by B. J. Hoff
Rachel hadn’t thought of it, but Gideon was right. Everyone would know. There was no keeping a secret among the People. Not only were they a small community, but they were an extremely close community as well. An event like this—an intrusion by two outsiders in the middle of the night—would burn through the settlement like wildfire.
Her dismay must have been written all over her face because Gideon cracked a sly smile. “Ja, no doubt you’ll be getting a visit from a certain deacon once he gets wind of your riverboat captain in there. Old Samuel isn’t going to like it one bit, hearing there’s a strange man in your bed.”
“Gideon!”
Clearly he was amused by her discomfort.
Just as the arrival of Gant and his companion, Asa, would be no secret in the community by afternoon, it was also no secret that Samuel Beiler, a deacon and highly regarded Amish farmer, was intent on courting Rachel. He had been sweet on her since before her marriage to Eli, and although he waited a decent time after Eli’s death to come around, lately his intentions had become more obvious.
He was a good man, Samuel was, but that’s all he was to Rachel. And in her deepest heart, she knew that was all he ever would be. Some of the women among the People made no secret of the fact that they thought her headstrong and foolish for not warming to the attentions of a handsome spiritual leader and prosperous widower like Samuel Beiler.
Be that as it may, she didn’t see Samuel in the same light as many of the others did. In truth she disliked herself for the way she’d begun to view him. Surely she was wrong to feel as she did toward a man so widely respected and esteemed by the entire community, a man who had been her friend—and a friend of her family—for years. Yet there were times when she actually found herself wondering if Samuel might not be somewhat manipulative or, at the least, meddlesome. He did seem bent on insinuating himself into areas of her life where he had no business.
For months now he had hinted that Rachel should seriously consider selling her place to him. She understood his motives—Rachel’s property and her mother’s rested squarely between Samuel’s land and the Troyer farm. Samuel had already acquired Benjamin Troyer’s place, so if he could convince Rachel and her mother to sell to him, he would own the largest expanse of property in the Riverhaven area.
Although Gideon and some of Rachel’s friends enjoyed teasing her about Samuel’s “pursuit,” she couldn’t help but occasionally wonder whether his real objective was to win her as his wife—or acquire her land.
Of course the moment this poisonous thought crept into her mind, she felt wicked and small-minded. Samuel Beiler wasn’t that kind of a man, and she ought to be ashamed of herself for even entertaining such a notion.
“Where’s that rambling mind of yours gone to now?” asked
Gideon.
Rachel waved him off. “Just thinking about Maryann…and things. That’s all.”
“You think too much, sister. That’s one of your problems.”
“I didn’t know I had a problem. What would I do without my bruder to remind me?” Rachel pointed a finger toward the door. “Are you going to call Fannie or not?”
“I’m going.” He made a move toward the stove. “Just let me have a taste of that gravy first.”
“You’ll have no taste of anything if you don’t stop acting like such a child.” Rachel made as if to smack his hands with the spatula, and he turned quickly to go wake Fannie.
She took a deep breath. And another. I mustn’t inflict the turmoil of my heart on my loved ones, Lord God…please, calm my spirit and help me cling to Your peace.
From the darkness of the room where he was lying, Gant could see what appeared to be a dimly lighted kitchen where a woman and a man stood talking. Even the faint light hurt his eyes, and he had to keep closing them against the pain. Things looked blurred, as in a dream, and he wondered if that’s what this was—a dream. For he recognized nothing, not the bed he was in nor the people in the kitchen.
He’d been drifting in and out of a thick, numbing sleep for what seemed like hours. Every time he thought he was awake, the room would start to sway, and he’d close his eyes against the sick pitching of his stomach and the fire in his leg. The next thing he knew, he’d fallen asleep again.
His gaze settled on the kitchen. An oil lamp flickered on the wooden table. The walls were bare, and so was the floor except for a rag rug at the door. The woman looked young. She was pretty, though clad in a severe dark dress and apron, with a little white cap on her head. The man with her was tall and had longish hair and wide shoulders.
He thought it was nighttime but couldn’t be sure. The room was dark. Everything looked dark. He caught only a word here and there of the man and woman’s conversation. Nothing made sense. He heard “Maryann” and “wedding” and “English.” Something about “Gideon.” But nothing meant anything to him.
He turned, wincing with the pain. He saw Asa sitting beside the bed and heard something at the foot of the bed—the soft chuffing sound Mac made when he slept. He opened his mouth to call to his dog, but no sound came. Only a strangled gasp.
He closed his heavy eyes, and immediately a blanket of darkness settled over him again.
5
GANT
The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless’d:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
SHAKESPEARE
Evening came early on the river in November. The outside light was waning and the shadows were drawing in, beginning to crowd the Kitchen when Rachel lighted the oil lamp and started supper.
She had already decided to make a large meal, for she had no idea how many she might be feeding. If Dr. Sebastian arrived close to mealtime, naturally she would ask him to stay. Although he hadn’t come by yet, he’d promised that he would, and Rachel knew she could count on his word. Gideon might be here as well, if he remembered that Mamma wouldn’t be cooking this evening. She and Fannie would still be at the wedding.
Not comfortable with leaving the still dangerously ill Englischer for the entire day, Rachel had stayed home. The wounded stranger hadn’t yet regained consciousness, although he’d been fitful and restless throughout the day, as if he might come to at any moment.
Asa, his companion, was noticeably worried about him and, no doubt, with good reason. Rachel also felt a heavy weight of concern, and she didn’t even know the man. His skin was absolutely ashen, his fever still high, and he groaned with nearly every breath he took. There could be no mistaking the graveness of his condition.
“Missus?”
Rachel whipped around at the sound of Asa’s voice. She still wasn’t used to having someone in the house, and the slightest noise tended to unnerve her. It had occurred to her, though, earlier in the afternoon, that if she had to endure two strangers in her house, this man of color might just be the least intimidating of the two. He appeared to be a quiet, gentle soul, careful with every word he spoke and seemingly eager to be helpful and unobtrusive.
On the other hand, the wounded Gant—even though unconscious and unaware of the dilemma he presented for a widowed Amish woman living alone—somehow emanated a disturbing potential for violence. Perhaps it was because he had been shot. The thought of someone aiming a gun at another human being and pulling the trigger chilled Rachel’s blood.
Whatever the reason, the man’s very presence seemed to charge the air with a quality of danger. Although Rachel looked in on him at frequent intervals throughout the day and saw to any need she could anticipate, she stayed out of the bedroom as much as possible.
“I’m sorry, missus. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Rachel waved away his apology. “No, it’s—it’s fine. Is there something you need?”
“I was wondering…I don’t like to bother you, but with the captain as he is, there is something I need to do. Something I need to ask you about—”
Rachel waited. The man seemed uneasy, even anxious.
“We were supposed to collect…some people, you see. Some people who will be waiting for us.”
“What people?”
He pulled a kerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. “May I speak freely—and for only you to hear?”
Rachel nodded, watching him.
“These would be people—like me. People of color. We—Captain Gant and myself—we were supposed to meet them and help them make their way to the North.”
Rachel stared at him, understanding finally dawning. “You’re talking about slaves. Runaway slaves.”
Something like defiance flared in his dark eyes. “Yes, runaway slaves. Are they…here somewhere? I need to get word to them. They’re waiting for us to come for them. If we don’t—”
As if he sensed Rachel’s bewilderment, he stopped.
“You thought there were runaway slaves here? There’s no one here. No one at all except myself and sometimes my little sister. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man appeared as baffled as Rachel. “We were told they would be here, waiting for us. That there would be a quilt on the line outside the house and a candle in the window. That it would be a place where Amish people live.”
Now Rachel was thoroughly confused. “The quilt was on the clothesline because I forgot to bring it in earlier. Later it got soaked from the rain, and so I left it out. As for the candle, I leave a candle in the window every night.”
His worried expression deepened still more. “I don’t know where they might be or how to find them. I can only hope they wait until I can find them. If they get impatient and try to leave on their own, there’s a great risk of getting caught.”
“Whatever you were told, you’re not likely to find them here in Riverhaven.” Rachel averted her eyes. “Plain People don’t get involved in things like that. We keep to ourselves.”
He didn’t reply right away, but Rachel could sense him watching her.
“Captain says that some Amish folks have helped in the past,” he finally said, his voice low.
Rachel turned to look at him. “Not around here. I’d have heard about it.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Most folks who help the slaves—they keep quiet about it. It’s safer for everyone that way.”
Rachel’s mind swarmed with questions about this business of helping runaway slaves gain their freedom, but she thought it best to tend to her own affairs. There was one question she felt an urgency to ask, however. “You wouldn’t leave now, would you? With…your captain in the condition he’s in?”
The thought of being left alone with a man who might be dying wasn’t a possibility she wanted to consider.
He shook his head. But Rachel’s relief was short-lived.
“No, of course I wouldn’t leave the captain like this. But if—when— he regains consciousness and I know he’s going to be all right, then I will have to go. It’s what he will expect—”
He broke off at a sound from the next room. He and Rachel stared at each other for a split second and then started for the door.
He was awake.
Even in the dimmest of light straying in from the kitchen, his eyes caught the glow as he looked directly at Rachel and then Asa. He moistened his lips as if he would speak, but nothing came.
As a went to the near side of the bed. After lighting the oil lamp, Rachel went to the opposite side.
He looked so different now that he was conscious. Younger, not so threatening, with those deep blue eyes wide open and fringed with lashes so long and thick they might have belonged to a woman.
He was staring at her, not Asa, studying her so closely Rachel felt relief when he finally turned back to Asa.
“Where—”
The single word seemed all that he could manage, as if the effort had exhausted him and left him empty.
“You’re safe, Captain. You were shot, but you’re going to be all right. We’re in Riverhaven. This lady here is Mrs. Brenneman. This is her house.”
Again Gant turned toward Rachel, slowly. Rachel saw him wince, as if the movement caused him pain.
In spite of her resolve to distance herself from this unknown outsider, Rachel felt unexpected sympathy at the sight of him. His skin was gray, his hands almost white, his eyes sunken and shadowed. And sorrowful. Such awful sad eyes he had.
On instinct she touched the back of her hand to his forehead.
The fever had broken. His skin was clammy but cool, almost normal.
He was watching her like a hawk might eye a bobcat, taking her measure, judging what her next move might be.
When she realized she was still touching him, she jerked her hand away. Something glinted in his eyes before he turned back to Asa.
“I’m shot?”
“Yes, Captain. Do you remember?”
Gant seemed to consider that. He looked at Asa with a question in his eyes.
“One of Cottrill’s men,” Asa said.
To Rachel’s amazement, Gant seemed to muster the strength for a grim smile, a smile that quickly fell away. “He’s not giving up, is he? He’ll not have you back though.”
“Thanks to you, Captain. And I do thank you for what you did.”
“Am I going to make it?”
Asa leaned slightly forward, putting a hand to Gant’s shoulder. “You are. Thanks to these kind people and the mercy of God.”
Gant closed his eyes, but only for a moment. When he opened them again, his gaze locked on Rachel.
“You’re Amish,” he said, his voice so thin Rachel could scarcely make out his words.
“Yes, I am.” Even as unfocused and vague as it was, his stare unnerved Rachel. She clenched her hands behind her back.
“Good…people,” he murmured and then closed his eyes. “Captain!” Asa’s features froze in alarm.
“He’s all right, I think,” Rachel said. “He’s just sleeping now, not unconscious. No doubt he’s too weak to stay awake.”
The words were no more off her lips than Gant’s eyes flew open. He reached a hand to Asa’s arm. “Where are they? Durham’s people. Did you find them?”
Asa bent low. “Not yet, Captain. They’re not here. But I’ll find them.”
“They’re not here? What do you mean?”
Asa shook his head. “Missus says no. She doesn’t know of any runaways.”
Gant’s eyes burned as he glanced at Rachel and then reached a hand toward Asa. “You have to find them,” he rasped. “You have to find them soon.”
“I will, Captain. I’ll find them.”
“Now. Hurry. You have to hurry…they mustn’t leave without us… they’ll never…”
And then he was gone again, back to the same troubled sleep. Rachel touched his forehead and, finding the fever upon him once more, didn’t feel nearly as confident as his friend, Asa, that he was going to be all right.
6
FRIEND PHOEBE
Let me tonight look back across the span
Twixt dawn and dark, and to my conscience say—
Because of some good act to beast or man—
“The world is better that I lived today.”
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX
Rachel didn’t know whether she should be relieved or anxious when Dr. Sebastian told her later that evening that Gant would almost certainly survive.
Naturally she was relieved because she wouldn’t wish the man to die; but she was also anxious because his good chances of survival meant that Asa would be leaving, at least for a time, to search for the slaves who were waiting to be led to freedom.
If he did leave, just how was she to deal with the wounded auslander in her house? Even with Dr. Sebastian’s promise to come by every day and knowing she could count on her mother’s help, there was more to be reckoned with than the matter of the outsider’s care.
She was a widow living alone. How could she take care of a wounded man in her home—an outsider at that—for what the docto
r had indicated would be a lengthy recuperation period?
She would surely receive a visit from the bishop soon enough, when that news reached his ears.
And Samuel, too, would no doubt make an appearance, him being a deacon.
Her mouth went dry at the very thought of that kind of a visit from Samuel. Several years ago when Eli was still alive, she had suffered one such uncomfortable meeting with him in his deacon’s capacity—and with the bishop as well. That occasion had been brought on by Barbara Kurtz, who had come alongside the house one day while Rachel was hanging out clothes. She’d caught Rachel carelessly singing a tune that Gideon had learned from one of his Englisch friends and passed on to her, a lighthearted little song with a catchy melody that had worked its way into Rachel’s mind and stayed with her for days.
Music had a way of doing that to her. It was as if once she heard a memorable piece of music, she unwittingly allowed it entrance into some deep part of herself. She seldom even realized she was humming or singing it. It simply wove its way into her being and took up residence, only to appear unbidden when she least expected it.
Barbara had chided her for indulging in such a frivolous and worldly activity, and Rachel could hardly defend herself. She knew well enough that singing was to be limited to only songs that were pleasing to the Lord God—in particular hymns from the Ausbund, the Amish hymnal.
The lapse in behavior had been wrong, albeit unintentional. Even so, she hadn’t once thought that the woman her mother counted as a friend would actually take the matter so seriously as to report her. Eli had been disgruntled for a time over the reprimand, but they both knew that to argue the point would only give the offense more weight than it probably deserved—and at the same time risk provoking yet another rebuke.
Although Mamma at first had seemed impatient with Barbara, she cautioned Rachel that what sometimes seemed like minor offenses could easily turn into more serious ones. “We have to guard our hearts, daughter. I’m sure Barbara’s intentions were good. She meant only to protect you.”
