North by Night (19 page)

I
can make choices.

Shall I spend the rest of my life alone? No. I’ll write letters. People who care about me will write back, and visit. Windsor, Canada, isn’t the end of the earth. I could train to be a real teacher, attend college someday. Mama and Papa will help with that if I ask.

And Jeremiah. I can choose Jeremiah Strong if I wish. I know that when this is all over, he will find me. Or else I will find him.

F
RIDAY
, M
ARCH
7, 1851
L
ATE

Lake Erie at last …

Tonight I stood at the rail of a lake steamer and watched the crew pull up the gangplank and unhitch ropes from the mooring poles. I felt the water surge under the boat, and my heart hummed.

As the engines roared to life I held Hope toward the shoreline. “See? We’re on our way. Say goodbye to your old life, baby.”

Cold air gusted toward us, and Hope wailed. I tucked her back inside the warmth of my coat and watched the lights on the horizon move, glimmer, and fade away. The ribbon of water between us and the shore widened as our steamer plowed through dark waters.

Hope and I were on our way. I slipped Grandmother’s thin gold band onto my finger, for luck and for remembrance.

I thought about the path that had led to this voyage and wondered. If I had it to do over, would I make the same choices? Work the Railroad? Save this baby? Leave home forever? If I got pushed to the edge, I might. But I might not. I’m not as brave as I’d always thought I was. Nor as wise.

And yet I’ve helped save lives. Many lives in the past four years. Ten very special lives in this case. That eases the hurt some.

As I looked down at the dark water, churned up by powerful engines, I thought of my life—it spun and whirled like the water. Would it ever grow calm again?

Do I want calm? Or do I instead want new shape to my life, new meaning? I like the sound of that. I was considering my future in a small town with only the familiar to choose from. Suddenly I have the world.

I looked into Hope’s eyes and saw life there. Freedom.

“Not a bad place to start, sweet baby,” I said. “With luck, we’ll find the courage to grow into strong women—
like your mama and mine. And the spirit to become original ones—like Miss Aurelia.”

I smiled, took a deep breath of the misty lake air, and hugged Hope to my breast.

A girl could do worse.

KATHERINE AYRES has been a lover of books since childhood. Born in Columbus, Ohio, she began inventing stories before she could write them. Her love of literature continued through her first career as a teacher and elementary school principal. She currently writes fiction for adults and children.

Katherine Ayres lives with her husband in Pittsburgh, where she skis, golfs, gardens, and quilts.