by Jack Ford
“As I suggested,” Reverend Mortimer began, “been no one around here for a few days.” He looked toward his wife. “Might we provide you with something to drink before you leave?”
“Thank you kindly, Reverend, but there’s no need to put yourself out,” Maddox said, nodding and smiling at Martha. “But we would like to take a look around inside, long as we’re here. Sure you wouldn’t mind. ’Specially if, like you said, ain’t no one been around,” he added, a hard edge creeping into his voice.
“Be my guest,” the reverend said, gesturing with both hands raised. “Not much here to look at. Bedroom’s right there,” he said, pointing to a door just off the kitchen. “And that there’s the entrance to the church hall,” he added, pointing to an open door through which some of the pews of the church could be seen.
The sheriff walked through the door leading to the church hall, while Maddox pushed open the door to the bedroom and stepped inside. A few moments later, both men returned to the kitchen.
“Nothin’ in there,” muttered the sheriff.
“Nothin’ there, either,” Maddox said, pointing his chin in the direction of the bedroom.
Maddox was taking one last look around the kitchen when his gaze fell suddenly on a small hinged panel set flush with the floor and located under one of the kitchen chairs. He pointed toward it.
“What’s that?” he asked harshly.
Martha spoke up. “Just the entrance to the root cellar,” she said casually.
“What’s down there?” asked the sheriff.
Martha shrugged. “Just some vegetables we got stored. Some preserves I put up for the winter. And some personal things. Not much.”
Maddox shot a look at the sheriff, who shook his head and raised his shotgun. He stepped toward the panel.
“Open it,” the sheriff ordered.
The reverend and his wife exchanged glances.
“I said open it,” the sheriff demanded.
The reverend hesitated and then stepped toward the floor panel, slid the chair out of the way, grasped the recessed handle, and lifted the small door, exposing a ladder that led down to a darkened area.
Maddox pushed Mortimer aside, raised his own shotgun, and stepped onto the wooden ladder leading down into the cellar, followed closely by the sheriff. Both men took the three steps quickly and landed heavily on the earthen floor. They looked about the small space, shotguns raised, their eyes quickly adjusting to the dark.
The room was empty.
CHAPTER 25
MADDOX AND THE SHERIFF PEERED CLOSELY AROUND THE EMPTY cellar. A slim shaft of daylight shimmered through the open floor panel, and they squinted as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. The back wall, where the ladder was located, and the two side walls were of chiseled and uneven rock. The far wall was made of rough brick and mortar. A number of wooden shelves, which had been hammered into the brick face, held dozens of glass jars containing fruits and jams, together with boxes of vegetables. Scattered across the packed dirt floor were storage boxes and travel valises.
The men peered into the corners of the room, kicking the boxes and valises aside, looking carefully for any signs that someone had been hiding there recently. Finally, Maddox looked at the sheriff, shook his head, and nodded toward the ladder.
As they emerged from the cellar, Reverend Mortimer and his wife were seated at the kitchen table.
“Well?” asked the reverend.
“Well—nothin’,” grunted Maddox.
“Not sure why that should surprise you. Told you no one’s been here,” the reverend said. “And why would you ever think that we might be harboring fugitives?” he added in a hurt tone.
“Just bein’ sure,” Maddox mumbled, trying to contain his anger. “Thought if someone’s lookin’ for help, they’d prob’ly look for it in a house of worship.”
“I can assure you, gentlemen,” Reverend Mortimer added reassuringly, “that we would never do anything that would be deemed wrong in the eyes of God. Never!”
The sheriff looked to the reverend and his wife. “Obliged to you for your time. Hope we didn’t put you out none. We’ll be leavin’ now.”
“Not an imposition at all, Sheriff. Please let me see you out,” said Reverend Mortimer, standing. He headed through the door and into the church area.
Maddox bowed slightly toward Martha. “Ma’am. Appreciate your hospitality,” he said pleasantly as he followed the other men out of the kitchen.
A few moments later, the reverend returned to the kitchen. “They’re gone,” he said, placing his hands tenderly on his wife’s shoulders. She looked up at him, tension still filling her eyes. “Headed off toward Warrenton,” he added.
Mortimer took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He turned and walked out of the kitchen and into the church hall. Martha followed. After reaching the front of the church, he peered out of one of the windows that flanked the double doors. Satisfied that the men were, in fact, gone, he turned and strode to the wooden-planked pulpit that stood in front of the congregation’s pews.
After placing both hands on the sides of the pulpit, he pushed. Slowly, the pulpit slid forward, revealing a hinged panel beneath it, similar to the one on the floor in the kitchen. He bent down, grasped the rope handle and pulled. The panel swung back on its hinges, exposing a ladder that led into a darkened space below. Martha lit a candle that sat on the pulpit and handed it to her husband. He took it and began to descend the ladder.
The candle cast a ghostly glimmer around the sepulchre-like space. The room was a mirror image of the one entered into from the kitchen, but smaller and more cramped. Three of its walls were also of carved-out rock, while the wall closest to the ladder was made of brick and mortar. It was actually a false wall, the other side of the brick found in the cellar below the kitchen. Reverend Mortimer had surreptitiously constructed it approximately one year ago, creating a smaller, but safer hiding space. During the following year, it had served its purpose a number of times.
As Reverend Mortimer held the candle above his head, it illuminated two apparitions. Kitty was crouched in one corner, a brick held ready in her hand, while Mary was in another corner, a broken fireplace poker raised above her head. Both were ready to strike.
Reverend Mortimer raised his hand and spoke gently. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “They’re gone. And none the wiser.” He nodded toward the makeshift weapons in their hands. “You can put those down now,” he added. “Won’t be needin’ ’em.”
Mary straightened and dropped the poker. Kitty stood also but held the brick for a moment longer, panic just starting to fade from her eyes, before she dropped it to the floor.
“Children?” the reverend asked, squinting as he looked around the room.
Kitty pointed to what looked in the semidarkness like a large wrapped bundle. “Still sleeping,” she said, sighing. “Never woke up at all.”
“Well,” said Reverend Mortimer, allowing a smile to creep across his face. “Quite good of them to choose to sleep through that scene. You’ve trained them well,” he said to Kitty.
Kitty offered a wan smile in return.
“Now, then,” the reverend said. “Let’s get out of this place. Always gives me the chills down here,” he added. “We have some planning to do for the next steps in your journey. You’ll be needin’ to leave tonight, I’m afraid.”
CHAPTER 26
MARY SNAPPED THE REINS, AND THE HORSE, WELL RESTED AND FED, stepped from behind the church and trotted out onto the darkened road. Kitty sat beside her, while the children were once again tucked into the back seats, surrounded by blankets and bundles of bread, cheese, ham, and fruit that Martha Mortimer had prepared for them.
Before they left the church, Reverend Mortimer had talked with them about the next leg of their journey. He had insisted that they travel at night whenever possible, to avoid other travelers, who might be curious about the unusual traveling party. If they had to travel during the day, or if they were questioned by anyone they encountered, he advi
sed that it would be best to tell a version of the truth—although not the complete truth, of course. They should simply say, he suggested, that Mary was going to visit friends in Maryland and had decided to bring her personal slave, Kitty, along with her. And Kitty’s children had been brought along because Mary was not certain how long she might be staying.
“It’s always easier,” he said, “to tell aversion of the truth than to try to remember the details of a lie that you made up.”
They sat at the kitchen table while the reverend drew up a crude map for them to follow.
“Once you leave here, you’ll stay on the Warrenton Road for about two miles, till you come to the Old Mail Road, which heads up north. Follow that for some ten miles or so, till you pass through a small village. Other side of that village will be a mill. A mile past that will be a farm—you’ll have to look careful ’cause it’s set back a ways from the road. Owned by a Quaker family. Just tell them I sent you, and they’ll take good care of you. Hide you for the day, then get you on the road again, with new directions.”
Kitty looked at him skeptically. “These people just gonna take us in—in the middle of the night—and hide us?” she asked. “Just like that? Why do they do that? Risk their own necks? Without knowin’ who we are or anythin’ about us?”
Mortimer offered an encouraging smile. “You’re not the first ones they’ll be helping,” he said. “And, sadly, not the last. Trust me. We’ve been doing this for some time now.” He reached across the table and took Kitty’s hands in his. “And we wouldn’t be sendin’ you there if we weren’t sure you’ll be safe. They’ll look after you.”
“You make it sound like we really are just on a trip to visit friends,” Mary said, sharing some of Kitty’s uncertainty.
At that, the reverend’s tone and demeanor changed. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t mean to make this sound like you’re on a picnic. It is dangerous—very dangerous, indeed. Chances are your nephew’s still out there looking for you,” he said, inclining his head toward Mary. He paused and then leaned forward earnestly. “But I just want you to know that you have friends, friends you’ve not met yet, but friends nonetheless, who’ll be looking after you. People who are willing to risk everything”—he looked directly at Kitty—“to help you find your way to freedom. Because that’s what God wants us to do.”
Kitty remained unsure. “Who are these people?” she asked. “And who’re the folks they’ll be sendin’ us to after them?”
Mortimer shook his head. “Don’t know. Don’t know them—only where their farm is—and don’t know where you’ll be headin’ next. That’s the way it all works. You know only about your leg of the journey—how we move you along. Nothing more. Safer for everyone that way,” he explained.
The reverend looked at both Mary and Kitty and nodded. “Time to go,” he said, standing.
The three of them walked out the back door to where Martha stood. The children were already waiting in the carriage. The reverend shook their hands, while Martha offered a warm embrace to both of the women.
“God bless you,” he intoned solemnly as the carriage bounced away, wheels creaking and the horse’s harness jangling. “And keep you safe,” he added.
Once again, the trip was uneventful. The night was nearly cloudless, allowing the horse to pick its way along the road at a fairly rapid pace. After they had traveled for about thirty minutes, Kitty turned toward Mary.
“Is he?” she asked.
“Is he what?” said Mary, puzzled.
“Is Sam still out there? Lookin’ for us?”
Mary thought a moment. “Probably. You and the children are worth a lot of money. And he needs money—badly.”
“What happens if he finds us?”
“You heard Reverend Mortimer. The folks along the way will protect us,” Mary answered resolutely.
“You’re not answering my question,” said Kitty adamantly. “What happens if he finds us?”
Mary was silent for a moment and then reached down under their carriage seat. She pulled a small bundle, enclosed in oilskin, out of a cloth haversack and unwrapped it. “Do you know how to use this?” Mary asked, holding up a flintlock pistol.
Kitty took the long-barreled, single-shot handgun from Mary and held it up. The polished walnut stock and blued-steel barrel gleamed in the moonlight. “This Master Samuel’s?” Kitty asked, turning the gun over in her hands.
Mary nodded. “He taught me how to shoot this when I was big enough to hold it steady,” she said wistfully. “Used to shoot at squirrels. Even hit a few.”
She turned toward Kitty. “Good,” Mary said. “It’s loaded. Need to keep the powder dry.” She hesitated and then gave Kitty a steely look. “And we’ll use it if we need to.”
CHAPTER 27
REVERENT MORTIMER HAD ESTIMATED THAT THE JOURNEY FROM HIS church to the Pennsylvania state line would cover about one hundred or so miles. Traveling mostly by night, he calculated that it should take them approximately seven to ten days, depending on the weather and their luck, to make the trip.
After leaving the Mortimers’ church, they had made fairly good time. The Old Mail Road was straight and level, and provided a relatively smooth footing for the horse. They had been able to maintain a good pace, stopping occasionally to let the horse rest and graze in the grass bordering the road. They’d pulled the carriage off the road just once, when Mary thought she saw lights up ahead. After they’d sat quietly in the bordering woods, but no riders had appeared, they continued.
Once they had traveled through a small, darkened village and then passed by the mill that Reverend Mortimer had noted, they began to peer carefully into the darkness, searching for the farm they sought. They were about twenty minutes past the mill when Kitty spoke, concern creeping into her voice.
“Think we missed it?” asked Kitty, squinting into the darkness.
“Don’t think so,” replied Mary, swinging her head back and forth. “Wish we had asked which side of the road we should be lookin’ on. I just hope it’s the right place when we go knockin’ on the door.”
“Uncle Joshua told me the best way to be sure we got the right place is listen to ’em talk. If they’re sayin’ ‘thee’ and ‘thou,’ pretty sure they’re Quakers and we should be safe,” said Kitty.
Mary nodded thoughtfully. “Ol’ Joshua been involved with sendin’ Negro folks along this Underground Railroad before?” she asked, her eyes still sweeping the roadside.
Kitty didn’t answer.
Mary turned toward her. “Kitty, I’d hope that by now you realize that you can trust me,” she said, exasperated. “Good Lord, who knows how many laws I’ve broken in the past few days? I’m trying to convince you that I’m your friend. That I’ll get you safely to someplace where you can be free. If you don’t know that by now, and if you still don’t trust me . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, clearly frustrated.
Finally, after a long quiet moment, Kitty spoke. “I want to trust you. Really do,” she said softly. She paused again and then continued. “Yes. Pretty sure he’s helped some folks over the years. Wouldn’t really talk about it. Think a few times he passed some folks along to Reverend Mortimer.”
“Local folks?” asked Mary.
Kitty shook her head. “Don’t think so. Not sure, but don’t remember any local slaves runnin’ off. Least not until I tried,” she added with an ironic chuckle.
They rode along in silence, both looking intently for the farm.
“Maybe we did miss it,” Mary said.
“Wait,” exclaimed Kitty. “There!” She pointed off to their right. “A light. See it?”
Mary squinted, trying to focus in the darkness, looking in the direction indicated by Kitty. At first, she saw nothing. Then there was a fleeting glimmer of light in the distance, like that of a flickering candle.
“I see it,” said Mary.
Pulling back on the reins, Mary slowed the carriage as she looked along the road for an entrance to the f
arm. Finally, just past a grove of trees, she spied a dirt drive and made the turn. As they got closer, the silhouette of a farmhouse emerged from the darkness. The light from a candle dimly illuminated a front window, while the rest of the house still slept, shadowy and silent in the predawn gloom.
Mary tugged on the reins, and the horse came to a halt in the front yard. She clambered to the ground, joints stiff from a night’s worth of jolting along in the carriage. Kitty turned to the children, who were fidgeting in the back, anxious to escape after a long night of confinement.
“Please just sit here quietly,” she implored. “I’ll be right back. Then I’ll get you out.”
Kitty jumped to the ground and joined Mary, who had knocked on the front door. A minute passed. They heard whispered voices from inside, and then the door was pulled back a few inches. A man holding a candle stared out at them, examining them closely.
“Yes?” he said cautiously.
“We’re travelers,” Mary began hesitatingly, “looking for some shelter.”
The man said nothing.
“We were told,” Mary continued, “by a friend that you might be willing to help us.”
Finally, the man spoke. “And who might that friend be?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
Mary wavered, fearing now that they might have arrived at the wrong house. She looked at Kitty, who nodded to proceed.
“Reverend Mortimer,” Mary said.
The door snapped shut. They could hear voices inside once again, this time louder and more anxious, the words jumbled together and unclear. Then silence.
After a long minute, the door opened again, wide this time, and the man stepped forward, joined by a woman in nightclothes.
“Please come inside,” the man said as he glanced nervously past them toward the road.
“Yes, please do come inside,” the woman said kindly as she reached both of her hands out to Mary and Kitty. “We’re happy to help thee.”
At the sound of the word “thee,” Kitty looked at Mary and let a small smile crease her face.