Annie curled up into a ball on her bed and squeezed her eyes shut. The insides of her stomach twisted and turned, leaving her feeling hollow and empty, and incredibly sick.
What if Isaiah had been telling her the truth? What if he did have a plan to let the slaves escape? Or had she misjudged him as much as she’d misjudged Henry? Perhaps she just wasn’t a good judge of character to have allowed both men to fool her so easily.
Well, she wouldn’t dwell upon either one of them again. Crying over what couldn’t be changed was never anything but a waste of time.
If only she could tell that to her heart.
Why, God? Why can’t I find someone who loves me? Am I not smart enough? Pretty enough? Do You even care?
She’d heard some people say they heard God’s voice speak to them all the time, encouraging them to do the right thing, to take the right path. Except she’d never heard God speak to her, and she didn’t even know what path she was on.
Perhaps she could ask Reverend Strong to speak to God for her. Surely as a minister of the church, God would listen to him. Drying her eyes, she vowed to ask him right after the morning service. First, she’d sneak down to the basement and bring Rhina a jug of fresh milk and a few dried apples.
Luckily, she and Louisa had found out that Isaiah couldn’t be trusted before taking Rhina to his boat. Staying in the church basement might be dangerous, but they’d decided Rhina would be safer there than walking straight into the hands of a suspected slave catcher.
Ignoring her parents’ concerned glances, Annie sat in the back of the wagon, cuddled under a lap blanket, as they drove into town. They’d been aware of her foul, “unladylike” mood after Isaiah had left the evening before, but hadn’t made comment. Since Simon Cole had arrived to terrorize the neighborhood, foul moods had seemed to run amuck. Her brother, Will, had been in a foul mood just this morning, and left, taking the horse, saying he needed to take care of something important before church.
From what she’d heard Cole say in the woods, Annie suspected he was needed to help prepare the slaves for the move south.
Indeed, the entire town seemed astir as Annie’s father drove their wagon past the courthouse. A small crowd was gathered on the stone steps, between two of the four majestic structural pillars, unusual for a Sunday, when most people were focused on visiting the various places of worship. More folks hurried along the streets. And when Annie’s father hitched their horse and wagon with the others in the back field, the sheriff and his deputies rode past at a furious pace, kicking dust up over everyone’s Sunday best.
Shaking off her mantle, dress skirts, and bonnet, Annie slipped through the First Presbyterian Church’s double doors and down the stairs to the basement. Unlatching a second door to her right, she knocked five times then entered the room where Rhina was hiding.
“I brought you milk and apples,” Annie said, removing the items from the inside folds of her hooded mantle.
“Thank you, miss,” a deep voice replied.
Annie jumped back. “Rhina?”
“I’m here, miss. Jourdon too. And Kitch.”
Annie rolled back the rug and lifted the grate off the trapdoor beneath. Then she peered into the hole and gazed down at Rhina and the two men beside her. “Jourdon. Kitch. How…did you get here?”
“Mr. Hawkins made it look like one of the other men lost the keys to the handcuffs; then when Mr. Cole went to search for them, Mr. Hawkins and young Mr. Morrison helped us escape.”
“When?”
“Early this mornin’.”
Was that where Will had gone? To help Isaiah?
“You’re not wrong about me,” Isaiah had told her. “I won’t let you down.”
His words from the day before filled her with guilt. Oh, why didn’t I believe him? And joy. Now that she knew Isaiah was a man of his word, she also realized he must have been telling the truth about how he felt about her. He’d said, “I was never pretending, Annie.”
“What about the other fugitives Cole captured?” she asked, her spirit lifting as she handed down the food.
“They were freed as well,” Louisa said, rushing into the room. “Simon Cole is storming mad and searching the entire town. It’s best everyone stays hidden.”
Rhina, Jourdon, and Kitch nodded, and Louisa replaced the grate and straightened the braided rug overtop.
“I—I need to find Isaiah,” Annie said, heading for the door.
“Come with me,” Louisa said, grabbing her hand. “I think I saw him sit in one of the pews toward the back.”
Isaiah searched the congregation seated inside the church and spotted Annie’s mother pulling both her and Louisa into the space beside her in the front row. He’d have to wait until the sermon was over to speak with the woman he’d come to adore.
And tell her he’d willingly go to jail rather than help Cole, if it meant she’d forgive him and believe his feelings for her were true.
Ironically enough, Reverend Strong had picked this Sunday to preach about the enslaved Israelites and how Moses, being led by God, had asked the Egyptian pharaoh to “let his people go.”
Would the story inspire the abolitionists in the congregation to take action against Cole and demand he let the Southern fugitives go?
From the scared, nervous looks flitting around the room, Isaiah didn’t think so. Especially when Cole burst through the front doors, disrupting the service, and ordered his men to search the entire building.
“This is a disgrace!” Reverend Strong thundered from the pulpit. Turning toward the sheriff, who also entered the church, he demanded, “Are you going to let him get away with this?”
The sheriff grimaced. “I’m bound by the law to help him.”
“Then break the law,” Reverend Strong said, shaking his fist in the air. “And do what you know by God is right.”
Tensions in the room escalated when someone called out, “Found them!” and Rhina, Jourdon, and Kitch were hauled into the middle of the assembly.
“This church is the real disgrace,” Cole taunted. “Led by a preacher who’d rather break laws than abide by them. Instead of a fine, I think this man needs some time behind bars to contemplate the seriousness of his actions.”
Sheriff Davis hesitated, and despite the chill in the room, a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face as he took out a pair of handcuffs. “Reverend Strong, I’m placing you under arrest.”
“Chances are, he didn’t act alone,” Cole drawled, releasing a grin. “Lock up the missus, and their daughter too.”
The congregation let out a collective gasp, and all who were sitting jumped to their feet. Including Annie.
“No!” she cried, as the deputies tried to pry her hands away from her friend.
Isaiah worked to make his way toward her. If she spoke out too loudly, the sheriff and his men might decide to lock Annie away too. But from the roaring chant of hostile voices, it appeared a mob had formed outside the church, and when someone threw in a flaming torch…
The mass exodus of people turned everything into utter chaos.
Annie found herself swept out the door with the rest of the crowd, like a small piece of kelp caught in the current of an angry sea.
The mob who had incited the incident threatened to burn down the church! God’s church. For providing a safe haven for fugitives! And instead of standing up to them, the congregation had run away in fear. Annie was scared too. Afraid for herself; for her best friend, Louisa; for their families; and for her community.
Dear God, what has this world come to?
Annie frowned, her wits shaken. Indeed, where was God in all of this? Didn’t He see what was going on? Wasn’t He going to send someone to stop the madness?
“I’m sending you.”
The words popped into her head like a soft whisper. At first, she didn’t know if she’d imagined it or if someone beside her had actually spoken the words aloud. Surely it couldn’t have come from…
God?
She glanced upward, still not sure she’d heard His voice, but with firm resolve, she knew in her heart and with every fiber of her being that if no one else would speak out against the injustice surrounding them, then by golly, she would.
Despite the risk it might pose to her family.
“Stop!” she cried, spinning around. If only she could get at least one person to listen to her. “Can’t you see what Simon Cole is doing to us?”
But she was too short to be either seen or heard. An insignificant voice from an insignificant person. Or was she? Squeezing through the crowd, she climbed atop the back of a wagon someone had parked along the street and surveyed the scene on either side of her.
To the south stood the courthouse, where the laws that were enacted were supposed to protect the rights of the people. To the north stood her beloved church, with its tall, illuminated bell tower pointing toward the heavens. And in the middle, standing on the street before her, stood Simon Augustus Cole, crowing like a celebrity as he tore off Kitch’s coat and threw him down in the dirt by her brother’s feet.
“This is the second time this here darkie has slipped away from me,” Cole said, tossing Will the whip. “Why don’t you teach him a lesson?”
Annie glanced at the whip and at poor Kitch, anticipating the worst. But in a surprise move that brought joy to her heart, her brother tossed the whip back toward the slave catcher, and in a clear voice that turned many heads, he said, “I will not.”
“Are you defying my order, son?” Cole asked, narrowing his gaze. Turning toward the crowd, he said, “Anyone who protects one of these slaves is no better than a slave himself. And disobedient slaves deserve to be whipped!”
Annie’s heart nearly stopped when Cole drew back the tail end of the long, brown leather whip, preparing to strike, his eyes targeting her brother. But before the slave catcher could lash out, another man stepped forward and took Will’s place.
Isaiah! Oh no, not my Isaiah!
Annie winced. The same moment, a shot rang out. Opening her eyes, her gaze flew first to Isaiah, who remained unharmed—thank the Lord—then toward the shattered remains of Cole’s whip, strewn on the ground. Noticing everyone else had turned toward the direction from which the shot had been fired, she followed their lead and spied her father, leaning against the side of his cabinet shop, a long-barreled rifle in his hands.
“Simon Cole would make slaves of us all,” her father said, addressing the crowd. “But there won’t be any whippings on my watch.”
“Nor mine,” Annie said, and spun around to face the slave catcher straight on. “Simon Cole, how dare you treat people that way! It’s inhumane!”
“You—a mere woman—dare to judge me?” Cole growled, spotting her atop the wagon. “You have no more right to speak to me than one of these slaves! Women are to remain silent.”
“I will not!” Annie protested. “The people in our town have remained silent too long already, while you’ve searched our homes, fined and jailed our loved ones, and enslaved us in fear with your cruel bullying.”
“That’s right!” someone shouted supportively from the edge of the crowd. Daniel. With an outraged scowl, he was weaving through the crowd, his gaze steadfast on Louisa, who stood handcuffed with her parents in the sheriff’s company.
Encouraged, Annie pointed toward Jourdon. “That man, whom Cole has bound, is not a slave. He is a free man.”
Cole rolled his eyes and let out a derisive laugh. “You have no proof.”
“Neither do you have proof that he is a slave,” Annie argued.
“I do not need proof,” Cole countered. “The law says my word is good enough.”
“I’ll give you proof,” Isaiah said, walking toward the three fugitives. First, he asked Jourdon for his papers and held them up in the air. Then he walked toward Kitch and pulled a square, folded paper from his front shirt pocket. “This letter was sent by courier just seven days ago.” Addressing the crowd, he read, “I, Benjamin DeWitt, heir of DeWitt Manor in South Carolina as of December 1st 1851, upon the death of my father hereby declare, that the former slave by the name of Kitch, a tall, robust black man identified by a horseshoe-shaped scar on the lower right side of his abdomen, is released from his service to this plantation to go henceforth into the world…a free man.”
Kitch was free? Annie could hardly believe it!
Neither could Cole. “Rubbish!” the slave catcher sneered. “The letter is a phony. Probably given to him by one of the abolitionists.”
“No!” Annie protested. “The letter is real. Kitch, lift up your shirt.”
Heads strained to lean over each other as the crowd watched Kitch lift the hem of his shirt to reveal the large horseshoe scar that had been branded into his side. Several people turned their faces away in horror; others couldn’t help but stare. But the murmur that erupted among them clearly showed they were dismayed.
So was the sheriff. “Let me see that letter, Mr. Hawkins.”
When Isaiah handed it to him, Annie saw the sheriff wince.
“Benjamin DeWitt and I studied at The Citadel in Charleston together,” Sheriff Davis announced. “This is his signature.”
Knowing the lawman was afraid of Cole, she prompted, “Are we going to continue to let Mr. Cole intimidate us?”
“No, we are not,” the sheriff replied.
Taking a key ring from his pocket, he took the handcuffs off the wrists of Louisa and her parents. “Reverend Strong, my apologies. I cannot arrest you for housing free men.”
“What about the woman with them?” Cole protested. “They haven’t proved she’s free.”
“Simon Cole,” the sheriff announced, “as a disturber of the peace, you are no longer welcome in this town. I suggest you leave or I’ll have my men put you on the next train south. And…if you ever show your face in Jersey City again, I’ll arrange to have some false charges trumped up against you.”
The entire crowd buzzed with excitement as they murmured back and forth to one another, followed by clapping and several cheers.
“What about this man?” Isaiah asked, grabbing hold of a red-faced little fellow, who looked like he’d wanted to slink away unseen. “He’s the one who incited the mob to burn down the church.”
“Arrest him,” the sheriff ordered, motioning toward his deputy.
“And these three?” Annie asked, pointing toward Rhina, Jourdon, and Kitch.
The sheriff looked at the three fugitives and said, “May God go with you…as you head north.”
“Yes, sir,” Kitch said with a big, toothy smile. “Thank you, sir.”
As the sheriff walked over and released them from their bonds, Annie’s heart soared, making her feel floaty, exuberant, almost giddy with both relief and joy.
This was who she was meant to be—someone who helped others and gave a voice to those who had none…slaves…women. Perhaps others would like to join her, and together they could make a difference for future generations.
Isaiah broke through the crowd, and although she knew it would be most unladylike, she picked up the hem of her petticoats, climbed over the side of the wagon, and ran to him like a wayward tramp. Her bonnet flew off her head backward, but she didn’t even care! Her heart beat fast, leaving her breathless and excited all at the same time, as if by confronting Cole she’d just faced a hundred dogs!
“Annie, you were amazing,” Isaiah said, his gray-blue eyes gleaming as he swept her up in his arms and twirled her around. “I’m so proud of you!”
“So am I,” Will said, coming up from behind and looping an arm around their shoulders.
“I was so worried for you both when Cole raised that whip!” Annie exclaimed.
“Lucky for us, your father is a mean shot with his rifle,” Isaiah said with a grin.
Annie glanced over at her father and mother, their faces overwhelmed with emotion as they crossed the street to make their way toward them, past the sheriff, past Louisa and Daniel, Reverend and Mrs. Strong, and around Rhina, Jourdon, and Kitch.
“It wasn’t luck,” she said, her heart swelling with gratitude for all the wonderful family and friends who populated her life. “I’m convinced it was God’s plan all along.”