A/N: I cannot believe what this has become. My outline originally had this as a 7 chapter story. It is now looking to be at least 20 chapters. How did this happen? My many thanks to those of you who read, special thanks to TTC Recommendations for adding this story to the community, and my undying love to my betas: WuogKat and MaleficentKnits. As you might expect, Jasper Whitlock belongs to S. Meyer; no copyright infringement is intended. Everything else belongs to my overactive imagination.
14 April, 1862
About the same time Major Jasper Whitlock was meeting his riverboat in Robinsonville, there was another meeting about to occur just over one hundred miles to the east.
A man on horseback made his way up a tree-lined path toward a white, two-storied house with large columns and a wrap-around porch. As he passed the final oak tree a black man appeared, seeming from nowhere, to take the horse from the stranger as he came to tend to whatever business brought him to the manor. The rider brought brought his horse close to the man and dismounted, all the while staring at the slave. Carefully he pulled the reigns around front and handed them to the
"You c'n touch the leather, but don' touch my horse nigger!" the stranger spat at the slave before making his way up the steps.
"Might I have your name, sir, to introduce you to the Lady of the House?" asked another man as the stranger started up the main stairs to the porch.
"You can tell her it's Albert Baldwyn," he said condescendingly.
"Yessir," the slave said with a bow before heading into the plantation house.
Albert looked over what he could see of the estate as he waited impatiently on the porch to be introduced. His face was nothing to envy. Although he was not particularly marred or disfigured, his skin was already tanned from exposure to the sun and he was already forming wrinkles premature for his age perhaps from his constant scowling. In fact the only real identifying feature that he had was a thick drawl and still healing wound on his neck that would undoubtedly leave a permanent scar.
"Mr. Baldwyn," said a sugary sweet voice from behind him.
"May I present," said the house slave as Albert turned around, "Mrs. Elias Fields."
"Ma'am," Albert started, "I have reason to believe that you have had your good name sullied by a confidence trickster, and I am here hoping to set things right."
"Oh dear," exclaimed Mrs. Fields, putting her gloved right hand to her mouth.
"I know, and I do feel the shame of having to bring this news on the Lord's day, but this is an urgent errand."
"Pray tell, Mr. Baldwyn. Who was this deceiver?"
"Don't you realize, Ma'am?" Albert asked in feigned shock. "It is none other than the major you hosted only a few nights ago."
"Oh my," Mrs. Fields lost the sweetness in her voice. "I do believe that I need to sit before I hear anymore," she said moving across the porch to a rocking chair on the side. Albert followed her.
"Please forgive my forthrightness, Ma'am, but I shall be as direct as I can. The corporal you allowed Major Whitlock to bring into your fine home was a runaway from the war. I met him after he left here yesterday and made sure that he was returned to his proper unit. That is where I learned that the Major is also a fugitive who has fled from his duty and commission."
"But… but… he seemed so honorable," stammered a shaken Mrs. Fields. She was visibly affected by this revelation.
"I know, Ma'am. That is what has afforded him such an easy escape." Albert paused for a moment, waiting for the perfect time to make his final move. Only after Mrs. Fields released a deep sigh he knew that he had sold his lie. "Mrs. Fields, I need to know where he was going when he left here, and which roads he planned to use, if you perchance know."
"Oh certainly," she responded returning somewhat to her senses. "I know exactly where he went, because I recommended the route. He went due west to Robinsonville. It is right on the River, you see, so he could catch a riverboat."
"A riverboat?" he asked. "Where is he headed by river?
"South," she said nonchalantly. "The major was planning on making his way at least to New Orleans."
Deep down, Mrs. Fields refused to believe Baldwyn's story. Although she had no reason to refute him except for her own experience with and trust in Major Whitlock, she still did not feel the need to reveal all that she knew about Jasper's plans.
"I thank you, Mrs. Fields," Albert said tipping his hat. "Your help will get this charlatan back to his proper post."
Wasting no time, he turned and made his way off the porch, down the steps, and back to his horse.
"You didn' touch her, did you nigger?" he asked quietly as he took back the reigns of his horse.
"No sir," Benjamin grunted.
"You must be a good nigger who knows how to listen," again he spoke under his breath making sure that Mrs. Fields could not hear. "Why don' you teach all the other slaves how to do as they told?"
"Have a good evening, sir," Benjamin forced himself to say politely and grin, albeit meaninglessly.
"I am on my way to do that," Albert said while mounting his horse. He took one last look back at the manor, and saw Mrs. Fields still sitting in the rocking chair with the same shocked look upon her face. He smiled slightly knowing that his lie had worked.
Albert Baldwyn was a man on a mission. He had captured a runaway corporal before losing his bounty to Major Jasper Whitlock. He waited patiently and finally after three days the corporal was finally released by the doctor. Albert tracked the corporal after he departed from the Fields' Plantation and managed to recapture him and finally lay claim to the bounty.
Now his sights were set on the major and the greater bounty. However it was the fact that Whitlock had a four-day head start that made Albert hasten to start his journey that very afternoon. He looked up at the sun through the last remaining oak trees of the plantation's main road and realized that he still had a couple hours' worth of light remaining.
I've got to get to Robinsonville, he thought to himself, before any leads on that damn major get cold.