“Good afternoon, Daughtie,” Dr. Ketter greeted as she walked in the front door.
“Good afternoon to you,” Daughtie replied a little too excitedly.
He brightened at her reply. “You certainly appear to be in fine spirits today. Perhaps I could convince you to join me for a stroll after supper this evening.”
Daughtie’s enthusiasm waned. “I’m sorry, but I have plans this evening,” she replied while removing her cape and hanging it on a peg by the front door. When she turned back toward the hallway, Dr. Ketter was directly in front of her, blocking her path to the stairway.
“Tomorrow afternoon, then? Or perhaps I could escort you to church in the morning, and then we could take a stroll in the afternoon—or a carriage ride. I could go to the livery right now and make arrangements for a horse and buggy. Would you find a carriage ride to your liking?” he inquired persistently.
His enthusiasm likely matched what she had felt after reading Liam’s message. She didn’t want to injure his feelings, yet accepting his invitation would only give him false hope. “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t accept. You’re a fine man, and any number of girls would be flattered by your attention. In fact, I’m certain Ruth would find a buggy ride after church much to her liking. Why don’t you consider asking her?”
Dr. Ketter flinched as though he’d been stuck with a hatpin. “Because I don’t want to keep company with Ruth. You’ve captured my interest, and I know it’s only a matter of time before you come to trust me,” he replied.
“Trust you? What makes you think I don’t trust you?”
He patted her hand. “Please don’t be angry with Ruth, but she’s told me that you have a problem trusting men. She counseled me to move slowly and take time to build a friendship before I attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with you. However, I have let my heart rule instead of my head. Now I fear I’ve lost all hope of gaining your trust.”
“I’m not certain how Ruth determined I have a problem with trust, but let me assure you, Dr. Ketter—” He held up a finger. “Ivan—not Dr. Ketter.”
“Let me assure you, Ivan, that I’ve never had a problem trusting either men or women—unless they do something to destroy my belief in them.”
His lips turned up in a broad smile. “So you trust me?”
“I have no reason not to. But that doesn’t mean I want to take a carriage ride tomorrow afternoon. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go upstairs and complete some tasks before dinner,” she said, edging her way around him and hurrying toward the stairway.
“She trusts me,” he murmured expectantly.
Daughtie advanced up the stairs, pretending she hadn’t heard his words. Obviously Ruth had continued to play the matchmaker, assuring Dr. Ketter it would only be a matter of time until Daughtie trusted him, only a matter of time before he could become romantically involved with her. How dare Ruth meddle in her life!
The mood at supper was stilted and uncomfortable. Ruth hadn’t returned in time for the evening meal, and Dr. Ketter’s attempts to draw Daughtie into conversation made her edgy. She gulped down her meal, excused herself, and rushed from the house, mumbling that she wouldn’t return until just before curfew. Tucking her head against the strong wind, she hurried toward Liam’s house.
A hand grasped her arm as she rounded the corner toward Worthan Street. “Where are you off to?”
Her gaze snapped upward and she met Ruth’s questioning stare. “I have some—some errands to attend to,” she stammered.
“Errands? Where? You’ve already passed the library and all the shops.”
“Have I? I was so deep in thought, I lost track.”
“Come on,” Ruth said, placing an arm around her shoulder. “I’m going home. I’ll walk back to town with you.”
Daughtie glanced at Ruth. “Where were you?”
“After our visit to the printer, Margaret and I had a meeting to attend. Was Mrs. Arnold upset that I missed supper?”
“No. She said she’d keep a plate warm in the oven. Will you be home the rest of the evening?”
Ruth nodded her head. “Why do you ask?”
“When I get home, I’d like to talk with you.”
“Why don’t we stop at Clawson’s Tea and Pastry Shop? We could visit over tea and cake,” Ruth suggested, looping her arm through Daughtie’s in the first act of amiability since before the turnout.
Panic welled up within Daughtie, threatening to cut off her breath. How was she going to get away from Ruth? Drawing a deep breath into her lungs and then slowly blowing outward, Daughtie relaxed and began to gather her wits. “That would be lovely, Ruth, but I fear Mrs. Arnold will worry if you don’t return to eat that dinner she’s keeping warm for you.”
“Oh! I had completely forgotten. I don’t want to worry Mrs. Arnold. Perhaps I shouldn’t stop for tea. We can talk when you get home.”
“Exactly! We wouldn’t want Mrs. Arnold to fret.”
A complacent smile crossed Daughtie’s lips as Ruth turned and walked toward home. She waited until Ruth rounded the corner and was out of sight before changing directions and heading back toward Liam’s house. A slight chill, obviously unwilling to surrender its frosty clutches to the warmth of springtime, clung to the nighttime air. Daughtie bowed her head into the cold breeze and quickened her pace, breathless by the time she reached Liam’s front porch.
She lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall from her hand, permitting it to bounce against the iron striker. The silence resonated with a series of metallic thumps before the front door opened. Grasping her arm, Liam yanked her inside and quickly slammed the door.
“Does anyone know ya’re here?” His Irish brogue hung thick on the air.
“No.”
“And ya’re certain ya weren’t followed?”
“No—I mean yes, I’m certain I wasn’t followed.”
“What took ya so long? I was beginnin’ to think ya weren’t comin’.”
His dark eyes sparkled with excitement—or was it fear? She wasn’t certain if she should be frightened or joyful. “Why are you acting so strangely, and why do you suddenly care if someone sees me coming into your house?”
Before he could answer there was a mewling sound— weak at first, but now growing stronger. She clasped his arm. “You’ve baby kittens upstairs, don’t you? Oh, let me see them,” she begged.
He shook his head. “That’s not kittens; it’s a baby—two babies. Up there,” he said while pointing toward the stairs. “They were born after the mother arrived here. A slave. And for sure, I don’t know how she ever made it. She wasn’t here more than an hour before they were born. Two boys. The mother needs tendin’—she’s in bad condition. That’s why I sent for ya.”
Daughtie rushed up the steps at breakneck speed, the cries of the babies directing her to the proper bedroom. A young black woman lay on one side, her eyes closed and one arm protectively crooked around the two babies. The infants’ cries grew increasingly louder, and Daughtie wondered at their mother’s ability to sleep.
Drawing closer, Daughtie kneeled down beside the bed. The babies were so very small. “I’ve come to help you,” she explained while leaning forward to stroke the woman’s arm. However, one touch confirmed her worst fears: the woman was dead, and her infant sons would soon follow if they didn’t receive nourishment.
Hurrying to the top of the staircase, she called down to Liam, who was perched on the bottom step, “She’s dead, Liam, and the babies need milk or they’ll die.”
“The goat? Will her milk do?”
“Let’s hope so. We have no other choice.”
“Stay upstairs while I’m out in the barn. Should ya hear anybody knockin’ at the door, keep yourself out of sight, and whatever ya do, don’t open it,” he instructed.
She watched as he turned a key in the lock of the burnished wooden door before striding off toward the back of the house. Daughtie returned to the crying babies and lifted them away from their mother’s cold body. Pul
ling a soft quilt from an oak blanket chest, she wrapped the boys together in the coverlet. Perhaps they could lend each other a bit of the same comfort and warmth they had shared in their mother’s womb. Lifting the bundled infants, she began pacing the floor, just as she’d done so many times at the Shaker village. Movement had seemed to work with those babies. But then, their bellies had been full.
The infants remained awake. Their lusty cries had turned to pitiful whimpers when she finally heard Liam’s footsteps coming up the stairs. A small pail dangled from his broad fingers.
“She wasn’t very cooperative,” he said, extending the container toward Daughtie.
“They’re newborn babies, so they won’t eat much at a feeding,” she said while eyeing the contents of the bucket. “We’ll need a couple of clean handkerchiefs.”
Liam strode out of the room and quickly returned with two folded white squares in his palm. “Will these do?”
“Yes, they’ll be fine,” she said, shaking the folds from each handkerchief and handing one back to him. “Fold over one corner and twist the end,” she said while forming a loose knot at one end of the cloth.
“Like this?”
She smiled up at him and nodded. “That’s good. Now, dip the knotted portion in the pail,” she instructed, plunging her own cloth into the milk. “Once you’ve got it soaked, hold it to the baby’s mouth and let him suck on it.”
Liam watched intently as Daughtie offered the milk-soaked rag to one of the infants. “Shall I try with the other babe?” Liam inquired, gazing toward the crying infant lying on the bed.
“Please,” Daughtie replied.
The sound of the babies’ smacking mouths soon filled the room.
Liam glanced in Daughtie’s direction as he once again saturated the cloth with milk. “I’m not sure what to do about their mother. There’s a nice place with trees and wild flowers out beyond the barn. Once we’ve finished feedin’ the babes, I could dig a grave and bury her—if ya think that would be proper.”
“I don’t see that we have any choice. We certainly can’t go ask Mr. Livermore to build a casket and buy a plot in the local cemetery.”
Liam gave a snort. “That’s a fact. Ya’re the only one in this room that would receive permission to push up daisies in the Lowell cemetery. They’d turn away an Irishman as quickly as they’d turn away this black girl or her babes. Maybe faster,” he added.
“I’m concerned with how you’re going to care for these babies by yourself. If I don’t return to the boardinghouse before curfew, Ruth is certain to send someone looking for me. There’s little doubt she’d have them come here first.”
“Don’t see as I ’ave much choice but to try and take care of them until ya return tomorrow or the others arrive.”
“Others? You expect more runaways?”
He nodded and motioned toward the mother. “She thought they were less than a couple days behind her. They’d been travelin’ together, but when she started feelin’ poorly, they decided to remain behind as decoys. They didn’t want her to be forced to give birth out in the open, with no protection. Their plan was to go spreadin’ out and deflect the slave owners and hounds that had been trackin’ them. I think she feared some of the other slaves had been recaptured because of her condition. I tried to reassure her as best I could.”
“Our best hope is that they arrive soon and that they’ll be willing to take the babies with them.”
“Willin’? I don’t know as I’ll be givin’ them a choice, lassie. I think I’d have a bit of a problem explainin’ how two little black babes arrived on my doorstep,” he replied with a grin.
“It’s good that you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” she said while placing one of the babies in one end of an empty drawer. “You can put him at the other end; then if you’d get me some water and towels, I’ll get their mother ready for burial.”
Liam followed her bidding, fetched the items, and then left to dig the grave. Daughtie prepared the body in silence while the two tiny infants slept nearby, unaware of the fact that their mother had died so they could be born free from the slavery that had bound her.
When Liam returned, the young woman was wrapped in the sheet and blanket Liam had given her. “Are ya comin’ with me?”
“No, I’ll stay here with the boys and pray—for their health and God’s protection over all of you.”
He nodded. “Aye. Let’s hope yar prayers are answered.”
“Liam, I must depart as soon as you return. It’s getting late.”
“I’ll hurry,” he replied, lifting the woman’s body with a care and respect that touched Daughtie’s heart.
Daughtie gathered her Bible and pulled a fresh handkerchief from the oak chest, hoping to escape the room while Ruth was still in the midst of her preparations for church. Exiting the doorway, she hurried down the hall and reached the top of the steps before she heard Ruth’s voice.
“Are you going to the Baptist church with the rest of us this morning? All the girls from the weaving room decided to go there today.”
Daughtie hesitated a moment. “No. I believe I’ll attend services at the Methodist church.”
“Why?” Ruth quizzed in a whiny tone. “You’re always separating yourself from everyone else. There are some girls who think you’re aloof.”
Daughtie wasn’t going to continue this conversation. No doubt Ruth was attempting to delay her departure until she could have a face-to-face confrontation. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m certain you’ll set them aright,” she called over her shoulder while scurrying down the steps.
Making a turn to the right when she reached the bottom of the staircase, Daughtie walked into the kitchen, where Mrs. Arnold was busy preparing breakfast. “I’m attending the Methodist church this morning, so I’ll be leaving—no time for breakfast,” she explained.
Mrs. Arnold looked up and gave her a smile. “Take a biscuit or two. You can eat them on the way,” she encouraged, wrapping two of the freshly baked offerings into a small cloth napkin.
“Thank you,” Daughtie said, giving the older woman a grateful smile. She tucked her Bible under one arm and grasped the biscuit-filled napkin. “I have plans for the day and won’t be eating my meals here at the house.”
“Going on that picnic and carriage ride with Dr. Ketter after all?”
Surprised by the question, Daughtie jerked her gaze upward and was met by Mrs. Arnold’s inquiring stare. In addition to formulating plans with Ruth, it appeared Dr. Ketter was forming an alliance by taking Mrs. Arnold into his confidence. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. My plans don’t involve Dr. Ketter,” she replied before hurrying back toward the hallway.
Daughtie quickly peeked up the stairway. Ruth was nowhere to be seen. Swinging her blue worsted capuchin about her shoulders, she pulled up the hood and adjusted her Bible.
“May I walk with you?”
Daughtie turned with a jolt. Ivan Ketter was standing directly behind her. “No. Not today. I’m busy with other matters,” she stammered.
He glanced toward the Bible tucked under her arm. “You’re obviously going to church. Is there some reason I can’t accompany you?”
“I don’t think you’ll find my companionship enjoyable today. Besides, I’m not going to the Baptist church,” Daughtie explained. She gave a sidelong glance toward the stairway. If he didn’t soon release her from this conversation, Ruth would come bounding down the steps, and she’d never get away without additional questions.
He graced her with a broad smile. “I’m willing to attend whatever church you like,” he said, removing his hat from a peg and opening the front door.
“Have a nice time, you two,” Ruth called from the top of the stairs.
There was no escape—Dr. Ketter was at her side, and Ruth was descending the stairs. “As you wish,” she murmured, walking out the door.
Dr. Ketter’s voice droned in the background as they walked the short distance to the church. Meanwhile, Daughtie’s mind w
as focused upon Liam. How had he coped with the babies last night? Did he get any sleep? Her concerns had caused her to choose the Methodist church this morning because their services began earlier. The preacher served both the Lowell and Belvedere Methodist churches, which left no choice but to have services earlier in one of the communities. Lowell had drawn the short straw. Daughtie had taken advantage of the schedule with the hope of reaching Liam’s house as early as possible. However, if she was going to free herself of Dr. Ketter’s company, a plan would be necessary—of that, there was little doubt. Thus far, Dr. Ketter appeared unwilling to accept her rejection.
“Are you going to answer me?” Ivan inquired in a loud voice as they walked up the steps of the white wood-frame church.
“What?” She turned to face him, a puzzled look upon her face.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”
“I told you I wouldn’t be good company,” she replied distractedly.
“Obviously you’re intent upon proving your point,” he said, his tone accusatory.
The two of them stood in the vestibule as the members of the congregation strained to hear the couple’s conversation while moving past them on their way into the sanctuary.
“Could you please keep your voice down? I really don’t want to share this conversation with every person attending church services this morning,” she said from between clenched teeth.
“Perhaps you’d prefer if I just left,” he fired back.
“Suit yourself. You’re not here at my invitation.” She turned on her heel and walked into the sanctuary.
Ivan didn’t follow. Although his presence was unwanted, she felt a twinge of guilt for exhibiting bad manners. She abhorred rude behavior. She bowed her head. I’m asking your forgiveness, Lord. I was rude and behaved like a petulant child, she silently prayed while the congregation rose and began to sing. “And I promise to apologize to Dr. Ketter,” she muttered aloud before joining in to sing the chorus.
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