“Yes, sir,” MacKaye replied, and stumbled as he tried to ease himself from the wagon with only one hand for support.
“Where’s my son?”
“Right here, along with his kidnappers.”
At those words, Arthur Cortlandt strode from the safety of his carriage toward Genie Oliver’s rickety wagon, and he drew back at what he saw. “Why is my son bound like a steer?”
“Because, sir, he preferred to be touched by the hands of his captors than those of his rescuers,” Ezra replied, looking from one to the other of the silent Black men in Genie Oliver’s employ, both of whom still sat astride their horses. “And because, thanks to your son’s kidnappers, I was in no condition to do the job myself.”
Cortlandt directed his man to lift a lantern toward Ezra and he cringed at what he saw. “I’m sorry you have had to endure that kind of treatment. I’ll make certain they pay,” he said, nodding toward the still-bound kidnappers.
Ezra was deciding how much detail to give his employer about his son’s captivity when galloping hooves claimed their attention. The three Black men employed by Genie jumped to the ground as one and, as if magnetized, moved toward each other and into the shadows. Each had his hand on his weapon.
A lone horseman rode up, pulled to a stop, dismounted, and nodded at Cortlandt as he touched his hat. “One dead man at that unused train stop, sir, and that’s all that’s there. Place is so clean you could hold Sunday service in it.”
Like all of Cortlandt’s men, this one was tall, muscular, clean shaven, and well dressed, and he had at least two visible weapons. Ezra figured on two more: a derringer and a knife. “What kind of man was he?” Ezra asked, and saw the glint of appreciation in the other man’s eyes. “A ne’er-do-well. Even dead he stank of bad whiskey, and it had been weeks rather than days since he’d visited with soap and water.”
Ezra risked another question: “Was he there alone?”
The man nodded, then shrugged. “No honor among thieves, I suppose.” He pointed to the back of the wagon. “When those two wake up maybe they can explain how he got dead.” Then he shrugged again and looked at his boss. “I’ll tell the sheriff when we hand over those two, Mr. Cortlandt. Let the law figure it out.”
But Ezra didn’t think the kidnappers would know the dead man. He believed the man was the Tom that he heard Algie refer to, and that he died waiting for Jack and Algie. If the three of them had been at that depot together . . . “I’ve paid for enough of Mr. Oliver’s time this day,” Ezra said to Cortlandt. He didn’t want to think any more about the danger they had just escaped. Immediately the rich man’s employees removed the three inert figures from the back of Genie’s wagon, first unbinding Edward and gently placing him in the front of his father’s carriage, and then handling the two kidnappers like bags of flour or sugar, throwing them, still bound, over the backs of waiting horses. Then Cortlandt did something no one expected: He gave each of the Black men a silver dollar and thanked them for their help. They acknowledged his generosity, and Genie’s companions mounted their horses and rode away.
Ezra, intent on a private word with Genie, moved toward her too quickly and the pain knocked him down. Genie hurried to help him up. “Tell Eli . . . untie ’em . . . move ’em to the light,” he whispered before several pairs of hands hoisted him to his feet and toward the brougham.
“Eli’s busy getting cleaned up to meet you at home,” Genie whispered back. “Tell them to take you home,” she said.
“I’m taking you to my doctor first,” Cortlandt announced, and Ezra didn’t argue. “I’ll tell him what you’ve accomplished tonight. He’s a brilliant doctor and a shameless gossip. You’ll have more business than you can handle by the time you heal, MacKaye.”
Ezra forced his mind to ordered thinking. No one would doubt Arthur Cortlandt if he said his son’s kidnappers gave his rescuer a beating, especially after they saw Ezra, and the police readily would believe that the dead man at the isolated depot was up to no good and paid the price. When the police discovered Jack and Algie and found them unable to account for their time, they’d be connected to the botched kidnapping on Arthur Cortlandt’s say-so. He was giving in to unconsciousness when another thought presented itself: All the business his firm could handle, Arthur Cortlandt had said! Himself and a Black man who really was a woman and a runaway slave! When it wouldn’t hurt he’d have himself a long laugh at that thought.
When they arrived, Montague Wright didn’t look like a gossip, he looked like a riverboat gambler, but Ezra didn’t care. By the time they arrived at the doctor’s office, the ride in Cortlandt’s upholstered brougham being only slightly more comfortable than the one on horseback or in the back of the wagon, Ezra wanted only to be relieved of the pain coursing through his body. The doctor saw to that immediately, which was a good thing because Ezra could not have endured what transpired next. And he surely would not have called it healing.
✴ ✴ ✴
The servant girl who answered the knock at the scullery door shrieked in terror at the sight of the disheveled and dirty Colored man, which brought Abby and Maggie running. Only slightly surprised at Genie’s presence, they quickly sent the girl to attend to her duties upstairs and invited Genie in. Without asking whether she was hungry or thirsty, Maggie put the kettle on and laid a place at the table. Genie hadn’t realized that she was hungry or thirsty or tired until she sat down and contemplated eating. Whatever was put in front of her she’d welcome, and the cheese and pickle sandwich on fresh baked bread and the hot tea with plentiful honey relaxed and soothed her almost to the point of somnolence.
“I apologize for arriving so unexpectedly,” Genie said, rousing herself.
“Are you all right?” Abby asked, looking at her closely. Too closely, Genie thought. It’s as if she sees through me . . .
“I’ve come with information and a request for your indulgence. Ezra MacKaye has been seriously injured—”
The two women exclaimed and were talking simultaneously, asking what happened and what they could do to help. Genie didn’t think it was sufficient to tell them that he’d been rescuing a kidnap victim; they deserved more and better. But the truth? “He was helping to thwart a plan to capture Mrs. Tubman and a . . . package she soon will deliver.”
Abby went white as chalk and Maggie choked on a sharp intake of breath. Genie pounded on her back to restart her breathing. She told them that he was badly beaten, that he currently was being tended to at the surgery of Arthur Cortlandt’s doctor, and that he most likely would require constant attention when he arrived home later in the day. “I’ve taken the liberty of enlisting Eli’s services. I hope that I have not overstepped too widely and presumed too greatly on your kindness.”
Abby reached across the table and took her hand. She held it tightly in both of hers but she did not speak, leaving Maggie to reply for them. “Both you and Mr. MacKaye have become important to us, Genie. I’ll never be able to repay him for saving my Elizabeth, and now that he’s saved Mrs. Tubman as well—”
Abby, still holding Genie’s hand, found her voice. “Eli is welcome here,” she began, then frowned slightly. “Was he injured as well?”
Genie shook her head. “He probably saved Ezra’s life,” she said, and if that wasn’t the truth, it was close enough to it.
“Where is he now?” Maggie asked.
“Getting himself cleaned up. He should be here soon. And he will make himself available to help you as you may need him,” Genie said, suddenly wondering why Abby hadn’t hired a manservant since all of her lodgers were men.
Abby released Genie’s hand and stood up. “Mr. MacKaye no doubt will require extra sheets and towels and blankets.”
“And more coal for the grates in his rooms,” Maggie said, standing as well.
Genie raised her suddenly cold hand to halt their exit. “Perhaps Eli could do those things when he arrives, so that he can know where to locate what he will need?”
Abby nodded acquiescence and sat
back down though she did not, much to Genie’s dismay, reclaim her hand. Maggie poured more tea and put more cheese and bread on her plate and Genie thanked her.
Both servant girls appeared then, buttoning their overcoats and tying their scarves over their heads, all the while casting wary glances at Genie. Abby paid them and hurried them through the kitchen, into the scullery, and out the door.
“Eli is a good boy but he has no experience in a house like this,” Genie said to Maggie.
“I will take good care of him and give him all the help he needs,” the older woman said.
“Thank you, Maggie.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Genie,” Maggie replied, her voice filled with enough warmth to ward off the frigid air coming in through the scullery door, and she thought that while Eli may have had no experience working in a manor house, Genie Oliver—or whatever her name was—most certainly did. And Maggie suddenly was struck by another realization: Something about Genie reminded her very strongly of her seafaring husband, Jack, who didn’t stay away from his wife and daughter for months at a time because he wanted to but because, as a runaway slave, it was the safe thing to do. And just as Jack Juniper was the name he’d chosen for himself in freedom, Maggie believed that Eugenia Oliver was a chosen name as well.
Abby re-entered the kitchen followed closely by Eli. Genie almost didn’t recognize him. His hair was cut almost to the scalp, his face was shaved clean, and he removed a scarf and overcoat to reveal a starched white shirt and trousers held neatly in place with a pair of suspenders almost the same color as the pants.
“Miss Eugenie, Miss Maggie,” he greeted them, trying to keep his face from cracking into a grin of pride.
“Why don’t I show you to your room first, Eli, then Mr. MacKaye’s suite of rooms?” Abby said.
Eli looked stunned. “My room? I got a room? My own room?”
Abby nodded and led him down the long hallway to the stairs leading up to the servants’ quarters where, Genie thought, he’d be the only resident, for she knew that Maggie and her daughter occupied a suite of rooms in the family wing of the mansion. “When Ezra is back to health,” Genie said to Maggie, “you all may have to find work for Eli.”
Maggie smiled and nodded. “I think Master Eli will be a good fit in this house.”
CHAPTER SIX
Ezra MacKaye looked worse than any of them could have imagined, and if he could have spoken he’d have told them that he felt worse than that. But he didn’t speak for almost three days. He was almost always asleep. When he woke Eli fed him beef broth and warm milk with honey and brandy, as ordered by the doctor. When he was conscious enough to feel the excruciating pain he was in, Maggie gave him three droppers of laudanum in a glass of water, which returned him deeply to sleep. The doctor himself had brought Ezra home to be certain that he would be properly cared for, and he pronounced himself thoroughly satisfied. When Eli acknowledged that he could not read and Maggie said that she could, Dr. Wright gave her the laudanum bottle and the dropper and made her promise—swear—that she would administer the prescribed amount, no more and no less. “This man took an awful beating. His body bears bruises that only I and the servant boy Eli will ever see. Should ever see. I’m glad the man doesn’t have a wife to see what he has endured.”
Eli slept in the room with Ezra in case the man should wake and need him, but he paid frequent visits to his room upstairs because he could. He liked knowing that it was there, that his clothes were in the drawers, his shoes in the closet, his razor on the shelf. In fact, he just liked knowing that he had clothes and shoes and a razor and a room to keep them in.
Every time Ezra had a dose of laudanum Eli presented himself to Abby or Maggie to see if they needed his help because he could be certain that the patient would sleep deeply for several hours, especially if he’d also had warm milk with brandy. Eli didn’t want the servant girls to clean Ezra’s rooms but Abby insisted, and she remained and watched them though she sent Eli away. He made the girls nervous with the malevolent glares he bestowed on them. He didn’t want anyone else doing anything for Ezra. Except perhaps Maggie. Or Abby. Or Genie.
On the fourth day Ezra remained awake for several hours before declaring the need for laudanum. On the fifth day he stood up but found himself unable to walk. He could, however, hold a pen, and he sent a note to his Flegler Street landlady asking that she send any mail with Eli, telling her that he’d been in an accident and that he’d see her when he had recovered. On the sixth day Ezra walked, ever so stiffly, from the bedroom to the sitting room, where he spent the better part of the day dozing in front of the fireplace. On the seventh day, a Sunday, he joined the other members of the house at the table for the midday meal though he did not have permission to eat anything but soup, mashed potatoes, and bread pudding. He fell asleep at the table and when Eli woke him Ezra found that he could not stand, even with assistance. So, Eli and the other men lifted Ezra in his chair and carried him to his bedroom where, again under Eli’s direction, the men lifted Ezra from the chair, being careful not to jar his still tightly wrapped left arm and shoulder.
“Oh, hellfire and damnation!” Ezra exclaimed when finally laid on his bed.
Maggie, who had followed with the laudanum bottle and dropper, quickly placed the requisite number of drops in the glass of water Eli kept beside the bed for that purpose and Ezra drank it down, then lay still to wait for it to work its magic. “Any moment now, Mr. MacKaye,” Maggie said, knowing by now what he was thinking and feeling, and hoping that she was right. In keeping with the doctor’s orders, as of today Ezra now was getting only three drops of the drug once a day instead of as needed.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” Ezra said, his words already beginning to slur. “Especially to you, Eli . . .” And he was asleep. Eli covered him and added more coals to the grate as Maggie led the other men from the room, thanking them for their help.
“We heard that he’d been in an accident of some kind but we had no idea that he was so badly injured,” said Cornelius Eubanks, a traveling salesman and the first and longest resident of Abby’s rooming house.
“Accident!” scoffed Lyle Butler, the newest and least liked resident. “That man took a beating, a good one! And from what I hear of him, he probably deserved it.”
The other men looked at Butler but did not respond, and they all quickly walked away, all but Butler retiring to the warmth and comfort of their rooms. It was a bitterly cold night and snow was falling, but Butler dressed himself for the weather and, without a word of goodnight to the others, left the house by the front door. Maggie wanted to lock it behind him—his past behavior suggested that it would be well past curfew when he returned—but technically the front door was unlocked until ten o’clock when residents then used a side entrance, which, unknown to them, alerted both Abby and Maggie that someone had entered. Fortunately—and thankfully—Lyle Butler was the only person to enter after hours and Maggie couldn’t imagine where he could go this Sunday night and remain past ten. Even the most disreputable establishments would be closed tonight, and even the most unkind horse cart drivers would shelter their animals tonight: The cold and snow were bad enough but a raging, howling arctic wind cut to the bone.
Eli put another blanket on Ezra, a few more coals on the fire, and made himself comfortable on the armchair and ottoman. There were no heat grates in the rooms in the servants’ quarters in the Read mansion, for which Abby profusely apologized several times. What Eli wanted to tell her was a room in a house, even without a grate, would be warmer than any place he’d ever slept before, but he kept the thought to himself and marveled at his good fortune. How lucky he was to have Eugenia Oliver in his life. His only concern at the moment was whether he’d be able to get Ezra to his appointment with Dr. Wright tomorrow.
Genie Oliver’s biggest concern at the moment was how to leave Adelaide and William without offending them. She had gratefully accepted their invitation to spend Sunday afternoon with them and two other
friends, Peter Blanding and Catherine Carpenter. Genie did not socialize often or easily and she pledged to change that aspect of herself, especially since meeting Abby. However, Adelaide and William were friends of long standing and she felt she owed it to them to at least try to be sociable. She had begun after the mission, the day following Eli’s transformation.
“I could hardly believe my eyes!” Genie, back to her normal routine, exclaimed. “Was that really Eli?” She and Adelaide were having lunch with William and Arthur in the blacksmith shop, where it was warm.
“We did a good job if I do say so myself,” William beamed, then amended, “though most of the credit goes to Arthur,” after the ironmonger loudly cleared his throat.
“I could benefit from such a transformation,” Genie mused, “though, and no disrespect intended, not at your hands,” she said waving her hand at Arthur and William, rendering them speechless with embarrassment. They all but ran from the room, which caused Adelaide to collapse into spasm of giggles. It was infectious, and soon both women were giggling like schoolgirls. “I meant what I said,” Genie said trying to stifle a laugh, “on both counts.”
Adelaide was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. Genie had never witnessed such mirth in this woman that she spent almost all of her days with, and she enjoyed it. “I’d be pleased to transform you, Eugenia,” Adelaide finally managed to say. “And I don’t think we need worry about William and Arthur. In fact, they’ll likely not reappear for hours.” She was still enjoying the men’s embarrassment. “Shall we begin with a trimming of your hair?”
Genie put both hands to her head and snatched them quickly away as if they were burned. “Oh yes, Adelaide, please!” She had not given much thought to her appearance, especially since she more often than not disguised herself as a man, a practice that would not be so necessary now that she had a horse cart, she thought happily. And since she would be seeing more of Abigail Read—a thought she tried very hard to keep at bay.
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