Promise Bridge (17 page)

Chapter 18

“R
ise and dress, Hannalore.” Aunt Augusta’s curt voice tore through the peaceful slumber cradling me. She stood at the corner of my bed, waiting for me to sit up and obey. I glanced toward the empty spot next to me. Thankfully, Livie had slipped from my room before sunrise.

“The Runians are gathering in the front yard. I shall wait for you in the dining room.”

I abided her request and was downstairs before she finished her morning tea. She peered at me over her cup as I entered the room, but said nothing until I curtsied and offered her Christmas wishes. She did not return the greeting, and although her demeanor was distant and distracted, she did not appear angry as she had been the previous night.

“You retired early last night. Our guests were concerned and thought you had taken ill. Colton was particularly dismayed.”

“I apologize if my absence offended anyone. One of my dizzy spells came upon me, so I went to lie down in my room until it passed. I must have fallen asleep.”

“ ’Scuse me, Miz ’Gusta,” Winston said, stepping into the room. “We got de whole o’ Mud Run outside. If you is ready, I’ll start with de fiddlin’.”

“Yes, you may begin, Winston. Hannah and I will join you once we hear the music.”

“As you say.” Winston nodded. “Happy Christmas, Miz Hannah.”

“Happy Christmas.” I smiled, pleased someone acknowledged me with holiday wishes. When Winston flashed his
we got a secret
grin, I felt for the first time that he and I finally did share an unspoken truth after all these years. With all of Mud Run under his watchful eye, he was surely aware of my comings and goings during the past month. My instinct told me my secret was safe with him.

Christmas morning unfolded as it always had, only this year it had more meaning for me with Livie’s smiling face in the crowd. Coming from a neglectful master, she was taken aback by the armful of food, clothing, and shoes she walked away with. Still, she turned back to me and patted her chest where the ring dangled beneath her clothes and mouthed the words
Happy Christmas
. Then she walked down the hill to the Runian festivities, and I returned to the hollow of the house.

“I have a gift for you, Aunt Augusta.” I presented her the embroidered handkerchief I had sewn for her.

“Place the gift on the chair, child. I want to speak with you.”

I set the handkerchief aside and went to where she stood studying the decorated tree. Among the burgundy ribbons and silver decorations was an unpretentious, handmade ornament. It was a delicately embroidered handkerchief that was fitted in an oval frame no larger than a pear. Across the center was a line of cross- stitching that gave the appearance of a row of figures joined at the hands with a lone star above them, similar to the design of the household quilt patterns.

“Your mother gave me this ornament the year you were born.”

My heart fluttered because she so rarely spoke of my mother. I assumed their relationship was not close because they were so different; however, a soft, yearning expression pained her face as she admired the ornament twirling slowly on the evergreen bough.

“Everything was plain and simple for her,” she mused, drawing me into her reminiscence. “I envied her for it.” As quickly as Aunt Augusta gave me the warm reflection, she snatched it away. “It also made me fear for her. The world is not a plain and simple place. One wrong step, and a sea of consequence will crash down on you.”

She was glaring at me now, waiting for a response. “Your uncle tells me he saw you frequenting Mud Run while I was away.”

“I was only—”

“You have no business there, and I will not stand for improper behavior. You have grown too familiar with Livetta, and the repercussions resulting from an indiscretion of this nature are more far-reaching than a child’s mind can grasp.”

“Stop calling me a child. I am a grown woman, and your harsh words no longer frighten me.”

She grabbed my shoulders roughly and shook me. “It is not me you need to fear. This is not a game. I cannot protect you outside these walls. Southern tradition and structure are under attack. Anyone who moves against public opinion will be viewed as a traitor. And punished as one as well.”

“Livie was ill. I went to check on her, the same as you look in on the Runian women when they deliver a child. Did you ask Uncle Mooney how he came to see me that night?” I pushed her hands off me. “He was down there having his way with Fatima, and I walked in on him. So don’t you ever preach to me about proper behavior.”

Aunt Augusta was aghast, and I took great pleasure in delivering the blow.

“Mooney was in Mud Run?”

“Squealing like a pig in slop. And it was not his first visit to Fatima, poor thing. I cried for her too, and am not ashamed to admit it.”

I turned and ran from the room, expecting Aunt Augusta to command me to stop, but no harsh words came. Although I won the battle, when I reached my room, I screamed against my pillow in frustration. It was all so hopeless. Near midday, there came a soft tap against the door.

“Hannah, are you there?” Colt’s voice was low and soothing. “Augusta is visiting West Gate. Come down to the sitting room and talk with me.”

When I opened the door, his smile coaxed me out of hiding. “That’s my girl,” he said, offering me his elbow. “I was concerned when you disappeared last night. I had your promise of the last dance, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Forgive me, Colt. I just could not bear another moment.”

“Oh, thankfully there is nothing to forgive,” he said as we reached the bottom of the staircase. He escorted me to the bench near the tree, where we sat side by side. “Genevieve Moffett was tracking me like a basset hound, so I took refuge in the kitchen with Granny Morgan. Now, if Genevieve had found me and claimed me for a dance, then forgiveness would be out of the question.”

He nudged me until I smiled, and it felt good. My dear Colt. Even though I was certain Aunt Augusta had sent him to speak to me, I let my guard down enough to tease him back.

“I imagine the inconvenience of being sequestered in the kitchen was offset by the possibility of commandeering an extra piece of Granny’s apple cobbler.”

“Sweet Hannah,” Colt laughed. “You know me well.”

“I know you well enough to suspect you would not knock on my chamber door without approval from Aunt Augusta.”

“Her distress is not without cause. I warned you from the beginning that you had to be careful with regard to Livetta. It is a delicate matter, now more than ever. You must act with your head instead of your heart.”

“I should have known you would side with Aunt Augusta,” I said, dripping with disappointment.

“We are not on opposite sides. These are dangerous times, and my warning is meant to protect you from harm. And protect Livetta as well. I feel an attachment to her just as you do. However, you cannot let your feelings go too far.”

Colt’s plea was genuine and serious. “I have been away a long time and can sense the shifting undercurrents throughout Virginia. Promise me, Hannah. Promise me you will practice better judgment, or the consequence will endanger you and those around you.”

I nodded, as much to encourage a change of subject as to appease him. It was apparent by his unruffled mood that Colt had not been told of his father’s assault on Fatima. Just as well. I did not want Colt hurt or shamed by his father’s indiscretions. We lightened our conversation with holiday gaiety and exchanged gifts. He presented me with an ivory comb for my hair, while I gave him a silk neckerchief ordered from a catalog in the mercantile.

“When will you return to Richmond?”

“Father has plans for me here.” Colt shrugged as he absentmindedly unfolded and refolded a corner of the neckerchief on his lap.

“What about your apprenticeship with Dr. LaValle?”

“What is the use, Hannah? Each time I return home, it is as if I never left. The expectations remain the same. I am tired of fighting my father.”

“Have you lost your love for medicine?”

“Not at all,” he said, lighting up. “When I use my hands for healing, I feel alive with divine purpose. I wake up before dawn because I cannot wait to begin a new day.”

I smiled and put my hand over his. “Tell me, Colt. Would you wear a pair of trail boots that did not fit you?” Colt looked at me, perplexed by my interest in his footwear, but there was a point to my question. “How could you face the day knowing the first thing you had to do every morning is force those big ol’ feet into boots not fitted for you? Each and every step you take will be pained by the pinch of those confining boots. It will not matter whether you are working or dancing or strolling in a field of clover; the ache will continue until the sun sets over the ridge and you can slip those miserable boots off your suffering feet. Now, you can continue to shove those boots under the bed and dread the morning, or you can go out and be fitted with a new pair better suited for you.”

Colt’s eyes grew misty as he recognized himself in my words. He lowered his head. “What are you saying, Hannah?”

“Sometimes, deep in our hearts, we know the life we are walking in doesn’t fit. You, and you alone, know if your life fits you, Colt. If it doesn’t, you owe it to yourself to slip it off and try on another one.”

Colt forced a heavy-hearted smile. “And here I was hoping you would be thrilled at the prospect of me staying here in the Ridge, closer to you. Instead you are encouraging me to go.”

“My feelings for you are deep and precious,” I said, stroking his cheek. “What I want more than anything is for you to follow your heart. You deserve happiness, Colt.”

By the end of the following week, the Yule log had burned to ash. While the turn of the New Year marked the buying and selling of slaves on most plantations, Hillcrest slipped into the quiet routine of winter. The male Runians cut wood and mended fences, while the women were hard at work spinning and weaving. Most of our quilting would be completed during the cold months ahead, so I spent the days sorting through our supplies. With Uncle Mooney and Twitch on their annual trek to the slave auctions in Roanoke, Livie spent the day with James as he worked in the blacksmith shop. Colt appeased his father without compromising his own desire to practice medicine. Instead of traveling all the way to Richmond, he arranged to work with Dr. Waverly in Lows Hollow. The small town of Lows Hollow was less than a half day’s ride from Echo Ridge, so Colt could be called home if needed. This satisfied Uncle Mooney and gave Colt his freedom, but with restriction. I wished him a safe journey and warm, comfortable feet, which made him laugh in spite of his hesitation to bid me farewell.

As I carried rolls of batting to the racks, I heard the back door slam and someone running down the hallway. The look on Livie’s face when she burst into the room was frantic.

“How could you do it?” she bellowed at fever pitch.

“What is it, Livie? What’s wrong?”

“You told me you didn’t sell off yo’ slaves. You told me this weren’t like other plantations where slaves is bought and sold with no mind to kin and such.”

The first thought that came to mind was a conversation I had overheard between Mr. Henderson and Uncle Mooney on Christmas Eve. Mr. Henderson had obvious interest in buying James, but Uncle Mooney insisted he would only hire James out temporarily and at prime wage. I was sickened by the thought, but was aware the business of West Gate was separate and independent from that at Hillcrest.

I went to comfort Livie. “We do not barter away our slaves, but Uncle Mooney—”

“Then why did you sell her? She weren’t causin’ no trouble.”

“Livie, who was sold? Pray tell me, who you are talking about?”

“Fatima!” Livie pushed my hands away and sprayed angry tears. “Winston says she was sent to auction. I believed your tall tales, but your words ain’t true. You didn’t protect Fatima—you cast her out!” Livie was inconsolable, but I was as stunned as she. As long as I lived at Hillcrest, I had never known a slave to be traded or sold. Having shared a cabin with Fatima, Livie was hit hard. Her pain was compounded by the shock and uncertainty of a broken promise.

I held my hands over my heart as a pledge. “I swear, Livie, I had no idea.”

“I hate you white folk. You is mean and heartless and will burn in hell!”

Livie burst into another round of tears and took off through the house. The kitchen door slammed shut before I could move or recover from her words. I was too shaken to cry. The door of the study opened and Aunt Augusta emerged. “What is all the yelling and commotion about? I am calculating figures from our tobacco sales and cannot have my concentration disrupted.”

“Why did you sell Fatima?” I snapped.

“Oh,” was Aunt Augusta’s only response.

“Is this my punishment to placate Uncle Mooney?”

“What’s done is done,” she said, as if it was a valid explanation. “It’s for the best.”

“You must always have the final say, even when you are wrong,” I shouted, not caring who heard me. “I hate you!”

I ran out the front door after Livie. I cared not about the threat I was courting. The depth of Livie’s hurt was all that mattered. Outside, a frigid wind howled across the empty yard. I looked in every direction, but Livie was gone.

Chapter 19

A
n entire day passed with no sign of Livie. When she did not come to the house the following morning, I grew sick with worry, thinking she may have run away. Livie was frightened as much as she was angry—a combination ripe for disastrous decisions. Fear gripped me as well. My heart told me to comb every inch of Mud Run until I found her, but with Aunt Augusta keeping a closer eye on my behavior, I had to be cautious in my movement. Even in my fury over Fatima’s fate, I knew antagonizing Aunt Augusta any further would be a grave mistake.

“Elijah, I need you to do something for me,” I said, stepping outside the pantry door where he was stacking split logs for Granny Morgan. His woolen jacket was buttoned tight and his cap scrunched down over his brow. Still, his chin shivered when he smiled up at me.

“You want me to go a-poundin’ on Livetta’s door again, Miz Hannah?”

I pulled my shawl around my shoulders and took his hand. “I want you to tug me toward Mud Run, as if showing me something of importance.”

“Like a copperhead snake or a fire that jumped a burning pit?”

“I suppose a small brush fire would require immediate attention,” I said, piecing together the plan on a whim. “I just need reason to enter Mud Run.”

“Why not jes’ walk on down the hill?”

Even with panic jumbling my thoughts, I had to smile at his innocence. “If you play along with me, I would consider it a great favor.”

Elijah was happy to oblige me. Much like his father, he considered a private errand for the mistress an honored responsibility. Once in Mud Run, I released him from his duty and he scampered on his way, not the least bit curious about my motive. When I entered Livie’s cabin, a brisk wind whistled through the cold room, haunting me with its emptiness.

“Where are you, Livie?” I mumbled anxiously as I sat down on her bed. I guess I had held out hope that I would find her here, sulking in the corner. The sting of Livie’s parting words left me wounded. However, I trusted our friendship enough to believe they were not meant for me. I would not fault her for spewing frustrations brought on by injustice. Still, I was concerned Livie would do something foolish as a result of thinking she had hurt me. When I leaned against the cornhusk sack that served as her pillow, I felt something hard beneath it.

“Your mother’s Bible,” I gasped with relief. “You would never leave this behind! You cannot have gone far.”

“What’s that you say, Miz Hannah?” Winston stepped inside the door, clearly alarmed at finding me there. “Who is you talkin’ to?”

“No one,” I said with the wave of my hand. “I was just, um . . .”

Winston looked over at the cold soot in Livie’s fireplace. “Where she at, miz? I been wonderin’ why I haven’t caught a glimpse of her for de better part of a day.”

An understanding glimmer filled his eyes, and I knew I must trust him. “She’s disappeared,” I blurted out. “She is upset about Fatima, and I fear Aunt Augusta will notice her absence.”

Winston swallowed hard. “This is bad, miz. This is mighty bad.”

“Please help me cover for her until I can figure out where she has gone.”

“I’ll do what I can here in de Run,” he said, rushing over to spark a fire in her hearth. “Smoke risin’ from her chimney will mark her as present, but no slave goes missin’ fo’ long. Ol’ Winston can’t fool a paddy roller or hound when a runaway is cornered.”

When I returned to the house, I lingered on the front porch, watching for James, who occasionally came up to the stables to check the condition of the work shoes secured on the horses. My heart sank when I remembered he had been hired out for the week to shoe the horses at the Henderson plantation. Their farrier, Casey, lost a finger while replacing a wagon wheel before Christmas, and Uncle Mooney was more than happy to make a little extra money on James’s sweat and expertise. His absence troubled me because had he been here on the plantation, Livie would have sought comfort from him and he would have calmed her. My biggest fear was that in her desperation, Livie went looking for him. The Henderson plantation was at least eight miles by wagon, and if she was caught off our property, the repercussions would be unstoppable. Mercy was an unknown entity to slave patrollers.

“Hannalore, what were you doing in the slave quarters?” Aunt Augusta must have seen me through the window and wasted no time in confronting me.

“Elijah alerted me to a brush fire on the hillside. I was the first person he encountered on his search for help.”

“Where is Livetta? She should be with you to offer her assistance. As your personal servant, she is expected to be at your side to intervene in urgent situations.”

“That’s my fault, Miz ’Gusta,” Winston said, appearing unexpectedly from behind me. “With Esther Mae busy in de root cellar, I asked Livetta to fetch my jar of poultice from de cabin. She saw de fire too, and had a bucket o’ water on it before Miz Hannah had to lift a finger. She went to change her drenched wool stockings, but will be back directly. Do you want me to send her yo’ way?”

I held my breath at Winston’s bold bluff.

“That won’t be necessary,” Aunt Augusta uttered after brief hesitation. “As long as you have seen her. I have yet to cross paths with her and was concerned she was shirking her duties. I will be in my room, balancing my accounts, and have no use for meaningless distractions.”

“Yas’sum.” Winston glanced at me like a soldier barely dodging a bullet. “I’ll make sho’ you is not disturbed.”

I grew more frantic upon realizing how easily our charade could unravel. Time was of the essence, and now I had implicated Winston in my scheme. The weather had turned colder and the ring around the yester moon promised snow. With most of the day still ahead of me, I decided to take matters into my own hands. If Livie was not in Mud Run, I tried imagining where she might go for refuge. She was not familiar with the people and surroundings beyond the plantation; therefore, she would not wander far. Suddenly, it occurred to me.
The cave!
Yes, the cave where I first hid her after she had been shot. I should have thought of it sooner.

With Aunt Augusta immersed in financial matters, I was confident I could move without suspicion. I navigated the upper field against the cutting wind, which eased once I penetrated the wooded hillside. Within the harbor of trees, I sprinted up the path toward the peak. I pushed on with frigid air clawing down my throat and burning my lungs. The waters of Emerald Cove were sculpted into frozen perfection, with the exception of a thin line of water trickling down the frosty cliff towering above me. By the time I reached the evergreen hollow, the bleakness that enveloped me prickled my skin with cautious anxiety. Trees staggered and moaned against the assault of icy gusts whipping across the peak. My heart leapt when I caught a glimpse of shadowed swirls riding the wind. Unsure, I squinted to focus on the air moving across the treetops. There it was again, clearer this time. Gray smoke twirling from the stone ridge.
She’s here.

When I reached the mouth of the cave, I removed my cloak so it would not be dirtied as I crawled in the entrance. Inside the air was moist and cool, but a large blaze in the fire pit threw off a warm glow at the center of the cave. There was no movement except for the lapping flames; however, two ashcakes on a flat rock near the fire told me what I needed to know.

“I know you are here.” Livie did not answer, but a soft scuff of feet drew my attention to the far shadows.

“All is fine,” I said to reassure her. “You never have to hide from me.”

“You alone?” The deep, husky voice of a man shot my heart up into my throat. Fright toppled me backward, stumbling for the cave entrance. In an instant, two large arms clamped around me and dragged me deeper into the cave. My scream echoed off of every wall. I kicked and flailed my arms, desperately trying to break free, only to have the arms clench me tighter. The man bellowed in my ear, but I could not hear him over my own wail. We tangled fiercely, tripping over each other into a heap on the ground. He scrambled on top of me and clamped his hand over my mouth, smothering my cries.

“Stop howlin’, girl! I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

My sight was clouded by terror, but the tired eyes looking down at me hinted at no danger or ill will. They searched me for recognition, and once I stopped screaming, the hand lifted from my mouth.

“It’s me,” the voice whispered. “Marcus.”

“Gracious be.”

They were the only two words that burbled from me as we lay there nose to nose. Marcus looked exhausted and panicked, in part because of my unexpected appearance. His face had matured with the shadow of a beard, but his copper eyes grew soft as the warm mist of our breath rolled between us. He shifted off me and rose to his feet. The proper reaction to our physical interaction should have been outrage, but instead I flushed with embarrassment when he offered his hand to help me up.

“Didn’t mean to be rough, but you was like a wildcat, girl. You all right?”

I straightened my disheveled dress. “I am fine, but you scared me half to death.”

Marcus chuckled. “I about jumped out o’ my hide right along with you. My heart is still bangin’.”

The shock of the moment finally eased enough for my throat to unclench. “You look different.”

“So do you,” he said.

“Your eyes,” I said, looking beyond their dark gaze and sensing the fortitude within. “Like you’ve seen a dozen years in ten months’ time.”

“There is a lot to see when you is treadin’ new territory. ’Spect the same goes fo’ you. Your eyes is more knowin’ and growed- up since I last looked in ’em.” His plump lips tugged into a half grin. “More alive and shinin’ with gumption.”

He gestured to the flat rock near the fire. Settling in the amber glow, we paused to take stock of each other. He measured me with uncertain eyes, as if determining if the trust we once shared was still intact. It had been nearly a year, and once again I unexpectedly stumbled into his lap when all he wanted was to remain out of sight. I was a threat by virtue of my presence. I, on the other hand, was completely at ease, probably because he crept into my thoughts nearly every day.

“I ain’t afraid o’ much,” he said, his face as vulnerable as a little boy’s. “But I’s scared as a stray pup to ask you this question. What happened to my Livetta?”

“Have you seen her?” I asked hopefully.

“You mean she ain’t round here no more?”

“No . . . I mean, yes,” I fumbled, forgetting Marcus had no clue as to Livie’s fate after he left her in my care. “What I mean to say is, she has been here with me, living at Hillcrest.”

I melted at the joy and relief that brightened his face. I had forgotten how much his protectiveness moved me. A swell of emotion warmed me like finding a long-lost friend. I decided not to alarm him with Livie’s disappearance unless absolutely necessary.

“She’s been doing well, Marcus.” I smiled as the wall between us fell away. “She has been safe and healthy. We tricked my aunt into believing Livie was a gift presented to me by Colt. He drew up false papers.”

I told him about Livie’s recovery from her gunshot wound and her time at Hillcrest. He nodded approvingly as I described the caring relationship she found with James, and how he stayed with her after the disappointment of thinking Marcus had returned, only to learn it was a mysterious runaway from West Gate. Marcus leaned closer with great interest.

“What do you mean by
mysterious
?”

“Well, the hounds were sent after him, but I took measures to confuse them in their tracking. The man was not brought back; however, there was no mention of a runaway announced. It was like he never existed.”

“Where is this shed you is talkin’ about? The one where the slave boy run from.”

“It’s by the dog pen on the back lot of my uncle’s plantation.”

Marcus took it in and considered it. “As long as I know Livetta is safe, I don’t wanna chance sneakin’ around here. The signs ain’t right. The deep o’ winter is harsh and I gots’ta keep movin’. Only passed this way to find out if she is still here. I’ll be back when my journey turns north again.” His eyes glimmered with soft appreciation. He reached to touch my arm, then stopped as if being scolded by an inner voice. “Thank you fo’ lookin’ after her, Miz—”

“Don’t.” I held up my hand to stop his formality, and accidentally brushed his lips. “Please call me by my name. It’s Hannah.”

“I remember,” he said, letting his words form against my trembling fingertips. I eased my fingers away in sheer terror at how natural it felt. We were both in unfamiliar territory, causing us to hesitate and wonder at each other. A thousand thoughts danced in his eyes, yet he remained where he was, hands at his side.

“You won’t never know how much it means to me that you kept yo’ promise about Livetta. It was a mighty big risk, and you could o’ turned yo’ back on the lot of us.”

“I do not deserve thanks,” I said, humbled by his appreciation. “Since Livie has been here with me, I have been happier than I have been for a very long time. I feel more like the woman I really am, instead of acting the empty role of a girl designed by people I hold no respect for.”

This made him smile, connecting us once more. I asked him about his journey north. He was vague and circumspect in the details, not saying how long it took or where, exactly, they ended up. It was clear the trip was long and hard. Listening to him chronicle the hardships and cruel conditions they navigated, I marveled at the strength and courage he possessed in keeping the group moving north.

“Ol’ Rose gave out and died a few weeks after we left here. Calvin’s heart was so broke after losin’ his mama, he flat refused to go on without her. I don’t know what become of him. Seven more slaves joined up with us along the way. Two was killed when a tree come down during a late-summer thunderstorm. Raizy saved Lillabelle from bein’ swept away as we crossed a rain-swelled creek. Lillabelle’s mama and brother drowned, but Raizy took the shattered chile under her wing.”

“With so much adversity, how did you keep them from giving up?”