Indigo Read online

  The first part of the journey proceeded fine, albeit slowly. The mule kept balking and Hester kept threatening to turn the animal into hide. She got the animal to move for almost a mile, but a few steps later the mule stopped once more, this time apparently for good.

  Nothing Hester or Foster tried could get the animal to move. While Jenine looked on, they finally stepped down into the mud and attempted to pull the mule forward by the reins, but the mule simply dug in its heels. Hester even tempted it with an apple from her coat, a ploy which always worked in the past, but the mule simply turned up its nose. Hester didn't know what else to do outside of taking a crop to its stubborn back, however she'd never struck an animal in her life, and she would not begin now. "I give up, Foster," Hester confessed. She didn't even want to think about how muddy her clothes had become as a result of this frustrating situation. Both she and Foster resembled mud pies.

  Foster began to walk back the way they'd come.

  "Where are you going?" Jenine called.

  "We passed a farm house a ways back, maybe they have an animal we can rent. I'll return as soon as I can."

  Hester called, "Tell them they can have this mule for free in exchange."

  Foster laughed and gave her a wave goodbye.

  This was not a very good homecoming, she thought with irritation as she watched him round the bend. She cast a malevolent eye at the four-legged beast responsible, but then she thought that if she were a mule, she probably wouldn't want to pull a wagon in this muck either. Luckily it was a beautiful day; the sunshine felt good on her face, even though it was still cold enough for a winter bonnet and mittens.

  She was dressed warmly. Fashion would probably frown on the old flannel long drawers she always wore beneath her woolen skirts, but fashion obviously never spent winter in Michigan, she thought dryly. On the other hand, the fashionably dressed Jenine appeared to be freezing in her lightweight coat and thin-soled shoes.

  Hester took two quilts from beneath the seat. She handed one to the very grateful Jenine, then wrapped the other around her own legs and mud-soaked boots. Frostbite continued to be a real danger this time of year. She hoped Foster would find help quickly because in spite of her warm clothing, the longer she sat, the colder she would become.

  About thirty minutes later, Hester could hear the rumble of an oncoming coach on the road behind her. She turned and saw a big black coach pulled by a team of powerful horses come barreling around the bend. The mud thrown up by the pounding hooves and the wheels cascaded high in every direction. As the coach drew closer, she could see its lines and structure more clearly. Hester realized she'd seen the coach before, and it caused her heart to pound. Recognition hit her like a lightning bolt. The coach bearing down on her was the same coach that had spirited Galen away.

  The driver drew the coach to a halt. Hester tried to compose herself but a voice inside herself wailed that now was not the time for this meeting, not here, not this way. The day had already been disconcerting enough. She consoled herself with the fact that maybe she was wrong, and even if the coach did belong to Galen there was no guarantee he would be inside.

  The driver's head and face were hidden beneath a burnoose he'd wrapped around himself to ward off the spraying mud. He removed it, revealing the darkly handsome and bearded face of Raymond LeVeq. He greeted her with a brilliant smile. "Good afternoon, mademoiselles. We hear you are in need of assistance."

  Hester swayed and wondered if the day could become any worse.

  Before Hester could think of something to say to LeVeq, the door of the coach swung open and out stepped Foster. On his heels, Galen made his slow, smooth exit. Hester watched him straighten his tall, lean body up to his full height and found herself nearly blinded by his handsomeness. He bore no resemblance to the beaten, one-eyed man she'd first met. Instead she saw the face of the Galen who invited women in to share his bath, the Galen who spent extravagant amounts of money, and the Galen who left rosebuds in her bed. He was dressed richly and he wore the look of understated wealth well, almost as if he had been born to it. Hester took a deep steadying breath as he and Foster slogged over to where she and Jenine sat atop the wagon. She hazarded a quick look back up at the driver. He smiled at her, winked, then placed his finger across his lips in the age-old gesture conveying silence. His prompting made her remember her vow to pretend as if she and Galen had never met. She just hoped she could hold onto herself long enough to support the charade. She also hoped Galen knew what he was doing.

  A smiling Foster said, "Ladies, we are in luck, this gentleman has kindly offered to share his coach with us."

  "We are in your debt, sir," Hester offered softly, bowing her head politely so she could momentarily escape the power in Galen's vibrant black eyes.

  The shivering Jenine added, "We certainly are. Fostie, you never said Michigan was so cold."

  He replied, "The weather will warm soon, I promise."

  Foster then made the introductions. "This is Galen Vachon. Vachon, my wife, Jenine, and my neighbor, Hester Wyatt."

  Galen paused a moment and met Hester's eyes, but she kept them void of all emotion.

  Galen bowed first over Jenine's hand, then took Hester's mitten-covered hand in his. His eyes burned her as he brought it to his lips. "Enchante, mademoiselle, I am privileged to be at your service."

  He released his hold without incident, unless one counted the faint pressure of the gentle squeeze he gave her fingers in parting. She forced her attention back to Foster.

  "Mr. Vachon is going to be residing in Whittaker of all places."

  "Where in Whittaker?" Hester asked. She found it hard not to stare at Galen's new face. The bruises and swelling had disappeared. He had skin the color of pale butter. The moustache above his lips added an air of danger to his uncommon handsomeness. He'd not worn a moustache during his stay with her, but the effects of it here today, coupled with his aristocratic bearing, seemed to rattle her senses even more.

  His rich voice brought her back to the present as he replied, "I've purchased Lovejoy's Folly as I believe it was once named."

  Hester met his deep gaze fully. "Then you must be Mr. Renaud's employer, and the purchaser of my land."

  A smiling Galen inclined his head in acknowledgment. "So, you are that Hester Wyatt. Thank you for being so open to my proposal."

  "It was very generous."

  Foster interrupted to ask, "Hester sold you some of her land?"

  "Yes," Hester said.

  Foster's face turned serious. "The situation must have been dire for you to sell, Hester. Why didn't you write me?"

  "I didn't want to worry you, and besides, thanks to Mr. Vachon, the crisis is now remedied."

  Foster observed Galen for a moment as if seeking some answer.

  Galen slowly raised an imperial eyebrow at the silent questions on Foster's face before saying, "Mr. Quint, your wife appears to be freezing, why don't we adjourn to the warmth of my coach?"

  Foster blustered, "I'm sorry. You're quite correct. Jenine, love, are you ready?"

  Foster offered her a hand down from the wagon. She accepted his help, and he escorted her over to the waiting coach. Exasperated, Hester watched him go. It was not as if she really needed help stepping down, but politeness dictated he at least offer her his hand, too.

  Galen offered instead. "Your beautiful eyes are flashing like an August thunderstorm. Did you know your Frederick had taken a wife?"

  Hester warned him. "If you so much as smile I will sock you."

  "I'd rather have a kiss."

  She shook her head at his outrageous request. "Just help me down, incorrigible Frenchman."

  He did and she tried not to wince as the cold mud seeped into her brogans.

  He asked, "Are you still wearing those god-awful shoes?"

  She couldn't suppress her humor. "Stop being blasphemous, and tell me what I should do about the mule. I can't just leave her here."

  Galen grinned. It felt so good to have her near again. "F
rederick and I made arrangements with a farmer at a house back up the road. He promised to hold the animal and the wagon until I send a man for it tomorrow."

  LeVeq had already draped tarps over a portion of the bench like seats inside the coach to protect the fine velvet covering from the mud clinging to the new passengers. While he transferred the trunks from the wagon to the boot of the coach, Hester took a seat across from Foster and Jenine, who were whispering and nestling like lovebirds. Hester tried to ignore them, preferring to concentrate instead upon the interior's gleaming wooden panels carved with dragons. Galen entered shortly thereafter, and settled onto the undraped portion of the seat beside her.

  Hester could not get over his elegant attire. The voluminous great coat appeared expensive and well made. Beneath it she glimpsed a gray silk waistcoat and a cravat the color of snow. On the seat between them lay an elegant black walking stick. He used the golden crown to tap the roof, and the coach pulled away.

  "I apologize for the tarp, but I recently had the interior redone."

  For the first time, Hester noted that the seats were the color of indigo. Her startled eyes flew to Galen's. He met her gaze with a slight smile. "I had a difficult time finding the exact shade I had in mind. What do you think of my choice, Miss Wyatt? I'd appreciate your opinion as a woman."

  Hester surveyed the plush indigo fabric and replied, "I think you chose well, Mr. Vachon."

  Hester sensed herself being drawn into Galen's spell. She was glad to hear Foster ask, "Why did you decide to settle in Whittaker, Vachon? Surely a man of your class could afford to live elsewhere."

  "True, but I've recently relocated some of my business to Detroit. It would be simpler to live there but I enjoy the solitude Whittaker offers. How long have you lived in Whittaker, Mr. Quint?"

  "Just a few years. I'm Canadian by birth."

  "How long have you and Mrs. Quint been married?"

  Jenine replied shyly, "Less than two weeks."

  Galen said, "Ah, newlyweds."

  Foster gazed into Jenine's long-lashed eyes. "Yes, Jenine and I met on a steamer crossing the Atlantic nearly a month ago."

  She took up the tale. "The purser wouldn't let anyone of color have a cabin, so most of us slept in the hold. It was awful and damp and filled with large rats. Fostie offered to sit with me when he saw how afraid I was. He was so gallant, I couldn't help falling in love with him."

  "She is the best thing to ever come into my life. Are you married, Mr. Vachon?"

  Galen shook his head. "No, and frankly, I never had a desire to be, but after viewing how happy you two seem, I may be inspired to change my mind."

  While Foster and Jenine shared a long, loving look, Hester glanced Galen's way and gave him a tiny roll of her eyes. He raised a covert eyebrow in response. She hid her grin by looking out of the small portal at the passing landscape.

  The three made small talk to pass the time. Hester was still amazed by Foster and his bride Jenine. She wanted Foster to be happy, but she harbored reservations over his choice. How could he find happiness with a woman who professed no interest in the things that interested her husband? Hester couldn't believe her ears when Jenine sunnily confessed she had never attended a lecture of any kind, nor had she a desire to do so. Hester and Foster had attended many lectures and conventions over the past few years and the experiences were always uplifting. But in response to Jenine's declaration, he'd done nothing but smile indulgently, as if her stance hadn't mattered.

  She sat that conundrum aside for a moment to concentrate on a riddle of another sort. Galen. So far, he had treated her with the distance one would afford a stranger, but even so she still found it difficult to relax. Every time their eyes met the memories resurfaced. How could she look at him and not remember the night in her kitchen? His kisses had been magical; they left her breathless. Even now, as she thought of the way he'd opened her gown then feasted so lustily, her nipples tightened in heady anticipation. She willed herself to direct her thoughts elsewhere.

  Galen asked Foster, "Where were you returning from when you and your wife made your fateful meeting?"

  "I was returning home from Oxford. I am pleased to report I am now a certified graduate."

  Jenine clapped heartily.

  Hester joined in. She could not help but be proud of his accomplishment. He'd worked hard. The children of the area would benefit greatly from having such a learned teacher.

  Galen appeared properly impressed. "What was your discipline?"

  "Philosophy," Foster replied importantly. "The race needs more men like myself wouldn't you agree? Men able to debate the opposition on an equal plane. Men able to strike back with the words of Plato and Aristotle."

  Galen gave Foster a slow, assessing perusal. "The race has enough philosophers, Mr. Quint. What we need are more men with guns."

  Foster stared. "Surely you are making sport of me."

  "Unfortunately, I am not. Philosophers can debate until the Second Coming but only bloodshed will resolve the issue once and for all."

  "I agree that is a possibility but—"

  Jenine tugged on his arm. "You promised no politics. Remember?"

  Foster smiled. "I'm sorry love. Mr. Vachon, maybe you and I will have an opportunity to discuss this at length in the near future."

  Galen inclined his head. "I'd be pleased."

  Jenine asked, "Where are you from originally, Mr. Vachon?"

  "Louisiana."

  "Ah," she said. "I knew a man from Louisiana. Creole, just like you. He used to get in fights all the time."

  Hester asked, "Why?"

  "Folks kept telling him he wasn't Black. You ever have that problem, Mr. Vachon?"

  "Occasionally, and I find it is always a pleasure to meet someone from the Race Inclusion Board. After all, where would the race be without them telling us who may be in the race and who may not?"

  Everyone chuckled.

  Jenine asked, "So you consider yourself a member of the race?"

  It was an odd question, Hester thought. Galen's eyes met Hester's for a fleeting second before he turned his attention back to Jenine.

  "Yes, Mrs. Quint. I consider myself a member of the race, why would I not?"

  She shrugged. "Because some mulattoes choose not to. They use their skin and their well-connected families to escape the hardships we darker souls must endure."

  Hester looked over at Foster with surprise.

  He in turn stared at Jenine.

  "Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

  She raised her eyes to Galen's and must have seen the coolness there because she gasped quickly, "Oh, Mr. Vachon, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It was just an observation. I meant nothing by it."

  Galen offered just the trace of a smile, then inclined his head, "Apology accepted."

  The tension in the coach eased somewhat after that, and the small talk continued. Hester thought about Jenine's observation. There were those who believed men and women with mixed blood could not be trusted on matters concerning the race because they were perceived as having divided loyalties. On the other side there were mulattoes who would never let Hester enter their circle because of the darkness of her skin. She thought the prejudices of both sides ridiculous. The fight against slavery consisted of soldiers representing the full spectrum of the race, just because one had a light-toned skin, did not mean that person could vote, or testify in a court of law, or avail themselves of any of the other rights denied their darker brethren.

  Hester had never condoned the attitudes of those who took it upon themselves to declare one segment of the race superior to another. It was a divisive and destructive practice, especially in light of all they had to face.

  Galen tried his best to appear interested as Foster droned on about the peers he'd been introduced to during his stay in England. He remembered Hester mentioning how Foster tended towards pompousness and she'd been absolutely correct. Galen was certain the man had many positive attributes, but he hadn't been giving
a good first impression; the man was a bore, a blowhard reminiscent of a German burgher Galen once knew. Out of respect for Hester, Galen made all the appropriate responses, but even as Foster rambled on, Galen preferred to silently bask in the joy of having Hester seated at his side.

  The beauty of Hester's dark face made one overlook the awful bonnet and the well-worn cape with its frayed edges. Instead he found his eyes lingering over the curves of her lushly perfect mouth. He could have been knocked over by a feather when he first saw her sitting atop the wagon back there. He'd no idea his very own Indigo would be one of the stranded women Quint wanted him to assist. He could've kissed the burgher for bringing about this meeting, but now, Galen just wanted him strangled and tossed from the coach. On second thought, Galen decided his presence may indeed be a blessing. Were Foster and his lovely bride not present, Galen would, without a doubt, be seeking ways to cajole sweet kisses from Hester's lips. He wanted to undo the buttons of her shirt and trace the heated scents of vanilla he knew awaited him at the base of her throat and in the valley between her breasts. He could feel himself hardening to the thoughts and so forced himself to concentrate on whatever Foster was saying now.

  Hester, too, tried to concentrate on Foster's words but could not because of Galen's disturbing presence. She'd avoided looking directly at him for most of the journey because she'd found out early on that she did not have the ability to remain unaffected by Galen's eyes telling her everything he could not say.

  They made it back to Whittaker later that afternoon. LeVeq brought the coach to a stop at Hester's house first. Jenine and Foster were going on to the boarding house where Foster lived. As she prepared to depart, Foster said, "Hester, why don't you come and have dinner with Jenine and me, say in a few days?"

  Hester opened her mouth to politely decline.

  Galen interrupted smoothly, "I've a better idea, why don't the three of you join me for dinner? It will be my way of showing my appreciation for such a pleasant afternoon."

  "Thank you, Mr. Vachon. I'm going to wear my best dress," Jenine said happily.