<Chapter I
By Joanna Phillips
The gunshot roared through the balmy evening, reaching far into the bayou and returning in distorted echoes. For a moment everything was perfectly still as the aftershocks of the sound rolled over the water. Callie Sullivan slowly let the gun slide from her trembling fingers as the man in front of her sank to the floor.
"I warned you!" she growled, though her voice trembled. With that, she turned and walked from the room with a composure she didn't feel.
The man gasped out after her, "You'll go to hell for this and I'm going to be the one to send you there!"
She could think of nothing that she could say that would deter him, so she picked up the bag she had waiting. Her hoop skirts swayed madly as she let herself out of the house. He screamed for her to come back, his voice going more shrill and desperate when she didn't do so. She saw lights flaring in the upstairs windows and knew that the rest of the house had awakened. She didn't know if he would live or die. It didn't matter. The result would be the same for her.
She just signed her own death warrant.
Once clear of the house she picked up her skirts and flew to the stables--those beautiful, long stone buildings that housed some of the finest horses in the South. And some of the fastest.
A large black man met her there, blocking her path with apologetic dark eyes. "What you doin' miss?" He wondered.
"Horace, I need my horse right now!"
"But the Senator says you ain't to go nowhere, Miss!" The man said, "Miss Callie, is there trouble up at the big house? We all heard the shot!"
"Horace, there is going to be much more trouble if I don't get my horse! Please!"
The man had direct orders not to let her ride away, but as he looked into the young woman's terrified and violent eyes, he gave in. "All right, Miss Callie. But where you going? When will you be back?"
She could no longer blink the tears down as she looked at the slave she'd known since she was just a child, "Never, Horace."
"But Miss…"
Callie sighed impatiently and glanced up at the main house. Figures were looming in the many windows already. "Please!" She whispered, "I don't have much time! He'll kill me!"
Horace sighed, and his eyes were sorrowful. "Alright, Miss. I'll go get The Ghost ready…"
She nodded her thanks and waited by the stable door, lost in the shadows and starting to tremble as the fear of what she'd done spread outward from the center of her stomach.
Her eyes wandered over the main house as she tried to capture every inch of it in her memory. The large colonial mansion, the huge marble columns glowing in the moonlight. It sat on beautifully manicured grounds, and Callie had spent years roaming the gardens. The pastures all held beautiful, spirited horses that Callie had helped raise and train. Further inland, thousands of acres of tobacco, rice, and cotton were tended by slaves. The slow moving river drifted by the docks that Sullivan Manor had used to ship its products to New Orleans for nearly two hundred years. The graceful Weeping Willows that lined the river were even older than that.
Callie heard the soft clicking of her horse's hooves on the cobblestone aisle of the stable and turned to look. She could see the dappled gray horse glowing in the darkness long before she was able to spot Horace at his side. The spirited gray Arabian nickered at her, and she felt the tears creeping up on her as she placed a hand on his velvety black muzzle to quiet him, "Quiet Ghost, my boy." At least she would have one friend with her on her journey. There was small comfort in that.
"Miss, be careful…" Horace said.
"Thank you Horace. You take care of yourself! Tell everyone I will miss them and I'm sorry to leave them like this..." She said, and tears finally spilled from her eyes.
"What's to become of us, Miss Callie?" Horace asked softly, gaze downcast.
Callie bowed her head. How she wished she could save them all from the horrible situation she herself was escaping from! "I don't know, Horace. I'll do what I can, when I can. But staying here means the end of me, and I have to go. Godspeed!" She reached to hug him quickly and then leap, unassisted, onto her horse.
At that moment the heavy oak doors of the main house flew open, and a square of bright light poured onto the ground from inside. Callie closed her eyes as she heard the Senator's voice bellow, "Gather all the slaves! Tell them if they don't bring her back, it'll be a whipping for all of them!"
She'd tried to kill him, and she'd failed. Callie suddenly resented the fact that all her brothers had been taught to use a gun, but she'd never been allowed to handle one. A lot of good it had done them! Now he would punish the slaves for something they had no hand in. Horace looked up at her, and for a moment, Callie wondered if he'd grab her and give her away. He did, after all, have a family to think about, and Callie wouldn't have blamed him.
"Better hurry, Miss Callie. And don't worry, ain't a slave on this place that would turn you back over to him!"
Callie could think of no words to say, so she quietly turned her horse and disappeared into the darkness, shivering as she passed her family's graveyard and the freshly turned earth within the iron gates.
"Find her! I want her back here!" The Senator roared again, and Callie could imagine him standing there, his face blood red and his veins standing out on his forehead, visible from the distance. She'd seen him angry plenty of times, and knew the consequences of it, but she'd never seen him this furious. She shivered in disgust and in fright and escaped into the night, not daring to glance at her home again for fear her heart would fracture right down the center.
Callie was well aware of the looks cast her way as she rode down the dusty street of a town in Texas. Passing through unnoticed wasn't really an option. Her dress, though covered in dust and torn at the hem, was far more ornate than the simple dresses of the few women there. They eyed the royal blue silk and lace resentfully.
"Fanciest dress I ever seen on a whore!" Someone yelled from the porch of the saloon and several drunk male voices erupted into loud laughter, "How much you charge to take it off?"
Callie turned her head slowly toward the men, her eyes on fire. She turned her horse in the street, glaring coldly at them.
"You trying to figure out your price, darlin'?" The drunk yelled again, spurred on by his buddies. Anger flared in Callie's heart, as she fought to control herself. Failing to find that control and acting against her better judgement, Callie kicked Ghost and the horse leapt over to the porch, stopping only inches shy of jumping up on it. The men moved back quickly.
"You could offer me every bit of gold in this world, and I wouldn't take off my glove for you!" She hissed, and his friends laughed at his expense.
The man grew angry, "Why you little…" He started toward her threateningly.
Callie's hand tightened on her riding crop, and she started to ride away. She wasn't surprised when he stumbled to her and placed a dirty hand on her ankle, and without a second thought she raised her crop and brought it down with incredible force about the man's head and shoulders.
"You've no right to me!" Callie told him in her best lady-of-the-manor air.
The man, who'd fallen to the ground, looked up, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Callie turned to ride away, but his voice rang out behind her, "Maybe you ain't no whore yet, but I can tell you one thing Missy! You keep on riding around on your own, you will be soon! You mark my words!"
Callie's shoulders stiffened but she didn't turn around. The man's words burned into her memory and she absentmindedly fiddled with the fine material of her dress. The money she had wasn't going to last forever, and she'd already seen that there were no more opportunities for single women in the West than there had been in the South. In fact, that was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place.
She raised her chin as the townsfolk whispered about her. No doubt they thought she was some sort of kept woman too. None of them know! she thought as she looked at them defiantly, None of them know that once I was one of the finest ladies in New Orleans and that suitors sought me from as far away as New York City!
She continued pushing Northwest, having no where to go, but knowing that if she ever stopped running it would be the death of her.
The months passed by, and fall turned into winter. Callie grew weary and ill, but still she moved from town to town, finding work where she could, going hungry when she couldn't. She was too proud to take any form of charity, and often fared the worse for it. She was in Nebraska when finally she knew she could go no further. There were no honest jobs for women anywhere, and she still refused to sell her body or her soul.
Jarvis Malone found her in a little town far from any other. He was on his way back to Rock Creek, where he'd recently opened a saloon and gambling hall when he found her. As he was putting his horse in the stables he happened to see a flash of emerald green in the corner of the stall of a beautiful Arabian.
A woman, or rather as a closer look revealed-a girl, was huddled in the straw. She was dressed in what had once been a pricey taffeta gown, but now the material was spotted and torn. Her hair was black, maybe the darkest he'd ever seen. Her skin was pale except for the flush of fever and the bite of the wind on her cheeks and forehead. Her features were classic, the small aristocratic nose, the high cheekbones, the fine, straight teeth. For all that, though, she was in very poor health--her hair was lank and lusterless and her face too gaunt.
Suddenly, she sensed someone near by and her eyes flew open. Jarvis nearly laughed aloud with glee as he looked into the oddest blue eyes he had ever seen. By God, she'd draw a pretty price! he thought, shaking his head When she climbed to her feet, Jarvis noticed instantly how unsteady she was. If she was this fetching when she was both hungry and ill, then what did the girl look like in good health? Being an opportunist and a profiteer, he found himself anxious to find out.
"What do you want?" she growled with the look of a hunted animal, her teeth almost bared.
"My dear, have no fear! I merely meant to inquire as to why a young lady such as yourself would be huddling in the straw?"
"None of your business!" the girl snapped.
"Why I could surely help you out," Jarvis began, "I'm very wealthy."
"I'm not a whore! I don't want your money and I'm not going to bed down with you!" she said bitterly, as if she'd been asked to do just that several times.
Jarvis raised his eyebrows. There was definite fight in this one! He sensed that if he wasn't careful she'd flee, and he couldn't have that. "Miss, you are obviously a lady worthy of respect and care! It is my duty as a gentleman to assist you any way I know how! Please, let me take you into the hotel and get you some coffee to warm you!" Jarvis said softly, "We'll talk more there."
Her gaze traveled over his well-cut suit, and then she met his eyes. They seemed kind enough, at least compared to those she'd seen lately. His southern drawl and mannerly speech appealed to her and a wave of homesickness passed over her at the familiar cadence of it.
She almost agreed, but some sense of uneasiness came rushing through her veins like so much ice water. She shook her head, "No Sir, thank you. I can take care of myself."
"Please Miss, you are clearly very sick and cold! I'd ask nothing from you, if that's what you are afraid of!"
"I don't need any charity!" Her words were forceful, but her vehemence cost her and she fainted dead, crashing into the straw at the horse's feet.
It seemed to be torture for Callie to force her eyes open, but after long minutes of avoiding it, she finally opened them a crack. Two things occurred to her. One, she was very comfortable. Two, she was indoors. With a startled gasp, she sat up and looked wildly around. She was in a blissfully warm hotel room and was wearing a flannel nightgown that didn't belong to her, yet fit perfectly.
"Ah, good, you are awake!" A voice said from the corner of the room
Callie gasped again and flung herself around. "Who are you?" She demanded of the businessman who'd tried to help her in the stables, "Where am I?"
"I am Jarvis Malone my dear," He said, standing up and performing a little bow that seemed to Callie to be almost mocking, "And you are in the hotel. You passed out cold in the stable. I took the liberty of calling a doctor, who has pronounced you nearly starving and in very poor health to boot."
"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Callie growled, clutching at the thick blankets of the bed. How nice they were! How warm and soft! She didn't want to fight him--she only wanted him to go away and leave her to sleep.
"Your name would do," Malone smiled. Callie knew he was trying to be disarming, to put her at ease, but she found his smile made her nervous.
Callie sighed. She couldn't pay the man back. The least she could do was tell him her name. He seemed sincere enough. "I'm Callie Sullivan," She finally said, and the sound of her own name seemed strange. It was the first time she'd heard it in weeks. As soon as she'd said it, she wondered at the wisdom of doing so.
"Miss Sullivan, now, I must ask, why are you traveling around alone? A lady such as yourself can meet with horrible dangers here in the West."
Jarvis narrowed his eyes as the girl all but bolted from the bed.
"I-I have to go," She stammered, frantically grabbing at her small carpet bag. Jarvis had been through it and found nothing but the finest of clothing, and an old photograph of a very young Callie with four young men and a couple--her family, he assumed. Jarvis was quick to walk to the girl and put an arm about her shoulders. She tensed up as if she was ready to strike him, but Jarvis was careful. He gently turned her away from her belongings and walked her back toward the bed.
"All right, Miss Sullivan," He coaxed her, "No more questions you don't want to answer! You are going to stay here for a few days and rest, and then we'll talk of possibilities for your future."
"I told you, I'm not going to be your…"
He smiled slightly, "And I heard you, and have noted that fact. While I do find you beautiful, my dear, I know you are not that sort of woman. Even if you were, I'm hardly in the business of buying and selling children. I have a business, and assuming that you are educated, I think I may have a need for you."
Callie sighed. It was charity, she was sure. But it was an opportunity to earn money and do it without scrubbing floors or selling her body. She looked at him through eyes that had lost their spark.
"I can't ever repay you for this kindness, sir," she began, painfully swallowing her pride.
Jarvis smiled, "Some day, you'll repay me my dear. Now rest."
Callie was too sick to argue, and she eased herself back under the blankets as he left the room. However, just before she drifted off to sleep she heard the quiet "click" of the lock at the door and realized he was locking her in the room. Callie bolted upright and silently walked to the door, pressing her ear against it.
Then she heard Malone's voice. "She's resting. Make sure she doesn't leave!"
Callie found her hands trembling in fury. How dare he try to hold her here against her will! He had no right-unless…
A horrible thought struck her, and she wondered if perhaps he knew who she was, if the Senator had moved quickly enough to catch her, or at least to spread word that he was looking for her. Cursing herself for giving him her name, Callie opened her carpetbag and pulled out her warmest dress, a burgundy velvet riding habit all the way from Paris. She stuffed the warm nightgown in with her other clothing and moved toward the window.
She had to get away. She would die before she'd ever stand before that man again! She'd failed in killing him, but if she went back, by God, she would kill him or die with the trying. She took great pains to be quiet as she opened the window, and had almost made it out safely when her door was flung open. Before she knew what was happening a man grabbed her around the waist and drug her back inside, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop her screams. She fought him like a wildcat, but she was weak and only succeeded in delivering a few painful blows before her strength left her.
She was still fighting weakly when Jarvis walked into the room. He sat down in the chair and crossed his legs in what Callie thought was a feminine manner. Her eyes followed him uncertainly.
"Leaving so soon?" he wondered and nodded for his gunman to take his hand away from her mouth.
"You've no right to keep me here!" She hissed, "I'll call the marshal!"
Jarvis stood up and held out a rolled piece of paper. He extended it only inches in front of her nose and let it unroll. Callie felt tears well in her eyes as she found herself staring at an accurate drawing of herself.
"I don't think you want to call the marshal, my dear." Jarvis read the poster aloud, "Wanted for murder and robbery, Miss Callie Sullivan. $1000. Alive." He took the paper away and raised his eyebrows, "One of the biggest bounties I've ever seen, Callie. Someone, my dear, wants you back awful badly. I can't say that I blame him."
"You aren't a bounty hunter," Callie said simply.
"No, I'm a business man," Jarvis responded agreeably, "And you and I are about to make a deal."
"I'm not making any deals with you!"
"Shall I call the marshal then?" Jarvis asked, "I could certainly use $1000."
"You're a son of a…"
"Careful Callie, cursing isn't very ladylike!" Jarvis grinned, and laughed when she tried to lunge for him.
Callie sighed, knowing she'd reached the end of her rope and that she was trapped, "What do you want?" she asked quietly, acknowledging defeat. For the moment.
"All you have to do is everything I say, and I'll let this be our little secret. However, you go against my wishes once, and I hand you over to the law and collect my bounty."
"I'm not going to be your whore! I'd rather hang!" Callie repeated violently.
"Don't flatter yourself my dear," Jarvis laughed, "Don't act as if you are some high and mighty Southern belle, because I know the truth. You are a thief and a murderess. I'm not so sure I would bed down with you. My customers however, are another story!"
Callie kept her chin high with defiance until they both had backed from the room, and then collapsed on the bed, mind and heart racing in her panic. She saw no way out of her new prison--and she never doubted that imprisoned was exactly what she was--she should know, she'd spent a lot of time as a captive. I'm a lady! she thought over and over, and in realizing that being a lady was part of a rapidly disappearing past, she fell into a restless sleep with her tears dampening the pillow beneath her.
To be continued…On toCHAPTER II
Copyright 2005-This work is not to be reproduced without the permission of the author
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