The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War
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Sophie Applegate rounded the table and held out her hand to Wade. “I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Beaumont. Edwin was quite pleased to find someone of your caliber to fill the accounting position and care for the Applegate home.”
“Thank you, ma’am. So kind of you to say so. And thank you for inviting me to your lovely home to share this meal.” Wade thought he detected the hint of a frown on Edith’s face the instant before he bent to plant a cursory kiss on Sophie’s hand.
Dahlia sat beside Archie in his high chair while Edwin held a chair out for his wife. Wade hurried to do the same for Edith, earning a tepid smile and murmured expression of thanks from her.
When all were seated and Edwin had offered a prayer of thanks for the meal, the conversation turned to family matters.
Feeling awkward, Wade focused his attention on his bowl of stew.
“Is the stew to your liking, Mr. Beaumont?” Sophie’s kind smile suggested she sensed his unease.
Thankful to be brought into the conversation, Wade dabbed his mouth with his linen napkin and returned her smile. “Very much, Mrs. Applegate. In fact, I must say this stew rivals the stew our Hattie used to make back home.”
Edith, seated across the table from him, set her spoon down with a clink and fixed him with an unsmiling glare. When she spoke, her voice held a sardonic dryness. “I assume Hattie is your slave?”
Chapter 4
Regret curled in Edith’s middle as she stepped out onto the porch, Mother’s cut glass vase in hand, and looked westward down the dirt road. Once again she cringed at the memory of Wade’s reddening features, Sophie’s soft gasp, and Edwin’s disapproving grunt at her tactless remark last Tuesday concerning the Beaumont family’s cook. While her assumption was undoubtedly correct, embarrassing Edwin and Sophie’s luncheon guest did nothing to help rid the country of the scourge of slavery.
Her nagging sense of remorse must stem from disappointing Edwin and Sophie, for surely Wade Beaumont, as any slaveholder, deserved her reproach. Besides, she had murmured an apology to appease her brother and sister-in-law if not Wade.
“And when ye stand praying, forgive, if ye have ought against any: that your Father also which is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.”
The verse from the Gospel of Mark flitted into her mind like a pesky insect. She shook her head to shoo it away.
She headed across the road where goldenrod and purple asters decorated the meadow and filled the air with fragrance. Since Father insisted on hosting Mr. Beaumont every Friday when he came to report on the business as well as the house in town, she was determined to present their new domicile in as refined a light as possible. While she could do little to bring any true elegance to their dingy abode, freshly cut flowers would add a splash of brightness. Last Friday when Father had apologized for the condition of the house, Wade’s look had turned near piteous.
Pride lifted Edith’s chin as she strode toward the meadow of wildflowers. Though Father had laughed and chided her, saying, “Do not try to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, daughter,” since Tuesday she’d worked until every muscle ached and her hands reddened to make the little stone cottage more presentable. She wouldn’t be pitied, least of all by the Southern slave owner who now occupied her beloved home.
She reached into her apron pocket for scissors to clip the flowers but found only two small balls of lint. An exasperated sigh puffed from her lips, and she turned to head back to the house.
At the sound of a horse approaching, she looked up to see Wade riding toward her on a fine black stallion.
For a fraction of a second, the thought to hide among the tall flowers skittered through her mind. Too late.
Wade waved and let out a hearty “Hallo!”
Edith managed a halfhearted wave as he dismounted and walked toward her, leading his steed by the reins.
“Good day, Miss Applegate.” He doffed his gray John Bull hat and hung it on the saddle pommel. Something about his cheery mood and the broad smile marching across his handsome face grated against Edith’s nerves.
“Good day, Mr. Beaumont.” She managed to push the chilly salutation through unsmiling lips.
“And what a beautiful day it is.” His gaze turned to the woods beyond the meadow, resplendent in the showy reds, oranges, and yellows of October. “I can’t get enough of the vivid colors of the leaves here in autumn. Our trees back home in Natchez show some color this time of year but not nearly to this extent.”
“Is the color of our trees the reason you’re here instead of back in Mississippi, Mr. Beaumont?” Edith didn’t try to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
Wade showed no sign that he noticed. “It would almost be enough of a reason.” He perused the colorful hillside. “Wanderlust enticed me to the riverboat life, but after three years I grew weary of life on the river.” He turned his smiling gaze back to her. “I needed an occupation and place to lay my head at night, and your brother offered me those, so here I am.” He held out his arms with his hands palms up. When he lowered them he looked her in the eyes and his smile gentled. “We have known each other for the better part of a month, Miss Applegate. It would please me greatly if you’d call me Wade, and if I might be so bold, I humbly beg your permission to call you Edith.”
“As you wish,” she mumbled, when in truth, she wished that his request didn’t cause her heart to do odd flips.
His gaze moved to the flowers surrounding her then to the vase in her hand. A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. “While I appreciate the gesture, you needn’t trouble yourself to pick a vase full of flowers on my account, Edith.”
Anger sizzled inside Edith’s chest. The man was insufferable! He doubtless intended to goad an angry retort from her, but she would not give him that satisfaction. Calming herself, she willed her voice to a tone as cool as the gusting October breeze. “I assure you, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, intentionally disregarding his request to call him Wade, “the flowers are not on your account. I simply enjoy fresh flowers in the house.” She glared at him and raised her chin even higher. “At our home in Madison I would cut roses from the bushes beside the front door until the frost killed the last blossoms, but since I no longer have access to my roses, I must make do with the flowers I have.” Hating the renegade tears that sprang up in her eyes, she batted them back.
His maddening grin widened. “I am happy to report that the roses you speak of are still blooming to a fare-thee-well.” He cocked his head, and his features took on a thoughtful look. “Perhaps I will clip a few and bring them in to decorate my…uh, the library,” he said, correcting himself.
The smoldering anger inside Edith blazed. What impudence to refer to their library, or any part of their home, as his own! The urge to stomp away from him gripped her, but pride kept her rooted to her spot.
He turned and looked toward the house. “Well, I will leave you to it. I assume your father is at home?”
“Yes, he is.” The notion of admitting her mistake of forgetting the scissors to Wade felt repugnant, but she saw no way around it. “I might as well join you and Father at the house. I’m afraid there will be no flowers. I seem to have forgotten my scissors.”
“Please, allow me to be of assistance.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out a small folded knife, flicked open the blade, and began cutting lengths of asters and goldenrod. His tone turned wistful as he worked. “Asters were one of my mother’s favorite flowers.”
The anger that Edith had labored to restrain withered, replaced by curious surprise. “Why, they were one of my mother’s favorite flowers as well.” Could Edwin have mentioned such a trivial fact to Wade? She discarded the cynical thought the moment it popped into her mind. That Edwin was cognizant enough of Mother’s floral preferences to voice them in a conversation, let alone a conversation with another man, seemed beyond absurd.
Wade handed her a stem full of the purple blossoms. His gaze that met hers turned so tender that her heart did a somersault. “It
seems that we may have more in common than you might have imagined.”
Before Edith could gather enough air in her lungs to answer, his sandy brows shot up.
“That reminds me. I found something personal in the house that you must have overlooked when packing for your move here.” He walked to where he’d tethered his horse to a low-hanging cottonwood bough and reached into a saddlebag. When he handed her the small shiny object, she gasped.
A new well of tears that she didn’t try to hide sprang up and flooded down her cheeks. “Mother’s daguerreotype.” Unashamed, she lifted her drenched face to him. “I’d assumed it must still be among the unopened boxes as I hadn’t yet found it.” Unexpected gratitude bloomed in her chest. “Thank you, Wade.” And she meant it.
The tenderness in his eyes threatened to unleash a fresh spate of tears. “I do hope it helps to make your home here feel more like…well…home.”
“Thank you, Wade,” she repeated, fighting an astonishing urge to hug him. “This was so very kind of you.”
“I know that I treasure the picture I carry of my own mother.” He pulled a gold watch from his green brocade vest and opened it to reveal the image of a middle-aged lady tucked inside the watch’s lid.
“She is lovely.” Edith’s smile came far easier than she would have imagined.
“So is yours.” Wade reached out his hand and cupped hers holding Mother’s picture. “Something else we have in common, I’d say.”
That night Edith lay awake long after she’d gone to bed, her roiling emotions robbing her of sleep.
She turned her head on her wet pillow to gaze at Mother’s picture illuminated by pale rays of the full moon flooding through her bedroom window. Thoughts of Wade Beaumont unleashed a war of conflicting emotions within her chest. How could she feel tenderness for a man whose family practiced a way of life that she abhorred?
In an attempt to sling Wade’s image from her mind, she rolled onto her back and worked to cement a more rigid defense around her heart. She’d lambasted Edwin for his naïveté in hiring Wade in the first place. She too must guard against falling prey to the slick Southerner’s wiles and not forget that, for three years, he’d practiced the art of deception on the riverboats. What had seemed like a gesture of kindness in bringing her mother’s picture could well be a calculated effort to win her affections in hopes of garnering information about those locally involved in the Underground Railroad.
The uncharitable suspicion crumbled as it collided with the memory of the genuine kindness in Wade’s eyes when he handed her Mother’s picture. Other memories set her pulse racing: his handsome smile, his gaze that seemed to peer into the depths of her soul, and the touch of his hand on hers that had sent pleasant tingles up her arm.
She gazed up at the ceiling and felt her defenses crack like the aged plaster above her head. But somewhere between wakefulness and slumber, the realization that Wade had never said why he hadn’t returned to Mississippi registered in her consciousness.
Chapter 5
Are you tearin’ out Miss Edith’s roses?”
Edwin stopped his work with the shovel to turn and face Dahlia’s large, horror-filled eyes. He strained to suppress the grin tugging at his mouth and schooled his lips to a serious expression. “No, ma’am, I would never do that.” He went back to working the shovel beneath the bush’s roots. “I noticed that this little bush is being swallowed up by the bigger ones on each side of it. It’ll likely die if it’s not moved.” He angled a glance at Dahlia and allowed his grin free rein. “I thought I’d take this bush to Miss Edith when I go to Lancaster later today. Last time I was there she mentioned that she missed her roses.”
Dahlia nodded, her dark braids bouncing on her shoulders. “She does miss this house somethin’ fierce.”
Sadness that matched Dahlia’s tone settled in Wade’s chest along with an unreasonable sense of guilt. Since moving into this place, he’d worked hard to maintain the home as he’d promised Edwin he would do. He’d fixed anything he’d found in disrepair and had even hired a woman to come three times a week to keep the place spotless. Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging sense of guilt he felt about occupying the home Edith missed so much.
Dahlia’s voice brightened and her face lit up in a wide smile. “Miss Edith will like havin’ roses again.” She cocked her head as she eyed the dark, upturned soil around the rose’s roots with a critical gaze. Her expression turned serious, and she gave an approving nod. “Pa says that November is a good time to move bushes.”
Wade smiled. “That is a good thing to know.” For the first time, he noticed the paper in Dahlia’s hand. “Do you have something for me to take to Miss Edith?”
Dahlia nodded again then shivered as a cold gust of wind whipped at her gray wool cape and sent brown leaves whirling across the yard.
Edwin wiped his hands together to knock off bits of drying soil. While he enjoyed Dahlia’s company, he needed to get the child out of the cold. He glanced up at the slate-gray sky. “Let’s go inside. I have a good fire going in the library, and Mrs. Sage is in the kitchen making bread.” He gave her a wink. “I bet if you ask her politely, she’ll give you a glass of milk and a warm slice of buttered bread.”
Dahlia’s smile widened. “Ms. Jenny knows me. She’s a friend of Ma’s.”
Inside, the delicious smell of baking bread met them, setting Wade’s mouth to watering and making him glad he’d hired such a good baker for a housekeeper.
In the library he tossed another piece of wood into the fireplace, sending orange sparks up the chimney, then turned to Dahlia. “What do you have for Miss Edith?”
Dahlia handed him the lined page of paper filled with large penciled script. “It’s all about how I want to one day go to school at the Eleu—Eleutherian Institute. I had to copy that word from a paper Mr. Applegate gave my pa.”
Wade perused the childish cursive. “This is very good, Dahlia.” He gave her a big smile. “I’m sure Miss Edith will be very pleased, and I have no doubt that you’ll be attending Mr. Applegate’s class someday.” He carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his vest pocket. “I’ll give this to Miss Edith first thing when I arrive.”
A rapping sound at the door intruded. Answering it, Wade stood stunned.
“Jube!” he said when he finally found his voice again. “How on earth did you find me?”
Wade’s older brother grinned at Wade’s gaping mouth. “A fellow down at the Madison Hotel told me you were here. Asked me if I was any kin of the Beaumont fellow living in the old Applegate place.” He shook his head. “I figured you were still ridin’ the riverboats unless another gambler had shot ya and fed ya to the fish.” His short burst of laughter faded as he peered over Wade’s shoulder into the library. “Ya gonna invite your brother in?”
“Of course.” Wade stepped aside to allow Jube to enter. Remembering Dahlia’s presence, concern flared in his chest. While he hadn’t yet inquired as to Jube’s business in Madison, he had a strong suspicion as to what had brought his brother so far north. Since the age of sixteen, Jube had relished and excelled in hunting runaway slaves.
Wade quirked a smile he couldn’t sustain toward Dahlia. “You’d best go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Sage for that bread.” To his relief, she scampered off.
A look of admiration filled Jube’s face as he stepped into the library and his gaze scanned the room. He doffed his black, short-crowned top hat, sending a strong scent of pomade wafting to Wade’s nose. “It looks like you’ve done very well for yourself, little brother.” His smile faded when his gaze fastened on the doorway Dahlia had exited through. “But you really should’ve been more forceful with the girl.” He turned a critical frown toward Wade. “You always were too easy on the slaves.”
Wade shrugged. Better to let Jube think that Dahlia belonged to him. Like most slave catchers, Jube had no compunction about snatching free blacks in the North to take back south.
Jube’s expression brightened as he continued to lo
ok around the room. He pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. “You must have got a lot better at the card table than I remember to afford a place like this.”
“It actually belongs to my employer. I’m presently employed as an accountant with Applegate Pork Packing.”
“Done with the river, are you?” A smirk pulled up the corner of Jube’s mouth and he emitted a soft snort. “Never knew anyone fonder of numbers than you.” He frowned. “At least when you were at home Cypress Hill’s books always balanced.” He cocked his head and his left brow shot up. “If you want to do bookkeepin’ you could always come back home, ya know. I reckon Pa’s hired and fired half a dozen bookkeepers since you left.”
“How is Pa?” Wade needed to move the conversation away from any talk of him returning home to Mississippi. Also, while he had little interest in Jube’s answer, his brother would expect him to inquire after their parent’s health.
A momentary scowl crossed Jube’s face, and then his expression brightened again. “He’s well for a man his age.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Ornery as ever.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Wade forced his lips into what he hoped resembled a smile. “So what has brought you to this fair river town, Brother?” Another compulsory but unnecessary question. Jube was doubtless on the trail of runaway slaves.
“After escaped slaves, as you might have guessed. A male and female from Cypress Hill and three males and two females from Belle Terre.” He cocked his head and fixed Wade with an intense gaze. “We trailed them to Carrollton, Kentucky, then lost the trail. Rumor has it this town is on the Underground Railroad.” His gaze narrowed. “A fellow down at the Madison Hotel says it’s a hotbed of abolitionists and claims that your employer is one of ’em.”
Wade trusted that his years of perfecting an unreadable poker face would mask the unease churning in his midsection. Shrugging, he willed a nonchalant tone to his voice. “Never inquired about the gentleman’s politics.” He forced a light chuckle. “Just happy for the job and the decent roof over my head.”