by Cindy Kelley
“Is that right?” Mr. Reynolds pursed his lips in thought and nodded.
“I would suggest utilizing more than just five acres for cotton, though,” Beau said.
“Well, we might have other … plants go in,” Mr. Harland said.
“Oh. You’re considering mixed-crop production?” Beau asked.
“Right,” Mr. Reynolds said. “Mixed crops.”
“How many acres do you have here, Mrs. Chapman?” Mr. Newton asked.
“A little over seven hundred,” she said. “We’re hoping to get back to our prewar production of a half million pounds of rice a year.”
Mr. Reynolds issued a low whistle and Charlotte saw Suzanne flinch again. Charlotte had the thought that his table manners were on par with his dancing. Dancing. Her thoughts drifted to Elijah; it surprised her how much she enjoyed his company.
“Charlotte?” She heard a slight annoyance in her mother’s voice.
“I’m sorry, yes?”
“Mr. Harland asked you a question.”
“I’m afraid my thoughts were elsewhere,” Charlotte said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harland. What was your question?”
“Hell’s bells, we all let our mind drift. No need to apologize.”
Charlotte felt icy-cold fear run up her spine. Hell’s bells, he’s down! That expression—that voice. She tried not to let the fear show on her face but when her eyes darted to Mr. Reynolds, she saw the cold glare in his eyes. The same glare she’d seen the night of the party. Weeks of running from the men who hated her and now here she was at the same table. Having lunch.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlotte was immobile with fear, but her mind raced in a million different directions as Rose and Biddy arrived with lunch. While Biddy held the serving tray, Rose settled plates in front of the guests. Charlotte felt as if her mouth was too dry to even speak.
“Anyway, Miss Chapman, to repeat my earlier question, I wondered if you could show us around the plantation,” Mr. Harland said as he turned to Beau. “No disrespect, but I’d like a woman’s perspective. Not to mention she’s more pleasing to the eyes.”
“None taken.”
Charlotte tried to swallow down the panic rising in her throat and forced a smile. “I must decline, Mr. Harland. I would be an inferior guide to my brother …”
“Inferior like your servants?” Mr. Newton said. “Or do you still refer to them as slaves?”
Mother frowned at his comment, then looked at Rose. “You may bring out the tea now, Rose.”
Rose nodded. “Yassum.” Rose and Biddy made their way back into the house. Charlotte didn’t want anyone hurt, but she knew she needed to do something to protect her family. She glanced around the table, then locked eyes with Mr. Reynolds. His expression was one of satisfaction; hers, she thought, must reveal naked fear.
She pushed her chair back and stood. “If y’all will excuse me for just a moment …”
“Sit. Down,” Mr. Reynolds said.
Her mother looked from one to the other. “I beg your pardon?”
Charlotte slowly took her seat. “It’s all right, Mother.”
Reynolds shook his head. “I don’t think it is. And just so we all have the same information, y’all should know we ain’t just got napkins in our laps. When the help comes back, act natural—you don’t want your slaves in danger, do you? I wouldn’t want a pistol to accidentally fire …”
“Who are you?” Charlotte’s mother’s voice quivered with fear.
“Do you want to tell them … Mercy? Or should I?” Reynolds asked.
“What’s he talking about? Why is he calling you Mercy?” Beau asked.
“If you’d just let them go inside …,” Charlotte said.
Reynolds offered a slow smile and picked up his fork with his free hand. “We aren’t going to hurt your family, Mercy. But I am going to eat this very fine meal.” He forked a dumpling into his mouth and rolled his eyes with pleasure. “I have to say I despise the climate here—the blood-sucking mosquitoes, the wet air, and the clammy way my clothes feel. Can’t imagine anyone wantin’ to work out in those fields—but I imagine that’s what the slaves were for.”
Newton and Harland chuckled. Reynolds swept his gaze over the trio they held at gunpoint, who just stared at him. He shrugged, dug his fork into another dumpling. “Anyway, to my way of thinking there is only one thing of merit here in the lowlands of Georgia—and that’s the food. I will freely admit I do love Southern cooking.”
“What do you want with Charlotte?” Beau asked.
“We want justice,” Harland said. “Justice for the crime she committed, but never paid for. A few weeks in Gratiot ain’t enough.”
“Gratiot Prison?” Beau asked. “I don’t understand …”
Charlotte looked at Reynolds. “Please, I implore you to leave them alone. They’ve done nothing to you.”
“They’re part of the reason this country nearly tore in two. Planter elite is what they are. Confederate scum who called human beings property and even after all the blood of the war still have the nerve to have blacks waiting on them.” Reynolds spit on the wooden floor. “Rebel scum begets rebel scum!”
Rose came from inside the house with a pitcher of tea in hand. Reynolds raised a warning brow at his captive audience. Harland held his empty glass in the air and smiled. “Got a thirst like I been in the desert,” he said. “Looks mighty refreshing.”
Charlotte looked up at the window above—Elijah’s open window. She prayed he hadn’t fallen back asleep. Rose made her way slowly around the table, taking infinite care not to spill a drop of tea as she poured.
Reynolds started to talk again, in a pleasing, quiet tone that sounded more like a bedtime story than an indictment. “Guess you’re mighty proud of this little girl, huh? Dressed herself up as a man, killed who knows how many God-fearing Union soldiers during the war, gets herself engaged to one of the biggest Union supporters in the country so she can wrangle an introduction to a congressman and then sets out to kill him.” Reynolds smiled pleasantly. The other men were eating their food as if nothing was happening.
Mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? What is he saying, Charlotte?”
“Go ahead and tell her, Mercy. Tell her how a jury found you guilty and sentenced you to hang. Tell ’em how you sat in that prison until they took you to the gallows and then, by some inconceivable twist of fate, had a stay of execution just minutes before that hemp rope went around your neck.”
“I’d had last rites and the hemp did go around my neck, but I was innocent of treason and the judge let me go!”
“If a judge set her free, then you can’t take her back to prison,” Beau said. Charlotte knew he was terrified; she could hear it in his voice. She had to do something—anything. She needed to get inside to find a weapon. And then Rose was there, over her shoulder, the pitcher of tea in hand. As she started to pour, Charlotte bumped back against her and the tea splashed down the front of her dress.
“Now look what you’ve done, you clumsy idiot!” Charlotte shouted. She jumped to her feet. “I’ll need to change my dress now. I’m completely soaked!”
“I’m sorry, Miss Charlotte!” Rose said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll go fetch you a towel …”
“No!” she shouted again. “Just leave us! Now!”
Rose hurried back into the house. Reynolds turned steely eyes on Charlotte.
“You got about two seconds to sit back down in that chair …”
Charlotte dropped back into her seat. “You can see they know nothing about any of this,” she said. “It’s just me you want.”
Elijah had been on the verge of napping since Charlotte left. He could hear bits and pieces of the conversation on the veranda below his window. Just fragments, really, nothing that concerned him. He mentally calculated the number of hours
until he thought she’d be back with his supper. It was definitely something he looked forward to. But then he heard Charlotte shout, and he was jolted out of his daydream. Her words clearly carried through his open window. She would never use that word, never shout at Rose like that. He threw back the quilt and made his way to the window. He caught a glimpse of Charlotte dropping into a seat at the table. He saw two men and Suzanne but from his angle couldn’t see anything else. He recognized Reynolds from the dance. What was happening? And then he heard Charlotte again. “It’s just me you want.”
Gritting his teeth against his pain, Elijah made his way to the bureau, pulled open the drawer and found his revolver. He opened the chamber, filled it with six rounds and made his way into the hall. He went to the stairs, yanking his shirt open as he started down the steps. Steeling himself against the pain from his belly wound, Elijah clawed at his own sutures, ripping the stitches out one by one. He nearly pitched forward from the pain, but kept descending the stairs. He pressed his hand over the wound, felt the blood under his hand and prayed he’d have the strength to see his plan through.
On the veranda, Newton put his fork down and pushed his empty plate away. “We been chasing this little woman since she left St. Louis,” he said. “Kinda nice we’re ending our quest with a good meal.” He grinned. “Feels right.”
“What do you intend to do with her?” Beau asked.
“We got our orders,” Harland said. “But we ain’t sharing ’em with you.”
“Orders from whom?” Mother asked.
“There are some very important people who want to make sure that Mercy pays the price for her crimes—and consequently want to pay us to make sure that happens. Since the justice system is corrupt and blind, we’ll use our own justice.”
“This can’t be happening,” Charlotte’s mother said. “This just can’t be …”
A gunshot from inside the house echoed out on the veranda. The men got to their feet just as Elijah came staggering through the door—his belly a bloody mess.
Reynolds scowled. “What the …?”
“They’re coming!” Elijah doubled over, stumbled toward them. He held up his blood-stained hand. “Someone help me!”
“Who’s coming?” Reynolds jumped up from the table.
“Behind me! They’re coming,” Elijah said. He staggered forward. Chairs pushed back from the table. Reynolds and Harland raised their guns, arcing them back and forth. Newton took an immediate defensive position and jumped over the rail of the porch. Elijah straightened, aimed at Harland, hit him, and he dropped. Elijah took aim at Reynolds next, who made a fatal mistake by turning to watch Harland fall. Reynolds joined him on the ground a second later.
“He’s getting away!” Beau yelled, pointing at Newton, who was only steps from his buggy. Newt turned and aimed at Elijah, but before he could get a shot off, Elijah hit him in the belly. Newt looked surprised and dropped his gun to grab his belly with both hands, then surprisingly turned and heaved himself into the buggy. He slapped the reins on the horse and headed out the drive. Elijah knew they’d never be able to get a horse saddled to give chase.
“Elijah!” Charlotte said. “He’s still alive.”
She was standing over Reynolds, who struggled to pull in each breath.
Elijah knelt by his side. “Who hired you?” he demanded.
Reynolds squinted at him. “Thought you … were … gone.”
Elijah grabbed Reynolds by his shirt collar, practically lifting him off the ground. “Who put the price on Mercy’s head?”
“It isn’t over for … her. Never be over till she’s dead,” Reynolds said.
Charlotte stood, transfixed at the words Reynolds said. She could hear her mother weeping behind her. Beau was offering trite words of comfort, but he, too, sounded shaken to his very core.
Reynolds’s eyes fluttered closed, a slight smile on his mouth. “More will come.” His mouth went slack and his head lolled to the side. Elijah released his grip on the man, and looked up at Charlotte. “Are you all right?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. There were two dead men on the porch. She looked toward the door and saw Chessie and some of the other servants staring at the scene in stunned silence.
“Beau, go through his pockets,” Elijah ordered. “Pile whatever you find on the table.”
Elijah was doing the very thing he asked of Beau. He went through Reynolds’s pockets, pulled out some paper money, a pocketknife, and a compass. He also found the same image he’d carried of Mercy when he was looking for her.
“Elijah, you’re bleeding again—badly. We need to send for the doctor.”
Elijah pulled a faded yellow piece of paper from Reynolds’s shirt pocket. He had to unfold it to read it.
“Elijah …”
He slowly got to his feet and turned to Beau. “Get my horse saddled. I must leave at once.”
Charlotte shook her head. “You can’t go anywhere! You’re bleeding—you need stitches …”
“Then get me a needle and some heavy thread,” he said.
“What? You can’t be serious,” Charlotte said.
“I am.”
Charlotte looked at Chessie, still standing in the doorway. “Chessie, I need a needle and some sturdy thread right away.” With a nod, Chessie was off.
“I want some answers, Charlotte. Right now,” Mother said tersely.
“Not now,” Elijah said as he turned to Charlotte. “I need my things from my room. Everything.”
“I won’t get them. You can’t leave like this,” she said.
“Beau, would you get my things, please?” Elijah said. “I’d rather not climb the stairs and bleed all over the floors …”
“Get his things,” Mother said.
Elijah went to the table and rifled through the things Beau had pulled from Harland’s pockets. There were some hard candies, a cigar, a piece of card stock with a list of farmer’s terms written on it.
“What about the man who got away?” Charlotte asked.
“The bullet hit him in the gut,” Elijah said. “I have to hope he won’t get far.”
Chessie brought the needle and thread to Charlotte. “Sturdiest thread we got.”
Elijah folded the card stock and put it in his pocket. Charlotte handed him the needle and thread. “Do you need some help?”
He shook his head. “But I would like a few minutes alone, if you don’t mind,” he said. He lowered himself to a chair. Charlotte winced just looking at the open wound. “You aren’t thinking clearly. The blood loss, the pain. You can’t seriously propose you can …”
“I’ve done it before,” he said. “Who knows, maybe you have too. Please—a few minutes alone.”
Charlotte took her mother inside. Before they could make their way to the parlor, Beau was back downstairs with Elijah’s things in hand. He glared at Charlotte. “You brought a Yankee into our house? We’ve had the enemy under our roof all this time and you never said a word?”
“How …?”
“I saw papers, Char! Orders and statements of leave …”
“It’s true he’s in the army,” Charlotte said.
“He was in the Union army, wasn’t he? A Yankee?”
“That Yankee just saved our lives!”
“Is there no end to the deception?” Mother said. “I don’t even know what to think now—what to do!”
“We get the sheriff out here and tell him what’s happened,” Beau said. “And Elijah stays until he gets here.”
“I’m not staying for that,” Elijah said.
They all turned to see him standing at the door. He looked pale but resolute. “There could be more men coming for Charlotte. More men looking to do her harm. You need to protect your sister, Beau.”
“You’re leaving?” Beau said. “That’s noble. Cut and run.”
“I’m going to try and stop whoever has put a price on her head,” Elijah said. “Charlotte, a word?”
Charlotte gathered the things from Beau and followed Elijah back out onto the veranda. As they made their way down the wide stairs, they could see someone leading his horse toward the house.
“I wish you wouldn’t leave like this,” she said.
“I have to go and find whoever is doing this. Convince them to call off the bounty.”
“Maybe it’s over now,” she said.
He pulled the yellow piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “A telegram.” She opened it and read: “Received location. Stop. Good work finding her. Stop. Send proof we require. Stop. Payment when proof received. Stop.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means when they don’t receive proof you’re dead, more men may be sent to do the job.”
“You said you don’t know who put out the bounty,” she said.
“That’s true, but I have some theories. I’m headed back to St. Louis,” he told her. “In the meantime, stay close to the house. Don’t go anywhere alone.”
“I still don’t understand the hurry,” she said. “You could stay a few more days and give yourself a chance to heal.”
“I need to get there and stop this madness before the people behind this realize their bounty hunters have failed—and they send out replacements.”
“I’m worried about you,” she said quietly.
He looked at the house. “I’m worried about you, too. You have a lot of explaining to do, and I don’t think they’re in a very receptive mood right now.”
A stable boy arrived with Elijah’s horse. He frowned. “Seems strange to see someone besides Isaac with my mount.”
“I’ll find him, tell him what’s happened,” Charlotte said.
“Good. Say good-bye for me.”
She nodded, looking at his worried expression. “I’ll be all right.”
“See that you are,” he said gruffly. She reached up and laid her hand against his cheek. He covered it with his own, then captured it and held it between them.