Their images flashed before her. Each and every person she held dear. Only this time her imagination got involved and transposed that awful poster overtop them. Mama, Daddy, Granddad, and Grandmama with bloody slashes across their faces. Cora, Walker, Elsie, and Barbara. Her brothers, their wives and children. Slade.
When Dev forced her into the corridor of family bedrooms, his mother stepped into the hall. For a second, one shining second, she hoped some help would come from the woman.
“Are we traveling by coach or train, Devereaux? I need to know what to pack.”
Obviously a vain hope.
Dev growled. “What do you think, Mother? Do we own a coach company or a railroad?”
A shiver stole through her. Never, in all the years she’d known him, had he spoken so harshly to his mother.
Mother Hughes seemed just as taken aback. “Devereaux Hughes, there is no call for such impertinence.”
“Oh, but there is. You have three minutes, or I leave without you. And you, darling.” He gave her a shake and shoved her toward her door. “Three minutes, or you go with nothing.”
He released her arm once she was inside. Perhaps he would stride away to attend something else, and she could—but no. He withdrew the pistol on his hip and used it to direct her toward her boudoir. “I believe your trunks and bags are in there?”
When he touched the barrel to her back to keep her moving, she didn’t dare wonder how he knew where she kept her bags. “You can remove the gun, darling. And you could have mentioned your mother was coming as chaperone. That would have resolved my objection.”
If only her objection were so simple.
As soon as they stepped into the small chamber, he pulled a valise from the shelf and tossed it to the floor. “When you are falling asleep by my side tonight, we can laugh about it. For now, indulge me.”
By his side? She turned to face him, gun or no gun. “Pardon?”
He chuckled into her outrage. “Two minutes, darling. Don’t bother with dresses—we will purchase you new ones when we get there.”
With trembling hands she pulled items at random off shelves and from drawers and stuffed them into the valise. Her hairbrush had no sooner joined the chaos within the case than he slammed it closed, latched it, and nudged her from the room with the pistol again. “Time is up.”
He didn’t even slow as they passed his mother’s room. He just called out, “I’m leaving.” Marietta heard harried steps behind her but didn’t look around lest she stumble on the stairs.
Two sets of steps, though. Dev must have noted the same thing, for he glared over his shoulder. “I said not to involve the slaves, Mother.”
She huffed. “Well, I could hardly pack on my own, and I cannot get along without Jess. She must come with us.”
Dev’s lips pressed to a thin line. He paused on the second-floor landing and turned to face the two older women. He raised his pistol, probably set to wave it at them as he had at—
Bang.
Screams. Mother Hughes’s, Jess’s, and given the burning in her throat, her own. The servant crumpled to the stairs, clutching her leg. Crimson soaked through her skirt.
Marietta’s stomach heaved upward, and her vision blurred. Voices clamored and clanged, but she couldn’t unravel them from each other. Couldn’t tell which way was up. Couldn’t…couldn’t…
A blast of wind blew some of the cobwebs away, but that made her stomach churn more. Dev was putting her on her feet, outside, beside his carriage, and she had no recollection of getting there.
“I am sorry you had to see that, darling.” He brushed her hair from her face with one hand and tossed her valise into the coach with the other. “I know how you detest the sight of blood. But she will likely survive, so calm yourself.”
Calm herself?
Mother Hughes was crying. Farther away, someone screamed her name. Barbara—she must have heard the gunshot.
Her vision cleared and latched onto a spot of shining gold. It took her a second to realize it was a small head—Elsie’s, and the girl stood nearly under Barbara’s window, partially concealed by the hedge.
Marietta opened her mouth, but she daren’t try to answer Barbara, not with Dev’s finger still on the trigger and too many targets about.
Elsie pulled her thumb out of her mouth, pointed both fingers, and then made the letter D and shook it. Where are you going?
“Enough, Mother. Mari, up you go.”
Lord, let her understand and remember! Discreetly as she could, she made the sign for Dev and two fingers along the matching two from the other hand for train. She managed to add a quick Tell Daddy before Dev lifted her into the carriage.
Thirty-One
Slade paced to the window again, worry’s teeth gnawing at him. Perhaps a scrap of peace would have been instilled by the steady stroke of Mrs. Lane’s pencil over her paper, but her husband’s pacing, mirroring Slade’s, negated it.
He had detoured to the telegraph office, had sent a wire to Pinkerton. Can’t come tonight, he had written, their agreed-upon code for when the KGC was acting. Attending the theater at Ford’s with friends.
Once he arrived at the Lane residence, he had explained the situation to the old man. His promise to help, though, hadn’t relieved the anxiety building like a thunderhead.
Marietta should be here by now. “Where is she?”
“Helping Barbara with Cora, no doubt,” Mrs. Lane said from her desk.
Slade shot a glance to Lane, who exhaled and shook his head. “I don’t know, sweet. I have a bad feeling.”
Mrs. Lane’s pencil stilled, and she spun on her chair to face them. “Then why are you still here?”
“I thought at first it was unease over the situation in general, but…” The old man slapped his leg and spun to the door, face set. “You’re right. Come, Oz. Waiting will accomplish nothing. If she is on her way, we’ll pass her along the street.”
Unless she took side streets to avoid detection, which was why they hadn’t immediately headed back to intercept her. But Slade followed Lane across the room. If they missed her somehow, her grandmother would tell her where they went.
Walker’s grandfather had horses waiting and handed them the reins with a grim face. “You need me, you let me know,” he said to Lane.
“As always.” The old man swung into the saddle with the ease of a youth. “Be praying, Henry.”
“As always.”
Slade nodded his appreciation and, once mounted, nudged the horse into a trot.
According to Lane, they could count on Walker, Hez, Henry, and the two of them. Isaac could be called upon in a pinch. So they had five or six—certainly better odds than one against four, even with two of them being eighty.
What really struck him was how quickly Lane had rattled that off. As if accustomed to examining his family through such a lens.
It seemed to take forever to make their way to Monument Square, though he recognized there were few others out on this holy day before Easter. Many businesses were closed, school children ran about at play in the spring sunshine, little traffic clogged the roads.
The shouts could be heard from Marietta’s house from halfway down the street. Kicking their mounts up to a canter for the remaining distance, Slade ended up swinging down a second before Lane at the carriage house.
Barbara and Walker staggered from the side door of the big house, old Jess carried between them. The woman’s head lolled, and a huge patch of red stained her skirt.
“Thunder and turf.” Lane took off at a speed that shouldn’t have been possible for a man of his age, one Slade had trouble keeping up with. “What happened?”
Barbara, holding Jess’s feet, looked up at them with gratitude. “Praise Jesus. I was uncertain I would be able to get her up the stairs. Mr. Hughes shot her. He and his mother and Mari are all gone, and I don’t know to where. He locked me in my room. Walker only just freed me.”
Every vile word he had ever heard vied for a place on his tong
ue, but Slade bit them all back. He would follow Barbara’s example. “Lord, guide us.” He took Jess’s legs from her and motioned with his head for her to precede them to the carriage house stairs. “When?”
Barbara looked to Walker. “I am unsure how long I was banging on the door after I heard the gunshot, but Mr. Hughes arrived not five minutes after you left, Slade.”
And he had been wasting time pacing the Lanes’ drawing room. That truth knifed through him and left him quaking. Where could Hughes have taken her? Surely not the train station yet. He wouldn’t risk keeping her around all those crowds too long, and the next train didn’t leave for Cumberland until three o’clock.
“She was unconscious when we got to her.” Walker started up the stairs backwards, the lines scored deep in his forehead. “This ain’t gonna help Cora in her labor.”
The door above them opened, and Freeda stepped out with a frown to match her son’s. “Where’s Elsie? Has anyone seen her?”
A twist to the knife. Surely, surely nothing had happened to the girl.
“She’s here in the hedges.” Lane’s voice carried a smile. “I’ll stay with her. She doesn’t need to see her gramma hurt like that.”
That the little girl was safe was a short-lived relief in light of all else that was so very wrong. Slade and Walker got Jess inside and onto the table, Cora’s moans coming from the bedroom. Barbara rushed in behind them and set her black satchel on a chair.
“What…what’s goin’ on?” Cora panted. “Been so much screamin’…”
Barbara shooed Slade and Walker away and leaned over Jess. “Most of that was me, locked in my room. Your mama’s been hurt, Cora, but we’ll take care of her. Can you tell me how you’re doing? Are the pains still worse each time?”
“Mama? How did she get hurt?”
Slade kept his gaze averted, but he could hear rustling from the bedroom.
Freeda waved her hands at him and Walker. “You menfolk get outta here, now. Ain’t no place for you. If we need ya, we’ll call.”
Though his friend seemed reluctant, Slade obeyed happily. He sped out and down the steps, over to where Lane crouched before Elsie. She had made a nest for herself in a break in the hedge, having dragged a blanket over, her doll, and even a cup of water. She must have been hiding here a good while.
His breath caught. “Elsie.” He crouched beside Lane and cleared his face. As Marietta had taught him, he touched the child on her shoulder to get her attention and then made the sign for her name.
She grinned up at him and waved, signing his name back.
She was so young…but he had to try, didn’t he? Scrounging in his mind for the few signs he had learned, he pointed to her, his eyes, and then made the sign for Marietta.
Lane hummed. “Good thought. She could have seen them.”
Elsie hooked a finger in her mouth as she nodded. She repeated the sign for Marietta, swept her hand around her face. Marietta is beautiful.
His smile felt a little more genuine as he signed yes. He looked to Lane. “Do you know how to ask if she saw her leave?”
“I do.” He made a few quick motions, but Slade kept his eyes on the tot. Did she understand?
He wasn’t sure at first. Then she nodded and formed the letter D with her hand, moving it in the word bad. “That’s their sign for Hughes.”
“And that,” Lane added as she moved her fingers across her others, “is train. He’s taking her with him. We have to stop him, Oz.”
Walker appeared and scooped up his daughter. “Someone explain.”
Slade let Lane do the honors while he stood and turned away. Why? Why would Hughes have taken them to the station already, if Cumberland were their destination? He had to know Marietta was not with him willingly. He might be conceited and obsessed, but he was no idiot. A man couldn’t run a company the size of…
Of course. Slade was the idiot. The man owned the whole rail line. Why would he be bound by the timetables? He could modify the schedule as he pleased.
Which meant the train could already be gone. Or leaving in a matter of minutes. He had no time to lose.
He spun around, mouth open to ask, beg, inform, whatever he had to do.
Lane’s gaze was already on him. “Go. Hurry. We’ll do what we can in Washington.”
That was all the confirmation Slade needed. He ran back to his waiting horse and dug his heels into its flanks. He nearly turned the wrong way at the end of the street, toward Camden Station, until he realized that Hughes would have to have his cars pulled through the city by horse to President Street Station if he were heading west.
Maybe, just maybe, that would have gained him some time.
The city blurred around him, each pound of hooves echoed by his heart. Each beat of his heart a silent cry heavenward.
It shouldn’t be this way. He had known the stakes were high, but it should have only been about the Knights. About Lincoln. About Ross’s betrayal and Slade’s reclaiming of his reputation.
It shouldn’t have been about loving, so definitely not about this agonizing fear of losing the one he loved. Had he known this was part of the price…
A whisper moved through him. A solid thought that wouldn’t budge.
God knew. God had known all along and had called him here anyway.
A single flame of anger licked through him, but he banked it. He could ask why of the Lord forever and never find all the answers, but he knew enough of them. Knew that, even if he failed at his every task today, it would be worth it to have tried.
Worth it to have loved her.
President Street Station came into view, and his heart galloped far ahead of the horse. There, smoke already rolling from the locomotive’s stack, was the Hughes car, with three freight cars attached at the rear.
He urged his horse faster over the final stretch of street. Lord, get me there!
There was a whoosh of steam, a chug, and the wheels squealed into motion.
“We need to go with him.” Mr. Lane stood staring in the direction of the road, though Osborne had disappeared from view long ago.
Walker smoothed a curl from Elsie’s sleeping face and straightened. He was surprised she had curled up the way she had on her blanket and drifted off, but he was glad of it. Too much was going on inside for her to be underfoot.
He stepped to Mr. Lane’s side, studying the man’s profile rather than the road. “You don’t think he can handle Hughes?”
His companion turned, sorrow in his eyes. “He’ll do all he can. But you can bet Hughes will have help. And he has already proven he isn’t opposed to using violence to achieve his ends.”
Those concerns made sense, so he nodded. But it was more than that. “And it’s Yetta.”
Mr. Lane sighed. “Yes. It’s Mari. She has always been so special to me. The thought of her in that devil’s clutches…” He scrubbed a hand over his face, skewing his hat. “I have had loved ones in danger before and felt the hand of the Lord telling me to be still, to trust Him to care for them. Today I feel only an urgency to get myself on the next train to the mountains.”
“Then go.”
“But with all that will be happening in Washington—”
“We’ve hours enough to see to that. Their one agent is a ferry operator out of Port Tobacco, which means Grandpa Henry will know him. I’ll try to find Pinkerton or Oz’s friend and convince them this is serious. Hez and I will handle the rest.” Even as he said it, his heart tugged him back toward the carriage house, where Cora’s groans kept coming through the windows. Jess’s bleeding had stopped, but she hadn’t woken up yet.
They would pray. And then pray some more.
Mr. Lane slapped a hand to his leg. “I have to go. I will take Ize with me and send Hez and Henry here. Gwyn and Julie I’ll set to praying.”
“When the rest of the servants get back from church, I’ll get them praying too.”
Decision made, Mr. Lane took off for his horse.
After checking on Elsie again, W
alker jogged up the stairs to home. He knew Barbara and his mother would only let him in for a few minutes, but he had to know how Jess and Cora were doing.
He found his mother-in-law still unconscious on the kitchen table. A blanket covered her where her skirt had been cut away, and bloodied bandages were in the corner.
At the moment Barbara was bent over the stove, and he spotted Mama in the bedroom wiping a cloth over Cora’s forehead. He headed for his wife and took the side opposite his mother. “How are you doing, honey?”
Her eyes were clouded with pain, but she managed a smile. “Miss Barbara says everything’s real good. I’m just prayin’ for Mama.” She reached for his hand and gripped it hard. “You gonna help Mr. Slade catch him? You gotta help, honey. You gotta see he pays for what he did.”
He covered her fingers with his. “Mr. Lane and Ize are going to help Oz. They asked me…” How much should he tell them? There were worries enough saturating this room. And yet if she were still laboring, if Jess were still struggling when it was time for him to head to Washington, he couldn’t very well leave without a word. He sucked in a quick breath. “There’s some men planning on killing the president tonight, honey. Oz was trying to stop them too, but he can’t do it all. He asked me if I’d help.”
“Then what are you doing here?” She propped herself up on her free elbow. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “You gotta save him. You go right now, Walker Payne.”
That was his Cora. He leaned over and kissed her head. “Nothing I can do yet, honey. Won’t have to leave until dark. So you just have this baby before then so I can leave without that worry, all right?”
Even as he finished speaking, her face contorted again. And his mother, again, shooed him back outside.
Thirty-Two
Devereaux had been glad, at first, for the silence from the females. He had been too busy checking the windows, his lists of supplies, and the timetables, to have any desire to deal with their histrionics.
But an hour had passed with nothing but the clickety-clack of the wheels over the iron ribbons, and now their continued petulance grated. His mother’s glare drilled him, and Marietta hadn’t said a word since he tossed her into his private car. She had remained on the seat he had put her in, not so much as shifting from her landing position. Her gaze had remained fixed on the floor.
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