by Tara Johnson
Before he lifted the latch, he heard Kizzie’s sharp gasp. Ma yanked the horses to a sudden halt.
Shuffling sounds. Men’s footsteps and a dark-throated warning.
“Hello, Sister.”
CHAPTER 30
KEZIAH SAT MOTIONLESS, unable to comprehend why Nathaniel had stepped in front of the wagon in the dark of night, nor how he could have known they would pass this way.
“Nathaniel? What are you doing here?”
Though only the moon illuminated his features, she could see the smirk. “Trying to find my wayward sister, of course.” He shot a glare at Ma Linnie. “Is this another of your riffraff friends?”
Ma cut him a scathing glower. “Boy, you’re so wet behind the ears, I’ve got a good mind to pull you over my knee and give you a thrashing. Haven’t you got better sense than to scare two defenseless women in the middle of the night?”
Keziah caught the glimmer of warning brewing in his eyes, and a cold brick settled at the bottom of her stomach. Nathaniel was not himself. Unpredictable as a spring cyclone.
“Wet behind the ears?” He laughed a mirthless sound. “Hardly. Deceived by my lying, Negro-loving sister? Yes.”
He was completely unhinged and far too smart to be fooled.
She swallowed. “How did you find me?”
“Where else would you be but trying to free the Yankee scum you’re apparently so devoted to? I had a hunch you’d return here. Where is he?”
She lifted her chin but didn’t respond.
“Don’t toy with me. Tell me where the doctor is.”
“Why would I know his whereabouts?”
He smirked. “Stubborn to a fault, I see. Perhaps this gentleman knows more than you do.”
A scuffling sound split the air, and Keziah nearly cried out when two more men emerged from the darkness, dragging a bloodied Mr. Brothers with them. Pulling him into the middle of the road, they dropped him in front of the wagon. The burly man rocked on his knees before lifting his gaze to hers. The moonlight turned the bloody mess staining his face into black splatters.
“Do you know this man?”
Before she could reply, Brothers barked a laugh and interrupted, his words slurred from his split lip. “I don’t know this lady. Ain’t you got better things to do than harassing innocent people?”
One of the men kicked him in the ribs and he collapsed onto the cobblestone road with a grunt.
Taking her cue from Brothers, she looked at her brother with stern disapproval, praying he didn’t see her dismay. “I’ve never seen this man before in my life.”
“Really? Because my friends with the Vigilance Committee believe he was on the way to free the doctor.”
She remained silent, stretching the tension between them like taffy.
Nathaniel stepped close and, before she could protest, grabbed her roughly by the wrist and jerked her from the driver’s bench. Ma protested until the deadly sound of a firearm’s hammer clicked through the air.
Keziah grimaced at the pain shooting through her arm. She yanked away from her brother’s clawlike grip but stalled when she realized it was he who’d brandished the pistol. Its barrel glinted like ice in the moonlight.
His voice was hard, cold. “Who is this doctor of yours, Keziah? A friend? An acquaintance?”
Her pulse galloped. “I already told you. The man Mr. Hill was speaking of was a friend from childhood. A schoolmate. That’s all.”
“I don’t believe you.” He cocked his head to one side and studied her. Her mouth went dry. “What is he really?” He arched a brow. “Maybe your lover.” He grinned, his eyes glassy. “Are you a whore as well as a traitor?”
“Enough!”
Micah’s commanding voice caused her to whirl in panic.
Jumping from the back of the wagon, he strode toward Nathaniel with measured steps before placing himself between her enraged brother and her. “You’ll not speak another word of slander against her.”
“Micah Greyson. I should have known you’d be with her.” Nathaniel’s eyes narrowed. “Your father was ever singing the merits of that demon John Brown, and he raised a son just like him.” He sneered. “You always were overly fond of my sister. Tell me, did she come to be a traitor all on her own, or did you woo her to it with sweet words and caresses?”
Growling, Micah smashed his fist into Nathaniel’s nose with a sickening crack. The pistol flew from his hands, landing with a thud on the cobblestones. Mr. Brothers suddenly roared and turned on his two captors. Flesh pounded flesh, and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
Ma Linnie’s harsh whisper sliced through the air. “Keziah, get up here!”
“No, I won’t leave him!”
She launched herself at Nathaniel and pulled on his arm, begging him to stop as the two men locked in a fight like angry bucks.
With a grunt, Nathaniel shoved her away and she fell on her backside, pain exploding through her hips. Micah grabbed Nathaniel by his shirt collar and landed another blow to his jaw. Hunching down, her brother slammed his fist into Micah’s stomach. His breath left in a whoosh as he doubled over.
The horses pawed the ground nervously as Ma struggled to keep them from darting away. Keziah rose to her feet, wincing against the pain. Brothers had knocked out one of his attackers and was about to finish off the other. Micah and Nathaniel were now on the ground, wrestling over something . . .
The pistol.
With a roar, Nathaniel shoved Micah off him, his eyes wild. The pulse thudded slowly in Keziah’s ears when he rose unsteadily and turned toward her, weapon in hand.
His voice shook. “You’ve disgraced the family, Keziah. You’ve disgraced Father and all who know you. I’ll not let you continue.”
He raised the pistol, aiming directly for her heart, and she heard Micah’s shout as he scrambled for the outstretched weapon.
God, forgive him.
An explosion rent the air as a solid presence flung itself in front of her. A cry of pain. The person blocking her collapsed to the ground. Fists pounding flesh again. Brothers shouted, “I’ll deal with him . . .”
Feeling numb, slow, she looked down at the person crumpled in a heap before her. She heard a scream of anguish and suddenly realized it was her own.
Hiriam lay at her feet, crimson blossoming across his chest.
Keziah cringed as she clung to Hiriam’s hand in the back of the wobbling wagon. One look at Micah’s grim face and she knew the man she’d loved all her life was slipping away.
Somehow they’d managed to get him into the wagon, and now Ma urged the horses toward the Negro church. Micah stayed at Hiriam’s other side, continually checking his pulse and pressing his hand to the bleeding wound.
Keziah gripped Hiriam’s limp hand and felt her throat constrict. “Why did he jump in front of me?”
Micah squeezed her shoulder. “Because he loves you.”
Gulping down a sob, she kissed the old slave’s knuckles.
Time blurred as they arrived and carried his limp form into the church and down the tunnel, lowering him onto a lumpy cot.
Rose rushed into the room, carrying a flickering lantern, a thin robe wrapped around her nightdress. She stared at Micah. “Doc? Is that you?”
Keziah realized how different Micah must look to Rose. He’d lost weight, and a dark beard covered his jaw.
Rolling up his sleeves, he answered tersely. “It’s me.”
Keziah moved to Hiriam’s side and gripped his limp fingers again. His eyelids twitched.
Micah hastily began unbuttoning the blood-soaked shirt, muttering to Rose. “Gunshot. Near the heart. Still alive but barely.”
The woman moved to bring Micah clean water and towels as Keziah stroked Hiriam’s gray-whiskered cheek. After a moment, his dark eyes peeked open. He grimaced but, upon seeing her, softened.
As Micah leaned over to assess the damage, she wiped her blurry eyes.
“Hiriam, why?”
The old man rasped, chokin
g on the words. “I heard Master Nathaniel. He went crazy. Threatening to kill you.” He wheezed and she tightened her grip on his fingers. “So I followed him.”
She kissed his hand but never let her gaze leave his face as he struggled.
“I—I was wrong. Should have helped you more with the runaways. The Almighty’s plan may not always be the path of least resistance. Fact is, his way is where the old devil throws us the most trouble.” Hiriam flinched and shifted. “I lost sight of that. What you—you and the doc do . . . it’s important. Freedom . . . it’s worth fighting for. Worth dying for.” His eyes misted as his lips tugged upward. “That’s my gift—to you.”
Tears streamed down her face as Micah pressed a cloth to Hiriam’s wound. Crimson life soaked the rags. She pressed another kiss in his palm and sobbed when his rough hand cupped her face.
“I’m—proud—of you, missy. You’re—the daughter—of my heart.”
With trembling lips, she whispered, “I love you.”
He smiled and then winced. “Love you too.”
Micah’s movements grew more hurried and Keziah felt a niggling awareness that Hiriam was losing ground. Anguish swelled in her chest.
Micah’s eyes met hers over Hiriam’s chest and she could see it—the sorrow, the certainty this sweet man would not live much longer.
Something gurgled in the old man’s chest, and Micah grasped his hand. “Stay with me.”
Hiriam shook his head, his expression serene. “Jesus done called me to go home. I saved Missy Keziah. It is enough.”
His eyelids slowly drifted shut.
“Hiriam!”
But it was too late. He was in the presence of Jesus, leaving behind the most beautiful smile she had ever seen.
Ma Linnie frowned and propped her hands on her hips. “You got to eat something.”
Tucked in the back of the pub’s greasy kitchen, Keziah pushed away the grits growing cool in the dented tin plate. A knot had wedged in her throat and refused to leave.
She toyed with the spoon. “I can’t. My stomach is in a jumble. Since last night . . .” Tears blurred and she hastened to wipe them away before Ma’s probing gaze could witness her volatile emotions.
After Micah had seen to Hiriam’s burial arrangements, Ma had led them back to her pub in the wee hours of the morning. She’d given them each a room, and Micah had shuffled into his, likely asleep before his head hit the pillow. Keziah had lain awake, squirming against the iron-framed cot, but sleep refused to come. Every time she closed her eyes, Hiriam’s face shuttered in death rose up, and tears she thought she had exhausted squeezed out. After two hours of tossing and turning, she’d given up and risen to help Ma prepare breakfast.
She stared at the congealing grits. “What will happen to Nathaniel?”
Ma plunked down into a chair, cupping her steaming mug of chicory coffee. “Likely not much.”
“But he killed Hiriam!”
Ma sipped and knit her brows. “The authorities won’t care.”
“But . . . the circumstances . . .”
“Ain’t no jury in the South gonna convict a slaveholder of doing what he wants with his own property. You know that well as anyone.”
Keziah rubbed her temples. “What Hiriam did . . . I don’t deserve it. I—” Choking on a fresh sob, she kneaded the tight skin over her eyes.
Ma’s soft hand patted Keziah’s arm. “You got to stop beating yourself up. He knew what he was doing. He sacrificed so you could live. Make the most of his gift.”
Schooling her emotion, Keziah nodded and straightened her spine. Ma was right. Still, the weight of all of it—Mother’s heartbreak, Micah’s escape, Nathaniel’s wrath, and Hiriam’s death—it was too much.
She grabbed a semiclean rag and wiped spilled splotches of grits from the worktable. “I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t even have a place to go.”
Ma waved a hand. “You can stay here, of course. Don’t think another thing of it.”
“Only if you allow me to earn my keep.”
“Fair enough.”
Keziah tossed her a grateful smile. “Thank you. Your kindness—”
“Is nothing more than God telling me to love you, child.” Ma finished her thought with a grin. “It’s no hardship.”
Dropping the soiled rag in the wash bucket, Keziah teased, “No wonder Micah thinks so much of you. Speaking of which, I need to talk with him. See what he plans to do next.”
“When you come back, we’ll tackle meal preparations.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Keziah pushed her way through the overly warm kitchen, walked down the quiet corridor toward his room, and knocked. No answer.
The poor man was exhausted. She rapped again, harder this time. Ma had said the pub had few guests currently, so she need not worry about waking anyone. No stirring or sound of footfalls reached past the closed door.
She fought a sudden unease. “Micah?”
A swell of panic burst in her chest, and she twisted the tarnished knob, opening the door with a soft squeak. She stepped in and stopped, her heart crashing.
The bed was made, sheets tucked neatly in place. The room was swept free of any personal items save for a single envelope propped on the nightstand, Keziah’s name scrawled across its front.
Micah was gone.
CHAPTER 31
JUNE 14, 1862
“Come on, miss. How many times are you going to break my heart?”
Keziah shot the grizzled man an amused look as she gathered his empty plate. “When will you cease asking?”
The other fellows gathered in the pub chuckled as Old Man Brubaker smiled widely beneath his wiry beard. “I’ll stop when you finally say yes.”
Ma Linnie cackled from the corner. “George Brubaker, you’re old enough to be her great-grandpappy. Stop teasing her so.”
“Aw, you never let me have any fun.” The men laughed and went back to their war chatter, newspapers, and cups of switchel.
“Think Lee can take Virginia?”
“Likely so. We’ve been beating back those blue-bellied Yanks for months now. Kept them out of Savannah.”
Another voice spoke up. “They did take Fort Pulaski, though.”
“Sure enough. Then they turned tail and ran. Lincoln’s puppets are a spineless lot.”
“Don’t know about that. You hear of this Yankee fellow Ulysses Grant? Jeff Davis better keep his eye on that one. . . .”
The never-ending cycle of war talk usually intrigued Keziah, even more so since she’d been living with Ma Linnie, who actually encouraged her to read as much of the paper as she wanted—a luxury rarely afforded back home. Mother had always discouraged her in “using her mind overly much.” But the news didn’t capture her fancy today. The sameness of everyday life had grown gray and bland.
She trudged into the kitchen with the soiled dishes and dropped them into the washtub. Staring into the dancing water, she allowed the steam to warm her skin, despite the sticky humidity gluing her bodice to her back.
She just wanted to feel something. Anything. Anything but this longing ache for Micah.
She shoved the memory of his smile away. He had left her with no warning, but she didn’t blame him. Not really. Had he been recaptured after escaping jail, the sheriff would have hanged him first and asked questions later. Micah did what was necessary. Still, his abrupt departure and meager note had stung, leaving only a painful void behind.
She’d read his good-bye letter so many times, the seams of the hastily folded note were beginning to crumble.
Dearest Kizzie,
I leave you, for the time, in Ma’s capable hands. Never lose heart, hope, or faith, and never forget you are treasured.
Ever your friend,
Micah
The note was etched in her mind. It sounded like a final farewell, save for the use of “for the time” and the boldness of “ever your friend”—a letter closure usually reserved for betrothed couples. She was flummoxed.
But mostly she feared for his safety. And she missed him. Dreadfully so.
It had been two months and no word, each day stretching longer than the last.
With a fortifying breath, she closed her eyes and did the only thing she knew to do with her troubles. Pray.
Heavenly Father, you know where Micah is. Keep him safe. May he sense your comfort and peace with him. Lord, bring us together again, if it be your will. If not, help my heart to accept it.
Your will be done. She’d never before realized how difficult a prayer that was.
Keziah added the other soiled dishes scattered around the kitchen to the wash pot. She ought not be glum. Ma had been so good to her, taking her in when she had no place to go and no skills to claim.
Despite the strain of physical work, she felt well. Rested. She’d had no illness or episodes since living above the pub. And Ma had sheltered her like a mother bear, constantly wary of anyone who might be curious about the new girl staying in her lodge.
Ma entered the kitchen, huffing against her girth and carrying a tray piled high with more dirty dishes. “Land’s sakes, those men leave more messes. So glad I’m not a man.”
Keziah took the loaded tray from her outstretched arms. “That makes two of us.”
Ma plunked into a chair and fanned her flushed cheeks with her apron. “Mercy, it’s warm today. Doesn’t help that half those fellows in there are smoking like chimneys.”
Keziah grinned. “I heard Ironside Stewart tell Old Man Brubaker that smoking would send him into eternal punishment.”
Ma snorted. “Smoking won’t send a feller to hell. It only makes him smell like he’s already been there.”
Giggling, Keziah dropped the last of the dishes into the steaming water and went to work cutting up curls of lye soap to add to the brimming pot.
“You feeling all right?”
She squirmed. The older woman was far too wise and observant. “I’m fine.”
“Humph. Never took you for the lying sort.”
She whirled around and opened her mouth to defend herself but, upon seeing Ma’s eyes soft with sympathy, cut off the protest. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
