Swept into Destiny

by Catherine Ulrich Brakefield

  She could have been pleasantly oblivious and Mother would have been safe. Now Ben would soon be caught in her web of deceit… But she wouldn’t have known Ben.

  Her thoughts lapsed between present and past, recalling that day long ago riding her horse and hearing the Irishman’s cry for help in the swamp. That Bible verse her class had memorized reverberated in her head: We have obtained an inheritance, being predestinated according to the purpose of Him who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will. The words she had muttered then came as clear as a bell to her now. “One conscionable act led to this consequence.”

  She ran her hand along Ben’s face, feeling his strong chin and smiling lips. The distasteful flavor of deceit filled her mouth.

  Ben swept her into his embrace. Maybe he thought she was being coquettish… his emotions were as wild and reckless as the winds.

  She pulled away and walked farther up the hill, her lips burning with the lost love of his kiss. But there was more at stake tonight than her selfish desires.

  “What is wrong?” His hands cupped her shoulders; he turned her, lifting her chin, searching her face.

  The moon cast an iridescent glow on the hillside, making trees appear taller, like giants. Could Ben see in her eyes the mammoth responsibility that lay before her? She could not allow Mother to dress like a man and drive the wagon to the Underground Railroad station clear to Ohio. Father wouldn’t allow it. Father would get caught up in this mission of death. If the bounty hunter caught them, he had the law on his side and could kill her parents on the spot. Ben was her only hope. Should she play the role of a fainting damsel in distress? Or blindside him with the ghastly truth? She’d rather lose Ben instead of her parents.

  “Is this about that slave problem?” His piercing black eyes burnt hers like fire.

  “I, I fear I am putting you in jeopardy.” She pulled away from him and began walking, her arms hugging her chest.

  Ben followed. “I gathered a little of the turmoil you feel from the heated discussion at dinner yesterday. So Reynolds is bent on complete victory over Spirit Wind? It would not surprise me in the least if he would not take vindication on his slaves, knowing how much you care for yours.”

  Maggie turned and gazed up at him. How could she not admire him? How could she not believe that, like the Irish chieftain of yore, he would avenge this foul deed and come to her rescue? “So, I see you are not only a southern gentleman outwardly, you are also the Christian patriot within. A pleasing combination, one which is akin to my mother’s.” She hesitated. “And Father’s.”

  “So what does your father know of your deeds of hiding my true identity?” Ben took her hands into his and she felt the warmth of them travel through her chilled body. “I am not certain, but Mother knows the truth. And whenever Mother decides upon a path, Father is quick to defend her and travel the same rocky road. He always says that she is his conscience, without which, he would be a shell of his former self.”

  “You are your mother’s daughter and I can well see the resemblance. If my mother be still alive, she would approve of ya.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  Ben plucked a blade of grass and began sucking on it. “She died in Ireland, during the potato famine. Upon her dying breath, she told us to be off and leave for this land called America. God would bless us if we did not lose sight of His Son, Jesus. Truly my mother’s words came true more than ever when Jesus gave me back my legs.” He glanced at her. The moon cast its glow on his face, part shadow and part glare. “I see worry in those deep brown eyes of yours, Maggie. Worry that I feel God himself would want me to wipe away… so tell me, what is wrong?”

  A gust of wind blew her skirts and curls in wild abandon about her form. Ben was so strong, so confident. Then Amos’ words came clearly to her thoughts, 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.’ Ben what does that Scripture mean to you?”

  “Jesus is everything or else He is nothing to ya.” Ben eyes stared into hers. “He that is not willing to sacrifice everything for the cause of Jesus, is not willin’ to sacrifice a’tall, and not fit for God’s kingdom.”

  “Come, I will show you the Glenn, where everything first began.” She pulled him forward until they reached the Glenn.

  Her footsteps echoed in the chilly cabin; she closed the door against winter’s gale and the shutters rattled. Then she heard the children beneath her feet. She fumbled for a candle and lit it.

  Ben put a finger to his lips.

  “What? It’s just the tapping of the bare branches on the window panes.” Maggie turned toward her desk.

  “I’m sure there is someone beneath the cabin. Is there a crawl space?”

  She reached inside her cape and laid down the package and wondered how soon Ben would guess the truth. It would make telling him easier for her and perhaps he’d enjoy a good joke. “I am certain it is just a squirrel or worse, a skunk, getting out of the cold.”

  Ben eyed the package. “Smells like you are planning to feed the squirrels with the chicken from our dinner.” He knelt down and began knocking on the floorboards. He found what he was looking for. “A trap door?”

  “Ben, look at me. You are right; there is someone here, three children. I’m helping the, I mean I am a part of the Underground Railroad and I did not wish to endanger you.”

  Ben looked up at her from his knees. A curious position and she chuckled in spite of the seriousness of her predicament. “The children are waiting for Mother to take them to the Underground Railroad site in Ohio.”

  He rested back on his heels and wiped his forehead. “Saints preserve us, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  “More than I care to admit.” She reached for his arm and he rose. “Kind of like a reverse proposal?” she chuckled.

  “Indeed, but it is plain as the nose on my face that I have much I need to learn about you. So when did you start working on this railroad?”

  “I wish I was working on a real railroad. This type of railroad is a game of life and death, two conductors have lost their lives.” She opened the hatch on the floor used for storing kindling, now used as a hide out for runaway slaves. Susie, with cobwebs in her tight curls, stepped out, then Little Sis and Jonny.

  Susie blinked, looking at Ben curiously. “Who’s he, Miss Maggie?”

  “A friend. Here, children. Sit at your desks and eat.” She rushed toward the window, peeked out and did the same on the other side of the cabin. “Did you hear anyone outside?”

  “No, ma’am, just you.”

  She let out a sigh of relief.

  Susie took large bites of her fried chicken. “Master Reynolds warned me before he left for Knoxville that I’d better do everything I was told until he returned or else he’d give me a double whipping.” Susie looked down at her plate. “I know I should have been brave and waited for the Quaker like you told me, but I couldn’t.”

  Maggie patted her head. “It’s alright, sweetheart, soon you will be safe.”

  Ben muttered. “‘One conscionable act led us to this consequence.’ I understand now.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ve beguiled you, Ben.” Her hot tears obscured his face. Guilt and her selfish desires burned in her bosom. “I led you here hoping you’d take these children. So you’d risk your life and my mother and father’s lives would be spared.”

  His arms encircled her trembling shoulders. She buried her head into his chest and cried. From out of the pits of despair, he comforted her.

  “And I am lost, Maggie my lass, lost upon this sea of conscience and consequence, like my Irish comrades. I could no more turn aside and allow you or your parents to do this life-threatening task than I could walk by a lovely lass stuck in the swamp.” Ben kissed her forehead. “Only God knows where He’s takin’ us.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll find someone else, it’s—”

  Ben quickly s
ilenced her words with his hand. “First rule you must learn is never say ‘too dangerous’ to an Irishman.”

  His eyes twinkled into hers. Does he think it’s some kind of lark? Oh, I’ll never understand him!

  Ben chuckled, embracing the children with his lighthearted merriment. “Well then lad and lassies, you’ll be spending Christmas with me on this railroad leading to your freedom.”

  Chapter 14

  T he cold wind chased slate gray clouds across the face of the full moon. In New York, it would have been snowing. But in Tennessee, it was a blinding rainstorm.

  Ben burrowed deeper into his homespun coat. One hand held the reins of Caedmon, the other held the rope he’d tied to the wagon. He glanced back at Mrs. Gatlan and the children huddled like little chicks beneath the wings of her cape on the wagon seat next to her. Ben and Maggie had attempted to discourage Mrs. Gatlan from coming.

  Then when Mr. Reynolds appeared on their doorstep moments after the last guest departed, demanding his slaves. Mrs. Gatlan said it was the only way for the countryside not to know the truth. Maggie needed to stay and teach. Mrs. Gatlan would go and pretend she was on a visit to her sister-in-law.

  He reached down and wrapped the rope around his saddle horn. The mud-caked wagon wheels no longer rolling, now slid up the hill like tiny wooden runners. He would clean the wheels once they reached the top of the hill. Caedmon neighed softly, shoving his shoulders into pulling the wagon forward, encouraging the little mule that pulled the wagon up the hillside. Ben was trusting on the rain to obliterate their tracks leading into Kentucky, and if Reynolds sent out the bloodhounds, the dogs would not be able to pick up their scent.

  Susie and her younger sister were quiet and obedient children. However, the boy Jonny was a tad too noisy to suit Ben. Still, he thanked God for small miracles. Gatlan’s mule was a willing beast and with the help of Caedmon, pulled the little cart through the woods without complaint. He glanced back. He’d wrapped Mrs. Gatlan and the children in a quilt and they looked quite comfortable. Only the tops of their heads were wet. He wished he could rectify that.

  He shifted the brim of his hat and a stream of icy water washed down the front of his coat. He shivered. If he was following the right trail, the cabin should be just over this hill apiece.

  The Quaker said to look for a burned-out tree; there would be a note inside. The pouring rain made it hard to see. The only light he had came from the lightning that ripped across the dark sky like daylight… brief but helpful. Now wouldn’t be a bad time to pray. He especially liked Psalm 91 during a rainstorm. How did that go? He remembered his dear departed mother and how she would say it, “abide under the shadow of the Almighty… He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.”

  A flash of lightning illuminated the tree he needed. He jumped off Caedmon, reached his hand inside the tree, and grasped the note. It had been sealed in a glass jar. He opened the jar and removed the note, but couldn’t read it. He walked back to the wagon and handed it to Mrs. Gatlan.

  She held it up. Just then a flash illuminated the sky. “Even the lightning doesn’t provide enough light for me to read this, and the paper is turning into mush in the rain.” Mrs. Gatlan placed the note back into the jar. “I believe the Quaker said the cabin is after the mountains, in the valley. I think I have been there before.” Lightning bolted and its thunder rumbled. Mrs. Gatlan pointed to the small lane the brief light had revealed. “There is the lane. I remember now. Mr. Gatlan and I came here once hiding from the Indians.”

  Something in the thicket just to the left of him rustled. A bear? Perhaps it was a lone wolf out for some pre-morning breakfast. Or the bounty hunter. He raised his gun. A shot could arouse the countryside. He holstered his gun and drew out his knife.

  A man crouched not more than three yards from Mrs. Gatlan and the children. It looked like the man was asleep. Ben approached slowly, calculating his every step. He’d have to knife the man between his lungs, or else hit the jugular vein.

  The man’s black hat had fallen from his head. At least he thought it was black, hard to tell it being so dark and wet. The man struggled in Ben’s grasp. Why, he’s just a kid.

  “Thee need not harm me. I have come to guide thee to the next station.” Sweat and rain streamed into his eyes.

  Could it be the man was telling the truth? He was dressed in strange looking black breeches, a black vest, and coat. “Where is the note left for me?” Ben challenged.

  “In that hollow tree.”

  Ben pushed him toward the wagon, his knife poised and ready in the small of the man’s back. “You cry out, and you’re a dead man. Mrs. Gatlan, do you recognize him?”

  “Yes, you were at the Quaker’s cabin. Your sister had a—”

  “Not my sister, my wife, and we had our first child just a month ago. He’s colicky and not sleeping well.”

  Ben wiped the rain from his brow. “Alright, lead the way.” Couldn’t slight the man for taking a catnap, what with a baby waking him up every two hours. He chuckled. Must have been powerful sleepy to nap in a chilly rainstorm. “Go ahead and get in the buckboard.”

  They traveled up the mountainside for a half a mile. Black smoke spiraled upwards over the treetops. From the ravine that concealed them from the cabin’s inhabitants, Ben could just make out the cabin and the stone chimney. The Quaker stopped. “Something is amiss. Wait here.”

  The Quaker picked up some kindling wood and opened the back door. A young girl dressed in black met him. She then walked up to Ben. “Thee must go. Two bounty hunters are in the cabin. They say they have come for smoked ham and bacon. Empty the contents.” The girl’s hands shook as she handed them two covered baskets full of food and a jar each of milk and water. “The men did not see me. Mama said I must leave the baskets here for her to retrieve.”

  Mrs. Gatlan took one look at the girl’s frightened face and gathered up her skirts. “I’m staying. Child, I shall not have your family face those bounty hunters without me.”

  Ben saw a flash of petticoats and hurried to help Mrs. Gatlan down, placing a restraining arm to stop her. “They might figure you’re part of this.”

  Mrs. Gatlan handed him a note. “Head for Lexington. Look for a carriage shop. Walk up to a man dressed in a straw hat, smoking a pipe, and playing checkers. Ask him if he’s been waiting long. If he is the right man, he’ll call you Cousin. You should be relieved and able to return home. If …”

  Ben knew the rest. “Do not be frettin’ your pretty head, I’ll get them to Cincinnati and beyond, if need be.”

  The cabin door opened. Two large men, with the young Quaker man between them, shoved the Quaker down the steps. “You’re lying. I’ll whip the truth from those lying lips of yours.”

  Susie whimpered, and quickly covered her mouth. Caedmon started to neigh. Ben covered his stallion’s mouth.

  “Reynolds!” Mrs. Gatlan whispered. “Go on. I’ll stall them.”

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  Mrs. Gatlan patted his hand. “Do not fear,” she nodded her head toward the noise of an approaching wagon. “My husband will be here shortly.”

  Ben looked at her puzzled. “How—”

  “Because after thirty years of marriage I know my husband. Now go.”

  The girl led the mule and wagon down the ravine to a cave. There she and Ben covered Caedmon’s hooves and the mule’s with burlap so the animals wouldn’t leave hoof prints. Then they wrapped the wagon wheels in burlap.

  “I will take you down the hill to the trail you must follow.”

  Ben helped her up, placed the children in the bed of the wagon and wrapped them with quilts and blankets. The rain had let up. Now only an occasional drizzle fell. He tied Caedmon to the wagon and jumped onto the wagon seat. The girl kept her eyes straight ahead and told him when to turn.

  The wagon wheels slid in the wet road full of deep puddles that oozed of blood-red mud. How had Mrs. Gatlan faired? Her plan must have worked because the bounty hu
nters had not followed. Ben stopped the wagon.

  “I’ll be backtracking to make sure Mrs. Gatlan came to no harm. Remain here until I return.” Ben ran back to the cabin, inching his way toward the dimly lit cabin. Angry voices came through a partially opened window. Ben crammed his body into the shadows of the cabin and looked in the window.

  Like the ticking of a clock, Reynolds snapped his whip on his riding boots. “I get back what’s mine. You high-and-mighty do-gooders don’t fool me.” His angry red face stood two feet from Mr. Gatlan’s. “You’re stealing from me in the name of your sanctimonious honor!”

  “You have no evidence that my wife or these Quakers have done any stealing. Have I made myself clear?” Mr. Gatlan pointed to an empty chair. “Come, sit down, let us talk this over like civilized human beings and enjoy the hospitality of these friendly people. Why, look at this ham. Come enjoy your coffee. It is too cold and damp to be about on a night like this.”

  Ben let out a sigh of relief, then turned and ran toward the woods and to the wagon. At least the Gatlans had bought them a little more time. “I must leave you.” The Quaker girl climbed out of the wagon. “A Quaker home is just up the hill. Mama wants me to warn them not to come to their cabin in the morning.”