Esther was deceived when it came to the evils of slavery, but deep down she had a kind heart. And she kept everyone’s life around her interesting. Her house bustled more than the streets of Liberty at noon.
At this moment, in the still of the morning, Greta was probably wondering what whim Esther was preparing to pursue today.
The sudden sound of horse hooves startled him, and he turned his head to the right to see who was interrupting the quiet morning hour. He recognized the black man who galloped toward them, iron chains clanging on the back of his horse. It was Simon Mathers, the slave hunter who had pursued and captured Bradley over in Bloomington.
When Simon saw Greta, he pulled back on the reins of the horse and hurled his leg over the saddle, dropping down in front of her. Greta jumped backward, clutching her hands to her chest.
Exhaustion vanished as Daniel sprang to his feet. He ran toward the door and flung it open. He couldn’t stop slave catchers from riding through their town, but he wasn’t going to let someone like Simon harass their citizens, white or colored. Greta was an honorable woman, a hard worker. Just because her skin was a shade darker than most in their town, it didn’t mean she had to subject herself to an inquisition. She’d done nothing wrong.
Daniel stepped in front of the man, his head stopping an inch short of Simon’s crooked nose. Daniel was taller than most men in Liberty, but the man in front of him was part Hercules with eyes darker than an impending storm. No wonder slaves were afraid of running away. The men they sent after them were huge...and brutal.
Daniel stared at the man. “What’s the problem?”
Simon sized him up like he was trying to determine the best way to defeat his opponent. It wouldn’t be hard for the man to crush him—a couple belts with those fists and he’d be on the ground—but Daniel held strong. If young David could face the giant Goliath without wavering, Daniel could stand up to a bounty hunter.
The man coughed, his rancid breath reeking of tobacco and ale. “It ain’t none of your business.”
Daniel reached out and took Greta’s arm. Her body shook, but she didn’t cower from the man or his intimidation. Both of them would stand strong together.
“Greta is a family friend,” he explained calmly. “So it is my business if you need to talk with her about something.”
Simon snorted at him. “I ain’t here to talk.”
“Well, good.” Daniel released Greta’s arm and propelled her forward with a small push on her back. “Then my friend can get along to work.”
The slave catcher blocked her steps. “Oh, no she cain’t.”
“Then we do have a problem, because Greta has an important position in town.” Daniel pulled his watch out of his apron pocket and glanced at it. “It’s already 6:20, and she is required to be at the home by 6:30 to build the fire and begin breakfast for the family.”
Simon clenched his jaw, and he looked like an angry bloodhound about to be denied his catch. In the daylight, the fury in his eyes seemed almost comical, but if Greta or another colored woman met this man at night, they’d be terrified. It was bloodthirsty men like him who often determined their fate.
“I’ve been lookin’ all over the county for a Negro named Marie Owens, and now I’m thinkin’ that I’m looking right at her.”
Greta shook her head quickly. “I’ve never been known as Marie.”
Simon reached out and looped one of Greta’s curls around his fingers. “I bet you’ve been known as a lot of names in your lifetime.”
Daniel slapped the man’s fingers away from her hair. “She said she isn’t Marie.”
Simon faced him, his hand reaching for the lanyard that dangled from his neck like he might need to use the knife inside. “You don’t want to mess with me, boy.”
Daniel refused to back down. The man could kill him—and probably get away with murder since Daniel had been killed defending a colored woman—but God had appointed him to defend the powerless. If he had to die for it, he would die with honor.
He held his shoulders high. “What do you want from her?”
Simon’s eyes wandered back toward Greta. “Marie Owens has a red scar on the back of her neck and a five-hundred-dollar reward on her head.”
The man reached for Greta’s hair again.
“Don’t touch her!”
A dog barked in the distance, and Daniel held his breath as the man contemplated what he was going to do to get rid of him.
“I’m a lawyer by trade.” Daniel checked his watch again. “We can take this before a judge in two hours and determine your legal rights.”
The man snorted again. “I don’t need no judge tellin’ me my rights.” He slipped his knife out of the sheath and held it to his side. “If you’d read a few of your lawyerly books, then you’d know it’s my right to see if this here woman is the one I been searchin’ for.”
Greta looked at Daniel, her gaze sad but resolute. She turned her back toward the man, lifting her hair with one hand while she pulled down the collar of her dress with the other. There was no scar.
Simon shoved his knife back into the sheath. “It’s too bad,” he said, licking his lips. “Marie’s owner is just south of town, and I’d a sure enjoyed taking you to him.”
He didn’t apologize to Greta or say anything else. Instead, he jumped back on his horse, the empty chains on his back clanking together as he rode away.
Greta smoothed her fingers over her hair and straightened her dress. She stepped off the curb and, with her head high, began walking toward the Cooleys.
Daniel walked beside her. “You didn’t have to show him your neck.”
“Yes, I did,” she replied, her voice smoother than freshly churned butter. “He wouldn’t have left me alone until he found out I wasn’t Marie.”
He sighed. “I suspect you’re right.”
She glanced back at the dust cloud that shadowed the hunter. “How sad for Marie...”
“We’ll pray God’s protection for her.”
“Please pray for God’s protection over all of us.” They passed the owner of the furniture store and nodded at him. “Free blacks aren’t even safe around here anymore.”
He wanted to disagree with her, but he couldn’t. The passage of this new law would make the North an even more hostile place toward colored people—whether or not they had their free papers. What was stopping a hunter from kidnapping a free Negro and claiming that he or she was an escaped slave? They could steal away even the legally free and sell them down South for a substantial profit.
It was despicable to God, and it should be despicable to His people as well.
When they got to the house, Greta turned to him and shook his hand. “Thank you for helping me, Mr. Stanton.”
“Daniel,” he replied, and then he admitted the truth to her. “I was scared.”
Her eyes fell, studying the white planks of the porch steps. “Me, too.”
“He won’t bother you anymore.”
She took two steps up to the porch and turned back to him. “Mr. Stanton?”
“Yes, Greta.”
She hesitated. “You helped me so much that I hate to even say it.”
“What is it?”
“Well—”
He cocked his head. “When did you ever have trouble speaking your mind?”
She lowered her voice and leaned toward him. “It’s just that, if I were you—”
“Yes?”
“If I were you, I’d think about takin’ a bath before you help anyone else this morning.”
He glanced down at his ink-stained hands and then grinned at her, pleased that her spirit was returning. “Does that mean you don’t want me to stay for breakfast?”
“Not until you look presentable.”
He took a step back. “I’ll think about a bath.”
Her hands flew to her hips. “You better do more than think.”
On the way back to his room, he whistled. In spite of his fears, and in spite of the odds that he’d b
e whooped, he had stood up against the slave hunter. When confronted with the truth, the man had eventually backed down.
The truth is what would continue to drive him. The truth is what he would print in the paper. He didn’t need to name runaway slaves by name. He would protect their anonymity as closely as he would protect their stories.
He would sleep for a few hours and take a bath. Then he’d start on a new edition of the paper, a special edition to highlight the heroic efforts of those committed to helping runaways in spite of the new law. He wouldn’t name names—he didn’t even know anyone in their town who was part of the elusive Underground Railroad. But he would talk to a few people at Meeting. Without using their names, he could tell some of their stories...and perhaps inspire others to sacrifice, as well.
Greta and other colored friends, slave or free, wouldn’t be harassed on his watch. He’d faced the enemy square in the face, and he would do it again and again until God ordained that it was time for him to go home.
Chapter Thirteen
Anna’s pen wasn’t fast enough to capture all that tumbled out of her head and her heart. She was certain of few things anymore, but she was absolutely convinced that she was doing the right thing during this season of her life.
Nothing would stop her from harboring those who sought freedom, though neither she nor her father would talk about it in public. For that matter, they rarely talked about it in private, as if the very acknowledgment of their actions might travel out the window and over the doorstep of one of their neighbors who felt it their moral obligation to report anyone helping slaves.
Yet the words begged release, so she poured them out on paper. No one needed to know that the words came from her. She didn’t seek fame or recognition. All she wanted to do was communicate that which erupted inside her. It was a plea for others to value the gift of freedom and desire to bestow that priceless gift onto others. It was a petition for her friends in the county and across the state to recognize the horrors of slavery and be incited to do something to stop it.
The stories she painted weren’t pretty, but they were true. Every story of love and loss and brutality was one she’d heard from the fugitives who had stayed in her house. The latest one was about the fearless girl who was running to protect the life of her baby. Who could condemn a mother for escaping slavery to protect her child?
Those who thought that colored people didn’t have the same feelings as those who were white had never met a Negro mother. Marie’s devotion to her child was equal to any other mother—and maybe even more protective because she knew that at any moment her child could be whisked away from her and sold down South. The prayers of enslaved mothers must flood the very throne room of God.
Even when evil still prevailed, Anna knew He heard every one of those prayers, but it frustrated her, knowing that God was all-powerful, yet darkness ruled the world. Her father often reminded her that it was a human choice, back in the garden, to disobey God. With disobedience came disorder. When evil ruled in the hearts and minds of creation, it was the smallest, most innocent of them all who seemed to hurt the most.
Someday it would all be reconciled. Evil would be punished and good restored. In the meantime, she would use her pen to promote the good.
Charlotte slipped into the room and slid a newspaper in front of her. “This came out yesterday.”
Anna read the Liberty Era’s headline and sighed, the sadness in her heart almost unbearable. “They passed it?”
Charlotte nodded slowly. “Everyone is talking about it in town.”
She pushed the paper away from her and picked up her pen again. “Then we’ll have to be even more careful, won’t we?”
“You don’t understand.” Charlotte swung Anna’s chair around so she would have to face her. “They are going to jail people for aiding slaves, and those in Liberty who’ve looked the other way at what you and your father are doing will be forced to testify against you in a court of law.”
Anna rested her pen on the armchair. “God is on our side, Charlotte. We can’t be afraid.”
“God may be on the side of freedom, but if you get caught, Sheriff Zabel will lock you up in jail.”
Anna’s smile was confident, but she trembled inside. One of the reasons she fought for other people’s freedom was because she valued hers so much. She liked to pretend that she was strong, but she knew she would crumble in a second if they put her in jail.
She blinked, and in her mind’s eye, she saw the coffles she’d walked past around Liberty—fugitive slaves caught and strung together like trout on a line. How could she complain about a few nights in chains when so many spent their lives in shackles?
God knew that she didn’t want to go to prison, but she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t answer her door when a runaway knocked. She couldn’t turn her back to those on her doorstep.
She would be more careful, but she wouldn’t stop hiding those who had escaped slavery. No matter what this law said, her father wouldn’t hesitate to welcome them into their house, and neither would she.
Anna clapped her hands together and folded them in her lap. “We aren’t going to change a thing.”
“There are plenty of other people who run stations on the Underground.” Charlotte glanced out the window and looked back at her. “I can tell Ben to wait a few weeks before he brings anyone else here, just in case Will Denton talks to Sheriff Zabel about what he heard on the road the other night. Then you can start up again.”
Anna shook her head. “There have always been risks with having a station. Now the stakes are just a little higher.”
“But your father—”
“I’ll talk to him tonight, but I don’t think he will change his mind, either.”
Charlotte’s voice turned into a plea. “What if they fine you a thousand dollars for every person you’ve helped? What if they put you in jail?”
Anna scooted toward her friend and took her hand. “You don’t want me to stop helping runaways, do you?”
Charlotte stepped back, seeming to contemplate her words. Her friend had experienced the horrors of slavery. Her master in North Carolina had tried to seduce her, and when she refused him, he’d cut her with his knife. Still she’d refused him, so he put her on the auction block and sold her.
Anna’s parents, on a trip to their hometown in North Carolina, purchased Charlotte, and when they reached Indiana, they set her free. Instead of trekking out on her own, she had insisted on working for them.
Anna knew that her friend must be torn up on the inside about this new law. She wanted to help those slaves who had escaped from abusive masters because she’d experienced the abuse herself. But she also wanted to protect the Brents. The only winners of this new law were the slave owners, and Charlotte had no interest in protecting them.
Charlotte rubbed the scar on her cheek. “If you get discovered, they will want to hurt you.”
She squeezed her friend’s hand. “But they can’t hurt my soul, and that’s what really matters.”
The doorbell rang, and the women looked at each other in surprise. Rarely did they have unannounced visitors out here on Silver Creek. A fugitive would never arrive in daylight, nor would they ring the front bell.
Anna hoped it was a neighbor until she heard dogs braying. When she pulled back the curtain, she saw that trouble had arrived.
Three men stood outside her door. The one ringing the bell was a middle-aged gentleman with a silk top hat and buttoned suit jacket. He held his head high and a black walking cane in his gloved hands.
The two men behind him, though, would never be confused with gentlemen. They were burly with scruffy beards, long hair, and skin as black as coal. They both wore dark brown buckskin jackets and long leather chaps. One of them held a whip and a set of chains in his hands. The other was struggling to hold the ropes that kept two bloodhounds at bay.
She stepped back from the curtains and looked into the strong brown eyes of her housekeeper. “You’d better
go upstairs.”
Charlotte stood tall, her shoulders back. “I’m not hiding from them.”
“You don’t have to hide,” Anna insisted. “I just don’t want them to see you when I open the door.”
Charlotte’s skirts swished with her sharp turn.
The doorbell rang again, and Anna moved slowly toward the door, waiting until Charlotte was upstairs. Her father would be upset at her for opening the door, but there were no runaways in their house this afternoon. If she didn’t answer their ring today, these men would come back, and when they returned, she might have guests. Better to get rid of them now, before the hounds caught the scent of one of their friends.
These men may not hesitate to harm a slave, but she felt confident that they wouldn’t harm a white woman in broad daylight. Or somewhat confident, at least. If they were caught harming a white woman, they would be hanged in the public square.
She wiped the sweat off her palms before she opened the door.
The gentleman flashed her a broad smile, his white teeth almost glistening in the sunlight, and he extended his hand. His features weren’t exactly handsome, but his blue eyes were as intense as the shake of his hand. Whether or not they knew his name, most people probably didn’t forget meeting him.
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he drawled when he released her hand. “I’ve been searching for a lost girl, and I wondered if I could trouble you with a few questions.”
Anna nodded her head but didn’t invite him inside. It was almost as if his very presence would taint her home.
“My name is Noah Owens, and I’m concerned about one of my servants who went missing from my plantation in Tennessee.”
She wiped her palms on her skirt again. “Why are you concerned about her, Noah?”
The man looked shocked that she would use his first name. Or maybe he was shocked that she might question his motives. Apparently he’d never met a Quaker before.
“I’m always concerned about the people in my care, Miss, but I’m especially concerned about our little Marie. My wife and I raised her since birth, you see, and now she is expecting a child herself. My wife misses her terribly, and we’re both worried sick.”
Love Finds You in Liberty, Indiana Page 10