Joseph shoved the last bite of beef into his mouth and washed it down with water.
“Joseph, stop eating so fast.”
He needed to get to the abolitionist meeting tonight. No way was he telling Mother about that. He didn’t want to be late. He would’ve skipped supper so he could get to the meeting on time, but he figured it would have aroused Mother’s suspicions. They were having supper late that evening for a good reason.
Mother had gone over the accounting ledgers for the last couple of days. Since they’d hired Ruth, their profits had increased by 25 percent. Just seeing the increase of income in two days’ time had somewhat pacified Mother about hiring her. She still barked at Ruth with a stark tone, but he figured in time, Mother would learn to treat her with the respect that she deserved. He certainly hoped so.
“I’ve got something to do tonight.”
“What’s that?” She narrowed her eyes and gave him a shrewd look. “Joseph, you better not be hiding anything from me.”
“Mother, I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. Stop treating me like a child. I don’t have to tell you everything I do.”
She frowned and pushed her plate away. At least she’d finished half her supper, which was a blessing. Her appetite seemed to have returned since they’d gotten extra money into their coffers. “Are you going to call on Francine tonight?”
“No.” The beautiful Francine was an upper-class black woman whom he’d escorted to one formal event. The woman proved whiny and clingy. One evening alone with her was enough for him to determine they did not belong together.
“Then where are you going?”
It was none of her business. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” Hopefully she’d be in bed by the time he returned. The last thing he needed was to have her subject him to an inquisition when he came home.
Ruth’s hard shoes pounded on the cobbled street as she rushed to the abolitionist meeting.
The last couple of days working in the bakery had been busy. She flexed her aching fingers. She’d never kneaded so much bread each day. When she’d been a slave on the big farm, she’d cooked, cleaned, and baked a few loaves of bread daily.
Working in a bakery was much different than kneading bread for farmers and workers.
It’d been a blessing that she’d been able to keep up with the orders. People lined up down the street to purchase her herbal, cinnamon, dried-fruit bread. Joseph’s hazel eyes had been laced with kindness when he’d seen her rushing to keep up with the orders. She’d been so tired, and he’d kindly offered to help bake the bread, but she didn’t want him to know her secret recipe.
A young man rushed by so quickly, he bumped right into her. She blinked, and her steps faltered as the scent of male sweat—and corn—filled her nose. Thomas. But this man smelled just like her deceased beau. “So sorry, miss.” He bowed his head, and her heart skipped; his cinnamon-colored skin, tall, lanky frame, and deep voice reminded her so much of her beloved. He raised his head. His almond-colored eyes sparkled with warmth. She released the breath she’d been holding. Of course, it wasn’t Thomas. The man gave her another smile and rushed away.
Salty wetness slid down her cheeks. She swiped the tears away. Thomas had been dead for over a year, yet that was the third time since his passing she’d imagined seeing him. The first two times had occurred while she was still living on the Maryland farm as a slave. How foolish could she be? Thomas had died, he’d been buried, and that was that. Slavery, that’s what had killed Thomas. If he had not been a slave, she figured he’d still be alive.
The conditions of Thomas’s death still haunted her. He’d lived on an adjoining farm and had taken ill. His master didn’t send for the doctor, thinking he could treat Thomas himself. They concluded Thomas had contracted cholera. If the doctor had been summoned immediately, he might have lived. His death had hit her hard. She’d continued working in the kitchen as if in a trance. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She’d been like a walking phantom, unable to fathom life without her beau. They’d discussed getting married, jumping the broom. She was about to approach her master about her intended plans just before Thomas died.
She continued to wipe her tears as she spotted the small, redbrick building of the church, where flocks of people entered. Ruth stopped, took a few steps back. She swallowed and took a deep breath, recalling the last time she’d been in a crowd so large. A slave who’d tried to escape an adjoining farm had been beaten. She’d witnessed the poor man being beaten so hard. He’d died a few days later.
“Ruth, are you all right?”
Her heart skipped when Joseph touched her shoulder and pressed a white handkerchief into her hand. She blinked and suddenly realized she’d been crying. She sniffed. Her nose was running too. She mashed her lips down, squeezed the handkerchief, and closed her eyes. She’d done so poorly. She only cried when she was alone. If she was careful, she could avoid tears in public. Well, the few times she’d spotted someone who resembled Thomas she’d lost control, unable to keep her emotions hidden until she was alone.
Now, Joseph had seen her cry. She certainly hoped he didn’t think she’d be a weak, sniveling woman while working in the bakery. She considered herself a strong woman, and she didn’t want Joseph to think otherwise. She took a deep breath and stood up taller. She needed to pull herself together. She had to focus on helping with the Underground Railroad and worry about her grief later.
“I’s okay.” She wiped her wet eyes and blew her nose. She figured she could clean Joseph’s handkerchief and return it to him later. She tucked it into her battered reticule and again focused on the crowd of people entering the church.
“Why are you crying?”
“Slavery. Thinking about it makes me sad.” She didn’t want to tell him about the beating she’d witnessed, or about Thomas.
“So you’re here for the abolitionist meeting?”
She nodded. “Miss Tilley was supposed to come with me, but she’s sick.” Before the meeting, Miss Tilley was supposed to start teaching her the alphabet so she could learn to read. Before she’d left for the meeting, she’d stopped by her room and had seen the metal sick bucket beside her bed. Miss Tilley said she had a stomachache and couldn’t attend the meeting. Her ma had been tending to her. Ruth had some dried mint leaves and had brewed them into a tea and given it to Miss Tilley’s ma to give her. “Might help with her sick stomach,” she’d advised.
She’d been disappointed she’d have to attend the meeting alone. She didn’t realize Joseph was a part of the abolitionist cause. Strange that Miss Tilley had not mentioned this when she’d invited her to the meeting a couple of days ago. Her heart skipped as Joseph touched the small of her back and led her inside the church. Lanterns were lit and crowds of folks flocked to the hard wooden pews.
They took the last two spots on the back pew. She spotted some whites amidst the mostly Negro crowd.
Joseph touched her hand and gestured toward the group of whites. “Those are Quakers.” He mentioned their names. “They’ve been working with the abolitionists for a long time, trying to stop slavery.”
She nodded. This was the first time she’d ever seen whites and Negroes openly meeting together. She surveyed the church, studied the rough wooden cross in the front of the room. Jesus, I really needs You right now. Please take my sadness away. Seeing Joseph had been a somewhat welcome reprieve to her sadness. She discreetly studied him while they waited for the meeting to begin. She’d been relieved when he didn’t ask her more questions as to why she’d been crying.
Joseph was probably one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen, besides Thomas. His skin was cinnamon-colored. His complexion reminded her of a loaf of lightly browned bread. He was tall, muscular, and hardworking. His curly hair was light, too, like the color of dust. The color of his eyes was captivating. His eyes weren’t dark brown, like hers; they were light, like the skins of the hazelnuts she’d once chopped for a pie.
Over the last few days, she’d caught him staring at her. For some weird reason, she felt he could see deep into her soul. When they’d taken their dinner break, his mother had hovered, as if afraid to leave them alone to eat. She’d sensed he’d wanted to talk to her, ask her questions about herself. When his mother had left to deposit money in the bank, a couple of skinny street beggars had shown up. Joseph knew them by name and had given them a loaf of bread and some milk.
She figured the beggars knew when his mother wasn’t around, they could come seeking food. Joseph had been so kind, asking them questions about their lives, and he’d encouraged them to come to church. The beggars had left by the time his mother returned. She’d been touched by his kindness. She’d been thinking about his interaction with the vagrants all day. She might as well ask him about it. “It was mighty kind of you to help the street beggars today.”
He raised his thick eyebrows. “Those two have been coming around for a few years. I’ve been praying for them. I think you know Mother doesn’t realize that I feed street beggars.”
She nodded. “Would she be upset about a loaf of bread and some milk?” It’d be upsetting to know Joseph’s mother would withhold food from someone for a few pennies of profit.
Surprisingly, Joseph chuckled. “Hard to say. She might not say anything initially, but since I do it every week, yes, I could see her objecting.” He touched her hand, and her skin warmed. “I hope working with Mother doesn’t bother you very much. She’s always been controlling, but she’s gotten much worse since Father died.”
Ruth nodded. “I’s sorry to hear that. Miss Tilley told me your pa passed. Anything I can do to make your ma feel better?”
His mouth dropped open, and he appeared speechless. He then focused on her again. “Ruth, that is so nice of you to ask. I honestly don’t know what could help Mother feel better except some prayers.”
She nodded. That sounded like a good idea. She almost felt ashamed she’d not thought of praying on her own. “All right. I’ll be praying for your ma and for you too. I figure it’s hard on both of you, since your pa passed.”
“Thank you.” He tilted his head, studying her for a few seconds. “What about you, Ruth? Are your parents still alive?”
Since she never knew her parents, she didn’t know how to answer.
“Everyone, time to start the meeting.” Cyrus Brown rescued her from responding to Joseph’s question. She figured he’d ask her about it again someday. But she’d rather wait until she’d been working at the bakery for a while before she shared something so personal with him.
Cyrus leaned on his cane as he made his way to the podium. She’d heard he was close to eighty years old. He’d even revealed his health was starting to decline.
Cyrus’s kind eyes stared at the audience. “The Lord wants us to do all we can to abolish slavery. We’ve already helped so many slaves to escape, but we must help more.” He bowed his head, and Ruth lowered hers and closed her eyes. She focused on Cyrus’s words. “Dear Lord Jesus, please be with us tonight as we try our best to abolish slavery. Please let Your Holy Spirit be with us during this meeting.” He paused for so long that Ruth peeked at the front of the room and spotted Cyrus wiping his eyes. She pressed her hands together and closed her eyes again. “Please be with all of the slaves who are on the run right now, Lord. Help them to find freedom. Amen.”
“Amen,” Ruth whispered.
Cyrus opened his mouth and his deep voice boomed throughout the church. The words of “Amazing Grace” rippled through the church as others joined in with the song. Ruth smiled, camaraderie and familiarity sweeping through her being. She sang along with the crowd, glad to hear her voice blended in well with the others. Joseph’s strong voice also filled the room, and she stole another peek at him. They shared a smile when the song ended.
He touched her hand and liquid warmth spread through her. “Amazing Grace” was her favorite Christian song. Her master had allowed the slaves one hour of worship every Sunday. During that time, they sang hymns to the Lord. A few times, a traveling preacher had spoken to them.
Cyrus cleared his throat. “If it’s the Lord’s will, we’re expecting some slaves to come through within the next two weeks.”
Murmurs filled the room. Cyrus waited until the people had quieted before he continued to speak. “For those of you who are new to the movement, we have to provide meals, a bath, clothes, and shelter to the runaways.” Ruth focused on Pastor Cyrus’s words as he spoke about the movement, giving a summary of all the duties that were involved to keep the movement going. “We also need volunteers to provide encouragement, and we need to be sure we have plenty of supplies…” Ruth kept eyeing Joseph. He focused on Cyrus, leaning forward. He appeared spellbound by Cyrus’s speech, and she realized Joseph seemed happier here, in church, then he’d ever appeared at the bakery.
She sniffed. Joseph smelled nice, like freshly baked bread and spices. The delicious scents of the bakery clung to him, making him that much more appealing.
“I also want to announce that I’ll be stepping down as pastor. I’m getting old, and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to pastor this church.”
Murmurs again rustled throughout the church. Cyrus closed the meeting with a word of prayer. Joseph then looked directly at her. “Ruth, would you excuse me for a minute?”
When Cyrus dismissed the meeting, Joseph raced toward the podium.