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“That’s outrageous.” Admittedly, the news filled her with a good amount of fear.
“I know, ma’am. I’ve found a place for you that will be safer. I’ve a hack outside. You should pack up so I can get you out of here.”
“Of course.” She hastily gathered her things and stuffed them into her travel bags. She placed the files she’d need for the court case into her valise, and ten minutes later, she’d left the room, paid the landlady, and been hastily escorted to the waiting hack.
Tobias said, “You get in. I’ll ride with the driver.”
Nodding and breathless, she yanked open the door and stepped in. There was a woman dressed in black seated in the corner. Ruth hesitated, puzzled.
“Hello, Wilma,” the woman said in a French-accented voice. “Remember me?”
Eyes wide with alarm, Welch panicked and quickly tried to back out, but Tobias, standing behind pushed her forward, sending her tumbling inside. The door slammed shut and the coach began moving.
From her spot on the floor where she’d landed, Welch stared up into the beautiful ebony-skinned face of the LeVeq family matriarch, Julianna LeVeq-Vincent and was told, “You should never have returned to New Orleans, my dear. Six years ago, you almost cost one of my beloved daughters-in-law her life, and my pirate’s blood has been thirsting for revenge ever since.”
Dread made Welch’s voice crack. “Where are you taking me?”
“To a place so far away you’ll never trouble anyone’s family again.”
Ruth threw herself against the door hoping to escape, but it held. “The Pinkerton Agency knows I’m here,” she swore hotly. “They’ll begin searching when I disappear.”
“It won’t matter, because you won’t be found.”Julianna showed a smile and added, “Isn’t being betrayed fun?”
Ten years ago, when Tobias Kenny betrayed her, Raven was sent to a prison in Detroit. Unlike the White women convicts who were sent to an all-women’s facility where they were taught things like sewing, how to set tables, and cooking in order to maybe become law-abiding wives and homemakers upon release, Raven and the other women of color were incarcerated with the men. The prison had the decency to house them separately, however, but in an airless, atticlike space. The food there, little more than broth with potatoes floating in it, was withheld if you complained about it or anything else, and the women spent their nights fighting with whatever they could get their hands on to keep the male convicts from breaking in. It had been the most terrifying and awful experience of her life. She’d been given a three-month sentence, and when she finally returned to New Orleans emaciated and with a headful of lice, she swore she’d never go to prison again. And yet, after being arrested three days ago, and now being escorted into the courtroom wearing a faded blue dress that more resembled a cotton sack, and shackles hobbling her bare feet, there was a good chance she’d be returning. Seeing her mama, the family, and Braxton of all people in the seats buoyed her. Him, she wanted to run to,be held by, and promise to love for the rest of her life—if she could escape incarceration.
A young White Republican friend of Renay’s named Mitchell Morgan was to be her lawyer, and he offered an encouraging smile as she was escorted to the table where he sat at the front of the room. She didn’t see Welch but assumed she’d arrive to gloat and present her evidence shortly.
The judge, Daniel Bradshaw, entered, and the small snatches of conversation that she could hear earlier from the small crowd faded into silence. He was White and younger than judges usually were, but in Louisiana the mix of blood made people age differently, so his youthful appearance could possibly be deceiving.
The lawyers introduced themselves and then came her turn.
The judge said to her, “State your name for the record, miss.”
“Raven Moreau.”
She was asked to spell her last name and she did.
The prosecutor, Gavin Swain, stood and began presenting his case. While speaking he kept glancing back at the people in the seats.
The judge said, “Present your evidence.”
Once again, he panned the people behind him. “Well, the evidence is in the hands of a Pinkerton detective.”
“And where is he?”
“He’s a she, sir, and I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“No.”
Raven’s lawyer stood. “We can’t conduct a hearing without evidence.”
“I know that. Sit.”
The prosecutor said, “But based upon what the detective shared with me, the Moreau woman is guilty.”
The judge replied, “I know that in many parts of this country, the law is being subjected to many things tied to people who look like the defendant, but in my court, I don’t convict anyone based on hearsay, Mr. Swain. Here we are ruled by the law. I’m going to give you two hours to produce the detective with her evidence or this case will be thrown out. We are now in recess.”
