Taking in a breath of resolve, she turned toward the barn. Moments alone with Micah were few and far between. Maybe she would tell him of her decision. She could talk to him and still hide her true feelings, couldn’t she?
Peering around the door, she watched Micah working by lamplight at the far end of the barn. She tiptoed inside, admiring the fine picture he made with his muscles tightening his shirt across the back as he unloaded a heavy crate from the back of the wagon. The scent of horses, fresh hay, and leather greeted her. A nervous excitement tickled her stomach, and she couldn’t keep what she was sure was a silly grin off her face.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps pounding toward her, and she instinctively ducked into the shadows beside the closest stall. A horse nearby nickered, but she hoped Micah would think it was greeting whoever was approaching.
Amy had spent many nights hiding in the shadows when her father had come home after drinking too much. She made herself as small as possible. Fortunately, the only lamp lit was the one on the other side of Micah.
The steps slowed as they neared the door, and Ben stepped inside the barn. “Found it.” He held up something to Micah, but his body shielded the item from Amy’s view.
“Good. The shirt Samson is wearing is in tatters.”
Amy wondered who Samson was, and she now understood what had happened to all Ben’s clothes. He’d given them away. She’d always wondered how he could lose something as important as a shirt.
“I don’t know how I’m going to explain to Amy that I’ve lost another shirt. I mean, come on. How many shirts can a man lose? I’m down to two.”
“After we sell this next batch, you can buy some new ones.”
Amy held back a gasp at Micah’s words. Tears burned her eyes. A batch of slaves? No. It couldn’t be. Was Micah dealing slaves after setting Jonah and Sookie free? It didn’t make sense.
She scooted forward, knowing the stall rails would hide her. Maybe she had misunderstood them.
“I’m thinking about taking this next batch somewhere besides Stewart’s Gap. Mr. Maples said he had a glut at the moment so the price would be less.”
Ben shook his head. “I thought he told you he’d take as many as you could send his way.”
Micah shrugged. “You best give that to Samson, so we can get them on their way.”
“All right.”
Mr. Maples was also a slave trader? With her heart in her throat, Amy watched as Ben kicked away a pile of hay then bent over and lifted up a trap door she never knew was there. A faint light shown upward, then disappeared as Ben leaned over the opening. “Come on up here, Samson.”
“Don’t forget the door,” Micah warned.
“Oh! Yeah.” Ben pivoted, jogged to the barn doors, and closed them.
Amy held her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t spot her. Fortunately, he turned away from her rather than in her direction. He strode back and held out the white shirt to a thin black man who’d crawled out of the hole. “Here. Put this on.”
“Yassa. Thank ya, suh.”
When the black man turned to slip his arm in the shirt Ben held out, Amy nearly gasped out loud. His back was covered in so many angry scars that she was hard-pressed to see a clear place on his skin. She shrank back against railings. Unshed tears scalded her eyes. How could one human be so cruel to another? It sickened her stomach. She held her fingers across her mouth. If she retched here, they would hear her.
When the nausea subsided, Amy peeked through the rails again. Samson had climbed in Micah’s wagon and was lying down in what must be a false bottom, because he’d totally disappeared.
Another dark head popped up from the hole, and Amy watched a rail-thin black woman about Sookie’s age climb up. Aboveground, she brushed hay off her faded dress. Ben motioned toward the wagon, and she nodded then climbed in and disappeared after a moment.
“Hurry him up, Ben.” Micah opened a stall across the barn and led out one of his big horses. He tied the bay gelding to a hitching post then proceeded to strap on the harness.
Amy looked back at the hole as a teen boy hurried up the ladder. He gave Ben a haughty look then climbed into the wagon. After he was settled, Ben replaced some boards and threw in several bales of hay and some crates to cover them.
Slipping down to sit on the sweet-smelling hay, Amy rested her arms on her knees and laid down her head. Warm tears dampened her dress. Hank Foster was right about Micah dealing slaves.
Why God? Why does Micah have to get involved in selling slaves, just when I realize how much I love him?
❧
Micah heaved a sigh of relief when he drove back into the barn. The morning sun shining through cracks in the walls bathed the barn with warm light and illuminated millions of dust motes dancing in the air. The big draft horses nickered and tossed their heads, eager to get into their stalls and eat.
Ben stopped pitching hay and leaned on the stall rail. “So, how did it go? Any problems?”
Micah yawned, glad to be back home. “Just fine. Whoa!” When the horses lumbered to a stop, he pulled the brake, set the reins down, and jumped off the wagon. “I passed the load to Hiram Addams at the Pennsylvania border and headed back home.”
“See, I told you it was a piece of cake.”
Micah glared at Ben. The only reason he’d delivered this group of runaways was to give Ben a break. They’d had slaves show up three nights in a row, and Ben had gotten little sleep lately. Amy kept asking him if he was sick. Micah rubbed his eyes. Now he was the one who’d gone without sleep and had no idea how he would make it through this day’s work. “You might be more concerned if it was your wife and kids in danger.”
Ben lifted a brow and smirked. “So Amy’s your wife now?”
Micah’s ears warmed. “No, I didn’t mean that. It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Uh huh.” Ben started unhitching the wagon, and Micah headed for the woodpile. He could think better and stay awake if he were doing hard labor. Ben’s comment rattled him more than he wanted to admit.
At the barn door, Micah stopped and looked back at his brother. “There’s a doe in back of the wagon that needs dressing out. I shot it early this morning just past May’s Creek.”
He didn’t wait for Ben’s agreement or complaint but headed out into the cool morning air. He walked down to the creek and washed the blood off his hands from when he’d loaded up the deer. Then he splashed cold water onto his face, sending goose bumps racing up his arms.
Listening to the birds’ cheerful chirping and staring out at the peaceful stream, Micah contemplated what he’d done. He’d helped illegal runaway slaves get to freedom in the North—and it felt great. But it meant leaving his family at night and putting himself in danger. Bringing home meat was just a cover up, so Amy wouldn’t get suspicious. So far it had worked, but sooner or later, she was bound to wonder why they always did their hunting at night.
Helping these runaways was taxing his resources. The pantry was less full than it had been, and he and Ben were starting to run out of clothes. Not to mention he was down to one quilt. He’d hung on to the quilt belonging to Kathryn’s mother, thinking the girls might want it one day.
And Amy. He sighed. What to do about his feelings for her? Should he just come out and tell her he was falling in love? Was it too soon to think about marrying again?
He had no idea what her response would be. If anything, she was avoiding him more these days. Sometimes when she looked at him, his heart pinged, and he thought sure she had feelings for him, but most of the time, she barely looked his way.
Slipping down to the ground, he leaned against a tree. Maybe he’d sit for a few minutes and pray about things. It was times like these he wished his father were still alive to talk to. Well, he’d just have to ask his questions to his heavenly Father.
Thirteen
Beth swung Amy’s hand back and forth as they headed toward the barn. “I’m gonna find more eggs than you.” The child grinned then started scanning the gro
und.
“Oh, you think you will, huh?” Amy enjoyed the little game she and Beth played each morning. Making a chore into a game ensured the child’s cooperation.
“Yes.” Beth tugged away and headed for the grassy area outside the barn where the chickens liked to roost. She moved aside the ankle-high grass with her booted foot as Amy had shown her. She stooped down and raised her arm, egg in hand. “Found one! Dat’s one for me. None for you.”
“I’ll check inside the barn. Stay close, all right?” Amy squinted as she left the bright sunlight and moved into the dimmer light of the barn. She stood still, giving her eyes time to adjust; then she ambled over to the corner where Micah had tossed some loose hay. Some of the hens had claimed this as their roosting spot. Using a hay fork, she carefully flipped sections of hay until she uncovered a half dozen eggs. She laid them in her basket just as Beth’s shadow preceded the child into the barn. Beth had an egg in each hand and the remains of another one running down the front of the dress. Amy sighed. More washing to do.
“I had me thwee eggs, but he scared me and I broke one.” Beth looked down at her dress.
Amy walked out of the barn with Beth beside her and saw a man sitting on the seat of an empty buckboard. Her heart sank, just like the yolk that slid down the child’s dress and plummeted to the ground. Hank Foster. Would the man never leave her alone?
He tipped his floppy, stained hat. “Howdy, darlin’. Been a long time since I laid eyes on your pretty face.”
“Don’t you put your eyes on Amy’s face.” Beth lifted a defiant chin and shoved her egg-filled fists to her hips.
Amy gritted her teeth, hoping the eggs wouldn’t break.
“Huh?” Hank looked down at Beth and scratched his forehead.
Despite her anxiety, Amy tightened her lips to keep from laughing. She helped Beth set her eggs in the basket. “Take these up to the house.”
Beth looked at her, eyes wide. “I gets to carry da basket by myself?”
Amy stooped and looked her in the eye. “Yes, but be very careful. We can’t make custard without eggs.”
Beth nodded and licked her lips. With care, she lifted the basket and held it with both hands against her chest as if it were a cherished treasure. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and took tiny steps toward the cabin. Amy watched her for a moment then turned to face Hank. “Why are you here?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
Hank hopped off the wagon seat and moved toward her. Amy wanted to step back but held her ground. She prayed he’d gotten over his desire to marry her. Even if Micah sent her away penniless, she’d never accept Hank Foster as a beau.
“I delivered a load of freight out to Henry Schmidt’s place yesterday. It was late, so I slept in his barn. Thought I’d drop by and see you on my way back into town.”
That explained the sprigs of hay sticking out of his hair and shirt pocket.
“Did you miss me?” Hank grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and moved closer.
“I–I’ve been too busy to miss anyone.”
“Ah, darlin’, if you’d marry me, you wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
Her stomach somersaulted at the thought of what marriage would be like with this persistent, unwashed man. If only Micah were so attentive. Hank walked past her and into the barn.
“Micah around?”
Amy’s heart thudded as Hank looked inside the barn. He walked over and opened the door to a small room where Micah stored some of his tools. Hank stepped inside, rattled something, and pounded on several walls. When he stepped back into the barn, he looked toward the back wall.
“Just what are you looking for? Micah wouldn’t like you snooping around his barn.” She didn’t care for it either.
A sly grin replaced the dopey one that normally tilted his thin lips. “Don’t think I ain’t wise to what he’s up to. I want in on the action.”
Amy blinked. Was Hank after Micah’s stash of furs? She had no idea where Micah kept them, unless it was down in the room below ground where he’d hidden the slaves. Glancing around, she looked for something she could use to shoo Hank out of the barn. Micah and Ben were so tidy that all the tools were hung up, either in the tool closet or toward the back of the barn on pegs. She wasn’t about to venture any further into the barn alone with Hank. He’d never done anything but express his desires as far as she was concerned, but then she’d never been alone with him before, except the day she arrived here at the Walsh farm.
“Don’t play dumb with me, darlin’. I’ve heard by the grape-vine that Micah’s a slave trader. Gotta admit it did strike me odd at first, what with him being a churchgoin’ man and all.” Hank tugged up his too loose, stained overalls, which promptly drooped again when he let go. “The way I see it is, with you being his kin and all, when we get married, Micah and me will be kin, too. We need to keep his business in the family.” Hank spat something out the side of his mouth, and Amy backed up.
Dear Lord, give me wisdom here. How had Hank learned about Micah’s slave dealings? If Hank knew, then who else did? Slave trading wasn’t illegal in Virginia, but it could be dangerous, especially if they were selling captured runaways. If the true owner found out, there could be big trouble, and people could get hurt. How could Micah endanger his family for a little extra money?
Hank moved toward her, a self-satisfied grin cocking his lips. “I’ve got a tad bit of money saved, and with what I can make helping Micah, we don’t have to wait to marry. What say we tell him today? He’s all for us weddin’ up.”
Too stunned to move, Amy’s head swarmed with confusion. Micah gave Hank his permission to marry her?
Hank slid forward and took hold of her shoulders. “I’ve wanted you ever since that first day I laid eyes on you.”
Hot tears burned Amy’s eyes. The man she loved had given her to Hank? Were all those words about needing her just lies?
Amy stiffened, and a flicker of apprehension coursed through her when Hank touched her cheek with his dirty finger. His actions reminded her of how her father treated her mother, making her whole body shiver. “Now don’t cry, darlin’. I know womenfolk get all teary-eyed just at the thought of a weddin’, but we’ve got time for that later. How’s about a little kiss for your future husband?”
When Hank’s thin lips moved toward hers, Amy panicked. She shoved him away, but he grinned and grabbed her arm. “I like a feisty filly.”
Her heart stampeded at the strength in his slight frame. Amy pushed his chest again, but he held her firm by her upper arms. One hand loosened and snaked around behind her, pulling her closer.
Both fear and anger knotted her insides. She’d seen her father force himself on her mother many times before they’d closed the bedroom door, and she’d determined it would never happen to her. Hank’s expression darkened with emotion, and he leaned toward her. “I aim to have that kiss, Amy.”
She turned her face, just as his lips came within reach, and he kissed her cheek instead of her mouth. He uttered an angry growl.
“No!” She cried out. Amy was just as determined that Hank Foster wouldn’t be the first man she kissed. Her stomach burned with indignation and repulsion. With her arms crushed between her chest and Hank’s, the only weapon she had was her feet. She balanced on one foot and hauled back with the other and kicked Hank in the shin. As he hollered and loosened his hold, she saw a shadow darken the doorway.
Amy fell backwards from Hank’s quick release and landed on the dirt floor. Her wrist wrenched as she tried to break her fall. A wave of dizziness passed, and she heard quick footsteps and realized that Micah now had Hank in his steel grasp. Hank had suddenly turned into a limp rag doll.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Micah ground out, his voice deep with anger.
“I—uh, she wanted a kiss. I was just obliging.”
Micah’s questioning gaze darted her direction. Amy shot to her feet. “That’s not true. He forced himself on me.”
Micah’s eyes ignite
d with fury, and he faced Hank again. “I think you’d better leave before I do something I’ll regret later.” He released his hold on Hank’s overalls, and the man plummeted to the floor.
Hank slowly eased to his feet. “Now hold on, Micah. No call to get upset. You know me and Amy are getting married. A man expects certain favors from his woman.”
“I am not your woman.” Amy hissed the words, making clear he understood. “I never agreed to marry you nor encouraged you one bit. Our getting married is some fantasy you’ve conjured up.” She straightened and glanced at Micah. Something like relief passed through his eyes.
“Are you all right?” Micah’s gaze caressed her face then scanned the length of her body. “You’re not hurt?”
“I think I sprained my wrist, but other than that, I’m fine.”
Micah moved closer and took hold of her sore arm. He gently massaged her wrist. Amy wanted to close her eyes and melt into his arms, but not with Hank gawking.
Micah eased his gaze away and glared at Hank, all the time rubbing her wrist. “Why are you here, anyway?”
Hank dusted off his overalls, not that it made any difference. Turning left and then right, he looked at the floor, then crossed the room and picked up his hat. “I want to do business with you.”
“What kind of business?”
“Slave trading.”
Micah gasped. He stopped rubbing Amy’s wrist, his arm slid around her shoulders, and he pulled her to his side. Hank glared at him but didn’t comment. Micah straightened. “I do not trade slaves.”
A wry grin crept onto Hank’s face. “Come on, Micah. The whole town knows about what you and Ben are doin’ here. I want in on the action. I figure when Amy and I are married, you and me will be kin.”
Micah’s grip on Amy tightened, and she turned sideways, hiding her face against his solid chest. She was so tired of dealing with Hank. All she wanted was to stay right here, in the protection of Micah’s capable arms.
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