Indigo by Beverly Jenkins Read Free Book Online

"Good."
    Hester watched him hobble away back to the house, her questions unanswered.
    Later in the day, Hester pondered his startling revelation. Did he really intend to purchase land in the area, and if so to what purpose? She'd never heard any stories about where the Black Daniel resided when he was not on the Road, nor had she heard anything about his having a family. All she knew was that the Black Daniel helped slaves escape and guided them north, and that he, like the Wesleyites, had never lost a passenger. Did he have a wife somewhere who was right now worried sick over his absence? Having a spouse on the Road had to be harrowing. With all the dangers to be faced—the catchers and dogs to be avoided—the very real threat of betrayal looming everywhere, it made Hester a bit thankful her fiance, Foster Quint, had no official ties to the Road. Her own involvement was dangerous enough. Foster, a Canadian by birth, was presently in England finishing up his studies at Oxford. He would be returning to America's shores in the spring. Foster's dark face formed in her mind, and she realized she'd written him only once since Galen's arrival. She added one more disparaging mark to the Black Daniel's slate, then stopped herself—Galen had apologized this morning for being such a thorn in her side. He'd even smiled. She'd no idea how long this behavior would last but she hoped it continued for the remainder of his stay.
    Hester entered the cellar room and found him feeding wood to the belly of the old stove. The chill in the air down there was perfect for wintering vegetables and other staples, but being below ground with the damp and the cold was not an ideal location for humans. She might have to consider moving him up into the house if he stayed much longer.
    "Here's your luncheon," she called.
    He turned from the stove, acknowledged her with a nod, and made his way back to the cot. He sat, propped the cane against the thin mattress, and took the tray.
    "Is there draught in here?"
    Hester shook her head. "No. When Bea stopped by this morning, I told her how you were progressing and she said you can probably do without it."
    Once again he surprised her with his smile.
    Hester smiled shyly in reply. "I told her you would be pleased. She'd like to come by and see about removing some of the stitching in the next few days."
    "Good. The sooner these threads come out of my side the better."
    Luncheon consisted of stewed tomatoes, succotash, and the sweetest fish he'd ever tasted. "You're a damned fine cook, Hester Wyatt."
    "Thank you."
    He held her eyes and she felt the pull of him, tugging at her again. In an attempt to ignore those sensations, she asked, "After your meal, will you tell me about the ambush? We have a Vigilance Committee meeting this evening, and the members will want to know about the traitor."
    "So you believe me?"
    "Your injuries speak for themselves, but whether the Judas is from Whittaker has not been proven."
    "I was bringing some passengers in by wagon—a man named Ephraim, his wife, Liza, and their six-year-old son, Jake. I had rigged myself up earlier to look like an elderly white widow, complete with hat and veil because we'd ridden part of the way to Michigan by train. Ephraim and his small family were posing as my servants."
    Using the trains to come north was a bit more common than slave owners and catchers realized, Hester knew. Light-skinned Blacks in particular often utilized their skin color to pose as white and then ride the rails to freedom. One of the most celebrated escapes of the era had been undertaken in 1846 by the very fair skinned Ellen Craft and her husband, William, both slaves from Georgia. Ellen, after transforming herself into a young male planter, had, with her darker-skinned husband posing as her manservant, ridden trains and steamers on the journey from Georgia to the free soil of Philadelphia.
    Galen's voice recaptured Hester's attention. "We entered the state over by