Whispers from the Past (29 page)

“I know that.” Did he really think she and I were
that
out of touch? “Susanna has disappeared.”

He blinked in surprise. “Voluntarily?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“No one in my family has seen her since last Tuesday. Did she say anything to you about something being on her mind?”

“If she had, why should I tell you?”

Gabrielle pulled the chair out next to him and sat down. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “We’re concerned about her. We want to make sure she’s okay.”

I looked at Gabrielle. Really? That was nice.

Isaac’s face lightened. “I spoke to Susanna briefly on the phone Monday night. I wanted to see if she wanted to go on another food shuttle run.”

“Another run?” I growled.

“Yeah. She’s gone with me twice now.” He kept his attention on Gabrielle. “Susanna refused the offer. She said that she had some business to take care of and it might take a few weeks to settle.”

Susanna
had
kept a lot of stuff hidden from me. “Did she mention any names?”

He nodded and flicked a glance at me. “A little girl named Dorcas. It sounds like the girl has a medical problem that Susanna thinks she can do something about.”

At least I could be positive that Dorcas was the
why
. “Dorcas is probably in her late teens, so not a little girl, and her father is a really bad guy.”

Isaac’s gaze locked on me. “Is he the man who used to…?”

“Yes.” It surprised me that Susanna had confided so much in him. Feeling pissed and oddly weary, I yanked out a chair and sat down too. “Jethro Pratt gives new meaning to the word ‘asshole.’”

“Damn.” Isaac rubbed a hand over his jaw. “You’ve met these people?”

“I have.” My mouth curled into a half-smile. “Pratt doesn’t fight fair.”

“Firsthand experience?”

“Yeah.”

“Hope you walked away from that one okay.”

“Sure as hell did. He wasn’t as lucky.”

Isaac held out his fist and we bumped. Team Susanna.

“You think she went back to help her friend, even though it’s likely she’ll have to deal with the bad guy.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. When he gets hold of her…” I shook my head. Thinking about that too hard would make me psycho.

“Isaac,” Gabrielle said, “if you think of anything else, will you let us know?”

“Sure.” He pulled out his phone. “What’s the number?”

She took it from him, touched their two phones together, and handed his back. “You should have it now.”

“Thanks again.” I stood and offered a hand to Gabrielle to help her up.

We left right after that. She didn’t speak until we reached the circular drive of her aunt’s house. “So, you’re not coming in?”

“No.”

“Are we still on for our date tomorrow?” She watched me anxiously. “I was planning to take you to a baseball game.”

“Yeah, sure.” I’d forgotten about it, but a game sounded good. I’d mentioned recently that I followed baseball, especially the Durham Bulls. They had a world-class ballpark, half an hour’s drive away. It was nice that she’d noticed.

She leaned across the cab to give me a quick kiss. “Mark,” she said as she drew back, “I’m sorry I called you a dick.”

I nodded. “That’s okay. I earned it.”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY
-F
IVE

A F
ATHER’S
W
RATH

April twenty-second dawned a bright, cloudless day. We met midmorning at the State House, and I waited outside with Senator Eton while his aide confirmed the docket.

Our case was called immediately following the noontime meal, yet Dorcas had not arrived. I drew in a sharp breath as Senator Eton rose to address the panel of judges and tried to ignore my disquiet.

The judge in the center of the bench said, “Present the petitioner.”

“Thank you, Mr. Reynolds.” Senator Eton offered me a hand up. “May I introduce Mrs. Susanna Lewis? She petitions to move the remaining two months of her indenture to a new master due to poor conditions and maltreatment.”

“How old is Mrs. Lewis?”

“She will be twenty-seven on her next birthday.”

“When does her contract end?”

“It was due to end at the age of eighteen.”

All three judges frowned. The tallest one—seated farthest from me—asked, “Where has she been for nine years?”

I lowered my gaze to the table, lest they think me too bold. Perhaps Mark’s century had invaded me more than I realized, for being discussed as if I were too simple to speak was most annoying.

“Mrs. Lewis left her master to seek treatment from a physician. Her master had denied her such care even though her health had deteriorated to the point of danger.” Mr. Eton’s voice deepened. “It took her many months to recover. She has married into a fine family and enjoys a life of comfort. Yet she has willingly returned to complete the terms of her contract as you deem fit.”

“Mrs. Lewis, is it your choice to be here? Your master did not find you and drag you back?”

I schooled my features into calm humility and looked up. “I chose to be here. My arrival was a surprise to him.”

“What does your husband think of this choice?”

It was good that the senator had anticipated this question, for it might have shocked from me an inappropriate response otherwise. “Mr. Lewis would prefer that I not take this course, but he understands my need to put this matter behind me.”

“Mrs. Lewis, do you acknowledge that we could deny your petition and send you back to your master for as much as a year?”

“I do acknowledge that, sir.”

“Very well. You may be seated. Mr. Jethro Pratt?”

He rose and came forward. “Yes?”

“You have been accused of poor conditions. How do you respond?”

His lip curled. “I deny the accusation. Mrs. Lewis had two changes of clothing, a private bedchamber, and plenty to eat. She was permitted free time on the Sabbath and for an hour each day. I admit to giving firm corrections for her errors, but I fail to see how that can be called poor conditions.”

I edged forward on my seat, wanting to refute this statement that held more lies than truth, but the tap of the senator’s hand on the table in front of me reminded me of my place. I was to be silent unless queried directly. This would be most difficult for me.

The senator stood. “May I ask a question?”

“Certainly,” the judge responded.

“Mr. Pratt, how long has it been since you last
corrected
Mrs. Lewis?”

He shrugged. “Nine years.”

“Then how do you explain the bruising about her mouth?”

The judges on the panel stared at me, eyes narrowed. I lowered my gaze.

“She arrived in Worthville that way.” Mr. Pratt chuckled. “Perhaps her husband has to correct her, too.”

I gritted my teeth against a shout of denial. Would my restraint hold for the remainder of the hearing?

“Thank you, Mr. Pratt. That is all for now.” Judge Reynolds scowled so fiercely that his brows beetled together. “Senator Eton, we shall need proof of poor conditions. Clear, irrefutable
proof
.”

Senator Eton had remained standing. “We have numerous people who are willing to describe what they witnessed.”

The door at the rear of the room squawked open. I did not dare turn to see who had entered.
Please let it be Dorcas!

People murmured excitedly, while chairs scraped from all corners of the room. Senator Eton stepped away from the table to extend his hand to someone outside my view.

“If you will permit her testimony, my wife is here to speak.”

I bit my lip to suppress a gasp. Mrs. Eton had come to speak on my behalf?

“Indeed,” Judge Reynolds said as he gestured for a servant to bring a chair. “Please sit.”

She perched gracefully on the chair, smoothed her fine skirts, folded her hands, and bestowed a lovely smile on the judges.

The shortest judge cleared his throat. “Mrs. Eton, how do you know Mrs. Lewis?”

Her smile never wavered. “Mrs. Lewis had a younger sister. Phoebe Marsh was an indentured servant in our home. I met Mrs. Lewis when she accompanied her sister to the signing of the contract.”

“What light can you shed on this petition?” The other two judges shifted uneasily at the impatience in the man’s tone.

“Mrs. Lewis had a new and grievous injury at our meeting.”

“Can you describe the injury?”

“She had a large burn on her arm. It would have caused great pain for many days.” She flicked a scornful glance toward Mr. Pratt. “I had no trouble accepting her claim that her master had placed a hot skillet on her arm.”

“Perhaps she burned herself by accident.”

“No. Its placement and severity made it impossible to have been an accident she caused herself.”

“But you did not witness her master burning her?”

“Of course not,” she snapped.

The judge looked out into the courtroom. “Mr. Pratt?”

He rose. “Yes?”

“Did you burn Mrs. Lewis with a skillet?”

“I did not.”

When the judge nodded, Mr. Pratt sat.

With a visible effort, Mrs. Eton drew herself into the most dignified posture her small frame could command. “It was clear to me that someone intentionally burned Mrs. Lewis.”

“But you did not attend the event.”

She gave a haughty nod of agreement.

“Thank you, Mrs. Eton.”

She swept from the room. Silence reigned until the door closed behind her.

Judge Reynolds nodded toward Senator Eton. “Do you have anyone who
witnessed
the maltreatment of Mrs. Lewis?”

He nodded. “Mr. Jedidiah Pratt.”

Jedidiah came forward rapidly, his nervous gaze skittering about the room.

The tallest judge hitched upward and leaned his forearms on the table. “Did you ever see your father beat or burn Mrs. Lewis?”

Jedidiah bobbed his head. “I saw my father correct Susanna’s mistakes numerous times.”

My face remained calm, but my eyes reflected utter disgust. He flushed and looked away.

“How did your father correct her?”

“With a switch to the legs.”

I gripped the table’s edge, chilled by the memories of stinging lashes, the grunts of his exertion, and the drip of blood on my ankles. If I were returned to my former master, was that the only punishment I would be subjected to?

“Did you ever see your father beat Mrs. Lewis?”

“Once, but it was deserved. While Susanna was tending my baby brother, she neglected his care, and John tumbled onto the hearth. We were fortunate that he did not fall into the fire. It was harm enough that he cut his face and bled prodigiously.” Jedidiah dabbed at a film of sweat over his top lip. “Papa punished her instantly.”

The panel of judges rattled pages. The spectators scuffed shoes and mumbled.

I sucked in a frustrated breath. I had been warned that I could not volunteer any rebuttals to testimony, but it galled me for this misunderstanding to remain. I had not been responsible for John’s injury.

Senator Eton’s fist appeared on the table before me. I stared at it instead of my clenched hands. Was he trying to send me a silent message? Were my reactions too obvious?

The short judge snorted. “Mr. Pratt, did you witness the burn we have discussed?”

“I may have noticed the bandages, but I did not see the event occur.”

“You may go.”

The case was not going well. I fought the urge to tremble.

Judge Reynolds sighed noisily, his impatience evident. “Senator Eton, are you planning to produce witnesses who can describe cruel treatment at which they were present? If not, we are ready to rule on this petition.”

I glanced at the Senator’s tense profile. We were going to lose. In the row beyond us, Mr. Pratt caught my eye. He smiled as he gave me a slow wink.

Shudders wracked my frame. My worst fears had come to pass. Without Dorcas, I was destined to lose my petition. He had known this and made it happen. I would be returning to hard labor, to a mistress who despised me before we’d even met, and to a master who would make my life a living hell. Terror paralyzed me.

“Well, Senator Eton, any more witnesses?”

His question was nearly lost in the squawk of the door opening again. A hush fell. Into the silence came a halting step. I glanced over my shoulder this time.

Dorcas had arrived on the arm of William Eton. Her face was pale with exhaustion, but her lips curved with excitement as her survey of the room stopped with me. I could not imagine a more welcome sight than her smile in this place.

“Dorcas, come here!” Her father’s command was harsh.

Her smile faded. She stopped at his row, flinching when he reached for her.

William Eton put his body between them. “I am Dr. William Eton, Mr. Pratt,” he said, his voice low yet distinct. “Your daughter’s health will not be compromised by a few minutes in this courtroom.”

Mr. Pratt’s eyes blazed with fury, first at Dorcas, then at William Eton, and finally at me. I did not waver.

Judge Reynolds gestured for the newly arrived pair to come forward. “The witness will be fine. Please be seated.”

The senator took her free hand and escorted her to the waiting chair, watching as she settled onto it primly.

“Judges, may I present our last witness, Miss Dorcas Pratt?”

Judge Reynolds’s face gentled. “How do you know the petitioner, Miss Pratt?”

Dorcas leaned toward him eagerly. “Susanna was the indentured servant in our household from my infancy until I was nine.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“On Saturday. She was in Uncle Worth’s barn. They were using it as a jail.”

“Was her mouth injured?”

“No, sir. Why do you ask?”

The judge gestured toward me. “Study her now, please.”

Dorcas looked at me, then pushed to her feet and limped nearer. Her lips thinned into a grim line. “Those marks were not there when I left her.” Her head whipped around toward her father, her gaze icy with contempt.

“Miss Pratt?”

She nodded regally and then returned to her chair.

“Did you ever see your father beat or burn Mrs. Lewis?”

“Yes to both. It was most distressing and unnecessary.”