Authors: Katherine Ayres
“In the short term you’ll need an answer for young Mr. Clark,” she continued. “Perhaps you could plead overwork—tell him you need time to sort out your feelings.”
“That’s true,” I said. “I am busy, and very confused.”
She nodded. “But you might think hard before you decide anything serious. How long have you worked with the fugitives?”
“I’ve been helping for four years. Mama and Papa began the work after Papa saw an abolitionist newspaper and heard some speeches. They read books and articles and talked with the Quakers in Salem. Jeremiah’s uncle helped us set up a station.”
“Lucinda, are these abolitionist beliefs yours, or do they simply belong to your parents?”
I took my time answering. In truth, my beliefs had begun as echoes of my parents’ beliefs.
“They’re mine,” I said at last. “I’ve heard terrible stories. Whips, brands, chopped-off fingers and toes. And especially now, after what Emma told us about Cass … Slavery is wrong.” I looked into Miss Aurelia’s eyes. “That
is
my belief.”
“I don’t doubt you, dear. Just wished to provoke your thoughts. But how will you live your life? What will you
do about the Railroad if you marry a man who doesn’t share your beliefs?”
My breath caught. I’d always assumed I could convince Jonathan of whatever I wanted. That he’d love me enough to join in my work. But would he? What would I do if he didn’t? Could I still care about him then? Did I even want to?
I studied Miss Aurelia’s lean, oval face, the soft brown curls that escaped her thick bun. For a woman who didn’t like to interfere, she had just turned my life upside down.
S
UNDAY
, J
ANUARY
26, 1851
Dear Lord, You held out Your hand to us today when we needed You desperately. Please, deliver these people from danger as fast as You can. We came so close this afternoon.…
I was dozing by the fire when I heard horses in the distance. At first I assumed it was Will and Tom, coming to help or visit. I shook myself awake. What if it wasn’t my brothers?
I hurried to the kitchen. “Miss Aurelia. Horses.”
“I’ll go up to the attic and warn everybody. You check for signs of our visitors.”
“But you’re supposed to be sick in bed!”
“I will be,” she said. “Hurry. See to the kitchen.”
I walked around. The table looked tidy enough, but there were too many plates out for just the two of us. I set some in the cupboard. My heart beat double time and my cheeks flushed. I scanned the room. What else could give us away?
“Lucy! Lucy!”
I ran for the door and flung it open. “Tom?”
“Oh, Lucy. Bad news. Catchers coming, soon. They’re at our house now, snooping everywhere. I was in the barn helping Papa when they came. They didn’t see me. Papa sent me to warn you.”
“How many?”
“Five men, four dogs. Lucy, what can we do?”
I thought for a minute. “Chores,” I said. “Rub the sweat from your horse with straw. Then haul water and bring in firewood. Pretend you’ve been here an hour. I’ll start corn bread. But first help me look around the house. What have I missed?”
I hurried to the stairs and called up a warning to Miss Aurelia and our hidden visitors.
Tom came in and studied the house. “What’s that pile? Sewing? Looks like children’s clothes.”
“Where can I put it?” I heard panic in my voice and took a deep breath. If the catchers or their dogs caught a sound or a scent of fear, they’d find us out for sure. My head pounded.
“Hide them in the wash basket, Lucy. Under something.”
“Good idea. Stable your horse and bring wood now, and water.”
Tom ran outside. I hid the clothing, then tied a big apron on and threw together cornmeal, bacon grease, some milk, and eggs.
In a blink Tom returned with a full bucket. “Lucy, I’m worried about them dogs.”
“What?”
“You got lots of people here. You made lots of trips up to the attic. The dogs will smell something.”
I thought quickly. At home Mama hung smoked hams and bacon in the root cellar to confuse any dogs who might come. I set out some bacon, to add smells to the kitchen, but what about the door to the attic? Whoever heard of putting ham upstairs?
“Oh, Tom! The dogs will surely catch a scent in that back bedroom. What stinks enough to confuse them?”
He chewed his bottom lip. “I don’t know, Lucy. Give me a minute.”
Fists hammered at the door. “We don’t have a minute, Tom. Get upstairs and think of something, quick.”
The racket grew louder. Tom raced for the stairs.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my apron and headed for the door. “Who’s there?”
“Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but we got business with you.”
“I … I don’t know your voice. Who is it, please?”
“That you, Lucinda Spencer? It’s me, Levi Bowen. I been deputized by the magistrate. We got us a Southern boy here, looking for lost property.”
Levi Bowen, a man from Limaville. A lazy good-for-nothing, according to Papa, but I knew him. I couldn’t keep the door barred any longer. I trembled as I opened it.
“Mr. Bowen. How may I help you?”
“We got to search the place,” he said. “This fella had a passel of slaves run off. We’re checking every house in the village. We caught the man, but the women and children got away.”
“I’ve been so busy tending Widow Mercer, I’ve hardly seen my own shadow,” I said. “But come in if you must.”
“Thank you. This here’s Clayton Roberts, the owner of the runaways. Him and some boys.”
I forced a look of casual curiosity onto my face as I nodded to Clayton Roberts. Here, close up, I faced the evil man who had mistreated Cass. Ruth and Mesha’s natural father. He smiled at me. I balled my hands into fists behind my back and felt my nails dig into my palms.
“You’ve had measles, then?” I asked. “The widow’s still feverish.” I hoped Miss Aurelia had sipped some whiskey so that her face would be red and hot. And what was keeping Tom?
The slave owner turned to his men. “You boys go out and check the barn and outbuildings. Take three of the dogs with you. I’ll check the inside.”
Only one dog inside—that was good. But his nose would surely find us out.
Tom, please! Think of something
, I prayed silently.
“If the widow’s upstairs, I could look down here,” Levi Bowen offered. “Don’t suppose I’d catch no measles from that far.”
Good-for-nothing coward. Papa was right.
Something thumped above our heads.
“Dad blast it!”
It was Tom at last. Hallelujah!
“Thomas Spencer, what have you done now?” I ran for the stairs, yanked up my skirts, and took the steps two at a time. I stood in the doorway of the back bedroom, the one with the secret door.
“Aw, Lucy, this ain’t my job. You shouldn’t of made me do it.”
“I’ve never seen such a mess!” Tom had dumped ashes from the fireplace all across the center of the room. As I hollered he marched around and spread them further.
I stood in the doorway and coughed at the smoky smell. “I’ll bring you a bucket and rags,” I said. “You don’t leave this room until the floor shines. Then you’ll have a bath.”
“Naw, not a bath, too! You’ll make me into a girl!”
I heard chuckles behind me, so I knew we had an audience. I turned. “If you will forgive me,” I began, “I’m afraid I lost my temper. My brother was in too big a hurry again. I can show you about the house. Widow Mercer’s room is right here. She was resting, but I doubt she slept through all that commotion.”
I scowled at Tom for good measure. He stuck out his tongue.
The slave owner chuckled again. He smiled his most charming smile and let me pass. I pointed him toward Miss Aurelia, then stomped down the stairs.
The men took a long while to search the house and barn. After I got Tom his rags and pail, I stayed in the kitchen and mixed up the corn bread. I paced in front of the stove while it baked.
“Smells mighty good, Lucy,” Tom called. “Can I have a piece?”
“You got that floor clean yet?”
He groaned. “You’re starving me, Luce.”
At last the men finished. “Would you take some warm corn bread along?” I asked. “It’s a bitter afternoon.”
“Thank you, Miss Spencer,” Clayton Roberts said. He shook my hand and held it for a minute. I wanted to yank it away, but I was afraid to make him suspicious. I gritted my teeth and grinned.
“Sorry if we caused a sweet young lady like you any inconvenience.” He flashed his blue eyes in my direction in a look that bothered me. Did he suspect something? Want something from me? I felt as if he was searching my face, touching me with his eyes. Inwardly I cringed.
“Not at all,” I said. “These are difficult times.” If they only knew how difficult! I cut the corn bread into large pieces and passed one to each man. Drat, I wished I’d put pepper in the batter, or too much salt.
I stood beside the door and watched until the men mounted their horses and disappeared down the road.
“Waste of good corn bread,” Tom said, coming up beside me. He snitched a piece and stuffed it into his mouth with sooty fingers.
“Wait till Mama catches sight of you,” I said. “She’ll dunk you in the tub for a week.”
“It was worth it, Lucy,” he said. “That rotten slaver and his dirty dog never even stuck their noses in that room. I made a real good mess.” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“You did.” I ruffled his hair. “I’m proud of you. Now we’ve got serious scrubbing to do.”
But as I knelt next to Tom and scrubbed at the sooty stains, I couldn’t imagine a soap strong enough to wash away the meanness and evil of Clayton Roberts, a man who could sell off his own children. For all his brilliant blue eyes, he had the soul of a snake. He’d made me so
mad, I’d probably wear through a whole layer of Miss Aurelia’s wood floor.
As I sit here and remember, I feel an itch in the palms of my hands. An un-Christian urge, surely, but if I ever see that Clayton Roberts again, I’ll have to fight the temptation to pound his face into the rich brown mud of the free state of Ohio.
M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
27, 1851
Melting, melting, and more melting. The sun has showed its face to us for five days in a row and melted the snow into gray slush. But I would give up the sunshine in a minute if it meant no more visits like the one yesterday. All day today, as I scrubbed dirty clothing and hauled it up to the attic to dry, I jumped at shadows and startled at small sounds.
Jeremiah, where are you? Why do you take so long? When will this all be over?
T
UESDAY
, J
ANUARY
28, 1851
I now count twelve days since Jeremiah left his letter for me in the door. Waiting is the hardest thing in the world. I hate it!
So I wrote my duty letter to Jonathan Clark, as Miss Aurelia suggested. It was short but not too mean, I hope.
W
EDNESDAY
, J
ANUARY
29, 1851
Wretched day all around. The baby fussed, the milk went sour from sitting in the sun too long, and Jeremiah still didn’t come. Has he dropped from the face of the earth?
T
HURSDAY
, J
ANUARY
30, 1851
Fourteen days now that Jeremiah has been gone. Is he truly in danger? Or is he just having a grand adventure and forgetting about those of us who wait back home? I try to keep faith that Jeremiah will return, and soon. I read his letter every night before I go to bed, but still I wonder.
F
RIDAY
, J
ANUARY
31, 1851
V
ERY EARLY
Hallelujah! Jeremiah has returned. I heard pebbles on my window not an hour ago, and when I went to the door he was standing on the porch. He opened his arms, and I ran to him and held on until my feet began to freeze.
“Lucinda, how I have missed thee.”
“Jeremiah, it’s been more than two weeks! Whatever happened?”
“We rescued Abraham. I carried him to Cleveland in my sleigh. The journey was long and harsh, but the roads were mostly empty. The most difficult part was returning here, for the sun has turned the road into a swamp.”
“Cleveland! No wonder it took so long! But you’re back. I’m so glad.”
“Back, but not for long. We must remove the family from this house. Every day thy risk of being found out grows more severe.”
“Oh, Jeremiah, he came here. That slave owner and some men. They searched the house and barns. Tom warned us, but if he hadn’t … I hate to think …”
“All the more reason to carry them north right away. I’ve not been home yet. I stopped at thy house before coming here. William will come with his wagon when darkness falls tonight. I will join him on the edge of town. If thee and Sister Mercer can make the visitors ready to travel …”
“We can.” I felt suddenly shy. “I’ve written you a letter. You’ll find it when you reach home.”
“I’ve written to thee as well. Not a letter exactly, but notes of the journey. I have written this for thy eyes only, without the usual cautions, for I intended to place it in thy hands directly. But for thy sake I did not use thy name. I addressed thee as ‘dear friend.’ Know this, Lucinda: I wrote these words for thee and thee only.”
“You wrote freely? That’s dangerous for you. If caught …”
“The entire trip was dangerous. But I had to write thee honestly. If caught, I’d have found a way to burn the pages.”
He kissed me, and we held each other for a long time. Then he was gone, hoofbeats receding in the distance. I stayed on the porch, warmed by the kisses, until I could
no longer hear him. I hurried inside to stir up the fire and read the packet he had thrust into my hands.
My fingers shake, for the news is both glorious and difficult.
17
January
I have raced against the snow this day. I began before first light with wagon wheels but soon traded them for sleigh runners. The road to Canton grew ever whiter, but I have good horses and we made a fine day’s journey, halfway at the least. I traveled well enough, for though the snow fell and winds blew, my heart was warm with thoughts of thee
.
18
January
Canton at last after an arduous journey. The snow alone would have been bad, but the winds blew up great drifts and left nearly bare patches of ground, which caught the runners. I had to always watch the road and sometimes steer across fields instead
.