Free Love's Awakening (The Ballantyne Legacy Book #2): A Novel by Laura Frantz

door to the kitchen.
    As usual, Sally’s cooking was faultless. Her blancmange was his reward for the prolonged silences between courses, though he much preferred meals at River Hill, where a simple tray brought to the library sufficed. By the time coffee was served, Jack had managed to steer the conversation away from the subject of escaped slaves back to business.
    “So, Jack, are you prepared for a fall trip downriver to St. Louis?”
    Jack paused, caught off guard. “I thought you wanted me to go east.”
    “Nay, I’ve just signed a contract with the Missouri Fur Company. Eight hundred gallons of whiskey need to be delivered to one of its posts before the rivers freeze, and I’m in need of an escort.”
    “Isn’t there a ban on importing spirits in Indian country?”
    “A mere formality. Most of the Indian agents are opposed to any restrictions on the whiskey trade—and the few who would enforce it are powerless to do so. Boatmen and fur traders are still allowed to bring in personal supplies in as great a quantity as they like.” Henry took a drink of Madeira and motioned a servant to bring him a cigar. “In fact, I’m considering transporting the necessary equipment up the Missouri River and building a distillery there. Wewon’t import whiskey. We’ll circumvent the ban by making it on-site.”
    Jack schooled his surprise. “In hostile territory?”
    His father smiled a tight smile. “Not so hostile once the barrels are rolled out. I’ve heard prairie dirt is capable of producing forty bushels of wheat or a hundred of corn to the acre.” With a shrug he lit his cigar. “We’ve nothing to lose.”
    Nothing but our scalps , Jack thought. He’d read the reports in the papers—of Indian unrest and the halfhearted attempts to regulate trade in the newly christened state of Missouri. Chaos reigned. It was one thing to transport—ship—whiskey illegally. They’d been doing it for years. Making it on the premises was another matter altogether.
    “You’re not opposed to going west, I trust?” Henry posed the question and drew hard on his cigar.
    “I’d planned on going east.”
    His father’s level gaze took him in, hard and glossy as frosted glass. “The West calls for a cool head and a steady hand. Wade will handle established accounts in the East.”
    A snort from the far end of the table drew their attention. “I don’t know how you expect to manage that. Captain Ames nearly refused to let Wade board our very sloop in Philadelphia last fall.” Isabel’s voice was low and annoyed as she toyed with her dessert. “I have a feeling it was more his paramour in every port than his imbibing that dismayed the captain.”
    “The captain is in our employ, remember. He’ll do as I tell him, inebriated son or no. I’d let Wade go by land, but he seems to find worse trouble there. Besides, no sense traveling all that way by coach or horseback when you can sail along the coast from port to port in half the time. The sloop is currently in Martinique but should dock in Philadelphia in late July. Captain Ames requested you come, Jack, but I think you’re needed elsewhere.”
    Isabel sighed and motioned for coffee. “We can expect better from Jack. And he’ll not risk any accounts either.”
    “That’s precisely why the West is Jack’s territory. Missouri—and beyond—has become far more important than eastern accounts. The West is, simply put, our future.” Pushing aside his empty plate, Henry Turlock eyed the candelabra at the table’s center. The flickering light called out the deep grooves in his weathered face, which had always reminded Jack of furrows in a freshly plowed field. “You’ve not been to dinner here in some time, Son. I have a feeling you have something else to discuss.”
    Jack nodded. He never fooled his father for long. “My mind isn’t on business but Chloe,” he admitted, grieved by the sudden shuttering of his mother’s fair features. “I heard there was some