Raven crossed the short distance to the bed. Although Dorrie loved to draw, she wasn’t verygood and it was always difficult to figure out just what the picture was supposed to be. Raven sat down on the mattress edge. “Is that a horse?”
Dorrie shook her head. Her hair was tied up in a red bandana and her sleeveless green nightgown was faded from many washings. “It’s a dog.”
“Oh, I see that now.”
“Cousin Vanita just got a puppy so I drew her a picture of it.”
“I see.” Raven wondered if the question Dorrie intended to ask was tied to getting a pup, too. Hazel was allergic to dogs, so Raven and Avery had never been allowed one.
Dorrie continued drawing, adding what Raven supposed passed as fur on the horse-looking dog. “Ask me your question and then we both need to get to sleep, sweetie.”
Dorrie paused and said, “Do you think I can ask Mr. Brax about something the next time I see him?”
Raven assessed her silently. “Is it about the wedding?”
“No, something in my dream that I don’t understand. He was in the dream with me.”
“I see,” Raven replied, even though she didn’t. “Then I suppose it will be okay.”
Dorrie gave her a smile. “And you shouldn’t worry. They aren’t going to find her.”
“Find who?”
“The lady on the boat.”
She remembered Dorrie mentioning a boat to Welch. Was this prediction tied to that? “Who’s looking for her?”
“A man sitting behind a very tall table and another man standing next to a short one.”
“Standing next to a short man?”
“No. A short table.”
Raven had no idea what this meant. That she and the missing Welch were somehow involved piqued her curiosity. Aunt Vana believed that when Dorrie came back to life after the stillbirth, she’d returned as an oracle from the pantheon of Haitian and African deities. After living with the exceptional child for the past eight years, Raven was inclined to believe anything, except that she and Steele were to marry. His handsome face slowly rose in her mind and she mentally pushed it away. “You should put your pup away for now. Time for sleep.”
Dorrie nodded her understanding and set the drawing and pencil on the nightstand. Raven stood, tucked her in, and gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
“You, too, Cousin Raven.”
Raven lowered the lamp to just a whisper, and while Dorrie snuggled under the thin sheet, she changed into her nightgown. Once that was accomplished, she doused the light completely and climbed into the small bed next to Dorrie’s.
It didn’t take long for Dorrie’s soft snoringto be heard, and as Raven lay in the dark, she thought back on her mother’s revelation about the plan. Now that it was done, her life could become her own, but what did that mean? All of her skills were tied to the game, or her work as a domestic, so she had no idea if she possessed others. Knowing that sometime in the near future the only house she might have to clean would be the one she owned, pleased her. First though, the Pinkerton matter had to be taken care of, which shifted her thoughts to her pretend husband. He’d certainly surprised her at dinner with his sensual boasting. Just thinking about it left her breathless all over again. There was apparently much more to him than judging people and owning ships, and she’d found their talk at the table more enjoyable than she’d imagined she would. She also hadn’t imagined wanting to learn if he was skilled in bed as he’d claimed. Unsure what that meant about herself and her future dealings with him, she decided not to think about it and drifted into sleep.
Ruth Welch set her carpetbag on the floor beside the bed of her rented room and dropped down tiredly into the lone chair. She was not as young as she once was, and the long train travel from Boston to New Orleans had taken its toll. She was pleased the operation was under way, however. In a few weeks’ time, she’d hopefullybe in a position to turn the stolen Declaration of Independence over to her superiors, hand the Moreau clan over to the local police, and receive the accolades and promotion she deserved. The Pinkerton Agency didn’t employ many lady detectives, but all were measured against the great Kate Warne, the company’s first. Warne’s guarding of Abraham Lincoln was the stuff of legend. Ruth was determined to be legendary as well and had been chasing that goal since the war’s end. Only one of her cases had caused enough of a stir to get her noticed by her supervisors, and ironically enough it had occurred in New Orleans, six years ago. The case involved a gang of supremacists and a hunt for their death books listing names of prominent Colored officials and political leaders targeted for assassination. In order to break the case, she’d had to betray one of Harriet Tubman’s best operatives, a regrettable yet necessary decision. The operative, Zahra Layette, had married into one of New Orleans’ most influential families of color, the LeVeqs. Were they to learn the woman they’d known then as Wilma Gray had returned, they might seek revenge. To keep her presence unknown, Welch planned to stick to the shadows. It was the reason she’d chosen a boardinghouse on the city’s outskirts. The location reduced the chances of her being seen and unmasked, or having her whereabouts ferreted out by the Moreaux, whowere undoubtedly interested in her comings and goings.
But for the moment, she just wanted to forget about everything and sleep. Changing into her nightclothes, she took a moment to secure the deadbolt on the door and poured herself a small portion of her favorite brandy to help her sleep. With that done, she doused the lamp, made herself comfortable against the bed’s clean sheets, and closed her eyes.