Indigo Read online

  Galen whispered a soft but vivid curse. Time had run out. "I must go."

  He reached out and ran a finger down her soft cheek. "Make sure you eat enough while I'm gone."

  She nodded. "Godspeed, Galen."

  Galen walked slowly to the door. He took one last look at her sitting there, her beautiful eyes holding his own, and he forced himself to leave.

  Alone now, Hester could hear movements in the house at first, then only silence. She left her bed and ran down the stairs, hoping they were leaving by coach and not by the tunnel because she wanted one last look. She ran outside and got in position just in time to see a big black coach traveling away from the house at a furious pace, heading east. Flanking the coach were five mounted riders dressed in black. As the coach and riders faded into the night, Hester whispered, "Goodbye, Galen..." because in reality it was goodbye. She doubted she would ever see him again.

  She stood outside for a few moments longer, then, feeling the wind against her tears, she went back inside the silent house.

  Chapter 8

  As the month of October waned, and the November winds gave way to the snow and cold of December, Hester heard no more from Galen. Although the mystery surrounding the phantom traitor remained unsolved, she doubted she'd ever see him again. He was the Black Daniel after all. The abolitionist cause would be better served by his being on the Road tweaking the nose of slavery rather than here in Whittaker. At last week's meeting of the Vigilance Committee, the members decided that the exposure of the informant could very well be handled without outside assistance, and Hester was certain Galen had come to the same conclusion. As she'd stated on the night he departed, goodbye had been just that, goodbye. She'd convinced herself that never seeing him again was for the best.

  She stood looking out of her bedroom window at the snow covering the open fields like a white, velvet blanket. The passionate memories of Galen had plagued her dreams for weeks following his leaving. He'd come to her nightly, his voice whispering, "Indigo...", his caressing hands as potent as they'd been in reality.

  Mercifully, time had passed. By the fifteenth day of the new year 1859, her bearded, nocturnal lover visited her less frequently—and that, too, was for the best. An unknown side of herself had been brought to life by Galen's spell, and Hester had no desire to free that woman ever again. The real Hester had no time for mud pies and men who whispered passion in steamy, shadow-filled kitchens. Looking back on that night she was shocked by the shameless, wanton creature she'd become in Galen's arms, especially in light of the vow she'd made to Foster. As penance, she wrote to her fiance every evening before going to bed.

  Hester planned on going into town that morning to see if the still unreceived draft from her English publisher had arrived, but six inches of new snow had fallen overnight. The snow with its accompanying winds and blowing drifts negated any thoughts she might have had about leaving the house. Instead she poured herself a cup of tea and settled in to review the newspapers she'd borrowed from Bea at church last Sunday. The slavery question had turned the country into a powder keg. Congress was in turmoil, the chasm between the north and the south seemed unbreachable, and now, there were slave owners seeking to strike down the ban on importing new African slaves. The U.S. ban instituted in 1807 was being challenged because the price of slaves had risen sharply during the past decade. In some parts of the south, prices were approaching an additional seventy percent of what they'd been in previous years. Both pro and antislavery forces were aware that illicit trafficking in imported slaves had continued on a small scale despite the law, and one of the most celebrated cases occurred only last year. A southern syndicate headed by the very wealthy Charles A. L. Lamarr contracted for a cargo of five hundred Africans and brought them to Georgia aboard a fast schooner named Wanderer. The four hundred Africans who survived the middle passage were sold at a great profit. The U.S. government indicted Lamarr and some of the crew, but all charged were acquitted. Northern abolitionists were furious at the grand jury's verdict, but the South viewed the North's stance as so much hypocrisy. A southern newspaper asked, "What is the difference between a Yankee violating the fugitive slave law in the North and a southern man . . . violating the law against the African slave trade in the South?"

  The North knew the difference, which is why the renewed call to end the ban had northern abolitionists so worried. In years past, slave holders challenging the ban had done so under the banner of economics, but now, the South viewed the ban as not only a threat to their economic survival, but to their honor and way of life as well.

  They were vowing to extend their agricultural empires beyond the U.S. borders, thus placing themselves and their slaves outside the reach of American law. The idea had surfaced before back in 1848 when the South wanted Cuba for expansionism. Senator Jefferson Davis echoed the mood of his fellows when he vowed, "Cuba must be ours...in order to increase the number of slaveholding constituencies."

  The beginning of February brought the publisher's bank draft she'd been anxiously awaiting but its sum was not as large as she'd anticipated. There was enough to buy the supplies and food needed to supplement her meager stores, enabling her to stay above water for another few weeks, but nothing more. If the situation became truly serious, she knew she could apply to her neighbors for help, but they'd seen her and her aunt through last winter's lean months. Pride prevented Hester from asking for charity yet again.

  Her only recourse would be to sell some land, something she'd vowed not to even consider until she reached the last knot on the rope.

  Well, by early March, the time had come.

  William Lovejoy found a buyer for Lovejoy's Folly, and according to Lovejoy the new owner was in the market to purchase some additional land. Since Hester's land bordered the Folly on the south near the river, Lovejoy had given the man Hester's name. She was due to meet the man that day. At precisely two o' clock, Hester heard the rap at the door. Dressed in one of her better gowns, and wearing her gloves to hide her hands, she answered the summons.

  He was tall, tall as Galen and with a sparkle in his eye which only added to his handsome brown features. He was a young man and very richly dressed. His expensive black boots were so highly polished a person could see his reflection. Over his shoulder, Hester spied the fine coach waiting for him out on the road. He inclined his head politely as she faced him, then asked, "Are you Miss Wyatt?"

  Hester nodded.

  "I'm Andre Renaud. I represent the new owner of Mr. Lovejoy's house on the bluff. Mr. Lovejoy led me to believe you might be interested in selling some of your land?"

  "Yes. Please come in."

  He followed her into the small parlor and at Hester's request, took a seat, though he declined the tea she offered.

  Hester sat opposite him.

  He began, "As you've undoubtedly heard, my employer is very interested in purchasing some of the land surrounding his new home. He is willing to offer you..."

  While Hester waited, Renaud extracted a pen and paper from his small valise and wrote something on the paper. He handed the paper to her. Her eyes widened at the number written down. "Mr. Renaud, this is entirely too much."

  He stared as if confused. "Too much?"

  "Mr. Renaud, I know what my land is worth. Were I the greediest woman in the world, I would not have asked for such an outrageous sum."

  He stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.

  She said, "Surely your employer is not so wealthy he can afford to pay three times the value?"

  "Truth be told, he is, but—?" His confusion seemed to be growing because he slowly surveyed her from head to toe. "Do you not want to sell?"

  "In reality, I do not, but circumstances force me to."

  "But you won't accept my employer's offer."

  "I will accept a reasonable offer. Yes."

  Renaud observed her a moment longer then seemed to shake himself. "Well, Miss Wyatt, what about this?"

  Once again he scribbled a figure on the paper and
handed it to her.

  It was less than the original offer but still more than Hester would have dreamed of asking, however, she thought about all the good she could do with the boon. Even if she gave a good portion to the Cause, she would still have ample funds to see to her own needs for quite some time. She looked over at Mr. Renaud, who seemed to be very perplexed, and said, "I accept."

  He sighed with what sounded like relief, then politely bowed his head. "My employer will be pleased."

  They spent a few more moments signing documents, and Hester gave Renaud the name of a trusted White barrister friend in Ann Arbor who could be trusted to handle the necessary transactions on her behalf.

  Before leaving Andre Renaud said, "Miss Wyatt, I have a note here from my employer expressing his thanks."

  Hester took the note from his hand, then closed the door after his coach pulled away. The wax seal had a dragon pressed into the expensive vellum. Hester gently peeled it open and read: "My dear Indigo. Thank you for the land. Galen."

  Hester's hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the note.

  She read it again. The wording had not changed. Good lord, he did plan to return!

  Hester didn't know how to react. One side of her, the side she wished to keep buried, was overjoyed by the prospects of Galen's return. The thinking, rational side of herself was fairly miserable, because she knew her life would be altered beyond recognition when she met Galen again.

  And they would meet again; he'd purchased the Folly, and that would make them neighbors. Good Lord. What type of ruse was he spinning, she wondered. His man, Renaud, alluded to Galen's vast wealth. Could it possibly be true? Could he really be wealthy enough to afford to pay her three times her asking price for the land, and if so, where did all this wealth originate? During his stay with her, she'd had the feeling there was much more to him than he let on—the fact that he spoke French set him far above any one of her circle, but she'd no idea what to believe now. Was the show of wealth simply that, a show? Maybe the bank draft his man had just handed her was really worthless, maybe it was nothing more than part of his plan to catch the traitor. Hester didn't know what to believe. She spent the rest of the day mulling over the possibilities, then decided that speculating was useless. She'd have her answers when Galen returned and not until then.

  That night, Hester lay sleeping in her bed unaware that Galen sat in a chair in the shadows watching her sleep. He'd entered her room nearly an hour ago, by way of the secret panel in the wall, and during that hour he'd been waging an inner battle to stay seated. He wanted to awaken her to see if her kisses were really as lush as he remembered, but knew he had no right to be there at all. Yet he stayed, daring not to disturb her, but unable to leave. He asked himself again why he'd come here tonight. Why would he willingly waste valuable time and money trying to track a traitor in a place like Whittaker when there were far more important issues in need of his attention in other parts of the country? He knew the answer—Hester. He began missing her the moment the coach pulled away that October night. He spent the months after leaving recuperating further at a leased house on the Detroit River, and had been unable to get her out of his mind. The whys were boggling. That Hester was beautiful was undeniable, but he had his pick of beautiful women wherever and whenever he chose, so the desire for her had to be rooted in something far less obvious.

  His grandmere, the venerable Vada Rousseau, would be appalled to know he was being haunted by a young woman who lacked the family and wealth she prized so highly; not that Galen cared about Vada or her snobbish ways. The women Vada preferred he spend time with were usually vapid, perfumed bits of fluff, or calculating predators masquerading as virgins. Hester fit neither category and maybe that was part of her appeal; she was nothing at all like the jaded women who traveled in his social circles. He found her to be dedicated, fervent, and educated; she read, had opinions, and was not afraid to voice them.

  He was pleased she'd accepted his offer for her land, and he'd laughed at the confusion on Andre's face as he'd related the encounter. It didn't surprise Galen that she'd turned down the initial offer because she'd deemed it too high. Galen had expected her to be contrary, which is why he sent Andre in his stead. Had she known Galen to be the "employer" behind the sale, her pride might have prevented her from selling altogether, even though she dearly needed the money according to Andre's discreet enquiries around the community on Galen's behalf. Her dire straits were the reason Galen offered for the land in the first place. He didn't really need to acquire the surrounding land, but he couldn't stomach the idea of her not having enough to eat. Upon Andre's return to the Folly, Andre assured Galen that Hester appeared well, but Galen wanted to see for himself.

  Her soft breathing barely ruffled the silence in the room. He lingered over the fantasy of kissing her into wakefulness and running his hands over her. He imagined brushing his lips over the sleep-dampened throat, and then the valley between her breasts. He could feel himself becoming aroused and the need to awaken her roared through him, but he buried the desire lest he act upon it, then stood.

  He moved as silently as a shadow and approached the bed. He stood there a moment looking down upon her sleeping so unaware, and he wondered where this would all lead. He had no answers. He reached into the inside pocket of his black, velvet-collared Chesterfield coat and withdrew a red rose. He brought it to his lips, then gently placed it beside her on the pillow. He gave her one last look, then departed as silently as he'd come.

  Hester awakened in the morning filled with the vague sense of having dreamt of Galen. Shaking off the lingering sensation, she got up and quickly dressed in the chill of the room. After taking quick care of her personal needs, she came back to right the sheets and quilts on the bed. When she pulled back the sheets, she went still as she spotted a small rosebud. "Where in heaven did this come from?" she asked quietly in the silence. The color of the bud was such a deep dark red it almost appeared black. She'd never seen one quite this shade before. She brought the soft petals to her nose and savored the faint fragrance. Her fingers inadvertently brushed against something on the outside of the rose. She peered at it and for the first time saw the small circle of wax on the base of the bud. It was a seal, and pressed into it was Galen's signature dragon. Her eyes closed from the implications and she swayed on unsteady legs a moment. He had been in her room while she slept. Did this mean he was still in the house? Hester hastily left her room and hurried down the hall. She found the attic room empty, and the rest of the house too. She tried to convince herself that she was not disappointed at not finding him, but in reality knew it was a lie. Hester looked at the small rose once again. Since Galen had been in her bedroom last night, why hadn't he awakened her? And why did he leave the rose? Her feelings were in a jumble over the whole episode, because she too had no idea where this would lead.

  At church the next Sunday, everyone was all abuzz over the new owner of Lovejoy's Folly. No one had seen him yet, but it didn't keep folks from speculating. Word had it that he was a rich French-Canadian and that he'd made his fortune in shipping. Hester told no one that the rich French-Canadian also went by the name of the Black Daniel or that he left roses on her bed.

  One evening during the last week of March, Hester answered a knock and was surprised to see Andre Renaud on her porch.

  "Good evening, Miss Wyatt, may I come in?"

  Hester could see a wagon filled with crates waiting out by the road and a man atop the wagon waiting for Renaud. She invited Andre in and he took a seat. "My employer wonders if you will accept a small gift?"

  "What type of gift?"

  "I'm not certain what it is."

  Hester wondered what Galen was up to now. "Tell your employer further gifts are unnecessary."

  In response to her words, Andre suddenly appeared quite uncomfortable. "He won't be pleased if I return with the items."

  "Is your employer such an ogre?" she asked with a small smile on her face.

  Andre stammer
ed, "Well, no. It's just that—"

  "What, Mr. Renaud?"

  Renaud searched her eyes for a moment as if trying to evaluate how to respond. "You see he's concerned that you haven't drawn on but a small portion of the funds from the land sale."

  "Ah. Your employer has been poking around in my affairs, Mr. Renaud."

  Andre Renaud seemed damned uncomfortable under Hester's amused scrutiny. She finally took pity upon him and said, "Don't worry, Mr. Renaud, an answer is not necessary. Tell your employer I've only drawn out a small portion because I've no idea if the funds are legitimate."

  "Didn't the draft clear?"

  "Oh, yes it did, but I wonder if I sold my land to a legitimate buyer or to someone who expects to reclaim the funds once he's accomplished his goal and moves on."

  Andre Renaud stared a moment. "He would never seek to reclaim an investment, Miss Wyatt. Never."

  In spite of Renaud's staunch denial Hester chose to reserve final judgment on the funds until she could speak with Galen.

  "So, what gifts are you bearing, Mr. Renaud?"

  "As I stated, I've no idea."

  "Then bring it in. Lord help us if your employer doesn't get his way."

  The "it" turned out to be all the crates Hester had seen on the wagon outside. When Andre and the other man finished stacking them in her parlor, she had hardly any room to turn around. "What is all this, Mr. Renaud?"

  "Well, some of it is corded wood as you can see. That crate over there holds hams from—"

  Hester held up a hand to silence him. "Let me rephrase myself. Why did he send all this?"

  "Well, he's concerned that—"

  She interrupted, "He's concerned that I'm going hungry."

  Renaud hesitated.

  Hester sighed. "Tell him I appreciate his concern but I do not need all of this. If he doesn't want to take the bulk of it back, I'll donate it to the church first thing tomorrow. Is he always this extravagant, Mr. Renaud?"

  Andre nodded his head yes. "Especially with women—" He cut his comment short with a look of panic in his eyes.