A Family Apart

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Frances’s eyes did not close right away. She kept repeating to herself Mrs. Mueller’s explanation of sacrifice. If you love someone enough to give up something you prize—Is this what you were trying to tell me, Ma, when I was too angry and hurt to really listen?

  Ma’s face, as it had looked in the courthouse hallway, appeared before her. Frances could see the pain in her mother’s eyes as she remembered her words: “Help me, love. Help me to make them understand.”

  A hard knot inside Frances’s chest melted with such a rush of tears that she curled tightly underneath the quilt to smother the sound, whispering again and again, “Oh, Ma! Ma, I do understand!”

  Morning broke clear, the night’s snowfall leaving only a fine dusting of white across the hills. Frances quickly pulled on her clothes and hurried downstairs.

  “How are Janus and Odette?” Frances asked as she devoured a huge breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and frizzled ham slices.

  “They’re fine,” Mrs. Mueller said. “They’ve been given warm clothing and food and sent on their way long ago. No one will be able to stop them now. I can promise you that.”

  Frances leaned back in her chair with a happy sigh. She had done it! She had helped them to escape! She could hardly wait to get home to tell Jake and Margaret. “I should leave, too,” she told Mrs. Mueller. “I’m needed at home, because Jake is too ill to do the chores.”

  Johnny dashed into the room. “I heard what Frankie said, and I’ve got a good plan. I’ll ride home with him and help. I’ll even take a turn with the horses.”

  “Sure, that’s a grand idea!” Frances exclaimed.

  “Just how would you get home, Johnny?”

  “Uh—Frankie could drive me back.”

  “And once more back and forth?” Mrs. Mueller laughed. “Frankie is capable of driving alone. He’s proved what he can do.”

  “Awww,” Johnny complained. “Pa never lets me drive alone, and I’m a year older than Frankie.”

  His mother gave him a playful swat on his bottom. “Since you are so old you must be very strong, so you can go out and help hitch Frankie’s wagon. Get along with you!”

  Along with food for the journey, Mrs. Mueller carried to the barn a length of dress fabric, a seedcake, and a pot of cheese to take to Margaret. “We’ll find something with which to wrap that cheese well, so the cold won’t spoil it.”

  Frances, eager to get on her way, spotted the black shawl and picked it up. “I can use this,” she said. She wrapped the cheese and tucked the packages into a corner of the wagon. Then she folded the canvas next to them.

  “Take care,” Mrs. Mueller told her, and Johnny yelled, “I’ll see you at the Christmas party!”

  Frances waved and led the horses south on the road toward home.

  Although icy, the river was still easy to ford. The horses stepped briskly as though they knew they were headed for home. With no load to take back, the nearly empty wagon bounced on the road, and the team, with less to pull, made better time. Frances hummed to herself, delighted at the picture in her mind of Janus and Odette reaching freedom in Canada. As soon as all the slaves had been freed and she didn’t need to keep the Underground Railroad secret any longer, she would write to Mike and tell him all about the adventure—and Ma, too. Wouldn’t Mike think it a grand thing and wish he’d been with her! And she could almost hear Ma saying, “Ah, love, it’s so very proud of you I am.”

  She’d write the story to Megan, too. As the two eldest girls in the family, she and Megan had always shared a special bond. When Megan heard about Odette and Janus’s freedom, she’d be just as happy for them as Frances was now.

  Although the white-frosted hills were serene under a clear sky, the wind prickled Frances’s face with sharp slivers of cold, so she kept urging Sal and Daisy to keep up their pace. As she looked west she thought long about Megan. The couple who took her had a home out on that prairie. It was so far away, and Frances missed her sister so much. She hoped the isolated prairie life would not be hard on the gentle, sensitive Megan.

  Frances missed Ma, too. She could hardly wait to get to the Cummingses’ farm so she could write to her mother. When she wrote to tell Ma of her adventure, Frances would also tell her that she’d been wrong—that now she really did understand Ma’s sacrifice.

  Frances was almost home when the marshal and the two bounty hunters suddenly appeared on the road. They’d never know how close they’d come to the slaves they’d been tracking. They’d ride on, retracing their steps toward the north, searching for Odette and Janus in vain. Frances raised a hand to wave at the marshal and was surprised when he turned with the bounty hunters and rode beside her for a few moments.

  “Glad the weather didn’t close in on you,” he said.

  “It was an easy trip,” Frances answered. She was aware that one of the men was poking the barrel of his rifle in the back of the wagon. She suppressed a smile. He wasn’t going to find any hidden slaves behind the cake and cheese.

  The cheese! Suddenly Frances realized that she foolishly had used Odette’s shawl to wrap the pot of cheese! How could she have been so stupid? She froze, clinging to the reins so tightly her fingers became numb.

  “Give my regards to your folks,” Marshal Dawson said, and he urged his horse on. But one of the bounty hunters suddenly yelled, “Wait a minute, Marshal! Pull up, boy!” He pointed his rifle at her head to make sure that she obeyed.

  The man grabbed the wrapped pot of cheese and shook the shawl until its contents tumbled into the wagon. He waved the shawl over his head. “Ain’t this what that slave woman was wearin’?”

  The other bounty hunter examined it closely. “Looks like.”

  “Where did you get this shawl?” the marshal asked Frances, and this time his voice was stern.

  “I found it on the ground,” Frances said truthfully. “I used it to wrap the cheese so it wouldn’t freeze.”

  “On the ground where?” Marshal Dawson asked.

  Frances lifted her chin, staring back. No matter how frightened she was, she wasn’t about to give him an answer.

  “We can figure that out,” one bounty hunter said to his partner. “C’mon, let’s head north. You take care of this lawbreakin’ boy, Marshal.”

  He tossed the shawl into the wagon, and the two of them set off at a gallop.

  Janus and Odette had been given a long head start. Mrs. Mueller had promised that they’d be in no more danger, and the Muellers could handle these two ruffians, so Frances didn’t worry about them. She only wanted to get home to Jake and Margaret. Could they help her? What would become of her?

  “I’ll ride back with you to Jake’s place.” The marshal’s words broke into her thoughts. “You know, son, that as of now you’re under arrest.”

  Frances jumped as though he’d struck her. Under arrest! Did that mean she’d go to prison? She shuddered. Would Jake and Margaret be arrested, too? What would happen to Petey? Her new parents had made a home for her, and now everything was about to be lost. Tears spilled from her eyes, stinging her cheeks. She’d lose her new family and her old family!

  It was true she had broken the law. There was no question about it, so she’d have to accept the punishment. She couldn’t be saved the way Mike had been saved. There was nowhere left to send her. It’s all so unfair! she thought. If a law hurts people, then shouldn’t it be broken? Frances concentrated on driving the wagon, angrily rubbing away the tears.

  As they reached the house, Marshal Dawson was firm with Jake, who had come out on the porch. The marshal explained what had been found in the wagon and what it obviously meant.

  “Frankie is innocent of breaking any law,” Jake said. “He’s a child. Any fault that may be found is mine.”

  “Frankly,” the marshal said, “my sympathies lie with the abolitionists, but I’m sworn to uphold the law. I’ve got no proof that you had anything to do with this, Jake, so I’m not puttin’ you under arrest, but whether you had or not, I’ve still got to arrest this boy an
d take him to town to be charged.”

  “That shawl is your only proof!” Margaret objected. “Frankie said he found it! Anyone could have dropped it!”

  Petey ran out on the porch calling, “They’re coming! They’re coming! I saw them from the window upstairs!”

  Everyone turned to look in the direction Petey was pointing. “See!” Petey yelled. “Mr. MacNair and Mrs. Banks said they’d come and see us, and there they are!”

  “Oh, no!” Frances whispered, in agony that they should see her being arrested. “Not now!”

  The marshal put a firm hand on Frances’s shoulder. “I have to take the boy with me,” he said.

  Margaret pushed his hand away. “No!” she cried. “Frankie is my son, and I won’t let you have him!”

  Jake, even more pale than before, stepped between Frances and the marshal. “We need to talk, Marshal Dawson. But let’s wait until Andrew MacNair gets here. Frankie is still under Andrew’s supervision.”

  Andrew tied their horses to the rail as Katherine ran up onto the porch. She put her arms on Margaret’s shoulders and studied her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “What happened?”

  “I’ll tell you,” the marshal said, and proceeded to list the facts.

  Katherine shook her head and laughed, while Margaret gasped and said, “Katherine! This situation is not humorous!”

  “Of course it is,” Katherine said. “It’s nonsense.” She smiled at the marshal. “Do you actually believe that a little thirteen-year-old girl could do all that you say?”

  “Girl?”

  Everyone turned and stared at Frances, who began to blush furiously. “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “It’s true. I really am a girl. I didn’t know what to do except pose as a boy. I overheard Mr. MacNair say that boys were easier to place together, and I’d promised our ma that I’d take care of Petey. I borrowed Mike’s knife to cut my hair and put on some boys’ clothes.” She looked around the group, from face to face. Jake’s mouth fell open, Margaret’s eyebrows shot up, and Andrew looked completely bewildered. “It did work out,” Frances added, “because Petey and I were able to stay together!”

  The marshal cleared his throat a couple of times before he said, “I can’t just take your word for it, young man—uh, well—whoever you are. I suppose I’ll need proof.”

  Frances shrank back against Margaret, who shouted at the marshal, “Oh, no you won’t!”

  For a moment he looked bewildered, then his face turned a dark red. “Well, I—I didn’t mean—” he stuttered.

  Katherine smiled at the marshal. “As I see it, we have only one problem to settle—the ownership of that shawl. You said it was a black shawl, with blue embroidered flowers in the corner?”

  He nodded.

  “Why, Marshal Dawson,” she said, “I do believe that could be mine. If you’re ever in St. Joe, I’ll see if I can find a bill of sale for it.”

  Marshal Dawson pursed his lips together and rubbed hard at his chin. Frances wondered if he were trying to keep from laughing. “It appears there’s been a big mistake here,” he said, and a broad smile succeeded in escaping. “We now have no evidence that a crime has been committed, and, in any case, there’s no way I’m going to arrest a little girl.”

  Touching the brim of his hat and nodding to the women, this time including Frances, he got back on his horse and rode away.

  For a moment no one spoke. It was more than Frances could take. “It’s so very tired I am of pretending to be a boy!” she cried. “Even if you send me away, I need to be myself! I need to be a girl again! I didn’t want to lie to you, and I can’t do it anymore!” Her tears burst out in a torrent.

  Margaret’s arms were around her, hugging her, holding her, stroking back her cropped hair. And it was Margaret’s voice she heard soothing her, saying, “Oh, Frankie, I love having a daughter!”

  Frances held Margaret, tightly, the love she felt melting away all the mixed-up feelings that had been tormenting her. She would always love Ma, whether she could be with her or not, but she had a new home with people who loved her, too, who generously shared their life with Petey and her. What an enormous relief it was, not having to pretend any longer to be someone she wasn’t!

  It occurred to her with a jolt that there was something she’d forgotten, and maybe Margaret and Jake had, too. She pulled away from Margaret, turning earnestly to Jake. “Because I’m a girl it doesn’t mean I can’t still help you with the farm work. I’m strong and I work hard. You saw how quickly I learned to milk the cows and handle the horses. I—”

  Jake lifted a hand to quiet Frances. For a moment he seemed to think about it. Then he grinned, and Frances knew he’d been pretending. “I’d just as soon work with a daughter as with a son,” he said. His eyes became serious. “No son could make me any more proud than I am right now of you, Frankie.”

  “Not Frankie! Her name is really Frances Mary!” Petey shouted in a rush. “It’s not a secret anymore, so I can tell her real name!” He broke off, clapping a hand over his mouth, and whispered cautiously, “Can’t I?”

  Laughing, the men led the horses off to the barn to care for them, Petey on their heels.

  Frances took the handkerchief Margaret handed her and wiped her eyes, staring with wonder at Katherine. “How did you know I was a girl?”

  “Two reasons.” Katherine reached into the cloth purse that hung at her waist and pulled out a letter. “Your mother wrote to ask about the welfare of her children, telling something about each of you and giving your full names.” She handed the envelope to Frances. “I know you’d like to read her letter.”

  “Oh, yes!” Frances said, clutching it eagerly.

  Katherine continued. “Finding you were a Frances Mary instead of a Frankie didn’t come as that much of a surprise to me.” She lowered her voice and grinned at Frances. “I began to suspect that you were a girl by the way you looked at Andrew MacNair.”

  Frances felt her cheeks grow warm, and she ducked her head.

  “He’s too old for you,” Katherine teased.

  “But not for you,” Margaret added with a chuckle. “However, that’s just between us women.”

  Frances laughed, hugging Margaret again. “Wait until my brothers and sisters find out what has happened!” she exclaimed.

  “Mike will think it’s more exciting than a dime novel,” Katherine said.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Frances said, “the best thing is that now I’m back to being a girl!”

  Grandma Briley gently closed the cover of the journal and lightly patted the soft blue binding.

  Jennifer leaned forward eagerly. “Don’t stop!”

  “Yeah!” Jeff said. “Tell us more!”

  Grandma got out of her chair and pinched two shriveled leaves from a hanging basket of pothos ivy. “Not now,” she said. “I’m going to make dinner early, because the City Council is meeting tonight. But if you’d like me to, I’ll tell you Mike’s story tomorrow.”

  “What about those people who adopted Mike?” Jeff asked.

  “I didn’t like them,” Jennifer said.

  “Neither did Mike,” Grandma told her.

  “I suspected them right away,” Jeff said.

  Grandma looked mysterious. “Then you won’t be surprised to find out that Mike was suspicious of them, too. Why, Mike even began to wonder if Mr. Friedrich had committed a murder!”

  “Murder?” Jeff said. “Tell us—did he?”

  “For now you can help me set the table,” Grandma teased. “Mike’s story will just have to wait until tomorrow.”

  JOAN LOWERY NIXON has been called the grande dame of young adult mysteries. She is the author of more than 130 books for young readers and is the only four-time winner of the Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Young Adult Novel. She received the award for The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore, The Séance, The Name of the Game Is Murder, and The Other Side of Dark, which also won the California Young Reader Medal.

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