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Missy
Several weeks later, Missy pushed away her paper and pen. Her restless fingers ran over the stones in the lavaliere hanging from her neck, which she and Sunshine had pieced together from her mother's broken necklace. That distraction didn't give her any peace. She couldn't sit still. Prowling around the second story room, she peered out the window. Would Early and George make it? Or would some snake of a slave catcher find them and send them south, never to be seen again?
The low grinding sound of her uncle's mill filtered through the open window along with the clomping sound of a horse drawing nearer to the house. The hoofbeats halted and shortly a pounding sounded from the front door. Aunt Mary Etta's muffled voice welcomed someone into the house. Knocking at the front door didn't signal the arrival of her hoped-for cousin and lifelong companion. Her aunt's honey-filled voice echoed up the stairs, telling her of a different caller.
"Melissa, you have company. Samuel has come to call."
A ripple of guilt crossed Missy's thoughts. She had her freedom, but would Early ever really have hers? Even up here there were slave catchers waiting to capture some hapless victim. At least Samuel tried to make a difference. Pasting on the smile she'd been trained to wear on the plantation, she made her way down the stairs and reached for Samuel's welcoming hand. An unexpected thrill made its way to her heart as her smile became real. So unfair that she had hope while Early's life still hung in the balance. Tears formed and trailed down her cheeks.
"Any news?"
"No, but my prayers are with George and Early. Unfortunately, their journey must be much different than yours." Samuel sat across the room in a chair.
"I know, but it seems so unfair." Missy sat on a nearby settee and wondered if Samuel would ever be anything more than a cousin and employer.
"Life is unfair, but God is not. We humans tend to clutter life up with things like slavery and other unjust choices." He reached in his jacket and offered her a handkerchief.
Missy nodded but chose not to answer. She looked toward the window and dabbed the remaining tears from her face.
Samuel cleared his throat. "If they don't come by Christmas, I'll be making another trip down south to let people know there are ways to find their way north. I left a map and compass at the slave quarters on your plantation. Several people seemed interested in coming north if an opportunity opened a door. Maybe someone shared those items with George. I'll also make a stop at Holly Plantation and see if they have been returned." He reached for her hand and briefly rubbed his ink-stained fingers across hers before leaning back in his chair. "Have you written any new poetry this week? There is room for a piece in this week's Gazette."
"I've been working on a piece that symbolizes escaping slavery in the south and then facing capture in the north to be like escaping imprisonment in one dragon's castle, only to find themselves hiding in another dragon's den. Do you think people will understand what I'm trying to say?"
"Those who care one way or the other will understand. Just be careful that you don't draw unwanted attention to your other activities."
Late fall near Woodson House
Early
Muddy ground sucked at Early's feet as she and George slowly made their way across the saturated ground. For once she rejoiced that her feet had hardened enough that walking barefoot through the mire actually brought relief. Others in their small group of travelers fought to keep their footwear in place with each step. Their guide called the area The Great Black Swamp of northern Ohio for a good reason. The smell of rotting plant life filled the air with a sour odor that forced several of their companions to pull scarves from their heads and use them to cover their noses. She thanked the Lord for recently closing up her nose with a case of sniffles brought on by the cooler weather.
Sheba's nose worked fine. "I think this smell is going to make me sick." She pulled the front of her neckline up and pinched it across her nose.
George laughed. "I've smelled worse when I cleaned manure from the horse barn."
Their leader stepped near. "Hush, folks, you gotta keep your talking to a whisper. We don't want to be spotted by a slave catcher when we're getting so close to freedom."
George muttered an apology and kept plodding through the slime. The covering over Sheba's face muffled her answer.
Early sloshed closer to their guide and whispered, "Are we getting closer to Forest Glen?"
The man answered in hushed tones, "We should be pretty close by the middle of tonight's travels. Why do you ask?"
"I have a friend who will help us. I'd like to go there."
"That choice might be a mistake. We only go through Forest Glen if a bounty hunter is blocking our way. You'd be better to stay with us and get to freedom sooner." The man stepped away to resume leading the group through the mire.
George leaned in closer to Early. "Maybe we better listen to his advice. He knows this land and the places that would break a horse's leg in this bog."
"I want to visit Missy one more time. I want her to know how strong I've become. I want her to see that we have become a real family."
"You want a lot of things, wife. I only want freedom, and the sooner we get there the better."
Early paused and squished her toes in the mud. Was she being selfish or foolish? She needed time to think. "I'll pray about it until we get close to Forest Glen, but if I still feel like going to see Missy is the right choice, then that's what I hope to do."
George nodded. "I'll be praying, too."
Sheba poked her head between the two. "I'll be praying for whatever gets us out of this muddy devil's hole."
"Keep your mind on God, not that old serpent," Early chided her daughter, and prayed no snakes crossed their path. The chill in the air would work in their favor on that account.
The group moved ahead. For hours the only sound came from the mud trying to swallow their feet. When the moon reached its highest point above their heads, their guide halted the group and stepped back to Early's family.
"The creek over there will lead you to Forest Glen. You'll cross a canal and then keep following the stream until you get into hill country. You'll see the town sitting at the top of a ravine above this creek."
Sheba tugged on Early's sleeve. "I vote for higher ground."
"I do, too. The description sounds exactly like Aunt 'Tilda described it when she made us memorize how to find the town from the towpath." She took George's hand and squeezed it gently. "I think my prayers have been answered."
"I hope we aren't making a mistake." He shook his head and turned to their guide. "Would you like to go with us?"
"No, we'll be hurrying on our way." The man doffed his hat and once again took his place in the lead. Slurping steps slowly faded into the distance.
Moonlight filtered through the trees. Shadows danced across the well-worn path next to the creek. The sound of water tripping over stones filled their ears as the ground gradually grew firmer under their feet. Their steps slowed when the moon disappeared behind a cloud. A sudden hush of animal sounds made them stop in their tracks and move to the protection of a line of trees and brush near the path. A distant shout echoed across the lowlands, followed by the sound of the firing of a gun. Screams filled the air, followed by muffled men's voices.
Early put a fist to her mouth. Tears trickled down her cheeks. Sheba and George both wrapped their arms around her. For the rest of their night, they huddled together in their hiding place, thanking God for their safety and praying for their recent companions, who once again faced the chains of slavery. When the first light of dawn brightened the sky, they moved further into the woods. George and Early took turns watching over their exhausted daughter and trying to sleep when not on guard duty. The day dragged on. When the sun finally set, she welcomed the night skies that would allow them to travel the next step of their journey.
~~~~~
EARLY STUMBLED ON A root as they climbed up the ravine in darkness. George's grasp on her elbow kept her from falling. Sheba trailed behind them like a shadow. The directions given by Aunt Matilda and their recent guide took them from the canal path, along the creek, and then to their steep climb upward. A large house loomed above them. An exposed rock foundation faced the ravine. Shadows of a cellar door faded into the darkness. A dark silhouette of a chimney towered above the house. Would Missy offer help after their strained separation? She hoped so, but their parting had not been on the best of terms. Her breath caught when the door opened and a woman's shadowed form appeared.
The voice that called out quietly spoke in tones she'd been longing to hear, "Are there birds in the woods tonight?"
Missy! She spoke in the code of the Underground Railroad. As her eyes met Early's, the two women rushed to meet each other.
Missy wrapped her arms around Early. Early melted into her friend's embrace until George cleared his throat. Missy backed away and led the little family through a door and into a cellar below the home.
"Who is your young friend?"
"This is our daughter, Sheba. She's been part of our family for a while." Early laughed as Sheba scooted in behind George. "She's not usually this shy."
"If you belong to my friend Early, then you can be my cousin, too. She's always been like a sister to me, but I found out recently that she is really my very own cousin." Missy's cheerful voice filled Early with a sense of belonging and freedom.
"Guess as a true cousin, I can sass you anytime I want." Early gently elbowed her cousin and reached for her hand.
"Yes, friend, you can, and there won't be any consequences other than my sharp tongue." Missy looked at George as he leaned against the rock wall near the cellar door. "I'm sorry we had to leave you and George. You look worn out from your journey."
"It wasn't easy, sister, but I think it all worked together for good, just like it says in the Bible. And maybe the journey gave me courage that I needed to learn how to use." Early stepped back but continued to hold her cousin's hand. "I wish we could stay here with you, but I know we can't. Slave catchers nearly found us yesterday, not far from here. You may be in danger by meeting us tonight. Maybe you should move to Canaan land with us."
"Believe me, I gave leaving with you some thought, but when I listen to the aunts tell about their work here, I don't think I will. I too have grown stronger. I'm going to help with their efforts to aid people on their way to the North. There's also a group of ladies in this town who are working for the rights of women and freedom for those in slavery."
Missy released Early's hand and wiped a tear from her eye. "I won't ever be going back to the plantation. Aunt Mary Etta received a letter telling of Papa's death and that Sidney and Amanda intend I shall have no inheritance there, unless I agree to marry that awful man. It seems they talked, or tricked, Papa into changing his will. It hurts, but I hold no regrets when there are more important things to be accomplished here."
A loud rhythmic tapping sounded from the floor above them. Missy frowned and put her finger to her lips. She pointed the trio toward an opening near a large fireplace oven. They crawled through and crowded into a tiny room. Early's mouth fell open. The space resembled the hidden plantation room they'd played in as children and where they hid when Sidney tried to find them. The room grew dark as she heard a scraping sound. The room even had a hidden door to seal them in from prying eyes. They'd kept candles in Holly Plantation's hidden room, but based on the commotion coming from above, it would not be a good idea to do anything but sit quietly and pray for safety. She reached for George and Sheba's hands and lifted a silent petition to God. Welcome warmth poured over them. An answer from the Lord, or had Missy started a fire in the oven?
Missy
Missy stepped from the stairway leading to the cellar and loudly announced, "I have the cellar oven started, Aunt Mary Etta. We should stay plenty warm tonight."
The room held more than her aunts, as she'd suspected from the rapped message sent from Mary Etta's rarely used cane. Bart Simons stood glaring at the older women, a copy of The Gazette crumpled in his hand. Missy's mind registered surprise that the man would even take time to read the paper because of its abolitionist stand. His reputation as a slave catcher was well-known in the village of Forest Glen.
He tapped the paper against his palm and stepped closer to Missy. "Nice poetry about hiding someone away in a dragon's den. Wondered if you were referring to hiding some runaways here at your aunt's little castle. My friends and I caught a few slaves down in the lowlands the other night. I stopped by to make sure you were safe from any dangerous runaways that mighta come calling."
She swallowed. She'd asked Samuel to use her own name on the last few poems he printed. Bart's sneer widened. She hadn't thought about someone like him seeing the article and actually being able to interpret the hidden meaning. She'd enjoyed hearing how Mary Etta and Matilda had dubbed the plantation's hidden room the Dragon's Den. Having him here searching on the night her cousin and family hid downstairs sent a choking sensation to her throat. She had to clear it twice before she stuck out her chin.
"You need to leave. There is no reason to search our home on the basis of a parable found in a poem."
"If you're harboring slaves, I have every right to look around. If I discover anyone hiding here, you may find your pretty little self sitting in jail tonight." He stood closer and loomed over her. She stepped back and slapped his hand away when he tugged on one of her curls. She'd avoided him in town. Some of her new friends had spoken of his interest in calling on her. Maybe there was more to his search than just looking for slaves. Perhaps it was time to pour on some of the Southern charm she'd used on other would-be suitors.
"So you think I'm pretty?" She fluttered her lashes and settled into a chair with her hand over her chest. "Please be seated and we can reason this out. Perhaps you'd like some tea and cookies."
Bart looked confused for a moment, but he took a seat. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't think you can stop me from looking by offering a little sugar. Though, I'm not one to pass up a good dessert." His gaze roved over her body. "I'm still going to do some looking after you try to sweet talk me."
Missy sprang from her chair and hurried to the kitchen. She prayed that Mary Etta still had cookies left in the cupboard. Several ladies had come that afternoon to discuss women's rights and the abolition of slavery. Their children played in the kitchen while the women chatted. She'd left the little ones with her Thoreau pencils, a stack of paper and a plate of cookies. The youngsters were happy for the rare opportunity to use the remnants of her precious pencils, drawing pictures for themselves and notes they left as a thank you for their hostesses.
When she opened the door to the storage room off of the kitchen, she noticed the cozy den-like feel of the little room. The children's thank you drawings sat under a cloth-covered plate near her pencil box. She lifted the cloth covering and revealed enough cookies to offer the slave hunter a temporary distraction. As she picked up the plate, a couple of the drawings caught her eye. She set the cookies back down, plucked a pencil from the box, and made a few adjustments to the drawings. She purposely passed by the bucket of water and nearby tumblers.
Missy carried the plate of cookies from the kitchen and set them in front of Bart. She winced as he grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth. Mary Etta muttered something about teaching him some manners, but he just grinned and scooped the last few crumbs from the plate into his mouth.
Bart swiped his hand across his scruffy face. "Seems like it would have been mannerly to offer some drink alongside these cookies. My mouth has a hankering for something to wash these down with."
Missy bit her lip to keep from smiling too broadly. "Perhaps you should start your search for hidden rooms in the kitchen. We have a bucket of fresh well water in the cupboard room." Her aunts both raised questioning eyebrows in her direction but kept quiet as she barely shook her head.
"I'm guessing you don't have anything stronger than water in this house." He swiped at cookie crumbs stuck to his chin.
"No, we don't. I saw too many drinking problems in my home down south." She placed a hand over her heart and shook her head in mock sorrow as she stepped toward the kitchen.
"I would think a Southern gal wouldn't want to be helping slaves escape." He brushed against her when they entered the kitchen.
"What makes you think I'm helping slaves escape? I know it's against the law. My contribution is found in the words I send to the paper, telling about what I saw as a former Southern slave owner." She laid her hand on his wrist and looked at him as demurely as she could. "Maybe one day you will understand my feelings and we can be special friends." She cringed inwardly as she forced a friendly smile to her lips.
He must have felt her deception. He withdrew from her touch. His eyes searched the kitchen. "Where's that water? My mouth is getting drier by the minute." She pointed him toward the small side room, hoping he would spot the clues she'd left lying around the room. She heard the sloshing of the dipper in the bucket and the swirl of water entering one of the carefully placed tumblers. Peeping around the corner, she watched the paper she'd placed near the tumblers float to the floor. Bart set his glass down with a thump and bent to retrieve the paper.
"What's this supposed to be? Looks like some tot tried to draw a horse with a pointy tail?" He squinted at the drawing trying to make sense of it.
"It looks like a dragon to me." Missy couldn't believe the man had no sense of imagination. "The kids who come here to visit sometimes hide in this room. They call it their dragon's den. If I wanted to hide a slave this would be the perfect place." She looked him in the eye, hoping he would make the connection.
"Humph. I want to believe you, but I'm still gonna look around." He turned and she followed him through the house as he opened closets, checked the attic, and then warmed his hands by the warm oven that heated the cellar room. "Guess you're good for now, but I'm keeping my eye on you, little Missy. You best be careful what you write for that newspaper in the future." He turned and stomped up the stairs. She followed and secured the entrance to the cellar. Mary Etta held the front door wide open as Matilda bid him good riddance.
Early
Early heard the distant thud of a door slamming. Sheba wiggled near her. George squeezed her hand. Had the new danger passed? Nothing stirred above. Not even the quiet taps of a woman's shoes scurried across the boards over their heads.
Sheba whispered, "I don't want to be a slave again."
"You won't. Not while I'm alive." George stretched his arms over Early and Sheba's shoulders.
"Then you both better keep quiet." Early snuggled closer to her husband and grasped her child's hand. The three stayed in their dark room for what seemed like hours before the patter of light footsteps sounded from the basement stairway. A flicker of candlelight shone into Early's eyes as her former mistress opened the hidden doorway.
"You're safe for now, as long as you don't leave this cellar. It doesn't have any windows, so no one can see inside."
"But what if he comes back?" George asked.
"He shouldn't be looking inside again tonight. He might be watching the outside of the house for a while. Once I know he isn't looking, I know a farmer friend who will guide you on your way to another station near Canada." Missy placed the candle on a small table where a plate of apples and bread sat, ready for the weary travelers. She must have brought them down when she came to open the door.
"Thank you, Missy." Early reached for the fruit and handed an apple to each of her family members, before securing one of her own. "You seem to be an active conductor in the Underground Railroad. I'm happy to see my cousin make that choice."
"I'm happy to serve you for a change. You did everything for me in the past. I wish I could have helped more in your journey to this point." Missy looked down and then took one of her cousin's hands. "I'm sure you've had quite an adventure.
"Our travels have been interesting since we parted ways." Early pulled her hand free and reached for the bread. She broke it into pieces for her family.
"I'm glad to see your family has grown."
Early smiled and tugged the unusually timid child forward and hugged her close. "When Sheba's parents went to heavenly Canaan land, we became her parents." She continued her story by telling of George's illness and the kind Quaker woman who introduced their daughter into the family. "We can't share names of anyone who helped us. Most of their names we don't even know. They came from all races and religions, all willing to do what they could to send us toward freedom."
"I wouldn't want anyone to come into danger, but would you mind if I wrote down some of your adventures in my journal? I promise not to use information that would identify anyone."
Early looked to George for confirmation before she made her decision. His nod and lifted shoulder gave her the assurance she could share what she deemed important. It seemed amazing how they'd grown to understand each other better with each passing day. His eyes spoke of respect, love, and understanding. She smiled back at him before nodding to Missy.
Missy's arms enveloped her with sisterly love. The affection no longer felt like that of a mistress, but as an equal. She returned her cousin's hug as they both cried.
Once their tears faded, Missy retrieved her journal and began to ask questions and take notes. "What do you think your biggest surprise has been so far, on the journey?"
George leaned over Early's shoulder. "I can answer this one. I wanted to do everything on my own. I thought I could make it north with the stars and a compass as my guide."
Missy gasped. "Did you get the compass from a man who came to my father's wedding?"
"I did. The man encouraged us to try coming north."
"My Samuel is the one who gave it to you. He lives here in town."
"Your Samuel?" Early looked at her cousin in amazement.
"Well, not exactly mine. For the present we are both workers for the Cause and that is all. Now George, tell me more about your journey."
Early noted the red that flowed into Missy's cheeks.
"I didn't want help from a white man or woman, but eventually learned that I could trust them, starting with the compass your friend handed me. My biggest surprise happened when I actually saw people who had escaped slavery returning to guide more of us to freedom. I'd heard the rumors of a Moses back in Virginia. I figured she must be something somebody made up, though I placed my hopes in her being real. Then I met with several others along the way who proved me wrong. There are many who act as a Moses to lead their own to freedom." George paused and pulled the compass from his pocket. He offered it to Missy. "Take this to your Samuel and tell him to give it to someone else for a guide. Maybe I can help another by passing it on since we are nearly to Canaan."
As George told the rest of their story, Early's heart swelled with pride. Her George had changed so much. She hoped his love for her had grown, too. They stayed up until nearly dawn, sharing their stories, until Missy could no longer keep her eyes open and their own time for rest neared.
Ginny Interlude
Ginny rubbed her eyes and fought against much needed sleep. No record could be found in the journal, letters, or clippings to indicate how Early's family made their way to Canada. She would have to make an educated guess about the final leg of their journey. She bowed her head and prayed for strength and understanding that would allow her to make her self-imposed deadline for completing the musical. School would be out in another month and if Annie wanted her help with the production, summer vacation would work best for this teacher's schedule.
She needed some quick inspiration, so she pulled her computer keyboard closer. She put in 'Underground Railroad conveyances' and scrolled through the list of sites that appeared. The names of a Quaker couple, Catherine and Levi Coffin, led her to the site of their historical museum.
When a picture of the museum's wagon with a false bottom popped up on her screen, she began to research in earnest. An hour later she had gathered enough information about their wagon to know what type of wagon might have been a likely choice. Forest Glen had several places that boasted of being part of the Underground Railroad. A still standing farmer's barn had hidden runaways in its loft. Rumors surrounding the barn spoke of a possible false-bottomed wagon associated with the man who owned the farm during the pre-Civil War era. Missy's journal had mentioned a farmer who helped her find birds.
Early
Two days later, Missy's farmer friend came before dawn's light broke across darkened skies. He stacked a small load of wood near the back of the house. Mary Etta pretended to direct his efforts and paid him for the wood. The rest of his wagon, loaded with a stack of hay, blocked any view of the cellar door. Early hugged her cousin Missy farewell and crawled into the wagon's hidden space, beneath the hay. George and Sheba slid in on each side of her body. As a closed-in feeling tightened her chest, Early shifted her face to the side and closed her eyes. A short time later, the wagon rocked down the road and she tried to sleep.
A jolt disturbed her restless dozing. The wagon bounced once and then settled into its swaying ride. She had no idea how long they'd traveled. Strands of dry straw and hay tickled her nose. The urge to sneeze felt strong. She pinched her nose closed and prayed no one heard the movement of her arm and hand to stifle a muffled sniff. The walls of the wagon's small compartment pressed Sheba and George's bodies close to hers. A reassuring tap of his fingers against her side sent a quiet sigh of relief throughout her quaking soul. Sheba's soft breathing assured her that at least one family member got some rest.
Breathe. In. Out. Slowly. Silently. The sway of the wagon rocked them gently as it rumbled along. Singing sounded from above their chamber. Amazing Grace filled the air outside. As the voice of their driver belted out the words, Early drank in the comforting thoughts. A bump in the road, then silence...
"Morning, Smitty. Looks like a good day."
"Yessir. Perfect day for traveling."
"Where you taking all that hay?"
"Got a brother up in Michigan who got flooded out this year. Thought I'd share some with him and visit a little before cold weather sets in."
"Well, you be careful. I heard some strangers got themselves caught down in the lowlands this week."
George's hand squeezed hers in a tight grip.
"I'm not worried. I got my pistol and whip right here on my lap."
"Well, just keep your eyes open."
Early closed her eyes as the wagon began to sway again. Sheba squirmed on one side while George stiffened on her other. The urge to sneeze again surged through her nose and throat. If she could just hold on a little longer... Her stifled sneeze filtered its way out just as a horse snorted and jingled its traces. "When we've been there ten thousand years" rang out from the driver's seat above her head as George's warm breath tickled her ear.
"That was close, my sweet Early."
She nodded in agreement and thanked the Lord for watching over them.