CHAPTER FIVE

March 31, 1865

Eliza pressed her palms together, fingers pointed upward, as if she were praying, but she was not. She was remembering how the women had wished that there were a way they could do more than stitch for the war effort, more than wait and suffer. She herself had expressed the desire to join the fighting. Now, it seemed that John Hamlin was about to bring her a challenge, and Eliza wondered if she would be up to it. She leaned forward, anxious, and nodded at him to continue.

John looked at Missouri Ann again, stared at her for a long time, until Print shrugged and said, “I’d be happy to do the milking, Mrs. Missouri Ann, if you’d accompany me to the barn.”

The men’s intention was obvious. John wanted to talk to Eliza alone. Despite what Print had said, John didn’t trust Missouri Ann. Eliza spoke up. “No need. Davy will tend to the milking and is in the barn already. Anything you have to say to me can be said in front of Mrs. Stark. She is as loyal a Unionist as I am. Both of our husbands died for the cause.”

“She is a Stark,” John reminded Eliza.

“Have you forgotten how you yourself helped her to escape from those foul people on Christmas Day?”

John considered that. “Have they been a-bothering you since then, the Starks?”

Eliza shrugged. Part of a fence had been torn down, and there was a hole in the henhouse where a fox had gotten in. The two women had returned home from town one afternoon to discover large rocks blocking the lane. And then there were the tracks in the snow. But Eliza hadn’t actually seen the Starks, so she couldn’t say for sure that this had been their mischief.

“Not that we can prove,” Eliza replied. “If they’ve been here, it hasn’t been often, and we haven’t seen them.”

“You are alone now?” John asked.

Except for the children, Eliza told him. Luzena had taken Nance into the house.

John nodded, satisfied. He moved closer to the two women and lowered his voice. “There is an escaped slave who needs to be hidden. She is only passing through, but she is ill and needs a place of safety until she is well enough to go on. I am asking you to provide it.”

“The poor thing,” Eliza gasped. “I am so sorry for her.”

“Mrs. Espy told us about the men that captures Negroes and takes them South to be sold, but why’s anyone want to steal a sick woman?” Missouri Ann asked. “Besides, the war seems ’bout over. Who’d buy a slave now? Makes no sense to me.”

“She is not an ordinary slave.” John looked around, as if thinking someone might have crept up on them and was listening. They were alone. Still, he lowered his voice. “She killed her mistress. Her owner wants her back so he can punish her.”

“Oh!” Eliza took a deep breath. Caring for an escaped slave was one thing, but bringing a murderer onto the farm—and one whose victim was a woman—was something else. What if the woman was depraved? She might hate all white people and turn on her or Missouri Ann, or one of the children. No matter how sympathetic she was at the colored woman’s plight, Eliza couldn’t allow her to live with them. “Mr. Hamlin, I’m sorry—” she began, but John didn’t let her finish.

“She was beaten by her mistress, and when the woman wasn’t satisfied with the welts she’d caused on the slave’s back, she poured salt into the wounds. And then she turned on the slave’s son and whipped him to death.”

Eliza and Missouri Ann stared at John in horror. “What had she done?” Eliza asked.

“Stolen a teaspoon of sugar for her boy. The woman beat the slave for taking the sugar, then turned on the boy for eating it.”

“How old was he?” Missouri Ann asked.

“Not yet three.”

“She beat a baby to death? The monster!” Eliza cried.

“The boy’s father was the master—the mistress’s own husband.” John paused, then added, “You must forgive me, ladies, for speaking of such an indelicacy, but in times like these, frankness is called for. It is not unusual for a master to father the children of young slave women. The man refused to interfere when his own son was beaten, so Sukey—that is the slave’s name—grabbed the whip, thinking to stop the outrage, and struck her mistress such a blow that it broke her skull. In the South, the punishment for striking a white person is severe; the penalty for killing one is death. With her very life at stake, Sukey ran off, and has made her way to Kansas. Lord knows how she got this far in her condition. We used to send the escaped slaves north to Canada, but that is the obvious route. I think we will send Sukey west to Colorado when she is well enough to travel.”

“The little boy?” Eliza said.

“He was dead before Sukey took the whip, most likely put into the earth without a marker. But God will know where he is.”

Eliza and Missouri Ann both bowed their heads. “Killing her mistress might be thought retribution,” Eliza said.

“In the North, yes. But in the South, it is greeted with outrage. A white person’s life is not worth that of two Negroes—or a hundred, for that matter. The owner has offered a substantial reward for the return of Sukey, and it is known she has come this way. If she is turned over to her former master, she will be hanged or maybe torn apart by dogs. There are other slow means of death that are as bad. She would die by inches.”

Eliza nodded understanding. “Our Union law should protect her here in Kansas, but as we have been told, there are men who would capture a slave and take her south.”

“Men like Dad Stark,” Missouri Ann added.

“Men like Dad Stark,” John repeated. “And his sons.” He thought that over and said, “I beg your pardon again, Mrs. Missouri Ann. I should not have spoken ill of your family.”

“They’re not my family no more. Besides, my husband wasn’t like the others,” Missouri Ann replied. “I know the Starks better than anybody. They’d sell their own for a Yankee dollar.”

“Why do you want to bring Sukey here?” Eliza asked. She was sure from the rumors that John Hamlin had helped slaves escape, that he was a stop on the Underground Railroad. Surely he had better places to hide a colored woman than on the Spooner farm. “It is said you have hidden many on your own land. Why bring her to us?”

“For that very reason, that it is known I’ve aided other contraband. My farm is the first place the Starks or any others would look for her. And there will be others. The offer of a reward will bring out the old slave catchers. As you know, there are many in the state who are sympathetic toward the South and do not oppose slavery,” John replied. “Print has offered to hide her in the smithy, but he, too, has hidden slaves in the past and would be under suspicion.”

“You done that, Mr. Ritter?” Missouri Ann said, a sense of awe in her voice. “I never heard of nothing so brave. Why, the Starks is at the smithy every week. You sure did fool them.”

Print blushed.

“We believe the Starks watch us. This would be the worst place to hide an escaped slave,” Eliza said. “They would spot her right away.”

John shook his head. “That makes your farm the best of hiding places, as long as you confine Sukey to the house. The Starks are in town now. Since they keep such close watch on you, they will have not the slightest suspicion Sukey was sneaked into your house during their absence. As they have been warned to stay away, they have no call to come into your house, or even your barnyard. They will never know she is here. Your farm will be the perfect hiding place.”

“They think I hate the coloreds as much as they do,” Missouri Ann said. “I was never brave enough to say my mind.”

“Then indeed this is the perfect place. It will be for only a few days. Sukey is too exhausted and too sick yet from the whipping to travel farther. It is a wonder she made it all the way from Louisiana. Poor thing, she traveled by night and hid in trees and ditches, until by luck, she was found by one of our people—a “conductor” on the Underground Railroad. Then she was sent north hidden in wagons and carts. She has great courage, and I believe you will like her. What do you say, Mrs. Spooner?” John asked.

Eliza turned away to think. Hiding the woman for a night or maybe two was one thing, but keeping her for days until she was well was dangerous. If the Starks or other men came onto the farm, how would she and Missouri Ann stand up to them? If they tried to stop the slave catchers from grabbing Sukey, Eliza and Missouri Ann might be hurt. And there were the children to think of. What if someone inquired about a colored woman? Would Davy and Luzena know enough to deny she was on the Spooner farm? They could be harmed, too. Eliza was conflicted. She’d agreed with Ettie that she wished there were something she could do for the Union, but did she have the right to risk the safety of others in the doing of it?

Remembering Ettie, she asked, “What about Mrs. Espy? She has older boys on the farm. Would she not be better at hiding the woman?”

John Hamlin smiled. “Last time she hid an escaped slave, the Starks almost caught him. I expect the man didn’t get but five minutes head start, and the Starks would have found him at that, except the littlest Espy boy stepped on an iron spike and howled like the devil that he was going to get the lockjaw if somebody didn’t help him.”

“Did they get out the spike?” Missouri Ann asked.

“Turned out it was only a scrape, nothing to worry about. A boy of seven or thereabouts tricked them. The Starks were mad enough to chew nails. But that gave the slave enough time to get away. I reckon the Starks will go to the Espy place even before mine,” John said. He turned to Eliza. “I wouldn’t ask it, but there’s a woman’s life at stake.”

And a woman who’d done nothing more than try to save the life of her son, Eliza thought. She and Missouri Ann would have done the same thing. In fact, Missouri Ann had already risked her own safety in getting Nance away from the Starks. But could she put the children in danger? Eliza wondered. She and Missouri Ann were grown women who knew the risks, but it wasn’t fair to the children, especially Luzena, who did not fully understand about the war. Eliza pondered that, wishing Will could have given her advice, but she was on her own, and she must decide now. What would Will have told her to do? And then she knew. He would have advised her to do what was right. That was what he had said when he joined the army, that he did not care to go off and fight a war, but it was the right thing. He had died doing that right thing. Could she expect less of herself? It was not enough for men to do good, but women must, too. Eliza turned back to John. “Of course we shall take her in, Mr. Hamlin. And welcome her. It’s what Will would have done. When will you bring her?”

“We have brought her already. She’s in the wagon.” He grinned as if he had known all along that Eliza would accept the slave.

Eliza turned to the wagon, which was filled with tree trunks. She had assumed John was taking them to the sawmill. “Where?”

“Under the timber.”

“Why the poor thing!” Missouri Ann cried. “You likely crushed her.”

“And if you didn’t, she’s bound to be uncomfortable,” Eliza said. “We must take her inside at once.”

While Eliza and Missouri Ann hurried to the house to prepare for the sick woman, Print drove the wagon close to the door. Then he and John removed the tree trunks that covered Sukey and lifted her out of her hiding place. They set her on her feet, but Sukey was so weak that she fell, and the men had to carry her inside the house. Eliza motioned for them to lay Sukey on the bed. The sick woman watched Eliza turn down the quilt, the Sunshine and Rain quilt that Eliza had put back on her bed after she learned of Will’s death. Sukey was small, with small hands and feet, and she was as thin as a hoe handle. Her black eyes were quick, and they never left Eliza’s face. When Eliza turned, she caught the slave’s glance and read fear in it. Poor woman. She had suffered much and come far, and still she feared she would be caught and put to death. Maybe she wondered if Eliza would turn her in.

“You can trust me, Sukey. I am Mrs. Spooner, and this is Mrs. Stark, and we will care for you until you are well.” Eliza thought a moment, then announced, “I would change her name. We would not want the children to let slip ‘Sukey.’ Do you understand?” she asked the slave. When Sukey nodded, Eliza announced, “Clara. Will you be Clara?”

Sukey nodded again and muttered, “Clara.”

“Can you trust the children not to talk?” John asked.

“I will explain to them that it is a matter of life and death to keep silent about … Clara.” Eliza smiled and glanced at the black woman when she said the name.

“Your daughter is young,” John said, looking at Luzena, who had crept into the house. “Can you keep a secret, girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have kept other secrets?”

Luzena nodded.

“What secrets?”

Luzena raised her chin. “I won’t tell you, sir. They’re secrets.”

John laughed. Then he spied Nance, who was hanging on to Luzena’s skirt. “What about that one? She’s too young to understand about secrets.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Missouri Ann told him. “She don’t talk yet.”

*   *   *

John said he and Print must leave, for they didn’t want to alert anyone that they had stopped for more than a short visit at the Spooner farm. Sukey—Clara, he corrected himself—would be all right in the house as long as no one came looking for her, but they must find a hiding place for her just the same.

Missouri Ann suggested the soddy, where she and Nance slept, or the root cellar, but John told her anyone hunting the woman would look in those places.

Eliza said Clara might roll beneath the bed or under the straw in the barn, but John said men would check there, too. Then Luzena spoke up. “There’s a hidey-hole in the haystack next to the barn. I use it when I hide from Davy”—she glanced at her mother—“and Mama. Clara could go there.”

Eliza nodded. “There’s also a small hole under the floorboards where Will hid our valuables, but it’s no bigger than a coffin.”

“We’ve hidden contraband in smaller spaces, and it’s better than no hiding place at all,” John said. Then he cautioned, “You must not worry too much. The chances are good that no one will come here, but it is best to be prepared.”

“Best for all of us,” Eliza told him.

“Yes, it could go hard on you if the Starks or others found you had hidden her. I will come around when I can to check on Clara and inform you of the plans for her removal, but my visits might cause suspicion, so I must be judicious. Print has agreed to come in my place.” He turned to Missouri Ann and said, “Please forgive my presumption, Mrs. Stark, but I think it might be got about that these are courting visits. That way, there will be no cause for comment.”

“Except from those who might find the courting of a young widow offensive,” Eliza told him. “But better we be gossiped about for lack of propriety than for hiding an escaped slave.”

“I don’t mind if Mr. Ritter don’t,” Missouri Ann said.

“Why, no, ma’am,” he replied.

“That is good of you,” Eliza said, then turned away to hide her smile. John Hamlin seemed to be the only one in the room who didn’t know that Print had already begun to court Missouri Ann.

From the doorway, Eliza and Missouri Ann watched as Print mounted his horse and John climbed into his wagon and both started down the lane to the road. Then the two women turned to Clara, who was lying on the bed, her eyes darting about. She was still afraid, Eliza knew, would be afraid until she reached Colorado, afraid until the terrible war was over. She might live in fear the rest of her life.

Davy came into the house with a pail of milk, and Clara gasped when she saw the boy.

“My son. He won’t harm you,” Eliza said. Then she explained to Davy why Clara was there.

Davy grinned. “This is as exciting as fighting Rebs. Any slave catchers come here, I’ll shoot them.”

Eliza said she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Clara would be there only a few days. Their job was to tend her and keep her safe. If any men came onto their land, Eliza and Missouri Ann would hide Clara in the haystack near the barn or in the hole in the floor. Eliza accepted the pail of milk from Davy and set it on the table. Then she took a dipperful and offered it to Clara, who drank it so quickly that Eliza wondered if the woman were starving. She found that a little of the chicken stew was left in the kettle and dished it into a bowl, handing it to Clara with a spoon.

Clara ignored the spoon and drank the stew, drank it so quickly that a little spilled on her dress. When she was finished, she examined the spoon, turning it over, then licked the dish. As she handed both back to Eliza, she said, “I never ate with no spoon before. Or a dish, neither.”

Missouri Ann frowned. “How’d you eat, then?”

“My hands or clamshells in a trough in the yard, out back of the big house.”

“Oh, how awful,” Eliza said. “From now on, you will sit at the table with us and eat the way we do. We will have supper soon. I imagine you are still hungry.”

Clara nodded, her eyes on the basket of eggs Luzena had brought into the house and the slab of salt pork Davy had fetched from the smokehouse.

“First, we’ll see to your wounds,” Eliza said. She sent Davy out to feed the animals, then she helped Clara remove her dress, which was filthy.

Eliza took out a shift for Clara to wear, while Missouri Ann volunteered to wash and mend the tattered garment. “There ain’t much left to it, is there?” Missouri Ann observed, holding up the dress. Then she asked, “Where’s your shoes?”

Clara shook her head. “Never had shoes.”

Eliza thought it odd the colored woman did not cover herself when her dress was removed—she wore no undergarments—but only looked straight ahead dumbly, as if pretending she wasn’t there. Modesty might be an extravagance for a slave, Eliza thought then, wondering what indignities the woman had suffered. Perhaps she was used to white people staring at her—white men. Eliza had heard that slaves were stripped naked on the auction block, so that buyers could examine them for imperfections. She was revolted by the idea that men had stared at the pretty slave as she stood there unclothed, perhaps touching her and making crude remarks. Clara would suffer no indignities in that house.

Eliza filled a pan with water, for Clara was as dirty as her dress. Then using soap and a soft cloth, she bathed the woman’s face. When she was finished, she handed the cloth to Clara, who ran the wet rag over her thin body. “Never felt of soap on myself,” Clara said. Eliza took back the cloth and told Clara to turn so that she could wash her back. When the slave did so, Eliza gasped. Clara’s back was crisscrossed with ugly welts. Some were scabbed over, but others were angry with infection.

“Oh, Ma, what happened to her back?” Luzena burst out.

“She was whipped,” Eliza replied. “You see, Luzena, that is one reason your father died fighting to end slavery. No person, especially a woman, deserves to be treated like this.” She felt proud of Will.

“She must have been awful bad to get whipped that way,” Luzena said.

“No, she didn’t do anything.”

“You got any liniment?” Missouri Ann asked. “That’s what Mother Stark puts on the dogs when they get whipped. Heals them right up. She uses brandy and turpentine and camphor gum. Maybe beef gall if you got it.” She paused. “But even a Stark wouldn’t beat a dog that way.”

“I use honey and beeswax and turpentine,” Eliza said, going to the cupboard and taking down the ingredients, which she combined in a bowl. She spread the mixture on Clara’s back, and though the slave winced, she didn’t utter a word. “You’re a brave woman, Clara,” Eliza said after she was finished dressing the wounds and bandaging them with strips of cloth. She slipped the shift over Clara’s head.

While Eliza cared for Clara, Luzena fried the salt pork and the eggs, and placed the food on a platter, which she set on the table along with cornbread and a pitcher of milk.

“It isn’t much, but it’s the best we can offer in these hard times,” Eliza explained.

“I hardly never got a taste of egg before,” Clara said. She held back, while the others seated themselves.

Eliza started to bow her head, but when she saw that Clara was still sitting on the bed, waiting, she said, “Come along. You will eat with us, Clara. Sit beside Nance.” She pointed to the little girl. After Clara joined them, Eliza bowed her head again. Until Will’s death, Eliza had prayed that he would come home unharmed. Now she asked help in keeping Clara safe. Perhaps God would do a better job this time.

Eliza served Clara first—after all, she was a guest—then remembering the woman had said that on the plantation, she’d eaten from a trough using a clamshell for a utensil, Eliza gave her a spoon, thinking a fork might confuse the girl. Clara did not wait until the others were served, but picked up the plate and spooned the food into her mouth, finishing before Eliza had begun to eat. Then Clara tore off a chunk of cornbread, stuffing it into her mouth.

“She eats too fast,” Luzena observed.

Eliza thought to reprimand her daughter for her rudeness, but instead, she explained, “If there is not enough food and you fear someone else will take it all, you would eat quickly, too.”

After she finished eating, Clara demanded, “Where’s your man?”

“He was killed fighting for the Union,” Eliza answered.

“And yourn?” she asked Missouri Ann.

“Dead. He was a soldier, too.”

“Ain’t no man here?”

“I am,” Davy spoke up.

“You only a boy.”

Davy would be good protection, Eliza explained. He could shoot a gun as well as his father, and so could she and Missouri Ann.

“I never saw no lady with a gun.” Clara thought that over. “Maybe you ain’t ladies. You’re womens.”

“In the North,” Eliza told her, “we are both.”

*   *   *

Through the night, Eliza heard Clara moan and thrash about, once calling out, “No, mist’ess.” Missouri Ann was sleeping in the loft that night with the children, so Eliza rose from the pallet beside the bed, to attend the slave. It was a wonder that the poor thing could sleep at all with her pain and suffering. In the morning, Clara was almost out of her mind with fever. She muttered, “Joe,” over and over in her sleep, until Eliza told Missouri Ann that Joe must have been Clara’s son. During the day, Eliza, Missouri Ann, and Luzena took turns sponging the woman’s face and arms with cool water. Clara slept only fitfully. Once she awoke and sat upright and blurted out, “Lord Jesus going send you to hell.” Then toward evening, she fell into a deep sleep. At first, Eliza was thankful, hoping that meant Clara’s fever had broken, but at dinnertime, when she tried to awaken Clara, Eliza wondered if the woman was in a coma. If that were so, there was nothing Eliza could do about it.

*   *   *

Although neither Eliza or Missouri Ann wanted to leave the house the next morning, work had to be done. They had skipped an entire day of hoeing because of the quilting bee and had spent the next day hovering over Clara. They could not sacrifice a third day. So the two left Clara in Luzena’s care and went to the near field, finding chores that would take them to the barn or close to the house to check on the sick woman. Luzena stayed inside with Clara, latching the door each time someone left and demanding to know the identity of anyone who wanted to come inside.

Once when Eliza returned to the house, she found Luzena pretending she was on a wagon train going to the gold fields. It had been her favorite game when she was small, and now she’d set up the wagon train for Nance, stretching a quilt over two chairs facing away from each other, putting a third chair at one end for a wagon seat. Then she’d arranged the two bears that Eliza had made for Luzena when she was a baby and stuffed with chicken feathers, in front of the chairs as oxen. They did look a little more like oxen than bears, Eliza decided. With her doll, Miss Cat, on one side, Nance on the other, Luzena sat on one of the chairs with a string tied to a stick for a whip and called to the oxen to hurry along. “I’m taking Clara to Colorado where she’ll be safe, but the oxen move right poorly today, Mama,” Luzena said, as she let Eliza into the room, then secured the door.

“So do I,” Eliza replied. “It’s the heat.”

“I should have bought me mules for the trip.”

Laughing at the silly game, Eliza tiptoed across the room and examined Clara. The woman still was in a deep sleep.

“Is she going to get better?” Luzena asked.

“Yes, I believe she will. The greater danger is someone trying to steal her away. It’s best you keep the curtain drawn across the window.”

What if someone came while Eliza was in the fields? Luzena asked.

“If you are outside, you must ring the dinner bell to summon us. If you are inside, then keep the door bolted. Don’t open it to anyone but Missouri Ann, Davy, or me.”

“I wish Papa was here. He’d shoot anybody who tried to take Clara.”

Eliza nodded her agreement. She had never felt so keenly the loss of her husband. Will would have protected them, would have stood up to anyone who tried to take Clara. Despite her brave talk of the day before, Eliza was uneasy, afraid of what might happen with only two women and two children and a baby to protect the hunted slave. “Oh, Will,” she whispered to herself. “It is so hard without you.” She turned toward the door so that Luzena would not see how distraught she was.

Outside, Eliza walked to the bend in the lane, looking up and down the road to see if there was dust from a wagon or a horse, but the air was still, and she thought Clara would indeed be safe. It would be only a day or two before the woman was well enough to continue her journey.

*   *   *

But Clara did not heal quickly. “She is dangerous ill,” Eliza told Print Ritter when he called that evening. The family had heard him ride up and had stared at each other before Davy jumped up and took down the shotgun and Eliza went to the window and peered out from the edge of the curtain.

“Hello the house,” Print called. “It’s the blacksmith come for a visit.”

Eliza sighed with relief, while Missouri Ann smoothed her hair and took off her apron. Davy looked disappointed as he drew out the board from brackets bolted to either side of the door frame. The board kept anyone from forcing the door. As Print entered the room, Clara, who had been sleeping, suddenly sat up and drew against the wall, the quilt twisted in her hands.

“It’s all right, dear,” Eliza said. “It’s only Mr. Ritter. You know him. He brought you here.”

Clara seemed confused, and Eliza wondered if the slave remembered arriving at the Spooner house. Perhaps with her delirium, she didn’t even remember Eliza. “You are safe,” Eliza said, putting her arm around Clara, who winced, and Eliza remembered the terrible wounds. She turned to Print and said, “Mr. Ritter, Clara has had a bad time of it. It would be dangerous for her to leave just yet.”

Print nodded. “There’s danger out there, too. It’s rumored in town that she’s in the vicinity, and slave catchers have been looking for her from Genesis to Revelations. I’ve overheard them at the smithy. We’ll have to wait and hope they give up.”

“The others might give up but not the Starks, Mr. Ritter,” Missouri Ann said. “They’ll want that reward. These are squirrel-food times for them.”

“Pity they don’t go to work then,” Print said.

“Oh, Starks don’t work. They only steal.”

“How come you married one then?” Davy spoke up.

Eliza sought to hush him, but Missouri Ann replied, “My husband was different. He was a good man.” She looked at Nance when she said that, and Eliza thought what a difficult thing it would be to raise a little girl who’d know her family was mean and spiteful. Missouri Ann was right to praise Hugh.

“Where will you take Clara next?”

“It’s best you don’t know. The less you know, the safer she is. And you, too.”

“Would you have a bite of supper?” Eliza asked Print. “We are about to sit to it.” She had killed a chicken and boiled it, thinking the broth would strengthen Clara. And there was cornbread, dandelion greens, and sauce that Luzena had made from dried apples, saying if she were sick, that was what she would like to eat.

“I wouldn’t want to rob you,” Print said.

“Sit, Mr. Ritter. We would welcome the presence of a man in this dangerous time.” She pointed to Will’s place at the table, which had been empty since he went away to war. Then she and Missouri Ann helped Clara to the chair at the other end, while the rest of them sat down on benches on either side. Clara sagged in the chair and could barely pick up her spoon, and Eliza said, “You see how weak she is, Mr. Ritter. The fever has passed, but it will be another day or two before she can take more than a few steps.” She lowered her voice, although Clara didn’t seem to be paying attention. “Her back was whipped to shreds. It is a miracle she survived. How could anyone do such a thing to another human being?”

“You understand now why we care so much about helping people like her escape,” Print replied.

“And I know what my husband fought and died for.”

*   *   *

Clara slept late into the morning two days later and had not yet awakened when Eliza and Missouri Ann left the house. When they returned at noon, the slave sat on the bed, her fever gone, one of the bed quilts in her hand, stitching.

“She found a place where the quilt was torn and asked for a needle,” Luzena said. “I’d sew, too, but the oxen aren’t behaving today.” The girl had set up the wagon train again for Nance.

Clara held up the quilt for Eliza’s inspection. She had mended not only the torn spot but other places where the stitching had come loose.

“Such tiny stitches. I myself could not match them.”

“I work in the big house, stitched all mist’ess’ clothes. Then she sent me to the fields.” She frowned and was silent.

“Did you make quilts, too?”

“I did. Made my own squares. I help you with your top, you want me to.”

Eliza clapped her hands. “I wish I could stay and stitch with you.”

“Well, why don’t you?” Missouri Ann said. Eliza could join her later in the field.

“You wouldn’t mind? I won’t stay more than a few minutes. My hands itch to piece.”

“Do you good,” Missouri Ann told her.

After Missouri Ann was gone, Eliza bolted the door, then took out her piecing. “Why were you sent to the fields?” she asked, by way of making conversation.

“My boy looked just like the master,” Clara replied. “Mist’ess don’t want me around.”

Eliza was ashamed of herself. She should have remembered that the mistress’s husband had fathered Clara’s child. “I ask you to forgive me,” she said, and bent over her sewing.

“Ain’t nothing to forgive.” Clara paused. “I try to forgive the mist’ess for taking away my Joe and the master that sold my husband, but I can’t.”

“You had a husband? And he was sold?” Eliza couldn’t help blurting out.

“Me and him jumped the broomstick when I was ’bout fourteen. He stood up to the master when he come to the cabin, and the master don’t like that. So he sells Billy. I won’t never see him again. He’s dead to me, just like your husband.”

The mention of Will made Eliza look up. “My husband truly is dead, but couldn’t you find your Billy, maybe after this war is done with?”

“How?” Clara asked.

“You could go back.”

Clara shook her head. “Not till Resurrection Day. They’d kill me.”

“Then you are a widow as much as I and Mrs. Stark. All three of us have lost half of who we are,” Eliza told her. She folded the sewing and stood up, saying it was time for Clara to rest. As she left, she warned Luzena to bolt the door.

“We’ll never get to Colorado with the door closed,” Luzena told Nance as they sat in the make-believe covered wagon.

When Eliza reached the field, Missouri Ann observed, “Clara quilts as good as you.”

“Better, except maybe for Will’s Stars and Stripes.” Eliza was thinking of the Christmas quilt, wondering again what had become of it. Then she heard the dinner bell and knew there was trouble.