Dorothea had one small room to herself. After bidding Mr. Nelson good night, she went inside, undressed to her shift, and was about to climb into bed when she realized that the window faced the southwest.
She went to the window and looked out. The open fields that had so unnerved her as she and Constance led the runaways to the house now provided them protection; neither Mr. Liggett nor Cyrus nor any of their ilk could approach the house unseen. Beyond them, the woods stood dark and silent and still.
She closed the curtains and returned to bed, drawing the quilt over herself. She thought worry and the unfamiliar room would keep her awake, but fatigue soon overcame her and she sank into sleep.
THE ROOM WAS STILL dark when a hand seized her shoulder and shook her awake. “Miss Granger.” Mr. Nelson’s voice was low and urgent. “Riders from the southwest.”
Immediately she threw back the covers and snatched up her dress from the bedside chair. Mr. Nelson disappeared into the hallway to rouse the others. Dorothea swiftly dressed and met him and Constance in the largest bedroom, where Liza was waking the children.
“Stay away from the windows and make no sound,” said Mr. Nelson. Just then a heavy fist pounded on the front door below. Hannah gasped. Her sister buried her face in her mother’s skirt.
“Nelson,” bellowed Mr. Liggett. “We know they’re inside.”
“Send ’em out and we won’t hold you accountable,” shouted another man, an unfamiliar voice. Dorothea wished she dared peer out a window to see if Cyrus was among the riders.
As calmly as if the men were guests for tea, Mr. Nelson wiped his glasses and straightened his shirt. “I will have to answer.”
“No.” Dorothea seized his arm. “They will force their way inside.”
“No, they will not.” He placed his hand over hers, then released himself from her grasp and left the room.
“Under the bed,” Constance ordered. Liza and the children scrambled beneath it while Dorothea and Constance adjusted the quilts to best conceal them. With a flash of terror, Dorothea remembered Old Dan. She fled the room and raced downstairs—only to discover the elderly man nowhere in sight. Mr. Nelson stood before the front door with a rifle cradled in the crook of one arm. He looked over his shoulder at the sound of her footfalls and raised a finger to his lips in warning. She halted at the foot of the stairs, clutching the post, heart racing.
“Nelson.” The pounding shook the door, rattling the heavy wooden bolt Mr. Nelson had lowered across it. “We ain’t fools. I found the wagon on my land.”
His voice steel, Mr. Nelson called back, “My wagon is in my barn.”
“So is Dorothea Granger’s horse.”
This voice was cold and deadly calm, and one Dorothea knew well. A chill prickled down her spine. Cyrus.
Mr. Nelson shifted his weight and adjusted his grip on the rifle, and Dorothea knew he recognized the speaker. He turned to her and said dryly, “My apologies for the damage I am about to do to your reputation.” He faced the door again and called out, “Miss Granger is my guest. Since you are engaged to another, it is not any business of yours.”
“Don’t listen to him. Everyone knows them Grangers help runaways,” complained Mr. Liggett.
“Shut up, Liggett,” ordered Cyrus. Then, in a kinder tone, he called, “Dorothea, I know you’re listening. You’re a smart girl. I saw you turn away from the ferry. You know you can’t escape. Just give up the runaways and we can all share in the reward.”
Mr. Nelson quickly held up a hand to warn her not to answer, but her throat was too constricted for speech.
“That’s comin’ out of your portion,” said a fourth man sharply. “I ain’t sharing my reward with them nigger lovers.”
“Shut up,” barked Cyrus.
Heartsick with dread, Dorothea sank to a seat on the bottom step as the door trembled beneath a man’s fist. There had to be another way out. Perhaps if they crept out of a back window, carried the children, sprinted for the cover of the oak grove—but even at a dead run, they had acres to cross. Pursuers on horseback would overtake them easily. And what of Old Dan?
The pounding on the door ceased; the men’s voices fell silent. Mr. Nelson turned his head sharply, and Dorothea glimpsed a flicker of a torch as its bearer passed a window. She bolted to her feet.
Mr. Nelson crossed the room in two strides and grasped her arm. “Listen carefully,” he said. “Get the others and go into the cellar. Old Dan is already hiding below. In the northeast corner you will find a stack of crates. They conceal a tunnel that will lead you from the house to the barn. Leave the barn by way of the smaller door, on the north side, and go to the ditch nearby. Keep low and follow the contour of the slope all the way to the strand of oaks. Keep running if you can, hide if you must.”
“Old Dan cannot run.”
“He will have to try.” Mr. Nelson handed her the rifle so suddenly that she stumbled from its weight. “Do you know how to use this?”
“Of course.”
“Then get moving. I will hold them off as long as I can.”
“No.” Dorothea shoved the rifle back at him. Surprised, he took it. “I could not fire upon a man, not even those men.”
“Don’t be a fool.” He tried to return the weapon, but she drew back. “It may save your life.”
“I cannot run carrying both it and one of the children. You will have greater need of it here.”
Without another word Dorothea fled upstairs for Constance and the others. She repeated Mr. Nelson’s instructions as they raced downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Nelson,” came another shout from outside. “Open up or we’ll smoke you out!”
Dorothea tore open the cellar door and sent the others racing ahead of her. She spared one last look for Mr. Nelson. He stalked through the front room, grasp tight upon the rifle, as the furious shouts from outside revealed the men’s positions. They seemed to have encircled the house.
Glass shattered as a torch smashed through a window near the front door. Immediately Mr. Nelson was upon it, stomping out the flames. He glanced up and spotted her frozen in the doorway.
“Go,” he shouted.
She gasped and descended into the cellar, closing the door behind her.
The air smelled of damp earth. Dorothea stumbled down the stairs blindly. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness illuminated by a single lantern below, she found that Constance had uncovered the entrance to the tunnel. Liza entered in a crouch, still carrying her youngest; Hannah followed on her heels. When Dorothea reached them, Constance had taken Old Dan by the arm and was cajoling him to hasten after them, but he shook his head and pawed at her hand.
“I won’t make it,” he said. “Just let me be.”
“You can’t give up now,” cried Dorothea.
“I ain’t givin’ up.” With an effort he tore free from Constance and stood proudly, defiantly, before the two women. “I can’t run. You can see that plain as day. Somebody’s got to put those crates back or those men’ll know just where you went.”
“I will stay,” said Dorothea. She could not leave him to that fate. “They will not hurt me as they would you.”
Quietly, Constance said, “No, Dorothea.”
“But I cannot—”
“You have to lead us. You’re the only one who knows the way.” Constance came forward and kissed the man on the cheek. “You’re a brave soul, Old Dan.” She darted into the tunnel with the lantern.
Overcome, Dorothea hugged him and whispered a word of thanks before following.
The tunnel was low and cramped, braced every few feet by old wooden beams, too narrow to move through except in single file. Dorothea’s short stature allowed her to move more easily than the others, save Hannah, and she soon caught up to the group. Constance’s lantern bobbed and threw shadows on the earthen walls as they proceeded as swiftly as they dared. Roots brushed Dorothea’s cheeks; the soles of her boots slid over dirt and loose stones. The noises from the house cut off abruptly as
the crates slid back into place behind them. Dorothea said a silent prayer for Old Dan and urged the others onward.
“I see light ahead,” called Liza, in the lead. A few feet later, the tunnel abruptly ended at a makeshift wall of wooden planks. They listened in fearful silence for noises from without, but heard only the whicker of a horse and a cow’s low moo. Dorothea scrambled to the front of the group and shoved the planks aside. She peered out cautiously before leading the others from the tunnel. They emerged into an empty horse stall. Uncle Jacob’s mare looked down upon her from the next stall and whinnied in recognition.
Dorothea spotted the smaller of two doors and led the others to it. She stole a glance outside before opening the door wide enough for the others to emerge. Constance snatched up Hannah and led the way across the dirt road to the ditch. Liza followed carrying her youngest daughter, and Dorothea brought up the rear. Outside the barn, they could again hear the threats the men shouted at Mr. Nelson’s closed door. From the edge of the ditch Dorothea permitted herself one look back. In the light of their flickering torches she recognized the thin, hunched figure of Mr. Liggett, the straight, proud back of Cyrus Pearson. Cyrus stood at the front door, posed as if for a portrait with a hand at his lapel and the other gesturing as he called to Mr. Nelson within. A third man crouched low beneath one of the windows, creeping closer. Cyrus nodded and waved him forward. The other man came even nearer to the window, then lifted his rifle as he rose up on his heels—
“Thomas,” Dorothea screamed, but her voice was drowned out by the gunshot.
She had time to witness the men’s raucous cheers before hands seized her and dragged her down. “Run,” Constance said in her ear.
She struggled to stand. “But Thomas—Old Dan—”
“We can’t help them no more.” Constance held her fast. “Liza and the girls we can help.”
Muffling a sob, Dorothea ran along the ditch after Liza and her daughters. She dared not look back, not even after they reached the safety of the oak grove. They paused only long enough to catch their breath before Dorothea picked up Hannah and urged the others onward. Their entrance unencumbered now, Cyrus and Liggett would search the house and find Old Dan and do to him what they had done to Thomas.
Not ten minutes later, just as they crossed into the Craigmiles’ land, the women stopped short at the sound of another gunshot. Liza pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle a cry. Dorothea shook with rage and fear as she whispered a prayer for Old Dan’s soul.
“Come,” she said, shifting Hannah to her back. “We must make haste.”
She could not lead them to the Granger farm. When the riders finished searching Mr. Nelson’s house, if they did not find the tunnel, they would think of Uncle Jacob’s mare and come after Dorothea, thinking she would flee for the safety of home.
She led them instead across the Craigmile farm to the Shrop-shires’ land, moving always under cover of the trees, shying away from roads and open land. She guided her companions north and east through the maple grove to the old worm fence, which they followed north along the border of the Granger farm to the Wheelers’ land. She led them northeastward along the Indian trail to the creek, no longer locked in ice and running swiftly, swollen from recent rains. All the while, to keep her spirits up so that she could in turn encourage the others, to block out images of Two Bears Farm from her thoughts, she pictured the Sugar Camp Quilt and the landmarks she had concealed within its stitches. The Crooked Ladder block. The Sideways Braid. The Drunkard’s Creek. The Water Wheel. The patchwork clues would guide her to safety as they had guided others before her.
They walked west along the creek, taking turns carrying the exhausted children. Behind them the sky turned velvet blue, then violet, then rose. The stars faded. Dorothea urged her companions to hurry, but she knew they had drawn on their last reserves of strength to make it that far. They had nothing left to speed their steps.
It was almost dawn when at last the houses and storefronts of Woodfall came into view. Then she spied the water wheel and the bridge beyond.
“Stay hidden until I summon you,” she instructed as she found them a hiding place within a copse of bushes not far from the foot of the bridge. Alone, she crossed the bridge and surveyed the scene. Only when she was sure they could pass undetected did she beckon the others. Liza and Constance, the children in their arms, found new strength with their destination so near, and they fairly ran across the bridge. When they reached her, Dorothea turned and ran for the millhouse. She did not pause to knock on the door; she did not think to be sure all was safe within. Only as she swung open the door and ushered the others inside did she think that perhaps their pursuers had taken the road and arrived before them. Perhaps they waited within. But she had remembered caution too late to call back the others, too late to do anything but enter the station.
The miller and his wife looked up from the breakfast table as Dorothea and her companions burst through the door. A fire crackled merrily on the hearth. They were alone.
“Mercy,” exclaimed Mrs. Braun, setting down a serving plate with a clatter. “Shut the door before you are seen!”
Dorothea slammed the door and leaned upon it, breathless, closing her eyes to hold back tears of exhaustion and grief.
Mrs. Braun rushed to attend to them.
“You’re safe now,” said the miller, his deep voice low and reassuring.
Safe, Dorothea thought dully. Liza and her daughters were safe, but not Old Dan, who had given his life to conceal their escape route.
Nor was Thomas Nelson.
WHEN DOROTHEA GASPED that their pursuers might be close behind, Mrs. Braun quickly ushered them from the residence into the mill. There, in an empty storeroom hidden behind a door fashioned from stacks of barrels, she told them to hide until she could be certain it was safe to emerge. A small, high window provided sufficient light and fresh air, but since it looked out upon the river almost directly behind the water wheel, Mrs. Braun assured them they were in no danger of being observed.
Dorothea helped Liza put the children to bed on the low pallets draped with layers of quilts, then sank down to rest, closing her eyes against tears. She could not drive from her thoughts her last glimpse of Two Bears Farm—the man crouched outside Thomas’s window, Cyrus’s slow, almost indifferent gesture, the rifle shot.
Not long after showing them to the hiding place, Mrs. Braun returned with food and drink. Dorothea drank a dipperful of water, but her stomach turned at the thought of food. The women spoke little, overcome with exhaustion and the instinct for silence, though the rumbling of the mill would have drowned out any sound quieter than a shout.
An hour later, Mrs. Braun returned a second time and closed the door behind her. “If anyone is chasing you, they are taking their time about it,” she said, taking a seat on the wooden floor. “But just in case, you should stay hidden. While we wait, you can tell me what happened today.”
But Liza spoke first. “Paul and Jack—did they make it here safe?”
“They did, and they moved on a few nights ago. They told me the rest of their group included a woman, an old man, and two children, and that they would arrive by wagon.” Her tone softened. “What has become of the old man?”
Liza’s face crumpled in anguish. She turned away.
“I believe he was shot,” said Dorothea softly, her voice catching in her throat. “He and … a man who tried to help us.”
She told Mrs. Braun what had befallen them since leaving the Wright farm.
DOROTHEA AND CONSTANCE STAYED with the Brauns two days and nights. After the first day, Dorothea no longer remained within the hiding place during the day but instead helped Mrs. Braun with her chores in the adjacent house.
While they worked, they made plans for their remaining three passengers. Both Mr. and Mrs. Braun thought it too great a risk to proceed with Abel Wright’s original plan for Liza to pose as a free colored woman traveling with her children. She would still carry Dorothea’s forged papers in c
ase they were apprehended, but she and her daughters would travel to the next station concealed in Mr. Braun’s wagon. The stationmaster there was an innkeeper with ample space for Liza and her girls, and if Liza were spied by a guest, she would easily blend in among his many colored employees. In fact, Mrs. Braun said, runaways were safer there than anywhere in central Pennsylvania. Southerners had learned to spend the night elsewhere after too many of their slaves had been persuaded by the inn’s employees to make an escape while their masters slept comfortably upstairs.
Liza and her daughters would remain at the inn until the stationmaster could be certain that their pursuers had lost the trail. Then they would be integrated back into the underground network and guided north through New York State and into Canada.
On the morning of the third day, Dorothea and Constance said farewell to Liza and her daughters and walked back to the Granger farm. They followed the main road as Dorothea had done after her first journey to the Brauns’ mill. If they should encounter Cyrus and Mr. Liggett, they would claim to have been visiting a friend and deny any knowledge of the events at Two Bears Farm.
They were nearly a quarter of a mile from Dorothea’s house when her parents came running to meet them on the road.
Lorena’s cheeks were wet with tears as she embraced her daughter. The Grangers and Abel Wright had been frantic with worry wondering what had become of them and the fugitives in their care. “We hoped for the best,” said Lorena, linking her arms through those of her daughter and Constance as they walked back to the house. “Abel found scuffed footprints in the dirt outside the barn, but when he discovered the team still within, he could not determine whether you had left those tracks upon departing the barn, or if Mr. Nelson had left them there earlier when he took the horses inside.”
Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt Page 28