Free Wilde, Jennifer by Love's Tender Fury Page A

"but I have no idea
what the town is called."
    "Oh
gawd," she whispered. "Look at them poor men—"
    I
looked up to see six wagons with wooden cages built over them, the sort of
vehicles used to transport wild animals in traveling circuses. Three of the
wagons were already filled with the male prisoners. Stunned, apathetic, the men
clung to the bars, oblivious to the catcalls from the crowd. A band of rowdy
Little boys poked at the men with sticks and hurled rocks at the cages. The
crowd seemed to find this highly amusing, but the caged men had grown so
accustomed to such abuse that they seemed hardly to notice. The other three
wagons stood empty, waiting for us.
    Five
men were standing at the foot of the gangplank. Four of them were husky chaps
in sturdy boots, black breeches, and green and black jerseys, a sullen lot with
stern features and belligerent eyes. Each of the four held a whip coiled in his
hand and looked all too eager to put it to use. They were obviously our new
guards. The fifth man was burly and broad-shouldered, roughly dressed in tan
breeches, coarse white linen shirt, and leather jerkin. His eyes were flat and
cold. Dirty brown hair fell across his tanned brow. His name, I was to learn,
was Bradford Coleman, and he was to be in charge of us.
    Coleman
scowled, watching us descend the gangplank.
    "Hurry
it up, you lot!" he bellowed. "I ain't got all day. Christ! Look at
'em! It'll take me two weeks to get 'em in shape for the auction. All right,
men, get 'em into the wagons! Any of 'em give you any trouble, you know what to
do!"

CHAPTER 6
    I
bad no idea where we were. The settlement, for it couldn't possibly be called a
town, was a full day's journey from the port where we had landed. We had been
kept in a large stockade for two weeks, well fed and tended like cattle. A
doctor had examined us, had prescribed medicine for those women still sickly,
and now that the day of the auction had finally arrived, all of us looked
considerably better than we had upon arrival. Early in the morning we had been
given bars of soap and were led down to the river to bathe, then, back at the
stockade, instructed to don our very best clothes and groom ourselves for the
sale.
    A
carnival atmosphere prevailed at the settlement. People had been arriving in
wagons for the past three days, some of them coming hundreds of miles, and
booths and striped tents had been set up. A noisy, festive crowd spilled over
the area. Women in bonnets and calico dresses gossiped and sampled the food
sold at the booths. Children ran wild, darting from booth to booth, shouting,
fighting, unrestrained. Strapping men in rough clothes drank huge mugs of ale,
argued with each other, examined the poultry and livestock, frequently engaged
in rowdy bouts or fisticuffs. Angie was terrified when she saw the Indians
wandering over the grounds, tall, sickly-looking creatures adorned with beads
and feathers, but one of the guards assured her that these were "tame
redskins."
    The
men had been auctioned off the day before. We were taken from the stockade and
herded to a small, roped-off area behind the auction block. A number of people
came to peer at us, but they didn't jeer. They examined us with the same
thoughtful, serious expressions they employed when looking over the cattle
penned across the way and the horses that were for sale. Most of the women had
regained their high spirits. Two weeks of hearty food and fresh air had worked
wonders. Our shackles had long since been removed, but two guards with coiled
whips hovered over us, as did Bradford Coleman, the stocky, leathery-faced
former slave-runner who had been in charge of us since our arrival.
    Angie
gave me a sharp nudge in the ribs, pointing to a husky lad with tousled brown
hair who stood just beyond the rope. He wore brown boots, black breeches, and a
coarse blue cotton shirt with full-gathered sleeves. With his merry brown eyes,
broad, pleasant features, and wide grin he looked like an amiable young