Moments later she carried an armload of firewood inside and deposited it in the wood box next to the hearth. The shawl did little to combat the chilly winds that blew across the homestead. When she went out for another load, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her. Her teeth chattered in the cold and she could see her breath.
She hurried back inside and dropped the wood where it belonged.
“Thank you, dear,” Mama said. She placed a log onto the flames and turned the spit. The roasting meat smelled heavenly. Coral’s mouth watered. Doing extra chores while Papa recuperated had increased her appetite. The physical exertion felt good but left her little time to work on her quilt. Her thread supply had dwindled again anyway.
Maybe Papa would allow her to take the wagon into town for more. Thankfully, the wagon had been returned the day after Josiah took it. While shopping for thread she could ask Mr. Wilbur if he’d heard anything.
“Mama,” Coral began, “I’d like to be more involved in aiding the freedom seekers. I have a passion to help them, and I’m sure it’s from God.”
Mama wiped her hands on her apron and smiled big. Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m sure the calling came from God. Your Papa will be pleased to hear of your devotion, but he’ll be afraid for your well-being too.”
“I really want to help.”
Mama said, “Are you sure your desire to help isn’t rooted in the idea of being around Josiah more?”
Warmth flooded through Coral. Thoughts of Josiah had certainly filled her mind the past few weeks, but could what she felt be called love? With minimal discomfort she’d recovered from the loss of Roland, but she still wasn’t sure if she wanted to venture that direction again. “I—I don’t know.”
Noises outside snagged her attention. At first she thought the bounty hunters had returned, but she didn’t hear the hounds baying. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder, and the voice didn’t sound familiar. Papa opened the door and there stood a man dressed as a Quaker.
Darkness covered the land by the time Josiah rode back into Newport. He jumped down from his horse and tied the reins to the hitching post. He took a quick walk around the outside of Wilbur’s store, but there was no sign of him. No light shone from inside the building either. The man had probably gone to bed. No sense in waking him.
Josiah unsaddled his horse and led it to the stable in back. Four days and nights of smuggling Amos north had plum worn him out. After brushing down the exhausted animal, he bedded down in the tack room. Tomorrow he’d tell Wilbur about the adventures with the hopeful freedom seeker.
His head hit the pillow, but before he could even stretch, he heard a voice.
“That you, Josiah? I thought I heard you ride in,” Sheriff Hansen said.
“Yep, what can I do for you?” Josiah yawned so big he thought his jawbones would come unhinged.
“I know what you’re doing, helping slaves escape. And although I can’t abide slavery, the law’s the law, twisted as it is.”
Josiah gave his friend a long look. “I know man’s law, but I follow the higher law of God.”
Hansen nodded. “I agree on all accounts. Why do you think I’ve looked the other way so many times? I just wanted to warn you to be careful. I pray God soon ends the scourge of slavery in this country, but the way folks get into such a state about the issue, I don’t think that’ll happen in our lifetime. Maybe never.”
Although it was dark, Josiah could easily see the moral quandary his friend was mired in, and he ached for him. “I’ll do my best to keep you out of it. Now, it’s late—why don’t you head back home and get some sleep.”
Hansen sighed. “’Night Josiah.”
The stable door creaked open, then closed. Josiah sank into a deep slumber.
The sun peeked through the knotholes in the walls and the room warmed considerably by the time Josiah awoke, but the rest had done him good. He stuffed a cold biscuit in his mouth and strolled over to the mercantile.
Not more than two steps into the building, he ran into the Martin family. His eyes lingered on Coral for a long moment until he heard Sam clear his throat. Josiah swallowed and stepped over to him. He’d tell him about Amos—not all the details, but enough to alleviate any worries.
“Sam, just the man I wanted to see,” Josiah said. “I was going to ride out to your place later today to speak with you. Mr. George DeBaptiste, the barber up in Madison, wanted me to thank you for the package you sent him.”
“Thank you kindly. I hope it arrived without incident.” Sam cocked an eyebrow.
Josiah nodded. “I delivered it myself, safe and sound.”
Sam smiled, turned to Wilbur, and said, “A Quaker named Strauss showed up at my place late last night. He just moved into town and wants to know how he can mail packages.”
Before much more could be said, Wilbur glanced around the store.
“Josiah, you mind tending things for a minute? I need to show Sam something in the storeroom.”
“Sure.”
The two men headed to the back. Josiah turned to watch Coral and her mother shopping for thread near the bolts of fabric. When Coral glanced up and locked eyes with him, he winked at her. He laughed aloud when her cheeks took on a pink hue and she dropped a spool of thread.
“Mr. Williamson.” Her admonishment didn’t match the smile playing on her lips. She bent to pick up the thread.
He pulled her handkerchief from his pocket and admired the lingering scent of lavender before he sauntered closer to her. “Here, I thought you’d like this back.”
“Thank you.” Coral took it and placed it in her reticule. “Perhaps you could dine with us some evening.”
“I’d like that.” He leaned against a barrel of dried beans.
Before she could set a date for her invitation, her father and Wilbur emerged from the back.
“Let’s tally up our wares and get back to the house. I need some rest.” Sam wiped beads of sweat from his forehead and leaned against the counter. Mrs. Martin and Coral fussed over him like a pair of mother hens. Not more than a few minutes passed, and they were gone. The dinner invitation would have to wait.
Josiah purchased a bag of dried beans and some coffee, but cut short his conversation with Wilbur. All he wanted was to get home and begin the next building project. He wasn’t a pauper, but he couldn’t neglect his customers either, or he’d starve through the winter.
The bell above the door jangled. The dandy who burst inside had wealth enough, judging by his fancy attire. Something about the man made Josiah uneasy. He locked eyes with Wilbur. “I’ll stay a bit longer, in case you need me.”
“Much obliged.” Wilbur nodded and cast a warning look at two freed women in the fabric section. The wide-eyed women clutched a bolt of calico and appeared frightened at the newcomer’s presence.
Josiah wandered to the hardware section and estimated the price of a pound of nails. He tried to be inconspicuous, but paid enough attention to assist Wilbur if necessary.
The dandy strutted over to the women and yanked the material from their hands. When he growled threats to them, Josiah took two steps toward him.
Wilbur’s boots pounded on the wooden floorboards as he stormed to the scene. “See here now, I run a respectable establishment. I don’t take kindly to the use of coarse language, nor do I tolerate folks who threaten our free citizens. You’ll have to leave.”
The man jutted his chin in the air and voiced a string of profane words that weren’t fit for decent folks’ ears. Wilbur stood his ground and threw the dandy out of the store. No more than what the scoundrel deserved. Josiah laughed, tipped his hat to the ladies, and left.
Late that night, after darkness had fully fallen, Josiah met Wilbur at the farm of Mr. Strauss, the new Quaker in town. They rode their horses into the barn and dismounted. A man who couldn’t have been a day over twenty came forward and shook their hands.
“Welcome.”
No twitching, no stammering, no averting his gaze when he spoke. What the
man did have was a firm handshake, a look in his eyes. A good sign he could be trusted.
“Sam couldn’t make it, but he sends his regards,” Josiah told him.
Josiah and the two men talked about their faith, slavery, the community, and safe places for runaways. They even drew maps in the dirt.
During a lull in the conversation, Josiah heard the chickens in the nearby henhouse squawking and clucking. He cocked an ear in their direction. The chickens continued. Dogs barked. His horse added a whinny to the cacophony.
Josiah rose and placed a hand on the pistol in his holster. Wilbur ran his foot over the drawings in the dirt and ducked behind a stack of hay bales. Mr. Strauss grabbed a pitchfork and began pitching hay into the horses’ stalls.
Josiah reached for the lantern hanging on a nail by the door. He stepped outside and held it high. “Who’s out there?” he hollered.
No one replied.
Three steps into the barnyard, he called again. “Is anyone out there?”
A large haystack rustled. Several pieces of hay blew off of it and into the wind. Two dogs sniffed around the base of it. Were they bounty hunters’ bloodhounds, or did they belong to the Quaker? Upon closer inspection Josiah spotted a scrap of cloth protruding from the yellow-gold stalks. Someone had been spying on them!
That spy could be a slave patroller, an informant, a malicious Southern sympathizer, someone who could have them all arrested.
A flash of anger shot through Josiah like a bolt of lightning. Nobody would put the freedom seekers in harm’s way if he could help it.
With his free hand he pulled the pistol from his holster. Tramping over to the haystack, he realized his dilemma. He didn’t want to kill anyone, and prayed he wouldn’t have to, but the spy could be somebody intent on taking them all down.
When he reached the haystack he cocked his pistol with as much noise as possible.
Twice he cleared his throat and then said, “Come out, or I’ll shoot.”
He watched in growing amazement as a young woman made her way out of the haystack.
Chapter 7
In Mr. Strauss’s barn Coral sat on a hay bale receiving some harsh words from Josiah. At least he’d holstered his pistol, small comfort that it was. Tears brimmed in her eyes. Determined not to let him see her cry, she gulped and bit them back.
She had only wanted to find out more about smuggling freedom seekers. She thought maybe she could attend the meeting and learn some useful information. Then those barking dogs had given her a fright. She was sure bounty hunters lurked in the shadows. She had climbed into the haystack to hide from them. How was she supposed to know they belonged to Mr. Strauss?
“I appreciate your sympathy to the cause, Coral, but you have to understand how dangerous this is.”
Warmth spread through her in spite of the chilly atmosphere. She knew Josiah wanted her to be safe. She couldn’t fault him for that. If Papa and Mama found out what she’d done, they would be angry with her too.
“How did you get here?”
“I told Papa and Mama I didn’t feel well and retired early. Then I snuck out and rode Papa’s horse here. Brownie is as gentle as a kitten. I’ve never had a bit of trouble with him.”
Josiah turned and addressed Wilbur and Mr. Strauss. “I think we’re finished here. I’m escorting the lady home.”
Once outside, Coral located Papa’s horse. He stood on the other side of the haystack, eating his fill. That’s probably what kept him from running off. Josiah helped her into the saddle; then he climbed on his own horse. Together they left the Quaker’s farm.
Silence hung between them, and Coral preferred it that way. It was better than any hurtful comments Josiah might say. Lost in her thoughts, she feared what her parents might do if they found out what she’d done. Josiah had mailed her letter to Roland and kept that a secret. Could he be trusted to keep this a secret as well?
The moon hung full and bright in the sky along with a spattering of gleaming stars when they reached home. As quietly as possible, Coral urged the horse across the familiar backyard. She dismounted, opened the barn door, and led the animal inside. She walked the faithful creature into a nearby stall and filled his manger and water trough.
A noise startled her. She turned to see Josiah standing in the entrance.
“You know…” Josiah’s words were calmer now. “It’s not just bounty hunters and ruffians that put you in danger. It’s also the wild animals that lurk in the night that could do you harm.”
She nodded. He was right.
He grasped her by the shoulders. “Promise me, Coral, you won’t do this again. It would break my heart to see you hurt.”
She gazed at him. How safe this strong man made her feel. Her breath hitched in her throat when he pulled her into his arms and held her close. The feelings that swam through her made her dizzy. She pulled away.
“Josiah, I…” Heaven help her, she wanted him to kiss her. He ran a finger along her cheek. He wiped a stray hair from her eyes. His husky breathing gave her goose bumps. For a second she thought he would kiss her.
Shouts and hoofbeats echoed from the front of the house.
Bounty hunters?
“Get inside, now!” Josiah wrapped his horse’s reins around a post. Coral sprinted into the house through the back door. She raced into the living quarters to see Papa thundering down the stairs. He grabbed his shotgun from its perch above the door.
Josiah rushed into the room.
Papa stared at him with wide eyes. Then his eyebrows crunched together. He looked ready to aim his shotgun at Josiah. “What are you doing outside at night with my daughter?”
“It’s not what you think, Sam.”
Mama dashed down the stairs. “Samuel, what is it?”
Someone pounded on the front door and hollered, “Coral, open up.”
Coral rushed to throw open the door, and gasped. “Roland!”
Josiah noticed Sam’s grim expression. Mrs. Martin wrung her hands. They didn’t look pleased to see this Roland character. And yet Coral led him inside, gentle as you please. His body tensed. Much as he wanted to, he refused to say something unkind.
“Roland,” she began. “I’d like you to meet Josiah Williamson. Josiah, this is Roland, a, um, friend from Annapolis.”
Josiah recognized this man. He was the one who’d made rude comments to the two free women in Wilbur’s Mercantile.
The man wore a fine-tailored waistcoat and matching tan trousers. The money from his beaver-skin top hat and silk cravat could clothe a dozen runaways.
Even though his insides wove themselves into a knot, Josiah thought it best to be polite.
“Pleased to meet you.” Josiah extended his hand and prayed God would forgive him for the half-truth. He wasn’t at all pleased to meet him. In fact, he thought Roland was a mangy weasel, but something told him he shouldn’t go out of his way to get on the man’s bad side just yet.
Roland extended his hand. Josiah shook it, noting how soft and smooth it felt. The gaudy rings on Roland’s fingers flashed in the dim candlelight. Before he could stop himself, Josiah calculated how many runaways could buy their freedom with those rings.
Josiah looked long at wide-eyed Coral. She matched his gaze. Her expression was unreadable, but the way she fussed about the man twisted something in his stomach. He tried to convince himself she was merely being polite, but he sensed there was more between them than he wanted to know. He wondered what was in the letter Coral had penned to him.
“Let’s make sure we have enough bread rising for breakfast,” Mrs. Martin said. She grabbed hold of Coral’s sleeve and tugged her into the kitchen area.
Sam hung his weapon back on its pegs above the fireplace. He looked at Roland and scratched his head. “How did you find us?”
“Well, I—” Roland maneuvered around. His gaze lingered on Coral.
Sam faced Josiah and said, “If you’ll excuse us, please.” The deep tone of his voice made Josiah worry about Coral.
Sam’s eyes seemed to plead with Josiah. “Please, Mr. Williamson, I need a moment with my daughter and Roland.”
Josiah nodded, gulped, and exited through the back door with slow, uneasy steps. Roland was sure to tell the Martins about the letter from Coral, the letter Josiah had mailed for her. What would they think of him now? More frightening still, how would it affect their work with the freedom seekers? He pleaded his case before the Lord as he rode home in the moonlight.
Chapter 8
Coral poured Roland’s tea with hands that shook. She couldn’t bear to look at Papa, who spoke with Mama in the kitchen a few steps away. How disappointed in her they must be. She now understood the consequences of her actions. If only she’d realized earlier, she’d have never sent Roland the letter telling him of their whereabouts.
“Coral, dear,” Roland said. “If your parents give their blessing for us to get married, you can come back to Annapolis with me.”
He smiled at her, but his display of affection made her cringe. From the kitchen she heard both her parents gasp. She didn’t want to go back to Annapolis. She wanted to stay here and help runaways with Papa and Mama, and with Josiah.
Roland guided her to a chair and she sat. To her horror, he got down on one knee and pulled a ring from his pocket. The dim light in the room glinted off the large blue sapphire. She clenched fistfuls of her skirts, her breath suspended. Months ago she’d have given anything for a moment like this. But things had changed. She had changed.
Roland cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. Ever so formally he said, “Miss Coral Martin, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She turned her eyes to her mother and father. Deep frowns creased their faces. Mama hung her head and sighed. Coral had gotten herself into this; it was up to her to set things right. She breathed deep, intending to say something, but Roland interrupted.
“If you say yes,” he said, “we’ll have the finest house in Annapolis. You’ll have the grandest dresses and wear the fanciest jewelry. After all, I have a very lucrative income derived from the slave-catching business.”
The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War Page 44
