Orphan Moon (The Orphan Moon Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

Stoney pulled back the canvas flap that covered the window opening of the celerity wagon; it had remained lowered most of the four days to keep the fine caliche dust out of the coach. A bandana over mouth and nose was still required as the mules kicked up much dust on their gallop into Saint Joseph.

“Well, ain’t that something,” said Stoney as he poked his head out the window.

The lower half of his face was clean when he retreated back into the coach and removed the red bandana covering his mouth and nose. The upper half of his face was sifted in a soft, white, chalk-like powder that made his eyelashes and eyebrows look like they belonged to a dusty ghost.
 

“Look at all them people. I ain’t never seen so many people all at once, just ambling around in no apparent hurry.” Stoney shook the dust from his bandana and then washed his face with water from his canteen.

Saint Joseph was on the fringe of settlement. It was the farthest outpost for travel and commerce. It was where the railroad ended its journey toward western expansion. It was a hub of activity, trade, and exchange. It was raucous with cowboys bringing in massive herds of cattle to market. It was where settlement bloated outward from the city center, and it was where the Oregon Trail picked up just over the banks of the Missouri River and then wound its way across horizontal plains, over ragged mountains and through verdant valleys before reaching California and the Pacific Northwest.

And it was where Barleigh Flanders had a rendezvous with destiny
.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

S
EPTEMBER
27, 1860

The wait staff at the Menger Hotel set a decadent evening buffet of smoked hens and wild game, savory cheeses, ripe fruit, yeast rolls and whole-grain breads, chocolate pastries, and a variety of imported wines and sparkling French champagnes. The lavish spread invited and encouraged gluttony. Hughes and Leighselle sat on the shaded patio, sipping chilled Veuve Clicquot.

“How was your siesta?” Hughes asked, setting the champagne bottle into an ice bucket, the ice also a luxury import.

“Refreshing,” Leighselle said, noticing that she hadn’t coughed in quite some time. She attributed it to the siesta. Then again, the champagne might have played a roll, she thought, taking another sip.

“Do you feel like picking up the story where you left off?” Hughes asked. “Or would you rather just enjoy the evening?”
 

“I feel like it, yes, though this may be the most difficult part to tell.” Leighselle looked at Hughes, wondering if he would rather just enjoy the evening instead of listening. “Are you sure you want to hear my tale of woe?”

Hughes squeezed her hand and then raised his glass. “That’s what friends are for.”

Leighselle raised her glass, clinking it against his. “Thank God for dear old friends.”

*****

Leighselle clutched tightly to Henry’s arm and leaned into his side as they walked to the pier, a dark sense of foreboding dimming her mood. “Why do you have to go to England, Henry? I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to go either, Leighselle, but I have no choice. My father wants a Brahman bull to replace the one I shot. He wants it from the same breeder, so back across the pond I go.” Henry wrapped his arm tighter around his wife.
 

“Why can’t he go?” Leighselle pouted.

“He claims poor health. Besides, I’m the one who shot and killed the animal in the first place, with good reason of course. It’s my duty to see to its replacement. Father said that I shooting the bull was an act of folly. I need to save face and make it right.”

“An act of folly? Nonsense. It was an act of bravery.” She cast a sidelong glance at her husband, remembering the day she fell in love with him, and her heart filled with pride like it always did when she recalled that day. “You saved more people from getting hurt.” Leighselle closed her eyes and fought off another wave of nausea.
 

“Morning sickness again, darling?” Henry asked as they reached the end of the crowded pier. He pulled Leighselle close to him as they stepped away from the sidewalk, letting others pass.

“Yes, but I’m fine. I’m just afraid you won’t come back, or something bad will happen. I’m worried that—”

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll be back before the baby arrives. I need to impress my father and show him I can accomplish this task. If I work hard and prove myself worthy, I’ll be handsomely rewarded.”
 

“He’s a father you haven’t seen in over fifteen years because he walked out on you and your mother. All you have are his telegraphs and bank drafts from Texas. How can you know that he’s reliable or trustworthy?” The more Leighselle thought about it, the more anxious she became. “Why hasn’t he come to New Orleans to meet you and discuss these business dealings face to face?”

“His bad health keeps him from traveling. Leighselle, we have to take this on good faith. He’s followed through on everything so far.”

“I could go to England with you. We could live there. Not come back.” She fisted his coat lapels in her hands and placed her head against his chest.
 

“I have nothing in England to offer a wife. There’s nothing in Ireland to go back to since Ma died. My future is here. It’s in Texas. At least working for my father I have an opportunity to own a part of something, to support a wife. And a baby.” Henry touched Leighselle’s stomach, which hinted at a small, almost imperceptible bump.

“Near three months,” whispered Leighselle, her eyes brimming with tears. “Do you wish for a girl or a boy?”

“Oh, God, please, a daughter who’s as beautiful as her mother. She should have your green eyes and auburn hair, your perfect porcelain skin. I won’t stand a chance. You’ll both have me wrapped tight around your dainty little fingers.”

“I wouldn’t mind a son with your cinnamon hair and freckles, and your silver-blue eyes. If he has your dimples and ready smile, he’ll have me wrapped around his tiny little finger.”
 

The horn on the ship gave three long blasts, the smoke stack belching gray steam into the ashen sky that was almost the same hue. The smoke blended into the sinking clouds as a light drizzle began to mist the air.
 

Leighselle clung to Henry’s coat, the brimming tears now spilling down her cheeks. “I love you. I don’t want to be without you.”

Henry’s smile stretched across his face, reaching from ear to ear. “You won’t be. You’re keeping a part of me with you.”

Henry encircled Leighselle in his arms and kissed her with a long kiss that lingered. A couple strolling head to head and arm in arm passed; they cleared their throats and raised their brows but kept walking. Sailors on the ship whistled. Leighselle didn’t care. She pressed into Henry, inviting the kiss to go on forever.

“I hate to, my darling girl, but I must go.” Henry gave her one last kiss, then pulled away and sprinted toward the ship.
 

Standing at the salty, wet railing that separated the pier from the dock, she watched Henry tread up the swinging rope-and-plank bridge that connected the walkway to the ship. She saw him on the top deck, hat in hand, waving at her. She saw the ship being tugged out to sea and felt like it was her heart being pulled along with it. The steamer cut a slow turn away from the dock, then made its way to the outer harbor. The rippling wake trailed behind, connecting Leighselle to Henry in a widening
V
, until a tugboat crossed the wake’s path, severing the tie.
 

Leighselle wept. She stood transfixed with her eyes on the horizon. Her hands gripped the rail that kept her from toppling into the dark and murky water, and she watched until his ship was a small dot disappearing into the gray, choppy sea.

“Almost three months along?” asked a familiar voice from behind her shoulder. “I guess I should congratulate my daughter-in-law.”

Leighselle drew in a sharp breath and spun around, a chill gripping her heart. “You. What? What do you mean, congratulate your daughter-in-law?” All the heat, all the blood, all the air in her body drained in a sudden rush to her feet, leaving her lightheaded and swooning. A reckoning washed over her—a dawning of something dreadful—something her subconscious had suspected, yet pretended was nothing.
 

*****

San Antonio, Texas, September 27, 1860

Hughes shook his head in disbelief. “So Seamus sent Henry out of the country on a mission to purchase a bull. To what end, though?”

“If Seamus couldn’t have me, then no one else could, either.” The horror of those days never lessened. The memory, the pain, the terror was vivid and raw each new day. “And he would take away any chance of me ever being happy or having a part of Henry with me.”

“How did he do it?” Hughes asked as he refilled their champagne flutes.

“He drugged me with laudanum. But his evilness didn’t stop with me and Henry. He loaded me along with Addy-Frank and Birdie into a wagon, and before leaving New Orleans, he made a few stops first. I learned these terrible details later from Addy-Frank.”

*****

Seamus guided the wagon to the corner of St. Louis and Chartres Streets and reined the team of horses to a stop next to one of the many slave pens that lined the busy lane. Inside the squalid pen, which normally held up to one hundred slaves, a dozen Negros remained. The group consisted of adult men of varying ages, all wearing new but cheap suits, two women with calico frocks with matching scarves tied about their heads, and a young boy of twelve or thirteen who wore new shoes too big to stay on his feet. They all pressed against the far side of the pen trying to claim the meager shade offered by the side of the hotel’s walls.

“If she stirs or starts to wake up,” he instructed, “give her a sip of tea from this canteen. Don’t let me catch you drinking from it. Do you understand me, girl?”

Birdie nodded her head. “Yes’suh.”
 

“Get your good-byes over with here, but do it quietly. I don’t want prospective buyers put off by a bunch of wailing and carrying on.”
 

“Please, Massah Flanders, please let me go with my Birdie. She all I have. My other two babies I done buried. I can help take care of Miss Leighselle. I been doing it ever since the day she was born. Birdie too young to help much with a baby. She ain’t but ten herself.” Addy-Frank’s eyes were red and bloodshot from crying, her shoulders sinking under the heavy weight of what might become of her.

“She’s old enough to learn. Remember, no agitating prospective buyers.” Seamus turned and strolled inside the opulent building. He soon returned, a small man in a white suit in tow.
 

“I have one to be sold,” said Seamus to the auctioneer’s assistant. “She’s chained to the back of my wagon. I don’t have time to wait until she sells. I’m on my way out of town. Can you handle this and deposit the proceeds into my bank account?”

“Indeed, sir. That’s how most prefer to handle it. Just sign this document detailing name, age, and abilities of your property, then your bank and the name on the account.” The man gave a cheerful smile, offering Seamus the document to sign.

“Hell, I don’t know her age or abilities. I’d prefer if I just sign the document and you fill in the blanks however you wish. My name’s Seamus Henry Flanders. First Federal of New Orleans is my bank in town.”

“Yes, Mr. Flanders. Sign here.” The assistant pointed to the signature line. “She’ll fetch a better price if she’s clean and wearing a fresh dress. It doesn’t have to be expensive. The men need to be shaved of facial hair and the women their hair covered with a scarf. If you want to get the best price, you need to demonstrate—”

“Just get what you can.” Seamus signed the document and took his receipt.

He released the bindings and led Addy-Frank into the holding pen. Just before the door closed, she bolted, running to the wagon, clutching Birdie in a tight embrace. “Be good. Watch out for Miss Leighselle. Don’t give Mistah Flanders reason to be angry with you. You understand, child? That’s the most important thing of all.” Her tears fell on Birdie’s face.
 

“I understand, Mama. But I want to come with you,” sobbed Birdie. “Why can’t I come with you?”

“Here’s a secret to take with you, Birdie.” Addy-Frank hugged her daughter one last time, whispering in her ear. “. . . and never forget that, baby. Always remember that.”

“I won’t forget, Mama,” Birdie said, dodging Seamus’s swatted slaps.

Grabbing Addy-Frank by the arm, Seamus tried to drag her back to the pen but first had to pry Birdie’s hands free. “Be quiet, girl, I said no commotion.” He pulled them apart, forcing Addy-Frank back to the holding pen, shoving her inside.

“Best to remove the child from the mother’s sight so the woman can calm down before going up on the auction block. A hysterical mother never brings much money. Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Flanders?” asked the assistant auctioneer as he finished bolting the lock on the pen.

Without answering, with no backward glance, Seamus climbed up onto the driver’s seat and took the reins in hand, snapping them against the horses’ backs. “Move it on out,” he commanded as he headed the wagon up Royal Street, then north toward Alexandria.

As Seamus’s wagon disappeared from sight, a shiny black buggy passed by the slave holding pen, stopping just beyond the hotel. Doctor Flemings emerged, medical bag in hand. With quick strides, he made his way to the entrance of the rotunda. As he passed the holding pen, he paused, recognizing the frightened woman on her knees, wailing, her hands folded in prayer.
 

“Addy-Frank? What are you doing at the slave auction? Where’s Miss Leighselle?” He sat his bag on the sidewalk and stepped next to the fence, lacing his fingers through the wire enclosure. “Come here. Tell me what’s happened.”

She rushed to the fence, grasping the doctor’s coat sleeve. In a gush of words and tears, she explained the nightmare that had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. “Please, suh, I beg you. Please buy me. I can work for you, be your nurse an seamstress. Please, suh.” Her thin face was haunted, her eyes pleading.