Quakers of New Garden

by Claire Sanders

  Little Catherine glanced over her shoulder. “Nathaniel Fox, would thee like to join us in the parlor?”

  The drowsy man raised his head. “I would be pleased to. Although I’m not very good company.” He levered himself out of the chair, tucked his crutches under his arms, and stepped slowly toward the parlor.

  Grandmother Coffin sat on the bench, her back to the window that looked onto Winchester Road, the main road through town. One pale, wintry sunbeam streamed through the window. Grandmother held her Bible up to the light. “Oh good. All these young eyes can help me read.”

  Nathaniel Fox limped across the room. He paused by the fireplace and ran a fingertip around the pretty woodwork. He’d never been in such a beautiful new house. “May I join you, Mrs. Coffin?”

  “Of course. Would thee like to read to us?”

  He set aside the crutches and hopped over to the bench. “Where does it say, ‘Let not your heart be troubled’?”

  “John, chapter 14. Does thee know that verse?”

  Deborah arranged the wood in the fireplace, and then she and the girls sat in other chairs. She picked up her knitting— they always needed clothing to replace the rags worn by the fugitives—and glanced at Nathaniel and Grandmother Coffin. What would he answer?

  He held the Bible up to the fading light and read the passage. After a moment he said, “My mother and father quoted that to each other often.”

  Deborah paused in her knitting. How had he lost his family? She shouldn’t care. She made herself concentrate. She could knit by feel and didn’t need to light a candle. Matter of fact, it was nearly time for the girls to go to bed. Such a pleasant change from yesterday’s storm and the travelers.

  Grandmother Coffin nodded. “Tell us about thyself, neighbor.”

  Nathaniel closed the Bible and gave it back to her. “My family came from New Garden, in North Carolina. Mother and I started up here after my father died, but she died on the way.”

  Deborah paused when she heard that. How sorrowful.

  Nathaniel went on. “After that, I did blacksmithing for a while. Was told I could make more money by capturing runaway slaves. I was very useful at working with chains and shackles and such. I always meant to write to my people up here but never did.”

  Perhaps his conscience bothered him and he didn’t want to reveal his shameful life to his relatives.

  “What will thee do now?” Grandmother Coffin asked.

  Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder, out the window. The Coffins’ store, other buildings, and bare trees across Winchester road blocked the sunset’s glow. “I don’t know.”

  Someone tapped on the door. Deborah put down her knitting. They’d received no word of travelers tonight.

  She went out to the dining room and hesitated at the door. “Yes?”

  “Aunt Deborah, it’s me, Tom,” called one of her nephews. “Thee should know we have company coming.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes. I’ll run back to the meeting now.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” She went back in and picked up her knitting, trying to think what to say. She looked into Grandmother Coffin’s dark eyes. “We might have company tonight.”

  Little Catherine understood. “Perhaps someone is coming home with Mama and Papa.”

  Grandmother nodded.

  Deborah put away her knitting. “I should build up the fire and put the kettle on.”

  “We can put ourselves to bed,” Little Catherine said.

  “How will you get up the stairs, Little Catherine?” Nathaniel asked.

  She giggled. “All kinds of ways, neighbor.”

  Deborah went out to the dining room, put more wood on the fire, and slipped down the stairs to refill the water pitcher from the well. She took a coal from the fireplace with tongs and lit a candle lamp. She tied back the window curtain then set the light in the window. With a sigh she looked at the roll of blankets Nathaniel had used last night. She wanted him out of the way, but where to put him?

  His crutches thumped on the wooden floor. He paused in the doorway, casting a big black shadow in the firelight. “If they’re going to be in the dining room and parlor, perhaps I should go somewhere else.”

  “There is a daybed in Friend Coffin’s office.” She looked over her shoulder. “It might be too short, but at least thee will be off the floor.”

  He chuckled. “The floor might be more comfortable.” His smile softened his features. In the candlelight he looked cheerful and good natured.

  She picked up the blanket roll and handed it to him. He draped it over his shoulder and hobbled out through the parlor. One of the girls pointed him to Friend Coffin’s office across the entryway from the parlor, and he shuffled in there. Furniture bumped and scraped on the wooden floor as he settled in.

  Deborah sighed with relief. He was out of the way. Hopefully he would sleep through any commotion.

  “I will put the girls to bed, Deborah,” Grandmother Coffin said. “Good night. Thee knows it might be hours.”

  “I know. I will just wait up.”

  She gathered her knitting and sat down with it at the dining room table. Now she had too much time to think as her knitting needles clicked. The yarn and movement kept her fingers warm. Nathaniel Fox was such a puzzle. Where did he stand with the Lord? He seemed to have changed, but he also seemed so worldly with his fondness for horseracing. His recent companions were men of violence. No denying he was a handsome man, but what was he on the inside?

  Once again voices woke Nathaniel. He found himself in a dark room with bookcases and a big desk. The fire had gone out, and wind rattling the windows and shutters made the room more dark and cold.

  Voices and footsteps echoed from the kitchen. Deborah Wall sounded upset. “Oh no—oh look at thy foot. Perhaps we need the doctor.”

  “Ma’am,” a man’s voice replied, “If we could just get the manacle off somehow.” A chain clanked on the wooden floor.

  Manacles and chains—must be more runaways, maybe the rest of the group the Wagner gang had pursued and lost and recaptured all the way up here from Kentucky. What would the Lord have him do? He couldn’t pretend to sleep through this.

  He grabbed his crutches, straightened his clothes, and limped into the dining room.

  A crowd of runaways dressed in rags and covered in mud and burrs stared up at him with wild eyes. One of the men recoiled. “You!”

  Nathaniel’s heart dropped. “Aaron—”

  Deborah Wall stared at him then at the runaway. “Thee knows him, neighbor?”

  Aaron clenched his fist, took a deep breath, and then opened it. “You tell the lady what you done, soul driver. What’s he doin’ here?”

  “He was hurt. This is the nearest house, so we brought him here.” She gave Nathaniel a long look. “All God’s children are welcome here.”

  If Aaron could’ve grabbed something, he would’ve probably hit Nathaniel over the head. Nathaniel’s voice sounded unexpectedly calm. “I put that on you. I can take it off.”

  Aaron narrowed his eyes and stared at him. “Why would you help me now?”

  “It’s the right thing to do. Deborah Wall, is there a file hereabouts?”

  “Out in the barn.”

  “Maybe we best move on. If he’s here…” one of the others said.

  Light footsteps sounded on the back stairs, and Grandmother Coffin came into the dining room. She looked fragile. “Stay and rest, neighbors. There is nothing to fear here.”

  Aaron pointed at Nathaniel. “Him. You know what kind of man he is?”

  Grandmother Coffin nodded. “We are all the same before God. Dreadful sinners.”

  Aaron looked down for a moment.

  “I don’t know where Neighbor Fox stands with the Lord, but we must look for ‘that of God’ in everyone,” Grandmother said. “Have no fear, friends. He will do thee no harm.”

  As she put on her wraps, Deborah paused in the south door and looked over her shoulder at him, as though wanting him to hear
that. She slipped out across the porch and disappeared into the night.

  Nathaniel grabbed his crutches. “Aaron, sit by the fire. Let me see your leg.”

  “Friends, come to the kitchen,” Grandmother Coffin said. “There is a good fire down there. Plenty of room. Let us find something to eat.” They followed her down the stairs, several staring at Nathaniel as they passed.

  Aaron limped to Nathaniel’s chair and winced as he sat down. He propped up one leg and sighed.

  Nathaniel stared at Aaron’s leg. Swelling appeared above and below a shackle tightly clamped just above the ankle. Nathaniel had put that on Aaron only a few weeks ago, when they’d captured some of the family and tried to drag them back to Kentucky. But the runaways had escaped again. Seeing some drown in the Ohio River had sickened Nathaniel. He tried not to think about it. What to do? He lit a candle, turned a chair around, and leaned over Aaron’s leg.

  The other man could easily kick him in the face or hit his bad leg.

  Nathaniel sat up and thought out loud. “This will be painful. I wonder if we should have the doctor out. Can you feel anything of your foot?”

  Aaron’s face was a study. “Little bit. Likely froze, too. Why are you helpin’ me now?”

  Nathaniel gazed into Aaron’s narrowed dark eyes. “It’s the right thing to do.”

  “Won’t bring anybody back. Bein’ kind now won’t make you right with God.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I know that very well. Only Christ can make someone right with God the Father.”

  Hoofbeats thudded outside, but Nathaniel didn’t hear carriage wheels or trace chains. He turned toward the window. Someone came on horseback. He limped to the window. Outside were horses and riders, men with guns. “Wagner’s gang.”

  In the barn Deborah gave each of the horses and the milk cow a handful of grain to keep them quiet while she searched for the tools. She found the file in the freight wagon toolbox, and when her fingers brushed the cold metal of a hammer and chisel, she decided to take those, too.

  The neighbors’ dogs started barking. Hoofbeats echoed.

  She peeked out the barn door. The Wagner gang had returned.

  Fear jolted through her. She almost couldn’t breathe. The children, Grandmother Coffin, and the runaways were all in the house with no one to protect them. Nathaniel Fox might choose that moment to betray them. Such a big group must be worth thousands of dollars. Why had they trusted him? Once he let them in, they would tear through her dear ones like a pack of wolves with a flock of sheep.

  She slipped out into the shadows and froze. Her pounding heart shook her whole body. If she went along the path, she could hide in the grape arbor between the house and barn, and then slip onto the porch and through the side door to the dining room. Fright sharpened her eyes. Every detail, every frosted blade of grass, and every buckle and button on the horses and riders appeared magnified in the starlight.

  She leaned on the doorframe and prayed. The path looked a mile long. Her legs shook. If the gang stayed on the street, she would be safe. If the barn door made no noise, that would help, too. She slipped through and eased the barn door shut. The few yards to the grape arbor were wide open. The horses and riders clustered at the front of the house, but a few came down Mill Street. Waiting for them to turn around took forever. She strode up the path and slipped into the grape arbor, praying the tangle of vines would hide her.

  She clutched the tools to her, hands trembling. If she dropped one on the brick path, the clatter would alert the slave hunters.

  Finally she reached the side porch and crossed it in a few quick, quiet strides. The side door opened. Nathaniel Fox grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

  He loomed over her, his warm hand on her arm. “I started to worry, Deborah Wall.”

  “I brought the tools.” Her voice shook.

  “In a minute.” He hobbled over to the other door. With a scrape he picked up the fireplace poker. “If any of them get past me, Aaron, use this.”

  “Thee would use violence?” Deborah’s voice sounded choked.

  “To protect a houseful of women and children, I would. I only wish I hadn’t lost my pistols.”

  “Against thy friends?” What if he meant to deceive them and betray them?

  He leaned forward a fraction of an inch to look into her eyes. In the dim light, his eyes looked big and dark. “They aren’t my friends, Deborah Wall. I don’t want them in this house. I know what kind of men they are.”

  Deborah gulped. He sounded so grim. Lord, help us.

  Someone pounded on the front door. Nathaniel took the hammer from Deborah, nodded to Aaron, and then limped to the door. “Who’s there?”

  “Octavian Wagner. I got writs to serve here for multiple fugitive slaves.”

  “No slaves here,” Nathaniel called as Deborah joined him at the door.

  “Don’t split hairs with me, Coffin.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “He’s not here. Don’t you know me, Wagner?”

  Deborah put her hand on his solid arm. “What is thee about, Nathaniel Fox?”

  “Not letting them in.”

  “Who’s there?” Wagner called.

  “Nathaniel Fox.”

  Several men swore in amazement. “We heard you was drowned,” one called out.

  “Not quite.”

  Wagner laughed. “The fox is guarding the henhouse. Open up. You’ll get a double share of the money, I promise.”

  Deborah shivered. Nathaniel had pounced on those gold coins earlier. She stared up at him. What would he do? Was he tempted?

  “Not my house. I can’t do that.”

  “Then we’re comin’ in.”

  Deborah held her hands over her mouth, hardly breathing.

  “Don’t. The Friends won’t put up a fight, but I will. You know I’m a pretty good shot.”

  Deborah’s heart pounded harder and harder. He wouldn’t, would he?

  “You only got a couple of pistols.”

  “You don’t know what I found in here though. Maybe a shotgun or somethin’ else very useful.”

  “Octavian Wagner, you and your men are disturbing the peace,” a voice interrupted. “I’m ordering you to disperse.”

  Deborah sighed with relief. Her knees went weak for a moment.

  “Who is that?” Nathaniel whispered.

  “The constable.”

  “I got papers here—” Wagner argued.

  “We’ll read ‘em in the morning, see if they’re any good. Now go away.”

  Hoofbeats sloshed around outside, saddles creaked, horses snorted, and men muttered as they turned around.

  Deborah took another deep breath. “Bless the constable. He needed a bank loan recently, and Friend Coffin, since he’s one of the principals of the bank, helped him obtain it.”

  “I can’t help but admire Mr. Coffin.” Nathaniel chuckled.

  Little Catherine called down from the girls’ bedroom. “Deborah, have they gone away?”

  “Yes, dear ones, everything is all right. Your mama and papa will be home soon.”

  They turned to go back into the parlor, but Nathaniel tripped on a rug. Deborah held his arm to steady him. “Is thee all right?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He organized his crutches. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Deborah, with all the talk of fighting and guns.”

  Deborah paused before she answered. She might have to change her mind about him. “I gather that was how thee felt led.” She realized she’d left her hand on his arm and pulled away like it was red-hot iron.

  “Yes it was. Now we need to tend to Aaron.”

  They found the black man in the dining room leaning against the window, the curtain pulled out a fraction of an inch so he could see. “They gone for sure?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “They are indeed.”

  Aaron smiled when Nathaniel told him about the constable’s bank note.

  “Now let’s see what can be done for you and your leg,” Nathaniel said. “Deborah, what about some
warm water to wash this up?”

  Aaron hobbled back to his chair, dragging links of chain across the floor.

  Deborah went to the fire, poured hot water from the kettle, and then added ice water from the pitcher on the washstand. She took the bowl to Nathaniel, who worked gently on the manacle.

  Aaron winced, gripping the sides of the chair. She watched as Nathaniel bent over Aaron’s leg. Had he changed that much? Would it last?

  Chapter 8

  Deborah guided Nathaniel’s mare behind Ma and Pa’s buggy. They were on their way to meeting at New Garden.

  Nathaniel had told Deborah the mare’s previous owners called her Brandy, a name he wouldn’t have chosen. He hoped to open a blacksmith shop and fix up a stable and fences for the mare, as soon as his knee healed.

  A dry week meant the muddy ruts of the road were frozen solid enough to travel easily. Crumbling snowdrifts lingered on the shadowed sides of trees and fences along the way, but the pale sunlight hinted that spring was coming. The road curved away from the Winchester-Richmond Pike, past the few remaining cabins of the original New Garden settlement. Most families had moved a mile or so north to Newport, once they’d discovered better water at that site.

  Her brothers rode along, too. As long as the mare traveled with the herd, Deborah didn’t foresee problems with her. Last week Brandy had hardly blinked when Deborah first tried Ma’s old sidesaddle on her; someone might have ridden the mare aside before. An easy trip over to meeting and back would be good for the horse’s health. The old saddle creaked and squeaked in rhythm to the mare’s strides, but even that was enjoyable. What a merry company.

  The ride buoyed her spirits, too. She’d been exercised over her attitude ever since Nathaniel Fox came to the Coffins’ home. Some of her anger about the fugitives’ treatment might have been righteous. But vengeance was the Lord’s, not hers, and when accusations came she remembered that the Lord had forgiven her. Did she owe anything to Nathaniel since she’d wronged him?