conversation for the remainder of the meal. His thoughts were in another direction, in another part of the steamboat.
The Lucky Lady would be docking at Vicksburg tomorrow, and the Seaton woman and her slave would leave. He needed to get his mind back on business because the Lucky Lady would be picking up additional cargo, including perhaps a new shipment for the Underground Railroad. He never knew in advance.
The secret room built into the cargo deck was already nearly full, and Quinn knew it must be miserable for the occupants. The tiny compartment had not been built for comfort but for secrecy and safety. It was, by necessity, long and very narrow so no one could detect a false wall. When it had first been constructed, Quinn had tried it himself for several days to see whether it was livable. It was, but only barely. The heat and darkness were suffocating.
There could be no candles, no lamp of any kind, and the only sanitation facility was buckets. But Quinn had found in the past several years that escaping slaves would—could—abide any discomfort as long as there was hope.
He himself knew. God almighty, but he even knew what human beings could endure without that hope.
“Captain…?”
He shook the mist from his mind as he turned toward the speaker, the Tennesseean.
“Is there a game tonight?”
Quinn grinned. “There’s always a game, particularly when I’ve lost to someone,” he said.
The man smiled back. “You won enough from the others to more than compensate.”
“Ah, but you present a challenge.”
“I’ll try to see I continue to do so.”
“At ten tonight then,” Quinn said. “I have some business to attend to before then.”
The man nodded. “Ten.”
With relief Quinn stood, bowing elegantly to Opal and another middle-aged lady traveling with her husband. “Thank you, ladies, for gracing our table tonight,” he said to both, setting their hearts fluttering. He fastened all his attention on Opal. “I’m sorry your niece hasn’t been feeling well.”
“It is so unlike her,” Opal said. “She’s usually flitting all around. She likes to paint, you know.”
Quinn’s attention was suddenly riveted on her. “No, I didn’t know,” he said.
Opal looked sheepish. She didn’t want to mislead him, but neither did she want to say anything unkind about Meredith. “She’s just an amateur, of course. Never has sold anything. Just likes to dabble at it.”
“Have you been traveling with her long?”
Pleased at the change of subject, Opal gushed on. “Oh yes, years I suppose. Ever since she came home from convent school.”
“Convent school?”
“Saint Mary’s in New Orleans,” Opal continued guilelessly. “Her brother—my niece’s husband—keeps hoping she’ll get married, but she’s turned down all the proposals. She likes to visit though.”
“She does a lot of traveling?”
“Oh yes. But there’s a fine bachelor gentleman in our county, and her brother and I suspect she will marry him soon.”
“I imagine you’ll miss chaperoning her, then? You must be close, traveling so much together.”
Opal fluttered the fan she was holding. “Well…yes. She can be a dear.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “And difficult at times?”
“She can be a bit…headstrong.”
“I never would have suspected,” he observed dryly.
Opal felt guilty. “She really is a dear girl. It’s just that she—” She stopped suddenly. She couldn’t believe she was saying these things to a stranger, to a gambler. But he had such a nice way about him. And he was so handsome.
“Of course.” Quinn nodded, knowing he had probably milked as much information as he could. So she had had proposals. She would have, of course. She was an heiress in her own right, and many of the young bucks had need of money, either because their plantations were draining them or because they indulged in a way of life in which spending money was more important than making it. It was easier to
The Lucky Lady would be docking at Vicksburg tomorrow, and the Seaton woman and her slave would leave. He needed to get his mind back on business because the Lucky Lady would be picking up additional cargo, including perhaps a new shipment for the Underground Railroad. He never knew in advance.
The secret room built into the cargo deck was already nearly full, and Quinn knew it must be miserable for the occupants. The tiny compartment had not been built for comfort but for secrecy and safety. It was, by necessity, long and very narrow so no one could detect a false wall. When it had first been constructed, Quinn had tried it himself for several days to see whether it was livable. It was, but only barely. The heat and darkness were suffocating.
There could be no candles, no lamp of any kind, and the only sanitation facility was buckets. But Quinn had found in the past several years that escaping slaves would—could—abide any discomfort as long as there was hope.
He himself knew. God almighty, but he even knew what human beings could endure without that hope.
“Captain…?”
He shook the mist from his mind as he turned toward the speaker, the Tennesseean.
“Is there a game tonight?”
Quinn grinned. “There’s always a game, particularly when I’ve lost to someone,” he said.
The man smiled back. “You won enough from the others to more than compensate.”
“Ah, but you present a challenge.”
“I’ll try to see I continue to do so.”
“At ten tonight then,” Quinn said. “I have some business to attend to before then.”
The man nodded. “Ten.”
With relief Quinn stood, bowing elegantly to Opal and another middle-aged lady traveling with her husband. “Thank you, ladies, for gracing our table tonight,” he said to both, setting their hearts fluttering. He fastened all his attention on Opal. “I’m sorry your niece hasn’t been feeling well.”
“It is so unlike her,” Opal said. “She’s usually flitting all around. She likes to paint, you know.”
Quinn’s attention was suddenly riveted on her. “No, I didn’t know,” he said.
Opal looked sheepish. She didn’t want to mislead him, but neither did she want to say anything unkind about Meredith. “She’s just an amateur, of course. Never has sold anything. Just likes to dabble at it.”
“Have you been traveling with her long?”
Pleased at the change of subject, Opal gushed on. “Oh yes, years I suppose. Ever since she came home from convent school.”
“Convent school?”
“Saint Mary’s in New Orleans,” Opal continued guilelessly. “Her brother—my niece’s husband—keeps hoping she’ll get married, but she’s turned down all the proposals. She likes to visit though.”
“She does a lot of traveling?”
“Oh yes. But there’s a fine bachelor gentleman in our county, and her brother and I suspect she will marry him soon.”
“I imagine you’ll miss chaperoning her, then? You must be close, traveling so much together.”
Opal fluttered the fan she was holding. “Well…yes. She can be a dear.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “And difficult at times?”
“She can be a bit…headstrong.”
“I never would have suspected,” he observed dryly.
Opal felt guilty. “She really is a dear girl. It’s just that she—” She stopped suddenly. She couldn’t believe she was saying these things to a stranger, to a gambler. But he had such a nice way about him. And he was so handsome.
“Of course.” Quinn nodded, knowing he had probably milked as much information as he could. So she had had proposals. She would have, of course. She was an heiress in her own right, and many of the young bucks had need of money, either because their plantations were draining them or because they indulged in a way of life in which spending money was more important than making it. It was easier to
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