It was just like her mother. Her marriage to Julian Summerfield had been arranged. Love was never a consideration. As far as Glory knew, her mother had never really been in love. She shared a home with Julian, but little more. Proud of the plantation she and Julian had built, Louise valued the land and the family name. Oh, she loved Glory, in her own detached way, and probably even Julian. But she revolved in a distant world, where closeness to others was not allowed.

Glory was seated in the upstairs withdrawing room practicing on the pianoforte, the sun streaming through the open window, when her mother walked in. Glory had never seen so bleak an expression, such utter despair on her mother's usually placid face.

"Mother! My God, what's happened?" Glory leaped from the piano bench and hurried across the room, the layers of her ruched skirts rustling with the motion. Plenty burst into the room behind Louise, while April entered sobbing.

"Get your mama over to da sofa, chile' " Plenty commanded, and Glory meekly did as she was told. "You sit down, too."

"Me! Why do I need to sit down? Plenty, what's happened?"

"It's Julian," her mother choked out. "He was riding Hannibal, taking the hedges. Hannibal went down. Julian hit his head." She sat there staring straight ahead, her face as pale as porcelain, her eyes bleak and vacant. "Glory, your father is dead."

Chapter Five.

Glory was sure she couldn't have survived the ordeal if it hadn't been for her half brother, Nathan.

The tall light-skinned Negro arrived on a packet from New York just two days after her father's death. He'd been on his way home from school for the summer. A year younger than Glory, Nathan looked several years older. He was handsome and well built, tall and broad-shouldered like his father. Since his mother had also been of mixed blood, his features looked more Caucasian than Negro. Having spent most of his life in boarding schools, he was highly educated and well spoken.

"Oh, Nathan," Glory cried against his shoulder. "I miss Papa so much." They had walked down near the river, below the formal gardens. A sudden spring storm seemed imminent: clouds gathered and threatened, and the air hung thick and still.

"I just can't quite believe it," Nathan told her. "I keep expecting him to crest the rise on his big black stallion or walk up to my cottage." Nathan wasn't allowed inside the main house-Louise Summerfield wouldn't tolerate the presence of Julian's bastard son. So Nathan had been raised by Sara, one of the Negro women, in the small cottage Julian had built for Hannah. A place away from the rest. A place where he and Hannah could be alone.

Hannah had been a quiet-spoken young woman, the child of a well-educated quadroon from New Orleans. As a little girl, Hannah had been taught to read and write, though by law it was forbidden. When her mother died, she'd been sold to pay their debts, though she was then only a child of fourteen. At the manor, she'd blossomed into a beautiful young woman, and Julian had fallen in love with her.

Everyone had looked the other way, even Louise. The affair had lasted a little less than two years, just long enough for Nathan to be born. Hannah died when a second child came early and complications set in. Glory's mother had wept with joy; Julian had grieved for weeks, and Nathan had been left alone.

"I never thought it could happen to him," Glory said to Nathan. "He was so strong. Like a rock. And always there when you needed him." She wept softly against Nathan's shoulder, his tall frame looming above her more slender one.

"I miss him, too," Nathan said quietly. Living on the edge of plantation society, belonging neither to the Caucasian race he was schooled in nor to the Negro, despite his curly black hair and cocoa coloring, Nathan had grown up fast. He held no illusions about life. He had loved his father. Now his father had been taken from him, just as his mother had. Nathan had always been alone-except for Glory.

"Why did it have to be him, Nathan?" Glory said. "He was so good and kind. He always worried about everyone except himself, always wanted the best for everyone."

"I know, Glory. I know."

At first Glory had been unable to cry, unable to accept her father's death as real. Once Nathan came home and they shared each other's grief, Glory couldn't stop crying. When the day of the funeral arrived, Glory was sure she had no tears left.

She stood inside the little wrought-iron fence that surrounded the family plot. All by herself. Her mother had relegated Nathan to a place among the Negroes, and, though Glory had cried and pleaded, threatened and cajoled, Nathan had finally persuaded his sister to leave the matter alone.

"Father would want you there, Nathan," she'd said.

"Father will know I'm close by."

After that, Glory had refused to stand beside her mother. Instead she stood a few feet away, a bitter spring wind billowing the heavy skirts of her black silk mourning dress. The cloudy day seemed appropriate. While the minister droned on, Glory stood with her head held high, but she was grateful for the dense veil she wore, which shrouded her drawn features from the scores of friends and relatives who had gathered to pay their last respects.

As Glory heard the low keening of the slaves on the hillside, saw the first shovelful of dirt pitched onto her father's casket, she felt a knot of despair that tightened like a noose and threatened to suffocate her. Head spinning, she swayed unsteadily. Tears filled her eyes, and she fought to keep them from spilling onto her cheeks. The mourners around her blurred into a single gray mass.

She sensed his presence even before he touched her, his strong, sun-browned hand sliding beneath her elbow to share with her a little of his strength. She didn't need to look up to know that Nicholas Blackwell stood beside her, but when she did, she found him staring straight ahead, his quiet support giving-her the courage she needed. He said not a word, his expression carefully controlled, but his usually swarthy complexion looked wan, his mouth no more than a thin, grim line.

Glory knew in that moment that he shared her pain, and in realizing others had loved her father as she had, she felt a little of her own pain go away.

When the service was over, Nicholas led her from the graveyard beneath the oaks. "You know how sorry I am," he said, his voice heavy and low.

"Thank you for coming, Captain."

"I'm afraid I can't stay. I heard about the accident in a port just south of here. Your father was respected and admired. News of what happened traveled fast. I came as quickly as I could, but I have to return to my ship right away."

"I understand."

"I'm headed for Barbados. At the end of the month I'll be back in Charleston for three days on my way north. If there's anything I can do, anything you need, just send word."

"Thank you."

He didn't offer to see her, didn't want to see her again. Nicholas had battled images of Gloria Summerfield since the day he'd left the manor. He was just beginning to forget her when he received news of the accident. Now he felt the same intense attraction, the same pounding in his blood, and knew he'd again spend weeks fighting his desire for her.

Just like your father, a tiny voice said. The words plagued him day and night. Want of a woman had turned Alexander Blackwell into a drunken failure and finally been the death of him. It wouldn't happen to Nicholas. Not for Gloria Summerfield or any other woman.

He walked her up the hill to the house.

"Good-bye, Captain," she said.

He squeezed her hand, left her with a polite farewell, and made his way over to her mother, to whom he paid his respects. A few minutes later, he was mounting his hired saddle horse, riding out through the massive stone gates as quietly as he had come. With a last glimpse over his shoulder, he spotted Glory among the others dressed in black, looking pale and fragile. She didn't appear to notice those around her, just stood watching him as he rode off down the lane.

"Mother, you can't be serious!" Glory stormed about the drawing room, her fists clenched at her sides, strands of blond hair tumbling free of her tight chignon. "Nathan is my brother. He's a member of this family, just as much as I am!"

"Don't say that! Don't you ever say that to me again!" Her mother's features were distorted, her brown eyes glistening with rage. "Nathan is a slave. That is all he is. He belongs to Summerfield Manor. From now on he'll work in the fields just like the rest of the slaves."

"Father's not dead two weeks, and you're already trying to destroy his son!"

Her mother's hand connected with Glory's cheek so hard she felt the sting of tears. The echo of the slap resounded across the room.

"Don't you ever refer to that . . . that Nigra as my husband's son."

Glory swallowed hard, but held her ground. "Father meant for Nathan to be a free man of color. He was to receive his papers on his twentieth birthday. That's what Father wanted and you know it."

"What Julian wanted! Always what Julian wanted. What about what I want? Do you think I wanted your father to flaunt his affair with a Negro slave? Do you think I wanted him to raise his bastard right here under my nose? Do you think I wanted to hear our neighbors snickering at me behind my back?"

"I know it was hard on you, Mother. But it isn't Nathan's fault. Let him go back up north. Let him return to school. He can leave now instead of in the fall."

"No! Nathan is a slave. He'll take his place with the rest of his people as he should have years ago."

"Mother, please. Be reasonable. Nathan doesn't know the first thing about being a field hand. He wasn't brought up that way."

"Then he'll just have to learn." She swept toward the door. "I will not discuss this with you again, Glory. Ever. Go to your room. When you come out, I expect you to behave like the lady you've been taught to be. I never want to hear Nathan's name mentioned in this house again." Her mother marched through the doorway, then stopped and turned to face her. "There's one more thing," she added. "I want you to stop consorting with the slaves. Your father allowed it. I will not. From now on, you'll keep to your rightful place." She left the room, and Glory remained behind, dumbstruck.

How could this be happening? How could the woman do such a thing to Nathan? Remembering her passionate words, Glory realized she'd never understood the depth of her mother's shame and humiliation. Never really understood her at all. Part of her felt sorry about the misery Louise had lived with all these years. Another part hated her for the terrible payment she intended to extol from Nathan, maybe even from Glory.

Nathan had been working in the rice fields for eight days before Glory was able to see him alone. His tall frame already looked gaunt; his hands and feet were covered with blisters, and his shirt was tom and bloody from the marks of the whip. Glory cried just looking at him.

"Oh, God, Nathan. What have they done to you?"

He raised himself up, a look of fierce pride hardening his features as Glory had never seen them. "Nothing that hasn't been done to my people for hundreds of years."

"But you're different from the others. You're educated. You're gentle and kind. You can't stand up to this kind of treatment. We've got to do something!"

"There's nothing we can do, Glory. Your mother has made up her mind. If I try to run, she'll have the slave catchers hunt me down. She owns me. She can do whatever she wants."

"That's not good enough. I won't stand by and do nothing. I've had time to think about this, Nathan, and I've come up with an idea."

"Glory, it's no use."

"Listen to me, Nathan! We have to try. Father would have wanted us to try."

Nathan took a deep breath and looked out over the still waters of the lagoon. They stood among the oaks, beneath wispy strands of moss that hid them from the prying eyes of Jonas Fry. "I suppose you're right, Glory. You usually are."

"Father had a friend," Glory said. "A sea captain. His name is Nicholas Blackwell. He'll be in Charleston at the end of the month. If we put the word out through some of the slaves, we can find out exactly when he arrives. He'll be in Charleston for three days. We'll go to him the day before he leaves. Surely we can get as far as Charleston without being caught."

"Will he take me north?" Nathan asked.

"I-I don't know. He helped me once before, but I don't think we should risk telling him the truth. I'm going to tell him there's a family emergency of some kind. I have several relatives in the North, so he should believe me. I'll play on his sympathies, his loyalty to Father."

"And just how do you persuade him to take me along?"

"I'll tell him I brought you for protection." She smiled up at him. "After this past week, you ought to be able to act like a slave."

This time Nathan smiled. "Yassum, Miz Glory," he said with a deep Southern drawl. "Whatever you say. You is shorely da boss."

"Then you'll do it?" she asked.

"Are you sure you'll be safe with this . . . Captain Blackwell?"

Glory felt a sudden warmth in her cheeks as she remembered the tall captain's kiss, the heat in his eyes that night on the road. "I'll be safe," she said. But she wasn't completely sure-and she wasn't sure she wanted to be.

Nathan clutched her hand. "All right, we'll try it. You just tell me what you want me to do."

News of the captain's arrival in Charleston reached Glory through the slave grapevine. He was headed to New York with a shipment of sugar and tobacco.

"Dat big boat o' his come in dis mornin'," Plenty told her after checking to make certain they were alone in Glory's room. "I surely don't like dis, chile." Plenty shook her turbaned head and clucked at her like a mother hen. "Don't like seein' you go off by yourself like dis."

"I'll be with Nathan," Glory reminded her. "I won't be gone that long. Once I get Nathan safely back to New York, I'll return on the first packet. I just thank God Father set up trust funds for Nathan and me. He'll have plenty of money to finish school, and I won't have to depend on my mother for anything ever again."

"She gonna have plenty of trouble runnin' da manor without you, chile."

"She'll be fine. She knows as much about running this plantation as Father did. Besides, she doesn't listen to anything I have to say. She relies on Jonas Fry-the last man on earth Father would have listened to."

"I s'pose you're right. I know you're right about helpin' Nathan. Dat Jonas Fry never did like da boy. Says he's nothin' but a uppity nigger. He'll do his best to break da boy. Your daddy wouldna liked dat one bit."

"I just hope nothing goes wrong," Glory said. "Nathan and I have to be on that boat by the time the tide turns Thursday morning. That's when the Black Spider is supposed to sail."

But things did go wrong. The weather turned nasty. Though the air was humid and warm, black clouds rolled and thundered and slashes of lightning rent the sky. Glory waited till she was sure the others were asleep, then dressed in a crisp black pleated-faille traveling dress. She arranged her pale hair in ringlets beside her face, then covered her head with a wide-brimmed bonnet. Grabbing a lightweight mantle, she slipped down the servants' stairs to the back door.

"Good luck, chile," Plenty whispered, enveloping Glory in the folds of her thick girth. "Promise you'll be careful."

"I promise," Glory said. "Don't you worry about a thing."

Plenty just nodded. Holding open the back door, she watched Glory as she made her way to the stables in the light rain.

Wearing his ragged work clothes, a floppy-brimmed hat pulled low across his face, Nathan waited beside the bam next to a canvas-topped gig. The gig was small and manageable, needing only one horse to pull it the long way into town. They both climbed onto the seat and Nathan slapped the reins lightly against the animal's rump.

"At first I thought this weather was a bad omen," Glory told him, "but now that I think about it, maybe it's the other way around. It makes a great cover, and the lane is so dark and muddy we're not likely to pass a soul."

"Just as long as the rain doesn't get any worse," Nathan cautioned. "The road's barely passable as it is."

But the rain did get worse, and the wind began to howl. Several times Nathan was forced to stop the carriage to remove heavy tree limbs that blocked their way or to clear a mound of loose earth that had tumbled onto the road. He was thankful his weeks of backbreaking work in the rice fields had muscled his shoulders and legs and turned his blisters to calluses. When the carriage bogged down in a mud hole just outside of Charleston, he found he had strength he hadn't known about. Together he and Glory freed the gig and continued on. It was almost dawn by the time they headed down Meeting Street toward the Battery. When they turned on Tradd Street, headed for South Adg-er's wharf, the tall masts of the Black Spider beckoned in the graying light of dawn.

"Hurry, Nathan," Glory urged. "They're getting ready to make way." Glory's heart pounded. The rain had slowed their journey by hours. A few more minutes and they would have been too late. "Somebody is bound to discover the gig sooner or later, but by then we'll be well on our way."

They climbed out of the carriage and hurried to the gangplank, Glory walking in front, her dark clothes soaked and clinging to her body, her hair wet beneath her soggy bonnet, several long blond strands slicked against her cheek. Nathan followed, carrying Glory's big tapestry carpetbag as well as a smaller bag of his own, his hat pulled low. Despite his light skin, his ragged clothes and muscled body made him look just like any other black man.

Several sea gulls screeching above the tall masts, the sounds of creaking timbers, and the hustle of men at work drew Glory's attention as she walked along the narrow plank that crossed from dock to ship.

She spotted Nicholas Blackwell in an instant, though he was no more than an outline against the lightening sky. His height, as well as his broad shoulders, long legs, and lean hips set him apart from the others. For a moment she hesitated, a little afraid to approach the intimidating figure who barked orders to his crew with a stem authority that brooked no argument. Then she thought of Nathan and squared her shoulders. After cautioning her half brother to remain in the shadows, she headed toward the captain.

The look of surprise on his lean, tanned face turned rapidly to one of concern as he strode across the deck to greet her.

"Glory, what is it?" he asked, taking in her bedraggled appearance. "Has something happened?" He grasped her wet hands in his and worriedly searched her face. The wind billowed the open front of his white linen shirt. She noticed he wore a thin gold earring in one ear.

"I need to talk to you, Captain," she told him.

"Of course. Come into my cabin."

They walked down the companionway and into the small room, and Glory untied and removed her cloak and bonnet. Nicholas draped them across a squat oak chair. She noticed the way his snug black breeches, wet from the rain, clung to his lean hard thighs as he pulled up another chair for her to sit in. Two long strides carried him to a whale oil lamp beside his bunk.

The captain lit the lamp, though dawn was beginning to break outside the low portholes above his wide berth. The bed had been neatly made and was as orderly as the rest of the room. Only a few open ledgers on the captain's oak desk and several bound volumes near his chair spoke of the work that went on in the cabin.

From a crystal decanter the captain poured a little brandy into the bottom of a snifter, handed her the glass, then sat down at the end of his berth to face her. "Now, tell me what this is all about."

"I need your help, Captain Blackwell. My aunt in New York is ill, and I must reach her right away."

"Surely you're not traveling alone?"

"Not exactly." She took a sip of the brandy to steady her nerves. "I brought one of the servants along for protection."

Where is your chaperon?" he asked, arching a fine black brow.