Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
About the Authors
Given
Lisa G. Riley & Roslyn Hardy Holcomb
Given
Copyright © February 2010 by Lisa G. Riley & Roslyn Hardy Holcomb
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Dedication
To my uncle, Arthur Louis Smith, who wooed many women with the Song of Solomon. I have to assume that heaven is full of women with good legs, or you would’ve come back by now.
—Roslyn Hardy Holcomb
As with most of my works, this book is dedicated to my mother, Gloria Belle Riley. Thank you for everything, Mom. I love and miss you. Word of advice: Steer clear of one Arthur Louis Smith.
—Lisa G. Riley
Authors’ Note
The Gist Settlement in Ohio is an actual historical location. We chose to use this historic town because of its close proximity to Ripley, Ohio, a verified hotbed of abolitionists and a station on the Underground Railroad. There is no evidence that there was any resistance activity in the Gist Settlement, but it is a well-established historical fact that most all-black towns were sanctuaries for escaping slaves. Thus, we believe that no damage is done to the history of the town to use it in this manner. All characters and activities as described in this book are fictional, aside from well-known historical figures that are mentioned such as Paul Cuffee and Frederick Douglass. Cuffee did establish one of many colonies for free blacks on the west coast of Africa, and Douglass’s actions are legendary.
Prologue
West African plains
Sometime in the first millennium of the Common Era
Acrid smoke darkened the already pitch-black sky, swallowing the screams. The blades rose and fell, fueled by relentless fervor, and with each stroke blood glistened a brighter black in the scant light. Earth must be wiped clean of all the evil ones, kith and kin, so humanity can survive. Man, woman, and child fell before the onslaught as the Thakathi—death bringers and a source of disease, pestilence, and destruction—were slain with the same lack of mercy they showed their prey.
Obaluaye, who commanded disease and death and who could heal disease and death, could not be ignored. And it was Obaluaye who commanded: “They all must perish.”
So the task was put to the Eshu, the witch smellers, for they could find the malevolent ones no matter how clever the Thakathi’s subterfuge. The Eshu alone possessed the power to become any animal they willed, and they alone were strong enough to smite the witches from the face of the earth.
The battle had been joined long before these executioners drew breath, but now this village, one of the last Thakathi enclaves, was being put to the knife and the torch. The piteous cries of innocent animals held captive as familiars joined the screams of their masters. Obaluaye’s orders were inviolable: nothing must leave that village alive. And so the slaughter continued until the blood joined the red dust of the road in an unspeakable mélange.
And then a burst of light brightened the sky until it shone like noon, and the smell of ozone and sulfur lingered in the air. With that, the Eshu knew immediately that their mission had failed. Like every other Eshu mission before, they had failed to exterminate the last of the Thakathi. Despair washed over them.
As long as one lived, it was as though the slaughter had never happened. Pain would come again, so piercing that death was a respite. Always the Thakathi brought pain with them for the suffering of living beings powered their spells.
The Eshu looked about them, knowing that they could not rest. Obaluaye was ruthless. As long as the Thakathi survived, so would pestilence. The Eshu looked at one another, the blood of the evil ones still dripping from their long knives, and they saw nothing but death and death and death.
Their failure that night would resonate for centuries. The Thakathi’s retribution would be long in coming, but it would be chillingly effective, even traveling with the Eshu to what would come to be known as the New World. Only Obaluaye could give them respite—and that was not forthcoming.
Chapter One
Gist Settlement, Ohio
1850
Mary Katherine awoke with a start. She lay still on the soft feather bed, disoriented, as she wondered what had awakened her from a sound slumber. Then there it was again: the unmistakable chime of the bell she’d had installed to alert her when cargo was being delivered. She shook her head to clear it of sleep’s lingering cobwebs. Cargo? But there was to be no cargo tonight, which meant something had gone wrong. Unwilling to waste time dressing in such an emergency, she just threw her bed robe over her soft cotton nightgown. Though her nightgown wasn’t nearly as voluminous as the one she wore in winter, with the robe it provided adequate covering. Her hair hung down her back in four plaits as thick as a man’s wrist. She didn’t waste time with it either and left it improperly hanging. Emergencies of this nature trumped etiquette.
Carrying a specially shuttered lantern designed to emit as little light as possible, she rushed down the stairs to her cellar. Even though the house was empty, she automatically walked close to the wall on her descent to lessen the possibility of one of the risers squeaking. Fortunately she’d made the trip in near darkness many times before because she didn’t dare light any additional lamps. It was never possible to know whether her house was being watched—so she always assumed that it was.
Two sharp taps, a pause, three more taps, followed by one more, sounded on the cellar door. That was the correct code for the week, but she still approached the door cautiously. Betrayal lurked around every corner. Bounties paid for runaway slaves were so high now that even the most loyal friend coul
d be turned. She opened the door and immediately had to check the impulse to close it again.
The man on the other side was no traitor, at least not to the underground. But Jacob Adams had a very uncomfortable effect on her senses. Had she known who her late-night caller was, she would have taken the time to dress, no matter how great the emergency. Despite his massive size, Jacob entered the cellar in a stealthy motion that demonstrated why he was so valuable to their cause. The man was big, big in the way that mountains are big. Unlike most of the men in town, he was clean shaven. He even kept his head nearly bald.
The lines of his dark face were almost too strong. High cheekbones and a broad nose would have made him quite mean looking, except for a pair of very large, expressive brown eyes. The first time she’d met him, those eyes had reminded her of a puppy she’d had as a child. And now? Well, now their penetrating gaze made her feel as though she were a particularly succulent meal that the unmistakably full-grown, hungry dog had every intention of enjoying, down to the last morsel.
That look made her acutely aware that it was not respectable to meet a male caller in her nightclothes, no matter how dire the circumstances. He looked down at her in that penetrating way of his, and instinctively she tightened the tie on her robe. She was more than adequately covered, but the look in his eyes made her feel as though he could see every bare inch of her body and was thoroughly enjoying all that he saw.
Her eyes narrowed fractionally. Beast.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, struggling to keep the annoyance out of her voice. From the way his bright smile flashed even in the low light of the cellar, she knew she’d failed. Fortunately he didn’t comment on it.
“Cameron didn’t respond to the signal,” he said, referring to the blacksmith, who was another stationmaster. “You’re his second.”
Mary Katherine nodded. She hadn’t known about this run; as always, only the people who were directly affected knew about any deliveries, and even then they were told with as little notice as possible. It was crucial to always be prepared.
“I hope Cameron isn’t in trouble,” she said, though they both knew that an unanswered signal usually meant there was bad trouble. “What do you have?”
“Two: a man and a woman. They’re not sick or anything.”
Mary Katherine raised her eyes heavenward in thanks. The last fugitive she’d housed had been deathly ill and had required nursing for weeks; even so, she’d nearly lost him.
“I think they’re from the Deep South though,” Jacob continued. “They’ve been out for a long time, and they’re both skinnier than anything.”
Mary Katherine frowned. Runaways from the Deep South were uncommon, especially with the new Fugitive Slave Law, but when they ran, they often made their way to Gist Settlement. Their town had been settled after slave owner Samuel Gist, who had died in 1815 and manumitted his slaves in his will. He’d made arrangements for them to be moved to free land. Altogether his estate purchased over two thousand acres of land in various Ohio counties for newly freed slaves and their descendents. As a result, Gist Settlement was an attractive destination for runaways.
Of course, Jacob was only speculating about these two being from the Deep South. Conductors and even stationmasters like her deliberately learned as little about their cargo as possible. Typically they didn’t even know their names, where they’d come from, or where they were heading. No one could torture them into betraying what they didn’t know. “Bring them in,” she said as she walked over to what looked like a stack of old barrels on the back wall of the cellar. Her father, who had become a stationmaster almost immediately upon moving to the area a decade before, had built the concealed door.
Though she was as familiar with the mechanism as she was with her own name, she was still amazed by the clever device, which was totally undetectable. The barrels were of the type commonly used to store all manner of commodities. They didn’t look out of place, considering that she also owned the general store next door. A hoop on one of the barrels was slightly warped, and when she grasped and pulled slightly, it opened a door to the right of the stack of barrels. Mary Katherine had instinctually directed Jacob to go get the fugitives before she’d opened the door. Though she trusted him, years of coaching by her father made her automatically cautious.
A few moments later Jacob returned with a man and a woman. Both were dressed in little more than rags, giving mute testimony to the length of time they’d been on the road. Their bedraggled state indicated that Jacob was probably right; more than likely they were from the Deep South. Slaves were usually given a new set of clothing each year, and the condition of these indicated that they’d been worn for some time. Unless of course they’d had the misfortune to be owned by someone who didn’t bother to clothe their slaves. It also meant that this was their first connection with the network. Usually stationmasters gave fugitives a change of clothing if at all possible.
The man and the woman were big boned but had clearly lost weight over the weeks and months of their desperate journey. Mary Katherine assessed them with an experienced eye. After leading them into the secret room, she walked over to an old sea chest that was concealed behind her potato bin. She rummaged through it for a few minutes and pulled out some suitable clothing for each of her guests.
She looked up and instantly became annoyed when she realized that Jacob was still standing in the doorway. For the love of—What would he still be standing there for? He knew as well as she did that getting away as quickly as possible was crucial. If the soul catchers were watching her house, he had no real excuse for being there. She knew he prided himself on being able to melt away into the landscape, but it was much too dangerous these days to take unnecessary chances.
“Was there something else you needed?” she asked.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll tell the next conductor about the change in plans,” he said as he backed out the door.
Mary Katherine pondered his odd behavior for a moment; after all, he had to let the next one know where to pick the couple up; there was no need to tell her that. Their rotation was fairly simple and based on which book of the Gospel the pastor of their African Methodist Episcopal church would read from on Sunday. Each stationmaster was assigned a Gospel, with a backup for emergencies. Conductors knew which station was next to receive cargo. Even if someone missed a sermon on Sunday, there was only one church in town, and it was easy enough to ask about the sermon in casual conversation. Aside for an odd hiccup when the pastor went on a thirteen-week run on the Gospel of Luke, the system had worked very well over the years. It was designed to run smoothly, with as few meetings as possible.
Of course, she didn’t know who the next scheduled conductor was, but she hoped they would arrive quickly. It was unsafe to have guests in the cellar when she didn’t have any in her boardinghouse. Anyone monitoring the amount of food she used, or even the number of chamber pots emptied into the outhouse, would quickly realize her secret. She didn’t let Jacob’s behavior trouble her for more than a moment before she hurried back to the secret room. There was too much to be done to waste time worrying about him and the strange turns he took from time to time.
When she reentered the room, she realized that the woman was shivering. Her thin shoulders shuddered under the coarsely woven cotton shirt she wore, though it was a warm summer night. Her hair had been cut close to her scalp so that she looked like a man. Few women escaped, and the ones who did usually dressed like men. The man took her into his arms as she began to sob. Even more proof that this trip had been a difficult one. Mary Katherine knew from experience that the woman’s collapse was the result of being pushed past her endurance.
The stress and strain of making the escape from slavery was enough to overset anyone. A good hot meal and a night’s rest would do wonders for their fortitude. She wished they could stay a few days, but even though Ohio was a free state under the new law, they still weren’t safe here. They had to be secreted all the way to Canad
a before they could truly rest.
“I’ll go upstairs and get some hot water so you can wash up. I’ve got a change of clothing here for you as well,” Mary Katherine said, passing the bundle of clothing to the man. He reached out to take it with one hand; his other arm was still wrapped around the woman’s shoulders as she hid her face in his broad chest.
“Thank you. We appreciate your kindness. This has been rather hard on my wife. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize. What should I call you?” Mary Katherine asked.
“Ben,” he said and then gestured toward his still-shaking wife. “This is Sarah.”
Mary Katherine nodded and offered her own alias, Rebecca. Like everything else it changed regularly, but it was impossible to interact with other human beings without calling them something. “I’ll get the hot water. Or would you prefer to eat first?”
Sarah finally looked up from where she’d placed her head on Ben’s chest. “Could we have something to eat first? I’m thinking that at least part of this”—she gestured toward her still-wet cheeks—“is because we’re so hungry.”
“Of course,” Mary Katherine said, picking up a quilt from the foot of the bed. She wrapped it around the woman’s quivering shoulders.
Leaving them downstairs, she scurried back upstairs. Stoking up the wood-burning stove was risky; if anyone noticed smoke coming from her chimney on such a warm night, they might investigate. The couple looked as though they could really use a hot meal, but she could offer only bread, cheese, and sausage. Tomorrow Coraline, her cook, would prepare some good hearty meals for them. It was through foresight that Mary Katherine always kept the cistern on the back of the stove filled with water, and it was still warm from when dinner had been cooked hours before.
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