I must apologize: this letter has gotten much longer than I expected it to be. Please give the aunties my love, and tell Auntie Eliza that I’m expecting a pecan pie when I return! I love you, Momma, more than anything on earth or in the Lord’s heavens above. Please stay safe. I shall be home soon.
Miss Anderson strips me of my weapons before she claps me and Red Jack in irons and leads us down a back staircase to a lower part of the house. Jackson’s face is impassive, and I try to mimic his calm demeanor. I’m afraid I fail miserably. My stomach is all angry butterflies and nerves, and I feel like I’m going to lose what little control I have at any moment. I also still need to empty my bladder, which is not helping the situation at all.
I’ve been in trouble before, but somehow the gun pointed at my back and the heavy irons on my wrists make me think that this is much worse than stealing a pie from the kitchens.
The staircase is steep, and just when I wonder if it will ever end we enter a long corridor lit by gas lamps. The flames flicker, making the deep shadows on the stone walls dance drunkenly. From down the hallway comes a long, low howl. The hair along my arms stands on end, and Miss Anderson gives me a wide grin.
“You hear them, don’t you?” she says.
“The mayor keeps shamblers?”
“Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. That’s his dogs. The kennels are at the end of this corridor. You’re even stupider than I thought,” she says with a sneer.
I’m beginning to think she truly doesn’t care for me.
Miss Anderson stops and knocks on a fancy door carved to depict Adam and Eve fleeing the Garden. The angel casting them out looks a mite bit like the mayor.
That does not help my nervousness one bit.
Someone calls, “Enter!” Miss Anderson opens the door and leads the way in, grinning like a kid on Christmas.
“We got them, sir!” she crows, all but doing a little jig as she presents us like trophy bucks. “They went right for the office like I said they would.”
Behind a large desk sits Mayor Carr, puffing away on a cigar, a glass of port in his hand. He leans back in his chair, a massive beast of a man. This close it’s easy to see why people stand in awe of him. He radiates power, his dark eyes shrewd and intelligent. The man possesses quite an imposing air, one of barely repressed violence. Not many people stand in the mayor’s way and live to tell about it.
He puffs on his cigar, leisurely blowing smoke rings. “I do believe it was Mr. Redfern who said that, given the opportunity to snoop, Miss McKeene and her companion would find themselves hard put to contain themselves. So the kudos must go to Mr. Redfern, not you, Miss Anderson.”
Miss Anderson’s face goes stormy, and I smile to myself despite the danger we’re in. Looks like the mayor ain’t so keen on her, either.
“Any way, we caught them, sir. Want us to cut them? They’d make fine shambler bait, and we’ve quite the issue with a roaming pack out toward the waterfront. Or we could add them to Professor Grooten’s experiment. Election season is coming up and no one ever misses a few darkies.”
Rage swells in my heart, and my composure breaks. “You vile woman,” I yell, unable to contain myself. “I should’ve let that shambler eat your miserable hide at dinner!”
“SILENCE!” The mayor leans forward, placing his cigar in a crystal ashtray and setting his glass of port down as well before hauling himself from the chair. He walks over to me and Red Jack, a look of careful consideration on his face. “This is your problem, Miss Anderson. You are all passion, no sense. I suppose it’s not your fault, being a woman and all.”
The mayor grasps my chin, turning my face this way and that like he’s inspecting a horse for sale. I jerk away from his clammy touch, and he gives me a grin. “Either way, you need to think about the larger end goal. Both of these Negroes are smart—smarter than they have any right to be. We can’t have them here in Baltimore, they’re already stirring up too much trouble. And using them for shambler bait is such a waste. We have the criminals in the jails for that. But I think they’d be useful in Summerland. The preacher might be able to curb their baser instincts, and the sheriff has a way about him that is conducive to corralling wayward Negroes. What do you think, Abigail?”
There’s movement from a chair to the left, and my mouth opens with shock when Miss Preston walks over to stand next to the mayor. Gone is the kind expression I’ve come to know. Instead, she gives me a hard glare, and I unwittingly shrink into myself.
“I have no information about this fellow here, but Jane is one of my best girls. Where is her companion?”
“Katherine is still upstairs with Miss Duncan. She doesn’t have a thing to do with this,” Miss Anderson says, answering too quickly. Katherine has long been her favorite, and whatever this Summerland is, she most likely doesn’t want Katherine sent off there.
“I do agree that Katherine likely isn’t a part of this.” Miss Preston turns back to the mayor. “But she is too pretty for any respectable woman to hire on as a companion. I’ve had several possible contracts fall through once the families saw her. She might find better use as an incentive for the men out west. After all, she came to us by way of a house of ill repute. I’m sure she knows a few tricks to keep the men in line.”
“I’d like to assign her as a Summerland Attendant, keep the womenfolk happy,” the mayor says. “The girls we got from down South didn’t pan out, and if Summerland is going to be successful we need investors, that means a better quality of people. In the event that fails, then we can set her up as one of the Duchess’s girls.” He turns to Miss Anderson. “Fetch her down here. Tell her I would like to give her my thanks personally for her valor at the lecture.”
Miss Anderson’s lips purse, but she does as she’s told.
I think about how Attendants never seem to survive much past a couple of years, how girls never come back to visit once they’ve graduated, not even the girls that don’t get contracts with fine families. “How long have you been feeding him girls for whatever this fool scheme is?” I ask, directing my question to Miss Preston.
She gives me a lovely smile and pats my cheek affectionately. “As long as there’s been a Miss Preston’s School of Combat for Negro Girls, there’s been a Summerland. The West is savage, what with the Indians and the shamblers and the wildlife. If one doesn’t get you, another surely will. But my girls have helped to make Summerland a town of the future.”
Mayor Carr’s expression goes dreamy. “Imagine it, a utopia on the Western plains, safe enough to withstand any shambler attack.” He smiles. “America, as it should be, once more. What price can one put on that?”
“You’re deranged,” Jackson says. It’s the first he’s spoken since Miss Anderson clapped us in irons, and the expression on his face is murderous, like he’d love nothing more than to gut the mayor and Miss Preston. I reckon my face looks about the same.
The mayor laughs. “Such fire! I do admire the Negro’s ability to continue fighting even in the face of overwhelming odds.”
A muscle in Jackson’s jaw flexes, but he says nothing. The mayor continues. “Summerland is a city on a hill, a place where people can raise their families without worrying about any of this nasty shambler business.”
“You mean, what Baltimore County is supposed to be?” I shoot back at him. “I’ve seen packs of shamblers in the woods. I’ve killed them. All of that talk about making the county safe, about it being shambler-free . . . It was all a lie.”
The mayor shakes his head at this. “It wasn’t a lie. Our walls, our patrols, the Native and Negro Reeducation Act, it was all working. For a while. But in the last year, we’ve come to realize that, no matter how hard we push, those damn shamblers push back even harder. These eastern cities are lost, girl. Finished. We can’t rebuild America on a foundation rotted by war and plague. We need to start over again. Summerland is that start.”
“You sent the Spencers there, didn’t you?” Jackson asks.
Mayor Carr laughs. “The Spencers went willingly once they heard my offer. Safety is a precious commodity in these turbulent times.”
Jackson’s shoulders fall. “But the Spencers are Egalitarians. They were rallying against your senatorial campaign.”
The mayor gives an eloquent shrug. “It’s amazing what a few months fighting the undead and struggling to survive can do to change a man’s perspective. Some of my best allies were once Egalitarians. People care less about doing the right thing than they do about being safe, especially when they have little ones to look after. Ah, and here is our third musketeer.”
The door opens, and Katherine enters, her smile fading quickly when her eyes land on me and Red Jack. “Wait, what is this?” she asks in surprise.
“I am afraid, Miss Deveraux, that this is both hello and good-bye,” says the mayor. He nods, and Miss Anderson takes Katherine’s weapons and puts a pair of irons on her as well, although judging by Miss Anderson’s face it pains her to do so.
The mayor holds his hands out and smiles apologetically. “Such long faces! Cheer up, friends. Many a scoundrel has made their fortune out west. Of course, that is all assuming you survive.”
There’s a knock behind us, and a white man with red hair sticks his head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Mayor Carr, but we’ve got another breach. Looks like a good-size pack. George got bit, so Jasper said we needed to let you know we put him down and ain’t got no one to handle the dogs now.”
The mayor’s face flushes, and he points to the man. “Put Evan on the dogs and make sure those damned shamblers don’t breach the secondary again! I have guests.”
Katherine holds her head high, even though her eyes swim with tears. She’s nothing but collateral damage in this whole mess, and it makes me feel some kind of way. Especially when she looks at me and gives me a rueful grin. “Well, Jane, it looks like you were right, after all.”
Strange, hearing her say it doesn’t give me much satisfaction.
The man hurries out, and the mayor returns to his chair, picking up his cigar once more. “As you can see, I have other, more important matters to attend to. The train leaves in the morning. You’ll spend tonight in the cellars, which may be a bit damp but are cool and quite comfortable. I urge you to get as much rest as you can. Life out west is harder than anything you’re used to, at least for your kind.” The mayor puffs leisurely on his cigar. “And if you prove yourselves useful, as Mr. Redfern has, well, you might just have a future after all.”
“One more thing, Mr. Mayor, if you don’t mind,” I say.
“Yes, Miss McKeene?”
“Might I use your comfort room before we are locked up? I would hate to embarrass myself during my exile.”
The mayor smiles and nods. “Of course, Miss McKeene. I’m a politician, not a monster.”
Miss Anderson leads the way out, Mr. Redfern gesturing with his revolver for us to follow. We do, our steps slow and dejected.
I have never felt so hopeless in all my life.