by Aileen Fish
Slipping into the cape but dispensing with her bonnet, she hopped up into the wagon and urged Blackie around toward the front of the house.
Mrs. Brickman stood in the doorway.
“Your bonnet!” she called out through cupped hands.
Anna waved and moved on down the lane at a good clip. She scanned the area to ensure that the slave catchers did not lay in wait to see if their prey would run, but no one appeared on the lane. There was nowhere for them to hide, as the cornfields had been newly planted.
Anna reached the end of the lane that led to the main road toward Anamosa. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a lone horseman approaching from the opposite direction, and she didn’t know whether to run for it or wait to see if he was one of the slave catchers. She held her breath and waited.
She was surprised to see that the rider was George Damon. A fairly new neighbor, she had met him only a few times and knew almost nothing about him. Nor did her father. Mr. Damon had purchased the neighboring farm six months prior, and as her father had with the owner before him, he offered to lease out his land for corn. Mr. Damon had taken him up on his offer.
He sat astride his tall black horse with confidence, as if he had ridden most of his life. Most of the men she had met in town could barely manage a wagon, much less what appeared to be a stallion.
She determined to wait until Mr. Damon passed, not wishing to have him following in her dust, but he brought his horse to a stop as he reached her.
He presented quite a dashing figure, dressed in the latest fashion, his clothes immaculately clean and well pressed. His black greatcoat was unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white collar, a dark-red cravat, gray waistcoat and dark-gray trousers. Even his riding boots looked to be without dust. He hardly appeared the figure of an Iowa farmer.
“Miss Douglas,” he said with a tip of his top hat. Dark-brown hair ended just above his collar, the sides of which swept over his ears. He was clean shaven.
“Mr. Damon,” Anna said hurriedly. She truly had no time for idle chatter. “Forgive me, but I must hurry into town to pass a message to my father. Please ride ahead. I do not want to keep you.”
He lowered his head as if to see her better.
“Miss Douglas, is something amiss? You seem distressed. Can I help you with aught?” His voice was deep, now warm with concern.
“No, no, thank you, Mr. Damon. It is nothing that I need assistance with, but it is urgent.”
“I cannot in all conscience ride on knowing that you have an urgent matter to attend to. Please allow me to accompany you and see you safely delivered to your father.”
Anna nodded. The man was not going to go away, so she must contend with him.
“Yes, thank you. That will be fine.”
Self-consciously, she urged Blackie forward and turned the wagon onto the main road. She had never had an audience to her driving skills. Blackie’s ears twitched, as well they should, passing as he did a much taller black stallion that pranced restively.
The wagon rumbled on, and Mr. Damon pulled his horse alongside her.
“Did your father ride his horse to the store?”
Anna shook her head. “No, he walked. He likes me to bring the wagon so that he may ride home at the end of a long, tiring day on his feet.”
“I cannot imagine where he finds the time to run both a mercantile and the newspaper.”
She almost smiled, wondering so herself, but her father possessed a great amount of energy.
“He prides himself on work. I did not know my grandparents, but they raised a very industrious man.”
“I have read the Anamosa Herald. It appears to be heavily influenced by the idea of abolition of slavery.”
Anna sighed. While personally well liked in Anamosa and throughout Jones County, her father’s views were controversial.
“Yes, my father is very ardent about abolition,” she said.
“And you, Miss Douglas?”
Anna chewed her lip. She did not wish to enter into an argument on the scourge that was slavery or allowing slavery to expand to other states, and she felt she did not know Mr. Damon well enough to engage in such a conversation.
She turned to look up at Mr. Damon. Dark-blue eyes, the color of a blue jay, regarded her sharply.
“What of you, Mr. Damon? What are your views on slavery?”
Anna prided herself on turning the tables and deflecting the conversation from her.
“I remain neutral,” Mr. Damon said, much to Anna’s distress. The subject of enslaving human beings, of selling them like cattle and tearing families apart, could never be considered a neutral issue. No matter that she herself publicly said little, often appearing neutral. It seemed as if she and Mr. Damon were quite in agreement on the matter, and yet they were almost as far apart as any two people could be, with the exception of slave owners and slave catchers. She decided to shock him.
“I think it prudent to tell you that I rush into town this morning because slave catchers have arrived in our fair town, and they just this morning visited our home.”
She looked up at him from the corner of her eye, pleased to see that he did indeed appear shocked. His body stiffened, and his hands tightened on the reins. Even from her position in the wagon, she could see the tightening of his jaw and narrowing of his dark brows.
“Slave catchers?” he repeated, his deep voice curious but hardly reflecting the tense expression in his face. He took a deep breath and visibly relaxed.
“A rough bunch, I believe,” he said almost smoothly. “I have not heard pleasant things about them.”
“Pleasant?” Anna almost screeched like an owl. “Pleasant? They were hideous. Their mere existence is an abomination, but one man in particular was quite aggressive.”
“Did he harm you?” Mr. Damon asked sharply.
“No, he did not, but I am not certain of the outcome had I not held a rifle on him.”
“A rifle?” Mr. Damon asked with apparent amusement. Anna looked up at him. His smile, bright and even, sent a wave of heat to her cheeks. She looked away and focused on the uneven road ahead.
“Yes. Finding no runaway slaves, he seemed interested in whether or not I was at home alone. I did not wish to socialize with him, so I encouraged him to leave.”
At this, Mr. Damon laughed outright. While not quite a joyful sound, his deep laugh did intrigue her, mixed as it was with something else. Anger? She did not know.
“And so I am hurrying into town to warn my father. As you noted, Mr. Damon, he does publish his abolitionist views, and I fear the slave catchers will badger him.”
“I have heard the slave catchers have a reputation for kidnapping freedmen, women and children,” Mr. Damon said, his tone even.
“Yes, I have heard that too,” Anna said starkly. “It takes only one man to claim they are runaway slaves, and away they are taken without trial, without the ability to speak for themselves.”
“You are an abolitionist like your father,” Mr. Damon said, his tone neither accusing nor praising.
Anna bit her lip. She seemed unable to maintain her normally impartial persona on this day, and Mr. Damon had seen right through her.
“Yes, I am an abolitionist, Mr. Damon, but I prefer people in town not dwell on it. To take a stand against slavery is to alienate many people in the town here, and I do not wish to do that.”
“You fear being ostracized from social engagements?” he asked.
To be ostracized from social engagements meant that she would hear little information from the women of Anamosa, the women who knew more than some of the men about the unrest in the country regarding the issue of states’ rights and slavery. The women listened and learned, and they talked of it amongst themselves, and she was able to provide some of this information to her father for his abolitionist articles.
“Yes, Mr. Damon,” she said flatly. Let him think she was shallow. “To be ostracized from social circles in such a small town would be painful. I do not wish it.”
She caught Mr. Damon giving her a quizzical look but turned her attention back to the road. They were entering Anamosa, and she maneuvered the wagon onto Main Street. She stopped in front of mercantile and rose to step down from the wagon. Mr. Damon dismounted and caught her hand to help her. Anna flushed. She frankly had little experience with men other than her father.
“Thank you for your escort, Mr. Damon. I will not trouble you further.”
“I should have mentioned that I was coming to town to visit with your father this morning, Miss Douglas. Your farewell is premature.” He smiled, and her heart skipped several beats.
She smiled faintly and turned away. It was just as well that she had told him of the slave catchers. Otherwise, she would not be able to speak to her father until Mr. Damon left.
Her father, in his shirtsleeves and vest at the rear of the store, came forward.
“Mr. Damon!” he exclaimed. “Welcome to my humble mercantile.”
Mr. Damon shook hands with the much shorter older man.
“I had the pleasure of accompanying Miss Douglas into town, as I met her on the road. I will not delay her. She has some startling and alarming news for you.”
Mr. Damon looked at her expectantly.
“Father, slave catchers came to the house this morning,” she said, trying to convey a warning look to her father out of sight of Mr. Damon. Her father’s light-blue eyes, so like hers, widened, and his face grew pale.
“Do not fret, Father. They did not harm me. I held the rifle on them, and they left. They are looking for runaway slaves. I do not know why they came to our house.”
“Perhaps it is because you publish such radical views in your newspaper, Mr. Douglas. It only serves to expose you to suspicion of being an agent of the Underground Railroad.”
Chapter 3
Anna gasped and turned a dark look on Mr. Damon, who ignored her and stared at her father.
“Good gravy, man!” her father said, scanning the store, empty save for themselves. “Be careful with your words!”
“I use them to point out the danger in which you place your daughter and your household,” Mr. Damon said.
“How dare you?” Anna cried out. “Your very words are the sort that put my father in danger. No one here accuses him of participating in the escape of runaway slaves simply because he is an outspoken abolitionist.”
“Do you think not?” Mr. Damon asked. “Do you know what they say in town?”
“Mr. Damon,” her father said in a placating voice, clearly embarrassed at Anna’s rude outburst. “We have lived here many years. No one has ever suggested that I have done anything illegal. But I am concerned to hear that slave catchers are scouring the countryside for slaves.”
Anna turned a cold shoulder on Mr. Damon. What nerve! And he a stranger in town.
“It is a concern,” Mr. Damon said. “While I do not necessarily share your views, I do not care to see ruffians running about terrorizing women in their homes or kidnapping freedmen.”
Anna wasn’t mollified. She wished he would leave.
“You said you had business with my father, Mr. Damon?”
“Nothing that cannot keep,” he said. “I fear I have angered you. That was not my intent.”
“Anna,” her father said in a warning voice.
“Not at all,” she said. “Well, perhaps just a little. I apologize. I am certain you did not mean offense.”
“No, I did not. I am simply concerned.”
“We should not keep you, Mr. Damon,” Anna said. Her father drew his brows together in confusion and shook his head.
“No, of course not,” he said. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Damon. And please be so kind as to refrain from the use of the term Underground Railroad in reference to me. I am most certainly not involved in any such illegality.”
Mr. Damon, knowing he was dismissed, could do little but shake Mr. Douglas’ hand.
“I do not seek to spread rumors, Mr. Douglas. They already exist. There are some in town who believe you are a stationmaster.”
Anna tightened her lips.
“Nothing of the sort,” her father said in a jovial tone that fooled no one. “Nothing of the sort. Imagine that!”
“Please be careful. Call upon me if anything untoward occurs again at your farm. You know I am only a few minutes away.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Damon. What a good neighbor you are. We will most certainly do that.”
“Good day, Miss Douglas,” Mr. Damon said in farewell, tipping his hat.
Anna’s father put his arm around her back and gently guided her around to face Mr. Damon.
“Good-bye, Mr. Damon. Thank you again,” her father said.
He nodded and strode from the store.
“Insufferable man!” Anna said as she stormed to the rear of the store. She shrugged out of her cloak and tossed her bonnet onto a counter.
“Father,” she whispered. “What are we going to do? Mrs. Brickman and I agreed you would want to know about the slave catchers as soon as possible. What should we do?”
Her father slid down onto a wooden seat behind the counter.
“I do not know, child. Give me a moment to think.”
Anna stood by while her father closed his eyes and thought. She wiped at imaginary dust on the counters while she waited.
“I think we must move them as soon as possible,” her father finally said. “I sent a note around to Mr. Hanshaw first thing this morning to let him know he had bundles to pick up, but I have not heard back from him. I will go see him and ask if he can pick them up tonight.”
“But Father, what if moving them while the slave catchers are still in the area endangers them more than simply leaving them in the attic, hidden but comfortable? At least until the gang has left the area.”
“Mr. Damon is not wrong, my dear. I endanger you and Mrs. Brickman, both from these ruffians and from the consequences of the law.”
Anna shook her head and snorted. “I am not concerned for myself, Father. I am not willing to give up. Were you to say to me today, ‘Anna, we will cease and desist helping escaped slaves,’ I would tell you that you may cease, but I will not.”
Her father stood then, wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“Have I raised a revolutionary?” he said with a chuckle as he stood back and gazed at her with affection.
Anna smiled, with some relief, were one to tell the truth.
“Not a revolutionary, Father–simply a woman who cannot abide injustice. I am my father’s daughter.”
She hugged him, cleared her throat and then pulled away.
“I will watch the store while you go visit Mr. Hanshaw.”
Her father nodded, put on his jacket, coat and hat and left the store. Anna knew he went to the post office. Mr. Hanshaw, the postmaster, was in a unique position to deliver escaped slaves to Dubuque under the guise of his mail runs.
Anna busied herself with dusting the shelves as she did everyday, anxiously awaiting her father’s return. When he came back in less than twenty minutes, his shoulders were slumped.
“He was not there. His wife said he had gone to Dubuque to deliver mail and would not return for several days.”
Anna’s throat tightened.
“Can they wait several days?”
Just then, the bell over the door jangled, and Anna and her father turned to welcome the customers.
But it was the redheaded slave catcher and one of his cronies who entered. She grasped her father’s arm and gave it a tug, knowing he would understand her message.
“Well, here you are again, miss,” the redheaded man said. He sauntered into the store, gazing at the goods on display. “So this is where your father is.”
Her father stepped forward, still in his overcoat and top hat.
“How can I help you, gentleman? Do you wish to purchase something?”
“No. We came by to see you.”
“Oh, yes? My daughter told me you cam
e to our house this morning.”
“We did,” the large man said with a nod. His demeanor seemed fairly benign at the moment, but Anna did not trust him. The other gentleman with him simply followed his lead. At the moment, he leaned on a counter, watching the redhead.
“Sure did,” the redhead said. “Red O’Reilly,” he said. “I am sure your daughter told you why we are here in town.”
“Logan Douglas,” her father said, declining not to introduce Anna. “Yes, she did. It is an evil business you are involved in, Mr. O’Reilly. Is there no other way for you to make a living?”
Mr. O’Reilly smiled in a faintly amused fashion.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I enjoy what I do. So does Jack over there, don’t you, Jack?” The other man nodded.
“To hunt other human beings? It is despicable,” her father said. Anna laid a hand on his arm as if to warn him not to antagonize the slave catchers.
“Some think so, I’ll give you that. But I’m only upholding the law, fair and square.”
Anna shuddered with repressed rage but said nothing. Mr. O’Reilly looked at her several times, but she declined to meet his eyes.
Her father said nothing but only stared at the man.
“Rumor has it you’ve been harboring runaway slaves, Mr. Douglas. If that is true, you are breaking the law.”
“Nonsense!” her father exclaimed. “I would never consider breaking the law. I am not certain how you came to hear this rumor, but it is preposterous. I publish the local newspaper and often write editorials on abolition, but that, so far as I know, is still legal in the United States.”
Mr. O’Reilly’s eyes narrowed.
“We will find them, Mr. Douglas. Right now, we’re looking for two girls and a baby. Their mistress wants them back, and she is paying us good money for them. We will find the slaves, and it might go much harder for them if we have to catch them. So if you know where they are, you’d best tell us.”
“Get out!” Anna shouted. “Get out of this store right now, you bullies!”
“Anna!” her father remonstrated.
“No, I cannot abide this sort of talk. Girls and babies! You disgusting men. Get out!” She held up a hand and pointed to the door.