River

Gregor

When we get back to Natchez from our trip to Ellis Cliffs, Stephen stops the carriage, pulling the horses to a halt outside his medical office. He chatted to us, sitting behind him in the cab, the whole way home, effusive about his upcoming wedding. Rosalind and I smiled at each other as he spoke, that particular hurdle long past for us. As I am taking his place up on the driver’s bench, I see him go inside to talk to his brother Samuel, who will be taking over the practice after Stephen’s wedding next month. I let Rosy out at home, then take the carriage to drop off at the public stables. I lead the horse, holding his bridle and walking alongside, patting him as we go. I always appreciate the horses who allow us to use their strength for our needs.

As long as I am at the stables, I say hello to my own horse, Issoba. I don’t normally use him for the carriage, I generally rent a horse to pull it. Issoba seems too fine and spirited for that. I feel that we have become true friends, during our journey to and from Pittsburgh a few months ago. I’ve saved an apple for him in my pocket, which he expects, and he begins nosing around me as soon as I arrive. “Nice to see you too, old friend,” I tell him, holding it up to his mouth.

When I pat him goodbye and begin walking back to my house, Wolk says, “Darling, there is some information that you should be aware of.”

“Oh?” I think to him, silently. My conversations with him are almost always conducted in complete silence. That way nobody else can overhear, either humans or their Guardians, who Wolk habitually blocks from hearing our thoughts.

“I’m afraid that Mason was in town today while you were at Ellis Cliffs.”

Ugh. The beast. He has been gone for months, so I didn’t have the opportunity, or the burden, of dealing with him. “Where is he?”

“He has already left. He told an acquaintance that he was walking back up the Trace.”

“Find out everything.” I know that even if Mason is too far away for Wolk to hear now, he can still dip into the minds of everybody else nearby to find out what they saw and heard. He will take a few minutes, I know, to listen in and get all the information he can.

I quicken my steps to return home. As much as I don’t want to be having a conversation about Mason in Rosalind’s presence, I feel the urge to be with her as soon as possible. I know Wolk said Mason is already gone, but hearing that he is nearby gives me chills. It brings back to me the vivid memory of the fragile state in which I found her after I returned from Pittsburgh, of how broken she was after enduring him for months. He damaged her, and I can never again allow him to get anywhere close.

By the time that I have walked the short distance to my house, Wolk is ready. “Hold on,” I tell him, “let me see her first.”

She is in the kitchen with Nadine, looking at what is being prepared for dinner. Something smells good, but I can’t think about that right now. I stride straight across to Rosalind and take her in my arms, crushing her to me. I see Nadine smirk and look aside, clearly amused by our ongoing honeymoon phase. But it is more than that right now.

Rosalind takes her cue from my actions, as she always has, and melts into my embrace. When I have the reassurance that holding her gives me, I can relax. She looks up at me curiously. “My goodness, Gregor, you act as though you have not seen me in a long time.”

I smile down at her, trace the line of her cheek with the back of my hand. “It was a long time. At least twenty minutes.”

I hear Nadine snort then quickly turn away, covering her mouth with her hand.

Fine, ladies, have your fun. Wolk snorts too.

“Will you be here in the kitchen?” I ask my wife. Her brow wrinkles with confusion, but she only says, “Yes.”

“All right. I’m going outside for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Nadine says as I am walking out the side door, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

I know that Moses is in the garden, where I saw him when I dropped Rosalind off before returning the carriage. I step down the two stairs from the kitchen entrance, and cross the little rows of vegetables that he has planted in the rich soil, using seeds that Abraham Ellis had given me from his garden at Ellis Cliffs. They haven’t started producing quite yet, but it is a lovely sight. He is towards the back of the property, overlooking the river, tending to some plants there. He straightens when he sees me coming.

“Good evening, Mister Gregor,” he tells me, a smile on his broad, dark face.

“Hello, Moses, how have things been around here today?”

“Just fine, sir. Just been tending the garden.”

“Has anybody come by?”

“No, sir.”

“You haven’t seen anything unusual?”

“No, sir.” His eyebrows furrow, not understanding the point of my questions. “Is something wrong?”

“I think there might be somebody unsavory hanging around Natchez. Can you make sure to be extra vigilant? Just watch over the place, make sure nobody is lurking about, whenever I’m not at home?”

He straightens his spine. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He is a good man. One of the few free blacks living in Natchez, he had been a child when he, his mother, and siblings were freed after their master died. He is a hard worker, very strong, and seems quite content with his position here.

“Thank you,” I tell him, then head back inside, gratified to see him already swiveling his head around as if to immediately locate any threat.

I give Rosalind another quick hug, then tell her, “I’ll be in my study. Just let me know when dinner is ready.”

She knows that I am thinking about something more than our day at Ellis Cliffs, but one of the endearing things about her is that she doesn’t question me. She is very accepting of the fact that I will sometimes be unable to explain everything to her. She even told me straight out that it is fine with her for me to keep secrets. It is one of the reasons that our relationship works so well. I certainly have secrets to keep.

When I get into my study, I sit down on the armchair in there, put my feet up on the footrest, and finally tell Wolk, “All right. Tell me.”

“Mason had gone to New Orleans on a flatboat, as you know, shortly before you returned to Natchez in May. Yesterday he returned to Natchez, and spoke to an acquaintance of his, explaining that he has been committing robberies along the Trace, and inviting his friend to join him in this endeavor.”

“The friend’s name?”

“Stu. He is a dockworker. You have seen him. He has somewhat long brown hair, tanned skin, heavy beard, stocky build, in his mid-30’s.”

That describes a lot of people in town.

“I will point him out next time.”

“Is Stu joining him?”

“He is considering whether to do so. He used to commit crimes together with Mason quite a while ago, but has been working in Natchez for years. He is trying to decide whether he would like more excitement than is offered by his life here as a dockworker.”

“And Mason?”

“He told Stu that he would be returning to the Trace for a few days, then come back to Natchez for his answer.” He waits a moment to see if I have any more questions, then adds, “There is more.”

“Yes?”

“He visited Madam Beverly’s, looking for Rosy.”

I feel my teeth clench. “Fine. Tell me what happened.”

“Beverly told him that Rosalind was no longer there, but refused to tell him any details except that she was gone, and not at another brothel.”

I nod. Beverly might be a mercenary, but she is not entirely heartless. It is good to know that she can be discreet.

“However,” Wolk continues, “he did obtain the information he wanted from another of the ladies. Rosalind’s friend Genevive told him of your marriage, and that you live here still in town, and work on the dock expansion project.”

That is aggravating. “Why would she do that?” I ask, exasperated. I have fetched Genevive in my carriage several times to come here and visit with Rosalind. “I would think she would want to protect her friend.”

Wolk is reluctant, and I suddenly know what is coming. “She tried, my dearest. He forced the information out of her with abuse.”

Oh my god. The fiend will not just go away and leave us alone, will he? If he was violent with Genevive to obtain information about Rosalind, that means that he will be back. I’m glad I asked Moses to keep an eye out. I know that Wolk will be vigilant as well.

“Is Genevive all right?”

“Her injuries are similar to what Rosalind suffered. Painful, but no permanent damage.”

I add Genevive’s suffering to my account, the ledger I keep in my mind of things that are ultimately my doing. I can tell Wolk wants to argue with me about it being my fault, but I shush him before he can start.

I think back to the time that I met Mason, months ago on the Trace, and stopped him from robbing my friends. It seemed like nothing at the time, the simplest task, amusing almost. But the repercussions of that little scene continue to follow me. The town was already full of gossip about it when I got back from Pittsburgh, the tale growing in the telling with each repetition, until my insignificant actions have become the stuff of exaggerated legend. And of course Rosalind suffered for it, when Mason targeted her after learning how much time I had been spending with her at Beverly’s before my journey. When I returned, I had to exert extreme efforts to try to heal her, restore her, before I could even proceed with the proposal that I was planning.

I would have thought his abuse of Rosalind would have satisfied his wounded pride, been sufficient to feel himself avenged against me, but apparently not. Months later he is still asking about her. I must be ready.