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

  When her mother returned with several strips of clean cloth, Annie helped her remove the man’s tattered shoe and wrap his ankle to give it better support.

  “You should stay off your feet until your injury heals,” Annie’s mother told him.

  Kitch shook his head. “I’s gotta keep movin’.”

  “Where are you headed?” Will asked, handing the man his water canteen.

  The man lifted the canteen to his lips and took several greedy gulps before replying. “Moses says I’s suppos’ to take a boat across the river.”

  “The ferry to New York?” Will exclaimed, raising his brows.

  Kitch nodded, and Annie couldn’t help but continue to stare at the black man, as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t quite put together.

  “Who’s Moses?” she asked.

  For the first time since they’d met, Annie caught a glimpse of a smile. “She’s the one who sings the song that tells us to follow the North Star an’ helps us find the way to the tracks.”

  Will frowned. “Us?”

  “Four from my massa’s cotton fields. Two more from up the road.”

  “And this woman who helps you,” Annie’s mother said, “is she a slave?”

  Kitch shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not no more. Moses is as free as a bird, flutterin’ among the trees, singin’ ‘Sweet Chariot,’ and lettin’ us know when it’s safe to run. I’s thinks she’s an angel.”

  The faint clip-clop of several horses sounded in the distance, and when Annie turned her head toward the road, she stiffened. “The sheriff! And four of his deputies! Kitch, you’ve got to hide.”

  Will and her father each took Kitch under the arm and, lifting the slave to his feet, helped him hobble toward the root cellar behind the house. Annie flung open the wooden door, and they slid Kitch down the sloped entrance of the enclosure. Then they resealed the opening and spread a pile of dead leaves overtop to hide its location.

  “Hello, Sheriff Davis,” Annie heard her mother say, as she rounded the corner of the house with her father and Will. “What brings you out this way?”

  “We had six runaways jump the train this afternoon,” the sheriff told them as he reined his horse to a stop. “There’s a hefty reward being offered for their return. Dead or alive.”

  Annie held her breath, and for a moment she thought her heart stopped beating. Kitch was in real danger. And so was she…and her family. The stronger laws, enforcing the Fugitive Slave Act the previous year in 1850, gave the sheriff and his deputies the authority to punish those caught assisting Southern runaways. Her family could be heavily fined…or even jailed, if they were caught.

  “You haven’t seen any of those black folks running around your place, have you?” Sheriff Davis continued.

  “No,” her father said, shaking his head. “I can’t say I have.”

  “What about you, Will?” the sheriff asked, stepping closer.

  “No, sir,” her brother answered, lifting his chin. “I haven’t seen any runners over here.”

  From the unchanging expression on the sheriff’s face, Annie didn’t think he caught on, but Will’s slight emphasis had her attention. As did the almost imperceptible nod she received from her father.

  “Annie?” Sheriff Davis gave her a direct look.

  Reverend Strong preached that one should never lie. But what about a half-truth, or a misdirection of the truth, to protect those she cared about?

  “N–no,” she said, trying to quell the guilt playing havoc with the insides of her stomach. “I haven’t seen anyone…run.”

  Actually, she hadn’t. With his hurt ankle, Kitch could barely walk.

  “Mind if we search the inside of your house and have a look about your barns?” the sheriff asked.

  “No, sir,” Annie’s father answered, swinging his cane. “Go right ahead.”

  But as soon as the uniformed officers were out of earshot, her father huddled both her and Will and their mother together and said, “Kitch can’t stay here. I’ll take him to the ferry as soon as it’s dark.”

  “You can’t,” Annie’s mother exclaimed, wiping his sweaty brow with her handkerchief. “You’ve been sick all afternoon and need to go back to bed.”

  “That’s right, Papa.” Annie studied her father’s face and realized he did look pale. That was why he didn’t come with them to the cabinet shop. And no one dared mention the fact he wouldn’t get far on his lame leg. “Will and I can take him.”

  Her father thumped his cane. “No. I won’t let you two place yourselves in more danger. It’s best I—”

  Her father swayed, and Will reached an arm out to steady him.

  “We’ll be careful,” Annie promised.

  Will nodded. “She can keep watch while I take Kitch down to the ferry and help him sneak aboard.”

  Their father hesitated, gave them a beseeching look, then squeezed their hands in his and whispered, “Please…don’t get caught.”

  Isaiah had never been to the Morrisons’ house but knew they lived on the outskirts of the city, near the woods. Not wanting to draw attention with a wagon, or even a steed, he’d decided to travel on foot. And when he got closer, a neighboring farmer had pointed him in the right direction. For a price. The information had cost him a quarter-day’s wages. But finding Kitch and getting him onto the eight o’clock ferry was of utmost importance.

  First, Isaiah checked to see if Annie and Will had hidden Kitch in the barn. He called out softly. No answer. Only a few snorts from the horses and a couple of startled squawks from the chickens. Next, he looked inside the toolshed. No sign of him.

  Moving toward the dark, two-story house, he wondered who would answer the door if he knocked. He didn’t see any lamplight. Had the family already turned in for the night? He didn’t relish the idea of waking them, especially if Annie and Will had not told their parents about Kitch.

  Deciding to take a different approach, Isaiah went around the side of the house and studied the upstairs windows. Two had beige curtains and an empty sill. The accompanying rooms could belong to either Will Morrison or his parents, but he couldn’t be sure which was which. Pink, frilly, tied-back curtains framed the next rectangle pane, and a small stuffed animal in the shape of a cat sat on the bottom ledge. No doubt, this had to be Annie Morrison’s bedroom window.

  He’d talk to her first. If only he could get her attention. Picking a few pebbles off the ground, he pulled back his arm and then gently launched the first one toward the glass, hoping it wouldn’t break. The slight ping as the pebble glanced off its target should have been enough to draw Annie to the window. Except the sweet face of the brunette beauty he’d glimpsed in town earlier that day never appeared.

  Isaiah tossed two more pebbles against the window. He drew his arm back to toss up a third when he caught sight of a lantern swaying in the darkness beside him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a hushed voice hissed.

  Startled, Isaiah dropped his arm. He recognized the deep, scratchy voice. It belonged to Sheriff Davis.

  “I was…” Isaiah swallowed hard, his mind racing for a plausible excuse.

  “Trying to court Miss Morrison without her father’s permission?” the sheriff demanded, raising his lantern.

  Isaiah flinched, nearly blinded. “I…Yes, sir.”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.” The sheriff smirked. “Mr. Morrison has a mean shot with a rifle, and I’d pity any fella who got on his bad side, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “You’d do best to move along now, young man,” the sheriff instructed. “You never know who you might find hiding out here in the dark these days, or if they might be friend or foe.”

  Nodding, Isaiah stepped away from him and took one last glance up at Annie’s window. Lucky for him, it didn’t appear she was home.

  Or he’d have a whole lot more explaining to do.

  Annie hid behind a tree and peered across the open stretch of land before the waterfront
docks. The moon had not yet risen, but a series of lanterns illuminated the boats and alerted her to the whereabouts of other people patrolling the vicinity.

  “I see three…maybe four men loading boxes onto some of the other boats,” she reported in a terse whisper. “But the path to the ferry is clear.”

  “We’ve got to be sure,” Will warned, shuffling closer with the injured man under his arm.

  Annie glanced over at them, and a faint glimmer of light, reflected from the distant lanterns, fell on the pale, horsetail wig they’d stuck into a bonnet and placed on Kitch’s head. They’d also powdered his face and wrapped him in their mother’s dark blue, hooded mantle, hoping that if they were spotted, he might look like a woman…from a distance.

  “I’ll go first,” Annie instructed. “And when you see me wave, run.”

  She pulled her own mantle tighter about her to ward off the bitter evening chill, and when she reached the docks, something cold touched her nose. Snow! More flakes fell, dimming the visibility. But the unexpected change in weather also presented them with the perfect camouflage to sneak Kitch aboard the ferry to New York without being seen.

  Encouraged that God must surely be on their side, Annie waited until two ferry workers disappeared belowdecks, and a third went through a door into the top deck cabin, then raised her arm and waved. But her confidence froze when a strong hand shot out from behind her, wrapped around her wrist, and brought her arm back down.

  “You must learn to be more discreet,” someone murmured in her ear.

  Annie jumped, her heart pounding, and spun around to see who had caught her. Her boot slipped on the dock’s slushy surface, and she pitched sideways toward the icy waters of the Hudson. She would have fallen in, too, if the young man had let go of her.

  But he didn’t.

  With a sharp intake of breath, she glanced up from her precarious position and realized he was the same young man who had been staring at her earlier that day. However, this time he wore a simple, plain pea coat with matching trousers, instead of fancy attire.

  A second later, Will arrived with Kitch.

  “Annie, we’ve got to hurry if—” Will broke off when he saw she was with someone and stopped up short, his eyes wide.

  “I’m Isaiah Hawkins,” the young man said as he pulled Annie up straight. “And I’m here to relieve you of your ‘cargo.’”

  “Our what?” Annie demanded.

  Isaiah pointed to Kitch. “I’m the one who was supposed to meet him at the train station.”

  Several loud voices broke out farther up along the waterfront, and Annie’s pulse quickened as she spotted the approaching lanterns. Then the unmistakable, scratchy, deep voice of the sheriff met her ears, and her stomach wrenched tight. Had he followed them?

  Worse, a couple of barks let her know they were accompanied by dogs. Annie hadn’t particularly cared for dogs since her neighbor’s German shepherd chased her up a tree like a squirrel when she was six. From the fearful expression on Kitch’s face, it appeared he didn’t like the creatures much either.

  With wide eyes, he wrenched free of Will’s grasp, but his injured ankle couldn’t support him. Thankfully, Will was able to re-catch him before he went down.

  “Quick!” Isaiah whispered. “Give him to me. I’m here to help.”

  Will gave him a quick nod, but Annie hesitated, still unsure.

  “You can trust me, Annie,” Isaiah insisted.

  Could she? How was she to know Isaiah wouldn’t turn them all in to the sheriff the moment he arrived? And how does he know my name?

  Isaiah held her gaze a moment longer, and when she gave him a nod as well, he took Kitch from Will, opened a hatch on the back of the ferry, and stashed the runaway slave inside. A few sailors emerged from the front cabin and Annie feared Isaiah would be hollered at for trespassing, but as he worked with the other men to untie the ropes from the pier and pull up the anchor, she realized Isaiah was part of the crew.

  Had he hidden slaves on the ferry before? Did the rest of the crew know about it?

  She wished she could stay to watch the vessel cross the river…and make sure Kitch was safe. But the approaching lanterns, which bounced along the waterfront, grew brighter. And before Sherriff Davis and his men could reach them, Will took Annie’s hand in his.

  And they ran.

  Chapter 3

  Sunday morning, Annie sat rigidly upon the wooden church pew beside her parents and prayed for forgiveness for wearing her brother’s trousers beneath her skirts the night they’d taken Kitch to the ferry. She wished she had the courage to wear the scandalous new Bloomer dress, which flaunted a fashionable skirt over trousers, in public. The looser style would allow her greater freedom and not suppress her internal organs with the whalebone-fitted corset she loathed.

  However, most clergy, including Reverend Strong, denounced the wearing of pants by women, saying it usurped male authority. She wasn’t sure where God stood on the matter, but despite her discomfort, she was grateful that her life was finally getting back to normal.

  The first few nights after she and Will had helped Kitch board the ferry to freedom, she’d had nightmares of dogs, large ones with sharp, deadly teeth, chasing her, pouncing on her, and ripping the flesh from her bones.

  The last two nights had been different. Her dreams had become blissfully muddled, bouncing back and forth between her friend Louisa’s reassuring smile, Will and her parents’ expressions of concern, and a pair of grayish-blue eyes that always seemed to be watching her, waiting to see what she would do next.

  “Tell me more about the handsome young man who helped you get your cargo aboard the ferry,” Louisa said, sitting down beside her.

  Annie shifted in her seat. “I never said he was handsome.”

  “You didn’t have to,” Louisa said with a smile. “I could tell by the expression on your face when you explained to me why my instructions were no longer necessary.”

  That conversation had been five days ago, the morning after she and Will had helped Kitch escape. Apparently, Louisa had not forgotten.

  “When you slipped and the ferry worker helped you regain your balance, did he smile at you?” Louisa pressed.

  No, but his eyes did. At least she thought they did. Annie frowned. Everything had happened so fast. Could it have only been her overactive imagination? After all, she’d also mistakenly believed Henry Pennington was in love with her.

  “I’m…not sure if he smiled or not,” Annie confessed. “What do you know of Isaiah Hawkins?”

  “He and his brother arrived six months ago from somewhere in Pennsylvania,” Louisa whispered. “I overheard someone say their father passed away, leaving them a substantial inheritance, which they used to buy the livery near the train station.”

  “They must go to another church, because I’ve never seen them here,” Annie mused.

  Louisa agreed and leaned her head closer. “There are also rumors that a notorious slave catcher is headed our way. A man by the name of Simon Augustus Cole. It’s said he treats abolitionists the same way he treats slaves—with coldhearted contempt.”

  Annie shuddered. “Then it’s a good thing we aren’t hiding any more slaves. I mean cargo.”

  Louisa bit her lip. “Actually,” she confided, “three shipments arrived late last night. The sheriff and his deputies have been watching our house around the block, so we hid them in the church basement.”

  Annie’s gaze dropped to the floor, and she imagined that if she could see through the wood, she’d be able to see the slaves huddled beneath them at that very moment.

  Fearful of being caught. Whipped. Being chased by dogs.

  “Who else knows?” Annie asked, glancing about to make sure no one was listening in. “Have you told Daniel?”

  “Not yet,” Louisa said, her brows pulling tight. “He doesn’t know what we do, and I’m afraid to tell him.”

  “If he’s to be your husband, you owe him the truth,” Annie warned. “What if Daniel finds
out from someone else?”

  “You’re right,” Louisa admitted. “But what if he doesn’t like the fact I’m involved? What if he decides he no longer wants to marry me?”

  “Then he isn’t the right man for you.”

  “But I love him,” Louisa said, a catch in her voice.

  “You can rethink your involvement,” Annie offered. “And stop before you get caught.”

  Louisa looked heavenward. “But what would God have me do?”

  “Stay safe?” Annie suggested. “Can’t you let God help the people from the South?”

  “God is helping them, Annie, by using people like you and me.”

  Annie shook her head. Maybe God had used her to help one slave, but surely she and her family were now done and could go back to minding their own business. Why couldn’t Louisa do the same?

  “Mama is organizing a special women’s group,” Louisa said excitedly, her green eyes lighting up. “Perhaps you and your mother would like to join? We’re putting together care packets for the poor.”

  “You mean the poor runaways that the church harbors?” Annie clarified.

  “Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them,” Louisa said, quoting from Matthew 7:12.

  The scripture had been the first Bible verse they had both memorized as children, and had tried to live by as they grew into adults.

  To compound Annie’s guilt over wanting to stay neutral on the topic of slavery, Louisa’s father, Reverend Strong, delivered a sermon on the good Samaritan, a biblical story of a foreigner who showed compassion on a wounded man when others would not. The one who had helped was said to have been a neighbor to he who had been in need.

  Reverend Strong finished by asking the congregation, “Are you a good neighbor? Who have you been compelled to help? Is it the friend you greeted in church this morning? Those who look like you and talk like you? The people who agree with you on political issues? Or is it possible God would have you be a ‘neighbor’ to those even of a different color or background, maybe even from a different region or race?”

  The congregation looked around at each other, and one man stood up and walked out. After a few seconds’ pause, another family followed, their scowls displaying their disagreement over the issue at hand.