Emma Underground ©2018 by Barbara Tifft Blakey
Follow the Christmas Star ©2018 by Ramona K. Cecil
Under the Sails of Love ©2018 by Lynn A. Coleman
The Bakery Bride ©2018 by Cecelia Dowdy
A Place of Refuge ©2018 by Patty Smith Hall
Free to Love ©2018 by Terri J. Haynes
The Winter Quilt ©2018 by Debby Lee
The Song of Hearts Set Free ©2018 by Darlene Panzera
Freedom’s Flight ©2018 by Penny Zeller
Print ISBN 978-1-68322-632-1
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-68322-634-5
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-68322-633-8
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in Canada.
Table of Contents
Emma Underground
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Follow the Christmas Star
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Under the Sails of Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
The Bakery Bride
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
A Place of Refuge
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Free to Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
The Winter Quilt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
The Song of Hearts Set Free
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Freedom’s Flight
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Emma Underground
by Barbara Tifft Blakey
Chapter 1
Schenectady, New York 1851
Emma Trebor stood with her husband, Paul, on the church steps as their youngest daughter, Catherine, sat beside her groom in the flower-bedecked carriage. A chill breeze scuttled dry leaves across the cobblestones as the sun shone thinly in a cloud-streaked sky.
Emotions battling within, Emma smiled and waved. Of course she was happy for her daughter—more than happy—she was thrilled. But, oh, she would miss her.
As if Catherine sensed her turmoil, she turned backward in her seat. Their gazes met and she mouthed, “I love you, Mother.” Then the carriage rounded the corner, out of sight.
Emma turned toward Paul, but he had already left her side. She shook off the disappointment and smiled at well-wishers offering their congratulations. Normally she felt invisible to the community, but duty insisted they acknowledge her today, and she soaked it in. While the children had all been home, being an outsider was more an inconvenience than hurtful. As long as she had her daughters to pour her love into, she didn’t need other relationships. But one by one, her girls had married and moved away. Catherine was the last. Her new home in Boston was miles and miles away.
Planning the wedding had consumed Emma for months. What was she to do now? “Shame on you,” she chided herself. “Feeling sorry for yourself on Catherine’s joyous day.” But there was no denying the ache in her heart.
Paul sent word that he’d be detained and for her to go home without him. Emma sighed. She wasn’t surprised, but she’d hoped they’d ride home together. And talk.
As the carriage bumped along, she wondered if this was her future. To be alone. That mistake she’d made—that horrible mistake happened over twenty years ago. How long had she struggled with agonizing guilt? Yet God’s love had overcome her self-reproach. Even as she rode along now, she felt His compassion and mercy, knowing she didn’t deserve them, but resting in the knowledge that in His eyes, she was forgiven.
At home, her lady’s maid, Beulah, helped her undress. “We’ll miss her, won’t we, ma’am?”
“Yes, so much.” Emma smiled at her aging servant. Beulah’s once ebony hair had turned gray; wrinkles creased her black face. “Will you mind so much with just me to take care of?”
“Oh, I think it will be just about right. Give my aching bones a bit of rest.” Beulah gathered the day’s garments and headed out of the room.
“Wait, Beulah. Would you like to sit awhile with me—perhaps have a cup of tea?”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am, but”—Beulah bowed her head—“it’s best we keep things as they’ve been, don’t you think? It’s been a long day, and I’m eager to get to bed, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all. You are right, of course. I hope you sleep well.” Emma forced a smile. Did the heat she felt in her cheeks show? She shouldn’t have put Beulah in such a spot as to decline a request. She respected her maid’s wisdom and fa
ith, but their relationship had always been as employer and employee. Why was that? Had Emma kept her at arm’s length, or was it Beulah who remained aloof? Was their lack of closeness a result of her terrible deed?
Alone in her room, with the festivities behind her and the night stretching before her, Emma fluffed her pillow, turned on her side, then her back, then her side again. Errant thoughts attacked as they hadn’t for years. “Why tonight, Father? I know You forgave me many years ago, so why does this haunt me tonight?”
She slipped from her bed, lit the lamp, and read from her Bible, but not even that soothed her heart. Praying helped, but as soon as she uttered, “Amen,” the restlessness returned. Perhaps a cup of hot chocolate would assuage her. She slipped into her robe, left her room, and crept down the hallway, hoping not to disturb her husband.
A second thought paused her. Perhaps if Paul were also awake, they could talk. How did he feel about all four daughters married and established in their own homes? Lingering outside his room, she raised her knuckles to rap on the door. He might invite her in. No. She hadn’t been in his private quarters in twenty years. She lacked the courage to intrude now.
The flickering candle cast eerie shadows as Emma tiptoed down the stairs. She was too old to be afraid of the dark, but the creaks and groans of the manor unnerved her. The grandfather clock chimed two as she hurried down the hallway. What was that noise? It came from the back of the house. The kitchen door closing? Was Mandy up? Perhaps the cook also had trouble sleeping after such a big day.
It would be nice to share a cup of hot chocolate together. Reminisce about Catherine. And Julia. And Lydia. And Charlotte. They hadn’t been all together since Christmas two years ago.
Emma appreciated Mandy’s culinary skills and all she did for the family, but the only discussions they had involved menus and grocery lists. Not that Emma hadn’t tried to be friendly, but like Beulah, the cook remained aloof. Perhaps tonight could be a new beginning.
She pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, surprised to find it empty. She set the candle on the worktable then peered out the window to see if anything moved outside.
A light flickered from the stables. She couldn’t discern a shape in the shadows, but had no trouble distinguishing the sound of a cantering horse.
Paul rode away on Perseus, aware of the light winking in the kitchen window. It was probably Mandy, nursing a cup of tea, or Beulah, rummaging for a biscuit. They both knew about his involvement with the Underground Railroad and would not question his late-night disappearance. If it were Emma in the kitchen? That was unlikely, but if it were, he’d figure out something to tell her.
Riding in the dark heightened Paul’s senses. His ears strained to detect unnatural sounds. His eyes darted from one shadow to another, every muscle tensed to react if necessary. As he reached the maple grove, Perseus slowed. Paul loosened his rein, allowing his horse to pick its way along the narrow path.
He should have come earlier to check on the freight, but the wedding prevented it. Ah, the wedding. How beautiful Catherine had looked. He’d been startled when he saw her in Emma’s wedding dress, her features a replica of her mother’s twenty-six years ago. It had taken him back, momentarily, to that glorious, happy time when Emma was the world to him. He prayed Catherine’s resemblance to her mother was only outward. Surely none of his daughters possessed her capacity for duplicity.
And yet. Through all the years raising their four daughters, he’d never seen her lose patience, nor heard a complaint about having four babies in six years. By anyone’s standards, she was a devoted and selfless mother. If he didn’t know better—if he hadn’t seen her treachery with his own eyes—he’d believe her incapable of the slightest hint of cruelty. But he had seen. He did know. He couldn’t let himself forget.
Not with freedom seekers’ lives at stake. Others might refer to the poor souls as runaway slaves, but to him they were much more than that. Industrious. Resourceful. Courageous. Freedom seekers.
Paul ducked to avoid a low branch and urged his mount on. Although his cotton mill was a popular depot, he hadn’t expected any freight for another three days. The information had been scanty this time; he didn’t know how many to expect, their ages or gender. He’d provide food and water now, assess their needs, then bring more provisions after the workday ended. Nothing gave him more pleasure than helping the fugitives.
His situation was perfect. He purchased cotton for his mill in Virginia and smuggled out one or two slaves each trip. In all the years he’d been involved, his wagonloads of cotton had not been searched or even stopped. Other conductors used his mill as a safe house as well. Since the Fugitive Slave Act had passed a year ago, a few conductors had experienced a bit of trouble from bounty hunters, but none close to Schenectady.
Paul laughed to himself. He’d like to see a pattyroller try anything in Schenectady. The community was an antislavery stronghold. In fact, Amos and his wife, Hannah, escaped from a plantation in Georgia fifteen years ago. They felt so safe, they chose to stay right there and not continue to Canada—operated a blacksmith shop on the north end of town. Every man in the county would fight to protect those two. A meddlesome bounty hunter might find himself floating facedown in the Hudson River if he caused trouble.
Pausing at the edge of the woods, Paul scanned the area for anything out of the ordinary. He doubted the precaution was necessary, but lives were at stake. It comforted the runaways to know procedures were adhered to, even in safe havens such as Schenectady.
He entered the redbrick mill. After lighting the lantern, he waited for his eyes to adjust then climbed the wooden steps to his office on the third floor. He knocked on the door hidden in the closet to alert those inside that he was coming in. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he’d find behind the door. It was this moment, this very moment that added meaning to his life. It was never pretty, but it was always powerful.
He opened the door and a woman and two children stared at him. Fear and pain filled their eyes. Where was the hope?
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.” Paul removed the two canteens crisscrossing his back and handed them to the woman.
She passed them to the children. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.” Her hair was covered with a blue bandanna, her clothing tattered and soiled.
“I’m Paul.” He handed her a basket filled with apples, cheese, and bread.
“I am Tabitha. These are my children, Isaiah and Leah.”
Paul nodded to each one. “You are welcome here. You are safe.”
He sat on the floor. Now for his second favorite part. “Tell me your story.”
Tears coated Tabitha’s words, but none slipped from her eyes. “We started out together from Virginia, me, Samson, and my chilluns. But they sent the hounds after us. Samson said we should split up. I ain’t seen him again. I wanted to wait longer, but the conductor said we gotta go.”
“Samson is your husband?”
Tabitha shook her head. “No. Not yet. We’s gonna be married in Canada.”
Chapter 2
Emma listened as the hoofbeats faded away. Through the darkness, she made out neither horse nor rider, but suspected it was Paul. Who else could it be? Clancy, the stable hand? Unlikely.
But where was he going at this hour? She had half a mind to follow him, but discarded the idea as foolishness. He was probably as restless as she and needed air. If not for the moonless night, a ride sounded good to her as well. When he returned, perhaps they could talk.
Loneliness engulfed her like fog creeping along the river. She slumped into a chair and raised her eyes heavenward. “What do I do now, Father?” With a series of deep breaths, she quieted her anxious thoughts and waited for calmness to prevail. When it did, the words flowed from her. “You’ve been so good to me, Father. I have four beautiful daughters, a wonderful home. I’ve no right to ask for more, but You’ve promised the desires of our heart. Please, show me how to reconcile with Paul. I’ll do what
ever it takes, if You will show me the way.”
She kindled the fire in the cookstove and heated a pan of milk then added cocoa, vanilla, and sugar. The hot chocolate warmed her, but she yearned to share it with someone. An hour passed. No rider returned. No household help appeared. She went back upstairs and wandered into Catherine’s room then the vacant rooms of each of her daughters. Their years together had passed so quickly, although it didn’t seem like it at the time. Then she was content with her life—she hardly missed Paul. She should have, but the girls kept her distracted. She hadn’t considered how everything would change when her daughters were grown and married.
Emma returned to her room and grasped her Bible. It fell open to Psalm 130. “Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice; let thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications….”
The clock chimed four, rousing Emma from a light slumber. Her first thought was of Paul. Had he returned? She put on her robe then stood in front of his door. She could peek in to make sure he was there. Her fingers grasped the doorknob, but it was not so easy to break a twenty-year-old habit. Her hand dropped. She’d wait for breakfast. He never missed the morning meal.
Unsettled, Emma returned to her room. Riding in the dark was not safe. What if his horse had tripped and he had fallen? What if he needed help and no one knew? She chided herself for being ridiculous. He was probably in bed, sound asleep.
But what if he wasn’t? She could go to the stables and see if Perseus was there. That might ease her mind.
Emma changed quickly into her riding clothes. Her boots thudded on the wooden stairs, louder than she wished for such an early hour. She passed through the house and out the back door. Darkness swallowed the light of her single candle and she stumbled a few times. A dog barked in the distance. Nearing the stables, she heard a horse snort and stamp.
She reached out for the latch, but the door swung open. A man filled the frame. “Oh!” Emma gasped. Was it Paul or the stable hand? The shadows concealed his face. She stepped back.
“Emma!”
Paul. Thank goodness, he was safe. As her anxiety fled, she longed to hug him, but the moment passed. Emma wrapped her arms around herself.
Paul rubbed his jaw. “You startled me.” What was she doing out here? What did she know about his absence? Why was she wearing her riding clothes? It was too early for an outing. He forced a smile. “Were you headed somewhere?”
The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War Page 1