A Hope Divided by Alyssa Cole (13)

CHAPTER 12

Marlie’s heart had already been beating wildly as Ewan’s mouth moved against hers, and then down toward her décolletage. His grip on her had been so strong, the power of his desire imprinted against her by the press of his fingertips into the curve of her hip. She had never imagined that kissing could be like that. She had wanted more of it, so much more of it, but now her heart was beating at a dangerous rate for a different reason.

“One moment!” she called out as another round of angry knocking shook the door. “I was indisposed.”

She looked over her shoulder at the high-backed desk pushed against the wall one more time, then pulled the key from around her neck and unlocked the door to danger. Cahill and Melody stood there, his face calm and hard, hers pleasant to the point of discomfort. Glee flashed in those brown eyes, and that was more frightening than Cahill’s coldness.

“This is entirely unnecessary,” Sarah’s voice rang out from behind Cahill. “Stephen would never allow this.”

Melody giggled. “Stephen would have no say in this, just as he has no say in anything of import. He can’t even manage you, and you think he could stop a man like Captain Cahill, a true advocate for the Confederacy?”

She darted an admiring glance up at the man and everything fell into place for Marlie: Stephen’s departure, Melody’s growing boldness. Cahill was exactly the kind of man Melody had wanted for herself, and the war had provided for her. Anger surged through Marlie at the brother who’d been nothing more than a shadow for most of her life. He’d left management of the family property to Sarah and Marlie for years, and then abandoned them with his wife and her lover instead of facing his own shame.

Sarah stepped in behind them, her expression livid. “Well, fine. Search high and low and then see how foolish this is. If you think Marlie would be engaged in any subversive activity and I’d know nothing of it, you’re mistaken.”

Marlie’s head spun. Sarah was simply trying to throw off suspicion, but Marlie was sure that Sarah also thought she was correct. It had never even occurred to her that Marlie could act on her own.

“This is the space where I make the tonics and teas that we sell down at the pharmacy. It’s been a great source of income for the family and has eased the pain of many of your militiamen.” Marlie tried to keep her voice steady, tried to keep her gaze from straining toward the desk to ensure that it was still in place.

“Don’t overestimate your value,” Melody said. “The Lynch coffers do just fine without your input. Stephen is good at one thing, at least.” She walked over to the table that held the still and alembic and began moving things around, tossing aside precisely measured mixtures and hopelessly rearranging things.

Cahill pushed past her and went into her bedchamber, where he pulled the sheets off the bed and onto the floor and flipped the mattress aside. “What are you doing?” Marlie asked.

“I’m searching for further proof of treason,” he said. “You were already a problem, but after your actions this afternoon, you’ve proven yourself a criminal.”

“A criminal? For trying to prevent the death of an innocent woman?” Sarah cried out.

“She’s been dealt with.” He looked up at Marlie, his gaze so devoid of emotion that it chilled her to the bone. “Now it’s your turn.”

He pulled a large knife from its sheath and brought it down into the mattress, ripping a jagged line down the middle. The filling of the mattress began to fall out, and he aided it along, pulling it out in great handfuls and tossing it haphazardly onto the floor, as if delighting in the chaos. Marlie stood in mute shock, unable to take in everything that was happening. It was just a bed, but it was the thing that kept her warm and comfortable every night. It was where she passed her most intimate moments, and it was being destroyed before her eyes; the sense of foreboding she’d felt when she first spotted both Melody and Cahill overwhelmed her.

She thought of her mother, who had sent her to the Lynches because she’d thought they could keep her safe from the ills of the world.

Something crashed behind her, and she whirled to find Melody going through books on the bookcase, flipping through them in search of correspondence and then throwing them to the floor behind her. Sarah was scrambling, trying to pick up the mess, but it was no use.

Marlie’s face flushed with anger. There was no correspondence—she’d burned everything she received. The pinpricks in the books weren’t detectable. Her Polybius square was safe in the hidden compartment in her desk. There was only one thing of value that Marlie hadn’t hidden away.

As if reading her thoughts, Cahill strode over to the desk and began rifling through the papers. “What’s this hogwash? ‘The whites here seem to both relish the pain of slaves and pretend that we are happy to be subject to their whims. I wish there was a treatment for this disease of the mind.’ Is this some kind of abolitionist tract?”

“No, it’s no tract. A story I was copying from another source as a diversion.”

She wanted to scream and cry and rip the pages from his hands. He was defiling the remnants of her mother with his coarse fingers, with his gaze upon words not meant for him. She didn’t remember translating that portion, and as she drew nearer, she realized the writing was indeed not hers. The strokes were short, cribbed, as if the person writing had been in a rush but was too fastidious to let the work be sloppy. She’d seen it every time a note passed under the hidden door.

“Truly, truly nothing of interest,” she said, reaching for them. A hand darted out and smacked her fingers, hard.

“I do enjoy a good story,” Melody said, taking the papers from Cahill and adding them to the stack sitting on the desk. She turned and began opening drawers and throwing things to the floor. After a few moments of continued destruction, she sighed and turned toward Cahill. “I suppose that’s that. Her outburst today was not part of some greater conspiracy among the darkies, but we’ll handle it accordingly.”

What more could they do? Marlie couldn’t begin to conjecture.

“Marlie is a Lynch, and further abuse will not be tolerated,” Sarah said, coming to stand in front of Marlie.

Cahill laughed, and Melody joined in. “Marlie is a nigger, Sarah—the Lynch name doesn’t change that.”

Sarah’s eyes squeezed shut in frustration.

“Don’t you understand? Her skin might be dark, but her soul is white!” Sarah shouted, and everything in the room went silent afterward, or perhaps it just seemed that way to Marlie. She looked at Sarah, at the conviction on her face, and realized with a horrible clarity that her sister had spoken the ridiculous words because she believed them.

It was true, the father Marlie had never met was white. But the woman who had birthed and raised her and taught her everything she knew? She wasn’t, and her soul had been as pure and strong as anyone’s.

Marlie wanted to grab Sarah and shake her, to make her take the words back. For half of Marlie’s life, Sarah had been everything to her, both sister and, in a way, mother. She was all Marlie had. And she had just revealed that she didn’t know Marlie at all. She thought Marlie’s soul was white—was that the only reason she had shown her love and affection? Marlie felt a press of tears and fought at the burn behind her eyes.

Melody ignored Sarah and began to walk past her, then stopped. “Wait just a minute, now. Now I’m fairly certain Stephen said that the entire attic had been changed into rooms for the darkie, but this house is longer than these two rooms.”

She turned back toward the desk and bookcase, studying both. Marlie said nothing. Her throat was sealed by the fear that had snapped shut around her like the fly-eating plants that grew in the swamps. She was found out. She’d lost her mother’s papers, she felt a thousand leagues from Sarah even as her sister defended her, and now she’d lose Ewan, too. Her life, and certainly, her soul, might be lost as well. She’d thought herself daring, but she was nothing but a fool. She wanted to sink down to the ground but, improbably, her legs kept her upright.

Cahill pushed away the bookshelf first, and, finding nothing there, then moved the desk. He saw the door, and for the first time Marlie saw some emotion in his gaze: excitement. “Well, what do we have here?”

“A room full of rodents,” Marlie said. She didn’t know where the lie came from, how it flowed so effortlessly from her lips. “A raccoon and her pups got loose in there, eating the plants I’d been drying, and I preferred letting them have the run of the place rather than fighting them. Cunning things. I shut the door and pushed the desk against it to keep them from finding a way into my bedroom.”

“Well, if anything is living in there, it won’t be for long.” He unsheathed the vicious knife again and nudged the door open with his boot. Melody handed him a candle, and he stepped into the darkness.

Marlie closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of struggle, hoping that perhaps Ewan would have the element of surprise. It was the only way he could survive.

Marlie remembered how Ewan had said those words, as if it were an eventuality—as if he had no qualms. And he’d offered the same again, when she came to him. His eyes had gone dark and distant when he’d recalled his time in the war—in all likelihood Ewan was capable of more than she credited him with. But that wasn’t something she wanted to discover that night, in that way.

She had envisioned possible discovery before, had always thought she’d be panicked or indignant, but she felt nothing. It was as if so much was going on that her mind chose to process none of it. That was perhaps the only reason she didn’t rush into the room after Cahill.

She heard crates being knocked over, baskets and boxes crashing to the floor. Cahill’s annoyed grunts as he searched. And then . . . nothing. Cahill came out and placed the candle on the desk.

“It seems your coons are gone,” he said.

Marlie stared at him. How? How had he not seen Ewan, with his great height and his shock of red-orange hair?

“G-g-good,” she said, hoping they didn’t notice how her teeth suddenly chattered.

“Well, I’ll just be taking this,” Melody said as she pulled at the chain around Marlie’s neck with the hand that wasn’t holding Vivienne’s papers. She pulled it up over her head, heedless when the links snagged in Marlie’s curls. She tugged harder, and frowned disdainfully at the hairs caught in the clasp that she’d pulled out by the root. “Disgusting,” she muttered as she undid the clasp and removed the key. She added it to her keychain.

“You’ll be locked up here until further notice. Sarah. Commander.”

“I’m sorry,” Sarah whispered, clutching Marlie by the shoulders. Tears filled her eyes, and her expression was so pained that Marlie was almost tempted to comfort her. “I’m supposed to protect you, but Stephen has left me with few options. I will figure something out, do not fear.”

She kissed Marlie on the cheek.

Marlie didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She felt that if she opened her mouth in that moment she’d release a shout that would shake the world.

“Come, Sarah,” Melody commanded.

They filed out of the door and Marlie stood numbly in the wreckage of what had once been the last peaceful oasis in a country set against allowing her to live freely. Glass crunched as she walked, and she noticed a scrap of red—the gris-gris she’d made had been crushed underfoot.

She picked up the candle and looked about the drying room. Where had Ewan gone? For one disorienting moment, she wondered if she hadn’t imagined him entirely. A figment of her imagination, conjured from her desperate loneliness. Of course, she hadn’t realized how alone she’d been until she thought of being without him.

“Socrates?” she whispered.

The ceiling creaked over her head and a board lifted and moved to the side. His pale face appeared in the darkness. “One must always have a contingency plan,” he said in a low voice, and she couldn’t help the low giggle that burbled out of her. The giggle quickly caught on a sob, and the tears started to flow.

She felt as if the foundations of her life had been kicked out from under her, one by one, until she was left balancing precariously, like a cat chased up a pole.

“Everything is ruined,” she whispered. “Everything I love has been taken from me.”

Ewan said nothing, but there was the sound of shifting and scraping and then his hand lowered down from the darkness. She reached up and sighed as he caught her hand fast and held it tight. She didn’t let go until her arm began to ache.