Winds of the Storm

by Beverly Jenkins

  “How did you know it was her?” Archer asked.

  “Met her this morning with Miss Sable. Miss Turpin was looking for her kidnapped grandchild.”

  “Did you recognize the men?”

  “I did. One was that White Leaguer Mitchell Isenbaum.”

  “Are you sure it was him?” Raimond asked him.

  “Real sure. I’m a Republican. Seen him on the corners and in the parks spouting his hate. Saw him at the rally where that little boy was killed. I know Isenbaum when I see him. That’s why I hid myself behind the grocer’s big packing crates when they brought Miss Turpin out.”

  He paused for a moment, then said earnestly, “I probably should have asked what they were up to, but I know those Leaguers don’t like being questioned by us and I didn’t want to wind up like that little boy.”

  Sable reassured him. “No one is faulting you, Mr. Mayfield. If you hadn’t hid you might not be here now to tell us what you saw.”

  “My wife’s right, Mr. Mayfield. Did you recognize the second man?”

  “Yep, but only because it was the same face that’s on the flyer Miss Sable and Miss Turpin gave me this morning.”

  And now Archer knew that Isenbaum and Crete had taken Zahra. “What about the lady who owns the dress shop, did you see her anywhere?”

  Mayfield nodded. “Once the men laid Miss Turpin down in the wagon, the dress shop lady came out. She locked her door and got in with them. Then they drove away.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mayfield,” Archer said. On one level he was relieved by the story, but on another level he was even more afraid for Zahra because he knew what Crete and Isenbaum were capable of. Wilma’s role would have to be discerned later.

  Sable left to drive Mr. Mayfield home. She’d then return to Juliana’s to await further word.

  “Now what?” Raimond asked Archer.

  “We need to find out where they might have taken her. We know they’re not at Isenbaum’s. If we can flush out some of his friends we might learn something useful.”

  “You found the Death Books at Dawes’ cigar shop. Let’s start with him.”

  “Good idea. He wasn’t home earlier. Maybe he’s returned.”

  Zahra and her captors traveled until it became so dark the lanterns on each side of the buggy had to be lit in order to see their way clear. From the confidence Isenbaum showed as he drove, Zahra believed he knew where he was going. From her days as Domino she remembered Matilda referencing Isenbaum’s cabin in Baton Rouge. Was that where they were taking her?

  Cigar shop owner Hathaway Dawes awakened to a nightmare. A dozen men wearing black hoods were circled around his bed. And in the dark they looked like demons from hell. “Where is she?” one of them barked.

  He was confused but wide awake. “Who?”

  “The woman Crete kidnapped. The woman known as the Butterfly.”

  “I don’t—”

  The man who’d spoken reached down and roughly dragged Dawes’ five foot three frame so close Dawes swore he could feel the heat blazing from the demon’s eyes. The man voiced coldly, “I am going to kill someone tonight. Shall I begin with you?”

  Dawes let out a squeak of fear.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time—”

  “Baton Rouge,” he cried. “Mitchell has a cabin there. That’s where the trial’s going to be.”

  Archer stilled. “Trial? What trial!”

  Dawes was shaking violently. “She’s going to be tried for crimes against the Confederacy. Please don’t kill me!”

  Archer made him give them directions to the cabin then threw him loose and stepped back. “Were I you, Dawes, I’d leave New Orleans. If she is harmed, I’ll be back to send you to hell.”

  Dawes squeaked again and the man departed.

  Outside, Archer and the others mounted their horses and rode towards the road. Archer was about out of his mind. According to Mayfield’s story Zahra had been taken around two in the afternoon and now it was nine hours later. Archer knew how resourceful Zahra was and that under most circumstances she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but this was not a normal occurrence. Crete represented hate. He and his followers stood for the basest of human values and they had Zahra. His Zahra. If they harmed her he would hunt them down like the rabid cowards they were.

  When Zahra awakened, it was morning. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and Crete was driving. She was surprised she’d been able to sleep but she didn’t feel rested or renewed. Although stops had been made to accommodate her physical needs, no food had been provided so far. She was hungry. The last time she’d eaten had been at the Christophe with Sable. She knew she had to set her hunger aside, though. What she was facing would be far more deleterious to her health than hunger, by far. Tried for crimes against the Confederacy, Crete had said. Were he and the others hunting down all the Black dispatches who’d spied for the Union or just her? Was there a death book of sorts listing their names, too?

  The sun was directly overhead when the wagon left the main road and took a rutted track that led through the trees. An hour later, they stopped before a small cabin set out in the middle of nowhere. There were no other houses nearby for as far as the eye could see. She had no idea where she was, but she knew she was a long way from New Orleans and Archer. She pushed him out of her mind again. Thinking about him and what he and the others must be going through only made her despondent. She needed to remain clearheaded and alert if she was going to survive this, and the Good Lord willing, she would.

  Chapter 15

  Zahra had been locked inside a small room since their arrival at the cabin a few hours ago. They had at least allowed her to remove the wig, cotton batting, and the uneven brogans, but at the moment her comfort was the least of her problems. She had to get out. Staying here and being put on trial was not anything she wanted to participate in, but the room had only a six-inch cut in the wall serving as a window and the door was locked. Besides, so far there’d been no opportunities to escape.

  Suddenly, she heard a key scratching at the lock, and moments later the door was opened. It was Wilma, and behind her stood an armed man whose face was hidden beneath a dirty white pillow slip with cutout openings for his eyes. Hanging across Wilma’s arm was what appeared to be a garment made of fine white satin.

  She walked into the room. “This is for you, lass.” She offered Zahra the garment, but Zahra didn’t take it.

  “What is it?”

  “A simple robe. It’s what you are to wear for your trial. I made it myself.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you’ll be presented as naked as a niggress on the slave block. The panel of judges would enjoy that, no doubt.”

  Zahra hated the triumph shining in Wilma’s eyes, but she took the robe.

  “You always were smart. Now get dressed and someone will come for you soon.”

  The man behind Wilma placed a small bucket of water on the floor just inside the door.

  Wilma explained, “So you can wash off that paint. The judges want to see the face of the woman who helped defeat the South.”

  That said, she and the man withdrew. Zahra heard the lock click, and she was alone again.

  Zahra washed her face with the rag and the small sliver of soap that had been in the bucket, then she removed the clothing she’d worn as Minnie. She took a moment to run the rag over herself in an attempt to rid her skin of sweat and grime, then she held up the robe. It was long and designed to be put on over her head. In the center, a large white star had been appliquéd to the fabric, and the rays beaming off the star were blood red. Grim, she shook her head and put the thing on. It was long sleeved, voluminous enough for her to move in comfortably, and flowed to her feet. Dressed now, she waited.

  Archer and his contingent were on their bellies, hiding in the rushes about one hundred yards from Isenbaum’s cabin. They could see by the light being cast from fires burning in two large pits on the side of the place. People were prepar
ing for some kind of outdoor activity. Two men appeared out of the darkness, carrying a long trestle table. They set it a ways back from the fire, then returned carrying stools—five in all, by Archer’s count as he looked through the spyglass. He was glad for the fires, because without them the glasses would be useless.

  Beside him, Raimond, another glass to his eye, asked, “How are you, brother?”

  “I’ll be better once we have her back.”

  All he wanted was to hold Zahra in his arms again and never let her go. The ride here had been an anguishing one. He’d had to let his anger rule, otherwise despair would have taken over. The thoughts of never seeing her again, never hearing her laugh, never having the chance to tell her that he loved her as much as his life had ridden with him the entire way. And he did love her, he just wished the fates hadn’t dealt him such a dangerous hand to make him realize it.

  Archer continued to watch the scene playing out before them, hoping for a glimpse of Zahra. Until they saw her, they couldn’t be certain she was here. Instead, a line of five people dressed in white hooded robes came out of the darkness. The firelight shimmered eerily off their satin costumes. After the five took seats on the stools behind the trestle table, another group filed in, carrying lit torches. Archer counted twenty-five. There were eleven in his group.

  “About two apiece,” a pleased-sounding Raimond whispered.

  Archer liked the odds, too. Now if he could just see Zahra.

  By the time Zahra was finally escorted from the room by two costumed men carrying burning torches, she was almost relieved. Almost. During the war, she’d had to extricate herself from some dangerous situations, but none as dangerous as this.

  They led her outside into the cool night air. She saw the fires and the white-robed individuals gathered around them. All were turned and looking her way. She knew her captors were hoping the scene would frighten her, and it did, but being frightened and surrendering were two different things.

  The wind picked up slightly, blowing embers into the air, and Zahra was grateful for the breeze. It felt good after being cooped up all day. Zahra stood silently before the robed judges. Her training kept her eyes focused on the one man, now rising from his seat. Outwardly, she looked calm. Inside, she was more afraid than she’d ever been in her life, but she held her head high.

  As the man began to speak, Zahra recognized the voice as Crete’s. “Sons and Daughters of the White Star,” he called out commandingly against the night. “I present to you the woman known as Butterfly.”

  Horns blew and whistles trilled in response. The Sons and Daughters were having such a good time celebrating her capture that when the riders came charging into the camp with guns firing, it took them a moment to comprehend what was happening. Then they began to run, screaming, yelling, tripping on their snow-white robes as they fled the riders and their big mounts. Zahra took the opportunity to push over the table, then she ran for her life. She heard Crete scream, “Get her! Get her!”

  Zahra turned back to see if they were gaining on her and was stunned when she saw Wilma fire a pistol at Crete, then fire again. Crete staggered back, then sagged against the table before sliding from view. It all happened so fast, and she was taken by such surprise, she didn’t realize she was standing still until she heard Wilma scream, “Run lass! Run!”

  Zahra forced herself into motion and ran towards the tree line.

  The Sons and Daughters had by now regrouped and were returning firing. But the riders having the advantage of surprise, speed and height were a more formidable and efficient force.

  In the chaos of bullets and mayhem, the mounted Archer set his sights on Zahra. He could see her running fast. A man in a robe was right behind her. Spurring his horse on, he shouted her name. She looked up and ran towards him. He fired his pistol, the man dropped. Zahra held up her arms and let herself be scooped up and placed down hard on the saddle in front of him. “It’s about time!” she said happily.

  “Hang on!” Archer yelled, and then they were galloping towards the trees. His mounted companions were right on his heels.

  On the slow ride back, Zahra cuddled against Archer and savored the feel of being near him, Standing before Crete’s judges, she’d doubted ever being able to do this again, but Archer and his companions had ridden to her rescue like the Black cavalry that toppled Richmond during the war. “Thanks for the rescue.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You brought your own army I see.” His brothers were with him, as were Alfred, and his cousin Roland, and some of the Black veterans from the night patrols.

  “Had to.”

  She was grateful for the rescue. Being with him filled her heart. “How’d you know where to find me?”

  Archer told her the story of Mr. Mayfield, and then about the bedtime visit they paid on Hathaway Dawes.

  She asked him, “Did you see Wilma shoot Crete back there?”

  Archer was surprised by that. “No. When?”

  “During the melee. Shot him at least twice.” Then Zahra related Wilma’s role in her capture. “She had Crete convinced she was on their side.”

  “Was she?”

  “Seeing her shoot him makes me say no, but I’m not sure of anything about her anymore.”

  “Whatever side she’s on, I’ll never forgive her for putting you in their clutches. Did she escape?”

  “I don’t know that either.” Zahra had quite a few questions for Wilma, but she didn’t know if she’d ever see the Irishwoman again.

  Archer asked, “So, is there a reward for your rescue.”

  Zahra smiled up and purred, “Oh, yes, and as soon as we get back to New Orleans, I’m going to give you such a boon you won’t be able to walk.”

  He chuckled. “Then let’s get you home. He looked down into her face and his voice took on a more serious tone. “I’m glad you’re safe, Zahra.”

  Reaching up, she cupped his unshaven cheek. “So am I.”

  Back in New Orleans, Zahra was greeted with hugs and joyful tears from Juliana and Sable. The next day, Juliana threw a small party to celebrate Zahra’s successful return that was attended by the Le Veqs and the men and women of Zahra’s staff.

  Afterwards, Archer and Zahra returned to his suite and fell tiredly onto the sofa. “Can I sleep for the next two weeks?” Zahr asked wearily.

  “Only if I can join you.”

  Zahra’s rides to Baton Rouge and back to New Orleans had taken a physical toll compounded by her lack of food and sleep. She’d recovered a bit in the two days since her return but she was still very tired. When Archer leaned down and kissed her however, she was infused with a rush of sweet energy so familiar she leaned up to receive more. She’d missed his kisses almost as much as she’d missed him and she wanted to show him how much. Soon hands were undoing buttons, and tongues were mating and as always, Zahra wound up wearing no drawers beneath her beautiful plum-colored gown.

  Archer carried her towards his room, lingering in the darkness on the way to taste her kiss swollen lips, then placed her gently on the bed. Just like the first night he’d made love to her there, the moonlight streamed through the large windows. Archer removed the rest of his clothes and fed his eyes on her partially nude form. Her breasts were bared and the gown was rucked up on her thighs. She was a vision of erotic loveliness he couldn’t wait to pleasure.

  And pleasure her he did, from the passion hardened nipples of her breasts to the damp hidden treasure between her thighs, Archer lavished her, aroused her. She climaxed the first time in response to his fingers and lips, then came again while positioned lustily atop him. He turned her over, and it didn’t take long for him to yell his own release.

  They spent the rest of the night in a sensual, uninhibited world all their own, and when they were both too sated to do more, they clung to each other and slept.

  Zahra awakened first the following morning and smiled over at the sight of him asleep. His light snores gently broke the silence. Last night’s lovemaking
had been the stuff of dreams. She had never felt so cherished, so wanton. It was the kind of loving that could bind two people for life she sensed, which was why leaving him in the next few days was so imperative. He was the type of man who could make a woman turn her back on everything else just to see his smile, and Zahra’s ties to her family precluded that. He also didn’t love her, another serious issue for her because she loved him like she loved breathing. Filled with uncharacteristic regret, she gave him a bittersweet smile, then snuggled back under the blankets for more sleep.

  The next day, Zahra received a letter from Wilma.

  Dear Zahra,

  I am on my way back to Boston but I couldn’t leave without explaining. I am aware you think I betrayed you, but my actions were for reasons you may or may not find sound. Grant and his people have been looking for Crete for some time, but our agents couldn’t find him. I was sent down ostensibly to help you, but in reality my mission was to get a line on Crete and to eliminate him if I could.

  Very surprised by what that meant, Zahra read on.

  I knew when I arrived in New Orleans that he was rumored to be there. I’d hoped to learn where he was living to no avail. When your people verified that Isenbaum was in cahoots with Crete, my only choice was to convince Isenbaum that I was a supporter. To do so, I gave him your coded name to pass along to Crete, hoping he would take the bait and want to know more about you. He did. Crete came to my shop the very next day. I could have eliminated him then, but the president wanted to know who else Crete had recruited and how many others were involved with his organization. My sincerest apologies for making you a pawn and for participating in your capture, but I had my orders. My apologies to Miss Tubman, also. I did send her the wire about the Death Books, Zahra. Too important not to.