Beverly Jenkins (11 page)

“Evidently not. And why don’t you say it louder? I’m sure the people in the front didn’t hear you, Mother.”

“My, my,” the Black gambler said. “I ever sass my ma like that, I’d be picking buckshot out of my hide.”

His partner laughed and added, “You know, I’m of a mind not to accept his lovely ma’s money. He acts like a man, let him pay his debts like a man.”

Cara looked around the room and saw every eye trained on the drama unfolding at her table. It would be weeks before the gossip died down.

“Where did you meet my son?” Virginia asked.

“St. Louis, eight months ago.”

“Why did you refer to him as Reverend?”

“Because that’s what he said he was. Course he don’t have on the spectacle and he don’t have his holy book, but he’s the one we’re looking for. No doubt.”

Virginia had come to a decision. She rose, smiled regally, then said, “Gentlemen, I’m going to take your advice. He’s a man. He can pay his own debts. Good night.” She turned to Chase. “Oh, Sergeant, I’m celebrating my birthday in a few days. I’d be honored if you and your men would attend the party.” After Chase inclined his head in acknowledgment, she nodded frostily to her son, saying only, “Miles.” And she walked across the silent hall and out the door.

The Black gambler looked at Miles and said pleasantly, “Well, Reverend, we’ll give you one month to come up with our money.”

“I’ll . . . need more time. I—”

“One month.”

The two men tipped their hats to Cara and the other women at the table and departed.

That night, Cara continued her search for the missing book she’d promised her student. There were still a few crates to go through on the upper shelves, so ignoring the painful throb in her eye, she dragged the sawhorse over to the shelves, hiked up her skirts, and climbed. The changes in the orientation of her head caused greater pain in her eye. She placed her hand against the row of books to maintain her balance, deciding to be wise for once and get down. But being one-eyed threw off her depth perception. She took a side step and slipped. Frantically clawing books and air, she fell to the floor, bringing down an avalanche of books and paper on top of herself.

On the other side of the wall, Chase, working on reports, heard Cara’s scream, followed by the heavy thumps of things hitting the floor. Alarmed, he snatched up a shirt and ran to her door. He rapped loudly. “Are you all right, Cara?” He slid his arms into his shirt.

“No,” he heard her call back grumpily. Then she asked, “Can you break your ankle falling off a sawhorse?”

“Depends.” He chuckled, shaking his head at her spirit. “Let me in, and I’ll take a look.”

For a moment there was silence. Then came her loud pain-filled groan. “I can’t walk over there. Just come on in. The door isn’t bolted.”

Chase found her sitting on the bed, trying to take off her shoe. The buttons were giving her problems because of her limited vision.

“Need some help?”

“If you would . . .”

Chase closed the door and picked his way to the bed through the books littering the floor. He took her small foot in his hand and began to unlace the shoes. “This another of your gifts?”

“Don’t start with me, Sergeant. It has not been a good day.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, smiling. He eased off her shoe, apologized sincerely again when she winced, and set the shoe aside. “You’re going to have to take the stocking off.”

“Turn around.”

When he looked confused, she said, “Sergeant, your talents may be many, but they do not entitle you to see me taking off my stockings. Now stand up and turn away.”

He complied and she quickly lifted her skirt, pulled off the black stocking, then readjusted the skirt. “Now you can turn back,” she said and held out her bare foot for his inspection. “Do you think it’s really broken?”

Chase moved her foot and ankle gingerly, noting which movements gave her the most pain. “It doesn’t seem to be broken, but it does look as though you have a very bad sprain.”

“That’s a relief,”

“Maybe not,” Chase said, rising. “You’re going to have to stay off it for a few days.”

“I can’t do that,” she gritted out, trying to put some weight on the ankle. “I have school—oh!” The sharp pain put her right back on the bed.

“See? You are so hardheaded.”

“I think I hurt my hip, too,” she said, wishing she could rub it, but he was standing right next to her.

“I’d offer to kiss it and make it feel better, but that isn’t something a gentleman suggests to a lady.”

She shot him a look that should have singed the skin off his magnificent chest, visible where his hastily donned shirt remained unbuttoned. He simply smiled at her.

“Didn’t I say a woman can be kissed in a thousand places?”

It was her turn to be singed.

“However,” he continued, “right now you should soak your ankle and maybe that hip as well in some warm water. I’ll go down to the kitchen and bring up a few buckets.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to walk tomorrow, stubborn woman?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Then do this. You need help, schoolmarm, and the U.S. Cavalry is more than willing to assist.”

Cara reluctantly nodded agreement.

He returned from the kitchen a few minutes later. “Couldn’t find Dulcie. Is everyone still at the church?”

“There and at the Men’s Club monthly meeting.”

“Well, I put some water on the stove.” He looked around your cluttered room. “You’re going to need a tub in here, but I can’t imagine where we’d put it.”

“Usually I have to rearrange things to bring in a tub.”

“How long does it take?”

“A day or so.”

Amazed, he shook his head. “Personally, I don’t see how you can get another book in here, let alone a tub.”

“Well, just bring water for the ankle. I’ll take care of the hip tomorrow.”

Chase could see the difficulty she seemed to be having in trying to sit up. “Leg getting stiff?”

“A little bit. It’s sore mostly.” She sighed. “Lord, what a day. First my eye, now this. Maybe I should be locked away for my own safety.”

He grinned.

“Not funny. I can barely see you out of this eye. I’m a sight, I’ll bet.”

“The eye will heal,” he said softly. “It makes your face even more interesting.”

“You’re so kind, Sergeant,” she drawled.

Cara could feel herself succumbing to his magnetism. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her staring at his chest. His strength drew her, made her want to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. She shuddered and looked away. “Do you think the water’s hot now?”

“I’d better go and see.”

C
ara was growing testy because of her aches and pains. Chase had been gone for such a long time. In a few moments she would go after the water herself, despite her bad ankle.

She was about to try to climb off the bed and hobble down to the kitchen when she heard noises coming from Chase’s room. What in the world could he be doing in there? He appeared within seconds, but without buckets.

“Is the water still heating?” Cara asked.

“Nope. All set. Nice hot bath waiting for you in my room.”

“Your room? Oh, Chase, you know I can’t possibly—”

“I set up a screen next to the tub, and you’ll be safe.” He grinned. “No fun chasing somebody who can’t even run, much less chase back.” Before she could protest again, he moved to her side and gently scooped her into his arms.

Suddenly Cara felt wonderful. Her ankle might throb and her hip might ache, but she couldn’t care less. She felt Chase’s warmth, his strength. Never had she been so cared for, so cherished. She couldn’t repress a sigh.

“If you want me to leave you, Cara, I will,” he murmured. “But I’m concerned about you, and I’d
like to stay nearby in case you need me. I’m worried you might slip or have trouble getting in or out of the tub.”

His low voice was a caress, his words an embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His room was dark. Conscious of Cara’s modesty, Chase had doused the lamps. The only light came through the opened curtains at the big front window from a moon that was round and exceptionally bright this warm May night. He carefully made his way across the room and deposited Cara on the bed; the tub sat next to it, the screen behind it.

“I’ll just get out of your way, schoolmarm. You let me know when you’re ready for me to lift you into the tub.”

Emotion filled Cara as she watched Chase disappear around the screen. She guessed he was standing in front of the window, looking out on the street. She was so moved by his tenderness that it took her several minutes to compose herself and strip down to her chemise and slip. The moment she called out to him to help her into the tub, she felt transformed. Barely dressed and alone in a moonlit room with the strapping, handsome, virile Chase Jefferson, she felt brazen . . . and reckless.

It was Chase who was in control and banked the fires within Cara that were threatening to flare into flames. He seemed to her to be very businesslike about the whole matter of lifting her and depositing her in the tub. And he was downright quick at getting himself back around that screen. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Damn, Chase thought, this was going to be
more difficult than he’d anticipated. Lord, just one look at the moonlight shining on the skin of Cara’s neck and the swell of her bosom had made him hard as a rock. How he wanted this woman . . . wanted her physically, of course, but wanted her, too, in every other way a man could want a woman. He was shaking and took deep gulps of air to help get himself back under control.

The water had cooled but still held enough warmth for Cara to sigh pleasurably after he eased her in. It seemed to welcome her sore, aching body with soothing open arms. She didn’t think about being half dressed in Chase’s room. All thoughts and fears, real and imagined, fled as she luxuriated in the warm water and let its blissfully, lulling peace enfold her.

Still, she was acutely conscious of Chase’s presence across the room, especially when his voice came out of the darkness. “Mind if I smoke, schoolmarm?”

She didn’t and told him so, compelled to turn in the tub and look over her shoulder. He stood as a tall, dark shadow at the window. He’d opened the curtains and the hems flapped lazily in the May breeze. He was reaching into his shirt pocket.

“Something wrong?” he asked softly.

“No,” she answered, quickly looking away. She heard the match strike, then imagined the flare illuminating his face.

In the silence, crickets and other night songs could be heard through the opened windows. A dog barked in the distance, and every now and then, Cara heard the faint strain of the organ and voices of the choir emanating from the church. To fight her rising awareness she was determined
to start an innocuous conversation with Chase. She said the first thing that came to mind. “Sophie says she and Asa have known you a long time.”

“A very long time. I’ve known Asa even a little longer, though.” Chase was usually very close-mouthed about his past, not because he felt ashamed, but because of the dangers that had schooled him to silence. Suddenly, with Cara, all that changed. He wanted to tell her everything about himself. He also liked the sound of her husky Georgia voice. If he couldn’t touch her, he could at least enjoy the pleasure of hearing her voice in conversation.

“Sergeant?” Cara prompted.

“I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

“Where was it you met Asa?”

“Stealin’ away.”

Cara went still. “You were a slave?”

“Yes. That bother you?”

“No. Should it?”

“It bothers some women.”

“That’s ridiculous. You didn’t ask to be a captive.”

“I know, but back East things like that matter to quite a few folks.”

Cara sensed his bitterness. “How old were you when you ran?”

“Two days past twelve.”

“You ran alone?’

“No, there were other men and women who left with me. Asa and I got from Mississippi to Louisiana. Knocked on Sophie’s back door looking for work one day, and she took us in. Stayed with her until she and Asa shipped me back East to Asa’s sister in Philadelphia. She fed me, saw to it that I
got proper schooling, and at eighteen, she shipped me back to New Orleans.”

Cara realized that in ways, their pasts were similar. “Did you get to know either of your parents?” It took Chase so long to reply that she thought he might not.

“My father was hanged a few hours after I was born. He never saw me. I was told my mother died two weeks later. Asa knew them both and said she died of a broken heart.”

Cara wondered if the world had scared him as much as it had her when she first realized she’d have to go through life alone. “What made you decide to run?”

“All the talk in the quarters at night about freedom and the drinking gourd.”

Cara knew about the drinking gourd. It was another name for the North Star. Some also called it the Freedom Star, and many runaways used its positioning in the sky to guide the way North.

“The adults would tell stories of going North where they’d be free to name themselves and work their own land,” he continued. “For many years, I was too young to really understand what it all meant, but they spoke of it with such reverence and awe that I think the tone of their voices when they talked about their dreams grabbed me more than anything. As I got older, I knew life had to be better somewhere.”

“Did you leave any family behind—brothers, sisters, grandparents?”

“No brothers, no sisters. My mother’s mother lived on a place a few miles down county. I saw her only once, about a year before I left. She said my father ruined her daughter. Called him a dirty black African, and me a dirty black African
bastard. Said she didn’t have any grandchildren.”

Cara’s heart broke for him. Even though she’d had her grandfather only a short while, he’d loved her very much. How awful it must have been for Chase to have that sole family member toss his heritage back into his face like so much offal. “How could anyone say such hateful things to a child?”

“Didn’t seem to bother her. Asa told me later she’d gone a little mad after my mother’s death. My grandmother was the mistress of a white planter who got her pregnant. That child was my mother. Some said my mother was the most beautiful woman in the state, Black or white. The planter who owned her planned on selling her to another planter a couple counties away, but her relationship with my father and her pregnancy made the sale impossible.”