“Disguise,” Rawley interrupted. “If the fella who took Wart saw Al, he saw a boy. If he decides to look for her, he’ll be lookin’ for a boy.”
Not to mention that the snatchers, in general, were looking for boys. Not girls. The best way to keep Alice safe was to hide her in plain sight as the girl she was.
Katherine grinned approvingly at Rawley. “You are one clever young man.”
He grinned back. “I know.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Early the following morning, Jonah led Tessie and Bessie from the barn and hitched them to the poor excuse for a wagon he and Mark had pieced back together last night after shoring up the cracked axle with some sturdy leather straps. They’d plotted while they worked and decided it best to divide and conquer today. Jonah would drive the dilapidated wagon to the wheelwright in Llano and inform the county sheriff of both Wart’s abduction and the attempt on Rawley. Wallace would remain at the foundling home to guard the place and keep the boys busy assisting with property repairs. Tomorrow they’d switch roles. Jonah would guard the house while Mark crossed the bridge into Burnet County and visited nearby Hoover’s Valley in search of information about a man who liked to dress all in black.
Questioning locals and getting them to open up was Wallace’s talent. Not Jonah’s. So even though a black man was less likely than a white one to gain a Texas sheriff’s full cooperation, it was still the best division of labor. Jonah could wield his connection to Hanger’s Horsemen to buy a decent measure of respect. It had worked in the past. With their reputation for bringing in wanted criminals and collecting bounties, most lawmen in the state were sufficiently amiable. And really, all he needed to do was report the crime. The sheriff could decide whether or not to investigate. With as shorthanded as the man seemed to be, he’d probably jump at the chance to have the Horsemen do his work for him. Especially when the only kids missing were vagrants whom the voting members of the county cared little about.
The trip would take a full day. Four hours there. Four hours back. He could have cut the return time in half by taking Augustus, but the ladies had insisted on renting a replacement wagon so they could drive the children to church on Sunday, two days from now.
At the sound of the back door clicking shut, Jonah glanced up and caught an eyeful of Eliza sauntering down the porch steps with a basket of vittles hanging over her arm. Nice of her to pack him a lunch. Nice of her to deliver it too, Jonah thought as he tipped his hat brim downward to watch the sway of her approach without her noticing.
She looked good first thing in the morning. ’Course, she looked good night and noon too, but there was something about morning that suited her. She was just a little bit softer now than after the responsibilities of the day caught up to her. A tad more vulnerable. He’d already studied her in the kitchen that morning while shoveling down eggs, bacon, and grits as the rest of the house slept. Shoot, he’d probably stolen enough glances at her to earn his own wanted poster, but he didn’t regret a one. Not even when she’d caught him in the act. It just allowed him to target those expressive eyes of hers. Watching them shift from surprised to embarrassed to flustered had been pure pleasure. But it had been the hint of interest that flashed right before she’d turned away that had really gotten his blood pumping. No doubt he’d be reliving that flash a few hundred times during the twenty-mile drive to Llano.
Recalling her lack of love for horses, Jonah stepped away from the team in order to intercept her in neutral territory. Quirking a grin, he reached for the basket she’d so kindly packed for him, then frowned as she swung it over his outstretched palm and sidestepped him to place it in the wagon bed herself. Tracking her as she sailed past, it occurred to him that she looked different than she had at breakfast. No apron. And she’d donned a bonnet. Something flipped in his gut.
“I’m going with you.” She released the basket handle, then spun to face him, hands finding their way to her hips.
Schooling his features, he raised a brow. “Oh?”
His pulse kicked up a notch at the thought of her company. ’Course, she probably had a practical reason for wantin’ to make the trip. It wasn’t as if she suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from him. Though he had experienced a few twinges at the thought of not seeing her for a full day. Which was crazy. Women didn’t get under his skin. At least they hadn’t before now. What was it about this one that was so different?
He looked her up and down. The gentle curves softening her statuesque figure. The warm glow of her tawny skin. The fire of challenge sparking in her large dark eyes. The sass in her posture. The determination in her raised chin.
Everything. Everything about her was different.
A slow smile stretched across his face.
One of Eliza’s hands slid off her hip. She jerked it back into place. “I canceled school for the day. Rawley and his crew need time to settle in before lessons are enforced, and Friday is a terrible day to start a new routine. We’ll start fresh on Monday. Besides, we need supplies. We have twice as many mouths to feed now.”
Her rambling boosted Jonah’s confidence. Maybe he’d gotten under her skin as well. Only fair.
He stalked forward, his gaze locked on hers. “They got stores in Kingsland,” he said. “No need to travel all the way to Llano for supplies.”
“My wagon is going to Llano,” she volleyed, “so if I wish to have a conveyance to cart my supplies, it appears I’ll need to go to Llano with it.”
While she spoke, he closed in on her. She reached out to halt his advance. Four fingertips pressed against his chest, and lightning charged through him from each contact point. His pulse jumped. As if she felt it, she snatched her hand back and curled her fingers into a fist.
Spend the day with Eliza Southerland? Yeah, he could suffer through that torture.
Jonah gestured to the wagon seat. “Hop in, Teach. Daylight’s a wastin’.”
She nodded with a regal dip of her head, as if his compliance had never been in question. Let her believe herself the victor, he thought as he handed her up onto the seat. He didn’t mind a strategic surrender every now and again. Especially when the reward gained outranked the forfeiture. And seeing as how all he was forfeiting was eight hours of boring, solitary drive time with nothing to entertain him but God’s scenery, he figured he’d come out on top of this deal. The rolling hills, rivers, and trees of Llano County were fine, indeed, but they couldn’t compare to the handiwork evident in Eliza. The Lord had outdone himself there.
Too bad the Almighty hadn’t seen fit to give Jonah a bit more fine-tuning in the verbal exchange department. It was hard to impress a woman when a fella ran out of conversational ammunition within the first five minutes. His pride suffered a serious blow when, not thirty minutes into their drive, she fetched a book out of the basket she’d packed and started reading. So much for his theory that she’d used Harmony House’s dearth of supplies as an excuse to spend time with him. She’d probably been trying to escape the clamor of a dozen rambunctious children. Who wouldn’t want some peace and quiet after the day they’d had yesterday?
Oddly enough . . . he wouldn’t. Usually he preferred solitude. A man alone with his thoughts and his God. It kept him grounded. However, a man alone with a beautiful woman who was ignoring him . . . well, that just kept him frustrated. And lonely. And silently berating himself for not having anything of consequence to say.
Paper crinkled slightly as she turned a page. Her gaze shifted closer to him as she searched out words printed on the left side of the binding.
And if he was noticing that, he was in a sorrier state than he’d thought. Enough with the reconnaissance. Time to take action.
Jonah cleared his throat. “Whatcha readin’?”
She fit her finger between the pages to mark her place, then folded the cover over to show him the title. “Illustrated School History of the United States by G. P. Quackenbos.”
“Quackenbos?” Jonah choked on a part
ially stifled laugh.
Enough amusement escaped, however, to elicit one of those warning looks womenfolk were famous for. The raised brows, the tilted head, the slanted eyes designed to let a man know his behavior was edging toward unsuitable. Were they at a fancy dinner where using the wrong fork might shame him, he probably would have heeded that warning. But out in the middle of nowhere? Not a chance.
Jonah released a full-on chuckle. “I would’ve thought a teacher would know better than to read a book written by a quack.”
Eliza pulled her finger free from the book and jabbed it into his shoulder. “I’ll have you know that George Payn Quackenbos is a well-respected educator and the author of numerous texts not only in history, but in arithmetic, grammar, composition, and phil—why are you laughing?”
The affront in her tone only made Jonah laugh harder. “His middle name is Pain?” His eyes started to water. “Oh, that’s rich. I bet the kids love his lessons.”
He expected her hackles to bristle into weaponized porcupine quills, so the smile that blossomed across her face as she shook her head caught him off guard.
“I had never actually thought about it, but you’re right.” Her eyes sparkled. “There’s a lot of”—she interrupted herself with a giggle—“irony in that name.”
Laughter changed her face completely. Before his eyes, this strong, independent woman relaxed into a woman so approachable, he had to struggle to keep his hands on the reins. His fingers itched to cup her cheek, to caress the skin along her jaw, to tilt her lips up to his.
Easy, partner. Eyes on the road.
Jonah forced his head around, dragging his gaze back where it belonged. “So, ah . . . where’d you get your training? To be a teacher?”
“Howard University.”
Jonah’s head swiveled sideways. He’d known she was smart, but Howard? She put his education to shame. “Impressive.”
“Thank you.” Pride rang in her voice and straightened her shoulders, but it wasn’t the kind of pride that looked down on others from a lofty perch. It was the type that remembered the arduous climb it took to reach the pinnacle and felt a sense of responsibility to help others make their own ascents.
“With your accent, I supposed you had grown up in the South somewhere.”
“I did. In Georgia.”
“Then how did you—” He cut himself off, afraid he might offend her.
She raised her brows, but her expression didn’t frost over. “I was blessed with a mother who understood the value of education. Mama might have started off an illiterate slave, but she craved knowledge like a starving man craves bread. Her good looks earned her a place serving in the house of a respected apothecary, but it was her intelligence that seized upon the opportunity to learn. When the mistress gave her a shopping list to take to market, she’d ask for items one at a time so she could learn to recognize which words matched which item. Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Carrots. Peaches. She picked apart the letters to learn their sounds, then started trying to guess items she didn’t recognize by sounding out their similar letters.”
Jonah suddenly felt guilty for complaining as a boy about being stuck in the schoolroom reading when he’d rather have been fishing or shooting targets. Hearing how Eliza’s mother had taught herself to read through painstaking determination, effort, and creativity made him realize just how precious was the gift of literacy.
“It took months, but she started recognizing simple words in newspapers and shop signs. But she hungered for more. Not just words, but the knowledge they unlocked. Knowledge that didn’t care about her age, her gender, or the color of her skin.” Passion rang in Eliza’s voice. Passion and pride in what her mother had accomplished. “She’d sneak books out of the master’s library one at a time, careful to fill the shelf space so no one would realize a volume was missing. She dared not let anyone discover her secret. Slaves who could read were considered threats to the household. Instigators of unrest.”
Jonah’s jaw tightened. He knew it was true, but hearing her admit it aloud brought a righteous anger to the surface inside him. Just one more way his people were leashed by their oppressors.
“Although she kept her growing literacy a secret,” Eliza continued, “the master noticed her intelligence and capability. He started trusting her with more and more responsibility. Even trained her to assist him in the preparation of his medicinal powders and elixirs to cut down on his workload when his wife grew ill, allowing him to spend more time nursing her at home.”
Was this master Eliza’s father? Jonah longed to hear more but didn’t want to pry. He glanced her way to show his interest, then held his tongue, letting her dictate the conversation’s direction.
“Papa used to brag that she could work a mortar and pestle with more skill than half the men in his profession.”
Papa. Something boiled inside Jonah at the sound of that name on her tongue. A name associated with the man who’d owned her mother. A name she’d spoken with a hint of affection. How could she call him Papa when he’d abused his position so thoroughly? He’d taken advantage of a woman in his household. Fathered a child on a woman not his wife.
Clenching his jaw, Jonah turned back to the road. Eliza couldn’t change who her father was. How she came to be. He should be glad that she could speak of her father with affection. Hopefully that meant he had treated her with some level of kindness. Better than a cruel man who inspired hatred.
Yet Jonah couldn’t let it go. His mother had been a slave too. A laundress. Her work would have brought her to the big house on a regular basis. What if her master had taken a liking to her and decided he wanted more than just her work? What choice would she have had? Disobedience earned the lash. Even if she’d had the courage to refuse his advances, the master could’ve taken her by force. No one would’ve stopped him from doing what he wanted to his property.
Jonah’s thoughts churned as Eliza continued narrating the story of a young woman’s love of books, science, and education. He listened with only half an ear until that name jumped out of her mouth again and grabbed him around the throat.
“After the mistress died, Papa relied on my mama more and more.”
His grip tightened reflexively on the reins. “Why do you call him that?”
Eliza’s sweetly reminiscent smile flattened into a frown of confusion. “What?”
“Your father. How can you call him . . .” His throat constricted.
“Papa?” Eliza’s eyebrows arched, silently questioning his right to make such an inquiry.
He had no right, and they both knew it. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to know the answer.
“Your mother was his property. Like a horse in his stable or a painting on his wall. No rights. No freedom. She had to hide her ability to read, for pity’s sake, as if she were a criminal. How can you condone that?”
Her eyes flashed fire. “You think I condone his owning slaves?”
Offense radiated through her with such ferocity that he worried for a moment she might jump off the moving wagon to escape him.
“I grew up in the deep South,” she said, her words sharp, angry. “I heard the tales of field hands whipped to death for even speaking about a freedom run before the war. I saw the scars, the broken spirits, the . . . lynchings.” Her voice cracked and she turned her face away for a moment. “Slavery is a vile, dehumanizing practice,” she said once she had her emotions under control. “A practice my father once participated in. That knowledge shreds my heart with shame.” She looked at him, and Jonah felt the dissonance of her position tugging on his soul, cooling his temper. “But if each man and woman were defined solely by their greatest sin, what hope would there be for any of us?”
Dousing the last flames of his indignation, Jonah considered her words. Thought of Wounded Knee. The acidic shame that ate at him whenever he recalled the horrors of that massacre. What if no one ever saw him as anything more than a soldier who’d participated in that slaughter? Equating him with those who killed wom
en and children even though he did everything he could to preserve innocent lives?
He needed grace as much as the next man, even if the next man was a slave owner with a mixed-race daughter.
Jonah met Eliza’s gaze and softened his heart. “Tell me about him.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Eliza bit her lip. Her family situation was . . . complicated. Uncomfortable. Both to talk about and to accept. Even for her. How could she expect Jonah to understand?
Slowly, she lifted her chin and claimed her identity. Illegitimate. Mulatto. Female. All classifications the world looked down upon. Yet she was the person God created her to be. His fingers had formed her in her mother’s womb. With purpose. She was fearfully and wonderfully made, and she would not hide.
“My father was far from perfect, but he wasn’t evil.” Eliza held Jonah’s gaze until he looked away to check their position on the road. “His wife passed away in the winter of 1861. She’d always been frail and spent more time abed than in company, but he mourned her loss. Mama hated seeing the man of science she respected retreat into a hollow shell. He started making mistakes at the shop, mixing up orders and forgetting ingredients. Mama worried his patients would suffer and couldn’t in good conscience sit idly by and let things deteriorate without doing something to intervene.”
Jonah craned his neck and raised a brow, a light of teasing in his eyes. “Hard to imagine an interfering female in your family tree.”
Eliza’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, we Southerlands aren’t afraid to have opinions.”
“So I’ve noticed.” His tone offered no censure, only admiration. A fact that sent warmth through her midsection and up into her cheeks.
Good heavens. Was she actually blushing?
Clearing her throat, Eliza returned to her story. “Mama refused to let him languish away. She became downright impertinent. Throwing open draperies when he said he preferred them closed. Taking food to his study when he neglected to come to the table and not leaving until he ate to her satisfaction. She watched every move he made in the workshop and challenged him when she spotted an error.
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