Rachel's Choice (33 page)

The hint of a smile showed on his lips. “Do I have to give you the precise hour and day?”

She leaned back against the gunnel, unsure as to whether she should laugh or cry. “Yes,” she stammered.

“Objection, your honor,” Chance countered. “That information is immaterial.”

Rachel rested her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I think not. Objection overruled.”

“Sidebar, your honor. Counsel is attempting to badger the witness.”

“Quit this foolish talk,” Pharaoh boomed. “Are you or aren't you going to accept his offer, Miss Rachel? Because if you ain't, I mean to toss him overboard.”

“No,” she said. “I'm not going to marry him, and
you're sure as hell not going to pitch him over the side of my boat. Not unless you mean to throw me over as well.”

“What do you mean you won't marry me?” Chance shouted.

“Miss Rachel, think what you're saying.”

“I know what I'm saying.” She looked into Chance's eyes. “I love you, but I won't marry you. Not when you're going away to fight again. It's stupid. I've been widowed once by this war, and I don't mean to go through the same thing again.” Not even if I'm pregnant, she thought fervently. Not even if I have to face the world with a nameless child in my arms.

His face paled. “You won't marry me?”

“Ask me again, when the war's over. If your offer's still good, I may take you up on it then. Not before.”

“Well, I'll be double damned,” Pharaoh said. “You just tell my mother I tried to do what she wanted. Damn.” He spread his palms in a gesture of bewilderment. “White or black, women are just the same. There's no logic to them.” Shaking his head, he retreated to the stern and took hold of the tiller, righting the sloop's direction to put them on course for home.

“You're sure about this,” Chance said softly to Rachel.

“As sure as I've ever been about anything.”

He tried to pull her into his arms, but she wouldn't let him. Instead, she turned away and stared out at the bay, listening to the sound of the waves against the boat and the cry of a hunting osprey overhead. That way she could convince herself that her tears were caused by the sting of the salt wind, and not from the ache in the depths of her soul.

Cora met them by the dock, her wrinkled brow creased even more with concern. “Your father-in-law's been here
with the sheriff,” she called before Rachel could reach her. “They took your baby.”

Pharaoh embraced his mother. “You and Emma and the children weren't hurt?”

Cora scoffed. “Of course not. We're fine. But Davy's with his grandparents. That worthless octoroon Patsy Cummings was here yesterday wanting me to concoct her a love potion. You know I never mess with that kind of thing. Anyway, she saw Davy and asked who he was. I wouldn't have told her, but one of the children said that he was yours.”

“And Patsy went back to Ida with the tale,” Rachel finished. She felt ill. She knew her mother-in-law wouldn't hurt Davy, but getting him back would be hell.

“That Patsy does laundry for half the white folks in town. She told Miss Ida, you can take that for gospel.”

Chance tied up the boat and came to stand beside Rachel. “When did they take the boy?” he asked.

“Not an hour ago. You didn't miss them by much,” Cora answered.

Emma ran down the path from Cora's cabin and flung herself into her husband's arms. A flock of children followed her; they surrounded the two, chattering and tugging on Pharaoh's arms. He raised his voice above the din to address his mother.

“I told him he had to marry her, Mama, but she won't have him.”

Cora turned a withering gaze on Chance. “Is that so, Virginian? You think you're too good for our Rachel?”

“You have it all wrong,” Rachel put in. “He asked. I refused him. I don't want another soldier husband.”

“You'll live to regret the day,” Cora predicted. “It's been my observation that once a woman's set on a man
like you are him, they'd best marry. Else they risk burning in hell.”

“I'll worry about my salvation or lack of it later,” Rachel said. “Right now I have to get Davy away from Ida and Isaac.”

“I'm coming with you,” Chance said.

“You can't,” she replied. “You'll be hung. Cora said the sheriff was with them. You've got to stay hidden.”

“You can pass me off as Abner.”

“No.” Reluctantly she shook her head. “You don't know my father-in-law. He'd suspect the Lord Jesus if he showed up on my farm. He'll tell the sheriff to arrest you first and ask questions later.”

“Damn it, woman,” Chance argued. “Must you always have things your way? How much respect would you have for me if I stayed here and let you deal with them yourself?”

“More than I'd have for you if you played the fool and got yourself hung senselessly,” she flung back. “Can't you see, Chance? This isn't about honor or pride. This is real. And this is something I can do a hell of a lot easier by myself. If you come, we'll both end up dead or in twin cells on Pea Patch Island.”

He glowered at her. “You expect me to—”

“Stay here with Cora.” Then suddenly she remembered Travis and she went cold inside. “Travis,” she murmured. “He's in my barn. The sheriff will—”

“He won't find him,” Cora assured her.

“Why not? Is he dead?” Rachel demanded. “He was sick when I left but—”

“Not dead,” the old woman said. “On his way home. My grandboy brought word this morning that folks was
headed toward your farm. I sent the girls over to fetch him.”

“Then Travis is here?” Chance said.

“No, not here. It's not safe.” Cora pursed her lips. “It's bad business, all this hiding of rebels, girl. If I didn't know you better than I do, I'd suspect you were one of them.” She sighed. “But I know you're not. I figure that you had your reasons.”

“So if he isn't dead and he isn't here …” Chance left the rest unsaid.

“Mama told you,” Pharaoh grated. “If she says she sent him home, then she did.”

Cora smiled. “The Underground Railroad, reb. We sent your Travis home the same way we've been bringing slaves north for years. Only we sent him the opposite way.” She chuckled. “He'll be safe enough, if his lungs don't kill him before he gets there. He ought to be halfway to Salisbury by now.”

Rachel took a deep breath. “That's that, then. Travis is taken care of. And if I don't get home quick, Ida will be halfway to Milford with my Davy.” She turned and grasped Chance's arm. “If you love me, if you want to spend the rest of your life with me, then you'll be man enough to wait here. You'll let me see to paying my father-in-law what I owe and getting my son back.”

“You've still got the money?” he asked her.

She nodded and patted the front of her dress. “Safe as it was in your bank. Enough to settle the loan, pay my taxes, and buy this winter's necessities.” She glanced at Cora. “Is Blackie here? I can get to Rachel's Choice faster on horseback.”

“The boys have him with our livestock in the swamp, but Pharaoh's gray is tied out back,” Cora answered.

“I'll throw a saddle on him,” Pharaoh offered. “Deacon's spirited, but you're a good rider. If you keep a tight rein, I think you can handle him.”

Chance kissed her. “Be careful, darling.”

“I'll try.” She hurried after Pharaoh, then stopped and looked back at Cora. “Keep Chance from trying to be a hero,” she said. “He hasn't kept his part of the bargain yet. He promised to get my fall crop in, and if I have any say in the matter, he's not going anywhere until my corn's harvested.”

The gray horse's mane and tail streamed like banners in the wind as he galloped down the woods trail. Rachel rode hard through the forest as far as the fallen tree at the entrance of the swamp road. Leaping over the rotten log, she made the hard turn and took the Taylor's Neck shortcut down a path so narrow that brush and branches scraped her arms and legs from both sides of the track.

When they reached low ground, Rachel had to use all her strength to rein the spirited hunter to a trot so that he wouldn't lose his footing in the mud, but once they crested the ridge at the edge of her meadow, she kicked him into a run once more.

The audacity of James's parents amazed and infuriated her. She had fully expected Isaac to bring in the authorities when her payment was late, but she'd never thought that they would dare to take Davy. And unless she fell off this horse and broke her neck between Cora's cabin and Rachel's Choice, Rachel swore that it would be a decision that her in-laws would come to regret.

Rachel was breathless; her hair was undone and tangled with leaves, and her mouth tasted of horse and mud. Her pulse was pounding, not with concern for her own
safety but out of fear that she couldn't get Davy back from James's parents.

A covey of quail burst up almost under the gelding's feet and he shied, nearly throwing her, but she got him under control again and let him have his head. And when the horse thundered toward the cornfield fence, she never hesitated.

“Jump!” she cried. Deacon tried to turn left at the last moment, but she held firm and kicked him in the sides with her heels.

The gray flew over the four-rail fence as though he had wings, missing the top bar by a foot. His hooves touched the earth, and he lunged ahead, tearing through the field, trampling corn stalks and ripening ears of grain. The gate at the far end of the field stood open, and they dashed through it and galloped on toward the farmhouse.

Rachel heard Bear's deep, rumbling bark before the barn loomed up through the trees, and she guessed that Isaac was still on Rachel's Choice. She only hoped that James's mother hadn't already taken Davy back to their home in town.

Foam flew from Deacon's mouth, and his nostrils flared. The gray horse's heaving sides were streaked with sweat, and he was breathing heavily as they rounded the sheepfold and pounded into the yard, nearly running Isaac down.

Sheriff Voshell, mounted on a wall-eyed roan stallion, shouted a warning. Isaac, who'd been aiming his pistol at Rachel's dog, leaped back and scrambled to shelter behind the brick well.

“Put that gun down!” Rachel shouted. Deacon squealed and danced sideways, scattering chickens and spooking
Voshell's mount. The roan wheeled around and lashed out with a hind hoof at Rachel's horse.

Deacon sidestepped the kick and delivered a sound thump of his own before Rachel got him under control and turned her attention back to James's father.

“Leave my dog alone!” she ordered as Isaac raised his pistol again.

“The mastiff's dangerous. He needs to be destroyed!” Isaac said. “He attacked my wife.”

The sheriff, red-faced and breathing heavily, dismounted and walked toward Isaac without taking his gaze off Rachel's horse. “Calm down, Mr. Irons. No need for that, now. I'm sure Miss Rachel can control her dog.”

Rachel glanced back at Bear. He crouched, hackles raised and teeth bared, in front of Isaac's buggy. And from the back of the two-wheeled carriage came the shriek of a hungry baby.

“First you steal my son, now you try and shoot my dog!” Rachel reined the gray horse in between the men and Bear. “I'll have you charged with kidnapping,” she threatened her father-in-law. “How dare you come and take him from Cora Wright without my permission?”

Bear whined excitedly and thumped his tail as Rachel moved closer. Then he bared his teeth and snarled as Isaac circled Rachel and moved toward the buggy.

“Shoot that creature!” Ida urged through the open kitchen window. “Shoot the dog and get my grandson before he's eaten alive.”

“Shut up, Ida,” Isaac shouted. Then he glared at Rachel. “You're past due on your note. I've brought the sheriff here to enforce the law. That vicious animal bit Ida.” He eased the hammer down on the heavy pistol and shoved it into his belt.

“If he did bite her, it was to protect Davy,” Rachel defended. The gray horse snorted and tossed his head, and Rachel, still mounted, reined him in tightly and glanced at the sheriff. “You call taking my son enforcing the law?”

“No, Miss Rachel, I don't.” John Voshell's sunburned face darkened to the color of new-washed beets. “But Isaac's within his rights to—”

“To get off my farm!” Rachel answered hotly. “Here's his money.” She pulled the pouch from the bodice of her dress and threw it at Isaac's feet. The cloth bag burst open, spilling the crumpled bills and silver coins across the hard-packed dirt. “There's what you came for, Judas. Every last cent.”

She urged her horse toward the buggy, but Isaac blocked her way. Deacon laid his ears back and pawed the ground. Rachel eased up on the leathers and let the horse move dangerously close to her father-in-law's feet.

“Not so fast, young woman,” Isaac huffed as he backed up a few steps. “There's interest due on this month's—”

“I told you, it's all there.” She gestured to Voshell. “Are you part of this outrage? Is it your job to terrorize war widows and steal their infants?”

“Isaac, I think you'd best give me your gun, pick up what's yours, and go,” the sheriff advised. “It's clear you're not wanted here.” He nodded to Rachel. “I'm sorry for the trouble, ma'am. But the note was overdue, and Miss Ida claimed that you'd abandoned the boy and run off God-knows-where with a half-wit farmhand.”

Rachel scoffed. “I went to Philadelphia to secure an inheritance. That's where I got the money. You can contact Benjamin Gordon of London Bank and substantiate
my story, if you like. And the hired man Ida mentioned ran off back to New Castle. His name was Abner Potts, and he was homesick for his mother.” She grimaced. “You know I will receive a widow's pension from the war office. I have no need to marry—especially not a mute fieldhand.”