Ryan's Bride (37 page)

Angele went to search for Ryan to tell him she was also going to bed.

She found him in his study. Larson, Frank, and some other men she recognized as planters were there also.

They fell silent when they noticed her standing in the doorway, but she had managed to catch a word or two before they did.

Slaves.

Runaways.

Patrols.

They were planning their strategy.

And Ryan had apparently been trying to make them understand why he did not want to be involved.

“Excuse me, everyone,” she said quietly, politely. “I want to tell my husband good night.”

He followed her out in the hall. “Forgive me if I don’t go with you,” he said, “but I have to see to the rest of the guests.”

“I’ll wait up,” she murmured.

And she did so until she could hold her eyes open no longer.

She had curled up in Ryan’s bed, but when she awoke at the first light of dawn, she saw, with heavy heart, that his side was empty.

He had been out all night.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Angele awoke feeling even more nauseated than she had the night before. And when she got out of bed, she was dizzy and thought for a few seconds she was going to faint.

It did not last long, and she remembered she hadn’t eaten anything and decided that was probably why she felt so bad. Then again, she might be coming down with some- thing. But even if she was, she had no intentions of staying in bed and giving Denise free rein to flirt with Ryan.

And where was he, anyway?

She dressed quickly.

It was still quite early. Stepping into the hall, she didn’t hear a sound. She went to the stairs and leaned over the railing, but all was quiet below. Everyone was still asleep and probably would not be up for a while yet.

As she crept down the steps, she was torn between looking for Ryan and finding Selma to tell her what she’d overheard last night.

Then she realized perhaps she’d be better off not knowing where Ryan had slept, because if she found him in Denise’s room, she was not sure what she would do.

Slipping out the back door, she headed for the compound.

She didn’t know that Roscoe was awake…and waiting to follow wherever she went.

“Miz Angele, what are you doin’ here? It ain’t even good daylight yet.”

Selma was standing on the porch of her little shack, washing her face in a basin of water she’d brought up from the creek like all the other women did first thing every morning.

Angele ran up on the porch. “I have to talk to you right away. It’s important.”

Toby appeared in the doorway. He had just got up, but his sleepy eyes opened wide when he saw Angele.

“Both of you need to hear. Let’s go inside, please.” Exchanging an anxious look with Toby, Selma said, “All right, if that’s what you want.”

Angele glanced about. There was only one room, and it was sparsely furnished with a rickety table, two chairs, and a mattress on the floor, which was cluttered with their few belongings.

Angele remained standing, even though Selma politely offered her a chair. “This won’t take long, and I can tell you’re nervous about me being here.”

“It could get me and Toby in a peck of trouble,” Selma said.

“I won’t let that happen, and I don’t intend for anybody to know I was here this morning, anyway. I have to ask you a question, and I want the truth.”

Selma nodded uncertainly. “All right.”

“Is this plantation the first stop for a runaway slave?”

Selma paled and cut a glance at Toby, who shook his head ever so slightly. With a thin laugh, she replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. The other night after I left here, I heard strange noises and turned back to see what was going on. A Negro came out of the woods, and he looked out of breath and scared.”

“I stiff don’t know what—”

“Selma, stop lying,” Angele snapped. “I know a slave ran away from another plantation the other night, and I believe it was the boy I saw coming out of the woods.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Selma said, lips trembling. “I swear there ain’t no runaways here.”

“I didn’t ask if there were any here
now
. I want to know if this is where they come first when they run away. I only want to help, and I promise your secret will be safe with me.”

Selma looked to Toby again, and this time he gave his head a firm swing from side to side.

Angele saw him and cried, “Don’t you understand? I want to help. I overheard some of the planters talking last night about how they think there’s some kind of underground movement—a railroad, they called it—to help runaways go north. And they think they’ve been wrong about which direction they’ve been heading.”

She recounted everything the men had said.

When she had finished, Toby walked over and knelt in front of her so they were eye level. “Miz Angele, now I want you to listen to me. Our people like you, but you ain’t got no business gettin’ mixed up in this, so it’s best you just get on back to the house and forget whatever it is you think you saw the other night.”

She knew she was getting nowhere. They were not going to admit anything, but at least they could pass along the information she had given them.

“Very well,” she sighed. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” She noticed that Selma looked as though she was about to cry.

Toby went to the door with her, while Selma hung back. “We appreciate you caring about all of us, Miz Angele. We really do. But there ain’t nothin’ goin’ on here that ought not be, and I hope you’ll tell anybody that who might think otherwise.”

“You don’t have to worry.” She looked past him to where Selma was still huddled in a chair. “Selma, do you by any chance know what time Master Ryan retired last night? He was asleep when I awoke this morning, and if the guests were terribly late leaving, I want him to sleep as long as possible so he won’t be tired today.”

Selma’s fingers were splayed across her face, and she peered through them at Angele. “No, ma’am. I was busy cleanin’ up. I didn’t see him.”

The minute she was off the porch, Selma leaped up to run to the door and watch till she was out of sight, then whirled on Toby to cry, “I don’t trust her. She was tryin’ to get us to admit we’re helpin’ runaways so she can tell. I just know it.”

Toby looked uncertain. “I don’t know, honey. She seems like a real nice lady. Maybe she does want to help. And don’t forget that runaway came the other night just a minute or two after you finally got her to leave, so she probably did see him.”

“Maybe she did, but she can’t prove anything, and that’s why she was tryin’ to get us to tell her. She probably made up the whole story about hearin’ those men talkin’.”

“I’m still gonna pass the word along, and if any white men and dogs are where she said they’d be, we’ll know she was tellin’ the truth. Then we can trust her.”

“Humph,” Selma grunted, continuing to stare down the path. “Probably all she really wanted was to find out whether I saw Master Ryan with Miz Denise after everybody left.”

She went back to the basin to finish washing her face.

Toby watched her in silence for a few moments, then quietly asked, “Did you?”

She wiped at her eyes with a rag, then hung the towel on a nail to dry. “All I know is, the last time I saw either one of ’em, they were together.”

“And where were they?” Toby persisted.

Selma’s expression turned sad. Actually she liked Miz Angele and hated for her to be hurt. “Everybody was gone but them. I went to get the last of the glasses, like Mammy Lou tol’ me to, and that’s when I saw ’em—goin’ into Master Ryan’s study. He closed the door, and when I left the house a long time later, they were still in there.”

“That don’t look good,” Toby said with a solemn shake of his head. “That don’t look good at all.”

It was still so early that Angele felt it was safe to cut through Roscoe’s woods and pass his cabin to get back to the house faster.

Her heart was aching to know whether Ryan had made love to Denise. It would mean he loved her, and, if so, Angele would have no choice but to set him free.

She slowed as reason set in.

It was obvious Denise had been throwing herself at him last night, but Angele had no proof that he enjoyed it…no reason to assume he had bedded her. And if she went tearing into the house to search all over to try and find them together, she would look like a fool.

The thing to do, she decided, was give him the benefit of the doubt as long as possible. Meanwhile, by God, she would fight for him.

She only wished she felt more like fighting.

She still felt sick to her stomach. She was tired, and her nerves were on edge. That was not like her, and she needed to get hold of herself in order to think clearly.

What she also needed to do, she thought with determination rolling through her veins like liquid fire, was to make Ryan really sit up and take notice of her—and not by merely looking pretty. She wanted him to see that she was smart and knowledgeable.

She came to a halt as the idea struck like the mosquito she quickly slapped off her arm.

There was something she could do that would not only make him notice her but also outshine Denise.

She would show him and everyone else she could not only ride—she could beat all the men at jumping the hurdles. But she would need a horse, and—

A twig snapped, breaking the silence around her. Whirling about, she gasped in surprise to see Roscoe Fordham.

Roscoe wanted to kick himself all the way to the barn and back. He hadn’t expected her to stop walking all of a sudden and just stand there. Afraid she might turn around and see him, he had managed to get into the brush without making a sound. But then, when she had started walking again, he had stepped on a stick, breaking it with a loud pop. Now he had to come up with a fast explanation as to why he was there.

She was staring at him expectantly. “Mr. Fordham? What are you doing up so early?”

“Uh…” He was floundering, then, out of the corner of his eye, saw a nearby blackberry bush. “Picking berries,” he said. “I like berries for breakfast.”

“I see.”

He told himself to stop acting guilty. After all, he had a right to be in the woods where he lived, but what the hell was
she
doing there? “It’s kinda early for you to be out, isn’t it? Especially around here. Is something wrong?”

“Actually, I was looking for you.” Angele was able to think faster than Roscoe, and, needing a horse, remembered his offer to take her riding.

She got right to the point. “Mr. Fordham, can you get me a good jumping horse and not let anyone know?”

He thought a minute, then drawled, “Well, I might could, but what do you want one for?”

“I’m going to compete against the men this afternoon, and I want it to be a surprise.”

Her eyes were shining with the mischief, and Roscoe could not wait to tell Corbett about this latest development. Already he had followed her to the slave compound and watched her go inside Selma and Toby’s cabin. There was something funny going on, all right.

He scratched his chin to give the impression he had to really think about it.

“Please, Mr. Fordham. You won’t get in trouble. I’ll tell Ryan I got the horse myself, and I suppose I could do that, but I wouldn’t know which one was the best jumper.”

“Are you sure you can ride good enough?”

“Positive. Now, will you help me and keep it our secret?”

That comment made him think how there were a lot of things he’d like to do with her and keep secret. Finally, he said, “All right, but you’ve got to promise not to tell anybody.”

She was bouncing up and down on her toes, she was so happy. “I won’t. I swear it. When can you have him ready?”

“Right before they start jumping, your come to the back of the last stable—the one on the very end, and I’ll have him ready. Don’t let anybody see you, though.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “And thank you, Mr. Fordham. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Roscoe was beaming. “I’m glad to do it, Miss Angele. But remember—it’s just between us.”

He couldn’t wait to tell Corbett.

When Angele returned to her wing of the house, she found Ryan in the parlor. He was wearing black suede riding pants and a red silk shirt, open at the neck. His hair was still damp from his bath.

Angele saw the redness in his eyes and knew it was from lack of sleep. “You look tired,” she said.

“Actually, I’m exhausted. I fell asleep in my study last night.”

She feigned innocence. “You didn’t come upstairs?”

“No. Some of the guests staying over didn’t want to go to bed, and I had to be polite and keep them company. By the time I got rid of them, I leaned back in my chair to rest a minute, and the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up.”