by Judith Pella
Elise shrugged and tried to return the smile. Then she gave Rowena a squeeze with her arm and brushed her cheek with a kiss before hiking from the clearing with Wade.
Elise started awake, but the bright light of day made her clamp her eyes shut again. Lying in the damp grass with only the single blanket to cover her and the baby, her body felt stiff and cold. Wade was snoring about four feet away. They were nestled in among thick bushes. A faint scent of jasmine wafted rather discordantly in the air.
She wondered what time it was. She was hardly adept at reading the sun, but it must be nine or ten in the morning. She and Wade had hiked nearly all night—six or seven hours at least—before halting, exhausted, just before daybreak. Wade said they shouldn’t travel by day, but Elise wondered what they would do all day. She didn’t think she would be able to go back to sleep on the hard ground. Even in seven hours they couldn’t be more than ten miles from the plantation. She wouldn’t feel safe until she’d put at least a hundred miles between herself and the Hearnes, perhaps not even then.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she looked about, wondering what could have disturbed her sleep. When she had fallen into slumber a few hours ago, she had been so tired she thought nothing would wake her. Then she remembered her dream. She had been crawling in the mud, covered head to toe with the oozing brown mess. But when she found a stream and jumped in to wash, she discovered the mud would not wash away. Her skin was stained permanently!
That was not the worst of the dream. She had become panicked at the sight of the dark skin and had begun to run. She ran until she thought her lungs would burst. Her heart was beating so fast it made her head throb, but she couldn’t stop. They were after her. The sound of baying bloodhounds kept coming closer and closer. That’s what must have finally awakened her. That horrible sound!
Thank God it was but a dream.
She started to lift the blanket to check on Hannah, who was snuggled close to her. All at once Elise froze and her heart skipped a beat. Was it her imagination? Could her dream be coming true? Or had reality imposed, in fact, upon her dreams? The sound was becoming distinct now, and she was certain it was no longer her imagination. Now it was a waking nightmare.
Bloodhounds!
The sharp, persistent baying was clear. Panic seized Elise. She threw aside the blanket and grabbed the baby, waking her roughly. Then she sprang to her feet. But something made her pause. It was madness to take off in blind flight. She must think first. But Hannah started to cry, making rational thought nearly impossible.
Wade. She needed him now more than ever. She ran to where he still lay snoring. How could he sleep at a time like this? Shaking him hard, she bit back the strong urge to scream his name, to simply scream anything.
“What the—?” He mumbled in a sleep-thickened voice.
“Wade, there’s bloodhounds! We’ve got to get away.”
“Huh?”
“Listen!” She did scream now. Hannah was crying so hard, Elise had to make herself heard over the din.
Even over the sound of the crying baby the hounds could be heard. They were getting closer.
“They found us. I gotta get out of here,” Wade cried.
“Where can we go?”
“We? No, I can’t help you no more.” He jumped up, his eyes wild with fear.
“You can’t leave me now,” Elise pleaded.
“I’m truly sorry. . . .” But he said no more and took off at a dead run in the opposite direction from the sound of the dogs.
Elise couldn’t blame him. He could get into as much trouble as she for helping her escape. And he had a far better chance of getting away. Quickly she gathered her belongings. She would have left them, but if she did get away, she would need the food and the blanket. Besides, there was no sense leaving evidence of her presence. It amazed her, however, that she could think so clearly with her head throbbing and her knees shaking so badly she could barely stand. But she had to do more than stand. She had to run.
Dashing off in generally the same direction as Wade, she veered slightly to the left of the path he had taken to give him a better chance. She did not want him to get into trouble—not only for his own sake but also because it would implicate Rowena. Already she had lost sight of him and could barely hear his mad race through the woods. He undoubtedly could hear her, and so could her pursuers. Hannah would not quiet, and Elise could not stop to give her the one thing that would satisfy her.
Elise ran and ran, just like in her dream. But she could not get away from the loathsome sound of the dogs. At times she seemed to be surrounded by them, the sounds coming from several directions at once. Still she kept running, up hills and down, through thickets with briars that cut her painfully. Sloshing across a muddy creek, she slipped and nearly lost her hold on Hannah.
In a matter of minutes, she lost all sense of direction. She could be racing right back to the Hearne plantation, but she knew she could not stop, no matter where she ended up. She had to run. She had to make it. She had to be free again.
Groaning inwardly, she faced yet another hill. Where would she find the stamina to climb it? Her feet were like bricks, but she did not slow until halfway up the hill she tripped over a root and fell sprawling to the ground. Hannah tumbled from her arms, screaming. Elise frantically gathered the baby back into her arms, and with the child secured, she tried to stand, but a shooting pain forced her back down. She had turned her ankle in the fall.
The baying came closer. Shouts of men also ripped through the morning air.
“We’ve caught you! Give it up!”
Holding Hannah in one arm and clawing at grass and roots with her other hand, Elise crawled to the top of the hill, her eyes filling with debris and tears on the way up. Spitting grass and knuckling dirt from her eyes, she waited for her vision to clear. What met her sight made her drop her head to the ground in despair. The dogs were coming straight toward her, less than a hundred yards away.
CHAPTER
6
I DON’T BELIEVE YOU NEED THOSE.” William Hearne nodded toward the ropes that bound Elise’s wrists. “You won’t run away again, will you?”
He eyed Elise with that patronizing superiority he wore so well.
She shook her head. “Just make them give Hannah back.”
She and her captors were standing in the middle of the yard of the plantation house where the slave hunters had brought her after finding her on that hillside. One of them had taken Hannah and another had tied Elise’s hands and put her on a spare horse. It had taken less than an hour to ride to the plantation. She had been only five miles away when they had discovered her. What a pathetic escape she had attempted!
One of the men unbound her wrists and gave her the baby, who had not stopped crying since the chase. The poor child was red-faced and gasping for air. If the erstwhile escape had been harrowing for Elise, it had been torture for the innocent babe. She had not only been wrenched from her mother’s arms but had not had anything to eat all morning. Her captors had refused to allow time for that. Hannah calmed a little when she realized she was with her mother, but still she sobbed and hiccuped.
“I must feed her,” Elise said.
“There will be time for that in a few minutes,” Hearne replied.
“But she hasn’t—”
“Don’t sass the master!” one of her captors ordered, giving her a painful swat on the side of her head.
“That’ll be all,” Hearne said to the man. “Go by the overseer’s, and he will pay you for your services.”
The men left. It was nothing to them what Hearne did with his runaways, though Elise sensed they would just as soon have given her the whip in order to remind her of her place. But the Hearnes took great pride in the fact that they never whipped a slave. Elise hoped their intense animosity toward her did not encourage them to break that noble trend.
“Elise,” Hearne said, “this is Mr. Carter, your new owner’s lawyer.”
She had noticed the stranger sta
nding in the yard with Mr. Hearne. She had also noticed that Kendell was nowhere to be seen.
“Since it is still early, I’d like to take my leave with the girl as soon as possible.” Mr. Carter glanced distastefully toward Elise. “I don’t want to risk her running off again.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be best.” Hearne’s lips twitched in an insincere smile.
Just then Daphne Hearne stepped from the house. She made her way down the porch steps to join the group in the yard.
“I heard she was found.” Mother Hearne averted her eyes from Elise.
It was just as well, for Elise had defiantly opened her dress front and pressed Hannah to her breast. She no longer had a blanket to cover her with, but with the pathetic cries of her baby filling her ears, Elise cared little about propriety. If she was nothing more than a lowly slave, no one should care. If they did . . . well, it gave Elise a certain satisfaction to shock the lot of them.
Much to Elise’s surprise, when Mrs. Hearne did note the scene, she slipped off her shawl, marched up to Elise, and laid it across the baby. Elise lifted her eyes and met those of her mother-in-law.
“They wouldn’t let me feed her.” Elise’s words were tight, far from an apology.
Without a word, Mrs. Hearne returned to her husband’s side. Only then did Elise note that the men had stopped talking and were gaping at the scene. She restrained a self-satisfied smile.
“Mr. Carter,” said Daphne Hearne, “she will be well taken care of, won’t she?”
This comment was even more surprising than the offering of the shawl.
“Mr. Thomson knows the value of his property and treats it accordingly,” Carter answered rather evasively.
“It is just that . . . well, we have a certain fondness for the girl.”
Now Elise was more than surprised. She was dumbfounded. Was Mother Hearne having a change of heart? Was revenge not as sweet as she had hoped? Or was she merely trying to salve a seared conscience with a show of Christian concern?
“If you have doubts about parting with her,” Carter said, “Mr. Thomson might be induced into selling her—at a fair price. She is obviously valuable stock.”
“No . . . no.” Daphne’s previous words appeared to have been just for show after all. The last thing she wanted around was a constant reminder of her family’s shameful mistake. “Much to our regret”—Daphne’s syrupy tone could not have fooled the most naïve simpleton—“we feel it is best for all concerned to put some distance between the girl and us. It will be as much to her benefit as ours. She can start a new life. Perhaps Mr. Thomson has a nice young buck for her. And we can try to move ahead with our lives as well.” She then turned to Elise. “In that vein, you might wish to know Mr. Hearne has practically sealed the matter of an annulment. Our son will be free to marry properly and bear us white heirs.”
And that was all that mattered to Daphne. Elise’s freedom was of no consequence to her.
“You can be assured,” the lawyer was saying, “that Mr. Thomson has fine plans for the girl. She will be treated well, and I can assure you she will be a . . . house servant. She will have some decent clothes and be well fed, as will the child. Oh yes, a slave like this is merchandise to be well cared for.”
They spoke of her as if she were a breed mare. Not that women in general weren’t often spoken of in such a manner, but Elise felt deep inside that the words were true. This morning she had been hunted like an animal. Now she would be herded off and taken to a place not of her choosing to be fed and clothed and cared for . . . just like a beast. If she were lucky, it would be as a pampered kitten rather than a cow. She was no longer a person. Her only value now was in dollars and cents. It was useless to fight it. Escape was impossible.
“Then,” Carter was saying, “you have no objections to our leaving posthaste? I believe all the paper work is in order.”
“No objections at all. The sooner the better.” Hearne was cool, detached.
Elise wondered fleetingly about Kendell. What had he thought about his wife—his wife!—being hunted down like wild game? Quickly she banished such thoughts from her mind. She must forget about Kendell.
“Wilbur!” Hearne called to the stable slave. “Have Mr. Carter’s carriage hitched immediately.”
These words, the sheer immediacy of them, stirred Elise from her dumbness. “Please!” she appealed to her father-in-law, though she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was harder than she thought to completely crush the free human spirit within her. “Mr. Hearne, sir, would you do but one thing for me?”
“Well . . .”
“It isn’t much.” She turned pleading eyes upon him. “I want to get word to my father about my whereabouts. That isn’t asking too much, is it?”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”
“I doubt that would be possible,” Carter put in. “You see, after your father lost the house, I heard he left the country for Europe.”
“But how could he?” Elise’s despair mounted. “He had no money.”
“Dorian Toussaint is nothing if not resourceful. I could not divulge any details in mixed company of his means, but let us just say he did not depart alone.”
No, Papa was never alone. There were always women flitting in and out of his life. He had married again several years ago to the daughter of a rich northern banker, but when he gambled away her fortune, she left him. He didn’t marry again after that because the banker’s daughter refused to suffer the shame of a divorce. But that would not stop him from forming less permanent relationships with women.
It was futile to count on him for help. He loved her, she knew, but it was more than he could do to keep his own life in order. Even when Elise was a child, he had often gone off on his adventures, leaving her behind in the care of her nurse. If only Barbara were still alive, the free black woman who had cared for Elise since her birth. She would have found a way to rescue Elise. At least she would have been there to comfort her in her misery. But Barbara died last summer during a yellow fever epidemic.
Elise had no one but herself to count on, and it was clear what little power she had. Disheartened, she let the stranger take her away. At least she still had Hannah.
CHAPTER
7
REBEKAH SINCLAIR BEGAN HER LABOR the morning she and her family were to depart Natchez. The child was not due for another month, and Benjamin had prayed the child would wait until they had arrived in Texas.
That prayer was not to be answered, or at least God’s answer was otherwise. For some reason, He intended that the new Sinclair baby would enter the world in this dirty, squalid town. The hotel clerk was not pleased with the circumstance. A hotel was not for birthing babies. Benjamin heartily agreed. But what choice was there? He only hoped he would not be called upon to deliver the child himself. In Boston, of course, there had always been a doctor, or at the very least a midwife. But Benjamin pushed these thoughts from his mind, for they only encouraged those nagging doubts he worked so hard to suppress.
Instead, he left the hotel room, against Rebekah’s protests, to search for a doctor or a midwife. His search proved fruitless on both counts. But God in His mercy did not abandon Benjamin. As always, He provided a ray of hope in a desperate situation.
Unable to find the town doctor, Benjamin stopped at the steamship office to inform them that he and his family would not be on the morning ship. By God’s grace, the clerk, however unhappily, refunded Benjamin’s ticket money. Benjamin left the office absorbed in his worries, not watching where he was going. He nearly knocked over a man entering the doorway.
“I’m terribly sorry!” Benjamin reached out a hand to steady the fellow.
The man recovered quickly from his initial surprise. “Think nothing of it.” He smiled pleasantly.
“I was not watching my step. My mind was elsewhere.”
“No harm done.” The man proceeded to the desk and addressed the clerk. “I’m here to see if a shipment has arrived for me. Reverend Ezra Bancroft.”
Benjamin had not yet exited, and when he heard the man’s name, he stopped short and turned back.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said boldly. “Did you say Reverend Bancroft?”
“I did, sir.”
“My name is Benjamin Sinclair, Reverend Sinclair.” He thrust out his hand and was relieved when Bancroft took it warmly.
“A fellow man of the cloth! What a blessing!” Bancroft had a large mouth, so when his lips parted in a grin, it very nearly went from ear to ear. He was an older man, at least past fifty, with thin, graying hair, pink skin, and pale gray eyes covered with a pair of wire spectacles.
“I wondered if this town had a church,” Benjamin said.
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a church. I have been here only a few months, and there has been neither time nor money to build. We meet on Sunday in a saloon.”
“How terrible!”
“I am grateful to God that at least one day a week such a place can be washed with His presence.”
“Yes, yes. I suppose that is a way to look at it.” Benjamin didn’t know what more to say. He thought of Rebekah and wondered if this man had a wife. That would truly be a godsend. But even if the man was a minister, he was still a stranger, and Benjamin was reluctant to foist his troubles upon him.
Yet, if not this man, who? Benjamin swallowed his pride. “Sir, that is, Reverend Bancroft, I . . . I have a problem. . . .”
“Please, Reverend Sinclair, we have only just met, but we are brothers in Christ. If I can be of any assistance to you, I will gladly do so.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say. . . .”
“Tell me your problem.”
Benjamin would never cease to marvel at the wondrous provision of God. Reverend Bancroft did indeed have a wife, and eight hours after meeting Bancroft at the steamship office, Martha Bancroft delivered of Rebekah a small but healthy baby daughter. Rebekah wanted to name the child Leah. Benjamin knew the name meant “weary” and thus wanted to protest in favor of something more hopeful, but his wife looked so pale and weak that he did not have the heart to argue. Perhaps, too, that name would always be a reminder of the sacrifices made for the cause of Christ.