by Tara Johnson
“What are you doing here?”
“Me?” She tried to pull free, but he held her fast. “I’m not the one on trial here. Buying children as if they were chickens or sows at market?”
“Please, Miss Piper, I need to know. What are you doing here?”
She seethed. “If you don’t release me at once, I shall be forced to scream.”
“If you scream, I shall be forced to kiss you to keep your silence.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She must have sensed he would carry out the threat, for her muscles relaxed a fraction under his hold. “If you must know, Father and I received word my brother was badly injured and requested us to retrieve him home. He’s here in Richmond.”
So that explained it.
“If I let you go, do you promise to keep quiet?”
Her jaw jutted forward, but she gave a terse nod.
With slow movements, he uncurled his fingers and released her. She stepped away, her blue eyes narrowed to slits of ice.
“How could you?”
“How could I what?”
“Go to an auction house and buy people made in God’s image, as if they were chattel? That poor child.” She choked then, her eyes filling with tears, and his chest twisted.
How he wished he could tell her. Comfort her. Unburden himself of the truth. He steeled his softening heart. It would jeopardize everything.
“You bought him and then sold him again without so much as a blink.”
“You stumbled upon something you know nothing about.”
“I know you’re a monster.” Her words found their mark. Monster, trash, rubbish. He’d been called all of it before. His heart had grown scarred and jaded with the old barbs. Yet hearing it from her lips, his soul gave a cry of anguish.
Stiffening, he stretched to his full height. “Go home. Forget what you saw.”
“Forget? How can I forget?”
He ground his jaw, yearning to tell her the truth.
“Things are not always what they seem, Miss Piper.”
Cadence yanked at the sheets twisting around her legs. The stale, warm air of the narrow room stifled her breath. Far more troubling was the thought of the slave child helplessly shoved from hand to hand. The poor waif had made no protest.
And Dr. Ivy . . . why had she ever thought him to be a man of honor?
Heat rolled through her middle once again. Sleep would never come at this rate.
A large moon cast silver rectangles through the boardinghouse windows. The pewter glow lent enough guidance for her to find her robe and don its modest protection. She could do nothing about Dr. Ivy’s betrayal or the poor child’s fate except pray, but at least she could be a help to her father. He might appreciate a break from his nighttime vigil.
She slipped down the hallway, her bare feet padding against the wooden floor with light slaps. As she approached Tate’s room, the low murmur of masculine voices drifted through the cracked door. Father and Tate were up at this hour? She leaned close, her ear to the gap.
“It hasn’t been the same without you, Son.”
“I’m sorry for all I’ve put you through. I thank God you’ve had Cadence. She’s been both son and daughter to you.”
Father’s sigh was deep enough to extinguish a candle. “She’s a good girl and has taken excellent care of me since your mother passed.” Father’s gentle sobs rent the air then. “But it’s been you my heart has longed for. My son . . .”
Cadence stumbled backward, her heart throbbing.
“But it’s been you my heart has longed for. . . .”
She pressed her fist to her trembling lips as salty tears filled her mouth. She hadn’t been enough. She was never enough. Not for Mother. Not for Father. Not for Dorothea Dix. Not for anyone. The truth shredded her heart, clawing its way up her throat.
“You should not expect much from her.”
The phrenologist’s sharp admonition rose up in her memory. Father had pleaded with the physician.
“Can nothing be done?”
“A French doctor, Hervez de Chegoin, has proposed that stammering occurs because the affected person’s tongue is too short or incorrectly attached to his or her mouth. Surgeries are one means to provide relief, although a number of patients have bled to death from the procedure.” The phrenologist had sniffed. “I myself believe it to be a deficit of mental acuity. There is no cure.”
Cadence’s chest squeezed as the realization stabbed afresh: Father’s attitude had changed toward her from that day forward.
A sob rent her chest as she fumbled down the hallway and flung herself on the lumpy bed, crying until the piercing pain dulled into a quivering ache and dawn’s light turned the inky darkness to crimson once again.
Joshua leaned against the building beside Lumpkin’s Jail, rolling a nickel between his knuckles, keeping his head ducked low underneath his hat. This costume was altogether different from his clothes of yesterday. He couldn’t risk being recognized. Not after buying little Thomas . . . even if he had used a false identity to do so.
He eyed the group of men hastening into the building. Evil vipers. The auction would begin soon, judging by the stream of visitors. Minutes later, the raucous calls of bidders bellowed through the building’s frame. Time for the performance to begin.
Pulling out a deck of cards, he slid the nickel into his pocket and flicked the deck from one hand to the other like the wide pump of an accordion. He flashed a bright grin and let his voice boom over the people passing through the crowded street.
“Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and try your luck. As the demon Yankees oppress our rights, our children grow hungry. Try your hand at making a nickel or two. Bread in their stomachs or a drop of candy to sweeten their tongues.”
Children slowed to stare, tugging their mothers’ hands. Men and women alike paused to watch him. A young maiden turned his way and he winked, causing her to blush.
“You, miss. Mightn’t you care for a pretty new ribbon?”
Her cheeks dusted pink, but the vixenish gleam in her eyes told him she was not as innocent as she seemed.
“I have no money with which to play.” Her Southern accent dripped honey.
Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulled it back out with ease and moved his fingers to her ear, wiggling his hand with a flourish. The nickel appeared at the end of his fingertips, and the gathering crowd gasped. Her green eyes rounded as the crowd clapped.
Joshua bowed and offered a rakish grin. “Now you have money to play, do you not?” He fanned out the deck of cards facedown. “Pick a card, but do not show it to me. Memorize it well.”
She removed one from the stack of pasteboards. As she studied it, he stacked the remaining cards with a quick scoop and split the deck in half.
“Place your card facedown here.”
She followed the instructions. He smiled to himself, remembering the card in the stack before hers was the queen of spades. Wiggling his eyebrows, he began dropping cards on the whiskey barrel, turning over an occasional card to keep the crowd wondering. When he found the queen of spades, he knew hers was next.
With a grin, he held up the two of hearts. “Is this your card?”
Her jaw dropped open. “Incredible!”
The crowd murmured in awe as he bowed. “Anyone here care to best me for a nickel? I assure you it can be done.”
Man after man came forward. On occasion, Joshua purposefully fumbled to keep people gambling. His pockets were soon jingling with coinage. From the corner of his eye, he spied a potbellied man striding from the auction house, his buttoned vest straining. George Proctor. Joshua had heard the odious man bragging yesterday that he intended to buy another slave girl to warm his bed, but this . . . Disgust coated Joshua’s tongue. The mite walking meekly behind him, bound by wrist cuffs, wasn’t more than ten at best.
He must act quickly. “You, sir! You!”
Proctor turned his way and glared, the sun g
linting off his bald head. “You calling me, boy?”
Joshua smirked. “That I am. Care for a gentlemanly wager?”
Proctor sneered. “I have better things to do with my time.”
“I understand if you don’t have the courage for it. It’s a man’s game, after all.”
The crowd around them snickered. Some whistled low. Proctor’s round face flushed red. He ambled forward, the girl meekly trailing behind. His gaze raked the whiskey barrel and pasteboards. “I suppose I have enough time to teach a guttersnipe a thing or two. What’s the wager?”
Joshua flashed his teeth in an effort to both charm and rile. “Whatever pleases you, sir.”
Lifting his nose in the air, Proctor pulled a bill from his pocket and laid it atop the barrel. People gasped. Joshua fought the urge to smirk. A twenty-dollar Confederate note. The man was feeling proud of himself today. Like a peacock . . . either that, or terribly insecure. The two extremes were odd bedfellows.
Joshua whistled. “That’s a heavy bet, sir.”
“If you’re not man enough for it—”
Joshua raised his hand. “No, no. I asked you for a wager, and I’m a man of my word.” He grabbed the deck and shuffled, keeping his eyes trained on Proctor’s beady stare, though his concentration stayed on the tiny girl chained behind him. What possible future would she have in Proctor’s house? Misery, anguish, death.
Joshua’s gaze snagged on Proctor’s black lapel. A gold pin gleamed in the light. The carved image of a snake coiled into a circle.
Snakes . . .
What was it about the image that triggered something sinister in his memory? He shook away the wayward thought.
“Pick a card, but don’t let me see it. Memorize it.”
Men whispered around them while he shuffled. He lifted the stack and noted the card facing up. Ten of diamonds. “Place your card here.”
Proctor returned it, and Joshua repeated the same trick he’d used on the others. He pulled a card up for all to see. “Jack of clubs. Is this your card?”
Proctor’s face mottled a ghastly hue of scarlet when the crowd whooped. He banged his fist on the table. “Impossible!”
An onlooker chuckled. “He’s good, Proctor. Been beating us off and on for the better part of an hour.”
The bulbous slave owner fumed, spittle flying from his mouth. “I demand a chance to win my money back!”
“Of course.” Joshua waved his hand. “What else have you to bet? I’m happy to oblige if you’ve more Confederate notes you’d like to be rid of.”
Men laughed uproariously. Proctor patted his pockets and searched the linings, finding naught save a few paltry coins. He growled. “I’ve nothing else.”
Joshua tsked. “Spent it all on the girl, did you?” He snapped his fingers. “Say, there’s a thought. Wager the girl. If I win, I keep her. If you win, you keep her, the twenty you’ve already lost, and bragging rights that you beat the best pasteboard player east of the Mississippi.” Laughter peppered the air.
“But I paid eighty for the girl!”
Joshua shrugged. “Makes no never mind to me. I can walk away now a much richer man either way. Your choice.”
Indecision warred on Proctor’s face before his pride took over. “Fine!”
People swarmed around them, chattering excitedly. The bait had been cast and the fish was on the hook. All Joshua had to do was reel him in. While he shuffled the pasteboards, a man walked up to Proctor’s side and whispered in his ear. Had he slipped something into the slave owner’s hand? Joshua narrowed his eyes.
His palms were damp as he spread the deck out in its facedown position. “Pick a card, but do not let me see it. Memorize it.”
Proctor took his card, but a smug gleam shone in his narrow eyes. Something was wrong. Unease gnawed Joshua’s gut. He folded the deck and divided it. “Place your card here.”
Proctor’s gloat had already begun, and the game had not yet concluded. Had the man given Proctor an extra card to throw Joshua off the trick?
Sweat trickled down his back as the crowd watched with bated breath. Slowly he counted out the cards, flipping some over, dropping others facedown. What should he do? He’d all but lost his chance to save the slave girl from Proctor’s cruel grip. His eyes roved over the onlookers and froze.
Miss Piper’s blue-eyed gaze stared back. Confusion, disgust, concern . . . all of it warred in her lovely face.
His stomach soured. Not once, but twice she’d seen him playacting. He didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the absurdity of it. He’d wanted to keep her at arm’s length and surely he’d accomplished it. No doubt she thought him the vilest human being alive.
Proctor hissed, “Quit stalling!”
There was only one option before him, and it was not defeat. Joshua slowly held up a single card, but instead of offering his standard question—“Is this your card?”—he flung the entire deck in Proctor’s face. Pasteboards flew in every direction. Joshua lunged forward, scooped up the slave girl, and ran with all his might. Shouts and cries of confusion rang all around him.
“Get him!”
The waif quaked in his arms as he ducked into an alley. Feet pounded behind him. Proctor’s furious bellows of outrage receded as Joshua sprinted between buildings. His pulse thudded in his ears. Turn left, right. His legs burned as he fought for breath, weaving his way through alleys. This was not the shortest way to meet Zeke, but it was better than being caught. The girl clutched the lapel of his jacket and whimpered.
“I’ll keep you safe. You have my word.”
They were close now. He turned and ran down a long alley, nearly tripping over a broken bottle. Zeke was waiting at the end, the wagon ready.
He breathed against the girl’s neck. “Do you know the man I took you from was a bad man?”
She nodded, her eyes large.
“The man up ahead is a good man. He will carry you someplace safe. You must crawl in the back of his wagon to the secret box and remain quiet. Don’t make a peep. Can you do that?”
She nodded again.
“Good girl.”
He slowed just long enough to open the secret compartment of the wagon and urge the girl inside. She gave him a questioning look for only a moment before wordlessly crawling inside.
He offered a tight smile and whispered, “God be with you, little one.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”
He spun to see Miss Piper sprinting toward him, panting like a caged animal, her dark hair slipping from its pins, eyes blazing.
With a growl, he closed the compartment and Zeke snapped the reins of the horses, jerking the wagon from the alley and emerging into the bustling street. Hopefully, toward freedom.
Miss Piper stomped up to him. Shouts of angry men drew closer. He yanked the hat from his head and removed the shabby coat, praying it was enough to cause the irate men to pass him by. He stuffed the costume in a discarded crate and turned to face her wrath.
“Absconding with a child! Wha—?”
He grabbed her arms. “I can explain, but now isn’t the time. You’re in danger. Come with me.”
He attempted to pull her along, but she jerked her hand free, standing her ground.
“Who do you think you are? I’ll not allow you to kidnap me as you did that poor girl. If my—”
The shouts grew ever closer. He growled. “Hush! Or I’ll be forced to silence you myself.”
“I’d like to see you try, you brute!”
Pounding feet would burst down the darkened alley any moment. With no other alternative, Joshua grabbed Miss Piper and pulled her toward him, crashing his mouth against hers.
She squirmed only a moment, then stilled, as did he. She was sweet and soft, tender and tantalizing. His heartbeat raced in his chest and he let his hold shift, moving his hands to feel the length of her back, the gentle curves, the silky threads of her hair.
Sweet saints above, she was heaven. The feel of her beneath his fingertips set his b
lood on fire.
A flurry of bodies rushed by, ignoring both of them, no doubt thinking he was a drunk enjoying the lewd pleasures of a soiled dove. Miss Piper didn’t even seem to notice, for she was not only allowing his kisses but was kissing him back, her fingers roving through his hair, and—
She jerked away with a gasp. Cool air rushed between them. His breath was ragged as he stared at her swollen lips. Her chin trembled and he knew she understood. The kiss had been a diversion.
Self-loathing flooded every pore of his wretched body. “I—I’m sorry. I had to quiet you.”
Even in the shadows, he could see the flush staining her cheeks.
“You most assuredly accomplished that.”
He rubbed his eyes and paced. How had this happened? He’d never meant to drag her into this. Never meant for anyone to know. He braved a glance. She was staring at him, her expression fearful.
“Who are you?”
He sighed. “I’ll tell you everything, I promise, but it’s not safe here.” He held out his hand. “Come with me and I’ll explain.”
She blinked at his outstretched hand and hesitated. Would she judge him and find him lacking? It had been so all his life. He’d not blame Miss Piper if she did the same.
Still, a spark of delight flamed to life inside his chest when she nodded before slipping her slender fingers inside his.
“Let us make haste.”
Chapter 11
PERSPIRATION GLUED CADENCE’S BODICE to her skin. The spring day was not overly warm, but chasing a surgeon through the streets of Richmond had heated her body in an unexpected way. As had his kiss.
Her face flushed hot at the memory of his embrace.
Stop!
She studied the man walking beside her through the Richmond cemetery, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He still looked warily at their surroundings as if waiting for some unforeseen foe to jump him. It had been over an hour since he’d managed to weave them safely away from the heart of Richmond to the relative quiet of a secluded cemetery. What had Dr. Ivy gotten himself into?
Father was likely worried sick. Twice now she’d gone to retrieve medicine from the apothecary and twice Dr. Ivy’s horrifying behavior had disrupted her. He and Tate would be wringing their hands.