As Paul drove the buggy toward town, he felt both cautious and excited. He’d hidden Samson behind the buggy seat, covered with a blanket. It was not an ideal situation, but they had a short distance to go.
Possibly, Tabitha and Samson would be reunited in a short while. He wanted to see that moment. It gave him great joy to know he had a part in making it happen. But he couldn’t let his enthusiasm cloud his judgment. It would be devastating to come so close and be discovered.
Dusk lingered. He parked at the church and waited for Joe to join him and for darkness to deepen. He quieted his nerves by humming “Amazing Grace.”
A familiar-looking, cigar-smoking man strolled his way. When the sheriff appeared with several deputies, Paul smelled the trap. He whispered, “Samson, stay low. We got trouble.”
Paul yelled, “Hie!” and snapped the whip, but it wasn’t enough. The stranger grabbed the horse’s halter, and the buggy stopped.
“Arrest him, Sheriff.”
“You got to produce the runaways first.” Sheriff Martin shook his head as he met Paul’s gaze. “This your arsonist, Paul?”
“Yep.”
“Sure do wish you’d have pressed charges. Meet Uriah Steeple, bounty hunter.”
Uriah reached into the buggy and pulled the blanket off Samson. The black man jumped out and ran. Uriah pulled out a revolver and fired.
Samson fell.
Paul tackled Uriah, but the sheriff pulled him off. “He’s within his rights, Paul. It galls me to say it, but you know it’s true.”
Uriah grinned. “Don’t figure that one’s going anywhere fast, but come with me, Sheriff. There’s more inside.”
Clancy exchanged horses for the tired mules. Emma grasped the reins, shouting, “Hie! Hie!” as Beulah and Mandy tried to stay seated in the wagon. Arriving in town, her heart stuttered. She was too late. Townspeople had gathered, most holding torches. She stopped the wagon far back from the scene.
Paul and Joe were handcuffed near the buggy. Eight people sat tied together in the church courtyard, four adults and four children. A man lay on the ground nearby, blood oozing from his leg. Heart-wrenching wails filled the air.
No one appeared to have noticed Emma’s arrival. She turned to Beulah and Mandy and whispered, “Take the wagon behind the jailhouse.” Silently, she got down.
Her mind whirling, Emma stood behind a tree, watching the scene. She had no plan. Sending the wagon behind the jailhouse was a hunch. She had no idea how it would help, other than keeping her servants safe.
“You all should know,” Uriah shouted so everyone could hear, “that I have Mrs. Trebor to thank for the success of this little roundup. She told me about the secret room at the mill and the hollow stump where I found the message. Even paid me.” He held up Emma’s pendant.
The crowd murmured, but it was the look on Paul’s face that smote Emma’s heart. She fought the urge to run to him and explain, but what could she say? Uriah was telling the truth.
“Okay, people, the show’s over. Go back to your homes.” The sheriff gestured for Paul and Joe to walk in front of him. Two deputies supported Samson. Uriah held the ropes tying the runaways together.
An idea came to Emma. It wasn’t much of one—it could backfire horribly—but she had to do something. She waited until the crowd moved away from the church then unhitched Perseus from the buggy.
Uriah’s words about Emma pierced Paul’s heart. It couldn’t be true. He looked at Joe.
“She found the secret room, boss. Mandy delivered the message to me, that’s all I know.”
So she had discovered the secret room. Had he really thought she wouldn’t look?
The procession flowed toward the jailhouse as the community followed, yelling jeers and taunts at Uriah. He grinned back then jerked on the rope he held, causing several captives to fall.
A deputy grabbed the rope from him. “Get out of here.” He brandished his gun. “If I were you, I’d find someplace to lay low. This crowd might turn any minute.”
Uriah slunk off.
Anger welled up inside Paul. He didn’t care about himself. He’d be fined a large sum, perhaps lose his home and the mill, but that was nothing compared to what these freedom seekers would endure. All would be severely punished by their masters. Some would die. Some would wish they could die.
He slowed his pace to match that of the deputies walking with Samson. “Did you see her, Samson? Tabitha is still here with the children.”
Samson stopped moving. “Not safe in Canada?” Tears coated his words.
As soon as Emma was out of town, she urged Perseus to a full gallop. A diversion was needed. Something big. Something that would force everyone to help.
Like a fire.
She couldn’t set fire to a building in town. That could be catastrophic. The whole town could suffer.
But the mill was a short distance from town.
With trembling hands, Emma touched the match flame to a ball of cotton fluff in the bale shed. She blew on the sparks then fanned the tiny tendril. When strong flames appeared, Emma mounted Perseus and raced back to town, shouting, “Fire at the mill! The cotton mill’s on fire!” She rounded the corner behind the jailhouse as the streets filled with men running for the mill.
Mandy and Beulah were still in the wagon.
“In five minutes, drive to the front.”
Emma dismounted and ran around to the front of the jailhouse. She barged in, startling the deputy on duty. “The mill is on fire! What are you doing here?”
“Somebody’s got to guard the prisoners.”
“I’ll guard them. If the mill burns, a lot of people will lose their livelihood. Go! Help!” Would the deputy trust her as a guard? He would if he believed the things Uriah said.
He hesitated.
“If you care at all for Paul, you’ll do all you can to save his mill.”
The deputy ran out—with the keys.
Emma searched the desk, the drawers, the walls for another set. Finally she found them on a hook on the inner side of the desk. She ran to the cells and unlocked the doors. “There’s a wagon waiting. Hurry. Go!” She glimpsed Paul run past, but there was no time to talk.
“Get in,” Paul yelled, and jumped on the wagon seat. Joe sat next to him. The runaways helped Samson into the back of the wagon and jumped in themselves.
“Hang on,” Paul shouted then asked Joe, “Can we get them on a ship?”
“No ships in port sailing north for two days.” Joe rubbed his forehead.
“Then our options are limited.” Paul flicked the reins again and turned the wagon toward his home. It wasn’t safe, but it might buy time until they could think of something else. Nine people bounced in the back of the wagon as Paul raced home.
When Paul stopped in front of the manor, Joe’s brow furrowed. “Inside the house? Not the stable?”
“I want them in my home. And I’ll shoot anyone who tries to come after them.”
Emma rode Perseus down the road to the mill. On the way she passed the path to the creek and noted Uriah’s dapple gray under a tree. She’d like to stop and give Mr. Steeple a piece of her mind, but more important was saving the mill—from the fire she started.
A water brigade was already set up, and she joined the ranks, risking recognition by the deputy. But she had to help. It was her husband’s mill.
The bale shed was destroyed. Windows were broken in the main building, but it was made of brick and less susceptible to fire damage.
Had anyone recognized her as she rode through town shouting, “Fire”? She counted on the darkness, the surprise, and her horse’s speed to disguise her. If she were suspected of alerting the town, there would be a lot of questions to answer.
With the fire out, men milled about. Emma shrank back into the shadows. Most of them had heard Uriah’s accusations, and some probably believed him. Helping put out the fire would not vindicate her. She listened to the chatter.
“Wonder how it started.”
“Hey, I saw that Steeple’s horse on the path to the creek.”
“Think he did it?”
“He tried once before.”
“Why’d he want to burn the mill?”
“Punish Paul for helping the freedom seekers.”
“Who else could it be? Nobody in town has anything against Paul.”
“You say you saw him by the creek? Let’s go.”
Emma rode back to town and waited in the sheriff’s chair for the deputy’s return.
“Hey! What happened here?” The sheriff walked in smelling of smoke. “Mrs. Trebor, can you tell me why you are here and the prisoners are not?” He shoved a handcuffed Uriah Steeple into a cell and locked it.
“Yes, sir, I can. The mill was on fire, and I wanted every able-bodied person to help fight it, so I badgered your deputy to let me guard them.”
Uriah shouted from his cell, “You got to arrest her, Sheriff! She let my runaways go!”
The sheriff planted his hands on his hips and faced Uriah. “Now why would she do that? According to you, she went to a lot of trouble to help you round them up. Don’t make sense that she’d let them go.”
“I confess, Sheriff, that I didn’t stay to guard them. I thought about the fire and my husband’s mill, and I had to help, so I left my post and went to the mill. Can you arrest me for deserting my post?” Emma rose from the chair.
“No, Mrs. Trebor. You are not a deputy. You didn’t have a post to desert.”
Uriah rattled the cell bars. “Somebody let my runaways go. I want them back.”
“It could have been most anyone in town. Without a clue, I’m not going to waste my time investigating.” The sheriff sat in his chair. “Why don’t you go on home, Mrs. Trebor? It’s been a long night.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. But one more thing. What has Mr. Steeple done that you’ve arrested him?”
“Arson. Started the fire at the mill. I’ll keep him in custody till Paul can come in and press charges.”
Emma’s conscience bothered her as she drove the buggy home. Uriah was in jail for the fire she’d started. She’d have to go back and confess, of course—after the freedom seekers were safely on their way to Canada.