The Underground Railroad Brides Collection: 9 Couples Navigate the Road to Freedom Before the Civil War
Page 45
Coral felt as if she’d tumbled down the stairs. Her torso ached, her lungs screamed for air, but she couldn’t suck in a breath. Papa and Mama rushed into the room.
“Now see here, Roland,” Papa growled, “Mrs. Martin and I will not be giving our blessing for you to marry our daughter.”
Roland stood and faced her father. “This is between Coral and me.”
Air finally found its way into Coral’s lungs. Now she knew why her parents disliked Roland so much. He was a slave catcher!
Why hadn’t they told her the truth about him? She’d ask first chance she had. For now, she’d deal with the skunk before her.
“I’m not marrying you, Roland. I don’t love you, and I despise what you stand for.” Coral stood, hands clenched at her sides. Her heart pounded with fury. He knew her parents’ views on slavery. They’d discussed it many times. Yet he came here and proposed, and gloated about money he made in capturing runaways. If she married Roland, he’d likely blackmail her and her parents for information about their contacts. She wasn’t going to let that happen.
“You need to leave.” She placed a hand on her hip and pointed at the door. He took two steps to stand right in front of her. Fire burned in his eyes. His jaw muscles twitched. His face turned a deep shade of red she’d never seen on him before. Refusing to back down, she squared her shoulders and stood firm.
“Fine,” he snarled. Three long strides took him to the door. Before leaving, he turned. “I know what you folks are doing here. Mark my words, I’m going to make you pay for this.”
The door shut with a loud bang.
Coral burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Mama, Papa. I didn’t know.” She held her hands over her face. She had placed them all in danger, but how could she have known? Her parents hadn’t told her about him. Anger simmered and reached a boil.
“Why did you let me go riding with him? And you allowed him to escort me to so many parties. If you knew he was mixed up in slave catching, why did you let me spend so much time with him?”
“We didn’t know,” Mama soothed. “We found out when he turned in some of our friends in Annapolis. We left then and thought the danger to you was past.”
“We should have told you earlier.” Papa sighed.
“We’re sorry, dear.” Mama wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “Please forgive us.”
Coral dabbed her tears with her shirtsleeve. She’d forgive her parents. They had done what they thought was best. For now, they had to deal with Roland’s threats. Oh, what a mess.
Mama poured them all a cup of hot tea.
Papa reached for the Bible. He and Mama bowed their heads in prayer. They were a family rooted in faith, and they would get through this.
The next afternoon Josiah hammered away on a bookcase for Sheriff Hansen’s office. Twice he cut boards too short. Then he dropped the auger on his foot. Next, his hammer missed the nail and smashed down on his finger.
Josiah yelped. It was time to take a break. Walking to the water bucket, he filled the dipper and drank. He wrapped a bandanna around his aching finger, but he realized no matter how hard he worked, he couldn’t forget the sight of Coral and Roland together.
He chastised himself for mailing her letter to Roland. Whatever had gone on between them, Josiah didn’t want to know about it. His mission was to help the freedom seekers. He wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted by the shenanigans of those two. If Coral wanted to set her cap for that fancy-feathered peacock, she was free to do so. Sheriff Hansen needed his bookcase.
Hours later, the sun said good night as it dipped below the horizon. A sliver of moon climbed into the inky-black sky but did little to illuminate his way. He carried the furniture into Hansen’s office. The sheriff wasn’t there. The deputy said he was out on some urgent business.
Josiah shrugged and placed the bookcase against the far wall. “Tell Hansen I’ll collect my pay later.” Then he headed for home.
About a mile outside Newport, a band of men stopped him in the road.
Bounty hunters.
The tall one he recognized from Wilbur’s store. The one who’d chased after Amos. Who were these men chasing now? He said a silent prayer, asking God for mercy for these men’s prey.
A county lawman rode to the front of the pack. “Easy does it now, boys. I have jurisdiction over Sheriff Hansen, and I have the papers to prove it.” He waved them high.
Holding his hands in the air, Josiah said, “I’m not looking for any trouble.”
“No,” the tall hunter said. “You just look for runaway slaves, don’t you, Mr. Williamson? Least, that’s what Amos says.”
Josiah sucked in a breath. His heart raced like a bloodhound hot on the trail of a runaway.
“Lord, have mercy.”
He was caught.
Chapter 9
The cold, hard bench beneath Josiah did little to soothe his aching body. He adjusted his weight and tried to get comfortable, but one didn’t live in luxury within the confines of a jail cell.
The bruises on his ribs and the cuts marring his face would heal. It would be painful for a while, but it was worth it. No matter how many times he’d been questioned, threatened, and punched, he’d not divulged the names of his contacts. Especially not the Martin family.
His assailants questioned him about Amos with relentless intensity, but he’d managed to keep the information secret. The men didn’t seem to know much about his involvement with the runaway. The comments on the road had probably been just to trap him. He hung his head. How could he have fallen for such a ploy?
His pride had taken a beating along with his body, but he had to stay strong to keep the freedom seekers safe. Worry gnawed at his sanity. Could he take another beating and still keep quiet about his contacts? What if he was sent to jail for a very long time? He wouldn’t be much help to the runaways in that situation.
An agony-filled groan escaped his mouth as he rolled off the bench onto his knees. He bowed his head and prayed.
Hansen would be back tomorrow. Josiah hoped the sheriff’s presence would mandate his release, but if his friend’s hands were tied, he was in trouble. They all were. His thoughts honed in on Roland. If he had to guess the identity of who turned him in, it would be him.
Josiah suspected the man was in cahoots with the bounty hunters, but the question was, could he prove it? Wilbur had asked around about him a few weeks ago, but the investigation turned up nothing.
The air in the cell cooled and made him shiver. Climbing back onto the bench, he wrapped the threadbare blanket around him. It didn’t do much good, but like it or not, he was stuck there for the night.
Once again he shifted his weight in search of a less painful position. A high-pitched squeak told him a rat was near. Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
Josiah tried to sleep. What seemed like seconds later, his eyes popped open. Hounds barked in the street just outside. Fear snaked its arms around him and tightened its grip. In his mind, there was only one reason the bounty hunters would come back. To string him up.
“Oh please, Lord, I don’t want to die, not here, not now.” He was willing to give his life for the cause, but that didn’t make dying any easier. Besides, there were so many more runaways he could save, if given the chance.
He could hear them now. Their loud laughter and slurred obscenities were exacerbated by their inebriated state.
Keys jangled. The jailhouse door was flung open.
“Lord, be with me,” he prayed. If this was his time, he needed to be right with his Maker.
The tall lawman motioned to someone outside. “Get in here.”
Sam, clothing torn, face bleeding, shackles rattling, stepped into the jailhouse.
When the shock dissipated, anger inundated Josiah. “Sam, are you all right? What have you done to him? He’s an old man, for pity’s sake.”
The captors paid him no mind. They opened the cell door, shoved the ailing Sam inside, and clanged the door shut.
“Y
ou monsters should be ashamed of yourselves,” Josiah hollered as they departed, laughing. His attention turned to Sam. A gash on Sam’s forehead bled, and his limp was prominent. Guiding him to the bench, Josiah helped him sit.
“Water,” Sam croaked.
Josiah hurried to the bucket and drew a dipperful of warm, dirty liquid. The man drank three dippersful before he could say more.
Sam grasped Josiah’s shirtsleeve. “Promise me, if I don’t make it, you’ll find a way out of here and take care of my wife and daughter.”
Another tentacle of fear gripped Josiah. “Don’t talk like that. Hansen will be back at sunup, and he’ll get us out of here.”
“Listen,” Sam pleaded. “Wilbur and Hansen are working to expose Roland, but in the meantime, don’t let him near my daughter. If necessary, take Anna and Coral back to England; there’s money hidden away—”
The jailhouse keys rattled again.
Did evil ever sleep?
The door swung open.
Roland strolled inside, twirling the keys to the jail cell around his finger. “Which one of you will be the first to answer my questions?”
For three days Coral visited Papa and Josiah while they were in jail. Every night she prayed for a Christmas miracle of their release. As her prayers floated toward heaven, a light snow fluttered to the earth. A white blanket of pristine snowflakes coated the ground, and still, the ones she loved faced the confines of federal prison.
Congestion had settled in her father’s chest. His hacking cough echoed off the walls at the last visit. She didn’t know how much longer he would last. If anything happened to him, Mama would take it hard.
On the fourth day of their imprisonment, she rode into town. She climbed down from the wagon and traipsed to the jailhouse. She had brought a basket of warm bread and jam Mama had made. Slices of fresh cheese and boiled eggs accompanied the meal. Papa and Josiah needed to keep their strength up.
Coral also brought a blanket and some warmer clothes from home. She hung the basket of food over her wrist and carried the rest of the items inside.
Sheriff Hansen stood to greet her as she entered the building. Lord bless the sheriff, he allowed her to have lunch with Papa and Josiah.
Pale and weak, Papa was unable to do more than lie down. Coral felt sick to her stomach to see him that way. Lunch was a bittersweet affair. She was elated to see the men she cared about, but heartbroken to see them in jail.
Papa nibbled a piece of cheese and refused the bread and jam. He coughed hard and curled up on a narrow pallet someone had placed in the corner. She bit her lip until she tasted blood to stifle the cry rising in her throat. The threadbare blanket she stretched over him would have to suffice until she could bring something heavier.
“Josiah,” she said, as she stood and prepared to leave, “I’m working hard on a quilt for Papa. I’ll bring it in as soon as it’s finished, but until then here’s some heavy clothes for him. Please help him stay warm.”
The tall, blond carpenter looked down at her. “You know I will.”
Adoration, respect, and perhaps love swelled to a crescendo within her. Love, yes, she loved Josiah. She loved his strength and compassion, his willingness to suffer for the sake of freedom seekers, and his dedication to God above all else.
What all she had gone through to learn what it meant to love someone. How precious a treasure love was, one not to be squandered. She remembered the scripture where Paul walked on the road to Damascus and God had struck him blind. Later, something like scales fell from his eyes and God enabled him to see again and to focus on things that really mattered. Coral thought she now knew what that felt like.
Mr. Wilbur and Levi Coffin entered the building.
“Good news, folks.” Mr. Wilbur placed a pile of paperwork on Sheriff Hansen’s desk. “We found a loophole in the bounty hunters’ arrest warrants.”
“But the circuit judge doesn’t come to town until after Christmas. That’s a week away. What are we supposed to do in the meantime?” The sheriff shook his head. Coral surmised he’d rather be home with his family on Christmas as opposed to keeping watch over the prisoners.
“I’ll go home now so you men can work out the particulars, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.” She wished she could bring her father home with her, but that wasn’t possible. The air had an icy bite to it. Her gloved hands ached with cold, so she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself and reached for the reins. She feared the cold would sink its teeth into Papa and never let go. Another prayer passed from her lips, that Mr. Wilbur and Mr. Coffin could do something for her father and Josiah before it was too late.
A week went by and Christmas Eve came, with no change. Upon arriving home from the jail, weary and heartsick, Coral unhitched the wagon, put the horses in their stalls, and gave them plenty of grain. In this weather they ate more. Famished herself, she finished in the barn and strode into the house.
After the supper dishes were washed and put away, Coral sat down with her mother by the fireplace. The nearly finished quilt beckoned her from its basket, and Coral busied herself putting the final stitches in place. An hour later it was done. Self-satisfaction surged through her. The making of this quilt was no small feat, especially in such a remote town where supplies were not readily available.
She held it up for Mama to admire. Tomorrow she’d take it to the jailhouse and give it to her father. With the major project completed, she relaxed a bit with her favorite book, Sense and Sensibility.
Later that evening someone knocked on their door. Coral’s heart jerked. She prayed it wasn’t a message from the jail bearing bad news about Papa, or worse yet, someone coming for Mama. A shudder went through her, imagining what she’d do without her folks near.
Mama must have sensed her tension as she answered the door. “Don’t fret, Coral. We’re in God’s hands.”
“I know, but I’m praying anyway,” Coral said.
“Come in, Mr. Wilbur,” Mama said. A dark-skinned man and woman followed Mr. Wilbur inside. Coral knew next to nothing about midwifery, but the woman looked to be about nine months pregnant.
“My name’s Gideon; this is my wife, Tella Sue. We been runnin’ for two days straight, but them pattyrollers is still on our trail. Our massa said he’d take the hide off any slave he catches escapin’.”
Mama stepped forward. “You are safe here, at least for the time being. Have a seat by the fire. Coral, add some wood, please. I’ll set the teakettle on.”
Mr. Wilbur tipped his hat and stepped to the door. “I need to get back to town. I’ll do what I can to throw off any patrols headed this direction.”
“Come stand by the fire; you must be freezing,” Coral said.
The couple moved to the fireplace. The woman appeared as frightened as a rabbit caught in a snare. Gideon soothed his wife and pulled her close to his chest.
Coral placed two logs on the embers and poked at the coals until flames rose and crackled. Her throat tightened as she imagined what these two people had gone through to get this far. She tried to reassure them, but her voice wavered. “Try not to worry; you’re safe here. I do hope Mama brings some biscuits with the tea. You must be half starved.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Gideon said. “Massa threaten to sell our chile, but as long as I got breath I ain’t gonna let that happen.”
“I’m so sorry,” Coral muttered. Pitiful words for such a dire situation. She moved to help her mother in the kitchen, but Gideon’s request made her pause.
“Ma’am, you mind if Tella Sue have a seat? We don’t have no shoes, and her feet been hurtin’ her something powerful.”
“Of course, where are my manners?” Coral guided Tella Sue to a chair then bent to unwrap the rags from the woman’s feet.
Coral’s entire being tightened. A gash on one heel, scrapes and bruises on both ankles, a missing toenail. Lord Jesus, have mercy. Anguish gripped her, but respect and admiration gripped her tighter. What this woman had sacrificed to get h
er child free.
“Here, let me help you.” Coral nearly choked on the words. Steam rose from the hot water she poured from the tea kettle into a bowl. She dipped several rags into the water. Carefully, so as not to cause the woman any unnecessary pain, she wiped and cleansed her injured feet. Next she smeared salve into the wounds. Lastly, she wrapped them with fresh cloths.
Humility stirred within Coral. A holy love for this family took root in her being and grew tall and unwavering.
“There you are, Tella Sue.” Coral stood just as Mama entered the room with a tray. Gideon whispered something in his wife’s ear.
Curiosity piqued in Coral as she watched the woman unwrap three layers of tattered cloth from her middle. A tiny baby yawned and stared at Coral with big, dark eyes. Tella Sue wasn’t pregnant after all.
Christmas Eve. Church bells pealed, and Josiah’s throat constricted. Who wanted to be in jail on Christmas? His situation paled in comparison to those enslaved in the South, but he had a small taste of how the men, women, and children in bondage must feel.
He was stuck, not in chains, but under the control of those with selfish intentions who were driven by greed and a lust for power. This didn’t make him want to give up, however. It drove him to fight harder against the tyranny of slavery.
Coral possessed that same determination. In spite of the cold and hunger, he smiled. The thought of her face warmed his heart. What a team they would make, if he could stay out of prison. But he did face prison, and as much as he cared about her, he wouldn’t want her there as well.
Thoughts of Paul and Silas, when they were in chains, seeped into his consciousness. They too had been beaten and thrown in jail. Yet those brave men sang praises even from the depths of darkness. Should he ask God for an earthquake?
Sam coughed again and turned on his side. Josiah rose and went to him.