Engraved on the Heart

by Tara Johnson

  Forgive me for scaring you so, Micah.

  Letting her eyes slide shut, she fell limply to the moist, grimy floor.

  CHAPTER 28

  WHEN MICAH SAW KIZZIE FALL to the floor, his heart lurched. No more so than the guard’s, whose eyes flooded with wild terror. When Micah had shouted he was a physician and had been given permission by the warden to treat the ill, the guard wasted no time fetching him. He scooped Kizzie’s limp weight into his arms and raced on wooden legs down the stairs and into the sick bay.

  Lowering her onto the table, he cupped her cheek and grimaced at the sharp contrast between his filth-crusted fingers and her creamy skin. Nonetheless he reached for her wrist, searching for the reassuring thrum of life.

  “What do you need?”

  Micah had all but forgotten the terrified guard. “Clean water, please. And smelling salts. I’ll let you know if I need anything further when you return.”

  The skittish man nodded and raced from the room, locking the door behind him.

  Micah stroked her brow and murmured, “What are you doing here?”

  Her eyes popped open, shocking him speechless. “Saving your life, that’s what.”

  He blinked as she sat up. “Wha—why—?”

  She smiled with such mischievous intent, he longed to take her in his arms and kiss her until he’d driven sense into her head.

  “Illness is not always such a terrible thing.” Her eyes twinkled. “I faked my falling spell.”

  Micah felt a slow grin spread across his face. “I always knew you were a vixen behind that beautiful face.”

  She blushed and leaned close. “We haven’t much time. Fort Pulaski is under attack, and the Union may very well invade the city. Not to mention a judge is heading this way in a matter of days to sentence the lot of you to the hangman’s noose.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying your escape must be tonight.”

  Before he could offer an argument, she began yanking pins from her hair. The pert snood holding her curls fell away as her hair tumbled free. He inhaled sharply at the sight of the silky tresses. Her loose golden waves were tinged with hints of fire. She was exquisite.

  And dangerous. Very, very dangerous. He looked away, fearing he would forget himself if given half a chance.

  Oblivious to his thoughts, she ran her hands through the waves and snatched a slip of paper and a thin bundle of currency free. “Here.” She handed him the treasures and hastily gathered up her hair, trying to tuck it back into submission.

  He glanced at the paper and laughed. “You snuck money and identification papers in your snood? Are you mad?”

  Giving him a saucy smile, she secured her snood. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

  “Where did you get funds?”

  “I sold a piece of jewelry.”

  “Kizzie—”

  “Do you not think your freedom is worth much more to me?”

  He frowned, fearing for her. “You take on too much. If caught, you could be arrested, your fate no different than mine.”

  Smoothing her hair back into place, she lifted a brow. “How lovely to be of enough consequence to be arrested.” She eased back on the examination table and whispered, “You must find a way into the dead house. Stay there until Mr. Brothers comes for you.” She opened her mouth to say more but snapped into a look of dazed exhaustion when the key scraped against the lock and the guard appeared.

  “Is she awake?”

  Micah swallowed and took the basin of water and salts from his hands. “Yes, though she took a nasty fall. Dehydration and malnourishment, I’d say.”

  She blinked as if disoriented. “What happened?”

  Micah smiled to himself. She really was quite a performer.

  The guard cleared his throat. “You lost consciousness, miss. I think it best that you leave as soon as you’re able.”

  “Of course.” She rubbed her head. “I’m just so dreadfully hungry. The blockade, you know.”

  The nervous guard held out a hand to assist her down from the table. “Do you have a ride?”

  Blinking harder, Kizzie leaned against the guard’s arm. Crimson crept up his neck. “Yes, of course. My driver is waiting just outside.”

  The guard shot a harried look at Micah. “I’m locking you in here for the time being. Stay put until I return and I’ll walk you back to your cell.”

  He slammed the sick bay door with a sharp clank and Micah released the breath he’d been holding. Stroking his beard, he puzzled.

  How could he ever manage to sneak himself into the dead house when he couldn’t even figure out how to escape his cell?

  Despite Hiriam’s grousing, he did agree to drive from the jail to the blacksmith shop so Keziah could pass along a hastily scrawled coded message, pressing Mr. Brothers to extract Micah from the jail’s dead house this very night, earlier than planned. If Mr. Brothers was as faithful as he’d been in the past, she knew he would do anything within his power to free Micah, despite the dangerous circumstances.

  Still, the urgency of his need pulled her nerves taut. Father, protect them.

  They arrived home to find Jennie fuming, whispering oaths under her breath as she paced the parlor, her sage dress swirling around her each time she spun to traipse the length of the thick rug protecting the floor from her wrath.

  Keziah frowned as she stepped inside and hung up her wrap. “What’s wrong?”

  Jennie stopped, her eyes flashing with irritation. “Cursed Yankees! Why must they choose this time to attack? I was supposed to have tea with an esteemed brigadier general at the Ballinger home in mere hours, but the tea has been canceled.” Steam nearly rose from her russet pompadour.

  “I’m sure there will be other times. Other officers to meet over tea.”

  “But none of them a single, unattached war hero.” With a sigh, Jennie flounced into a chair. “And where have you been?”

  “Running errands.”

  Her cousin smirked. “I’m sure.” The malice in her tone was undisguised.

  Keziah snapped her eyes to her belligerent cousin’s, but Jennie was studiously avoiding her gaze. Why the venom?

  Before she could ask, the front door flew open, banging against the wall with a sharp crack. The glass knickknacks adorning the mantel rattled. A masculine voice gave a harsh rebuke to Elizabeth’s urge for calm. A lone figure stomped through the house, bypassing the parlor. Lyman Hill.

  Keziah took in Mr. Hill’s enraged profile as he made haste toward Father’s study. Elizabeth followed but stopped at the parlor door.

  “Elizabeth, why is he here? What’s going on?”

  The house servant stammered, clearly befuddled at his irate behavior. “Said he must speak with your brother posthaste. I can’t say why, missy.”

  Keziah’s heart pricked and she swung her gaze to Jennie, who was looking out the curtained windows as if the disturbance were normal . . . or, perhaps, expected.

  Fissures of fear snaked down Keziah’s back at the sound of masculine shouts thinly concealed behind the study doors. The crash of some fragile frippery caused her to jump in fright.

  Mother appeared, her eyes wide in her pale face. “Heavens, what is happening, Keziah?”

  “I—I have no idea. Elizabeth says Mr. Hill urgently demanded to speak to Nathaniel. They are in Father’s study.”

  At that moment, the study door flew open, and a slew of curses blistered the air. Mother gasped, two bright-crimson spots of mortification staining her cheeks. Nathaniel limped into the parlor, blazing fire as he approached Keziah.

  “Tell me it’s not true. Tell me.” He spoke through his teeth, and she took an involuntary step back. She’d never seen her brother so enraged.

  Mother rushed to his side and took his arm. “Nathaniel, stop this at once. Your sister has done nothing to merit this kind of reaction.”

  He yanked away from her grip, his face and neck mottled red with anger. “Are you a spy, Sister?”
/>   She trembled but glared back. “Of course not! Whatever put such an idea into your head?”

  “Mr. Hill saw you.”

  She blinked, her mind groping for any semblance of rational thought. “Saw me what?”

  Lyman Hill stepped into the combustible room, straightening his cuffs, his lip curled into a sneer. “Don’t play us for fools, Miss Montgomery. I saw you myself. You visited the Chatham County Jail only just this morning.”

  Exhaling a shaky sigh, she fumbled for a response. Perhaps the right words would calm her brother’s fury. “Yes, I did. I’ve not withheld my desire for doing the Lord’s work, showing charity to the needy souls there.”

  Mr. Hill stepped close to Nathaniel’s side, and Keziah felt as if a pack of wolves were encircling her for the kill. Her fingers brushed behind her, grazing the embossed wallpaper at her back.

  “Is that what you call it? Doing the Lord’s work?” Mr. Hill gave a mirthless laugh. “I suspect you were only there to visit a Dr. Micah Greyson.”

  Mother gasped.

  Keziah’s heart hammered. He knew. Somehow he knew.

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her protest sounded weak to her own ears.

  “Don’t be coy.” Mr. Hill’s eyes glinted a cold warning. “We all know he’s being held at the jail. Not to mention, your cousin has been watching you. Your behavior is suspect at best. All of us witnessed his forward behavior toward you on several occasions, one of which at your own father’s burial.”

  Keziah shot a scathing glance to her suddenly mute cousin. Judas. “Of course I spoke with him. He came to pay his respects. We went to school together. Nothing more.”

  Mother implored, “Please, you can’t possibly think Keziah would be involved in espionage. The very idea is ludicrous! She’s a good Confederate girl.”

  Mr. Hill lowered a dark brow. “Then your good Confederate girl has been traipsing about with a known abolitionist. I’ve done some checking on the doctor. It appears the Vigilance Committee believes he might even be aiding runaway slaves to gain their freedom.”

  Nathaniel speared her with a dark glare that turned her stomach into jelly. “No sister of mine would dare be involved in something so insidious—would she, Keziah?”

  Mother lurched to her side. “Stop this slander immediately! Of course your sister would never dream of disgracing our family in such a way. And consider her illness—she’s not capable of carrying out such a thing.”

  Keziah opened her mouth but realized arguing with Mother would only prove her guilt. Clamping her lips shut, she met Nathaniel’s eyes with steely determination.

  His clenched jaw could barely form words, but he managed nonetheless. “What say you, Keziah? You can speak for yourself, can’t you? Are you an abolitionist?”

  She longed to deny it, to spare herself their cruel condemnation. But all was lost now. Even if she denied it, her brother would keep her as a captive at home. Her ability to pass freely had come to an abrupt halt.

  Something hot and strong rose up inside her, begging for release. She was tired of being spoken for and ignored. Tired of being told she was too fragile to matter. Tired of living under the weight of shame and embarrassment.

  Memories of little Solomon’s mangled hand flashed before her and she lifted her chin, resolved, and stared deeply at her brother. “I am.”

  Mother’s tearful wails. Jennie’s glare. Lyman Hill’s smirk of triumph and Nathaniel’s hardened features. She saw them all, yet a peace unlike anything she’d experienced flooded her with calm that was nearly tangible.

  A muscle ticked in Nathaniel’s jaw as he studied her. Sadness flickered across his face for the span of a breath before a coldness washed it away. “You’re a traitor. A worthless, Negro-loving, weak-minded piece of trash.”

  Keziah stood straight under the verbal barbs, but they stung. Deeply. Blinking back tears, she forced her gaze to Mother’s, watching the distraught woman sob into her handkerchief.

  “Why? Why should the hue of one’s skin be the difference between bond and free? Why should possessions and money be the difference between oppressor and oppressed? The Almighty says he made man in his image. Not just white man, but all men.”

  The room was thick with silence, save Mother’s soft sniffles, when the back of Nathaniel’s hand cracked against her cheek, knocking her into the wall. Pain exploded in her skull and she tasted blood as spots danced before her eyes. Mother screamed.

  He loomed over her, the veins in his neck bulging as he shouted. “Are you transporting fugitives? Are you?”

  She licked her lips but said nothing, too shaken to form a reply. He’d never laid a hand on her before. Panic clawed at her throat. God forgive him, he was going to kill her.

  Mr. Hill’s smooth voice attempted to soothe Nathaniel’s rage. “Come now. Be reasonable. It’s not the girl’s fault. She’s addled. Not right in the head. Haven’t we seen enough of her ghastly episodes to confirm that fact? Punishing her would serve no purpose.”

  Nathaniel gritted his teeth. “I can’t stand to look at her.”

  She bowed her head, her cheek and heart throbbing. Her throat ached.

  Mr. Hill nodded. “Of course, of course. The only reasonable course of action is the one your father balked at carrying out. But I see the time has come. Keziah must go to an asylum.”

  No! Would her brother truly agree to lock her up and treat her like a lunatic? His bitter words of hate lashed her over and over.

  “Traitor.”

  “Weak-minded.”

  “I can’t stand to look at her.”

  She tasted the saltiness of her own tears but did not wipe them away.

  “Trash.”

  “Addled.”

  “Treasure.”

  The last voice was different. Soft. Kind.

  “You are a treasure, Kizzie Montgomery.”

  Micah’s gentle words from a lifetime ago pierced her heart afresh as Mother, Nathaniel, Jennie, and Mr. Hill argued about her fate.

  “Worthless.”

  “But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.”

  Dropping her head in her hands, Keziah murmured the name of the One calling to her beyond the screaming taunts of madness. “Jesus . . .”

  I make you worthy, little one. You are loved. You are valued. You are my treasure, whom I purchased for a beautiful purpose. I am the God who sees you.

  She raised her head, no longer feeling the sting of barbs flung at her.

  I have this treasure. I have Jesus.

  She picked up her skirts and fled the parlor before the arguing group realized she’d gone.

  CHAPTER 29

  KEZIAH FOUGHT BACK TEARS as she stumbled past the ramshackle buildings lining the Savannah River pier. Ma Linnie’s pub had to be nearby. The sun would soon be setting, and the leers of ill-mannered dockworkers would only grow bolder and more dangerous as day slipped into night.

  Thankfully, she’d attracted far less attention than she’d feared. The pounding of Yankee cannons had engaged most of the sailors, fishermen, and brawny freight loaders, luring them into the fight. Some had responded to the chivalrous call of duty. Others out of mere curiosity. Either way, she was thankful for the scarcity of prying eyes.

  Her head ached but hurt far less than her bruised heart. Her eyes felt puffy from crying, her legs sore. Every time she considered returning home, the whisper called to her again.

  I love you. You’re my treasure. I am the God who sees you. . . .

  Stepping past a slew of dilapidated crates, she winced when the shards of a broken bottle crunched underfoot.

  “You’re a pretty little filly.”

  The masculine voice taunting her from behind turned to laughter when she quickened her pace into a run. Footsteps pounded closer. Wiry fingers clamped down on her wrist and spun her around. The foul stench of liquor and body odor nearly gagged her.

  A large man with stringy h
air snickered in delight as his lust-filled gaze roved over her body. Terror sank its claws in her.

  From nowhere, a broom handle hammered her attacker’s head with a sharp crack.

  Howling in agony, he dropped his hold and gripped his head. “Ow! What did ya do that for?”

  A feminine voice scolded, “This girl ain’t none of your affair. Get your sorry hide away from my pub.”

  The man slunk away, grousing and still clutching his head. Keziah turned to see Ma Linnie standing on the curb, broom in hand and a worried look darkening her wide face.

  “I thought that was you. Land’s sakes! What in all of God’s earth are you doing in this part of town, girlie?”

  Forcing down sobs of relief, Keziah flung herself into the soft pillow of Ma’s arms. Pudgy fingers stroked her back.

  “There, there.”

  Keziah could no longer restrain the tears and sobbed softly. Somehow Ma ushered her into the pub’s kitchen and seated her in a spindly chair, pressing a cup of weak tea into her hands as she spilled out the disaster that had befallen both her and Micah.

  Ma plunked next to her at the scarred worktable. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen Doc lately. I figured he was holed up, stitching up men for the Relief Commission.”

  Tears pooled once more and Keziah swiped them away, angry she couldn’t stem the well of emotion. “His time is running out. The judge is due soon. Micah will hang if he doesn’t escape. I sent Brothers a note. The plan is to smuggle Micah out tonight through the jail’s dead house, but what will happen if he can’t find a way to get there?”

  Ma’s eyes twinkled like firecrackers on Independence Day. “Who says we can’t give him a hand?”

  She blinked. “You can’t sneak around the Chatham County Jail! You could be hurt. Or worse yet, arrested!”

  Ma chuckled heartily and Keziah frowned. “I don’t think it’s funny.”

  The woman shook her head, graying curls springing free from her stained mobcap. “Ain’t that. You sound just like Doc only a few months ago. He come in moping something fierce because you were bound and determined to help those poor runaways.”