Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) (11 page)

Being alone was scary enough, but being alone on a ship full of strange men…she shivered. Thankfully the stacked tobacco crates provided her with some privacy. Maybe she wouldn’t be found for a few hours.

A warm wind blew a fishy smell in her direction. The boat rocked and reminded her of mama rocking her in her arms. Yes, she’d face life again after a little rest.

She awoke muscles stiff, face hot. Touching her cheeks, she winced—what a nasty sunburn. Where was she? What had happened? The sound of the paddle wheel plowing through the water and odor of coal smoke gave her a clue. Gradually she remembered Mr. Hawthorne grabbing her and Frederick coming to her rescue. She had retreated to the
Comet.

Was Frederick alive? Had he been arrested? Each thought squeezed her middle tighter. Did she dare hope? Was he on board?

She stood and walked out of hiding, taking her carpetbags with her. The steamboat rolled with the waves, and she staggered over to the whitewashed railing.

She had set sail into her new life. There was no going back. Where she was headed she didn’t know. But she didn’t want to go alone.

A foot away, Frederick sat with his back to her, playing a game of dice with another roustabout several years younger than him.

She didn’t know what to say. How should she approach him?

She set down her heavy carpetbags. Her stomach tossed, the nausea building with each passing second. She bent over the railing and vomited.

Frederick twisted around and saw her. His mouth popped open and he rose to his feet, limping toward her.

Oh God he was hurt. Mr. Hawthorne must have shot him in the leg. Her heart throbbed with each of his steps.

“Are you all right?” he asked, reaching the railing, but still remaining a proper distance away.

She wanted to ask him the same thing. Wanted to thank him from saving her from a terrible fate but the words didn’t come. “I will be when this passes,” Emma muttered.

Frederick gripped the railing and his hand inched toward hers. “Why are you here?” he whispered.

“To find you.”

“I told you we can’t be together.” He mouthed it more than spoke. He directed his gaze to the boiler deck. “Why aren’t you up there? The parlor is the place for lady passengers.”

“I’m not allowed up there.”

Frederick’s forehead creased. He stared out at the water. “What do you mean?”

“I’m colored.”

Frederick took a step back and let out a booming laugh.

“It isn’t funny,” Emma snapped. “It’s true.”

She rummaged through one of her carpetbags and pulled out her family Bible. She turned to the page with her family tree. “See,” she said, pointing to her great-grandmother’s name. “My great-grandmother, Zoe Dixon, fell in love with a freed slave. He is just known as William.”

“I’ve heard of the Dixons.”

“They own a plantation in Tennessee. But they weren’t going to have this disgrace in their family, so they disowned my great-grandmother. Zoe and her husband had to make their own way in the world. It was a struggle, but they did it. She was a seamstress and he worked as a barber.” Her finger traced all the lines in the family tree down to her own. “That makes me an octoroon. My mama wasn’t white enough to pass. I was the first in the family. She made me promise to keep my dark past a secret and I have—until now.”

“Why would you want to give that up? You are white, respected, a socialite even.” Deep lines were etched into his face, and his eyes narrowed like he was thinking hard.

“I know it is difficult to understand, but there are more important things than being a socialite.”

Frederick’s face relaxed and gazed at her, his eyes soft.

“My life is empty. You make me feel whole, Frederick.”

Frederick exhaled and grinned.

She wiped her mouth across her arm. The awful taste in her mouth remained.

“I’ll get you a glass of water. I’ll be right back.”

Emma bit her lip. She didn’t want him to leave. If any of the men on deck had heard their private conversation…realized she was colored…that could encourage them to take advantage of her. The law didn’t prosecute the rape of a colored woman. “I’m all right. I don’t—”

“George!” Frederick hollered. The younger man he had been playing dice with walked over. “George this is Emma. Emma this is my brother George.”

George’s eyes quickly swept her frame. Frederick slapped his back and his eyes snapped back to hers. “Stay with her until I get back. She’s a little nervous being on the steamboat.”

“Yes, sir.”

Emma watched Frederick’s muscular back as he disappeared out of sight. He hadn’t said it yet, but he wanted to be her man.

George cleared his throat and looked a little sheepish. “It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Likewise. You look a lot like your brother.”

“We are a lot alike except I don’t have a woman.”

Emma blushed.

“No need to be embarrassed. I overheard your conversation. I reckon we’re going to be family.”

Frederick returned and handed her a glass of water. She took a large drink and swished the water around her mouth before swallowing. She sipped the rest, the liquid soothing her burning throat.

“Feeling better?” Frederick asked.

She nodded, reached out and grabbed his hand, and got lost in his dark brown eyes. “I feel better now that we’re together. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Frederick wrapped his long arms around her and picked her up, grinning. “Will you marry me, Emma Bennett?”

“Yes!” Emma shouted. “I’ll buy that house you’ve always dreamed of.”

“And children,” Frederick said. “We can have all the children you want.”

She sighed and he kissed her forehead. “We can get started on that right after the wedding ceremony.”

“You’re a brave woman. I’ll take good care of you. I want to make sure you never regret your decision.”

She ran her fingers through his greasy hair and then cupped his cheek. “I know, Frederick. We’re meant for each other.”

August 10, 1867

St. Louis, Missouri

Frederick rocked his newborn son in his arms. David Bennett opened his eyes and gazed at him with a sleepy smile. He got his big hazel eyes from Emma and his big nose from him. “You are beautiful,” Frederick cooed. David had soft, light brown skin—a mix of both his parents.

The first few months they had been married he worried Emma would change her mind. There was nothing tying them together except for a marriage certificate. He had been knocked speechless when she explained her black ancestry. But now that they had a son, he knew she would never leave.

David wrapped his hand tightly around one of Frederick’s fingers. “You’re strong too.”

“Like his father,” Emma said, rocking in the chair in the corner of their small bedroom, her eyes closed.

He reminded her how amazing she was every day. She had adjusted to being a farmer’s wife as if she had been born into the role and switched to wearing basic attire without a fuss. The navy cotton twill walking skirt was as beautiful on her as any hoopskirt and the pink-and-white pinstriped blouse accentuated her petite, hourglass figure.

The baby squirmed and let out a shrill cry. Emma sighed and rose, her long braid swayed across her back. “He’s hungry again.”

Frederick laughed. “He is going to be big like his father.” He handed the boy to Emma and kissed her cheek. “How are you doing?”

“Tired. I’ll manage.” He hated to see the dark circles under her eyes, but he probably had them too. Neither of them had slept much since the baby was born. Now that he had colic, they were sleeping even less.

Emma undid her blouse so David could suckle. Frederick’s core warmed at the sight of her swollen breasts. He licked his lip slowly; he’d steal a private moment with her today even if it meant George had to watch the baby. He beamed at David nestled against his mama’s chest. It was a perfect picture.

She shot him a playful glare, pink rushing into her cheeks. “Honestly, Frederick,” she scolded. “Let the poor boy eat in peace. After he’s done I’ll start breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frederick said, heading to the door.

George waited for him on the porch, tapping his foot. Sweat dripped off his forehead. He’d already put in a couple hours work. “I know you want to spend all day with your son, but the farm won’t run itself.”

“I know, I know.”

George grunted. “I didn’t come with you just so you could have free labor,” his said in a sharp grumble.

His brother was in a mood again. He was nearly full grown and acting like a spoiled child. Frederick didn’t know what to do with him. “Emma’s cooking is worth it, don’t you think? Much better than the slop on the steamboat.”

George nodded. Frederick knew he couldn’t argue with that. George sulked to the well, drew a cup of water, and took a long drink.

“Emma had the baby, not you. Although with how much you’ve disappeared around here I was starting to wonder.”

“When you have a family you’ll understand. You’ve moved to the barn so David’s crying doesn’t bother you.”

“Seems to me you’ve worked without sleep many times before.” The light in George’s eyes made Frederick’s lips curl despite the lack of sleep weighing them down. He was only teasing.

Frederick exhaled and rubbed his cheeks. Everything in his life seemed right. How could he be so lucky?

Frederick put a hand over his eyes and looked at his garden and then his tobacco crop. A creek ran along the north side of the property. If he ever got caught up on sleep, he’d spend an afternoon fishing with his brother. And in a few years they’d teach David how to fish.

“Yes, and I’ll be working without sleep frequently. Emma wants a large family.” His heart fluttered. He still couldn’t believe Emma had given up her privileged life to be his wife. He’d do everything he could to make her happy.

The End

Haley Whitehall lives in Washington State where she enjoys all four seasons and the surrounding wildlife. She writes historicals set in the 19th century U.S. When she is not researching or writing, she plays with her cats, watches the Western and History Channels, and goes antiquing. She is hoping to build a time machine so she can go in search of her prince charming. A good book, a cup of coffee, and a view of the mountains make her happy. Visit Haley’s website at http://haleywhitehall.com.