Liberty Hill (Western Tide Series) (37 page)

The company heartily accepted, and a band was formed.

            “My brother and I used to play that song,” the young fiddler said. “I was wondering if we might play it again? It makes me feel as though I’ve gone home.”

            Lucius grinned and looked at Evelyn.

            “Only if the lass will sing,” he conceded.

            Evelyn shook her head.

            “You know I can never remember the words,” she told him.

            “Unless someone sings with you,” Lucius argued. “Sing with me, Evelyn.”

            She hesitated.

            “Please?” he pleaded.

            Everyone waited for her response, and she finally agreed.

            Jubilantly, Lucius set down his instrument while the others positioned themselves to play, and he went to stand beside Evelyn.

            “Ready?” he asked her.

            She looked around somewhat timidly, revealing a side of Evelyn Brennan that one rarely saw.

            “Yes. I believe so.” She cast a glance at him. “But you will have to lead. I cannot sing unless you lead.”

            Lucius smiled.

            “Gladly.”

            Once more, Evelyn and Lucius sang. As the band played and the other men danced with Adele, Josephine, and each other, Evelyn thought of the way her voice combined with Lucius’, and how very different it sounded from her father’s. When Emmett Brennan sang, the walls of the room reverberated and the very glass on the windows seemed to cloud with infinitesimal vibrations. It was deep; so deep and rich and full of the big, soft heart from which it came. Lucius’ voice was another instrument all together; pure and steady, sweet and clear.

At times, Evelyn found that she had stopped singing while listening to Lucius, and he would look at her with that ever-quizzical brow, startling her back into the song. Thus they reached the final verse, with Lucius singing as loud as he could, and Evelyn struggling to match his timbre. Together, they gave their audience a splendid number.

            The song concluded with resounding applause, and the band did not wait for Lucius to rejoin them for the following tune. A request was shouted out, and the accordion player nodded in consent. The timing was counted off, and the next song began.

            Lucius smiled at Evelyn.

            “You’re in danger, you know,” he told her.

            She tilted her head in curiosity.

            “Am I, now?”

            “Absolutely.” He nodded towards the nearby crowd of faces, which were all trained on Evelyn, eager for Lucius to hand her over. This was a dance, after all, and females were scarce. Lucius would be a gentleman and share now, wouldn’t he? “Every last one of ‘em’s starving for a twirl or two.”

            “Then I suppose I should indulge them,” Evelyn sighed. “Just this once.”

            She took a step, but Lucius caught her hand.

            “You would pass up the man next to you?” he asked. “Did you not notice? I
am
the first in line.”

            Evelyn examined him for any trace of mockery, but she found none. His eyes were earnest, and he hoped that was the only emotion they would betray. Not his nervousness, nor the racing of his heart, nor the fear that she would reject him. He was taking a risk, he knew. Was he not a gambling man? Evelyn had avoided him since the encounter with Brock Donnigan, throwing herself into a thousand menial tasks in pursuit of self-improvement. For the first time, she had stopped fighting the arrangement they had made and resigned herself to see it out with diligence. He was impressed by her hard work, surely. She would make an excellent companion on the gold fields, no doubt. But he despised the divide that existed between them. He did not just want her compliance, or her servitude, or her doggedness. He wanted her happiness, something he had barely seen a trace of before this night.  If only Evelyn could be persuaded to see the light of all the good things they had once shared together, perhaps she would let go of the dark things. Surely, surely this present warmth had thawed her frozen heart. If only a little, if only enough to dance.

When she did not give him an answer, he felt the ominous approach of panic. Any other woman,
any other woman
would have given her consent by now. But, of course, this was Evelyn Brennan, who made nothing easy, nothing predictable.

“Evelyn,” Lucius said, “I want you to dance with me.”

She looked longingly towards the other men, for other men were simple. They wanted her near enough to sniff her hair, to be caressed by the folds of her dress, to feel the warmth of her body. All the satisfaction they required was a moment. Just a moment. But Lucius? He had begun to look at her differently. This look was entirely new, entirely foreign, and mingled with confusion, bewilderment, and awe. As if every moment, he was surprised
by her, intrigued
by her. As though he wanted to get closer, to learn something new. But there was hesitation as well, the kind that walked hand-in-hand with curiosity over some dangerous thing. Evelyn knew she was a danger to the hearts of other men. But dangerous to Lucius?

She could not deny his efforts to close the rift that yawned between them. And here he was only asking for one dance in return.

Hadn’t he earned that much?

“All right, Mr. Flynn,” she finally conceded. “I will dance with you.”

A yes! He had gotten a yes!

As her fingers tightened around his, Lucius fought a smile that threatened to take over the breadth of his face. He led his partner with one step, then two, with one hand guiding her lovely, narrow waist, and the other caught up in the warmth of her delicate grasp.

He had wanted this. Oh, yes. He had wanted to dance with this woman since the night of the cholera outbreak, when that other beast of a man had stumbled all over the stateroom with her in his arms. Even then, Lucius knew Brock was not deserving of Evelyn. Lucius might be little more deserving in comparison, but at least he could dance.

For a moment, he was grateful to every dame he had ever courted, if only for bequeathing him with this one skill. This was one good thing he could offer Evelyn without reaching far into the better, less tainted parts of his soul.

As the band played and Lucius led the dance, Evelyn was riveted. Here Lucius Flynn possessed yet another hidden skill. She could stumble and trip and somehow still look good beside him.

“Yet again, you amaze me,” she told him.

He cocked his head at the compliment.

“Do I?”

“I did not know you could dance like this.”

He smirked.

“How else did you suppose I spent my evenings in the city?” he asked.

She snorted. She could think of a few things, but chose not to let her mind wander.

“So. This is how you won the ladies,” she said instead. “I always wondered. Not that your face doesn’t recommend you. You look well enough, but wise women know a man needs more than his features to be worthwhile.”

Now it was Lucius’ turn to snort.

“There is no need to flatter my past conquests, Miss Brennan. They were not the sort of lot you might deem ‘wise’.”

“Well, wise or not, I can see that you didn’t woo them with your witty remarks or chivalrous deeds. You simply lured them onto the dance floor.”

Lucius nodded.

“Conversation can be so drab,” he shrugged.

“Can you even recall their names?”

Trixie. Rosemary. Martha. Penelope. Maria. Anne. Jessie. Colette.

“A few.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes.

“But only their
first
names,” Lucius added.

“Any woman of class would be remembered by her last,” Evelyn said. “You certainly kept indulgent company.”

            Lucius grimaced.

            “Must we dwell upon it?” he whined. “I do not wish to recall my history of mistakes.”

            “Then you regret your days of philandering?”

            “I do not regret what they taught me.”

            “And what, pray tell, is that?”

            Lucius smirked and dipped his partner low to the ground.

            “How to handle a woman, of course,” he said.

Chapter Thirty-One

            After the women had gone to bed, Lucius and Samuel sat silently beside the fire. Samuel stared into the flames with a concentrated look, while Lucius had a handful of twigs that he was cracking and tossing into the heat. He was too excited to sleep, and besides, Lucius detested his bed. To spend an entire night unconscious was to lose so many precious hours that could be spent in other exciting ways. Anyway, he knew that if he closed his eyes, he would instantly fall into the world of dreams, where Evelyn was sure to haunt him. He would find no rest, for his heart beat wildly just at the thought of her.

            The thought of her. Oh, great God. He could not
stop
thinking of her! Nor did he want to. He had danced with her! Not one, not two, but three times! The elation that came with such a privilege was almost enough to make him drunk.

He smiled, for he was a happy man.

            She had danced with others, it was true. First, there was that tall, heavily bearded man with the long hair. What was his name? Ah, yes. Sadie. But Sadie was practically a grandfather among the younger men in American Camp. Evelyn probably reminded him of the daughter he left behind. Then there was Rufus, as small a man as Sadie was large, with bloodhound eyes and a mustache that drooped to his neck. No threat there. There were the two boys, Hawkins and Whitmore, that were likely the same age as, if not a bit younger than, Evelyn; who stared at her with stars in their eyes and lead in their feet, as they continually stepped on her toes. Though she would never admit it, Lucius sensed she was eager to rejoin his company. He, on the other hand, would freely admit he was thrilled to receive her.

            “You got a smile on your face that could stretch to Georgia,” Samuel Davies commented. Lucius looked up to see the man grinning at him. He had not noticed he was being observed. “You thinking about that Miz Brennan, ain’t you, son?”

            Lucius laughed.

            “That’s some intuition you have, Samuel.”

            “Man don’ need intuition to see you wearing the same silly grin you wore when you was dancin’. She a fine woman, sir. A fine woman.”

            “Aye. I’ve never known another like her.”

            Hardheaded. Fiery. Passionate. Stunning.

            “She got a will of iron,” Samuel said. “Set her mind on a thing and she give it everything she got. Trick is gettin’ her mind set on you, ain’t it?”

            Lucius shook his head.

            “You have no idea.”

            Samuel smiled.

            “Seems to me like you’re doin’ right.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Woman like that needs to find her own way. You jest keep being in the right place at the right time. Let her see who you is when you don’t think she’s lookin’. She’s got good sense, and she won’t give the time of day to anybody who don’t.”

            Lucius nodded and tossed another twig into the fire.

            “That’s why she likes you,” he told Samuel.

            “She jest want to be treated as an equal, same as everybody else.”

            “You are a student of women, Mr. Davies. Did you leave a lover in Georgia?”

            For a moment, only the fire crackled in response. Samuel did not reply, but stared harder into the flames. Lucius looked at him, awaiting an answer, when he realized the other man’s eyes had begun to water.

            “I apologize, Samuel. I did not mean to-”

            “You fine to ask,” Samuel replied. “You fine to ask.”

            The men sat in silence for a moment, while Lucius regretted the question and Samuel worked up the strength to answer.

            Presently, he took a deep breath and began to tell Lucius his story.

            Adjacent to his owner’s land was a cotton plantation, which belonged to Mr. Emerson, an elderly slave owner whom Samuel had only seen when the old man passed from his front door to his carriage. He was a huge man, weighing near three hundred pounds, with crusty white skin and a scowl permanently etched into his face. He was rarely bothered to leave his house, and in his employ were a handful of men to see to his plethora of slaves. These hired men were in charge of the purchasing, housing, trading, and delegating, while Mr. Emerson reserved the right of punishing. He was a sadistic man who took pleasure in the pain he drew with his hands.

It was rumored that even his slaves were instructed to spy on one another. Those who were aware of defiance but did not make a report were accused of accessory and handed over to Mr. Emerson for equal punishment. If the fields were quiet too long, Mr. Emerson suspected an uprising and sent for each and every slave, one by one, to receive five lashings by his hand. Out of fear, the weaker slaves would sometimes invent a crime that another had committed and offer them up to be tortured. The stronger ones surrendered themselves as scapegoats, delivering their families and friends from suffering.

            It was into this household that seventeen-year-old Agatha was sold. She was a kitchen slave, and once a week she walked the eight miles into town to purchase food and hire a cart to return, heavily laden, with goods.

            Samuel Davies was a gardener for the Potters, and was out working on their front hedge the first time he saw Agatha. She was a wisp of a girl, with large eyes and sharp shoulders, looking no older than twelve or thirteen. As he watched her walk down the lane, his heart sank, for one encounter with Mr. Emerson could kill a stronger woman.

            Each week he watched for her, wondering if she was still alive. When he heard that first scrape of her foot against the dirt, he ran to the hedge and discreetly peeked through. It was her on the road, every time. He gave thanks to God for sparing her life.