Jo Goodman (35 page)

Jonna tried not to let her relief be too easily observed. "I suppose I'm making too much of his coming here," she said. "It was good of him to inquire after your needs. After the way we parted company, I confess I'm somewhat surprised by his interest."

"You mean what happened at the harbor. He doesn't hold that against you," Mrs. Davis said with some authority. "The score he wishes to settle is with Captain Thorne."

"Did he say that to you?"

"Oh, no. He told Mr. Quincy. I understand it was quite a blow Captain Thorne delivered. Mr. Quincy described it as a haymaker. I gather that means Mr. Sheridan was knocked senseless for a time." She blushed slightly at admitting she was privy to Jack's gossip. "Perhaps since you've married the captain, Mr. Sheridan will realize there's really no point in doing anything."

Jonna didn't think Mrs. Davis sounded particularly convinced. Though she didn't say anything, neither was she.

"I'd like you to arrange for a new bedchamber for me," she said, closing the subject of Grant Sheridan. "I was thinking that Captain Thorne and I will take the adjoining ones across the hall."

"Adjoining rooms?" the housekeeper asked. Her mouth flattened briefly. "Your parents never—" She stopped, realizing she had overstepped herself. Her hands twisted in her apron.

Jonna did not chastise her. "My parents didn't have the same problems I have to contend with," she said gently. "I'm not so sure they had secrets to keep. I know you wonder at my reluctance to share our mission with Captain Thorne, but I hope I have given you reason to trust my judgment."

"Of course," Mrs. Davis said quickly. "I can tell you I was sorely tempted to speak to Mr. Sheridan while you were gone. When he asked if there was anything he could do to help and I thought of how our house was filling up with girls, all of them needing an escort to the next station, I considered telling him what we were about." The housekeeper paused. "But I didn't."

There was an unfamiliar pressure in Jonna's chest. Belatedly she realized she had been holding her breath. Now she let it out slowly. "I'm glad, Mrs. Davis."

"I remember you said you didn't want Mr. Sheridan to know, and I honored your wishes. I'll do the same now."

"I appreciate that." Jonna felt the beginnings of a headache building behind her eyes. "I believe the fewer people who know, the longer we can keep our station running. And that means we can help more young women. That's still important to me, Mrs. Davis. I don't want anything to interfere with that, including my marriage to Captain Thorne."

The housekeeper was struck again by Jonna's earnestness. It had been like this from the very beginning. Just over three years ago Jonna had approached her with the glimmer of an idea, and since then had done everything in her power to make it a reality. The passion had been in her voice as much then as now.

Mrs. Davis knew her employer cared deeply what happened to the black servants she took into her home. It had been Jonna's plan to make her Beacon Hill mansion a way station on the Underground Railroad and to assign herself the job of conductor.

Besides Mrs. Davis and the young women Jonna helped, there was only one other person who knew of Jonna's role on the Railroad: the conductor of the station immediately before, the one who brought the girls to Jonna. Only Jonna knew that person's identity, just as she was the only one who knew the names of people willing to take the girls on the next leg of their journey. In Jonna's absence the two girls who had arrived came without any escort that the housekeeper could see, yet she knew somewhere nearby the conductor was watching to make sure his passengers had arrived safely and were taken in as usual.

"It will be as you wish," Mrs. Davis said. "The rooms can be made ready this evening."

Jonna smiled at that. "Tomorrow will be fine, Mrs. Davis."

"It's no trouble. We have the additional help, remember."

"Very well. Please speak to Captain Thorne to find out what his needs are. Someone may have to go to the harbor, or perhaps to the rooms he rented, to get all his belongings."

"I understand."

"And I would like the carriage made ready. I'll be going to see Mr. Sheridan."

"Today?" Mrs. Davis asked. "But you only—"

"Now," Jonna said. While Decker was at the harbor she was presented with her best chance to see Grant alone.

"I'm feeling well enough," she went on, anticipating her housekeeper's next protest.

Mrs. Davis stood. She smoothed the front of her apron. "Very well. Shall I send Delores to help you dress?"

"Yes. I think I'd like to talk to her."

The housekeeper's smile was wistful. She knew what that meant. It would only be a matter of a day or so before Delores disappeared. "I shall miss that girl. Smart as a whip, she is. Quick to pick up everything. It's hard to believe she only knew field work before she came here."

"That speaks to your guidance," Jonna said. "You do very well with all the girls." It had always been part of Jonna's plan to provide some training for the young women who passed through her station. Mrs. Davis assisted them with needlework and cooking, teaching the skills from scratch if need be or refining talents they already had. More importantly, there were lessons in reading and writing in the evening. Education was the most consequential aspect of what Jonna wanted to provide. She saw it as vital to their survival. The responsibility that came with their newfound freedom meant they had to be able to care for themselves. They had to be able to work.

Jonna considered Delores. She had been under Mrs. Davis's care for six months. "Does Delores know what she wants to do?"

"A hat shop," Mrs. Davis said. "The dear girl wants to own a hat shop. When I suggested that perhaps she could work in one she told me that working for someone else wasn't part of her dream. I think it's your example she wants to emulate."

"Oh, she can do better than follow my example," Jonna said, smiling. "And I shall be happy to tell her that myself. Please, see to the carriage and send Delores to me."

* * *

By the time Jonna arrived at Grant Sheridan's home, her headache had reached pounding proportions. When her driver helped her down from the carriage, she asked him to wait but did not accept his offer to escort her up the walk. She knew she was pale and still unsteady on her feet at odd moments, yet she didn't believe that she couldn't make it to Grant's front door without assistance.

It made her fall on the entrance steps all the more humiliating.

In the end it was Jonna's driver
and
Grant's butler who lent their shoulders to support her into the house. She was shown to the receiving parlor and made comfortable on the divan. In spite of her protests, a pillow was placed under her twisted ankle and the butler ordered a cold compress. There was so much in the way of fussing at first that several minutes went by before Jonna realized Grant wasn't in residence.

"He's expected back shortly," the butler told her. "And he won't forgive me if I let you leave. I anticipate he'll want me to summon the doctor."

Jonna looked to her driver. He was hovering in the parlor entrance, concerned, but clearly chafing from her earlier refusal to allow him to help. Now that she wanted his assistance, he had decided not to offer any. "I will wait half an hour," she said. "Under no circumstances are you to send for a doctor. This sprain is of no consequence, and I won't be mollycoddled."

The butler inclined his narrow head slightly in acknowledgment of her wishes but with no indication that he intended to honor them. He backed out of the room, shutting the doors behind him, and directed Jonna's driver to the kitchen where he could take some refreshment.

Sighing, Jonna leaned her head back against the brocade upholstery. Was nothing ever simple? She rotated her ankle slowly, grimacing as she did so and wondering how this would change the plans she had just made with Delores. On the heels of that thought came another about how she would explain this mishap to Decker.

Her sigh this time was more of a groan. Jonna closed her eyes in response to the throbbing behind them. If she could only rest she was certain a solution would reveal itself.

Grant Sheridan was standing over her when she awoke. He placed one hand on her shoulder as Jonna instinctively made to rise from her vulnerable position. "Don't trouble yourself," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Did you just arrive?" She glanced past him to the large recessed windows that faced the street. The heavy velvet drapes had been drawn, but through the gold fringe that edged the material she could see that it was already dark outside. "How late is it?"

"It's just after six," he told her. "I arrived thirty or so minutes ago."

Alarmed now, Jonna shrugged off the hand on her shoulder and sat up. "You shouldn't have let me sleep," she said. "I told your man I could only wait half an hour."

"I suppose he was confused. You certainly looked as if you needed to sleep."

Jonna removed the compress from her ankle and put her legs over the side of the divan. She had not even heard anyone come in to attend her. On the table at her side was the tea the butler had promised, stone cold now. Jonna rubbed her temples wearily. "Will you have someone inform my driver I need to leave?"

"I sent him back to your house. I told him I would see you delivered there myself."

Somehow Jonna wasn't surprised by the answer, only disappointed. "I wish you hadn't done that, Grant."

"I'm sorry," he said, no apology in his voice. "But it's done now, isn't it?" Grant twisted the brass knob on the table lamp and raised the wick. The circle of warm light grew wider, casting its glow over Jonna's raised face. "Perhaps you should tell me why you've come. I understand
Huntress
only docked early this afternoon. Had I been at the harbor I would have met you. Dare I hope to be flattered by your presence so soon in my home?" he observed the stillness of her features. "I thought not," he said quietly.

Jonna watched Grant cross the room to where a small gate leg table was set against the wall. It held several decanters of liquor. He lifted the crystal stopper of one and poured himself a tumbler of the palest amber liquid. When he held it up in mocking salute, Jonna had the grace to turn away. The regret in her voice was real. "I never set out to hurt you," she said. "Any number of times I tried to make it clear I saw no future together for us. I thought we would remain friendly competitors."

"But not friends, eh?" Grant asked without inflection. "You've fallen in love with Decker Thorne."

"I've married him."

In spite of the tightness in Grant's chest, he was still thinking clearly. "Are you making a distinction?"

Jonna didn't answer his question. "I've married him," she said again. "It's what I've come to tell you."

Grant nodded and knocked back a third of his drink, never taking his eyes from her. "You didn't want me to learn it from anyone else, is that it?"

"That's right."

"Following your own code of honor."

Jonna felt herself flush at his withering, almost spiteful tone. She didn't deserve that from him. Her chin came up a notch. "I'm trying to do what's right, Grant. I don't require your forgiveness. I've done nothing wrong. If you don't want to associate yourself with me any longer then know that it's your choice."

Grant laughed. He absently rubbed his jaw. The memory of Decker clipping him to take Jonna away was still very fresh even if the bruise had long since faded. "As if your husband would permit that," he said scornfully.

"Decker doesn't have any say in it." She stood. Little of her weight was able to rest on her injured foot. Her militant stance was undermined by a slight bob and weave as she struggled for balance. "I'm still very much my own person."

Grant regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his tumbler. The rigid line of his powerfully built shoulders relaxed slightly even as his nearly black eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said softly. "I can see that it's true. He hasn't the least idea how to handle you."

Gripping the curved arm of the divan, Jonna steadied herself. "I don't requiring handling, Grant, and I find it particularly loathsome that you think I do. This belief of yours that somehow I should be managed has always been an unattractive quality. Now I discover I'm quite weary of overlooking it. I appreciate that I've upset you. If you think about it, you'll realize that's only because you've held on to hope where I've always told you none existed. I've always been honest with you in saying that there would be no marriage. You have never been honest with yourself."

Grant set down his drink and crossed to where Jonna stood. He stopped within half an arm's length of her. Only her violet eyes flinched at his approach. The rest of her held ground. Grant raised one hand and touched her cheek. "Does Thorne know you're here?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

One side of Grant's generous mouth curled in a sardonic smile. "You do better when you tell the truth, Jonna. I don't think Thorne is so very different from me in regard to you, and I wouldn't have let you come here."

Jonna wondered at her rising panic. "I'd like to leave, Grant. There's no need for you to drive me yourself. I'll be—"

The fingers that had grazed her cheek fell to curve around her throat. "It's no trouble for me," he said. "I
do
keep my word." He closed the distance between them. "Have I told you before that it's not over between us, Jonna? It's not, you know. Your marriage doesn't really mean very much to me, not when we were promised to each other years ago."