by Leslie Gould
A young buck bounded across the road, and the man in the back yelled for the driver to stop. He pulled out his gun and shot at the animal, but it escaped.
“Keep your eye out for another one,” Ira said. “There are plenty in these parts. Fresh venison would be a real treat.”
A few minutes later, Ira directed the driver to turn up a lane. Annie practically held her breath, hoping George’s farm was at the end of it.
A white house appeared with a wide porch, and she let out the breath she’d been holding. The farm spread out around the two-story home.
When the wagon stopped, Ira quickly jumped down, helped Annie, and then grabbed her bag from the back.
She took it from him and then, empowered that she was so near George, marched off toward the house without saying good-bye or even thank you.
The driver laughed and the soldier in the back joined in. Annie couldn’t tell if Ira did or not.
As she reached the porch, Annie could hear wailing. Her nephew, Noah, she guessed. Annie opened the door and called out, “George? Harriet?”
She stepped into a front room with a couple of chairs and a side table. The wood floors were worn and gray.
The wailing grew louder, and Noah stepped out of a room to the right. But when he saw her he turned and ran back into the room. Annie followed him. Harriet lay on a bed in a housedress, obviously pregnant and near her time, one arm over her forehead. The little boy leaned against the bed and howled.
“Harriet,” Annie said. “I’m here. Where’s George?”
“Still out in the field.” Harriet’s voice was so weak that Annie could barely hear her.
Annie got right to work. First she fed Noah a biscuit and a cup of the soup that was simmering on the stove in the small kitchen in the back of the house. Then she got the boy to bed. When George still hadn’t come in, she took a bowl of the soup in to Harriet.
Her sister-in-law sat up in bed and took a few bites. She managed to tell Annie that she’d been ill throughout the entire pregnancy. “But it’s getting worse again,” she said. “I can barely eat or stay on my feet. George has done all he can, but he has to see to the haying or we’ll have nothing to feed the livestock. A farmhand is so hard to come by with the war, so he’s mostly been working by himself.”
“What about help in the house?” Annie asked.
“I had a girl from town come stay, but she got so lonely she went back home. That’s when George wrote to your Mamm. Thankfully, another neighbor has brought a pot of soup over every few days or we’d all be starving.”
The conversation shifted to Lancaster County. Harriet said that she’d had a letter from her father, and her mother wasn’t doing well. The last letter they’d had from Cecil was months ago.
“My father said he’s serving with the 1st Pennsylvania Regiment.”
Annie nodded. “Jah, that’s what we’ve been told too.”
“Have you heard anything about them? Where they’re headed?”
Annie shook her head as footsteps fell through the house. Alarmed, Annie stepped to the door. Thankfully, it was George. He must have finished up his chores by lantern.
“Sister,” he said. “You can’t know our relief to have help.”
As he ate, he said he hated to take Annie away from caring for Sophia, but they were at the end of their rope.
“I’m glad I came,” she said. And she meant it. And then she explained that their grandmother and aunt had moved to Lancaster County, so there were plenty of people to care for Sophia.
As soon as he finished eating, he joined Harriet. Annie cleaned up the dishes and then carried the bucket of dirty water out into the side yard. Woods bordered it on the side away from the fields, with a full moon rising over the treetops. Annie dumped the water and put down the buckets, stepping toward the trees to admire the moon as she listened to the chirping of the crickets.
She heard a rustling and then a cry. At first she thought it was a feral cat or some other small animal, and she stepped back. But then another cry came. Sure it was a baby, she stepped forward, saying quietly, “Hallo. Is someone there?”
The baby began to howl, but it was cut short as if someone placed a hand over the baby’s mouth.
Annie was at the edge of the woods now, peering into the darkness. She couldn’t see anything at first, but then a blanket caught her attention. Then the image of a girl with dark skin, curled around a baby.
The girl looked up as Annie fell to her knees. “What are you doing here?”
“We needed a place to hide,” the girl whispered. She spoke with a drawl and obviously wasn’t from Pennsylvania. “Can you help us?”
“Jah.” Annie glanced toward the house. George and Harriet had enough to worry about, but she couldn’t ignore someone in need. “Stay here for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
She hurried to the rear of the house, expecting there to be a door to the cellar. There was. She opened it and peered down the steps, but it was too dark to see. She hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the lamp, and hurried back into the cellar.
It had river rock walls, and bins of potatoes, apples, and onions were stored in the back. It was chilly but clean enough. She left the lamp and hurried back to the girl, scooping up the baby so the girl could stand.
The baby whimpered but did not cry again. The girl limped as she walked, and Annie extended her free arm. The girl, who was a half head shorter than Annie, grabbed her and held on, as if for dear life.
Annie’s heart raced. Encountering Archer at the Fishers’ had been the closest she’d ever been to a black person. Now, as she slowed her step and helped the girl along, with the weight of the baby against her, she thought of God’s love for all of them. Then she thought of her ancestors fleeing Europe after being persecuted, just as this girl was fleeing the South. But other humans hadn’t owned her ancestors, not the way this girl and baby had been owned.
Once she had the two in the cellar, she hurried back into the house and found an extra chamber pot. Then she filled a jar with water and collected a few biscuits and wrapped them in a cloth. She also grabbed a couple of rags Harriet used for Noah’s diapers and hurried back to the cellar.
She found the girl nursing the baby, who thankfully seemed to be falling asleep. Annie asked the girl where she’d come from and she simply replied, “South of here.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I was told folks up north would help me once I reach Pennsylvania.”
“You’re in Pennsylvania now,” Annie said. “Just over the border.”
The girl bowed her head. “Thank the Lord—that slave patrol almost caught me last night. Do you think they’ll come after me here?”
Annie didn’t know for sure, but she suspected they’d cross the state border without hesitation if it meant catching a slave.
“Do you know who can help me?” The girl grimaced as she spoke.
Annie shook her head. Perhaps if she were back home she could ask the Fishers. She’d have to ask George, even though she hated to bother him when he was worried about the haying and Harriet and the new baby.
She broached the topic as she served George breakfast. “Do you ever have anyone slip over the border from Maryland in these parts?”
“Anyone?”
Annie inhaled and then whispered, “Any slaves.”
George shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.” He stood and said, “I need to get out into the field. Hopefully the midwife will come today and check on Harriet—I sent her a message yesterday.”
After Annie had cared for Harriet and Noah, feeding both of them, she slipped down into the cellar with gruel and more biscuits. The girl woke, startled, at Annie’s footsteps. The baby stayed asleep, however, and by the light coming down the steps, he seemed rather limp.
“Do you know who can help us?” the girl asked.
“Not yet,” Annie answered. “I’m praying for a solution.”
“So am I,” the girl answered.
“Try to get the little one to drink.” Annie wondered if the girl had lost her milk.
“I’ve been trying,” the girl responded.
“What is your name?” Annie asked.
The girl hesitated and then said, “I guess it won’t matter if you know. Felicity. And this is Mingo.”
Annie introduced herself and then said she’d be back as soon as she could. She spent the rest of the morning doing the wash and hanging it on the line. Later, as she fixed the noon meal, Annie heard the baby in the cellar crying and she began to hum loudly and then broke out into song, hoping to mask the sound. Thankfully, Harriet didn’t seem to notice.
In the afternoon, after Annie had served George and he’d returned to the field, a buggy rolled up next to the house. Annie stepped onto the porch and a woman jumped down and tied her horse to the hitching post. She wore a bonnet that nearly concealed her face.
She waved. “I’m Kate Baxter,” she called out. “The midwife.”
“I’m Annie Bachmann. George’s sister.”
The woman grabbed a bag and started toward the house, her stride long and confident. “How is Harriet today?”
“Weak,” Annie answered.
“Hopefully she’s close to delivering.” Kate reached the steps and bounded up them. Once she was in the house, she took off her bonnet. She wore a head covering that Annie didn’t recognize. She wasn’t Amish—but perhaps she was from another Anabaptist group. She appeared to be in her forties. Although she was a country midwife, she spoke and carried herself like a city person.
As Kate spent time with Harriet, Annie put Noah down for his nap. When the midwife came out of Harriet’s room, she said, “The baby should be here within a few days. Have George send for me as soon as labor starts. Right now the baby is breech, but hopefully it will turn before delivery.”
Annie followed Kate out to the porch. “Why is she so sick?”
Kate shook her head. “I’m not sure, exactly. Some women just are—more during the first few months. Very few are ill this late in the pregnancy, but it’s not entirely unheard of.”
Annie winced, feeling bad for Harriet. “What should I do once she goes into labor?”
“Try to keep her comfortable. Wipe her face. Help her change positions. Keep her calm. Take care of Noah.” Kate tied her bonnet and then patted Annie’s shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”
The woman started down the steps, and Annie thought again of the girl and baby in the cellar. Kate seemed kindhearted. Annie felt a nudge to broach the subject.
“I have another question.”
Kate had reached the bottom step. “Yes?”
“I’ll follow you to your buggy.” As they walked, Annie whispered, “What if a person was to find a girl and a baby from south of here hiding in the trees? Is there anyone who could help?”
“Perhaps so.” Kate spoke slowly. “Perhaps one might send a driver with a wagon tonight, after dark, after others are asleep.”
“If so,” Annie replied, “would that someone be able to get the girl and baby to safety?”
Kate nodded. “If anyone could, it would be this one.”
Relief swept through Annie. “I would be awake then, waiting.”
Kate turned and met her eyes. “So be it.”
Annie hesitated a moment longer and then whispered, “What if the baby wasn’t well?”
The midwife exhaled. “Harriet was ready to nap—I can take a quick look.”
Annie led the way to the cellar and lifted the door. Kate slipped down the steps quickly while Annie busied herself taking the wash off the line.
“Annie!” George approached from the field. “Has the midwife come?”
“Jah,” Annie answered loudly. “She’s down in the cellar.” Frantically, she searched for a reason. “She’s getting a bag of potatoes as payment.”
George started to the cellar. “Kate,” he called out.
“I’ll be right there.” A moment later she appeared, a burlap bag in her hand. She spoke to Annie. “I don’t need all of these—you take out some for your dinner tonight.”
Annie took five out as George asked Kate about Harriet.
“I don’t think it will be long.” She told him what she’d told Annie about the baby being breech and about fetching her as soon as labor started.
“Denki,” George said, tugging on his beard. “How’s your boy doing? Didn’t he join the Union?”
Kate nodded. “The unit he’s with is on the move in this area, so he’s home for a few days.”
George shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know it must pain you. . . .”
Kate shrugged, appearing not to want to talk about it.
George said good-bye, told Annie he’d work as late as the sun would allow, and then headed back to the field.
Annie quickly put the potatoes down next to the basket, closed the door to the cellar, and turned toward the midwife. “You handled that so well.”
The midwife gave her a sly smile and then said, “Come with me to my buggy.”
As they walked, she said, “Get some cow’s milk and a rag down to the girl. I told her to soak the rag in the milk and to try to get the baby to suck it—or to wring it into his mouth.”
“I’ll do that,” Annie said.
As they reached the buggy, Annie asked, “Are you Plain?”
“Jah,” she answered. “Church of the Brethren.”
Some called them Dunkards. They were Anabaptists too, although the Brethren believed in a baptism of getting dunked instead of having water poured over the head as the Amish did. They’d originated in Europe and had fled to the New World to avoid persecution, just like the Amish.
Kate had a sad look in her eyes, and Annie wondered what she really thought of her son serving in the Union Army. She admired the woman though for not criticizing him in front of George. “I’ll be seeing you soon,” Kate said. “I can tell you have a good head on your shoulders. You did the right thing today, and you’ll do fine by Harriet too.”
Annie watched the woman go, and then she retrieved a jar of milk from the spring. She worked quickly to get a cup of milk and a rag down to the woman. By the time she’d finished, Noah was awake and he played outside while she finished taking the wash off the line. It was hot and muggy, and soon sweat dripped down the back of her legs and the side of her face. She was thankful it was cool in the cellar for Felicity and Mingo.
She continued with her duties throughout the late afternoon, sweeping, mopping, fixing supper, feeding Harriet and Noah, and then putting the boy to bed. George came in and she served him. It seemed he sat at the table forever as she washed the dishes. Finally, he joined his wife.
Annie finished cleaning up and then waited and waited.
Suddenly, she heard a whistle and she slipped out the back door with a lamp. The whistle sounded again, this time from the edge of the woods. A man stepped out of the trees. He wore a Union uniform but that was all she could make out in the dark.
Annie hesitated.
The man nodded at her and then toward the cellar.
“Who are you?” she whispered, stepping forward.
“The less you know the better,” the man replied as he lifted the cellar door. Annie couldn’t see his face under the shadow of the brim of his hat, but his voice was familiar. “Now hurry. I passed a wagon on the road with two strangers who seemed to be intent on finding something—or someone. The sooner I leave with your cargo, the better.”
7
Marie
When I stepped from my bed the next morning and my feet landed on the floor, the first thing I thought of was Annie. Not because of the cold wood beneath my feet that sent icy stabs up my legs. I knew how hot June in Pennsylvania could be and imagined Annie sweating as she cooked, cleaned, and did the wash, all the while worried about the girl and the baby in the cellar of her brother’s house.
No, I thought of Annie because she was away from home. I certainly wasn’t facing any hardship, as Annie had, but I did
have a trip ahead of me. By tomorrow, I’d be a thousand miles from home. And, unlike Annie, I wasn’t the bravest girl in the world. I tried to fight off my rising anxiety.
I fished my slippers out from underneath my bed, slipped them on, and then shuffled to the closet to collect my clothes. How shallow was I that I’d compare my vacation in Florida to Annie’s trial in Peach Bottom? She was caring for a sister-in-law who was soon to deliver. And faced with saving the life of a runaway slave. I, on the other hand, had been gifted four weeks in a tropical climate, in close proximity to Elijah Jacobs. I shook my head at myself as I headed down the hall to the shower. Jah, I was nervous about leaving home.
A half hour later, pulling my thick shawl around me, I headed downstairs and found Mamm already in the kitchen.
I stepped to the living room window. More snow had fallen, and in the dim morning light I could make out Milton shoveling the front walk.
Gordon was probably in the barn, helping Arden finish up the milking. I doubted I’d see him before I left, although Aenti Suz and I wouldn’t catch the bus for Florida until noon.
Aenti Suz didn’t come for breakfast, and I guessed she’d slept in. After we ate and I’d cleaned up, I scrubbed down the cabinets and then began sweeping the floors. Mamm had retreated into her sewing room to quilt. I hoped to have the house in tip-top shape so Mamm would have less to do while I was gone.
When I reached her sewing room, the broom in my hand, she glanced up from her quilt frame. “Mind if I sweep in here?” I asked.
“Not at all.” She bent back over the quilt and stabbed her needle into the fabric.
I kept sweeping, and then once I finished, I mopped too. When I was done, I hauled the bucket out through the back porch, thinking of Sophia all those years ago, in her daybed, fighting consumption in the very same place. The rock fireplace from the original cabin was still there, along with the logs, which were still painted white. In fact, I’d applied another coat of paint last year, before Dat fell ill.
As I stepped onto the top stair to the backyard, the bucket in my hands, I heard a car out front. We certainly didn’t expect anyone. I flung the water into the flowerbed. It didn’t freeze in midair, as I’d heard of happening before, but by the time it landed on top of the snow it was a sheet of ice.
