcalm. Don't you dare tell him I did that."
"I'm a deaf-mute. My lips are sealed."
"Good. Are you always so rude to doxies?"
He shook his head. "They usually treat me like I'm a piece of furniture. I cannot imagine what happened in this instance."
"Oh, well, of the two of us, clearly you were the more handsome man. A compliment to both of us, wouldn't you agree?"
Paper Woman: A Mystery of the American Revolution Page 17
