Tension ebbed from her shoulders as LeBeau retreated and closed the door behind him.
“‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…’” She whispered the psalm she’d memorized. There were so many of them—David and others crying out to the Lord, trusting Him when all seemed lost. She’d spent hours upon hours reading these last few days. Devon had marked Psalms and Luke and Romans. And she’d read of the grace her mother had often spoken of. Grace enough for her and all her shortcomings. Her untrusting heart, her words spoken too quickly, her jealousies… And what of the lies she’d told to protect Devon? How did the Lord look upon that? Maybe the Lord had not forgotten her. Maybe He’d been reaching out to her all along. Waiting for her to turn her heart to Him.
She went down on her knees, praying.
Minutes later, a thought came to her. If she agreed to the public announcement of the engagement, her uncle would let her out of the attic. They’d watch her like vultures, but she’d get to go to the ball. She’d only be two or three miles from the Colorado County Jail. What she could do with that, she had no idea. She couldn’t ask Flora or any of the slaves to help her. They’d be whipped and sold if caught. Devon would be locked away and heavily guarded. But still…
Trembling with hope, she pulled herself up to stand in front of the window. The stranger was there again. He stuck his boot in the stirrup and mounted. A deep frown had settled above his scraggly brown beard. He picked up his reins, but just when she thought he’d turn the horse and ride off, he looked up, his gaze scanning the upper floors.
Did he see her staring at him through the bare branches of the cottonwood?
She waved for some foolish reason.
He paused, tipped his hat to her, and rode off.
He had seen her? But what could it possibly matter?
CHAPTER 33
Morning Fawn clasped her reticule and drew her feet in as far as she could beneath the cushioned seat of the landau carriage. Although the seat, the walls, even the roof cocooned her in royal-blue velvet, she would have rather traveled in an oxcart than sit across from Nick Moyer.
She trained her gaze on the glass window that encompassed the upper half of the carriage door. His silent stare had bored into her without relief for over an hour. She could have ridden all the way from Sweet Briar to the ball with her supposed family, but that was more than she could stomach.
The lace on her burgundy taffeta gown scratched against her lower arms and her collarbone. She’d never been to a ball. But all of the finery in the world couldn’t compare to the hour she’d spent dancing in Devon’s arms at Lucy’s wedding.
Right now, she’d give everything she had for a future where Devon was alive and free. She’d tucked the small bottle of laudanum that Flora had stolen from the medicine cabinet into the inner pocket of her gown—safer there than risking its discovery in her reticule.
Devon’s life was at stake. Morning Fawn couldn’t sit byand do nothing. Her casting aside the agreement with LeBeau wouldn’t help Lucy, who was already at the slave trader’s lockup in Columbus, waiting to supposedly be sold as a house servant. Morning Fawn would have to find another way to aid her. If she complied with LeBeau’s plan, Devon would be dead, and Lucy would still be a slave.
If nothing else, she’d dose Nick with the laudanum and escape to the Alleyton house Devon told Lucy about. Maybe the underground network could help her figure out a plan to rescue him. Provided the members hadn’t been rounded up and arrested. But it wasn’t only Nick she had to worry about. He had his driver and a guard to help watch her.
Nick stirred as the rows of wedge tents outside Alleyton came into view. Campfires littered the barren hillside, more open now that the trees had been sacrificed for the sake of the soldiers’ warmth.
Nick tapped the window. “Those fellows would have had a little neck-tying party for our friend Reynolds the other night if Captain Starr hadn’t intervened.”
“What do you mean?” Morning Fawn twisted the beaded fringes on her reticule.
Nick settled back against the cushions. “Those soldiers and many like them will go barefoot and cold the rest of the winter because of Reynolds. Hardworking men putting their lives on the line for Texas. The good citizens of Colorado County agree. I wouldn’t be surprised if a mob showed up on the road to San Antonio to cut his trip short.”
“San Antonio? What are you talking about?”
“Your uncle didn’t mention that they’re moving him tomorrow? The Confederate authorities want to make an example out of Reynolds. Hold an elaborate trial before they get on with the hanging. The only question is whether he’ll make it there with his heart still beating.”
Her chest tightened like a vise had just clamped its teeth into her ribs. “Surely, the army wouldn’t allow that to happen.”
Nick shrugged. “Some members of the military would prefer to not waste time and money on a trial. A rope around the branch of a big cottonwood along the way would serve the purpose just fine.” He stroked his mustache. “Personally, I like the idea of a spectacle and the total humiliation of the man in front of the citizenry of Texas, but then a lynch mob asks fewer questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“Aboutyourrole. About your uncle. About me.”
“I’d be willing to spend the rest of my life in jail if it’d save Devon.”
“Very noble of you.” He rolled his eyes. “But it wouldn’t do him a bit of good.”
Her heart dropped to her feet. Devon wouldn’t make it to San Antonio. Her escaping and finding her way to the hideout house wouldn’t be enough. Not unless they could organize a plan and men overnight. Enough men to take on a military escort? In the middle of Nick and her uncle scouring the area for her.Dear God, help me. This cannot be how it ends.
A ferryman stood at the edge of her vision talking to the carriage driver. The gurgle of the Colorado River filled the gaps as the driver clicked the reins and walked the team of four onto the ferry.
