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  She sat a moment and tried to figure out what she should do. In the end she drove up into the yard and set the brake. She hadn't ventured out on such a cold night just to turn tail and run all because of a few "what ifs."

  She tied the reins to the hitching post then confronted her next dilemma: which door to use, front or back? She didn't want anyone to know about her nocturnal visit, so she chose the back door.

  Once there, Hester gathered her courage and knocked.

  No response.

  She knocked again, this time a bit harder. In April the night air was cold. She'd dressed warmly as always, but had begun to notice the air's sharp bite penetrating her clothing. She knocked once more. Nothing. Telling herself she had no intentions of standing out there all night, she turned to head back to her wagon. The sound of the door opening made her halt. Light streamed out into the night, framing a dark-skinned woman of about fifty years. She wore the black dress and white apron of a servant. Her expression was curious as she took in Hester standing on the bottom step. Her voice was musical and sounded foreign as she asked, "May I help you?"

  Hester fought down her nervousness. "Um—yes—I wish to see Mr. Vachon."

  The woman surveyed Hester intently. "Is he expecting you?"

  Hester gave a tiny nod. "I believe so."

  The servant assessed Hester a moment longer, taking in the worn bonnet and the cloak that had seen better days, then said, "Well, Mr. Vachon is engaged at the moment and I've no idea when he'll be done. But you may wait."

  Hester could just about imagine what the woman thought of her, so she replied, "No, I'll return another time. Thank you."

  "Just a moment," the woman called gently.

  Hester stopped and looked back.

  "What is your name?"

  "Hester Wyatt."

  The woman's face registered surprise. "Hester Wyatt?" The woman smiled and opened the door wide, "Come in Hester Wyatt. My name is Maximilia, but call me Maxi. I've been very anxious to meet you."

  The remark so surprised Hester that a myriad of questions in her head all shouted to be asked at once, but rather than stand out in the cold trying to make sense of it she let herself be ushered inside by the smiling Maxi.

  The back door led into a large, well-equipped kitchen filled with the scents of brewing coffee and baking bread.

  "You know of me?" a puzzled Hester asked as she followed the servant through the kitchen and down a long breezeway that led to the main portion of the house.

  "Everyone knows of 'la petite Indigo.' You're all Galeno has talked about for months."

  Hester stopped in mid step. The revelation was unnerving. "Months?" she croaked.

  Maxi nodded yes, then laughed softly. "You, my chiquita, have done what no other woman in this whole, wide world has accomplished, though scores have tried."

  "And that is?"

  "Bring the dragon to his knees." Then she laughed again and resumed their journey, proclaiming loudly, "I love it!"

  Maxi ushered Hester into a beautifully furnished sitting room, then left Hester seated while she went to fetch Galen. Hester stared around at the delicate statuary, the fine prints gracing the walls, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling sparkling like winter ice. Being in such elegant surroundings reminded her of the one time she'd been summoned up to the big house in Carolina. Of course being a slave, she hadn't been allowed to sit while she waited for the mistress to appear and put her to work, but Hester remembered standing stock still in the middle of the room, afraid to move lest she accidently bump something and break it. She felt the same way now. She was glad when Maxi returned.

  "He will be with you in just a moment. Let me take your cloak and your bonnet. Would you care for some tea?"

  Hester shook her head as she handed over the garments and the mittens she'd worn over the black crocheted gloves. "I don't want to make more work for you, I simply wish to speak with Mr. Vachon and return home."

  "It is no trouble, chiquita. It's cold outside, I'll bring tea and honey."

  Maxi departed and a short while later, Galen walked into the room.

  "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, petite."

  "No apology needed. I haven't been waiting long."

  She seemed unable to move and so did he.

  He broke the thick silence. "There are some friends I'd like you to meet."

  She didn't really want tonight's visit to be the subject of tomorrow's gossip. "Galen, I'm not certain that's a sound idea."

  "They will guard your secrets like the Sphinx. I promise." He then held out his hand. "Please?"

  She knew without having known him very long that he did not say please often, if at all. She asked, "Can we talk afterwards?"

  "We'll do whatever you desire afterwards."

  She ignored his "golden spell and those smiling eyes, saying, "Then yes, I'll meet your friends."

  His "friends" turned out to be some of the most important and wanted men on the Road. She found herself introduced to William Lambert and George De Baptiste, two highly placed individuals in the Michigan Underground, and founding members of the Order of the African-American Mysteries. She'd seen both men from afar at rallies and lectures but had never been formally introduced. She found their presence in Galen's smoky study to be absolutely amazing.

  She looked up at Galen, hoping her astonishment did not show too much but he simply smiled and continued introducing her around. The names of some of the others belonged to men known only to her through Mr. Garrison's Liberator and the competing Frederick Douglass's Weekly, men like Alan Pinkerton from Chicago, and the Virginian, John Fairfield, whose reputation for slave stealing was surpassed only by Galen's. Each of the eight men in Galen's low-lit study held a unique prominence in abolitionist circles and all were worth their weight in bounty gold for "crimes against the South." Were a slave catcher like Shoe to stumble upon the gathering he'd be rich overnight.

  When the introductions were concluded, another man stepped out of the shadows and made his presence known to Hester for the first time. He came forward, but did not offer his identity. He was an older man, tall, thin. His blue eyes seemed to have a fire burning in them as they met Hester's. Recognition flared through her with such force she felt her knees weaken.

  He looked down at her and said, "I'm sorry about the passing of your aunt. Katherine Wyatt was a good Christian woman. The Cause lost a valiant soldier; she will be missed."

  Hester was so nearly overcome by the sincerity in the man's eyes, she could only whisper, "Thank you. I miss her also."

  Galen said softly. "Come petite, let's let them finish their business."

  Afterwards, Galen led her back to the sitting room and Hester immediately took a seat on one of the embroidered back chairs. Her hands were still shaking. She asked, "The man with the blue eyes, who was he?"

  "John Brown."

  The reply rendered her speechless for a second. "Not the John Brown—of Osawatomie?"

  "Yes, one and the same."

  "Galen, he's the speculator who stole me out of Carolina."

  "Then I am forever in his debt..."

  The softness of his words slid over her senses. She had to force herself to remain focused. "Why is he here?" Then, remembering her manners, said, "I apologize, that's really none of my business."

  "He's traveling around garnering support for war."

  Hester's face showed her surprise. "War? When?"

  "Later this year. He wants to attack a government arsenal in Virginia and arm the slaves in hopes of plunging the nation into war."

  "Can he succeed?"

  Galen shrugged. "Who really knows. I'm not convinced, neither are Lambert, De Baptiste, or Douglass for that matter. The Old Man says he has recruits, but no one is certain of their true numbers."

  Hester thought about the startling revelation. Could John Brown really bring down the house of slavery? Brown's raid into Michigan last December to liberate eleven slaves had been hailed as one of the most daring events in ant
islavery history. Brown and his small regiment took the fugitives on a 2,500-mile dash across the country to Canada in spite of the dogged pursuit by state and federal authorities. Slave catchers had also joined the chase, motivated by the three-thousand-dollar reward offered for Brown's arrest by Michigan Governor Stewart. The journey spanned three grueling weeks, but with the help of Quaker Road agents in Iowa, Alan Pinkerton's railroad friends in Chicago, and the men of the Detroit Order, the fugitives safely reached Queen Victoria's Canada.

  "Will you help him?" Hester asked.

  "As much as I am able," Galen replied.

  "Why did you introduce me to them? Their being here is not the type of information one should bandy about."

  "I am aware of that, but I wanted you to meet them so they would know you. Should anything ever happen to me and you find yourself in danger, feel free to call upon them."

  "Galen, I don't need looking after."

  "We all need looking after at some point in our lives."

  "But they know nothing of me. Why should they take me under their protection?"

  "Because I've asked them to, as a favor to me."

  "They owe you that much?"

  "We all owe each other that much."

  Hester scanned his eyes and saw the seriousness reflected there. She realized he'd meant every word.

  "Promise me you will seek them out should the need arise."

  He was so compelling, she had no other choice but to agree.

  She asked, "Will your friends be spending the night? I—don't wish to keep you from them."

  He shook his head no. "In fact, more than likely they have all disappeared back into the night even as we speak, so you have me entirely to yourself for as long as you desire."

  Maxi interrupted them momentarily to bring in the tea and Hester sighed with relief. At home she'd been fairly certain of her abilities to handle Galen, but with him sitting across the room viewing her so boldly, she could hardly keep her breathing even. Her nerves rattled even more under his lazy scrutiny, and to hide her nervousness she picked up the pot and poured. "Would you like some?"

  He unfolded his lean frame from the chair and crossed the room to where she stood. She handed him a delicately made cup and matching saucer. He took it from her hand, but set the offering on a nearby table. Then, to her surprise, he relieved her of her own cup. He set it next to his own. "Give me your hand," he commanded softly.

  Hester had no idea what he was about and so she hesitated. Undaunted, he gently raised her hand, then holding her gaze captive, very slowly removed the glove. He nodded to her other hand. She held it out and he repeated the move, saying softly, "You don't need the gloves when we're alone."

  Hester trembled under the force of his gaze and had a hard time focusing her thoughts on anything else.

  He placed her gloves in the inner pocket of his black velvet dinner coat. He politely handed her her cup and Hester took her seat.

  To focus on something besides succumbing to the desire arcing thickly through the room, Hester asked, "Why did you tell me about John Brown's plans? I would think you'd want only those directly involved to know."

  "Because talking with you is an easy and relaxing way to spend an evening. And I wanted you to be aware of the prevailing winds. Now, did you come here tonight to give me the kiss I asked for yesterday?"

  She laughed. "No, I came to talk about Foster's school."

  "How about afterwards?"

  She smiled at him over her cup. "We'll see."

  "Ah, hope. It can keep a man alive."

  "The school, Galen."

  So for the next hour they discussed the educational needs of the area's children. Hester also brought up the subject of Foster's salary. Galen seemed amenable to it all.

  She asked, "Are you certain this is within your means? Funding the school won't be a strain?"

  "Not at all."

  "Foster will be pleased."

  "I find your acceptance of Frederick's marriage quite admirable."

  "What choice have I really? He says he is happy. He and I weren't in love, so—" She shrugged as if no further explanation was needed.

  "But it has to be uncomfortable for you. Shall I kill him for you?"

  Her eyes widened. "No!"

  He grinned. "What did you think of the gowns I sent you?"

  "I think they should be returned to you."

  "Why?"

  "Because they are made for—"

  "A mistress? A lover?"

  "Both, and I am neither."

  "You may take a lover some day, one never knows."

  She ignored his velvet voice. "Then he will have to be content with the gowns I already own."

  "Indigo, I've seen the gowns you own, they inspire warmth, not the passion a lover expects."

  "And you are an expert on this also?"

  "In some corners, yes."

  Hester shook her head. "Galen, have you ever had a woman tell you no?"

  "Fortunately, or unfortunately, no."

  "Never?"

  "Never."

  "No wonder you play this game so well."

  "This isn't a game."

  "Of course it is. The players are an ex-slave woman and a man who may or may not be the wealthy Galen Vachon."

  She swung her eyes to him. He neither refuted nor gave credence to her remark, so she continued. "To pass the time on his rustic adventure, this man who may or may not be Galen Vachon dallies with the ex-slave woman. He seems to believe that because she was foolish and naive enough to fall prey to his expert kisses, she is his for the taking. Does this sound familiar?"

  "Vaguely," he replied distantly. "But continue."

  "He sends her gifts of gowns, money, and even oranges, of all things. She is as impressed as he hopes, but she is not sure of his intentions."

  "Did you enjoy the oranges?"

  She nodded.

  "Good. I'll send you more."

  "No, Galen. You are not to send me anything else. And no more entering my room while I'm sleeping."

  "Would you rather I awakened you? I did toy with the idea."

  "You are incorrigible."

  "So you keep reminding me."

  He set aside his cup then came over to where she sat and hunkered down before her. His eyes were serious as he spoke. "Petite, look, I understand your misgivings and if I could put a stop to all this I would, but I can't."

  Hester eyed him warily. "What do you mean, you can't?"

  He shrugged. "I can't. Ever since I left you back in October I've thought of nothing but returning. Whether you care to believe me or not, not a day went by that I didn't wonder how you were or what you were doing."

  She could not help but be moved by his impassioned confession.

  "And now that you can't bar the door with a fiance, I want us to enjoy one another."

  "But for how long, Galen? A few weeks, a few months. What happens when you become bored? Who will pick up the shards you leave behind?"

  "I've no answer, other than to say I will do my best to leave you whole."

  "But you will leave."

  "You're twisting my words."

  She looked into his eyes and said softly. "No. Maybe the women of your circle enjoy open-ended games, but I don't, because I don't know the rules."

  He straightened slowly. "You really are telling me no, aren't you?"

  He had such a surprised look on his face, Hester could only smile. "Yes, Galen, I am. No. No more gowns, oranges, or anything else."

  Hester wondered what he was thinking. "Are we agreed, Galen?"

  He ran his eyes over her ripe mouth, remembering how sweetly they'd parted under his kiss and said, "No." To watch her black-diamond eyes close with passion was well worth the price of the campaign he planned on waging to have her. "No," he replied again. "Call it the selfish desire of a wealthy man, but I refuse to give you up without a proper fight."

  She thought back on what he'd mentioned earlier. "You wouldn't really kill Foster would you?" />
  He laughed at the serious look on her face. "Only if you want me to, so don't fret." He took her hands and gently urged her to her feet. "And what I want is this..."

  Hester supposed she could have stopped what came next, but when he leaned down and softly brushed his lips across her own it was already too late. He repeated the gesture, cajoling, tempting, promising, and her eyes fluttered closed. The sharp sweetness filled her, drawing her in much the same way he slowly eased her into the warm circle of his arms and pulled her close.

  Galen could feel himself begin to shake. He touched her lips faintly, magically, whispering, "Deny this and you deny yourself..."

  He kissed her fully and Hester was unable to deny him anything.

  Chapter 11

  The sensations brought on by his splendid kisses set off flares of need. Her virgin's body bloomed and blossomed, embracing the thrill of the moment, casting aside the misgivings in favor of the pleasure he could bring.

  Galen wanted to carry her off to his private wing and make slow, sweet love to her. He wanted to bare her breasts, rising so lushly against his palms, and bring them to his lips, wanted to slide his hands over her full, ripe hips and touch her in places that would bring shock and then delight. He filled his hands with her tempting bottom then boldly brought her in fully against the rock-hard length of his desire.

  "Feel what you do to me..." he murmured thickly. "This is no game..."

  The brazen possession made Hester tremble in response. She felt swept up in a firestorm, unable to stop this though she knew she should. Instead she let him suckle her nipples through the thin worn silk of her shirtwaist, let him slide her dress over her hips with a lazy sensuality. Not a word of protest passed her lips as his hands raised her skirt then began to wantonly explore. She allowed him liberties that were plunging her into a dementia. How else could she explain her muteness as he caressed her in places that seemed to blaze under his touch, caressed her until her silence gave over to soft, hushed cries.