by Jane Peart
Rose's mind churned with confusion and fear. How had she ever allowed herself to be drawn into such a dangerous enterprise?
Evidently Natalie was deeply involved in the Underground Railroad herself and had been seeking new contacts, new "stations," new avenues of escape for slaves seeking liberation.
Rose put clammy hands to her throbbing temples. She had been so naive! She had not imagined Natalie was pumping her for information as to the location of Montclair—right on the river! And then the priceless information about the underground tunnels leading to the spot where the "travelers" could be easily picked up by boat under cover of darkness.
Of course, by her very openness, she had been an obvious selection. It was her own fault. She had admitted her revulsion of slavery and her eagerness to help had been expressed voluntarily.
Rose closed her eyes. If she could only take back all those brave words, erase the image she had planted in Natalie's mind of a committed opponent of slavery, willing and ready to aid in any way.
Well, they had taken her up on it. Now she was involved. And she had no one but herself to blame.
As she sat there in a kind of trance, it began to dawn on her that Henrietta Colby was also a part of this chain. Mousy little Mrs. Colby? It must have been she who slipped the note into Rose's pocket while she was being fitted for the ball gown!
Well, there's no way out of it now, Rose thought hopelessly. The time, places, directions had by now been sent to all the links along the line of the Underground Railroad. She would have to go through with it, whatever the outcome.
"Luke 9:62," Rose whispered to herself. "'No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.'"
I must be brave. Rose clenched her teeth, never having felt more frightened in her life.
Rose knew one thing was imperative. Before the night on which the "package of three" was to be delivered, she must force herself to test the escape route.
Everything within her recoiled at the thought of entering that unknown underground passageway alone, with no idea of what might be lurking there after all the years of disuse. Her stomach lurched at her own imaginings. Still, she knew she had to do it. But what if part of the tunnel were blocked or had caved in? Then what would she do? There was no other way. She had to take the chance and, in case the plan was not feasible, somehow get word to her contact, Mrs. Colby.
She waited until one afternoon when the house was practically empty. Mrs. Montrose was napping; Garnet was making social calls; the men were out. Sending Tilda away on the pretext that she had sewing to do in the nursery, Rose locked the door, then located the spring that activated the hidden lock of the wall panel. It slid back silently and Rose lit her candle and stepped inside.
She hesitated, not knowing whether to slide the door shut behind her. But the possibility of getting trapped inside made her shudder, so she risked leaving it open, reminding herself that the nursery door was locked. Heart pounding in her throat, she entered.
The stairway was very steep, spiraling downward between narrow walls, the steps uneven and the treads worn hollow in the middle.
It was dark and, even though she put her hands against the clammy earthen walls, she feared that she might fall.
The steps must have first been dug out of the earth, she thought, then the wood set into them, making them both irregular in height and in length, so that no even pace could be set. It was necessary to step carefully on each one as the stairway coiled deeper and deeper into the tunnel.
Rose counted the steps under her breath to remember how many there were. The light cast by the single wavering candle she held did not give much illumination to the tricky, turning stairway, though her eyes were gradually growing accustomed to the darkness, so she must rely on her quick mind and good memory. There would probably not be another chance to make a trial journey before she had to bring fugitives through it. The very thought filled her with a choking dread.
She heard a rapid, scuttling sound and a high, screeching noise that made her blood turn to ice, and her stomach cramp. Rats! She had disturbed them in their previously private domain, and she felt a cold sweat break out all over her body at the thought of them—perhaps waiting to dart out from some hole and bite her. She fought back a scream, clutched her skirts tightly about her, and hurried forward, slipping and sliding on the slimy earthen pathway. O God! she appealed, heart banging against her ribs as she ran, tears of fright and terror streaming down her cheeks.
As she tripped on her dampened skirt, her hands flailing wildly to catch herself before she plunged headlong onto the slick ground, she saw a strip of light in the distance. With a gasp of relief she steadied herself and proceeded. A slatted wooden trapdoor could be seen overhead and a few scooped-out indentations served as steps at the end of the tunnel.
Her arms shaky with nerves and fatigue, Rose reached up, searching for some kind of latch. She found a sliding bolt and tugged it, feeling the sharp pain of a splinter and a breaking fingernail in the process. With a final thrust she was able to move the wood covering, then give it a last hard push. It clattered back, and bright sunlight flooded the cavelike hollow where she stood. Almost sobbing now, Rose tucked her skirts about her waist, knotting the ends loosely, and heaved herself slowly, laboriously through the opening. For a few minutes she lay gasping for breath on the mossy grass of the woods into which the underground tunnel led.
Her entire body ached and throbbed with strain. She was chilled to the bone and numb with cold.
It would be difficult, but at least she knew now how to do it. She had done it once and she could do it again—God helping her.
chapter
16
THE MINUTE Rose opened her eyes on the morning of the party, she felt the beginnings of panic. As she sat up in bed, the first wave of nausea washed over her, a cold perspiration dampening her brow and the palms of her hands. Her only thought was that tonight was the night when she must somehow—
Tilda came into the room, bearing a tray with breakfast. But Rose could barely eat. She nibbled on a biscuit and managed to get down a few sips of strong coffee.
The black woman frowned, eyeing her sharply. "You sick, Miss Rose?"
Rose shook her head.
"You sure lookin' peaked," Tilda persisted, then, head cocked to one side, she fixed her mistress with a suspicious eye. "Is you pregger?"
"No, Tilda, I'm fine!" Rose snapped. "Now just leave me be."
Tilda, miffed, turned away and began straightening the room, casting anxious glances in Rose's direction. It was not like her mistress to be either cross or unwell.
After a bit, Rose spoke. "I'm sorry. Maybe I'm just a little tired from all the excitement about the party tonight."
The maid was all smiles again. "Yes'm, that's prob'ly so! Sho' goin' to be afine party. Mighty pretty day for a party," she remarked as she went over to the windows and folded back the shutters.
From the bed, Rose looked out. The day was brilliant with sunshine, promising a perfect evening for the guests to be out on the veranda and garden during the early part of the evening.
After her maid left, Rose put her face in her hands. The enormity of what she had to do that evening was overwhelming. She slipped out of bed and onto her knees.
"Dear God, help me!" was the only prayer she could utter. Even as she knelt there wordless, help came in the form of a verse of Scripture that sprang to mind from the book of Philippians, fourth chapter, thirteenth verse: "I can do all things through Christ which strengthened! me."
Rose repeated the words to herself thoughout the day, a day she wished desperately were over. Yet, at the same time, she was begging the hands of the clock to move more slowly to delay the hour of testing.
By late afternoon Rose's nerves were stretched to the breaking point. It was only sheer will power that enabled her to endure Tilda's chatter as she helped her dress for the party.
Rose was too preoccupied with what lay ahead of her this nig
ht to take any joy in her maid's extravagant praise as she hooked up the bodice.
"Umm humm, Miss Rose, you is goin' to be de bell of de ball tonight, fo' sho'!" Tilda declared with satisfaction.
Mrs. Colby's skill had produced a creation worthy of a Parisian salon. The finished dress was a dream, Rose had to admit, as Tilda dropped the skirt over her three-tiered hoop. The decolletage was flattering to Rose's shoulders, and the color perfect for her dark eyes and hair. If Rose looked pale and her eyes unusually bright, it would only be attributed to excited anticipation, not dread of the evening ahead, she sincerely hoped.
"Jes' wait till Marse Malcolm see yo', Miss Rose. He goin' to be some proud," Tilda observed, stepping back to survey her mistress.
Rose could only wish desperately that the entire evening were ending instead of only beginning.
The last thing before joining the others, Rose took from her jewel box the diamond snowflake pendant Malcolm had given her the first Christmas after they were married. Her hands trembled as she fastened the clasp. What would Malcolm think if he knew what she was about to do?
An involuntary shudder shook her slender frame. Then, lifting her head bravely, she murmured the Bible phrase she had used throughout the day for encouragement, and resolutely went to join Malcolm and Mr. Montrose in the front hall to receive the guests.
Sara had been carried downstairs and was seated in the parlor like a queen ready to hold court. Indeed, she looked very regal in her Colby creation of claret satin, lavishly trimmed in cording and lace. Rose noted with particular interest that she was wearing the legendary Montrose rubies.
By this time Leighton had left for Cameron Hall to escort Dove back to Montclair; the Camerons were to follow in their own carriage.
The guests, all friends from neighboring plantations, began arriving around five. Bevies of beautifully gowned ladies, escorted by their gentlemen, were met and greeted on the veranda by Mr. Montrose, then led in to pay their respects to Sara. Music was provided by a small orchestra brought from Richmond for the occasion. A sumptuous buffet supper was served on one side of the veranda, presented with all the elegance and artistry that over a hundred years of wealth and gracious living could bring. If Rose appeared distracted, it went unnoticed in the midst of the festivities.
Sometime after supper Joshua, the Montrose's head butler, approached Rose.
"Missus," he began in a low tone, "dar's someone outside say he got to see yo'." Joshua looked disapproving. He lowered his voice again. "Doan' look lak a gennelmun, missus, but he tole me he hab somethin' important to deliver to you pussenally."
Rose felt a clutching sensation in her chest. She tried to steady her own voice, not change her expression.
"Where is he?"
"He be waitin' out the side do', missus. I wuz sho' he weren't no invited gues'," Joshua said disdainfully.
Her heart beat erratically, thumping so hard she could hardly breathe as she made her way through the party guests, smiling, nodding, stopping here and there to say a word to one acquaintance or another, to accept a compliment. All the time inwardly quivering so much that she wondered that it was not visible.
At the side door, she stepped outside, carefully closing the door behind her.
"I'm Rose Montrose," she said huskily to the man leaning against the house.
The man tipped his hat, straightened, but did not give his name in return. In a hushed voice, he said, "The merchandise is here. Behind those bushes at the end of the driveway. That's as far as I could drive my wagon. Shall I bring . . . it . . . up here?"
Though the man's voice was rough, it was not common. Who could he be? Who were these people who were willing to risk their lives like this? Were they people like herself, who had inadvertently become involved? No, she thought guiltily, there were probably many brave souls who believed in this cause so completely that life had come to mean nothing in itself.
"Wait. I'll have to see if the back stairway is clear," Rose whispered. Suddenly all that mattered was helping these poor slaves.
Although Rose had rehearsed this moment mentally for days, and even though she had made the trip through the tunnel twice, she was racked with fear. Anything could go wrong.
"'I can do anything through Christ which strengtheneth me,'" she said over and over through numbed lips.
She went back into the house and walked cautiously along the hallway to the door leading to the back staircase used by the servants to bring hot water, meal trays, and laundry baskets to the upstairs rooms. Turning the knob, she opened it, looking over her shoulder as she did, and then peering up the darkened steps. From the front of the house floated the sounds of music, the murmur of conversation, the echoes of someone's hearty laughter. All the house servants were occupied, it seemed, serving the front parlors, dining room, and veranda. The time had come!
She ran outside again and was startled to see no trace of the man in the slouch hat—only three pitiful creatures huddled together in a crouching position next to the wall of the house.
"Come!" she said, beckoning, and the three moved slowly toward her, two adults and a child.
"Hurry!" she hissed.
A small figure was thrust forward, and she saw it was a little boy of about four, his large eyes peeking out from the blanket he held around him. Rose grabbed him by the shoulders and, pushing him ahead of her, yanked open the door leading upstairs, then held it for the other two, a man and woman, both clasping tattered blankets.
They stood rooted to the spot. Rose realized they were afraid to go farther. Holding her wide skirts, she brushed by them and ran up the steps in front of them. Halfway up, she turned and saw them still standing at the bottom. Frantically she motioned them to follow her, but they seemed unable to move. She ran back down and picked up the child, feeling his skinny frame quivering like a frightened little animal. The thought struck her that he was not much older than Jonathan—nor much larger. To his parents she whispered an urgent plea, "You must hurry!" and they obeyed, scrambling up behind her.
At the top she held out her hand to halt them while she paused to look up and down the hall. It was empty. "Hurry!" she whispered again, then dashed across the hall and into Jonathan's nursery.
Without more than a glance at her sleeping baby, she moved over to the wall and pressed the panel. The secret door slid slowly open. Rose turned. The couple stood motionless; their fear, almost palpable. She set the black child down. As his blanket fell to the floor, she could see him in the dim light from Jonathan's flickering night lamp. He looked frightened to death, and Rose's heart lurched with sympathy. How far had he come on this perilous journey, sensing as a child must, his parents' fear? But there was no time to comfort him. She must secure them all, then return to the party before anyone missed her.
"You must wait here until I come at midnight to take you through the tunnel that leads down to the river. There you'll meet the boat that will take you on—" She paused, short of breath. "Do you understand?" The man nodded. "Have you food?"
The woman held up a calico bundle. "Yes'm."
"There's a lantern." Rose pointed to the one she had placed there the day before. "You know how to light it? Now be careful. You're safe here until I come. There is a pallet on the floor where you can sleep. I must go now. I'll be back when it's time."
Rose waved them into the little room and they went in silently, their faces tragic masks of suffering.
"If you hear anything, it will probably be my baby's nurse coming up to check on him. Don't be frightened. I will tap three times on the wall before I open this door," she assured them.
"Thankee, ma'am," the man mumbled in a hoarse whisper.
Rose slid the door shut then leaned on it with a heavy sigh. That part was over. Now all she had to do was get through the rest of the evening until midnight, and then the real danger would have to be faced.
She had timed the trip through the tunnel out to Eden Cottage and on to the river to take about twenty minutes. Then, if the boat was
there waiting, she would have to make her way back to the house—another twenty minutes. She prayed fervently that there would be no delay and that she could find her way without incident. Most of all, that no one would miss her in her long absence and come looking for her!
Rose took a few minutes to look at the sleeping Jonathan, to touch his rosy, round cheek, caress the soft curls, smooth the silken blanket. How precious he is to me, she thought with infinite tenderness. How terrible it would be to be forced to carry my child through the night, fraught with all kinds of dangers. My child lies here sleeping peacefully, safely, simply because he happened to be born white. Rose shook her head, newly aware of the inequity of life.
She glided down the curved front stairway, her hand on the wide banister, her skirt rustling on the polished steps. She saw with surprise and a tiny start of apprehension that Malcolm was standing there, looking up as if he had been waiting for her.
As she reached the bottom, he held out his hands.
"I've been looking for you, darling. Now that I have dutifully asked all the ladies for one dance, I'd like to escort my favorite lady out to the veranda for a breath of fresh air." He smiled as he offered Rose his arm.
On another occasion Rose would have welcomed the beauty of the spring evening and the opportunity to be with her husband, unobserved. On this night an almost full moon was rising slowly above the trees, shedding a lovely, luminous glow. It would be far safer to travel under cover of darkness, she reasoned, terror striking her heart.
Tonight, moonlight meant danger!
chapter
17
AT MIDNIGHT, supper was to be served. Rose, chatting with Stewart Cameron, pretending an amused interest in the humorous experience he was recounting, was tensely aware of the time. Over the music she heard the grandfather clock begin to strike the hour of twelve.
Forcing a smile, she said with an air of gaiety, "Excuse me, Stewart, but I must run upstairs to check on baby Jonathan before supper. Forgive a doting new mama!"
