A Dream of Daring

by Gen LaGreca

  She bowed her head. “I’m afraid I was a bit unkind to you.”

  “You socked me in the face.”

  “I wasn’t human any longer. I had no kindness left in me.”

  “You were kind to the horse.”

  She laughed for an instant. The little puff of air and sweet tone that was her laughter was like a new music that could easily become his favorite song.

  Then she whispered grimly. “I was dead inside. I felt nothing that could qualify me as human. I felt no remorse for the man I killed, and I felt nothing but hatred for the man who whipped me, the man who assaulted me, and any other man too!”

  “But you wanted to find the inventor. You liked him, didn’t you?”

  Again, the little laugh. But quickly it vanished, and she continued her tale.

  “After you freed my horse, I continued north. My progress was slow, with trails flooded and a bridge down after the storm. I was at Manning Creek when the slave patrol and their bloodhound caught up with me. They snatched me off my horse. I struggled to get away. My leg rubbed against the horse’s back as they pulled me off, and the knife that was tied to my calf came loose and fell into the brush. The men didn’t notice it as they carried me away. But they did find the money in my pocket, and they took it.

  “They rode back south a ways and hunted without success for another runaway, and then they camped for the night. It was the next day when they brought me back to Greenbriar, where Fowler was waiting for them. That’s when you saw us and stopped him and you brought me to Indigo Springs.”

  He nodded, already figuring out the rest of the story but wanting to hear it from her.

  She looked at him with the gratitude she had not yet expressed. “After you . . . saved my life, Indigo Springs became my sanctuary. I felt safe there, safe with you . . . freer than I’d ever felt before. But I was afraid to leave the plantation. I stayed clear of town, fearing I might see Markham there. If the senator sold me in the morning and was killed that very night, even Markham could put that together.

  “I couldn’t tell you who I was and where I came from. For all I knew, there was already a hunt out for me.”

  Tom nodded, following her tale.

  “I was frantic to see a newspaper, but you didn’t bring any home. The agricultural weeklies you read didn’t carry news, so I couldn’t learn about the murder case and discover the inventor’s name. But I thought maybe he would post a notice in the agricultural paper about his lost device, since it’s a farm machine. That was why I kept taking your journals to read the advertisements. And you were there with me in person all the time!” She shook her head in disbelief. “I should have known the inventor was you. I mean, you speak about a new age. Your device is part of that, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “There was no indication you were an inventor. I didn’t see any books an inventor would read or journals he’d keep or experiments he’d do.”

  “They’re all there in the shed on top of the hill. That’s my workshop.”

  “Oh!” She smiled at the interesting discovery.

  “After the invention went missing, I didn’t go in there, so it’s been boarded and locked the whole time you’ve been at Indigo Springs.”

  “Now I understand.”

  “Tell me about the unsigned letter that I received about the knife.”

  “When you unveiled Senator Barnwell’s portrait, you said his murderer would hang the next day. I was horrified! I wrote the letter and made it look as if a stranger left it overnight. I didn’t want an innocent person to die.” She sighed. “Since the sheriff’s looking for me now, I guess I was successful.”

  “You were,” he said to the woman with a conscience.

  She sighed and said nothing more.

  “So, is that it? Anything more to tell?”

  “Only that I love the school we started.”

  He smiled as she named what they both felt. He stood up and curled a hand around her arm, helping her to rise.

  “Now I have a question for you.” He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face up to his. “Why did you rescue my invention?”

  She looked away introspectively, and her voice quivered with longing. “I always hoped my life would be . . . special. I always thought, ‘Shouldn’t there be more to my days than fanning Miss Polly or fetching her glasses or pouring her tea? Shouldn’t there be something I choose? Can’t I just once do something more important than puffing Miss Polly’s pillow?’ In the shed that day, the senator said fate had put him there to destroy the invention. ‘Well, maybe fate put me there too,’ I thought. I, Ladybug, could do something to change fate and make it go the way I wanted it to. I could save the new invention of the horseless age.”

  She leaned back, looking up at him. His hands curled around her waist. The molten terror he had seen in her eyes in the past when he was close had now drained away. He had seen the horror of her fear and the intensity of her anger. But this time she looked unafraid, her eyes filled with a different kind of fire.

  “You’re the only person around here who saw the promise of my invention and wanted it to succeed,” he whispered. “Ladybug, you’re part of the new age . . .”

  She brightened as if he’d said she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

  “. . . and you’re part of me too.”

  He resisted the maddening urge to draw her closer. Instead he broke away, with his desire yielding to worry.

  “Look, we need to get out of here now! Fowler and I never exchanged names, but he called me Yankee. Now, everybody calls me that. So when the sheriff gets to Baton Rouge and Fowler relates how he sold you to a man in Greenbriar who talks like a Yankee, the sheriff will instantly know it was me. He’ll come back, go to my place, learn I’m here at Ruby Manor with a slave that fits your description, and he’ll come riding up that road.” He pointed to the French doors, in the direction of the winding path they had taken to Ruby Manor. “But we won’t be here. We’ll be long gone!”

  He rushed out to the gallery and leaned over the railing. “Lance,” he whispered to the slave Rachel had posted outside to be on the lookout for Markham, “saddle two horses for me, right now! Bring them around the back.”

  He came inside to find Ladybug shaking her head. “But you’re innocent. You can’t come with me. I have to leave here alone.”

  “I’m not abandoning you to get caught!”

  “Then I’ll turn myself in.”

  “You don’t know how angry—how terrified—these people are over what you’ve done! You won’t get justice. You’ll get hanged!”

  Her eyes closed in terror at the thought. “But you mustn’t get involved. You can explain what happened, and how you didn’t know who I was, which is the truth. If you try to protect me, after I did the . . . unthinkable . . . then you’ll . . . you’ll be . . . hanged . . . too! You mustn’t protect me!”

  “Oh, no? You watch me!”

  He glanced at a clock in the room and ran his hands through his hair, thinking, planning. “I need to reach the bank and get access to my funds. Then we’ll get out of the South. You’ll travel with me as my slave. If we get out of town before the sheriff comes back, no one will stop us.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.”

  They stood facing each other. This time it was she who drew closer. Her hair tumbled down her back as she raised her head to the man who had saved her from a storm, a brute, and a fire and who now seemed determined to expand that list. She stroked his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. Her open mouth warmed his lips, giving him a taste of the spirit stirring in defiance of her painful scars and her resolve to despise all men.

  He stood still, savoring the feel of her own desire and will driving their kiss.

  Slowly, as if reluctant to lose contact, she slid her arms off his body and stepped back. “Okay,” she whispered. “But it’s very important to me to go past the factory, so I can point out to you where I hid your invention.”r />
  “It’s on the way to town, and it’ll keep us off the main road.” He moved toward the door. “I’ll grab Barnwell’s coat. And I’ll take the gun I saw in his room. He won’t be needing it now.”

  “I’ll put on the frock.” She pointed to the slave’s dress that she had tossed aside.

  “It would attract less attention,” he quipped, trying to ease the tension of the dangers still ahead. “I’ll be back for you in a minute. We’ll leave quietly, while everyone’s asleep.”

  He was about to open the door, then turned back to her, jolted by the thought of a telltale mark and her mysterious relationship to someone else who had that same mark and was in that house.

  “The sooner we get out of here, the better!” he whispered. “And we mustn’t let anyone see us!”

  As he opened the door, his hand stopped in mid-motion. There in the hall facing him were Charlotte and Rachel.

  CHAPTER 28

  From the half-open door, Tom was the only one visible inside. He stood there staring in astonishment at the two women whose flustered faces were nearly as red as their hair.

  “Lord in heaven!” Charlotte gasped. “Consorting with a slave! In my house! Is that what you’re doing?”

  Tom offered no denial.

  She stammered in disbelief. “You . . . you . . . scoundrel to end all scoundrels!”

  “Merciful God! How can you insult me like this?” Rachel scowled.

  “Why aren’t you sleeping, instead of checking up on me?” Tom asked her simply.

  “Your arrogance knows no limit! It’s your fault I couldn’t sleep. You’ve been drifting away for so long that I went to your room to learn your intentions once and for all,” Rachel said petulantly. “I thought maybe we could . . . reconcile . . . our differences.” She looked at him expectantly. He looked unmoved. “When you weren’t there, I called Mother. And now we find this . . . this . . . outrage!”

  “We’re breaking all ties with you, Mr. Edmunton!” Charlotte planted her hands on her hips, the strength in her clenched fists contrasting with the frailty of the lace nightgown sleeves puffing out under her robe. “You’ve insulted us with your vulgarity! You can be sure I won’t be needing you any longer to run the Crossroads.”

  “Nash is most eager to help us, Mama. We’ll accept his offer and be rid of this beast!”

  “I agree!” Charlotte jabbed a finger in Tom’s face. “And I forbid you to call on my daughter ever again.”

  “I understand completely. So if you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave.”

  Standing firmly in the doorway, blocking his exit, the women clearly were not finished.

  “When your father died, we opened our hearts to you, and what did we get?” charged Charlotte.

  The frill of Rachel’s negligee in the V slice of her robe billowed like a sail in the angry wind of her breath. “You dishonor me with a slave? A dumb, miserable, wretched slave?”

  “I see you’re eager for us to leave, so we’ll oblige you right now.” Tom tried to enter the hallway and close the door behind him to give the unseen occupant a chance to change.

  Rachel eyed him suspiciously. “What are you hiding?” Suddenly, she swung the door wide open—and gasped. There was the creature she despised, wearing her best evening dress, quietly observing the uproar.

  “Good Lord Almighty!” Rachel stormed into the room. “My gown! And my . . . my . . . garnet cape! That cape’s worth three times what you are. Take it off, wench!” She reached for the cape.

  Ladybug moved away. “I’ll take it off without your help!”

  Tom saw the feral look he had come to dread creep over Ladybug’s face. He was about to intervene between the two adversaries when Charlotte grabbed him, shook him by the arms, then beat her fists against his chest, her voice hissing like a kettle that had finally reached its boiling point. “I’ve had it with your invention, your arrogance, your insolence, the misfortune you’ve brought upon our family, and now this disgrace, this dishonor!” She clutched his shirt. “I’ll not have a scandal! I won’t! I won’t!”

  “You needn’t have one. We’ll leave now.” Tom tried to break free of the furious fists.

  “I’m respected in this town, something you neither know nor care anything about. I have my standing to keep!” She had the crazed glare of someone obsessed with a matter beyond all reason.

  While he tried to subdue Charlotte, the young women pushed each other around the room. Quickly they were entangled, hitting each other, losing their balance, falling into the French doors and swinging them open into the gallery, and landing on the floor. Red and brown hair flew wildly as their heads snapped, their fists flew, and their nails scratched. First Ladybug rolled on top, her voluminous hooped crinoline and pantalets exposed in the fray while she slapped Rachel with her left hand and then her right. Then Rachel was on top, her dressing gown tearing at the underarms with the brawling swings she took at Ladybug. Neither woman seemed to notice her immodest condition or care. They pulled each others’ hair, hurling insults all the while.

  “You wicked wench!” shrilled Rachel.

  “You bully!”

  “Take those clothes off!”

  “I’ll never take them off now!”

  Then came a hoarse whisper that struck a deeper chord. “Stay away from Tom, you bitch!” Rachel demanded.

  “He doesn’t want you.”

  “You’re a slave and a slut. You’ll be whipped and you’ll obey!”

  “He still won’t want you.”

  Tom freed himself from Charlotte’s attacks and tried to break up the girls. He pushed his way past soft lace and hard fists, perfumed skin and venomous words, silky arms and flying elbows. While he controlled his strength in an effort not to hurt them, they intensified theirs in the grip of their fury. They looked like two hissing cats overwhelming a larger canine that could fight a battle with its own kind but was disarmed by the wiry little combatants who scratched, clawed, and jabbed.

  Charlotte grabbed a poker from the fireplace and struck him on the back, the arms, and the chest with it, screaming, “I’ll not have any scandal. I’ll not lose my reputation!” until he had to extricate himself from the girls to disarm the raging mother.

  He looked astonished. Her fears seemed too extreme for a guest’s misbehavior in her home.

  As the young women tumbled, the cape was pulled this way and that, but it remained on Ladybug’s shoulders. Then Rachel straddled Ladybug and loosened the cape’s bow. Ladybug threw her off and tried to stand. Rachel pulled her down and reached for the cape. Ladybug blocked her. Finally at an impasse, the combatants sat back on their haunches, facing each other.

  “I’ll tear those clothes off you and burn them! They must never touch me after touching you.”

  “They look better on me. You’re fat!”

  In one quick tug, Rachel pulled the cape off Ladybug’s shoulders.

  Ladybug grabbed the V-shaped panels of Rachel’s robe and pulled the fabric off her shoulders, along with her nightgown. “There, how do you like it when someone pulls at your—” Her voice suddenly choked.

  Rachel’s hand fell limp, and the prized cape she had so ardently sought slipped indifferently through her fingers to the floor as she stared at the wild creature in her evening gown. Visible between strands of hair, Rachel saw the mark above Ladybug’s breast.

  Ladybug, frozen, stared at the same marking on Rachel.

  The morning sun was streaming in through the open French doors. It shone like a spotlight on the girls’ incredulous faces . . . and on the birthmark above each of their hearts.

  At first, Charlotte didn’t realize what had occurred. Tom held onto the poker he had wrestled from her, but he was gaping at the girls. She followed his glance. Ladybug’s back was to her as she saw Rachel’s clothing torn. The attack on her daughter inflamed her.

  She bent down to Ladybug and shook her by the shoulders. “Why, you little vixen, you’ll get fifty stripes—” Then Charlotte caught sight of the little
mark on Ladybug. Her hands flew off the girl’s body as from a surface too hot to touch. Startled, she smothered her gasp with her hands.

  Like mirror images, Ladybug and Rachel faced each other. They slowly rose to their feet, each open-mouthed, with bruised face, tumbling hair, and disbelieving eyes. Each touched her own birthmark and eyed the other’s.

  Tom sighed in resignation of that which now had to be faced. He identified her adversaries to Ladybug: “This is Rachel Barnwell, the senator’s daughter, and Mrs. Barnwell, his widow.” To Rachel and Charlotte, he said simply, “Meet Ladybug.”

  Seeing the two young women together, the resemblance he hadn’t identified before seemed uncanny: the tapered nose, the sculpted lips, the petite form.

  Bewildered, Ladybug looked down at her own birthmark, then her eyes slowly traveled to Rachel’s. She glanced at Tom. “Is this passed down?”

  “No, never!” cried Rachel. She turned to Charlotte. “Oh, Mama, this is terrible!” She embraced the woman who was still too shocked to speak. Then in a flash she turned back to Ladybug. “You killed my father!”

  Ladybug shot back, “Whoever killed your father gave him just what he deserved.”

  Tom wedged himself between them. “Rachel, your father sold Ladybug to a vicious man, Fred Fowler, who assaulted her.”

  “And how exactly do you fit into that picture? What are you doing with her?”

  “I was in town when Fowler was there torturing her. I bought her to stop the cruelty. I didn’t discover till a little while ago who she really was.”

  Rachel bristled. “Hmm. I wonder how you made your discovery.”

  Tom shook her by the arms. “The cruelty I couldn’t bear to watch and had to stop was of your father’s making.”