Twin Speex: Time Traitors Book II (24 page)

Ava had watched Odell’s lips thin with scorn when Gabriel soberly described the penalty for freemen when caught fraternizing with whites.

“If they marry, the Negro partner can be sold into slavery for life, if it involves fornication only, seven years of servitude.”

“And their white accomplices?” he had asked.

“If there are any penalties on the books, I have yet to see them applied,” Gabriel replied with a cynical twist of his lips.

Ava wondered, not for the first time, why Gabriel had seen fit to single out that particular violation for greater emphasis. Evelyn had pegged them as a “courting couple.” Perhaps Gabriel had also misinterpreted their friendship as romantic.

Ava’s thoughts and feelings when it came to Odell were complicated, to say the least. Ettie’s read on his character was more of a reality than just the hopeful musings of a fond sister, as Ava had once thought. He certainly had a presumption, an air of confidence that at first seemed like arrogant disregard, but the more she got to know him…

“Ava, what do you think? Wheat or oat porridge for breakfast?

She refocused her eyes and looked up at Evelyn. “Whatever you prefer, Miss Evelyn.”

Ava had to stifle the urge to infuse her words with a
Gone with the Wind
southern accent and merely kept her voice low and indistinct.

“But Uncle Odell, which would he like?”

“Oats then, Miss Evelyn.”

They both carried large woven baskets which had, over the course of their meandering route, become quite full. Ava was surprised at the variety and selection of food, spices, and condiments that were available. Evelyn worked the stalls like a seasoned pro. She tested the produce, made pronouncements on its freshness and general overall quality, and haggled with the price when she found it lacking. She identified with authority the dizzying array of spices and turned up her nose at mealy apples and moldy dried fruit.

The latent ethnographer in Ava awoke with a vengeance. She tried to cover her inquisitiveness with the subservient demeanor of a servant. She wished for chameleon-like eyes so she could see in all directions without moving her head.

Among the general bustle of the marketplace, she began to note the presence of other blacks, particularly women. The universal and homey nature of purchasing food made it difficult to distinguish slave from freeman. She began to unwind and relax a little as she noted that these women, while deferential, were by no means cowering in their shoes. And the whites didn’t seem to be going out of their way to catch a minor infraction or imagined slight.

“Let me see…” Evelyn stopped to consult a list Mrs. Daniels had made out as a compliment to their purchases. That good lady had kindly stepped in to help Evelyn with the kitchen duties. She often left a pot of stew or porridge on the stove and baked meat pies and fritters, in addition to bread.

“I think we have it all. I’ll ask Hugh to pick up the potatoes, cornmeal, and flour. It’s too heavy for us to carry… or, maybe I should have it delivered. Although it costs extra…” She sucked at her lower lip, thinking.

“Good morning to you, Miss Evelyn.”

Both Evelyn and Ava looked up and were confronted with a slender woman of medium height and indeterminate age. She wore the sensible woolen dress and cloak of a working class woman. Her dishwater blond hair was covered by a linen cap, and a shawl was thrown unfashionably over it for warmth. She had merry blue eyes and a very large nose.

“Mrs. Lynch, good morning to you,” Evelyn replied. “I didn’t know you frequented this market.”

“It ’tis a bit far afield for me, but my neighbor, Mrs. Dewberry, insists the fish is fresher here.” She smiled, showing dingy, yet even teeth. “Me, I said to her, it all comes from the same ocean. The port’s the same distance from our market, ain’t it?” She shook her head, smiling. “But she insists that the market closest to the center of town will always have the best pickins. So here I am to find out if it is true,” she concluded, her pleasant face a study in congenial neighborliness.

Evelyn nodded politely, but didn’t venture an opinion.

Mrs. Lynch cocked her head to one side with sympathetic curiosity and asked, “Any news from your mamma?”

“Yes,” Evelyn lied. “My aunt is feeling very much better. Mother hopes to be home before summer.”

Mrs. Lynch clucked approvingly, “Good news, indeed! A house can never run properly without a mother about to keep everyone in line. But I see you’ve got extra help.” She nodded to Ava.

“Yes.” Evelyn swallowed, preparing to recite the story they had concocted to explain Odell and Ava’s presence. “My mother’s younger brother just arrived from Boston. She had asked him to find a proper freewoman to help while she was gone. Her name is Ava.”

During this conversation, Ava had kept her eyes slightly averted and down, but now looked up as Evelyn mentioned her name. She bobbed a little curtsy to the older woman.

“Ava, you say,” Mrs. Lynch repeated. “Pretty name… pretty face too. Look at me straight, girl. You’ve no need to fear me; we keep a good Christian home and don’t abide slavery.”

Ava looked her full in the face and smiled in acknowledgement. Mrs. Lynch’s good-natured features reflected the serious zeal of an abolitionist. “You’re lucky to have fallen in with this family, girl. Mister Gabriel Wright is a fine man and staunch fighter for the rights of your people.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she acknowledged humbly.

Mrs. Lynch nodded her head forcefully as if satisfied that Ava understood her good fortune. “Well, I should be gettin’ on. Be sure and give my regards to your father and Mrs. Gordon, as well.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Lynch. I’m sure Aunt Cara would be glad of a visit when you have the time,” Evelyn answered, then added hastily, “And my best to Mister Thornton too.”

Mrs. Lynch gave her a knowing looked and said as she walked on, “Certainly I will, Miss Evelyn.”

As soon as she was out of earshot, Ava leaned close and whispered, “Mister Thornton, the butcher?”

Evelyn nodded. “Mrs. Lynch is his sister-in-law, his dead brother’s wife, to be exact. She runs an inn near his shop. We stayed there the first month after we landed. She helps out in his shop from time to time too. She’s a good person, not very educated, but good-hearted and kind. She was quite taken with Aunt Cara. But then, most people are.” Evelyn laughed.

Even with her limited exposure to Cara Gordon, Ava could well imagine it being hard to resist the charming woman she had met just last night. Ava wanted to question Evelyn in more detail about the various other members of Odell’s family, but the girl’s attention had turned to a narrow alleyway just off the far side of the marketplace.

She gripped Ava’s arm and whispered, “I’ve got to speak with Jimmy.”

“Jimmy?”

“Jimmy Reynolds. He’s over there… in the alley.”

She half pulled Ava with her, stopping once or twice with the pretense of examining wears, as they made their way to the other side of the market stalls. She stopped briefly to furtively look around before ducking into the dank alleyway.

“Jimmy,” Evelyn said in a loud stage whisper.

A figure emerged from behind some old vegetable crates. The young man, not more than seventeen or eighteen, was of a tall, lanky build. Ava recognized the type from many of her freshman classes. Jimmy was still an adolescent, all long bones and sharp angles. He had yet to fill in the breadth of his shoulders, and his hands seemed far too large for his wrists. He reminded Ava of the popular movie depiction of Ichabod Crane; but instead of the awkward doofus in the old Disney cartoon with his disjointed arms and legs, this boy exhibited a fluid grace.

He walked over to them, hands shoved into the pockets of his breeches and with eyes trained over their heads toward the alleyway entrance. Making sure we hadn’t been followed, Ava thought approvingly. He stopped in front of them, a lopsided grin spread across his face. His strawberry blond hair was tied back in a neat queue, exaggerating his rather protuberant ears. He had large features with hazel eyes and freckles sprinkled across a prominent nose. His smile was wide and infectious. Ava found herself smiling back. Evelyn was not so entranced. Her expression could only be described as “schoolmarmish.”

“Why aren’t you up at the college?” she asked with an accusatory edge to her voice.

“Because it doesn’t suit me to be,” he mimicked her prudish tone, but with an exaggerated wink at Ava.

“I wonder at you squandering an opportunity I’d give much to have,” she replied in a tight voice.

His mischievous smile didn’t waver, but the bright hazel eyes held a hint of compassion. “If it were my choice, there’s no one I’d rather give my place to than you, Evie. But I don’t make the rules, and I don’t see why your misfortune should become my prison. So leave off the scolding, will you?”

The color heightened on her cheeks. She swallowed and nodded, saying reluctantly, “All right.”

Jimmy edged closer to Evelyn, and Ava had the distinct impression he wanted to take her hand, but merely said, “I have some information. You’ll hear about it soon enough, but I need you to pass it on to your friend, the old Bow Street runner.”

Evelyn looked up and blinked. “You mean Hershel?”

“Yes, that’s his name… made me right good on the docks, he did. Tell him they found a body floating in the Schuylkill this morning.”

Evelyn drew back shocked. “Who?”

“That’s just it. Don’t know. No one’s been reported missing, and it isn’t a native. Heard Doc Robbins say it must have been in there for several weeks, cuz they can’t… well, it doesn’t have a face anymore.”

Evelyn swallowed and looked a bit green. This time Jimmy did touch her, gently grasping her elbow and asking, “You gonna be all right?”

She shook off his hand more roughly than she had intended. “I’m fine.” She turned a little away from him and asked brusquely, “But why tell Hershel? What does a drowning have to do with the tavern fire or the British?”

“Maybe nothing,” he answered, overly nonchalant. “But it wasn’t a typical drowning. The body was stripped naked, and its hands and feet had been bound with rope.”

“Murder,” Ava whispered with a hand over her mouth.

Jimmy nodded matter-of-factly. “Aye, murder.”

*

Odell stood at the Port of Philadelphia looking north from Dock Street. It was an impressive sight. As far as the eye could see there were masts and tall ships docked along the waterfront. Flat-bottomed canoes piled high with bags of grain and flour rowed past seeking berth. Piers jutted out into the water along which the bustle of commerce took the form of workmen, sailors, traders, fishermen, passengers, merchandise, and even livestock. He could see two small islands not far off in the middle of the great Delaware River, one with a windmill on its northern end.

He knew that in the future this port was a busy place. But with the railroads, airports, and network of highways that connected modern Philadelphia to the rest of the world, he couldn’t imagine it possessing the intense industriousness that now swirled around him. Everyone at one point or another had business here, even if it was just to meet a loved one disembarking from a long ocean journey. The port was Philadelphia’s life’s blood, and that made it vulnerable to British attack.

He waited with Hugh under a large oak tree that spread out over a patch of ground between it and the water. The day was bright as March began its meandering route into spring. Winter gave way reluctantly, and the cold was peeled back layer by layer to reveal tufts of green grass and an occasional sprig of tender new leaves. Sparkling particles from the water were absorbed by the air, casting the scene before him in rich colors and with intense clarity. He was transfixed, but resisted the urge to reach out and touch the space around him.

Hugh nodded in the direction of the ships. “Here he comes.”

Even on the diverse and busy waterfront, the figure that approached them drew the eye of everyone he passed. A tall young man of muscular build, Jonathan Sinclair had been adopted by a neighboring Mohawk tribe when his white father and Cherokee mother were killed in a settler attack on their homestead. He was the eldest of four, all of them boys. A man in his early twenties, Jonathan was too young to have fought in the French and Indian War. Yet his sympathies had lain with the French, the British being responsible for his parent’s deaths.

He was not an entirely unfamiliar sight in Philadelphia. As a trapper, his business drew him into the city from time-to-time to scope out the market for his wares and make connections with the furriers who set prices and often fashion. His trade had proved lucrative and, as a bachelor, he was unfettered by anyone’s desires but his own.

He was exactly what Odell needed.

Nineteen

ETTIE PUT HER hands in front of her face and pushed them away from her, arms sweeping forward and back like a breaststroke. She was caught in a thick, sticky substance, making her movements ponderous. She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly in an effort to dispel the sight before her. She opened them again and squinted at the busy city street scene. It was as if several different filmstrips had been laid on top of each other, blending the unrelated figures together while still somehow keeping them separate.

Ghostly shapes blurred in and out of focus. On the corner, she saw two laughing young women dressed in tight jeans and tank tops; striding purposefully past was a man in full evening dress, his top hat shining black; crossing the street was a couple, dark-complexioned with long hair braided down their backs, walking gracefully in beaded buckskin; a steam-powered coach and stylish Porsche hit head on, only to blend together and materialize out on opposite ends undamaged. She felt her stomach seize up in a violent attack of nausea and dropped to her knees. Clem’s voice barely registered with her fading senses, “Ettie… Ettie…”

She opened her eyes. Bea’s heavy head rested on her stomach, and her tail thumped hard against the downy bedspread. She patted the dog wearily as Bea, scooting up on her belly, dropped her head onto Ettie’s chest. Her yellow eyes stared intently into her face.