Authors: Nicole Jordan
“Kyle doesn’t love her,” Bea added soberly, “any more than he loves Danielle.”
“He loves his son.”
“That’s not the same thing at all.” She paused, then added gently, “You could make Kyle love you if you wanted to.”
Selena gave a weak smile but shook her head. “I don’t have the right color hair.”
“I think you do. Kyle just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Very well.” Selena took a steadying breath. “I am going into town!”
“Now? At night? Selena, you don’t know how dangerous it can be.”
“Bea, I can’t stand it any longer—not knowing what he is doing with that woman.”
“Well, at least take Thaddeus with you. And Saul. They should be able to protect you if there’s trouble.”
She sounded so pleased that Selena gave her a sharp glance. Bea’s eyes were twinkling in the darkness; she could have sworn it.
“I wish I could be there to see it,” Bea added smugly. “Poor Kyle doesn’t stand a chance.”
Neither Thaddeus nor Saul showed as much enthusiasm for driving Selena into town: Thaddeus asked frankly if she had lost her mind, while Saul could be heard to mutter that Massa Ramsey would flay him alive if something happened to her. But Selena remained adamant and got her way by the simple expedient of threatening to drive alone. Shortly she found herself on the road to Natchez-Under.
Both men were grimly silent during the carriage ride, so the sound of revelry was almost a welcome relief to Selena. Even before they reached the bluffs, they could hear the music of plinking pianos and squawking fiddles from the grogshops and tippling houses below. As they turned downhill and negotiated the steep street, the sounds of bawdy songs and drunken laughter assailed them—and a different noise, as well. The shouting and rumbling of a mob.
Saul was driving, and as they approached Heaven’s Gate tavern, he drew sharply back on the reins. In the middle of the street stood a throng of river men and trappers, two or three of whom held torches. In the flickering yellow light, Selena could see that many of the rough men resembled the trapper she’d met her first day in Natchez. They wore flannel or leather hunting shirts and homespun jean trousers, and some carried long rifles. She was glad Thaddeus had thought to bring a pistol.
Beside her, Thaddeus shifted uneasily in his seat. “Saul, turn the carriage around, if you please.”
“No, not yet,” Selena said hastily. She was afraid that if she left now, she would never find the courage to come again. And she was concerned about the coarse crowd, wondering if Kyle was involved in some kind of trouble.
Disquieted, she watched to discover what was happening. When the throng parted momentarily, she was rewarded with a glimpse of the man in the center. He wore a long black coat and buckskin gaiters and carried something that looked like a book in his hands.
“That’s the Methodist preacher who came to town last week,” Thaddeus murmured. “He’s planned a shouting revival for tomorrow.”
Selena wasn’t sure what a “shouting revival” was, but before she could ask, she caught some of the minister’s words.
He was conducting an impassioned service right there in front of Heaven’s Gate, Selena realized with surprise. He was calling to the women in the brothel, begging them to turn from sin and save their mortal souls. His pleas were accompanied by choruses of “Hallelujah!” and “God grant it!” by the men directly surrounding him.
Yet not all the crowd were supporters, it seemed. The itinerant evangelist was being heckled by the river men and showered with profanity.
“Thar’s trouble brewin’,” Saul muttered under his breath, and silently Selena agreed. She was certain the silver flashes she’d glimpsed were the reflections of light off steel knives.
Then the crowd shifted again, and Selena drew in her breath. Beside the preacher stood a man she recognized. The gaunt face of Gideon Whitfield looked menacing in the shifting torchlight. From the corner of her eye, she could see Saul’s spine stiffen, and she herself felt the urge to shiver.
“Repent ye sinners!” Whitfield called with fervor to the occupants of the brothel. “The kingdom of heaven is at hand! Resist the devil, and he will flee from you!”
He was lost from view the next moment. Abruptly, Thaddeus repeated his order to turn the carriage around, but as Saul gathered the reins, the door to Heaven’s Gate opened and a hush fell over the crowd. Saul hesitated.
A man stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light from the taproom. Even at that distance, Selena recognized her husband. Kyle was taller than most of the men, and his dark chestnut hair was visible above the throng.
She heard him calmly suggest that the minister go on his way, but the rest of his words were lost as the assembled rabble closed in. In a moment, though, Kyle raised his voice, speaking loudly enough for the entire crowd to hear. “The fun’s over, lads. Miss Angel invites you to come back tomorrow night, when there isn’t quite so much excitement.”
“Why should we heed you, Ramsey, when the devil has claimed your soul?”
It was Whitfield, Selena thought. His tone was sneering as he turned to address the crowd.
“What do we want to listen to him for? A slave lover! He kept me from givin’ proper discipline to a nigra who talked back to me.”
“It’s true I didn’t agree with your methods of discipline,” Kyle said with irony.
“You had no right to dismiss me for floggin’ a slave!”
“I expect I could have found other grounds for dismissal. I had only to review the account books at Montrose.”
Selena held her breath. She had told Kyle about the discrepancies in the factor’s accounting, but he had decided not to prosecute Whitfield.
Whitfield’s tone turned shrill. “What are you accusin’ me of?”
“I don’t believe I made any accusations, but if you’d like to make an issue of it, I’ll be happy to oblige… No?” Kyle raised his voice again, glancing over the crowd. “That’s enough, all of you! The service is over.”
Some of the gamblers at the fringe of the crowd moved, but no one else.
“They’re ripping for a fight,” Thaddeus breathed.
A heartbeat later a shoving match broke out, and fists began to fly. From what Selena could tell, the clash was between one of the preacher’s flock and a buckskin-covered trapper. And Kyle meant to stop it. She watched with dismay as he plunged into the throng to separate the two brawlers.
For a moment she lost sight of him. Nor could she tell from the shouts and jeers what was happening. Then suddenly the crowd fell back, giving her a clear view. The preacher’s convert was down, nursing his swollen jaw, while the trapper was facing Kyle in a half crouch, arms outspread. Selena gasped in alarm when she saw the long knife the trapper was brandishing in one hand. The onlookers must have thought the knife dangerous, too, for they were giving the contenders plenty of room.
When the trapper charged Kyle, Selena gave a cry and rose halfway out of her seat before Thaddeus restrained her. “Sit down! Kyle knows what he’s doing.”
It seemed to be true, for Kyle easily sidestepped his opponent, at the same time thrusting out a booted foot. The trapper went flying, landing on his stomach with a loud grunt and skidding in the dirt for a yard or two. It reminded Selena of the first time she had seen Kyle fighting on the street in St. John’s.
The trapper lay there stunned, but after a moment he shook his ragged, greasy head and pushed himself up. The knife was still clutched in his large paw.
When he let out a tremendous bellow and launched himself again at Kyle, Selena clenched her hands so tightly that she could feel her nails pressing through her gloves. But again Kyle managed to avoid the wicked blade, this time catching the trapper by the arm and twisting. His knee came up hard into the trapper’s groin, doubling him over. A right fist to the jaw completed the work. The trapper went sprawling backward and lay still, clutching at himself and groaning.
Kyle turned on the crowd with a grim smile. “Make no mistake, you scurvy wharf rats! Next man to challenge me gets his guts rearranged.”
He was speaking to the rough men as if he were one of them, which was obviously the correct approach, and Selena felt a pride for him that almost overcame her fear. She shook her head when Thaddeus again ordered Saul to get moving.
“Devil take it, Selena! I’m not going to let you go in there.”
“Wait!” She laid a restraining hand on his arm. “They seem to be leaving.”
Indeed, the rowdies were dispersing—with some grumbling, to be sure—as they headed down the hill in search of more congenial challenges. The preacher and his flock came uphill, passing within a few yards of the carriage. Selena averted her head, glad she had thought to wear a dark bonnet that hid her face.
When they were gone, a relative silence fell over the deserted street. Kyle had disappeared. The door to Heaven’s Gate was closed.
Selena took a deep breath then. “Would you wait for me, please? I shouldn’t be above half an hour.”
Thaddeus shook his head in disbelief, but he handed her down from the carriage.
Selena felt her heart racing as she made her way to the portico. She raised her gloved hand to knock, then realized it was a public house and reached for the doorknob, instead. Taking another deep breath to steady herself for what she might find, she pushed open the door.
The smoke-filled taproom was nearly deserted. In one corner a small group of men were gambling with dice, in another, with cards. Kyle wasn’t in sight, but three women were lounging against the wall to the right. When they spied Selena, one of them straightened and tapped another on the arm. The third, a plump, black-haired woman of indeterminate years, sauntered toward her. To Selena’s shock, she wore a lace shawl over a thin shift, and nothing else.
The woman must have recognized her, for she stopped suddenly, her eyes widening like saucers. “Oh, Lordy, we got real trouble now,” she breathed.
“I’ve come…to see my husband,” Selena said quietly, yet aware that her voice seemed too loud in the sudden silence of the room.
“Yeah, sure.” The woman whirled and disappeared through a door, but she could be heard clamoring up the stairs. In only a moment she was back, but not with Kyle.
“Well, I’ll be,” Angel said slowly from the doorway. “Belle thought it was you when she saw that silver hair o’ yours, but I didn’t believe her.”
A dozen pairs of eyes turned on Selena, and she felt her cheeks flood with color. But she stood her ground. “I would like to speak to my husband.”
Angel placed a hand on one hip. “I like you, honey. Never thought I’d say that to a real lady, but you didn’t turn me outa your house like I thought you would. So I’m gonna give you some free advice. You turn around and git home. This ain’t a place for the likes of you.”
“I’ll leave when I’ve spoken to my husband.”
Angel stared at her for a moment, then shook her head. “All right, then, come on with me.” She turned without waiting to see if she would be followed, so Selena had to hurry to keep her in sight.
Angel led her into a surprisingly opulent bedchamber. A painting of naked cupids hung on one wall, while crystal wall sconces illuminated a huge bed covered with red brocade and strewn with satin pillows. Selena was accountably relieved not to find Kyle there.
Keeping her eyes averted from the painting, she stood awkwardly just inside the door, watching instead as Angel went to a cabinet and withdrew a decanter and two glasses.
“Sit down. We gotta have us a talk.” Angel pointed to what seemed to be a small dining table at one side of the room. “You want some peach brandy?”
Selena declined politely as, reluctantly, she seated herself in one of the straight-backed chairs. Angel settled in another and poured herself a large measure of the brandy before beginning.
“I know just what you’re thinkin’ about Kyle bein’ here and all, but you’re off the mark. I didn’t aim to steal your husband. Just wanted to borrow him for a bit.”
“Indeed.” It was a ladylike word, infused with a certain amount of hauteur and accompanied by a delicately raised eyebrow. Hearing it, the redhead grinned.
“Now, I told you, it ain’t what you’re thinkin’. The thing is, my bruiser got his cork drawn the other day—got knocked clean out with a bottle a whiskey. Waste o’ good whiskey if you ask me, but it busted his skull. He can’t even remember his name, let alone how to use his fives.”
“What,” Selena said faintly, “is a bruiser?”
Angel stared at her. “Lord, you are a babe, ain’t you? Still wet behind the ears. A bruiser,” she explained patiently, “is a fella who keeps the peace in gamblin’ dens and…er, places like I run. He makes sure the paying customers stay settled down and the broke customers stay out. I got a cousin in Nashville, and I sent for him to come help me out, but till he gets here, I needed a man around the place. That’s why Kyle’s here. Kyle and me, we’re friends… from way back.”
Selena didn’t want to inquire too closely about the precise meaning of the word “friends.” “I’m not sure I understand,” she said, instead.
“Kyle owes me, ya see. I saved his little sister a few years back—pushed her down and kept a bullet from partin’ her skull when some loose-screw Kaintuck was trying to shoot up Natchez. So Kyle’s papa said if there was ever anything I needed, I was to call at Montrose. Well, I needed something.”
“So Kyle is here… to help you control the kind of crowd I saw earlier?”
“That’s partly it. Someone had to drive away that pack o’ Bible pounders. I’ve got nothin’ against religion, ya see, but Silver Street ain’t a place to be preachin’. It wouldn’t do most of those scoundrels any good to find the Lord, anyhow. They don’t have souls to save. But that ain’t…isn’t,” she corrected herself, “the only reason I needed Kyle. There’s been talk of burnin’ this place down, and none of my gals feels safe anymore. I can’t do business with my gals upset, let me tell you.”
“Well, yes…I can see that,” Selena admitted.
“But what’s got me worried now is
you.
Ladies like you ain’t safe down here. You wanna tell me what put such a sap-skulled notion into your head, comin’ down here at night?”
“I was worried about Kyle,” Selena said quietly. “I thought he might be… involved with another woman.”