Through the Storm (41 page)

He recorded Sable’s report of the fire, then asked, “Did anybody see anything?”

“No.”

“Then it’s highly possible one of the children set the fire.”

Sable struggled to hold on to her temper. “It is neither possible nor probable.”

“Oh, I don’t know, little lady. Some of the kids you people have in your schools would probably rather be out in the fields harvesting instead of being stuck in a schoolroom all day. I can see one of them setting that fire real easy.”

Sable looked over at Drake, who’d escorted her there. He simply shook his head.

“Will you begin an investigation?” she asked the sheriff.

“I can come out to the orphanage and talk to the children, if that’s what you mean.”

Sable’s jaw throbbed. “I doubt you will find the arsonist there.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. If I can’t conduct the investigation my way, then I suppose you’ll have to wait until you catch the culprit in the act. Have a good day, folks.”

Furious, Sable stormed out.

She spent the balance of the day cleaning up the debris from the fire. Under Cullen’s direction, the orphans also helped. The Brats took shifts to ensure they were never alone.

Over the objections of all the Brats, Sable, Cullen and the girls insisted on sleeping at the orphanage for the
next two nights. Two brothers accompanied them to provide protection. Sable wanted the orphans to feel safe, and her presence in the house seemed to help. Since the arsonists did not come back for a repeat performance, the Brats tempered their opposition and gave her their blessing to spend the following nights there alone.

On the fifth night, Sable was awakened by screams, gunshots, and the acrid smell of smoke. Jumping up from her pallet on the second floor, she ran to the stairs and descended into hell. Masked, mounted men were riding their horses through the house, throwing flaming torches onto drapes, furniture, and anything else that would burn. Other horsemen were riding down on the screaming children as if they were prey in some macabre hunt, then snatching them up and throwing them across their saddles like pelts. Sable ran for the tools she’d left by the door and began swinging a shovel with a strength fueled by her incredible rage, hitting horses, men and anything else which threatened her charges. Through the rising smoke, she saw one rider latch on to Blythe and attempt to pull her up onto his saddle, but the ten-year old fought so furiously he was forced to drop her. Cullen was aiming a rifle, and the sounds of his firing added to the unholy din. Then as if in a dream, she watched as Cullen was struck in the back of the head by a rider’s club. He crumpled to the foor as if dead, her screams of outrage shaking the heavens. She ran through the smoky bedlam and swung the shovel as hard as she could, but the rider saw her at the last possible moment and blocked her blow. Laughing, he wrestled the implement from her grasp and tried to pull her up onto his horse. She fought fiercely amid the fire, smoke, and cries of terror, but her effort was in vain. She felt the explosion of a blow to her head and then everything went black.

When Sable came to, it was still dark. Her head felt as if she’d banged it against a brick wall, and it hurt so bad she could hardly open her eyes. She had a vague
sense of being in some type of moving vehicle, but she was too groggy to be sure of anything except pain.

Then Blythe’s fearful, trembling voice calling to her made her grope her way back to consciousness. She struggled to right her thoughts through the biting agony and felt a small hand stroking her brow.

Somehow Sable found the will to speak. “Blythe?”

“Yes, Sable, it’s me. Hazel’s here too, and so is Cullen, but his head is bleeding and he won’t wake up.”

“Hazel?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Sable managed a smile. Hazel was the only one who called her mama. “Are you and Blythe okay?”

A man’s voice answered in Hazel’s stead. “They’re both fine, Sable.”

Sable’s pain warred with her anger. She recognized the voice, and because she did, Mahti’s ominous prophesy echoed in her head:
He will be the jackal and you the antelope until his death
.

With all her soul she yearned to confront Henry Morse, but her mind slid back into darkness.

When Sable awakened again, it was full daylight. The ache in her head had subsided only minimally, but she forced her eyes open. The light hurt, but she forced herself to endure it so she could evaluate her surroundings. She was lying in the bed of a moving wagon. Beside her sat Blythe, whose dark eyes were so filled with fear and anguish, Sable vowed to send Morse to hell. Hazel flanked Sable’s other side, but unlike those of her little sister, Hazel’s eyes glittered with a desire for vengeance.

“How’s Cullen, Hazel?” Sable forced out.

“He’s still asleep.”

The pounding in Sable’s head increased as she attempted to turn her head, but she had to see her son. He lay at her feet. The bandage circling his head was stained with blood.

Sable crawled over to him, fighting dizziness.

Hazel said, “I bandaged his head with the end of my gown.”

Sable’s heart cried at seeing him lying so still. As she lowered her ear to his chest to make certain he was still breathing, she almost passed out again, but the sound of his faint heartbeat gave her hope.

“Well, Sable, good to see you up and around.”

Morse.

She ignored him. Her concern for Cullen overrode all else. Softly she called to him, “Cullen?”

There was no response.

She called again, slightly louder. His body moved as if he’d recognized her voice, but he fell still again almost as quickly.

Sable turned a malevolent eye on Morse driving the wagon. “He needs a doctor.”

“I’m sure you think so, but I’ve never known a young buck who didn’t have an iron-hard head. He’ll be fine in a day or two.”

Sable’s jaw tightened. “The lad is only twelve.”

“The young heal fast.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“To Paradise.”

“There will be a room reserved for you in hell for this.”

“Where folks like you will be my slaves.”

They were still traveling in the wagon when Cullen finally awakened late that evening. His first words as he regained consciousness were a softly spoken, “I’m sorry. I promised Papa Rai I’d keep you safe.”

“You did your best, Cullen. There were just too many of them.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

As a tear slid from his eye, her heart broke in two. “We’ll get out of this, don’t worry.”

Morse countered pleasantly, “I wouldn’t be so quick to make rash predictions if I were you, Sable, my dear.
It’s my guess you’ll never see that major of yours ever again.”

Bitterly Sable replied, “Now who’s making rash predictions? I will see Raimond again, even if I have to walk over your grave to do so.”

He just laughed and flicked the reins to get the horses moving faster.

As dusk approached, Morse pulled the wagon into the wild growth on the side of the road and announced they would be stopping there for the night. He’d been behind the reins since before dawn. Sable hoped to find a way to escape while he slept, but when she saw him reach beneath his seat and extract four sets of leg irons, she knew it was not to be.

Once they were shackled, he hooked them to a long length of chain whose end was attached to an iron cuff around his wrist. If they moved, the tug on the chain would alert him.

Helpless to do anything else, Sable and the children huddled together and slept.

They were already under way the next morning when Sable awakened. The sky above was a beautiful blue; it was much too fine a day to be shackled to the devil, she thought, but she thanked the Old Queens for letting her live to see it. Morse stopped the wagon and undid the shackles so they could take care of their needs, but he let them go only one at a time.

“If any of you run, I’ll kill at least one of those who remain.”

Sable had no idea if he would carry through on the threat, but she had no desire to find out.

Once they were all back in the wagon, he replaced the leg irons, tossed them a few pieces of stale bread and a canteen of water for breakfast, then proceeded on down the road.

By mid-morning, the road had turned into a track, and by mid-afternoon it was nothing more than a rutted trail.
The land around them was vast and desolate. Sable didn’t know this region outside New Orleans well enough to determine their exact location, but she made a point of remembering landmarks they passed—oddly shaped trees and stands of wildflowers—so she could find her way home if the opportunity arose.

It was nearly dusk when Morse finally turned off the trail. Ahead stood a ramshackle mansion. The land around it was wild and uncultivated. Knee-high weeds and thick brush covered what had probably once been cleared fields, but time and neglect had returned it to its natural state.

“Where are we?” Sable asked.

Morse answered, “I told you before, Paradise. Might not look like it now, but once it’s cleared and cotton is planted, it should live up to its name.”

He pulled the wagon up to the side of the house and set the brake. The side door opened and Sally Ann Fontaine stepped out. “What took you—” Her eyes met Sable’s and widened. “What’s she doing here?”

“She’s going to be living with us, Sal. Say hello.”

“You take her back to wherever you found her, and those brats as well. She’s been nothing but trouble since the day she was born!”

“Can’t do it, Sal. We need slaves to clear the land. These’ll be the first four.”

Sally Ann’s face was twisted with anger. “I will not have this murderess in my home.”

“You got no choice,” he declared.

Hopping down from the wagon, he came around and unlatched the back of the wagon, then unlocked the irons shackling Sable and the others together and gestured for them to get out. “Let’s go. Sal, I hope you got some supper on. I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

Sally Ann’s eyes continued to spit fire. “You take them back this minute, Henry Morse!”

Morse sighed and took her aside. “Sally Ann, we need help clearing this land.”

“With all the slaves in this state, you can’t find anyone else?”

“Sally Ann, haven’t you always wanted to make her pay for Carson’s death?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here’s your opportunity. You’ll have free rein to treat her however you want. Nobody knows where she is so she’ll be your slave for life.”

“We’re free!” Cullen declared angrily.

Morse cuffed him. “Never say that around me again, boy. God put you on this earth to be the servants of men like me, and you’d better remember it.”

Sable moved quickly to Cullen’s side. Seeing the blood trickling from his split lip, she snapped, “You and the rest of those masked cowards don’t know the first thing about God.”

Morse ignored her and turned to Hazel, who glared back at him. “How old are you, gal?” When she didn’t answer he said sharply, “I asked you a question. How old are you?”

“Twelve,” she told him sullenly.

“Better watch that tone, girl. Are you bleeding yet?”

Hazel didn’t answer.

“Why on earth would you care about that?” Sally Ann demanded.

“I need to know if she’s old enough to breed.”

Before Sable could voice her outrage, Sally Ann snapped, “Henry, she’s a child, for heaven’s sake. If you need to rut, use that one,” she said, indicating Sable.

Sable’s jaw tightened.

Sally Ann’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Sable more closely. “When’s your baby due?”

“She’s carrying?” Morse exclaimed.

“If you’d been using your eyes instead of what’s between your legs, you’d’ve noticed.”

Sable and the children were still in their nightclothes. Sable’s growing stomach was easy to discern beneath the light flannel gown.

Morse stepped closer to her. “Well, well, well. Guess I’ll have to wait until you whelp before I can breed you. No matter. I can wait.”

He turned back to Hazel, and the smile on his face chilled Sable down to her toes. “Touch my daughter and I will send you to hell,” she warned.

“He won’t, or he’ll answer to me,” Sally Ann promised. She swept toward the door, saying over her shoulder, “I won’t have them in the house, Henry. Bed them down in the quarters, then come eat.”

Sable looked down the row of dilapidated cabins that had once housed slaves and was reminded of another place, another time. For the sake of the children, she did not give voice to her fear that they might, indeed, be forced to live out their lives under Morse’s control. Instead, she prayed to everyone in heaven who’d ever loved her to grant her the will to survive until she could take her children home.

She settled upon the least damaged cabin. It had a partially intact roof and walls that were more or less standing upright. There was no bedding, of course, or any candles. Sighing, she turned to her son and daughters. “This will be home for a while, but only for a while. We’ll get back home, I promise.”

Blythe peered around the dark place. “Sable, I’m scared.”

Sable pulled them all into her arms. “We’re going to cry just this once, okay?”

The girls nodded, tears already streaming down their brown cheeks. Through her own tears she saw Cullen standing in a corner, his face set like stone.

“Cullen?”

He didn’t answer, so Sable held the girls and prayed.

Since it was almost full dark by now, Sable tried to figure out how and where they could sleep. They’d had nothing to eat since the stale bread and water Morse had
tossed them for breakfast, and she was certain the children were starving.

Sally Ann appeared in the cabin’s doorway with blankets in her arms and a pot that bore the scent of collards in her hand. She dropped the blankets to the ground, set the pot beside it, and left without saying a word.

The next morning at the crack of dawn she returned. “Get up. It’s time to start the day.”

Sable and her children roused themselves slowly.

“Sable, I need your signature on this work contract.”

“I’m not signing anything, Sally Ann.”

“Either sign or I’ll send these children away so fast your head will spin off your neck. Sign.”