Wild Sweet Love by Beverly Jenkins

Chapter 1

Summer 1895 Outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Scrubbing sheets on an iron washboard, Teresa thought about her capture. Although it had taken place three years ago, the memory felt like both yesterday and a lifetime. She wondered how Cloud was faring up in Kansas with her brother Neil and her sister-in-law Olivia. Did the stallion miss her as much as she missed him? Because musing on the past brought on a sadness she refused to acknowledge, she turned her attention back to the sheets she was supposed to be washing and stuck her red raw hands down into the hot lye-laced water.

The sheets piled on the ground beside her were waiting their turn on the washboard, and it would be dark before they were all done. But being a Black Seminole, she didn’t mind the work; the necessity of living a hard life was in her blood. What she did mind was that she was in prison in Pennsylvania. Because she’d chosen to stay on the wrong side of the law instead of turning herself in, as her brother had, Hanging Judge Parker wanted to teach her a lesson. He’d sentenced her not to a prison in her beloved West, but here, up North, where she’d had to suffer through cold, mean winters, was too far away for family to visit her, and where she knew no one.

Teresa wiped the sweat from her brow and looked out at the other women in the yard. There were about fifty of them, and they too were hanging laundry and standing over wooden barrels. They’d been sent here for everything from stabbing their husbands to picking pockets. All were dressed in the same faded and worn blue sacks that passed for gowns, and prisoners wearing shoes outnumbered those without.

Teresa transferred the wet clean sheets to the female prisoner operating one of the many ringers, then returned to her own vat to start on the next sheet. Today’s batch of linens had come from one of the area’s hospitals. Tomorrow’s would be from the fancy Philadelphia hotels. Washing and hanging sheet after sheet, day after day, was mindless, back-breaking work, but at least they were outside. In the winter the prisoners were forced to stay indoors, which bred fights, petty thievery, and sometimes madness.

By late afternoon she was tired, as they all were, and there was nothing to look forward to when the day ended but a plate of beans and salt pork that would be, and had always been, dinner. As a result, most of the women were thin and listless. Teresa doubted she’d ever again fit the leathers she’d worn here. Her once vibrant midnight skin was gray, her chopped-off hair matted and as full of lice as everyone else’s.

“July!”

Teresa turned. It was Mrs. Cassidy, a burly brown-skinned matron whose sour expression had never changed in the three years Teresa had been in residence.

“Warden wants to see you.”

Being summoned could be related to anything from a death in the family to punishments for infractions, real and imagined. Teresa wordlessly dried her hands and followed the matron across the field to the buildings a few feet away.

The warden was a White man named Burns. He rarely ventured out of his office. Teresa had only seen him twice before.

He looked up at her, but his face gave nothing away as to what this grand summoning might be about. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s about that fight last month.”

The fight had been between a surly prisoner named Ethel and the only matron in the place who seemed to care at all about the inmates, a woman named Doreen. When Ethel had jumped Doreen, Teresa jumped Ethel.

“I submitted a request to the prison board,” Burns said.

Ethel had been sent to another facility, and Teresa was certain they were about to do the same to her. She waited, steeling herself for the blow to come.

“The board has decided to give you credit for your time served as a way of rewarding you for coming to the aid of the matron.”

Teresa blinked and her legs wobbled for an instant. She took a deep breath to steady herself, then met the man’s emotionless blue eyes.

“This means that in two hours you will be free to leave here in the company of a charity representative who helps women like you readjust to the outside. You will be her ward for the next year. Any infractions and you will be returned here to serve out the rest of your five-year time. Is that understood?”

Teresa was so moved she couldn’t speak, so she nodded.

“Is that a yes, July?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mrs. Cassidy will help you get prepared. Good luck, July.”

“Thank you, sir, and thank you to the board.”

“Don’t make me regret this decision.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Two hours later she walked out of prison and over to a wagon waiting by the side of the road. An elderly Black man held the reins. “You Miss July?”

She nodded.

“I’m Mr. Boswell, I’m here to take you to Mrs. Nance. Crawl in the back.”

Teresa complied and made herself as comfortable as she could amidst the straw and farming implements in the wagon bed.

“We got about an hour worth of traveling.”

She didn’t care if the journey took six hours. She was free! “Mind if I sleep?”

“Not a bit.”

A weary but happy Teresa closed her eyes, and before he even pulled away from the prison walls, she was asleep.

Teresa didn’t realize she’d slept through the entire ride until she was jostled awake. Her slumber had been so sound that it took her a few moments to shake off the bleariness and focus on the stern brown face of the woman who was gently shaking her shoulder.

“Come,” the woman said. “Mr. Boswell needs to get back to town.”

Teresa grabbed the small bag holding her personal belongings and pushed herself up off the straw strewn wagon bed. Ignoring the stiffness in her legs, she slowly made her way to the ground, then dusted herself off. “Much obliged, Mr. Boswell.”

He nodded, repeated the same gesture to the woman at Teresa’s side, then he and his horse-led wagon rambled off down the cobbled street.

“This way,” the woman directed.

Teresa wasn’t offended that the well-dressed lady hadn’t introduced herself. If the woman turned out to be the wife of Satan himself, she wouldn’t have cared; all that mattered to her now was being out of jail and never going back.

The house was a fine two-story brick with pointed green roofs and gables up top. The short metal fence around the perimeter was also dark green, and the shrubs and trees inside the fence shaded the house from the sun and the street. A neat cobbled walkway led up the steps to a wide sitting porch and the front door.

Inside, Teresa looked around the fancy front parlor furnished with a blue brocaded sofa and matching chairs. A large mirror hung over the big stone fireplace, and an ornate chandelier, complete with fat white candles, hung from the ceiling above her head. Whoever owned the place lived well. Paintings of landscapes hung on the elegantly papered walls, and plush carpets covered the floors. Real well.

“Miss July?”

Teresa turned and saw that the woman’s sternness remained. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m Molly Nance. You’ll be staying here in my home.”

“I appreciate you taking me in.” She had been expecting a small room in a crowded boardinghouse somewhere, not this small, elegant place.

“Just so you’ll know, the last prisoner I took in ran off with everything of value she could carry.”

Teresa refocused her attention. “Sorry to hear that. Was she caught?”

“Yes, and taken back to prison, but my things were never found.”

Teresa didn’t like hearing that. “Well, ma’am, I only stole from railroads and banks. Since you’re neither, you’re pretty much safe.”

The quip melted Molly Nance’s sternness a bit. “Then you and I should get along well.”

“I’m hoping so.”

“Come. I’ll show you your room, and where you may bathe. I should have some clean clothing that you may wear until we can get you properly outfitted.”

Teresa dearly wanted to scratch. The prison lice that had tagged along were plaguing her something fierce. Not wanting to embarrass herself by scratching like a dog with fleas, she bit down the urge and followed Mrs. Nance through the house.

They passed a formal dining room with a polished, dark wood table surrounded by carved backed chairs. There were carpets on the floor, there, too and more framed landscapes hung from the green papered walls. She caught a glimpse of a room filled with books that also housed a large black piano. Reading had always been one of her favorite pastimes. She wanted to go inside and explore the book titles, but thought it best she keep up with Mrs. Nance for now.

They entered the kitchen. Teresa marveled at the large cooking stove and other modern appliances. She wondered if all back East houses were this well equipped. It certainly wasn’t the norm where she hailed from, or at least it hadn’t been when she was sent to jail.

A tall, middle-aged woman wearing a black dress and white apron entered through the kitchen’s back door. She was carrying a wooden crate filled with groceries and other items.

Mrs. Nance did the introductions. “Emma Bailey, this is Teresa July. Emma’s the cook here.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Emma.”

Emma set the crate on the counter by the sink, then nodded a short reply. “You’re the outlaw woman.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Emma didn’t look real friendly. Teresa wondered if she was comparing her to the last prisoner.

The cook told Teresa plainly, “Make sure you treat Mrs. Nance with respect. Not everybody will take in a jailbird like you.”

There was a challenge in her voice and eyes, but Teresa bit back the urge to verbally retaliate. “I know that, so I’m real beholden to her.”

Emma studied her for a moment longer, then asked, “You hungry?”

Considering the woman’s no nonsense manner, the question was unexpected. “I am, but I’m more interested in a bath right now.” Lord, she wanted to scratch.

“Come back after you’re done,” Emma said. “For the next couple days we’ll feed you something light. Takes time for your stomach to get back on real food.” She asked then, “Is there anything you don’t like to eat or can’t eat because it makes you sick?”

“Not that I know of.”

“All right.” And she began unloading the crate on the counter.

“Thank you,” Teresa said in parting.

“And Teresa?” Emma called out.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Welcome.”

Touched by the unexpected kindness in Emma’s tone, Teresa nodded, then followed Mrs. Nance down the hallway.

As they climbed the stairs to the upper floors, she wondered if she could be dreaming. First, her sentence had been commuted, and now she seemed to be in a household with fairly decent folks. If this was indeed a dream, she prayed she wouldn’t wake up until after she had her bath.

“This will be your room.”

It was small and plainly furnished, but there was a grate in the wall to keep her warm during the fierce winters, and a glass-paned door that led outdoors. Simple white eyelet curtains adorned the windows. The yellow quilt on the big four poster bed looked soft to the touch. All in all, it was the finest room Teresa had ever had the privilege of calling her own. “This is real nice, ma’am.”

“I’m glad you approve. The bathing room is down the hall. Come. I’ll show you.”

Having washed up with either a basin or under a pump all of her life, Teresa found the newfangled indoor plumbing impressive. “So I just turn this handle if I want hot water, and this one for cold?”

“Yes. The boiler only holds so much hot water, but there’s usually enough to take care of your needs.”

Teresa wondered if this indoor plumbing was common here too. Thinking about the folks out West and their lack of amenities brought to mind her family and how they might be faring. It made her heart ache, so she stopped and paid attention to what Mrs. Nance was explaining. “There are soaps and salts in that basket over there. I’ll bring you some orange oil for your hair and a comb and brush.”

Teresa touched her short hair. She’d kept it cut during her incarceration, hoping to head off the lice, but it hadn’t mattered. The only way to escape the little beasties would have been to shave her head completely bald, something the matrons refused to allow.

When Mrs. Nance left, Teresa stood in the quiet room, looking around at the white cabinets and the large claw-foot tub. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken an actual bath. In the prison, they’d made do with hip baths and the long-handled pump in the yard behind their barracks. Walking over to the ivory colored tub, she placed the wooden stopper into the drain hole and turned the handle for the water. The sight of the clear stream spewing out filled her with delight. Holding her hand beneath the flow, she felt the temperature grow warmer. Grinning like a child at the fair, she stripped off her faded prison gown and watched the water rise with sparkling black eyes.

Across town, Mrs. Nance’s only child, Madison, stood before the mirror in his bedroom and adjusted his tie. The former gambler, now a banker, was dressing for Paula Wade’s twentieth birthday party. He knew Paula was a vain, social climbing nitwit, but had promised to attend, and he always kept his word. The party wouldn’t begin for another few hours, but he was attending to his attire now because he wanted to stop by and check on his mother first. She had taken in yet another prisoner, and he wasn’t pleased. In light of the theft by the last convict she’d opened her door to, he thought he had good reason to be distrustful. His mother had a crusading heart of gold, and he would not stand for it to be broken again.

In the hardscrabble world where Teresa grew up, fancy soaps and bath salts were usually reserved for sporting women and elegant ladies like her beautiful sister-in-law, Olivia. Women like herself, who robbed trains, slept in bedrolls on the ground, and ate beans out of a tin plate while hunkering next to a fire, rarely had the time or the inclination to soak in claw-footed tubs. But as she playfully raised her leg and watched the water slide down her foot and off her ankle, she decided she could grow to enjoy this. The warm water surrounding her, coupled with the sweet smells of the salts and her extreme relief at being free of the penitentiary was so relaxing, she wanted to lie there forever.

A soft knock on the door broke her reverie.

“Teresa? Are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am. Doing just fine.”

“I placed some clothing in your room along with the orange oil.”

“Appreciate that. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Emma has some soup waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Tell her I’ll be there directly.”

“All right.” And she was gone.

Eventually, Teresa left the tub and dried herself on a soft bath sheet. Wrapping herself in it, she padded barefoot back to her room and dressed in the muslin undergarments and plain white blouse and brown skirt lying on the bed. After putting the orange oil on her now clean hair, she picked up the hairbrush and walked over to the small mirror hanging above the fireplace mantel. As she raised the brush and looked at her reflection, she stopped. The painfully thin face of the woman staring back at her belonged to someone she didn’t recognize. There was age in her features that hadn’t been there before. Her dark skin was dull, lifeless, and the cocky eyes of her youth were now somber, older.

It had been three long years since she’d had access to a mirror, and seeing herself for the first time made her want to cry, but she didn’t because she knew it wouldn’t change things. By not taking Hanging Judge Isaac Parker’s offer back in ’88 to turn herself in and do her penance working for the railroads, she’d brought the resulting consequences down on her own head. Now, here she stood, three years older and a lifetime smarter. She began to ply the brush, and swore on the memories of her Black Seminole ancestors that she would never run afoul of the law again. The price had been too dear.

After going downstairs and consuming a steaming bowl of Emma’s vegetable soup, Teresa excused herself from the kitchen table and headed back up, so exhausted that each step she took was a chore. It was almost as if her mind had finally allowed itself to acknowledge the physical toll the years of imprisonment had extracted, which up till then she had refused to do. To have surrendered to the fatigue of working sixteen-hour days scrubbing floors and doing laundry in vats filled with lye would have been to show defeat. She was Black Seminole, descendant of a people who’d fought the United States government for thirty years. A people who on the Great Trek had walked from Indian Territory to the Texas-Mexico border. Surely she could survive being in jail. And she had. But now, as she neared the top of the stairs, it seemed she had nothing left. A newborn prairie dog pup had more strength.

Deciding to take a seat on the stairs and close her eyes for just a minute, then get up and finish the walk to the bedroom, Teresa sank down onto the step. Laying her head against the carpeted edge, she closed her eyes.

When Madison entered his mother’s house, he found her seated on the chaise in the parlor. She had her nose in a book, her favorite pastime. Upon seeing him, she set it aside and greeted him smiling. “My, don’t you look grand.”

He walked over and planted an affectionate kiss on her soft cheek. “I’m on my way to Paula’s birthday dinner.” His black and white evening wear had been tailored by one of the city’s finest, and the lines showed off his tall, lean form. The elegant silk topper in his hand added a crowning touch.

“How is dear Princess Paula?”

The sarcasm made him smile. Paula Wade’s desire to be his wife was no secret. “Doing well, I suppose. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.”

“Tell her I send my regards.”

“Stop lying, Mother, before lightning strikes the house.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Transparent as a plate of glass, I’m afraid.”

“Then I shall try and do better next time.”

Madison loved his mother’s wit. “Did your charge arrive?”

“She did.”

“May I meet her?”

“As long as you don’t lecture her on her conduct, yes you may.”

“I just want to introduce myself.”

She was skeptical and didn’t bother to mask it.

His mustache twitched with humor. “I know we disagree on her being here, but I’ll be polite. I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced. “I’ll go up and see if she’s awake. She was rather tired when she arrived.” His mother got up then, and exited, leaving him alone.

Madison’s promise to her notwithstanding, he was still opposed to her having a prisoner in her home. The fact that this newest project wasn’t the average everyday female felon, but the infamous, train-robbing hellion Teresa July only added to his concern. Newspapers all over the nation had chronicled her exploits, then her capture, trial, and imprisonment. Being informed by his mother a few days ago that the outlaw woman would be her ward for the next twelve months made him want to throw up his hands.

Emma’s entrance into the room brought him back to the present. The worry on her face was plain. “What’s the matter?”

“Your mother needs you upstairs.”

Hoping the July woman wasn’t already causing trouble, Madison hurried to the stairway.

There was no trouble, just his mother standing at the top of the stairs. Lying at her feet was a sleeping dark-skinned woman wearing a simple skirt and blouse.

“Poor thing,” his mother said. “She was even more weary than Emma and I imagined. Will you pick her up, dear, and carry her to the room?”

Madison was taken aback by the request, but upon realizing her suggestion was the only solution, he gently scooped the outlaw up and held her against his chest. Following his mother, he entered the room and softly deposited the sleeping woman on the bed.

His mother covered her with a lightweight quilt. “Sleeping, she looks very innocent, doesn’t she?”

Madison had to admit that she did. Looking at her now, a person might find it hard to believe her capable of all the bedlam she’d been convicted for. But he knew looks could be deceiving; she’d been sentenced for a reason.

“I was expecting a much larger woman,” his mother said, keeping her voice low so as not to wake her charge.

Madison agreed. If the press were to be believed, Teresa July should have been Amazonian in size. Instead, she was of average stature and painfully thin. Faint traces of the scented soap and salts she must have used in her bath drifted up to his nose from the fabric of his coat. “Is the parole board going to let anyone know she’s here?”

“Other than the chief of police and the mayor, no. And they prefer the papers not find out either, at least not right away. They feel she’ll adjust better if she isn’t badgered by busybody reporters.”

Madison could hear July’s soft snores. If the press found out she was here, there’d be no peace. “I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I know you don’t, dear, but I can make a difference in her life.”

Madison’s sole concern lay with his mother’s safety. Changing the July woman’s life didn’t matter to him one whit.

“Let’s let her sleep,” his mother said.

Molly slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and he escorted her out.

“I appreciate your concern,” she told him. “Miss July and I will do well, I can feel it, so you go celebrate with Paula and I’ll return to my book.”

“Which is?”

“A fascinating tale called The Time Machine, by Mr. H. G. Wells. I purchased it at a bookshop in London last year. It’s all the rage. It’s about a man who builds a machine that takes him back in time.”

“Interesting.”

They were now downstairs and standing by the open front door. It was time for him to depart, so he placed a quick peck on her cheek. “I’ll stop in and meet your ward tomorrow. Let’s hope she and the silver are still here.”

Molly playfully pushed him toward the door. “Out. Let’s hope Paula Wade doesn’t have you fit for a nose ring by tomorrow.”

“Touché, Mama.” And with a grin he departed.

Outside, Madison climbed into his carriage and headed the horses up the residential street. His mother’s parting quip had been rooted in truth. Were it up to Paula Wade, he’d have a ring in his nose large enough for a circus bear to perform in. But he’d told her on several occasions that he had no intentions of marrying, and so far he didn’t see himself changing his mind.

The only woman with the beauty and wit to propel him to the altar had been the lady gambler Loreli Winters. To his disappointment, she’d fallen in love with a Kansas pig farmer named Jake Reed and was now happily living with him, their son, Jacob, and Jake’s twin nieces, Bebe and Dede. Granted, Loreli was almost a decade older than he was, but he hadn’t minded the difference in their ages. To him, the irrepressible gambler represented the kind of spirited, independent woman he’d envisioned spending his life with. He didn’t resent the happiness she had found with Reed, but he had yet to meet another woman with the same joie de vivre.

Paula Wade was a beauty too, but she had no interests outside of shopping and gossip. Nothing on earth would have compelled her to read Mr. Wells’s Time Machine, unless there was a new hat in the balance. She could tell you all about the newest fashions, but nothing about the myriad issues facing the race or the nation.

The birthday party was being held at the home of Paula’s aunt and uncle, Harold and Daphne Carter. The street outside the place was filled with carriages and fancy buggies of all kinds. It seemed everyone in town was in attendance. Harold Carter had been a business associate of Madison’s late father, Reynolds, and ran a very successful teamsters service. Based on the many luxurious coaches lining the curbs, many of Carter’s well-heeled customers must have been invited to the celebration, along with Paula’s own set of friends. Madison planned to stay only long enough to be polite, then excuse himself for the drive over to the club owned by his childhood friend Ben Norton. Once there, he intended to while away the remainder of the evening playing cards and enjoying himself.

First, however, he had to survive the crush of the people inside. In his attempt to work his way through the throng, he nodded a greeting to those he knew. Everyone had on their best dress. The women were in expensive gowns, and their husbands were nattily attired in formal evening wear. Uniformed waiters holding trays aloft moved expertly through the crowd, offering drinks and small pastries. Rebecca Constantine, a friend of his mother, greeted him with the sly smile usually reserved for a woman twenty years her junior. “Good evening, handsome.”

He shook his head at her antics. “Evening, Mrs. Constantine. You look very lovely.”

“Lovely enough for you to ravish in a dark secluded corner somewhere?”

She was one of the most audacious women he knew. “No, ma’am,” he laughed. “Besides, what would your husband Miller say if he heard you propositioning me this way?”

“Since he’s deaf as a mailbox, probably not a word.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“As long as I live.” She smiled at him from beneath enough rouge and paint to outfit a convention of circus performers, but because he’d known her most of his life, he didn’t find it strange. Instead, he placed an affectionate kiss on her cheek and promised to visit with her again later.

After some searching and a few more stops for conversations with people he knew, he finally located Princess Paula and her aunt and uncle, holding court in the solarium. The room had been outfitted with enough flowers to fill Mother Bethel AME, but because of all the people, the fragrance of the blooms had to compete with the scent of heat and bodies.

Paula’s brown eyes lit up with delight when she spotted him. Rising from her chair and showing off the beautiful lemon yellow gown seamstresses must have been working on for months, she walked over to greet him. “You finally made it. I was worried.”

“I promised I’d attend, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you can be so unpredictable sometimes.” She grabbed his hand and led him over to her aunt and uncle. Madison had known Harold Carter and his wife Daphne almost as long as he’d known Rebecca Constantine. Although Harold Carter and Reynolds Nance had been business associates and friends, their wives had never gotten along. Daphne considered Molly a snob, and Molly thought Daphne a social climber with too much money and too little sense. Paula was Daphne’s niece, and although she hailed from Memphis, she’d been living in Philadelphia for almost three years.

Madison shook Harold’s hand and greeted Daphne with a polite smile.

“So glad to see you,” Daphne gushed. She was brown-skinned and had a freckled face. The gown she was wearing, while fashionable and expensive, would have fit her very well ten years ago, but because she was as vain as the day was long and apparently refused to consider the reality of how much she actually weighed now, she looked like a sausage in a casing.

He withdrew the small jeweler’s box from the inner pocket of his suit coat and handed it to Paula. “Happy Birthday.”

Her eyes went wide. “Is it what I’ve been hoping for?” she asked in her pronounced southern accent.

With Daphne gazing on eagerly, Paula opened the lid. When she saw the locket nestled inside, she didn’t bother hiding her anger. “This was supposed to be a ring, Madison Nance.”

“Oh, really?” he drawled, wondering just how ugly a scene this would turn out to be. The guests within earshot were staring and whispering.

“This is my birthday celebration, and I hoped you’d come to your senses so we could announce our engagement this evening too.”

Madison hated being the subject of gossip and knew this incident would be talked about for weeks to come. “I’ve told you my feelings on the matter many times. Why would you believe I’d changed my mind?”

You could hear a pin drop in the crowded solarium.

Paula had never been one for logic, and true to that spirit, said, “Because I’m twenty years old. How much longer do you think I’m going to wait for you to ask me?”

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of this encounter. Rather than give the gossips more fuel, he said, “Happy Birthday, Paula,” then turned to walk out.

“Madison Nance! If you leave, I’ll never speak to you again!”

Sarcastically hoping she’d keep her word, Madison kept going until he was outside in the fresh night air.