There was a flurry of activity. Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum took their luggage into the bedroom to get themselves organized, and Cassandra and Evie followed them to give the men their privacy. Cassandra saw that Miss Johnston only had the one satchel containing some clothing and other personal items. Cassandra felt great compassion for her.
She turned to Evie, who was sitting on the bed. “What can we do to help them get ready?” she began, and then stopped. Tears spilled down the young woman’s cheeks. Cassandra went to sit next to her and quietly took her hand.
An hour passed as the preparations for flight continued. Suddenly there were shouts from above and the sound of scuffling feet. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and Mrs. Adams burst in.
“Carter has been followed!”
The travelers cried out and leapt up in alarm.
“Now what?” exclaimed Mr. Evans.
“We must get you out to the dock. The boat will be here any minute, and hopefully Carter, Emmanuel, and my husband can keep them at bay long enough!”
Each person grabbed whatever luggage they could carry and ran out into the passageway toward the dock. It was awkward going with the heavy bags, and Cassandra began to wonder if they should just leave them behind. As they moved quickly through the passageway, they could hear muffled shouts and angry voices. The sounds faded as they moved toward the tunnel exit and in a few minutes they were out in the sunshine, scrambling along the path to the water.
“There! There it is!” said Mrs. Adams in a loud whisper.
The boat was chugging around a bend in the river, into what was called the Hell Gate channel, making its way through the dangerous rip-currents.
The brightness hurt Cassandra’s eyes, and she felt vulnerable, exposed out on the dock. She peered down river at the boat, slow in the distance.
“What are Miss Bay and I going to do?” she asked Mrs. Adams.
“You are getting on the boat. There is no other way.”
“What? No!” She cried, trying not to raise her voice. “We cannot!”
“Mrs. Reilly,” added Miss Johnston with an apparent effort to keep calm. “You can take the train back to Boston from Albany. Only a few more days’ delay. But now, you must come with us. There is no way of getting you back to Manhattan Island safely.”
Cassandra looked wildly around at Evie. The young woman seemed resigned. “Cassandra, we must do it. There is no choice.”
They heard a gunshot, and Mrs. Adams shrieked.
“Shhh!” said Mr. Evans.
The woman clamped a hand over her mouth.
The boat was approaching the dock, slowly, almost painfully, it seemed to Cassandra, who knew that they must board in order to live. Once the vessel was close enough, the first mate threw out a rope, and Samuel caught it and tied it up to a piling. The vessel creaked and puffed to a stop and the mate put out the gangplank.
“Go, go!” cried Mrs. Adams.
They picked up their bags and one by one crossed the gangplank. Cassandra hesitated, hoping, praying there was another alternative. But Mr. Evans held out his hand to her and pulled her into action. She moved onto the boat with the other passengers who had come up the river, all runaways. They looked at her through the front window of the cabin with tired, scared faces.
There were more gunshots up at the house, which was shielded from the water by a thick grove of trees. Mrs. Adams screamed and ran back in its direction.
“I must help them!” cried Mr. Evans, but the boat was already well away from the dock.
“It is too late,” said Miss Johnston. “I do not think that those men will harm the Adams’s; they are probably just trying to frighten them into giving us away. It would be very bad for them if they killed any members of a family as respected as the Adams. I wish to God I knew for sure!”
Cassandra watched the shore receding. Tears of frustration streamed down her cheeks.
Mr. Evans went to her and put his arm around her shoulders. “There, now. They will be fine, I am sure. We will send for word when we get to Albany.”
Cassandra felt a flush of shame that the safety of the Adams’s wasn’t her first concern. “And if you are worried about your family and your…beau, we will get word to them as well as soon as we can.”
She turned and buried her head in his chest and sobbed.
Evie approached them. “Cassandra—” she said, placing a hand on her back.
“Why do you not care that we just lost our chance of getting home?” Cassandra cried.
“Don’t you think we should talk about this in private, later?”
Cassandra considered that Evie was right, that she had said the wrong thing. She stayed pressed within the protection of Mr. Evans’ arms.
The boat moved in between the northern edges of Astoria and Harlem, all woodland and wilderness, up past Randall’s Island, out of the treacherous channel and into the Harlem River. The others had moved into the cabin; Mr. Evans made a motion to follow them. Cassandra let herself be led, still pressed close to him with his arm around her, Evie following. It was going to be a long ride. Night was falling and it was becoming hard to see the shore on either side as the Harlem River merged with the great Hudson at the top of Manhattan Island.
Chapter Fifteen
Nick looked at the clock over the monitor for the one hundredth time that hour. It was now Wednesday, eleven-fifteen am. In 1853, it was Friday, ten-fifteen. The time travelers were now more than thirty-six hours late. Professor Carver, Jake and James were gathered with him in the control room of the lab. Nick had voted with a resounding yes to whether steps should now be taken to retrieve the women; the others, he felt, were being overly-cautious, mule headed.
“If I know my mom, she will be furious if we go back to find them for no good reason,” James stated. “I think we should trust her good sense and capability.”
“I agree,” said Professor Carver. “Cassandra is very resourceful. She will get them back safely, I know she will. I feel they must have some very solid reason for staying longer.”
“And yet,” added Jake, “she knows we’d worry. I don’t think she’d stay longer unless something was wrong.”
“My point exactly!” Nick rejoined. “She is highly responsible, and so therefore must know we’re going nuts here.”
“I wouldn’t say we’re going nuts,” James said calmly.
“Well I am.” Nick got up from the monitor and banged the chair into the console. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing, and I think it’s wrong to do so. It will take another day at least to get one of us ready to go back and look for them, so we have to start now.” He took a deep breath. “Why don’t we at least start the preparations to go, and if they get here in the meantime, we will have wasted a little money and energy. Their lives are worth it, don’t you think?”
Professor Carver narrowed his eyes. “You’re right,” he finally said. “Shannon,” he called out, giving his wrist a flick.
Her voice filled the small room. “Yes, Elton?”
“I’m going to have Nick link you his measurements, and I want you to start building him a wardrobe of two or three changes of clothes. Will you also arrange for money, luggage, and the like? Get back to me when you’re ready, and be prepared to bring it down here to New York at a moment’s notice. We may need to send Nick on a rescue mission.”
“Got it, Professor.”
Nick activated his link to send Shannon his stats, but James interrupted.
“I don’t think Nick should go alone,” he said. “I think we should go together, just in case something is really wrong. It may take both of us to handle it.”
“No,” Nick and Professor Carver said at the same time.
Professor Carver glanced at Nick, sighed, and continued. “It’s too risky. One person is all I’m willing to send. If Nick needs reinforcement, he’ll come back to the portal and let us know. Got that Nick?”
“You are going to give me a weapon, aren’t you?”
“Ar
e you crazy? And just who would you use it on? If you killed anyone, you could inalterably change history. No, no violence. I hate to say this, but if Evie and Cassandra are dead—” he hesitated and went ashen. “God forbid, then there’s nothing we can do. If they are in some mortal danger, then we’ll have to think of more creative means to extract them other than with weapons. I still think that all of this is unnecessary, but if it puts our minds at ease, especially yours, Nick, then let’s proceed. Sorry, James.”
The younger man looked down at the floor without responding.
“I think the plan is good,” said Jake. “And with Shannon’s expertise, I’d say you’d be ready to go by tomorrow morning, Nick. I’m just glad I won’t be the one facing Cassandra’s wrath when you see that she’s perfectly fine.”
“Don’t worry, I can handle her,” Nick replied with a wry smile.
James walked out of the control room. “I don’t think she needs handling,” he muttered.
“Let me suggest two places to look for them,” offered Jake. “The Dylan Hotel—”
“Yes, of course,” Nick interrupted.
“…And All Angels Church.”
“Yes.” Nick was becoming impatient. “If I don’t easily locate them in one of those two places, I’ll follow whatever leads I’m given. Someone must know something. Beyond that, I can’t really formulate a plan until I know more. Then, if I need back up, I’ll return to the portal exit and we’ll go from there. Do you mind, Professor, if I go and collect my thoughts? I’ve been here almost non-stop for the last two days. Now that we’re taking some action, I feel I can get some rest. I want to be well-prepared mentally and physically.”
“Sure. Good idea. I’ll link you as soon as I hear from Shannon. Or if they return, of course.”
Nick’s anxiety returned. “I hate to not be here if they come back—”
“Go rest!”
Nick gathered his belongings and left the lab, passing James, plugged into his music, in the lounge. The young man did not look up as he walked by.
Nick walked out onto Broadway and continued around the corner to Astor Place where he jumped on the express train up to the Bronx. He exited at Pelham Parkway and walked to a little shop on Lydig Street. He hadn’t been there since his return from England and didn’t know if the place had changed hands, but was gratified to see it still looked exactly the same from the outside. The worn and tattered awning read: coins, artifacts, collectables. The window displayed typewriters, coin cases, rotary telephones, and a few random musical instruments. He walked in the door and a little bell rattled. The owner looked up from the holographic newspaper he was reading, and his face broke into a smile. He appeared as dusty as his surroundings.
“Feel like I’m seein’ a ghost,” he said in a thick, Bronx accent.
“Hiya Paul.”
“What can I do ya for, Nick.”
“I need something special.”
“What kinda special?” The man waved his hand, and the newspaper disappeared.
“Like what you got in the back room.”
“Okay,” said Paul, slowly straightening up his back. Nick couldn’t tell if it was his chair or spine that creaked.
He led Nick to the rear of the shop and unlocked a heavy metal door with a key. It opened with a loud complaint, and they both walked through into the dimly lit storeroom. Lining the metal shelves were guns of every kind, from every era.
“Pre Civil War,” said Nick. “Eighteen fifty-three, to be exact. Something small. And ammunition.”
“That’s gonna cost more than most people could pay,” Paul warned.
“I’m not most people,” Nick replied.
“Then, I think I have something you’ll like.”
*****
Cassandra awoke to find herself lying on the narrow bench in the boat’s cabin, Mr. Evans' jacket under her head as a pillow, and he lying on the floor at her feet, his head on a satchel. She sat up slowly, and observed, in the dim light beginning to seep through the windows, the others scattered around on makeshift beds on benches or the floor. Her head was foggy and she felt she could sleep for another several days if she had a comfortable bed. She was hungry and needed the facilities. Out the windows, she could barely make out the silhouettes of trees along the shore. The sun was just beginning to rise.
Some of the other travelers were stirring, sitting up, rubbing their eyes, and looking around with weary faces. Mr. Evans opened his eyes, looked up at Cassandra, and smiled. She smiled back. Across the aisle, Miss Johnston and Miss Ketchum were awkwardly arranged on a bench, curled up, feet to feet. Behind them on the ground, Evie and Caleb were sleeping together on a couple of coats. Miss Johnston sat up, bracing herself on the bench with one arm. She nodded to Cassandra who could see her smile in the semi-darkness. The woman then slowly rose to stand and gingerly stepped over sleeping passengers until she arrived at the staircase to the helm. She made her way up, carefully lifting her skirts, and disappeared though the entrance. A few minutes later, the first mate came down, followed by Miss Johnston.
“Ladies and Gentleman,” he announced in a quiet voice. “We will be arriving at the port of Albany in about fifteen minutes. Please arrange yourselves and be prepared to disembark quickly and in an orderly manner. Two covered wagons will be waiting to take you to your safe-houses. You must move rapidly, while it’s still early and we still have some darkness.”
As the boat pulled into a small dock south of the main Albany docks, the passengers moved toward the exit with their belongings. Evie was behind Cassandra with Caleb at her side, he clutching two heavy suitcases. Cassandra turned to look at her, but could not read her face.
With a lurch, the boat docked and the first mate leapt out to tie it up. He put out the gangplank and gestured for the passengers to leave, one finger to his mouth. Beside the covered wagons, two elegant carriages stood waiting.
Mr. Evans, close to Cassandra, whispered, “My brother sent these for us. Thank God he received the messages I sent up by post last Sunday. It is most fortunate that we got away on the Thursday night boat.”
The other runaways hurried down the gangplank and dispersed into the wagons, followed by Cassandra, Mr. Evans, and Samuel all in the first coach, and Miss Johnston, Miss Ketchum, Caleb and Evie in the second, all the travelers piling their bags around inside the carriages so as not to attract attention by putting them on top.
“Samuel,” Cassandra said as they carriages started out, “do you know where the other people are staying?”
“No, nor do they. This way, the utmost secrecy is maintained. I spoke with one of them, a fellow who said they were going into good hands here in Albany as far as he knew, and that they would be going on up to Canada in the next few days, like we are. Maybe we will meet again, who knows?”
“Are you frightened?”
“I am a little,” he said plainly. “I do not know Canada. I do not imagine it is the land of milk and honey, but I hope we can find work. One thing I do know is that we will be safe. Maybe we will go on back to New York one of these days. I sure will miss the reverend and his family and All Angels church—all those good folks.”
“I will too, Samuel,” said Mr. Evans.
They were quiet then, as the carriage bumped along. Just as the sun was beginning to rise over the housetops of the little town, they pulled up in front of a large home, white, three stories tall, built in the Colonial style with columns in front along the great porch.
“This is my brother Cecil’s home.” Mr. Evans said.
They all stepped out of the vehicles, and grabbed their bags. The front doors swung open, and a middle-aged man, wearing a brown, satin dressing gown and slippers, stepped onto the porch. He looked quickly up and down the street, while motioning them to come in; then shut the door, and bolted it.
Mr. Evans and his brother embraced. Cecil looked several years older than Thaddeus. He was portly and gray, his face wearing a look of importance. He sported a long, white mustache that, even fi
rst thing in the morning, was neatly combed and waxed.
“Thaddeus, Thaddeus!” he declared. “When will you ever stop getting into trouble?”
“Never, as long I am needed in the fray,” the younger man replied with a devilish grin.
Cecil shook his head good-humoredly. “Please, introduce me to your friends.”
Thaddeus waited to introduce Cassandra last. He took her by the hand, and led her to his brother, pointedly remarking, “And this is my friend, Mrs. Cassandra Reilly of Boston.”
Cecil raised his thick, white eyebrows. “Very lovely to meet you, Mrs. Reilly.” He placed a damp kiss on her hand.
“Thank you so much for having us.”
“Yes, well, Deborah, my wife, is still sleeping, but breakfast is being prepared by the cook and will be ready soon. I will have the housekeeper show you to your rooms; I am afraid some of you will have to share.”
“No, no.” Miss Johnston said. “We are used to cramped quarters. Mr. Evans, I realize this situation is most inconvenient to you, and that you have now been saddled with more refugees than you thought you would, but you are doing a great service to the cause of abolition. Also, I should let you know that Mrs. Reilly and Miss Bay will probably be looking to procure train tickets back to Boston within a day or so and the rest of us will be moving on to our next safe house in Rochester on Monday, so we shall not be putting you out more than these two or three days.”
“Miss Johnston, please,” said Cecil putting up a hand. “It is no inconvenience. It’s true that I have never run a safe house, as you call it, but I am honored to do so now, and to help my brother and his friends. I am a great believer in abolition, just not a fighter like Thaddeus.”
“Thank you, Cecil,” Mr. Evans said, patting him on the back. “This is the finest set of people you will ever know.” He beamed at his friends.
“Ah, here is Mrs. Goodyear.”
A small, wiry lady, wearing a crocheted snood over her bun, and a simple, gray dress and white apron came briskly into the entryway.
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