Chapter Eleven

Missy sat on the edge of the lumpy bed and studied the poster the innkeeper's wife had shared. It looked like Sidney was trying to find them. They'd have to make some changes to the way they traveled. Aunt had used up most of her funds to purchase the horse, carriage, and George. Maybe it was time to find a different way of travel, but how could they manage that without extra money? Perhaps they could sell the horse. George seemed sweeter on that mare than he was on his wife. It might serve her best friend well if her new husband had to give up that filly.

A light tap on the bedroom door preceded Aunt 'Tilda's entrance. "Nanny Lee and I have been talking. It wasn't by chance we ended up here for the night. They saw that poster before we arrived and when her Aytch saw us come by their place, he waved us into here for our own protection. There are other inns in the area, but with this one being outside of town, no one else will spot us. It seems they're railway conductors."

"Oh sweet, sheltered child, they're conductors on the Underground Railroad. They help runaways from slavery find their way north, just like we're doing."

"No, child, but we can help with the conducting. It seems they have a man hidden in their hay loft who might be interested in joining our little group."

"No more trouble than what we are already in, since we've become the topic of the poster you're holding in your hand."

"Unfortunately no, but they've made a generous offer for George's mare and will swap our fancy carriage for an older but larger one and two horses."

"George will be heartbroken over his prize mare. Maybe he'll finally turn to Early for affection."

George sat silently as a gray-bearded man climbed up and perched next to him on the old carriage. His mare whinnied from the nearby fence and then nuzzled the pocket of her new owner. Traitor. She wasn’t going to miss him much. At least she would be well cared for, perhaps better than he was. The dappled geldings harnessed in the reins he held bore witness to the character of the good innkeeper who made the trade.

The other man and George wore matching gray livery and fancy hats to hide their identities. Earlier, his wife emerged from the inn with the other women. She wore one of Missy's frocks, with her bonnet pulled low over her face. He'd admired her fine figure but hadn't acknowledged her. Too much was at stake. He still struggled with rising anger over parting with the mare. This journey north came with a price.

HOURS LATER, HE PUSHED his hat down firmer on his head as wind gusted through the air. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The team picked up their speed. They'd need to find a barn soon or take the chance of riding out the weather alongside the road. He didn't know the horses well enough to predict how they would handle a storm. Rain began to spatter down. Both horses became more skittish with each boom of thunder. Idle chatter coming from the ladies had grown silent. The quiet man next to him pointed to their right. George caught sight of a barn in the distance as torrents of cold rain poured from his hat and down his back. The horses felt the urgency and quickened their pace. They reached the open doors of the barn and the two men ducked low as the team pulled to a stop. George set the brakes and leaped down.

For once he checked to see how his Early fared before checking on the horses, who huffed with exhaustion and fear. Three wide-eyed women met his searching gaze.

"That was quite a ride!" Aunt Matilda grinned as the two younger women hugged each other.

She fell into his arms. "We are. Praise the Lord, and thanks to your horse handling we made it." Her body was warm against his. He must be soaking her.

He stepped back. "I'm glad you’re all right. I better see to the horses." He stumbled back toward the dripping beasts.

The other man talked calmly to the dapple grays and rubbed their noses down with his hands. "Good hosses. You are sweet boys."

"Thank you for seeing to the horses. I should have asked your name." A deafening boom and flash of light covered the man's answer.

He laughed. "I reckon that was the good Lord giving me permission to change my name. My master called me Job after the sad man in the Bible. I want no more sadness. I want laughter like Sarah had in the good book when she called her baby Isaac. My new name's gonna be Isaac."

"Well, Isaac, I'm pleased to meet you. My mama called me George, so I better keep that name. She named me after an English king."

"Looks like you picked us out quite a castle to wait out this storm in, King George." Thunder still rumbled in the distance as sheets of rain whispered from the roof of the barn. "God sure took care of us today." Isaac rubbed his hand down the quivering shoulder of the horse he attended. George did the same as he pondered the man’s words. Had God provided for their safety or were they just lucky to find the barn?

A small hand reached past his to rub the horse's neck. "The new horses did well today."

He draped his arm around Early and drew her closer. He forgot about protecting his heart and allowed feelings to flow over his soul as she snuggled into his side.

"They did. I'm glad we had them. As much as I hate to admit it, they did better than my spirited mare would have done." He wrapped his hand over hers and pulled it across the horse's body. "Follow the direction their hair lays. They will like you better if you go with the nap of their fur." She leaned back against his chest. He closed his arms around her shoulders and rested his head on top of her bonnet. "I like your hair better without the bonnet."

"And I found you quite handsome in your top hat." She twisted around in his embrace and placed a small kiss on his cheek. "Maybe you should teach me more about horses."

He reached up to remove her bonnet just as Missy hissed, "Get back in the carriage, now. It looks like we have company coming."

The rain had turned to a slow drizzle as a spindly man carrying a rifle limped across the field. Aunt Matilda hailed him from the barn door. "Thank you for the use of your barn today. That was quite the storm. I'm sure you welcomed it for your crops."

The man lowered the gun and smiled at the older woman. "Glad to be of help, ma'am. Is it just you and your daughter?"

Missy stepped to her side and nodded a greeting to the man as her aunt replied. "Oh no sir, I'm traveling with two daughters and two men servants. We’ll be on our way as soon as we get our horses to back the carriage out."

George and Isaac had their hats firmly in place and began the task of getting out of the barn.

"Never mind." The man stepped away. "Raised three girls myself, so I understand. Those look like fine horses. I was kinda looking for a brown mare. You haven't seen one of those around, have you? I hear they bring top money."

Aunt Matilda laughed. "I wouldn’t trade this steady pair for any old mare. Now, we best be on our way before another storm comes blowing through."

George inwardly cringed as he thought of the mare, but bowed his head and silently opened the door for the women. Missy climbed into the carriage and helped her aunt trundle in behind her. Early's bonneted head leaned over as she clasped her belly and quietly moaned. The farmer took one glimpse at her and waved them on their way. As George closed the door, he saw Missy wink at Early. Then the young mistress pulled out her journal and began to write. That woman loved her writing. If they made it all the way north and he got his freedom, maybe one day he would understand her fascination with words. He climbed up on the high bench next to Isaac and started humming a tune. The older man added harmony and tapped a rhythm on his leg as they sang about escaping a paddy roller.

Ginny waited until after the last person exited the sanctuary before climbing up the stairs to sit high on the piano bench next to her friend, Hope. She'd been hesitant to share her songs with anyone. However, she needed to hear how a live rendition of the harmony would sound on her latest compositions. Hope had readily agreed to rehearse the songs with Ginny without knowing they were original to her schoolteacher friend.

Ginny debated about sharing the fact she wrote the song. Doubts concerning her ability to compose made her keep the information unannounced. She didn't want to influence Hope's reaction to the music. The woman's talents lay in art, using cloth from her fabric store as a medium, and also in her resonant alto singing voice. The two women often sang duets for their small urban congregation, so they usually practiced together after services.

"Thanks for staying today. I need to make sure the harmony works for this song."

Her friend's eyebrows rose. "Hmm, Sister, sounds like you might have written this song, if you're checking out the harmony parts. Is it something for our church?"

Ginny felt heat scald her checks, "Uh, no. Annie asked me to write something for the historical museum. I hope I'm worthy of the task."

"Don't you worry, my friend. I've been praying you'd start shining your light a little brighter. This is your chance." She gathered Ginny in a warm embrace and then turned to study the music. "This is really nice. It looks like it might be part of something bigger—want to share?"

"If it all comes together, it will be a musical to raise support for the historical museum. I pray it will possibly make a difference in the whole community. Right now, I'm just forging ahead one song or one scene at a time."

"That's wonderful! Now, let's give this song a run through. It looks like your lyrics may have a message you need to apply to your own life." Hope's voice blended with Ginny's as they sang about a long journey taken by friends to Canaan Land.

Friendship can last when two hearts agree,

To be faithful though they disagree.

The bond of trust may be tried by fire,

But a true friend's love will not fade or tire.

The two women sang through several verses of the song, blending their voices in the sweet harmony of friendship. Ginny penciled in changes where her friend's voice rambled into a better pitch than the one she'd chosen. By the end of their session, though Ginny's back ached from bending over the piano, the song sounded perfect.

Samuel tapped the last lead letters into place and pulled the frame tight around the type that would produce the back page of his latest edition of The Gazette. His back ached from bending over the tedious task. A little fresh air would be a welcome respite before beginning the next step in the printing process. Stepping across the threshold of the small building that doubled as post office and newspaper office, he arched his back and stared across the street at a group of men.

Bart Simons pointed his way. The other men quieted when they realized Samuel watched them. "Hey there newspaper man, that last paper you printed got a lot of us thinking."

Bart sneered. "Yeah, we was thinking that maybe we ought to remind you about the federal law that says you can't be interfering with slave catchers doing their duties."

"I'm aware of the law, but a man's got a right to express his opinion on the matter. That's part of the law of this land, too. Besides, there is a higher authority who might not think much of us having slaves in our land, a land based on the rights of all people."

"That higher authority you're thinking about allowed slavery in the old parts of His book, so don't you go quoting Him to me."

"That's true in a way. Better to say He allowed it and then gave some rules. Slaves were held for seven years and then set free, unless they decided to stay as servants of their own free will."

"Well, we don't want no free blacks roaming around this town, so you ought to be making better choices about what you print in that paper. Last week's poem sure stirred up the bats in some of the ladies' bonnets. They've been harping to their men folk all week."

"Not good for you if this keeps up. Consider yourself warned." Bart and several of the other men heckled with threatening words.

A group of women stepped down the middle of the street. They waved to Samuel. Eyelashes fluttered from faces that glanced his way. He felt more fear of the designing women than of the muttering men who began to wander away from Bart's side of the road. Maybe one day soon he would hear again from the young poetess who had drawn him in with her words. A shaft of fear about whether he would be able to resist her sweet charms made him turn tail and close the shop door with a slam. No more women or marriage for him. He had work to do, a press to ink, and pages to print.

The monotonous thump of lifting, pressing, and pulling pages seemed to take forever. His mind wandered. It had been a long time since Aunt Mary Etta or he had received any communication about the travels of Aunt 'Tilda and her entourage. Hopefully their journey through the South brought them few difficulties since they were traveling as slaves and owners. There might be more trouble here in the North once they crossed the Ohio River. It seemed there were many, like Bart and his friends, who didn't welcome those seeking freedom from slavery. He bowed his head and offered a quick prayer for the traveler's safety.

Thump, thump! A heavy rock ripped through the oiled paper covering his front window and rolled across the floor. No message was attached, but the sentiment was clear. Someone did not like what he printed in his paper. He frowned and renewed his efforts to print words for the Cause.

The man in front of them frowned. "My best advice would be for you two ladies to travel over on the next ferry with your carriage. I can go along as your driver, as a way of switching up the appearance of your group. You'll be safe enough on that old boat when it crosses the Ohio River. Two women heading north with slaves would draw too much attention."

"But what about the rest of us?" A sense of betrayal washed over George as he clenched his fists. They had almost made it to the northern lands, the free states. The thought that their tickets to freedom would go ahead without them pushed bile into the back of his throat. Isaac stepped away from the group and looked from side to side.

"Don't worry, man. We'll take the rest of ya'll over tonight in another boat, one that won't draw attention. Your lady friends will be waiting at a station house on the other shore. Grab your packs and follow that fellow over there into the woods. He will make sure you find your way."

George shouldered the bag holding enough food to last for a day of separation and grabbed Early's hand. He yanked her forward and heard her yelp in pain. "Sorry," he muttered and slowed his pace as they fell into the last place in line. Isaac walked in front of them, still cautiously looking from side to side. As forest sounds grew silent, the thud of tromping feet grew more noticeable. Someone shushed the group and their steps quieted. Early bent over and pulled a stone from her shoe, then froze. George felt her stiffen and noticed the problem. A bright ray of sun highlighted where a copper and black patterned snake lay curled into itself, probably as scared as the woman whose shoulders he now held.

"Move slowly away, you don't want to startle it or step on it." He put his hands under her arms, lifted her to her feet, and then they inched down the trail. He saw the snake lift its head and slither further into the forest. Tension fell from his shoulders. "You did well, honey. When you have to deal with a deadly snake it is often best to get out of the creature's way. That's what I managed to do most of the time with Sidney. The minute I stepped in his way, he struck back hard and I suffered from his biting whip."

He stepped back and turned toward the trail. They hurried to catch up to the others. He swiveled his gaze from side to side. Hopefully no more human or reptile snakes lay ahead or around them. Darkness soon surrounded the little group. The leader led them to a clearing near the edge of a wide river.

"Look over there at the great Ohio River. Ohio means beautiful in the native tongue. For you, it ought to mean freedom. Just be careful, 'cause some folks don't care what side of the river you're walking on, if you happen to be a black man."

Early clasped George's hand and leaned into his side as a swish-drip sound grew closer to their location. Their leader motioned them toward an approaching boat.

Oars rippled quietly in the water. Dark circles arced out with near silence from the bladed entry points. Their journey brought them nearer to the distant shore. Freedom land lay just ahead. Early felt warmth as George's hand touched hers. She clutched his fingers. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Hey ho, and away we go." Loud voices echoing from the approaching shore shot shafts of fear down her back. The rower paused and signaled with an open hand. They flattened themselves against the bottom of the boat as time slowed to a snail's pace.

The distant shouts gave way to a slurred rendition of a popular tune. Another discordant voice, filled with the devil’s brew, belted out a shaky drone. Their voices faded into the distance but still the boatman held his silence. The boat drifted downstream. A cloud slid in front of the sliver moon and the oarsman again dipped into the water. Deeper pulls pushed them back on course as the passengers once again filled their lungs with air. Was there something to fear even on the shore of this free state of Ohio?

The reaction of their boatman showed the reality of that fear—even from a couple of sodden drunks taking a walk on the shore. The quiet lap of water against the banks gave hints that they were growing near to their goal. Early gathered their meager bundle of food and pulled it to her chest. George had fisted his hands and drawn himself into a crouch, indicating he would fight any demons that waited on the shore. Their battle might not be over yet. Isaac tensed beside George.

The oars quieted as an owl hoot sounded from the shore. Early jumped when their rower answered with a hoot of his own. His grinning mouth full of crooked teeth flashed in the dim moonlight as he slid into the water and dragged the boat onto the shore.

"Quiet now. Your journey ain't over yet. Trust only the conductors and don't ask them too many questions. The less you know, the better." The hissed instructions chilled Early more than the water and mud that squished under her feet. The free state of Ohio wasn't the Promised Land after all.