“Yes. It was beautiful.” The sour woman focused on her sewing as if it required every ounce of her concentration.
Mrs. Potter glanced at Emma. “Did you make her gown?”
“My mother and I did. It was my wedding dress, and now I suppose it belongs to my four daughters.”
Silence again. Small talk was not Emma’s forte. Mrs. Potter was trying to bring normalcy into the room, but now even she stitched away without speech.
None of the women were strangers. Every Sunday morning they smiled and nodded at her coming and going from church, but she knew so little about them. Too little to know what to say to take the attention off herself and onto one of them.
Did the warmth Emma felt on her cheeks show? This was a mistake. Why did she think she could show up and make friends? The women had gone from staring at her to not even looking at her. That she was not welcome was as obvious as a blackberry stain on a white apron. She rose. “I’m sorry. I just realized I left my favorite thimble at home. Perhaps Beulah and I will return next week.” She faced her servant. “I’m sorry, Beulah.”
Mrs. Linde’s gaze never left her work. “Let her stay. We’ll see she gets home all right.”
When the door closed behind her, Emma paused on the porch. Why had she ever thought she could waltz back into the sewing circle after all these years, as if she’d never left? Was she still being ostracized for her long-past sin, or had she done something else to offend them? Well, she didn’t need them. She could sew for the poor at home.
Except, how would she bear one lonely day after another? Keeping her hands busy was only part of the solution. Her heart needed an outlet as well.
Mrs. Linde’s voice came through the closed door. “I don’t care, Lillian Potter. You shouldn’t have let her in. It’s too risky. That’s all I’m saying. It’s too risky.”
Emma left the porch pondering why it was risky for her to rejoin the sewing circle. Nothing about her person could possibly put anyone in peril. She understood they might feel justified punishing her for her past, but how did that fit with risky? Something secretive was going on that everyone in that room knew about.
Including Beulah.
“Fire! Fire!” The words echoed through the mill. Paul flung open the secret door. Wide-eyed stares met him.
“You are safe—at least for the moment. I must go downstairs to assess the situation.”
Tabitha nodded. “What do we do?”
“Right now, nothing. If you smell smoke before I get back, then climb out the window near my desk. There is a ladder attached to the outside wall and you can crawl down to safety.”
Tabitha’s eyes revealed her fear, but she nodded. “I understand, sir. We stay here, as long as we can, but if we must, we crawl out the window.”
Paul shut the door behind him and raced from his office to the second floor. Smoke had filtered in, but not alarmingly so. He continued to the first floor, where smoke billowed about, but the water brigade had already quenched the blaze. He found Joe shouting at a stranger. Male workers gathered around. The females huddled together near the stream, keeping their children with them. Some still had buckets in their hands.
“Move aside.” Paul pushed his way through a dozen men. “What’s going on?”
Joe poked the chest of a burly man. “This yahoo tried to burn down the mill!”
“Touch me one more time and you’ll be floating down that there creek.” The man stepped forward, chest jutted out.
Paul wedged himself between Joe and the stranger. “You start that fire?”
“What if I did?”
“Then you’ve got some explaining to do.” Paul spoke conversationally, but he smoldered inside. “To the sheriff.” He looked over his shoulder at Joe. “Fire out?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Damage?”
“Just to the bale shed.”
“So not a problem with the carder?”
“No, boss, it’s like I said. This lunkhead started the fire. Walked in the bale shed smoking a cigar.”
The crowd of men murmured. They glared at the stranger, hands fisted.
Smoke swirled from the small structure. The wind gathered it and tossed it skyward, along with gray ashes. Remnants clung to the ground.
The fire damage to the shed might be minimal, but no one would buy smoke-infused cotton.
A faint sound stilled Paul’s heart—the scrape of a window opening. Perhaps no one else heard it over the sound of voices. He forced himself not to look toward his office window—but Joe looked up. The stranger’s gaze followed Joe’s.
Paul cleared his throat. “What’s your business here?”
Without taking his eyes off the window, the stranger put a cigar in his mouth and took out a match, as if to light it.
Paul slapped the match from the man’s hand. “Get off my property and don’t come back. I see any sign of you, and you’ll be talking to the sheriff.” He’d like to march the stranger to the sheriff’s door right now, but that would mean a fight. He wasn’t afraid and his workers would help, but he just wanted the man gone, for the sake of the freedom seekers.
The stocky stranger curled his lip. “I ain’t afraid of no sheriff, but I’m done here anyway.” He mouthed his unlit cigar, sauntered to a nearby apple tree, and mounted a dapple gray mare.
“Everybody, back to work,” Paul called out. “Show’s over.”
A muscle in Joe’s jaw twitched. “That’s it? You gonna let that fire-starter walk away?”
“I just want him out of here.” Paul lowered his voice. “Protect the packages.” He glanced up at the window. What had the stranger seen?
Chapter 5
As Emma drove the buggy toward the cotton mill, she chastised herself for leaving the sewing circle so quickly. She was made of stronger stuff than that. And Mrs. Linde’s attitude might change once Emma asked for forgiveness.
She had never publicly confessed her wrongdoing. In the beginning, her shame held her back. She didn’t deserve the community’s clemency, so she didn’t seek it. They didn’t know the months she spent in anguish, until God’s persistent love won and she accepted His mercy. By then the pattern of her avoiding social contact was set, and she made no attempt to correct it. She hadn’t even prayed about it—which puzzled her now. Why hadn’t she tried to reconnect with the community? Her daughters provided an outlet for her affections, but was that the only reason? Had her pride played a role?
She’d go back next week, arrive on time, and be better prepared—perhaps bring a small gift for Mrs. Potter. Maybe a beaded reticule. She’d begin making it that evening. Peace settled in her soul. God would strengthen her for the tasks ahead, if she relinquished her vanity and let Him guide her.
As she neared the mill, a stranger on a dapple gray loped toward her. He reined his horse to the edge of the narrow road, stopped, and removed the cigar from his lips. “Good day, ma’am.”
Nodding politely, she smiled and urged her horse on. At least strangers treated her civilly!
Near the mill, the air smelled of charred cotton. Its pungency stung her eyes. Had there been a fire? Was everyone all right? She urged Apollo into a trot. The buggy bounced along the rutted road.
Joe was outside as she stopped near the apple tree. “Good day, Mrs. Trebor.” He helped her down from the buggy.
A mountain of charred cotton lay in the yard, along with countless bits of blackened fluff.
“What happened, Joe? Is anyone hurt?”
“No one was injured, but there’s a financial loss.” He gestured to the bales.
“That’s unfortunate, but it’s a blessing everyone is safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma retrieved a covered basket from the floor of the buggy. “I’ve brought a picnic for Mr. Trebor. Do you know where I might find him?”
“He was here a minute ago. I’ll send one of the men to get him.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary. I’ll find him.” Emma headed for the doo
r.
“Really, ma’am, it’s no trouble. Still a bit smoky inside. The air is better out here.”
“The workers are back inside?”
“Yes, ma’am, but—”
“Thank you, Joe. I’ll be fine.” Emma smiled at the foreman then opened the narrow door. He was right—the odor was much stronger inside. Breezes wafted through the open windows along the length of the first floor, helping to rid the large rectangular room of the acrid smoke. Emma’s eyes watered.
As she ascended to the second floor, the smoke was less annoying, and on the third floor, it was barely noticeable. Paul’s office door stood ajar. She tapped on the frame then listened for him to bid her enter. After a moment, she knocked again, louder, then stepped inside the office. “Paul?”
Was that a woman’s voice? She followed the sound. In a closet?
Paul’s voice sounded from the other side of the wall. “Don’t worry. Our secret is safe.”
Who was Paul speaking with? And where? And what secret?
The woman’s voice sounded again with words too quiet to decipher.
There must be a room on the other side of the wall, but how did one enter it? She saw no door. She left the closet and Paul’s office and examined the wall from the outer angle, but found no entrance into another room.
Puzzled, she reentered the office just as Paul exited the closet.
There must be a door she hadn’t seen before. “To whom were you speaking?”
“Emma! What are you doing here?” Paul composed himself as quickly as he could. He planted on a smile. “I mean, you surprised me.”
“I heard a woman’s voice. Who were you with?” Emma’s gaze pierced him. She stepped toward him as if to look into the closet.
What could he say? He knew the day might come when he’d be forced to lie to protect the fugitives, but now that it was here, words failed him. “I see you brought a basket. Lunch?”
“Yes, I thought we might have a picnic under the apple tree.” Emma’s face was flushed. Her hands trembled. “You were speaking with someone.”
He faked a cough to avoid answering. “Excuse me, dear. The effects of the smoke, I imagine. Shall we go outside?” He coughed again as he took the basket from her and tucked her arm under his. A glance at her face smote his heart. Pain cloaked her tear-filled eyes, her drawn cheeks. He swallowed against the lump in his throat as he escorted her from his office along the loom-filled room. What would he do if she asked him about the voices again? He trusted she wouldn’t as long as there were workers around to overhear.
But she did.
“Paul, I heard your voice. And a woman answered.”
“You must be mistaken, dear. Perhaps you heard workers through my open window.” He closed his eyes a moment. Forgive me, Father. “Anyway, as you can see, the morning hasn’t gone well with the fire and all, and I’ve a lot to do. It was kind of you to come, but in the future, perhaps you can send word of your intentions, and I’ll let you know if it’s a convenient time.”
Cringing at his own words, he walked her outside then toward the buggy. He withdrew his arm from hers and set the basket on the floorboard. He hated being so cold. Despised the fact that he was causing her pain. He didn’t trust her, couldn’t let her discover his secret, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Not like this.
This wasn’t a problem when the children were home. They should have had more.
It took everything he had, but he steeled himself, cementing the barrier between himself and his wife. “And, dear, don’t wait supper for me. I’ll be delayed tonight.”
Quivering sobs threatened to burst from Emma’s bosom. She had heard a woman’s voice, and Paul had dismissed her. Fear and anger clashed over the renewed suspicion of a mistress. And then sorrow and shame and guilt attacked. It was too much. All too much. Her anguish threatened to scream its pain, but she clamped her lips together and climbed into the buggy. She swallowed hard, trying to find the strength to utter a calm goodbye, but the task was too difficult. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look at him. Every muscle tensed. Go! Run! Flee!
She slapped the reins against Apollo’s back. The buggy jerked and they were off. Tears blinded her. She doubled over, covered her face with her hands, bit her lip to keep from crying aloud. The buggy bumped and jolted without direction, but Emma didn’t care. Nothing existed but this all-consuming pain. She sat upright, her fists clenched in anger, then doubled over again as sorrow battled her wrath and left her limp.
When her emotions subsided, she found herself near a creek on the outskirts of town. Apollo had pulled the buggy off the road and nibbled grass poking through the fallen magenta leaves of a maple tree. How long had they been there? She got out of the buggy and washed her face in the creek. Emotionally exhausted, she leaned against a hollow cottonwood stump and watched red and amber leaves float lazily by. One would think she had cried herself out, but the tears loitered near the surface, ready to overflow again had she the energy to let them.
As the afternoon turned chilly, Emma rose and returned to her buggy, but getting it back on the road proved difficult. Apollo couldn’t get the buggy over the muddy ridge onto the road. Even getting out to lighten the load didn’t help. Emma stood near her horse’s head, urging him to try harder, but it was no use. The wheels spun in the slippery grass, and he could not gain traction.
As Emma started to unharness Apollo from the buggy, hoofbeats sounded.
The cigar-smoking stranger riding the dapple gray she’d met earlier pulled up. “Are you in a bit of trouble?”
“Yes.” Emma sighed. “It seems getting off the road is much easier than getting back on.”
“May I help?”
“Would you? I’d be most grateful.”
The man dismounted and scrounged under the nearby trees. In less than ten minutes he brought up small branches and twigs and scattered them on the slippery grass under the wheels. “Try now.”
Emma stood at Apollo’s head and gently tapped his hooves with her riding stick. “Walk.”
The horse strained. The buggy’s wheels gripped the ground. In minutes it stood solidly on the road.
“Thank you ever so much, Mr.—”
“Steeple. Uriah Steeple at your service.” He made a slight bow. “And you are?”
Emma hesitated. This was not the way introductions were done, but considering the help he had provided, how could she be so rude as not to answer? “I’m Mrs. Paul Trebor. And again, thank you.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Emma climbed back in the buggy and took the reins. “You’ve made an unpleasant day more bearable. Again, thank you.”
“Good day, Mrs. Trebor. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
Chapter 6
Clancy greeted Emma as she neared the stables. He helped her get out of the buggy and unhitched Apollo, all without saying a word.
“Thank you, Clancy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Emma drew in a deep breath and strode toward the house. As she entered through the back kitchen door, conversation between Mandy and Beulah stopped. They were sitting at the worktable drinking tea, but rose suddenly as if caught doing something wrong.
“Please, don’t get up.” Emma pulled out a chair and joined them. If she wanted to establish friendships, she’d have to face her past head-on. There’d be no moving forward until she did. She sent a prayer heavenward for wisdom to say the right words then looked at her servants. “I wish to speak with you.”
Their eyes showed their distrust.
Emma started to force a smile then realized this situation demanded honesty, not just with words, but with her emotions as well. She pushed back her hair with sweaty hands. “You have both been with me a very long time. Beulah, you’ve taken care of me since Paul and I were married. Mandy, you came after Catherine’s birth. You have both been faithful members of this household.”
Emma paused, looking from face to face. Neither servant smiled. Beulah’s han
d trembled slightly as she sipped her tea. When she set down her cup, it clinked against the saucer.
“I have not deluded myself thinking that your loyalty is to me. And the fault is mine.” Emma drew in a deep breath. “About twenty years ago, I did a terrible thing. You weren’t here, Mandy, but did you hear about it?”
Mandy nodded slightly.
“And what did you hear?”
Beulah blurted out, “What you want to bring up all that for? It’s done and over.”
“Yes, it is done, but it is not over.” Emma sighed. “It certainly isn’t forgotten. I’ve not acknowledged my wrongs publicly. I want to start with my household. To ask your forgiveness.”
Mandy folded her arms across her chest. “Have you spoken with Mr. Trebor?”
“I’m speaking with you now.” She turned to Beulah. “What do you remember about that day?”
“I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything.”
“But you heard the stories.”
Beulah nodded.
“What did you hear?”
“You really want me to say? Because once the words are out, they can’t be taken back.”
Emma’s gaze locked with her maid’s. Without breaking the connection, she said, “Earlier today I told you I always want your honest opinion. Now I’m telling you I want honesty and openness in every conversation.”
“You caused that poor little girl’s death.” Beulah spat out the words.
The accusation pierced Emma, taking her breath away. She sat a moment, unable to speak. Then strength entered through the words planted in her heart. “The truth will set you free.”
The truth was Jesus. He was the One to break the chains. He had already forgiven her. He would help her face this. First with her household, then with the community.
“Yes, I did.” Emma’s tears flowed unchecked. “I let ignorance and pride overrule me, and the consequence was disastrous. Can you forgive me?”
Beulah’s eyes narrowed. “How could you have done it?”
“I won’t make excuses. There are none. My actions were deplorable in every way.”
The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War Page 3