“I’m much obliged.” Will liked the Simons very much. Odd how he felt freer with ex-slaves than he did around Ann Miller, who seemed stiff and uncomfortable in his presence.
“I should be heading back,” Mr. Miller said.
“Say good night to your sweet little girls for me,” Clara said. “Maybe they can come for a visit tomorrow.”
Mr. Miller took his leave, and Will spread out his borrowed quilt in front of the hearth, trying to compress himself into a corner to give the Simons some room. Clara was weak from the malaria relapse that Mr. Miller had spoken of—she could not continue talking much longer. But John exchanged a few more words with Will, his brown face even warmer in the firelight. He asked him about his escape and marveled at the kindness of Mrs. Crandall.
“Bless her soul. Just like Mr. Miller. They know what the Good Book says. ‘For I was hungry, and you gave me meat; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in.’ Plenty of folk read it, but the Almighty bless the ones that do it.”
Rolled on his side by the fire, Will murmured assent. He was unaccustomed to discussing religion, but John’s profound gratitude touched a chord of similar feeling in him.
John glanced at Clara to make sure she was dozing again. “I thank the Lord every night for what he’s done for us already, no matter what he has in store.”
Will thought about it. The miracle of his escape bore a heavenly handprint that one would have to be a fool to ignore. His father would certainly have given all the credit to Providence, had he been in Will’s place—he would credit heaven for the pirate-man and the brotherhood of the whip—for the seeming accident of stumbling to Mrs. Crandall’s doorstep when he might have died alone beside the road.
“I will give thanks too,” Will said.
John nodded, pulled the quilt over his wife, and lay back to close his eyes. The concentration on his face was not sleep—he was praying. Will averted his gaze, conscious of intruding.
Facing the hearth, he closed his own eyes so the dim firelight flickered red through his eyelids. He could be in Master Good’s barn right now—or buried behind it. He was alive and free tonight only by the grace of heaven. As he went deep into that thought, he felt a palpable presence all around him—something vast and holy, listening and waiting. Lord, thank you for delivering me. Thank you for your servants who took me in as a stranger and a beggar. I will live out my gratitude in service. I will do for others what they have done for me. I am your man now. He opened his eyes and stared at the low ceiling, astounded and filled with peace as never before.
The intense feeling of presence subsided, as if someone standing next to him had just moved away but remained in the room. The fire burned so low on the hearth that only a few embers sparked in the darkness, the smell of hardwood rich in the air. He watched the glowing fragments for a long while.
Eventually he realized that he would have to relieve himself before sleeping. He clambered to his feet, still careful of his healing scabs and his sore bones.
He slipped out the door as quietly as he could. The night air was cold and pure; he walked out into the trees where he could not possibly be seen or heard.
A night animal screeched a few hundred yards away in the treetops. He jumped. An owl? He had to calm his nerves; he was as skittish as a colt.
As he fastened his trousers and turned back to the cabin, he stopped.
There, in the moonlit empty field beyond the trees, a shadow moved. A human shadow, flitting across the field like a wraith.
He watched it, paralyzed with anxious conjecture. It flowed toward the Miller home, but soon disappeared from his limited vantage point.
He had to know who it was. His coat lay back inside the cabin, but he did not want to disturb the Simons again, and if he did, he might lose the track of the shadow. He followed as softly as he could through the grove and out into the field.
Twenty-Six
ANN AWOKE.
It was quiet in her room. An odd quiet, as if the house held its breath. She did not know what had awakened her or why she lay still, afraid to move.
Tap tap tap.
At her window. Her heartbeat quickened. Should she open the shutter? One of the girls might have wandered out.
She pushed away her quilt and stood, shivering in her light cotton gown. The plank floor creaked under her feet as she tiptoed to the window.
A low whisper came from the other side. “Mr. Miller.”
Someone had mistaken her window for her father’s. One of their houseguests, she was sure, though she could not imagine what someone might want at this hour. She had better answer before the noise roused the girls. She hurried to her desk to light the small lamp, then carried it back to the window. Ignoring the flutter beneath her breastbone, she unlatched the shutter and opened it.
Will Hanby.
At the sight of her, his eyes widened. “I meant to wake your father.”
“What is it?” She was glad that only her face was visible through the small window. It would never do to show herself in a nightgown. She pressed closer to the wall to be sure he could not see.
“There was someone outside your house just now, creeping around. I ran after him, but he made it to the woods and disappeared.”
“What?”
From the gentle way he spoke, he seemed to understand that she was still sleep-befuddled. He repeated what he had just said while she tried to collect her thoughts.
“What did he look like?” she asked.
“I couldn’t see—it was too dark.”
“It could be Rumkin.”
“Who?”
“A bounty hunter chasing the Simons.”
“Or”—his eyes lowered—“it could be someone seeking me.” The strong contours of his face gathered shadows in the wavering lamplight.
He looked up and met her gaze. They were only inches apart. She stood silent, unsure of what to do or say. She had never seen such deep but clear eyes as his. His lips were slightly parted; he took a quick breath as if to speak, but said nothing. The space was too close for words, yet something passed between them. She repressed a shiver and stepped back.
“You’ll have to tell my father.” She lifted her chin and summoned her dignity.
Horror! Stepping away had revealed her state of undress. She rushed forward to the cover of the wall.
He averted his face a moment too late and pulled away as if the window frame had become a hot griddle.
“The window to your left.” She closed him away from her sight and latched the shutter. Then she collapsed to sit on the floor under the window, her flushed face buried in her hands.
She heard him renew his tapping on the next window. When her father responded, she could hear every word through the thin wood of her window shutter.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do tonight,” her father said. “Except keep watch. I’ll remain awake here, and you do the same at the cabin. And take this.”
A brief pause.
“Have you ever handled one?” her father asked.
“No, sir.”
“Like this.” She heard an unmistakable click.
“Then sight along the barrel, like so, and squeeze.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And take care.”
Will’s footsteps trailed away from the house into silence even as those of her father marked his passage out into the sitting room.
Her pulse did not slow its thready beat, even after she blew out the lamp and crawled back into bed. She breathed slowly. She must think of pleasant things to keep Rumkin’s face out of her dreams.
She summoned the picture of Eli riding next to her, smiling. She imagined a clever, witty conversation, sentence by sentence. As slumber stole over her, she looked down at her horse and saw that she wore a flowing medieval gown that trailed over her sidesaddle. They rode on into the dream world.
Will sat outside with the pistol across his lap, back propped against the cabin door. When his eyelids
drooped, he stood and paced back and forth until his head cleared.
His run from Pittsburgh might attract a bounty hunter, if Master Good had posted a reward in newspapers. Master Good himself might even ride after him; Will would put nothing past that man. If someone had followed Will here, then his arrival had increased the risk that someone would discover the Simons.
He vowed silently that he would not be the cause of their recapture. He certainly would not fall asleep. Heaven itself would rise up against the treatment the Simons had received. But in this case, heaven appeared to have chosen Will. There was some design that he could not unravel woven into his meeting with the Millers.
Ann Miller was a beautiful girl. The way she had appeared at her window, hair down and disheveled from sleep, skin pure as a child’s—it was pleasant to think on. And when she stepped away with nothing but a thin gown . . .
He pinched himself on the leg, hard, welcoming the pain. The pitch-black sense of sin rolled in again, smoky and familiar. Would he think of Ann as he had thought of Emmie, a naked body to touch? Shame doused his burning senses to dull ash. He should not think of Ann at all. By this time, he was probably engaged to Emmie, if she had accepted his proposal. And he had no reason to believe she would not. She had assured him of her affection with many tender caresses that day at the boarding house . . .
He pinched himself savagely again. It produced the desired effect.
He had to know if Emmie had promised herself to him. In the morning, he would ask Mr. Miller for postage for one letter.
If he addressed a letter to Emmie, in care of the glass factory, he did not know if it would reach her. But it was his only chance, for if he sent anything to Tom, it would be opened by Master Good.
A long night stretched ahead of him. He must not reflect on Emmie, nor his recent encounter with Ann, unless he wanted to greet the morning with legs pinched black-and-blue. Rising, he retained the pistol in one hand and opened the cabin door. The sound of soft breathing assured him that he had not disturbed the Simons. It was the work of a moment to retrieve the small Bible that Mr. Miller had loaned him.
But when he sat down again, he found the moonlight insufficient for reading. And he would not be so foolish as to light a lamp, not when any light would be spotted from a mile away. He laid the Bible down next to him and tried to scrape together in his mind the shreds of the passages his father had read to him so long ago. Will had even memorized some verses as his father taught him his letters.
The Lord is my Shepherd . . . Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . . He prepareth a table for me in the presence of mine enemies . . .
That was a good verse, a strong verse.
He prepareth a table for me in the presence of mine enemies . . .
He could say it over and over again to himself and not grow tired of it.
The stars faded and dawn sketched the treetops against the horizon. No further sign of a trespasser had materialized. He rubbed his face to clear the fog away. He would like to wrap himself in that quilt again and rest.
He cracked open the cabin door to find John already standing and dressed.
“A gun?” John asked quietly. “Did something happen last night?”
Will explained.
John’s face grew grim. “Then we will both watch tomorrow. But for now, you get some sleep.”
Will handed him the pistol, only too glad to comply.
When he awoke, the light coming in the window told him it was already afternoon. Clara was sitting up against her bolster.
“John’s making us something to eat.” She closed her eyes. She must be very weak still.
Will stood and straightened his twisted shirt. The pistol lay on the floor next to the bed. Mr. Miller might want it back—he did not know. He fetched it and walked out the door. A few yards away, John bent over a frying pan wedged over two stones with a small fire crackling beneath it.
“I must go speak to Mr. Miller.” Will glanced at the ham and eggs sizzling in a delicious-smelling heap.
“Have some food first.” John spooned some out onto a tin plate and handed Will a fork. “Mr. Miller was here this morning, but he didn’t want to wake you.”
“Did he see anyone last night?”
“If he did, he didn’t say so. He’s leaving to preach a funeral, a few hours’ ride from here. He wants to talk to you.”
Will swallowed his last few bites and headed across the fields.
When the farmhouse came into view, the yard was empty.
“Will.” Mr. Miller stood framed in the open door of the barn. “I’m pleased to see you. Did John tell you I must depart for a day?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think it would be best to keep watch again tonight.”
“We thought so too.”
“I’ll give John the shotgun, and you can keep that pistol. I shall charge you with watching over the girls in the house. You’ll have to stay outside, but you can build a fire to keep warm. Over there.” He pointed to a ring of stones behind the house. “But we don’t want anyone to discover the cabin and the Simons. So John will keep the cabin dark for the night.”
Mr. Miller disappeared into the barn, but emerged after a minute leading Bayberry, a saddle over his arm. “Most likely you saw a traveler, or even a youngster from one of the neighboring farms. There are a few wild ones about who have been known to roam when they should be abed. Should you see another tonight, call out a warning first.”
“Yes, sir. I’m honored by your trust, Mr. Miller.” Will stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, feeling useless. “Can I assist you?”
Mr. Miller ground-tied the mare and gently lifted the saddle over her withers, settling it on the pad. “No, I need no help, thank you. But you may assist Ann. She always has a great deal to do when I am gone.”
“I’ll do anything I can, sir.”
“Help her care for the animals, if you would. That would leave her with the cooking and the care of her sisters.” Mr. Miller dropped the girth down on the other side and reached under the mare’s belly to pull it up to the billet straps.
“What do I feed the animals, sir?”
“Hay for the horses and cows, mostly slop for the pigs. The hay’s in the loft. Ann will give you the slop from the kitchen. Perhaps she had better show you where we keep everything.”
Will crossed his arms over his chest, ill at ease. Ann might scorn him as she had last night.
“Ann!” Mr. Miller called toward the house. He tested the girth. “I’m about to set off.” Bracing his foot in the hanging stirrup, he hoisted himself into the saddle.
The kitchen door opened, and Ann came out in a dark-blue dress, a set of leather saddlebags in her arms. The younger girls came after her but lingered by the stoop, absorbed in some make-believe.
Ann handed the bags up to Mr. Miller. “Here, Father.”
He thanked her and adjusted them behind his saddle.
She was pale, with faint shadows under her eyes. “When will you return?” She folded her hands in front of her, but Will noticed her knuckles were white from the pressure of her grip. She was distraught over something.
“Tomorrow afternoon or early evening.” Mr. Miller’s words were soft. “You’ll fare well in my absence. Will is here to help you. You can teach him about the animals, and he’ll keep watch tonight.”
With a quick motion like a startled bird, she brushed her hair back from her brow. “Very well. Goodbye, Father.”
“I will return soon. It’s not far.” Mr. Miller clucked to Bayberry and she walked away toward the road. “Goodbye, girls.” He lifted one hand from the reins and waved. They called back to him in their little fluting voices.
Will watched Bayberry’s swishing tail recede down the road.
“Come.” Ann’s tone was brusque. “I’ll explain where we keep everything.”
He followed her into the barn. Her trim and graceful carriage was more suited to a ballroom than a floor of packed ear
th.
“Pull some hay from there.” She pointed to the loft.
He edged past her and mounted the ladder. “How much?”
“About three forkfuls, for now.”
He picked up the pitchfork, threw down the hay, and climbed back to the floor.
When he stepped to the ground and turned, she was watching him with a bemused expression. Clearly flustered, she bent down and tried to get her small hands around the pile of hay at her feet. A few pieces of hay had floated into her hair.
He touched her elbow. “I will carry it.”
Her full, dark lashes lowered for a moment. Then her lips curved—a tentative, tiny smile. “Thank you.” He scooped up the hay easily with his longer arms, and she led the way out of the barn.
He liked her smile. He hefted the unwieldy armload, cheered by his body’s returning strength. When they reached the cow byre, he threw the hay in to the black cow.
He trailed around the property after her, marking the storage and the cold cellar. He must treat her with respect. This was his new master’s daughter—and he was probably already engaged to another.
“You don’t have to care for the pigs,” she said, a shadow flitting over her brow as she walked past the sty. Its familiar smell wrenched at him.
“I don’t mind. Especially if I can wash up after.”
Another little smile from her warmed him, and he smiled back with real merriment. Then she glanced away and dusted her skirt off, though it did not appear dusty. That made him smile even more at her unknowing back as she walked ahead of him toward the house. There was no harm in a little teasing.
Emmie, he reminded himself. But he would have to wait until Mr. Miller returned to write his letter. He certainly would never ask Ann for postage. Or perhaps he could write the letter now and post it upon Mr. Miller’s return. He could ask Ann for ink and paper. That was a more respectable request.
“I believe that is everything.” Ann stopped by the barn. The late afternoon sunlight brought rich and varied tones from her hair, which waved softly down her back and around her shoulders. He had not seen her wear it down before.
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