Dreams of Savannah

by Roseanna M. White

  The colonel’s gaze fell to the cane strapped to his saddle, then to the folded paper Phin held out. He took it, read it, and his features softened. “You, at least, have already fought. Georgia thanks you for your service, son, and for your injury on her behalf. You may return to your home.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” He took his exemption and half turned, but then looked back at the man. “It was an honor to serve. Will be an honor to serve again when I can, where I can.” Just not blindly. Not for glory. For Georgia, for Savannah. For Mother and Sassy and Delia. Because they were worth fighting for, fighting for the right to live in whatever world emerged from this war-torn one.

  He was halfway back through the crowd when the colonel called out, “Let’s try it this way. Anyone with valid exemptions, step forward and show them.”

  Never in his life had he heard a roar of voices quite like the one that followed, or seen a crowd of people surge like an angry sea. His horse nickered, sidestepped, and it was all Phin could do to keep the animal under control. When he finally made his way through the roiling mob, his leg ached anew from clenching his mount so tightly. He found Luther just beyond the soldiers, looking at him anxiously.

  Phin breathed a sigh and motioned toward the empty streets. “We’d best get out of here.”

  “Gladly.”

  They were silent so long as they could hear the crowd, but once back into the quiet of the all-but-abandoned neighborhoods, Luther looked over at him. “He made you think.”

  Phin rubbed at his leg. “What does the Lord expect of me? I could ride that note of exemption through the war. The doc already said he deemed me a lost cause and didn’t want to see me again. But I’m getting better every day. Stronger. I may not always be crippled.”

  Luther darted a glance over his shoulder, his expression one of concern. “You want to join those men?”

  “Those men? No.” He curled his hand against his thigh, directly over the mottled, ugly scar. “The thought of marching to Virginia makes me realize I’m not quite as healed as all that. But they’re leaving Savannah wide open. The Yankees could come from the coast, destroy it all.”

  “Phineas.” Luther shook his head, then shook it again. Thinking, no doubt, of the skiff secured even now in the marshes, loaded with the supplies they had spent weeks gathering to take out to Tybee Island tonight. “You’re a study in contradictions.”

  “No, I’m just the first to admit Georgia has its problems. Things that need to be changed. But the politicians in Washington aren’t the ones to do it, Luth, they don’t understand us well enough. We have to do it. Ourselves.”

  Luther just pressed his lips together.

  Phin sighed. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Yankees are any fairer toward your people than Southerners are. They might oppose slavery, but they don’t consider you equals. Most abolitionists seem eager to ship all the black people back to Africa whether they want to go or not. No, this war is about money—money and the power it grants you.”

  At that, Luther sighed. “Isn’t everything, at the root of it? But saying it’s only about that is ignoring a very critical part—the freedom your people claim to value but deny to those who don’t look like them.”

  “I won’t deny the issue of slavery is key to this war. It’s just not the only issue.” They reached the corner, and Phin paused. His hands wanted him to pull the reins to the right, to head to Delia. Just to be with her, to hear one of her stories, to steal a minute with her in his arms. He missed her so much he could taste the longing on his tongue. “How have you survived it, Luth? Being separated from Eva so long?”

  His friend drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “Prayer. Hour by hour, day by day. It’s been almost a year, Phineas. A year without my wife.”

  His horse pranced a bit, but Phin held him still at the intersection. “But you’re sure about this? About going?”

  There was no hesitation, just a nod. They’d already talked it out at length, had prayed about it together. Phin had sworn to keep looking and would keep an eye out for the return of the man who’d brought her here. They’d hope she made her way to Tybee on her own, that the Lord would whisper it in her ear and provide a means to escape. And in the meantime, Luther could be doing good. Ministering, again, to those to whom he’d been called to minister.

  He was just about to urge his horse toward home when a commotion drew his attention toward the Owenses’ street instead. He frowned when several carriages clattered his way, their own among them. Before he was even aware he’d given the command, he’d nudged his mount toward the open phaeton. River was driving, and his face looked odd—taut, strained, pained.

  Had Salina turned him down, then?

  But no—Sassy looked every bit as upset. He drew up alongside them. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Phin! It’s terrible.” Sassy leaned toward the side of the carriage, revealing red-rimmed eyes. “It’s Mr. Owens—his heart, they think. He collapsed and is unconscious. The doctor is on his way, but we all had to leave, of course. Delia is an utter wreck.”

  “What?” His own heart thudded in sympathy. Much as he didn’t like Owens, he’d never wish him any harm. And poor Delia. She’d always adored her father, and the recent strain between them was sure to make this all the harder.

  He had to go to her. They’d probably bar him from the house, but that didn’t matter. He’d find a way. Some way to give comfort. Without another word to his sister, he spurred his horse onward.

  Other carriages and horses were still leaving the house, providing just enough chaos that he could slip into the stable without anyone noticing him. He led his horse into a stall and then stood at the entrance for a moment, strategizing. Did he dare go right up to the front door? Old Moses probably had orders not to let him in. He could no doubt sneak around to the back—but then what? Steal inside? Just hope Delia noticed him and no one else did?

  “Have you a plan, Phineas, or are you simply going to climb the lattice and pretend you’re Romeo?”

  He jumped a bit at Luther’s voice, quiet as a prayer behind him. He hadn’t given any thought to whether his friend would follow. “I’m thinking.”

  “If I may make a recommendation—don’t think too long. Moses saw you come in here. If he means to bar your entry, he’ll send someone out here soon.”

  Phin dragged in a breath and nodded. If he’d already been discovered, there was no sense in being covert about it. He strode out of the stable.

  And was met by Old Moses within a few steps. The lines in the man’s face looked deeper than usual, and the hand he raised in greeting had a tremor to it that wasn’t usually there. “You hear already, Mr. Phin?”

  “I just passed my sister.” He looked to the house, as if he had a hope of seeing through the walls. “Has the doctor come yet?”

  “Jest showed him in—he was only a coupla doors down, praise be to God. You wanna wait in the garden, I let Miss Delia know yo here. No sayin when she come out, but . . .”

  He had no idea what he’d done to earn the help of the Owenses’ servants, but he wasn’t about to question it. “Thank you, Moses. I’ll just settle in on Delia’s favorite bench and pray for her father.”

  “I know she preciate it.” The aging man led him toward the garden gate and opened it for him. But didn’t step out of the way. Instead, he turned and met Phin’s gaze with a serious one of his own. “Mr. Phin?”

  He couldn’t recall ever seeing that particular glint in the man’s eyes. “Yes, Moses?”

  “You watch yo back, now. That Julius devil—he leave jest befo Salina start screaming that the massuh need help, and he look mighty mad. If’n they had a fallin out . . . well, seems likely he blame you, if’n you know what I’m meanin.”

  “I do indeed.” And his whole spirit went rigid at the thought. Today of all days, he didn’t need Julius James’s interference. Not when his two best friends were planning to run tonight or tomorrow, not when it all hinged on Rock making it safely to their ren
dezvous. “Thank you for the warning.”

  Moses said no more, just nodded and edged out of the way. Phin hurried past him. And then prepared to wait.

  It was her fault. All her fault.

  Cordelia gripped her father’s hand, not even knowing how to pray right now. No words would come, just a silent sobbing toward heaven. He was alive—that was all they could say. He was alive for now. But he could slip away from them at any moment, and it was her fault.

  She was the one who’d let her pain and frustration get the better of her. If she hadn’t kicked Julius, he wouldn’t have gone outside as he’d done. He wouldn’t have seen Salina in the window. He wouldn’t have come after her. Daddy wouldn’t have had to save her. Salina’s whispered explanation had included her own feelings of guilt, but she had it all wrong. She’d done nothing. It had all started with Cordelia.

  But she hadn’t missed the way Mama had looked at Salina, obviously catching at least a few of her tear-soaked words. She would blame her. And if the worst happened, if Daddy died, if Mama became the one making all the decisions . . .

  She had to convince Salina to leave. Now. Tonight. If she didn’t get away today, she might be sold by tomorrow.

  A hand landed on her shoulder, and Cordelia started and looked upward. Dr. Wilkes stood at her side, his eyes kind. “He needs to rest now, Delia. You go on out for a while. Let your mama watch over him.”

  Mama sat in the chair on the other side of the bed, her face set in granite and her limbs unmoving. She didn’t look in any better shape than Daddy did, truth be told. “Are you sure? I can stay. Watch over them both.”

  Dr. Wilkes’s hand gave her shoulder a pat. “You’re a good daughter. But right now rest is the best thing. You can check on him in an hour or two. All right?”

  Numbly she nodded. Numbly she stood. Numbly she let him usher her out the door. But when it clicked shut behind her, the sound brought tears surging to her eyes.

  What if he died? What if she lost her father and Mama sold Salina and they left Savannah forever? What if she had to live with this burden of guilt on her shoulders, this sure knowledge that she had brought her father to nothing? What if—

  “Miss Delia.” Fiona materialized beside her, though she couldn’t have said where she came from. But she wrapped a firm, thin arm around her and steered her from the door. “What you need’s a breath of fresh air, sweethaa’t. G’on out to de garden a minute.”

  Though she shook her head, Delia had no real power to protest. Her feet just went wherever Fiona steered them. “I don’t want to go outside. I should . . . I need to . . .” What? What did she need to do? Salina, she had to see to Salina. Had to convince her to leave. Had to say good-bye to her best friend, her sister.

  But Fiona wasn’t pushing her to Salina, and Delia couldn’t seem to make her hands and feet obey her command to stop following. A minute later, the warm spring breeze was around her, the smell of magnolias so heavy on the air that it made her stomach turn. She meant to say something, swing back inside, but Fiona vanished and the door shut behind her.

  She’d sit for a few minutes on her bench, gather her thoughts. Put words to her prayers. That was only wise anyway. Then she’d find Salina.

  Her mind cleared a bit as sunshine and the spring breeze worked their magic. The burden didn’t lift any, but a few of the cobwebs blew away. She turned the corner, her gaze going by rote to the bench—and she drew in a breath. “Phin!”

  “Delia!” He was on his feet, surging toward her, and the next moment his arms were around her. “I’m so sorry, darlin. I met Sassy in the street, and she told me what happened. Moses let me wait back here. How is he?”

  A simple question—if only she had a simple answer. She lifted her shoulders in a shrug and rested her cheek against his chest. “He’s hanging on. But it’s too soon to say anything more than that.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “It’s my fault, Phin.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “It is.” She told him briefly of what had transpired that morning—and by the way he went stiff, he saw her point. Perhaps he’d chide her for her role. She deserved it.

  But when she braved a glance up at his face, he looked angrier than she expected. Then muttered, “That man—he can’t march north fast enough. How can he claim to be a Southern gentleman when he treats a lady so?”

  Her breath eased out. Had she been holding it?

  Phin relaxed, met her gaze, cupped her face. “The fault isn’t yours, darlin—it’s his. He’s the one who acted not only without honor, but with vile intent. You did nothing but defend yourself.”

  “Defending myself shouldn’t mean harm to my best friend.” It was the first time she’d dared admit her affection for Salina in the company of anyone else. But she had a feeling Phin would understand. She gripped his lapels. Dropped her voice to the softest of whispers, so it would be indistinguishable from the breeze to anyone more than six inches away. “She needs to get away from here, Phin. If Daddy . . . or even if he’s just incapacitated for a while. Mama hates her so, I don’t trust her not to sell her.”

  What was that emotion that flitted through his eyes? It was so unexpectedly bright she couldn’t quite grasp it. But he nodded. “River was going to speak with her today. I don’t know yet what she answered him, but . . .” He looked around the garden, no doubt for listening ears. “They’re leaving as soon as River’s brother makes it to the city. Heading to Tybee to help the runaways—teach them, provide some schooling. River and Luther are both going.”

  She frowned. “Who’s Luther?”

  For a moment, his face went blank—then he breathed a laugh. “All these months, and I misstep on his last day here. Thank God it was just with you. Monty, darlin. He’s not really a slave I bought in Florida to help me get home—he’s a freeman. From England.”

  As if conjured by the speaking of his real name, the mountain of a man slid into view, moving at a quick pace. For a split second, she feared he’d heard Phin’s confession, was angry, and meant to have it out with him here and now.

  But no. It wasn’t anger on his face—it was excitement. Tinged with a strange shadow that looked like regret.

  Phin’s arms loosened around her, though he kept a hand on her waist. “What is it, Luth?”

  Luther’s step hitched a bit—no doubt at hearing his true name—but he recovered quickly. And actually spoke. “River just slipped back. Rock has arrived.”

  He spoke with a decidedly English accent, proving Phin’s words true. Not that she’d doubted him, but still it made her lips part in surprise. “Were the two of you truly searching for his wife?” Or had that too been a fabrication?

  The shadow went darker, regret deepening to pain. Luther’s head sank. “Eva, yes. To no avail, I’m afraid. But I cannot tarry here longer or they’ll force me to the trenches. I, too, shall go and trust that our Lord above will whisper to my sweet Evangelina to meet me on Tybee.”

  Evangelina? Cordelia’s brows knit. Quite a name for a slave—and one that a master would no doubt change altogether or shorten. But Phin must have thought of that already. He’d no doubt not been searching for her only with her given name. And Eva, as Luther had first called her, was a far likelier nickname.

  But not the only one. The moment he said Evangelina, she had a flash of a slave woman, sewing needle in hand, along with one of the tableaux costumes. Vangie. “When did she arrive here?”

  “Nigh unto a year ago.” Luther leaned against the trunk of the tree, looking overcome by that truth.

  A year ago. Could it be? Probably not. How could Phin have missed that this long, if it were so? The Youngs were close acquaintances of the Dunns. They would have been among the first households he questioned.

  But Mr. Young was also on a tear in recent months about protecting his workforce. Hadn’t Annaleigh mentioned that he wouldn’t even let the maids leave the house in recent months, lest they run away? Especially when . . . “Was she with child?”

  She regretted the questi
on, seeing the way it made the pain flare like a musket’s charge over his face. “I cannot think so. In our decade of marriage, we have never been blessed so.”

  Unlikely—but not impossible. Wasn’t the Bible, and history itself, filled with cases of the supposedly barren having a child when she least expected it? Still, she didn’t dare blurt out her suspicions. Especially since the more she thought of it, the less sense it made that his Evangelina was the Youngs’ Vangie. She certainly didn’t speak with an English accent. “She, too, is English, I presume?”

  But he shook his head, lighting the wick of hope in her again. “Not by birth, at any rate. She was born and raised on a plantation in Cuba. When she was a young woman, she bought her freedom and came to London.”

  So she was free—by law, not just through having run away. If that was true, and if it was Vangie . . . the Youngs could face serious trouble. Not only had they bought a slave illegally brought into the country, they’d bought a freed slave illegally brought into the country.

  Phin tipped her chin up, his eyes alight. “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know yet.” She could say nothing until she was sure, so she forced a trembling smile. “But I’ll ask a few questions. In the meantime—Salina.”

  Phin nodded, face as serious as a Yankee invasion. “Send her to my house after dark. River can lead her to the skiff.”

  River. Her friend would at least have him. Cordelia hadn’t missed the way her eyes lit up every time she mentioned him. And from what she’d seen, his heart was hers as well. “They’ll be together, then. I’m glad of that.”

  A smile broke through the fortress of Phin’s sobriety. “And if they decide to get married, the good reverend here can help.”

  Reverend? She shot another look at Luther, who tipped an invisible hat. “The Reverend Mr. Luther Bromley of Stoke Newington, miss. At your service.”

  Reverend. She turned up her lips, though it didn’t feel like a smile. “Good to meet you, sir. Might I impose upon you for prayers for my father?”