It was a small movement, but Clara’s eyes widened. “My name is Nathaniel Reed.” His real voice sounded strange after months of hiding it.
“I was a teacher in Philadelphia.” Clara stared at him. “I knew it.” “How?” “Your eyes.”
Nathaniel frowned. “You make your face foolish. You make your body foolish. But sometimes you forget your eyes.”
She clicked the reins. The wagon started moving again. Nathaniel pulled the stolen letter from inside his coat.
“I need someone who can get this north.” Clara glanced at it. “What is it?”
“Enough to ruin people who believe they’re untouchable.” By noon they reached a small brick church squeezed between a blacksmith’s shop and a row of narrow houses.
Clara knocked three times. Paused. Then twice. The door opened. A tall gray-haired minister named Reverend Isaac Turner stared at them.
Clara said only four words. “He needs the room.” The minister immediately stepped aside. For the next six hours, Nathaniel spoke.
Names. Banks. Ships. Payments. Dates. Warehouse locations. Officials who had accepted money. Merchants who had falsified documents.
Everything he had seen inside Evelyn’s safe poured from his memory while Reverend Turner and two trusted abolitionist contacts wrote until their fingers cramped.
Then Nathaniel placed the stolen letter on the table. Reverend Turner read it. His face changed.
“My God.” “What?” Clara asked. Turner handed it to her. “This connects Blackwood’s operation directly to investors in the North.”
Nathaniel nodded. “And there are original ledgers inside Ravenwood.” One of the men looked at him.
“Then stay here. We can move you tonight.” Nathaniel shook his head. “I have to go back.”
Clara slammed her palm against the table. “No.” “If I disappear, Evelyn punishes everyone at Ravenwood.”
“She may kill you.” Nathaniel folded his hands. “If I don’t return, she may kill someone else.”
Nobody answered. That evening, the wagon rolled back through Ravenwood’s gates. Evelyn was waiting on the steps.
She smiled when she saw Samuel. “Still alive?” Nathaniel gave her his foolish grin. “Samuel better.”
Evelyn laughed. “Unfortunately.” Seven weeks passed. Nathaniel heard nothing. Every morning he wondered whether the letter had reached the right people.
