Ella Wood Novellas: Boxed Set Read online

  Ella Wood Novellas

  Boxed Set

  Lizzie

  Jack

  Jovie

  Ella Wood Novellas. Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Isenhoff. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Edited by Amy Nemecek.

  Candle Star Press

  www.michelleisenhoff.com

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  Table of Contents

  Lizzie

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

  Historical Notes

  Jack

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

  Historical Notes

  Jovie

  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

  Historical Notes

  Original Ella Wood Series

  Got Kids?

  Audio

  About the Author

  Lizzie

  1

  Charleston, South Carolina

  December 11, 1861

  The faintest whiff of smoke sneaked under Lizzie’s veil. She yanked it off, but the only light in the cramped quarters filtered in through a tiny porthole. She pressed her face against the glass. The round window afforded the narrowest field of sight. Even so, there was no doubting the catastrophe that turned the inky waters of the harbor a brilliant, flaming orange.

  Charleston was on fire.

  Ketch burst through her cabin door. “De waterfront be burnin’. I’m gunna do what I can to help put it out. You okay here?”

  Lizzie glanced over at the baby sleeping peacefully on her bunk. She had just laid him down. She hadn’t even checked on Robin yet, still locked in the steamer trunk in the corner of her cabin. Her pulse soared. “We in danger, Ketch?”

  They had boarded the ship less than ten minutes ago and weren’t scheduled to sail for several hours. Until the tide rose, the SS Hornbill was trapped at the wharf.

  “Not so long as de wind hold steady. It comin’ off de ocean, blowin’ straight into town. De whole city gunna go up if we can’t stop it.”

  Lizzie gasped. “Miss Emily—”

  Emily Preston was the daughter of the man who had owned Lizzie since birth. They’d grown up together, dearest companions until age forced Emily into the role of a proper young lady and Lizzie became her maid. The intervening years had been strained, but Emily had risked everything to place Lizzie and her loved ones on board the ship that would take them to Philadelphia. To freedom.

  They’d said their goodbyes only minutes before. Emily was out there somewhere.

  “Miss Emily ain’t no fool. An’ her house be jus’ fine if we can get de blaze under control.” Ketch grasped her shoulders. “I’ll be back soon as I can. Stay in yo’ cabin.”

  Lizzie nodded, alarm brightening her eyes. “Be careful.”

  Ketch kissed her, paused to caress the baby’s cheek, and was gone.

  Lizzie turned back to the window. She could see only the neighboring wharf, the reflected glow of the blaze, and the dark emptiness of the December night beyond. Ketch had sounded so confident, but what if the wind did shift? What if the wharf caught fire? What if the flames took Ketch by surprise?

  Lizzie murmured a prayer for Ketch and another for Emily and tried to set her worries aside. She must remain strong for her children. Kneeling beside the trunk, she tapped softly. “Robin, you awake?”

  There was no sound from within. She unfastened the lock and eased the lid upward. The hinges groaned in protest. She reached a hand inside to feel the warmth of the little boy’s skin and uttered a sigh of relief. Though air holes had been drilled through the wood so Robin wouldn’t suffocate when they sneaked him aboard, she much preferred the lid open. The child was sleeping soundly, still under the effects of a cautionary dose of laudanum.

  The soft mewls of the infant called her back to the bunk. Lizzie picked him up and nuzzled him to her cheek. Only six weeks old, little Larkin would never know the stifling yoke of slavery—if they could make it to the North undetected. With another prayer, this time for the safe passage of these two precious children, Lizzie settled on the bunk, unbuttoned her gown, and set the baby to her breast.

  The escape had been Emily’s idea. With the help of several slaves still in residence at Ella Wood, she had arranged for Ketch to float downriver hidden aboard the plantation schooner and had taken Lizzie and the children to Charleston herself. Now Lizzie was covered in finery from head to toe and booked under the name of Mrs. Theodore, a white woman on her way north to see a specialist for a painful vision ailment that forced her to cover her face in the light. Ketch was her manservant, Hector. Once they reached Philadelphia, they must locate Emily’s great-uncle, a preacher by the name of Timothy Blaine, who didn’t know they were coming. There had been no time to send word ahead, but Emily had given Lizzie his address and a letter of introduction and assured her that Mr. Blaine would help them reach his nephew Isaac in Detroit. From there they’d continue to Canada.

  Emily’s proposal had been entirely unexpected, though Lizzie had to admit that her mistress had been different since she visited Detroit a few years before. Emily had spoken very little of her time there, but she’d come home asking questions. Her attitude changed. She began treating Lizzie as a friend again. Eventually, she had asserted herself so strongly against her father that he had banished her from Ella Wood. If Marse Preston ever found out the part his daughter played in the escape of four slaves…

  Lizzie shivered.

  In a way, this journey was poorly timed. Emily now found herself in Charleston completely on her own. Lizzie’s heart ached to think of her friend estranged from her family, but she couldn’t halt the escape plans even if she wanted to. She and Ketch had come too far. There could be no turning back without the most severe consequences.

  Emily had friends, Lizzie assured herself. She had wits and strength of will. And she had the name of the man who had forced himself on Lizzie the night she conceived Larkin. It was a secret Lizzie had to keep while her own life was in danger. But now Emily held the revelation in a letter Lizzie had given her at their parting. The knowledge would afford Emily another measure of safety.

  Robin awakened among the clothing in the trunk. “Lizzie?”

  “Shhh… We aboard ship. You can’t let anyone know you here, ’member?”

  “I’m scared.”

  So was she.

  “Climb up here by me, baby.” Lizzie slid over to make room, wrapping her free arm around the boy’s thin shoulders.

  Robin was Ketch’s child from a previous marriage. After his wife died, Ketch had been forced to leave his son behind when Marse Preston brought him to Ella Wood several months before. It was Emily who had purchased Robin and reunited him with his father. Already Lizzie had grown attached to the boy. And she had hopes that Ketch would one day give him reason to call her Mama.

  “You ’member how quiet you need to be?” Lizzie asked, initiating a game they had made up before Emily had administered the laudanum.

  He nodded solemnly. “Quiet as a kitten sleepin’ in de hay.”

  “Dat’s right.” She smiled and took her turn. “Quiet as a bee sittin’ on a flower.”

  “Quiet as a leaf floppin’ in de wind.”

  “Quiet as a ’possum out fo’ a stroll.”

  Robin giggled. “Quiet as a sleepin’ chipmunk.”

  Lizzie let the game go on for several minutes. Robin hardly needed the warning. He was already far too serious for a four-year-old. He’d lost his father once and understood th
e stakes all too well. But the game provided a few minutes of forgetfulness.

  When they exhausted the activity, Lizzie asked, “Robin, have you ever heard of a place called Africa?”

  He shook his head.

  “It a faraway place all de way across de ocean.”

  “You been dere, Lizzie?”

  “Not me. But I heard stories ’bout it.”

  “Will you tell me one?”

  “’Course I will.” She cleared her throat and began a folk tale told to her as a young girl. “Once upon a time, dere be two birds, a 'Nsasak bird and an Odudu bird, who lived in a faraway kingdom. Now de king wanted to know if any o’ his subjects had discipline enough to withstand a full week o’ hunger. De one who succeeded would be made chief o’ his tribe.

  “De Odudu bird thought certain he could win. He a large bird, wid a long tail, black and brown feathers, an’ a cream-colored chest. But de tiny ’Nsasak bird wid his bright colors, he wouldn’t be left out. Both volunteered to test dey wills.

  “So de king commanded each to build a house for hisself, an’ he sealed ’em up inside.

  “Now de ’Nsasak bird be more clever’n his friend. He lef’ a small hole in de wall o’ his house and filled it in wid grass so de king wouldn’t see it. Each mornin’ he flew away before sunrise and ate his fill, den returned after dark. Each night he asked de Odudu how he farin’.

  “De Odudu bore up well, but as days passed, his voice grew weaker an’ weaker. At de end o’ de week, de king opened de houses. De ’Nsasak flew out, full o’ fire and pep. But de Odudu bird be dead. So de ’Nsasak made chief o’ his tribe. An’ to dis day it be thought a great show o’ skill to shoot a ’Nsasak bird, for dey be known for dey cunnin’ and small size.”

  Robin sat in silence, soberly considering the old tale.

  “Don’ you like my story?” Lizzie asked.

  The little boy shook his head.

  “Because de Odudu bird died?”

  His little head bobbed up and down. “An’ de ’Nsasak didn’t play fair.”

  “No, he didn’t. But he survived.” Lizzie squeezed his shoulders. “Even though we don’ like de ’Nsasak bird much, sometimes we need to be like ’im. An’ dis be one o’ dose times. Robin, while we on dis boat, I want you to be clever, jus’ like dat ol’ ‘Nsasak bird. Think how bes’ to fool de people on board so dey don’ see or hear you. You think you can do dat?”

  Robin snuggled against her side. “I can be real quiet. An’ de trunk can be my house. No one will know when I go in or out.”

  “Dat’s fine, baby.” Lizzie smiled. “Won’t anybody even know you here.”

  ***

  Hours later, long after Robin had fallen back to sleep, Lizzie still lay awake beside the boy, stiff with worry.

  “You be needin’ anything, Mrs. Theodore?” Ketch’s welcome voice pushed through the door after a light rap.

  Lizzie’s breath came in with a rush. She rolled off the bunk, careful not to wake the sleeping child, and hastily fit the veil over her face before unlocking the door. Ketch slipped inside. The odor of smoke and creosote clung to his clothing. She gripped his arm. “What happened?”

  Ketch sighed, the sound thick with defeat. “De fire burnin’ all de way across de city. Ain’t no one can stop it till it run out o’ fuel.”

  Her grip tightened. “You seen Miss Emily?”

  “No, but de warnin’ spread faster’n de blaze. De whole city awake. Miss Emily gunna be fine.”

  She pulled off the veil to see him more clearly. “Did de fire reach her house?”

  He shrugged.

  “It way south. At de end of de peninsula.”

  He shook his head. “De wind still blowin’ west, straight as a arrow.”

  Lizzie sagged with relief. Emily and the staff in the Preston house were safe. “When we sailin’?”

  “Soon. De tide almos’ full.” He coughed, dry and raspy.

  She reached out to touch his face. “You okay? You ain’t hurt?”

  “Lungs jus’ stingin’ some from de smoke.”

  He caught her lightly around the waist, and she let her cheek rest against his chest. Her heart swelled with affection. He hadn’t owed Charleston anything, but he’d been out there saving it. “You a good man, Ketch.”

  “I a tired man, but I won’ be able to res’ till we safe away.”

  “You thinkin’ of de blockade?”

  “Some. De fire be a mighty big back light to show up our silhouette. But if de navy catch us, dey prob’ly jus’ set us free.”

  She pulled free of his arms. “Oh, Ketch, you think so?”

  “Can’t say fo’ certain, but Zeke overheard Marse Preston talkin’ to Mr. Cutler. He some furious over de Union freein’ slaves around Port Royal.”

  “Den what you worried about?”

  “Gettin’ found out. Havin’ to go back. Losin’ you an’ de children.” The pitch of his voice lowered. “Knowin’ you up here alone.”

  Lizzie gave him a playful push toward the door. “Go get some sleep, Ketch. You earned it.”

  He ran a gentle finger alongside her cheek before setting her veil back in place. “I don’ think I gunna get much sleep.”

  She locked the door behind him, willing a different kind of tension from her muscles. She could tell Ketch wasn’t thinking solely of danger. The implication brought with it a heady feeling of anticipation…and memories of stark, black terror.

  ***

  The passage north was tedious. Lizzie sat for long hours with Robin, never leaving the tiny room, never catching a single breath of fresh air. They filled the time playing whispered games and telling stories. When Lizzie had recited every tale she knew—twice—they made up new ones. And when that entertainment grew thin, she pulled from her trunk a thick volume, Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa, by David Livingstone, and paged through it for the first time. It was a beautiful edition, filled with black-and-white line drawings of exotic landscapes and fantastic beasts.

  Robin’s eyes grew round as marbles. “You got a book, Lizzie?”

  “Sho’ do. Miss Emily give it to me before we left. Think you might wanna climb up here an’ read it wid me?”

  She didn’t have to ask twice.

  While Larkin slept in the trunk, Lizzie read through the first chapter, a fascinating narrative of the missionary’s explorations on the African continent. She could not pronounce all the words, and she had no idea how much of the text Robin understood, but he was fully absorbed by the account of a lion hunt and the animal’s attack on the hunters before it succumbed to their bullets. The second chapter took a starker turn, with a report of children being stolen to tend the fields of their enemy.

  During a break to change Larkin’s diaper, Robin paged through the illustrations. “Lizzie, did we come from Africa?”

  “What make you ask?”

  “De people in dese pictures look like you and Daddy.”

  “Yes, chil’. Long ago, our people come from Africa on a big ship.”

  “Dey wanna come?” he asked, studying an image of eight powerful-looking men poling a long canoe. “Or dey be stolen like dose children?”

  Lizzie wondered just how much she should tell the boy. He was young, but he’d seen much. She carried Larkin to the bunk and sat down. “No, Robin. Dey didn’t wanna come any more’n we wanna stay workin’ fo’ Marse Preston.” She brushed a hand over the soft nap curling on the top of his head. “But we leavin’ all dat behind, thanks to Miss Emily.”

  Robin scrunched his face into a thoughtful frown. “Miss Emily ain’t like Marse Preston, is she?”

  “No, Robin, she ain’t.”

  Lizzie settled back in with the baby on her shoulder and the book on her lap. “Shall I read some more?”

  He curled back into her side. “Yes, please.”

  “Tell you what. When I finish another chapter, how ’bout I start teachin’ you yo’ letters so you can read dis book all by yo’self.”

  His smi
le of eagerness warmed her heart.

  Over the next days, they read through the entire book twice. Ketch came at intervals, bringing food, emptying the chamber pot, taking away dirty diapers and bringing them back clean and wet, and filling the copper water pitcher from the barrel belowdecks. Lizzie felt guilty for being waited on, but it was imperative that she play her role to perfection. By doing so, she was protecting them all.

  Except for these brief visits and even briefer snatches of conversation, Lizzie saw nothing of Ketch. It wouldn’t be proper for him to spend time in the room of a white woman. But she missed the extended conversations they’d shared at Ella Wood, the closeness she felt at the end of the work day. She reminded herself often that where they were going, she and Ketch would have all the time in the world.

  For two days the seas were kind. Lizzie was lulled by the gentle rock of the waves and the faint thrum of the engine’s vibration. By the third morning, however, the ship had begun to roll heavily. Robin crawled into the trunk and fell asleep after vomiting his breakfast into the chamber pot. The smell hung thickly in the air. Lizzie took to her bed, fighting down her own nausea. Only Larkin seemed at ease with the violent movement.

  Ketch, looking none too well himself, entered at noon with two pieces of buttered bread. “Compliments o’ de cook,” he said in a raspy, wheezing voice. “He figured it all you could keep down.”

  “He figured right,” she replied. “Ketch, you feelin’ all right?”

  “My stomach heavin’ like de ship.”

  She was far more concerned with the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the wet, choking cough that gripped him as soon as he set the tin plate on the foot of her bed. She pressed a palm against his face. “Ketch, you burnin’ up!”

  “It’s jus’ a bit o’ cold.”

  “It ain’t no cold. It a fever. You go lie down dis instant.”