by Gina Danna
“Will you attend the Anti-Slavery Ball Saturday?”
Jaquita rolled her lips inward. She’d seen the invitation. “I hadn’t decided.” That was a safe answer, mainly because it was the truth.
“I’d be so honored if you did. It is a big fund raiser for the Society and heaven knows, we need it for the fight to set your people free.”
He looked so begging, pleading her to go. But her insides were torn. How was she to explain it? She’d never really seen nor felt enslaved, though even to think that was wrong. So since she couldn’t feel the pull, she’d ignored the Society that made her uncomfortable. And yet, the look in his eyes, so hoping she would go, and hopefully, he’d be there. That made her excited and nervous all at once.
“I hadn’t decided.”
“I’ve had a dress ordered for you.”
Surprised, she frowned. “Since when?”
He snorted, fighting back a smile and losing. “Well, we were out shopping today, and did go through a couple of seamstress’s establishments.”
Shocked, she dropped her fork. She couldn’t breathe. It was like the air was turned thin and she was enclosed in a box. Quickly, she reached for the fan that she’d set next to her plate and fanned herself rapidly. Trying to calm herself, she barely heard his chair screech as he pushed it back and raced to her side.
“Are you all right?” he asked, touching her forehead.
“Yes,” she finally muttered as embarrassment took control and her breathing returned. “I’m just surprised. You’ve done enough for me as it is.”
“Think of it as a gift. A gift to help a beautiful lady and one I’d love to have on my arm, to twirl about the dance floor.” He kissed the back of her hand. The touch of his lips sparked a fire deep inside her.
“Yes,” the answer came without her realizing it. Blinking hard, she continued. “I will go and thank you for the gift.”
“Fabulous!” He lifted her out of the chair and spun her in the space behind the table.
It was a quick turn and his jovial spirit made her laugh. Once around and then they stopped. She looked at him, realizing she didn’t understand him at all. The twinkle in his eyes amused her, enticed her and scared her, all at once. Then he did the unthinkable. He swooped her up into his arms and kissed her hard.
Her heart pounded and she molded against his body. Wrapped in his embrace, she mewled softly, giving in to his request to devour her mouth. The moment she opened her lips, he growled. As he kissed her, she took all of him in and found her body begging for more.
Then, he pulled away from her lips and gently let her down. They both panted, breathless, their eyes glued on each other.
“Miss Jaquita,” he started formally, inhaling deeply. “I was told your dress should be ready tomorrow. She will come here for the final fitting.”
He stepped back, tugging at her hand till the last second when heels were heard coming down the hallway toward them.
“I’m glad you stayed for dinner,” she stated loud enough for the oncoming servant and the hint it was better he left.
He winked at her. “Thank you. Till I see you again.” And he was gone.
She sunk into the chair, finding herself confused. Who is this man?
Chapter 11
“Our new government is founded on the opposite idea of the equality of the races…Its corner stone rests up the great truth that the Negro is not equal to the white man.”
—Confederate Vice President Alexander H. Stephens, 1861
Larissa walked around the grand room again, checking for another time that the flowers and garland were set right, candelabras sufficiently lit and the string band’s staging area was arranged. This was the largest fund raiser the Society had set for the year and it had to be perfect, in order to keep funds coming, or that was the way she viewed it. The price to attend was four times larger than last year, and with the band playing for free, she hoped they made a lot to fund the cause.
“Larissa, dear, it is set perfectly,” her husband confided her.
“Darling, with the upcoming election and what has happened out west with Kansas, we desperately need the money. I need this to be a night to remember to keep it coming in.”
He laughed. “You worry too much. The movement has picked up steam, especially since the passage of that abhorrent bill.”
The Runaway Slave Act had been enacted in the North as an answer to get popular sovereignty in Congress, the idea of the incoming territories to determine if they were free or slave states. The North had been all for it, convinced the new territories like Kansas and Nebraska, would come in free. The South grumbled, demanding the number of senators remain equal between the north and south and that this act would outweigh the balance. Allowing Southern slave catchers to come north to the free states to capture runaways softened the blow, at the expense of the anti-slavery citizens, some of who housed the runaway slaves. Now, they’d be charged with hiding a fugitive and successfully closing some of the safe places for them. It only made Larissa scream, which did nothing helpful. The Society, though, could.
“Yes, we could,” she muttered, rearranging another leaf in the display. “If we all agreed and got along.”
“We all agree slavery is wrong,” he countered.
She sighed, shaking her head but looked at him with a weary half-smile. “Perhaps, but there are too many with other ideas.”
The musicians arrived, taking their spots right as she and Mr. Wainwright positioned themselves near the entrance. He picked up her hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’ll be more interested in the celebrating with you after the party,” he whispered.
She flushed right as their doorman announced the first guests. It’d be a long night before he got his wish, she thought.
Jaquita fiddled with her skirt folds again, trying to calm her nerves, which had suddenly frayed. When the carriage pulled up to the Wainwrights mansion, and all the carriages pooled around the front with the lights streaming from the windows, she realized this ball wasn’t casual in a way. Not that she thought it would be, however, the numbers surprised her and made her anxious.
When the carriage driver opened the door, it took her a minute to swallow the lump in her throat, gather her wrap and reticule and fan, taking a handful of her long skirt to clear the way to step out. As the door closed behind her and the front door opening to the ball glared in front of her, thoughts of flight came to her head. No, she’d not flee! Thomas had given her a new dress for this, begged her to go, so she would and thank him for it personally.
At the door, the butler didn’t frown but simply asked her name and directed her forward.
“Miss Fontaine,” he announced loudly as she walked into the ballroom. She cringed as many glanced her way.
“Oh, Jaquita!” Mrs. Wainwright took her hands and squeezed them. “Don’t look so worried. James always announces the guests for events like this.” Her warm smile gave Jaquita a moment to catch her breath and return the look.
“I take it you haven’t been to many formal balls?” Mr. Wainwright asked.
“No, not really. There were a few, usually part of house parties that lasted for days. Everyone knew each other, so formal announcements were not given that I heard. I, of course, didn’t get to go.”
She caught Mrs. Wainwright jab him in the ribs. “Duane, please. You realize the South is a bit more spread. I should’ve remembered that myself. Forgive me and welcome to tonight’s festivities.”
“Thank you and please,” she begged. “I will recover.”
The hostess frowned. “You came alone? I thought—”
“Miss Jaquita!”
They turned at the call. It was Jeremiah and he was quickly walking towards them.
“Please forgive me. I was planning on escorting you here, but my plans got disarrayed.” His brows furrowed as he gave her the complex expression. “If you will, I’d be honored to have the first dance.” He held out his hand for her.
Jaquita f
rowned, not recalling even a word from him of escort. She thought it would be Thomas. She opened her mouth but never got a word out.
“What a delightful recovery! Yes, please, you two go and dance. Duane and I will join you shortly.” Mrs. Wainwright waved them off as another attendee arrived.
“Come, I will take you from this madness,” Jeremiah whispered, leading her to the dance floor. They added onto a grouping, making the four couples complete for the dance right as the music started. “This is an easy dance,” he whispered. “Just follow along.”
It took Jaquita a few steps to catch onto the movements as they roved up the line and back down. When she met him on the third part of the dance, in the few seconds they had, she frowned.
“You appear a bit frazzled, sir.”
He snorted. “Runs at night can do that.”
His answer made no sense. Runs? It puzzled her but before she could ask, they broke apart to dance intricately down the line before meeting again.
“You ran? Who runs at night?”
“The Railroad,” he answered and again, they separated. Still confused, she barely made the steps right because her mind wanted him to explain further.
“Will you explain yourself?” she murmured on the next meeting.
He only grinned.
Soon the dance ended and as they bowed and curtseyed, she begged him to elaborate.
“What railroad? You work for the railway?” She wanted to stomp her foot but refrained as he took her to the punch table.
Handing her a cup, he replied, “No, not the railroads. I help the Underground line.”
She frowned. “The runaway slave train?”
Now he laughed. “Yes, the runaway slave train. Nicely put.” He raised his glass like a toast.
“That’s dangerous! Why would you do that?” She’d heard faintly of the Underground Railroad. Down South, the mere suggestion was buried but the slaves whispered of it. “And with the Fugitive Slave Law, you could get killed doing so!”
“Shhhhh,” he took her hand. “I can be pretty sly when I need to be. And it is a rewarding experience.”
She frowned. “I don’t see how.”
Jeremiah frowned as he took a sip of the punch. “Gaining freedom after a life as a slave is celebratory. And everyone deserves to be free.”
Jaquita raised her brows as she downed her punch. The cherry-flavored drink was too sweet, she decided. Putting her glass down, she realized Jeremiah was glaring at her.
“You act as if freedom is nothing.”
“Oh, heavens, no.” She brushed aside his remark. “I’m sure whoever you helped is grateful. I just never seen nor heard of such commotion at home.”
Jeremiah stood speechless. He’d spent most of his time helping others of his kind achieve escape from the bonds of slavery, knowing that he risked his life and freedom itself in doing so and it was worth that risk. But this woman, a Southern mulatto, raised by her white father, appeared indifferent to the system. How? Why?
It took him a minute to curb in his anger. Blowing up at her here would get him nowhere. He had to keep his focus on her wealth and how that’d help the cause. And find a way to curb the dawning attraction.
“I have a hard time believing you’ve missed this. Nor do I believe you lived in bliss down there in Louisiana. You do realize the worst slave market is in New Orleans, right? That all the slaves sold there have a soul death.”
She startled, her brows furrowing. “Soul death?”
“Yes, when they get thrown on the marches south, from whatever circumstances, it means they’ll never return, never see the people they’ve grown to love. Their ‘home’ with fellow bondsmen.”
She looked away. “That seems a bit over much.”
He stood there, shock ravaging through his veins. Susan Douge believed the girl had buried the lies she was told and hid from her memories of slavery. All he could determine was she was right and it made him sick. How could he make Jaquita understand her ‘family’ was no better than any of the others? Apparently, she’d been sheltered from the worst, because who could hide that?
Steeling his shoulders, he figured it was time he helped her move the rocks blocking her memories. Taking her glass, right as the string band started the chords for another dance, he said, “Jaquita, I—”
“Miss Fontaine, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Jeremiah and Jaquita looked up. Anger surged through Jeremiah as Thomas McHenry was at her side, taking her hand to kiss.
“Dance with me,” he offered. Then he saw Jeremiah. “You don’t mind if I steal her away?”
Still furious, Jeremiah realized now was not the time to destroy her evening and maybe never help the Society. Saved from her past, Jeremiah wished he could save her from this vermin. He shook his head.
“No, we had just had a bit of punch. Miss Jaquita, I’ll be here later, if you so desire.”
“Thank you Jeremiah.” She smiled, right at McHenry as he led her away.
Jeremiah’s vision narrowed. He should warn her of the up-and-coming senator, that he wasn’t what he appeared to be, despite his aid to the cause. A cause she appeared indifferent to…His blood starting to boil, on top of being worn out from helping that runaway, he went to get a real drink and plan how he would tell her the truth.
Jaquita couldn’t understand why Jeremiah was getting so worked up, though he’d done his best to hide it. He helped runaway slaves, that she accepted, but what exactly was driving his temper, one he also worked to hide miserably.
“You look beautiful.”
Thomas’s words caught her attention and she smiled. “Thank you. Your gift is very lovely.”
“Ah, it beckoned your name. That silk screamed it when we walked past the shop. How could I deny it?” His eyes sparkled off his smile and it made her insides tighten.
The music played was a waltz and when Thomas spun her around the room in his arms, her blood rushed. There was something about this man that caught her attention and the longer she was with him, the stronger it became.
Then, he stumbled. It was slight, but enough to catch them both off-guard.
“Apologies,” he whispered. “I lost count in the steps, your beauty demanding my full attention.”
That made her laugh. “You, sir, are an oaf, in the disguise of a man who wants to dance.”
“An oaf? Hmmmm.” He bent a little closer. “Be careful. Oafs eat pretty ladies for dessert.”
A bubble of laughter spilled out of her lips. “Duly noted, sir.”
As the music faded at the end of the dance, he slowly turned them in the final steps, drawing her closer. Her hands rested on muscled shoulders, and now, her breathing became harder as she realized his chest was rock hard, demonstrating how he was strong enough to protect her. She blinked. Why would she think that, she wondered.
He pulled her hand to his lips at the end of the dance and asked in an enchanting tone, “Where do I take you now? Did you come with that stout freedman or were you escorted by another?”
“Why does that matter?” Her heart was racing so fast, she was sure he knew.
“Oh, my dear Miss Jaquita, the rules are very clear. I must return you from where I collected you and that must surely be with another, as a woman as pretty as you should not be left alone to the wolves that lurk near by.” His brows rose as the skin around his eyes wrinkled.
“I’m afraid I created my own dilemma,” she answered, finding herself playing with the handkerchief she’d pulled from her pocket hidden deep in the skirt. “I came unchaperoned.”
“Oh, dear, no! That can not be abided. I shall offer my services in the wake of your missing ones.”
“I couldn’t ask you—”
“I insist.” Taking her to the side of the room, he hailed a servant and obtained two of the wineglasses.
She realized she had pulled her fan out and started cooling herself. With him present, though, she doubted that’d ever happen.
“Here, my lady.”
She smiled and took the wineglass, bringing it to her lips slowly. Perhaps the alcohol would help calm her nerves, which at the moment, were dancing dangerously out of control.
“What of your party?” she asked in return.
“My party.” He took a sip out of glass. “I, too, came alone, though for a man, that isn’t an issue.”
It was then a trio came off the dance floor after a rousing gallop, and they were laughing over something, enough so they didn’t seem to notice Jaquita or Thomas and the gentleman of the group tried at the last moment to swerve past them but it was too late. Thomas couldn’t move fast enough to get out of their way. As the lady on the side of them bumped into Thomas, Thomas stumbled and his wine leaped from his glass and landed squarely on Jaquita’s skirts.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” the lady put her gloved hand over her mouth, horrified.
Thomas recovered from his near stumble and managed to catch the stemware before it fell to the floor, but its contents were gone. The red wine punch now left a lingering stain down the cream folds of Jaquita’s new gown.
“Jaquita, I’m so sorry,” he murmured, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket to try to stop the drip down the silk but it was too late.
The threesome steered away at Thomas’s suggestion, but Jaquita stood staring at the skirt, horrified and fascinated at the pattern the wine left on the fabric.
“We need to get you out of here,” he added.
“It is a disaster,” she managed to spit out. “I think the dress is ruined.” Her vision blurred. She fisted her free hand as despair wanted to take hold. His beautiful gift to her, this stunning cream and yellow silk ball gown now had a red-streak on her front left side. Red. She was on the verge of tears when he took her hand on his arm and turned them toward the door.
“Shhh darling,” he whispered, taking her hand and leading her toward the ballroom exit in the back.
Fighting not to cry and have tear stains on the bodice as well, she dabbed the corner of her eyes with the lacy handkerchief in her free hand. It took a minute to get it under control and she could see where he was taking her.