by Tara Johnson
Father grunted. “At least.”
She clutched a fistful of dirt as the paddy roller’s curses rained down. Horrible brutes . . . murderers . . .
Hiriam’s gentle hands pressed into hers, and his soft, soothing voice finally penetrated her foggy mind. “You shouldn’t have seen that, missy. No one should have. Come with old Hiriam. I’m going to take you inside.”
He pulled her to her feet and she dropped her head against his shoulder, hearing his steady heartbeat through the coarse fabric of his shirt as she cried. “Oh, Hiriam . . .”
“Shush, missy. Weren’t your fault.”
Guilt tormented her. He was wrong. It was all her fault.
CHAPTER 14
JANUARY 3, 1862
Keziah wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and eased her bedroom door open, wincing at the gentle creak that echoed down the dark hallway.
She’d sobbed within the privacy of her room for a full day after that terrible moment on Christmas. The family all believed her distress was due to seeing the runaway take his own life. That was only a part of her crushing grief.
She had failed him. Unintentionally, but failed him still. She’d berated herself, wallowed in guilt, and sobbed to God, oscillating between believing the call to assist the slaves was certainly from him and wondering if she’d somehow misunderstood.
Grief had given way to anger, and then anger hardened into determination, fanning the flames of her righteous indignation into a raging fire.
She would not fail another slave. Not again.
Word must be sent to Brothers. What if he had heard of the incident and thought her no longer a conductor? She must put such an idea to rights as soon as possible.
Creeping down the stairs, she meticulously avoided the seventh and tenth steps, knowing their squeaks might alert the sleeping house to her movement. She padded along the carpeted hallway on bare feet and tiptoed through the kitchen, grimacing at the cold floor against her toes before she slipped out the servants’ door. Pulling on her shoes, she breathed a sigh of relief and crept toward the stable, anxious to see if a passenger awaited her.
Go back.
She froze, her breath fogging to whispery ice as she stood silently on the frost-covered lawn.
Go back.
The directive impressed her soul with an undeniable urgency. Was it God or her own instincts? She didn’t know, but the sensation was far too strong to ignore.
Retracing her steps, she entered the way she’d come, thankful for the kitchen’s meager heat that chased away winter’s grip. She removed her cloak and shoes, tucked them in her arms, and had just started across the floor when a voice cut through the dark.
“I was wondering where you were.”
Keziah nearly yelped. Jennie.
Placing her hand over her heart, she gave a shaky laugh. “Mercy, but you startled me.”
The sizzle of a match rent the air just before her cousin coaxed the oil lamp to life, placing the globe over the top with a clink as honeyed light dissipated the darkness.
Jennie smiled as she straightened, though the gesture seemed cold. Alarm skittered down Keziah’s spine.
“I couldn’t sleep and came down to sneak a mug of milk. Imagine my surprise when I heard you leaving the house in the dead of night, much later than your usual jaunt to visit Magnolia.”
Keziah found two cups in the cabinet and placed them upon the counter, forcing a light laugh. “A bad habit of mine, I confess. I couldn’t sleep either.”
Jennie frowned. “But you walked out into the cold night air.”
With an unladylike shrug, she crossed to the icebox and located the pitcher of milk nestled in the back. “I thought perhaps the cold might shock my senses. I can’t explain it. It tends to clear my mind and I’m able to rest afterward.”
Jennie gave her a long look, and her shoulders relaxed. “I suppose that’s true enough. You certainly weren’t out there long enough to get into any mischief.”
Keziah kept her face neutral, but her insides nearly melted with relief. Thank you, God, for urging me back. If Jennie had become curious and followed her, she might have discovered a runaway. And then chaos would have erupted.
Pouring the thick, creamy milk into the cups, she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t stay out long. It’s far too cold.” She carried the full cups to the table and handed one to her nosy cousin. “What steals your sleep this night?”
Jennie played with the rim of her cup and sighed. “I don’t know. I feel restless. Unsettled.”
Keziah took a sip of milk. “Perhaps it’s because you’re away from home. You aren’t in your normal routine.”
“Perhaps.” Jennie took a long pull. “Still, I think it might be something more. I feel a bit useless, I suppose. You know, with Nathaniel and so many others off fighting while I sit at home and do needlework. There are few parties, no distractions, and it’s driving me mad.”
Keziah understood. Were it not for her work with the Railroad, she would likely have felt the same. “In and around Savannah there are all manner of relief and charitable organizations, like the Ladies of Savannah Charity League. Mother is a member. Volunteering might fill that void.”
After taking another sip, Jennie licked the corner of her mouth. “That’s precisely what I’ve been considering. In fact, there’s one organization I’m particularly interested in joining.”
“Do tell.”
“An organization I discovered just yesterday. I heard them proclaiming their mission in Liberty Square and was quite moved. The Vigilance Committee to End Abolition.”
Keziah nearly choked on her milk but managed to do little more than swallow hard. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Jennie leaned in, warming to her subject. “It’s perfect. Not one of those dreadfully dull organizations that rolls bandages or packs lint for the army hospitals. This group focuses its efforts on silencing those zealot abolitionists who have caused so much trouble.”
Keziah lifted the cup, using it to hide her grimace. “Interesting.”
“Quite. Not only does the Vigilance Committee seek to inform the public of the abolitionists’ lies; they work to destroy their very efforts. They have a spy network that serves a great purpose.”
Keziah’s stomach tightened. “And what is that purpose?”
Quirking her lips upward, Jennie whispered, “Have you ever heard of the Underground Railroad?”
Her mouth went dry. “No. What is that?”
“It’s a group of abolitionists and traitors who steal away slaves from their masters and smuggle them into free states. Sometimes even Canada.”
Keziah longed to scream at the unjust description but managed to keep calm. “How awful.” The lie dripped off stiff lips.
“Oh, they are the worst sort of traitors. Just think of that horrible man who snuck onto the property at Christmas. He couldn’t have come all that way alone. Those dreadful abolitionists must have been aiding him. And poor Uncle Benjamin. The authorities have been out twice, still unconvinced he didn’t have something to do with aiding that runaway.”
“I know, but—”
“If I join this Vigilance Committee, I would be able to help.”
Keziah placed her cup on the table. “It sounds so dangerous. What if something happened to you?”
Jennie’s brows rose. “But think of the excitement! I would be on the front lines, fighting just as valiantly as any of our brave soldiers. I might even be famous when this is all over. Jennie Oglethorpe . . . patriot and spy for our great and glorious Confederacy!”
“Usually a spy who becomes famous for spying does so because they were caught,” Keziah muttered.
Jennie sat back against her chair with a pout. “Fiddlesticks. You’re no fun.” Her countenance brightened. “I think I’ve decided. Yes. I’ll join. Danger is far better than wasting away in this house day after day.” She put aside her cup and stood, brushing Keziah’s cheek with a light kiss. “Thank you for listening, Cousin. I prom
ise I shall endeavor to be wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.”
Dread coiled in Keziah’s stomach like a serpent itself. “Please be careful.”
“Don’t fret so. I shall conquer. I always do.” Jennie winked and turned to leave. “If you’re so worried about it, come with me.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“What harm is there in one meeting?” Her green eyes narrowed. “You’re not an abolitionist, are you?”
“I—of course not.”
Grinning smugly, Jennie gave a curt nod. “Good. It’s settled. We’ll go together.” She clapped her hands like an eager child and squealed. “Keziah dear, this will be such fun! I will investigate their next meeting time and we shall attend.” She heaved a sigh of satisfaction. “And now I think I’m properly tired enough to sleep. Good night.”
Keziah offered a wan smile that evaporated quickly once Jennie had left. The Vigilance Committee to End Abolition. What had she gotten herself into? How would she ever be able to attend such a meeting and not give her true beliefs away?
Micah rubbed bleary eyes with one hand as he clutched his horse’s reins with the other. Shadow’s normally pert step dragged with fatigue.
He looked up, noticing the position of the half-moon shedding its light over the outskirts of the city. He patted Shadow’s neck, his own body aching from the dreariness of riding in a saddle. “Almost there, boy.”
Two weeks stationed at the prison camp was far too long. After the first horror-filled days, he’d nearly written the Relief Commission to request a transfer of assignment. The prison’s infirmary was hell on earth.
But if he didn’t try to alleviate the suffering of wounded prisoners who had received insufficient care, who would? Their haunted, dull eyes beckoned him even in the few precious hours of sleep he’d snatched between amputations and treatments.
Contained within the infirmary walls was agony he could never forget, nor would he ever discuss. It was far too gruesome for the human heart to bear. But every time he feared he could take no more, one sweet face drifted through his mind. He clung to the memory with a fierceness that gave him courage, yet taunted him with bittersweet pangs of remorse.
The war had not even filled a year and he was already weary. Weary of dysentery and gangrene. Weary of sawing limbs and treating lice. He was heavyhearted over the disease, fevers, and malnutrition running rampant through the troops.
He was weary of war . . . of its inevitable suffering and death.
When William Still had summoned him for medical checks along the Railroad line, he’d breathed a sigh of relief. Not that the work would be much different, but at least it meant a change from the stench of disease within the prison walls. It meant he could provide more substantial comfort, praying his efforts would give slaves life instead of numbing broken soldiers from the pain of impending death.
Just ahead he could make out the frame of the African church’s simple steeple. Not wanting Shadow to attract unwanted attention from late-night revelers and drunks roaming Savannah’s streets, he pulled his horse to a gentle stop, tying him to a small tree where he could graze until Micah’s work at the church was finished.
Keeping to the darkness, he stopped at the hidden entrance, his fingers scraping brittle leaves and dirt until they found the latch hidden in the underbrush. The rustle of the breeze covered the squeak of resistant hinges as he pulled the tunnel trapdoor open and plunged himself into the damp blackness of the underground passage.
Familiar as he was with the tunnel, there was no need to light a torch. Instead, he felt his way along the crumbly, sodden wall, breathing a sigh of relief when, long moments later, his eyes detected the faint, gray shaft of light at the end of the tunnel.
He’d only emerged from the darkness for a few seconds, brushing the dirt from his coat, when Rose’s familiar matronly form burst into the hidden room under the church, the whites of her eyes large as she held a glowing lantern aloft. The woman was rarely rattled.
“Doc! You’re an answer to prayer.”
A rush of adrenaline surged through him, chasing away his fatigue. “What’s wrong?”
She swallowed as the lantern light danced across the creases of her face. “One of our conductors was dropping off the next passengers at the blacksmith’s shop and collapsed.”
Discarding his coat, he began to unbutton his shirt cuffs and roll them up, prepared for any possibility. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with the fellow?”
She shook her kerchief-covered head. “Ain’t no man, Doc. This here’s a woman.”
Micah’s heart lurched. A woman conductor? His mouth went dry, praying it was not who he suspected.
She motioned toward the dark hallway. “She just kind of stared into space after she fell, Brothers said. Wouldn’t respond and eventually passed out, so Brothers and the passengers brought her here.”
Micah cringed, ducking under the wooden beams as he followed Rose into a small room. A candle burned next to a lumpy cot, casting dancing patterns across Kizzie’s unconscious form. His breath hitched, but he shoved the panic away, scrambling to assess her condition.
He knelt and opened his bag, looking up at Rose. “Where is the blacksmith? And the other men?”
“Brothers done scurried back home, and I’ve got the menfolk in the other end of the tunnels. They busy feeding their starving stomachs. I told them to get some rest. Didn’t know what day you’d be arriving; only knew it would be within a week or so.”
He grunted and pulled the stethoscope from his bag, placing the cone against the soft rise and fall of Kizzie’s chest. “Providence knew I was needed here now.”
Rose nodded. “Just so. Poor lamb. What do you need me to fetch?”
He moved to feel the pulse at her neck, pressing gently against the smooth skin, his eyes trained on her face. “Perhaps a bowl of water and a clean cloth.”
“Yes, sir.” She scurried away to obtain the items, leaving him alone with Kizzie in the small, dim room. He smoothed her hair away from her face, the silky, reddish-blonde tresses glowing like sunset in the light of the candle.
Her pulse was good. Steady and strong. Stroking her cheek, he softly urged, “Wake up, sweetheart.”
No response. He frowned and let his voice rise until it resembled the commanding professional he was and not the doting friend he wanted to be.
“Kizzie Montgomery, you stubborn thing, wake up.”
CHAPTER 15
KEZIAH HEARD A VOICE calling her through the darkness. Everything was murky and thick.
“Kizzie, I’ll drop you in the water trough if you don’t come around.”
The urgency in the masculine voice invaded, but it was the name Kizzie that somehow penetrated the fog. Micah?
Shifting aside the heavy veil over her mind, she forced her eyes open only to see Micah studying her with a familiar intensity. His handsome face lifted into a gentle smile.
“I knew a good bossing would wake you.”
Where was she? Confusion swirled through her, and her head pounded with a dull, throbbing ache. She tried to rise up on one elbow, but his strong hands gently urged her to relax against the cot.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
She rubbed her temples with trembling fingers and tried to think. “I—I don’t know.” Her tongue was thick, her throat dry. She sorted through vague images and memories. “Supper with Mother and Jennie. Readying for bed . . .” Sharp as a knife blade, the memory of sneaking through the woods to deliver the frightened slaves to the smithy pierced her. She sucked in a harsh breath and sat up with a speed that made her head swim. “The passengers!”
The warmth of Micah’s hands on her shoulders penetrated through her sleeves. “The passengers are safe,” he reassured her. “You collapsed just as they were entering the smithy. Thankfully, Brothers was there and brought you here to Rose.” He rubbed his thumbs against her shoulders. “Do you remember any of that?”
Her lips quivered and
the confession slid past the knot clogging her throat. “No.” Sitting upright, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and turned her eyes away from his compassionate, probing stare, willing the tears to vanish. It was no use.
He drew her into an embrace and rested his head on top of her hair, murmuring comfort as the muscles of his arms held her shaking form. Undone, she finally gave way to a harsh sob and wept as he rocked her gently on the tattered cot.
When she’d expelled the last cleansing sob, she melted into his embrace, both warmed and embarrassed. As she grew calm, he eased her back and wiped the tear tracks from her face with the pads of his thumbs.
“You stubborn, wonderful, brave woman.”
He seemed to mean the words as a compliment, but they unsettled her all the same. “No, I’m foolish.” She pushed away from his touch, standing on shaky legs and willing the room to stop swaying around her. As she found her footing, a silent fury consumed her. “I could have compromised those frightened men. I almost ruined their flight.” She suppressed the rising bile in her throat. “I could have drawn attention to Brothers and brought the authorities or paddy rollers down on his head.” Swiping away a stray tear, she covered her face with her hands and whispered with an aching throat, “I couldn’t bear it again.”
She felt Micah’s warm presence step close. “What do you mean again?”
Unable to speak, she shook her head as a sure footfall approached. Lifting her face, she observed the approach of a middle-aged woman with a sturdy build and kind face, bearing a bucket of water and a bundle of cloth. “Here you go, Doc.”
He offered a smile. “Thank you, Rose.”
The woman nodded and, smiling shyly in return, slipped back into the darkness of the tunnel.
Unwilling to share more, Keziah perched on the edge of the cot and desperately tried to shift Micah’s focus from her verbal slip. “What happened when I collapsed? Convulsions?”