Swept Through Time - Time Travel Romance Box Set

by Tamara Gill

  “It is my hair that gives me away, miss. Otherwise, I could pass,” said Coffee, surprising Kathryn with her cultured accent. “I am at least three-quarters white, and possibly more.” At Kathryn's questioning glance she continued, “My father was a Charleston rice planter who took my mother against her will. Her mother had been similarly used. I never heard about my great-grandmother. I shouldn't say so to a young lady like yourself, but a great many slaves have white blood through such means.”

  “But it makes them no less slaves,” said Ryan.

  Kathryn felt an impotent rage boil up within her at the tale. She had considered herself a feminist for as long as she could remember. Slavery was evil enough, but that women could be routinely raped, while society turned a blind eye—!

  Ryan continued, “Isaiah here was already a free man when I met him in Charleston, and he still is, of course, but no one in Columbia knows it, as he has posed as my slave since we arrived. He will carry his free papers concealed for use in New York, or for any unforeseen emergency that might arise before they reach port.”

  “But won't they be looking for him by name?” asked Kathryn, fighting down her anger.

  “Yes, but we must hope that the news will not travel as fast as Isaiah and Coffee will, especially to the south.”

  Kathryn nodded, realizing that she'd been imagining the type of manhunt that was possible in her century, where information could be broadcast worldwide in an instant. Of course it would be easier to evade capture here in the past. But Ryan's next words showed her the error of that assumption.

  “It is a good thing the slave catchers were here only a month ago and are unlikely to be back before high summer. I don't like to think of what might happen if they were to set their bloodhounds on your trail. They'd have to start from my land, though, which I would never allow.”

  “Bloodhounds?” asked Kathryn faintly.

  “You didn't see them?” asked Ryan, his disgust clearly visible. “I thought the whole town turned out for the spectacle. They claim their dogs can track a runaway slave through swamp or stream, even on horseback. They are none too worried about keeping up with the hounds, either, which means a fugitive is as likely to be torn to shreds as returned to his master. Most reward notices read 'Dead or Alive.' Do you mean to say your father had no runaways for them to hunt down this time?”

  “He . . . he didn't mention it to me.” Kathryn felt ill from the pictures conjured up by his words. Abolitionist though he was, Ryan was a product of his age, hardened to the horrors of slavery as she knew she'd never be. “Will you live in New York?” she asked Coffee, anxious to change the subject.

  Isaiah answered, his accent broader than his wife's. “For a whiles, we might. Safer there than here, anyways, 'specially since we won't have a interested master paying for a search. Might be we'll go on to Canada, though. Can't no one touch us in Canada. It's a free country.”

  It's a free country. Kathryn had heard that phrase all her life, applied to the United States. But right now, nearly fifty years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, it wasn't free for everyone. Not yet.

  “We'll just do as the Lord directs,” said Coffee serenely. “He's taken us this far safely, and He'll not fail us.” She showed no trace of fear for what lay ahead, and Kathryn found herself envying the woman's steadfast courage born of faith.

  “The ship sails in just over three weeks, so we haven't much time,” Ryan broke into her thoughts. “Can you arrange to get the wig and gown by the day after tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Kathryn felt a thrill at being able to do her small part against slavery—a thrill that went beyond any she'd felt at her various protest rallies in college or even in Washington. This was a cause far more worth fighting for than any of the others. “How will I get them to you?”

  “I'll come to take you riding again the morning after next. If you can have the things in a bundle in the stables before I arrive, I'll take care of the rest.”

  Kathryn nodded, and Ryan turned to the others.

  “You'll be out of Columbia that afternoon and out of South Carolina in two more days. You already know the best routes to Savannah, Isaiah. Coffee will do any talking, but she should say as little as possible to anyone. Her accent is good, but not perfect. You can read or write something if you have to, can't you, Coffee?”

  Isaiah answered proudly, “Yes, I taught her 'most as soon as we were married. She can read anything now, and write as well as any white woman—better than most.”

  Coffee nodded in agreement, her eyes modestly lowered. “And you mustn't worry, Ryan. If we are caught, we'll not admit to any schooling on your lands. We were educated in Charleston.”

  “I'm hardly worried about that,” said Ryan with a laugh. “I've always allowed my workers, slave or free, to learn anything they please, and to hell with the law. You two go on and make whatever preparations you can in the next two days. We'd best not meet again before then.”

  Coffee thanked Kathryn graciously for her help, which made her twitch with guilt since her own foolishness had made it necessary. The couple left the clearing then, heading back to Fair Fields on foot.

  “I don't dare lend them a horse yet,” commented Ryan as they disappeared among the trees. “It might prompt someone to question them, and I'd rather they were not noticed at all before they leave town two days hence.” He turned to Kathryn, his eyes glinting dangerously. “Isaiah and Coffee have been happy here. I suppose we must be thankful at least that they haven't any children.” His tone was accusing and Kathryn bristled defensively, knowing that the rebuke was largely deserved.

  “I'll remind you that I didn't know about any of this when I spoke to the Allerbys, Mr. James. I've promised to do all I can to make up for it, so you don't have to keep treating me like some kind of low-life traitor.”

  “I'll reserve judgment until after your part is played,” responded Ryan with a cynical twist to his mouth. “Don't forget that once you've helped this pair to escape you'll be as guilty as I in the eyes of the law. I can't help but wonder whether a gently nurtured young lady like yourself won't grow squeamish at putting her hand to such a task.”

  Kathryn lifted her chin defiantly. “Wonder away, Mr. James. You'll find you never had so able or willing an accomplice in your life.”

  They were standing face-to-face in the clearing, and Kathryn suddenly became aware of their isolation. Coffee and Isaiah's footsteps had faded away, leaving a deep silence broken only by her own hurried breathing. The fire in her eyes kindled an answering spark in Ryan's and suddenly she was in his arms.

  “God, I hope you mean that, Catherine,” he murmured against her lips. “You move me as no woman ever has, whatever your motives. To find that you truly share my ideals would be heaven indeed.”

  Kathryn did not answer, but pressed her body, her lips, to his in response. His hands explored her back, her waist, the curve of her breast, as hers slid under his coat to caress the hard lines of his body. Desire shot through her in an agonizing flame as he dropped his head to play along her throat with his lips. Gasping, she brought his mouth back to her own and kissed him deeply, her tongue intertwining with his. He pulled her even closer and she heard a low moan shudder through his body. Her fingers, still trapped against his chest, fumbled with his shirt.

  Ryan loosened his hold to stare at her incredulously, a question hovering on his lips. Instead of asking it, however, he blinked and looked around. “What are we doing?” he asked as if to himself.

  Thoroughly aroused, Kathryn slid her hands up to his shoulders to draw him in for another kiss, but he released her as though unaware of her intent. He was flushed and breathing hard, but had himself under control now.

  “Time for this later,” he said almost roughly, but Kathryn thought his harshness was directed more at himself than at her. Still, it brought her to her senses and she realized how close she had come to committing herself irrevocably to this man, by the standards of the time. He was right.


  “Come,” he said more gently. “We both have work to do.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I am so glad you are finally beginning to show a healthy interest in your appearance,” remarked Mrs. Sykes-Prescott the next morning when Kathryn told her she planned to shop for some new gowns and accessories. “I vow, before you left for London I had quite despaired of your ever becoming a young lady of fashion. You just didn't seem to care. And even the first week or two you were back, I thought nothing had changed. But now I see I was mistaken. And you have done wonders with that French lace you bought. Would you like me to come along and advise you? I had planned to call on poor Mrs. Witchet today, but I daresay she will be just as happy to see me tomorrow.”

  “No, Mother, that won't be necessary,” broke in Kathryn quickly. “I've already arranged to meet Priscilla downtown.” It wouldn't suit her purpose at all to have a curious mother along. Or Priscilla, either, for that matter. She hoped she wouldn't actually run into her friend while shopping.

  “I'll not change my plans, then. You young girls won't want an old woman along listening to all your gossip.”

  Relieved to have dissuaded her so easily, Kathryn protested that Mrs. S-P wasn't at all old, as was obviously expected, and prepared to leave.

  With Jeller in tow, Kathryn went first to the same shop where she'd bought the French laces and was greeted as enthusiastically as before by the proprietor. She was pleased, and a bit surprised, to discover that he had a fair selection of ready-made dresses in stock, in four different sizes.

  “The very latest from Europe, so they say,” the hovering Mr. Porter assured her. “All they require is a nip here or a tuck there to fit any figure!”

  Kathryn rather doubted this last claim, but chose a patterned cotton and a luscious lavender silk for herself before selecting Coffee's disguise. “And that black-and-gray one, please, Mr. Porter,” she decided. It was both discreet and elegant, and would make Coffee look even fairer.

  “An excellent choice, Miss Prescott, excellent. The finest summer satin. It should suit you admirably!” he exclaimed, making Kathryn decide never to trust this man's taste. Black and gray were not her colors. She chose some gloves and a bonnet to match the dresses and waited while they were wrapped up in brown paper.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Porter,” she said sincerely. “It seems I can always trust you to have whatever I need.” The shopkeeper bowed and smiled as she went out the door.

  Her next stop was the wig-maker's, and she hoped to arouse as little suspicion there as she had in the dry goods store. The woman behind the counter, who was obviously wearing her own wares in a glaring shade of titian, did not seem to know Kathryn—or Catherine, rather—which she took as a good sign.

  “May I help you, miss?” she asked politely, but without Mr. Porter's obsequiousness.

  “I'd like to look over what you have in brown, straight and a few shades lighter than my own hair,” she said with the faint, cool smile that had stood her in good stead at many a celebrity gala.

  The woman was immediately impressed by the obvious importance of this young lady, as Kathryn had intended. No explanations would be needed. “By all means, miss! Shall I line them up on the counter for you?” Kathryn nodded her assent and in a few minutes had made her choice.

  “And where shall I have it sent?” The woman's manner was resembling Mr. Porter's more every moment.

  “Wrap it up, please, and I'll take it with me. It's to be a surprise.” She paid from the spending cash her mother had given her to avoid any awkward questions at home when the bills came. Upon leaving the shop, she was startled to see Priscilla just ahead of her on the wooden walkway. Her back was turned, so she could not have seen Kathryn yet, and after a moment's thought, Kathryn decided that this chance encounter might be for the best.

  “Priscilla! I didn't know you planned to shop today.” The other girl turned quickly in surprise. “Oh, Catherine! I am merely ordering tobacco for my father, for he dislikes coming to town himself, you know. All the bustle makes him nervous.”

  Kathryn almost snorted. “You call this bustle? You should see—ah, London.” Her guard was slipping as she grew more comfortable in the past. She'd almost said New York City.

  “Oh, I suppose you are right that Columbia is only a little hamlet by comparison, but it doesn't take much to make Papa nervous these days.”

  “Do you have to go right home or can you stay to shop for a while, and maybe come back with me for dinner?”

  “That would be marvelous,” exclaimed Priscilla. “No, I needn't go straight back, as the tobacco is to be delivered. Papa doesn't mind my ordering it, but he feels it would be unladylike for me to carry it. Though why it should matter when it is all wrapped up, I can't imagine.”

  Both girls laughed over the absurd conventions governing their behavior, though Kathryn's laugh held a note of alarm. She tended to forget how limited her freedom here was. Women couldn't even vote! Something else she'd work to change, if she stayed. They could shop, though, she consoled herself, and the two young women spent a pleasant hour buying such absolute necessities of life as artificial flowers and eau de cologne.

  ***

  “Miss Blake is a charming girl,” remarked Mrs. Sykes-Prescott that evening as the family rose from the supper table. “It was kind of you to invite her to dinner today, Catherine, for she must often be lonely shut up in that enormous house with her hermit of a father. At least he is not so selfish as to prevent her from socializing.” Her expression implied that being a recluse was sin enough.

  “That reminds me, Mother,” said Kathryn. “Might I spend the day with Priscilla tomorrow? I offered to, if you don't object.”

  “Why, I suppose so, if you like. I shall be busy for several hours, anyway, having my portrait taken by that young James De Veaux, who painted Colonel Taylor two or three years ago. He goes to Charleston again in a month and I wish to take advantage of him while he is in town. Will the mauve gown I wore at General Lafayette's ball look well for it, do you think?”

  Kathryn nodded, her attention suddenly caught. This would be the same portrait that hung in the gallery in her own time!

  “You and Miss Blake are very close these days, I notice,” Mrs. S-P continued.

  “I like her,” said Kathryn simply. And it was true, unlike the story she had just told. Priscilla had a straightforward frankness that reminded her of Annette. For a moment she found herself missing her friend, but then more pressing matters pushed homesickness from her mind.

  That night, Kathryn went over her plan. She had left the dress and wig in the stables, as Ryan had directed, but she was determined to have a more active hand in Coffee and Isaiah's escape. As there was no gossiping Mrs. Blake, it was unlikely Mrs. S-P would ever discover she hadn't gone to Priscilla's. No, the greatest obstacle to her plan was going to be Ryan himself.

  ***

  She was right. Ryan called for her shortly after breakfast, and once greetings were exchanged, Kathryn said, “How lucky that you called today, sir! Would you mind escorting me to Miss Blake's house? I have promised to spend the day with her.”

  Ryan agreed, as his plans would run smoothly without him for at least the next hour. They had to ride somewhere, and the Blake mansion was as good a destination as any. So, after Kathryn's mare was brought around from the stables, he led off in the direction indicated.

  “We can turn as soon as we are out of sight of the house,” said Kathryn almost immediately. Jeller had not accompanied them, since Ryan had brought his own groom.

  “What do you mean?” asked Ryan, lowering one eyebrow suspiciously. “This is the shortest route to the Blakes' house.”

  “I have no intention of going there, and Priscilla's not expecting me. I only said that to throw my mother off the scent. I'm coming with you.”

  “Absolutely not!” Ryan's tone brooked no argument, but Kathryn was undeterred.

  “How do you intend to stop me?” she asked reasonably. “I'll follow you if y
ou don't take me along, and I wouldn't think you'd want a scene today, of all days.”

  Ryan glared at her. “What start is this? Did you think it might be amusing to watch a couple of slaves escape, or are you gathering evidence against me?”

  “You still don't trust me? I've done everything you asked so far and haven't raised anyone's suspicions. I don't want to be left out now.”

  “All the plans are made. You'll only be in the way, and possibly in some danger, as well.” There! That would dissuade her.

  “That's only fair, considering my part in this,” she replied, surprising him. “Suppose the dress doesn't fit? Who's going to alter it at the last minute?”

  “One of the other women . . .” began Ryan vaguely. The truth was, he hadn't thought of that, and his plan didn't call for any other woman learning of the escape. “Oh, very well. I don't suppose I could stop you, anyway,” he said ungraciously. He was not used to being out-argued by a woman—but he was quickly discovering that Catherine was no ordinary woman.

  “We'll be going out to Fair Fields now,” he continued more civilly after a moment. “That's the only safe place for the transformation I plan for Coffee and Isaiah. Then we have to get them on the road to Savannah without being seen.”

  “Lead on, then,” said his companion brightly.

  Ryan sent her one more penetrating look and turned his horse. He'd thought he understood women, but this one had him out of his reckoning.

  The ride to Fair Fields was pleasant, the day bright but not yet hot, and they passed no one except two farmers bringing their produce into town to sell. Once on Ryan's land, they proceeded to the slave quarters, almost a small village. Not all of his inhabitants were slaves now, but most wished to remain where they had grown up, among family and friends.

  As they dismounted and entered the circle of cabins, Kathryn was surprised to hear crying from several windows, including those of the house she recognized as Japheth's. She turned to Ryan, but before she could ask any questions, he said, “In here, quickly, while no one is about,” and ushered her through a low doorway. She found herself face-to-face with Coffee, who had tears running down her cheeks.