by Eve Gaddy
“This is the twenty-first century, Mom. People have mixed relationships all the time.”
“Movie stars,” she snorted. “They don’t have problems, but everyone else—normal people do.”
“That’s a racist attitude, isn’t it? That doesn’t sound like you, Mom. You’re not a prejudiced person.”
“I’m not racist or prejudiced. No matter what I think about the way things should be, I know the way they really are. The way they still are. What I’m saying is the God’s honest truth. I know. Believe me, I know.”
Jonas’s phone rang. Claire, he saw when he checked. “I have to take this,” he said, getting up and walking into the kitchen. He was just as glad. Something told him he wasn’t ready to hear Naomi’s story. He didn’t want to know all about Calvin Davis. Not yet. Maybe not ever. His dreams were another matter. He had no control over them. He wondered if hearing more about Calvin from his mother might make the dreams easier to remember.
Maybe he didn’t want to remember his dreams.
“Claire. How are you?” He wished he’d chosen another room. The kitchen looked pretty dismal with the damage from the smoke and fire. He resolved to find someone to repair the damage first thing. If the sight of it depressed him, he could just imagine what his mother would feel like.
“I’m okay. How’s your mother?”
“She’ll be all right. I’m working on getting some help for her. She’s fighting me on it, of course. But she needs a driver and help at home. I don’t see how she’s made it this long without it.”
“I know a college student who’s looking for some part-time work to pay off student loans. She’s very dependable. I’ll text you her name and number.”
“That would be great. Now tell me how you really are.”
She was silent a moment before she answered. “Aside from the obvious, which is I hurt like hell, I talked to the divorce attorney. She’s going to file as soon as we get the paperwork filled out.”
“Are you going to press charges?”
“No. It wouldn’t be worth it. I just want a divorce, the quickest way I can get it.”
“I understand. I’m just sorry the bastard won’t pay for what he did to you.”
“Me too, but I’m moving forward. It’s all I can do, given the situation. I’ve decided to pick up some of my things until we work out who’s going to live in the house. It will be easier than trying to get Glenn to move out right now. I’m sure he’s going to make everything as difficult as he possibly can.”
“You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll go with you.”
“No. Jonas, I appreciate the offer, but Glenn will go ballistic if he sees you. Things are dicey enough without pushing him further. And I’d never forgive myself if he hurt you.”
Jonas smiled. “I’d like to see him try. Facing a man and beating up on a woman are two entirely different things.”
“I don’t want to involve you, Jonas.”
“I’m already involved. You’re not going alone.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ve asked Lanie’s fiancé, Joe, to go with me. We’re going after work, tonight.”
He’d have preferred to be with her himself, but if this was the way she wanted it, he wouldn’t argue. “I’m glad you asked him. I thought you were on the outs with Lanie. When you didn’t want to stay with her last night, I figured you were having problems with her.”
“I am. But I’m a little desperate right now and Joe’s a friend, so I asked him.” She laughed. “It doesn’t hurt that Glenn’s always been a little intimidated by him. Not that he’d ever admit it.”
“Good. Be careful, Claire, okay?”
“I will. My pager’s going off. I’ll talk to you later.”
Jonas hung up and turned to see his mother standing in the doorway.
“That was Dr. Westbrook, wasn’t it? Claire, you called her.”
“Mom—”
“Do you have any idea how your voice changes when you talk to her? No, I can see you don’t.”
“Your imagination’s running wild, Mom. There’s nothing going on between Claire and me,” he said firmly.
“You can lie to me but don’t lie to yourself. Son, I’m afraid you’re in for a world of hurt.”
A world of hurt. Just what Naomi had told Calvin, all those years ago. Maybe Naomi was right. Even if she was, he didn’t think there was anything he could do to change it.
GLENN ARRIVED JUST as Claire and Joe were finishing up at her house. One of the first things she’d packed was the journal. She didn’t know why, but it was important. She knew it held answers to a lot of questions she’d had since the dreams started. Along with the journal, she packed a few boxes of mementoes, things she didn’t want Glenn to destroy in a fit of rage. Her computer, some clothes, and toiletries went into a couple of suitcases. The bare necessities. She’d worry about the rest later, after her lawyer filed.
“Claire, what are you doing?” Glenn stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. Clear-eyed and sober as a judge.
“What does it look like? I’m packing. I want a divorce. My lawyer will be in touch.”
He took a few steps toward her, and she forced herself to stand her ground, but she was intensely thankful Joe was with her.
“What happened to your face?”
She stared at him a moment in disbelief. “You happened to it, you son of a bitch.” He hadn’t been so drunk he wouldn’t remember. Was this an act for Joe’s benefit? What did he hope to accomplish? She glanced at Joe, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Joe was a big guy, a former football player, and eminently reassuring. He appeared deceptively at ease, but she knew he’d protect her if necessary. Apparently she didn’t need protection, though. Glenn seemed to want to play dumb.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Glenn said, confirming her suspicion. “This happened last night?”
“Yes, last night when you beat the shit out of me. Call me crazy but I draw the line at physical abuse.”
“Claire, you know as well as I do that I didn’t lay a finger on you.” His patronizing tone infuriated the shit out of her. “We argued, about your affair with Jonas Clark, but you left here without a scratch on you. Did Clark do this to you?”
“Are you insane? I’m not having an affair. And Jonas didn’t touch me. In fact, he’s the one who took me to the hospital.”
Glenn frowned. “To Shady Grove?”
“No. I didn’t want to go where I worked.” She stopped herself. She didn’t owe this son of a bitch any explanations. “What difference does it make where I went? I can’t believe you’re denying you hit me.”
“I’m only speaking the truth.”
“The truth? You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you in the face.”
“Be reasonable, Claire.” He looked so sincere, so concerned, she wanted to vomit. “We can still work things out. If your infatuation with Clark is just a temporary thing, I’d be willing to forgive you. We could try counseling. I know you haven’t wanted it in the past but—”
“Me not want to?” She caught herself again, stopped herself from buying into his act and arguing in an endless circle. “I’ve had enough of this farce. And don’t think anyone will buy your innocent act. I can’t believe what you’re trying to pull.”
“I’m not trying to pull anything. I’m simply trying to work things out with my wife. You are still my wife,” he added.
He turned to Joe, still propped against the wall watching them. “Why did you come, Joe? You can’t have thought I’d hurt Claire.”
“Somebody did,” Joe said, speaking for the first time. “She says it was you.”
Which she’d been forced to admit when she asked Joe for his help. She was sure he’d talked to Lanie, though she didn�
�t know how much Lanie had told him. But she still wasn’t ready to talk to her friend. Didn’t know when she ever would be.
“And you believe her? You actually think I’d lay a hand on my wife?”
Joe shrugged. “Claire doesn’t lie. Not that I’ve ever known.”
“She’s lying now. Because she doesn’t want to admit her lover hit her. Why did he do it, Claire?”
“We’re done here. Talk to my lawyer,” she told Glenn. She had to leave before she exploded. She wasn’t quite sure what Glenn’s game was, but she realized with a sinking feeling that she couldn’t prove Glenn had beaten her. The PI who’d followed her could very easily say she’d looked fine when she left her house. Oh, God, what a scandal this could cause at the hospital, especially if Glenn circulated his version of events. Talk that wouldn’t be good for either Claire or Jonas. And Jonas was new at the hospital. Not many people knew him well enough to know that Glenn’s story was a complete fabrication.
Jonas, whose crime had been in trying to help her.
LATER THAT EVENING, Jonas hung up from talking to Claire, relieved that at least one thing had gone right. He was grateful Joe had been with her to pick up her things, since he didn’t trust her bastard of a husband one inch.
He had an early day tomorrow and needed some sleep. Some dreamless sleep. He wondered uneasily if he’d dream again, and if so, would he remember any more of it. Goddamn it, this was ridiculous. He didn’t set any stock in dreams, so why was he worried about what he would or wouldn’t remember?
October 1968
“YOUR GIRLFRIEND called me,” Naomi told Calvin.
Naomi had called and said she needed to talk to him in person, so he’d met her at the usual place, the drugstore down the street from his house. It had a counter and a few booths and served hamburgers, french fries, and shakes. Since it was in their part of town, it had no problems serving coloreds. In fact, he’d never seen a white person in the place.
“Bella called you? Why? What did she want?” That was weird. Naomi and Bella had met, but it wasn’t like they were friends.
“She wanted me to tell you to meet her at your regular place. She’s afraid to call your house. Afraid your mama won’t like it. So she called me ‘cuz she knows I’m your cousin. She knows we’re close, thanks to your big blabbermouth. Why you gotta involve me in this crap?”
“We don’t have anyone else we can trust. Not family, anyway.” Bella’s friend Gail helped her out and also gave Bella a girl to talk to about everything. But she wasn’t family, and there wasn’t a lot she could do besides lie for Bella occasionally. “You like Bella, don’t you?”
“She’s okay.” Naomi shrugged, looking annoyed. “For a white girl. I wish you’d fallen for a colored girl, that’s all.”
Naomi didn’t understand. Neither he nor Bella had a choice. They were meant to be, they both believed that now. Their color, well, it wasn’t important between the two of them. It was only the rest of the world who made things hard. He touched his cousin’s cheek. “You’re the best, Naomi.”
“You say that now,” she humphed. “Calvin, I’m worried about you. You’re asking for a world of hurt bein’ involved with this girl.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Calvin said. He didn’t have a choice, and he wouldn’t have changed things even if he had. “Thanks.”
Chapter Thirteen
Rachel’s Journal—May 4, 1859
I do not consider myself an abolitionist. The word itself is considered an abomination in this part of the world. All over the South, from what I have heard. No, I believe myself to be merely a woman who believes in humanity. I cannot tolerate the way slaves are treated. I cannot tolerate the idea of owning another human being. But do I call myself an abolitionist? No. Yet while I never have, perhaps that is about to change.
I always knew Father was different. He educated us, my sister and me, encouraging us to read and question, to think for ourselves, at a time when most men believe women are chattel whose only use is to bear children. He came to Texas from the North, from a family most labeled as radicals even there. For if his views on women’s education are unusual, his views on abolition are surely outrageous. Appalling to many.
Should there be war, we shall have to choose which way of life to support. But I cannot see why we cannot free the slaves and allow them to work as free men. My husband agrees, though he says I know nothing of running a plantation. (I did not point out that, as the owner of a general store, neither does he.) It seems labor is at the crux of it. Men argue that the plantation owners would be ruined if they had to pay the laborers. So they support a way of life that is, to my mind, an abomination.
I do not know. I only know that I am so glad my dear Ben is of the same belief as my father and I. What if Father had married me to a man such as Victor Lawrence? A cruel man who abuses his wife as readily as he beats his slaves. God, why is Sarah’s burden so much harder than mine? What has she done to deserve misery while I receive love?
May 1859
“I CAN HELP,” Sarah told Elijah. “I can be a conductor.” She’d found him in the stables, where she knew he went whenever he had a free moment. He was brushing one of the mares, crooning to the horse in that way he had.
Elijah stopped brushing and looked at her as if she were mad. “No, ma’am, you cain’t.”
“I can provide food, at the least. And a resting place until the slaves can be moved. I know we can find somewhere safe to keep them.”
“No, ma’am,” he repeated strongly. “The master will kill you.” He went back to grooming the mare as if his words had settled things.
She waved aside his objection. “Obviously, he won’t know. My husband doesn’t pay attention to anything but the price of cotton and maize. And his hunting trips. People can come and go here without him knowing. There’s a shack some distance away that the old overseer used to—” Sarah broke off, remembering the rumors of what had gone on in that shack. Of the screams of the slave women who some swore still echoed in the night. “It’s vacant now,” she ended hastily.
“Why you talkin’ about this now?” Elijah glanced around, making sure they were alone. “If someone tells the master, you and me is both dead. If he hears you’ve been talkin’ to me, he be mad as fire. If he hears what we talkin’ about—” He broke off, then said simply, “We be dead.”
“We’re alone. The stable hand leaves every chance he gets. I wouldn’t have spoken if I hadn’t thought it safe.” She took precautions when she talked to Elijah. Sarah knew as well as he did how careful they must be that no one knew of their friendship. The Underground Railroad was dangerous enough, but her friendship with Elijah was danger on an even deeper level.
Yet try as she might, she couldn’t let go of their friendship. Besides, in order to help fugitive slaves she had to be able to talk to them, and since Elijah was heavily involved, she had to speak to him as well.
At least that is what she told herself.
“Safe? Ain’t nothin’ safe in what you’re speakin’ of. Anybody finds out you is helpin’ escaped slaves, they’ll likely kill you.”
Elijah was protecting her, or trying to. But she wouldn’t be sheltered any longer. Not when something so important was at stake. Not when he risked his own life to help fugitives.
“No one will dare. I’m the master’s wife. Victor will decide what to do with me. He’ll be angry and beat me but he won’t kill me. Nor let anyone else lay a hand on me.” At least, she didn’t believe he would. But perhaps that was wishful thinking.
Once she’d submitted to Victor’s attentions he’d not hurt her, but that first time, oh, God, the first time. She shuddered, remembering the misery of her marital bed in the early days. Victor had not been gentle, though he knew her to be a virgin. Truth be told, she thought he’d enjoyed hurting her. Once she’d learned to submit, not to fight, he
r husband had lost interest. He didn’t come to her bed as often now. She suspected he spent his energy on the ladies of the night he found in town. All he wanted from her was a child. A child she prayed she’d never conceive.
It helped to become numb.
“Victor is not . . . a kind man. But I’m more valuable to him alive than dead.” At least until she gave him a child. An heir.
Elijah didn’t look as if he believed her, and his next words gave weight to that. “The master won’t tolerate you aidin’ fugitive slaves.”
“You risk more than I do. But you’re already doing it, aren’t you? You’ve been helping since you came here, haven’t you?”
He remained mute.
“Don’t you know you can trust me by now?”
“It ain’t you I don’t trust. Ain’t wise to trust most anyone these days.”
“But we have to. All along the way, people have to trust. No one can make that journey alone, without help. It’s a long way from here to Canada. To freedom.”
“Not as far to Mexico.”
Mexico. She felt foolish she hadn’t thought of that. Mexico was much closer, although the border was still a far piece from where they were. But what little she’d discussed with Rachel hadn’t touched on where the slaves were running to. Only that they were running from slavery to freedom. She and Rachel had only discussed what Sarah could do to help. “Are they safe there? In Mexico?”
Elijah shrugged. “Mebbe. No one comes back once they leave. Heard stories that in Mexico folks don’t believe in slavery.”
A place with no slavery. It was beyond her imagination. “What happens when they don’t make it? Do you ever hear?”
He shrugged, said matter-of-factly, “They mostly die. By the lash, by the noose. Some is sold off and disappear. But most think death is better than bein’ a man’s slave.”
“Do you?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I was born free. Was free until I was twelve. Never have learned to be some other man’s property.”
“Neither have I.” But she was every bit as much a slave as Elijah. “They call it marriage,” she added softly. “But it’s not. It’s slavery, just of another sort.”