by BJ Hoff
He also knew that even though Captain Gant had had to give up his traveling for the time being because of his bad leg, he hadn’t given up helping a runaway slave every now and then. He’d seen things the captain didn’t know he’d seen—at night—when he stood at the window of his upstairs room in the back of the shop and looked toward Gant’s house on the hill.
Every now and then, the flickering light of a lantern could be seen, traveling back and forth between the house and the barn, and on more than one occasion, he had spied the shadowed form of someone moving around the side of Gant’s house. That was particularly strange, seeing as how the captain lived alone.
He wasn’t quite sure why the idea of the Underground Railroad fascinated him as it did. Maybe because it represented a way of escape from a life that held nothing but back-breaking work and drudgery and the dreary repetition of days without excitement or adventure or joy. Until he’d left home, that was how he’d sometimes felt about his own life.
Or maybe it was more because the very thought of slavery repelled him. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be owned by another human being, for one man to belong to another as if he were of no more worth than a dog.
He and some of his friends had often talked about the subject of slavery, and what he’d heard left him shocked and sickened. He had resolved that if he ever had a chance, he’d gladly do his part to make a difference against such an ugly, ungodly system.
Of course, it was forbidden to the Amish to meddle in the affairs of the world, but he wasn’t living Amish anymore. Besides, it didn’t even seem Christian to ignore such a rampant evil as if it didn’t exist.
Not for the first time, he wondered how he might go about making Gant realize that he could be of some use to him—and Asa—in their antislavery efforts.
As they reached the back door, his gaze went to Asa again, who stood watching him, clearly waiting for Gideon to enter the shop first. The thought struck him that perhaps he could enlist Asa’s help in convincing Gant to make a place for him on that “railroad” of theirs.
5
NEW ARRIVALS
IN RIVERHAVEN
Man is dear to man; the poorest poor
Long for some moments in a weary life,
When they can feel and know that they have been
Themselves the fathers and the dealers-out
Of some small blessings; have been kind to such
As needed kindness, for the single cause
That we have all of us one common heart.
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Gant was hunched over his desk, sorting through orders, when the back door slammed.
Gideon, of course. The boy didn’t seem to know how to close a door without shaking the walls.
He looked up just as Mac came thundering across the room, his tail wagging wildly in a circle as he hurled himself at Gant.
The big black dog hit him full-force with both enormous paws, slamming against Gant’s chest, nearly tipping the chair over.
Gant laughed with delight. “Mac! Where have you been, you big oaf?”
He put both arms around the dog’s thick, furry neck and gave him a proper hug, so happy and relieved to see him he could have sent up a shout.
Another glance toward the back door revealed Asa and Gideon, both smiling as they watched. Gant’s heart lightened still more. He pushed back from the desk and hauled himself to his feet. “Well, about time,” he said, with feigned sarcasm.
They met halfway across the room. Gant grasped his friend’s hand in both of his. “You’re all right, then?”
Asa nodded. “And you, Captain? Are you well?”
Gant waved off his question. “Fit as can be.”
Asa’s dark gaze went over his face with an unsettling skepticism. Gant was aware he’d lost a bit of weight and hadn’t been sleeping all that well. Still, he was sure he looked a sight better than his friend. Asa’s features were taut, his hair sprinkled with more gray than Gant remembered, his clothes dusty and rumpled. He wore the expression of a man exhausted.
“Gideon—bring some water. For both of these fellows.”
At the sound of the word “water,” the dog followed the boy, tail wagging as he went.
“You got word about the delay?” said Asa.
“I did. Twice. Even so, I never thought it would take you this long.”
“Ah. You were worried about me.” Asa’s grin returned.
“I didn’t say that, although it did occur to me you might have got yourself lost.”
An old joke between them, the other’s sense of direction being flawless, in truth, even keener than Gant’s.
“No trouble on the way back?” he asked.
Asa shook his head. “other than a sheriff who didn’t like the idea of my being a free man. I was…a guest in his jail for a week.”
Anger stabbed at Gant. “Didn’t you have your papers on you?”
He had paid for Asa’s freedom years before and continually reminded him to keep his papers on him at all times.
Asa’s smile turned grim. “The sheriff, he suspected my papers might not be legitimate. He thought they might be forged.”
“Jail,” Gant said with disgust. “That’s not right. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
Asa shrugged. “It wasn’t your doing, Captain. And as you can see, I’m no worse for wear. Even the food wasn’t too bad.”
Because Asa’s island accent tended to thicken when he grew indignant or angry, Gant wasn’t fooled. Such an incident would have been humiliating to the extreme.
“So what convinced him to let you go? Where was this, by the way?”
“Northern Ohio. A small town close to Cleveland. Somehow one of their vigilance committees in the area got word of my circumstances, and a party of those good people made bail for me.” He paused. “The sheriff seemed reluctant to part with my company, but the bail money apparently made all the difference.”
Gant waited as Gideon put a cup and a jug of water on the table, then poured some into a bowl for Mac. Gideon remained by the table, watching them, apparently intent on taking in the conservation. That wouldn’t do, as there were things he and Asa needed to talk about that the boy shouldn’t hear.
“Don’t you have deliveries to make?” Gant said.
“Nope. Took care of them earlier this afternoon,” Gideon replied.
Gant looked at him. “You can be done for the day, then.”
The boy’s direct, studying gaze clearly said he knew he was being dismissed. “I don’t mind staying. In case you need me later.”
“It’s almost time to close up anyway. I won’t have anything more for you today.”
Gideon’s reluctance to leave was obvious. “Don’t you want me to sweep up first? I haven’t unloaded the wagon from the lumber yard yet either.”
“In the morning will be soon enough. Go on now,” Gant said with a dismissing motion of his hand. “Go and do whatever it is you and the other lads do to amuse yourselves after—”
He broke off when a horse shrieked outside, followed by the sound of someone shouting and a woman’s scream.
The three men headed for the front door. His jaws dripping water from his hasty drink, Mac reached it first. The big dog stood waiting, clearly agitated and anxious to get outside.
It took only a moment to spot a rickety-looking wagon, listing heavily to one side. The few onlookers drawn to the scene stood watching, but no one seemed to be offering any help. The black horse still hitched to the wagon stamped the ground, puffing and snorting, while a man in dusty clothes held his arms up to a young woman swollen with child.
Gideon jumped from the boardwalk and started toward them, parting the bystanders as he went. Gant followed, moving as quickly as he could while Asa went for the horse.
The rear wheel was clearly broken. Gideon trigged a wheel to keep the wagon from rolling, then joined Gant and put a shoulder to it to make sure it held steady, while the man lifted the woman free and helped her onto
the boardwalk. In the meantime, Asa tried to soothe the nervous horse, talking low and level as he unhitched it and tethered it to a post. Mac trotted back and forth from Asa to the wagon, as if to oversee it all.
After taking the couple inside the shop, Gant motioned to a bench behind a table, then moved to stand across from them. Her husband—at least Gant assumed he was her husband, given her condition—stood behind her hovering.
She was a mere slip of a girl with a delicate, waiflike face and flaxen hair tumbling free of her bonnet. Dust smudged her features, and she appeared mute with shock and exhaustion.
Gideon quickly appeared just then with two cups of water from the pump in back, and the strangers drained them as thirstily as if that water was the best thing they’d ever tasted.
Gant studied the man, who didn’t look much older than his wife. He was a red-haired fellow with a lean, somber face, mottled with dirt from the road.
As if he sensed Gant’s scrutiny, he said, “I’m Terrence Sawyer—‘Terry,’ folks call me—and this is my wife, Ellie. We’re real grateful to you for helping us.” His voice was quiet with a soft, easy drawl.
Gant introduced himself, then Gideon and Asa. “Where are you folks from?” he said.
“Virginia, sir. Western Virginia. We’re on our way to Indiana. Looking to farm out there. But we’ve had some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble is that?” Gant nodded Sawyer to the space beside his wife. “Why don’t you sit down, son? I expect you’re tired from traveling.”
With a grateful look, Terry Sawyer slipped in beside his wife. “We got robbed on the road just after we crossed over into Ohio. Two fellows lookin’ for runaway slaves, they said. But they seemed more interested in stealing what we had than catching slaves.”
He glanced at Asa, then turned quickly back to Gant.
“They took all the money we had and some of our food.” His face hardened. “Said they’d been on the road a long time and needed it worse than we did. They didn’t hurt us any, though—just robbed us.”
“That’s bad luck,” Gant offered, sending Gideon for more water.
Sawyer nodded. “I’m not sure what we’ll do now. We’re too far from home to turn around and go back, even if we could. Besides, we don’t really have anything to go back to. My folks pulled up stakes a few months ago and moved to Kentucky to stay with my older brother, and Ellie doesn’t have any family. And with the wagon wheel busted, we can’t go anywhere.”
Gant watched as Gideon returned and set a full jug of fresh water on the table. Sawyer filled his wife’s cup, then his own, drinking it all straight down again without a breath.
“I expect I can fix your wagon wheel,” Gideon said, moving to stand near Asa. “I’ve fixed a lot of buggy wheels. Most likely it’s the axle.”
“I’d be grateful,” said Sawyer, “but we don’t have any money.”
Gideon shrugged. “That’s not a problem. It won’t take me that long.”
Gant looked at him, not all that surprised to hear the boy make such an offer.
Sawyer glanced down at the floor, then at Gideon. “That’s real kind of you. But I will pay for your work just as soon as I can. Once we’re settled and all, I’ll send you whatever we owe.”
Always quick on the uptake, Gideon studied him for a moment. Then, as if he realized he might insult the other by refusing, he said, “Sure, that’s fine.”
“In the meantime,” Gant put in, “you folks will need a place to stay.” He turned to Gideon. “Take them down to Mrs. Haining’s boardinghouse. She’s always got an extra room or two.”
Sawyer frowned, and a crimson stain worked its way up his neck. “I can’t pay for a room. We’ll do all right in the back of the wagon.”
Gant considered his words. “Son, even if you could make do in the back of a broken-down wagon, you don’t want to put your wife through it. She needs a good rest. Don’t worry about the money for now. It’ll be taken care of.”
Sawyer’s wife spoke for the first time. “We’re ever so grateful, Mr. Gant. And we will find a way to repay you.” Her level blue gaze left little doubt that they would do just that.
Gant waved off her thanks. “That’ll be fine,” he said, then motioned to Gideon to follow him. “I have something in back you can deliver while you’re out.”
In the back room, he gave Gideon some money. “This should cover a room and meals for a couple of days. Give it to Mrs. Haining and tell her if they need to stay longer, I’ll take care of it. Be sure she knows they’ll be needing supper.”
“If you can spare me some time tomorrow, I’ll work on that wheel.”
“I can spare you the time, but I have a feeling they may not be going anywhere too soon.”
Gideon shot him a questioning look, but understanding almost instantly filled his eyes. “Mrs. Sawyer—you think it might be her time soon?”
Gant shrugged. “It’s not for me to ask, but I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Gant’s thoughts were troubled as he watched the boy return to the front of the shop. It seemed things couldn’t be much harder for the Sawyers. A broken wagon, not a cent to their names, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a baby about to be born. They were going to need some help, all right. Most likely a lot of help.
Yet there was something about them, something that left no doubt but what they would be all right even without the help of anyone else. In spite of their youth, their hard luck, and difficult circumstances, a warm steadiness and quiet strength bespoke the love they shared and the bond that joined them, no matter what.
Gant suddenly recognized a feeling inside himself akin to envy. Envy of what the Sawyers had together. Though they appeared to have nothing, he sensed they had everything.
They had what he wanted, what he’d hoped for—and still longed for—with Rachel.
He was the one who had nothing. He had a house and a business and more money than he needed. He had enough to help the Sawyers and others like them who lacked material goods and even the most tenuous means of security, and for that he was truly grateful.
But wouldn’t they be surprised if they knew how quickly he would trade places with them if he could have Rachel at his side.
6
GATHERING OF DARKNESS
Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On thee, when sorrows rise,
On thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.
ANNE STEELE
September
Even though the day had been warm and still summer-sweet, a chill came on the air when evening gathered.
Susan Kanagy stood staring out the kitchen window, her gaze settling for a moment on her youngest daughter still playing happily on her tree swing, then traveling to her oldest, sitting at the kitchen table as she iced the last sheet of cookies they’d baked earlier that afternoon. Rachel’s movements were slow and distracted, her features drawn in the all too familiar expression of sadness she often wore these days. Obviously icing cookies was the last thing on her mind.
Susan thought she knew what was on her daughter’s mind.
Jeremiah Gant.
Rachel wore that look most of the time now, had worn it ever since Bishop Graber refused to consent to the captain’s conversion to their Amish faith. The bishop’s refusal, of course, meant that Rachel and Gant couldn’t marry. Moreover, it meant they were to stay completely away from each other.
Susan hadn’t seen her daughter so broken since Eli died. Her young husband’s death, so untimely, so brutal, had left Rachel drowning in years of pain and sadness before she’d finally found a measure of healing. Jeremiah Gant’s arrival in Riverhaven and their growing affection for each other had helped to further that healing, but now here she was again, her heart grieving, her spirit struggling.
Oh, she put a good face on things, Rachel did. With Susan and with her little sister, Rachel managed to pretend her days were full, her life good. Never one to burden another, even her closest friends wou
ld not see Rachel weep.
But Susan had. She had held her sweet daughter when Rachel sobbed out her accounting of the attack that had left her husband dead and her life in shambles. And she had held her again after the bishop passed down his decision about Gant, along with his stern admonition that the two could not marry and must not see each other again.
Although a couple’s relationship wasn’t to be discussed, there had never been many secrets between her and Rachel. The Amish did keep such things private, even among family members. Truth be told, she wasn’t even supposed to know about the affection her daughter and Captain Gant shared. But she and Rachel had always been close, friends as well as mother and daughter, and when Rachel had sought comfort from her, Susan would no more have turned her away than she would have refused to tend to her wounds if she’d been physically injured.
In her heart of hearts, there were some things about living Amish she found difficult to accept. To pretend no relationship had existed between Rachel and the man she loved and then to know her daughter was in pain and not offer solace—this, she could not do.
She went to her now. “Your thoughts seem far away, daughter,” she said, putting a light hand on Rachel’s shoulder.
Rachel turned, looked up, and gave a small quirk of her lips—a smile that wasn’t really a smile. “Not all that far, Mamma. I was thinking that the fall will soon be upon us. Summer is almost gone, ja?”
Susan sighed. “It is. I don’t much like seeing the cold settle in, but we take what God gives.”
“Yes,” Rachel said, her voice so soft Susan had to lean forward a little to hear. “We take what He gives.”
Susan waited a moment, then sat down next to her and took her hand. “I wish I could take away your sadness, daughter. Is there anything I can do?”
Rachel caught a sharp breath, clearly surprised. “Oh—no, Mamma! I’m not…sad. I was just thinking.”