Maggie nodded and Helen began to squeeze. Imari whimpered deep in her throat. Helen pressed again. The shot pushed above the surface.
“That’s it,” said Maggie.
Helen grabbed the ball and dropped it into the tin pan. It made a satisfying ping.
Outside, Joe went to the shed. Over the miles, he had honed an ability to hear men who were trying to be quiet. He could not describe exactly what it was that alerted him to another person’s presence, sometimes breathing, or slight movements to stretch a limb, or the clicking of bones. But there was often more of an absence of sound, as if bugs and mice were holding still too. That is what he felt in the shed.
“Baker?” he whispered to the room.
“Aye,” replied Sylvanus.
“They want you inside,” said Joe.
“Who be they?”
“The cook and the missus.”
“Is thy momma in there too?”
“She got shot,” said Joe.
“Does she … still walk among us?” asked Sylvanus, as delicately as he could.
“She ain’t walking nowhere,” said Joe. “We had to carry her to the house.”
“Does she still have the breath of life?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Joe. “She got that.”
Joe and Sylvanus stepped out of the shed. Without warning, Joe was taken up and lifted off the ground. He came nose to nose with Horace, whose face twisted in anger.
“Why you pretending to be my kin?” Horace snarled.
Joe struggled wildly, arms pushing, legs thrashing. His foot found Horace’s knee and brought them both to the ground. Horace rolled on top of him and pinned him against the grass.
“You that boy they’s looking for, ain’t that right?”
“Leave the boy,” whispered Sylvanus.
Horace kept his knees on Joe’s arms while looking up, surprised to see the baker. “What this got to do with you, Mr. Sylvanus?”
“Thou must be quiet,” said Sylvanus. “Let the boy go.”
Horace stood and dragged Joe to his feet.
“Now, Brother Wilberforce, what has drawn thee to this place?”
“Them slavers be looking for a black boy just like this one here. I gotta warn Miss Maggie that they’s heading this way.” He looked at Joe, “If you is who I think you is.”
“Headed here now?” asked Sylvanus.
“I ran ahead a them. They was on Post Street.”
“Quickly now, we must get thee out of here.” Sylvanus bent to take Joe’s hand.
“I ain’t leaving without Momma,” said Joe, breaking free and running to the house.
The two followed him into the kitchen, where Sylvanus extinguished the lantern on the chopping block. Joe rushed into Maggie’s bedroom followed by Horace and the baker.
“Kill them lights,” Horace hissed. Maggie blew out the candle flames as Helen shut down the lamp’s wick. “Them slavers heading this way for this here boy. That his momma there?”
“What will we do?” said Helen, standing and rushing toward the door.
Sylvanus blocked her way. “Stay quiet.” He pulled the door closed.
Two burning torches could be seen through the curtains; they were crossing the yard. They paused outside the shed. Sounds of a violent search came through the window. Horace parted the muslin curtain and risked a look.
“It’s them,” he said. The torches disappeared into the horse barn.
“Missus,” Maggie said to Helen, “you gotta go out there and throw them off. Say they woke you. Make them tell you what they’re doing. Go out the front door and keep them away from here.”
“But …” started Helen, “wouldn’t you be better at this?”
“Them types ain’t never gonna give no black cook no attention. It’s gotta be you.”
Helen nodded and hurried out.
Helen ran through the house and out the front door. As she rounded the building, Hickox came out of the barn with the torch. At the back corner of the house she paused. The older slaver stopped between the barn and the shed.
“Smell that?” he said to Swift. He brought the fire low and looked carefully at the ground. “It’s wet over here.”
Helen cursed herself about the chamber pot. She was about to call out to them when she felt dampness on her fingers. Imari’s blood—it could be nothing else. Trembling, she reached up her sleeve, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped her hands clean.
“Excuse me?” she said, too softly. In the dark, the men did not notice her. She didn’t believe that she could stop the slavers. But just on the other side of the wall, Imari and Joe and the others were depending on her. Her insides felt as shaky as a pudding. She had no idea what she would say, but one hand gripped the corner of the house and the other clenched into a fist. “What are you doing back here?” she demanded.
The men looked up. Hickox raised the torch. “Who’s that?”
“It is Mrs. Galway,” she said from the darkness, “and I ask again: what are you doing on my property?”
“We’re authorized to search for runaway slaves,” said Hickox, his voice gruff and unyielding.
She held her ground: “Slaves here? Have you Mr. Galway’s permission?”
“That’s not necessary,” the man barked.
“How dare you, sir.”
Hickox’s shoulders drooped. He stalked toward Helen with Swift following. “Mrs. Galway, we have every right—”
“Every right to break into our buildings and throw our belongings around? Shall I find you searching under our very beds?” Helen felt her anger rising. “You will explain yourselves to Mr. Galway.”
The slavers did not move.
Helen drew herself up. “Right now.” And she marched toward the front of the house with her back straight and her head held high. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw them follow.
As soon as the slave catchers cleared the back, Horace and Joe sneaked out to the porch. Horace crept to the corner of the house and saw the two following Helen around to the front. He signaled to Joe, who ran to the shed. Horace rushed over to the barn. Joe returned to the porch with a coil of hemp rope. Horace came back with a tall foot-wide plank, which Joe took inside.
Working silently, Maggie and Sylvanus wrapped Imari in sheets and blankets, careful of her wounds. They took the plank from Joe, laid it flat on the bed, and pulled Imari onto it. Joe began to wind the rope around both his mother and the board, entwining the two the way a caterpillar secures itself to a tree branch. Imari had been given a second dose of the opium and moaned softly as the ropes tightened around her body.
“It’s life or death now,” whispered Maggie at Imari’s ear. “Not just for you, for all of us. Be quiet. Think about the baby and bite down that pain.”
Imari’s eyes flicked open. She nodded.
Horace came in and together the four lifted her and brought her out to the kitchen.
“Watch out,” whispered Horace. “That cistern trapdoor, it’s wide open.”
They moved toward the porch. Indeed, there was a square opening in the floor of the porch. Nearby lay the cover, which usually sat tightly in the slot. Belowground, the cement walls of the cistern were smooth and dark.
“Augustin,” said Helen, standing over the daybed, shaking him awake. “Tell them that they cannot search our property.”
“What?” Augustin looked about uncertainly and brought both hands to his eyes. “What’s going on?” He stared at the two men. “Who are you? Where’s Maggie?”
“These two have wrecked the shed and torn apart the barn,” said Helen.
“Mr. Galway. It is your old friend Abel Hickox, sir.”
Augustin roused himself. “I don’t understand. How dare you come into my home at night. Tearing down my barn?” He tried to straighten himself. “Helen, help me, for God’s sake. Get another pillow.”
She obeyed, bringing him a fringed pillow and helping him to sit upright.
“Sir,” said Hickox, “we had intelligence that s
uggested those runaways—you remember the runaways to which I am referring, yes? One of them was working right in the house.”
“What an outrageous accusation,” said Augustin.
“But,” said Dr. McCooke, suddenly appearing in the library doorway, “the problem is that it is true. You have been duped by your own cook. That little bastard tried to disguise himself by shaving his head.”
“He is Mr. Horace’s nephew,” said Helen. “And I was the one who demanded he be shaved. He had lice and I didn’t want him to bring any vermin into the house.”
As Hickox examined her, a sudden coating of sweat broke beneath her clothing.
“Mr. Galway, we have found evidence in and around your outbuilding to confirm our suspicions,” said Hickox. “We need to search the house.”
“Now?”
“Tomorrow will be too late. If they have found a confederate, you and your household are in danger. Mr. Colby was murdered trying to capture them. These slaves have evaded me for hundreds of miles. Perhaps your cook knows something about it?”
Augustin darkened and turned to Helen. “Ask Maggie to come in.”
“She’s probably asleep.”
“Just bring her.” He turned to McCooke. “You, Doctor, are going to regret bringing these two scoundrels into my home. Now get me to that chair.”
Helen went out the door.
Hickox narrowed his eyes. “We’ll accompany Mrs. Galway.”
“Maggie will not fight me,” said Helen, loudly.
“These people are desperate,” said Hickox, nodding to Swift. “She should not go alone.”
They followed her.
During the discussion in the library, Horace and Sylvanus struggled with the rope as they tried to lower Imari, secure in her cocoon, through the trapdoor into the dry cistern. Their muscles strained and the rope burned their hands. She had been mostly quiet, but at any moment they might slip and drop her. The pain from such a fall would be too much for her.
Joe kept watch at the side of the house, and Maggie listened at the swinging kitchen door. She could hear no distinct words, but it was clear that the slave catchers refused to leave. She stripped off her bloody apron and ran to her dresser. Quickly, she stepped out of her clothing and dragged on a clean white nightgown. On the way back through the kitchen, she rinsed her hands. Horace and Sylvanus fought with the rope. The sound of Helen’s voice saying her name came from the hallway. She knew they were approaching.
Maggie rushed to the swinging kitchen door and burst through it into the front hallway, pausing only to let the door hit her in the back so that she could be certain it was closed.
“Who’s that waking up Mr. Augustin?” she bellowed. Muscling past the slavers, she rushed into the library and planted herself by Augustin. “You trying to kill him?”
Augustin called, “Hickox. You wanted to see her, well here she is.”
Hickox and Swift reentered the room while Helen lingered in the hallway. She quickly went to the kitchen door, opening it a crack. The two men, a rope in their hands, struggled over the cistern’s trapdoor.
Sylvanus looked like he was braced against the lip of the porch. Horace hung over the trapdoor, one foot on each side. His arm quivered with effort when, out of the darkness, a new man appeared and took hold of the rope between Horace and Sylvanus. And Pryce was suddenly on the porch. He glanced at her and took his place behind the baker, wrapping the rope around his forearm in an effort to stabilize Imari’s descent into the cistern. Helen’s heart rose. Pryce looked up toward the kitchen and nodded. Helen almost sobbed in relief, but quickly shut the kitchen door and rushed into the library.
The doctor pointed at Maggie. “Don’t listen to that shrew. She’s hiding something.”
“Treat her with respect,” snapped Augustin.
Hickox grabbed a candle and brought it close to Maggie’s nightdress.
She stepped back. “Stop looking me up and down. I ain’t for sale.” She turned to Augustin, her hands on her hips. “Am I?” Her face was gray with rage.
“Don’t be absurd,” said Augustin, coloring.
“You were harboring a boy,” said Hickox. “Where is he?”
“Home explaining to his momma why he got shaved like a moldy ham.” Maggie looked around and found Helen at the threshold of the room. “Mrs. Galway didn’t like his look, ain’t that right?”
“It is as I said.” Everyone turned toward Helen. Her stomach tight ened, but she tried to look fierce. “He might have had lice. In close quarters it only takes one child to infect the entire household.”
“You’ve been duped by that cook. They all stick together. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hickox?” said the doctor.
“Quiet. You’ve caused enough trouble,” said Augustin. “Let us get this business over with. Maggie, is Job a runaway slave?”
“No, he ain’t,” said Maggie. “He’s Horace’s nephew.”
“Mr. Galway,” said Hickox soothingly, “we would like to be at our beds as much as you. We tried to avoid waking you, but Mrs. Galway insisted. Again, I am sorry.”
“Thank you,” said Augustin.
“However, these slaves are dangerous. I fear that they have been secreted on your property. Maybe no one knew.” Hickox looked at Maggie, squinting.
“Don’t go give me no evil eye!” yelled Maggie.
“Sir, for your own protection and for the safety of the ladies,” said Hickox, “we must search the property.”
Augustin glanced from the slaver to Maggie, to Helen, to McCooke. “Do it,” he said. “But be quick about it.”
Helen stepped forward. “Really, Augustin? They have your permission?”
“Wait,” said the doctor. “Shouldn’t you be frightened?”
“Just what do you mean, Dr. McCooke?”
“I … I mean, we are all here to protect you. That cook might be involved with dangerous slaves.”
“Protect me?” said Helen, looking like she wanted to slap the doctor.
“They ain’t no slaves in here,” said Maggie, “dangerous or otherwise.”
“But there’s you,” said the doctor. “You’re one troublesome nigger.”
“Doctor!” shouted Augustin. “You will stop this right now!”
Maggie turned her eyes to McCooke. “He brought them slavers to the house. And he says I’m lying.”
“Mr. Galway, we must get about our business,” said Hickox.
Simultaneously, on the back porch, Horace, Stewart, Pryce, and Sylvanus lowered Imari, inch by inch, until the board touched bottom. She cried softly, her voice echoing around the smooth cement walls of the cistern.
“Boy,” said Horace, “get on over here.” Joe obeyed. “You men hold her there.” Stewart, Sylvanus, and Pryce set their feet and nodded. Horace released the rope and turned to Joe. “I’m gonna drop you in there so you can guide her down easy. No bumping. No noise.”
Joe sat on the edge of the hole. Horace kneeled over the opening. He rubbed his burned hands and then grabbed Joe around the wrists and pulled him over the edge, lowering him into the dark hole. Horace’s head and shoulders went in as the boy’s feet kicked, trying to feel the bottom.
“Quick, Mr. Sylvanus,” whispered Stewart, “grab his legs.”
The baker crawled over and secured Horace.
Maggie’s voice pierced the night.
Inside the house, Hickox strode out of the library. Helen, Maggie, and Swift followed close behind.
“Doctor, stay here,” commanded Augustin, stopping him.
“Mr. Swift,” said Hickox, already in the hallway, “search the shed.” Swift left by the front door. “Now, to the kitchen. That way, I think.” He pointed to the door.
“Yes, that’s the kitchen,” said Helen loudly.
Maggie rushed around from behind them and stood in front of the swinging door. “If you tear my kitchen up,” she yelled, “or break even one a Mr. Augustin’s teacups, I’ll give you a lickin’!” She stared at Hickox. “See if I don’t.”
“You heard your master. Move aside,” said Hickox, grabbing her upper arm and shoving her aside. She lost her balance and crashed to the floor with a thud. Helen rushed to her.
“You nothing but a devil!” shouted Maggie. “Throw an old woman to the floor!”
“What’s happening?” yelled Augustin from the library.
The slave catcher drew his sidearm and pointed it at Maggie.
“Now you gonna shoot me?”
Helen placed herself between them. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“He’s gonna shoot an old woman in her nightclothes.”
“Doctor, I demand to know what is happening,” said Augustin. Mc-Cooke ran to the hall.
“She’s hiding something,” insisted the doctor. “I know these people.”
“You are a nincompoop,” said Augustin. “Get me up. I need to go out there.”
“Shut up, you blubbering bitch!” shouted Hickox.
He shouldered the door open and found the kitchen dark and empty. A sound, like metal scraping against metal, came from Maggie’s bedroom. Pointing his gun in the direction of the noise, he moved cautiously through the room to the back door and opened it. “Mr. Swift,” he roared, “get in here!”
Maggie and Helen entered at the same time. The doctor, with Augustin leaning on his shoulder, came up behind. McCooke maneuvered Augustin onto Maggie’s stool. Swift thundered over the porch, into the kitchen.
“You must see her treachery for your own good,” said McCooke to Augustin.
“Shut up,” said Augustin.
“Behind that door,” Hickox indicated. Swift drew a short-barreled musket.
“You stay outta my bedroom,” said Maggie, running toward them.
Hickox pointed his weapon at her. Helen grabbed her hand and pulled her back. They watched Swift in horror. He moved to the bedroom. With one kick, the door swung open.
“Don’t shoot,” came a man’s terrified voice.
“Got you,” said Swift. He dragged the man into the kitchen, threw him to the ground, and aimed the musket at his head.
Hickox raised a lantern. Horace Wilberforce lay naked on the floor of the kitchen. A blanket had been dragged along with him. He reached out to pull it around him, but the slaver stamped his foot onto it.
The Third Mrs. Galway Page 18
