Free A Dream of Daring by Gen LaGreca Page A

horror.
    Tom ran behind her,
seized the rope, and gave one fierce tug. His superior strength proved
decisive. He was able to raise the fallen tree high enough to extricate the
animal.
    “Grab the horse!” he
directed.
    The girl rushed to the
frightened creature while Tom held up the tree trunk. She grabbed the reins and
guided the animal to its feet, freeing it just before the frayed rope broke and
the trunk came crashing down.
    Tom was about to lend her
a hand when he realized she was quite able to control the animal herself. She
held the horse firmly by the reins, patting and soothing the barebacked
creature until it settled down. Aside from copious bits of tree bark lodged in
its coat, the horse appeared to be uninjured.
    When she finished tending
to the animal, the young woman turned to face her rescuer. She stood with her
head high, staring at Tom distrustfully. He stared back, taking in the many
contrasting qualities striking him at once. Her face displayed the glistening
dark eyes and high cheekbones of one race in an arresting harmony with the
tapered nose and delicate lips of another. Her skin was neither ebony nor fair
but a golden-bronze mix of the two. Her hair was long and lustrous, a tangled
mane tumbling down her back, tightly curled by the grace of one race and
lightened to a reddish-brown by another. It was as if nature, in a moment of
artistic inspiration, had blended on her great palette the fine features of two
races to produce a stunning beauty.
    He estimated her age at
between eighteen and twenty, making her a cross between a girl and a woman. The
wild hair and the penetrating eyes, the mud-splattered face and the proud
posture, the hardness she showed him and the softness she showed the horse, the
slave’s frock and the runaway’s spirit, the raw beauty and the keen
intelligence—it all blended into a fireball presence.
    He walked toward her,
wanting to help. He was carrying a substantial amount of cash for his
now-aborted voyage and was about to give her money. Had he paused to predict
her reaction, he might have expected to be viewed cautiously or perhaps even
feared. But he didn’t expect to be punched in the face, then pushed in the
chest and knocked down.
    Before he could stand up
and recover from his assault, she had jumped on her horse and was fleeing
furiously, a vibrant creature riding bareback, strong-willed—and desperate.
    He rubbed his chin, which
smarted from her fist, and then he rose. As he dusted himself off, he watched
her fading in the distance. Another bizarre event to perplex him, he thought.
First his invention was stolen and an honorable man killed. Then he discovered
that a factory bringing jobs, wealth, and the growth of a village had been
driven out. Now a woman with a savage fear was running for her life. A common
thread seemed to be tying these things together in his mind.
    He remembered reading the
factory owner’s words: You can’t change the soul of the South. Anyone who
tries is doomed . Was the runaway doomed? He thought of the slave catchers
who scoured the area, tracking the desperate, chaining them, returning them to
their masters for untold punishment. Will the patrols get her? His eyes
closed painfully in quiet protest at the thought.

 
    Chapter
5
     
    The sun appeared that
afternoon, drying the ground after the storm. But when Tom turned onto the path
up the hill to Ruby Manor, a procession of oaks brought back the shade. He
caught sight of the Barnwell home from spots where the branches thinned along
the winding road, with each glimpse a reminder of the grim task ahead.
    As he reached the top of
the hill, the Greek Revival mansion came into full view. It was an imposing
structure with massive columns supporting the first- and second-floor galleries
in the front and back of the house. On more than one occasion Tom had heard the
story of Greenbriar’s most majestic plantation home. Early in their marriage,
Wiley Barnwell had begun construction of a new