First excerpt from the novel in progress (working title Liberty Rain)

October, 1856

Why in heaven’s name did she find herself feeling this way near him?

What was she about, to lose her composure so utterly? He was a mere working man.

A strong, strapping working man. A man with glistening muscles covered in smooth deep brown skin. A man whose attraction was actually palpable in the air around her, like a blow to her throat and ribcage.

And she – she could not understand. She knew only that she felt a shuddering compulsion, to be near him if she possibly could, to evoke some sort of response from him.

He stood upon a crate, speaking clearly above the jumble of confused voices gathered to hear the news. He read confidently – he could read! – from a long sheet of newsprint.

“Five slaves have escaped from Mr. Whitten’s loading-yard on Light Street and are being sought. It is believed that the five gained their treacherous ideas of escape from followers of Mrs. Tubman, who is wanted in several states for her treasonous acts of thievery and incitement.”

He went on as the group quieted to listen, calling out conspiratorially,

“I have it on good word that they made it safely to the North, although this news is not yet public. Naturally, we do not know who these five slaves could have been, do we? Nor do we know anything about their plans, route, or intentions. But, friends, it is important that we keep abreast of the happy news of freedom, and not merely the terrible hunting of our people by inhuman beasts of prey.”

The group around him breathed sighs of relief. They understood. It was not to be talked about outside. This meeting, though, was needed – because the news of late had not been good at all.

Allegra Nelson tried to imagine the hunted, desperate longing of those who had escaped, or wished to. She could not quite take it in; she could manage only a deep but puzzled empathy.

It was time for her to go. If her father learned that she had been present at such a meeting in his own warehouses, what then? She couldn’t imagine what he might do. But she knew there was a fierceness in him that she preferred not to test.

She had wanted to be here since another free black worker had whispered to her quickly, the day before, of an organization among the crews. Had her youth and apparent kindness spurred the confidence? Had the group been hoping for clandestine support from those among the white, well-to-do community of Baltimore who sympathized? Or had, perhaps, something been noticed of her tendency to take the unusual course, ladylike or not? She didn’t know.

The workers knew her by sight, as she often visited the warehouses in her sickly mother’s stead. Anna Nelson was a Quakeress by birth, a lady of quiet, smiling breeding and gentleness, and it had been her custom to become acquainted with the workers, white and black, in her husband’s enterprise. She visited them, asked about their work and their families, and occasionally brought them soup or cakes or fresh fruit as a surprise. But during the months of Anna’s illness, Allegra had welcomed the opportunity to stand in for her delicate mother, to hear and smell and taste the world without, to escape from the stuffy house and the confinement of a lady’s daily existence.

It was taking her a long time, though, to learn the names of the crews, she fretted. She would have to do better. But she did know – she had made sure of it - that the speaker’s name was Christopher.

She gazed across at him, forgetting to cast down her eyes as she was expected to. And then, to her shock, he saw her and smiled. Then he strode toward her.

She turned, her heart in her throat, but with decision, and walked to the door before he could reach her.