“But Zeus—”
“Do as I say, now,” Caleb told him, keeping his gaze on Lassiter. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
He heard Jonathan’s feet scamper away and he knew without turning around the boy was at a safe distance. Just once more, he would try to reason with the foreman.
“Bart, I’m not asking you. I’m giving you one opportunity for you to allow me and Jonathan Drogin to leave.”
The foreman’s eyes widened. Without warning, the back of the man’s hand slammed against his cheek. Caleb’s head snapped to the side.
And the blood of his ancestors boiled in his veins.
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you uppity n—”
Caleb’s right leg swept under Lassiter’s feet. The man fell forward and landed on the hard, unforgiving wooden floor. He didn’t move.
Both Oral and Ted exclaimed, “What the—!”
They had no opportunity to say anything else. With the same motion, he swept his feet under Oral’s legs. As that man teetered about, his arms flailing wildly in the air, Caleb crouched down. In a fluid motion, he whirled in a circle, and upended Ted. The man’s legs flew up into the air like those of a rag doll. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud.
Oral’s head banged into the long metal shaft of the stove in the center of the room, a distinct clang echoing. He fell across Ted’s body, unconscious.
“Oral, get off me!” Ted tried shoving the man off but Oral weighed a good three-hundred pounds.
Caleb stood, barely winded. Ted’s muttered curses was the only sound breaking the stunned silence which had filled the bunkhouse. Then, in a single swarm, the boys leapt from the bed and crowded around him.
“How did you—”
“That was—”
“I can’t believe what I—”
Their excited voices started to grow in volume and he hurried and shushed them. “Boys, please keep your voices down. Jonathan and I have to be going.”
“Can we go with you?” one of them, a young one with a slight tremble of his voice asked.
“Yes, can I come too?” another one jumped up from the back of the crowd.
They all started to clamber at him, pulling at his shirt and limbs, anxious to escape. Caleb’s heart ached at their desperation. He knew what it was like, too.
Unlike Jonathan, who, in a fit of childhood rage, had run away from a good home, these boys didn’t have homes. From his investigation, he’d discovered that Bart had lured most of these boys away from the orphanages with the promise of hard work and good pay.
In truth, the foreman knew their real value lied within the fact they had no one to care for them. Like fish to the hook, they’d fallen for Bart Lassiter’s golden words only to find out the truth. Their lives meant nothing to him.
Forgotten. Invisible. He had intimate knowledge of such hopelessness.
A pair of silver-gray eyes rose in his mind. His heart ached again albeit for a different reason.
Sorcha, I miss you so. And if you were here, I know what you’d tell me to do.
He uttered the words he’d said many times in the past. “All those who want to be free, follow me.”
Chapter Two
Denver, Colorado
“Another job well done, Caleb,” Archie Gordon told him as he set the report that he’d given him on the table. “Mr. and Mrs. Drogin, the boy’s grandparents were ecstatic to see him again.”
Caleb nodded. The elderly Drogins had clutched Jonathan tightly to them. Jonathan cried into their arms at the reunion. He’d watched from behind the almost closed door at first, unsure how the older couple would react to his presence. Archie, however, had yanked the door wide open and practically dragged him to where they stood.
He’d tensed, waiting for the shock, and then disdain.
Nothing like that happened, a turn of events that should not have surprised him, especially after Sorcha. Yet, people still had the ability to tear down his own preconceptions of them.
“I must admit, Caleb, the way Mrs. Drogin wouldn’t let you go was quite humorous. As strong as you are, her gratitude seemed even stronger.”
He allowed a brief smile. Mrs. Drogin had to be tugged away by Mr. Drogin. The older man, apologizing profusely, made a jest. “She keeps holding onto you like that, Mr. Smith, I may get jealous.”
It was a jest, as he’d known it was, but it only brought up another pair of eyes, also gray but like stone. Memories which were best left to rot at the back of his mind tried to rise up but he hammered them back down.
“I’m glad we were able to bring Jonathan back,” he simply said.
“Splendid. Pearl enjoyed cooking for the boys while they were here. I know she’s going to miss them.”
“I’m sure.”
Caleb got up to leave, having finished his report. He’d probably have a few days before his next assignment. He wondered what it would be. In the meantime, he’d take a couple of days off and would go visit Cathay. It had been a couple of months since the last visit. He knew how much she looked forward to them.
“Uh, Caleb, before you go, I do need to speak with you about the boys.”
He sat back down. “Go on.”
“We were happy to take on the boys, you’re aware of this already. I know you did not plan to bring them back but we do have protocol we must adhere to. Your mission was to track and bring back Jonathan Drogin. You did that with admirable ability. However, you did risk exposing our operations by bringing the rest of the boys.”
“Am I being reprimanded?”
Archie waved his hands in the negative. “Not at all.”
“The situation had become necessary. I couldn’t leave them there.”
Sorcha hadn’t left him alone, even when it would have been the best thing to do. If a slip of a woman could face the wrath of lions with only her faith and her belief in what was right, then he could, too.
“I know, and if I were in your shoes, I would have done the same thing. After all, because of you, we have witnesses that can and will attest to the type of treatment the boys received at the mine. Mr. Richardson is already looking for a new foreman, one who will abide by the rules.”
“That’s a good thing.” Freeing the oppressed gave a satisfaction he never tired of.
Archie sighed and tapped the papers on his desk. “We were fortunate enough to have ties with several of the orphanages connected with the churches in the area. Reputable, and sound orphanages that will take the boys in, and not only house, but love them.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But Caleb, next time, stick to the mission. We don’t always have the luxury of having Fate be kind to us.”
Caleb thought about Archie’s words as he left the office. “Fate is a fickle mistress,” Sorcha had said more than once. Over the past several years, he could only agree.
He went up the stairs to his room to pack a bag. He often spent about three or four days with Cathay. The last time he was there, she wasn’t feeling too good and he wanted to make sure she’d recovered.
Bag packed, he went over to the window and stared out at the scene.
Beauty made by God blossomed everywhere. Tiny green buds dotted the bare trees while mating calls of birds created a melody.
Despite that, the restrictive Jim Crow laws increased. Though the War between the Union and the Confederacy was over, the war for equality still waxed on.
Caleb turned away from the picturesque scene and sat on the narrow ledge. A deep-rooted fear, one he hadn’t ever expressed to anyone haunted him once more.
He glanced around at the small, sparse room until his eye landed on a peppermint stick Pearl, the cook, had given him a few days ago. The enjoyment of the candy wasn’t to be hastened, but savored.
The new world of emancipation and freedom…what if it were to all go away? Snatched away like a peppermint stick from a child’s hand. At the thought, the stripes of red gleamed in the sunlight in a macabre fashion. Like lines of blood
.
His breath quickened. What if all he had fought for, all the deaths, and the bodies…Sorcha! What if it were to change?
He’d run away from the shackles of his youth. Caleb’s mind turned inward, seeing himself as he was twelve years ago. His body lunging like a drunk in the darkness. His back, searing in pain from the wounds of the whipping he’d received earlier that day.
The hopelessness had beset him. He’d fallen to the ground, caught up in the stickiness of the mud. The other runaways around him whimpered, terrified. Wanting freedom, wanting the unknown and yet…
…so afraid.
Agitated at the direction of his thoughts, Caleb rose from the narrow ledge and went over to the mirror. He’d had to tip it up at an angle to accommodate his height. The reflection gazing back at him didn’t resembled the younger version of himself twelve years ago.
His younger self had wallowed in pain. Wallowed in the miry mud that night. If it hadn’t been for the sight of the gun Moses had leveled at his head, he probably would have gone back to the plantation. Gone back to what he’d always known, but hated.
Or would have died by Moses’s own hand.
“Go on, or die!” Moses had whispered harshly that night. Even in that murky darkness, the light in her eyes had shone, almost as bright as the North Star.
“I’s already dead,” he remembered gasping out, the mud slathering his face. “I’s already dead.”
Perhaps Moses had known what he felt. She’d put the gun away and then crouched down by his side. “Then get up and live. Die on the way to freedom. I ain’t never lost a passenger and you ain’t about to be the first.”
A knock on the door drew him out of his memories. He tugged the ends of his shirt to compose himself and then called out. “Come in.”
Bronson, ‘Bronco’ Wauneka peered around the edge of the door. “Seems like we need to congratulate you for the slew of new potential Pinkerton agents.”
The Indian man’s eyes shone with amusement and Caleb allowed himself to relax fully as he’d never been able to with some of the other agents with the agency. Not that any of the men ever treated him as less than a fellow agent. But the caution of a lifetime was hard to break, even years after Emancipation. He’d felt a certain affinity for the red man as they discussed the mirrored struggles of their respective peoples.
“I heard Archie promise a few of those boys that ate up all of Pearl’s food some open positions once they got older.”
Bronco came further into the room, “I wonder if they’ll hold him to it.” He pulled the knife that was habitually around his thigh and twirled it on the tip of his finger. “I heard some of the boys talking about your fighting technique when you overpowered a few of the men. More of that capoeira training you’ve told me about?”
Caleb nodded. “I don’t know much of it. Just what was taught to me.”
“Maybe I’ll have to learn what you know some day. But a knife—” Bronco shrugged and then flung the knife across the room, embedding it into the wall where several other such marks were, “that’ll do in close quarters. Maybe when some of the boys get older, we can train them.”
“Well, we can’t keep doing these missions for the rest of our lives,” Caleb reflected.
A strange look crossed Bronco’s face but it was so fleeting Caleb wondered if he had imagined it. “Speaking of new recruits…have you seen the paper?”
The mischievous light in Bronco’s eyes sent a wave of alarm through him. “Is there something of interest?”
“Well, I’ll let you determine that.” Bronco pulled out the folded-up paper. Caleb took it and read the headline:
Female Agents to join National Detective Agency.
Caleb blinked. “That can’t be right.” He read on:
“…the agency is now seeking able-bodied women to join the ranks of private investigators.
We need daring women who seek adventure and are of sound mind and body. You will help the criminal elements answer for their crimes and secure safety for their victims.
You will train with an existing agent…”
He read the article again. And then a third time.
No matter how many times he read it, the words didn’t change.
“I’d figured that’d be your reaction,” Bronco said, when, with a slightly dazed feeling, he looked back up at him.
Caleb was lost for words. His mouth worked up and down but nothing came out. Female agents?
Arielle rang the doorbell of the Pinkerton Detective Agency and crossed her fingers. Today would be the day she’d become an agent.
The door opened and a lovely, petite woman with apple cheeks, vibrant hair, and bright eyes stood in the entry and gaped at her. The woman seemed awestruck as her gaze roved over Arielle’s person in an appraising manner.
Well used to the type of response she received, Arielle brushed it aside. Of course, there were some women whose beauty matched her own but very few surpassed it.
“Hello,” she greeted.
The woman gave a slight nod. “Good afternoon, may I help you?”
Could she ever! “I should hope so. My name is Arielle Bradford and I’m here in response to the editorial in the paper. I understand you need female detectives.”
After a few words, the woman invited her inside the office.
Arielle followed the woman, whose name was Marianne Chapman, and perused her surroundings. It had a large interior, nicely decorated but still had a spartan appearance to it. They passed by a large room which Arielle surmised was the common area and then stopped at another open doorway.
“Please come in,” Marianne stated as she extended her arm. “You can wait in the library while I tell Mr. Gordon you’re here.”
“Hmm, a library.” She did miss her father’s library at Arabette Grove. She enjoyed books as much as she enjoyed men’s admiration.
“Do you have the latest Edgar Allan Poe book? I so adored The Murders in the Rue Morgue and would love to read another.”
Marianne blinked and Arielle wondered what she thought about her love for the ghastly tale. “I believe we do. Please take a seat or feel free to browse the books while you wait.”
The door shut behind her and Arielle let loose a breath she wasn’t aware she’d held.
She’d done it! Arielle twirled around the room, her skirts swishing around her feet, feeling as triumphant as a bird released from a gilded cage.
What an adventure this intrigue had been! From that moment in her father’s study, when he demanded that she marry Matthias Blackburn, she had planned her escape from his dictates.
Of course, she couldn’t have gotten this far without her sisters.
Gliding over to the shelves of books, she let her fingers flutter across their spines. Thinking back on that day when her father made the mistake of supposing her life was his to control, she smiled.
Brielle, the mathematician of the family, had spent an entire night developing the logistics of escaping the plantation. Her eagerness to assist Arielle had been a bit of a surprise. If she hadn’t known better, she could almost believe Brielle wanted her gone.
Arielle dismissed the thought. On the contrary, perhaps it had more to do with her younger sister’s pragmatism. Her sister knew there were two things that could never be changed.
When Arielle made up her mind, no one would change it.
When Arielle said she was going to do something, she did it.
She stopped to caress the spine of a volume of Moby Dick while thinking of how Camille and Danielle, the two youngest, had tried to sway her from her path.
“Papa will be furious, Arielle,” Camille’s large golden-brown eyes had latched on to her with worry.
“Camille’s right,” Danielle agreed, her tip-tilted light green eyes with their brown tints bore into her own. “Papa’s reputation is at stake. You have to honor his word and marry Mr. Blackburn.”
Arielle snorted and dismissed their dissent with an airy wave of her hand. “Well, he should
have obtained my consent first thus sparing us all of this heartache.”
“You cannot always get your wish, Arielle!” Camille told her. “You must know that.”
“I’ve yet to experience not getting what I want.”
“Arielle—,” Danielle groaned.
“Do stop, Camille and Danielle.” Brielle had admonished the younger sisters’ disagreements with a stern tone. As the second eldest, she expected them to obey her. For the most part, they did do as Brielle asked.
Brielle had made it clear and straightforward when she added, “Arielle has no wish to marry Mr. Blackburn. Nothing you say will change it.”
No truer words had ever been spoken. The treacherous sea voyage across the ocean couldn’t stop her. Twice, severe storms had almost capsized the ship. Their ferocity challenged even the most seasoned sailor. Being the daughter of a privateer, she was accustomed to the turbulent and vicious attitude of the sea. Sea-sickness had held no grip on her as it had other passengers. If anything, the threat of danger invigorated her in a way she hadn’t expected.
She memorized the itinerary Mr. Blackburn had included in his letter. They were to dock in a town called Denver in the state of Colorado. Even the name of the city, one she had never heard of before, sounded strange and exotic to her. Blunt. Sharp. Knife-like.
It was here that she’d be expected to meet her husband-to-be.
When the gangplank had been laid, she crossed over, ready to begin the next part of her adventure.
“I’m sorry, Miss Bradford.”
Arielle turned around to see Marianne coming back into the library. “But Mr. Gordon is in a meeting with the agents regarding the upcoming case load.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Soon, she’d be in that same meeting, listening as Mr. Gordon detailed and assigned cases.
Arielle Bradford, Pinkerton agent. She dampened down an unladylike squeal of glee.
Marianne handed her some papers. “Here are the questions he needs answered for the interview. If you bring it back on Monday, he can meet with you then.”
An Agent for Arielle (The Pinkerton Matchmaker Book 12) Page 2
