The slam of a door scared Nathaniel Fox’s horse, and she leaped sideways. His body swung with the horse’s motion as he tightened the reins and patted her neck to calm her. He shivered, waiting for the Quaker girl’s father to answer. The wind might have carried his voice to the runaways or carried it away. While the others bet on what they’d find ahead of them, he looked back. The Quaker women and some children milled about inside the big red-brick house, and candlelight glowed warmly in the many windows.
The sound of their plain speech made his heart ache with grief and loneliness. All he’d lost—home and family among the Friends—might as well be a thousand miles away even though it was right before his eyes. One choice had led to another, and now, here he stood, in outer darkness.
“Well? Seen anything, Fox?” Wagner asked, gruff as ever. “They ain’t at the house.”
“Tracks are headin’ out of town.”
“Good enough.”
The horses’ hooves punched through thinly iced mud puddles, crunching and cracking. Some of the men swore as cold muddy water spurted up.
The rushing wind overhead rattled the limbs of cottonwoods and sycamores along the creek banks, and snow and sleet pelted down. Nathaniel’s feet had gone numb.
They rode farther, toward the creek itself. The sound of roaring wind and water gave Nathaniel chills. The surrounding houses and barns were dark, though a few dogs barked and hens cackled. The group halted their horses. The storm and darkness upset the animals, which tried to turn back from the flood. The sudden thaw over the past couple of days, plus several inches of rain, had melted most of the snow.
Wagner leaned back in his saddle and sighed. He pointed to the dark water foaming through willow thickets. “If they drove into that, prob’ly all drowned by now.”
The men murmured in agreement. Wagner motioned for them to turn around.
Nathaniel faced the water. That girl’s father was out there, in danger. Nathaniel’s world had ended when his pa was killed. He hated to imagine another family suffering like that. “We don’t know that. We ought to try and find them.”
“Bah! If slaves get clear up here to Newport, they up and disappear.” Wagner sounded cross. “No sense goin’ any farther. Old Man Wall took his chance.”
The group turned to go, starting a long, miserable two-hour ride down to Richmond, the county seat.
Nathaniel made the restless mare stand. How could they turn their backs on someone in danger? That must be the way of the world, as he, and the Prodigal Son in the scriptures, had discovered through sad experience. “I don’t know about you all, but I want to know what happened to them.”
Wagner shook his head. He was just another dark blob in the whiteness of the falling snow. “Ain’t ridin’ into that mess in the dark,” he said, nodding toward the water.
“Listen boys, I’ve a mind to go and see where those tracks lead,” Nathaniel said. “You all going with me?”
The others shook their heads.
“You’ll learn better, once you been at this trade as long as I have,” Wagner said. “No night for man nor beast. You won’t find nothin’ tonight. Catch up with us when you can. We’re headin’ down the Richmond Pike.”
Deborah wiped up the snow she’d tracked in, wondering if that liar had tricked Pa into turning back.
When he came into the dining room, Friend Coffin folded his arms and gave her a stern look. The tall thin man in a gray suit reminded her of a great blue heron, especially when he trained his keen eyes on someone. “Thee should have left me to speak, Deborah Wall. This misadventure frightened poor Katy.”
Cousin Katy put her hand over her heart and added, “That man could have grabbed thee and taken off with thee.”
They were right. Deborah looked down at the floor. Mama’s cousin might be upset enough to send her back home. With younger children still at home, Friend Levi’s elderly mother, and so many fugitives in and out, Cousin Katy had welcomed Deborah’s help. A young able-bodied woman was such a blessing, she’d often told Deborah, who began working for them after one of the Coffin girls died of a fever.
Friend Coffin sighed. “Thee has heard the saying that ‘zeal without wisdom is folly.’”
Deborah nodded and glanced quickly at him.
His gray eyes twinkled. “I grant thee does have zeal. Why did thee feel led to speak out like that?”
“I thought to delay them, although I haven’t had near as much practice as thee and Cousin Katy at confounding the slave hunters.” She paused thoughtfully and then added, “I might have relied too much on my own understanding.”
Cousin Katy breathed deeply. “Let us pray for thy father and those with him.”
Deborah leaned against the fireplace mantel, closed her eyes, and prayed silently for safety for Pa and the runaways.
Sleet rattled against the windowpanes. Where were they? Crossing the flooded creek could have been a trial. Surely the bridge withstood it, but the rising water on either side might have gotten even wilder.
Did she hear voices from outside? Was that possible over the stormy winds?