Jersey City, New Jersey
November 1851
Annie Morrison and her dearest friend had not taken more than five steps past Morrison’s cabinet shop when Louisa clutched her arm and let out a startled gasp.
“Perhaps we should cross the street,” Louisa suggested, her voice tight. “Quick.” Annie followed Louisa Strong’s cautious gaze toward the dashing young man with brown hair who stood on the wide, bluestone sidewalk a half block ahead. He appeared innocent enough, wearing a large fold-down collar over a loosely tied cravat; a fancy shawl-collared vest; a black, loose-fitting frock coat; and fashionable plaid trousers.
“Why?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Whatever is wrong?”
“He’s staring at me.”
Louisa made a sharp turn to cross the cobblestone street, but Annie drew her back with a swift tug. Just in time, too, for Louisa narrowly missed being run over by a team of horses pulling a heavily laden delivery cart.
As the clattering of hooves subsided, Annie released her breath and reprimanded her friend with a sharp look. “You must be more careful.”
Louisa nodded. “Yes, everyone these days seems to be taking sides, either for or against the abolitionists.”
“I meant,” Annie clarified, “you should be more careful of the roadway. Although I do fear your nightly activities are going to get you into trouble.”
Louisa’s brows shot upward. “Do you think the young gentleman might know my secret?”
“I doubt this man suspects anything. I’d say he’s staring because he is smitten,” Annie teased.
Louisa cast another glance up the sidewalk; then her shoulders relaxed and a devilish smile played upon her lips. “I daresay you’re right.”
“You can hardly blame him, when you are so beautiful,” Annie said, eyeing the blond curls tucked into her friend’s bonnet.
“Except he’s not staring at me, like I first supposed,” Louisa said, her smile broadening. “He’s staring at you!”
Annie shot a second glance toward the handsome young man, and their gazes met for the briefest second before she let out a startled gasp of her own.
Louisa was right.
Morrison’s Cabinetry relied upon its delivery wagon to transport the custom cabinets built by Annie’s father and her brother, William. However, one of the wooden wheel axles had broken that very morning, leaving them in an unexpected bind. Thankfully, Louisa’s family had offered the use of their wagon for the day.
Annie was glad, too, for Louisa’s company. It wasn’t proper for a young lady to traverse the town alone. But together, they were free to explore the shops while Will off-loaded the cabinets they’d brought in from their countryside home to their father’s shop in the heart of Jersey City.
Her thoughts were still on the young man who had been staring at her when Will called over to her that it was time to go. She hated to leave the bustle of the vibrant city behind; its luscious smell of fresh-baked breads from the bakery, the mouthwatering taste of sweet treats from the confectioners, the soft feathers adorning the assorted hats for sale at the milliners, the ringing cadence of the blacksmith’s hammer, the clip-clop of horses’ feet, the shrill whistles of the approaching trains, and the deep, bellowing toots of the steam-powered ferries out on the river.
Her mother said each sound blended together to form a cacophony of music only a city lover could appreciate. But Annie didn’t believe that was true. She adored both the country and the city, welcoming the variety each had to offer.
Except she wasn’t sure she liked catching the attention of the bold young man on the sidewalk. She’d much prefer an honest country boy over a pompous, well-to-do city dweller’s attention. Especially after her time spent in the company of Henry Pennington, a banker who proved he was no gentleman after pledging his undying love to both her and another on the very same day.
“Annie!”
Snapping out of her reverie, she took her brother’s hand and stepped up to sit in the middle of the wagon’s bench seat beside Louisa. A moment later Will joined them, and taking the reins, he turned their team of horses toward the stream of other horse-drawn buggies and wagons heading north past the train terminal.
“Why are we going this way?” Annie asked, her shoulder bouncing against her brother’s as they drove over the bumpy roadway.
Will shrugged. “Daniel Walker says the sheriff and his posse are searching for a group of runaway slaves over on Paulus Point. I figure it’s best if we don’t get in their way.”
Louisa leaned forward to look over at him. “You spoke with Daniel? When?”
Will smirked. “While you two were off trying on hats.”
“Oh! I would have liked to have seen him,” Louisa said, her tone wistful. Then, breaking into a huge smile, she looked at Annie and confided, “Yesterday, he proposed.”
“He did?” Annie grabbed hold of her friend’s hand and exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I thought to wait until we could both surprise you with the news, but I simply cannot wait any longer,” Louisa gushed, her face aglow. “He asked permission from Father first, of course. I suspected as much when I saw Daniel approach him after the morning sermon. Poor Daniel held his hat crushed in his hands, and his face was as red as my mama’s raspberry jam.”
Annie laughed. “I suppose it would take nerve for anyone to ask Reverend Thomas Alexander Strong permission to marry his daughter. He said yes, of course?”
Louisa’s green eyes danced with excitement. “He did. And so did I. We’re to be married on the twenty-fourth of April.”
Annie caught her breath. “Why, that only gives you six and a half months to plan.”
“It only gives us six and a half months to plan. You will help Mother and I make the arrangements, won’t you? And stand up with me as my maid of honor?”
“Whoa! Hold tight!” Will interrupted, his voice tense. “Runaway wagon!”
Annie turned her head just in time to see a frenzied pair of horses pulling a careening cart, and indeed—there was no driver. William jerked the reins of their own team to the left, then to the right, in what Annie supposed was an attempt to avoid a direct collision.
Too late. Another passing wagon forced the spooked runaways to weave once more into the path before them. One of their horses reared, and the wagon carrying Annie, Louisa, and Will turned over on its side.
Louisa screamed as Annie fell over on top of her. Their skirts were tangled and likely soiled, but as they scrambled onto their hands and knees along the steep embankment, it was the ominous whistle of the oncoming train that curdled the blood in Annie’s veins.
For there, on the tracks below, lay her brother. And it didn’t look like he was getting up.
“William!” The shout that left her lips sounded far away, almost as if it had come from another person. And yet he lifted his head.
Twisting out of Louisa’s grasp, Annie lunged forward, but this time it was her friend who pulled her back.
“Annie, no! There’s no time!”
Glancing at the inbound train, Annie’s heart screeched to a dead stop.
Was there no hope?
Then from out of the trench on the opposite side of the tracks, a black man, covered in filth, reached out a hand and pulled her brother toward him. Annie sucked in her breath and craned her neck, straining to see if her brother was all right, but couldn’t, for the massive steam engine blocked her view as it sped between them.
Annie glanced back at Louisa, who sat with her hands clasped together and her head bent over in prayer. Annie hadn’t thought to pray. It had all happened so fast, there hadn’t been time. But in the next few seconds, during which she waited for the train to pass, she decided she should pray also. She only hoped God remembered her name. For she hadn’t prayed as she ought for a while now. Not since He allowed Henry Pennington to break her heart.
Scrambling down the embankment, Annie and Louisa crossed the tracks in search of Will. They found him in the trench from which the black man had come.
“Will, thank God,” Annie exclaimed, peering down at him. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” her brother replied, shaking his mussed, sandy-haired head, then nodded to the bleeding wound on the foot of the man in filthy overalls beside him. “But he is.”
The man Will referred to looked up and held her gaze, the whites of his eyes emphasizing his dark pupils and even darker hair and skin.
“Are you one of the fugitives the sheriff’s men are after?” Louisa asked, keeping her voice low.
The black man didn’t answer, but Will stood up and said, “We have to help him.”
“Will, we—we can’t,” Annie whispered. “You know what the townspeople think of the abolitionists.” Shooting Louisa an apologetic look, she said, “Papa doesn’t want us to get involved.”
“Louisa’s family can hide him with the others in the church basement,” Will insisted.
“We haven’t any more room,” Louisa exclaimed, giving them each a desperate look. “You’ll have to hide him at your place.”
“Take him home with us?” Annie’s stomach tightened. “It’s illegal to lend aid to a slave’s escape. Papa would never approve.”
“Annie,” her brother implored. “He saved my life.”
“Well, then let’s just thank him and be on our way,” she suggested.
Will’s eyes widened as he glanced at the man beside him, who tried to stand. “He hurt his ankle saving me and is unable to walk. I can’t just leave him.”
“If the sheriff’s men find him, they could shoot on sight,” Louisa agreed.
“Misses, I ratha’ die than let them ship me back,” the man vowed.
Annie opened her mouth to protest, but Will gave her a look that brooked no further argument.
“He saved my life,” William repeated, his voice firm. “Papa will understand.”
Maybe he would. But that didn’t ease the tension flowing through every one of her nerves.
What if they were caught?
Isaiah Hawkins made sure to keep his profile hidden within the shadows of the darkened threshold of the livery stable as he watched Louisa Strong unlatch the hidden compartment beneath the bench seat of her family’s wagon. He’d long suspected the Strongs were active in the Underground Railroad, the secret network of people who helped Southern fugitives escape north, but he hadn’t believed—until now—that William and Annie Morrison were abolitionists as well. The Morrisons had always so unerringly presented a neutral standing on the topic of slavery whenever publicly questioned.
Yet there they were, glancing about as if to make sure no one was watching and then helping the man climb into the wagon’s secret hiding place.
Except that “cargo” wasn’t meant for them.
Isaiah had planned to be at the train station early, but got waylaid by the clothier in the men’s shop who, suspecting he held opposing views, refused to sell him the garments he wished to purchase. Isaiah had hoped the elegant threads might help the man transition more believably into Northern society. But only by donning the attire himself, and forking over an exorbitant amount of coin, was he finally allowed to walk out the door.
Except the victory was short lived. For although the state of New Jersey had outlawed slavery, slave catchers, motivated by huge rewards, were often afoot trying to retrieve what Southern plantation owners claimed as their property. And today they’d enticed the sheriff to help them hunt down the group arriving on the morning train.
Which had made retrieving his intended cargo quite difficult. Isaiah had taken a quick scan of the tracks and seen the sheriff and his posse chase down three of the black men. But the fourth still had not been found. The one with the dark imprint of a horseshoe branded into his side. The one he’d been meant to transport. Not Louisa Strong or the Morrisons.
Now—he had to devise a way to get him back.