“Ah, yes,” said Miss Johnston. “Well, anyway, he has been to New York City more than once to speak and visit with us. He is one of our great heroes, as is Miss Tubman, of course, and so many others.”
“Harriet Tubman!” Evie squeaked.
Cassandra patted her arm. “Yes, we have read of Miss Tubman’s work too.”
“You are extremely well informed,” observed Mr. Evans from his seat in the trunk.
After some time had passed, Cassandra felt the horses surge ahead and quicken their pace. The road was bumpier; they had passed from the cobbled streets onto dirt, and the carriage bounced.
“Why is he going so fast?” wondered Miss Johnston aloud. As if in response, Carter wrapped on the roof of the coach five times quickly.
“Damn!” exclaimed Mr. Evans.
“What?” said Evie.
“We’re being followed!” he said.
“Whoever was watching the house must have gotten suspicious and informed Vanderhoff.” Miss Johnston said. “Let us only pray that they are not aware of the wagon containing our friends.”
As the carriage lurched forward, the women braced Mr. Evans’ trunk with their feet to prevent its crashing to the floor.
“How much longer until we get to the ferry?” asked Cassandra. “Will it be waiting for us when we get there?”
Miss Johnston peered out of one of the curtained windows. “Yes, and we are almost there. Mr. Evans, a change in plans. There is no point putting you on the ferry in the trunk. They know you are in here. As soon as we get there, you must run from the carriage onto the ferry. We can only hope that our friends will be there, boarded and ready to go.”
“And if they are not?” he asked.
“I do not know.” She looked out the window again. “We are almost at the intersection where their road meets. Oh! There they are! They are going to fall in behind us, but goodness, they are going so fast! There are riders chasing behind them too!”
Moments later, the carriage jolted to a stop and the three women tumbled into each other. Miss Johnston flung the door open and jumped out, and Evie and Cassandra pulled Mr. Evans out of the trunk. They could see the ferry and the landing through the open door.
“Go! Run!” cried Miss Johnston.
Mr. Evans leapt from the carriage, reaching into his jacket as he flew. There was a gunshot. Cassandra could see Samuel, Caleb, and Miss Ketchum dash out of the wagon, running for the ferry.
“Stop!” she heard one of the men on horseback yell, “Stop, or we kill Evans! And anyone who helps him.”
“Get out!” screamed Miss Johnston to Evie and Cassandra. “Get out!” She wrenched a shotgun from underneath the seat.
The two women jumped from the carriage and ran, following the others down the landing. Cassandra watched Carter and the wagon driver retreat back down the island in a cloud of dust, ignored by the slave-catchers. She knew it was Evans and the runaways they were after.
She was aware of a blur of action as she ran: Miss Johnston jumped behind a tree and took aim at one of the Vanderhoff gang. Mr. Evans had a pistol in his hand, looking back and firing as he ran. The man who had shouted fell off his horse to the ground. The four others reeled for a moment in confusion, their horses stamping and frightened.
Cassandra, Evie, and the other three fugitives reached the ferry, leapt aboard and ducked behind its low walls. The steam engine was chugging, the boat idling in place on the water. Cassandra peeked over the ferry wall and watched as the men on horseback recovered their bearings and took aim to fire, but Mr. Evans was quicker and picked off a man with a great red beard, hitting him in the arm. The man cursed loudly and dropped his weapon, writhing. A thin, weathered man fired and just missed Evans’ head. He returned fire and shot the man through the heart. The man fell with a thud to the ground.
Cassandra could see that Vanderhoff still remained unharmed in his saddle. She saw Miss Johnston backing toward the boat, deftly reloading her shotgun from shells in her pocket. Vanderhoff and his one last able man, short, squat, and powerful-looking, took aim. Cassandra covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Miss Johnston fired and grazed the man’s shoulder while Mr. Evans leveled his gun at Vanderhoff and also fired. The slave-catcher clutched at his heart while blood spewed from between his fingers. His enormous body fell from his horse. His opposite-pointing eyes stared open in death as he lay in the dust.
The short man fired from his horse in a fury with two pistols. Cassandra crouched back down while Miss Johnston jumped onto the ferry, and ducked for cover. Mr. Evans grabbed the mooring ropes off of the pilings and leapt aboard the ferry, rolling to the ground. Bullets pinged off its wooden sides. The boat was moving away from the dock. Cassandra looked back at the shore and saw the short man jump off his horse and run to the shore. Mr. Evans pulled Cassandra down while Miss Johnston fired her gun. The sound of the man cursing traveled over the water.
“Enough, Cass,” Mr. Evans said to Miss Johnston. “We’re safe.”
Miss Johnston turned to him, her face blotchy and red. “I missed him.”
“Never mind. Come!”
He admonished them all to stay low and guided them into the boat’s cabin where they fell onto the seats as the ferry lurched along.
Cassandra stared at Mr. Evans. “You killed those men.”
He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I had no choice.”
“You will have more than Tom Vanderhoff’s gang on your heels now,” said Miss Johnston. “With him dead, his father and brothers will want revenge. They will go to the authorities and charge you with murder.”
“I know. Even though the killing was in defense, because I was protecting runaways, they will use the Fugitive Slave Act to their advantage.”
“Oh, Mr. Evans, I am so sorry!” cried Miss Ketchum in tears. Her brother held her in his arms.
Caleb was silent, his face ashen.
Mr. Evans looked at them gravely. “It is my duty,” he said. “I would have done it for any of my brothers and sisters, for anyone needing my help. I am not happy to kill, but it was necessary. Now it is done.”
“But you have put yourself in greater danger,” said Samuel.
“Do not speak of it further,” Mr. Evans replied.
Everyone fell silent. The boat rocked and pitched across the fast current of the great river.
Evie bolted upright in her seat.
“You have no things!” she said to Miss Ketchum. “All of your clothing and…everything…it was left in the carriage!”
“We can probably get them delivered to us in Queens. Carter will know how,” responded Miss Johnston.
Cassandra looked at her, and remembered the satchel she had placed on the roof of the carriage.
“Miss Johnston,” she began, “you are not planning to go on to Canada, are you?”
Miss Ketchum and Miss Johnston locked eyes. “Yes, I am,” she replied.
“You will leave your family, all of your work in New York?”
“I will not be without Lillian,” she said, continuing to look into her lover’s eyes.
Miss Ketchum smiled sadly.
The boat was slowing, and Cassandra could see the shores of Queens approaching. It was wooded, lush, welcoming, the tops of a few grand homes visible through the trees. She realized that this was the community of Astoria, barely recognizable in its current rural state. She knew it well in the future as a vibrant arts enclave, not so different from Manhattan in appearance.
A white man and woman stood on a dock, waiting. The ferry eased up alongside the landing, and when it stopped, the driver threw a rope to the man, who tied it up to a piling. Mr. Evans leapt out first and helped the ladies, one by one, then Samuel and Caleb stepped onto the dock. Although it was daylight, there was no one around. The riverside was a bramble of bushes and not easily accessed from up the bank. The man and woman gestured that they all be quiet and led them up a hill and into a cave. The cave then became a tunnel, damp and dark. The man had an oil lam
p and with its light he led them through the low-ceilinged passageway. Finally, they came to a heavy wooden door. He rapped a code on it, and it was opened by a young man with a friendly, wide face. Another short passage led them through another door and into a room with low ceilings and white-washed walls. Exposed wooden supports jutted out every two feet, and rough hewn beams ran through the ceiling. Above them could be seen the wooden slats that were the subflooring of the first-story rooms.
The cramped space was furnished with two, full-sized iron beds covered with hand-made quilts, an old wooden table, and four chairs. Tiny slits for windows were carved high up into the walls and allowed only a peep at the daylight outside. Candles stood on the table and in fixtures on the walls. The man lit each one.
“This is where the ladies will stay,” said the woman. She was portly, with graying hair and a broad, open face. She then opened a door onto another room that was nearly identical and they followed her. “The gentlemen can stay here.” She pointed out another door. “There is the water closet, and this hall leads to the stairway up to the main house, but you must remain here until the upriver boat comes. It will be here on Thursday, as you know,” she directed to Miss Johnston. “We will provide you with food, water, and any clean clothes you need,” she said. “We are at your service. I am Mrs. Adams.” She held out her hand first to Mr. Evans.
“The pleasure is great,” he said kissing her offered hand. She fluttered it away with a blush and indicated the two men next to her. “This is my husband, Tom, and my son, Emmanuel.”
The son resembled her almost exactly, though not so stout. The husband was heavy-set like his wife, with a thick shock of hair that looked as if it had once been blond. His eyes were blue and his face ruddy.
As they were all standing and talking, Cassandra pulled Miss Johnston aside. “What are Miss Bay and I going to do? We cannot remain here until Thursday. Can we not get back to Manhattan sooner? We must be on our way to Boston.”
“Hmm,” began Miss Johnston. “That is a problem. To maintain our secret position here, people cannot be seen coming and going, and, as you and Miss Bay are now recognizable, it would not be wise. When Carter comes with the luggage, he will be able to take you back, but that probably will not be before Thursday. Surely you can put off your trip one more day.” She turned and went back to the others.
Cassandra knew her own concerns seemed small. She could feel tears burning behind her eyes.
Mrs. Adams directed her son and husband in gathering the clothing and supplies for her guests. She informed them that she would bring dinner in an hour. She pointed out a cupboard that contained some books, playing cards, some used package paper and pencils for drawing and writing, yarn and knitting needles, and some recent newspapers for the guests to occupy themselves with. Between the two rooms there were chairs enough for them all to gather together around the table in the men’s quarters, which was what they now did, arranging themselves with a deck of cards.
Miss Ketchum took up the knitting supplies and cast on the beginnings of a pair of socks. Cassandra took up a copy of The Scarlet Letter that she found and pretended to read while the others commenced a game of gin rummy. Her stomach was seething, her mind racing. It was everything she could do to sit still and not scream. She looked at Evie, who seemed perfectly content sitting next to her love, helping him arrange his cards, like she was on vacation, Cassandra thought angrily.
Mr. Evans had joined the card game, but glanced up at Cassandra every so often. She could feel him trying to catch her eye, but she would not yield. As each minute crept by, she became more frantic about her team waiting at the portal lab. As the day drew to a close, she knew they would be expecting the time travelers.
Eventually, the Adams’s returned with bowls and platters of food, plates, and utensils. They left their guests with warm, sliced ham and what looked like the leftovers from a pot roast, as well as bread and butter, a bowl of peas, boiled potatoes, a basket of fresh cherries, and pitchers of ale.
Everyone ate eagerly. Cassandra realized that the food was improving her mood slightly and she managed to smile as Mr. Evans graciously served portions onto her plate. After they finished, Mr. Adams came to tell them he’d communicated by messenger with the captain of the upriver boat. It would arrive at the landing near the entrance to the tunnel close to sunset on Thursday the ninth, and would be carrying other passengers. It would take them to Albany, about a ten-hour ride. There, they would be taken to a safe house and soon after would go by train to Rochester. Evie nodded her head as the woman spoke, looking at her intently. Cassandra was mostly concerned with how and when they would get back to Manhattan.
“I have sent a messenger to find your coachman, Carter, but have not heard from him yet,” Mr. Adams said in answer to her inquiry. “As soon as I do, I will inform you. I would think that when he comes to bring the luggage, you will go back with him. But time is running out. I hope we will hear from him by tomorrow. I suppose that the worst case scenario.” He cleared his throat. “That is, if anything has happened to him, is that those of you on your way to Albany would have to leave without your things and we would arrange to get the ladies back to Manhattan with our own carriage after you leave. But we cannot go before, it would be too dangerous.”
Evie cried out, “What do you mean? They cannot go without their luggage. They cannot!”
Miss Johnston calmly took her arm. “Miss Bay, they are only things. They can be replaced. Many people have gone on this journey with only the shirts on their backs.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Mr. Evans. “And I can get supplies in Albany. I have family there and many connections. We can gather clothing and other things you will need.”
Cassandra could think no more about the arrangements. She now knew that Thursday was indeed the soonest they could get back and had to resign herself to that reality.
“I think I shall retire,” she said, “if no one minds. I have a terrible headache.”
Mrs. Adams hopped up from her chair. “I have nightclothes for you, and underthings.”
“Mrs. Reilly,” said Evie, rising, “do you need anything? Perhaps Mrs. Adams has some soothing tea that would help your headache. Can I come read to you? I would do anything to make you more comfortable.”
Cassandra looked at her bemusedly. “No, Miss Bay, but thank you. Just a little quiet would do me much good.”
She went into the women’s room and sat on her bed trying to read until Mrs. Adams returned. Cassandra changed into the soft gown and climbed under the covers, moving over to the wall to leave room for Evie. She did not know what time it was, probably around eight-thirty or nine, she figured, for the sky outside the tiny windows was dark. The sun had been going down around eight the last few days. If it was nine o’clock here, it was ten in the future. The team would be getting anxious. The minutes would tick by. Nick, James, Professor Carver, Jake, Yoshi, and maybe Shannon would be there waiting. Someone would remain on watch to man the portal. For how long would they be able to stay calm?
She could hear the murmur of voices in the other room. As she closed her eyes, she saw Vanderhoff’s dead, staring orbs. She opened her lids again to try to keep the image from coming back, but it was no use, her eyes would not stay open. When Evie came and crawled into bed with her an hour later, she did not even stir.
Chapter Fourteen
It was midnight. Nick was in the portal lab. He had been expecting the travelers’ return for hours. He stared at the monitor, his eyes red and burning. He figured they would have waited ’till night, but not this late. It would be odd for two women to be out alone so late, ducking into alleys. Damn it, where was she? There! Something flickered on the monitor. His heart raced. But then, no, it was only some small animal creeping through the alleyway. He rubbed his forehead, disappointment and fatigue overtaking him.
The other scientists on the team seemed maddeningly calm. Professor Carver had gone to the hotel to sleep, opining that the women would be back soon enough a
nd there was no reason to get excited. Jake was asleep on the lab sofa, snoring. Yoshi had gone out to get something to eat, and James was relaxing in a swivel chair, feet propped up on the consol, eyes closed, listening to music only he could hear, playing a guitar only he could see. Nick sat hunched beside him, hungry and uncomfortable, thinking how idiotic the young man looked.
This situation was just what Nick had feared, and no one, especially Cassandra, had paid him any mind. Anything could have happened to them. Or maybe there was nothing wrong; they just didn’t feel like coming back yet. They were probably having a great time, entertaining their latest conquests. Frankly, he didn’t care what Evie did, but Cassandra…what was she up to at this moment, two hundred and sixty-nine years in the past? Where the hell was she?
James opened his eyes for a moment, looked at Nick, smiled, then closed them and went back to the music in his virtual world. Nick wanted to take the tiny button-like object lying on the console that was responsible for transmitting the sounds and images into James’ head and smash it to smithereens.
He needed to go for a walk, to clear his head, but he didn’t want to take the chance that the two women would suddenly appear on the monitor and he wouldn’t be there. He wanted to be the first one to greet Cassandra; he wanted to be the first person she saw when she got back. As if reading his thoughts, James opened his eyes and deactivated the tiny music device with a tap.
He smiled. “Ya wanna take a break?”
“No, not really,” the older man replied.
“Come on, Nick, you’ve been sitting there for hours.”
“I’m fine.” Nick stared at the monitor.
“You know, I’m her son. If anyone should be worried, it’s me.”
“And yet you’re not.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“You don’t look too worried.”
“Actually, I think it’s a little soon to be worried. I’m sure there’s a good reason for their delay.”
The Time Heiress Page 20
