But if Joseph was called to be a pastor, who was she to judge? She recalled his kindness toward the beggars. She sensed he enjoyed ministering to others, so she needed to have faith things would work themselves out if he was appointed pastor.
“If I get the position, then yes, I’d be leaving. Mother will be disappointed.”
She sure would be. Ruth didn’t want to be anywhere near the bakery when Joseph told his ma his news. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about her reaction. “I’s happy for you, Joseph. I hope you gets appointed.”
He smiled; his hazel eyes sparkled with warmth. “Thank you, Ruth. That means a lot to me.”
He jerked his thumb toward the printers down the street. “We need to pick up the literature before they close.”
She scampered to keep up with him as he rushed to the printers.
Ruth offered the literature to a well-dressed man. “Help stop slavery.” She said a silent prayer of thanks when he accepted the paper.
“Help stop slavery.” Joseph handed the literature to another passerby. The woman balled it up into a wad and threw it on the street. She glared at them before hurrying by.
Ruth had gotten used to the mixed reactions of the crowd as they’d handed out literature. After they’d gotten their leaflets from the printers, they’d met up with the group of abolitionists she’d met at church the previous night. Standing beside Joseph, hearing his deep voice as he offered the leaflets to the passersby…she felt his passion. Pride, that’s what she felt. She felt proud to stand here beside him and hand out the literature.
“Joseph!” The high-pitched female voice rocked Ruth’s core. She eyed the woman who sauntered toward Joseph. The lady sported an expensive frock and polished, buttoned shoes. Her skin was the color of a lightly browned loaf of bread, toasty. She carried a black umbrella to shield her pretty face from the sun. By far, she was the most beautiful Negro woman Ruth had ever seen. Her entire appearance screamed money, wealth…Ruth figured this gal was part of one of the elite black families in the area.
The woman fingered Joseph’s lapel, her eyes downcast. “Why have you not called on me?”
Ruth’s heart skipped a beat, and she was glad she hadn’t allowed Joseph to hold her hand earlier.
“Francine…” Frustration and…something else tinged Joseph’s deep voice.
Try as she might, Ruth just couldn’t stop staring at this beautiful Negro woman. Joseph’s crestfallen expression also had her enthralled.
Chapter 5
Joseph narrowed his eyes. Lord, please help me not to lose my temper. “Francine, what on earth are you doing here?” Her perfume clung to his nostrils like an annoying ant. He took a few steps away from her.
She batted her eyelashes. “I came to see you. Joseph, you have not come to call on me since you took me to the cotillion a month ago. I just wanted to see you.”
He’d never in his entire lifetime encountered such a bold and beautiful woman. Francine may have been beautiful, but her beauty was outward. He just couldn’t warm up to her. A few weeks before he’d escorted her to the cotillion, she’d spotted him feeding the beggars as she rode by in her carriage. He had not realized she’d noticed his actions until she’d boldly confronted him about it on their way to the ball.
“I can’t believe you’d feed those people, Joseph. Your mother told me you give to the Philadelphia charities. You don’t want those people in your bakery.”
At that time, he’d hauntingly realized Francine sounded just like Mother. He didn’t even want to ruin his day thinking about the abhorrent time he’d had at the cotillion.
“Joseph?” Her voice rose, just a bit, as she fingered his shirt. “Why aren’t you speaking to me?”
He eyed Ruth as she continued to pass out pamphlets. She appeared busy, her bonnet covering her dark curls. She glanced his way for a few moments before continuing her chore. Her pretty mouth appeared pinched. Perhaps she was upset about Francine’s unexpected arrival. Hopefully Francine would be on her way so they could return to their duties. “Francine, I’ve been busy.” He showed her the pamphlets in his hand. “I’m in the middle of my abolitionist duties.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, don’t you want to abolish slavery?”
She narrowed her eyes before boldly offering her parasol. “Hold this for me, please.” Another trait of hers that proved bothersome—she commanded him as if he were her personal worker. He swallowed and grasped the handle of her parasol. She then opened her fancy black reticule and removed a folded object. She opened her rose-decorated fan and waved it in front of her face in quick movements. She then accepted her umbrella. “It’s hot out here today.”
“Perhaps you should go back into your carriage.” He was determined to get back to his duties, and having Francine around was not helping with his mission.
She narrowed her eyes. “Does your mother know about your involvement with the abolitionists?” It was no surprise she refused to answer his question about slavery.
He certainly could not lie to Francine, yet Mother’s knowledge was none of Francine’s concern. He’d tell Mother when he was ready. “I don’t want to talk about her now. I’m busy.”
She pursed her red-painted lips and again fingered his collar. “Well, the charity ball is coming up…”
He resisted the urge to groan. The charity ball. Mother had been hinting about the event for the past week, openly wondering why he’d not yet asked to escort Francine. Well, one evening of Francine’s company was enough to last him a lifetime. No way was he going to ask to be her escort. He couldn’t be rude to her, so it would probably be best if she left before he said something he’d regret. He gestured toward her carriage. “I don’t want to make you late, Francine. It appears you were on your way to an engagement. I will speak with you another time.”
He then turned to the next passerby, his back turned toward Francine. He supposed he should help her up into the carriage, but she’d already fingered his shirt twice and openly flirted with him. He recoiled from the notion of giving her yet another opportunity to flirt. As he handed a pamphlet to the dark-suited gentleman, he caught Ruth’s open stare.
Over the next few days, the pretty woman Ruth had spotted on the street haunted her mind.
Francine. That’s what Joseph had called her. Since the day they’d handed out the pamphlets, Ruth had spotted Francine twice. She’d brazenly come into the bakery, bothering Joseph as he waited on customers. His mother enjoyed Francine’s impromptu visits. The two of them had spent a full half hour in his mother’s office. She had even asked Ruth to bring back a pot of hot tea and slices of her cinnamon, fruit bread with butter.
She’d overheard Francine’s praises for the bread through the closed door. His mother had laughed, stating they’d hired a new girl. She’d also made it seem as if Joseph’s business acumen had made their bakery even more successful.
She’d wanted to step into Mrs. Adams’s office and tell Francine that she had helped make their business more successful, and she was most likely the best bread baker in all of Philadelphia. She gritted her teeth as she overhead their chatter behind the closed door. Joseph’s ma still thought of her as nothing more than a hired hand—she didn’t seem to want to acknowledge the talents she’d contributed to the bakery.
Well, there was nothing she could do about that. Lord, help me with my anger. She was here to do a job, and she continued to be grateful for her employment. She didn’t need to think about Mrs. Adams’s chatter right now. She had some more bread to bake. As she kneaded dough, she thought about the dream she’d had the previous night.
In her dream, Thomas had been stumbling in the darkness, blind, unable to see her standing right in front of him. She’d screamed, tried to get his attention. Joseph had stood in the distance, studying her with his intense hazel eyes. Francine had screamed at Joseph, but he’d ignored Francine’s tirade. She’d awakened from the dream, stunned and confused. She’d been so upset she’d had to drink a cup of lavender tea to calm
her nerves. She’d finally managed to fall back to sleep.
She ached to ask Joseph the nature of his relationship with Francine. He was cordial toward Francine. But it was hard to tell if he was smitten with the beautiful young woman. Thoughts about Francine and Joseph twirled through her mind like windblown seeds as she approached the rooming house after work. Miss Tilley occupied one of the kitchen chairs. She nibbled on a cookie while sipping a glass of water.
“What’s wrong, Ruth? You look like you’re about to cry.”
She’d been so emotional since she’d come to Philadelphia. She’d been finding it hard to keep her emotions hidden until she was alone. “Nothing.”
Miss Tilley patted the empty chair beside her. “Come on and sit down. We have a few minutes to visit before we start your lesson.”
She’d been having a lesson every night since the schoolmarm had recovered from her stomach illness. Ruth had started looking at the newspaper. No, she could not read it, but she knew the first letters to some of the words. Oftentimes, she caught herself listening to customers while they talked. When she heard words, she found herself trying to figure out the first letter of the word. She’d been surprised when Miss Tilley told her that cinnamon started with a c not an s, as Ruth had assumed. She still had a lot to learn, and she was grateful the Lord had placed Miss Tilley in her path to teach her how to read.
She pulled out a chair and selected a cookie. Gingersnap, one of her favorites. She consumed the entire spicy cookie and enjoyed a sip of water. She’d not spoken of her weird feelings about Joseph to anyone. But she needed someone to talk to, and Miss Tilley seemed like she wanted to help. She took another sip of water before gathering her thoughts. “I’s…I—” She paused. Miss Tilley had been teaching her the proper way to speak. She’d been trying hard to say I instead of I’s. Sometimes she forgot, but she figured with enough patience and tutoring from Miss Tilley, she’d soon read and speak properly. Maybe Mrs. Adams would then feel comfortable enough for her to wait on the customers.
“I…am confused.”
“Confused? About what?”
She told Miss Tilley about her dream the previous night and about how her heart thudded whenever Joseph was around. She spoke of Francine and about how her interaction with Joseph made her feel uncomfortable. “He is so handsome and strong. Plus, he cares about helping to end slavery.”
Miss Tilley smiled and took her hand. “Ruth, there’s nothing to be confused about. You’re obviously sweet on Joseph. There’s nothing wrong with that. He’s good-looking, charming, and nice as can be.” She cleared her throat. “Are you upset because he’s not smitten with you?”
“Miss Tilley, my problem is, I just can’t get him off my mind. But I needs to. I’m not supposed to be with anybody.”
Miss Tilley frowned and pushed her tin cup aside. “What do you mean?”
“God called me to help people escape from slavery. I’s…I feel the Lord led me here to help people escape through the Underground Railroad.”
“Dear, I don’t understand why that’s a problem. You are helping with the abolitionist movement. So is Joseph. I’d imagine that would make him a perfect beau for you; that is, if he shares your feelings.”
She shook her head. Miss Tilley just didn’t understand. Not at all. “I’m not supposed to be with anybody. I’m spending the rest of my life alone, without a husband or children.” She squeezed the older woman’s hand. “I’m supposed to help men, women, children escape from slavery. I’m going to spend my life helping other people. Alone. That’s what the Lord wants me to do.”
“Oh, Ruth.” Miss Tilley’s kind, thoughtful voice filled the kitchen. Her eyes shone with curiosity, and something else that Ruth couldn’t quite put her finger on. “Why do you honestly feel the Lord has called you to be alone your entire life?”
“Well, I’s…I was going to jump the broom back in Maryland to Thomas.”
“Thomas?”
“My beau in Maryland.”
“What happened?”
Her eyes teared and she wiped the wetness away, unable to hide her pain. “He died, Miss Tilley. He lived on a nearby plantation. He got sick. His master didn’t call the doctor soon enough. If he had not been a slave, I think his master would have called the doctor and gotten him the help he needed. Slavery killed the only man I ever wanted to marry. He been dead for eighteen months now. I still think about him every day.”
“Ruth, I want you to do something for me.”
“What?”
“Pray about it. You’re still not over Thomas, but that doesn’t mean you should remain unmarried for your entire life. Our lives are full of seasons, and maybe you are called to be single, but maybe the Lord wants you to be single for now. After you’re over Thomas, maybe the Lord will see fit to open your heart to a man’s love.”
“I just don’t know, Miss Tilley.”
“Honey, listen to me. Listen to your heart. You like spending time with Joseph. Maybe being with him is part of the process of healing, learning to cope with your pain from losing Thomas.”
Ruth continued to think about Miss Tilley’s advice while she opened her primer to start her next lesson.
Chapter 6
Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes…Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. So many books of the Bible. Joseph flipped through it, staring at the pages. He leaned back against his chair, eyeing the stacks of parchment papers littering Mother’s mahogany desk. Since she was out on an errand, he’d taken liberties and was using her office for the afternoon. Ruth had agreed to come fetch him if any customers came into the bakery. He continued to work on his sermon to present himself as a candidate for pastorship. He wasn’t sure which verses he wanted to use.
He was still unclear about his message. He’d been praying to the Lord, seeking His guidance, as he prepared the very first sermon of his entire life. He wrote a few notes down on the paper. He needed some ideas, quickly. Time was running out, and he wanted to be sure he gave a sermon that would please Jesus, as well as the congregation. Oh Lord, please help me.
He rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been up late the previous night, reading his Bible and praying. Thankfully Mother had slept soundly and did not know he’d been up half the night. He sighed and patted his full stomach. He’d just consumed his dinner of fried chicken, a hard-boiled egg, two crisp apples, and several slices of Ruth’s cinnamon and dried-fruit bread. She’d just slid several loaves into the oven before he’d entered Mother’s office. The delicious scent filled the air with decadent sweetness. He’d been watching Ruth, still wondering how she made her wonderful bread. She shooed him out of the kitchen whenever she baked her loaves, and he longed for the day when she trusted him enough to tell him her secret recipe.
Secrets.
Ruth was full of them. He longed to take her into his arms and kiss her sweet, rosebud-shaped mouth. Her dark cocoa skin looked lovely beneath the sun shining through the bakery windows. He sensed a wall between them, a barrier. He’d caught her openly staring at him a few times. He was unclear as to if she was merely curious about him or if she had something else on her mind.
He’d wanted to find out more about her, but she’d been strangely quiet when he asked too many questions. Her responses had been vague, and he was unclear as to if his questions made her uncomfortable or if she truly did not enjoy talking to him. He supposed she may feel uncomfortable because of Francine’s visits. The woman proved a bothersome thorn in his side, and he hoped Ruth did not mistakenly think Francine was his sweetheart.
He sniffed again. He could use a few more slices of bread…Bread! That was it! He plopped back into the chair. Bread—that would be the subject of his sermon. Spiritual bread. He opened his Bible and flipped through the pages. He scribbled, writing and mumbling to himself. He recalled which scriptures mentioned bread. He dipped his pen into the inkwell then scribbled some more. A loud knock broke his concentration. It couldn’t be Mother. She’d never knock. It had to be Ruth. He figured she needed his help w
ith some customers. “Come in.”
Ruth opened the door. Her dark eyes settled on him. She looked lovely. Apparently, she’d gotten a new bonnet. Her head covering was bright red, and it contrasted nicely with her dark hair and mahogany skin. “You’s…You said to remind you to stop…stop working when the bread was done.”
He’d noticed Ruth had been doing that a lot lately, correcting her speech. He figured she’d found someone to teach her proper English. She probably was learning how to speak so she could be even more of an asset to their bakery. After all, if she spoke properly, then Mother would let her wait on the customers.
“Yes, that I did.” He stood up. Mother said she’d be gone for an hour. He figured he’d have ample time to put his work away before she caught him working on his sermon. He’d made some good progress during her absence. He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He still had fifteen minutes before Mother returned.
Ruth bobbed her head once and turned away, as if to return to her duties up front.
“Don’t leave yet.”
She slowly turned back around. “Yes, Joseph?” Her voice, sweet as honey, washed upon him like a river. During the workday, she seldom spoke unless he asked her something directly. She seemed more comfortable talking to him when they were away from the bakery. He certainly understood how intimidating it could be, trying to have a conversation with Mother hovering nearby.
“You’ve been working here for two weeks. It’s payday.”
Her pretty dark eyes rounded, and she raised her becoming eyebrows. “Payday?”
Before Mother had gone to bed the previous night, she’d finished reviewing the ledgers for the last two weeks. Their profits had increased so much from Ruth’s bread that she grudgingly agreed to let Ruth have a few cents extra per day as a bonus. He was amazed he’d been able to convince his miserly mother to do this. But Ruth deserved it. Folks had been lining up in front of their bakery in the early morning for the last fourteen days to purchase Ruth’s bread. Mother had been humming about the increased profits, and he’d had to gently remind her last night that Ruth was the sole person responsible for their increased profits.
The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War Page 25
