Cora turned and said, “Back to your chores, all of you. Moses, you haven’t finished hoeing the corn, have you? And you, Abraham. Did you check your fishnets this morning?”
Boys and girls alike scattered, and she smiled. Young ones were the heart of families, and she had always believed that family was the strongest force under heaven—stronger than armies, stronger even than death. So long as families clung together, she had hope for the future.
“These aren’t all your grandbabies, are they, Cora?” Rachel asked. “I thought I knew all of yours.”
“Hmmp.” Cora waved Rachel to the rocker in front of the fireplace. “I believe I’ve given up counting myself. Some of them are Emma and Pharaoh’s. Abraham is Preacher’s boy; those girl twins in the yard are Gideon’s. His wife, Jesse, she’s working at Johnson’s store. Her girls are old enough to watch their little brother, but I told them it’s not safe to leave young ones home alone with all these soldiers tramping the roads.”
Rachel sighed. “I agree. But I’m afraid I’ve come to add to your burden. I wanted to ask a favor.”
“Ask away, girl. It’s been troubling my heart that I wasn’t with you when this little man-child came into the world. If there’s anything—”
“Could you keep Davy? It would just be for a few days, maybe four or five. I have to go upriver to Philadelphia. I don’t want to take Davy to the city in summer. He might catch something bad. I need a bank loan to pay off James’s father, and—”
“What about your breast milk? You could dry up or take the milk fever without him nursing.”
Rachel bit her lower lip. “I’ll try to get back in three days. I can’t think of any other way. I have to have the money.”
“And these penny-pinching little banks won’t loan to a woman, will they?” Cora declared. “Well, what needs done must be done. Try squeezing out some of the milk, gentle now. Maybe you’ll be all right.” She motioned to her great-niece Daisy, who was rolling biscuit dough. “Daisy, you think we could manage this little white baby for a few days?”
“Yes’m, Aunt Cora, I believe it would be no trouble at all. What’s one more chile to look after?”
Cora smiled at Rachel. “There you have it. Daisy’s my right hand, after Pharaoh’s Emma. If Daisy says we can do right by your Davy, I suppose we can.”
“I appreciate it, Cora,” Rachel said. “I wouldn’t leave him with anyone else. My father-in-law—”
Cora made a rude noise. “Him! No need to explain. But you take care. It’s dangerous for a woman traveling alone in these times.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll take Abner. He’s mute and none too smart, but his back is strong.”
Cora rose and went to the open hearth where a kettle hung over the coals. “You’ll take tea,” she said. “And you’ll stay for dinner. I’ve got a nice haunch of venison and some fresh cabbage and potatoes.”
“I brought you some jars of honey,” Rachel replied. “I nearly forgot. They’re in the boat. I’m sure the children have a sweet tooth.”
Cora laughed. “Don’t they always. Never knew a child who didn’t.” Something didn’t ring right with Rachel’s story. It wasn’t like Rachel to leave her new babe, even for a day. And that Abner, showing up out of the blue like he did, was a lucky thing for Rachel’s Choice. Maybe too lucky. She’d have to ponder on it.
“I’ll just go and fetch the honey,” Rachel offered.
“Don’t think of it,” Cora said. “I’ll send one of these boys. They’ve got more energy than a yearling bull. Now, you just sit there, hold that pretty baby, and tell me all the news.”
Three days later, Chance and Rachel guided her small sloop, Windfeather, north up the Delaware River past Pea Patch Island. Despite an overcast sky, the single sail billowed and snapped in a brisk breeze. Whitecaps foamed the biting salt air and soaked the two of them to the skin as the boat skimmed over the water’s surface.
Above them the gray stone walls of Fort Delaware bristled with heavy guns. Off Windfeather’s port side, patrol boats circled the island. Gulls wheeled and shrieked as they dared the sharks to snatch bits of garbage from the river.
Rachel shivered as she watched the dark fins slice the water. “Why are there so many sharks here?” she asked.
“They know that scraps from the kitchen will be dumped into the water over there.” He pointed to the right side of the prison. “There’s a canal that runs up to the kitchen areas. Blood, bones, offal from butchered animals. The men say that the Yanks feed the sharks to keep them close to the prison. I know of two men who were eaten by them while I was there. At least I think it was two. What washed up on the beach wasn’t enough to tell.”
“That’s horrible,” she said. “Inhuman.”
“You’d be surprised what men will do to each other in time of war. Do you have any idea what will happen to us if they catch me in this blue uniform?” Chance answered hoarsely.
The sight of Pea Patch Island sickened him and made him doubt his sanity in allowing Rachel to accompany him on such a mission. Not even the whipping wind could mask the stench of the prison. Refuse bobbed in the water, and once he caught sight of something that could have been a man’s leg.
A larger vessel, riding low in the waves, edged away from the shadows of the fortress. Shrouded in canvas, stacks of cargo lined the deck. A soldier on the bow waved, and Chance waved back. “Smile,” he urged Rachel.
He looked back at the approaching boat. “Fall over and drown, you son of a bitch,” Chance hissed.
Rachel maneuvered the Windfeather clear of the military vessel’s path. “Do you know that man?” she asked Chance.
“No.”
“Then, why—”
“That’s the Finn’s Point ferry,” he said. “They’re carrying the dead to bury on the other side of the river in New Jersey.”
“So many?”
Chance swore under his breath. “It’s summer. Heat’s worse than cold for spreading disease. Pea Patch is a swamp at low tide. At high tide the prisoners say it’s part of the river. Likely another typhoid outbreak has stacked up the dead like cordwood.” He set his jaw and stared straight ahead, not bothering to answer as Union soldiers shouted greetings from the deck.
The Windfeather sailed on, slowly passing the town of Wilmington and finally reaching Philadelphia at dusk. “We’ll have to sleep on the boat,” Rachel said. “I’ve no money for an inn. It’s probably safer for us anyway.”
They anchored in a cove and made a meal of cold sweet potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, and bread. As night cloaked the riverbank, brilliant stars winked on, one by one, and a clouded moon rose over the trees on the far side of the river. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around Rachel and Chance’s heads until they retreated to the tiny cabin and sealed the hatch.
The interior of the sloop was pitch dark, but Chance had no trouble locating the narrow bunk that ran along the starboard side. He sat down and swatted at the whine of a mosquito.
“A nice welcome to the City of Brotherly Love,” Rachel said as she cuddled up beside him.
“My sentiments,” he agreed. “It’s hot enough to bake biscuits in here, but at least we’re not being eaten alive.” He smacked another mosquito between his hands.
“We came for money, not a pleasure trip,” she reminded him. “Wait, I’ve got something.”
She fumbled in the dark and returned with a small metal container, which she pressed into his palm. “Rub this on your bites. It should help reduce the itching.”
“What is it?” He raised the can to his nose.
“Goose grease, vinegar, and rue.”
“Great, now I’ll smell like a dead goose.” He anointed two bites on his neck and another on his forehead, then gave the ointment back to her and kissed the crown of her head. “You smell good. What is that in your hair? Apples?”
“Apple blossom.”
“I like it,” he said. She raised her head and he kissed her mouth tenderly.
“Oh, Chance,”
she whispered. “Please don’t get killed on me.”
His chest tightened. “Aren’t you frightened for yourself at all, woman?”
“Terrified.”
He hugged her against him. “I could have used you in my company. You’ve more nerve than most, and more common sense than the lot.” He tilted her chin and kissed the tip of her nose. “Get some rest, honey,” he ordered. “I’ll keep watch.” The words sounded good, but how much protection he could offer her was anybody’s guess.
Rachel’s taste lingered on his lips.
If things went wrong and she and Davy had to pay the price … Running from the guards on the beach at Pea Patch Island had been bad, but nothing like this.
He wiped the sweat off his forehead and shifted his back against the rough planking. Outside, the night was quiet with no sounds but the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. His gut twisted with uneasiness. Protect her? Hell, the pistol they’d brought with them would be useless if soldiers attempted to arrest them for treason. He didn’t mind risking his own life, but he’d not gamble with Rachel’s more than he had already.
“Tell me about lawyering,” she murmured sleepily, cutting into his black reverie.
“Most is tedious work,” he replied.
“But not all.”
“Go to sleep.” He wanted to be alone with his demons. And most of all he didn’t want to answer questions about tomorrow, about what would happen when he went into the prison.
She persisted. “How did you come to choose law as a way of making a living?”
He thought a moment and then chuckled softly. “I suppose I liked the challenge,” he admitted, “and I had a respect for the law.”
She caught his hand and gently massaged his fingers, kissing the pad of each in turn. “Tell me about some of your cases.”
“Only if you stop that.” Odd how such a thing could make a man’s loins tighten. “You may be sorry you asked. Once I represented an accused hog thief who …” He gasped as her hand brushed his groin. “Rachel!”
“Don’t you like it?” she teased.
“I like it fine, but …”
“But …” She laughed softly and began to stroke the length of his swelling cock.
“You’re insatiable, woman.”
He lost his place in the unbelievable tale of his encounter with the Reverend Jacob Thomas and pulled her into his lap. “You want to play?”
“Do you know a good game?”
He crushed her mouth and slipped searching fingers under her skirt. “I’d love to play.”
Their lovemaking was slow and passionate. And later, when he’d brought her to climax twice and satisfied his own raw hunger, he held her and finished his story. After that, despite her protests, he followed with another about a rascal cleric who talked a parishioner out of a prize heifer.
Eventually, Rachel drifted off with her head in his lap, but Chance found no such peace. Blending flesh and soul with her was a touch of paradise, but seeing Fort Delaware had brought back memories that refused to fade.
He’d seen so many men die in their own vomit, helped carry too many gray-clad bodies onto the Jersey death ship. Some had slipped away quietly in their sleep; others had died hard. But worst of all had been young Jeremy Stewart.
Travis and he had stolen boards to build the boy a coffin, and they swaddled him in his threadbare blanket. They’d threatened to strangle any man—Union or Confederate—who robbed it from him. But Chance could still see Jeremy’s blackened face, and his fingers ached to tighten around Coblentz’s throat.
God rot his bowels! The Dutchman deserved to die. He’d been tried and condemned by a jury of good men. Every breath he drew was one too many. Killing him would be justice, not an act of murder.
But he couldn’t explain it to Rachel … couldn’t justify what he meant to do. Some things were better left unspoken, no matter how the silence wore at a man’s soul.
Carefully he rose and went up on the deck again. A breeze off the water helped with the mosquitoes, but being bitten was better than being trapped in that cabin with his regrets.
He set himself to finishing his disguise, wrapping his leg with splints and bandages, and then slipping a lead fishing weight in his shoe to insure that he limped when he walked. Rachel had wrapped a bandage around his head before they’d left the farm. Now he covered one eye and most of his face and neck, leaving only small holes to breathe. Again he would have to pretend to be mute. No amount of thespian skill could cover his Virginia accent, and one slip would mean disaster for their plan.
He didn’t doubt that the two of them could reach the banking house, but if Benjamin Gordon was no longer with the Philadelphia branch or if the English solicitor refused to give them the money, they’d be in deep trouble.
That thought made him laugh. When hadn’t he been in trouble since his horse had taken that spill in the forest at Gettysburg? Hell, since he’d joined the Confederate army. Any Virginian who could face down Rachel Irons and her dogs should be able to manage an aging English banker, shouldn’t he?
The next morning they walked a short distance to Chestnut Street and Chance’s imposing London Bank. After some urgent discussion, Rachel was able to convince a clerk that Mr. Gordon would be willing to see Mr. Irons without an appointment.
The stout, bespectacled clerk led Chance away, leaving Rachel to cool her heels in the imposing marble lobby for more than two hours. She waited nervously while elegantly dressed patrons, police, and soldiers passed by. And each time Rachel caught sight of a uniform, she was certain the bank employees had discovered Chance’s identity and the soldiers had come to drag the two of them to jail.
Finally, when she was about to demand to be taken to Chance, he appeared with the exceedingly proper Mr. Gordon. The tall Englishman was whip-thin with a florid complexion and a neatly trimmed white beard and mustache. In contrast, his head was covered with an ill-fitting jet-black wig, so ridiculous in appearance that Rachel nearly dissolved into laughter.
Chance took her arm and escorted her out through a side door, where Mr. Gordon hailed a passing carriage for hire. The three rode through the streets of Philadelphia to an inn where the solicitor had rooms.
There Mr. Gordon ordered a late breakfast for her and Chance. When they had eaten, Gordon handed Rachel a parcel and a sheaf of papers. “There is your five hundred dollars. A copy of Mr. Chancellor’s will is enclosed as well.”
“His will?” she asked, confused. “I told him—”
“Nevertheless …” Gordon stroked his beard and stared fiercely at her. “Mr. Chancellor has named you and your minor child, James David Irons, as his sole beneficiaries—subject, naturally, to any later will. Our bank will act as guardians for the minor child until he reaches the age of twenty and one. Since Mr. Chancellor has also set up a stipend for the boy, you—as his mother—may petition the bank for moneys to clothe, feed, and educate him.”
“All I wanted was a loan,” she protested. “I didn’t ask for five hundred dollars, and I never agreed to—”
“I believe the less said, the better,” Gordon replied. “You should consider yourself quite fortunate, Mrs. Irons. Considering the circumstances—”
“What circumstances?”
She turned to Chance, but he simply grinned and spread his hands.
“The driver will take you wherever you want to go,” Gordon said, “but if I’m asked, I dropped you a few blocks from the bank, and I never laid eyes on either of you again.”
“As you wish,” Chance said.
“I’m doing this for the family,” Gordon said. “But I don’t approve.”
Chance nodded. “So you’ve already told me.”
“Your country’s differences are none of my business,” Gordon continued. “The bank’s position is strictly neutral.”
The solicitor left the inn by one door; she and Chance hurried out by another. On the way back to the sloop, Chance insisted the carriage driver make several stops; once at a shop tha
t sold secondhand clothing, and again at a grocery, where he purchased a basket of fresh bread and several dozen eggs. Finally he halted the vehicle along the street to buy a child’s wagon from a peddler.
“You’ll need something to carry your wares in,” Chance had explained to her. “I won’t be able to help you, seeing as how I’m so badly injured.”
When they reached the comparative safety of the Windfeather, she waited for Chance to explain his actions. Instead, he pressed the Quaker clothing into her arms and steered her toward the hatch.
“I’m not taking five hundred dollars from you,” she said. “I won’t be bullied into it. And I didn’t ask you to—”
“Just put on the dress,” he ordered. “You can pay me back the five hundred. We don’t have time for this now.”
“A Quaker? Why do I have to be a Quaker?” Rachel demanded. She frowned as she inspected the plain gray dress and severe black bonnet.
“Hurry,” Chance insisted. “If you hurry, we can catch the outgoing tide at noon.”
“But I don’t know any Quakers. I don’t know how they’re supposed to speak.”
“If you have fresh bread, the Yankees won’t care what you say.”
“What’s all this about a stipend for Davy?”
“I want to provide for him, for both of you when I’m not there to do it.”
“I can care for my own child. I don’t need your charity,” she insisted.
“Please, Rachel.”
Chance was bandaged so completely that only one blue eye showed, but even that was hard to stare down. “Damn you, Chance Chancellor,” she muttered. She guessed that he was as nervous as she was about their coming attempt to get in and out of the prison. If they had the sense of a horseshoe crab, they’d sail right past Pea Patch Island and back to Rachel’s Choice.
Against her better judgment, she shut the hatch and changed into the Quaker dress. It was large around the waist and high on her ankles, and it smelled musty and none too clean.
“This is your revenge on me for Abner’s clothing,” she called up to him as she tugged at the offending material. “This looks abominable,” she complained. “Am I supposed to ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ the soldiers as I peddle my bread and jams?”
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