Hannah Alexander (4 page)

She chuckled softly. “I most certainly do. Tell me, what changed your mind?”

“My closest friend on the plantation had long ago been the son of a tribal leader in Africa. Then he was captured by men from his own continent and sold in America. My father named him Daniel. A few years ago, Daniel described the conditions of his journey.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about them. Horrible.”

“Nearly half the passengers on Daniel’s ship died before they reached harbor. I always hated the thought of that, but I knew my father was different. I believed most of our neighbors were, too. I never saw brutality of the type I saw when I was in St. Louis. No one bought or sold slaves in any market near us. My father and our neighbors always traveled to purchase their slaves.”

“What happened to Daniel?”

“When I returned home ten years ago, he was gone.”

She caught her breath. “He’d been sold.”

“You must understand,” Joseph said, “my father was well respected in Georgia by a majority of the slave population because he treated his workers more kindly than most, gave them plenty of food, never broke up families—”

“But he sold Daniel.”

“Another plantation owner wanted him for a young woman who was healthy.”

She scowled. “Brood stock.”

“That was when it hit home for me. You won the argument, Victoria.”

“I never set out to win anything.”

He knew that. He always had, though during their worst arguments about slavery he’d accused her of gloating whenever she proved him wrong on a point. “You were the more mature one. For me, life was a competition.”

She smiled, but it was a sad expression. “Was? Isn’t it still?”

“The stakes have been raised, and I’ve changed sides.”

“Then if ours was a competition, I’m glad I won. Still, I think our conflicts had less to do with maturity and more to do with our differences.” She leaned toward him slightly, enough to raise his hopes. Then she straightened. “I was passionate about slavery, and not much else at that time, if I remember correctly.”

“I do believe you were passionate about one other thing.”

She raised her eyebrows, held his gaze until it dawned on her. “Oh.” A pretty flush stained her cheeks. “Of course, I was young and considered myself to be in love.”

“Considered?”

“I’m afraid I behaved badly when I realized it was not to be.”

He closed his eyes. Why did she have to say that? “It was my fault.”

“Not entirely. Your father blamed you for purchasing your own ranch in a free state instead of carrying on the family tradition on the plantation with slaves.”

“I should have left it at that, but I couldn’t bear the thought of my father dying while holding such a grudge against me. I had to ride to the rescue of my family, as if they couldn’t possibly make it on the plantation without my honored presence.”

“Did your return heal old wounds?” she asked.

“No, it only caused new rifts with those I loved.” He tried to catch her gaze, but she made it obvious that she didn’t want to return to their former subject.

“Did all of your family reject you?” she asked.

He appreciated the compassion in her voice, but he would have enjoyed more. “Only my father. I have a sister and several cousins who moved north. I was so angry about Daniel that my father finally realized I would never stay and run the plantation. He left it to my younger brother.” The sadness of that final break with his father lingered with Joseph all these years later.

“And then you returned to St. Louis to find that Matthew and I had married.” There was a catch in Victoria’s voice, and Joseph saw the sorrow in her eyes. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to, do they?” she asked softly.

Joseph’s fingers tingled with the urge to reach up and touch her cheek. He could already feel the softness of it, but he squeezed his hand into a fist. She’d made it obvious she wouldn’t appreciate anything so personal.
Oh, Victoria...

* * *

Something in Joseph’s gaze caught and held Victoria breathless. She looked away quickly, but for an instant ten years vanished and they were back on the deck of the riverboat on the Mississippi River, with the water splashing against the shore while she memorized every inch of his face.

“This isn’t the end,” he’d whispered. “It can’t be. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Then the whistle blew and the deck beneath them moved, and the years stacked atop each other once more. She blinked and shook the memory away, but not before she relived the heartbreak of loss. Not again. Never again. She couldn’t bear to feel that kind of pain for a second time.

“You mentioned your admiration of John Brown and his sons.” She forced a grin. “Matthew and I became acquainted with him about five years ago.”

Joseph’s eyebrows rose. “
The
John Brown? Freer of slaves?”

“See what you missed when you hid out on the Oregon Trail, leading folks to gold and prosperity in California and Oregon, hiding from your friends in St. Louis?” She held on to her teasing lilt, friendly and nothing more, hiding behind it as if it were a cloak. “You could have visited from time to time. Look who you may have become friends with.”

“Did you know he once moved to a town established by Africans so he could learn their ways and help them better integrate into society?”

Victoria enjoyed Joseph’s admiration of the man. “He became a dear friend of Matthew’s and mine. He and his sons lodged with us twice during their travels through St. Louis. We’ve heard many stories of their escapades.”

Some of the excitement left Joseph’s expression. “You’re still in contact with the man, himself?”

“I received word of their condolences when Matthew died. They dared little more contact than that, considering the circumstances. Our plans to leave St. Louis were under way when Matthew was...killed.”

Silence reigned for several long seconds as Joseph’s frown deepened. “You can’t know how shocked and saddened I was when I heard the news of Matthew’s death.”

“I’m still recovering.”

He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “You two became quite close, didn’t you?”

She looked up at him. If Joseph was implying what she thought, he was being completely inappropriate. “We
were
married.”

“You implied a marriage of convenience.”

“I beg your pardon? Please tell me you aren’t outright accusing me of loving my husband, as if that’s a sin.” What was he doing? Was he actually...jealous?

And yet, hadn’t he always been? Hadn’t she known that was why he’d stayed away? If Joseph had accepted her marriage to Matthew, he would have visited with them the many times she’d heard he was in St. Louis.

“Joseph, ours was a marriage of kindness and goodwill.” He couldn’t possibly expect an apology from her for having tender feelings toward her own husband.

“Goodwill.” Joseph’s voice sharpened. “You cared for him as your employer when you and I were together, but he felt more than goodwill toward you. I know he loved you. Was he satisfied with your simple human kindness?”

She stared down at her hands, feeling the sting of guilt that had haunted her for many years, yet also stinging with offense. “It wasn’t Matthew I loved ten years ago.” The words, and the accusatory tone, were out before she could withdraw them.

“No, but it certainly was Matthew you married, wasn’t it?” He caught his breath audibly, as if he, too, had spoken without thought. “Victoria, I’m... I had no right.”

“No, you didn’t.” She cleared her throat, swallowed, took a deep breath to fight back the hurtful words she wanted to speak. “Forgive me, Joseph, but every woman needs to feel she’s the most important person in her man’s life. I acknowledge that isn’t often the case, but I was young enough to want that for myself. You obviously couldn’t give me that.” He was a different man now, however, an adult who had been tested in fire, seasoned and strong. Why should he continue to suffer for one horribly wrong decision that had ousted her from his life and shattered her heart? “As for Matthew, I was led to believe he wanted a partner for his practice. It was the way he proposed marriage. Businesslike and logical.” So unlike the way she and Joseph had been together, slowly falling in love over the course of a year, unable to stay away from each other, a constant challenge for those who chaperoned them.

She’d dreamed of becoming a rancher’s wife, especially after Joseph built a new room onto his ranch house and started teasing her about becoming “Mrs. Joseph Rickard.”

“I knew he loved you by the way his gaze followed you wherever you went,” Joseph said. “By the way his eyes lit up when he talked about you.”

“So it appears I got what I wanted, after all.”

“I don’t think so. Matthew had priorities that took precedence over your welfare, it seems, or he wouldn’t have drawn you into your present dangerous position.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

He leaned closer to her and she caught the scent of the watercress he liked to pick along the streams, and the earth and water that had nearly killed him. He sighed and brushed at some drying mud on his sleeve. “Listen to us arguing again.”

“Not everything has changed,” she said.

“I didn’t expect him to marry you after I left. Keep you in his employ, yes, but...you’re right, I was stunned when I found out about your marriage.”

She turned away, barely hearing the voices of the others near camp. “I believe you expected that I would wait for you no matter what, even after I heard of your engagement.”

Joseph was silent for a long moment. She looked over her shoulder at him and saw him staring toward the flooded creek, and she recognized the lines of self-recrimination in the square frame of his face.

“Shouldering the blame can’t repair the past,” she said, gentling her voice. How hard she’d been on him these past weeks, avoiding him when possible. He’d been a perfect gentleman, treating her with respect and kindness while she’d remained reserved.

“I thought my father needed me.”

“Your father sold your closest friend. I’m sorry you had to endure so much.”

Joseph reached for her hand, and to her surprise, she allowed him to raise it to brush his lips against her knuckles. “Leaving you in St. Louis was the most painful decision I’ve ever made.”

“Good. I wanted you to feel the same pain I did.”

“But maybe it was right for you at the time. Had we stayed together, you wouldn’t be a doctor now, and Matthew would never have had the wonderful experience of being your husband for those ten short years.”

Victoria reminded herself to breathe. The intimate touch of Joseph’s hand affected her more than any touch she had received from Matthew, and the guilt of that discovery caused her to withdraw again. Joseph released her without a word.

“Brown is planning to move later this year into Kansas Territory.” She hoped he didn’t hear the race of her heartbeat in her voice.

“He’ll have my support. It could determine the balance of power in the whole nation.”

She allowed the warm breeze from the south to dry the perspiration from her face, and she felt the warmth from Joseph’s nearness when he stepped up behind her.

“No matter how many measures you took to get out of St. Louis discreetly, someone could have followed you. Someone who knew you were friends with Brown.” His deep voice, laced with concern, made her shiver.

A crow cawed deeper in the woods and she gasped, jerking so hard she nearly toppled the bottle still open on the log.

Joseph frowned. “Are you ready to tell me what’s had you so frightened these past days?”

How tempting to place her faith in this man, to allow him control over her life so she wouldn’t have to stand on her own, but that wasn’t what she needed to do right now. She had left her parents in Pennsylvania, her husband in the ground by the Mississippi River. She was an independent woman now, and she didn’t need another man to bolster her. Joseph meant well, but despite the time they had spent together he didn’t know her intentions enough to direct her path.

She turned to look up into his carved-granite face and intent regard. He didn’t know her most important secret, and that was something he especially needed to be aware of in order to protect his wagon train.

Steeling herself against his discomfiting attention, she took a deep breath of rain-cleansed air, closed her eyes briefly and made the decision she knew would change everything. “Matthew...” The words caught in her throat. She swallowed and looked back at Joseph. “He was murdered.”

Chapter Four

J
oseph might have been a copy of the wood carving outside the trading post door at the last town, where the wagon train had stopped to purchase supplies. Silence seemed to hum with the power of a beehive. The chatter of the others merged into a low echo in the distance. The wagon train had struggled through deep mud, broken wheels, lost wagons, illness and loss of livestock. Few things had disconcerted Captain Joseph Rickard these past weeks on the trail, but this definitely affected him.

She wished it hadn’t been necessary to tell him, and yet he needed to know how dangerous it would be to follow the killer’s trail.

“Who murdered him?” he asked at last. Was that a tremor she heard in his voice?

She hesitated, bracing herself against the pain as she relived that day. “A slaver by the name of Broderick Thames.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard the shots on my way home from town, where I was purchasing medicines. I was out of sight.”

“Or your life would most likely have been snuffed out, as well.” Joseph glared at the ground, his jaw muscles flexing with an obvious attempt to quell the effects of his fury.

“Likely.”

“Thames,” he said. “I don’t know the name, and I’ve been making an effort to learn more about our enemies.”

“Oh, Joseph, believe me when I tell you that this man is an enemy.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t a robber?”

“He didn’t rob us of goods, only of a good man with a heart of pure kindness.”

“Was there laudanum missing? I’ve heard of doctors being attacked for their supplies.” Joseph’s tone was clipped with anger. She knew his ire was not directed toward her, and she was touched deeply by his outrage.

“No.” Tears stung her eyes. “Matthew was a specific target. His killer rode away before I could get my rifle sights on him, or I’d have put him on the ground instead of grazing the side of his neck and staining his silvery hair.”

“You’re the one who did that?”

For a moment she couldn’t take a deep enough breath. Joseph knew of that wound? “What do you mean? What do you know about Thames?”

“Only what I overheard at one of the trading posts.” Joseph nodded as if her confession seemed to have made some puzzle pieces fall into place. “A dour man with a long, silver braid and a deep red scar along his neck and jaw was asking questions about abolitionists in the area.”

“The red scar was from my weapon.”

“Good. You do, however, seem to shoot squirrels better than you do retreating murderers.”

“Joseph, I’ve seen evidence of him on this trail. He rides a red horse shod uniquely, as if part of the right front hoof is missing.”

“You’ve tracked him?”

“Of course. What would you expect? I know where he’s headed. That much I was able to discern from Matthew’s final words.” How she grieved those moments. Though she’d never been able to love her husband the way she knew a woman should, Matthew Fenway’s heart had been that of a true healer, kind and strong. She’d always honored him as her husband, and he’d honored her on a pedestal of his own making.

Joseph gently touched her arm. “Where did Matthew say this Silver Braid was going?”

“Kansas Territory, and if he’s going the same direction we are, that might mean he’s caught wind of our movements, possibly of the town you’re building. You’ve been through here several times, and I don’t care how cautious you are, people talk.”

“Then we’ll have to change our route. I’ll talk to McDonald, but I still worry that Thames will know what you look like, Victoria.”

“He couldn’t have seen my face that day. I was wearing a kerchief over my nose and mouth because the road was dusty. My hair was braided behind me and I wore a hat.”

“But wouldn’t he have known who you were, especially if Matthew was a target already? He may well have observed you when you weren’t aware. He likely discovered your connection with John Brown.”

Victoria nodded. “Matthew and Thames went head-to-head in public debate about slavery versus abolition a few days before Matthew was killed. You know how well-spoken Matthew was. He managed to enrage Thames, and he received much applause from crowds who’d crossed the river from Illinois.”

The muscles of Joseph’s jaw flexed as his eyes darkened. “Then you can count on Thames knowing everything there is to know about you, Victoria. Did your husband not give a thought to his wife when he did such a thing?”

She looked down at her hands. “You knew Matthew had a calling that, to him, was more vital than any other.”

“What about caring for his wife, as a man is supposed to do? I thought he gave you a place of highest honor.”

“Would you choose one woman’s safety over the lives and freedom of millions?”

“Had he felt that way, he should never have married.” The gruffness of Joseph’s voice somehow warmed her.

She blinked up at him and was touched more deeply than she would have expected. “I willingly joined Matthew in his quest. I felt as he did. Be honest, Joseph, you feel the same. Your whole life right now is focused on helping millions of captives.”

“Not at the cost of your life.”

“I’m with you now, in the middle of dangerous territory.”

He reached up and touched the back of his fingers against her chin. She nearly gasped at the instinctive caress.

He straightened and dropped his hand. “Forgive me. It isn’t my wish to speak ill of the dead, but I believe a man should protect his wife above all else.”

“Which is why you remain single.”

He swallowed and took a long, slow breath. “Perhaps it’s why I’ve remained single to this point. I’d had no cause to give it thought until...” He looked into her eyes and for a moment she barely allowed herself to breathe. “Please,” he said at last, “tell me more about Matthew’s killer.”

Why she felt such a strange mixture of elation and disappointment she refused to consider. “Thames is a member of a newly formed group of men from Louisville, Kentucky, who call themselves the Knights of the Golden Circle.”

“I’ve heard of them. Their goal is to expand slavery into nearby southern nations. I’m talking about whole countries, Victoria,” Joseph said. “I believe if men of good conscience allow that to happen, we may see anarchy rule the world.”

She met his gaze, and she couldn’t look away for a moment. Some things about him had definitely changed, and she liked those changes. “John Brown believes there’s a connection between the knights and the border ruffians of Missouri.”

“Of course there is.”

And of course, throughout this journey, he’d known more than he’d let on to her. “My presence could be a danger to this wagon train if you’re right about Thames knowing me.” Why hadn’t she considered this? And Sadie, her mare...Matthew’s mare...why hadn’t she traded in St. Louis?

“I believe this is where you need to be.”

The gentleness of his words and the affection in his eyes settled something that had nagged at her since his first arrival in St. Louis this spring. She could relax a little. Not completely, of course. What would he do if he knew she continued to carry some dangerous secrets?

* * *

Joseph was in trouble and he knew it—had known it since first arriving in St. Louis. How was he supposed to think straight when his thoughts and attention automatically sent him looking for Victoria first thing every morning, when he had to force himself several times a day not to ride past the wagon she often reined or the horse she rode?

He needed his wits about him, for sure, now that she had confirmed for him that the most dangerous men in the country might be focusing on his little group of trusting, good-hearted people.

“John sent word to us about a conspiracy,” Victoria said. “This was only a few days before Matthew was killed.”

Though the lilt of her Pennsylvania accent and the soft, musical quality of her voice could draw him to her through the most threatening of battlefields, her words were like a splash of ice water in his face. “How did he send word?”

“Through a mutual friend. He needed our medical aid in Kansas Territory.” She placed the muddy cloth on the log and pulled another from her bag. She dampened it with a splash of whiskey and dabbed at his chin again. “He told Matthew that the Missouri slave owners traveled en masse to Kansas to vote illegally to make Kansas a slave state.”

“There’s going to be a deadly battle over that territory as voting time draws near.” Joseph took a moment to digest the reality that Victoria’s safety could well lie in his hands. “Do you think that’s why Matthew was killed? Could your contact have been followed?” He reached up and stilled her hand for a moment, relishing the feel of her skin.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it? Men risked their lives to infiltrate the coalition of slavers and to pass this information on to Washington, D.C. Many died.” Gently but firmly, she pulled away.

“I wish I’d known about your precarious situation sooner, Victoria, though I suppose I should have guessed.” Joseph would have hacked his way through head-high drifts of snow to reach her and protect her.

“John also sent some friends of ours, Francine and Buck Frasier, to the Village of Jollification.” Victoria reached up as if to sweep the hair from his forehead, but she stopped herself. “Have you been there?”

“Often. Locals call it Jolly Mill. It’s on a main road from Springfield to Kansas and Indian Territories.”

“Francine and Buck traveled there last autumn with their so-called slaves, John’s adoptive son and daughter-in-law.”

Joseph looked at her in surprise. “I heard he’d adopted a freed slave.”

“Yes. He’s fully invested in helping the slaves in every way. I hear we’ll be passing by Jolly Mill in a few days.”

“No,” Joseph said. “Not after what you’ve told me. It’s sure to be overrun by border ruffians.”

Victoria gave a soft sigh. “Yes, I know, but someone needs to help them get past the border.”

“Tell me Matthew didn’t drag you into the middle of that situation, as well.”

Victoria didn’t meet Joseph’s gaze. “Matthew and I were planning to travel this way.”

“Do you think Thames knows about the Frasiers and their charges?”

She picked up the whiskey again and soaked the cloth more thoroughly. “Word is that he is leading a group tasked to kill off the influential Brown family one by one, and that would especially include the adopted son.”

Joseph knew by the darkening of her eyes and her fidgeting hands that there was more she wasn’t saying. “Victoria, you realize we must lie low.”

She nodded. “I won’t do anything to endanger these people.”

“Or yourself.”

She didn’t reply.

He hated this. “I’ve seen you ride ahead of the rest several times until you were out of sight.”

“It does no harm to have an extra scout.” She reached for his hand and pulled it toward her, then began to dab at more scrapes on his forearm.

“I saw you once when we came riding around a stand of trees. You had dismounted from Sadie and were studying something on the trail. I had supposed you were hunting for mushrooms.”

She looked down at the cloth in her hands, dabbed at another spot on his neck then discarded this cloth, as well. “Tracks. I need to see your ribs.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“Your ribs. Pull up your shirt so I can check your ribs. You’ll need to have medicine on them, too.”

“So you did see tracks that day?”

“Not what I was looking for. Not Thames. Now, shirt, please?”

He sighed and glanced toward camp. “This might be misconstrued.”

“Then so be it. I’m a doctor. Right now you’re my patient. If you’d rather I call Heidi to come—”

“No.” He tugged out the left side of his formerly blue plaid shirt, which was now thick with drying mud. He could already feel his face flushing.

Victoria busied herself soaking another cloth, then visibly winced at the sight of Joseph’s bruised and scraped ribs. She pressed the cloth against them. “They must hurt a great deal.”

He gritted his teeth against the sting of the whiskey. “To be honest, I haven’t had time to think about it.” Until now. He’d been too distracted by Victoria’s bracing presence and the shock of her news.

“I gathered some wild onions yesterday,” she said. “I know it isn’t the science I’ve learned under Matthew’s tutelage, but I learned a lot from a tribe of Cherokee who lived near us when I was growing up. If you would allow me to make a poultice—”

“I would be grateful.”

“Good. It’ll take the soreness out much more quickly.” She dabbed again at his ribs until the mud that had leaked through his shirt had been cleaned away. She had the most gentle touch, and a caring spirit with a strong thread of heroism that he admired.

“I’m frustrated by the hard rains,” she said as she wrapped a long cloth around his rib cage and fastened it to itself with a knot, deftly woven. “It would have removed any tracks we might have used to warn us.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t track this man.” He knew she probably wouldn’t listen. “You can tell McDonald what to look for. And Reich. In fact, I’d prefer anyone else in the wagon train be on the lookout for the tracks, just not you.”

She tugged his shirt back down. “Come with me and we can get the onions. I can pound them and then slide them beneath the cloth. It’s true we’d best not start tongues wagging. If we stay closer to camp everyone will realize I’m simply treating a wound.”

He suspected she was using his wound and the onion poultice as a ruse to prevent him from pressing her further about her tracking plans.

She turned and gathered up her bag and supplies. “Speaking of camp, Joseph, despite all we’ve tried to do, some of our people may have contracted cholera. I wish to play it safe and separate those who were in the water from the rest of the travelers for a couple of days.”

“That means you and Heidi will have to remain separate from her mother and brother,” he said. “She won’t like that.”

“She’ll do as I ask,” Victoria said. “She can ride her mule and camp with the Reichs until we know for sure our friends are out of danger. I will stay behind the train with the patients and keep watch over them.”

“Placing yourself in harm’s way.” He fell into step beside her.