Swept into Destiny

by Catherine Ulrich Brakefield

  Marie tapped her finger on the table at Amos as if chafing an obstinate pupil. “We care for our people, every last one of them. I am sure you have read Uncle Tom’s Cabin. I have, too. I doubt very seriously that Harriet Beecher Stowe ever visited the South, or else she would have known how southerners care for their people, and why Mr. Reynolds is no longer in our employ.”

  The glow of the fireplace etched her high cheekbones and distinguished profile. “Yes, we are slave owners and proud to be called southerners, aware that we, too, are slaves by choice to our evil natures where sin abides! As Galatians 5:1 states, ‘Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.’ Only Jesus can set us free from the bondage of Satan’s yoke.”

  The fearful looking Amos stood and bowed, a merry twinkle in his once hard-as-steel gray eyes. “I am a southerner and proud, as thee, Mrs. Gatlan, to bear the title. Though Mr. Reynolds is geographically considered a southerner, we know he is not a gentleman of the South. A wolf in the chicken coop doesn’t make him a chicken, now does it?”

  “Why…” Her mother stepped back, her hand on her heart. “Sir, you have captured this deplorable situation admirably.”

  “Truly, Mr. Reynolds is not a southern gentleman, whereas, thee and thy husband’s good deeds clearly prove otherwise.” Amos walked to the mantel, turned, and smiled. “The South’s most valued reputation can be visibly seen in its charming people. I pray we shall never lose our charm and chivalry.”

  Mother’s face lit up with her sweeping smile. “You have lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders with your kind words.”

  Ada placed a bowl of steaming stew, cheese, and a piece of bread before her mother and her. “I believe we can safely say, unless Reynolds repents of his deeds, we shall not meet him again once we’ve entered those pearly gates.”

  “Praise the Lord.” Maggie huffed before picking up her spoon and smiling at Ada. She knew she shouldn’t wish any soul to Hell, but Mr. Reynolds had chosen to play the saint while doing the devil’s work, and if anyone deserved residence, it was he.

  The odor of hickory and pine filled the small cabin and crackled amidst the slurping and spoons tapping the soup bowls. Amos finished first, his eyes staring back into Maggie’s. She gulped the last of her soup.

  “I don’t care to use women, but we are short of helpers. Two of our… brothers have just been shot and killed by bounty hunters. We will need one of thee to volunteer thy services, and a strong man, someone who is a loyal abolitionist.

  “Thee are a diversion, and shall travel only to the first Underground Railroad Station. Thee will then return to thy home and family. The man must plan to continue and prepare to lay his life down for the mission. He must be trustworthy, brave, intelligent, and most importantly, a follower of Jesus. ‘No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God’ Luke 9:62. Hopefully, he will be able to leave his charges at the railroad stop in Lexington; however, he must be ready to travel all the way to Ohio and on to Canada, if need be.”

  In spite of the warm fire just five steps away, in spite of Maggie’s shawl covering her back, she felt a cold chill climb up and down her spine. Ben McConnell, he was the only one she could trust. But she hadn’t seen him for two years. What were his political views? What were they getting themselves into?

  Her mother patted her hand. “Maggie is busy with the school. My sister-in-law lives close to Lexington, so I will be the woman. I am not afraid to disguise myself in whatever clothes are appropriate for the success of getting these children safely to Canada.”

  Chapter 12

  B en glanced out across the Appalachian Mountains. A dusting of snow laced the pines, maples, and dogwoods. He inhaled deeply, stroking his dapple-gray stallion. “Caedmon, I’ll never tire at lookin’ at the bright greens, browns, and reds of the foliage.” He shivered when a gale blew through the mountains and burrowed deep into his homespun coat.

  The night had been a chilly one and though the sun was up and felt warm, an occasional chill crawled up his spine. He’d gotten soft sleeping indoors on the feather bed he and his dad had made from their flock of geese and chickens. He couldn’t begin to count the times he’d dreamt of Maggie sharing the covers with him once she became his bride.

  Deep valleys of fog floated like misplaced ghosts out for a lark, and bare granite boulders pushed up from the red dirt. His horse’s stride and his daydreams of a better tomorrow ate up the lonely miles. Only the layer of leaves beneath his horse’s hooves disturbed the stillness. It wouldn’t be long now and he wouldn’t feel ashamed proposing to her. Soon he would have the finest racing horses in Kentucky. He patted Caedmon’s neck. He’d proven a worthy sire of a few horses. Ben needed a few more, too, to plow his fields that would yield him a good crop of hay, oats, and maybe a little tobacco. He’d heard tobacco grew well in his part of the country.

  Spirit Wind’s stately brick fortress, tall of columns, wide of verandas, now loomed on the horizon. He stopped Caedmon, spat into his hands, and removing his hat, rubbed his unruly hair flat. That ought to do it. Glancing up, the sun now gleamed on the topmost peak. What is that? Something had caught the sun’s rays. He’d have to remember to ask Maggie about it. He nudged Caedmon into a canter, his eyes peering between the trees as the lane wove about the hillside. He visualized Maggie’s sweet lips and big doe eyes with lashes thick enough to be lost in and a waist small enough for a man’s hand. As he reached the manor, he tied Caedmon to the hitching post, straightened his coat, and took the steps two at a time. Reaching for the knocker, he gave it three hardy hits.

  “Top o’ the morning to ya. Is Miss Maggie about?” he asked when Eli answered the door.

  “One moment, sir, while I fetch her.” Eli led Ben into the parlor.

  Ben glanced back at Eli. Hmm… he acted like he didn’t know me. Ben looked at the intricately scrolled ceiling, the floral wallpaper adorning the soft blue walls. Cherry wood Chippendale furnishings graced the large rectangular room with bright blue, turquoise, and brown upholstery fit for an English lord. He absorbed it all, memorizing it for his and Maggie’s future home.

  He checked to make sure no one was around, then spit into his hand and flattened his hair again. That was a step in the right direction. Only he’d need to clean his hands before shaking Mr. Gatlan’s. He looked around again, then wiped his palms on his coat. He pulled down his vest and polished the tops of his boots with his trousers by placing one then the other against the back of his legs. Surely, he had nothing to be fretting over. His fine clothes told clearly of his accomplishments, and they’d impress Maggie and her father.

  The doorway gaped open like the hole to the coal miner’s tunnel. Where’s Maggie? She should have been expecting him. Maybe she didn’t receive his last letter. Or more to the here and now, he hadn’t received her rejection.

  “Ben?” The man who had left some two years ago was but a scarecrow. Maggie hesitated. This man dressed in fine brocade sharply sweeping his well-muscled shoulders, ruffled shirt, and smart-fitting trousers, was a stranger to her. Only the face was familiar, the broad forehead, dark eyes, and thick wooly hair. Even without his beard, he still looked like a pirate to her. She covered her mouth; she couldn’t help chuckling over his attempt to tame his unruly locks as thick as a sheep’s.

  He ran his thick, work worn hands through his black hair. “Guess my attempts to tame my mane didn’t work too well.”

  His strong, rugged chin jagged out a fraction of an inch. His sparkling eyes an invitation for any woman. Maggie glanced downward in her embarrassment. If Ben could read her mind, then he would know just how good he did look. Did the man she’d grown to care about while he was paralyzed, the man she’d nursed and learned to love, still exist?

  “What is it, Maggie?”

  Could he be trusted? She needed him to be the measure of the man she and mother needed for their mission. She felt she would burst at the seams.
There was scant little time to learn about this new man who stood before her.

  Three lives were at stake, not counting the ten lives that would be in peril of the hangman’s noose if they should fail. Dear Lord, if not Ben, then who? Trust in the Lord with all your heart. …Ben’s concerned eyes melted into hers. Lord, oh how I want him to be the right one! She grabbed both his hands and laughed from the pure joy of his touch. “My, what a proper gentlemen you’ve become. Have you eaten? You can join us.” She tucked her fingers around his elbow.

  Ben’s lips creased into a lopsided grin. “I’m a land owner, Maggie. I bought my first slave before departing from Kentucky.”

  Maggie’s heart leaped to her throat. What will he think about her abolitionist friends the Quakers and Mother and her helping the children?

  “’Twas my father’s idea. He thinks in order to become a proper gentlemen we need a couple slaves. But I don’t be seein’ the need. I like workin’ my own land, and don’t care to be givin’ the experience to another.”

  Yes, that was the Ben she’d grown to love. Nothing could change her Ben, not land, wealth, or becoming a proper southern gentleman. She let out a sigh. “It is good you came, especially at this particular moment.”

  “What’s the matter, Maggie? A secret of sorts?” Ben searched her face.

  “Yes.” She hugged his arm. “I will disclose it later. Now you will meet father as an equal. I shall not mention that you used to work here. Father will never know. Mother and I have only said that you are a friend of Aunt Louise.”

  They entered the dining room and she began her introduction. “Father, may I introduce Mr. McConnell from Kentucky. He shall be staying with us.”

  Her father rose and extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. McConnell. What part of Kentucky are you from?”

  “Near Emerald, sir. My dad and I have a hundred acres of the best rolling hillside I’ve ever seen. We plan to purchase an additional 200 acres next year, the good Lord willing.”

  Father was impressed, as Maggie knew he would be. “Well, have a seat here so we can talk.”

  Her father sat back down. “I look forward to getting more acquainted with you. Where did you study? I have never heard an accent like yours before.” Father twisted his mouth toward Mother. “Where have I heard that accent before, Marie?”

  “From myself, to be sure.” She sent him a smile from across the table that Maggie could see warmed Ben through and through.

  “Indeed, I’m Irish and proud of it.”

  “And I quite agree, Mr. McConnell.” Her mother lifted the platter of meat. “Would you like some ham, and how about a cup of coffee to wash down that scone?”

  “Why this is going famously well, having someone here that my wife approves of is a good start to my day.” Father then directed his conversation to Maggie. “How about it, daughter, you want this strapping young man to attend our Christmas Ball? I’m sure the ladies will enjoy meeting him.”

  Maggie hesitated, not wishing to share him, then, seeing her Father’s look, immediately complied. “I’m certain they shall.”

  Chapter 13

  B en waited at the bottom of the winding stairway for his first glimpse of Maggie. Mr. Gatlan, dressed in a black tuxedo like his own, joined him. “I don’t believe the welcoming I received, Mr. Gatlan, and you decking me out in the king’s finest for this ball.”

  Mr. Gatlan patted him on the back and laughed. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I like doing for a young man like you sporting promise. My grandparents came to this country to get away from the prim and pomp of the lords and parliament. Not that we don’t have our own in America.” Mr. Gatlan looked up. “Ah, now here come two visions of loveliness to erase every thought of politics from our minds tonight.”

  Two women of equal beauty and grace stood in regal fashion with a crown of curls adorning their heads. Dresses of glittering satin and lace billowed about their tiny waists to sweep the floor beneath their dainty slippered feet.

  “I’ve never seen the like,” Ben whispered. In awe, he watched Maggie float down the stairway as if on angel’s wings. He was further awed as to how he would get beyond the hoops of her skirt to waltz with her. Reaching for her arm, his heart thumped against his chest like an Irish drum during the battle of Erin, or so the folklore went. He sighed.

  He could accomplish anything when those soft velvet eyes looked into his. He needed to put in words her poetic loveliness. He led her to a secluded spot in the hallway and bending low whispered, “Behold thou art fair… thou hast doves’ eyes within thy locks; thy hair is as a flock of goats—ah, thou art fair…”

  Maggie chuckled, unfolding her lace and satin ribbon fan in front of her face so all he could see was her beautiful eyes. Her bare shoulders told him the truth. They were rolling with humor like the waves off Dublin Bay.

  He pulled at his shirtwaist, his mood slightly dampened. His comment had not the effect he’d hoped. Solomon’s words had worked their spell upon his love—where had Ben gone amiss? Still, he had the girl of his dreams on his arm, and he wasn’t going to allow a minor setback to disrupt the evening.

  Eli led everyone in the back hallway toward the ballroom located on the third floor of the mansion. The room’s domed ceiling allowed the stars entrance. It gave the effect of dancing amidst a star-drenched sky with only the full moon to peek in every so often past an obstinate cloud.

  “Ben, come, we must greet the guests.” Maggie led him to one of the curved walls where the french doors opened to a balcony.

  “I have never seen the like.”

  “This circular room enables the dancers to move easily around and see.” Maggie smiled and pointed to the french doors and balconies. “The dancers shall always have fresh breezes to cool their faces.”

  “You can see for miles around up here. I cannot but notice that it would make a strategic lookout point.” He glanced over at Mr. Gatlan. A square chin, length of leg, and a balance of shoulder, there was nothing cowardly about that profile. It would be just like Maggie’s father to plan a lovely ballroom, while providing a safe lookout point for any enemies that might dare embark upon his manor.

  “It is, as my father puts it, a British move.” A wistful sigh escaped her sweet lips. “I often come here when I need solace and a place to pray. Here objects that looked huge before now appear small.” She sighed. “I often wish I could make life’s problems as minute as they appear here.”

  Ben took her hand, drew it to his lips and gently kissed it. “Sharin’ a heavy load makes the burden lighter.”

  She lifted her eyes. Ben grabbed his breath. Such sadness.

  “I wish we could stay here all evening, but we must go in. The dancing shall begin soon.”

  “’Tis well it should. You needing a little joy tonight and Ben McConnell is just the man that can give it.” He raised her fingers to his lips and not taking his eyes from hers, kissed them.

  Ben cut a striking figure with his broad shoulders, thick hair, and sweeping smile. He was quick on his feet, agile enough to withstand even the nudging of the clumsy couple in front of them and told the man “Not to worry.”

  How she wished Ben had directed his comment to her not to worry. Why would he? She had not had the nerve to tell him her dilemma. Her father waltzed by. He didn’t know and it was best he did not.

  Reynolds’ slaves were hiding beneath the floor of the Glenn. Susie had confided that Mr. Reynolds had left for Knoxville and would return in a fortnight. That would be tonight. He would know when he returned home that Susie and her sister had fled, giving him the perfect reason to come and demand an answer from Maggie as to their whereabouts.

  The soft mellow notes of a violin began, then the orchestra joined in and the beautiful notes of “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” wrapped her emotions in a cocoon of detachment from the other dancers. Ben’s deep baritone lent a Gaelic charm to the lyrics as mystic as moonlight on water.

  “For your smile is a part Of the love in your hear
t, And it makes even sunshine more bright.” His lips close to her ear, he sang the sonnet as if he’d written the words just for her. “Like the linnet’s sweet song, Crooning all the day long, Comes your laughter and light.”

  The gentle notes of Ben’s voice encircled her with its charm. Her body bent and obeyed his promptings. Her billowing skirts swirled about their pivoting steps. Waltzing with Ben was divinely thrilling. The promptings of his arm circling her waist, his gentle commands moving her about the room, swaying, dipping, twirling in one motion, one body. Her breathing ceased its normal rhythm. Her heart throbbed.

  “For the springtime of life Is the sweetest of all There is ne’er a real care or regret; And while springtime is ours …” He lowered his head, gently kissing her forehead. Maggie closed her eyes, wishing that the song would never end. “I pray it shall always be springtime for us, Maggie my—”

  “Oh, Ben.”

  Magic filled the room and the hours passed by blissfully. Christmas waltzes and steaming cinnamon and cider punches—alarmed she glanced down at her full plate suddenly ashamed. Ashamed and sharply aware that Susie and the others lay hidden beneath the floors of the Glenn, thirsty and hungry while she took her pleasures.

  The strong night wind rustled Maggie’s hoop skirts and lifted her long silky curls. She and Ben had left the dance, quietly departing the house through the kitchen door. The parcel of food Cook had prepared Maggie cleverly hid beneath the folds of her velvet cape that she laid across her arm.

  The wind played with the dry leaves and wild grass spiraled about their feet. Looping her chilled fingers in Ben’s, he suddenly brought her closer. “It’s like the wind upon the moors.” Removing his top hat, he bowed his swarthy head, his eyes gleaming into hers. Her heart beat against her rib cage like a canary. This is the moment she dreamt of. How could she kiss him, knowing she’d brought him here to entice him? Her dear mother was risking her life for Maggie’s students. Oh, why had she started the school? She would never have known about Reynolds raping Susie, otherwise.