by Murray Pura
“Liberty will. Believe me, Mother, Liberty will.”
Her father climbed to his feet, and she embraced him.
“Pray for me,” she asked him.
“We have never stopped, my girl.”
“It’s fortuitous.” Clarissa hugged her mother a second time. “I must get away from Gettysburg for a few days. I must get free of Kyle Forrester. I must.”
Mrs. Ross patted her daughter’s back. “Yes, dear, I understand that. I didn’t think you needed a plateful of danger too.”
“I’m very sorry for what transpired between you and young Mr. Forrester,” Professor Saxon said. “I hope I am not in any way to blame.”
“No, sir.” Clarissa ran up the stairs to her room. “Kyle is old enough to make his own decisions and bear the consequences.” She called back: “We were like cats and dogs anyways. Always squabbling about something. I’m sure he’s as glad to be rid of me as I am to be rid of him.”
That was not entirely true, and she knew it. Her heart felt hollow and her stomach hurt. The only thing that gave her any sense of lift that morning was the prospect of doing something brave and adventurous for the Railroad. And getting out of Gettysburg. And—she gnawed on her lower lip while she thought about it—seeing Iain Kilgarlin. As mysterious as he was, as scary as he could be in that hood of his, Clarissa still felt safe around him. And now, of the two men in her life, he had wound up surpassing Kyle Forrester in every conceivable way. Iain was a man of courage and principle that Kyle could not even touch. She had a strange impulse—one she did not entirely dislike and was not sure she would entirely restrain—of rushing into his arms when she saw him in Chester County. It was an impulsive thought, and she knew she was capable of impulsive actions. Yet she doubted she would follow through on it. She knew the boy who sold newspapers on the corner better than she knew Iain Kilgarlin. She had never hurled herself into any young man’s arms and was not about to do it today.
The train ride was swift and uneventful. Two gentlemen sought to strike up polite conversations with her and she gently rebuffed them both. Amos and Ezekiel had a small wagon pulled by two matched bays waiting for her at the station in Lancaster, and when she alighted from the train, she was dressed like a stocky old man whose words were gruff and few. The three set out immediately for the roads south and east that led to Chester County and the Maryland border.
“We are not as fast as the steam locomotive,” apologized Amos. “It will take us several hours to get to where we are going.”
“We’ll be fine.” Clarissa smiled. “Tell me about your church. How is everything? How is everyone? I know the war is upsetting, but I’m sure good things are still happening in Lancaster.”
“Oh ja, ja, God remains in His heaven. The poor choices men make will not force Him out of office.”
The roadways were hard and dry, and they made good time. But it was almost completely dark as they drew near the location where they were supposed to meet Liberty. After going back and forth on back roads for an hour, Clarissa was sure they had missed him. The moon was slight, the stars plentiful, and the beauty of the night sky might have given her more peace if everything had been going according to plan. Her annoyance and irritation grew until she wanted to wrest the reins from Amos’s hands and drive the two-horse team herself. Somehow she felt that if she had the reins, she would be able to sense in which direction they ought to go, more so than Amos or Ezekiel. She knew it didn’t make sense, but experience had taught her that things didn’t always need to make sense to be the right things to do.
Still, she did not take the reins. She knew that would have hurt and insulted Amos, and he was a dear man. But she did close her eyes and pray and try to get a feeling for what was out there around them, and when she opened them again and glanced about in the darkness, she pointed to the left.
“There,” she said in a quiet voice. “Go there.”
“Why?” argued Amos. “What good will that do?”
“Please. Go there.”
“You have angels directing your steps?”
“Can’t I?”
Amos shrugged and steered the team to the left. They passed through brush that was empty of leaves, the branches scraping the sides of the wagon. This went on for almost a minute. Suddenly they could make out a chimney, a caved-in roof, a door hanging off its hinges, and the rib cages and skulls of dead cattle. Then there was a pinprick of light. It vanished. Appeared again. Vanished again.
“Stop the wagon.” Clarissa put her hand on Amos’s arm. “That is the signal.”
He reined in the team.
Clarissa sprang from the wagon and ran through the blackness toward the ruined farmhouse. She had not intended to rush into Liberty’s arms—that had been a notion she had discarded hours before—but it happened just the same. He caught her up and held her and whispered in her ear: “Easy now, Miss Ross. The floor rotted away years ago. You’d tumble straight into the root cellar and break your neck. And we can’t have that.”
“Oh.” She did not pull away from his grasp. “Thank you.”
He released her.
For those few seconds, she realized she had enjoyed his proximity to her, and his strength.
“Are they … are …” She collected her thoughts. “Are the passengers here yet?”
“No. I don’t expect them for another hour.”
“When did you leave Gettysburg? I’ve been traveling by rail and road most of the day.”
“I’ve been here since just after those conductors were shot. I hid in that busted-up cellar Friday night. No one’s been around.”
“That long? What did you have to eat?”
“An odd mix of items. Bread as hard as cobblestones, raisins like iron, and a few carrots that were as soft as taffy. I could bend them into Os.”
“That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”
“Along with a few canteens of water, it was more than enough. Do you have food and drink for the passengers on the wagon?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not a very large wagon.”
“I guess we’ll have to squeeze together like lambs in a pen.”
“Mm. Well, let’s get to Amos and Ezekiel. I imagine they have oats in the back there for the team, and there’s a stream about a hundred yards west of the house they can water them at.”
“Liberty.”
“What?”
“Iain.” She risked it. “Iain.”
He did not respond.
“If you’ve been gone from Gettysburg since Thursday or Friday, then …”
She stopped.
“Did something happen in town?” he prodded her. “Is there something I ought to know?”
“Apparently, everyone in town knows. So I suppose you ought to know too.”
“Know what?”
“It’s not an earth-shattering development. I just thought … I wanted you to hear from me that … that … I’ve ended my relationship with Kyle Forrester. That’s all.”
He stared at her through the slits in his hood. “You have?”
“I have.”
“Why did you do that?”
“We don’t see eye to eye on a number of things. Including how important I think it is that this war be fought and won. And how critical I think abolition is.”
“He disagrees with you?”
“He thinks he can win the war and end slavery by writing theological treatises for his professor at the seminary.”
“He won’t enlist?”
“No. And he doesn’t think there should be an Underground Railroad.”
“I knew that. Well, every man—every woman—must decide for themselves how to live out their days and hours during a crisis. I suppose he feels tutoring at the seminary and writing doctrine for his professor is one way to keep America on the tracks.”
“America? America can be run off the rails by this conflict. He should be right here, right now, beside me, preparing to help the man, women, and children coming over to u
s from Maryland to a better life in the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. After that, he should either help more slaves gain their independence or he should enlist and fix bayonets.”
“Fix bayonets? You can be fierce, Miss Ross. It’s no wonder you ran him off.”
“I expect he’s still running. And hiding in that ivory tower of his, Greek verbs jumping about in his head.” Clarissa was certain her face must look like a tomahawk. “Well,. I haven’t run you off.”
“You won’t.”
“You’ve used my Christian name often enough. Would it trouble you if I used yours, instead of Liberty?”
“I thought you were a stickler for the rules.”
“Sometimes.” She tried a smile. “And sometimes I break them.”
“Call me what you like. It’s been a very long time since anyone has addressed me as Iain Kilgarlin. Especially in a Yankee accent.”
“Thank you. I … I confess I looked forward to working with you tonight … Iain Kilgarlin.”
“Considering how we started out, that’s an enormous step forward. If it matters to you, I’ve always looked forward to the opportunity to rescue men and women at your side. Always.”
“Oh.” Clarissa’s heart roared inside her chest. “Oh, I see.” She clenched her hands into fists in the dark and summoned up a larger portion of boldness and courage. “I wanted to say something else.”
“What is that?”
“I am …”
“Wait!” he hissed. “Listen!”
She stopped talking and heard splashing and muffled voices.
“People are crossing the creek,” whispered Liberty. “There’s a ford there. I found it Sunday. Whoever is crossing over to us, at least one of them knows this place.”
“So it’s our passengers and their conductors,” replied Clarissa.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Did you bring a pistol?”
“Yes.”
“Get it out. And come with me.”
He ran at a crouch toward the creek. She was right behind him, her fingers wrapped around the butt of her Navy Six. Soon they could make out human shapes and the taller shapes of horses. Liberty dropped to one knee in the grass, and she did the same.
“Who is it?” demanded Liberty of the night. “I have a gun. My companion has a second gun. Quickly now.”
A woman’s voice, soft and musical, came clearly to them from the direction of the creek. “‘On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand and cast a wishful eye, to Canaan’s fair and happy land, where my possessions lie. I am bound for the Promised Land.’”
The professor had instructed Clarissa in the proper response, and she spoke it into the dark before Liberty even parted his lips: “‘No chilling winds or poisonous breath can reach that healthful shore. Sickness and sorrow, pain and death, are felt and feared no more. I am bound for the Promised Land.’”
“Hallelujah.” The woman’s voice was low but exuberant. “Hallelujah, Jesus.”
A man rushed up to Clarissa and Liberty, water streaming from his face and hat and clothes. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve had a hard time of it.”
His face was jagged with fear.
“What is it?” Liberty tucked his revolver into his belt. “Are you being pursued?”
“Yes, sir. They can’t be more than an hour behind. Probably much less now.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“Men from McGinty and Le Claire. There are at least two groups. Some are mounted.”
“How are your horses? How many do you have?”
“We had to walk ’em the last half hour. That’s how I know the catchers are a whole lot closer. We got four horses. And five passengers. And me, Tad Whitehead.”
“I’m Liberty.”
“Yes, sir, I see by the hood.”
“This is Joshua.”
Tad touched his soggy hat brim. “Sir.”
Clarissa just nodded.
“We were told there would be eight passengers,” said Liberty. “And two conductors.”
“A man and his wife and child … they drowned a ways back. And Henry, the other conductor … he were caught and lynched by Alexander McGinty. Just after we lit out.”
“You’re sure it was Alexander McGinty? The head of the family?”
“Yes, sir. I had my spyglass on the hanging.”
“Then he means business. Does he have hounds?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hounds and Alexander McGinty himself. Why is your group so all-fired important that he is out at night riding with his men?”
“One of the women … He was in love with her, I’m thinking. That’s what she says.”
“We need to get out of here. Take everyone to the wagon. It’s just by the farmhouse there. But don’t board till the team’s been watered.” Liberty, unconcerned about noise now, shouted, “Amos! Ezekiel! Get the team watered right away!”
“Ja!” came the cry in return. “We done that ten minutes ago! Went over to the creek right there! You and Joshua talk so much, you ought to find an altar!”
Tad stared at Joshua and Liberty.
“He’s a she,” Liberty explained.
Tad was perplexed, his face screwing into lines and wrinkles. “That’s hard to believe.”
“Isn’t it? But take my word on it, the sunrise pales in comparison. It pales badly, Tad.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clarissa felt heat rise rapidly from her toes to her head. Liberty had never paid her a compliment that acknowledged her femininity or her beauty. Ever. She stood rooted to the spot, letting the happy sensation wash over her.
“Get them to the wagon, Tad. Now.” Liberty caught Tad’s arm as he turned to run back to the creek. “Leave two of your best horses for Joshua and me. Then you and one of the women ride the other two. Tell the drivers—their names are Amos and Ezekiel—that Liberty said to push it as if the devil were on their heels. Joshua and I will try and delay the slave catchers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand what I’ve just told you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ride.”
Tad vanished into the dark.
Liberty looked at Clarissa through the two narrow slits in his hood. “Do you understand what I’m asking you to do?”
“I think so.”
“If you want, you can ride with the wagon.”
She went from bliss at his earlier compliment to inferno at his latest suggestion. “I am not riding with the wagon.”
“They will likely need your protection, as the Amish are never armed.”
“I … am … not … riding … with … the … wagon. Sir.”
“For an overweight old man, I’d swear you had red hair.”
“I’ll be the one swearing if you don’t permit me to remain behind. Anyways, it’s not your decision to make. I’ll stay behind if I want.” She whipped the hat from her head, unwound the scarf she always used to cover most of her face, and shrugged off the oversize coat. Her long hair fell in curls over her shoulders, and her face gleamed in the blackness. “Unless you give me a direct order to go. Then I will. Otherwise, I’m not leaving you, Iain. So … are you giving me a direct order to join the wagon?”
Clarissa could see, even through the slits in the hood, that his eyes did not leave her face.
She tilted up her chin and thrust out her lower lip defiantly. “Well?”
“I’m giving you a direct order to stay, Clarissa Avery.” He reached out and gently stroked the side of her face. “Is that all right?”
She put her hand over his. “More than all right.”
“Is your pout … is your pout kissable?”
“You’re a big, brave, heroic man. Why don’t you take a chance and find out?” She placed a hand firmly on his broad chest. “But not with a hood on. Sorry, sir. I draw the line there. Fond as I’ve grown of you, I don’t fancy kissing a cotton pillowcase you’ve dyed black with boot polish.”
In a flash, a knife was in his hand.
&n
bsp; He made one swift cut with the blade and exposed his mouth.
His action frightened and excited her. “Liberty,” she began, startled at how fast he’d moved.
Clarissa let go and allowed his strong arms to pin her to his chest—oh my, Liberty, there is a fierceness in you Kyle Forrester never had the nerve to deliver. She wound her arms about his neck as tightly as she could. She grew light-headed, as if she’d had too much sun or too much punch, and she felt as if she ought to swoon, like some Southern belle, within that powerful and manly embrace of his. His lips were on her hair, her forehead, her cheek.
I’ve never permitted myself to indulge in thoughts about you, Liberty, never. You are simply the scary and rough-talking head conductor on the Railroad who has infuriated me more than once. This is utterly beyond me. Maybe I ought to just faint and let it be.
“But I am a Yankee woman,” she whispered, “and I can handle this, and I can most certainly handle you. Oh yes, sir, most certainly I can handle you.”
There were no more feelings of fainting. His passion had stoked hers like a north wind made flames flare and sparks swirl, and she felt stronger than ever. Although his mouth never touched hers, his desire for her was obvious—he held her more tightly, and more tightly, until she hardly had any breath left in her.
“Oh, I like this, Liberty,” she managed to say, continuing to return his strong hugs with her own in a redheaded ferocity, delighted through her entire body and soul. “I like this side of you very much.”
October
Chester County and Lancaster County
Clarissa crouched by a corner of the farmhouse. She wished there hadn’t been so much waiting. It had been over half an hour now, and that gave her too much time to think. She didn’t want to think. Now she had no choice.
“We’ll hear the hounds first. Then the hoofbeats. Then the splashing when they enter the creek. I have a hunch there’s at least one person with them who knows about the ford. Or they may swim it on their mounts. Either way, once I start shooting, you start shooting. It’ll be hard enough to see something, let alone hit anything. But fire away anyways. When you’ve emptied your pistol, jump on your horse, get through the brush, and light out on the trail back to Lancaster. I won’t be far behind.”