Home by Morning (9 page)

“Good folks up north.” Shoulders hunched against the cold, Chester watched Thomas cut off several long strips of latigo leather from one of the saddles. “Quakers, I hear.”

After tying the leathers into one long strip, Thomas gave it to Mose Solomon to belt the poncho at his waist.

Chester stomped his feet and looked around. “'Specially around Westfield. Got a whole bunch of Quakers up there.”

Deciding to leave the bigger, heavier sorrel for the black man, Thomas vaulted up onto the long-legged bay. He watched Mose Solomon speak quietly to the sorrel before gathering his reins and mounting, and was satisfied the man knew his way around horses.

“That where you're headed?” Chester asked. “Westfield?”

Thomas looked down at him. “Who told you to ask, Chester Hogan?”

“What? No. Nobody.” The nervous man backed away, palms upraised. “I just wonderin' is all.”

“This is good. Because if someone follows us, I will have to kill him. Then I will have to come back and kill you.”

Chester made a garbled sound.

With a nod to Mose Solomon, Thomas reined his horse away from the rail yard and north toward Westfield.

*   *   *

“He not a very good daddy,” Lillie complained as Pru led her past the vendor carts after the gospel meeting broke up. “Runnin' off like that.”

“He stayed long enough to hear you sing. And he was as proud of you as I was.” Pru slowed to guide the girl over the tracks behind the depot. “Told me so himself.”

“Where he at, anyways?”

“Yes, where?” a voice said, startling Pru. She turned to see
Marsh less than a dozen feet behind them. Had he been following them all along?

“Where did your Mr. Redstone go?” he asked, coming up beside them. “Or is he still in a tiff about your going to Washington?”

“We haven't discussed Washington.” Pru continued toward the hotel, Lillie's hand tight in hers. “Nor have I decided if I'll go or not.”

“Haven't you?” Marsh fell into step beside them. “When you left the meeting early, I assumed it was to talk it over with him.”

“You leave, too?” Lillie accused.

“Just for a moment,” Pru assured her, then to Marsh, added, “Thomas was in a hurry. We only exchanged a few words.” And a kiss that still left her weak.

“Gone where, do you suppose?”

“I don't know.” It didn't bother Pru in the least to lie to this man. “He's very independent, and not given to explaining himself. He'll return when he's ready.”

“Will he miss the fund-raiser, too, do you think?”

“I wouldn't know.”

They walked in silence for a moment, then Marsh smiled down at Lillie. “Senator Brooks said very nice things about you, Lillie.”

“Who he?”

“An important man. He helps run a special school for children like you.”

“Po' little blind black orphan chilrin?”

“Among others.”

“I not like school.”

“You might like this one. And Senator Brooks said he would be happy to have you join the other students while Miss Lincoln is in Washington.”

“I haven't yet decided to go,” Pru reminded him.

That oily smile. “I really think you should, my dear. Your initiative is vital to our plans.”

Our
plans? Why was her being there so important that he would use a child to force her to go?

“I realize you're concerned about the girl, Miss Lincoln. But I assure you she'll be quite safe at the school until you return.”

Pru kept her head down so he wouldn't see her rising panic. Senator Brooks was no better than Marsh was. She had instantly distrusted him when she'd met him before the service began. He oozed that self-righteous contempt that overbearing, self-important people wore like armor. And no matter what Marsh said, Brooks had not been “taken” with Lillie. Rather, he seemed to regard her as a new recruit for his lunatic asylum. He probably got a stipend from the government for every child at the school.

As if Thomas would ever be parted from Lillie.

“Tell the senator I appreciate his interest, but I will be taking Lillie to Colorado.” She had said it on impulse, but as soon as the words left her mouth she knew it was the right decision. She and Thomas could make Lillie's life richer than the senator and his school ever could.

“Fo' true?” Lillie squeaked.

“I doubt that would be possible,” Marsh cut in.

Pru's steps faltered. Stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, she turned to Marsh. “Why not?”

“Because she's not your child, Miss Lincoln. She's a ward of the state.”

“Then I'll adopt her.”

“What 'dopt mean?”

Marsh shook his head and resumed walking, forcing Pru to hurry to keep up. “An unmarried woman? No judge would allow it. But if it is something you want to pursue, we can discuss it more fully when you return from Washington. Well, I see we're here.”

Pru only then realized they had reached the Beckworth Arms. Forcing her lips into a smile, she said, “Thank you for walking us back, Mr. Marsh. But we'll bid you good night now. Lillie is quite tired.”

“Of course.” Marsh tipped his hat. “Sleep well. Tomorrow will be a big day. For all of us, I suspect.”

As soon as they walked into the lobby, Pru asked the desk clerk for a pad and pencil, then scribbled a note to Brother Sampson. As she pushed it across the counter, she told the clerk to see that the reverend got it the moment he returned. “It's terribly important that he get this as soon as possible.”

She watched the clerk slip the note into the slot marked
206, then headed upstairs. If for some reason Brother didn't get the note tonight, she would go to his room herself. There was more than one way to stop Marsh and keep Lillie safe, and she had only a day to do it.

*   *   *

Knowing they could move faster in the dark on smooth land, Thomas stayed on the road, rather than risk damage to the horses on a less-traveled trail. He set a hard pace, varying their speed from walk to trot to lope, then back down again, so the horses would not get winded or tire too soon. And always, he stayed alert, eyes scanning the ground in front of his horse, ears cocked for riders coming up behind them.

He did not trust Chester. A man so easy to frighten would be quick to talk if pushed. “Did you see anyone follow you and Chester?” he asked Mose Solomon.

“I wasn't lookin'. But Chester, he seem mighty nervous.”

Frowning, Thomas nudged his horse into a trot.

Since leaving behind the lights of the city, his vision had adjusted to the darkness. Even though there was no moon, the cloudless sky was not completely black. The stars sprinkled overhead gave enough light for him to see a darker outline against the deep blue of the night sky.

A line of trees. Pines, he guessed, since the shadows were tall and the branches short. Deciding this would be as good a place as any to rest the horses, Thomas reined off the road. As they moved silently across the frost-curled grass, the white trunks of aspens showed in the shadows beyond the pines, and his bay picked up his pace. Where there was aspen, there was water.

In a meadow bordered by trees on one side and a sluggish creek on the other, they dismounted and loosened the girths of their saddles. Thomas let the horses drink a small amount, then moved them away from the water to graze in the clearing. The breeze had strengthened, and it swept through the long pine needles with a sound like rushing water. Needing a quieter place to listen for followers, he left Mose Solomon to watch over the horses and went closer to the road.

Half hidden behind a stump, he waited for a long time, but saw and heard nothing. Finally, he rose on cold-stiffened legs and went back to the clearing.

The black man stood on the bank of the creek, giving the horses another drink. “See anything?”

Thomas shook his head.

After tightening the girths on their saddles, they mounted again and went back to the road. Thomas stopped often to look behind them and listen for followers, but other than a farmer taking a wagon of hay to town, no one else was out in the dark. Occasionally, a dog barked in the distance, warning them away from a lonely farmhouse. Once, a horse whinnied from a field nearby, but for most of the night, they rode without speaking, the
clomp
of the horses' hooves the only sounds to break the silence.

Thomas thought often of Prudence. He knew the chance for them to make a life together was slipping away, but he did not know how to stop it. Or even if he should. Perhaps he was holding on to her too hard, using her as a crutch for all he lacked. Maybe they were not meant to be together.

The thought settled like a stone in his chest.

They rode on. The ride seemed endless. Then the sky began to fade into a paler blue, and a faint smear of light kissed the horizon to the east.

Relieved to be nearing the end of this half of his journey, Thomas pushed the weary horses faster. It wasn't until he saw the lights of Westfield winking to life through the trees ahead that he heard the sound of horses behind them. Coming fast.

*   *   *

As soon as Lillie fell asleep, Pru tiptoed into the hall, locked the door behind her, then hurried to room 206. Luckily Brother was still dressed.

Ignoring his look of surprise, she slipped past him into the room. “Didn't you get the note I left with the clerk?”

“The clerk wasn't at the desk. Is something wrong, Miss Lincoln?”

“Can you perform marriage ceremonies?”

He blinked in surprise—then smiled. “You and Mr. Redstone?”

“Yes. How soon can you marry us?”

“Tomorrow, if the courthouse is open and I can get a license.”
His smile faded into a look of concern. “Why the rush, if you don't mind me asking?”

She told him all that Marsh had said, and about her suspicion that he wanted to put Lillie into the senator's school to ensure that Pru would go with them to Washington to present her initiative. “I don't know why it's so important that I be there. You're going. Why can't you present it?”

“He'll have a better chance of success with you. I heard him tell Brooks that if the initiative succeeds and a committee on Negro education is formed, they'll need someone to run it. Why not him?”

Pru's knees almost buckled. A man as evil and corrupt as Marsh would bleed off all the funds needed to help the Negroes. Her hard work would have been for nothing. “We have to stop him.”

She began to pace, thoughts bouncing through her mind. Without her, the initiative might fail. That was why Marsh was so determined that she be there. And the only way he could be sure she would cooperate . . . “He's using Lillie.”
That bastard!

Brother stared at her. “To what purpose? I don't understand.”

“To make me behave.” She whirled to face him. “When I told him I wanted to adopt her, he said no judge would allow an unmarried woman to do that.”

“So you plan to marry Mr. Redstone and adopt her?”

She gave a shaky smile. “If they'll have me.”

E
arly the next morning, Pru and Lillie went with Brother Sampson to the courthouse. Leaving Lillie on a bench just inside the Licensing and Records Office, Pru and Brother approached the man at the reception desk. It took some explaining—to both Brother and the harried clerk—about why the intended groom wasn't with them, but eventually Brother was able to convince the clerk to issue the license.

It wouldn't be the wedding Pru had envisioned—a hurried ceremony in a dismal hotel room with some hapless stranger as witness—but perhaps later she and Thomas could have a real ceremony in Heartbreak Creek. Edwina would probably insist on it, assuming they could get Thomas into the church.

“Don't tell Lillie about it yet,” Pru whispered to Brother before they collected the girl chatting happily to Miss Minty. “I want to surprise her.”

“When do you expect Mr. Redstone back?”

“Tonight. After the fund-raiser. Can you do the ceremony then?”

“I can. We'll need a witness, though. Perhaps the man at the hotel desk will agree to it.”

“Let's hope adopting Lillie will go as smoothly.”

The records clerk had given them a stack of papers to fill out and the name of a judge who might expedite matters. For the first time, Pru welcomed white indifference. It was obvious by
the clerk's attitude that legal matters pertaining to coloreds weren't as strictly monitored as those involving whites.

Sending Lillie with Brother to oversee the dismantling of the meeting tent, Pru sat on the bench in the courthouse hallway and filled out the adoption papers. After leaving them with Judge Kohler's clerk, she promised to bring the marriage certificate tomorrow, then hurried back to the hotel.

At least now there was a record of her intention to adopt. And when she and Thomas brought proof of their marriage to Judge Kohler's clerk tomorrow, they would find out what else they could do to expedite the adoption.

Adoption. Marriage. It was a great deal to take in all at once.

She and Thomas had never discussed a proper, legal marriage. Pru wasn't sure Indians had formal marriage rites and had never pressed the matter. But if he knew this was the best way to protect Lillie, surely Thomas would go along with it.

An odd mix of emotions swirled in her head. Was this what she wanted? What Thomas wanted? All those obstacles still loomed before them. She knew they loved each other—there would never be any other man but Thomas in her life. And they both loved Lillie. Surely, they could overcome the hurdles ahead.

Just a few more hours.

If everything went as planned, before the night was over, she would be married and Lillie would be safe. Until then, all that remained was to get through the fund-raiser tonight, and the wedding ceremony after. Then they'd be free of Marsh forever.

It was dark when Brother Sampson escorted Pru and Lillie and Miss Minty into the lush home where the fund-raiser was being held. Pru saw immediately that other than the Negro servers in their white jackets and white gloves, the three of them were the only people of color at the crowded event. It made her nervous, all those white faces staring at them. Especially those announcing—with varying expressions of resentment, disdain, or forced amiability—that coloreds didn't belong here among them.

Pru tried not to take it personally. Having been emancipated by her white father on the day of her birth, she had never been a slave. As proof, she still carried the manumission papers
everywhere she traveled—out of fear or pride, she wasn't sure which. In addition, and also because of her white father's generosity, she had an education equal to or better than that of any white woman in this room.

But she wasn't their equal. The inescapable truth was that even with her white blood and high learning, she would never belong among these wealthy, finely dressed white people, any more than her black blood made her acceptable to the Negroes she saw wandering the streets, lost and bewildered by sudden freedom and unsure what to do with it.

Raised to think, rather than fearfully submit, she was despised by whites for her presumption, and resented by blacks for being blessed with advantages they had never had. She could do little to change the former, but she could certainly use those advantages to help those who had suffered so much more than she.

But it hurt.

Too base for one, too disparate for the other. Neither black nor white, but the bastard product of an alliance that was an affront to God and the law, she was welcomed nowhere, and belonged nowhere. Except in Heartbreak Creek. There both she and Thomas were accepted and loved despite their skin colors. It would be the perfect place to raise Lillie.

But first, she had to get through this fundraiser.

The irony of it didn't escape her: wealthy white people assuaging their guilt over the mistreatment of blacks by promoting the Negro cause, while she used that same Negro cause to lessen her own guilt that she had never been one of those mistreated blacks. When had her life become this convoluted?

It was so laughable it made her want to weep.

Instead, with the humility and gratitude expected of her, she tucked Lillie's hand into her elbow and followed Brother Sampson and Marsh around the room, pretending it didn't matter that she would always be an outsider with either race.

It was a lavish gathering, with goblets of fine champagne and trays of delicate treats. The men all wore dark suits. The women were elegantly flounced, bustled, and bejeweled. Pru felt rather dowdy in her Sunday best linsey-woolsey. And itchy. Had she known this was a dress-up affair, she would have worn her less warm but more fashionable blue worsted linen. Fancy
enough to show respect, but inferior enough to assure everyone she knew her place.

In an effort to bolster Lillie's hurt over Thomas's absence, Pru had given her the dress she had bought her for Christmas. The bright color of the worsted wool looked quite festive, and when Pru put matching ribbons in Lillie's pigtails, the child looked just the thing. It helped lighten Lillie's mood somewhat, but she still seemed downcast without Thomas nearby.

Pru understood. She felt it, too—that vague uneasiness that kept her looking restlessly about, as if some vital part of her was missing and her nerves could only settle once everything—and everyone—was back in the proper place.

Or maybe that fidgety feeling was due to the wool in her dress. She hated wool. It made her feel like tiny ants were crawling over her skin. And she especially hated linsey-woolsey, despite its durability, practicality, and warmth. It always reminded her of Pricilla Whitney and the combined expressions of smug superiority and barely concealed distaste her father's wife wore when she passed out the annual set of linsey-woolsey clothing to the slaves at Rose Hill.

But that was then, and this was now. And no matter the guilt that had brought them all here tonight, Pru was grateful for the opportunity to present her proposal to wealthy people who might be able to move it along. Then, once that was done, she and Lillie and Miss Minty could happily leave them to their champagne and go back to the hotel. It was of utmost importance that she be there when Thomas returned.

They both had a lot to talk about.

“Try this.” Pru set a chocolate-dipped strawberry in Lillie's free hand.

“What it is?” The child wrinkled her nose. “It feel sticky. And sweaty.”

“If you don't like it, put it in your napkin. Don't throw it on the floor like you did with the goose liver sandwiches.”

“Miss Minty do that, not me.” She gave a lick. “Mmm . . . Chocolate. I jist loves chocolate.” Grinning, she stuffed the entire strawberry in her mouth. “Got more?” she asked, juice dripping down her chin.

“I see you're enjoying yourselves.” Marsh sidled up beside
them, unsuccessfully masking his distaste as Pru mopped up Lillie's face. He motioned to the man beside him. “You remember Senator Brooks?”

Pru tucked the soiled napkin into her reticule. “Of course.”

Which was apparently all the encouragement the officious man needed to drone on for ten minutes about his school and the great work being done there. “We could do wonders for Lillian.”

“Perhaps,” Pru allowed. “But I've been working with Lillie myself, teaching her to read by Braille.” She decided not to tell them about her intent to adopt Lillie until the papers were on the judge's desk.

“Have you?” The senator stared down at the child licking chocolate off her palm, his bushy white brows arching above cold, gray eyes. “You find she's intelligent enough to comprehend the six-dot method?”

Pru almost struck him.

Luckily, Marsh stepped in to remind her it was time for her talk. “Brother Sampson is introducing you now.”

“But Lillie—”

“I'll keep an eye on her.” Marsh reached out to put his hand on Lillie's shoulder. Then, seeing Pru's hesitation, he took the sticky little hand instead. “I know where there's a whole tray of chocolate-covered strawberries, Lillian. Would you care for another?”

Lillie perked up. “I jist loves chocolate strawberries. Miss Minty do, too.”

“Then let's go get them, shall we?”

With a nod to Pru, Marsh and the senator led the child away just as Brother Sampson concluded his introduction.

“So let's give a warm welcome to Miss Prudence Lincoln, the author of the fine education initiative you've been hearing about. Miss Lincoln?”

With a last glance toward the back corner where Lillie was happily gobbling more chocolate-covered strawberries, Pru reluctantly walked through the crowd to do what she had come to do.

*   *   *

The first bullet drilled through the high cantle of Mose Solomon's saddle, came out the other side, and lodged in his side.

Thomas saw him lurch sideways and grabbed the reins of the black man's sorrel before they slipped from his slack hand. “Hang on!” Bending low over the pommel of his saddle, Thomas turned his bay sharply toward a group of trees and kicked him into a run, pulling the sorrel behind him.

More bullets. A searing pain. Thomas glanced down and saw a long tear in his jacket where a bullet had creased his upper arm.

They reached the trees. Another bullet cracked against a branch overhead, sending down a shower of splinters. A fourth plowed into the trunk of a tree beside Thomas's head.

They rode hard until they came up against a wall of brush and brambles. Thomas jumped down, grabbed the revolver and box of bullets from his saddlebag, and ran back to Mose.

The black man had already dismounted and was clinging to the saddle with both hands. Blood darkened the left side of his poncho. Thomas waved toward the brush. “Run! Stay low!”

Holding his side, Mose Solomon staggered out of sight.

Thomas slapped the horses, sending them back the way they'd come, then crouched behind a tree trunk as their pursuers charged through the trees behind them. Shouts. Curses. Two horses. Two riders.

Thomas checked the cylinder of his Colt. Six rounds. Thumbing back the hammer, he braced his arm against the tree trunk and sighted down the barrel.

The front rider crashed through the brush.

Thomas fired.

The man flew backward, blood spurting from his neck.

The second man kept coming.

Deafened by the blast, his eyes burning from spent powder, Thomas cocked and fired again. His shot went wide.

The second rider continued toward him, firing as he came.

Thomas ducked behind the tree again, struggling to listen through the ringing in his ears. Four shots? Or was it five? When the firing stopped, Thomas rose up, the gun cocked and ready.

An unfamiliar horse stood twenty feet away. His saddle was empty.

Thomas scanned the trees, saw nothing. He slid behind the trunk again, shaking his head to clear the buzzing in his ears.

“You killed my partner, you bastard!” The voice came from the right.

Thomas inched to the left and waited, gun ready. A bird flitted by. Somewhere overhead, a squirrel scolded. When the noise in his head began to fade and he could hear again, Thomas stepped around the tree again, caught movement, and lurched back too late.

The heel of a boot slammed into his chest. “Got you, you red son of a bitch!” a voice cried as the butt of a gun cracked against his temple.

*   *   *

“You're a success,” Brother Sampson murmured at Pru's shoulder as they moved through the guests, nodding to well-wishers congratulating her on her speech.

“Let's hope the initiative is as well received.”

“It already is. Look at the crowd standing at the table where donations are being taken.”

Not a crowd, perhaps, but enough to ensure she hadn't wasted her time coming here tonight. Rising on tiptoes, she strained to see past the people milling about. “Do you see Mr. Marsh and Lillie?” She had tried to keep an eye on them while she gave her talk, but without a raised dais, she hadn't been able to see over the heads of the taller listeners.

“I believe they stepped out.”

Panic brought her to a stop. “Stepped out? When? Where did they go?”

His smile faded. “Toward the entry. You don't think—”

“Oh, God.” She shoved her way through the crowd. But when she reached the foyer, there was only a single footman standing beside the front door.

“Did a man and a little black girl come through here?”

The footman blinked at her in surprise, then nodded. “About five minutes ago. They went outside with Senator Brooks.”

Panic escalated into full-blown fear. Ignoring the befuddled footman's attempts to help, she threw open the front door.

Marsh and the senator stood at the street next to a boxy black carriage.

Pru raced down the steps. “What are you doing? Where's Lillie?”

“I here!” A dark, tear-streaked face appeared in the coach window. “Miss Pru!” Small fists banged on the glass before a hand jerked her back.