by Jan Drexler
Hannah felt her face reddening as Adam held her in front of these people. “You take care not to get caught, yourself.”
Adam nodded, and he squeezed her shoulders. “You had better get going.”
He turned and left the dell, climbing up the far side. Hannah looked at the faces watching her, depending on her knowledge of the woods to keep them safe.
“Are you ready? We need to go to the creek, cross it, and then on to the safe place.”
“We sure are, miss.” Bill said. The others nodded, even the children’s faces solemn and frightened.
Hoofbeats sounded from the top of the dell, the direction Adam had gone. The road must be very close, even though Hannah couldn’t see anything. If they moved, if they tried to leave the dell on the other side, they would be spotted by whoever was up there. Hannah motioned for everyone to crouch down, as she did, and they all froze in place.
These people knew the dangers they were facing even more than she did. They were trapped just as surely as the mice who fell into Daed’s lead-lined grain bin. If they moved, they’d be caught, but hiding here wasn’t any better if those horsemen decided to leave the road in their search.
The hoofbeats stopped. Hannah heard the jingle of harness as a horse shook its head. Men’s voices drifted into the dell, indistinct, but harsh. Then Adam’s voice. They were questioning him—he would be caught—she would be found, along with these poor people. She looked around her at the tense faces, etched with exhaustion, every one of them watching the edge of the dell above them.
The horses moved on along the road. As soon as they were out of earshot, Hannah saw Adam’s head and shoulder appear at the edge of the dell, waving a sign of all clear. She breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, Jesus.”
Hannah glanced at the woman who had spoken, the one called Ruby. Her eyes were closed and her hands clasped, raised toward heaven, and tears streamed down her face. Were her words a prayer? She had never heard someone speak to their Lord in that way.
“We need to be going.” Hannah gathered her shawl in close and stood up. “Is everyone ready?”
The men and women rose slowly, the men keeping an eye on the top of the dell.
Bill came close to her, speaking low. “We must be careful as we top that rise there.” He nodded toward the edge of the dell away from the road, the route they must take to reach the creek. “We all got to keep our heads down. We’re too close to the road.”
Hannah nodded and looked around at the other faces. Trusting faces. Even the boys ready to do her bidding, to follow her to safety. Would God protect them as Adam said?
“You all heard Bill. We must be swift, but silent. Be careful not to leave a trail . . .” She stopped as they all nodded. Of course they knew these precautions. This had been their life ever since they had escaped from their slave masters. How far had they come? From Maryland? Farther south? Bill’s accent was different from Tom’s and the other escaped slaves she had met. She shook her head at the thought of the enormous task these people had undertaken, and with winter not far off.
As she led the way, the women followed her, Ruby in the lead. Next came the two boys, and then the men brought up the rear. She took them the same way Adam had brought her and nearly collapsed in relief when they reached the river.
The log bridge proved no obstacle for people who had crossed countless streams, and before the sun had dipped below the tops of the trees, they had reached the Metzler farm. The fields between the creek and the barn were empty, bare of crops and cover. How could she be sure it was safe to cross them?
“You wait here,” she said to Bill. “I’ll go to the house to make sure everything is as it should be.”
Bill nodded, and the group sat down wherever they could find a spot between the shrubs and the trees.
Hannah started across the field, pretending that this visit to her neighbor was no different than any other. Adam had said his daed was in Mechanicsville, but Dora, his mother, should be at home, as well as his sister, Hilda, and Charles, the youngest son. But if there were visitors, or if the slave hunters were around, she needed to know.
Dora answered the door. “Hannah! Have you come for a visit?”
“Ja. I mean, if you aren’t busy . . .”
Dora looked past her, toward the barn and fields. “I’m expecting some company, some of Adam’s friends, but you’re welcome.”
Hannah hesitated. How much did Dora know of Adam’s activities? And the way she was speaking, it sounded as if she didn’t know of Hannah’s role.
“I . . . I brought Adam’s friends with me. I wanted to make sure of their welcome.”
Dora took Hannah’s hands in her own and smiled. “Adam said he knew someone who might help today. Don’t worry. The way is safe, and Charles and Hilda have put the provisions in their place. They’re out in the barn now and will give you all the help you need.”
Hannah tried to smile back but couldn’t. They weren’t safely in hiding yet.
“Ja, denki. I’ll take the visitors to the barn, then.”
She ran back across the field, looking all around as she went. They might be safe from the slave hunters for now, but if Jacob or Liesbet saw her, she would have a lot of explaining to do.
As she beckoned to Bill, the group started across the field to meet her. She took them into the barn, where Hilda and Charles waited for them.
“Hannah! It’s you!” Hilda embraced her in a quick hug, and then held her at arm’s length. “But we were expecting Adam. Where is he?”
“He’s trying to get the slave hunters off our trail, and he asked me to bring these people here.”
As she spoke, Charles lifted a hidden trap door, revealing a root cellar underneath the barn floor. Ruby led the way down the ladder, and then reached for the baby. Hannah helped the other women onto the ladder, and then the boys.
“There are candles on the shelf,” Hilda called down the ladder, “and plenty of food. Take as much as you need.”
Bill hesitated before following the others down into the root cellar. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it’s safe down there?”
“Yes,” Hilda assured him, smiling with the same confident smile Adam had. “My pa and brother made the root cellar solid, with plenty of good air. You’ll only need to stay there until dark, and then Adam will take you on to the station in Lancaster.”
Charles lowered the door, and the three of them scattered straw over the floor, hiding the entrance. As a last disguise, Charles pulled the family carriage forward to cover the space.
Hilda grasped Hannah’s hand and pulled Charles toward her with her other arm. “We did it! They’re safe and sound. No one will find them there.”
“Ma said not to stay in the barn, though. If the hunters came by, they’d get suspicious.” Charles squirmed out of Hilda’s embrace and ran out the door.
“Just like any other twelve-year-old boy,” Hilda said, “never still for a minute.” She turned to Hannah, pulling her hand into the crook of her elbow. “Our visitors are having their dinner, so why don’t you come to the house and have some coffee with me and Ma? We made molasses cookies this morning.”
Hannah’s stomach growled. It seemed like it had been hours since dinner. She followed Hilda into the house, determined not to go home until she was sure Adam was safe and the refugees were on their way to Lancaster. The big floor clock in the entryway struck three-thirty as she followed Hilda into the house. Surely Adam would be here before supper time, and then she could go home.
21
Adam paused to let a wagon pass by. As the main route between Lancaster and Philadelphia, the New Holland Pike was a busy road.
Once he had convinced the slave hunters he hadn’t seen any sign of runaway slaves and given Hannah the all-clear signal, he encountered them two more times on the walk to Lancaster. Even though the early December air was cool, their horses were lathered and panting from the pace the men set as they galloped toward town and back, b
ut the slave hunters—two he hadn’t seen before—were determined to find their quarry. He stayed as close to them as he dared without making them suspicious, keeping track of their progress. As long as they kept to the road and were heading away from home, Adam was confident that Hannah was safe.
Once across the bridge over the Conestoga he stopped at the crossroads just outside Lancaster. He paused at a farm gate to get a drink from the pump. It wasn’t unusual for farmers along this route to provide water for travelers, and today he was thankful. The December sun was pale, but bright, and walking in his woolen clothes warmed him up.
In the distance, he saw the slave hunters again, hurrying their horses down the road at a loping gallop. When they reached the pump and horse trough, they pulled up.
“This water for anyone, son?”
Adam nodded. They didn’t seem to recognize him from the earlier questioning. The one in the red shirt pumped the horse trough full, and then cupped his hand to scoop water into his mouth. The horses drank, one of them crowding near Adam, between him and the men. He breathed in the salty odor of horse sweat and silently thanked God for the cover.
“We ain’t seen hide nor hair of them runaways.” The man’s voice whined. It was the man at the pump—red shirt.
“We’ll just keep looking. They got to be around here somewhere.” The other man’s voice was gravelly. He spit onto the ground at the horse’s feet.
“They must-a gone to ground. They for sure ain’t on this road.”
“We ain’t seen them, but they’ve got to be heading for Lancaster.” The gravelly man leaned over the edge of the trough and sluiced water up onto his neck, letting it splash back into the trough. He shook his head then, even getting Adam wet with the drops from his long hair. “Thanks to that pipsqueak down by the river telling us about those Quakers, we know right where they’re headed.” He chuckled. “And once they get there and find their precious hidey-hole is gone, we’ve got them.”
“Then why don’t we just wait for them in Lancaster? We don’t have to go all over creation hunting them down.”
Gravelly-voice splashed in the water again, making the horses shy back. Adam glanced at him, memorizing his face, before the horse moved back in to continue his drink.
“’Cause they might get wind of what we did and hightail it for somewhere else. Them Quakers got hidey-holes all over this county. We got to keep a sharp eye.”
The men mounted and took off, heading up Butter Road, away from Lancaster, without a glance at Adam.
It was all he could do to keep quiet while they were talking, but now Adam leaped to his feet. Were the Quakers he was talking about the Penningtons? What did those men mean, that the “hidey-hole” was gone? Adam’s stomach turned as he trotted down the road, worry for the elderly couple who had devoted their lives to helping runaway slaves spurring him on. If they had been exposed, what had these men done to them?
He had two miles to go before reaching the secluded Quaker farm. The Penningtons lived in an oxbow of the creek on the southern edge of Lancaster, enduring the annual spring floods in return for the fertile fields the floods left behind. The entrance to their farm was overgrown, hidden from prying eyes. When Adam reached the farm lane, he stopped, breathing hard. Listening for anything unusual, he walked to the white frame house with cautious steps.
The door of the barn stood open, but as far as he could tell, the entrance to the hidden room was closed and covered, as usual. Perhaps this wasn’t the Quaker farm the hunters had spoken of. He climbed the porch steps and knocked. For long minutes there was no answer, and then he heard footsteps, and the door opened.
Martha Pennington’s face, tight with worry when she first opened the door, relaxed into a welcoming smile when she saw Adam.
“Oh, Adam, dear boy, come in.”
She moved back to let him into the short hall, and he stepped into the kitchen at the back of the little house. Jess Pennington sat at the kitchen table, a bandage around his head. Adam rushed toward him, taking the chair Martha kept against the wall for visitors and moving it next to his friend.
“What happened? Was it slave hunters?”
Jess patted Adam’s knee. “Quiet thyself, young man. They have come and gone, and all is well.” He took a sip of tea from the cup in front of him and peered at Adam. “But what of your cargo? Did thee not bring it?”
“The cargo is safe until dark. There are a couple new bounty hunters around, and we were pinned down. We couldn’t make the trip here last night.”
“It’s just as well thee didn’t.” Martha put a cup and saucer in front of Adam and poured tea for him. “Some men came yesterday—”
“Hush thee, Martha. They did no harm.”
“No harm! No harm? They took two of the best laying hens, and scared the rest so they won’t lay for a week.” Martha sat down with a sob. “And my poor Tilly-Cat.” She pulled a handkerchief out of the waistband of her gray dress and dabbed at her eyes. “Thee knows that man ran her down on purpose.”
“Were they the same men I saw? A skinny one with a red shirt, and a taller one with a gravelly voice?”
Jess nodded and took another sip of his tea. “They searched all through the outbuildings and the house. When they found the root cellar behind the hen house, they thought they had found . . . the place where we store the cargo.”
Adam nodded and sipped his own tea. The old Quaker’s calm acceptance of the violence he experienced was a quieting balm to his own soul.
“Those men are watching all the roads between Mechanicsville and Lancaster, and they know we were headed here.”
“How?” Martha twisted her cup on its saucer. “How did they know to look here?”
Adam looked from Jess’s bandage-covered white head to Martha’s worried face. “I heard them say there was an informant, at the river crossing. It had to be at Peach Bottom. That’s how they knew.”
“Oh, Lord, how we need thee now,” Martha said softly, holding her handkerchief over her eyes.
Jess slumped in his chair, this blow worse than the one on his head. “A traitor among us.”
He sat quietly, his eyes closed and head bowed. Adam had learned to wait, giving his elderly friend time to pray and think. He took a swallow of his cooling tea. Silence, marred only by the ticking of a clock in another room, filled the small keeping room. He pondered this quality he had seen often with the Penningtons—to them the silence was a presence, not the absence of sound. He drained his cup.
“We must continue the work.” Jess’s voice broke the silence, and he raised his eyes to Martha’s and then Adam’s with a fire of resolution in them. “Our lives and property mean nothing if we have passengers who are in danger.”
“Isn’t it dangerous for all, though?” Adam could only imagine what would happen if he tried to bring Bill and the others here tonight.
Jess nodded. “It’s dangerous, but what else can we do?”
“We can wait them out. The passengers are safe at our farm for now. We can keep them there for a few days, until these slave hunters give up and figure they’ve missed them.”
“Thee has wisdom in thy young years, Adam.” Jess nodded his agreement. “We will wait a few days and will keep thee in our prayers.”
“And I’ll keep watch until they’re gone.” Adam stood, resting his hand on Jess’s shoulders to keep the elderly man from rising. “I’ll see myself out. I must get going if I’m to get home before full darkness sets in.”
Martha walked him to the front door and peered through the curtains before opening it for him. “Thee take care, young Adam. We don’t want those hunters suspecting thee, also.”
“I will. I’ll see you in a few days.”
Adam headed up the lane toward the main road. At the bend in the lane, he looked back. The elderly couple was watching him. He returned their wave and then turned toward home.
Adam stopped at Tennant’s Mill, just downriver from the railway bridge, to purchase a sack of barley meal. He expecte
d to run into the slave hunters, and the sack of meal would provide the reason for his trip into town. Returning empty-handed would arouse suspicions.
Glancing at the angle of the sun, he headed east on Butter Road, the direct route home. He hoped he wouldn’t run into the hunters again, hoped they would have given up for the night. The sun would be gone by the time he reached the farm, but walking in the dark didn’t bother him. The evening was still early, and if he hurried, he’d be home before supper.
Dusk was just filling in under the trees when he heard the horses approaching. Jingling harness, galloping hard. Those hunters were as hard on their animals as they were on their quarry.
“Hey, boy!”
Gravelly Voice called to him, and Adam debated. Stop, or go on? Going on would only make them angry. He stopped and turned toward the men, balancing the sack of meal on his shoulders. The men reined their horses in. Red Shirt looked about ready to drop from exhaustion, but Gravelly Voice leaned forward in his saddle, chomping furiously at a wad of tobacco.
“We’re just running into you all over the place, ain’t we?” He spit a dark stream into the bushes at the side of the road.
Adam took a step closer, peering up at the dark-haired man as if trying to remember. “Ach, ja.” He shifted from German to English. “I remember you. You stopped me earlier and asked if I had seen any runaway slaves.”
“That’s right.” The man shifted his chaw to his other cheek. “What are you doing here? Didn’t we see you on the other side of the creek last time?”
Adam nodded his head, as if he was eager to help the man remember the details. “Ja, that’s right. I was on the New Holland Pike. I ate dinner with my Oncle Hans at noon, and then went to Lancaster to buy meal.” He shifted his shoulders to indicate the fifty-pound sack he carried.
The man leaned back in his saddle, regarding Adam through narrowed eyes.
Red Shirt shifted. “Come on, Hiram. It’ll be dark soon. Let’s go get some supper in town.”
Hiram shifted his gaze to Red Shirt, and then back to Adam. He spit brown juice into the dirt at Adam’s feet. “I don’t know. This boy’s heading home. I’d be willing to bet someone’s waiting supper on him. I could use a good, home-cooked meal about now.”
