The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War

by Barbara Tifft Blakey, Ramona K. Cecil, Lynn A. Coleman, Cecelia Dowdy, Patty Smith Hall, Terri J. Haynes, Debby Lee, Darlene Panzera

  Ruth frowned. “Why? I’s not scared of her.” She sat up straighter in her chair. “I’s not ashamed of being a former slave.” She certainly didn’t have control over where she was born and raised, so it was wrong of Mrs. Adams to hold her past against her.

  “I’ve known both Elizabeth and Joseph for years. If she doesn’t like someone, she’ll make them miserable. For that matter, even people she does like she makes miserable. That woman has been sad and upset for a while, and her negative attitude has gotten worse since her husband passed.”

  “Her husband died? That’s so sad.” Ruth mentally sighed, able to relate to Mrs. Adams’s pain. The woman was probably sad and needed some cheering up. Ruth needed to try to figure out what to do to make Elizabeth feel better.

  “Yes, her husband’s recent death is sad.” The schoolteacher released Ruth’s hand and gestured toward the bookcase. “I’ve noticed you looking at those books lately. I think it might help you working in the bakery if you learned to read and write. I could even teach you proper English, if you wish.”

  Ruth felt as if the schoolmarm had read her mind. On her journey home from the bakery, she’d wondered if learning to read, write, and speak properly would help with her transition to this new area.

  After she’d been granted her freedom in her master’s will, she’d been able to relocate from Maryland to Philadelphia. Arrangements had been made for her to have an abolitionist escort to her new home. In Philadelphia she’d become acquainted with Cyrus Brown, the abolitionist pastor at the local church. She’d only been there for a few days, and during that time, she’d found herself amazed and homesick at the same time. The city of Philadelphia proved far different from the huge Maryland farm where she’d lived her entire life. Seeing the tall brick buildings and crowds of people each day was still jarring. It would take her a while to get used to her new environment.

  It was also an amazing shock to her system to see blacks free, a few owning businesses, often walking down the streets unescorted. She certainly wasn’t used to encountering a family like the Adamses, a black family with wealth. Just knowing a Negro could have money made her feel good inside, made her feel hopeful. Maybe there would come a time when all blacks were free. What a wonder that would be. Lord, please help those still enslaved.

  Miss Tilley patted her arm. “Ruth? Are you all right? I asked if you’d like to learn to read, but it seemed you were daydreaming.”

  “I’s sorry. Just thinking about my trip from Maryland.” She dipped her head. “Yes’m. I’d like to learn to read.”

  She nodded. “Good decision. Learning to read will open your world up to so many things.” She paused and took a sip of water. “I was also thinking you could help with the abolitionist movement. Both myself and my ma have been active for a while. Since you’re a former slave, you might be interested in helping slaves to escape to freedom. The church I attend is a stop on the Underground Railroad. There’s an abolitionist meeting there in a couple of days. After you return from the bakery, maybe we can have our first lesson and then go to the meeting.”

  “Me? Helping with the Underground Railroad?” She honestly couldn’t imagine how she could help. What skills could she bring to the cause? All she could do was bake bread and cook an appetizing meal.

  “Ruth, I can tell you’re hesitant. But being a former slave yourself, I’m sure you realize how important it is for people to escape to freedom. Don’t be scared. We pray before all of our meetings, and we feel led to do this.”

  Freedom! The feeling was so new to her that she was just getting used to it. The taste of freedom was so new and fresh, almost like tasting the sweetest nectar for the first time. She still wasn’t used to not answering to her master. Her life had proved a whirlwind of change, and she didn’t want to risk making wrong decisions. Feelings of inadequacy churned through her like sour butter. She’d been thinking of assisting with the Underground Railroad ever since she’d gained her freedom.

  “But Miss Tilley, I’s don’t know what I can do to help. You’s know I can’t read. Can’t write either.”

  “Harriet Tubman can’t read or write. She’s been wanted for years. She’s the biggest advocate for the Underground Railroad. You don’t need to be educated to help others.” She patted her hand, stood, and gathered her dinner pail and satchel. “I’ve got to go and prepare my lessons for tomorrow. Just think about what I’ve said.”

  After they’d finished visiting, Ruth made her way outside to the small garden. Miss Tilley had shown her the herb garden, and she had volunteered to keep it thriving. The May sunshine enveloped the thriving plants with warmth.

  She’d also planted some seeds that she’d brought up with her from Maryland. It’d probably be a week before they sprouted. She took a filled watering can and liberally sprinkled her seedlings and the other plants with water. She sniffed the aroma of rosemary, thyme, oregano, and other herbs. She used combinations of these herbs to give her bread a unique, distinctive taste.

  Small paper sacks lined the edge of the garden. When she’d journeyed to Philadelphia, she’d brought bunches of her dried herbs with her. She opened a sack that held one of her unique combinations. She sniffed. Since she couldn’t read, it wasn’t possible to label the packs of herbs. Instead she deduced the contents by sniffing. This sack contained her unique herb combination, which paired nicely with the cinnamon and raisins she’d used in the bread this morning. She’d hid the herbs in her satchel and was glad Joseph had done as she’d commanded and not watched her.

  In due time, Joseph and his mother would figure out she snuck her own herbs in the bread. However, if she was discreet about it, she might hide her secret for a long while. She hoped to keep her secret as long as possible. After watering the plants, she went up to her room, looked out the window, and studied the street. A few couples walked together, holding hands, though the supper hour was drawing near. She studied the redbrick buildings surrounding her, still astounded that Philadelphia was now her home.

  The scent of vegetables and meat drifted from the kitchen downstairs. Miss Tilley’s mother had started supper. As she stared at a horse-drawn buggy clomping down the street, she again recalled her home.

  She missed Maryland. No, she didn’t miss not getting paid for her job, but she missed the other slaves, her friends, and the bit of camaraderie they’d shared. When she’d left, her departure had been bittersweet. Yes, memories filled her mind, some good and a lot bad. She squeezed her eyes shut, recalling how she’d lost the only man she’d ever truly loved. The death of the man she’d loved on an adjoining plantation still shook her to the core. She squeezed her hands into fists, her eyes still closed.

  The pain from slavery ran deep, and she had to do what she could so that others didn’t suffer too. Granted, her suffering was probably minor compared to what others had experienced, and were still experiencing, in their days of slavery. She leaned against the wall and wiped away the unwelcome tears from her eyes. She again recalled the abolitionist meeting to which Miss Tilley had invited her. Yes, she’d be going to that meeting. She’d do all she could to help abolish slavery.

  Chapter 3

  Joseph shoved the last bite of beef into his mouth and washed it down with water.

  “Joseph, stop eating so fast.”

  He needed to get to the abolitionist meeting tonight. No way was he telling Mother about that. He didn’t want to be late. He would’ve skipped supper so he could get to the meeting on time, but he figured it would have aroused Mother’s suspicions. They were having supper late that evening for a good reason.

  Mother had gone over the accounting ledgers for the last couple of days. Since they’d hired Ruth, their profits had increased by 25 percent. Just seeing the increase of income in two days’ time had somewhat pacified Mother about hiring her. She still barked at Ruth with a stark tone, but he figured in time, Mother would learn to treat her with the respect that she deserved. He certainly hoped so.

  “I’ve got something to do t
onight.”

  “What’s that?” She narrowed her eyes and gave him a shrewd look. “Joseph, you better not be hiding anything from me.”

  “Mother, I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. Stop treating me like a child. I don’t have to tell you everything I do.”

  She frowned and pushed her plate away. At least she’d finished half her supper, which was a blessing. Her appetite seemed to have returned since they’d gotten extra money into their coffers. “Are you going to call on Francine tonight?”

  “No.” The beautiful Francine was an upper-class black woman whom he’d escorted to one formal event. The woman proved whiny and clingy. One evening alone with her was enough for him to determine they did not belong together.

  “Then where are you going?”

  It was none of her business. He pushed his chair back, stood up, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” Hopefully she’d be in bed by the time he returned. The last thing he needed was to have her subject him to an inquisition when he came home.

  Ruth’s hard shoes pounded on the cobbled street as she rushed to the abolitionist meeting.

  The last couple of days working in the bakery had been busy. She flexed her aching fingers. She’d never kneaded so much bread each day. When she’d been a slave on the big farm, she’d cooked, cleaned, and baked a few loaves of bread daily.

  Working in a bakery was much different than kneading bread for farmers and workers.

  It’d been a blessing that she’d been able to keep up with the orders. People lined up down the street to purchase her herbal, cinnamon, dried-fruit bread. Joseph’s hazel eyes had been laced with kindness when he’d seen her rushing to keep up with the orders. She’d been so tired, and he’d kindly offered to help bake the bread, but she didn’t want him to know her secret recipe.

  A young man rushed by so quickly, he bumped right into her. She blinked, and her steps faltered as the scent of male sweat—and corn—filled her nose. Thomas. But this man smelled just like her deceased beau. “So sorry, miss.” He bowed his head, and her heart skipped; his cinnamon-colored skin, tall, lanky frame, and deep voice reminded her so much of her beloved. He raised his head. His almond-colored eyes sparkled with warmth. She released the breath she’d been holding. Of course, it wasn’t Thomas. The man gave her another smile and rushed away.

  Salty wetness slid down her cheeks. She swiped the tears away. Thomas had been dead for over a year, yet that was the third time since his passing she’d imagined seeing him. The first two times had occurred while she was still living on the Maryland farm as a slave. How foolish could she be? Thomas had died, he’d been buried, and that was that. Slavery, that’s what had killed Thomas. If he had not been a slave, she figured he’d still be alive.

  The conditions of Thomas’s death still haunted her. He’d lived on an adjoining farm and had taken ill. His master didn’t send for the doctor, thinking he could treat Thomas himself. They concluded Thomas had contracted cholera. If the doctor had been summoned immediately, he might have lived. His death had hit her hard. She’d continued working in the kitchen as if in a trance. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. She’d been like a walking phantom, unable to fathom life without her beau. They’d discussed getting married, jumping the broom. She was about to approach her master about her intended plans just before Thomas died.

  She continued to wipe her tears as she spotted the small, redbrick building of the church, where flocks of people entered. Ruth stopped, took a few steps back. She swallowed and took a deep breath, recalling the last time she’d been in a crowd so large. A slave who’d tried to escape an adjoining farm had been beaten. She’d witnessed the poor man being beaten so hard. He’d died a few days later.

  “Ruth, are you all right?”

  Her heart skipped when Joseph touched her shoulder and pressed a white handkerchief into her hand. She blinked and suddenly realized she’d been crying. She sniffed. Her nose was running too. She mashed her lips down, squeezed the handkerchief, and closed her eyes. She’d done so poorly. She only cried when she was alone. If she was careful, she could avoid tears in public. Well, the few times she’d spotted someone who resembled Thomas she’d lost control, unable to keep her emotions hidden until she was alone.

  Now, Joseph had seen her cry. She certainly hoped he didn’t think she’d be a weak, sniveling woman while working in the bakery. She considered herself a strong woman, and she didn’t want Joseph to think otherwise. She took a deep breath and stood up taller. She needed to pull herself together. She had to focus on helping with the Underground Railroad and worry about her grief later.

  “I’s okay.” She wiped her wet eyes and blew her nose. She figured she could clean Joseph’s handkerchief and return it to him later. She tucked it into her battered reticule and again focused on the crowd of people entering the church.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Slavery. Thinking about it makes me sad.” She didn’t want to tell him about the beating she’d witnessed, or about Thomas.

  “So you’re here for the abolitionist meeting?”

  She nodded. “Miss Tilley was supposed to come with me, but she’s sick.” Before the meeting, Miss Tilley was supposed to start teaching her the alphabet so she could learn to read. Before she’d left for the meeting, she’d stopped by her room and had seen the metal sick bucket beside her bed. Miss Tilley said she had a stomachache and couldn’t attend the meeting. Her ma had been tending to her. Ruth had some dried mint leaves and had brewed them into a tea and given it to Miss Tilley’s ma to give her. “Might help with her sick stomach,” she’d advised.

  She’d been disappointed she’d have to attend the meeting alone. She didn’t realize Joseph was a part of the abolitionist cause. Strange that Miss Tilley had not mentioned this when she’d invited her to the meeting a couple of days ago. Her heart skipped as Joseph touched the small of her back and led her inside the church. Lanterns were lit and crowds of folks flocked to the hard wooden pews.

  They took the last two spots on the back pew. She spotted some whites amidst the mostly Negro crowd.

  Joseph touched her hand and gestured toward the group of whites. “Those are Quakers.” He mentioned their names. “They’ve been working with the abolitionists for a long time, trying to stop slavery.”

  She nodded. This was the first time she’d ever seen whites and Negroes openly meeting together. She surveyed the church, studied the rough wooden cross in the front of the room. Jesus, I really needs You right now. Please take my sadness away. Seeing Joseph had been a somewhat welcome reprieve to her sadness. She discreetly studied him while they waited for the meeting to begin. She’d been relieved when he didn’t ask her more questions as to why she’d been crying.

  Joseph was probably one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen, besides Thomas. His skin was cinnamon-colored. His complexion reminded her of a loaf of lightly browned bread. He was tall, muscular, and hardworking. His curly hair was light, too, like the color of dust. The color of his eyes was captivating. His eyes weren’t dark brown, like hers; they were light, like the skins of the hazelnuts she’d once chopped for a pie.

  Over the last few days, she’d caught him staring at her. For some weird reason, she felt he could see deep into her soul. When they’d taken their dinner break, his mother had hovered, as if afraid to leave them alone to eat. She’d sensed he’d wanted to talk to her, ask her questions about herself. When his mother had left to deposit money in the bank, a couple of skinny street beggars had shown up. Joseph knew them by name and had given them a loaf of bread and some milk.

  She figured the beggars knew when his mother wasn’t around, they could come seeking food. Joseph had been so kind, asking them questions about their lives, and he’d encouraged them to come to church. The beggars had left by the time his mother returned. She’d been touched by his kindness. She’d been thinking about his interaction with the vagrants all day. She might as well ask him about it. “It was mighty kind of you to help the st
reet beggars today.”

  He raised his thick eyebrows. “Those two have been coming around for a few years. I’ve been praying for them. I think you know Mother doesn’t realize that I feed street beggars.”

  She nodded. “Would she be upset about a loaf of bread and some milk?” It’d be upsetting to know Joseph’s mother would withhold food from someone for a few pennies of profit.

  Surprisingly, Joseph chuckled. “Hard to say. She might not say anything initially, but since I do it every week, yes, I could see her objecting.” He touched her hand, and her skin warmed. “I hope working with Mother doesn’t bother you very much. She’s always been controlling, but she’s gotten much worse since Father died.”

  Ruth nodded. “I’s sorry to hear that. Miss Tilley told me your pa passed. Anything I can do to make your ma feel better?”

  His mouth dropped open, and he appeared speechless. He then focused on her again. “Ruth, that is so nice of you to ask. I honestly don’t know what could help Mother feel better except some prayers.”

  She nodded. That sounded like a good idea. She almost felt ashamed she’d not thought of praying on her own. “All right. I’ll be praying for your ma and for you too. I figure it’s hard on both of you, since your pa passed.”

  “Thank you.” He tilted his head, studying her for a few seconds. “What about you, Ruth? Are your parents still alive?”

  Since she never knew her parents, she didn’t know how to answer.

  “Everyone, time to start the meeting.” Cyrus Brown rescued her from responding to Joseph’s question. She figured he’d ask her about it again someday. But she’d rather wait until she’d been working at the bakery for a while before she shared something so personal with him.

  Cyrus leaned on his cane as he made his way to the podium. She’d heard he was close to eighty years old. He’d even revealed his health was starting to decline.