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THE BATH WAS DOING WONDERS to elevate Raven’s sagging spirits. The scented water was luxury beyond anything she’d imagined. After she had indulged herself sufficiently, soaking away every last grain of grit and dust that had attached itself to her skin and hair, she would seek out this Sally, and thank her. The woman might run a whorehouse, but she knew how to pamper the female spirit. But for now, she just wanted to savor her newfound cleanliness.
She was leaning back against the high rim of the copper tub when the first volley of drunken singing drifted through the open window to assault her ears. She listened closely. There was something familiar about the balladeer’s voice. The closer it came, the stronger the impression became, although she knew only one man in the town, and she was sure that he would never bellow the ribald stanzas of this particular serenade.
Curious, Raven rose from the cooling water, wrapped herself in the linen towel and went to the window. The source of the commotion came slowly up the walk, his normally light- footed gait, wavering and unsteady. It was Eben, and he was profoundly drunk. Seeming to sense her presence, he stopped to stare up at the window where she stood watching. “Hail, my Juliet,” he bellowed, “lurking there at yonder window! Come down here and fetch your Romeo!”
“Mother of God,” Raven muttered. “I can’t believe he is doing this.”
She flew for her clothing, but not fast enough. He’d found his swift tread again, and bounded up the steps and into the house. She heard a commotion downstairs, laughter, and calls of encouragement. Everyone, it seemed, had turned out to watch him mount the stairs—if indeed, he was able. Then, Sally herself came out to put an end to the merriment. “Eben St. Claire? Are you disrupting my house?”
“Disrupting? Why no, I am not disrupting anything.” He lowered his voice to a mere window-rattling shout. “I brought
the little wench a present. She was as mad as a half-drowned hen at me this afternoon, and I mean to make amends—if I can find her. She was at the window a minute ago, but then, she disappeared.”
By now, Raven had crept from her room and, fully dressed, took a place in the shadows by the banister to watch the scene unfold.
Sally, a curvaceous blonde who must have been strikingly handsome a decade ago, sighed as though greatly put upon. “You’re as drunk as a lord,” she said. “More so than I’ve ever witnessed, and all for a tart little piece fresh from the woods.” She took his arm and motioned to Cassie. “Come, help me get him upstairs. If the chit doesn’t murder him in his sleep, he’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
A long brown box, mangled by his rough embrace was clamped under one arm. He handed it to Cassie. “Take this, will you, my lovely? It’s grown quite heavy since I got it, slippery damn thing. I’ve had to fight to keep it from getting away from me. Kind of like Raven.”
Cassie giggled as she took the box, and he laid his arm over her shoulders.
With Cassie on one side, and Sally on the other, the threesome mounted the stairs. When they were halfway to the top, Raven returned to her room and waited.
“Raven, lass! Open the door!” Half an eternity later, the door opened, and Raven stood there, her hair damp, and face shining and pink from her tub. In his befuddled state, all of his resistance had slipped away, leaving him emotionally naked and more vulnerable than he’d been in a very long time. His heart turned over in his chest, stealing his breath for a second. He was unsure when it had happened, but there was no denying that he loved her. His chest flooded with the rawness of his emotions, casting his logic adrift on a sea of uncertainty. He searched for something clever to say, but found nothing— not a word that fitted this momentous occasion.
Sally, bless her, rescued him. “He’s all yours, now, honey.” She withdrew, taking Cassie with her.
Eben cleared his throat, exposed and alone, and floundering again.
Raven looked him up and down, shaking her head. Was that a rejection to his proposal? Eben wondered, thoroughly confused. Then, he remembered that he hadn’t said a word. “Eben,” she said. “Where have you been?”
“Buying a present to please you, my darling.” He executed that much quite well, he thought, amazed at his newfound skill at communicating with this most mysterious of creatures. But when he glanced down he saw that his arms were empty. Her gift was gone. “Funny. It was here a second ago.”
“Is this it?” she asked, indicating the long, crumpled box by the door.
“Aye, that’s it. Will you open it, before it disappears again?” He found a chair and sank into it, content to rest his head against the high back and watch as she took the package to the bed and sat down with it.
The box was beyond saving, but the twine binding it closed had held fast, saving the contents from ruin. Her fingers suddenly clumsy, Raven opened her mouth to ask for the use of his knife when she realized he was sleeping.
Relaxed in sleep, his face was devoid of its usual hard lines, and possessed an innocence that belonged to the loveless boy he’d been, not the driven man he’d become. Her heart melted in her breast as she watched him. “You were so right, Papa,” she said softly. “There is a kindness in him that shows through his rough exterior every now and then. He is not totally ruthless, as I first thought.”
She took his knife from its sheath and returned to the bed and the waiting box. In a moment, the ties were severed, and as she peeled the lid back, Raven gasped. There, lying on a bed of paper was a gown of rich, deep-hued satin in a lovely shade of russet red, the stuff of all her girlhood dreams.
With a glad cry, she lifted it from its nest and held it up before her, spinning to face the cheval glass. Without so much
as a single hint from her, he had sensed her innermost desire and fulfilled it. Somewhere, buried down deep under layers of stubbornness and pride, he cared for her.
That thought warmed her heart, and melted her anger away almost completely, and as she put the box on the other chair so she could admire the gown, she felt suddenly, inexplicably lighthearted. “Eben,” she said, shaking him awake.
Bleary-eyed, he stared at her. “Raven, my love. Did the gown work its magic? Have you decided to keep me?”
“Come, let me help you to bed,” she said with an inward smile.
“Bed? All right, then. My efforts are met with success.” He pushed out of the chair and with some guidance, made it to the bed. Falling back onto the mattress, he chuckled darkly. “Ravish me if you must, wench! I have no will to fight you off!”
“Fool,” she said softly. “Shut up and go to sleep.” She got his boots off, one by one, and sat them on the floor, next to the bed. By the time she straightened, he was snoring.
Dawn the next day brought new misery to Eben. This particular morning seemed reminiscent of one not too long ago and made him open his eyes to search for Raven. She had not disappeared. In fact, she was curled catlike beside him, her dark head burrowed into the soft feather pillow, her features relaxed in sleep.
It was a shame to disturb her, but he was about to be sick, and it was impossible to be violently ill and quiet at the same time. His head seemed ten sizes too large as he shot from the bed and found the chamber pot—empty, thank God—and emptied the vile after effects of last night’s binge from his stomach.
The sound of his retching woke Raven and she sat in the middle of the bed, smothering her yawns with her hand and waiting for him to recover. When he left off hugging the chamber pot, she was there with a cool damp cloth for his
ashen brow. “Good morning, M’sieur Romeo,” she said brightly.
He opened one bloodshot eye and looked at her. “If there is a single ounce of mercy in you, you will lower your voice to a whisper. It seems I am dying, and wish to lie here and do it undisturbed.”
But her comment put a frown on Eben’s face.
Romeo. She’d called him Romeo. Where had that come from?
He searched his brain, but could drag only the fuzziest of recollections into the light, and most of that long before he’d left the Whale and Monkey. Then, slowly, like bubbles rising from the murky bottom of a dank pond, it slowly began to surface in his whiskey-dulled brain. He saw himself holding an old woman close to his chest—shriveled like a prune, she was—and feeling her quaking on spindly limbs. But what on earth had he wanted with her?
“Raven, lass?” he asked in a raspy whisper. His throat felt raw, and his head still ached. “Did I get here unaided last night, or was I carried in?”
“You were alone and very, very drunk.”
He opened his eyes to slits and considered her. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, the covers all around her and her hair cascading in a lovely dark cloud over one bare shoulder. As she watched him, she toyed with one shining lock. “You overstate the obvious. From the expanding and contracting of my normally solid skull, I can determine that I drank the tavern dry.”
He closed his eyes again and groaned. He could feel her watching him and knew for certain she was just waiting for the right moment to spring something on him like some evil- tasting physician’s draught. He knew it was better to take his punishment quickly and be done with it. “What is it you want from me?” And then, “I pray to God it is nothing physical.” He chuckled low in remembrance, and explained when she
lifted a brow in curiosity. “The first and only time you invite me into your bed and I am totally useless.”
“I was just wondering,” she said softly. “Where you learned all of those bawdy songs? And the Shakespeare you so horribly mangled? I read that play once, long ago. Papa traded some brandy and flour to a passing stranger for it. Do you have it, by any chance? I would so love to read it again.”
Eben groaned aloud. “Raven, sweet, put me to the sword swiftly. Don’t twist it, love, to watch me writhe.”
“It was nothing so terrible,” she said sweetly. “You came down the street singing at the top of your lungs. When I heard you, I came to the window, and there you were in all your drunken glory, bellowing up at me to come down and fetch my Romeo.”
Eben snorted, then clutched his head to keep the crown from coming off. “Romeo,” he said at last. “I had all but forgotten. They claimed he died of poison, but I’d be willing to bet he was down at The Whale and Monkey.”
Raven giggled, drawing his attention once again. “Be a good lass and find something to do that will occupy your morning. If I live, we’ll sup on the town and you can sport your fine new feathers. Would you like that?”
She flew from the bed and hugged his prostrate, groaning form. “Oh, yes! I would indeed!”
“Gently, sweetheart! Gently!” he reminded her with a pained grimace. “And should I succumb, plant my bones somewhere in the floodplain. ‘Tis home to me, and I would be happier bein’ washed by the rising waters each season.”
She knelt beside him, peeling back one eyelid. “I warn you, m’sieur. If you die I shall be very, very angry, and might decide to stick you headfirst down a post hole.”
He pushed her hand away. “Jesus, wench! Have some consideration!”
She left him alone then, dressing in her leather garb as quickly and quietly as she could. Then, she went out of the
room and down the stairs. The day stretched long before her, an endless empty chasm to be filled by—something.
ERNESTINE, THE BLACK OWNED BY Sally who
worked in the kitchen, was a surly woman. Grudgingly, she plopped down a loaf of bread and a knife and bade Raven to, “Git yer own, ‘cause dis here house don’t raise till noon.”
Raven raised a finely arched black brow at her rudeness but said nothing. As the cook turned her attention on her young son, Abram, Raven cut a slice of bread and slathered it with fresh butter, then hurried out of the kitchen. There seemed to be no place she belonged, no place where she could pass the time without inconveniencing someone. So, she wandered aimlessly out onto the porch to break her fast and watch the morning.
Even at this early hour, the streets were filled with people. For a long while, she ate her bread and watched as they passed by. But once she had finished, this activity grew tiresome and she was again faced with the problem of how to fill her morning.
She could steal back to the bedchamber and sit, watching Eben sleep. She could sit on the steps all day, watching the townsfolk passing by. Or, she could take a stroll and see the town for herself. This idea caught her fancy and before long, she was well on her way.
She glanced back once, to get her bearings and saw the sun glaring off the windowpanes of her bedchamber. Behind that glass, Eben lay sleeping. If he knew that she was going off alone, he would likely be angry, but it had been his wish that she find something to do. Besides, what could possibly happen in the broad light of day?
For several hours, Raven wandered about the town, not thinking where she was going. The sights and sounds were so new and exciting, it was easy not to pay attention to how far she had walked. Before she knew it, she was walking along the rough boards of the wharf that ran along the Monongahela River, threading her way through the piles of goods and great hogshead barrels awaiting shipment south.
It was the most colorful spectacle Raven had ever seen, and it was exhilarating to walk freely among the men, to hear their rough talk and even a strain of music floating on the river breeze. She stood at the edge of the planking, shading her eyes to take everything in, and caught sight of the fiddler perched on a barrel marked “molasses.” His hands were quick, his bow barely kissing the strings, the music he made incredibly sweet.
So caught up in the moment was she, that it never occurred to her to be fearful, until it was too late.
WHEN EBEN PICKED HIMSELF UP off the floor, it was half-past twelve, and Raven was gone. This time, he was not concerned that she’d taken flight. Not after her ebullient mood that morning. He had offered to take her out on the town, and she had warned him not to disappoint her. The gown, still lying in the half-crushed box, had done a great deal to repair the damage done by their tiff the previous day. Now, if he could but rid himself of this skull-splitting headache.
He sought out Ernestine in the kitchen and bade her good morning. She was not in the least bit receptive. “You think this is early? You done lost yo’ mind.”
“I was out very late, Ernestine, so it is morning to me. Have you seen my ward, by any chance? Dark-haired, about this high?”
“I seen her, all right. But she gone.”
Eben was in the middle of helping himself to a cup of coffee. He stopped with the metal pot poised in mid-air. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Now, how would I know dat?” she replied irritably. “Ain’t none of my business what white folks do.”
Eben’s jaw tightened. “Perhaps you can at least tell me when you last saw her, and never mind that it is not your business.”
She shrugged but had become more cooperative because of his own dry response. “Bout two hours ago, give or take. She took some bread and off she went, out the front do’.”
This new information triggered a distinct and unwelcome chill. Knowing the girl’s propensity for trouble, he needed to
find her, and fast. He nearly fell over Ernestine’s son, Abram as he slammed from the house. The boy of about ten was sitting on the front steps. He looked up, his eyes large as Eben drew a coin from his pocket and held it out. “Abram, my lad. Have you seen Miss Raven this morning?”
Abram nodded vigorously. “She come out and set a while.
Then she went off that way.” He pointed to Wood Street, which led straightaway to the river.
Eben flipped him the coin, and took off at a run for the river, his aching head all but forgotten.
WILLARD SEMPLE LEFT DELBERT IN charge of the
flatboat and along with Ox, made a direct path for the nearest tavern, but he hadn’t gone far when he spied the girl. She was a tender thing, about the age of his youngest sister, and dressed in deerskins. The leather leggings and hunting frock combined with her midnight locks and soft brown eyes to give her an exotic air that immediately captivated him. In that instant, he forgot all about the bottle he’d been craving, and instead, closed in on his target. “Well, will you lookee here? Din’t figure they’d let half-breed wenches roam the streets in so refined a place as this. Think I’ll walk on over and say hello.”
Willard’s younger, and much larger brother, Ox, had inherited only a half of Willard’s intellect, and most of his common sense. He lagged back, trying to turn his brother’s attention back to business. This girl would bring them trouble, sure as shit. And Ox didn’t want trouble. “Hey, Willard,” he said in his slow way of speaking. “I thought you said you had a powerful cravin’ for whiskey? You can say hello when we git back. She ain’t goin’ nowheres.”
“What’s wrong with you, Ox? You lost your taste fer females since that damned St. Claire kicked your ass downriver? I’d not have thought it of you, but if you’re skeered, then you run along. I’ll enjoy this here little bitch all myself.”
At the reminder of Jase St. Claire, Ox turned a deep, dark red. “That fella would have done fer you if I hadn’t a stepped in. You really got his back up, doin’ what you did.”
“Shit,” Willard said, sending a wad of spit flying a good yard to the right. “I was only frolickin’. A man’s got a right to frolic after he’s been away from fun so long. Besides, how was I supposed to know that frosty-eyed bastard was winnin’ fair? Seemed to me he was cheatin’. Anyways, he beat hell out of you! How could you let him beat you, Ox? You must weigh twice as much as him!”
Ox’s red face got redder still. “He knowed all them Injun tricks, and din’t fight like no white man I ever did see. You know I don’t like Injuns, Willard, and I don’t like the looks of that girl, neither. Let’s get some whiskey and forget about her. The girls at Fat Flora’s’ll be glad to see us, don’t you think?”
“Last time we went to Flora’s I had a terrible itch on me for three damned weeks. I don’t mean to go that way again.
Besides, this one looks real fresh.” Willard’s hot gaze raked the girl from head to toe, her slim back, rounded hips, and lean, long legs. He could almost feel her wriggle under him as he peeled away those hide trousers she wore. He never had a woman who dressed like a man before, and it excited him so much that he barely heard Ox’s last attempt to reason with him. “I got a taste for a true mountain lily, and this here one’s mine.”
Willard didn’t look to see if Ox was following. It didn’t matter now. The lust was on him, and he already had an eye on an alley across the street where he could drag her. He walked right up to her, bold as brass, and grabbed her arm. “Hey, there, miss. Seein’ how you’re all alone, I thought you might want some company. Me and my brother, here, we’re real smooth with the ladies.”
Raven looked down at the hand that grasped her arm, then into the little man’s face. He was dirty, his hair stringing greasily from under a floppy-brimmed hat. His linsey-woolsey shirt was stained and smelled so strongly of dirt and grime that she had to turn her head to escape the dreadful odor. After Eben’s clean, inviting smell, this man made her stomach churn. “Let go of me, m’sieur. I am in no need of company.”
“But we ain’t been friendly yet. I see a little place where we can be real private-like. Let’s take us a walk.”
“If you don’t let go of me, I’ll scream,” Raven warned, wishing she had not left the relative safety of Sally’s stoop.
“Nobody’ll give you a second look, unless it’s to cheer me on. Look around you, honey. By comin’ down here alone, you’re askin’ for trouble, and you found it, too, in Willard Semple.”
He propelled her across the street and headed for an alley.
Raven screamed, exactly as she’d promised, but no one moved to stop him from forcing her along. She pried at his fingers, kicked and swung a fist at the side of his head, but she couldn’t even slow him, let alone break free.
They reached the dark space between the buildings. Willard dragged Raven in, then suddenly went very still. “Who’s in there?” he demanded.
The shadows were deep, almost black in places, and coming from the bright light of the street she was temporarily blinded. Still cursing and clawing and trying to break free, Raven managed to rake his face with her nails.
“Damn it, bitch! You’ll pay for that!” He shoved her and Raven stumbled back, falling over something very near the wall. When she touched it, the thing recoiled, and she screamed, and screamed again.
Willard scuttled toward her, grabbing at her clothes. With one hand, he freed himself from his baggy breeches, with the other, he pinned her to the wall, and pressed against her. His rank breath was hot against her face. Raven gagged and kneed him hard in the groin. He stumbled back and then, uncannily, seemed to leap backward into the brick wall with so much force his head bounced off the surface.
Sobbing uncontrollably, Raven watched as Eben pinned Willard Semple to the wall with a hand on his throat.
“Who—who are you?” the smaller man cried.
Without replying, he unsheathed his knife and held it in front of the miscreant’s eyes. When he saw his pupils dilate, he smiled, running the tip of the blade across his filthy cheek and down. Wherever the blade touched, a line appeared, followed
by dark droplets. Down his throat, to his grimy shirt. Eben expertly flicked off his bone buttons, one by one.
“Wha-what are you d-doing? Wh-what do you want? You want the girl? Take her, mister. She ain’t nothin’ to me.
Honest.”
“Maybe she’s nothing to you,” Eben said. “But she’s under my protection. Do you have any idea what that means?” The knife hovered lower. Eben’s smile grew nastier. His voice quieter, more silken. “It wouldn’t trouble me at all to spill your guts all over this passageway, or better yet to relieve you of the means to threaten another woman. You make the choice.”
“Oh, Christ,” Willard said. His bladder let go and piss ran down one leg of his breeches and into his shoe. “Mr. St.
Claire, please. Don’t do that.” “What did you just say?”
“Don’t cut it off. Please! I meant no harm! I swear!”
“St. Claire, you said? How do I know you?” The knife dug in to the smaller man’s gut, just above his private parts. A thrust and twist. It wouldn’t take much, and he could leave the scum for the rats to quarrel over.
“Maybe I made a mistake, but you look just like him. Guess you skeered me bad enough I up and said it, without thinkin’. He’s got a likeness to you—your face, the same cold eyes.
Only his hair was dark, not fair.” He swallowed convulsively. “His name was St. Claire, the fewkin’ bastard.”
“Where was this man?” Eben demanded. When the answer came too slow, he applied a little more pressure.
“Oh, God! Downriver! New Orleans! Married into landed gentry, he did, or so they say.”
The boatman cried in relief as he was abruptly released, but Eben only grabbed him by the collar, spinning him around, and marched him to the edge of the wharf. Before he could flee, the sole of Eben’s boot connected forcefully with the seat of his pants, sending him clear of the wharf. He hit the water with a tremendous splash and set to screaming that he couldn’t swim.
Raven was emerging from the alley as Eben reached her. She flew to him and he held her close, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “He frightened me, that’s all. I shouldn’t have left the house without a weapon.”
“You should not have left the house at all!” Eben sighed. “Raven, what am I going to do with you?”
She sniffed and snuggled even closer. “Well, you could
always take me with you.”
Eben looked down at her, searching her small, sweet face while he waged an inward battle. If he followed his original plan and left her here, he would never know a moment’s peace, and would always wonder if she were safe, if she had enough food in her belly and the proper clothes on her back. But if he took her home, to McAllister’s Ford, it would give him the chance to set her up properly in a place of her own. In time, she could marry—and by then, he would be ready to let her go. It all sounded good and right, and he leapt at the notion, mostly because he’d been secretly dreading the moment when he said goodbye. “Aye,” he said finally. “I suppose I could at that.”
