True Nobility

by Lori Bates Wright

  Josie laughed loudly behind her, wheezing with the effort.

  Once again, the shotgun rang out and Tori jumped out of her skin.

  “Lyin’ hussy!” The old man started after her.

  Taking off in a full run, Tori grabbed Josie’s arm and dodged his blundering approach. The only protection in sight was a wooded area to the right of the trading post. Half dragging her sister, Tori hid behind the base of a huge oak, praying they wouldn’t be seen.

  They watched as the old codger ranted, poking his gun into every bush surrounding the clearing.

  More than once, she held her breath as Josie’s tight coughing nearly gave them away. By the time he gave up his search and staggered back inside, Josie lay exhausted on the floor of the undergrowth.

  Tori fell in beside her. Not only did her head throb from the earlier abuse, her stomach gnawed and every muscle in her body screamed for rest.

  Looking up, Tori observed the long ivy that hung in graceful garlands from the tall pines that left ghostly shadows in the dark. She was suddenly overcome with an uncontrollable urge to laugh. She wanted to laugh uproariously until tears streamed down her chafed cheeks.

  Then, she wanted to bawl like a newborn lamb. For herself, for Nicholas, for Josie, for her father. For hours on end.

  Instead, she just lay there, stiff and for the most part beyond feeling any emotion at all.

  “Do you think they was right?” Josie’s voice was raspy in the dark.

  “Who?”

  “Them outpost folks back there. You think God cursed me from the day I was born?”

  Tori rolled onto her side, looking for her sister’s face in the darkness. “God doesn’t curse you, Josie. He loves you. You can’t gauge His love by indifference shown by your earthly father.”

  Nor from overindulgence of the same.

  They both lay silent for a long while. Tori wasn’t certain if Josie was deep in thought or if she had lapsed into unconsciousness again.

  Listening for her labored breath, Tori knew she must lend all of her strength to seeing them both through this alive. Despite her exhaustion, an unchecked tear trickled slowly down the bridge of her nose.

  Please help Nicholas find us … and help Josie make it until he does.

  “Love give me back my heart again.”

  ~ George Granville, Baron Lansdowne

  Thirty-One

  By the time they’d made Somersville, lamps had been lit inside the main house. Nicholas let Ian do the formalities of explaining their visit while he turned his horse toward the old field quarters.

  Dark and dank, he’d gone room by room, lifting a torch to illuminate every corner. Each shotgun shack stood empty. Deserted with no trace of recent intruders.

  Mrs. Peddington remembered Lucinda Martin. Said she was a kindly woman and was sad she couldn’t have been more help to her. She also remembered Lucinda’s girl. Wild little thing. Hadn’t seen her since Lucinda passed.

  Just before midnight, they’d made a sweeping search of Somersville land with the help of the owner’s three sons and ten field hands. On Nicholas’s order, no rock was left unturned. If Victoria had been anywhere near the Somersville place, he was bound and determined to find her.

  Nicholas booted the crude gate of the last deserted shack beyond the northernmost rows of bedded cotton, sending it crashing in on a rotted fencepost. Thick cobwebs covered the entrance from years of emptiness and neglect. Angry frustration fueled each step as it became apparent this too would end with no answers.

  Gathering his horse’s reins, Nicholas left alone, walking back down the desolate road in silence.

  The torment of knowing his wife was in jeopardy but beyond his reach exasperated him beyond anything he’d ever endured. Even in the throes of a raging hurricane, he’d managed to bring his ship safely into harbor.

  Ian had returned to Savannah, intent on coming up with another fine plan.

  Nicholas’s plan was to continue south to the deserted rice fields deep in the swamp. However, he’d have to wait for sunup to avoid stepping over a slumbering reptile.

  As unlikely as it was that he’d find Victoria hidden in the marshlands, he refused to give in to his own weakness. Exhaustion wracked his body, but he’d be hanged before he’d stop searching every length of Georgia’s crimson soil to bring Victoria home.

  Sitting in his saddle on a high bluff overlooking the Savannah River, Nicholas could detect no visible signs of life apart from the slow current below. Soon, the first rays of sunlight would beam across the eastern horizon. With it fishing boats and steamers hauling cotton to market would fill the waterway as the sleepy, fog-draped river was put to work once more.

  Tired and heart-weary, Nicholas slid to the ground, leading his horse to the water’s edge. Kneeling on one knee, he cupped a drink for himself before letting it splash over the top of his head, dripping down into his burning eyes.

  The frenzy of the past twelve hours since leaving Savannah now simmered to a gnawing agitation that ate at his core. Victoria was close, living and breathing. He sensed it with everything in him.

  With maddening force, Nicholas hurled a rock across the expanse of the water. If he thought she’d hear him, he’d shout her name until he had no voice. So close, yet elusively out of reach.

  Alone with his tortured thoughts, his heartbeat magnified in his own ears. Passages from the Bible played over in his mind—scriptures he’d learned in childhood. Until he had no choice but admit he was powerless to save her on his own.

  Sinking onto the sandy loam, Nicholas sat with legs bent and forearms resting on his knees. In alternate prayer and reflection, he watched the oppressive darkness give way to an azure glow of dawn. With the dawn, came peace. As if a heavy burden lifted, he knew he no longer fought this battle alone.

  At morning’s first light, he heard the approach of hooves thundering on the river road just downstream. Coming to his feet, Nicholas squinted to see a horse and rider looming his way. Swinging into his saddle, he led his mount up the bank to the where the road took a sharp curve.

  “Nicholas!”

  He recognized Ian’s voice before he could fully see his face.

  “What have you heard?” Nicholas calmed his horse as Ian’s came to a skidding halt.

  “Tori may have been seen last night at Crested Bluff Trading Post.”

  Nicholas’s pulse surged as he looked across the river to the wooded area on the other side. Crested Bluff was almost due east on the middle tributary.

  “The nearest crossing is Johnson’s ferry. Let’s go.” Urging his horse forward, the animal took off in a gallop, with Ian’s close behind.

  They rode for less than an hour before taking the turnoff that led down to the dock.

  “Who saw her?” Nicholas wanted to know as soon as he dismounted to lead his horse onto the weathered planks of the ferry.

  “Big Amos.” Ian gave two coins to one of the cable operators. “His cousin is up at Poplar Grove, over at Judge Hale’s place. The judge asked for permission to borrow Amos’s services last night to help man a political party he was hosting. His foreman came in at about three this morning and said he’d heard a ruckus down by the Crested Bluff Trading Post. Shotguns and raised voices.”

  “Amos went down to investigate? Nicholas pulled his horse to the rail and wrapped the reins. Ducking under the animal’s head, he met Ian between the heaving steeds.

  “He did, but he never saw her himself. By the time he got over there, everything had gone quiet and there was no trace of her.”

  Nicholas threw him an annoyed look.

  “The foreman, however, described what he’d seen. The postmaster and his wife, two other men, and two bedraggled young women who fit Tori’s description.”

  Surveying the piney woods as the east bank grew closer, Nicholas couldn’t contain a twinge of anticipation that quickened in his chest. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”

  Pushing away from the rail, he led his horse to edge of the platfo
rm, ready to disembark the moment it touched the bank.

  The best protection any woman can have is courage.

  ~ Elizabeth Cady Stanton

  Thirty-Two

  The strange noise sounded again.

  Barely awake, Tori’s eyes grew wide when met with a rattlesnake coiled inches from her face. She watched lying, perfectly still, afraid to even breathe. The flat head rose slowly from its scaled body, vicious yellow slits taking in her every move. The serpent’s forked tongue slithered from a mouth that seemed to smile in conquest.

  Without warning, Josie gave a brash cough behind her, and Tori squeezed her eyes shut waiting for the inevitable strike.

  Instead she heard a twang. And a thump.

  Cautiously, she opened her eyes one at a time to the sight of the snake lying slack and unmoving a few yards from where she’d last seen it. By all appearances, it was dead.

  Tori pushed up to rest on an elbow, searching for an explanation for her astonishing good fortune. Her answer popped out from the bushes in the form of a young boy of perhaps seven years of age.

  Excitedly, he ran over and grabbed up the lank snake by the head and shook it to make the rattle clatter. He wore no shirt beneath his overalls, and his hair was uneven and scraggly. Bronzed skin gave evidence that he’d spent plenty of time in the sunshine. His lack of shoes hadn’t hampered his agility one bit. With a snaggletoothed smile, he lifted the wretched creature over his head. His round, almost cherubic, face beamed.

  When she finally caught his attention, she greeted him. “Hello, there.”

  He smiled, but just until he caught himself. The slingshot tucked inside the back pocket of his britches spoke well of his sharpshooting abilities.

  “I suppose I have you to thank for saving me from that ghastly beast.”

  Carefully, Tori rose to her feet, still rather shaky. Dusting loose leaves from the worn coat, she clutched the front lapels together.

  “It’s not a beast. It’s a snake.” He lisped through missing teeth while blatantly rolling his eyes.

  Tori wondered why a little boy would be foraging through the thicket instead of attending school.

  “You speak very well. You must make high marks in your lessons.”

  He picked up a stick and threw it toward a tree, but ignored her assumption.

  “Hmm, I see. And is that where you are supposed to be right now?”

  The child still didn’t answer, but the way he screwed his lips over to one side told her volumes.

  She waited while he looked over a few rocks, slipping ones that pleased him into his pocket. Finally, he lifted his tentative gaze to her.

  Tori tried running fingers through her tangled hair but winced when she came across an immovable knot.

  “Mama weaves hers.” He still kept his distance. “And winds it up at the sides.”

  “That sounds like a very clever thing to do. I wish I had thought of it earlier.” Tori picked handfuls of leaves and straw from the tangled mass. “I’m afraid it’s rather hopeless now.”

  Josie shivered with a sharp wheeze. Tori immediately went to her side, smoothing the remnants of her prized gown over Josie’s bare legs.

  “What’s a matter with her?” The boy used another stick to point.

  Her condition had worsened overnight. Without water the fever would eventually consume her.

  Deciding it was best not to alarm the boy, she kept her voice light. “She’s a bit under the weather today.”

  His look of misgiving told her he knew better.

  “The truth is I’m afraid she’s terribly sick. I really must find her some water.”

  His face brightened and forgetting himself, he approached her. “I know where some is. You want me to go get it for you?”

  The prospect of drinking something other than the muddy river water was more than she could hope for. “You know where there is fresh water?”

  He bolted off like lightning, racing nimbly through the brush as fast as his feet could carry him. Tori stood with a hand held to her brow, shielding the sun from her eyes. She wished he’d let her go with him, curious as to where the source of this water was.

  All of a sudden, as if a veil of despair lifted from her eyes, his casual statement came back in a rush. His mother. That dear, precious, magnificent child could quite possibly hold the key to her freedom. Instantly, Tori felt lighter.

  “Lady!” The little boy came running back through the brush with an earthen container rocking in his pudgy hands. “It’s cold. I got it from the well.”

  Taking the jug, she looked down at the sparkling clear water. Tori was never so glad to see anything in her life and she couldn’t resist another minute. Lifting it to her parched lips, she indulged in the pure wetness of it as it soothed her burning throat.

  “Oh!” She finally took a breath. “I could kiss you.”

  His eyes grew wide as he backed up. A look of repugnance tightened his little face.

  “Or …” Tori laughed, offering a hand instead. “Perhaps we’ll just shake hands.” He watched her carefully before quickly leaning out to accept her thanks and get it over with.

  “You haven’t told me your name.” Again, she smiled at his heightened color. “How shall I know what to call you?”

  He hesitated, obviously not sure he wanted her to call him at all.

  “If you don’t tell me, I shall just have to make one up for you.” Tori tapped a finger against her chin. “Now let’s see. I believe you look like a Horatio.”

  He shook his head.

  “Egbert?”

  He shook it again, smiling this time.

  “I’ve got it. I shall call you Barnaby S. Binglehopper.”

  He fell into a fit of giggles as he continued shaking his little head.

  Tori went over to Josie and knelt by her side. Lifting her, she gently slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Here, Josie. Drink.”

  Josie’s eyes barely opened as Tori raised the earthen vessel to her mouth. She drank deeply. Tori was cautious about letting her have too much, too soon. Her empty stomach would likely reject it. “There now. We’ll have a bit more later.”

  “Go away. Leave me alone.” Josie turned her head and reclosed her eyes. A most welcome sign. As long as she was still able to hurl insults, she still had a fighting chance to come through this.

  “Barnaby? Would you set this in the shade for me? It should stay well out of the sun over there.” She held out the water pot and pointed in the direction of a large live oak sprawling nearby.

  He was still given to fits of giggling. “My name’s not Barnaby.”

  “Oh?” Tori slowly pushed to her feet. Her body ached profusely with the abuse it had taken over the last three days, and the constant rumble in her stomach was painful.

  “It’s Hickory.”

  “That’s a fine name, Hickory. You may call me Lady … umm … Mrs. … Perhaps you should just call me Miss Tori for now. Do you think you can take me to meet your mother?”

  His expression grew cautious.

  “You see, Hickory, we’ve gotten ourselves lost.” Tori tried to ease his apprehension. “I thought perhaps she could help us get back to Savannah.”

  “She’s not in Savannah.”

  Tori could tell immediately that he was avoiding the truth, but she was too weary to figure why. “No matter where she is just now. Could you please take me to her?”

  He was shaking his head, even before she’d finished what she was saying.

  Sitting down on an old tree stump, Tori patted a place next to her. “Hickory, come here.” He kept his eyes from her as he fidgeted with a stick, drawing designs in the dirt. “I promise you’ll not be in trouble. I want to thank her for raising such a wonderful, helpful boy.”

  A flock of seagulls cried in the distance. He took a moment to weigh her words for the truth. Finally, his eyes lifted and met hers. Tori was amazed at the uneasiness that she saw shining in their depths. She patted the stump again. Hickory dropped the stick
and this time he did come over to sit next to her.

  “Does your mama know where you are?” Her soft question caused him to shake his head so slightly, Tori almost missed it.

  Something incredibly delicious assaulted her nostrils, and Tori lifted her head higher to take it in. Her mouth watered and her stomach lurched.

  Tori lifted his chin with her fingers. “It’s awfully important that I get home, Hickory. You see I—we … “She nodded toward Josie. “We’re lost.”

  He looked into each of Tori’s eyes in turn. “I’ll take you home.”

  Tori wrapped an arm around him, until he finally relaxed against her.

  “Won’t you take me to you mother, Hickory? Please.” Her voice remained tender. “I promise to do what I can to make sure she understands what a brave defender you are to have saved me from that horrid snake.”

  “Really?” He perked up. “You think I’m brave as David? I bet I could slay a bear.”

  “Most definitely!”

  Hickory jumped to his feet and lifted his head. “Smell that?”

  Did she ever. Her hand went to her middle as it rumbled loudly in answer. A luscious aroma filled the air.

  Hickory grabbed her other hand and pulled her along toward the bushes he had disappeared into earlier to get the water. Once there, he pulled her down onto her knees. “Look.”

  Tori parted the brush and spotted the outpost from the previous evening, set upon the bluff. A well was off to one side and around back there was a chicken house with several pigs fenced in a yard surrounding it.

  From where they were crouched, Tori spotted a half-open window and three steaming pies sitting on the sill to cool. She nibbled her lip, almost able to taste them.

  Hickory tapped her arm and nodded toward the tempting sight. “I’ll go get us one.”