A Place Called Freedom (1995)

She looked angry, and she was about to make some retort when Peg started to cry. That made Lizzie hesitate. She bit her lip then said: “What do you think we should do?”

One of the dogs growled outside, and Mack heard the voice of a man talking to it and calming it. “I want you to hide Peg in here while they search the place,” he said to Lizzie. “Will you do it?”

He watched her face. If you say no, he thought, I’m in love with the wrong woman.

“Of course I’ll do it,” she said. “What do you think I am?”

He smiled happily, flooded with relief. He loved her so much he had to fight back tears. He swallowed hard. “I think you’re wonderful,” he said huskily.

They had been talking in low voices, and now Mack heard a sound from Jay’s bedroom on the other side of the wall. He had a lot more to do before Peg was safe. “I must get out of here,” he said. “Good luck!” He left.

He stepped across the landing and ran lightly down the stairs. As he reached the hall he thought he heard Jay’s bedroom door open, but he did not look back.

He stopped in the hall and took a deep breath. I’m a house servant here and I have no idea what the sheriff might want, he told himself. He pasted a polite smile to his face and opened the door.

Two men were on the porch. They wore the dress of prosperous Virginians: riding boots, long waistcoats and three-cornered hats. Both carried pistols in leather cases with shoulder straps. They smelled of rum: they had been fortifying themselves against the cold night air.

Mack stood squarely in the doorway, to discourage them from entering the house. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. He found his heart was beating fast. He struggled to keep his voice relaxed and calm. “This looks like a search party.”

The taller of the two said: “I’m the sheriff of Spotsylvania County, and I’m looking for a girl by die name of Peggy Knapp.”

“I saw the dogs. Have you sent them down to the slave quarters?”

“Yes.”

“Good thinking, Sheriff. That way you’ll catch the niggers asleep and they won’t be able to conceal the fugitive.”

“I’m glad you approve,” the sheriff said with a touch of sarcasm. “We’ll just step inside.”

A convict had no choice when given orders by a free man, and Mack had to stand aside and let them into the hall. He still hoped they would not think it necessary to search the house.

“How come you’re up?” the sheriff said with a hint of suspicion in his voice. “We expected to have to wake everyone.”

“I’m an early riser.”

The man grunted noncommittally. “Is your master at home?”

“Yes.”

“Take us to him.”

Mack did not want them to go upstairs—they would be uncomfortably close to Peg. “I believe I heard Mr. Jamisson moving around,” he said. “Shall I ask him to come down?”

“No—I don’t want to put him to the trouble of getting dressed.”

Mack cursed under his breath. Evidently the sheriff was determined to take everyone by surprise if possible. But he could not argue. He said, “This way, please,” and led them up the stairs.

He knocked on Jay’s door. A moment later Jay opened it, wearing a wrap over his nightshirt. “What the devil is all this?” he said irritably.

“I’m Sheriff Abraham Barton, Mr. Jamisson. I apologize for disturbing you, but we’re searching for the murderer of Burgo Marler. Does the name Peggy Knapp mean anything to you?”

Jay looked hard at Mack. “It certainly does. The girl was always a thief and I’m not surprised she’s turned into a killer. Have you asked McAsh here if he knows where she is?”

Barton looked at Mack in surprise. “So you’re McAsh! You didn’t mention it.”

“You didn’t ask,” Mack said.

Barton was not satisfied with that. “Did you know I was coming here this morning?”

“No.”

Jay said suspiciously: “Then why are you up so early?”

“When I worked in your father’s coal mine I used to start at two o’clock in the morning. Now I always wake early.”

“I’ve never noticed.”

“You’re never up.”

“Less of your damned insolence.”

Barton said to Mack: “When did you last see Peggy Knapp?”

“When I disembarked from the Rosebud half a year ago.”

The sheriff turned back to Jay. “The niggers may be concealing her. We’ve brought dogs.”

Jay waved a generous hand. “Go ahead and do whatever you need to.”

“We should search the house, too.”

Mack caught his breath. He had been hoping they would not think that necessary.

Jay frowned. “It’s not likely the child is in here.”

“Still, for the sake of thoroughness …”

Jay hesitated, and Mack hoped he would get on his high horse and tell the sheriff to go to hell. But after a moment he shrugged and said: “Of course.”

Mack’s heart sank.

Jay went on: “There’s only my wife and me in residence. The rest of the place is empty. But search everywhere, by all means. I’ll leave you to it.” He closed his door.

Barton said to Mack: “Which is Mrs. Jamisson’s room?”

Mack swallowed. “Next door.” He stepped along the landing and knocked gently. With his heart in his mouth he said: “Mrs. Jamisson? Are you awake?”

There was a pause, then Lizzie opened the door. Feigning sleepiness, she said: “What on earth do you want at this hour?”