The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War
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Mandy’s chair scraped against the floor as she stood. “Then how can you ask our forgiveness?”
“Because I must.” Emma’s shoulders drooped, and her head dropped. “Whether or not you give it is not under my control.”
Mandy remained standing. “It ain’t my forgiveness you need. It’s too late for that little girl, probably too late for her mama and daddy. You need to beg God for mercy.”
“I have.” Although her vision was blurred with tears, Emma looked into Mandy’s eyes. “It took almost a year before I could accept it, but our gracious Father granted me forgiveness. His love is stronger than our vilest sin. I do not deserve His mercy, but He has given it to me.”
Mandy sank back into her chair. She dabbed at her eyes with her apron.
Beulah’s tremulous voice broke the moment. “I want to hear you tell the story. I want to hear it from your lips.”
Emma swallowed hard, then began. “The sewing circle had been making clothes for the poor, or at least that’s what we said aloud. Most of us knew that while some garments went to the less fortunate, most went to the runaway slaves who flowed through town. I was proud that Schenectady welcomed those poor souls. I was also prideful of my sewing and liked to make pretty dresses to show off what I could do. Sometimes I made dresses for the poor and runaways to match the ones I made for my daughters. That way everyone would know which garments I made. It was foolish and prideful.” Her sin attacked her as she spoke. She felt the ugliness of her transgressions. The words clogged her throat.
After a few moments, she continued. “We had been warned in church that a slave owner was on his way to claim back his property, but I didn’t think he had a chance against the antislavery community, so while I heard the warning, I did not take it to heart. I especially did not consider a woman would have anything to do with it.
“At the church picnic that day, a stranger, claiming to be passing through from Albany, commented to me on the number of well-dressed children she’d seen. I explained that the women’s sewing circle made serviceable garments as well as nice dresses for the poor, so there was little or no difference in their Sunday best compared to others.
“She oohed and aahed over a number of garments, none of which were ones I’d sewn. I grew determined to show off my skills. I’d given a dress I was particularly proud of to a little girl that morning, and I knew where the family was hiding. I persuaded the stranger to come with me.”
“You did what?” Mandy’s eyes widened. Her back straightened.
“I have no excuse.” Emma’s ragged breath choked off the words.
Beulah shook her head. “There’s no excuse, but times was different then. No pattyrollers to dodge. Slave owners didn’t chase freedom seekers this far north. But the runaways was still careful, cuz lives was at stake. They hid most days, but sometimes, on a particularly nice day, they’d come out and enjoy the sun a little.” She looked at Emma. “I ain’t making no excuse for you, just telling it like it was.”
Mandy’s posture relaxed. “Still don’t see how you could do it.”
“In hindsight, neither do I. But I never suspected this woman was a slave owner. I did not see anyone following us. It is no excuse for what happened, but it is the truth. Pride had an ugly grip on me.” The last words gushed from Emma, and she broke into sobs. She had God’s forgiveness, so why did this undo her?
Beulah reached across the table and took Emma’s hands. “You led that woman and her husband right to the freedom seekers.”
Emma nodded. She spoke between sobs. “Beautiful day, outside in the sun. By the time I realized—two adults—clapped in chains! A little girl crying for her mama. Her mama screaming for her to run—the boom of the gun. The child fell, so much blood.”
Emma was there again, saw it all again. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, but she heard again the child’s screams, saw again the mother’s terror-filled eyes. Emma’s pain was uncontainable. She rocked back and forth in her chair, wailing, wailing. She had done this. It was as if she had pulled the trigger herself. God had forgiven her—why did she feel this torment again?
Mandy’s arms encircled her. “It’s all right. You’re all right.”
Beulah knelt in front of her, crooning, “Hush, child, hush.”
Emma’s cries subsided to hiccups. A few deep breaths helped her gain more control.
“I’d like to know about the money.” Beulah’s voice was as soft as dandelion fluff. “Did you accept the bounty?”
“No! Yes.” Emma closed her eyes. “The woman thrust a wad of bills in my hand. She laughed and thanked me for my help. Said I deserved the reward. I don’t know why I didn’t throw the money back at her, why I didn’t run for help. I’ve thought over and over of what I should have said and done, but I just stood there, as if paralyzed. Everyone came at the sound of the gunshot, but it was too late. Then Mr. Trebor escorted me home.”
Mandy rubbed Emma’s shoulders. “You’ve never told anyone this story, have you? Not even Mr. Trebor.”
Emma shook her head. “At first I was so appalled at what had happened, I couldn’t face anyone. I couldn’t forgive myself, so how could I ask mercy from others? I thought Mr. Trebor might ask me about it, but he never did. By the time I accepted God’s love and compassion, a pattern had been set, and I didn’t know how to break it. Now I see that my pride was again the culprit. It was easier to distract myself with the children than to face the community.”
Mandy and Beulah retook their chairs. The three women sat quietly for a few moments before Beulah broke the silence. “The community believes you purposely led the slave owners to the freedom seekers’ hiding place for the bounty money.”
Emma’s gaze drifted from Beulah to Mandy and back again. “Is that what you believe too?”
Chapter 7
Paul rubbed his temples against the mounting tension headache. The freedom seekers hiding in the cotton mill were not safe. Emma had heard them and she might act on her curiosity, but worse, the dubious stranger who started the fire may have seen something in the office window.
Paul had to send the family on. The stockholders reported a lack of funds, but he couldn’t wait.
He could use money from his safe at home to purchase their passage on to Canada. He’d have to fabricate an excuse to tell Emma why he took the cash—perhaps he could replace it before she discovered it missing.
But there was also the matter of incoming freight. He’d have to warn the conductor not to stop. Display the danger signal. Many homes used quilts on a porch railing or a lamp in a window. Paul had a white sign with words painted in black: No COTTON DELIVERIES TODAY.
He’d never had to display it, and couldn’t remember where it was put—after all, it’d been unused for over fifteen years. Finally he found it in the rafters of the bale shed. Smoke damage had changed the white to dark gray. The words no longer stood out boldly. In fact, they were difficult to see, but it would have to do. He hung it on the nail on the front side of the shed and headed to town. He wanted to talk to the sheriff about the fire-starting stranger. He found the lawman in his office.
“Well, Paul Trebor.” Sheriff Martin rose from his chair. “Don’t see you often in town this time of day.”
“How are you, Sheriff?”
The two men shook hands, then the lawman sat and gestured for Paul to take a chair. “I’m pretty sure you aren’t here to inquire about my health.”
Paul shook his head. “Had trouble with a stranger today.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“He walked into my bale shed with a lit cigar. Started the thing on fire.”
“Why didn’t you bring him in? You got enough men to do it.”
“I wish I had, but he wouldn’t have gone quietly; there’d have been a fight, and I just wanted him gone.”
The sheriff frowned. “Much damage?”
“Two bales of cotton ruined, what with smoke and water. No one was hurt. I don’t know if there’s much you can do no
w, but I wanted to report it in case there’s more trouble.”
Sheriff Martin picked up a pencil. “Got a name or description I can take down?”
Paul described him in as much detail as he remembered, including the dapple gray horse.
“Did he say why he was there?”
“No, and that’s got me concerned. I don’t know who he is, why he showed up at my mill, or why he wanted to ruin my cotton. Unless”—Paul’s gaze met the sheriff’s as he finished his thought—“unless he’s a bounty hunter.”
The lawman set down his pencil then caught it before it rolled off his desk. “That what you figure? Makes sense. A bounty hunter setting fire to cotton could smoke out the freight. But you know I can’t do anything to obstruct a hunter. Fact is, if he wants my help, I’m obliged to give it to him.” He locked eyes with Paul. “And you need to be real careful about what you tell me.”
“I know. You have to obey the Fugitive Slave Law.”
“Have you considered that if I arrest him and he contends your accusations, he’ll have the right to examine the premises?” The sheriff stood. “If freight is found there, it won’t matter that he started a fire.”
“Why, Sheriff Martin, you know I’m a law-abiding citizen, doing my best to run a little cotton mill. Don’t know what kind of freight you’re talking about. ’Course I don’t want anyone nosing around, but that’s just protecting my business interests.”
“Glad we cleared that up.”
Paul wasn’t quite ready to leave. “There’s something else. With the bales ruined, I have to either go myself or send someone south, leaving the mill shorthanded for ten days or longer.”
“That works to the advantage of the bounty hunter—um, I mean fire-starting stranger.” The sheriff rubbed his stubbly chin. “Can’t you delay the trip until this sorts itself out?”
“I could, but without cotton, the mill shuts down. I’ve got workers to think about. How will they pay their rent or buy food if they don’t work? For that matter, how do I supply the factories with fabric if I haven’t any cotton? They’ll look elsewhere, and I’ll be out of business.”
The sheriff walked around the edge of his desk. “I’ll help any way I can, but my hands are tied when it comes to bounty hunters.”
“But not arsonists.”
“Nope; I can deal with fire starters, if that’s what you want.”
“I’m not sure. Maybe hold off on tracking him down. Could be he’s moved on.”
Outside the sheriff’s office, Paul looked up and down the street. Schenectady had grown. He didn’t know everyone in town anymore, didn’t know whom he could trust. Whoever went after the cotton needed to return with more freedom seekers, but with bounty hunting growing more and more prosperous, helping freedom seekers was getting riskier. Was it right to send someone else into that sort of danger?
But first things first. The freight at the cotton mill had to move on. He’d get the cash from the safe and make the arrangements as soon as possible. He’d prefer to return home after Emma retired, but he needed to act now.
The two servants didn’t answer Emma’s question. Neither met her gaze. She repeated her question. “Will you forgive me?”
Mandy sat with arms folded across her chest.
Beulah scowled, her brow furrowed. “Why now? After all these years, why do you bring this up now?”
“The Lord is prodding me to let go of my pride and confess to the community. He’s been urging me all these years, but I refused to acknowledge it. His forgiveness has been my sole comfort, but He is asking me to follow James’s command, ‘Confess your faults one to another.’”
The servants sat stiffly. Tension mounted in the room.
“I know this has been a long time coming. Much too long. I have no excuses, but I hoped you’d believe me…and forgive me.”
Beulah shook her head. “I know you to be a devout mother and kind employer. I’m thankful for that. You’ve asked for my honest response, and this is my thought: You’ve had twenty years to come up with that story.”
Mandy nodded. “And it’s a good one. A dandy. But I’ve heard good stories before.”
Apparently consoling a sobbing woman was not the same as believing her. Emma rose from her chair and stumbled from the room, her sight blurred by tears. She’d not break down in front of them again.
On her knees in her room, she cried out, “I did my best, Father, but it fell short. Please don’t ask me to try again. I can’t. I can accept being alone the rest of my life, as long as I have You. I don’t deserve the community’s forgiveness. I don’t deserve happiness with Paul. As long as I know You love me, I don’t need anyone else.”
The peace she’d experienced before eluded her. She was deceiving herself. She could no easier live without someone to love than she could fly to the moon. She sat at her writing desk and penned a note to her eldest daughter:
Dearest Charlotte, I pray this finds you well and happy. I’m wondering if you are amicable to an extended visit. I’d love to come soon and perhaps stay until Christmas….
Chapter 8
Clancy took Perseus’s reins as Paul dismounted near the stables. “Don’t put him away,” Paul said. “I’m heading out again. But you might let him drink.”
He entered the manor through the french doors leading from the garden to his study. A lamp cast shadows into the room. He swiftly moved to open the safe.
“Good evening, Paul.”
He turned quickly. “Oh, Emma. You surprised me.”
“I didn’t intend to startle you, but I’ve been waiting. I’d like to talk.”
She deserved an explanation for the voice she heard at the mill, but he couldn’t give one. She couldn’t know about the freedom seekers, and he didn’t want to lie. “I’m sorry, but it will have to wait. I really haven’t time at the present.” He cringed inwardly at the look on her face.
“Surely you aren’t going out again? What business could you possibly have at this hour?”
He detected frustration in her voice. “My dear, business is done at every hour of the day. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
Instead of leaving the room as he thought she would, she stepped nearer. “Please, Paul. It is ever so important.” Her voice was a soft whisper, filled with longing.
She drew even closer. A whiff of her perfume teased him. She leaned into him; her gaze connected with his then dropped to his mouth. Her lips parted. He yearned to take her into his arms and kiss her, to ease the hunger in her eyes.
He moved away. “I’m sorry, dear. Perhaps we can speak in the morning.” He grasped her elbow and escorted her from the room. He felt her body tremble, and his heart responded with its own quivering.
He shut the door quickly, before his emotions sabotaged his determination. He returned to the safe, retrieved the cash, and left the same way he’d entered. Even as the door shut, his inner being urged him to stay and listen to her. She was, after all, the mother of his children.
The only woman he had ever loved.
Or ever would love.
No, he argued with himself. The lives of freedom seekers were more important than his own happiness. And Emma could not be trusted in those matters.
As she heard the study door close, Emma pushed into the room.
He was gone. She knew he would be, but the empty room caved in on her.
She sank to the floor. Again tears flowed straight from her broken heart. She’d begged him to stay and he had brushed her off.
Did she mean so little to him?
Or was it that someone else meant more?
She rose from the floor then noticed the safe was not closed tightly. She strode to it. The usual papers were all there, but cash was missing.
Why had he taken it? For business? Or something else?
Such as a rendezvous with another woman. If he were seeing someone, what chance did she have? Perhaps this was part of the price she had to pay for her sins. God’s forgiveness did not i
nclude erasing consequences. But why was her heavenly Father urging her to reconcile if it was too late?
Taking deep breaths, she sat in his chair. A battle rose within her.
Let him go, one voice said. He’ll hurt you more.
Fight for him, said another.
Just leave—go to your daughters. They love you, the voice argued.
Paul knocked on Joe’s door, aware that he was about to violate an Underground Railroad code. To protect everyone, stationmasters did not identify themselves to conductors. He had the money to buy passage, but he didn’t know which ship to use. Who was the contact? What was the safest route? It would be better if his foreman did it.
Joe answered his knock and stepped outside. He looked up and down the street. “What are you doing here, boss?”
“You’re my foreman—can’t I talk to an employee after work hours?” Paul handed him his messenger’s bag. “There’s enough cash in here to book passage on a ship for the freight at the cotton mill.”
“Yes, boss. I’ll take care of it. But…tonight’s ship has already left. It will be tomorrow evening at the earliest, possibly the night after, before the cargo can be loaded.”
“But more freight is coming. We don’t have that long.” Paul rubbed his temples. “I know you’ll do the best you can.”
Joe scuffed the ground with his shoes. “Sure don’t like that stranger nosing around.”
“I reported him to the sheriff. Gave his description. I’m hoping he’s moved on, looking for greener pastures.”
“Not likely.” Joe looked up at the moon then met Paul’s gaze. “Not if he’s a bounty hunter and saw something in your window.”
“But if he had seen something, wouldn’t he have challenged us right then? He’d have been within the law.”
“The workers were itching for a fight. If the stranger saw something in that window, he was smart to wait for another day.”
“You set a night guard, right?”
Joe nodded. “Sure did. And boss, what are we going to do about the cotton? We’ll have to shut down the mill if we don’t get more soon.”