Home by Morning (6 page)

The need for quiet solitude rose in him, but he forced it
back down. Soon he would be back in his mountains. He would find harmony there, and this sense of being off-balance would leave him.

Several minutes later, the two females returned. Prudence settled on the edge of the bed and told Lillian to sit on the floor between her feet so she could braid her hair. Thomas continued to stand at the window, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for
Eho'nehevehohtse
to explain about the man at the bookstore.

“Have you ever heard of the Underground Railroad?” she finally asked.

Thomas shook his head.

“I has,” Lillian said. “The Friends bring us to freedom lan' on it. But it not a real railroad.”

“No, it's not,” Prudence agreed. “Nor is it underground, but more of a network of secret pathways Negroes used to escape slavery and travel to places where they could be free. Like Indiana.”

“If it is not a railroad, why do they call it that?” Thomas asked.

“Because it was all very secret, and to avoid suspicion, the people who ran it used railroad terms as code names for different aspects of the organization.”

“White people complicate everything,” Thomas muttered.

“Perhaps. But many blacks helped on the railroad as well. Harriet Tubman, an ex-slave, was famous for it. Do you remember the stories you learned at school about Harriet?” she asked Lillie.

“The one who change her name from Minty?”

“Araminta Ross. Yes, that's the one. I'm proud you remembered.” In addition to her work with the Underground Railroad, Harriet had also aided the abolitionist John Brown before his disastrous raid at Harper's Ferry. Even now, Mrs. Tubman continued to further the Negro cause, and though they had never met, Pru felt a strong connection to the courageous black woman.

“Anyway,” Pru went on, “‘stations' or ‘depots' were safe resting places along the secret routes, and ‘conductors' were people who helped move the runaways from place to place. I've heard that over a hundred thousand slaves escaped to freedom on the Underground Railroad, many through Indiana. But that was before the War of the Rebellion.”

Thomas watched
Eho'nehevehohtse
's long, slim fingers work the braid and remembered those same fingers sliding through the gaps in his shirt the previous night. She liked to touch him. He liked it, as well. And it pleased him that beneath her shy smile was a ferocious passion awakened only by him.

“Hold this, dear.” Prudence put Lillian's fingers on the end of the braid so she could tie a ribbon around it.

Thomas noted the girl's hair was not as smooth and shiny as
Eho'nehevehohtse
's, and it took many small braids to tame it. Like
Katse'e
, it seemed to have a mind of its own.

“For several years after the war ended,” Prudence went on as she started another braid, “there wasn't much need for escape routes. But lately, with increasing unrest because of Reconstruction, many Negroes feel their only hope of a better life is to escape into Canada . . . although I've been hearing things can be difficult up there, too.”

“If there is no more slavery, why do they not go there on their own?” Thomas asked. “Why do they need the secret railroad?”

“Because there are those who have gotten into trouble and need help.”

“Lawbreakers.”

“Some. But not all laws are just. Or enforced equally.”

“You do not need to tell a Cheyenne that.” Moving from the window, he sprawled in the worn chair beside the bed. “The man today is a lawbreaker who needs your help?” Thomas would not have thought the frightened black man had the courage to break laws.

“Chester Hogan? No. He's more of a ‘conductor.' There, Lillie. All finished. You look quite grand.”

Thomas thought she still looked like she had sprouted raven feathers.

Grinning, the girl climbed back onto the bed and began humming to herself as she wrapped her new scarf around her thin neck.

“Chester's not in trouble,” Prudence explained. “But he's helping someone who is.”

“And he needs you to do this?”

“I'm just a step along the way.”

Thomas did not like this. Many of the white man's laws might be foolish, but their lawmen were quick to punish those
who broke them. When he was Declan Brodie's deputy in Heartbreak Creek, he had locked several men away for breaking the rules. He had even been in jail himself. Once in Heartbreak Creek, and for a short time in a faraway place named Liverpool. “Is this why Marsh threatened you? He does not want you to do this?”

A look of disdain marred the beauty of her face. “He's afraid if we're caught it might cause a scandal and ruin his chances of getting to Washington. The man's evil and corrupt. He puts his own wants and ambitions above those in need.”

“As you put those in need above your own wants.” Thomas did not want Prudence Lincoln to be trapped by the white man's laws. He did not want her to know the fear of being caged in a jail like an animal. “You will not help him,
Eho'nehevehohtse
.”

Her chin came up.

On the bed, Lillian quit twisting her scarf and listened intently.

Ho.
It seemed he would have battle on two fronts. “If Chester Hogan needs help, Prudence,” he said calmly, “I will do it. I do not want you in danger. You will tell me what to do, and I will do it.”

“I don't know yet what Chester wants me to do,” she said with impatience. “When I see him during the tent meeting tonight I'll find out.”

“I will meet with him instead.”

“After you almost choked him to death today? He's liable to run as soon as he sees you. I need to go.”

“Then you can come with me.”

“Me, too,” Lillian said. “I ain't staying here by myself.”

Thomas looked at her. “No,
Katse'e
, you will not be by yourself. The reverend will need you to help him with the singing.”

A grin replaced the scowl. “Fo' true?”

“For true.”

Prudence narrowed her eyes at him.

He pretended not to notice. He had made his point and had no more to say.

“I jist loves to sing. Wanna hear?”

Thomas winced, imagining what noise would come out of that mouth.

Prudence gave him a look. “Save it for the meeting, why don't you, Lillie dear? Then it will be a grand surprise for everybody. Now put on your coat and gloves. It's late, and we don't want the meeting to start without us.”

Thomas rose from the chair and straightened the knife under his coat. He wondered if he should change his clothing. He could move more quietly in his moccasins, and the war shirt didn't pull across his shoulders the way this coat did. But after thinking it through, he decided against it. Chester Hogan had been frightened enough for one day.

P
eople were already streaming into the tent when they arrived. Every day more came, and every evening more vendors' carts crowded the street beside the meadow. The sound of happy voices blended with the smell of roasting sausages, creating a fair-like atmosphere despite the chill in the evening air. Pru hoped people were coming for the worship, not the food.

“Wait here,” she told Thomas and Lillie when they reached the tent's entrance. “I'll be right back after I speak to Brother about leaving Lillie.”

Thomas didn't respond, his gaze fixed on something inside the tent toward the small raised stage at the front. Turning, Pru saw Marsh speaking with the reverend.

Drat.
She had hoped he wouldn't attend tonight. Now it would be more difficult to leave to meet Chester. She was debating what to do when she saw a familiar face huffing and puffing across the field toward them, a bulky contraption under her arm.

“Bessie Prescott,” she called. “You're just the person I was hoping to see.”

“Evenin'.” Bessie waved her free hand, setting off jiggles of motion in the ample breasts swaying beneath her dress. “A glorious day for the Lord's Word.”

“It certainly is.” Smiling, Pru brought Lillie forward to meet the elderly black woman, who served as the choir director,
joyfully leading the hymns on her ancient, wheezy accordion. “Might I ask a favor?”

“Sho' you can, child.” Panting for breath, Bessie shifted the accordion to her other arm. “What you need?”

Pru introduced Lillie, explaining about her blindness, and that she needed someone to keep an eye on the girl while she ran an errand. “I won't be long and she'll be no trouble at all. Will you, Lillie?”

“A fly on the windowpane, that me. Singin' praises to the Lawd.”

Pru heard a snort behind her.

Bessie beamed down at the grinning scamp. “Ain't she the cutest thing? I happy to watch her. Come along, child. You sit up front with me.” Hefting the accordion higher on her hip, Bessie took Lillie's hand and started down the aisle between the rows of rapidly filling benches.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” Pru called to her retreating back.

“Take you time. We be fine.”

Pru shoved Thomas away from the opening. “Hurry, before Marsh sees us.” Although, judging by the prickle between her shoulder blades, he might have already spotted them. She didn't turn around to find out, but ushered Thomas through the crowds gathered around the carts.

“Do you fear he will follow us?”

“I don't want to find out.”

As they passed a vendor's cart, he looked with interest at a rack of dripping sausages. “Those smell good.”

“We don't have time for that. After that supper you ate, I don't know how you could still be hungry, anyway.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“All of two hours. Keep moving.”

A few minutes later, they arrived at the abandoned machine shop and rail yard on the far side of the depot. Pru was glad Thomas had come with her. It was quite dark, although he didn't seem to have any trouble making his way through the discarded railroad equipment, crates, and bent rails.

“I hope this is the right place,” she murmured.

“When do you meet him?”

“Not for a while yet,” she whispered. “Seven thirty.”

“Then why are you whispering?”

She refrained from punching his shoulder and clung to his arm instead. “I can't see a thing. Can you?”

“Of course. I am Cheyenne.”

It was exhilarating and a little frightening to be lurking about in the dark. It reminded her of the haunting games she and Edwina had played as children, tiptoeing around the raised vaults in the resting place at Rose Hill—until they frightened themselves so badly they had run shrieking back to the slave cabins and the safety of Pru's mother's arms. “Can you hear anything?”

“Not with you talking.”

“What if we're in the wrong place?”

“Then we will miss him.”

“But what if—”

“You worry too much,
heme'oone.
Now be silent so I can hear.”

For a long time he stood motionless, his face turned into the slight breeze that rustled through the weeds growing along the tracks. Pru moved closer, seeking his warmth. She listened, too, but heard nothing.

After a few minutes, Thomas said in a low voice, “He comes.”

Surprised, Pru glanced around. “He does? Where?”

“You will wait here. I will be nearby. When I am sure he is alone, I will return to you.” Looping an arm around her shoulders, he pulled her hard against his strong body and kissed her. “Do not be afraid,
Eho'nehevehohtse
,” he whispered against her lips. “I will let nothing harm you.” Another hard, quick kiss that left her mouth tingling, then he released her and faded soundlessly into the shadows.

“Don't scare him, Thomas,” she whispered in warning.

Low laughter sounded on the right. No, the left. Behind her? She looked around, but saw nothing move. The man was a ghost. Shivering, she thrust her gloved hands into her coat pockets. She spied a long crate nearby and went over to it. She tested it for soundness, then, satisfied it would hold her weight, she sat, shoulders hunched against the cold.

The night was so still she could hear the faint sound of singing coming from the direction of the tent. The call to worship. The meeting had begun, which meant it was a little past seven thirty. Where was Chester?

She tugged her collar higher, wishing Thomas were still there to keep her warm. She also wished he would relent about keeping her at arm's length. Having him close kept her body humming with frustration. Doubtless, that was his plan all along. He knew that when she was around him she couldn't think. When they were apart, reason told her this odd, mismatched relationship would never work, but as soon as he came near, all she wanted was to do was lose herself in his arms.

She sighed. But he was right about one thing—even if she was barren, it was still unwise to be intimate until they had made the decision to continue on together. But was there truly a decision to make? The idea of not having Thomas in her life was unthinkable. He was the one constant she could depend on. The strength she'd never had. Yet she was loath to give up her dream of advancing education for Negroes. Was there no way she could have both?

Moments dragged by. She was beginning to think Thomas was wrong and Chester wasn't coming when she heard the scuff of a shoe on gravel to her right. She rose, poised to flee, when a familiar voice called out.

“Miss Lincoln? You here?”

She let out a shaky breath. “Yes, Chester. Over here.”

“I can't see nothing.”

A figure stepped out of the shadows. “I will help you.”

“Christamighty!”

“Thomas, don't hurt him!”

Heavy breathing, scrabbling noises, and muttered words, then Chester stumbled up beside her, Thomas gripping his shoulder. “He came alone, Prudence.”

Even in the faraway light from the lanterns by the tent, Pru could see the fear in Chester's eyes. “Oh, for heaven's sake, Thomas! Stop frightening the poor man. Chester, it's all right. He won't hurt you.”

Thomas took his hand away, but continued to stand at Chester's side.

Fearing the man's legs might give out from the fright Thomas had given him, Pru gestured to the crate. “Perhaps you should sit down, Chester.”

He sat, and Prudence sat next to him. Thomas stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest.

“Now tell me about the man who needs our help. Mose, is it?”

“Y-yes, ma'am. Mose Solomon.”

It was a dismal story. Pru had read about it in a newspaper left in the hotel lobby. But since the article had been written by a white man, she suspected a bias against the blacks involved. The whole affair was shameful—not only because of the four lives lost, but because of the apathy on the part of those who were supposed to uphold the law.

That indifference to suffering awakened memories of what had happened to her in the Indian camp, bringing up such a well of bitterness it almost clogged her throat. How could people witness such brutality and do nothing?

“I read about the massacre, Chester,” she said in a tight voice. “Was Mose a part of that?”

“He only protectin' what was his, ma'am. They was wrong on both sides. But the Irish got the best of it. And they start it.”

“This happened in Patenburg, New Jersey?”

Chester nodded. “On Mulhockaway Creek in Hunterdon County. The railroad hire Irish and colored gangs to dig a tunnel through Musconetcong Mountain. Pay's good, but it hard work, I hear.”

“You'd best begin at the beginning.”

Chester settled more comfortably, hands tucked against the chill. “It all start on payday, when the Irish boys set on some blacks after a night of drinkin'. 'Fore long they shooting at each other. Then the Irish break into the colored shanties, steal they wages, and set everything on fire. An Irishman named Colls got shot, but it warn't the coloreds what did it. The whites got to fightin' amongst theyselves and they the ones did him in, but they tell everybody the black boys do it. By the time the smoke clear, Colls and three blacks all dead.”

Memories of her own helplessness surged into Pru's mind. “Did no one do anything? The sheriff? Somebody?”

“Oh, yessum, the sheriff do something.” Chester's voice shook with pent-up anger. “He round up three coloreds right off and start huntin' more. Governor Parker even offer a reward. He and the sheriff afraid to go against the Irish, so they blame everything on the black boys. Most of the coloreds run off, hidin' wherever they can. But Mose, he big like a house and bald as a cannonball. He hard to hide.”

“Where is he now?”

“Tumbledown barn north of town. But he need to get away pretty quick.” Chester heaved a great sigh and shook his head. “It not right. None of it. Mose didn't kill nobody, Miss Lincoln. I swear it.”

“He wants to go to Canada?”

“Yes, ma'am. He got family escaped up there 'fore the war.”

“Then we'll make arrangements to get him started.” Pru pushed herself to her feet. “Meanwhile, does Mose have food and water and a way to stay warm?”

Chester nodded as he rose. “He fine fo' now.”

“Then bring him here tomorrow night. I'll find out where the next station is and tell you then.”

“Thank you, ma'am, and God bless.”

After Chester disappeared into the night, Pru turned to Thomas, who had remained silent throughout Chester's recitation. “What do you think?”

“I think it is a sad story. One I have heard around many campfires. Whites, whether they are Irish or English or American, are not to be trusted.”

“We both have white blood.”

He didn't respond.

“My sister is white. We have white friends in Heartbreak Creek.”

He still didn't respond.

“It wasn't a white man who beat me.” Bitterness rose inside. “Nor white people who watched and did nothing. Am I to hate all Indians now?” She realized her hands were shaking and thrust them into the pockets of her coat. “I would have, I think, if I hadn't known you.”

He pulled her hard against his chest. “It is not the same,
Eho'nehevehohtse.
I am not the one who hurt you.”

“No, Thomas, you're not. For that reason, I don't blame all Indians because of what Lone Tree did. There is too much hate and injustice and brutality as it is.”

He leaned back to study her in the dim light. “Do you try to civilize me, Prudence?” He asked it in a chiding way, but she heard the serious intent behind the words. “I am as
Ma'heo'o
made me. Even if I wear city clothes, and cut off my
topknot, and write books in English, I will still be what the whites call a savage.”

“Only the whites who don't know you.”

The tension left his big body. Dipping his head, he kissed her forehead. “We must return to Lillian now. But later, after she sleeps, you will come to my room. You have never told me what Lone Tree did to you. Tonight you will, and together, we will banish him from your mind.”

She shivered, reluctant to dredge up all those horrid memories. But Thomas would press her until she did, and perhaps he was right. Maybe the telling of it would close that distance between them. At least for a while.

They returned later than Pru had anticipated, and the meeting was breaking up when they arrived back at the tent. Stepping past those crowding around the exit, she made her way toward the front, where Bessie Prescott spoke to the two ladies who sang in the small choir.

“I apologize for taking so long,” she said, joining them. “Did Lillie behave?”

“Like an angel,” Bessie said.

“She a sweet little thing,” one of the ladies added.

“And that voice,” the other put in with a hearty laugh. “Mercy sakes.”

Thomas stepped forward. “Where is she?”

At his harsh tone, Pru felt a prickle of alarm. She turned and scanned the empty benches, but didn't see Lillie.

“She go to the carts out front,” Bessie said. “Mistuh Marsh think she deserve a treat for being so good.”

Thomas began shoving his way through the line of people filing out of the tent, Pru right behind him.

“I'm sure she all right,” Bessie called after them. “Mr. Marsh say he take good care of her.”

Alarm building, Pru rushed toward the carts at the edge of the field.
If he hurts her, I
 . . .
I'll
 . . . She couldn't think of a punishment dire enough.

Thomas pulled her to a stop. “Calm your fear, Prudence.
Katse'e
is safe.”

“How do you know that?” She looked fearfully at the crowd gathered around the vendors' carts. “He could have—”