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her mount. Horse and rider flew onto the main road once again.
    A midday sun lifted over the zenith as she kept Libertine at a fast lope, once again letting the landscape fly past her. A familiar bundle of clouds waited on the far horizon, stopping to gather strength for an evening battle to capture the springtime sky and saturate the land with a triumphant rain. Never far from sight, the great river flowed lazily south, adding the illusion of greater speed to her flight. The warm wind splashed her face, drying the nervous moisture as it appeared.
    A few wanderers spiced the road here and there: passersby, more fishermen, a few farmers who worked the rich farmland surrounding Carlisle, the farmers' Negroes and the Cajun people.
    She slowed a little with each encounter, half expecting arms to be raised with voices crying: "There she is! Catch her!" No such alarm sounded though. She seemed to solicit nothing more than a curious stare or two.
    There was no sign of her comrades, and she stopped about a mile out of Carlisle, as close as she would dare. She'd have to wait. She reined Libertine to the side and fixed an anxious stare down the deserted road.
    She waited and waited.
    A carriage rounded the bend in the distance, and as it drew nearer, she recognized the familiar faces of the Baxter family of Rose Hill. The driver was Hark, an elderly Negro, affable and friendly, but one of the many house servants of whom Sammy warned, "That man ever suspects what's goin' down 'round his nose at these sermons, he a gonna run right straight for the massa and drop to his knees, all a blabberin'."
    Wearing all the plume and finery of her class, Madame Baxter sat in the carriage. A plumper version of this lady, her young daughter Margaret sat alongside. Opposite them sat Clyde and Tom, the two youngest Baxter boys. Joy knew them all quite well. She had had tea at Rose Hill many times during the days when Joshua had been well enough to enjoy society. She had danced with both young men at various parties.
    Joy pulled her mount farther into the forest, knowing they were far more likely to recognize Libertine than herself. The carriage passed in front, and Joy met Madame Baxter's unkind stare with her own: a perfect replica of the po' white trash look of scorn and antipathy toward their betters.
    "Hmmph!” Madame Baxter seemed to ruffle her plumage. "This road gets worse each day.
    The hoodlums begin to appear in alarming numbers—even worse than free darkies! You must remind me to mention it to your father."
    Another time Joy might have laughed, but impending disaster, which she felt as a physical presence, left no room for the natural humor she normally found when confronting the startling duplicity of her life. All she felt was an ever-increasing anxiety as she returned at once to study the road.
    Good Lord, where were they?
    The answer came with a quick prayer for the Reverend's unlikely salvation. The only possible thing that could explain this wait was that the Reverend must be bent over his cups in some seedy tavern down the road, already inebriated, leaving her to stay perched in that tree for eternity.
    Oh Sammy, how could you let him?
    Sammy would have left him to fetch her, of course, but what would he do when he found her and the bounty hunters gone? Race home to see if she had made it safe? Yes! Yet when he found her not home, he would panic and a search would be on.
    Realizing what must have happened, she turned her horse back, but Libertine had not kicked dust to the road before she heard the familiar voice from behind call, "Joy!"
    "Sammy!" Relief once again swept through her in a wild rush, and she turned her mount back around and raced to him. Her relief was so tremendous that, as the two horses met, she fell from her seat and into the security of Sammy's strong arms.
    Sammy, for his part, cast a quick glance in both directions before, holding her small weight with one arm, he pulled her and the mounts off the road. Only thing