Midnight Caller (Moonlight Romance) (9 page)

He moved his tongue around his parched mouth. It was all wrong. “We’re taking this too far, ma’am.”

He slid off the bed and onto his feet, reaching for his shirt.

“Isn’t that for me to decide?” Sadness weighted her words.

He tensed. “I have a say, too.” He couldn’t look at her. If he saw her pleading eyes, he’d give in. This was for the best.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Our time isn’t up yet.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She cringed. Distance. He had to put distance between them.

“I paid you so I was led to believe I was in charge for the night.” Her tone was more whiny than demanding.

“I can’t fulfill your fantasy any longer.” He took the dollar out of his pocket and threw it on the bed. The knot in his throat made it impossible to swallow. “I’m sorry.” He could say it a thousand times and it would never be enough.

“This isn’t a fantasy. I need you.” Her voice cracked and then jumped five octaves. “Don’t leave me. Frederick…I-I love you.”

His heart tore in two. He put on his vest and coat. “I can’t stay any longer.”

Emma ran to his side and embraced him, her slender arms straining to wrap around his frame. “I won’t let you go. I won’t! I want us to be together. A couple.”

Frederick gently lifted her fingers off of him, his eyes as wide as wagon wheels. His blood thickened and it took a long time for his muscles to move. “This is for the best, Emma.” He struggled to keep emotion out of his voice and didn’t quite succeed.

Throwing on his trousers, he hurried out of the house. Staying in the shadows, he ran silently from one hiding place to another, carefully advancing toward the docks. He didn’t slow down until he was two streets away and he was sure she hadn’t followed him. His vision blurred and he blinked. He would not cry. He had not cried when his mama and sister had been sold. He would not cry now.

He headed for the
Comet.
The steamboat was the only home he had. Returning to its familiar deck would be calming.

He didn’t want to leave Emma. He wanted to stay with her forever, but he couldn’t. She was taking her fantasy way too far. Maybe she really loved him, but he wouldn’t endanger her reputation.

Somehow he would get over his heartache and in time she would, too.

He could never take another client. It was even a more dangerous business than he’d realized. He never thought he’d risk his heart. He could never do that again and he didn’t want to touch another woman.

His eyes stung from holding back tears. He stopped and glanced around to gain his bearings.

A thin white man stood in the shadows under an oak tree. A thick rope was looped around his shoulder.

Frederick’s heart lurched and came to an abrupt halt. The man stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight. It was Mr. Hawthorne, the one who’d swore he started the fire last night. Fear fisted in his chest, knocking out his breath.

“Frederick,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “I knew you’d be headed this way.”

“I work as a roustabout,” he said in a raspy voice. “I’m headed back to the ship.”

Mr. Hawthorne’s silence increased Frederick’s rapid pulse to a dizzying pace.

“I know a lot about you, Frederick. I make it my business to know.”

Why? Frederick didn’t dare ask. This man reeked of trouble.

“You’ve been with Emma.”

His throat closed with fear; he struggled to breathe, forming words near impossible. His insides twisted causing a searing pain. How did he find out? That didn’t matter. Would he use it against Emma? Would he hurt her?

Adrenaline surged in his veins. He could outrun the man, outfight the man. He’d make it to the
Comet.

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “I’m not going to hang you
yet.
But you will stay away from Emma. If I found out you have visited her again…” He made a hanging gesture with his fist, pulling his head back. “You understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Hawthorne grinned. “Good, boy.”

Frederick bit the tip of his tongue. He wanted to protect Emma from this horrible man, but he was helpless at the moment. He would find a way to keep her safe from Mr. Hawthorne. She deserved much better than him. She deserved a real man who would treat her like a lady.

He would make sure she got the chance to find her prince even if it cost him his life.

* * * *

Frederick lay on his stomach on the deck of the
Comet
. George kneeled beside him cleaning his cuts. Back-talking to the mates was a one-way ticket to a thrashing. “What got into you?” George asked. “You know better than to mouth off.”

“I did it on purpose,” Frederick said, wincing. “Take it easy will you.”

George grunted. “I should be rougher. Talking back on purpose. Why are you looking for trouble? Didn’t getting thrown in jail shake you up any?”

“It did.” And so did Mr. Hawthorne’s warning. “But I needed the pain to override my broken heart.” The whipping succeeded. For now.

“Still thinking about Emma.” George shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“I’m never going to see her again. But I can’t see myself with another woman.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find you the prettiest colored belle to take your mind off Emma.”

Frederick knew if he married any other woman, he’d be settling. She would never have his entire heart. Emma had kept a piece. When he made love to her he would picture Emma. It was almost as bad as cheating. His guilt would eat him alive. “I know I did the right thing. So why do I feel so damn awful?”

“Well, big brother, doing the right thing can hurt. You loved her enough to set her free.”

“I don’t think she looked at it that way.”

“Women are emotional creatures. Not rational.”

Footsteps. Frederick stared at the mate’s black shoes.

“You better keep up with your work,” he said in a gruff voice. “I didn’t whip you that bad.”

“Yes, sir. I will, sir.”

The steamboat slowed and came to a stop. George helped pull him to his feet and he held back a groan.

“Guess you’ll have to numb your mind with cotton bales.”

Work. That was all he had to live for. He twisted at the waist, arms above his head, stretching his tall frame.

George waved to him, telling him to hurry up.

He sighed. He still had his brother, too.

Every time he bent down a twinge of pain reminded him of his place in the world. He wasn’t meant to be with her. She would find a white man to marry. Society would remain in perfect balance.

Still, even though he could not have her, he needed to protect her. There had to be a way for him to keep Mr. Hawthorne away from her. To keep her safe.

Making sure she was not in danger was the best he could do.

He didn’t know how he was going to get through the rest of his life without Emma.

Emma buried her head in the pillow and cried. The more she had begged him to stay, the more determined Frederick was to leave—leave for good.

No more calls. No more smiles. No more cuddling.

She already mourned the loss of his presence, his touch.

She cried harder, her wailing muffled by the cotton. He was perfect. Everything she craved in a man: strong, caring, passionate, hardworking, swoon-worthy handsome, and willing to treat her like an equal.

In return she would treat him like an equal.

She rose up on her arms and took a deep breath. The room spun in slow circles, her stomach churning. She sat up and put her hand over her eyes. In the darkness the spinning stopped.

She sniffled and swallowed the last of her sobs. Her chest loosened and gradually her insides unwound. Frederick was worried about ruining her reputation because he cared about her. He had acted so stoic because he wanted to protect her. What was she going to do? Did that mean he
loved
her?

She walked over to the mirror on unsteady legs. She gripped the top of her chest of drawers to maintain her balance. Her reflection was frightening. She looked like her best friend had died. She massaged her red eyes. She needed to be presentable when she went to town, although she wasn’t in the mood to wear anything fancy.

She bit her lip and forced her fingers to work properly. Dressing one layer at a time, she finally put on her black-and-white pinstriped walking skirt and matching blouse. She brushed her wavy, black locks and then pinned her hair back. Putting on her straw bonnet, she hurried out the door.

Mrs. Dimshire would give her advice. She really couldn’t confide in anyone else about Frederick. Hopefully the old woman would understand.

Her black walking boots clipped on the sidewalk.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” A man snuck up behind her.

She looked over her shoulder. Mr. Hawthorne smiled at her like he was a cat and she was the mouse he intended to play with. She quickened her pace, but he grabbed her.

“It isn’t polite to run away,” he said. He spoke to her in the tone of a parent scolding an errant child.

Her organs struggled to process her chilled blood. “What do you want?”

“My, my now that is a sharp tone.”

Not sharp enough to cut her free. She gritted her teeth.

He glanced around and made a sweeping motion with his free arm. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene, now would you? I just want a minute of your time.”

“Fine. Unhand me and we can talk.”

He let her go, but his granite-hard gaze did not soften. He walked to a bench and she followed.

“We have some business to discuss, ma’am.”

“Business? I think not.”

Mr. Hawthorne grinned. “I know about Frederick. I know what he was doing besides fixing your barn roof.” His voice was as airy as the summer breeze.

All of Emma’s muscles stiffened turning her into a statue. Her jaw dropped open but the words would not come. He wouldn’t get Frederick killed, would he? She would never forgive herself.

“You never said anything.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t get him hanged without disparaging my future wife.”

“Future wife!”

“Oh yes. I had a talk with him. You won’t be seeing Frederick again, so you can focus your feminine wiles on me.”

She forced her mouth closed. Had Frederick left her because Mr. Hawthorne had threatened him? If that had been case, why did he show up at all? He had wanted to spend time with her, to be intimate with her. Why the sudden change of heart?

“Either that or Frederick will be dancing at the end of a rope. Do you understand?”

Her chest constricted as if her corset had been tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Emma nodded.

“Good. So what time shall I call on you tomorrow? Eleven? I was thinking the weather is perfect for a carriage ride and picnic. What do you think?”

“Don’t you have to work?” she squeaked out.

“I’ll have the relief operator cover for me. So does eleven work for you?”

Emma nodded again.

He stood, tipped his hat, and strode down the street leaving her alone on the bench.

She gasped, her lungs burning, her heart burning, her eyes burning. She wiped away her tears.

* * * *

The rest of yesterday had passed in a blur. She didn’t know how she’d managed to perform simple tasks like eating and undressing. Her brain could focus on nothing but Mr. Hawthorne and Frederick, warring between the two men, desperately searching for a resolution.

She wasn’t going to lose Frederick. She wasn’t going to be Mrs. Hawthorne either.

She took the family Bible out of the nightstand drawer. Running her finger over her great-grandmother’s name and then the name of her husband gave her strength. “Thank you, Grandma Zoe,” she breathed.

She had till eleven o’clock to put her plans in motion. She sold her carriage horses to her neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, he’d been trying to buy them since her husband died. Her carpetbags already packed, she was at the bank the minute it opened.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Bennett?” the clerk asked.

“I’d like to see Mr. Lowell.”

The clerk nodded, left and returned with the owner of the bank. “What do I owe this pleasure, Mrs. Bennett?”

“I’m hoping you’d be willing to buy my property. I am moving as soon as I can sell.”

“This is sudden,” the man said. “I hope everything is all right.”

“Oh yes. I have a cousin in New Orleans. She wrote and invited me to move in with her.”

“I see. Well, I’d be willing to give you what Mr. Bennett paid for the property: four hundred dollars.”

She pursed her lips. He was offering her the value of the land without factoring in the house and barn. The man was looking to make a fifty percent profit. But she was in a hurry. “I am only taking a few things with me. I can’t fit much on the train. So all the furniture will go with the house. Can you give me a little more?”

The man brushed his thumb and forefinger across his blond mustache. “Just because I have respect for you and know you’ve been through a lot recently I’ll give you four hundred fifty.”

“I’ll take your offer. Thank you.”

Emma signed the necessary papers and Mr. Lowell gave her a bank draft. She tucked it in her black reticule and left the bank, heading for Mrs. Dimshire’s house.

Mr. Hawthorne stood in her way, blocking her path. He stood with his legs apart, arms folded across his chest. As she approached him it became clear he wasn’t going to budge.

Emma chewed on her lip, acid sloshing in her stomach. “Excuse me,” she said, attempting to walk around him.

He took a step sideways blocking her again. “You’re not running to Mrs. Dimshire this time.”

“What are you talking about? This is a fine way for you to be acting when you will be calling on me in three hours.”

“I have a strong feeling you did not intend to be home.” His eyes flicked down to her carpetbags. “You’re packed and you just sold your property.”

Emma gasped, her cheeks aflame. “How did you know that? You’re spying on me!”

“I do not consider keeping an eye on my future wife to be spying.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And you
will
be my wife.”

“I am going to New Orleans to my cousin.”

Mr. Hawthorne laughed the sound slicing through her like a knife. “You don’t have a cousin in New Orleans. As far as I know you don’t have any kin who will recognize your existence.”