by Tara Johnson
He lowered himself next to her, shaking his dark head. Dipping a cloth into the bucket of water, he wrung it out and dabbed it across her brow. The cool liquid was welcome relief to her burning cheeks.
“No, no tremors this time. Rose says the men claimed you merely stared into space, unresponsive to their questions, and then fell unconscious.”
Collapsing was mortification enough. If she’d jerked and thrashed around, she could have alerted someone to their presence. Unforgivable.
A muscle ticked in Micah’s jaw as he dipped the cloth back into the water. “Has your father relented to let you try some of the remedies I suggested?”
She dropped her gaze. “No. He says I am to be resigned to my condition.”
She heard his sigh and braved a glance as the familiar crease appeared between his brows, a sure sign he was frustrated but refrained from further discussion of the matter.
Instead he offered a smile as his fingers grazed the inside of her wrist. She jerked away as if seared by a hot coal.
“Wha—what are you doing?”
An amused smile flitted across the planes of his face. “Only checking your pulse. Nothing malicious, I assure you.”
“Oh, of course.” He must think her daft. Still, she couldn’t repress the skitters of pleasure that traversed up her arm as his fingers pressed tightly against the tender flesh inside her wrist. What was wrong with her?
“Pulse is satisfactory.” She resisted the urge to snatch her hand away. She felt . . . odd. Jittery.
“How do you feel?”
“A little shaky but better.”
He stood and offered his outstretched hand. She looked up, confusion flooding her.
“Would you like a tour?”
Keziah realized she had no idea of their location. “Where are we?”
He grasped her fingers and gently tugged her to standing. “In the tunnels below the Negro church.”
Excitement chased away the confusion nipping her insides. She’d longed to see where the slaves sought their safety. “Please, show me.”
Claiming the candle and its tin holder from the floor near the cot, Micah led her down the musty corridor. The loamy scent of earth clung to her as he swatted away a cobweb.
She rested a steadying hand against the tunnel wall. Her fingers brushed across crumbling mortar and slid onto damp stone blocks as she hunched low in the tunnel. Micah swung the candle wide and pointed into the blackness. “Rose has the passengers you conducted in a small room down that way. Thanks to you, they will receive food and rest tonight.”
She stayed silent, recognizing his attempt to bolster her spirits. Still, they sagged. What kind of safety could she ultimately offer to escaping slaves if she couldn’t even control her own body?
Oblivious to her tumultuous thoughts, he whispered softly in the echo of the narrowing tunnel. “In a minute, you’ll see the structure of the walls change. We’ll have to sit and scoot, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind.”
They rounded a sharp corner and the air changed. It was slightly warmer and smelled altogether different. The faint scent of beeswax and lemon tickled her nose. A large step plunged them deeper into a dank abyss. Micah jumped onto the lower level and offered her a hand. Grasping his hand lightly, she lifted the edge of her skirt and felt her feet drop sharply before thudding against hard-packed dirt. The candle’s flicker grew smaller and she couldn’t help stepping closer to Micah’s comforting presence, hunkering low to avoid whacking her head against the shrunken ceiling.
“Where are we?”
“Under the floorboards of the church sanctuary.”
With a soft gasp, she reached up and felt the low ceiling. Splinters of wood met her reverent touch, but she could see little beyond the faint circle of light the candle cast. Setting down the candleholder, Micah dropped to his knees in the near darkness, urging her farther into the odd space. She followed his lead, doing her best to adjust her tangle of skirts as she scooted across the floor.
His low voice near her ear caused pinpricks of awareness to skim down her back. “It’s impossible to see at night, but just overhead there are small holes drilled into the sanctuary floor.”
“Why?”
“For breathing. When paddy rollers are in the area, neither the basement nor the tunnels are safe, so the slaves sneak into this space and bar this room with a block. The holes ensure they can breathe for as long as they’re here.”
For the first time that night, she smiled in wonder. “Brilliant.”
Seating himself on the floor, Micah allowed her to relax. She slipped down next to him, enjoying the quiet serenity of the still room and the faint flickering candlelight.
“So what did you mean when you said you couldn’t bear it again?”
Her eyes slid shut. Of course he wouldn’t forget. He knew her too well. Micah had let her think he’d dropped the subject but was simply biding his time before asking again.
She exhaled a shaky sigh and laced her fingers. “Have you been in Savannah for long?”
“No. The Relief Commission sent me for a spell to a prison camp.”
Her brows rose. “For captured soldiers?”
“Yes. Many of them grievously wounded or ill.” He leaned his head against the wall and stared straight ahead. “The supplies in the infirmary were limited, the so-called camp surgeons incompetent. I did what I could, but—” he shook his head—“it’s a deplorable situation.”
“I’m sorry.” She spoke no more, feeling as if her own troubles were but a pittance compared to the suffering he must have seen.
A thick silence fell between them for a long moment before his low voice pierced the heaviness. “So what has caused you such anguish?”
Micah fought the urge to reach for her hand.
Dropping her eyes to her lap, Kizzie took a breath. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the incident then. What happened on Christmas Day.”
“No.”
“It was my fault. I didn’t think to go to the stables the night before. I never forget to check the padlock. Ever.” She pinched her eyes closed. “Foolish of me.”
Unease filled his stomach.
“You know how busy Christmas Eve is, and honestly, Mother kept me so muddled it never crossed my mind.” As she stared straight ahead, he watched her lips tremble. “I had recently suffered another epileptic attack as well. The spell knocked the starch from me. It’s been . . . difficult.”
He ground his jaw. Her attacks would be reduced if her father would listen to reason. Stubborn man.
“Christmas Day, after our midday meal, a filthy man burst into the house, screaming and accusing Father of harboring runaways.”
Micah struggled to suppress his groan. “A paddy roller?”
“Yes. Father was understandably outraged but agreed to let the vile man search the outbuildings, I suppose as a way to prove his loyalty to the Confederacy.” A sharp inhalation snagged in her chest as her eyes flitted back and forth across the unseen memory in her mind.
“How I prayed the bounty hunter was wrong. Prayed the fugitive had already made his escape despite my neglect. I had to watch as that horrid man pulled him fighting from the stable.” A lone tear escaped, tracing a golden streak down her cheek in the candlelight. “Just as he prepared to clap him in irons, the slave managed to extract the paddy roller’s gun. He pointed it to his own temple and he—he—”
Kizzie’s sudden sob eradicated the need for any more words. With a groan, Micah pulled her close, a hand on her back. If he could only erase the gruesome moment from her memory.
Her muffled voice pressed against his chest. “I’m to blame. Just like tonight.”
He cupped her face in his palms, staring hard and trying to impress the truth straight into her hurting soul. “What we do—fighting to obtain freedom for those unable to speak for themselves—it’s risky, emotional, and exhausting. But ask yourself if it’s worth it.”
Her cinnamon eyes met and held his l
ong before she nodded ever so slightly. “Yes, it’s worth it.”
He stroked her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Bad things will happen. We cannot save everyone, but we keep fighting. We save those we can. We move forward. We run toward the prize.”
Kizzie’s lips parted, her expression filled with anguish. “How can I possibly be of benefit when I cannot even maintain control of my own body? What if my collapse tonight had cost those men their freedom?”
He drank in the sight of her, the feel of her. “It didn’t, though. Yield yourself to God, and he will take care of the rest. The fate of man does not rest in your hands, Kizzie. Be willing, and let God do what he will.”
But faith warred with the very real possibility that all she said was true. What if she collapsed at the wrong moment? What if fugitives were captured or she were imprisoned due to one moment out of his control?
Ma Linnie’s admonition drifted through his mind. He released the tight breath trapped in his chest. It was out of his grasp. He must trust the Almighty or drive himself mad.
She frowned. “I must say, this is a far cry from the speech you gave me mere weeks ago. You thought it too dangerous and were sure I would be caught or ruin the operation.”
His heart constricted as the words spilled from his lips. “In truth, I spoke out of fear.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “What fear?”
He swallowed, chest burning. “Fear I would lose you.”
A wave of longing, of yearning and love, crashed over him, so strong he was helpless to fight its unyielding current. His gaze dropped to her full lips, his heart hammering as one hand reached to cup the back of her head. His other hand slid down to her waist, pulling her body closer to his.
Micah’s pulse sped like a galloping horse as her lips melted into his. Desire consumed him. He let his fingers roam through her tumbling, silky curls. His breath grew erratic. Soaring. Her soft moan sent fire through his veins, and he feared he would crush her in his embrace.
He was losing himself in her. If he’d ever doubted the depths of his feelings, this moment confirmed the love he harbored was no childish infatuation. No, this was real.
He smothered her face with sweet kisses, each caress conveying a thousand different meanings, and she responded with an intensity he’d never dared dream possible.
You’re making her care, toying with her. You know you can’t have her.
A cold fist slammed into him, and he broke away, heart pounding like a drum. She blinked, her lips swollen from his kisses. What had he done?
He’d dishonored her, yielded to his feelings. He was not worthy of her. Indeed, being linked to him would only bring her harm.
Anguish washed over him as he moved farther away, fighting the desire to draw her to him again. Surprise, confusion, hurt . . . all of it painted her shifting expression. He shook his head, his body still on fire, his mind reeling.
“Forgive me.” His heart felt as if it were ripping into tattered pieces. “It won’t happen again.”
Keziah blinked, hurt drowning the heady euphoria she had been swimming in mere moments before. Her lips still burned from his passionate kisses. And her spinning emotions . . . she’d never known a feeling like it. His touch and his passion had undone her completely.
And now he recoiled, his shoulders slumped, face filled with shame. Was she so repugnant? Or was it something else entirely?
It didn’t matter. He’d spurned her, pushed her away. She wanted to collapse in on herself, flee to some place where she could not be hurt, where the deep knife of rejection could not shred her apart.
But it was too late already.
Scrambling away from him, she fumbled through the narrow space to find the way out. His hoarse plea only fueled her desire to flee. “Kizzie, wait—”
Just ahead. She pulled herself up, free of the cramped space, and plunged into the dark tunnel, shivering against the temperature, the dampness of the stone-and-earth passageway. Only blackness surrounded her. Her body trembled as she felt her way along the grimy wall, hurrying as fast as she dared. Away from light. Away from the cold slap of rejection. Away from him.
A soft glow illuminated the tunnel ahead. Her steps scraped against the gritty floor. She lurched forward only to halt suddenly when she turned the corner and nearly collided with Rose.
“Land’s sakes, child! You done near scared me outta ten years!” The woman’s wide smile belied her scold.
“Forgive me.”
“Kizzie?”
Micah’s soft call from farther down the tunnel made her stiffen, an action Rose was clearly shrewd enough to note. Her dark eyes became knowing, perhaps even a tad amused. Before Keziah could make her excuses and thank the woman for her care, Micah appeared, his face creased with angst.
A burning hurt rushed through her veins, and she turned away from his gaze. “I must leave soon or risk being found out. Thank you, Rose.”
The woman nodded, her face gleaming in the lamplight. “Thankful I am to Providence that he kept you and the others safe. Yes, you best get going. Dawn is just beginning to lighten the sky.”
Alarm slammed like a door in her chest. “What?” Her breath thinned. It was far later than she’d supposed. Even later than the night she’d ended up at Ma Linnie’s. She would surely be discovered by her parents and accused of some late-night dalliance. Regardless of what they’d suspect, her reputation would be in tatters.
Feeling as if she might cast up her accounts, she barely heard Micah’s soft directive. “Don’t fret. I’ll escort you home.”
She shook her head, her mind spinning. “No! That will look far worse!”
He reddened slightly and handed the spent candle to Rose. “I have a plan.”
Micah shifted his weight in the saddle, cringing against the gentle squeak of leather as Shadow trudged down the square.
His breath constricted when Kizzie’s back brushed his chest. As if sensing her wilting posture, she straightened in the saddle. Was she avoiding all contact with him? Or perhaps she was desperate to maintain a sense of propriety. A propriety he’d all but taken from her in his passion.
He could kick himself for the ardent kisses he’d unleashed, yet he did not wish them back. Not when he could still taste her sweetness, feel her wildly beating heart, and relish the knowledge that she had responded to him fully and completely.
He was a fool.
She’d said not a word to him since leaving the church in the chill morning air. The sun peeked over the gray horizon, lightening the sky, yet it brought no warmth from the January fog. If Kizzie was cold, she uttered no complaint.
His own breath clouded as he exhaled. He prayed all was quiet in the Montgomery household so she could slip in undetected. If not . . .
He swallowed. The uproar would be intense.
He murmured softly near her ear. “If it’s apparent you’ve been missed when we arrive, let me do the speaking. You need only play along.”
He felt rather than saw her frown as she gave him a view of her profile. “Play along with what?”
Clamping his jaw, he explained, “I’m going to tell them that I found you wandering the road past the house, deep in the throes of an epileptic spell.”
She sucked in a breath. “Do you think such a plan could possibly salvage my honor?”
Guilt gnawed him for the liberties he’d taken, yet he knew she was thinking of far greater concerns. “Possibly. If they believe your wandering is from their own inability to care for you properly, your parents will be likely to blame themselves, rather than you.”
“It will make any future escapades far more difficult.”
He smiled to himself, trying to ignore the sweet scent of her hair tickling his nose. “Perhaps. But knowing you as I do, you’ll find a way.”
Indeed, such a turn of events would make her clandestine activities nearly impossible under Benjamin Montgomery’s austere eye. Guilt stabbed him for the relief flooding him at such a thought. Yet what would h
appen to the fugitive slaves seeking refuge without Kizzie there to guide them?
She emitted a dry laugh. “You give me far too much credit.”
He tightened his grip on the reins. “Not at all. You’re a treasure, Kizzie Montgomery. Don’t ever believe otherwise.”
She lapsed into silence again as he directed Shadow toward the sprawling Montgomery home. Kizzie suddenly trembled, and his heart tugged in sympathy. He spotted Hiriam and her father conferring together inside the gate, their movements hurried, tense.
Any hopes he had for sneaking her quietly inside evaporated.
He whispered, “Act dazed. I’ll explain.”
He called a soft “Whoa” to Shadow and stopped just outside the iron barrier separating the brick home from the street. At his approach, both the servant and Mr. Montgomery stepped forward. When her father witnessed her atop Micah’s steed, his face mottled scarlet.
“What is the meaning of this affront?” Montgomery yanked the gate open, his eyes bugging out in a grotesque fashion.
Micah remained outwardly unaffected, holding Shadow in place as the horse shifted his weight, his unease with the furious man palpable. “I was going to ask you the same, sir.”
Glaring at him with nothing short of hatred, Montgomery shifted his gaze to Kizzie. “Daughter, explain yourself.”
With an air of confusion that would put the best actresses of the stage to shame, she blinked, her voice cracking. “Father?”
“Come here at once!”
Micah interjected, “Begging your pardon, sir, I fear the young miss is a bit befuddled. I found her walking past the square, dazed and incoherent.”
Montgomery’s scowl deepened. “Then what is she doing with you?”
Micah met his venomous expression directly. “I feared for the poor girl’s safety. She was mumbling and seemed not to know where she was when I questioned her.” Feigning indignation, he shook his head. “Really, sir, with your daughter’s falling sickness, it’s a wonder this hasn’t happened long ago.”
Montgomery huffed. “I did not ask—nor do I care—for your opinion, Greyson. Hiriam!” He turned to his servant. “Assist Keziah from that man’s horse immediately and take her into the house posthaste. Elizabeth will see to her.”