“Pharaoh and Tom pulled me out of the hole. At least, I think it was them. They carried me to the infirmary. You have to be able to stand up to hang. I’m not sure how they managed it, but I think they switched me with a dead man. Nothing’s too clear in my head, but I heard the surgeon tell someone that Chancellor was dead.”
Rachel’s stays loosened, and she freed her aching breasts. She hadn’t nursed Davy in days; she’d thought that her milk would dry up, but so far it hadn’t. “I’ll leak milk all over you,” she whispered.
“I’ve bled all over you,” he answered. “It seems a fair trade.”
She snuggled close to him, taking comfort from his long, lean leg and hip and the weight of his arm across her back. His velvety Virginia accent seeped through her weary body and drained away her aches and pains.
“Is Travis safe?”
“Home on Rachel’s Choice,” she whispered. “I told you, didn’t I? He’s bad sick, Chance. I don’t know how long he’ll live, but when I left him, he was safe.”
“I didn’t want to endanger you,” Chance said hoarsely. “But I couldn’t leave him there. I counted on the ruse working long enough for you to get him on board the Windfeather.”
“It did that,” she admitted. “But it’s lucky that you weren’t where I could get my hands on you. I think I would have killed you myself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not, you lyin’ bastard.” She punched his arm lightly. “You’d do it again. Admit it.”
“I would.”
“Damn right, you would.”
He chuckled. “For a devout Methodist, you use a lot of profanity.”
“If I do, it’s your fault,” she retorted. “I never did until you washed up in my crab trap.”
He kissed her bare shoulder, and she sighed contentedly. “You smell good,” he murmured.
“Not as good as I would if I’d had the bath instead of you,” she teased.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but she fought sleep. In the morning she’d have to figure a way to get home. With Chance in such bad shape, they’d never make the meeting with Pharaoh. They must cross the bay and reach the farm without being caught by the Union soldiers.
But that wasn’t what bothered her most. Worse was the thought that she’d found Chance only to lose him again.
“Be careful what you pray for,” her grandmother had warned.
Rachel had made a bargain with God, and she’d not complain when Chance rode out of her life. But that wouldn’t make it any easier to accept.
Chapter 24
Three days later Granny Pritchett’s grandson, Vernon, led Rachel and Chance to Hangman’s Cove shortly after nightfall. All three wore patched and threadbare clothing, and Rachel had stained Chance’s hair and skin with a dye made of walnut hulls to disguise him.
Vernon promised to turn the stolen horse loose in a farmer’s field far from Finn’s Point, but Rachel refused to surrender the animal until it had carried Chance out of the pines and back to the river. He was improving, but the ordeal had taken its toll on him, and the lacerations on his back were far from healed.
Chance didn’t expect Pharaoh to be at the meeting place, but it was impossible to know who to trust, and the Delaware River was heavily patrolled. If Rachel tried to buy passage home from the wrong fisherman, she and Chance would end up dead or in irons.
Rachel tried to hide her disappointment when she found the cove dark. “No lights,” she whispered to Chance. “No sign of any boats at all.”
“I told you that it was a waste of time to come here,” he answered softly. “We’re days late. If he and Tom did escape the soldiers and reach your sloop, they’re a long way from here.”
“Pharaoh wouldn’t desert me,” she insisted.
“I have to go back,” Vernon put in. “I can leave you the horse if you want, but Gran expects me—”
“No.” Chance dismounted. “You take the gelding and get out of here while the getting is good. You’ve done enough for us. Go home to your grandmother.”
Rachel had offered Granny Pritchett money for her help, but the old woman had shook her head. “You’ve Lenape blood in you,” she said. “I see it in your eyes. Our people look out for one another.”
Now Rachel slipped the boy a twenty-dollar gold piece. “Buy something for yourself,” she said.
“No. Can’t. Gran said I weren’t to take no money off ye.”
“Please,” Rachel coaxed. “If you don’t want it for yourself, buy something your grandmother needs.”
“All right,” he agreed. “I reckon I might find her a cookstove for this much money. Her back gets to aching, standing over that open fireplace.”
“Now what?” Chance asked when the horse’s hoofbeats faded away in the distance. “I wouldn’t recommend swimming the bay. I’ve done it, and it leaves a lot to be desired.”
“We’ll wait,” she said.
“Wait for the Union troops to capture us?”
“No.” She sat down on the beach. “You don’t understand. I told Pharaoh to meet me here. If he went home without us, Cora would send him back. If we wait long enough, he’ll come.”
“You’re a trusting woman, Rachel,” he said as he settled down beside her.
“I am,” she replied. “Isn’t that what got me into this trouble in the first place? It’s not enough that I’m a Confederate spy; now I’m a horse thief as well.”
He chuckled, and they snuggled together under the single blanket Granny Pritchett had given them and watched the stars twinkle on, one by one.
In time a pale, shimmering moon rose over the water. The radiant moonlight danced across the surface of the bay, painting the marsh grass and lapping waves with liquid silver. And as Rachel listened, she was certain she could hear a haunting melody played by the salt breeze as it threaded through the swaying reeds and wound around the spreading beach-plum bushes.
“This must be an enchanted spot,” she whispered to Chance. “It makes me feel …” She searched for the words to describe the swelling emotion inside and then sighed in defeat. “Happy,” she finished lamely.
“I’ve been in worse places,” Chance replied. He cupped her breast gently and leaned close to kiss her. “Much worse.”
The caress was her undoing. She met his desire with equal passion, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him down to cover her with his hard muscular body. Both knew the need for caution, but the sand was soft, and the yellow moonlight as intoxicating as any wine.
“I love you,” he said as he pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat. “You’ll never know how much I love you.”
“And I love you.” She moaned softly, unable to stop her trembling any more than she could hold back the waves of heat that spilled through her body. “Forever and ever, Chance, just you.”
Neither could wait. He came into her with hard, deep thrusts, and she cried aloud as the world tilted and exploded in one great burst of release … bringing an endless shower of falling stars and sweet, sweet joy.
Afterward he held her, and they laughed and whispered like carefree lovers, sleeping only fitfully before awakening at dawn to listen to a flock of wild geese calling plaintively overhead.
“Autumn’s coming,” Chance said as the cries of the waterfowl drifted over the water. “Soon it will be time to harvest your corn.”
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not for a while.” It was too soon; she wasn’t ready to part with him yet. But woman’s instinct told her that when he did go, he’d leave something of himself behind. She was certain that they’d made a child together on this warm sand, a babe that she could hold close in her arms and cherish when Chance was only a memory.
“I’ve got to go back to the war,” he reminded her. “You know that.”
“Yes. I know that, but I don’t want to think about it. I only want to think about us—you, and me, and Davy—at home, milking, tending the garden, having dinner together.”
“Milking’s no
t my favorite subject,” he said.
“You,” she admonished. “You know what I mean. I like the quiet times together. That’s what I want to remember.”
“Oh,” he teased. “So nothing that happened on this beach is worth remembering?”
She laughed. “Chance Chancellor, must you be so … so—”
He silenced her with a tender kiss.
She pulled away. “Wait. Did you hear something? A splash?” She peered into the gray mist that hung over the bay. “Out there.”
“No, I didn’t. It was probably a fish jumping.”
“A big fish, more like an anchor.” She rose and hurried down to the waterline. The tide was out, and she ran barefoot over broken clamshells and bits of driftwood.
Her heartbeat quickened. It was an anchor being dropped that she’d heard; it had to be. Lifting her skirts, she waded out.
“Rachel, come back here,” Chance called from the beach.
But she didn’t stop until the waves broke over her knees. And minutes later, when the sun’s first rays pierced the mist, she caught sight of her sloop anchored a hundred yards off shore.
Pharaoh had come back for them, just as she’d known all along that he would.
Halfway across the bay, while a stiff breeze drove the Windfeather toward the Delaware shore, Pharaoh crossed the deck to where Chance was sitting. He seized him by the front of his shirt, lifted him off the deck, and slammed a massive fist into his jaw. “That’s for being a damned rebel,” Pharaoh declared.
Stunned, Chance stumbled back against the mast.
“What are you doing?” Rachel cried. Frightened, she let go of the tiller and ran toward the blacksmith. Surely Pharaoh didn’t mean to betray them now. “You can’t—”
“Stay out of this, Miss Rachel,” he warned. “This is between Richmond and me. And now that I got that bad feeling toward him out of my system, we can talk, man to man.”
Pharaoh yanked Chance up onto his feet, and Chance threw up his left arm to defend himself from another blow. The black man chuckled, let go of him, and stepped away.
Heart in her throat, Rachel tried to wedge herself between the two. This couldn’t be happening. They were only hours from home and safety, and there wasn’t a Union patrol boat in sight.
“Stay clear, Rachel,” Chance said. “I can take care of myself.” He knotted his fists and took a boxer’s stance.
Pharaoh grinned, flexing muscles along his huge arms and burly shoulders. He wore only cut-off trousers, and his bare skin gleamed ebony-blue in the bright sunlight.
“You look like you can take care of yourself, reb,” Pharaoh scoffed.
Chance rubbed his chin gingerly; his jaw was rapidly swelling, but his dazed expression was quickly hardening to anger.
“I needed to get that hit out of my system,” Pharaoh explained. “You know how I feel about Southerners, Virginians in particular. He’s lucky I just hit him. Usually I do a lot worse.”
“You’re not going to hit him anymore, then?” she said.
“Nope. I mean to throw him into the bay,” Pharaoh answered matter-of-factly. “Unless he agrees to do the right thing by you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Chance asked.
“You’ll marry Miss Rachel today. Either that, or you’ll have a long swim to land.”
Rachel’s face flamed as she laid a hand on Pharaoh’s shoulder. “This is none of your affair. I know you mean well, but I’ll have no part of a shotgun wedding.”
Pharaoh jabbed his broad finger at her. “It’s not for you to say, Miss Rachel,” he said. “The reb’s got no choice. Either he saves your reputation or—”
“Shut up, both of you,” Chance snapped. “I’m capable of speaking for myself.”
“We don’t need your fancy words, lawyer,” Pharaoh said. “You will marry her or—”
Chance’s pale eyes glinted steel. “I like to do my own proposing, if you don’t mind.”
“Chance,” Rachel interjected. “You don’t—”
“I said quiet!”
Rachel opened her mouth to reply, then thought better of it.
“I meant to speak of this later, but I do have honorable intentions toward the lady. Rachel, will you consent to become my wife?”
It was her turn to be stunned. “Since when?” she murmured. “When did you decide that you wanted to marry me?”
The hint of a smile showed on his lips. “Do I have to give you the precise hour and day?”
She leaned back against the gunnel, unsure as to whether she should laugh or cry. “Yes,” she stammered.
“Objection, your honor,” Chance countered. “That information is immaterial.”
Rachel rested her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I think not. Objection overruled.”
“Sidebar, your honor. Counsel is attempting to badger the witness.”
“Quit this foolish talk,” Pharaoh boomed. “Are you or aren’t you going to accept his offer, Miss Rachel? Because if you ain’t, I mean to toss him overboard.”
“No,” she said. “I’m not going to marry him, and you’re sure as hell not going to pitch him over the side of my boat. Not unless you mean to throw me over as well.”
“What do you mean you won’t marry me?” Chance shouted.
“Miss Rachel, think what you’re saying.”
“I know what I’m saying.” She looked into Chance’s eyes. “I love you, but I won’t marry you. Not when you’re going away to fight again. It’s stupid. I’ve been widowed once by this war, and I don’t mean to go through the same thing again.” Not even if I’m pregnant, she thought fervently. Not even if I have to face the world with a nameless child in my arms.
His face paled. “You won’t marry me?”
“Ask me again, when the war’s over. If your offer’s still good, I may take you up on it then. Not before.”
“Well, I’ll be double damned,” Pharaoh said. “You just tell my mother I tried to do what she wanted. Damn.” He spread his palms in a gesture of bewilderment. “White or black, women are just the same. There’s no logic to them.” Shaking his head, he retreated to the stern and took hold of the tiller, righting the sloop’s direction to put them on course for home.
“You’re sure about this,” Chance said softly to Rachel.
“As sure as I’ve ever been about anything.”
He tried to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn’t let him. Instead, she turned away and stared out at the bay, listening to the sound of the waves against the boat and the cry of a hunting osprey overhead. That way she could convince herself that her tears were caused by the sting of the salt wind, and not from the ache in the depths of her soul.
Cora met them by the dock, her wrinkled brow creased even more with concern. “Your father-in-law’s been here with the sheriff,” she called before Rachel could reach her. “They took your baby.”
Pharaoh embraced his mother. “You and Emma and the children weren’t hurt?”
Cora scoffed. “Of course not. We’re fine. But Davy’s with his grandparents. That worthless octoroon Patsy Cummings was here yesterday wanting me to concoct her a love potion. You know I never mess with that kind of thing. Anyway, she saw Davy and asked who he was. I wouldn’t have told her, but one of the children said that he was yours.”
“And Patsy went back to Ida with the tale,” Rachel finished. She felt ill. She knew her mother-in-law wouldn’t hurt Davy, but getting him back would be hell.
“That Patsy does laundry for half the white folks in town. She told Miss Ida, you can take that for gospel.”
Chance tied up the boat and came to stand beside Rachel. “When did they take the boy?” he asked.
“Not an hour ago. You didn’t miss them by much,” Cora answered.
Emma ran down the path from Cora’s cabin and flung herself into her husband’s arms. A flock of children followed her; they surrounded the two, chattering and tugging on Pharaoh’s arms. He raised his voice above the din to addres
s his mother.
“I told him he had to marry her, Mama, but she won’t have him.”
Cora turned a withering gaze on Chance. “Is that so, Virginian? You think you’re too good for our Rachel?”
“You have it all wrong,” Rachel put in. “He asked. I refused him. I don’t want another soldier husband.”
“You’ll live to regret the day,” Cora predicted. “It’s been my observation that once a woman’s set on a man like you are him, they’d best marry. Else they risk burning in hell.”
“I’ll worry about my salvation or lack of it later,” Rachel said. “Right now I have to get Davy away from Ida and Isaac.”
“I’m coming with you,” Chance said.
“You can’t,” she replied. “You’ll be hung. Cora said the sheriff was with them. You’ve got to stay hidden.”
“You can pass me off as Abner.”
“No.” Reluctantly she shook her head. “You don’t know my father-in-law. He’d suspect the Lord Jesus if he showed up on my farm. He’ll tell the sheriff to arrest you first and ask questions later.”
“Damn it, woman,” Chance argued. “Must you always have things your way? How much respect would you have for me if I stayed here and let you deal with them yourself?”
“More than I’d have for you if you played the fool and got yourself hung senselessly,” she flung back. “Can’t you see, Chance? This isn’t about honor or pride. This is real. And this is something I can do a hell of a lot easier by myself. If you come, we’ll both end up dead or in twin cells on Pea Patch Island.”
He glowered at her. “You expect me to—”
“Stay here with Cora.” Then suddenly she remembered Travis and she went cold inside. “Travis,” she murmured. “He’s in my barn. The sheriff will—”
“He won’t find him,” Cora assured her.
“Why not? Is he dead?” Rachel demanded. “He was sick when I left but—”
“Not dead,” the old woman said. “On his way home. My grandboy brought word this morning that folks was headed toward your farm. I sent the girls over to fetch him.”
“Then Travis is here?” Chance said.
“No, not here. It’s not safe.” Cora pursed her lips. “It’s bad business, all this hiding of rebels, girl. If I didn’t know you better than I do, I’d suspect you were one of them.” She sighed. “But I know you’re not. I figure that you had your reasons.”
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