Ryan landed a sound smash to Zachary’s jaw but caught a blow to his chin and was dazed long enough for Zachary to grab the gun by the barrel. There was no time to position and fire, but he brought the stock down in a deadly arc.
Ryan saw it coming in the glow of the hungry, licking blaze and rolled just in time. Zachary lunged again, but Ryan was ready, butting him in the midsection with his head and knocking him breathless.
With a smashing fist, he put him all the way out.
Slowly, Ryan got to his feet. Smoke was blinding, for the fire was rapidly spreading. He stumbled through the gray, choking fog, groping for the stairs.
He was about to descend when he hesitated over whether to let the bastard burn to death.
He turned back into the smoke.
With great effort, he dragged Zachary all the way downstairs and out into the yard.
Gratefully gulping in the sweet, fresh air to cleanse his parched lungs, Ryan stared down at his unconscious foe. “Sometimes life is worse than death, damn you,” he muttered before turning away. “If there’s a God in heaven, I’ve a feeling he’ll show you hell on earth.”
Victoria reclined against the pillows, feeling absolutely wretched. With Eliza and Ebner gone, the other household servants were not as competent, and she was having a terrible time with the vapors.
The doctor had come and gone late last night, assuring her he’d return some time in the afternoon to examine Ryan and try to diagnose the extent of his mental disturbance. Meanwhile, Victoria could only pray Ryan would not learn the truth. It might take a bit longer, but if he couldn’t find that wretched girl, which she was sure he’d be unable to do, he’d eventually have to get over her and get on with his life.
She guessed he’d gone tearing off to the Tremayne farm. She only hoped Tremayne would tell him about Arlene. Maybe then, he’d realize it had all happened for the best and just give up. For certain, she’d pretend not to have known and, as would be expected, have some kind of attack. Never would she reveal she’d known all along, for then he might suspect she did have something to do with Erin’s disappearance. For the time being, it was the word of slaves against hers, and they weren’t allowed to testify against white people anyway in a court of law, so she was not about to lower herself to contradict any accusation they made.
She yawned, stretched, and decided not to spend the rest of the day in bed worrying about it all.
Flinging back the covers, she sat up—and that was when she realized Ryan was standing in the doorway.
“How—how long have you been there?” she asked, unnerved, grabbing her robe from the foot of the bed. “Heavens, as crazy as you’ve been acting lately, I don’t like the idea of your sneaking up on me this way.” She also didn’t like the way he was staring at her, as if something in him had died, and just the shell of him was left.
In a dull monotone, he stated rather than asked, “You knew, didn’t you.”
“Knew what?” she asked sharply, irritably, as she ran trembling fingers through her hair.
He walked over to the bed, and as he came toward her, Victoria instinctively shrank back.
Pulling the covers up to her chin, she was starting to experience fear of her own son. His blue eyes were the color of frost on a January morning, narrowed to ominous slits beneath the frown that creased his forehead. He looked worn, haggard from a sleepless night, yet there was no slump of weariness to his posture. He stood straight, tall, a fierce resolve emanating as he demanded confirmation of the suspicions that had riddled him during the seemingly endless night.
“Somehow—I don’t know how—you found out about Erin having Negro blood. You made arrangements to have her sold into slavery to get her out of my life, as Zachary Tremayne had sold her mother.”
Victoria could not conjure the shocked reaction she’d planned, for she was far too terrified. She could only shake her head wildly from side to side, eyes bulging, lips working nervously but silently.
“You knew it wouldn’t matter to me,” he coldly continued, “because you read the letter I’d left for her and knew I loved her, that I’d still love her even if I found out the truth about her being a mulatto.”
Victoria finally found her voice, thin, squeaky, feigning horror. “Oh, no! She can’t be…”
When he did not respond, she became braver, more sure of herself, daring to think maybe he was coming to his senses.
“Oh, my son, I know how this must hurt you, but be glad she did run away with another man. What if you’d had children? It could have been a disaster. Why, the baby might have been dark-skinned, and—”
“Don’t you understand?” He looked at her incredulously, as though he’d never really seen her before. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing matters to me except my love for Erin. And you”—he sat down beside her—“are going to tell me exactly what you did with her, and you’re going to tell me the name of the person who helped you do it.”
Victoria broke down.
The tears and the screams and the sobs and the pleas to forgive were genuine.
Ryan sat unmoved, waiting for her to realize he had no intention of relenting.
Finally, when she saw there was no way out except for the truth, she told him everything.
And when she was done, he got up and walked to the door.
Victoria ran after him, stumbling in her desperate haste, falling. She reached out to clutch him about his ankles as she begged, “Ryan, don’t go, please. You’ll thank me one day for ridding you of her. She’s where her kind belongs, and you’re only making a fool of yourself, and me, and the Youngblood name. Please, son—”
He kicked free of her hold, moved quickly out of her reach, then stared down at her, not with hatred or loathing, but pity.
Still, he knew he had to speak the words that were needling his soul.
“You have no son…and I have no mother.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Erin was fascinated with the verdant beauty that was Sierra Leone. The low-lying, flat coastal area was said to extend for over two hundred miles, and, though it was extremely swampy in places, inland regions quickly became dramatic, with wooded hills rising to the Lorna Mountains near the Guinea border.
The language, she quickly found, could be a problem among many tribal groups. Yet there were enough British people in residence that communication was adequate for her needs.
Elliott Noland was an amiable guide, helping her to become acclimated. She learned that the main crops of the region were rice, coffee, cocoa, palm kernels, and kola nuts. The local pastime of the natives was sharing horror stories of slave catchers in the remote hills, and the ever-present danger of man-eating leopards.
Letty was given the job of cooking for the governor and his staff, in exchange for room and board. Erin, given shelter there along with her mother, was grateful not to have to eat the local diet of crushed corn, parboiled fish, and, most unpalatable of all, crispy, dried caterpillars.
She knew the climate had to be the primary reason her mother’s health was so improved, but there was no denying Elliott had something to do with it also.
While Arlene filled her days with helping to teach native children in the settlement school how to read and write, and Letty had her hands full in service to the governor and his staff, Erin found herself growing restless. With too much time on her hands, days blended into weeks of feeling there was no real purpose to her life. Finally, she tried her hand at teaching, but was dismayed to realize it just wasn’t her calling.
She volunteered to work with the churches, yet did not feel truly needed. The village was bursting with British missionaries, and she was only in the way.
Loneliness set in, along with thoughts of how useless she felt in Sierra Leone and how much she could be doing at home.
One night after dinner, as she and her mother and Elliott sat on the porch overlooking the wine-dark ocean, a strange and eerie sound began from somewhere behind them in the hills. Slowly, it spread, rising in c
rescendo, voices moaning and wailing in a kind of chant.
“Morna,” Elliott affirmed reverently. “It always gives me goose bumps, no matter how many times I hear it.”
Arlene murmured, “And such a sad and lonely sound. I’ll never forget the first time I heard it.”
“Would someone please tell me what it is?” Erin was spellbound.
Elliott obliged. “It’s a chant that legend says began on the Cape Verde Islands and spread throughout Africa. It’s supposed to convey the sadness and loneliness of wanting to go to a mysterious, faraway place, where waves, which represent eternal peace, never cease. Those who chant believe they can actually hear the waves crashing on some distant shore, that the sound is calling them to it. True happiness can only be found by going there, and the chanting echoes the will of the soul to obey.”
A beautiful but sad tale, Erin thought. She could not refrain from asking, “What happens when no one ever goes there?”
He smiled cryptically. “Who can say they don’t? Where a person goes in his heart is a very private thing.”
Erin thought about that. It was only native music, a leitmotiv. Yet, in that instant, it was so easy to imagine she could also hear the eternal waves—only the sound was Mother Bethel, calling her back.
Arlene saw the misery etched on her face and exchanged a concerned glance with Elliott as she probed, “Is something wrong? Does the chanting upset you?”
“What upsets me is feeling absolutely useless.” Erin saw no reason to hold back any longer. She’d accomplished what she set out to do; she’d found her mother. Now she was assured of her happiness and health and confident Elliott Noland would ensure it continued.
“Then you aren’t happy here?”
Erin framed her answer carefully, for she did not want to upset her mother. Neither did she wish Elliott to think her ungrateful for the way he’d taken her in and given her shelter. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. It just bothers me there’s no purpose for me here, while there’s much I could be doing back in Philadelphia.”
“Like what?” Arlene wanted to know. She was terrified to think of her returning to America and said so. “If Ryan was cruel enough to sell you into slavery, he’d be ruthless enough to try and track you down if he found out you’d escaped. The Free Soilers told you that. Have you forgotten so quickly how awful it was to have to run from your own home?” Her voice broke, and Elliott reached to put his arm about her in comfort. They’d had some long, intimate talks the past weeks, and he shared her concern about Erin’s growing restlessness.
“He won’t find me. I’ll take another name, the one I used to come here—Edith Starling. Erin Sterling will no longer exist. And even if he did look for me, he’d never be able to find me. I know only too well how the underground works, how secretive it can be. I’ll have a new identity, a new life.”
Arlene heard the enthusiasm, the spirit, returning to her daughter’s voice. She didn’t approve, but had learned her lesson about interfering in Erin’s life. “Is your mind made up?”
Erin nodded. “I’d like to go back on the next packet.”
Arlene bit her lip, determined not to cry. Elliott squeezed her hand. “Well, then.” She hesitated, waited for his approving nod. “I guess it’s time to tell you we’re going to be married. We realize I’m not legally divorced from Zachary, but in God’s eyes, I feel I am, and that’s all that matters. I’m never going back there, anyway.”
Erin was delighted and said so, confident her mother’s future was secure. “Now I can go back and know you’re in good hands.”
Letty was extremely upset to hear of Erin’s plans. “I’m going to miss you something fierce. Even after I got here and knew I was safe, I was still lonesome. Then your momma came, and we’d talk about how wonderful it would be if you and my momma and Ben were all here. Now that’s not going to happen.”
Erin understood but reminded her, “We’ve got to be grateful for what we’ve got in this life, Letty. What if none of us had escaped? Think of the misery then.”
Still, Letty grieved over her leaving.
News of a packet arriving came the day after Arlene and Elliott’s wedding. Excited, Erin rushed to the pier with everyone else to greet those arriving. When she saw the name on the bow—Freedom—she couldn’t believe it, then realized how the time had passed. She had arrived in Sierra Leone in early spring, and it was almost July.
Captain O’Grady was the first one down the gangplank. He gave her a big bear hug. “Aye, ye look fit, lassie. Almost like a real native.”
Erin laughed at that. She no longer used the bleaching water, but her skin had darkened only from the sun. She’d learned, as her mother had, that their heritage was not evident in the coloring of their skin, and she wouldn’t have cared anyway.
She was about to tell him she’d be making the return voyage with him, when all of a sudden Letty, standing right beside her, gave a loud shriek and took off, frantically pushing her way through the crowd. Erin stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of those in front of her. As she recognized the tall, dark-skinned man hurrying down the gangplank, waving his arms wildly, she knew the reason for Letty’s reaction. “Praise God,” she whispered, herself shuddering with emotion.
It was Ben.
Erin waited till the excitement of Ben’s arrival died down, and he and Letty had slipped away together, before telling Captain O’Grady her news.
He was as enthusiastic as she’d hoped he would be. “The Free Soilers need workers like you, lassie. It’s just a shame there’s not more money to book passage for those that need to make a new life once freed, and an even bigger sin that we can’t help the fugitives.
“I guess,” he went on thoughtfully, soberly, “since my time with you, all the memories of those days I’m not proud of came rushing back, and I’ve found myself wishing there was something I could do to make up for it all. Hearing you’re going back to help perks me up a bit, all the same.”
“Well, we might find a way for you to help, too,” Erin commented mysteriously, not about to say more just then. The wheels were turning, and she had ideas but needed to formulate them with Mother Bethel and Charles Grudinger.
Sadly, Erin and Arlene said their farewells.
Arlene broke down and cried, Elliott’s arms about her to comfort. “I don’t mean to carry on so, to send you away like this, but I’m so afraid I’ll never see you again.”
Erin, likewise, was emotionally choked but mustered strength to say fiercely, “That can’t happen, Mother, because we live in each other’s hearts, and that means we’re always together, and always will be.”
They clung together one last time.
Each had responded to the call of the morna.
Nate slept in a room adjoining his office. He knew it meant trouble when Zachary showed up at dawn, and not just because of the unusual hour. Zachary reeked with the stench of smoke, his face was streaked with soot, and he looked as if he’d been in a fight.
Nate thought he was prepared to hear any explanation, but his blood ran cold when Zachary uttered only one word as he slumped into a chair.
“Youngblood.”
“Goddamn!” Nate sat down opposite, instinctively reaching for his whiskey jug to take a big swallow before asking, “What happened?”
Zachary helped himself to the jug before revealing, “He was looking for Erin—”
“After all these months?”
“He’s onto something. Don’t ask me what. All I know is he showed up at my place late last night, asking questions. I was there by myself. Even my overseers were gone, ’cause another slave took off yesterday. We were out all day looking for him, and I was tired and went home to get some sleep but made them stay out there.
“I had a gun, and I told him to get out, but he was able to jump me, and the next thing I knew, I woke up in the front yard, and the house was burned to the ground. The bastard must’ve left me there to die. I dragged myself out but can’t remember it.”
“The thing I got to worry about,” he went on, more to himself than Zachary, “is whether Youngblood might just be able to track his wife down. I was hesitant to get involved in this shit anyway, even with all the money involved, but his mother swore she’d make sure he didn’t suspect a thing. Now that he does, if he finds her—finds out what happened and how I had a hand in it—I’ll go to prison…if he doesn’t kill me.”
“Well, like you said, he don’t know about you. If he had, he would have come after you instead of me.”
“True.” Nate nodded, his mouth a thin, grim line. “But now I’ve got to make sure the trail stops with you, that he’s hit a dead end and can’t go no further.”
“It’s been months,” Zachary said. “There’s no way he could trace her now. What you better concern yourself with is him being able to badger his mother into telling him about your part in it.”
“That doesn’t worry me, because I’d just deny it. It’d be my word against hers. She hasn’t got any proof.”
“What about me?” Zachary flared. “It’s my house got burned down, and I didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Erin. Hell, I’ve had a tough time lately, anyway, what with Arlene stirring the slaves up with voodoo. And now I’ve got to start all over. I just wish to hell I’d gone on and killed the bitch!” He banged his fists on the table in frustration.
“Maybe you’ll get your chance. I think it’s time we tracked them both down and made sure neither one of them ever talks. Then we can rest easy. You can go to the law about Youngblood burning down your house, and he’ll have to pay for it.”
Zachary liked both ideas. He’d get a new house, and he’d also stop worrying that Arlene could reach him from wherever she was with her evil spirits. The drums still echoed sometimes at night, and it made him nervous to worry she might be having messages sent to the slaves to keep them stirred up.
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