Authors: Maggie James
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Selma had persuaded Roussel to return to his bed to wait for Ryan. She hoped he would fall asleep, but he was much too worried. He kept asking her to repeat over and over every detail of what had happened…everything that Clarice had asked her to do. That included her lying to Ryan to make him think Angele had known she was going to have a baby before she jumped the horse. And when he heard that, he was livid.
When Toby finally arrived, walking right behind Ryan, Selma had never been so glad to see anyone in her whole life. She ran into Toby’s arms and asked him to take her home and send Willard back, because she was afraid to be there when Miss Clarice found out what she had done.
“You aren’t going anywhere,” Roussel said firmly. “And I’ve told you that you’ve got nothing to fear from anybody. Now, tell Ryan what you told me—word for word.”
She quickly proceeded to do so, but Ryan did not wait for her to finish. He’d heard enough, he said grimly.
“I’m going after the son of a bitch. Where was he when you were supposed to take her to meet him?”
“The pier on the other side of Cooter’s swamp.”
“Then what?”
“She thought she’d be goin’ north.”
Ryan knew Roscoe had no intention of seeing she got there. Neither would he be involved in the plot very long himself for fear of being found out. “Where was he taking her then?”
Selma told him she honestly didn’t know. She had only been told to take her to the pier. He would have to ask Master Corbett or Miss Clarice, because they were all in on it together.
“There’s no time.” He started out.
Roussel called to him. “Wait, son. Let me have Toby ride for some of the neighbors to bring some men to go with you. There could be trouble.”
Ryan paused at the door. “There will be trouble, all right…and I intend to be the one to make it.”
He ran out.
“Somebody should go with him,” Roussel worried out loud. “But by the time you could get some white men together, Toby, he’d be too far ahead for you to catch him.”
“I could get some of my folks,” Toby offered.
“No. I’d have to arm you, and a bunch of slaves out at night could get you hung if you were to be caught. We’ll just have to let Ryan take care of it.”
“As angry as he was,” Selma said dryly, “I reckon he’ll do just that.”
Angele felt like she was being eaten alive by mosquitoes and gnats.
She continued to crouch in the cattails, but gave thanks that Roscoe’s shouts and threats seemed to fade farther and farther away.
She didn’t know how much longer she could remain where she was. Despite the heat and humidity, her teeth had begun to chatter with cold from standing in the water for so long. There would probably be leeches clinging to her legs, but she dared not look for fear of splashing water, and that might bring Roscoe straight to her.
Finally, his voice faded, and she dared to creep out of the swamp and onto dry land. She might have to dash back in, but, for the moment, could have reprieve from the misery.
Running her hands down her legs, she was horrified to feel slimy little creatures attached to her flesh. She tore them off and flung them away, then cringed to hear the gentle splash they made as they hit the water. She prayed Roscoe could not hear.
After a few moments, she began to breathe easier and started working her way up to the road. During the anguished hours standing in the swamp, she had come to the conclusion that Roussel was her only hope…the only person she could trust. If she could make it back to the house, surely he would be able to help her—or send her to someone who could.
The light of the full moon filtering down through the overhanging trees was not bright enough to show the way, but she finally managed to find the road.
She would not have been able to tell which direction she needed to go except for the buckboard. It was right where Roscoe had left it, which meant BelleRose would be the other way.
She didn’t see the skulking shadow coming up behind her.
She was unaware of
anything
until a hand closed over her mouth for the second time that night.
Again, she was pulled back against a man’s hard body, but this time he whispered, lips to her ear, “Shush now. You’ve no reason to be afraid. My name is Lucas, and I’m a friend. If I let you go, will you be quiet? You could get us both killed if you scream.”
She nodded furiously.
He released her, and she whirled about. She could barely make out his face, but it was enough for her to know she had never seen him before. “Who are you?” she asked warily.
“I told you—my name is Lucas. I help runaways on their next leg north from Cooter’s swamp. I always come here at night to see if there’s anybody waiting, and tonight I saw you. I also saw the man looking for you, so even though you aren’t a Negro—not a slave—I think you’re in trouble.”
“I am, and if you’ll help me go north, I’ll be so grateful. But I don’t have any money to pay you.”
She could see his wry smile in the moonlight. “Nobody ever does. Come along, and I’ll take you back in the bushes where you can wait till I come for you. I’ve had word there might be a runaway tonight, so I’ve got to wait awhile longer. Then I’ve got a boat hidden on the river, and I can take you to the next person who’ll be waiting to help you both.
“There’re some thick bushes right over here,” he said taking her hand. “And a little ditch just behind. You can crawl down in it and wait.”
After making sure she was settled on the ground, Lucas left her, disappearing as quietly as he had come.
Angele wondered if the waiting would ever end. She had no way of telling time but sensed a lot of it had passed. In the east, above the dark, hulking trees, she could see the first watermelon streaks of dawn.
Panic began to creep into her whole being. If Lucas did not return soon, she was afraid to stay where she was. In daylight, she might be seen. Where was he and what was taking him so long? He’d said he was waiting for a runaway, but surely if the runaway were coming, he’d have made it by now.
Cramped and aching, she struggled to stand and stretch for a moment, but just as she did, Roscoe’s voice rang out again.
“I know you’re around here somewhere, goddamn you, and I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do. Maybe if I start shootin’ in the bushes, you’ll either come out or get hit.”
She was about to duck down in the ditch again but suddenly tensed to hear a horse approaching, hooves striking the road hard and fast.
Then it was Ryan’s voice she heard, calling Roscoe’s name, shouting threats, obscenities. No doubt he was furious she had escaped.
Never had she wanted to scream so loud, to be able to tell him how she despised him for what he had done. If he wanted to be rid of her, she’d have gladly left, even if Roussel had protested. But he had chosen not only to try to sell her into slavery but to destroy their unborn child as well.
And she also wanted to rake her nails down his face, and—
A shot rang out.
A few seconds later, she heard the horse again—this time galloping away.
Easing up, she pushed her way into the bushes to stare out in the milky morning light.
A body lay on the ground, and she could see blood soaking into the ground.
She covered her mouth with her hand to hold back a cry when she realized it was Ryan.
“What are you doing? Get back here!” Lucas grabbed her arm and tugged. “Come on. We’re ready to leave. The runaway finally arrived, and we’ve got to get out of here before it gets any lighter.”
With lips quivering, she pointed at Ryan. “He…he’s shot,” she said uncertainly. “I…I don’t know why Roscoe did it, but he’s left him to die.”
“Then let him. Come on.”
Lucas kept pulling at her, but Angele continued to stare down at Ryan, so still…so helpless.
She was hesitating, because, as much as she loved him, she also hated him.
And if Roscoe had told the truth—if Ryan had, indeed, been behind the macabre scheme and she helped him now, he would eventually do the same thing all over again.
And next time she might not be able to escape.
But despite all the arguments within, she knew she had to take that chance.
“Ma’am, I can’t wait no longer,” Lucas pleaded.
“And neither can I!” she cried, bolting from the bushes and into the road to run to Ryan’s side.
Lucas went behind her, continuing to beg her to go with him, but she refused.
“I know you have to get the runaway to safety, but please help me get him in the wagon first.”
He looked from Angele to Ryan in doubt. “I don’t know if I should. Who is he, anyway?”
“He’s my husband,” she murmured. “And I can’t leave him.”
At the sight of the buckboard coming up the road, Toby ran out to meet it. When he saw Angele, he slowed, apprehension creeping.
She stood up and shifted the reins to one hand so she could frantically wave at him with the other. “Ride for Doctor Pardee, Toby. Go fast! Master Ryan’s been shot.”
Toby yelled to Selma, who was coming up behind him, to help Angele. Then he took off.
As soon as Angele reined to a stop at the front steps, she told Selma to run to find some men to lift Ryan from the wagon and get him inside. Then she climbed down beside him and cradled his head in her arms.
He was so pale and hardly seemed to be breathing at all, his chest rising and falling so very slowly.
After what seemed forever, two brawny field hands came tearing around the house. Gently, with Angele coaching them every step of the way, they lifted Ryan and took him inside and put him on the sofa in the parlor.
“A blanket,” she said to no one in particular. “He feels so cold.”
Mammy Lou came running from the back of the house, out of breath. It had taken longer for her to rally from sleep and get there. She took one look at Ryan and wailed, “Oh, Lordy, Lordy, he’s done been killed!”
“No, he’s still alive,” Angele told her. “Toby has gone for Doctor Pardee, but until he gets here we need to try and slow the bleeding. Get towels—rags—anything to press against the wound.
“And don’t let Master Roussel know anything,” she called to Mammy Lou as she took off to do what she had been told.
“Master Roussel already knows.”
Angele moaned to see Roussel coming into the room with the help of a cane. She knew he must have been watching from the window and divine intervention had brought him down the stairs to the side of his wounded son.
“Who did this?”
“Roscoe. I managed to get away from him earlier in the night and hide. He was in the road, about to start shooting in the bushes to try and find me when Ryan rode up. I couldn’t hear what was said. Then Roscoe shot him and took off.”
Selma quickly got him a chair.
In despair, Angele turned to him. “Roscoe said Ryan told him to get rid of me…and to give me your horse, knowing he’d throw me and make me lose the baby.”
Roussel looked aghast. “That’s not true. Ryan didn’t know what was going on till I sent Toby to bring him back from Richmond and tell him. He took off then like a bat out of hell to find you and bring you back. And as for wanting you to lose the baby, how did he know you were that way when you didn’t?”
Selma could keep still no longer. “That’s right, Miz Angele, ’cause Miss Clarice didn’t make me tell him you did till afterwards. He couldn’t have thought that.”
“But I didn’t know!” Angele gasped.
Selma hung her head. “She made me lie. I’m so sorry. I’ve caused you so much trouble.” Tears trickled down her cheek.
“It’s not your fault,” Angele comforted the woman, knowing she had been forced into all of it. And, at last, the pieces of the horrible puzzle were starting to come together.
And as she continued to kneel by Ryan and hold his hand, she could only hope that she had been wrong about something else, too…that she had been wrong in believing he didn’t love her.
It was late in the day when Ryan awoke. Dr. Pardee had given him a strong dose of laudanum to help him endure the removal of the bullet from his shoulder. He had to sleep it off, he told Angele and Roussel, and then he would be fine in a few days.
When Ryan opened his eyes, Angele was there to wait fearfully for his reaction when he saw her. Then, to her delight—and in answer to her prayers—a smile spread across his face, and, with his good arm, he folded her against him.
“You’re safe,” he whispered huskily. “Thank God. I was afraid I wouldn’t get there in time to keep Roscoe from taking you wherever he planned to. Can you forgive me for letting this happen to you?”
“But it wasn’t your fault,” she protested. “You didn’t know…”
“I knew things weren’t the way I wanted them to be for us, and I didn’t do anything about it. Clarice told me you hated it here…that you wanted to leave. Then the baby—”
“Ryan…” she blurted then, anxious to tell him. “Selma told me how Clarice made her lie and make you think I knew I was pregnant. But I didn’t. And it was Roscoe who helped me with the horse. He said you told him to—because you knew I’d be thrown, and you wanted me to lose the baby. You wanted to be free of me.”