Rachel's Choice (24 page)

“And if I won't be a part of this?”

“You will.” She slipped her hand under Davy's head and rubbed his soft curls. “First we'll go to Philadelphia to this bank of yours, and I'll let you loan me enough to pay off James's father and settle my tax bill. That way, if anything goes wrong, the farm is safe for Davy.”

“You expect me to travel to Philadelphia with a hump on my back, playing the part of your mute servant?”

“No.” She looked at him. Moonlight played over his face and chest. “I'll dress you in James's uniform and wrap your face with bandages. Once we're clear of Kent County, none will know that James Irons is dead and buried. We'll travel up the bay by sloop.”

“You've a sloop? Where?”

“Hidden behind Cora Wright's house.”

“You never told me you had a sailboat.”

“You never asked.”

She fixed him with a level gaze. “I love you, Chance. That doesn't mean I trust you completely.”

“Maybe with good reason,” he answered.

“How comforting.”

He kissed her with infinite tenderness. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, Rachel Irons, and don't you ever forget it … no matter what.”

At midmorning the following day, Cora Wright stood on the creek bank and watched as a stranger rowed Rachel and Davy to her landing.

“I told you they were coming, Granny!” Mary Lou cried as she jumped from one foot to the other. “I see the baby.”

“Hush, child,” Cora scolded softly. “Don't shout like a fieldhand. Mind what I've taught you.”

“Yes'm,” the six-year-old replied.

“Good morning!” Rachel called. “I've brought little Davy for your blessing.”

Cora leaned on her walking stick and studied the white man in Rachel's rowboat. Pharaoh had told her that Rachel had a new hired man that wasn't quite right, but Cora liked to see people and judge them herself. Youngsters, even her boy Pharaoh, were apt to jump to conclusions. A woman who'd lived as long as she had knew better.

“Watch your step with that baby,” Cora warned Rachel. “He's young to be taken visiting.”

Rachel laughed and hurried up the slight rise. “I wanted to be sure you were all right,” she said as she gave her a warm hug. “Were the soldiers here yesterday?”

“Here and gone,” Cora replied, taking the baby and cradling him against her breast. “They found nothing worth stealing but a smoked ham, and it was sour in the middle if you ask me. Likely it will give some of them the backyard trots.”

“Is the livestock safe?”

“Safe as in God's pocket. Pharaoh has them in that high spot in the marsh. Quickmud all around it. If you don't know the right path in, that black swamp water will suck you down without a trace. Emma's there with him. She's a good wife, and a good daughter-in-law. My family was blessed when she came into it.”

“From what I hear, Pharaoh's been hunting more than rabbits,” Rachel said.

Cora smiled with her eyes. “Where'd you hear such gossip? You know better than to pay attention to loose talk. Pharaoh's been busy with his forge.” Her son's hatred of slavers was a dangerous subject, even with a friend like Rachel. It was wiser to steer the conversation away from Emma and Pharaoh. “I want to hear all about your delivery.”

“He came too soon for us to send for you,” Rachel said. “Luckily, my cousin and her neighbor were down from New Castle. The neighbor, Mrs. Harquest, has nine children; two she brought into this world all by herself. She knew what to do for me and the baby.”

“Fortunate you weren't alone.” Cora peered into wee Davy's face, inhaling the babe's sweet, healthy scent and judging his muscle tone as he squirmed in her arms. “This is one fine boy,” she said. “He's a keeper, certain. You did good, Rachel.”

Strange how a woman could bring so many little ones into the world and still treasure each like a new penny,
Cora thought. White, brown, red, or black, she loved them all. Something about Rachel's story didn't feel right, but she'd never known the girl to lie. Maybe the cousin's visit was just luck.

Rachel laughed. “I hoped you'd approve of Davy. I wasn't intending to trade him for a speckled pig.”

They laughed together at that, almost as if they weren't separated by skin color and custom. Rachel and her family were decent white folks, certain. She'd known Rachel Irons since she was born, and she'd never been disappointed in her yet.

“I appreciate you sending your grandson to warn us yesterday.”

“I'll send your cow home with young Solomon when I'm sure it's safe,” Cora said.

Together they walked through the vegetable garden, across the hard-packed yard, and into the house. Bright-eyed children giggled and trailed after them like bevies of quail chicks.

Cora turned and said, “Back to your chores, all of you. Moses, you haven't finished hoeing the corn, have you? And you, Abraham. Did you check your fishnets this morning?”

Boys and girls alike scattered, and she smiled. Young ones were the heart of families, and she had always believed that family was the strongest force under heaven—stronger than armies, stronger even than death. So long as families clung together, she had hope for the future.

“These aren't all your grandbabies, are they, Cora?” Rachel asked. “I thought I knew all of yours.”

“Hmmp.” Cora waved Rachel to the rocker in front of the fireplace. “I believe I've given up counting myself.
Some of them are Emma and Pharaoh's. Abraham is Preacher's boy; those girl twins in the yard are Gideon's. His wife, Jesse, she's working at Johnson's store. Her girls are old enough to watch their little brother, but I told them it's not safe to leave young ones home alone with all these soldiers tramping the roads.”

Rachel sighed. “I agree. But I'm afraid I've come to add to your burden. I wanted to ask a favor.”

“Ask away, girl. It's been troubling my heart that I wasn't with you when this little man-child came into the world. If there's anything—”

“Could you keep Davy? It would just be for a few days, maybe four or five. I have to go upriver to Philadelphia. I don't want to take Davy to the city in summer. He might catch something bad. I need a bank loan to pay off James's father, and—”

“What about your breast milk? You could dry up or take the milk fever without him nursing.”

Rachel bit her lower lip. “I'll try to get back in three days. I can't think of any other way. I have to have the money.”

“And these penny-pinching little banks won't loan to a woman, will they?” Cora declared. “Well, what needs done must be done. Try squeezing out some of the milk, gentle now. Maybe you'll be all right.” She motioned to her great-niece Daisy, who was rolling biscuit dough. “Daisy, you think we could manage this little white baby for a few days?”

“Yes'm, Aunt Cora, I believe it would be no trouble at all. What's one more chile to look after?”

Cora smiled at Rachel. “There you have it. Daisy's my right hand, after Pharaoh's Emma. If Daisy says we can do right by your Davy, I suppose we can.”

“I appreciate it, Cora,” Rachel said. “I wouldn't leave him with anyone else. My father-in-law—”

Cora made a rude noise. “Him! No need to explain. But you take care. It's dangerous for a woman traveling alone in these times.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll take Abner. He's mute and none too smart, but his back is strong.”

Cora rose and went to the open hearth where a kettle hung over the coals. “You'll take tea,” she said. “And you'll stay for dinner. I've got a nice haunch of venison and some fresh cabbage and potatoes.”

“I brought you some jars of honey,” Rachel replied. “I nearly forgot. They're in the boat. I'm sure the children have a sweet tooth.”

Cora laughed. “Don't they always. Never knew a child who didn't.” Something didn't ring right with Rachel's story. It wasn't like Rachel to leave her new babe, even for a day. And that Abner, showing up out of the blue like he did, was a lucky thing for Rachel's Choice. Maybe too lucky. She'd have to ponder on it.

“I'll just go and fetch the honey,” Rachel offered.

“Don't think of it,” Cora said. “I'll send one of these boys. They've got more energy than a yearling bull. Now, you just sit there, hold that pretty baby, and tell me all the news.”

Three days later, Chance and Rachel guided her small sloop,
Windfeather
, north up the Delaware River past Pea Patch Island. Despite an overcast sky, the single sail billowed and snapped in a brisk breeze. Whitecaps foamed the biting salt air and soaked the two of them to the skin as the boat skimmed over the water's surface.

Above them the gray stone walls of Fort Delaware
bristled with heavy guns. Off
Windfeather
's port side, patrol boats circled the island. Gulls wheeled and shrieked as they dared the sharks to snatch bits of garbage from the river.

Rachel shivered as she watched the dark fins slice the water. “Why are there so many sharks here?” she asked.

“They know that scraps from the kitchen will be dumped into the water over there.” He pointed to the right side of the prison. “There's a canal that runs up to the kitchen areas. Blood, bones, offal from butchered animals. The men say that the Yanks feed the sharks to keep them close to the prison. I know of two men who were eaten by them while I was there. At least I think it was two. What washed up on the beach wasn't enough to tell.”

“That's horrible,” she said. “Inhuman.”

“You'd be surprised what men will do to each other in time of war. Do you have any idea what will happen to us if they catch me in this blue uniform?” Chance answered hoarsely.

The sight of Pea Patch Island sickened him and made him doubt his sanity in allowing Rachel to accompany him on such a mission. Not even the whipping wind could mask the stench of the prison. Refuse bobbed in the water, and once he caught sight of something that could have been a man's leg.

A larger vessel, riding low in the waves, edged away from the shadows of the fortress. Shrouded in canvas, stacks of cargo lined the deck. A soldier on the bow waved, and Chance waved back. “Smile,” he urged Rachel.

He looked back at the approaching boat. “Fall over and drown, you son of a bitch,” Chance hissed.

Rachel maneuvered the
Windfeather
clear of the military vessel's path. “Do you know that man?” she asked Chance.

“No.”

“Then, why—”

“That's the Finn's Point ferry,” he said. “They're carrying the dead to bury on the other side of the river in New Jersey.”

“So many?”

Chance swore under his breath. “It's summer. Heat's worse than cold for spreading disease. Pea Patch is a swamp at low tide. At high tide the prisoners say it's part of the river. Likely another typhoid outbreak has stacked up the dead like cordwood.” He set his jaw and stared straight ahead, not bothering to answer as Union soldiers shouted greetings from the deck.

The
Windfeather
sailed on, slowly passing the town of Wilmington and finally reaching Philadelphia at dusk. “We'll have to sleep on the boat,” Rachel said. “I've no money for an inn. It's probably safer for us anyway.”

They anchored in a cove and made a meal of cold sweet potatoes, hard-boiled eggs, and bread. As night cloaked the riverbank, brilliant stars winked on, one by one, and a clouded moon rose over the trees on the far side of the river. Swarms of mosquitoes buzzed around Rachel and Chance's heads until they retreated to the tiny cabin and sealed the hatch.

The interior of the sloop was pitch dark, but Chance had no trouble locating the narrow bunk that ran along the starboard side. He sat down and swatted at the whine of a mosquito.

“A nice welcome to the City of Brotherly Love,” Rachel said as she cuddled up beside him.

“My sentiments,” he agreed. “It's hot enough to bake biscuits in here, but at least we're not being eaten alive.” He smacked another mosquito between his hands.

“We came for money, not a pleasure trip,” she reminded him. “Wait, I've got something.”

She fumbled in the dark and returned with a small metal container, which she pressed into his palm. “Rub this on your bites. It should help reduce the itching.”

“What is it?” He raised the can to his nose.

“Goose grease, vinegar, and rue.”

“Great, now I'll smell like a dead goose.” He anointed two bites on his neck and another on his forehead, then gave the ointment back to her and kissed the crown of her head. “You smell good. What is that in your hair? Apples?”

“Apple blossom.”

“I like it,” he said. She raised her head and he kissed her mouth tenderly.

“Oh, Chance,” she whispered. “Please don't get killed on me.”

His chest tightened. “Aren't you frightened for yourself at all, woman?”

“Terrified.”

He hugged her against him. “I could have used you in my company. You've more nerve than most, and more common sense than the lot.” He tilted her chin and kissed the tip of her nose. “Get some rest, honey,” he ordered. “I'll keep watch.” The words sounded good, but how much protection he could offer her was anybody's guess.

Rachel's taste lingered on his lips.

If things went wrong and she and Davy had to pay the price … Running from the guards on the beach at Pea Patch Island had been bad, but nothing like this.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead and shifted his back against the rough planking. Outside, the night was quiet with no sounds but the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. His gut twisted with uneasiness. Protect her? Hell, the pistol they'd brought with them would be useless if soldiers attempted to arrest them for treason. He didn't mind risking his own life, but he'd not gamble with Rachel's more than he had already.