I despised my master. He’d been cruel from the day I arrived. His humiliating treatment of me last week showed a greater capacity for depravity than I would ever be able to forgive. Yet I couldn’t believe he would hasten my death.
“He can be brutal, but he isn’t a murderer.”
“Maybe it’s an accident. Maybe he hits you too hard. But why do you care? It has the same result.”
Could Mark be right? Mr. Pratt’s demeanor had indeed sharpened toward me. He skulked around the property, watching me like a bird of prey.
We all lived in fear of his unpredictable temper. Since Theophilus had arrived, the chores at the homestead had lightened, but the addition of Frederick hadn’t increased the business at the mill. Even with millstones for wheat and corn, there were too many people taking their grains to Ward’s Crossroads. Mr. Pratt left each morning hopeful and returned each evening seething.
My master was quite capable of flying into an uncontrollable rage and hurting me. I could imagine such a circumstance only too well. He might knock me against the hearth or shove me down the stairs hard enough to cause harm that couldn’t be undone.
Mr. Pratt is going to kill me.
It was an indescribable thing, to contemplate one’s imminent death. Was this how a criminal felt when sentenced to hang? He might not be sure of the day or the time, only that the end was near. How did he respond? With resignation? Disbelief? Fear?
If I stayed, I died. If I moved to Mark’s world…
My gaze swept the yard. The little ones played in their favorite spot under the oak. Three beautiful, golden-haired girls. I had reared them all from infancy. They belonged to me as much as their parents. And my dear Phoebe. She, too, would be lost to me.
“If I go now, I shall never come back.” Sorrow squeezed my heart. “How can I bear to be separated from my loved ones forever?”
“You’ll be leaving them forever, anyway, on August third. I hate to be harsh, but here’s your chance to pick whether you leave by choice or in a box.”
His words grated against my ears. Should I put my faith in the history he’d uncovered? If Mark’s special painting had the story wrong, I would be abandoning my life here for a place where I didn’t belong.
Oh, why was I wasting so much time in thought? I had no wish to die. “Let’s go.”
Mark ran hard through the woods ahead of me. Terror nipped at my heels like little dogs, spurring me forward.
Deborah had been crossing the yard toward us when Mark and I ran. She knew of our disappearance by now. It would take her but a few minutes to alert her father.
Would they know where to look?
Jedidiah might. He had seen me from the bluff with Mark. How long before they followed? Ten minutes? Fifteen?
Surely, ten minutes was enough. We would be through the falls before they could find us.
I had to stop thinking.
I had to concentrate on running.
My feet pounded on the uneven track. I had hurried along it one thousand times before, but never so fast. Never with such carelessness about where I put my feet. Briars tore at my limbs. I ignored the sting and followed Mark.
He reached the cliff first and leapt down in two mighty bounds. I picked my way along the granite rungs. When I caught up with him, he stood on my rock, blocking my view.
“Go,” I said.
“Can’t.” His voice was tight. Unnatural.
I peered around him.
The water trickled.
No, trickled was too strong a word. The water dripped.
My legs quaked. This was disastrous.
Neither of us would pass through the waterfall this day. Until it rained again—a long, fierce storm—there would be no Whisper Falls.
“They will capture us both.”
“Let me try.” He hopped to his boulder and then back again. Over and over, each hop more frantic than the last. Water droplets glistened on his cheeks. He never left my century.
I stared at the drips and dribbles, hands clenching and unclenching, my anger rising. How could Mark overlook a detail so crucial as the state of the falls? Had we placed in my master’s hands the very nudge he needed to rage out of control?
“God, Susanna. I’m sorry. It’s not this bad in my century. I didn’t check from your side.”
I gazed into his frightened face and knew instant shame. How could I be thinking like this? Mark had risked much to rescue me. I had agreed, an eager accomplice to the deed. Logic cooled my head as quickly as it had heated.
We wasted precious moments staring at water that did not flow. Townsfolk might be searching already. I cleared my mind of everything except the situation before me. The problem must be solved. They would not capture Mark.
I looked up. Above me, water seeped over the rocky edge. “We must return you to the future.”
“I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”
“Don’t be foolish. You must.” We had to have more water, a spurt for a second or two at most. How could I make the creek produce more water?
“Leaving would be a seriously dick move on my part. I came to rescue you, and I will.” His voice sounded muffled and afraid.
“Rescue isn’t possible today.” I had to give him a reason to go. The truth was reason enough.
“You are the proof that I’m running away,” I said, placing my fingers over his lips as he tried to protest. “If they find me alone, they have no evidence. You’ll be safe, and I cannot be judged.”
His face creased with indecision. I pressed my argument. “Aiding a runaway is a terrible crime. You will be fortunate to be jailed and flogged.”
“Flogging is the best case?”
“Indeed. If you are caught, there will be no one to rescue either of us. Go to your world, and save me when it rains.”
“Susanna, please…”
I had no time to debate him. I had to act. The creek had to produce more water. I ran for the cliff and climbed.
“Where are you going?”
“Stay there and wait.”
I raced to the upper creek bed, to the sad pools of water that had once been a proudly flowing stream. There was hardly enough to drink.
I pushed rocks, mud, and sticks along the top of the falls, creating a dam while listening for sounds of discovery. The water increased, but not enough. I traveled many feet back along the creek, clearing debris, stones, and mud, dredging a little channel. Water trickled to the dam. A pool formed.
What a peculiar state to be in. For so long, I had feared Rocky Creek, and today I would dearly love to restore its swift current.
“What are you doing?” he called from below.
“Stay on my rock. When I tell you, the water will flow briefly.”
There were shouts in the distance. “To the creek.”
It was the first sign that I was being hunted.
I frowned at the water. It wasn’t enough. Not yet. I trembled so much I could barely stand. Terror such as I had never known gripped me. My master had beaten me, burned me, pawed at my body and called me foul names. Never had he had an excuse to haul me before the magistrate.
An hour ago, my life had been tolerable. For the next seven weeks it would be unbearable, as I waited for Joan and my fate.
Mark’s arms encircled me from behind. “Susanna,” he said.
I turned and pushed blindly at his chest. “Don’t be foolish. Go back.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’ll leave you here.”
“You have no choice. There won’t be enough water for two. Go.”
He didn’t move, a look of determination on his face, his hands firmly at my waist.
“Are you mad?” When I shoved him with all my strength, he took a surprised step back. Finally. Perhaps now he would listen to me. “Return to the cave floor. We don’t have much time.”
“I got you into this. I’ll get you out.”
“Your good intentions are worth nothing if the town leaders capture you.” Frustrated tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them away furiously. “I have found a solution that will work for us, but your stubbornness puts it in jeopardy. Go now or we’ll suffer for your inaction.”
“What will happen to you?”
“I cannot be sure. But I do know that the punishment for disobeying my master is far lighter than for running away. I shall fare better without you.”
“I don’t know…”
“Mark, travel to the future. It’s the only way you can return later and help me escape.”
I wanted to say more. So much more. I shall miss you. I shall be forever in your debt. I love you. Yet the words would remain unsaid, for I would not utter them in a voice that shook with fear.
Shouts echoed from the trail behind us.
“Fine.” Mark hurried to the edge of the cliff. “I’ll save you when it rains.”
I met his gaze. He believed it. I did not.
He scrambled down the cliff and stood on my rock, waiting. He was so beautiful. I studied him carefully, memorizing each detail. His tall, lean body. His intense, amber eyes.
The townsfolk erupted from the woods.
The water trickled and swirled. It wasn’t enough.
“There she is!”
They were close. So close.
The water I had collected would have to do. “Mark, prepare. You’ll only have one chance.”
“I’ll come back for you.”
I kicked aside the dam.
* * *
Once they had abandoned the search for Mark, the townsfolk argued over how to deal with me. Eventually, they insisted I spend the night in jail. Mr. Pratt declared that he wanted to handle me by himself. I sided with the townsfolk.
One night stretched to two.
The jail cell was most unpleasant. The town leaders hadn’t designed the space for comfort. There was unrelenting heat blowing through chinks between the wooden slats. I cursed how small it was. It wasn’t as wide as I was tall, and I couldn’t stand up straight. As I leaned against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest, I felt great sympathy for the men who had stayed here before me.
The stink of dank straw offended my nostrils. Thin ribbons of bright sunlight slanted across the dirt floor, irritating my eyes. The daily meal shoved under the door would have been unfit for hogs.
Perhaps the worst part was the privy. It was a fair distance away. The jailer only came once each day to escort me there. If I needed to relieve myself more often, I had to squat in the corner of my cell, which only made the stench worse.
I learned to focus my mind away from the miseries. The solitude and absence of demands were not without merit.
There was time to recite my favorite Bible stories or revisit the characters in Persuasion.
I could relive the glory of kisses—not the vile punishment from Mr. Pratt, but the luscious delight I had shared with Mark.
I filled the remaining hours by pondering questions of great importance.
Would I die in this place?
Might my imprisonment change history?
From the future, did Mark know my fate?
There was a tap at the wall behind my head. I straightened. “Who’s there?”
“I have brought you some food,” a girl’s voice whispered.
I peered through the boards. Outside my cell, a sprigged muslin skirt floated above small feet. Had she gone mad?
“Dorcas, you will be in trouble if you’re found near me.”
“Take the food. Then I shall leave quickly without being caught.”
A slice of bread was pushed roughly through the slats, followed by a hunk of pork, much mangled and riddled with splinters. I devoured the bread and ached for more.
“Are you all right, Susanna?”
“I am well.”
“Deborah said that Mr. Lewis came to see you on Friday.”
“Did she?”
“Yes, but no one else saw him. Even the dogs couldn’t track him.”
I allowed myself a smile of triumph. “Perhaps she was mistaken.” I picked splinters from my meat.
“I think she has told the truth. I think he was here to help you. Much as I would miss you, I am sorry he failed. He is very brave.” She slid her small hand through the gap at the base of the wall. “You may keep it a secret, if you wish.”
I touched her fingers lightly with mine. “You are very dear to me, Dorcas.”
“Yes. We are dear to each other. If you go, how soon shall I see you again?”
“I do not know. Your father will not be inclined to let us visit.” I hesitated over what I was about to share, choosing the words carefully as the revelation might prove dangerous for me.
“Dorcas, there is a special place near the falls, a place I visit when I need to be at peace. If you go there, you will feel how sacred it is, and you will be reminded of me.”
“Where is this place?”
“I shall not say, but you will find it. I am confident of that.”
“Then I shall not rest until I discover your special place.” She sighed. “Would you like me to bring Delilah or Dinah next time I come? They miss you fiercely.”
“And I miss them, but do not bring them here. Although you are old enough to understand my circumstances, they are not. I should not wish to scare them.”
“Very well.” Her hand disappeared, and her skirts rustled as she stood. “Mama cooks while you are in jail. We are none of us pleased.”
A smile twitched the corners of my mouth at the change to a more practical subject. “I doubt it will last much longer.”
“Papa told Mama you will have a hearing before the magistrate tomorrow. Mr. Worth will decide your punishment. Papa says you will stay with us longer than you had planned. Do you think he’s right?”
“Perhaps.” Her comments reminded me that my contract no longer mattered. I wouldn’t be in Worthville much longer. What I didn’t know was how I would depart.
“Dorcas, it’s time for you to go. I shall see you soon enough.”
“I hope so.” She slapped the folds of her gown, the dust drifting through the slats in the cell. “I know that you’ll leave one day, and you’ll go where Papa cannot hurt you. But you promised to say goodbye. Will you remember?”
“I shall remember.”
* * *
It was barely past dawn when raised voices awakened me. I sat up, struggling to rouse my dazed mind.
“Open up the cell now, Joshua Baxter. She won’t escape.” It was my mother’s voice.
“I don’t know, Mrs. Crawford. Mr. Worth said—”
“If she flees, you can jail me instead. Let her out.”
The door opened and my mother swooped in to gather me with her arms. The jailer flinched away in disgust. I didn’t blame him. My clothes were soaked with sweat and urine. My hair hung about my face in sticky hanks. Ants had bitten one of my feet into a raw, swollen mass.
“Come,” Mama said, “it’s time to clean up.” She half-carried me to the privy and from there to the banks of Rocky Creek.
After I undressed to my shift, she set to work scrubbing my outer garments. I stepped gingerly into a shallow pool and sighed with relief as my stinging feet slid into the cool, velvety silt. When I had finished bathing, Mama washed my hair. She wrung it free of water and combed it with her fingers, working carefully through each knot.
I stood as docilely as a child, eyes shut, allowing myself to enjoy the sounds of the world around me and the long-forgotten feel of my mother dressing my hair.
“Mr. Shaw was most angry to learn we had bound Phoebe out,” Mama said.
Some of the pleasure in this moment faded. “I do hope he recovers soon.”
“He had already promised her to the Pratts.” Betrayal colored her tone.
Despicable man. “She wasn’t his to promise.”
“Indeed. Phoebe was to work in their kitchen, and Mr. Shaw would receive his grain milled without cost for the next year.” There was a catch in her voice. “He deceived me.”
It was time to tell my mother the whole tale. I felt relief at the chance to confess. “It is unlikely that Phoebe would have worked in the kitchen. She would have spun thread or made cloth for the Pratts to sell.”
Mama’s hands stilled. “That cannot be correct. Phoebe has no such talent.”
“The opposite is true. My sister showed extraordinary promise. The Pratts planned to use her skills for their own profit. My master lied to Mr. Shaw.”
Mama gasped. “Jethro Pratt is a beastly man.”
Her fingers completed the combing of my hair, then quickly switched to plaiting it, her movements quick. She was soon done.
I spun to face her. “I deceived you, too.”
“You knew this all along?”
“I knew of Phoebe’s talent, but I kept it from you, fearing you wouldn’t let her move to Raleigh. I did not trust Mr. Shaw.” I lifted my chin defiantly. “I shall not apologize. I would do the same thing a thousand times over for my sister.”
My mother regarded me for a long moment, her lips pinched. A breeze whipped a tendril of her hair across her face, and she brushed it away, her gaze faltering. “I should thank you. I did trust him, and it wasn’t deserved.”
“Hullo,” Mr. Baxter’s shout rang across the clearing. “Mrs. Crawford, are you there? It’s time.”
“Yes,” she called. “We shall be there shortly.
“He called you Mrs. Crawford,” I said. “Wasn’t your wedding this weekend?”
“Mr. Shaw has postponed it until your situation is resolved.”
My mother and I looked at each other. Her eyes skittered away. Unexpectedly, I felt sorry for her. All four of my mother’s children lived apart from her—both daughters through her own bad decisions. The realization must cause her great distress.
I would not add to it now. It was time to leave.
“What shall I wear?” I asked, frowning dubiously at my clothes steaming on a nearby rock.
She pointed to a shady spot high on the bank. “I brought fresh things. They wait for you behind those bushes.” Her hand clasped my elbow and drew me up. But she didn’t release me immediately, her gaze fixed on my undergarment.
“Your shift is badly mended.”
I froze.
“How did it tear?”
I pulled away from her silently, unwilling to say, the humiliation still an aching knot in my belly.
“Did your master have anything to do with this?”
I gave a jerky nod.
She swallowed hard. “Did he ruin you?”
My eyes stung. “He didn’t…” I shuddered to a stop. The experience had been horribly, painfully humiliating, and yet it could have been worse. “He didn’t go that far.”
She put a shaking hand over her mouth and turned her back on me. “Dear Lord, forgive me for what I have done to her.” The words whispered past me, so soft I might have imagined them.
Slipping behind the bushes, I found the stack of fresh clothes my mother had brought. After dressing, I emerged to find her with a plate of bread, ham, and cheese.
I devoured the meal in greedy bites. “Thank you.”
She nodded, her face grave. “I shall accompany you to your hearing.”
A crowd had gathered outside the meetinghouse. Mama and I marched solemnly into the building as if they weren’t there.
“Mrs. Crawford.” Mr. Shaw detached from the crowd and hurried toward us. “Where are you going?”
“Inside with my daughter.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Nonetheless, I shall go.”
The front pew was nearly full. The audience for my hearing would include my mother, the town leaders, Mrs. Pratt, and Deborah.
I was shown to a narrow, high-backed chair on the dais. My master and his uncle waited, side by side, at a table.
Mr. Worth cleared his throat. “Miss Marsh, do you know why you are here?”
“I do.”
“So you’re aware that you’re accused of running away?”
I nodded.
“Answer out loud, please.”
“I’m aware of the charge.”
Mr. Pratt pounded his fist on the table. “This is the second time she has attempted to run away.”
Mr. Worth frowned at his nephew. “When was the other time?”
“On July first.”
“I see.” The magistrate scratched a note in his journal.
My mother stood. “Pardon me, Mr. Worth?”
“Yes, Mrs. Crawford?”
“Susanna was in my company on July first. She drove me to Raleigh and back again.”
“Indeed. Did you know that she had no permission to leave Worthville?”
“She had permission to visit her mother. That is what she did.”
I looked at my mother, outwardly calm but inwardly smiling. What had come over her? Today she had done more for me than in all the years since I had left home.
“Very well, Mrs. Crawford. I accept your story. Miss Marsh?” The magistrate’s gaze bore into mine. “Did you attempt to run away three days ago?”
“I was discovered standing on the banks of Rocky Creek near my master’s property. I should be a very poor runaway to make the mistake of not running.”
Mr. Worth looked toward the front row. “Can any of you confirm Miss Marsh’s statement?”
The town leaders nodded. Every one of them.
Mr. Worth’s lips thinned, and his gaze swung back to me. “So, you left your master’s property despite his express commands otherwise?”
“Yes.”
As each moment passed in this interview, my anxiety eased. With no proof and the town leaders listening, Mr. Pratt and his uncle would have to treat me justly.
“You know this to be deliberate disobedience?”
“I do.”
“Why did you go to the creek?”
“To check the water level. It was low.”
Some of the townsfolk snickered.
My master’s jaw hardened. “Susanna wasn’t alone in her flight from home. She had assistance from Mr. Lewis of Raleigh.”
Mr. Worth’s eyebrows arched with censure. “You were aided by a gentleman?”
It was shocking how comfortable I had grown with deception. “I did not flee. Therefore, I was not aided.”
“Are you saying that Mr. Lewis didn’t help you escape?”
“Mr. Lewis didn’t help me escape.”
“Mr. Pratt, did you see Mr. Lewis with Miss Marsh?”
My master’s lips barely moved. “No, I did not.”
Mr. Worth looked again to the town leaders. “Did any of you see him?”
A muttered chorus of “no” rang out.
“I see.” Mr. Worth scowled.
My master’s fingers tapped impatiently. “Deborah saw him. She came to tell me the news before I left for the mill, and I instantly started the search. But the boy was nowhere to be found.” When my master nodded at his eldest daughter, she stood.
“They were together,” she said, her voice high and strained. “Mr. Lewis and Susanna talked at the edge of the woods and then ran down the path.”
Mr. Worth tugged at his beard, then jotted a few words in his journal. “You are certain it was Mr. Lewis?”
“Yes, Uncle Worth, I am certain.”
“How? Did you speak to him yourself?”
I watched Deborah curiously. Of course, she had had a conversation with Mark. She had fetched me to his side. Mr. Pratt’s fury would be fearsome if he knew.
She looked at me with pleading eyes.
“Mr. Worth,” I interrupted—although she and I had never been friendly, there was no use in both of us suffering—“Deborah was never close enough to speak with Mr. Lewis. He found me in the kitchen. I walked with him as far as Rocky Creek.”
The magistrate swiveled his gray head to peer at me. “You admit that he was there?”
Tension built inside, but I forced it down. As much as I might wish not to implicate Mark, Deborah’s testimony required otherwise.
“Yes, he was there, but he did not help me escape.”
“Where is he now?”
“Back in Raleigh, I presume.”
The magistrate dropped his quill, folded his hands before him, and allowed his expression to set grimly. “Is Mr. Lewis your suitor?”
The unexpected question surprised a bark of laughter from me. “No, indeed. I have no interest in marrying at present.”
“A truth you made completely clear to my son.” Mr. Worth spoke in a lazy voice, but remembered anger glittered in his eyes.
Mr. Pratt sneered. “Solomon deserves better than her.”
“Indeed.” The magistrate rapped the table. “I’ve heard enough. Without any evidence that Miss Marsh was running away…”
My master glared at me, lips pinched.
“…her only crime was to disobey her master’s order to stay on his property. I lengthen her indenture by ten days.”
I looked at him with calm disdain. It was unusually harsh for disobedience, but this sentence didn’t concern me, for a far worse punishment awaited me before September first.
“Miss Marsh, have you nothing to say?”
Was this my moment? Dare I take the opportunity?
I would, indeed—and God protect me from what might happen later. “Throughout the eight years of my indenture, Mr. Worth, you have seen my bruises, burns, and cuts.” I rolled back my left sleeve, exposing the red, puckered scar. The townsfolk in the pews gasped. “There has been clear and constant evidence of cruelty. If my scars have not spoken loudly enough already, then no, sir—I have nothing further to say.”
Mr. Worth’s gaze dropped to his journal. His quill scratched across the page.
My master glared at me, retribution in his eyes. “Uncle, what about my damages? Shouldn’t she compensate me for the trouble she’s caused?”
“No more,” the magistrate said. “Ten days is enough.”
“What of the boy?”
“I find Mr. Lewis guilty of trespassing. If he’s captured, he’ll pay a five-pound fine or spend three days in jail.”
Their words flitted about my head like so many bees. My arms and legs quivered from fear released. I would leave the meetinghouse and return to my job. I would watch the horizon for storms, and I would count the days until August third.
But I wouldn’t be flogged or returned to the jail. The sentence was tolerable. I looked at my mother and nodded. Her lips curved slightly. Thanks had been offered and received.
Mr. Pratt thumped the table with his fist. Everyone jumped.
“Uncle, I wish to put Susanna in shackles.”
“No.” The denial rushed hoarsely through my teeth. Dear Lord, please, not shackles.
They were great, heavy things. I had seen them only once before on a slave, cutting into his ankles, humbling his walk and rendering pain with every step. “Please, no.”
Mr. Worth didn’t look up from the scratchings in his journal. “Explain your purpose.”
“If she has willfully left my property twice, she’ll do it again. The shackles will prevent her disobedience.”
The magistrate sniffed. “Shackles are fair.”