Bex reached for her. “I know you are angry, but I have to be a part of this fight for abolition. The cause, this righteous cause, needs new soldiers. We can’t depend upon others. We have to fight.”
“It wasn’twe. It was you.”
He took off his felt hat and fanned his face, which had reddened. “It had to be me, alone. You shouldn’t have been there. You and Miss Burleigh were the only women to attend. It was a men’s rally. You could’ve been shot, or targeted, or worse. That shooter doesn’t want change. He’ll take his anger out on you, because of your sex or because you are Blackamoor.”
“Then maybe you’d feel a tenth of what I did, my heart ripping in my chest at seeing the bullet fly through your paper. A few more inches and you’d be gone. What would I do then?”
“Go home to your parents, like you are doing now. Nineteen Fournier is where you want to live, instead of staying with me.” He lowered his tone. “I know there’s danger. I’ve seen it. But I know what happens if you say nothing. If I don’t try to stop evil.”
“Bex, what are you talking about?”
He tossed his hat to the bottom of the gig and raised his eyes to the sky. “I’ve been afraid to lose you if you knew the horrible truth. But you must know. I can’t keep this from you, not anymore.”
Was the actor being overly dramatic? Or was there a dark secret that kept her love from reaching him? “Tell me.”
His neck craned upward. He picked up the reins and started the phaeton. “No. God. No.”
What? She turned to see what had captured his attention.
Her heart stopped.
A plume of smoke billowed from the top of the building. Papa’s warehouse.
The place the Croomes owned, used to live above, was in flames.
Bex stopped the phaeton in front and jumped from the phaeton. “There are people inside. I hear their screams.”
She heard it, too, and they’d parked behind Papa’s big carriage.
Before she could say anything, Bex had run straight for the warehouse door. He aided other men trying to get it open.
“Bex!” Ester went as close to her husband as she could. “My father’s in there.”
Bex turned to her. His face was grim, nothing lit his eyes, just the reflection of the fire. “It’s jammed. A beam may have fallen. Stand back.”
As if he had superhuman strength, he started to ram the door. With the same shoulder he’d hurt on their trip, he hit the doorframe until it began to creak. Others joined in.
The door began to yield.
“Stand back, Ester. I’ll get him.”
Paralyzed in fear, she couldn’t move away. Her father was in there. His workers were in there. Her childhood home was consumed in flames.
Bex and the men finally broke through. A cloud of black smoke poured out, and the heat, the heat, singed the air about her.
Powerful arms wrapped around her and carried her to the phaeton. “Stay this time, Ester.”
Before she could cry, plead, or mumble, Bex ran inside as men, coughing, fighting for air, staggered out.
Neighbors started coming with buckets of water. Everyone seemed to want to help, but she just sat there, hoping Papa and Bex would be well.
Minutes passed.
Nothing. Hungry scarlet flames danced on the roof. She jumped down again and went halfway. The opening billowed. Nothing could be seen in the black smoke.
Then Bex came out.
His face and coat were covered in ash, but he dragged Papa with him.
