A Free Heart (8 page)

“Looks like there’s more than one feisty little filly in this place.”

She turned slowly at the voice behind her. The man from the train station leaned up against a nearby stall, his booted foot resting on the lowest rung. A quick glance around told her that she’d wandered farther than she meant to from the front of the stable. “My husband will thank you not to speak to me in that way,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Your husband? I didn’t see a husband. A brother, maybe, or a cousin, but that man’s not married to you.” He jerked his head in Tom’s direction. “You’re as distant from each other as a cat from water.”

“We had a slight disagreement on the train. I assure you, sir, that we are quite married. But even if we weren’t, you have no right to address a lady in this way.” Harriet strode past him and found Tom, looping her arm through his. He didn’t seem surprised at all, but merely continued his conversation, the fingers of his other hand stroking hers where they lay on his sleeve. Though she knew it was all for show, she liked the sensation, even through her lace glove.

“Shall we go, sweetheart?” he said a moment later. “I’ve arranged for a very nice buggy, and this gentleman’s ready to hitch it up for us.”

“Yes, please, dear. I’m eager to be on our way.” She glanced over at the man in the shadows, who watched with a glower on his face.

They climbed into their buggy as soon as it was ready and began the next leg of their travels. As soon as the livery stables were far behind them, Harriet exhaled. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to be away from there. That man looked at me like he wanted to toss me in his wagon and carry me off to who-knows-where.”

Tom flicked the reins to urge the horse along. “You need to keep in mind, Miss Martin, that there are very few women out here. In the towns, sure, there are more, but along the railroads or in the gold mines? There are only a few, and the men have learned that if they want a woman to take them seriously at all, they have to make their intentions known. This isn’t a fancy city where you can take your time going to balls or fancy teas and get to know each other slowly. Sometimes these men are only in town twice a year, and if they don’t pick up what they need while they’re here, it could be another six months until they get another chance.”

Harriet shuddered. “You make courting sound like a negotiation for goods at the general store.”

“Sometimes that’s what it is. A man needs a wife, he sees a woman, and he makes a play for her. He’s also got to sell his pelts, pick up some flour and coffee, and get back to his camp before nightfall. He doesn’t have a lot of time to spend on it.”

“But what about Elizabeth’s situation? She had to shoot and kill a man. He wasn’t looking for a wife. He was looking to harm her.”

Tom studied the road as he replied, “Not every man in Kansas is like that, and men like that aren’t limited to Kansas. I came with you for a reason, Miss Martin. You shouldn’t be surprised—I warned you what could happen.”

Harriet fell silent as they clip-clopped down the road. She had resisted his help at first, but now she was overwhelmed with gratitude for it.

The farther away from town they drove, the houses became more and more spread out, and their condition deteriorated as well. Finally, Tom pulled the buggy up at the front gate of a small, but neat cottage, the nicest one along that stretch. “From what the owner of the livery stable said, this should be it.”

Harriet stared at the house, her pulse quickening. Her heart was suddenly in her throat, and she wondered if this had been a foolish mistake. Perhaps they should have checked into a hotel first and gotten cleaned up. She was certain she was covered in several layers of grime after that long train ride, and that wasn’t how she wanted to present herself to Jane. She was just about to suggest to Tom that they leave and come back in an hour or two when a nicely dressed man exited the cabin and strolled out to meet them.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, bobbing his head. “May I help you?”

“Yes, please. We’re looking for Jane Robinson,” Tom replied.

“Yes, I know Jane. She’s my wife.” The man glanced back at the house. He seemed torn between going to get her and protecting her. Harriet leaped in, hoping to set his mind at ease.

“Mr. Robinson, my name is Harriet Martin. Jane used to live on my father’s plantation, and she took care of me when I was a little girl. Would you please tell her I’m here? I’d like to see her, but I’ll leave that to her choice, and if she’d rather not see me, we’ll leave.”

Mr. Robinson seemed surprised. “Miss Martin, you say? Yes, Jane has spoken of you and your family. I’ll go inside and ask her.” He nodded a few more times and stepped away, then hastened up the walk.

“He must not be used to strangers showing up at his house,” Tom remarked.

Just seconds later, the front door flew open and a woman came running out, her skirts flapping behind her. Harriet couldn’t help herself—she leaped down from the buggy without waiting for help, nearly tripping over her own skirts in the process, and ran into the woman’s arms.

“Baby girl, baby girl,” Jane crooned into her hair as they hugged, and Harriet nearly broke down with her sobs. She remembered Jane calling her that, remembered being carried in the arms that held her now. Jane finally pushed her back and held her at arms’ length, examining every inch of her face. Harriet remembered those kind, kind eyes.

“I’d say she’s decided to see us,” Tom said with some amusement in his voice.

“Yes, sir. Let’s bring your rig inside the fence so you can set a spell.” Mr. Robinson took hold of the horse’s bridle and led it through the gate. Harriet glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the men’s voices and saw what they were doing, but then her attention went right back to Jane.

“Come inside,” Jane invited. “I just put on a pot of tea, and I have some fresh bread straight out of the oven. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have done something a little fancier.”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed your bread,” Harriet told her. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

Moments later, they were all seated around the table in the Robinsons’ neat kitchen, a pot of tea on the table and a plate of warm, homemade bread next to it. Harriet closed her eyes as she bit into her slice, slathered with homemade butter. “Oh, Jane,” she murmured after she swallowed, “this was worth the entire train ride to get here.”

“Tell me where you’ve come from and how you found me,” Jane said. “I’m surely glad to see you, but it’s quite a surprise.”

“Well, I ran away from home,” Harriet said, a little bit ashamed at how childish that sounded. “The South is a very uncomfortable place right now for people like me. Sam . . .” She swallowed. She couldn’t hesitate to say his name—talking about him was one of the reasons why she’d come. “Sam had told me where you were living, and I wrote to the postmaster. He confirmed it, and I couldn’t stay away. I’ve been in Topeka for the last several days, and now I’m here.”

“All this way . . . just to see me?” Jane said, wonder in her voice.

“Sir, I have a new bit of land out back where I’m planning to start a garden. Would you like to see it?” Mr. Robinson rose from the table, and Tom stood as well. It was a transparent excuse to leave the two women alone to talk, but Harriet was grateful for it.

She waited until the door closed. “Of course to see you, Jane. You meant so much to me when I was a child, and I was heartbroken when you left. And then when Sam came back to Atlanta . . .” She hadn’t expected the tears that formed, but she did nothing to stop them from falling, either. “When Sam came back, I realized that we didn’t have to stop being friends simply because the war had put us on two different sides.”“You were never on a different side, baby girl. You were just a child, like one of my own.”

“I know that, and I appreciate it so much.” Harriet paused and took a sip of her tea. “Did Sam write to you while he was in Atlanta last year?” she asked carefully.

“Yes, he wrote to me, and he told me that he planned to marry the most beautiful girl in the world. He was so excited to bring you home with him, baby girl. His whole letter just exuded joy.”

“Can you read now, Jane?”

“I can. Sam taught me himself as soon as we moved here. It’s been a blessing in my life, it surely has.”

Harriet paused again before asking the question she most wanted to ask. “And how did you feel about us getting married?”

Jane didn’t answer for a long while. “Kansas has been good to us,” she said at long last. “The folks here have been accepting, for the most part, and my husband has a job and we’re able to live a comfortable life. We have everything we need, and nothing extra to clutter it up. Many former slaves have found homes here, and in fact, there’s talk of creating a town of all former slaves just a bit to the north of here. Don’t know if it will ever happen—it’s all talk for now. But I think it would be a good thing.”

Harriet was confused by this apparent change of subject, but then Jane spoke again and it all made sense. “You were always one of my favorite people in the world, baby girl. And Sam—well, you know how I felt about Sam. He was the light of my life. That boy could walk into a room and turn it into a celebration, for all the joy he brought into people’s lives. But even after all that, even living in a new state, even knowing what kind of people you are, a black man and a white woman could never truly be happy together. This world is still so full of hate. If you were able to get married, yes, you’d be happy together, but you’d never be able to walk down a street together or attend a party together. It could never be, not for your whole lives.”

“But I don’t care about parties,” Harriet protested. “I used to, but not anymore. They aren’t important. Love is what’s important.”

“And it’s good that you know that. But you’d get mighty tired hiding inside your house all the time. It would put a strain on you and on your marriage. Trust me, being someone’s wife is challenging enough without bringing all the rest of it along for the ride.”

“So you were against our marriage, then?” Harriet’s heart felt like it was filled with wet sand.

“If we lived in a perfect world where a white man and a black man could stand beside each other and never have a moment’s thought as to who was better, I would have loved to see you married. But we don’t live in that world, baby girl. We live in a world of hate and fear, where people are bought and sold like flour or eggs. Even though the war is over now and the slaves are free, men and women aren’t free from the thoughts and ideas that started the war in the first place. The color of my skin isn’t going to change just because I’m free now, and people’s minds aren’t going to change just because the North won.”

Jane reached out and touched Harriet’s hand. “I never objected to him marrying you. I objected to the way you’d be treated. Where would you find a place to marry and live in peace? Where would you find a place to raise your children without taunting and ridicule? I’d want you to be truly happy, and I was afraid that would never be. And look what happened—Sam lost his life just because he had the courage to propose. What would they have done to him if he’d succeeded in taking you out of Georgia? You can only kill a man so dead.”

“Do you blame me, Jane? Do you blame me because Sam died?” Harriet’s voice caught in her throat. If her chest hurt any more than it already did, she might think she needed to send for a doctor.

“No, baby girl. Sam made his choice, and he was happy with it. Some wicked men decided to stop him, but I know for a fact that he died loving you, not regretting anything. That’s just the man my boy was.” Jane nodded as though that settled it. “And I’ll always be grateful to your brother, Mr. Sterling, for the letter he wrote, telling me what happened. It was an awful task, but he did it kindly. He’s a good man.”

“I never asked if anyone in my family knew where you were,” Harriet said, feeling foolish.

“Likely they wouldn’t have told you. Kin protects kin, and they might have wanted to spare you more pain. But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Harriet laid her cheek on the table and cried. Jane placed her hand on Harriet’s forehead and smoothed back the little strands and tendrils that had come loose. “That’s right. You cry it out. You cry until you can’t anymore. One thing I know is that crying won’t bring Sam back, but it will make the hurt less. Sometimes that’s the best we can do.”

Chapter Ten

As Tom guided the buggy away from the Robinsons’ house, he kept glancing over at Harriet. Her face looked pale, and she was missing her usual spark. He wondered if she would tell him what had happened while he was out wandering the property with Mr. Robinson. He knew she’d cried—her eyes still bore evidence of it. But was it the kind of crying that healed, or the kind that made the pain worse?

He was able to secure two rooms at a hotel near the livery stable, and carried Harriet’s bag up the stairs for her. “Are you hungry? I noticed they have a restaurant downstairs.”

“I’m actually not hungry at all, Tom, but don’t let that stop you. I’m going to lock my door and go to bed early.”

He studied her eyes for a moment. They weren’t quite as red as they’d been when they first left the Robinsons’, but they threatened to cloud over again any minute, like skies getting ready to rain. “All right. My room’s across the hall if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tom. Good night.”

He stood outside the door and waited until he heard the latches click before he walked away.

The hotel had good food, but nothing like Miss Hampton could make. Tom ate his fill of stew, bread, and pie, noticing that the table linens weren’t as white and crisp as the linens at the Brody, and one of the legs of his chair seemed a little shorter than the others. He enjoyed taking a certain amount of pride in his home.

His home? He blinked a few times. Where had that thought come from? He was a drifter, a man unfettered. He could come and go as he pleased. He’d only taken the job at the Brody for six months, maybe eight, to earn enough money to fund his next adventure. Then his mind flicked back to telling Harriet he thought he might stay for a while. Maybe he didn’t know what he really wanted, but the thought of belonging somewhere was sure nice.