“Ought to be?”
Phin shrugged. “If there’s no rail, there will still be horses. We’ll make it.”
Luther’s nod looked more contemplative than convinced. At first. Then he caught Phin’s eye and gave one final, decisive nod. “We shall make it indeed. To your Delia.”
“And your Eva.”
“Quite so.” He stuck out a hand.
Phin just blinked, until the meaning of the action made itself known. Then he prayed his hesitation wasn’t too great. Never in his life had a black man offered a hand to shake—but into this particular broad palm he was entrusting his life. It seemed only fair to seal it.
Salina rocked back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow with the edge of her apron. The sun hung directly overhead, so bright and glaring she fancied it would burn straight through the earth all the way to the other side. Heavens, but she wished they’d all gone to the plantation this summer. Savannah was near to unbearable.
The ground under her knees was hard and dry, yet the air weighed wet and thick. How must all those soldiers be faring out there on the marshy coast, dug into mosquito-infested trenches as they likely were?
Well, she’d just get rid of these weeds threatening to choke Miss Delia’s beloved flowers quick as she could and get back inside.
“Salina? What in the world are you doing gardening?”
She didn’t just snap upright at Mass Owens’s voice, she leapt all the way to her feet and wiped her soiled hands on her apron. As if that could hide the guilt. As if the guilt was hers to try to hide. “Mornin’, sir. I was just . . . well, sir, I came out to pick some fresh flowers for Miss Delia and noticed a few weeds a’growin’ is all.”
The master narrowed his eyes. First upon her, then upon the overrun flowerbed. His jaw ticked. “And where is Big Tom?”
Surely it was just the heat that made it so hard to find saliva enough to swallow. “I don’t rightly know, sir. Maybe he be sick today.”
“Today?” Mass Owens frowned at the ground. Pressing her lips together, Salina knew he’d see in a heartbeat that it had been more than a day since the grounds had been tended. When he turned that hard gaze back to her face, she shuddered as if she were the one who had neglected her duties. “Has he run off, Salina?”
“I . . .” What was she to say? That he had offered to do that once, with her, but that she’d heard nothing of it since then? Heard nothing from him since he learned she was the master’s illegitimate child? That somewhere deep inside she’d known he would make a run for the Yankee line on the coast—and that most likely he’d convinced one of Salina’s friends to go with him? “I don’t know, sir. I done—I mean, I’ve kept my distance from him, like you told me to do.”
So why did he arch his brow at her like that, like she was lying? She wasn’t, and that was the honest truth. She hadn’t done more than send a few admiring glances at Big Tom out the window in recent weeks, and even those had been less frequent. He might be handsome as all get-out, but she knew he wasn’t for her.
No one was for her. Though she had to say, when Miss Delia had passed along greetings from River . . . well, that had been right interesting. Though she didn’t dare think too much about that just now, with Mass Owens glaring at her.
“Salina, I know well slaves talk among themselves. Now, are you going to tell me what you heard, or do I have to ask someone else?”
She latched her gaze onto the ground. “They don’t talk to me about Big Tom, sir. I asked ’em not to. Didn’t realize that would mean I can’t tell you what you need to know.”
“Hmm.” The hum sounded convinced, at least. And softer than his words had. “You best get inside and cleaned up—Sassy will be here any moment, and Delia mentioned taking you with her today.”
“Yessuh.” She dashed off quick as she could, flying straight toward her room to exchange her soiled apron for a clean one. She’d plumb forgotten about the shopping trip, so set as she had been on those flowers. They were meant to have been a reminder, something to call to mind that very different dream Miss Delia had said she had a week ago, the one with sunshine and blue skies.
Surely a good sign for Mr. Phin. Surely. Yet as the days dragged by and still no word came, Salina had watched her sister’s hope start to shrivel as sure as those flowers would without some water dribbled upon them.
“Lord Almighty, protect Mr. Phin and bring him home soon.” She whispered the prayer as she gained her room, apron already untied. Though when she tossed it into her pile of soiled garments, she noted the dirt on her hands and under her nails, and figured she had best take care of that before fetching herself a clean apron.
By the time she emerged again, she heard the Dunn carriage pulling up outside, and Miss Delia was floating down the stairs in the pretty dress of white muslin sprigged with lavender that Salina had helped her into not an hour earlier. She had the matching bonnet in hand, so Salina hurried over to assist her in arranging it just so over her curls. Secured the utility ties to hold it in place, then tied the wide, silken ribbon in a fashionable bow. “There. Pretty as you please.”
“Thank you, Salina.” She slipped her hands into her gloves, her smile small. “I would have been tempted to cancel this outing, were I not in desperate need of more paper.”
Needing something to do, some way to help, Salina adjusted the bow under Miss Delia’s chin to a jauntier angle. “You can’t just sit around all day waiting for news.”
Miss Delia caught her hands, squeezed them. “Salina,” she said, voice low, “August is already half gone. By September, do you think Daddy meant the very first day? Or perhaps by the end?”
As if she had any special ability to read the master’s mind or meaning. “Lawzy, Miss Delia, you askin the wrong person bout that.”
“I know.” Heaving a sigh, she headed for the door and motioned Salina to follow.
The sunshine gave them a scorching welcome, and the breeze mustered up a scant breath, hot and heavy. River was just hopping down from his place in the driver’s seat. “Mawnin, Miss Delia.”
“Good morning, River. Sassy, you’re looking fresh as a peach.”
River gave the young lady a hand up, and Salina leaned into the buggy just enough to help Miss Delia get her skirt situated. Then she turned to the front, hitched up her own skirt . . . and jumped when a palm appeared under her nose.
When she jerked her head up, she found River grinning at her, obviously amused by her reaction. “Lemme help ya up, Salina girl.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She set her fingers on his palm, and if she pretended that warm flesh was nothing but a cold iron railing, she figured no one would blame her for it. No use admiring the lively sparkle in his eye or appreciating the way he looked at her—like she was something special.
He boosted her up and jumped up behind. “Woo-ee. I sho do like hearin ya talk, Salina, with yo fine speech.”
It took all her willpower to tamp down a grin as she scooted along the bench to make room for him. “I kin talk’um jest like yo, if I wanna.” Then the twitch of her lips stilled. “The master don’t like it none though.”
For a moment, River’s brow lifted in question. But soon enough the light in his eyes sparked, and he nodded. “He specs mo of you.”
She just nodded, folded her hands in her lap.
River clicked the horses up, their hooves clacking on the stones of the drive before the sound was dulled by the sand-packed street. Her ears focused briefly on the chatter behind her, but Miss Delia and Miss Sassy were just talking about their latest encounter with the mean ol’ Annaleigh. Salina had already heard about it—and had said a prayer for poor Vangie, stuck as she was by that she-devil’s side, without even an outing like this to bring her some relief now and then.
According to the whispers among the slaves, Vangie was with child, and the minute that had been revealed, Mass Young had all but locked her up inside his house, determined to keep her and the next generation of slave she carried “safe” from any
temptation to run.
Them Youngs was something else, that was for sure. Something that made her blood feel all steamed up.
River looked over at her again. “Good to see yo still here, Salina.” His words were quiet, quiet enough that the girls wouldn’t be able to hear him. Quiet enough that they rang to the depths of her soul and made her forget all about the Youngs.
“Where else would I be? None of the Owenses went inland this year.”
He had a way of looking at her that made his gaze seem to bore right through a body. “Ain’t what I be meanin. Big Tom . . . well, he say yo his ooman.”
Her head snapped his way, and she feared her eyes went wide as the delta. “Can’t think why he say so.”
“Well, the way he tell it,” he said, leaning close and pitching his voice quieter still, “the only thing keepin you apaa’t be Mr. Owens.”
Only when her nail bit into her flesh did she realize her fingers gripped each other so hard that River had only to look down to see what that suggestion did to her.
If he thought that, it was no wonder he was surprised to see her still here, what with Big Tom running off. Did everyone think the same? Were they all looking at her now, with him gone? Wondering when she’d run to meet up with him?
If Mass Owens got wind of those rumors, thought she knew where Big Tom had gone, thought she’d try to escape too . . . well, she had no intentions of doing that, so she shouldn’t worry none. But then, if they looked too closely and saw how familiar she and Miss Delia were, or if they caught her with a book, it could get right ugly for her. The missus could yet have her way, and Salina would wake up one morning in the disease-ridden rice marshes.
Frustration with Big Tom bubbled up. Maybe she’d thought him handsome, but never had she once given him any reason to talk about her like that. She wanted to toss her head back and forth with vehemence enough to get her point across, but she didn’t dare. Miss Delia would notice that for sure, and she didn’t want to have to explain what got her so riled. Would only upset her, and she had enough on her mind.
So she kept her headshake small, casual. “Ain’t so. There are plenty of reasons I ain’t involved with him, and that be one, but it ain’t the only, or even the most important. I ain’t never liked men who flit from girl to girl like he done.”
River looked so long and hard at her, she figured she best keep her eyes on the road so as to warn him if anything should jump in front of the horses. “You gwine miss him?”
Did he ask from curiosity? Because he and Big Tom were friends, sharing a room as they did? Or was his interest more personal?
Even if it were, wouldn’t matter none. She couldn’t let herself wonder, daren’t even entertain any thoughts on the matter. River was a fine man, sure enough, handsome in a more understated way than his roommate but no less legitimately. The thought of him thinking of her may have given her a little thrill. But it wasn’t to be, no more than Big Tom was. He was still a slave, and she was still the master’s daughter.
She wouldn’t waste any thoughts on River. And she sure wouldn’t waste any more on Tom. “Nah, I ain’t gonna miss him. I’m gonna hope he ain’t caught, cause I don’t fancy seeing him killed, and I’m gonna hope no one else I know is fool enough to risk their necks like that. Don’t know why he thought it worth tryin.”
Rather than answering, River took up a hum. He didn’t use any words, but everyone knew which ones had been put to that particular tune.
Yes, we shall all be free
Yes, we shall all be free
Yes, we shall all be free
When the Lord shall appear.
Maybe that was River’s answer. The song had been banned—everyone knew “the Lord” meant the Yankees—so what did he mean by humming it? That he hoped for freedom too? Understood why Big Tom would take off like he had?
Salina pressed her lips together. “You ain’t gonna do nothing stupid, are ya, River?”
“Me?” His eyes went wide. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t never. The Dunns been real good to me, real good. And Mr. Phin—well, he help me much as I help him, sho nuff. Reckon I’ll keep on there, even if.”
Even if. Even if freedom came to call. Even if the Yankees came knocking on their door.
Weren’t too many slaves she knew who would stick around if the choice was given. Even the ones with kind masters wanted to be free. Make their own choices. See whatever part of the world struck their fancy.
“Though . . .” He shifted a bit closer, focused his eyes on nothing, cast his voice lower. “I hear me talk. Talk of dem Yankees takin the islands, and folkses aplenty ready to run to em when dey do.”
She stretched out her cramping fingers and resisted the urge to wrap her arms around her middle. For a moment she could imagine it—stealing out one night, finding a pilot who knew the waterways, the warm breeze snatching at her hair as she headed for freedom.
A siren’s song, that’s what it was. And Miss Delia had written a story about sirens last year, so Salina knew all too well how those usually ended. She didn’t much fancy being one of their victims, crashed to bits on no rocks, neither. ’Sides, there weren’t no tale worth telling that would feature the likes of her. No true love waiting. No prince in disguise. Just a future that would either be cut short by hard work or worn long by loneliness.
No, it would be enough to stay with Miss Delia. She wouldn’t be lonesome by her side, no sir. And maybe . . . maybe one of these days . . . well, maybe it would be enough if she realized . . .
Salina sighed. Best not to hope the young miss would figure out they shared blood. Miss Delia loved her daddy something fierce, and it would no doubt tarnish him in her eyes to realize he’d kept her murruh as mistress at the plantation whilst the missus was in Savannah.
River was humming again, this time a spiritual from the fields that, so far as she knew, the white folk had never uncovered the meaning of. They’ll take wings and fly away. Buried as it was between words of death and resurrection, no one ever thought anything of it. Not unless they’d grown up hearing the whispered stories from Africa. If Salina closed her eyes, she could still see her aunt leaning over her, still hear her alto voice.
“And the boy, he took on wings and flew like a bird, flew away from hardship. Flew away toward freedom with his magic wings, until he landed someplace safe.”
Wasn’t heaven the song spoke of, nor was it simply the nether-life with Jesus. The old African lore and spells would always stay woven in—leastways so long as conjurers like Aunt Lila were around.
Salina blinked and shifted to clear her mind. Miss Delia was right—now that she was a baptized Christian and understood better what it meant, understood better what it didn’t mean, it was best to put away all those questionable things. Focus on the stories she knew were true, and which were just as miraculous.
Focus on the dreams she’d gotten from the Lord above, not the ones her aunt had awakened from in a sweat, with darkness in her eyes.
Laughter rang out from the buggy, jarring but bright.
River leaned close. “What you frettin bout, Salina? Tom? He know how to git where he gwine. He be fine, sho nuff.”
“Nah, not him.” The shops were just around the corner, and she knew the young ladies would spend a good while inside while she and River waited outside the door. They’d keep an eye on them through the window, but the store was too crowded with shelves for them to all go in. “I’ll tell ya in a minute.”
His eyes were as gray and beckoning as the morning mist, especially when they sparkled with curiosity like they did now. But he didn’t focus them on her long, not with traffic needing his attention. He navigated around the corner, down the street a ways, and found a place to hitch the horses. Quick as a wink, he jumped out to help the ladies down. Salina climbed down too and kept pace behind the girls until River opened the door for them and their hoops swayed through it.
It had scarce shut behind them before River turned to her, his face sober. “I been wantin to talk t
o you too. That fella what been sniffin around yo Miss Delia—she tell you bout the night at Pulaski House?”
Salina nodded and finally let herself fold her arms over her stomach. “She said you saved her a world of woe. Thank you for that.”
One foot shuffled against the sidewalk. “Shucks, Salina, ain’t no need to thank me fo doin what’s right.”
The smile pulled up the corners of her mouth before she could think to stop it. “Don’t know what else one body thanks another for.”
His grin flashed quick and warm. “True nuff. But I jest doin what Mr. Phin would want. Takin care of the future missus whenever I kin.”
“Mr. Phin’s what I wanted to talk to you bout.” She stepped closer and, though she turned to the window to keep an eye on Miss Delia, leaned in just a bit. “Miss Delia and me, we been havin these dreams bout him. Same time once, same dream. All dark and sinister. But last week she had a dream about him in the sunshine. And I had me one just the other night that was similar. First one what was good.”
Horses’ hooves thudded along the sandy street, drivers called out, passersby greeted one another. But it was a long moment before River sucked in a slow breath. “Yo got some seer in you, sho nuff. Don’t surprise me none. What does is that I had me one of them dreams myself. And it weren’t the good one. Skay’d me halfway to heaven.” She felt him shift, turn toward her. “But if you say the last one’s good, then that’s good nuff for me.”
He believed her, just like that? Was willing to put aside his own fears and doubts? Salina glanced up and fought back a wave of warmth at the way he was looking at her. Wasn’t nothing like the way Big Tom always did, no sir. Not like that at all. River’s gaze was one of . . . well, if she didn’t know better, she’d call it respect. Admiration. But sure and that didn’t make any sense at all.
The smile he offered now was slight, and somehow all the more intimate for its smallness, as if it were only big enough for her to see, and no one else. “He’ll come on home one of these days, and then him and Miss Delia git’um married.” He turned back to the window, but she saw the wink of his dimple nonetheless. “And you be right welcome at the Dunn house, Salina. Right welcome.”
Dreams of Savannah Page 16