Midnight Rose

by Patricia Hagan

  Nate strapped on his holster. “Let’s go find Harnaby. He’ll set us in the right direction.”

  “You mean you don’t know?” Zachary cried, getting to his feet to follow. “But you took them both off, didn’t you? Hell, you ought to know who bought ’em.”

  “Harnaby took care of that. I had some other business to tend to.” He saw the way Zachary was looking at him, and snapped, “Anybody can take a slave to market, damn it!”

  “Well, I’ll just breathe a lot easier when we find out exactly where they went to market.”

  Ryan stood in the shadows of an alley just across the street from the warehouse. He was already there when Zachary rode in, for he’d been trying to get himself under control before confronting Nate Donovan. He’d wanted just to charge in and try to beat the truth out of him but knew it was best to move slowly. Then he saw Zachary, and even deeper rage washed over him as he realized the two must be in cahoots with each other. Why else had Zachary gone straight to Donovan after what had happened?

  Ryan tried to figure out what they would do. After all, Zachary had come to tell Donovan about Ryan’s visit the night before, that he had found out Erin had not left him by choice. They would no doubt try to prevent him from finding her, knowing there would be hell to pay when he did. So he waited, giving them time to decide what to do.

  And when they made their move, he was right behind them.

  He followed stealthily as they walked the few short blocks to a rundown hotel on a side street not far from the warehouse. When they went in, he waited a few moments, then hurried to the desk to slip the clerk money and ask which way the two had gone. Second floor, he was told, to see a man named Harnaby. Corner room on the alley. Ryan knew he was in luck. He had spotted a rickety stairway to an outside entrance there.

  He wasted no time in going around to creep up the steps. The window to the corner room was open a few inches.

  Crouching to listen, he heard an angry voice, figured it to be Donovan’s, as it didn’t sound like Zachary’s.

  “What do you mean you think Kaid Whitlock bought Arlene, and you can’t be sure who bought Erin? Who paid you the money, goddamn it?”

  Jason Harnaby knew he had to think fast, but they’d woken him up, and he was groggy, unprepared. “I can’t remember. It’s been awhile.”

  “Been awhile, my ass!” Zachary screeched. “You better think and think good, mister, ’cause Ryan Youngblood has gone crazy, and he’s out for blood. He tried to kill me last night. Burned my house to the ground. Somehow, he’s found out his wife didn’t just disappear on her own, that she had a little help, and sooner or later, he’s going to find out who gave her that help, unless we find her first and shut her mouth for good.”

  Ryan gritted his teeth and slowly began to maneuver his gun from the holster.

  “I told you,” Jason whined nervously. “I just don’t remember.”

  “Like hell you don’t!” Nate slammed him with his fist to send him sprawling back across the bed. “You better remember, goddamn it, ’cause we ain’t got no time to waste. Now there’s only two traders on the coast who deal with mulattos—Whitlock and Silah Bannister. Which one was it? They’re miles apart, and you better not send me to the wrong one, you dummy son of a bitch.” He hit him again.

  Jason knew he was trapped, couldn’t lie his way out, because even if he stuck to his story that he couldn’t remember, when they went to Whitlock and Bannister, they were going to find out he hadn’t showed with either Erin or Lucy Jane, and if they checked further, would find out he’d been missing a few slaves every time he was supposed to be turning them over for sale.

  The two men stood between him and the window, but if he could make it, dive through, it wasn’t a dangerously long fall to the ground. He could get away, escape to the North, lose himself in the underground as the fugitives had. Even if he didn’t make it, there was no way he’d give them even a hint of the direction he’d sent anybody, ever.

  Zachary had not been wearing boots when Youngblood had taken him by surprise during the night. He’d had to get a pair from Frank’s cabin. He’d also taken a knife, which he’d slipped inside one boot and now was slowly withdrawing. Advancing toward Jason, he snarled, “Maybe he’ll start remembering if I start cutting…”

  Jason lunged then. Throwing out his arms to send them stumbling to either side, he dove between them, heading for the window.

  Zachary threw the knife and missed, but Nate was quicker, drew his gun and shot him in the back.

  Jason fell just as Ryan reacted to crash through the window, gun in hand. He didn’t want to kill, not yet. He still needed information and feared the one who had it was dying at his feet. But Nate had a gun, and Ryan had to defend himself. He fired.

  He had meant to hit his wrist, but Nate moved as he pulled the trigger and took the bullet right in his heart. He was dead before he hit the floor.

  Zachary, unarmed, froze where he stood.

  “Don’t move,” Ryan commanded tightly. Dropping beside Jason, he felt his throat for a pulse. Weak, but it was there.

  Just then Jason stirred, moaned. Zachary saw Ryan’s attention diverted and seized the opportunity to bolt out the door.

  Ryan let him go. He was of no use anyway. He bent over Jason, knew he was dying. “Listen, Harnaby, you’ve got to help me. Erin is my wife, and you’ve got to tell me where you took her. You’re my only hope.”

  Blood trickled from his mouth as Jason managed a feeble sneer, struggling to vent his loathing for the man who had sold her. “You won’t…find her.” He strained to whisper past the smothering mist that was moving over him. “Can’t get your money back…you bastard…”

  “My money back?” Ryan echoed in wonder. “You think I had something to do with any of this? That’s why Donovan and Tremayne were here, remember? Because I’m after them. Now talk to me.”

  It was getting dark. Jason tried to remember what they’d said, but there was a terrible roaring, and he couldn’t think. The man looming over him was becoming only a gray shadow. Yet, just before the creeping mist completely obliterated his vision, he saw the man’s eyes, the mirrored anguish of the desperate quest before him, and somehow sensed he was telling the truth.

  But there was not time to explain it all to him, for invisible hands were reaching inside his chest to tear out his soul and carry him along the narrow tunnel he found himself looking into, with that strange and eerie light waiting at the end. His lips moved, but no sound came as he prayed to last long enough to send him after her.

  “Come on, Harnaby.” Ryan gave him a gentle shake as he saw how his eyes were starting to glaze over, becoming transfixed as death made ready for triumph. “You’ve got to tell me where to look. I swear to you I knew nothing about this. Only God and I know how much I do love her…”

  Ryan choked to silence, knew he had lost.

  But then, with his last, labored breath, Jason spoke his final words. “Philadelphia. Find…Mother…Bethel.”

  Outside in the hall, where he’d stood listening just in case Jason did reveal anything before he died, Zachary felt good for the first time in a long time. So often, he had wished he’d just gone on and killed Arlene and been done with it. She was responsible for the voodoo, just as Erin was to blame for his scarred face. Now the house was burned to the ground. His partner in the illegal slave trade that had helped make him rich was dead. He was left with nothing. And he wanted revenge. While Jason’s dying words meant nothing to him, he knew Ryan Youngblood wouldn’t stop till he figured them out and trailed Erin to wherever she was.

  And where she was, there Arlene would be also.

  He could then kill them all, and would have his vengeance.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Captain O’Grady was overjoyed that Erin planned to make Philadelphia her home. On the return voyage they grew even closer. She was the daughter, the family, he’d never had. He knew, too, that once she got a foothold and entrenched herself in the secret activities of tho
se dedicated to helping the oppressed, she’d be invaluable.

  He assured her there would be many reasons for her happiness in the city, for it was a progressive one, teeming with growth. There were literary clubs, theaters, dancing schools. The Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts had been founded.

  Erin was most impressed, however, at hearing the first public school for Negroes had just opened. She had secretly taught Letty to read and write, and now freed slaves migrating to Philadelphia would have the opportunity to be taught in a real classroom, by dedicated teachers.

  Erin was hungry to hear news of happenings in America during her nearly four-month stay in Sierra Leone. The Missouri Compromise had become official. Maine had been admitted to the union as the twenty-third state, with a ban on slavery. But what impressed and excited her was hearing how Congress had passed legislation making trade in foreign slaves an act of piracy. No longer would the penalty merely be seizing the ships of those involved. Henceforth, American citizens found guilty would be sentenced to death.

  She had told Captain O’Grady on the first voyage how there had always been suspicion her stepfather was involved in the trading of slaves brought into the country illegally. Hearing of the new law, she vehemently voiced the hope, “If he gets caught now, they’ll hang him, thank God.”

  “The thing to do now,” he said, “is to get as many illegal slaves as possible back to Africa.”

  Erin surprised him with an adamant shake of her head. “I disagree. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and even though there are groups who feel free Negroes are better off being sent back due to slaveholders saying they make other slaves restless, I say it’s more important to get the fugitives out. At least the ones freed have a chance for a new life. Those running away risk getting caught and beaten, or maybe having a foot chopped off. Dear God!” She shuddered. “We’ve just got to find a way to smuggle more of them out to Sierra Leone.”

  Worriedly, he reminded her, “Erin, helping runaway slaves is a crime. Even in Delaware, the only state in the South where a black is considered free till proved to be a slave, they’re running advertisements in newspapers for runaways, offering rewards for their apprehension. I agree with what you want to do, Lord knows, and I’m willing to help in any way I can, but we’ve both got to be careful.”

  At that she laughed. “If I were careful, I’d still be in Sierra Leone.”

  Captain O’Grady was deeply impressed by her dedication, for he knew, sadly, it was fired by the scars of the tragedies in her own life.

  It was late August when at last they reached Philadelphia. Erin planned to head straight to Mother Bethel to offer her services once more in exchange for shelter.

  As the plank was being positioned for disembarking, she noticed something strange. They were directly in front of the Grudinger dock facilities and warehouses, but she was puzzled by the lack of activity, the way workers lazed about indifferently.

  Captain O’Grady came out on deck himself to shake his fist and curse the lack of efficiency. “Get this ship secured, you hear me?” he called down furiously. “My men are anxious to be done and take their leave.”

  The dockmen snickered among themselves, and Erin was even more bewildered. It certainly wasn’t that way when she’d left, and Captain O’Grady said he hadn’t experienced such difficulty when he embarked several months earlier.

  Once ashore, they quickly learned the reason.

  “Grudinger died,” the captain of a ship docked beside the Freedom brusquely informed them. “A couple of months ago. He left everything to a free black who worked as his housekeeper. That raised a few eyebrows, to be sure. Right away, she got lots of offers to buy her out, but she refused, insists on running the line herself.

  “Well, you can see how it’s going.” He gestured to the slothful workers. “They’re not taking orders from a woman, particularly one who’s black.”

  Erin was openly distressed to hear of Mr. Grudinger’s passing and secretly delighted to learn of Nanny Bess’s inheritance. Maybe, Erin mused, excitement building, she could do something to help, since Nanny Bess was reportedly having problems. After all, she’d been passing for white all her life without even knowing it. It shouldn’t be hard to do so again, she thought with a sly grin.

  She hurried on her way to find Nanny Bess, after assuring Captain O’Grady she’d see him before he sailed again. “To be sure,” he called after her, “because I won’t be leaving till I’ve got a full cargo, and from the way these blokes are moving, I’d say it’d take several weeks to get loaded even if I had one.”

  Nanny Bess burst into tears at the sight of Erin standing on her doorstep. “Bless you and praise God,” she exclaimed, hugging her and pulling her inside. “You don’t know how I’ve thought about you all these months. The captain, he came by to pay Mr. Grudinger a visit when he was last in port, and he told me how you found your mother and that she’s well. Has something happened?” She was struck by sudden alarm as to Erin’s reason for returning.

  “Oh, no. Everything is fine. My mother is happily in love with a wonderful man, and I imagine by now Letty is married, thanks to Ben making it there safely. You had something to do with that, too, didn’t you?” She gave her a quick hug of gratitude.

  Nanny Bess sighed. “Yes, I did, but it might be the last one for a while. I’m afraid I’m a failure, Erin.”

  “You aren’t thinking about giving up, are you?”

  “What else can I do? I can’t get any work out of the dockmen, no cooperation from the supervisors, and I’ve got a sneaking suspicion some of the other ship owners are responsible. They’d like to see Grudinger Shipping go out of business, so they can divide the cargo and packet contracts between them.

  “And, frankly, yes,” she admitted wearily, “I am seriously considering selling out. I can turn the money over to Mother Bethel. I still have the house and my savings, so I don’t really need it, and maybe it will do some good there.”

  “But not nearly as much as you and I can do with Grudinger Shipping Lines.”

  Nanny Bess did not share her enthusiasm. “Those men won’t like working for a white woman any more than a black, and it would be worse still if it got out you’re a mulatto. The latest word from Missouri is that mulattoes and free blacks are being barred from that state, according to their constitution, and—”

  Erin impatiently waved her to silence. “Hear me out. Please. All I’m saying is that there’s nothing to lose by trying. Just give me free rein, and I’ll find a way to stay in business.”

  “But why? What’s the point?”

  “The point is we’ve got to succeed, because we need all those ships, all those packet contracts, to keep the line running. Somebody has got to help the fugitive slaves out of the country, Nanny Bess. You’ve been able to get a few out, sure, as paying passengers with false papers, but we need to move larger numbers, faster.”

  Nanny Bess sat down, folded her hands in her lap, and gave a dubious nod of assent. “Well, the least I can do is listen to what you have in mind.”

  “I haven’t worked out all the details, but what I need from you now is your full cooperation. You have nothing to lose, Nanny Bess, because you’ve already admitted to yourself you’re defeated. Give me a chance. That’s why I came back here, to help these people, and I can do it. I know I can.”

  Erin’s determination was infectious. Nanny Bess grinned broadly. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Erin wasted no time. Early the next morning, she went to the waterfront. She had pulled her raven hair back into an austere bun at the nape of her neck. Nanny Bess had provided a pair of Mr. Grudinger’s reading spectacles that made her appear older, as well as stern and imposing. A drab old dress found in a trunk in the attic, once belonging to the late Mrs. Grudinger, completed her drab, unattractive appearance.

  Curt and to the point, she introduced herself to the bewildered supervisors as Miss Edith Starling, new owner of Grudinger Shipping Lines. “But from now on this company will b
e known as the Morna Lines.” She had no intention of sharing the reason for the name. The true meaning was her precious secret.

  The men quickly learned she knew what she was doing. By the end of the day, she had fired two for insubordination, replacing them with older, retired seamen recommended by Captain O’Grady. He was delighted with what she was doing, and enjoying her charade. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing when he overheard the grumbling dockworkers describe her as Vinegar Face.

  At a clandestine meeting in the basement at Mother Bethel, arranged by Nanny Bess, Erin met with leaders of the Free Soilers, Captain O’Grady, and other seamen proven trustworthy to outline her full plan for aiding fugitive slaves.

  There would be a special hold in two of Morna’s packet ships for their transport to Sierra Leone, she explained. To ensure complete security, the designated ships would not run on regular schedules. The crew of each vessel would be hand-picked by the captain and sworn to secrecy. On those specific voyages, there would be no paid passengers, for once at sea the Negroes could be released and move about freely, returning to their hiding place only if the ship was stopped by the authorities for any reason.

  Someone voiced concern over how so many could be loaded on board, even at night, without arousing suspicion.

  Erin had thought of that, also. With a confident smile, she suggested Mother Bethel’s people were going to have to learn carpentry. “The fugitives will go on board as cargo, in crates. Three to a box should be sufficient. With a dozen crates loaded, three dozen runaways will sail to freedom.”

  There was a murmur of admiring consent as everyone realized her plan could work.

  “What about a signal?” Nanny Bess wanted to know. “It’s risky to be carrying messages back and forth between Morna and Mother Bethel. People might notice and start wondering why, but we have to know when a ship is ready to sail, so we’ll know exactly when to load the crates.”