Where Grace Abides

by BJ Hoff

  There was nothing too surprising about that. The boy had an easy, agreeable way about him that wasn’t in the least off-putting. Moreover, his genuine interest in folks as individuals and not merely as “cargo” to be transported probably warmed them to him.

  Most of these folks weren’t accustomed to being treated as human beings, but more as property—chattel to be used or abused at the whim of their owners. To have such an apparently decent young man committed to their safety and to helping them attain their dream of freedom must, in itself, hint of a self-worth previously unknown to them. But for understanding to gradually dawn that this same unlikely advocate actually cared about them—was even capable of developing a true fondness for them—well, Asa reckoned that could take awhile to grasp but, once realized, would surely go a long way in helping a fellow win their trust and respect.

  That’s how it had been for him with Captain Gant years before.

  “You’re deep in thought, Asa, ja?”

  The question from Gideon, sitting beside him on the wagon bench, brought Asa back to his surroundings. “My mind does tend to wander on these long nights of travel, I suppose.”

  He didn’t pull out the pocket watch the captain had given him to check, but he figured it must be going on ten o’clock or so by now. There was a little too much moonlight to suit him. Unlike some conductors, he preferred as much cover from darkness as possible. At least the rain they’d encountered over the past two days had finally let up.

  Behind them, in the trough behind the bench, Mac stirred and sniffed the night air. Gideon twisted around to pet the dog. Tonight his appearance was that of a typical farm boy. Although the lad no longer lived among the Amish, on occasion he still donned the clothing of his people—especially if he was planning to pay a visit to his mamma. The captain had warned him against the practice for this journey, however, pointing out that if they should encounter any slave catchers, they would be immediately suspect. An Amish boy traveling with a man of color was no ordinary sight.

  “So, how did you and Captain Gant meet?” Gideon asked when he turned back to Asa.

  It was as if the boy were reading his thoughts, bringing up the captain all of a sudden, even as Asa’s own thoughts had ventured in that direction.

  “My owner hired me out to Captain Gant on a temporary work detail.”

  He felt the boy’s eyes on him. “You were a slave, Asa?” the question came as a near whisper.

  Asa nodded. “I was.”

  “I’m sorry.” Again the words were little more than a murmur.

  “Important thing is that I’m not a slave now, thanks to the captain. He eventually bought my freedom for me.”

  “Captain Gant is a good man.”

  Asa glanced at him. “He is indeed. A better man than most folks will ever know.”

  “How did that come about—the captain buying your freedom? Or maybe I shouldn’t ask?”

  Asa gave a twist of his hand to show he didn’t mind the question. “I worked for him on his riverboat for quite some time—on a temporary basis, as I said. Eventually he decided he wanted to hire me full-time, so he talked to my owner about buying my papers. It took some doing, but the captain persisted, and they finally worked things out.”

  Asa went on, briefly explaining to young Gideon that Cottrill, his former owner, later changed his mind and tried to get Asa back. Ainsley Cottrill had a vicious temper, and when the captain refused to sell Asa back to him, Cottrill started hunting him down.

  Indeed, the bullet that had so seriously wounded Captain Gant had come from a gun belonging to one of Cottrill’s men. Asa had been right in the line of fire, but at the crucial moment, the captain jumped in front of him, risking his own life to save Asa’s.

  “So you’ve been together a long time then?”

  Asa nodded. “Several years now.”

  “Where are you from originally? Before you came here to the States?”

  Gideon stopped, then pulled a face. “Aw, I’m sorry. Seems like I’m asking too many questions. But I can’t help noticing that you talk a little different from the rest of us.”

  Asa smiled. To be young was also to be curious, it seemed. “I’m from one of the islands in the Caribbean. I never knew its name. I was brought to this country as a boy.”

  “With your family?”

  Asa delayed his answer, intending his reply to satisfy the boy’s curiosity for now. They were nearing areas into which he wasn’t willing to venture. “My parents and myself, yes.”

  He didn’t speak of the beating that had killed his father in later years nor of his half-sister, sired by Ainsley Cottrill, their owner. Cottrill had sold Ariana into a brothel as punishment for trying to escape the plantation. After that she simply disappeared from Asa’s life. He and the captain searched for her everywhere they went, but their efforts always proved futile. Asa had never entirely given up hope, though he knew that with the passing of the years it became more and more unlikely that he would ever see her again.

  They drove along in silence for several minutes. As if the boy had sensed Asa’s reluctance to field any further questions into his personal life, he changed the subject.

  “What do we do if we’re stopped? You know—by a slave catcher?”

  “We need to pray hard that doesn’t happen. With fifteen people in this wagon, the only thing we can do is hope we’re close to a woods so they can scatter and run and hide.”

  “But you and I, we have to stay with the wagon, right?”

  Asa nodded. “We don’t dare give up the horse and wagon.” He paused, then added, “You remember to let me do the talking if we’re stopped.”

  “Don’t worry none about that. I’d probably be too naerfich to say a word.”

  “Naerfich?”

  “Nervous,” Gideon explained.

  Asa looked at him. “I need to trust you to keep your head, boy. If we’re found out, it could mean jail for both of us and a lot worse for those folks in the back of the wagon.”

  Gideon’s expression sobered. “I was just joking with you, Asa. I won’t let you down.”

  After that the boy seemed to run out of questions and let the steady rolling rhythm of the wagon lull him until his head began to nod.

  Sometime just past three o’clock in the morning, Asa was beginning to feel a touch of the nervousness Gideon had mentioned earlier. The folks at the Spencer station had turned them away because of lack of room. They were a small dwelling, with no barn and only the smallest of cellars, in which they were already hiding half a dozen runaways.

  Joseph Spencer had been obviously reluctant and apologetic, but Asa understood his dilemma. Now he could only hope it would be different at the next station, just outside of Freeport, which they ought to reach within the next hour.

  If they, too, were short on room, the best he could hope for was a nice dark forest. Trees were a poor substitute for a roof over their heads, but at least they provided a hiding place of sorts. And as long as they could evade discovery, he knew from experience there would be little complaining.

  The concern of a runaway slave headed for the North wasn’t comfort, but freedom.

  22

  BROKEN TRUST

  Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

  What I was walling in or walling out…

  ROBERT FROST

  From her kitchen window, Rachel could see Samuel Beiler pull his buggy off the road and step out, then start briskly up the path toward the house.

  She drew a long breath, hoping this unexpected visit wasn’t going to be another in his ongoing efforts to convince her that she ought to marry him. Her emotions were still raw from the shock and aftermath of her dear friend Phoebe’s death. The last thing she felt like dealing with right now was the pressure of Samuel’s persistence.

  It would be all too easy to be impatient with him at a time like this. While his tireless attempts to court her might be pleasing, even flattering, to some of the other women in the community, for Rachel they
had become awkward and wearisome.

  Especially since the only man she would even consider marrying was forbidden to her.

  Even so she made up her mind that she must strive for patience with Samuel. Although he often irritated her with his stringent judgments and overbearing manner, she supposed he meant well. Certainly she had no desire to antagonize him or hurt his feelings.

  Quickly she ran her hands down the sides of her dress, then smoothed her kapp, waiting for his knock on the door.

  “My sister Rebekah thought you might enjoy these with your supper.”

  Samuel stood just inside the kitchen as he handed Rachel a pan of fragrant honey buns.

  “Oh, they smell wonderful, Samuel,” Rachel said, taking the pan from him and setting it on the table. “Be sure to thank Rebekah for me.”

  “Well, we know how hard these past few days have been for you, what with Phoebe’s passing and all. Just wanted to let you know we’re praying for you and for Susan also.”

  This was a different Samuel from the one she was used to. In place of the stern expression and ramrod straight posture common to him, he actually seemed a softer, kinder man, more relaxed and genuinely concerned for her. Was the bad trouble that had come to the People having a softening effect on him? Maybe she had misjudged the intent of his visit after all.

  “Thank you, Samuel. It’s true that these days have been difficult—for all the People but especially for Malachi and his family.”

  “Ja, of course,” he said. “But I know you and Phoebe were awful close. I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

  “That’s kind of you, really. Keeping busy seems to help.”

  He pointed to one of the kitchen chairs at the table. “May I sit?”

  “Oh, yes! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Please, sit down. Would you like me to fix you a cup of tea?”

  “No, no. We had dinner at Rebekah’s house today. I must say her tea isn’t so gut as yours, but I drank more than I should have anyway.”

  Rachel wished she didn’t feel so awkward around this man, who had actually been a good friend to her and her family through the years. Most likely her uneasiness stemmed from the awareness of his interest in her. Whatever the reason, she was never altogether comfortable with Samuel, never totally accepting of what he said on the surface as opposed to what his unstated meaning might be. Sometimes it was an effort simply to be polite.

  All the same, she would be polite.

  “I haven’t seen Malachi since the funeral service,” Samuel said. “Is he getting along all right?”

  “I took supper to him last evening. He’s very sad, of course, and a little lost. He and Phoebe were so close.”

  Samuel nodded. “Such a good marriage they had. To lose our life’s partner is a very hard thing.” He gave a long, heavy sigh and stared down at his hands. Rachel almost got the feeling that his morose words and manner might be an attempt to play on her sympathy.

  Now that really was unkind of her. She knew what it was like to lose a beloved spouse. Was she so hardhearted she couldn’t offer him at least a little understanding?

  “Yes, a very hard thing,” she said gently. “How long has it been since Martha went to be with the Lord now?”

  He raised his head and fastened a strange look on her. “A long time. As you know, she died giving birth to our Joe, and he’s going on eight years now.” He paused. “But of course we have no way of knowing that Martha is with the Lord God. We can only hope that she is.”

  “Oh, Samuel, surely you don’t doubt that she is! Martha was such a fine Christian woman—a good person and a wonderful wife and mother.”

  He nodded still watching her. “She was all that, but it would be arrogant of me to assume that her goodness won her a place in heaven. Only the Lord God knows where each of us will spend eternity, based upon how we live our lives here on earth.”

  Rachel hadn’t believed that particular view of heaven for a long time now, thanks, at least in part, to Phoebe and Malachi helping to open God’s Word and the truth to her and Eli and others over the years—that it was God’s grace that saved them, not any works on their part.

  Samuel’s gaze sharpened. “I suppose you know that there was talk about Phoebe and Malachi studying the Scriptures on their own, without guidance. You and Eli being such good friends with them, I hope they didn’t change your belief in the Old Ways with their forbidden interpretations of the Holy Word.”

  There was no way Rachel was going to get into this discussion with him. She knew how extremely set in his opinions Samuel was, especially with his being a deacon and all.

  “There’s always talk,” she said with a shrug. “I try not to listen to gossip.”

  He didn’t reply right away. When he finally spoke, it was with what Rachel had come to think of as his deacon’s tone of voice. “A good idea. But as a deacon, I have to be aware of what’s going on among the People. It’s no secret that some so-called ‘Bible studies’ are taking place without the approval of the leadership, indeed have been going on for some time. That kind of practice goes strictly against the Ordnung.” He paused, then added, “As you know, Rachel.”

  She said nothing. When Samuel was speaking as a deacon, Rachel usually gave little input into a discussion. Sometimes it was a tricky balance as to when she could safely carry on a friendly conversation with him, as opposed to those times when she knew she’d only be inviting rancor if she tried to make him see her point of view. It seemed easier to let him have his say with no comment from her.

  As quickly as he had assumed his stand as a church leader, he now returned to his former role as her friend and neighbor. “I hope Susan is getting along as well as can be expected.”

  Rachel nodded. “Mamma is strong. And she stays busy, keeping up with the farm and all—and what with the wedding not so far off now.”

  “Oh, ja, that’s right. She and Dr. Sebastian.” He ran a hand across his chin. “Ordinarily this could never have happened—a marriage between Plain and Englisch. But Bishop Graber thought an exception was in order for the doctor.”

  Rachel looked at him. “But Dr. Sebastian will no longer be Englisch when he and Mamma wed. Soon he’ll be saying his vows and joining church. He’ll be Amish then.”

  Was it a glint of disapproval that flicked in Samuel’s eyes?

  She wasn’t about to carry this any farther. “So, how are your boys, Samuel?”

  Again he let out a long breath. “It’s hard for them, of course, with no mother.”

  Well, she’d walked right into that, hadn’t she?

  “It’s especially difficult for Joe, his being the youngest,” he went on. “Noah’s twelve now, and a big help with the work around the farm. He’s my quiet one. But Aaron,” he said shaking his head, “he worries me. He’s in his rumspringa, you know—a foolish idea and such a treacherous time for our young people. I wish we gave them far less freedom than we do. I can only hope he uses good sense and doesn’t decide to join the Englisch world.”

  “I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that, Samuel. You have good sons. They’ll be all right.”

  He regarded her with a gaze of such intensity that Rachel felt suddenly ill at ease.

  “They’re good boys, ja. I’ve done my best with them. But even good children need a mother.”

  When Rachel made no reply, he cleared his throat, saying, “As you know, Rachel, I’ve always hoped that you would fill that role.”

  “Samuel…please, not now…”

  “I’d be a good husband to you, Rachel. If you’re worried about the years between us, we know each other well enough that age shouldn’t matter. And I’ve always believed that a strong friendship is the best foundation for a good marriage. And you and I, we’re friends, ja?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Eli’s been gone plenty long enough for you to take a husband, Rachel, don’t you think?”

  “Time has nothing to do with it—”

  “Then why do you hesita
te? Why do you prefer to be alone instead of becoming my wife?”

  “Samuel—I’ve already explained this to you. More than once in fact. I don’t…feel that way about you. I can’t marry a man simply because I don’t want to be alone.”

  Abruptly he stood, his chair scraping the floor. “It’s because of that auslander, isn’t it?”

  Startled by the sudden change in him, the roughness of his tone, and the deep red stain that crossed his features, Rachel fumbled for words but found none.

  “Oh, I know about Gant!” He spat out the name like an obscenity. “I know all about the two of you.”

  Rachel felt the blood rush to her head in an almost dizzying wave. “What do you mean?”

  “I know Gant went to the bishop and sought permission to convert to our faith. Because of you—so he could marry you! And I know you must have agreed to marry him, or he would never have gone so far as to approach the bishop! Not to mention the times you’ve been seen together.”

  His mouth twisted in disgust as he punched the palm of one hand with his fist. “How could you take up with an outsider like that, a man you scarcely know, when you won’t so much as give me the time of day?”

  He glowered down at her, his expression so angry Rachel had to fight against feeling intimidated. She got to her feet, somehow managing to meet his gaze with a level look of her own.

  “Bishop Graber told you this?”

  “Of course, he told me. He was outraged at the nerve of the man, just as I was. Do you know how this makes me feel, Rachel? I’ve waited for you for years, putting up with your excuses and your delays, only to find out that you’ve indulged in a forbidden relationship with an Englischer!”

  Caught totally off guard, shocked—and furious—at the idea that the bishop would divulge what was meant to be held in confidence, Rachel groped for control. Clenching her fists at her sides, she refused to back down, even though his angry tirade had badly thrown her off balance.