Wooden Nickels: White Lightning Series, Book 1

by Debra Dunbar

  “Can you read that?” she asked Raymond.

  “Looks like Greek, maybe?”

  Hattie nodded. There were several Greek ships that made routine runs up and down the Eastern seaboard.

  A stout man with a long, black beard peered over the side of the trawler, waving them closer. Another younger, beardless man appeared near the bows, and tossed a dock line to Hattie. She caught the rope and lashed it to one of the bow horns, then followed the young man toward the stern, and repeated the process, tying the two vessels together.

  The bearded man belted out commands in Greek to his crew, and shortly a ramp of sorts appeared, edging over the side of the trawler to angle down onto their deck. The ramp had a bow to it, running along its length. Hattie peered at the ramp, then to Raymond. He gave her a “don’t worry” gesture before positioning himself at the end of the ramp. A rumble sounded from the trawler, and a barrel appeared at the top of the ramp. Two men sent it rolling down the ramp, cradled in its scoop to keep it running true. Raymond caught it, grunting softly as he eased the barrel to a halt. He rolled it on end to a spot fore of the engine housing, then returned in time to receive a second. The process continued wordlessly, efficient, peaceful. Hattie searched for a reason to involve herself, but these Greeks had clearly developed a system that Raymond understood.

  She’d ridden with Raymond for three years, now—two years under Jake, and one under Lizzie. She knew very little about Raymond’s past or credentials, only that he’d worked hard to satisfy Jake’s demands, and that the man and his wife had rewarded Raymond with a boat of his own. Hattie understood the magnitude of such a gesture. She was a poor Irish girl in Baltimore, saddled with the need to avoid notice of anyone of consequence. Raymond lived that reality as well. No matter how hard he would ever work, the odds were stacked against any a black man attempting to prosper. Owning a boat? No crippling debt? That was everything.

  The courtesy scoop was received and stowed in short order, and Hattie untied the lines from the cleats of Raymond’s boat. The bearded man waved as he called out a word in his language which sounded to Hattie, at least, like “good luck.” The trawler disappeared behind them as each vessel turned in opposite directions. It could have been a total of a half hour to receive this shipment of rum. The efficiency was remarkable. Lizzie would have been pleased, Hattie mused, as they pointed north, and back home.

  Taking a seat beside Raymond, she forced him aside just a few inches with a nudge of her elbow. “Lizzie says we’ll be busy.”

  “Said the same to me.”

  “Think your little one will give you the free time we’ll need?”

  He shook his head. “Free time? Everything I do, every minute, it’s for that little ball of fuss. I’ll do whatever it takes to give him a better life than I had.”

  She rubbed Raymond’s arm. “You’re a fine Da, you know that?”

  “We’ll see, I s’pose.”

  Hattie tried out another of her mother’s songs while Raymond loomed behind the helm, suddenly pensive. At length, he asked her to throw a tarp over the clutch of barrels they’d inherited, just in case they had a close call with a government boat. She complied, taking her time. Overnight runs were the worst. The peace on the water at night was welcome enough, but the boredom. Dear Jesus, the boredom.

  She climbed atop the tarped barrels, spreading herself out to view the night sky. Maybe some sort of celestial messenger would descend and offer her a manner of divine revelation. But there was no such luck. There were only stars in the sky tonight, and none of them were particularly charming at the moment.

  Sitting upright with a huff, she glared back at Raymond. The man could talk the ass off a horse, but suddenly he’d found silence when she needed a distraction. Her eyes lifted beyond the stern, toward the south end of the Bay. A series of lights caught her eye…another boat. Probably a fisher turning in for the night. She watched as it followed their wake in the distance, waiting to see when it turned off. As the minutes passed, she cast a glance to the west, and realized what they were passing.

  Deltaville.

  Hattie stiffened. Two points of red light peered at her from the coast. She felt its stare. No, this was her imagination. Those restless dreams, those images… That was simply the embers of a bonfire left behind by the day’s fishermen. There was nothing watching her as they moved by. Surely.

  They passed the point of Deltaville, and Hattie released several deep breaths as she cast an eye back to the south, to see if that fisherman had pulled away yet.

  He had not.

  Actually the boat had closed a little. Whatever they were driving, it had a heftier engine than their boat.

  “Raymond?” she called out.

  He grunted.

  “You pushing us all out?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe ten knots.”

  “Give us a little more, will you?”

  “Why?”

  “Just…please?”

  He edged the throttle up, and the wind against the back of her head whipped a little faster.

  Turning to sit cross-legged atop the rum barrels, she watched the boat with a squint and could have sworn the boat had matched their speed. Hattie sucked in a breath to ask Raymond for more speed, when the lights on the pursuing boat suddenly went dark.

  Crap. Unfolding her legs, she stood up, balancing against the rushes and surges of the boat as it hit the surf. She was the second-tallest thing on the ship, only standing lower than the engine exhaust by four feet.

  Raymond scowled at her. “What are you doing?”

  She shook her head as she peered in the darkness. A silent, dark silhouette persisted in their wake—growing larger and larger. Hattie shimmied down the side of the rum barrels, landing with a thud on the deck as Raymond reached for the throttle.

  She held up a hand. “Don’t slow down!”

  “What is in your head, girl?”

  “We’re being followed, is what.”

  He twisted around, releasing the helm as Hattie took it. Raymond grunted as he shook his head. “Don’t see nothin’.”

  “Trust me. They’re there. Been following us for a while.”

  “You see any flags? Faces?”

  She shook her head.

  “What…what do you think?”

  Hattie searched her instincts. Was it just that ghost from Deltaville haunting her? Were her nerves just keyed up? “Do you have that gun I asked you to bring? For snakes?”

  Raymond squinted. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe polish it off, will you?”

  They continued north, and it didn’t take long to confirm that there was, in fact, a boat following them. And it was, in fact, faster than Raymond’s boat could push at top throttle. Before long, they could hear the water splashing against the pursuer’s hull.

  Raymond lifted a seat beside Hattie, reaching into a compartment to pull a Colt .38 service revolver into view. He checked the chambers and stuffed it into his waist.

  Hattie eyed the boat as they moved at top speed. “We’re losing the footrace.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Time to think,” she told him.

  “I’m thinkin’.”

  “Think faster, will you?”

  Raymond stretched up, eying the western coast, then pulled the helm hard. The boat listed to the left.

  “Looking for an inlet?” she muttered.

  “I think that’s the Rappahannock,” he replied. “A hundred places to hide up that river.”

  “Better move fast, before—”

  The engine housing sparked next to Hattie’s face, and a PAP PAP announced after the fact that someone had fired at them.

  Raymond reached for her, jerking her to the deck as more bullets peppered the boat.

  “The rum!” Hattie shouted.

  “Hell with the rum!” Raymond bellowed.

  They chugged west at a hard angle, and Raymond lifted his head between gun shots to ensure they weren’t turning around to face the attackers. He gui
ded the boat into the mouth of the Rappahannock River.

  Hattie eyed the boat behind them. No lights.

  “Raymond!” she shouted. “Kill the lights!”

  He squinted at her, then nodded, reaching beneath the console to jerk a handful of switches.

  With her hands crossed in front of her face, she pinched light, jerking her hands out to her side. It was the simplest light pinch, the first she’d learned when she was a child, the one she always turned to in a moment of need. Hide. Disappear.

  The illusion tugged at her with intent. This wasn’t cheap magic. She’d obfuscated the entire boat, complete with the engine noise and the wake it left behind. Hattie hadn’t attempted this large an illusion in a long time. The immensity of it sliced through her midsection like a scimitar, but she gripped the top of the console, screwed her eyes shut, and bit down on her bottom lip. Keeping watch on the other boat wouldn’t help anything. She just had to buckle down and pour as much of herself into this illusion as she could if they wanted to stay alive.

  Raymond said nothing, and she hoped he’d dismissed her closed posture for fear of bullets. The bullets, as it turned out, had stopped.

  The illusion was working, at least for now. She couldn’t tell if the pursuing vessel had noted their course correction toward the west or not. Hopefully they would keep plowing forward up the Bay, leaving Hattie and Raymond behind. Either way, they were no longer firing their weapons. That was a victory for the moment.

  The seconds pounded in her ears. How long would this have to last? Her stomach churned as it usually did, but this was a different sensation than she’d felt even at McComb’s the past week. It was the distance, she figured. Too much distance for the illusion. Faking out the Feds to see and smell something that wasn’t booze? That was sharp, potent magic. But this was all about radius. It was nighttime, and Raymond had killed the lights on the boat. All she had to do was to cloak a large vessel against a night-shrouded Chesapeake…and muffle the noise. Rather than “sharp and potent,” this was “long and hard.”

  Her feet went numb.

  She could taste blood in her mouth.

  Wave-by-wave, the bubble of pinched light tore at her insides. Her brain throbbed with each heartbeat, and her fingers began to tremble.

  She released a coughing fit and felt a fine spray against the backs of her hands. She opened her eyes for a second to find a dark spackle against her skin. Blood. This illusion was killing her.

  As if seeing it made it real, a panic set into Hattie’s chest. She sucked in breaths, and the cascade of fear and illness twisted and caught aflame. She hyperventilated, gasping and groaning. Just a little long— Just a little longer. But despite her determination, she felt the edges of the illusion began to shred as everything went dark.

  A thick hand cradled her head as she stared up at the stars. She didn’t even remember falling down.

  Raymond peered at her. “Hattie? Hattie?”

  She tried to respond, but before words could reach her throat, a dull gurgle thundered through her throat. She twisted to the side and managed to vomit onto the deck instead of onto her own shirt. The taste was vile…sharp and coppery. Hattie hacked and gagged until her stomach finally decided to offer relief. She spat several times to clear her mouth of the foul taste, realizing she’d vomited blood.

  Hattie straightened up with Raymond’s assistance, her head spinning. “Where…?”

  “Up the river,” he replied, pulling her clear of the sick. “Don’t hear no one after us.”

  Her chest heaved to catch her breath. The illusion had long-since dissipated, leaving her alone with the wreckage of her insides to ponder whether she’d made enough difference.

  Raymond peered down at her. “You okay?”

  She cleared her throat several times, then just closed her eyes. “Are we safe, then?”

  “Don’t know. Like I said, they ain’t followed us. I got us as far upstream as I could before you keeled over.”

  “Sorry.”

  He shook his head. “You just hold tight.”

  Raymond rested her head against a bundle of rope, then hopped up to the top of the cabin. He snatched something long and slender, which caught a gleam of starlight as he brandished it. And then he disappeared, feet landing onto wet ground. She heard hacking and chopping, and a rustling of leaves.

  Hattie gripped the rope by her head to ride out another wave of nausea. Her stomach was already calming down. She must have blacked out for longer than she realized. As her fortitude leeched back into her tiny frame by inches, she pulled upright, then crawled for the side of the boat. Cupping her hand into the murky water below, she swished it in her mouth. It was muddy, filled with an earthy flavor that was an improvement over the bile taste by far. As she spat the water back into the river, she took long, sweet breaths of nighttime air. It was calming. Centering. Cold and oddly delicate.

  When Raymond reappeared, he was hauling half a tree behind his enormous arms. He jerked the limbs, full of new leaves and buds, over Hattie’s head until he’d arranged it over the side of the boat. Then he lashed it to as many cleats as he could manage. He continued this exercise while Hattie regained enough strength to stand upright. By the time she felt human again, he’d camouflaged the boat with hewn branches of a white oak reaching over the waterside.

  Hattie inspected the land alongside them. Raymond had moored them to the trunk of an enormous tree near the bow. The stern wandered, fishing in and out of the water without anchorage. It did nothing to offer any manner of reasonable cover, should their pursuers elect to venture up the river.

  “Raymond?” she coughed.

  He held out a hand. “Lie down, girl.”

  “We’re swinging arse into the water.”

  “I know.”

  “Here.” She reached for the side of the boat, then paused as her head swam.

  Raymond jumped down alongside her, trying to ease her back to the bench seat at the helm, but she shrugged him off.

  “Let me go. I’m fine.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “And we’re sitting ducks, out here. Aren’t we?”

  He frowned. “They ain’t followed us. We’re safe.”

  “And when the sun’s up, you think those branches are going to fool anyone?”

  He scowled. “If they’re still here by sunrise, we both know we’re dead.”

  She lifted her hands. “Let’s survive tonight and we’ll think on that come dawn.”

  He offered a hand, and with his help she got back to her feet. With tremendous effort, she swung a leg over the side of the boat, then the other, splashing down into ankle-deep mud. Lurching up the bank, she examined the tree. It was a magnificent thing, easily over a hundred years old. Hattie smeared some of the mud from her legs onto her cheek bones, sucked in the earthy aroma, and marched for the oak.

  With careful effort, she reached for a branch, then pulled herself up with feet against the trunk. Then another. And another. The air filled her lungs with energy, and as she ascended the tree, she felt more herself. At last, she reached a point halfway up the tree where a long bough wound out over the water. She paused there, casting her glance toward the Bay. There was no sign of any vessel downriver but, with the moon now set, it would be difficult to spot a boat running dark from this viewpoint.

  “See anything?” Raymond called.

  “Nothing. But that don’t mean all that much.”

  “Then come on down before you kill yourself.”

  She obliged, taking quick drops down the tree. On the ground, Hattie wrapped her arms around herself, refusing to set foot back onto the boat.

  Raymond wandered toward the bow, resting his hand on the tarp-covered rum barrels. “Who’d you think those people were?” he mused.

  “Carolinians?” she replied. “Last time we traded with them, Jake took lead in the back of his skull.”

  “Maybe they cut a deal with the Greeks, then sent their own to take back the rum? We take the blame, and th
ey get to keep their booze.”

  Hattie shrugged. “The timing is hard to ignore. We just landed the monopoly on the Bay, and suddenly this happens?”

  “You think it’s the Solomons Island Boys?” he asked.

  “None of them left,” she replied. “One or two, maybe, but they’re probably looking for farm work about now.”

  “Whoever just shot at us,” Raymond said as he returned to the stern, “had a fast boat. That means they got money.”

  “Well, we can’t stay here all night,” she said. “Sun comes up and whoever they are, they’ll spot us quick enough.” She knew that she was far too taxed to toss up another illusion, a fact she couldn’t exactly add to the conversation.

  Raymond threw his hands into the air. “We’re stuck, baby girl. If you got a plan, let’s hear it.”

  She peered up the coast. “Is that a road?”

  Raymond shook his head, then hopped up on top of the bench and squinted toward land. “Uh…maybe.”

  “How far upriver are we?”

  “About twenty minutes.”

  She nodded. “If they haven’t come by yet, then we’re probably clear. But they might be waiting for us at the mouth of the river.”

  Raymond gestured with his outstretched hands. “So?”

  “So, you get up on that road and find a telephone.”

  He cocked his head. “Are you crazy?”

  “You find a phone, and you get a hold of Lizzie. She has people on the inside. Gangsters. They’ll send guns down the river to make sure this much rum makes it back to Baltimore. The Crew isn’t gonna want ten barrels of Jamaica’s finest lost to pirates. They’ll send muscle.”

  He spat into the river. “If I find someone with a phone who’ll let me use it, I’ll eat my pants.”

  “It has to be you,” she urged. “I have to protect the boat.”