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

  “You will be soon enough.”

  Hiram stood and paced the room. Winnie had not left his thoughts. The way she had looked up into his eyes and told him that she loved him. The warmth of embracing her. The way she touched the scars on his arms, the way she laughed. He sighed, thinking of how long it would be until he saw her again.

  “Hiram, you should sit. Rest.”

  Hiram turned to Pastor Matthew and laughed. “You are right.” But he only sat for a second before he stood again. “Is Mr. Gilchrest late?”

  Pastor Matthew checked a small clock on Mr. Gilchrest’s desk. “He is indeed. That is strange.”

  Hiram clasped his hands together. “Should we look for him?”

  “No. I am sure he has a reason for being late that has nothing to do with your passage tonight.”

  They waited another half hour in silence. The time seemed to strangle Hiram. He rubbed the back of his neck.

  The door burst open, and Mr. Gilchrest rushed in. “Pastor Matthew, our plans may have to change. You need to get back to East Towson.”

  Hiram and Pastor Matthew jumped to their feet. “What happened?” Pastor Matthew asked.

  “An uprising.”

  Hiram’s heart stopped. “At East Towson?”

  “I was late because there was a hand from East Towson recruiting men for a posse to put down a riot. I asked as many questions as I could but didn’t get many answers. The man was in a hurry to get enough guns to combat the slaves.”

  Hiram looked at Pastor Matthew and noted the alarm on his usually calm face. “Winnie.”

  Pastor Matthew rushed to exit, and Hiram followed him.

  Mr. Gilchrest grabbed his arm. “No, Hiram. We need to get you on that ship.”

  He pulled away. “I’m not leaving until I know that Winnie and her family are safe.”

  Pastor Matthew blocked the door. “Hiram, he is right. I will make sure she is safe and send you word, but having you at East Towson will make everything worse.”

  “You can’t expect me to leave. If there is a posse, they won’t care who was or was not a part of the uprising. They will punish everyone.”

  “I know.” Pastor Matthew placed a hand on Hiram’s shoulder. “But if they catch you, you will be taken back to Virginia, and then you will be of no help to anyone. Let me go. Winnie and her family may be hiding out in the cellar of the church.”

  Hiram wanted to argue but could not find the words. Worry for Winnie clouded out every other thought.

  Mr. Gilchrest grabbed Hiram’s arm. “We need to go now. If all the men from the docks have gone down to East Towson, no one will notice us getting on the boat.”

  “But—” Hiram’s mind desperately worked for the words to convince the men to let him return, but none came.

  “Trust God, Hiram. You trusted Him to get you this far. Trust Him to care for His daughter.”

  Hiram stood for a second and let his heart absorb that truth. “I will pray.”

  “That is the best thing you can do right now. Godspeed, Hiram.” And with that, Pastor Matthew rushed out the door.

  “All right, Hiram. Let’s get to the docks.”

  Mr. Gilchrest was right about the docks being empty. They were so barren that it looked as if no one was ever there. They walked at a fast pace, Mr. Gilchrest keeping time with Hiram. The air grew more humid as they got closer to the docks, and a thin fog was forming.

  “The boat is there,” Mr. Gilchrest said, pointing to a steamer about a thousand yards away. “Walk a little behind me.”

  Hiram slowed and dropped his head. The stance perfectly fit how he felt. It was going to be hard waiting the remaining time for Winnie to buy her freedom, but even harder waiting for word that she was safe.

  “Hiram!” In the stillness of the docks, the voice rang out clear.

  “Winnie?”

  Hiram stopped short and saw her running up the docks behind them.

  “Good Lord,” Mr. Gilchrest said from behind him.

  They ran to reach her. Before Hiram could even embrace her, Mr. Gilchrest dragged them both into a narrow walkway between the warehouses that lined the opposite side of the docks. Winnie faltered, panting hard, and Hiram held her up.

  “Goldie…,” was all she managed to get out.

  “We know.” Hiram tightened his grip. “How bad is it?”

  “He told them…” She pressed her hand to her throat. “He told Mr. Madison about the station and the fugitives. Told them my family and I were involved.”

  Mr. Gilchrest shook his head. “Pastor Matthew is on his way to find you.”

  “My parents.” She let out a sob. “My parents told me to run. I went to the ironworks hoping to find you.”

  Hiram hugged her, knowing in his heart what he needed to do. “You have to run. Mr. Madison knows what you have done. He will sell you for sure. Or worse.” He turned to Mr. Gilchrest. “Take Winnie on the boat in my place.”

  Winnie pulled away from him. “No, Hiram. I can’t—”

  “Pastor Matthew has helped many others, and now he needs some help.”

  “I can help them. I can go back,” Winnie said.

  Hiram knew she was not strong enough for this. “No. I came from Virginia on foot, and Pastor Matthew is no stranger to hard work. We can get your parents and bring them to Philadelphia.”

  “But the purchase papers are for you.”

  Mr. Gilchrest shook his head. “The papers do not have a description of the slave.”

  “Winnie, you have to go. I can fight to get your parents out if I need to, but they will be able to focus on running only if they know you are safe.”

  Tears flowed down Winnie’s cheeks, but the fire was still in her eyes. His sweet, tough angel. “No, Hiram.”

  A ship horn startled them all. Mr. Gilchrest grabbed Winnie’s arm. “Time to go, Miss Winnie.”

  “No!” She struggled against the man’s grasp.

  Hiram cupped her face, kissed her, and then let her go. “I will meet you at Mr. Still’s house in Philadelphia.” He raced down the docks in the direction of East Towson, ignoring her cries.

  Leaving her small room in the boardinghouse, Winnie closed the door and hurried down the steps. The house’s owner, Mrs. Sarah, a free black, had told Winnie that breakfast was included in her rent, but Winnie had yet to partake of it. Every day for a month, she had dressed and rushed to her job at William Still’s office. She even went on Sundays, not to work, but to wait.

  Hiram would come. Every day she expected to see him and her parents standing outside the building with smiles on their faces.

  She navigated the streets of Philadelphia, which had the same energy and feel of Baltimore, to the Philadelphia Antislavery Society. Mr. Still had invited her to work for him, especially once he heard how she had kept records of the fugitives who came through the Star of Bethlehem station. Although he reassured her that Hiram and her parents were probably well and not harmed by the riot, it was not enough to comfort her. Why hadn’t Hiram arrived yet?

  She longed to see him and to hear some news of her family. For her first week in Philadelphia, she cried herself to sleep wondering if her parents were dead, maimed, or even worse, sold. She checked the paper that Mr. Still had delivered to the house daily. What of the Madisons? Were they dead? Several times she considered sending a note through the free blacks who visited Mr. Still, but then thought again. If the Madisons had met their demise, there would be no household slaves to receive her message.

  Mr. Still had been so kind to search for information, but had gathered none. He was convinced that the riot must not have been bad. There was fear among Maryland owners that a bigger riot was going to happen in Baltimore. Mr. Still told her that if the uprising had succeeded, word would have spread among slaves and whites. She agreed that it was strange that no word had reached him and there was nothing in the newspapers. But what else could delay Hiram?

  The city was loud, and the morning air held a thick fog. The mornings were cooler
here than in East Towson, and she had to dress warmer and cover her head to keep her ears warm. The society sat only a few blocks from her living quarters, and she covered the distance in five minutes. Maybe today would be the day. She tried to keep her hopes up, but each day that hope waned. If Hiram were going to come, he would have by now. He had been determined enough to make it out of Virginia and determined to save her. She had to believe that he would not stop until he and her parents were free…unless he was dead.

  She turned the corner of the block, her eyes immediately going to the stairs of the building that housed the society. They were empty. She sucked in a breath, tears ready to fall. Another day of wondering and waiting.

  She ducked her head and continued down the way. Birds started their morning song as the sun burned the fog away. Winnie shifted her emotions. Even though Hiram was not there, she could expect other fugitives. They arrived worn but happy that they were finally free. She could understand how they felt. When Mr. Carlton had driven her to the society, the shock of their hasty departure from Baltimore and the heartbreak of leaving her parents behind had left her numb. After a few days, however, her mind began to grasp that she was free. Now her job was to help others realize that freedom was theirs too.

  The bell of the church down the block chimed as she climbed the stairs.

  “Excuse me, miss.” A voice spoke from behind her. A voice she knew.

  Her heart stammered as she turned with clumsy steps. At the bottom of the stairs stood Hiram. And not Hiram alone. Her mother, father, Pastor Matthew, and Mr. Samuel stood with him. She let out a yelp and rushed down the stairs to their waiting arms.

  Winnie’s tears choked her as she embraced her parents. “You are here.”

  Her mother pressed her tearstained face to Winnie’s. “We were so worried about you.”

  Winnie pulled back to look at her mother. “I was worried about you. I didn’t know if you had been harmed during the riot.”

  Her father patted her arm. “No, we were not. While Pastor Matthew tended to the wounded, Hiram took us to a station house in Baltimore.”

  “The uprising upset the owners, and we could not go back to East Towson,” Pastor Matthew said. “I wanted to try to reason with them, but Hiram’s wise advice convinced me that our best option was to run.”

  Winnie looked over at Hiram. He stood off to the side and wore the biggest smile.

  “I am glad I could get them out,” he said. “It took a little longer because we had to hide in Delaware for a bit. We came as soon as we could.”

  “Thank you,” Winnie whispered and put her arms around him.

  He wrapped his powerful arms around her. “Anything for you, sweet angel.”

  Terri J. Haynes, a native Baltimorean, is a homeschool mom, writer, prolific knitter, freelance graphic artist, and former Army wife (left the Army, not the husband). She loves to read so much that when she was in elementary school, she masterminded a plan to be locked in a public library armed with only a flashlight to read all the books and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. As she grew, her love for writing grew as she tried her hand at poetry, articles, speeches, and fiction. She is a storyteller at heart. Her passion is to draw readers into the story world she has created and to bring laughter and joy to their lives.

  Terri is a 2010 American Christian Fiction Writers Genesis contest finalist and a 2012 semifinalist. She is also a 2013 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Quarterfinalist. Her publishing credits include Cup of Comfort for Military Families, Crosswalk.com, The Secret Place Devotional, Urbanfaith.com, Vista Devotional, and Publisher’s Weekly.

  Terri holds a bachelor’s degree in Theology, a master’s degree in Theological Studies, and a certificate in creative writing and graphic design, meeting the minimal requirements of being a geek. She and her husband pastor a church where she serves as executive pastor and worship leader. Terri lives in Maryland with her three wonderful children and her husband, who often beg her not to kill off their favorite characters. Visit her website at www.terrijhaynes.com, and check out her blog at www.inotherwords.terrijhaynes.com.

  The Winter Quilt

  by Debby Lee

  Dedication

  I would like to thank the wonderful congregation of Crossroads Church for the love, encouragement, support, and prayers over the years. Without you, this book wouldn’t have come to fruition. This story is lovingly dedicated to you all.

  And immediately there fell from his eyes as it had been scales: and he received sight forthwith.

  —ACTS 9:18

  Chapter 1

  Newport, Indiana

  1840

  Coral Martin clutched the handkerchief in her hands and gritted her teeth. She swore she wouldn’t look through her hope chest ever again. If she did, the torrent of barely contained tears would burst forth like a breached dam and all composure would be lost.

  “Oh, Roland, how am I to survive without you?” The question tugged at her heartstrings until nothing was left but tangled knots and no answers. How could Papa and Mama do this?

  Perched on the rough wood bench seat of their covered wagon in the midst of the Indiana wilderness, Coral felt bitterness rise in her throat, filling her mouth with a bad taste. Roland was a good man, a suitable match for her. Yet her parents had dragged her away from all things cultured and refined to this desolate place.

  “Coral, I asked you to fetch me another bucket of water, please.” Mama’s voice contained an uncommon note of impatience.

  “Yes, Mama.” She tried to keep her words from sounding strained, with little success. She reached for the tin pail then traipsed the soggy banks of the creek. With her head in the clouds, she didn’t notice that her shoe stuck fast in the mud until it came off her foot. With her hitched-up skirts in one hand and the bucket in the other, Coral managed to right herself, but not before sticking her bare foot in the cold, gooey mire.

  Exasperated, she dropped the bucket to the ground then retrieved her shoe. She placed her rear against a tree to steady herself and put the shoe back on her foot. In the process her skirts were muddied too. Fetching water wasn’t this much trouble back home. She tried not to think of the house with the warm brick fireplace, her own bedroom filled with the fragrance of lavender potpourri, and her best friend Ashlynn, who lived just next door. And then there was Roland, of course.

  Memories of the man she planned to marry wafted through her thoughts with such clarity she half expected to turn and see him standing beside Papa. Roland was well connected socially in Annapolis and frequented the best parties. His robust laughter at such occasions had always brought a smile to her lips.

  Coral blinked back tears while she refilled the water bucket. Not wanting to lose her other shoe along the muddy embankment, she used more cautious steps on the path toward her family’s new homestead.

  “Here you are.” Coral set the pail down by the campfire where her mother set out cups for afternoon tea.

  “Thank you,” Mama replied. Seven years had passed since they had left London, after the death of William Wilberforce, but Mama still retained her English traditions.

  Coral plodded to the back of the wagon to help her father butcher a deer he’d recently shot. Her sore heart ached in her chest, but no matter how hard she tried to be brave, her feelings were evident.

  “You miss Roland, don’t you?”

  Compassion permeated Papa’s tone, but Coral found it hard to believe in his sympathy. It had been his idea to leave the security of home and come west, and toss Roland into the wind like yesterday’s dishwater.

  “He promised he’d write.” A tiny flicker of hope burned in Coral’s heart, one she stoked as often as her chores permitted. She vowed to see Roland again someday, even if it meant running back to Maryland without her parents’ blessing. If fate held any luck for her, she’d be back in his arms by the time the holidays arrived.

  Last Christmas they had danced together at Ashlynn’s seasonal party. Roland had tried to waltz her under the mistletoe to
steal a kiss, but she refused. Warmth flooded her cheeks at the memory.

  “We had our reasons for leaving, Daughter.” Papa skinned the animal with such ferocity, Coral cringed. She tried to ignore the darkening in her father’s eyes and the smoldering expression burning in his features. What reason could he have for leaving that would upset him so?

  “My knife is getting dull. I’m going to sharpen it, and then I’ll be back to finish up.” Papa stepped to the front of the wagon.

  Coral heard her father rummage through his tools and decided to help clean up some of the mess. But the slippery container of animal entrails upended in her hands and blood spilled down the front of her muddy work dress.

  “Oh!” A disgusted groan escaped Coral’s lips. Mama had told her to wear her work apron. Why hadn’t she listened? The sticky blood coated her hands and made further cleanup quite impossible. She hoped there was water left in the bucket. Her soggy, mud-coated shoe reminded her of her last venture down to the creek. She didn’t wish to revisit the location.

  A deep, low voice caught in her ears. Startled, she turned and beheld a tall blond gentleman.

  Josiah Williamson stifled a chuckle at the young woman who looked as though she’d rolled in the pool of deer’s blood on the ground. Her British accent seemed somehow incongruous with her gory appearance. He’d expect most females to fall into a swoon at being found in such a condition. Not the chestnut-haired beauty before him. Admiration for the lady crept into his surveillance of her.

  “The name’s Josiah Williamson, ma’am. Would you like some assistance?” Josiah pulled a fresh handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. He’d been sent to work with Mr. and Mrs. Martin and didn’t want things to go badly before he had a chance to begin. But the young woman shrugged his offer off like a pesky gnat and reached for a pile of rags.

  “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Williamson, but I don’t wish to soil your fine linen. I can manage.”