Soul Catcher (25 page)

^{They trailed her into the teeming Faneuil Market place, which was dominated by a pair of large Georgian brick buildings. They tied their horses to a hitching post and followed her into Quincy Market on foot. Here farmers and artisans, bakers and fishmongers displayed their goods for sale. Rosetta went first to the produce section to buy onions, carrots, and potatoes. Then she headed over to where they sold eggs and poultry and bought a live hen and a half dozen eggs. As they watched her, an Irish boy with a basket full of apples approached them.}

^{"Apples," said the shaver, a scrawny, red-haired lad of ten. "Nice and fresh. Two for a nickel, five for a dime."}

^{Cain, who had forgotten to eat breakfast, bought two and tossed one to Strofe. As he tore into the apple he asked the boy, "What's your name, lad?"}

^{"Michael O'Keefe, sir. That's a right nice-looking gun you got there. Have you kilt any Injuns with it?"}

^{"Not a one," Cain replied with a smile.}

^{"Do ye think I could see it?"}

^{"I suppose so."}

^{While he spoke, Cain didn't take his eye off Rosetta. He withdrew his gun from his holster and let the boy look at it.}

^{"It's a big'un, for sure."}

^{"Have you ever shot one, son?" Cain asked.}

^{"Me? Never."}

^{"Would you like to hold it?"}

^{"Sure and I would."}

^{Cain handed it to the boy. He could barely raise the big gun even with two hands.}

^{"Careful now. It's loaded. Don't point it at anybody."}

^{"I'm not daft."}

^{While the boy was holding the gun and aiming it toward the rafters, Cain kept watching Rosetta. He knew what the law called for in order to have her returned to her rightful owner. The fancy legal niceties that the Fugitive Slave Law required, which tried to ignore the ugly realities that were at the heart of the division between North and South, between Free and Slave states, between the interests of property owners and those of abolitionists. He was officially supposed to find a federal marshal and present him with the warrant Cain carried, and it would be the marshal who would be empowered to take her into custody. However, if he did that, word might, in the meantime--especially here in the abolitionist capital of America--get out and the girl would either go into hiding or be whisked away to Canada. On the other hand, if they did try to apprehend her here and now in the crowded marketplace, there was a good chance that a scene would ensue, perhaps even violence, as had happened a few years before in the city when one man had been killed and many others hurt in the riots that followed the arrest of Anthony Burns. Then they would have to have her brought before a judge or commissioner for a hearing to prove that she was indeed escaped and that she was who the owner's agent--Cain, in this case--said she was. If a trial took place, especially a lengthy one, the girl would go to jail for an extended period of time to await trial. Eberly would be angry, and he might not pay the reward until she was back in his custody, and Cain would just have to wait for his money. And any number of bad things could happen, including the possibility of abolitionists breaking her out and secreting her away, as had happened in the Minkins case. Besides that, the poor girl herself would spend months in a dingy cell awaiting the decision of lawyers. Cain knew what was likely to happen to a fine-looking wench in a prison cell, the liberties that guards would take with her.}

^{What was more, he thought about the defiant look he saw in the girl's eyes, and the stories Little Strofe and Henry had told him about her cutting Eberly with a knife when he'd sold her child downriver. He knew how violent she might be and how ugly things could turn if they tried to take her here and now by force. His way was usually to use surprise rather than force, if at all possible. And then an idea came to him; he thought of how any mother who was willing to fight her master like that would probably do just about anything to get her child back.}

^{He took a pair of gold coins from his vest pocket and held them up in front of the boy. "How would you like to earn these, Michael?"}

^{"Jaysus. Sure and I would, sir!" the boy exclaimed.}

^{"See that girl over there," Cain said, pointing.}

^{"The black nigger, y'mean?"}

^{"Yes. I want you to bring a message to her."}

^{"What sort of message?" the boy asked.}

^{"I want you to tell her that some people have found her lost child."}

^{The boy looked at him suspiciously. "How's that now?"}

^{Cain glanced over at Strofe.}

^{"I want you to tell her that her son is safe with an abolitionist family just outside of the city. That if she wants to see him again, to meet at the Cambridge Street Bridge tonight at midnight. Do you know the one I mean?"}

^{"Aye, sir."}

^{"Tell her that she will be met there and brought to see her son, Israel. Tell her, if she wants to see her child again, she must come at midnight. Can you remember all that?"}

^{The boy nodded.}

^{"What did I say her child's name was?"}

^{"Israel, sir."}

^{"You're a smart lad, Michael," said Cain, patting him on the head. "Make sure you say his name."}

^{"I will. Who should I say sent me?"}

^{"An old woman. She didn't give you her name. And don't look over this way. Do you understand my drift?"}

^{"Aye, sir. Ye are a pair of slave catchers, ain't you?" the boy said, smiling at him.}

^{Cain winked at the boy, then handed him one of the gold coins.}

^{"Now go tell her what I said. When you come back its twin is yours."}

^{The boy walked over to the runaway and began to talk to her. Cain watched as she stared down at the boy, first in disbelief, then, as she spoke to him and the incredible news slowly started to sink in, with a wild sort of joy mixed with terror and sadness and suspicion. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover a gasp.}

^{"Who told you about her young'un?" Strofe asked Cain.}

^{"Eberly," he lied. He didn't want to get Strofe's brother or Henry in trouble.}

^{"She's a clever one, that nigger. Do you reckon she'll fall for that trap?"}

^{"I'm willing to bet on it."}

^{A smile broke over Strofe's meaty face. "For all your fancy ways, Cain, you're just as coldhearted as Preacher," the man said.}

^{The boy returned after a while.}

^{"Did you tell her everything?" Cain asked.}

^"Aye."

^{"Did she say she'd come?"}

^{"She didn't say, sir. But I told her everything you wanted me to. Do I get me money now?"}

^{Cain paid the boy the second coin, and the urchin took off, running with his prize clutched in his hand.}

^{Just to be on the safe side, Cain and Strofe followed her when she left the market. They had to be more cautious now because she kept looking around as she walked, suspicious, wary. They trailed her to a stately house on Chestnut Street, where she went around back and entered by the servants' entrance. When Cain looked, he saw that the address was the next Howard on the list.}

^{"So Henry was telling the truth," Strofe said.}

^{"At least now we know where she works if she doesn't show up tonight."}

^{* * *}

^{L
ate that evening, Cain and Strofe took up positions near the bridge. After hiding the horses down near the river, Cain concealed himself on one side of the street behind some bushes, while Strofe hid opposite him in an alley between a warehouse and a sail duck factory.}

^{"Don't make a move until I do," Cain instructed him.}

^{With the streetlamps lit, they had a good view of the road leading down to the bridge. At this hour it was pretty quiet, with few traveling in or out of the city. When it approached midnight and there was no sign of her, Cain began to have second thoughts that his plan would work. What was more, now her suspicions would be aroused and she might bolt on them. Maybe even flee to Canada.}

^{Shortly after the bells of some church sounded midnight, they saw someone coming down the road. The figure wore a long skirt with a shawl pulled over her head, but other than her sex, little else could be determined about the person. At first, Cain didn't think it was the same woman he'd seen that morning because this one didn't walk with the same light tread. This person's shoulders were hunched, and she moved tentatively, like an aged woman whose bones hurt, glancing warily into the shadows on either side of the street. But as the figure drew near, she came beneath the illumination of a streetlamp and Cain got a glimpse of her face. It was the one they were after. Rosetta.}

^{As she passed by, he also caught something else--the gleam of metal in her right hand.
She's got a knife,
he thought. And he remembered what she'd done to Eberly.}

^{When she'd gotten a little ways beyond him, he slipped quietly from his hiding place and crept up behind her. His bad leg slowed him, but he still moved with all the stealth and cunning of a lifetime spent hunting. He was almost upon her when something--his scent? the sound of his boots on the gravel?--alerted her. Quick as a cat, she threw off her shawl and wheeled on him, slashing out with the knife, some sort of long-bladed, serrated thing. The first stroke barely missed Cain's face, but on the backward swing she snagged the cloth of his left sleeve and the blade entered hungrily, searching for flesh. He could feel the hot bite of metal sink into his upper arm. In a flash, she pulled it out and hacked at him again, several times, not wildly nor in fear, but coldly, calculatedly, aiming for the organs that would spell death--the eyes and neck, the chest, the stomach. And she held the knife with the blade toward the ground, slashing downward at him rather than upward, so her strokes had more force behind them.}

^{During all this, except for grunting as she swung at him, hot, guttural exhalations of air he could feel on his face--they were
that
close--she didn't say a word. He sensed, as with a cornered and wounded animal, that some terrible force had been unleashed in her. She went at him with deadly intent, her knees bent in a crouch, circling him to his right, almost sensing it was making him pivot on his bad leg. Nor did she look at his eyes but kept her gaze on his hands and hips, watching them, waiting for a weakness, a flaw in his defense, a vulnerability she'd exploit, sort of the way a pugilist would size up an opponent's soft spots. But he managed to duck or block her attacks with his blackjack, which he used more as a means of protection than with any intent of hurting her, though several times he could have cracked her over the head. He didn't want to hurt her if possible, didn't like to hurt a woman, even a runaway. Besides, he knew Eberly was the sort of man who would deduct money if he brought her back damaged. Still, he didn't relish the notion of getting hurt himself, and that's exactly what she was hellbent on doing. As she kept circling to his right, he thought,
Where in the hell is Strofe?}

^{"Look," he tried to reason with her, "it's no use. I have a warrant for your arrest. I have the legal right to return you to Mr. Eberly, of Henrico County, Virginia."}