"Next thing I knew, I woke up with the other boy staring at me. His gray eyes were filled with worry. I'd never seen a white man care anything about me. Seems he'd stopped Wade from killing me. In the process he scarred Wade's face over the eye. There's been bad blood between the cousins ever since."
"The boy was Hunter? she asked, remembering the way his gray eyes looked at her.
"Yes-only he was no more than seventeen then," Abram answered.
Perry found the story fascinating. "Then you went to work for him?''
"Not really. I went back to his house. There he was, a kid living all alone. His mother had just died and his dad was off in Europe. He nursed me the best he could, and fed me. I've been with him ever since, but not as his employee. For eight years now we've just helped each other out. You may not understand this, Miss Perry, but we are friends. Closer than most family. He even taught me to read. I've got a room in his house with more books in it than most men my color see in a lifetime."
Perry understood Abram better than he knew. She'd heard Noma talk of what a joy it would be to read, and Perry had started teaching her before the war broke out. Silence fell once again between the huge black man and Perry as they each moved into the cocoons of their own thoughts.
The miles passed slowly as they traveled closer to Philadelphia. Abram stopped only briefly to check Hunter and unwrap food from a small supply box. He made no further attempt to build a fire and cook. Perhaps he had no wish of a repeat of the ambush scene. Hunter slept as they traveled, waking only occasionally to ask for a drink. She tried to assist him, but with her bandaged hand she was almost useless. After a few unsuccessful tries Perry and Hunter found they could work as a team fairly well. She poured the water with her good hand and Hunter held the cup. She watched as the wind softly brushed his blond hair, and longing to remove her filthy hat and loosen her curls in the breeze. Only two people would see her. One, Abram, already knew she was a girl. Yet Perry knew she must continue her disguise, if only to protect Hunter. She sighed softly, resigning herself to her awful clothes.
The following days passed rapidly. Abram drove the team almost continually, stopping only to rest the horses. During these breaks Abram would stretch his huge body out under a tree and sleep.
Perry and Hunter usually spent the time talking. Hunter enjoyed telling about his ballooning adventures, and Perry found this a safe subject. As long as she asked a few questions now and then, Hunter would continue talking.
He told her of one of the first balloon ascents in Paris, in 1783. "The balloon only went six miles," he said, "but it was the first hydrogen balloon to go up. A young physicist named Charles invented it. When it landed in a small village, it frightened the locals, who mistook it for a monster. The farmers attacked it with pitchforks, destroying it. They didn't know they were attacking such an important discovery."
Over her laughter he continued. "Ben Franklin was in France at the time, and it is said he and four thousand others watched the next ascent six months later.''
Hunter smiled. "You know, boy, if I could, I'd introduce you to a good friend of mine. He's on leave from the German army to check out ballooning for the military. He's been crazy about it ever since he went up for the first time in Minneapolis. He's a count, you know. Name's Count Ferdinand von Zeppelin. I lend Count Zeppelin my lodgings in Washington whenever he needs them. He junks them up with maps worse than I do." Hunter laughed and Perry noticed a tiredness in his eyes.
Perry and Hunter's conversations were usually short, for Hunter was still very weak. When they talked, the warmth in his smile never reached his eyes. He was a private man. Even when he grew excited about ballooning, there still was a silent wall that seemed to keep all others pushed slightly away.
As Philadelphia drew nearer, Hunter's bleeding lessened. He was growing stronger, and so were Perry's feelings toward him.
Chapter 7
Darkness fell on the weary threesome as they moved through the outskirts of Philadelphia. Perry marveled at Abram's stamina. He'd hardly slept over the long trip. Now he carefully maneuvered the tired team down the narrow streets of the second largest town in America.
Philadelphia was dirtier than most towns Perry had seen. A menagerie of people wandered the streets, as though they were waiting for adventure to dance into their humdrum lives. Beggars huddled in corners, while soldiers milled aimlessly around, searching for excitement to dispel their nervous energy. The crowd added a carnival-like atmosphere to the town. The aroma of food being cooked over open fires blended with the odors of too many people and animals stabled in close quarters. She heard several conversations at once without understanding any of them.
Abram urged the horses past a carriage pulled to the curb. The black coach was polished until light sparkled off it, giving it a charmed quality in the night. Two women alighted from the rich inner folds and strolled into the yellow glow of the streetlight. Both were lavishly dressed in yards of colorful silk. Perry had seen little fine silk over the past four years, and to see so much at once was almost an assault on her eyes. The ladies looked like huge, beautiful moths fluttering in the lamplight.
The women's loud laughter drifted through the street like a bell clanging off-key. Perry's gaze darted suddenly from the bright material they wore to their faces. Her eyes widened as she saw, not two fine ladies but rough women of the streets. Their hair shone an unnatural copper in the light of the lamp, and their faces were covered with makeup thick enough to plow a row through. Their eyes were painted and outlined in black, in sharp contrast to the powder-white of their skin. Each had overemphasized her lips in bright red.
Perry felt the wagon lurch forward. Abram's mumbling caught her full attention. "Abram, did you see them?" Perry tried to control the excitement in her voice. "Did you see those ladies?"
Abram let out an uneasy laugh. "Them are no ladies. No ladies at all."
He would have ended the discussion, but Perry persisted. "Did you see the silk? I haven't seen silk like that in years. It was lovely. But their eyes and lips-I've never seen women so made-up. Have you, Abram?" She wiggled in the seat, hoping for another look. The women surely must be as rare as white buffalo.
He seemed reluctant to speak, and when he did, his voice was stern. "They aren't the type of women you should be seeing. They aren't proper ladies. No amount of silk will make them ladies, just like no amount of mud will make you less of one. They're the vultures in a war. They feed off both sides. Don't matter to them who wins, just as long as whoever does has money.''
Perry remembered hearing Noma talk about women who sold themselves for the night. Women who were not respected by any man.
"Abram, are they whores?" she asked.
Abram's eyes darted to her face. "Where'd you learn a word like that?"
"They were, weren't they?" Perry laughed. "I'm not a child. I've heard of such women."
Abram grunted and continued driving the tired team. "My bet is they are worse than any you've ever heard of." He slapped the rump of one horse lightly with the end of the reins as he shook his head, ending the discussion.
Perry checked Hunter. He was sleeping in the wagon bed behind them, his body covered with blankets. He was still very weak. The trip had been hard on him, though he never complained. Perry was glad he would sleep in a hospital tonight, but a part of her would miss being with him.
She studied Hunter's hand as it rested outside his blankets. Heat trailed over her body as she remembered the way his strong fingers had touched her so gently. He'd spoken of longing and needing her, but she knew his strength of character would never accept her. To love her in reality would dishonor him. They were separated by an ocean of war, with her on one side and him on the other. She'd seen the strong sense of honor in his eyes when he'd talked with his cousin in camp, heard it in his voice when the deserters had tried to rob them. If his sense of honor had been strong enough to put him in a war he hated, surely it would make him turn her over for trial.