“Of course, Nathan. I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to ask.”
His nose was cold, but his lips were warm when he kissed her. The first of many kisses.
She ran back to her house, bursting with the news. Her parents set the date for the second Saturday in June. She floated through the next months, preparing her wedding chest and dreaming of becoming Nathan’s wife.
Although Susanna’s father had sold many horses to Nathan’s father through the years, she’d never met the women in his family. When Martha and Miriam, dressed in plain gray dresses and black bonnets, arrived the day before her wedding, Susanna was unsure how they would receive her. She knew his mother had been concerned about her not being a Quaker, but Nathan was resolute. “Susanna is the woman of my heart,” he said. “She’s willing to learn more about the Society of Friends, and that’s good enough for me.”
How his words warmed her heart and calmed her apprehension. Concern about earning her mother-in-law’s approval dwindled in the face of her husband’s love, and she married Nathan with confidence and pride.
The horses stopped, stirring Susanna from her pleasant memories. A broken tree limb lay across the road, snow lining its bare branches. She hadn’t realized how thick the snow had gotten. She tied the reins to the bench, climbed down the wagon, and pulled the branches out of the way. Thank goodness none of them were too heavy for her to move. Eli hadn’t sent an ax or hatchet with her.
She reseated herself on the bench, a gust of wind swirling her skirts about her. It was getting colder as the sun moved closer to the horizon, but still Susanna wasn’t alarmed. Two horses could easily pull the wagon as long as she stayed on the road. Perhaps she should check on Phoebe before she drove farther, but anyone who saw her might deduce the hay was a ruse.
Susanna snapped the reins and gave a silent prayer of thanksgiving as the horses began to move. Just as Mother Griffith had promised, the team pulled with resolute determination, needing almost no guidance from Susanna. Evening transformed into night, and the wind intensified, blowing the snow in horizontal sheets across the road.
A gust of wind struck her head-on, the snow clinging to the tendrils of hair that had escaped her cap. Susanna gathered the reins in one gloved hand and used the other to adjust a scarf around her bonnet. There was one good thing about the stiff brims of the Quaker bonnet—it kept most of the snow out of her face. If only all the Quaker ways were as easy as changing her bonnet style. She still hadn’t adopted the Griffiths’ way of speaking. Nathan used what he called plain speech whenever he spoke with the Friends, but never when he was conducting business in town. How odd it had been when Nathan first addressed her as thee. Now she yearned to hear his voice, telling her of his love and approval. When he finally came home, she’d cook his favorite meal and then simply sit and watch him eat. Her eyes were hungry for the sight of her husband. Especially the sight of him in their cabin, safe and warm.
Did Phoebe feel the same way? All of Susanna’s troubles seemed insignificant compared to those of the young woman who lay hidden under the wagon. Not only was Phoebe a fugitive from the law, but she was also heavy with child. She’d risked her life, and her child’s life, to be reunited with her husband.
If a woman was willing to risk everything in order to escape, then slavery must be worse than Susanna had ever imagined. The river that separated free Ohio from slave Kentucky had seen its share of drowned men and women, each one willing to die rather than live as a slave. But why did the sins of others have to endanger her husband?
Because Nathan couldn’t sit and do nothing. At least that’s how he’d explained it to her. “‘Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them,’” he’d quoted and then kissed her forehead as if to say argument concluded.
Susanna hadn’t been able to stop herself from quarreling when Nathan announced his intentions to accompany his father to Kentucky. Wouldn’t he be surprised to know she was helping a runaway? A few weeks earlier, she’d insisted that Brother Mahan’s fight had nothing to do with the Griffiths. Now she would be counted among the abolitionists.
The wind changed direction and speed. It howled through the heavily laden evergreens and pummeled her body with frosty fists. When the frigid wind stung her face like tiny pins, she knew it could mean only one thing.
Ice.
If the snow mixed with ice, the road would quickly become too slick. She estimated she was still an hour away from the Quaker settlement, but in this weather, it might take longer. Would she make it there before ice turned the road into a frozen byway? She urged the horses to pick up speed, but they increased their pace for no more than a hundred yards before they returned to their slower gait. In the dark Susanna couldn’t gauge the amount of ice collecting on the road, so perhaps it was wiser to let the horses set their own speed. They could feel the road beneath their hooves, and in the near-whiteout conditions of this storm, the horses were better judges than she.
If only she weren’t out here alone. What had she been thinking, volunteering to take a runaway slave to safety? This had never been her fight. She should have waited for someone else to come for Phoebe. Someone who wouldn’t have had to travel alone or someone who had a better hiding place for the runaway. Could she really withstand this storm for another hour? For more than an hour? As it was, someone would probably find her covered in ice, frozen to the bench like a human-sized icicle. But there was no place to stop. She’d never be able to build a fire in this wind, and surely Phoebe wouldn’t survive a full night in that small compartment under the wagon.
Susanna took a deep breath and struggled to calm her fears. Yes, the weather was bad, but panic and fear wouldn’t help. Her horses were still plodding forward, and as long as they continued to move, she and her charge would eventually get to their destination. The Quaker settlement was due north of her current position. All she had to do was keep going.
Just keep going.
The horses stopped again. One horse whinnied while the other looked back at her as if waiting for a decision. Susanna squinted at the road ahead but saw nothing except a wall of snow.
A thousand needles pricked her feet as she jumped the short distance from the wheel’s hub to the ground, her limbs protesting the movement. She patted the withers of the horse on the left. “What is it?” she asked.
The horse swung its head toward the sound of her voice and shifted its weight from one hoof to the other. Susanna walked a few feet ahead and saw what had stopped the horses. The bridge over Washburn Run was gone.
She recalled the map Eli had drawn for her. “I don’t need a map,” she’d protested. “I know the road very well.” But now she regretted her words. Although she’d made the trip with her father, she’d never thought to ask about alternate routes.
Going forward wasn’t an option. Even if the horses could swim the icy water, Phoebe would likely drown. Going back wasn’t an option. She’d come two-thirds of the way and returning to the Griffiths wouldn’t solve anything. But staying put wasn’t an option either. No one who might offer help was likely to be on the road in this weather, and Eli had cautioned her against trusting strangers.
Susanna absentmindedly stroked the horse and closed her eyes. A new level of weariness settled in her bones. If only she were in her warm cabin, safely tucked under quilts while the earth froze outside. If only she could snuggle under the hay until the weather quieted. If she could just rest for a little while, close her eyes, and let the worries dissolve into dreams of sunny summer days….
A sudden gust of wind swirled her skirt and petticoats, sending a frigid tendril into the last warm spot on her body. This was madness. She couldn’t simply stay on the road like a pile of stones. There was nothing wrong with the wagon, and she had to find shelter for the horses. What had Mother Griffith said to her? Rely on her intelligence and on the Lord’s help. Susanna lifted her gaze. Her intelligence seemed to be as frozen as the rest of her. “What should I do, Lord?” sh
e asked the dark sky. “Where should I go?”
No answer came.
Susanna sighed and rubbed her cold nose on the horse’s warm neck. Then as if driven by an invisible hand, the horses pricked their ears and began to move. Was this like Balaam’s donkey? Had they seen an angel Susanna could not see?
She stepped away from the wagon and watched the horses circle until they stopped, the wagon now headed in the opposite direction. “Fine with me,” Susanna said to the animals. “If you’ve got an idea, I’m willing to go along with it.”
She walked to the back of the wagon and raised her voice above the wind. “Everything’s all right, Phoebe. We’re just taking a different way.” No response came from the secret compartment. Was Phoebe still alive? Had she frozen to death, despite the extra clothing and quilts?
Susanna’s heart shuddered at the thought of little Phoebe lying dead in that cramped space. She lowered her face to the spot where she knew Phoebe’s head was. “Phoebe?” she called again, unsuccessful at hiding the growing tension in her voice. No answer.
“Phoebe!” Susanna shouted, preparing to remove the wooden slat. Then she heard the faint knocking from beneath the hay, and relief warmed her frozen body. Phoebe was all right. Frightened perhaps, and undoubtedly cold, but still alive.
Susanna climbed up the wagon and resumed her perch on the bench. A quick flick of the reins was all the horses needed to resume their steady pace. But where were they going? Susanna knew that a tired horse would instinctively head for the barn, but they were too far from home. Then she saw a glimmer of hope.
A light shone through the blustering snow, a mere pinpoint of illumination that glowed in the frigid gloom. As the wagon drew nearer, two dark shapes formed—a farmhouse and a barn. So that’s what the horses had sensed.
Somebody else’s barn.
Chapter 3
Susanna tucked the quilts around Phoebe and rubbed the young girl’s fingers. “You must have been freezing in that wagon.”
“Don’t worry about me, ma’am.” Phoebe smiled. “All I had to do was lie quiet. You’re the one with the red nose and white lips.”
“Oh I’m sure I look a sight,” Susanna said. “After I get you settled, I’ll see to the horses and bring up the basket of food.”
A frown crossed Phoebe’s brow. “Do you think we’ll be at your friends’ farm tomorrow?”
Susanna wanted to comfort the girl, and an empty reassurance popped into her mind, though there was no use promising what she couldn’t guarantee. “The Friends’ settlement is only an hour or so away, Phoebe. But we can’t travel on the roads until this storm passes.”
Phoebe’s gaze swept the loft. “We’ll be warm enough in here, don’t you think? If it’s warm enough for the animals, it’ll be warm enough for us.”
As long as no one finds us, Susanna thought. The farmer who owned this barn seemed to be tucked in his warm house for the night. Susanna had simply opened the doors, and the horses had pulled the wagon into the barn. Now that she’d seen to Phoebe’s safety, it was time to unhitch the horses and let them rest for the night.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Susanna promised. “Do you like gingerbread?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Phoebe answered. “Don’t think I’ve ever tasted it before.”
“Well then, you’re in for a treat.” Susanna smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner and descended the ladder. When her feet touched the packed dirt of the barn’s floor, she sagged against the rungs. “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered. “Thank You for this shelter and for keeping Phoebe safe.”
One horse nickered softly, and an involuntary smile crossed Susanna’s lips. “And, oh yes, Lord. Thank You for the wisdom of horses.”
The horse is probably laughing at that, Susanna thought. She pushed herself away from the ladder and went to unfasten the harnesses. The barn was large with stalls for two horses and one milk cow. Since there were no empty stalls for her horses, she let them walk freely in the barn. One animal went to the back of the wagon and began eating the hay, while the other drank deeply from the water trough.
Satisfied that she could do nothing else for them, Susanna took the basket of food from the wagon and returned to Phoebe. “Now,” she said, and sat next to the girl, “let’s see what Mother Griffith packed for us.”
“Granny makes butter cookies for the master’s family. Sometimes she brings home a few for us.”
Susanna passed a plate of cold chicken to Phoebe. “Is your grandmother the cook?”
“The baker,” Phoebe answered, her mouth full of meat. “Demetria is the cook. Master Hansen’s so rich, he’s got a big old kitchen that’s always hopping. But Granny isn’t my grandmother.”
“She isn’t?”
“No, ma’am. All I know is I was born in Tennessee. But Granny, she’s been good to me. When Tom and me got married, Granny made me the prettiest little bouquet of white and blue flowers. I don’t know where she got flowers in January, but I suspect the master’s wife would’ve been mighty angry if she’d discovered some of her hothouse flowers were gone. What about you, ma’am? Did you have one of those big old weddings with a new dress and sweet cake?”
Susanna thought back to her wedding day. “I suppose I did. I got married last summer. My mother and I worked on my dress for a month.”
“What color was it?”
“Yellow,” Susanna said.
“Oh, I’ve always been partial to yellow. And did you put flowers in your hair?”
“Not in my hair but on my bonnet.”
Phoebe frowned. “It’s not for me to say, ma’am, but I’m not sure flowers would help much on that bonnet.”
Susanna touched the brim of her Quaker bonnet. “Oh no, not this bonnet. This is my married bonnet. My wedding bonnet was yellow, just like my dress.”
“They made you wear that black bonnet after you got married?”
“No. I mean, nobody made me wear it. I chose to wear it, to show I was part of a Quaker family.”
As though sensing she was stepping into dangerous territory, Phoebe changed the subject. “What else is in that basket, ma’am?”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Susanna’s attention returned to the basket, where she found boiled potatoes. How could she have gone on and on about her wedding when Phoebe was probably starving?
“Tomorrow we’ll have us a hot breakfast, I reckon,” Phoebe said.
“If the storm blows itself out in time. Not even our know-it-all horses could find the road in this blizzard.”
“Know-it-all horses?” Phoebe repeated. “What do you mean by—”
A man’s voice stopped Phoebe’s question. “Who’s there?” he yelled.
The cold potato solidified in Susanna’s mouth. She’d been talking so much she hadn’t heard the door open. She glanced at Phoebe’s round, frightened eyes and put a finger to her lips. Phoebe nodded her understanding.
“Who’s there?” the man bellowed. “You didn’t drive a hay wagon into my barn, unhitch your team, and leave. I know you’re here.”
Susanna covered Phoebe’s face with a quilt. If the farmer found them, perhaps he’d believe Susanna was alone, that she’d been on the road, been caught by the storm, and had made a pallet in the shelter of his barn. It was the truth, after all. Just not the complete truth.
“This is the last time I’m asking before I get my new Kentucky rifle,” he yelled menacingly. “Who’s there?” He was losing whatever patience he had.
Susanna forced her voice out of her throat. “I am.”
The sound of a woman’s voice must have caught the farmer by surprise because her answer was met by silence. But a few seconds later, she heard footsteps on the rungs of the ladder. A flat-brimmed hat dusted with snow came into view, quickly followed by a white-bearded face.
The farmer lifted his lantern above his head, casting weak light on Susanna’s seated form. He frowned at her for several tense seconds then lowered the lantern and descended the ladder.
When she heard the barn door close, Susanna let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding. He’d seen she was alone, drawn the conclusion she’d hoped for, and had let her be. She laid a hand on top of the quilt. “It’s all right,” she whispered to the inert form. “I think he’s going to let us stay. We won’t have to face the snow until tomorrow morning.”
Phoebe uncovered her face and struggled to sit up. “Granny said that after I make it to the Quaker settlement, the people there will help me and Tom move all the way to Canada. She said it’s mighty cold in Canada. Colder even than Ohio. I guess I’d better get used to being cold.”
“Canada can’t be cold year round.” Susanna searched the basket for the gingerbread. “I bet the spring and summer are beautiful there. I saw a drawing once of a giant waterfall in Canada. It was like a whole river falling off the side of a mountain, and at the bottom plumes of mist rose higher than the trees on the bank.”
“That must be a sight to see.” Phoebe bit into the sweet bread.
The two women ate in silence, allowing Susanna to hear clearly the sound of the barn door opening. Alarm shot through her heart. Why had the farmer come back? Susanna hastily re-covered Phoebe’s head and turned to face the ladder.
It wasn’t a scowling, bearded face that rose above the loft but rather an older woman’s soft countenance. She placed a lantern on the floor and smiled at Susanna. “Now then,” she said softly. “What’s this all about?”
Susanna swallowed hard and blurted out her story. The woman listened intently, nodding her head while Susanna explained her journey to the Quaker settlement in Bear Valley, and clucking her tongue in sympathy as Susanna described the blinding storm.
“You poor thing,” the woman said. “But what about your companion? My husband said two people needed our help.”
Susanna tried to hide her surprise. How had that farmer made out Phoebe’s form in the dark loft? “Two people?” she repeated.
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 48
