Anna turned north to follow Phenix Creek. An owl hooted in the trees beside her, but the fugitives were silent in their hiding place. Remarkably, even Peter was quiet—the opium tincture lulling him to sleep.
She couldn’t imagine having to travel crammed together like sausage links under the low roof of the floor, but not one of them had complained when they climbed under the bed of the wagon. If nothing else, she surmised, their strength was a testament to how squalid their conditions were down South.
If only more people would speak out against these conditions.
Her mind wandered to the handsome, plain-coated man she had heard debating Milton in Liberty. Even though he had been in town for a month now, she had yet to see him at the Silver Creek Meeting. Perhaps he belonged to the other Orthodox Society of Friends, the Salem Meeting, on the other side of Liberty...or to the Salem Anti-Slavery Meeting.
She was interested in hearing more of what he had to say, but if he had joined the Salem Anti-Slavery Meeting, she would have to be careful. Quakers no longer owned slaves, but whether or not they should support abolition had been a bitter debate among the Indiana Yearly Meeting—they had split eight years ago after Levi Coffin and other abolitionists were disciplined for speaking out so adamantly against slavery and not adhering to the “quiet” and unified ways of Quakerism. As a result, the Salem Anti-Slavery Meeting had formed in 1843 because they believed that their members should fight slavery in spite of what their government mandated.
Some Orthodox Quakers believed that the Bible, as stated in 1 Peter 2:18, commanded colored men and women to be subject to their masters—both good and bad masters—while the new faction upheld Moses’ words in Deuteronomy 23:15: “Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped.” Like Daniel Stanton, this group of Anti-Slavery Friends spoke out boldly, trying to convince others that they must abolish slavery, while many Orthodox Quakers worked quietly to help escaped slaves within the confines of their government’s laws.
In spite of Anna’s and her father’s strong opposition to slavery, they’d never even considered joining Salem’s Anti-Slavery Meeting. Their work on the Underground depended on secrecy, and everyone in the county knew who attended the Anti-Slavery Meeting. While those Quakers spoke out vehemently against slavery laws, few of them could actually host fugitives in their homes because bounty hunters knocked often at their doors.
The wagon hit a rut, and she pulled back on the reins to slow the horses.
Even if she never saw Daniel Stanton again, at least she could continue to read his words in the paper each week. Like this recent piece on Enoch’s escape, she had read all of his stories and editorials, which were filled with more opinion than fact. Fortunately Isaac was a good editor. In no time, Daniel would be able to write as well as he spoke, if Milton and other opponents in town didn’t drive him out of the county first.
The hill in front of her turned into a craggy trail of rocks, and Anna steered the horses west, following the wide path down toward the river she knew so well. A shallow, sandy bank rose from the water ahead, and she led her horses straight toward the bank and into the water.
Instead of an easy crossing, water splashed up below her, soaking her feet and the sides of the wagon. Thanks to her, her passengers were probably drenched. They had never gotten stuck in the river when her father was driving, nor did she remember him ever soaking their passengers.
Her father wasn’t here tonight, so she pushed the horses through the water in spite of the splashing. The people below her may be wet, but she wouldn’t jeopardize their lives by sinking the wheels into the sand. If the wagon got stuck, they would have to walk ten miles to the next station, near a busy road.
The wheels creaked and groaned, but the horses plodded faithfully through the water before clambering up the rocky path on the other side.
From under the wagon, Peter released a wail, and Marie shushed him. Anna turned her head toward the back. “Is everyone okay?”
A host of affirmatives responded: “Yessum.” “Just fine, Miss Anna.” “Thanks for askin’.”
She glanced in the woods around them to make sure no one was watching. “Is Peter okay, too?” she whispered.
“He’s startin’ to fall back asleep,” Marie replied.
Anna breathed a sigh of relief as his cries tapered off. Then he was quiet again.
She drove the horses through the forest and then up another hill before they emerged on the smooth road between Liberty and Connersville. The next six miles, to the cutoff toward the Sutters’ house, was the flattest portion of their journey. It was also the most dangerous with travelers and watchers on the road. Because of the secrecy of their network, she rarely knew the difference between friend and foe.
A buggy passed them on the other side of the road, and she ducked her head so they couldn’t see her face. It was probably too dark to see who was driving anyway, but she didn’t want to take any chances.
They rode for three miles or so without incident, until she heard a sound behind her that made her catch her breath. It was the steady pounding of hooves, galloping toward her. Her heart started pounding in sync with their beat.
Even as fear enveloped her, she resisted the temptation to speed. Just like her father would have done, she slowed her horses to let the rider pass.
The rider didn’t pass.
Instead of riding by her, the rider reined in his horse, and she glanced over at him. In the lantern’s light, she could see the man’s cap ducking low over his eyes. His hunting shirt was stretched across broad shoulders that were more brick than muscles and blood, and the silver badge on his chest shimmered in the lantern’s light.
When he lifted his hat, she saw who it was, and her heart lurched.
Will Denton. The deputy from Liberty.
Chapter Nine
Marie held her breath when the wagon stopped moving. A horse panted against the panel beside her face, but she couldn’t see anything through the pinholes. A slave hunter could take all the blankets out of the wagon and not find them hiding under the false floor, but if he had an ax.... She shuddered to think about the blade chopping through the wood barely an inch above her face.
After the river crossing, they’d traveled for at least an hour without incident. Peter lay in the crux of her arm, sound asleep by the wagon’s side, but she didn’t know how much longer the medicine would last. Her fingers crept over to his body, and she felt his chest moving slowly up and down.
Roger had been angry about taking Peter with them tonight, but Charlotte assured him and the others that the paregoric would keep him quiet. Even so, Marie worried that the baby would cry or get agitated in the darkness or even smother to death in the cramped space. If he did cry out, she could cover his mouth for a few seconds or even a minute, but she’d have to stop and let him breathe. No matter what happened to her or the others, she wouldn’t suffocate her son.
She clutched the gum ring in her fingers and took the slightest breath of air so she wouldn’t wake him.
The man on the horse beside her greeted Anna, his voice friendly. “Evenin’, Miss Brent.”
“Hello, Will Denton,” she replied. “How’s your family?”
“My little one’s got croup, but Doctor Cooley’s caring for him.”
“He’s a good doctor.”
“That he is.” The man nudged his horse closer to the wagon. “What are you doing up this way?”
Auntie Rae reached over and took Marie’s free hand, their fingers trembling together. Anna’s voice was calm, but she must have been as scared as the rest of them. “I’m making a delivery to Connersville for my father.”
“It’s awful late for a delivery.”
“It is,” she agreed. “But Jacob Sutter sent a messenger down hours ago and said he needed these blankets before morning.”
Marie waited for his response, but the man was quiet for the moment. Anna had told them that Jacob Sutter was a well-known merchant in eastern Indiana. Most pe
ople did what he asked, even if it meant delivering woolen blankets to his store well after most shops had closed their doors for the night. She could only hope this man believed it, too.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” He spit on the ground. “Sheriff Zabel’s got all of us out patrolling tonight.”
Peter stirred beside her, and she nudged the gum ring into his mouth, wishing she could nuzzle him close to her chest and sing. All she could do was pull him closer to her side...and not say a word.
“What are you looking for?” Anna asked.
The man lowered his voice and leaned toward the wagon, so close that Marie could have petted his horse with her fingers if the holes beside her were a bit bigger. “A girl slave from Tennessee, supposed to be running away with a baby.”
Marie sucked in her breath. Master Owens even had the local people searching for her.
“With her baby or someone else’s?” Anna asked.
“No one bothered me with the details. Just told me to find her.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.” The wagon crept forward a few inches. “But I can’t keep Jacob waiting.”
“Of course not.”
He nudged his horse away from them, and when the wagon lurched forward, Peter whimpered. It wasn’t a loud sound, but it was enough to make her jump. Her hand flew over Peter’s mouth, but he jerked his head away.
“Hush him up!” Roger snarled.
It was too late.
Will yanked back on the reins of his horse as a wail sliced through the darkness. “By sugar...,” he muttered.
The wool blankets muffled the cry behind Anna, but the sound was distinct. There was no way she could pretend that these were the cries of a wolf. She was obviously carrying a baby in her wagon, somewhere buried under these blankets. It would take only seconds for Will to find the baby and his mother and the other fugitives hidden underneath.
Anna opened her mouth to speak, but the words froze on her tongue. Nothing she could think of would explain away why she was hiding and transporting a baby so late in the evening.
She couldn’t look at Will. It was as if she ignored the cries—cries that were escalating by the moment—they would go away along with the sheriff and any other slave hunters on their route.
Will bent his ear toward the wagon. “Sounds like a sheep or two snuck in with your blankets.”
Her hands relaxed so fast that she almost dropped the reins. Her voice was steady, but her eyes pleaded with him. “My sheep aren’t fond of the cold.”
He scrutinized the stack of blankets. “Mine don’t like the cold or the darkness either.”
“I have one lamb onboard, a product most certainly of his mother’s.” She kept her words as calm as she could manage. “I’m trying to get him and his mother to a safe, warm place for the night before the wolves catch up to them.”
“It’s getting awfully late.” Will checked over his shoulder before he turned back to her. “And there are a lot of critters on this path.”
“I won’t let them steal my sheep.”
Will backed his horse away from the wagon’s side slowly. “You’d better get your delivery up to Connersville in a hurry.”
Her eyes softened. “May the Lord bless you and your family, Will.”
He tipped his cap. “And Godspeed to you.”
Then he turned his horse and galloped away. With a quick snap of the reins, Anna’s horses began to trot again.
“Just a few more miles,” she said to herself, barely loud enough for the men and women beneath her to hear.
Marie shushed Peter again and again, but he was inconsolable. Anna couldn’t imagine how maddening it must feel to be trapped in the dark cranny below, unable to rock or stroll with her child to soothe him back to sleep. She’d heard horrible stories of children being smothered along the Underground Railroad while their mothers tried to quiet them.
Peter’s cries overpowered the clip-clops of the hooves and the rustling of the wheels. There was no place she could turn off the road until he was quiet again. No place for them to hide.
Yet in spite of the cries, Anna could feel the presence of the Spirit. She knew He was guiding them to safety. Silently she thanked Him for allowing Will to be the man searching the road tonight and for Will’s decision to allow God-inspired compassion to supersede his duty to uphold the law. He was only one of many who struggled to maintain the balance between love and the law, and she was grateful that he chose in his heart to love.
Ahead of them, a carriage rounded the corner, but instead of feeling panicked, Anna was empowered. She didn’t know the lyrics to many songs, but in spite of the reigning edict against music in church, her mother had sung “Amazing Grace” to Anna each night when she was a child. As the years had gone by, Anna had guarded those lyrics in her heart as if they were a treasure, not permitting herself to sing them even in private. She hadn’t allowed herself to forget the lyrics either.
Tonight she didn’t think God would mind if she exhumed this treasure and used music to protect His children. At the top of her lungs and completely off-key, she belted out words about the sweet sound of grace, sounding a lot like she’d spent the evening drinking in the tavern instead of contemplating salvation.
Let the people coming toward her think she was drunk! She didn’t care what they thought as long as they didn’t hear Peter crying.
He wailed behind her, and she wailed even louder, shaking the heavens with her falsetto to squelch the sound of his cries. Everyone within a mile of her would know that there was a fool coming down the road, and they would probably pull over to let her pass.
Anna started giggling in spite of herself. It was ridiculous. Her, a birthright Quaker, singing and laughing like she was drunk to cover up her attempt to sneak slaves across enemy lines. It was utterly and completely ludicrous.
The road curved to the left, and she saw another buggy approaching. With a grand finale, she wrapped up the hymn and then began again, singing from the top. As long as Marie and Peter and the others spent the rest of the night at the Sutters’ home instead of in jail, she would sing “Amazing Grace” a hundred times.
The carriage passed by on the other side without incident, and when Anna stopped singing, she realized that Peter had quieted as well.
Her singing, she was certain, didn’t soothe him; it must have been the steady gait of the horses.
Anna leaned back. Wind ruffled the ribbons on her bonnet, but she didn’t feel the chill. She was steady—alert—as the dark miles passed slowly under the wheels. Whenever another rig passed them, she braced herself, preparing to belt out yet another rendition of her mother’s song if Peter cried again.
A mile before Connersville was a rundown cabin along the side of the road, and when they passed the cabin, she pulled back on the reins. The ears of the horses perked, and she listened with them. A frog croaked nearby, and she heard a fluttering of bat wings prowling the night, but she didn’t hear voices or the tromping of other horses pursuing them.
She drove her team off the main road and onto a path that curved behind the cabin. The leaves that brushed against her face camouflaged both her and the wagon. Surrounded by darkness on every side, it was almost like she was driving through a cave instead of a forest.
A half mile off the main road was a placid stream that loped through the trees—the end of the line for her. The horses waded through the water, and then they stopped on the mossy bank where the path vanished into a mesh of branches and leaves. The only way to cut through the woods from here was by foot.
She listened one more time to the night’s busy creatures before she turned and hoisted the first of the twenty or so heavy blankets off the hidden door. Sliding the blanket over the side of the wagon, it landed with a soft thump on the moss. She didn’t hesitate. The instant one blanket left her fingers, she pulled the next one from the pile and pushed it over the side. One blanket at a time, as fast as she could, she threw off every blanket until the ground around the wagon had bee
n carpeted with wool.
She leapt into the back of the wagon and unlatched the door so her passengers could crawl out. They emerged slowly, stopping to stretch their arms and legs before they climbed over the seat. Their new clothes were wrinkled and damp, their faces flushed.
Except for Auntie Rae, they all ignored Marie, apparently angry at her for not forcing Peter to be quiet.
Several of them rested on the pile of blankets while George and Roger paced back and forth by the creek, anxious to move on. Anna understood—the longer they stood out here unprotected, the more likely they would become prey.
Plopping a knapsack onto the driver’s seat, she untied it and lifted out six candles. One at a time, she held the candles up to the lantern’s flame and passed them down to the adults. Then she hopped off the seat, and her friends gathered around her.
“It wasn’t Marie’s fault that Peter cried,” she said. “God protected all of us in spite of his cries, and I hope you will continue to care for her and each other during the rest of this journey.”
She told them that she would miss them, and then she whispered the directions. “Follow the creek north for two miles until you reach a giant beech tree with an S carved into its trunk. Turn right at the beech tree and follow the path to a whitewashed farmhouse with a cupola.”
George edged away from her, ready to start the journey, but she reached out and grabbed his arm so he would listen to all of the directions. The last part was the most important. “You mustn’t knock on their back door unless the light in the cupola is lit.”
An owl hooted beside them, and she caught her breath. The sooner they were on their way, the better it would be for all of them. “If the cupola lantern is dark, wait in the cornfield by their house until they give you the signal that it’s safe.”
She swallowed hard as she recognized the anxiety in each of their faces. “God bless each of you.”
Auntie Rae held out her hand. “We hope to be seein’ you in Canada someday.”
Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana Page 7