The farmer’s wife stepped off the ladder and into the loft. “Two plates,” she explained, pointing to the pile of bones. “You may have eaten all that chicken by yourself, but you wouldn’t have used two plates to do it.”
Susanna felt her face redden with mortification. What if her oversight had ruined all of Phoebe’s hopes? She got to her feet and forced herself to meet the older woman’s eyes.
The farmer’s wife touched Susanna’s arm. “I see by your bonnet that you’re a Quaker.”
“My husband’s family are Friends,” Susanna answered. “I wear the bonnet out of respect for them.”
The older woman’s eyebrows drew together in a look of confusion. “You’re not a Quaker? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, but…I mean, no. I’m…” No one had ever challenged Susanna in this manner. Only those who knew her and the Griffiths knew that Susanna had yet to petition the committee for membership in the Society of Friends.
The farmer’s wife patted Susanna’s arm. “No matter. I only ask because the fact that you’re going to the settlement at Bear Valley with a person you want to keep hidden makes me wonder if you’ve got a runaway slave hidden beneath those quilts.”
Susanna felt her stomach drop to her knees. Had she really made it this far, come so close to delivering Phoebe to safety, only to fail?
“And that bonnet says Quaker whether you deny it or not,” the older woman continued. “We know the Quakers at Bear Valley have helped many a runaway before. Plus, a woman needing help would have come straight to the house, not tried to hide in our barn.”
Susanna fisted her hands near her heart. She was at the mercy of this woman and her husband. “What are you going to do?”
“Help you inside and bed you down near the fireplace. If the storm has blown itself out by daybreak, my husband and I will put you back on the road.”
Unbidden tears sprang into Susanna’s eyes. “Oh, thank you,” she whispered.
“We are Samuel and Elizabeth Miller, and you are safe with us tonight. Once morning comes, you and your companion will have to be on your way. Alone.”
“Yes, thank you,” Susanna agreed. A new surge of energy strengthened her legs as she turned to help Phoebe to her feet. Mrs. Miller might think she’d be alone, but Susanna had learned one thing in the last few hours. The Lord was most certainly with her.
♦ ♦ ♦
Daybreak found Susanna sitting across the kitchen table from Samuel Miller. She’d greeted him cheerfully, even offered to help prepare breakfast, but the farmer continued to glower at her under his white bushy eyebrows.
“There are quite a few snowdrifts on my fields,” he said, “and I can’t say if the road will be any better. But I dare not allow that runaway to remain on my property much longer.”
“I understand,” Susanna answered. “We’ll be on our way. Can you direct me to another road that will take us to the Quaker settlement?”
“Humph,” he said. “It’s not much of a road, but it’s the only way. There’s a network of trails the farmers around here use to drive livestock to market. That’ll have to do.” He pushed back from the table and reached for his hat and jacket. “Come to the barn when you’re ready, and I’ll show you the way. My wife and your companion are already there.”
“Thank you,” Susanna said, but the farmer was gone. Strange man, she thought. He’d been willing to let her and Phoebe stay in his house; now he wanted nothing to do with them.
Susanna put on the final layers of her clothing and stepped outside. Pristine snow lay on the ground, and deep drifts bordered the house and barn, but the wind had finally stilled. Glints of sunlight bounced off the crystalline flakes, filling Susanna with a renewed sense of purpose. At least there’d be no storm to fight.
In the barn she found the team hitched to the wagon. Phoebe sat on a nearby bench, smiling. “Today’s the day,” she announced. “Today I see my Tom. Are you rested and ready to go?”
Susanna’s heart warmed at Phoebe’s cheerfulness. “I’m ready. But sorry to say you’ll have to go back into the hiding spot.”
“I know,” Phoebe replied. “That don’t matter to me. Just give me a hand, and I’ll squeeze myself right in.”
“Let me help you,” Mrs. Miller said, rounding the wagon. “Susanna, I refilled your basket with a few things to eat on the road.”
Susanna reached for Mrs. Miller. “Thank you for everything.” She squeezed the older woman’s hands. “If ever I can repay you—”
“Just take care of yourself,” Mrs. Miller interrupted. “There wasn’t anyone on the road during last night’s storm, but today will be different.”
Susanna climbed up the wagon and took her place on the bench. Mr. Miller rode up on a large roan gelding. “I’ll go ahead of you. Follow my tracks. If I see anyone who may give you trouble, I’ll come back to make sure you’re all right. Otherwise, it’d be better for me and Mrs. Miller if no one suspected we traveled together.”
He was going to guide her? That was more than she’d expected. Perhaps his stern face masked a gentle heart. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. I appreciate all your kindness.”
The farmer gave no response, only darkened his countenance and prodded his horse to move. Susanna looked back to where Mrs. Miller stood alone. The farmer’s wife gave a nod, signaling that Phoebe was situated. After lifting her hand in farewell, Susanna drove the horses through the open barn door.
“Thank You for the Millers, Lord,” she said as the wagon rumbled along the snow-covered ground. “Thank You for opening their hearts to us.”
Chapter 4
Nathan and his father squeezed into the small courtroom on the second floor of the courthouse. Spectators spilled out onto the building’s wide porch and to the lawn. Atop the courthouse, a bell tolled eleven times as the judge took his seat and called the court to order. Despite the crowd, the room was silent.
Witnesses and lawyers took turns giving evidence and arguing legal points, but Nathan’s mind was on the other side of the Ohio River. If all went well, he’d go home to Susanna soon. How he missed her smile and her warm softness. He couldn’t wait to sit by the evening fire and tell her about all he’d seen and done in Kentucky.
“Does thee see how calm Brother Mahan is?” Thomas whispered. “How strong he is in the Lord?”
Nathan refocused his attention on the lawyers. How eloquently they spoke against a citizen of Ohio being tried by a court in Kentucky. Yet their persuasive words did not hide the biggest threat to Nathan’s family. If Brother Mahan were found guilty, the Griffiths and all the other abolitionists who helped runaway slaves could be identified and dragged out of the Free States for trials in the South.
Fraudulent trials no doubt, just like this one. Nathan thought of Brother Mahan’s wife, Polly. She and the children had also suffered. What if Nathan had to make a decision between what his conscience told him was right and his duty as a husband to protect Susanna? Would he make the right choice?
As so often happened, a Bible verse floated into his mind. “Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.” Nathan gave silent thanks for the Holy Spirit’s comfort. Yes, he’d see this trial through. He’d stand at his father’s side, and then go home to his wife.
His lovely wife, safe at home.
♦ ♦ ♦
Susanna followed the gelding’s tracks into the rising sun. Why had the Millers been so cautious about letting her and Phoebe stay with them? She knew runaways could sometimes bring huge bounties to the hunters who tracked them, but neither the farmer nor his wife had said a word about fear of discovery.
Of course when Susanna had asked about Phoebe’s whereabouts, Mrs. Miller had indicated that the girl was “safe in an upstairs room.” Maybe the Millers had a hiding place. That would mean they were part of the network of people who helped runaway slaves and, other than their kindness to two strangers caught in a blizzard, the Millers had given no hint of their involvement.
/> Susanna turned her face to warm in the winter sunlight. God’s creation never ceased to amaze her. A few hours earlier, she’d been fighting freezing wind and biting snow. Now she crossed the placid landscape at an untroubled pace. The route wound through fenced fields that lay under untouched mantles of snow, and although there were high drifts against the fences, the snow on the trail was only a few inches deep. Scattered along the way, heavily laden evergreens huddled in tight groups. On any other day, when she wasn’t worried about a runaway slave, Susanna would’ve enjoyed the drive.
Mr. Miller had ridden so far ahead of her she’d never actually seen him, but his tracks made the course easy to follow. She scanned the trail he’d set for her. His horse’s tracks showed a clear route, but a few yards later she pulled her team to a stop.
There was a troubling disturbance in the immaculate snow. Hoofprints led from the tree line to the trail, stomping the snow into violet slush where Mr. Miller’s horse had halted. Then what had happened? Susanna urged the horses on a few yards until she saw the single horse’s tracks leading away from the slush.
“Whoa,” she called to the horses, pulling on the reins. The obedient team halted as Susanna pondered the situation. Evidently, Mr. Miller had been stopped on the road, perhaps hailed by other travelers. He’d gone on, apparently alone. But if that were the case, where were the other travelers?
There were no other tracks. Either the other horses had evaporated into the sky or returned to the tree line from whence they’d come. That meant they were probably still there. A sharp pain darted through Susanna’s head, and she rubbed her gloved hand against her forehead. Hadn’t Mr. Miller said he’d come back if she were in trouble? Did the fact that he’d ridden ahead mean there was no danger?
Susanna’s head dropped to her chest. What should she do? Hadn’t she been through enough already? She’d nearly frozen to death the night before, and now just when the way seemed clear, she was forced to make another decision. Go ahead into possible danger, or turn back?
Turn back to where? Not to the Millers’ farm. They’d made it clear they weren’t willing to risk anything more.
Perhaps she could unhitch one of the horses and ride it to the settlement. She’d be faster on horseback, perhaps fast enough to outrun whatever trouble pursued her. And once she was among the Friends, one or more of them could return with her to the wagon.
But that would mean leaving Phoebe alone. Besides, she had no saddle for the horse, and she hadn’t ridden bareback since she’d been a little girl. Images of galloping past villainous bounty hunters faded as reality took hold. If Susanna tried to outrace any pursuers, she’d end up on her bottom in the snow.
Susanna examined the single horse’s tracks that led away from the slushy mess. Her imagination was running away with her. Obviously, Mr. Miller had been stopped by someone and then ridden on alone. That he hadn’t returned to warn her could mean only one thing: she had nothing to worry about.
Susanna flicked the reins across the horses’ backs, and the wagon pulled ahead. They’d only traversed a few yards when two riders dashed from the tree line, their horses sending white plumes into the air as hooves crunched on snow. The lead rider blocked the trail, forcing Susanna’s horses to stop while the other man paused beside the wagon.
He was a heavyset man dressed in a blue duster. He touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “Morning, ma’am. How are you this fine morning?”
His friendly tone didn’t fool Susanna. While one hand held his horse’s reins, the other rested on the rifle laid across his saddle.
The second rider, a lean man with a sweat-stained hat, moved to the opposite side of the wagon. “Seems as though she don’t much want to talk to you, Baxter.”
The first rider smiled again. “Is that right, ma’am? You don’t want to talk to me?”
It was one thing to be stopped by these men, but another to be toyed with—like a cat with its prey. “What do you want?” Susanna asked.
“So you do have a voice,” Baxter said, a tobacco-stained smile crossing his face. “See there, Jamison? She ain’t scared of me.”
Jamison moved his jacket so that Susanna could see the pistol he’d shoved into his waistband. “I guess she’s not,” he replied.
Were they thieves? Bounty hunters? Only men determined to cause trouble carried pistols. Susanna put iron into her voice. “I repeat. What do you want?”
Baxter stood in his stirrups and leaned toward her. “I’ll tell you what we want.” His words were ripe with menace. “We want to know what you’ve got in that wagon.”
Susanna adopted a casual air and looked over her shoulder then frowned at Baxter in a pretense of confusion. “Hay, of course.”
Jamison laughed loudly. “Guess she told you.” He threw his voice into a falsetto and imitated her. “Hay, of course.”
Baxter wasn’t amused. “I see by your bonnet that you’re a Quaker. Bet you’re on your way to that Quaker settlement in Bear Valley.”
Susanna bristled at his intimidation. “What business is it of yours?”
Jamison let out another bark of laughter. “You’ve got yourself a hot one there, Baxter. Maybe you should be scared of her.”
Baxter ignored his partner’s outburst. “It’s what’s under the hay that interests me, ma’am. You see, we know Quakers like to hide runaway slaves any way they can. And a wagon big as this one, loaded with all that hay…Why, I’m thinking there could be at least four or five grown men hidden in there.”
Susanna straightened, preparing herself to take on whatever trouble these men hurled. “No men are hidden in that hay,” she asserted.
Baxter scratched the back of his head, pushing his hat low across his forehead. “I’ve heard that Quakers consider it a sin to tell a lie, but I don’t think I quite believe you. It’s awfully strange for a woman to be driving a hay wagon all by herself. Where’s your man?”
Although she’d been trying to deny her fear, dread settled in the pit of Susanna’s stomach. These men were bounty hunters. If they found Phoebe, who knew where they’d stop in their desire to punish those who aided the runaways?
“No answer, eh?” Baxter sneered at her. “Jamison, you awake over there?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Go to the back, and light that hay on fire. Then we’ll just sit back and wait for the slaves to jump out.”
Fire? Alarm joined the dread in Susanna’s belly. The fire could easily destroy the wagon and the hay. The thought of Phoebe trapped in the smoke and flames, burned alive or suffocated by the smoke, gave rise to a new level of terror.
Jamison dismounted and walked to the back of the wagon. Although Susanna couldn’t see him, she heard the flint striking steel and knew she had only seconds to act. What should she do?
Drive ahead? No. There was no way her heavy wagon could outrun these men’s horses. Where was Mr. Miller? Why hadn’t he come back to help?
Baxter moved his horse to the rear of the wagon. “What’s wrong?” he asked the other bounty hunter. “Don’t tell me you can’t light a fire.”
“You know I can,” Jamison answered. “But it’s not so easy with wet hay.”
Baxter climbed off his horse. “Give me that,” he ordered. “I’ll do it.”
This is my chance, Susanna thought. With both men on the ground, she’d have a few moments to act before they could remount and chase her. The sickening smell of smoke wafted from the back of the wagon. How could she protect Phoebe?
She scanned the trail, desperately seeking a solution.
Then she saw the answer.
Susanna yelled and snapped the reins hard, forcing the team to pull quickly. The horses whinnied and flattened their ears as smoke reached their noses, but they obeyed her command.
It would be difficult to convince the team to do what she wanted, but perhaps the smoke would confuse them enough to go against their natural instincts. She snapped the reins harder, and the animals picked up speed.
Behind her, sh
e heard the men cursing and undoubtedly struggling to mount. She dared not look back. With another sharp snap of the reins, she drove the horses straight into a snowdrift.
The horses struggled to pull away but Susanna held the reins. “Whoa,” she called. “Easy, now. Easy.” She tied the reins to the bench and peered down the side of the wagon. Yes! She’d buried the secret compartment in the snow. That should protect Phoebe from both fire and smoke.
Without a second’s hesitation, Susanna crawled over the bench to the top of the hay mound. She grabbed the pitchfork and tossed the burning clumps of hay onto the surrounding snow. Hold on, Phoebe, she pleaded silently. Just hold on.
Baxter and Jamison rode toward the wagon, the leaner man laughing and slapping his hat on his thigh. “What do you think you’re doing, you crazy Quaker?” Baxter yelled. “You’re going to get yourself burnt to a crisp.”
Susanna ignored the men. From her spot on top of the load, she could see what the bounty hunters couldn’t. The hay, still damp from the previous night’s snow, was smoking more than burning, and the dry hay near the wagon’s floor was packed too tightly to get enough air to burn. If she could remove the few patches of smoldering hay, she’d reduce the possibility of Phoebe taking in too much smoke.
Baxter used his rifle to nudge Jamison. “Get up there and help her.”
Jamison stopped laughing. “What? Have you lost your mind, too?”
“You heard me,” the heavyset man said. “Since the hay’s too wet to burn good, get up there and help her throw it all out.”
“I ain’t no farmhand,” Jamison argued. A look passed between the men. Then Jamison dismounted and, muttering beneath his breath, climbed to the top of the mound. He snatched the pitchfork from Susanna’s hands. “Get down,” he commanded. “Get out of here so I can find the runaways you’re trying so hard to save.”
She hesitated. Should she cooperate or stand up to the bounty hunter? If he emptied the wagon, he’d prove there were no slaves beneath the hay. Then perhaps the two men would let her go on her way.
Jamison lowered his head to within an inch of hers and snarled, “Get off this wagon right now, or I’ll throw you off.”
A Plain and Sweet Christmas Romance Collection Page 49
