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

  A moment later she added, “Forgive my manners. My name is Miss Coral Martin. If you’ll excuse me.” She gave a small curtsy. Then she squared her shoulders and hurried toward a bucket by the campfire.

  Unable to turn away, he watched as she dunked the soiled rags in the bucket, swished them around, and rubbed them over her hands. Wisps of her hair caught in the breeze and floated about her face.

  Josiah gave another stab at being helpful. “Miss Martin, if you’d like, I can escort you to the creek and help you retrieve another bucket of water.”

  She looked at him with a scowl on her face. Did she have something against being helped, or going to the creek? Or both?

  “No, but thank you,” she said and then clambered into the back of the wagon.

  “I see you’ve met my daughter,” said a burly man who stepped to the back of the wagon.

  Josiah nodded and introduced himself. “Afternoon, Mr. Martin. The name’s Josiah Williamson. I’m told by mutual acquaintances that you wished to see me.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Martin set down the knife he was holding. He then offered a firm handshake and stared hard at Josiah. The man’s green eyes mirrored those of the young beauty. He seemed protective of his daughter.

  Josiah forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Martin. Mr. Wilbur, the storekeeper, who also works as the postmaster, sent me.”

  A smile creased the man’s face. “Please, call me Sam.”

  “Very well.” The gentleman’s distinct English accent gave Josiah a measure of reassurance. A nudging of the Lord prompted him forward.

  “I’ve been sent by Mr. Wilbur to assist you in building your house.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Josiah. I could use the help. After all, this isn’t like Maryland, where bricks and mortar are readily available. All I have to work with is timber.”

  Josiah chuckled again. Some folks had difficulty adjusting from life in the city to that on the frontier. He hoped it wouldn’t be so with this family. The dwelling he planned to build would provide a very important service.

  “I’m more than eager to help you build your house, Sam,” Josiah said as he surveyed the surrounding trees for their suitability.

  Sam nodded. “I’ll finish butchering later. Let’s get started on the house.”

  “That suits me fine.” Josiah smiled. He liked the idea of finishing their work as soon as possible.

  Together they proceeded toward a stand of trees.

  “I have one request.” Sam’s hard gaze bored into Josiah. “My daughter is to know nothing of the special features built into the house. At least not yet, is that clear?”

  “All right.” Josiah understood the need for secrecy in this line of work, but Miss Martin didn’t seem daft. He was sure she’d find out the truth.

  Sam continued. “I’d like to shield my daughter from this ugliness as much as possible. My wife disagrees and thinks we should tell Coral everything about our work.”

  “Can she be trusted with the knowledge?” Josiah tugged at the collar of his shirt. If their daughter couldn’t be trusted, he’d reconsider working with the Martins.

  “I trust my daughter explicitly. It’s the company she’s kept that worries me. Coral is a sweet girl, but she’s only twenty, and quite naive. For everyone’s safety, I say the less she knows, the better.”

  Josiah let the matter go and didn’t ask any more questions. They had to get to work.

  After picking a sizable tree, they sawed it down. Josiah continued to work alongside Sam for a few more hours. Then the lovely Miss Martin approached, and the sweet smile on her face distracted Josiah from his thoughts.

  “Papa, dinner is ready.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re welcome to stay and dine with us, Mr. Williamson. We have plenty.” Miss Martin cocked her head to the side. An indistinguishable but sweet fragrance hung about her.

  Josiah put down his saw. “Thank you for the offer, but I must be getting to town before nightfall.”

  “Very well, perhaps another time.” Miss Martin curtsied and excused herself.

  Josiah watched her walk back to the campfire. She seemed polite enough, even after looking the way she did when they’d met. Most ladies would be mortified at such an experience, but this one didn’t seem to be.

  In spite of the pleasure working near her would bring, Josiah hoped to get the house built quickly. They were already deep into autumn, and winter approached with frightening speed. Winter nights provided extended hours of darkness. Thus, more freedom seekers would be on the desperate pilgrimage north. It also meant frigid temperatures; hence the desperation for safe places to hide them. The freedom seekers needed shelter from the icy winds and falling snow.

  A number of oak trees lay on the ground. Josiah admired the work they’d done, but was anxious to come back by sunup the next morning.

  He turned to Sam and said, “I’m sorry to miss dinner tonight. Give the ladies my apologies. I have to go now, but I’ll come by tomorrow, first light, and help fell more trees.” He glanced around to see if he could spot Miss Martin, but she was nowhere in sight.

  “See you then.” Sam waved a hand at him and strolled toward camp.

  Josiah waved back and climbed on his horse. He had important matters to tend to.

  When he reached Wilbur’s Mercantile in Newport, he glanced around. Would anyone notice this was his second trip into the establishment that day? He hoped he didn’t look conspicuous as he hurried into the community’s only store.

  Bolts of machine-woven fabric lined one wall, and barrels of flour and sugar sat next to the counter in the small building. The smells of leather and spices assailed Josiah’s nostrils. His stomach rumbled at the sight of jerked beef hanging up to dry along the back wall.

  “Afternoon, Mr. Wilbur. Do you have any packages you need shipped north? I have a friend who is heading that way soon and might be able to deliver them safely.”

  “Can’t say as I do,” Mr. Wilbur replied. “But I heard about a package that lost its outer wrapper while passing though Missouri.”

  Perplexed, Josiah cocked an eyebrow. He watched Mr. Wilbur walk up and down the aisles in his store, inspecting each one. They were the only two people there. The storekeeper then motioned Josiah into the back storage room. Uneasiness churned in Josiah’s gut, but he followed the man.

  In a hushed tone Wilbur said, “Rumor has it, an escaping slave was caught a few days ago, down in Missouri, and was skinned alive. Might be just gossip, but you never can tell.”

  Josiah shivered at the cruelty and inhumanity of a heartless society. He prayed to the good Lord above that nothing like that would ever happen to the souls he risked his life and freedom to help save.

  Chapter 2

  Several nights later, after Papa and Mr. Williamson had gotten a good start on the house, Coral helped her mother prepare dinner over a spider skillet. The aroma of venison lingered in the air. Her flour-coated hands paused over the biscuit dough while she admired the foundation of their new home.

  Papa and Mr. Williamson were making great progress. The nights were growing colder, and that morning a light frost coated the wild grasses surrounding the campsite. How nice it would be to live in a real house again. On cold winter evenings Papa would build a fire in the fireplace, and they’d sit around it and read books and newspapers. Mama could unpack all their flatware, the nice dishes, and her favorite English vase.

  Coral had her own collection of treasured things in her hope chest. Wrapped in her embroidered linens was her silver brush and comb set and her collection of Jane Austen books she’d brought from England. Lavender-scented potpourri was nestled in her favorite evening dress and kept everything smelling fresh. Then there was her six-sided patchwork quilt. She’d spent hours sewing together the hexagon shapes cut from fine, soft fabric.

  Her rebellious heart sailed back to Maryland, and Roland. Had she not prayed and asked God to show her a way to b
e with him? Much to her chagrin the image of the handsome Mr. Williamson with his blue eyes invaded her thoughts. She shoved the picture from her mind and went back to cutting dough.

  A short time later they sat around the makeshift table and bowed their heads. Papa thanked the Lord for the meal, but Coral prayed for something else. Roland had danced with a young Miss Cooper at her summer cotillion last June. She cringed at the memory. Would his head be turned by the money and connections Miss Cooper had? No, not her Roland.

  Coral’s feelings skittered around in her heart like dry autumn leaves caught in a gust of wind. The Bible said children were to respect and obey their parents. She loved Papa and Mama dearly and knew they would follow wherever God led them, but she believed they were mistaken in coming here. She also knew she should trust God with her circumstances, but why was trusting Him so frightening and painful?

  In spite of her hunger, her dinner tasted like sawdust.

  “Coral,” Mama said, “are you feeling unwell? You’re pale and you’ve hardly touched your dinner.”

  “I’m fine, Mama.” Coral skewered a piece of venison with her fork. Again she thought of Josiah. He hadn’t recoiled from her when she’d stood before him coated in blood from butchering the deer. On several occasions he’d helped her fetch water from the creek. Maybe a man from the country could have some manners after all.

  “Come, Coral, help me with the dishes,” Mama said.

  Coral stood, retrieved the bucket, and trudged to the creek.

  When she traipsed back into camp, her parents were talking of packages being mailed to Canada. What did they mean by that? They didn’t know anyone living in Canada. At least she didn’t think they did.

  Papa glanced at her. Then he cleared his throat. “I hope we can finish the house before the first snow falls. I don’t know these parts well enough to guess when that might be.” He sipped from the tin cup Mama handed him.

  “Mr. Williamson seems nice enough,” Mama replied. “And he’s a hard worker. I’m sure it will be done soon.”

  Coral noticed an odd look exchanged between her parents. Did they have a secret plot to match her up with the rugged woodsman? She hoped not. Manners or not, he wasn’t the refined gentleman that Roland was. And how could she trust a man she didn’t even know? How could her parents, for that matter?

  To change the uncomfortable topic, Coral said, “Papa, when are you going into town again? I need more thread to mend my work dress and apron.”

  “I hope it can wait until we get the house built. That should be within the month, but I’m running out of nails, and the saw needs to be sharpened. I might ask Josiah to take care of those things for me.” Papa studied the sketches he’d drawn of their house.

  “Mama, how often do you think a mail rider comes through this wild place?” Coral asked.

  “I don’t know, dear. Are you thinking of sending Ashlynn a letter?”

  “No.” Coral shifted her weight. Anxiety washed over her when she replied, “I wrote a letter to Roland.”

  Papa straightened his stance and said harshly, “I know you miss the lifestyle of Annapolis, but you needn’t concern yourself with certain connections there.”

  Mama shot her a disapproving look and tossed a chunk of wood onto the fire. Sparks spewed. Blue-orange flames hissed and reached upward.

  Dismay engulfed Coral. The bucket slipped from her fingers and water sloshed everywhere. She cringed. Not only did she have to make another trip to the creek for more, but she had disappointed her parents.

  It wasn’t often she saw them so upset. Usually, it had to do with the slave trade. Roland’s parents were staunch abolitionists, so he couldn’t possibly have anything to do with that. So why, then, would they be so upset when she mentioned her letter to him? The silence filling the atmosphere didn’t answer her questions.

  “I’m sorry you’re heartbroken, my dear,” Mama finally said. “Your father has heard of a church social being held at the end of October. Perhaps we could join the festivities.”

  “A church social,” Coral wailed. “What kind of excitement goes on at a church social?”

  “The kind that doesn’t include the cursing we heard at too many parties in Annapolis. I’d think you’d be grateful to get away from all the arguments over politics.”

  “Yes, but Mama, what good is it to get away from arguments if I’m also away from the fun?”

  “Sacrifices must be made, my dear, and we must trust God to use us where He places us.”

  Another lapse of quiet ensued, which made Coral angry. Why did her folks talk in such riddles?

  Josiah rode his horse into the clearing. The Martins’ new home consisted of nothing more than a half-built foundation, but it was coming along. They had been fortunate to find rocks large enough to wedge against the outside corners to give the structure some stability.

  That morning he and Sam cut more trees and skinned the bark off them. Then he used a planer to smooth two sides of the logs while Sam cut notches in the ends. That afternoon they stacked them one on top of the other. The resulting walls were only a few logs high, but it was a start. One he was proud of.

  While he worked, Josiah tried not to look at the beautiful Miss Martin, but she occupied his thoughts more than he wanted to admit. Both Sam and his wife had told him not to share their secret with her. He understood they wanted to safeguard their daughter, but he worried nonetheless. Did they have other reasons, besides protection, for keeping their work secret? She seemed too sweet to go blabbing secrets of their underground work to others. He didn’t want to consider the possibility that she couldn’t be trusted.

  Wisps of her brown hair came loose from its pins and fell about her face, giving her the look of an angel.

  “Ouch,” Josiah exclaimed when the planer handle scraped into his palm, causing it to bleed. He reached for his kerchief and wrapped it around the wound.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Williamson?” Coral hurried to his side and reached for his hand. “I have some salve I can put on this.”

  Josiah’s pulse quickened at how she held his hand in hers. She cared a great deal about folks. He liked that about her. Perhaps this young beauty could be trusted after all.

  Should he speak with Sam about her? Not exactly court her, just spend time with her. It was important that he find out what her father meant when he’d said it was the company she’d kept that worried him. Or so he tried to convince himself. After all, one could never be too careful in this line of work.

  “Thank you, Miss Martin, you’re too kind,” Josiah said after swallowing the lump in his throat.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’ll get that salve right now.” She stepped away. A school of fish swam in his stomach as he watched her stride to the back of the wagon and climb inside.

  An idea sprang into his mind like an overzealous jackrabbit. He could take her into town to see Mr. Wilbur and see what he thought of her. Josiah chuckled. That’s what he would do. He ignored his throbbing hand.

  Josiah jogged over to where Coral’s father worked. “Sam, may I speak with you a moment?”

  “Yes, of course, what’s on your mind?” Sam climbed to the top of the ladder with hatchet in hand and chopped at a large knot protruding from the top log.

  “Here, I’ll hold this for you.” Josiah gripped the sides of the ladder and held it steady. He wanted to ask Sam’s permission to take Coral to meet Mr. Wilbur. Prudence told him to wait until Sam got down off the ladder before asking, but on this rare occasion he ignored prudence.

  “Sam, I wonder if I might—” Josiah wet his lips and swallowed, contemplating his next words. He took a deep breath, ready to forge ahead.

  At that moment, the horses, tied to their picket lines near the wagon, whinnied. They pulled at the lines, and one of them bucked and kicked the back of the conveyance. A snake had probably spooked them. He thought of Coral, in the wagon getting his salve. He feared she might be in danger.

  “Mind your step up there,
Sam. I’m going to calm the horses,” he hollered as he went to tend to the animals.

  Josiah hurried to the frightened beasts. “There, there, everything is all right now,” he soothed. He held his hands up and took a few hesitant steps forward. After a few more gentle words the animals quieted. He stepped alongside them and rubbed their sleek, warm necks.

  “Thank you, Mr. Williamson, but I could have handled them.” Coral poked her head out from the wagon and smiled at him. Her green eyes twinkled.

  A shout echoed.

  Josiah turned in time to see Sam tumble from the ladder.

  “Papa,” Coral screamed. She sprang from the wagon and sprinted to her father. Josiah followed close behind.

  They reached Sam at the same moment and knelt beside him. Blood poured from a gash in his lower left leg. Josiah’s stomach convulsed at Sam’s pale complexion. The poor man grimaced with pain.

  “Sam, Coral, what happened?” Mrs. Martin ran from the direction of the creek and knelt beside her husband.

  “Papa fell from the ladder. He’s badly hurt,” Coral wailed.

  Josiah stood. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”

  Coral turned to face Josiah. The green irises that sparkled only a moment ago now burned with indignant fire.

  “Why weren’t you holding the ladder for him?”

  Chapter 3

  Papa lay on the ground beside the wagon, his ashen face contorted with pain. Coral’s heart galloped in her chest as she watched her mother tend the cut on the side of his head.

  Mama’s hands worked fast and methodically, but the soothing words she expressed to Papa did little to comfort Coral. She tried not to look at the deep blue-purple bruises that colored his swollen knee. He had to be okay. Prayers flew from her lips at regular intervals as she paced from the campfire, around the makeshift table, to her father’s side, and back again.

  Mr. Williamson had ridden for the doctor in town, but that had been an hour ago. What was taking them so long to get back?

  Amidst the concern for her father, Coral also felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at Mr. Williamson. It wasn’t his fault Papa fell. She would ask him for forgiveness when he got back with the doctor. Papa would surely be all right after the doctor treated him. But what if he isn’t?