Nathan had chafed at what he’d considered to be faint praise, but Susanna had known better. Her father’s words had been his way of agreeing to the marriage. “A man who cares for your physical welfare will surely care for the rest of you,” he’d explained to her later. “I can go home and not worry about how well you’re being looked after.”
Had it really been only five months since Susanna became Mrs. Nathan Griffith? Making Nathan’s cabin into a home had been her delight. The embroidered table scarves and bed linens she’d brought in her wedding chest had softened the cabin’s rough edges, and the pewter candlesticks her parents had given her were still new enough to gleam on the mantel.
After tying a woolen cape over her shoulders to protect from the autumn chill, Susanna stepped outside and tended to her morning chores. When she finished, she changed her apron and reached for her bonnet. She fingered the stiff brim, a sigh escaping her lips. Before she married, she’d spent many an afternoon decorating her bonnets with ribbons and ruffles. When her mother-in-law had given her the plain white cap and black bonnet, Susanna had no doubt she was expected to wear it.
“Now thee looks like a proper Quaker wife,” Nathan had said with an approving smile.
Susanna had grinned up at her husband. He’d taken a chance at marrying her, an outsider, but he’d reassured her that none of the Friends would doubt his choice of wives. “Thee is good and kind,” he’d said, “and thy Light shines for all to see.”
Susanna said a quick prayer for her husband’s safe return then tied the bonnet over her linen cap. She gathered her basket of sewing and started down the wooded trail that led to her in-laws’ farmhouse. Geese honked overhead, their arrow-shaped formation pointing due south.
“It’s about time you were on your way,” she said to the birds. “You’re going to be late for the family reunion.” Until that week, the autumn of 1838 had been mild. Couldn’t blame the geese for tarrying while food was plentiful. But yesterday the north wind had brought a chill to the Ohio River Valley, signaling the birds that the scarcity of winter was near.
The Griffiths’ dog, Jasper, bounded out of a thicket and bowed at Susanna’s feet. “Well, good morning to you, too,” she said, chuckling. Jasper barked and rolled onto his back, his tongue lolling out of his teeth. “I still think you’re more wolf than dog.” Susanna rubbed his belly with the sole of her walking boot. “But I’m not scared of you anymore.”
Jasper scrambled to his feet and bounded down the trail, announcing her arrival. Susanna stepped into the clearing and caught sight of Miriam crouching near the door of the springhouse.
“Let me get that for you,” Susanna called and hurried to Miriam’s side.
Miriam straightened slowly, both hands on the small of her back. “I thank thee. Didn’t think it would be so hard to bring in a crock of butter.”
“It’s too soon for you to be doing so much work. Your son is only two weeks old.” Susanna handed her basket to Miriam and nestled the heavy crock of butter in the crook of her arm.
“How’s Mother Griffith this morning?” Susanna followed Miriam along the stone path to the farmhouse door.
“Much better. Still coughing but no fever, thank the Lord.”
“I’m sure the poultice you made helped. Have you heard from Father Griffith?”
“Not since his last letter. Although I did hear Reverend Mahan’s trial has been set for the thirteenth. We’ll know something soon enough.”
“That poor man’s been in jail for more than a month.”
“And from what I hear, the mob’s growing stronger each day. I know Father and Nathan want to be close enough to help Brother Mahan if the mob attacks. Still, their absence is hard on Mother.”
And on me, Susanna thought. Her husband of five months had abandoned her and willingly put himself in harm’s way, just so he could offer protection to another man.
A ripple of shame passed through Susanna. Nathan hadn’t actually abandoned her. His family was close enough to help if she needed it. She should be proud of Nathan’s commitment to the abolitionists’ cause instead of complaining about her minor hardships.
Miriam placed a hand over her brow and scanned the bluff that formed the eastern boundary of the Griffith farm. “I see our watchman is still on duty.”
Susanna followed Miriam’s gaze. An icy hand squeezed her heart at the sight of the lone rider atop the bluff, his figure clearly silhouetted in the morning sun. “Where’s your husband?”
“Eli’s helping Brother Jackson bale hay this morning. Don’t worry. Ever since Brother Mahan’s arrest, we haven’t had any special guests. That bounty hunter can sit up there until judgment day. He won’t see anything worthwhile.” Miriam opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Susanna to enter the kitchen. Then she hurried to the cradle near the fireplace.
“How’s Samuel this morning?” Susanna removed her cape and bonnet.
“Fine as goose down and growing faster than a weed.” Miriam patted the sleeping infant.
“Has Mother Griffith eaten?”
“Not yet. The biscuits are in the oven.”
Susanna used the lifter to carefully remove the lid from the dutch oven. Although she was twenty years old, she could still hear her mother’s stern voice, scolding her for spilling ashes in the food when she’d been a child. Six golden-brown biscuits smiled up at her. “Shall I take some tea and biscuits upstairs?”
“That would be so helpful, Susanna. And ask Mother if she’s up to eating more this morning.”
A short time later, Susanna climbed the stairs to her mother-in-law’s bedroom. Martha Griffith, propped up by pillows, smiled when her daughter-in-law entered.
“Thank thee, daughter,” Martha said as Susanna set the tray on the bed. “I hope thee brought two cups so we can visit for a while.”
“Of course I did. Do you feel like eating more than biscuits this morning? How about some eggs?”
“Not yet, dear, but I am determined to get out of this bed and downstairs tomorrow. Now pull the chair closer and talk to me. Has thee heard anything from Mason County?”
“Not a word.” Susanna moved the small rocking chair away from the fireplace and placed it beside the bed. “But Miriam says the trial date has been set. Surely Nathan and Father Griffith will be home shortly after that.”
“I pray it may be so.”
Susanna poured the tea then ran her finger around the rim of her cup. “I know the Bible tells us not to worry, yet it’s hard to keep my mind from imagining the most horrible things.”
Martha stretched out her hand, and Susanna clasped it with her own. “I know, daughter. I find much solace in the psalm ‘Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.’”
If only Susanna could, but stopping her worries was like trying to stop the rain from falling. They came of their own accord. “I try, Mother Griffith. Honest, I do. And yet I find worry creeping into my thoughts like weevils into grain.”
“Then go to the Lord again and again. Every time thee finds thyself fretting over Nathan, picture our Lord walking beside him, guiding and protecting him.”
Would she ever be as faithful as Mother Griffith? When it came to trusting in the Lord, Susanna was a caterpillar, and her mother-in-law a beautiful butterfly.
“Did thee bring thy sewing?” Martha asked, withdrawing her hand and sipping from her cup. “I cannot wait to see the little coat you are making for Samuel.”
“I’ve only begun Samuel’s coat. I wanted to finish the vest for Nathan before working on it. Do you think he’ll be home by Christmas?”
“I pray they will be home long before the twenty-fifth. Susanna, has thee spoken to Nathan about celebrating Christmas?”
Susanna noted the concerned frown on her mother-in-law’s brow. “Nathan told me the Friends don’t observe Christmas, but I thought it would be all right to give him a small present. Do you object?”
“I do not object, but I fear our Quaker ways have been difficult for thee to accept. For us Fr
iends, every day is a gift from God, none more special than the rest. How does thy family celebrate Christmas?”
“We go to church where we sing Christmas songs. Sometimes the children reenact the story of our Savior’s birth. Then we share a meal with our friends and family and exchange gifts.”
Martha’s eyebrows drew together as she gave Susanna an assessing look. “As thee knows, we Friends do not believe in music at our Meetings. Our testimony of silence allows us to listen for the Lord’s still, small voice. The expectant waiting is a powerful time.”
“I’ve come to enjoy the weekly respite that quiet time with the Holy Spirit gives me.”
Martha’s knitted brow told Susanna that her mother-in-law was not appeased by her answer. “And where does thee stand on the issue of becoming one of the Friends?”
That was the question everyone wanted her to answer. Martha had made no secret of her disapproval of Nathan’s choice of a non-Quaker to be his bride. Susanna had tried to win her approval, and Martha had been kind and loving in so many ways yet intractable on this one issue. “I–I’m still praying about it, Mother Griffith.”
Martha sighed, a sound of long-suffering and strained patience.
Time to change the subject, Susanna thought. She removed a bundle of gray cloth from her basket and spread the vest on her mother-in-law’s lap. “All that’s left to do are the button holes. Friends don’t have anything against buttons, do they?”
Martha inspected the garment. “The Lord has given thee a wonderful talent, daughter. My own mother despaired of ever teaching me to make stitches as small and straight as thine. And while it is true that we Friends believe in plain dress as a way to honor the beautiful spirits our Lord gave us, I have yet to hear anyone speak ill of an unassuming button.”
♦ ♦ ♦
As night fell, Susanna sat in her chair in front of the cabin’s fireplace. Shadows danced on Nathan’s empty chair, and a new pang of longing passed through her heart. How much longer until she reunited with her husband? It wasn’t fair to be a newlywed and yet be alone. If only the Griffiths hadn’t thrown in their lots with the Mahans, Nathan and his father would be home where they belonged.
Brother John Mahan had preached at her home church a few years ago, urging her neighbors to stand together against slavery. Susanna’s father had declined to join the abolitionists. “I have a family to provide for and children to protect,” he’d said, “but I’ll pledge a yearly sum to support you.”
Why couldn’t Nathan have done the same? He should be sitting in their cabin instead of a strange boardinghouse on the other side of the river, where pro-slavery mobs threatened to tear down the jail and lynch a godly man accused of helping runaways.
The logs shifted in the fireplace, and Susanna added another piece of wood. She really should bank the fire and go to bed, but emptiness awaited her there. Spending the day with Mother Griffith and Miriam had helped the daylight hours pass quickly, though the night stretched before her like a shadowy cave. Perhaps she should have accepted their invitation to spend the night at the farmhouse, but she had wanted to return to her cabin. At least here she could see Nathan’s handiwork and feel his love for her in every carefully crafted mortise and tenon. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders, blew out the candle, and rested her head against the back of the chair, waiting for sleep to claim her.
A few hours later, a knock on the cabin’s door startled her awake. She leaned forward, her fingers grasping the arms of her rocker, her pulse thundering in her ears. Who would dare to call so late at night? Should she pretend no one was home? The fire had burned down, sending the barest light into the cabin. Whoever was outside couldn’t know for sure she was there.
“Griffith?” a man’s voice called. “Nathan Griffith?”
Tension coiled in Susanna’s shoulders. She didn’t recognize the voice, but surely a thief would not call her husband’s name.
The man knocked again. “My name is Simmons. I’ve come with a special guest.”
A special guest. That meant only one thing. A fugitive slave sought Nathan’s help. What should she do? If she didn’t answer, would the man go to the next safe house? Where was the closest safe house?
Eli would know. She could send the man to the Griffiths’ farmhouse. Perhaps the runaway could stay with her until Eli came. If the bounty hunters spotted Mr. Simmons, he could be introduced as a relative, traveling to visit family.
Struggling to settle her heartbeat, Susanna touched a piece of straw to the embers, relit the candle, and made her way to the door. Perhaps she should take down the flintlock from its place over the mantel—but Nathan had never answered the door with a gun in his hands. With one last look at the musket, she slid the bolt and opened the door.
The man, short and squat as a rain barrel, had a whiskered face and a patched coat. “Nathan Griffith?” he asked.
Susanna shook her head. “You’ll have to go someplace else. My husband can’t help.”
The man frowned. “Got no place else to go. This guest has got to get to the Quaker settlement in Bear Valley right away.”
It was wrong to invite a man into her house when her husband was gone, but the longer the man stood in the doorway, the more likely it was that someone would spot him.
“Come in,” she said.
“My name’s Andrew Simmons.” The man removed his hat and stepped through the doorway. “This cabin was mighty hard to find. Whoever built it didn’t want just anybody stumbling upon it. Where’s your husband?”
Surely she shouldn’t admit she was alone. “A trail leads through the woods to the farmhouse. Go there and ask for Eli Wilson. He’ll know what to do.”
He frowned. “Wilson, you say? I don’t know anyone by that name. I was told to find Nathan Griffith, no one else.”
“Eli is married to Nathan’s sister. He’ll know the best place for you to take your guest. Make sure you’re not seen, because bounty hunters have been watching the road and our homes.”
Mr. Simmons shook his head and made a sound like an angry dog. “I knew it was wrong to come to someone I didn’t know. But with the hornet’s nest that’s brewing in Mason County, my usual contacts have disappeared.”
An idea popped into Susanna’s mind. “Perhaps you could take your guest back to your house. Come back in a few weeks.”
“Not possible. This is a young woman searching for her husband. She got word he’s with the Quakers, and she’s got to get there. Tomorrow wouldn’t be too soon.”
Susanna didn’t know how Nathan and the others managed their clandestine journeys, but surely the runaway could wait until a safer time. “Where is your guest?”
“I put her in your barn,” he said with a jerk of his head.
“I’ll go for Eli,” Susanna said. “You can wait here.”
Mr. Simmons slapped his hat against his leg and muttered under his breath. “No, I’ll go. No need to send a woman out in the middle of the night. Where’s this trail?”
“I’ll show you.”
Susanna lit candles inside two punched tin lanterns and closed the apertures before stepping outside. A bounty hunter would have a hard time seeing the faint light, though the lantern would be enough to help Mr. Simmons find his way. She gave one lantern to the man and led him to the trail. “It’s a well-worn path,” she said. “No roots or branches to slow you down. The Griffiths have a dog, but they let him sleep in the kitchen on cold nights. He won’t bother you. What’s your guest’s name?”
“Phoebe,” he said and started down the trail.
She hurried to the barn. The mare nickered a greeting as she closed the door and exposed the candle’s light. “Phoebe?” she called softly. The mare stamped her front hooves. No other sound met Susanna’s ears. “Phoebe, my name is Susanna Griffith. Mr. Simmons told me you were here. I’ve come to help.”
A timid voice, soft as the spring breeze, answered. “Yes, ma’am.”
Susanna turned toward the voice. The lantern light illuminated a
figure huddled in the corner of the barn. “I want you to come inside, Phoebe, and get warm. Mr. Simmons will be back soon, and you’ll be on your way. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you kindly.”
Susanna walked slowly toward the woman. She hadn’t seen many slaves in her life, but Phoebe was a surprise in many ways. She was tiny, barely reaching five feet, and her thin clothing was little more than rags. As Susanna’s gaze traveled down Phoebe’s slight figure, she gasped.
Phoebe smiled. “Yes, ma’am. I’m going to have a baby. Granny said it’s almost my time. That’s why I had to leave.”
Susanna couldn’t begin to understand why the imminent birth of her baby had forced Phoebe to escape, but that didn’t change the fact that the runaway was in her barn, asking for help. “Let’s get you into the cabin,” she said. “I’m sure I have an extra cloak you can use to keep you warm for the rest of your journey.” After concealing the lantern’s light, Susanna opened the barn door. “Stay close to me. I don’t dare use more light.”
Phoebe touched Susanna’s skirt. “I’ll just hold on to your dress, if it’s all right. I won’t lose hold of you.”
Susanna smiled at the younger woman. There was something about the tiny dark woman that Susanna liked. Obviously, courage didn’t come in proportion to size.
Once inside the cabin, Susanna rebuilt the fire and filled the kettle with water. After hanging it from a crane, she swung the kettle over the fire. “We’ll have some tea in a few minutes. Now sit here by the fireplace so you can warm up.”
Phoebe eased herself into Nathan’s chair, and Susanna passed a woolen blanket to her. In the firelight, Susanna could see Phoebe clearly. Had the poor girl actually walked this far with bare feet? Her frayed cloth dress barely reached her ankles, and she wore a faded blue covering over her hair. “I don’t have much to offer you in the way of food,” Susanna said. “But I’ll get started on some griddle cakes.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Susanna set the long-handled skillet on the gridiron and turned to the task of mixing the batter. “Where are you from?”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 46