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!”