Authentic Storm: An American Civil War Novel (Hearts Touched By Fire Book 5)

by Gina Danna

  Jaquita smiled awkwardly and withdrew her hands. She walked around the table Aunt Lila had been pounding dough at, tracing her finger in the flour residue still on it. “I barely remember Mama. But Pappy gave me a locket that has her picture in it. She was pretty.”

  “Just like you.”

  “Hmmmm….” She wandered over to the cooling rack near the back window. Grabbing one of the rolls off it, she glanced at Aunt Lila. “So the staff here are still slaves? You’re in a free state, and Pappy ain’t here.” And she bit into the bread before the cook could yell.

  But Aunt Lila simply laughed. “Child, if you’re hungry, just ask.” She walked to the big pot at the fireplace and scooped a ladle of stew out and put it into a bowl. “Here. Eat this with that. Now, don’t be shakin’ that pretty little head of yours. Take it.”

  Jaquita took it but managed to squeak out, “You’re not answering my question.”

  Aunt Lila bent over the working table with a knife, running it over the top to collect the flour. “Yes, we’re still slaves, in a sense. No freedom papers, but free to do as we please since no one here to order us.” She chuckled. “As long as we don’t get in the papers, in jail or in the river, or spend all our allowance before the next, then we’re left alone, until they come to visit.”

  “Seems a bit unusual.”

  “So it seems, but it works. Clarence too busy keeping up with his spit and polish, most the rest hire themselves out after chores. But we all know our place.” The cook’s face went stone cold as she added, “We’re well aware of that law that keeps us in place. We keep the peace and only lack a paper sayin we free, but otherwise, we are free.” Putting the knife down, she took a cup of lemonade to Jaquita. “And best you act the same before some snake oilman sells you to those catchers.”

  That comment made Jaquita bite her tongue. The Fugitive Slave Law had slave catchers in the North, looking for runaways and the law said they could send any they found back down South. News spread that sometimes, freedmen were caught, the catchers claiming they were runaways and, with the law in place, those unfortunates could be sent South to slavery. A nightmare that made Jaquita shudder. Despite the tolerance and semi-affection from Louisiana, she’d never been scared. Here, she found herself thrown to the wolves.

  Later that evening

  * * *

  Clarence was truly rattled after spending the afternoon barely able to contain his edginess. As he rummaged through the house, he found himself at the kitchen door and, after a moment debating with himself, forced himself to go in where he found Aunt Lila, elbow deep in flour.

  “Aunt Lila, I declare I always find you here, covered with flour and whatnot.” He gave her a crooked grin before he started wandering the room.

  The cook gave him a glance as she pounded her dough. “Clarence, dinner was nigh on an hour or so ago. You can’t tell me you’re hungry.”

  He shrugged and still continued to look. “We’re in a mess, you know.” He pulled an apple and bit into it, not even tasting it.

  Aunt Lila sighed deeply and shaped her dough, putting it on the board for the oven. “We don’t have much choice. We have to make sure Miss Jaquita is a good girl and not get into any trouble, if I understand Massa Fontaine’s letter right.”

  Clarence snorted. “Massa Fontaine. If he wanted that girl so protected, he’d kept her home!”

  “Oh, now, Clarence, you saw Missus face when they were here for Massa Jack’s graduation. That woman done decide she’s tired of watching a slave child that is the favorite.”

  Clarence finished his morsel and nodded. “Yessum, I saw her. Definitely looking like she was about to spit blood.”

  Aunt Lila chuckled. “Probably did, and at him. But he asked and we will.”

  He leaned forward. “Well, we’ve got our hands full! She’s a spitfire, and pretty. You know what that’ll bring.”

  “She’s a Fontaine, clear as day, that is true. None of those children ever quiet longer than a moment. And, just like them, has the looks.” She rolled back on her heels, her mouth curling. “Well, all we can do is our best. Though, we best be better than that, keep her out of trouble.” She sighed.

  Clarence shook his head. They were to keep watch on Jaquita and keep her safe. In New York, he added. “Well, it’d be easier keepin’ the devil in hell than keep a ribbon on a girl like her.” He downed a cup of water, his insides tight and twisted. How the hell were they going to babysit a Fontaine? Disgusted, he rumbled off, swearing at every step and feeling older than his forty-two years…

  Chapter 2

  “Here, before God, in the presence of these witnesses, I consecrate my life to the destruction of slavery.”

  —John Brown vowed at the Congregational Church, Hudson, Ohio, 1837

  Two weeks later

  The rolling carriage stopped in the market place. The driver leapt off the perch with ease and lowered the step out in preparation for her exit. Jaquita pulled her gloves tighter, as if that was possible since they clung to her like a second skin, and took her reticule strings through her fingers right as the door swung open.

  “Market place, missy.”

  She gave the driver a smirk. He stood there, not a tall boy that was sure, but looked smart in his livery. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he gave her his hand to assist. She didn’t know this stable boy. And this was the first time in town since her arrival, but when Aunt Lila complained her supplies were low and how she would’ve sent a boy to market, Jaquita volunteered, claiming fresh air would lift her spirits.

  The last two weeks had been quite an eye-opener for her. Clarence eventually came around to respecting her as a free woman and a Fontaine. Most of the help, though sparse, gave her space. Aunt Lila ran the house, leaving her with little to occupy her time other than sleep, ride her horse that her father shipped up, and embroider along with other accepted tasks. Being a lady here was extremely boring.

  “Thank you, Alex. I shall return shortly.”

  The boy’s facial expression scrunched with uncertainty but he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jaquita chose to ignore that look. Perhaps he was going to say something but what? She refused to let the fear of intimidation that lingered in her head to take control. She was shopping for food. Why would anyone stop her? Running the flat of her palm down the sides of her belled skirt, she inhaled deeply as she could in a corset and steeled herself.

  As she walked down the street way, she noticed a few of the passersby glancing at her, a couple of the colored women glaring. It was no different than the house staff had been once Aunt Lila informed them of who she was. It appeared a well-dressed lady with dark skin seemed to be unusual but she knew it wasn’t. New York had more freedmen than the South did.

  “Now look at that! Thinkin’ she’s somethin’!” The Irish lilt caught Jaquita’s attention and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two women, dressed in working clothes. Their ire at her outfit amused and irritated her. But with determination in place, she didn’t give them a pause and continued to the first stall of greens for sale.

  “Whatcha want missy?” the elderly women working the stand stated.

  “I’ll take five bunches of that, two heads of…” she rattled her order off as she scanned the offerings. The growing season was in full swing, however she missed the abundance home had. Of course, market there wasn’t as big either, nor the population as dense.

  “That comes to five dollars.” The old woman spat on the ground behind the stand.

  “Why I never!” she exclaimed. “That’s highway robbery!”

  The worker shrugged. “You come dressed all fine then complain about how the war be gouging prices ain’t no concern of mine. You should git your mistress to stop dressing you like you got it or give you more greenbacks to spend.”

  Jaquita gasped. “You think I’m a slave?”

  The woman squinted at her. “Girl, I don’t care what you are. Just pay the money.”

 
But she didn’t have that. Her coinage maybe went a tad over a dollar. It hadn’t occurred to her she had to pay. “You don’t charge the house?”

  “This ain’t the South, ma’am,” she snarled. “New York too bloody big for me to go running to every dang house for money, if you git my meanin’.”

  Jaquita rolled her lips in, glancing again into her ridicule. This was crazy. Now she needed to get money out of the amount her father sent. At Bellefountaine, business accounts were set up so all the bills were sent. Here? Aunt Lila never told her it was to be paid there.

  “Here, Mattie,” a male voice behind her announced, his extended hand holding the money, reached to the sales lady.

  The old woman snatched the cash and reached over with the basket of produce.

  “Pardon me?” Jaquita squeaked, watching the scene as if she wasn’t there. Who was this man? And why was he paying for her food? She spun to glance at him. He was tall. She was almost at his chin. He had dark hair, a chiseled face, blue eyes and gave her a dazzling smile that entirely caught her off guard.

  He reached past her, took the basket of produce he paid for and offered it to her. “Problem solved.”

  She frowned as she took the basket, her ability to think escaping her at the moment. “Thank you, I believe, is in order.” She stepped out of the way for the next customer. “Who are you?”

  “A white knight?” He laughed as he paid for his goods. “Truly no pun intended.”

  She gave him a half grin at his humor. “Granted. But really, who are you?”

  “Thomas C. McHenry the Third.” He gave her a bow. “Though I go by Thomas. Never took a liking to Tom.”

  “And you shop the market early?” She scanned the area. “I don’t see many gentlemen dressed like you here.” He wore black wool pants with a dark gray frock coat and an emerald green waistcoat gleamed from underneath. Way too dressy for the street market…

  “Actually, I was on a run of sorts. Demands from powers that be made me long for a brief escape and I came for pastries.” His grin widened as he leaned closer and added as a whisper, “Sinful, I know, but at times, an indulgence I’ll take.”

  “Well, I must thank you again.”

  “You are welcome. Now, please excuse me but I must run. So nice to meet you, Miss?” He tilted his head.

  “Miss Fontaine.”

  “Excellent. Have a wonderful day, Miss Fontaine.” And in a second, he was gone.

  Jaquita rolled back on her heels with a blissful sigh. He was so handsome and so beyond her touch, because he was white…

  Thomas couldn’t erase the grin on his face, not even when he entered the double doors to McHenry & Phillips offices in the city. The image of that lovely Miss Fontaine danced before his eyes and he found himself quite smitten with her. Her complete surprise at him saving her day was so refreshing. A change from so many of the women he knew, who took it for granted that a man would help them.

  “Good morning, Cedric,” he greeted his law clerk as he breezed by.

  “And you as well, sir,” the young Black man replied, standing out of his desk chair, leaving his jacket on the back of his chair. Normally, Thomas would remind him he had to be suited in case a client—or his father—arrived, but today, he let it slide as he slid into his office chair at his desk near the window.

  “Sir, your father has already called for you.”

  Thomas leaned back against the padding on the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. The window seat he had so badly coveted for years had its downside. When opened, the filthy air of the factories blocks away slowly eked into the room. Add to that the mention of his overbearing father, Thomas struggled to keep his happy attitude.

  “I am sure I’ll catch him shortly,” he replied.

  “And Miss Lancaster sent you a note.” The clerk handed him the missive.

  That woman’s name instantly made his smile vanish. Allison Lancaster was a social butterfly, flittering all along New York’s rich neighborhoods, friending all she met, but when they turned their back, she was judgmental and gauged each by what they could do for her. Beautiful, she managed to get them to her, but her bite was often fatal, he decided. And he could make that call as she had maneuvered her way into being his fiancée, courtesy of his father.

  He took the note and tossed it to the stack of papers on his desk. He did notice how Cedric kept a neutral look at that, which was one of many reasons why he kept this talented young freedman with him.

  “Speaking of my father, where is he?”

  “Why, son, I am right here,” the booming answer replied. His father was standing behind Cedric, having sneaked into the room it appeared without either of them noticing.

  “Father, what a pleasant surprise.” It wasn’t but no point starting the debate he always had with the man. Inside himself, he steeled for the first volley while Cedric slipped out.

  Thomas McHenry II took a chair across from his son’s desk and leaned back, pulling a cigar out of his pocket with the lighting sticks not far behind. Thomas rolled his eyes. He hated the cigar smoke but his father never listened so he was thankful the window was open and the smell drowned in the factory scents.

  “I saw Allison stopped by to see you. Such a lovely girl. You two will have beautiful children.”

  Thomas’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps.”

  “Have you set the date?”

  “Father, we have not progressed that far,” he countered. Ever since this arrangement had been suggested, both his father and Allison had taken it as set in stone they’d marry. Thomas, though, had not.

  “There’s no time like the present,” the man stated as he lit the Lucky Strike and put it on the end of the cigar.

  “Father, please,” Thomas started. “You know Allison would never take a small ceremony or elope, and with the war, this seems a bit hurried. She’d have a guest list that I’m sure would overwhelm most of the city in chairs and such.”

  His father grimaced and leaned forward. “It’s a good match, Thomas. One your mother and I both agree on.”

  That made him snort. “Great. Then you marry her.”

  “I will not take that type of attitude from you.”

  The tone made Thomas pull back. “I’ll retract that statement, sir.”

  His father’s lips twitched as he drummed his fingers along the chair’s armrests. “We must come to an understanding. I expect you will make a great statesman and manage this law firm long after I’m gone.”

  “Why did you not run for office, sir?”

  The senior Thomas inhaled. “I had a family to manage. Washington was not in the future for me, but I see it in yours.”

  “Perhaps. If it helps in abolishing slavery.” Thomas stood firmly on that.

  “A worthy cause, that is for sure. Just do not close yourself off to those prelates on that. They are a radical group and not worthy of your notice.”

  Thomas glared at his father. They were both part of the abolitionist movement, members of the Albany Society, though his father did not attend the events after the first one. Instead, he contributed toward it. Thomas, though, definitely participated in all the rallies and attended the lectures, the need to make a change coursing through his veins.

  “Instead, dear boy, work on your marriage and your run for office. Then we’ll discuss the anti-slavery people.” And on that note, the man left, right as Allison appeared at the door with a huge grin on her face.

  Thomas bit back a groan as Allison leapt in.

  “Good morning Thomas! I happened to be back in the area, so thought I’d stop in and see if you got my message.” She sat primly on the chair his father had just vacated, her hands clasped in her lap.

  He gave her a hard look. Allison Lancaster was the daughter of his father’s best friend, a man who was not only a lawyer but a politician. A Senator in Congress, if Thomas recalled correctly. Allison was his only daughter, well educated for a lady and in fact, just returned from a finishing school in France, his father told him. Sh
e was eight years his junior, making her nineteen. She was tall, a wisp of a girl with a waist that rivaled any wasp he’d ever viewed. Her blond hair was coiled on her head in a pinned down masterpiece he was sure, though her bonnet hid the bulk of it. The flowers, ribbon and lace that peeped out of the brim around her face framed her face in the latest in style of fashion. Her green and white striped day dress with her cream-colored shawl also fit for the upper New York business district and its outlying mansions. She’d never worry about lacking funds for shopping, a voice in the back of his head murmured and that made him snort.

  She sat patiently, waiting, when he realized she mentioned her message. The note he had tossed aside.

  “Good morning, Miss Lancaster. No, I have not had the privilege of reading it.”

  “Posh, you know me well enough to call my Allison.”

  He smiled. Of course, she’d jump to intimate form of address. “Miss Lancaster, at this point of the day, priority claims the moment.”

  She sighed. A flash of anger flared in her eyes but quickly vanished when she smiled again. “Tsk tsk, so it is. I invited you to a soiree I’m hosting next Saturday. I do so hope you can make it.”

  He leaned back. It was Tuesday and she was on the edge of her seat over an invitation. “I will have to check my calendar, though it sounds delightful.”

  Her face brightened. “Fantastic! I will see you there! Now I must fly! Tootle-do!” And she was gone.

  He sank into his chair. Marriage, shackled to her, would kill him!

  Chapter 3

  “As for whipping, a slave don’t get whipped according to his crime, but according to the ambition of his master.”

  —Fugitive slave Lewis Clark reported; Ambition referring to the master’s disappointment/realization that his ‘perfect slave’ was not real.