CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

OLIVIA

Mr. Still and Mr. Wilson were waiting outside when Douglas and Olivia exited the building. She tried to keep her posture upright and hopeful, but soon both men were wearing expressions as grim as she felt. Oh, Beulah.

“She will not survive two days in conditions like that,” Douglas said, looking back at the door.

“Any progress on getting her released?” There was no need to ask if Mr. Still was trying to get her released. Olivia was certain he had already set that in motion.

“We sent word to some of our lawyer friends to try and get her released to our care, but it will take time,” Mr. Still said. “The courts are still open, so there may be a chance that something may be decided today.”

Olivia glanced back at the door. Helplessness weighted her shoulders. “She said something. She said she was tricked.”

Mr. Still’s eyebrows rose. “Tricked?”

“She said someone named Logan told her that he was a friend and had come to help. She also said there were other fugitives who were tricked,” Olivia said.

Mr. Wilson’s eyes widened. “Walker. He said he met with someone named Logan at the docks.”

“I think it is safe to assume that whoever this Logan person is, he is not working for us.” Olivia fought off a tremble. She relayed Beulah’s information about there being more than one person.

“How did they get to her without coming in the house?” Mr. Still asked, his gaze passing from Olivia to Douglas.

Olivia looked at Douglas, who was now wearing an expression of worry. Was he thinking the same thing she was? Thinking of how thin the line between danger and safety was for them, and now Hope?

“I think it was prearranged,” Olivia said. She turned to Mr. Wilson. “Remember you said she left Mr. Lloyd and that you found her in the woods. I think this Logan person is luring fugitives away from their conductors.”

“Only to let them go back?” Mr. Wilson asked.

Olivia shook her head. “It is strange, but it is the scenario that makes the most sense.”

“This could be a problem.” Mr. Wilson eyed Douglas. “I know your wife wished to keep you out of her work, but I am relieved you are here. We have no idea how close this Logan person came to your house or where Beulah met him once she left.”

Cold dread blasted Olivia colder than the breeze coming off the Delaware River. She pulled her coat tighter. “I already have Saunders becoming more interested in my house.” She relayed to Mr. Still what Mr. Wilson already knew, about Saunders pursuing Thea to her house. “We all know about Saunders, but this is the first time he has come inside.”

Douglas frowned. “A slave catcher confronted you in our home?”

Olivia froze. He did not know that. She sighed. “A patrolman. I am certain you have seen him around. Yes,” she said, heart aching.

Douglas’s jaw twitched. She could well read his anger.

“It looks as if nothing can be done right now. We should not linger any longer,” Mr. Wilson said.

“I will notify you if I hear anything,” Mr. Still said.

It took all of Olivia’s remaining strength to turn away from the jail and start the walk home.

Douglas wrapped his arm around her. “This reminds me of something.”

She looked up at him. He was talking to her. “What?”

He let out a long exhale. “Sometimes there are patients who you’ve done all you can for and there is nothing more to do but wait. You want to do more. You want to ease the pain and suffering, and you spend your time fretting about it. It is a part of the work, but it is never easy.”

Olivia gripped Douglas’ arm and allowed herself to cry. His description fit her feelings perfectly. He reached inside his coat and gave her his handkerchief. She dried her tears and prayed for relief and release for Beulah. As she pocketed the handkerchief, she turned her head slightly to see a man in a suit following a few paces away.

Her heart hammered. When they turned a corner, and then the man did too, she leaned into Douglas and whispered, “There is a man following us.”

Douglas stiffened but kept his gaze forward. “Are you certain?”

“No, but we can see if he is.” She tightened her grip around his arm. “Turn at the corner.”

Douglas nodded, realization in his eyes. The turn would take them away from the house. They turned, and when they reached halfway up the block, they saw the man round the corner too. They walked another block before Douglas asked, “Is he still there?”

Olivia, using Douglas’ shoulder as a shield, peeked behind her. “Yes.”

“Now what?” He leaned his head closer to hers. “It is too cold to continue walking.”

The cold had numbed her nose and her toes through her boots. She ran scenarios through her mind. “We will go to Mr. Still’s house.”

Douglas steered her, and they walked past the Institute for Colored Youth. The play yard was full of screaming boys, their delight filling the air despite the temperature. Douglas looked over at them. “So happy. It never ceases to amaze me how they can find joy in such difficult situations. They could teach us all.”

“I am worried about what will become of Hope,” she said, almost too quiet to be heard.

He looked down at her, his eyes warm. “I am also, but we cannot worry now. Our thoughts must be on freeing Beulah and finding out who Logan is. I am sure that whatever God has planned for our little Hope, it will be good.”

Our little Hope.

But she was not theirs, and her mother was on the point of death. Her future was so uncertain. But Olivia vowed that she would make sure Hope was as happy as she could be.

Hope reached up, grabbed a tin of stick pins, and snatched them off the table. She moved so fast that the pins were clattering across the floor before Olivia realized what had happened.

“No, no, Hope,” she said gently but firmly.

Not that it did any good. Hope grinned, delighted at the noise the pins made.

And that smile warmed Olivia. She carried Hope to her basket bed. Thankfully, Hope had yet to figure out how to get out of it. “Having a bit of fun with my pins, are we?”

Hope sat in the bed, smile still on her face and intent in her eyes. She would knock the tin over again as soon as she had the chance. Once she retrieved them all, Olivia set the pins to the back of her sewing table and then lifted Hope into her lap again.

She had kept Hope close, expecting the news of Beulah’s death at any moment. Or expecting word that the slave catchers had transported her back to Virginia. But no word came, no hurried Milly showed up at her door, so she believed the best. Not that she could go and check. Hope had kept her at home, away from the work that had been her only thought for many years. Before Hope, Olivia had loathed the thought of not spending every free moment planning and organizing for the Friends or the school or Mr. Still. Before Hope, she believed she would despise a slower pace.

Now that Hope was here, she found it not as unpleasant as she thought. Besides, it was temporary. She would be back housing fugitives soon.

In all the years Olivia had worked for the Underground Railroad, being able to sit still was an infrequent occurrence. There was always more to do. Now there was very little she could do but care for Hope. She did whatever work she could do with Hope in her lap but not as much as she used to. Olivia found herself twitching to be in motion. To be at work. Instead, she had to force herself to be still and available for Hope.

The bigger challenge was not getting too attached to the child’s sweet smile. This was not her child. Hope was Beulah’s blessing, not theirs.

But in a way, she was their blessing too.

She worked as much as she could on Mrs. Johnson’s dresses. That was made easier by the fact that the dresses the woman picked were mostly decorated with small appliqué-like pieces and lots of lace. She handed Hope a scrap of pink fabric that seemed to delight her as much as the pins. Olivia hummed quietly to the girl and was so engrossed in her work that when a loud rap sounded on the door, she jolted hard enough that Hope slid forward on her lap. Olivia grabbed the girl around her middle to steady her. Then she stood and walked halfway to the door, dread making her tighten her grip on Hope. Was this it? Would the person on the other side of the door have news about Beulah?

But then she spied who was at the door. Mrs. Johnson. A great sense of uneasiness stopped her in her tracks. It had not been a month since her visit, so the woman could not expect her dresses to be done. No matter Mrs. Johnson’s reasons for being at her door, the feeling that Mrs. Johnson should not see Hope rang like a shrill bell in Olivia’s mind.

Sidestepping out of the view of the window, Olivia pivoted and picked up Hope’s basket bed. She carried it to the other side of the staircase where it would be hidden. “Stay here, little one.” She went into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of bread, and handed it to the girl as she passed to go to the front door.

She plastered a smile on her face and opened the door. “Good morning, Mrs. Johnson.”

Mrs. Johnson stepped forward, but when Olivia remained blocking the door, she frowned. “Good morning. I told you I would stop back in.”

Olivia gripped the doorjamb. “Yes, you said you would be back in a month. I am afraid you are a little early for the dresses.”

Mrs. Johnson smiled. “Oh, I understand. I only wanted a look at your progress.”

“I am not yet finished with the piecework. I am afraid everything is just a jumble of fabric and pins.” She fought to keep her smile in place. “Maybe come back in a week or so and I will have more to show you.”

“Oh, let me take a peek.”

“I—” Olivia started, but a soft thud sounded behind her. As if Hope had …

Before she could finish the thought, she heard a small whimper. She turned, praying Mrs. Johnson did not hear Hope, but the woman was peering past her into the house. “Is someone in there? What are you hiding, Mrs. Kingston?”

Olivia stood taller, her stomach knotting. “Remember, I mentioned I had guests staying with me.”

“Oh yes. But you never said what kind of guests. Is it family? Mrs. Mason told me your family lives farther north.”

Olivia pushed the door closed a little more. “Please come back tomorrow. I should have something more than fabric squares to show you by then.”

Before Mrs. Johnson could make another protest, Olivia shut the door. She raced back to the dining room. Hope’s little basket bed was empty. She nearly panicked until she saw that the child had crawled under the table and was happily eating her bread. Olivia sighed. “I guess you can get out of the basket.” She bent down to pull the girl out. “You are learning fast.”

Hope smiled, settling Olivia’s nerves a bit. Why was Mrs. Johnson so curious about her guests? And to ask Olivia what kind of guests she had in her house. Odd.

It was time for Olivia to find out more about her mysterious new customer.