She knocked on her mother’s door, but received no response.
“Mama?” She opened the door and peeked in. The room was empty, no sign at all of her mother, although the gown she’d been wearing earlier lay strewn across the bed.
Stifling a sigh, she ran down the servants’ stairs and entered the kitchen, only to stop short and stare. She’d always thought her mother a beautiful woman, but now, clad in the uniform of a Union private, she looked stunning. And if she wasn’t mistaken, she looked younger too, especially with her hair curling down her back. Perhaps once the dark chestnut locks were pinned up and a hat pulled low on her head, no one would notice how lovely she was. Shaelyn could only hope.
“I’m ready.” Her mother held up two burlap sacks, the bottoms bulging. “I thought we might need food. Some bread, some cheese, and a few pieces of chicken left over from last night.”
“Mama, you’re a wonder. I hadn’t thought about food.” She noticed her mother’s high color and the slight trembling of her hands. “Are you certain you want to do this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
“I won’t be changing my mind.” A sigh escaped Brenna as she tied one of the burlap sacks with a piece of string. “I’ve been in the shadows too long, dear. Ever since your father died, I haven’t been myself, but seeing Jock, falling in love with him, I feel like I’m finally living again.”
Shaelyn swallowed the lump crowding her throat and gave a quick nod. “I’ll saddle Jezebel then. We’ll ride double.”
Within minutes, they were heading north, the opposite direction Remy had taken, and turned down Silver Street, which made a sort of circle around the bluffs and Natchez-Under-the-Hill. Behind her, Brenna held on tight, arms wrapped around her waist. The burlap sacks bumped against her thighs.
By the time they reached the warehouse, Shaelyn’s heart thundered against her ribcage. Sweat, cold and clammy, made the uniform stick to her skin, and yet, she had no desire to turn back. She doubted her mother would either. She nudged Jezebel’s sides and slowed the horse to a walk.
A young man tended Remy’s horse outside the warehouse, but she didn’t see her husband at all—and he would have been easily seen among the young men milling about outside the building. No one’s hair gleamed as black in the sunlight as Remy’s. No one else had his commanding presence. Was he inside? Already on the Lady Shae? All this would be for naught if he saw her before she could board the side-wheeler.
Holding her breath, Shaelyn guided Jezebel along the alleyway beside the warehouse then slipped behind the building and continued on the narrow path to Dixon’s livery a few doors down. She slid from the saddle and then reached up to help her mother. Leading the horse by the reins, she stepped through the open door. “Mr. Dixon?”
“Just a minute. I’ll be right there.” Mr. Dixon’s voice rang out from his office. He appeared a moment later, two pieces of bread wrapped around a thick slab of ham in his hand, his jaw and big teeth working the food in his mouth. “Can I help you?” He stopped in his tracks and stared, his mouth opening and closing several times, exposing half-chewed sandwich, before he stammered, “M-miss Shae?” He swallowed hard and his voice rose as his gaze slid past Shaelyn and settled on Brenna. “Mrs. Cavanaugh! What…why…”
“No time for questions, Mr. Dixon.” Shaelyn dug a few coins out of her pocket. “I need you to keep Jezebel for a few days.”
“But—”
Shaelyn handed him the coins as well as Jezebel’s reins, grabbed her mother’s hand, and made a quick exit before Mr. Dixon could get his wits about him. She almost chuckled at the stunned expression on the livery master’s face as they headed back toward the warehouse.
As they stepped inside the cool, dark interior of the building through the back door, she warned, “Don’t look at anyone and don’t talk to anyone. Keep your head down.”
Brenna simply smiled, from all appearances not nervous, not even a bit. Indeed, she seemed to be enjoying this adventure into sheer lunacy. They tucked the ends of their burlap sacks into their belts then fell into step with a group of men collecting crates of fruits and vegetables, and followed the line toward the Lady Shae.
Shaelyn still hadn’t seen Remy. She didn’t see Davenport either and with every step she took, she prayed she wouldn’t see either of them, at least not until the Lady Shae was well under way.
She felt it then—the unmistakable sensation that someone watched her. She glanced up toward the side-wheeler’s pilothouse, and almost stumbled over her own feet. Remy stood at the open window, posture rigid, eyes narrowed and intent…on her. In an instant, her heartbeat quickened and her stomach clenched with panic. She glanced at her mother, who seemed oblivious to Remy’s presence.
Don’t recognize me. The words popped into her head.
Ignoring her alarm, Shaelyn concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, a litany of prayers repeating in her head. She snuck another glance toward the wheelhouse and nearly choked on her own breath. Remy hadn’t left his station, for which she was grateful. However, his gaze remained fixed on her, as if he saw through her disguise. His hands were now clasped behind his back, a posture he assumed when heavily in thought, and she couldn’t help feeling she’d be caught any moment, especially when he leaned forward and narrowed his eyes.
Her knees went weak beneath the intensity of that stare, and her heart, already pounding, thundered even harder. She stumbled and quickly caught herself, unable to glance to the side to see if anyone saw. To her surprise, her mother drew a little closer and said in an even tone that commanded obedience, “Don’t lose your nerve now, Shae. He’s not looking at you. He’s not looking at anything.”
“How do you know that, Mama?”
She shrugged as her grip on the crate of apples tightened, her knuckles gleaming white. “I just know. I’ve seen that exact same expression on your father’s face. Jock’s too. Remy may be looking right at you, but I doubt he’s seeing you. Just keep walking. We’re almost there.”
Her mother was correct. The landing stage loomed ahead as they followed the line of men. There were others already on the boat, collecting the crates, stacking them one on top of the other in small columns so they could be distributed to the correct place.
Shaelyn followed the private in front of her and held her breath. No words were spoken as a young man relieved her of her crate. Indeed, she didn’t dare look at him. Instead, she glanced at the floorboards beneath her, hunching her shoulders forward.
Beside her, Brenna did the same. And just like that, they were aboard the Lady Shae.
“Well, that was easy,” her mother said as they strode away from the staging area at a fast clip. She tried to wipe fruit juice from her hands by rubbing them together, but ended up using her trousers to clean it off. “He didn’t even look at me.”
“We’re not out of danger yet, Mama. We still need to make it to the Texas deck without being seen. Or stopped.”
On previous trips, the Lady Shae’s decks had swarmed with men in blue. She and Brenna would have perhaps not quite blended in, but been ignored. This trip was entirely different, as it wasn’t to bring supplies or transport troops. There was one purpose for the Lady Shae to leave Natchez—to search for the Sweet Sassy. Her crew numbered only a few.
It turned out to be surprisingly easy to slip up to the Texas deck. No one paid any attention to them as they stepped into one of the cabins not far from the huge paddle.
Shaelyn crossed the deep-pile area rug covering the floor, Brenna trailing behind her, saluted the portrait of George Washington on the wall, and pressed her hand against the wood paneling above and to the right of the first President. She heard a click before the section of wall moved a fraction of an inch, just enough space for her to slide her fingers in and push the panel open all the way to reveal a small but comfortable room.
Two cots, like those issued by the army, were placed against the walls, blankets folded neatly at the bottom. The narrow space between the cots made
maneuvering a little difficult, but it didn’t matter. This little hidden room contained everything they’d need for a few days, including a commode hidden behind a curtain. “We’ll be safe here,” Shaelyn said, “as long as no one decides to take the other cabin for the duration of the trip.”
Brenna sucked in her breath as they stepped inside and Shaelyn closed the panel behind them. “What is this? I’ve never seen this before.”
Shaelyn shook her head. “Oh, Mama, you’re so funny. You know what this room is. It’s where Papa hid the goods he smuggled.”
“Your father was a smuggler?” Disbelief colored her tone and her eyes widened. “You mean—oh, I don’t believe that for a minute, Shaelyn. You’re making that up.”
Shaelyn turned in the small space between the cots and stared at her mother. “You didn’t know?”
Brenna said nothing, but she didn’t have to. The expression on her face spoke for her.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I thought you knew.” She took her mother’s hands in her own and offered comfort against what had to have been a shock. “I found out quite by accident on a trip to Memphis. When I confronted Papa, he confessed everything. Our other steamers have rooms like this, too. Not only did Papa smuggle goods, he helped people get north before the war. This is where they hid.”
“People? What people?”
She winced, realizing that Brenna truly hadn’t known any of Sean Cavanaugh’s ventures. Too late to take back her careless words, Shaelyn said, “Slaves, Mama. Papa helped slaves longing for their freedom.”
Again, Brenna sucked in her breath. “Sean was part of the Underground Railroad?”
Shaelyn nodded, but didn’t say another word. Weak sunlight filtered into the space from a small, round window covered with a heavy curtain. It illuminated the expression on her mother’s face.
Brenna sat heavily on one of the cots and removed the cap from her head. “Well, that explains so much.” A slow smile curved her mouth. “I didn’t know, but I should have. Your father had some very definite ideas.”
Chapter 19
Boredom was her enemy. Shaelyn wasn’t used to inactivity, and she hated being cooped up in the small room aboard the Lady Shae. She wanted to be out in the fresh air or standing at the wheel in the wheelhouse, caressing the worn wooden spokes, the wide Mississippi spreading out before her. She wanted to be in the boiler room, helping to shove cords of wood into the boiler to keep the steam coming.
Instead, she blew out a breath, dealt another hand of cards to her mother, and tried to remain calm. She should take lessons from Brenna, who had not once complained. She did, however, make a humorous comment regarding the uniform she wore and how much different the long trousers felt against her legs…and how freeing it was not to be covered by yards and yards of fabric.
As Shaelyn discarded the ace of spades, the same sense of dread she had experienced before settled in her stomach. Icy cold fingers of fear wrapped around her heart, squeezing hard. They skipped up her spine, one vertebrae at a time. She shivered beneath the onslaught.
And then she heard it—the ringing of the bell in the wheelhouse just before the Lady Shae changed course. The steady rumble of the engine thumped as the blades of the big paddle wheels shifted into reverse, slowing the steamer down, the shush of water pushed by the blades dying in the silence of the night when the engine shut down completely.
They shouldn’t be stopping, as they’d picked up fuel earlier in the day. Judging by the landmarks they had passed, New Orleans wasn’t far. A few more hours at the most. Unless…
Had they hit a snag? She hadn’t heard the telltale thump and scrape of a log hitting the hull. The Lady Shae didn’t list to either side as if she took on water.
Had she struck a sandbar? No. Shaelyn had been traveling this river long enough to know the sound and sudden jerk of becoming stranded on a hidden sandbar.
No, the Lady Shae went off course for a reason, the engine shutting down with purpose and not due to something else.
Had someone spotted something along the shoreline?
“Dim the lantern, Mama,” she requested as she climbed up on a crate for what seemed like the hundredth time, moved the heavy curtain covering the porthole window, and glanced outside. She couldn’t see much in the darkness, but she heard the landing stage drop and men running on the deck, their boot heels heavy on the wooden planks. A frisson of fear raced up her spine to settle at the base of her neck.
“What’s happening?” Brenna asked, her voice tinged with the same anxiety Shaelyn felt.
“We’ve stopped, but I don’t know why.” She climbed down from the crate and squeezed past her mother in the confined space. She tapped the wall panel in the proper place, waited while the false partition slid open, and stepped into the cabin proper. “Stay here. Don’t make a sound.”
Brenna nodded. The last things Shaelyn saw as the panel slid closed were her mother’s wide, fear-filled eyes.
Shaelyn let herself out of the cabin and stood on the deck, her back touching the wall. She took a deep breath, stepped away from the wall, and clutched the brass railing surrounding the Texas deck. Lantern light bobbed in the darkness and her eyes followed the bouncing lights until she saw the reason the Lady Shae had stopped. Her heart thudded in her chest as she sucked in her breath. The Sweet Sassy loomed south of her, close enough to almost touch, close enough that someone could swing from one of the landing stage ropes and land on her deck! She hadn’t sunk after all, hadn’t exploded!
Tears stung her eyes even as a storm of questions skittered through her mind. If the Sweet Sassy was here, where was her crew? What happened to them? Had they walked into the heavy wooded area along the riverbank in hopes of finding help? A plantation at the end of the dirt path she spied between the trees, perhaps? Why had the steamer been abandoned in the first place? Had she been damaged? Run into a snag?
No answers presented themselves. Her questions only brought more questions, but she had no time to dwell on them. Conversation from above floated to her ears—Jock’s heavy brogue and Remy’s smooth-as-molasses accent as they stepped out of the pilothouse and started down the wooden stairs, the warm glow of a lantern spilling golden light.
And just her luck, they chose to exit the wheelhouse on the port side. Right above her.
Each heavy footfall sounded like a death knell in her ears. If she didn’t move, and move now, they’d see her. She glanced around. There wasn’t enough time for her to head down to the cabin deck below or run to the end of the Texas deck and hide in the lifeboat suspended over the wooden planks by heavy ropes.
No matter what she did, even if she tried to go back the way she came and slip inside the cabin, she might be seen. Her heart beating a crazy tattoo in her chest, she did what anyone else would do—she plastered herself against the wall beneath the stairs.
And prayed the shadows would protect her.
Fear reached deep within her and left panic in its wake. She didn’t move. Didn’t dare even breathe, not until Remy and Jock stepped onto the Texas deck and continued on to the next flight of stairs to the cabin deck below. They didn’t even glance in her direction. At least she didn’t think so. They would have stopped, wouldn’t they?
Relieved she hadn’t been caught, Shaelyn exhaled and crept out from her hiding place in time to see both men step across the landing stage, which had been lowered, and leave the Lady Shae.
Without a thought to the consequences, Shaelyn ran around to the starboard side of the steamer and slipped down those stairs to the deck below. She made it all the way to the cargo deck, but could go no further. There were too many soldiers milling about, waiting for direction. She couldn’t cross the landing stage without being seen.
The only thing she could do was conceal herself.
And wait.
Knowing the Lady Shae as well as she did, Shaelyn found a convenient hiding place, one that enabled her to still see and hear what went on around her without drawing undue attention to herself. She hun
kered down to consider her options, which weren’t many to her way of thinking.
Could she be bold and slip unseen into the water? She could swim, but the Mississippi’s currents might pull her away or worse, pull her under, if the icy cold water didn’t sap her strength first.
As she debated her choices, the decision was taken out of her hands. She watched Remy and Jock cross the landing stage and step aboard the dark and abandoned Sweet Sassy.
Something just wasn’t right. She felt it in her bones. She wanted to scream at them to get off the Sweet Sassy right now, but the words died in her throat.
The knot in Shaelyn’s stomach tightened and fear made her draw in her breath as Vincent Davenport stepped out of the shadows of the Sweet Sassy’s cargo deck. He carried a pistol in his hand, the bore pointing toward the deck until he raised his arm and aimed at Remy’s heart.
Neither Remy nor Jock could do anything, surprise rendering both helpless as another man joined Davenport on deck and came up behind Jock, his revolver pointing at the captain’s head. Davenport took a few steps closer and carefully slid Remy’s army-issue Colt from its holster. He slipped it into the belt around the waist of his Confederate uniform. “So nice of you to join us, Major,” he said, his clipped Boston accent replaced by one dripping in Southern charm. “Don’t even think of doing anything foolish. The first man I kill won’t be you. It’ll be your good friend Jock.” He nodded toward the older gentleman, a wicked grin stretching his mouth.
“You bastard,” Jock hissed, and received a sharp rap to the back of his head. He staggered beneath the blow and dropped to the hard planking of the deck.
Davenport grabbed the lantern from Remy’s hand and raised it high over his head. A mighty roar came from the darkness beyond the river as men poured from the shelter of the trees, their gray uniforms almost white in the moonlight. They clambered over the landing stage of the Lady Shae, their rifles pointed at the soldiers waiting on the cargo deck. There was no time for the soldiers to draw weapons, even if the men had been so equipped, or for her to leave her hiding place and rush back to her mother.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 22