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Authors: Katherine Ayres

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BOOK: North by Night
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Several pots simmered on the cookstove and filled the kitchen with warmth and good smells. She fixed the tea, I cut the pie, and we sat at one end of a long cherrywood table to eat.

“Tell me about the beets and whiskey,” I said.

“Well, first you must know that I’m not a drinking woman. But I keep a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard for coughs and croup.”

“So does Mama,” I said. “She doses us with whiskey and lemon. It burns going down, but the coughing stops.”

“I’ve always had a strange reaction to strong spirits. A sip or two and my face turns red as a tomato. I get blazing hot all over.”

“So your fever was whiskey?”

“Indeed. And for the spots I cut a beet in half, took a little twig, and painted my face and hands with dots of beet juice. Then, when I heard the boys’ wagon, I swallowed two swigs of that vile liquor, stuck a clove in my mouth to cover the smell, and arranged myself on the floor like a near corpse. Sure didn’t know if I could last without laughing. Lucky for me your brother Will scooted everybody else out when they decided I had the measles.”

“They said your house was a mess. Dishes everywhere.”

“Did you ever know a boy in your life who could tell dirty dishes from clean? I just spread things out before they came, and tucked them back in the cupboards when they left.”

I looked around me. Not a sign of mess remained. “You should go on the stage,” I said. “Who would have thought Widow Mercer could be so wicked?”

“Wicked indeed.” She chuckled. “But I’ll tell you this: Being grown doesn’t have to make a person serious all the time. Our business is serious enough. God gave us laughter to ease our pains. He’d be disappointed if we forgot to use it. Even us old folks.”

I couldn’t see anything old about Miss Aurelia. She had no lines on her face, and her thick ash-brown hair had no sign of gray. I couldn’t remember back to when her Mr. Mercer was alive. What a shame she was widowed young. She was so lovely. I wonder why she never remarried.

I dare not ask such personal questions. I’ll get Mama to tell me more when I go home.

The clock over the hearth chimed, and I counted. Eight, nine, ten, eleven. “Will they arrive soon, do you think?”

“Midnight, I’d guess. Let me show you where you’ll stay. I’ve given you the room right next door to me, so you can hear if this poor, sickly old woman takes a bad turn in the night. I’ve set out a nightgown, so you don’t have to sleep all gussied up.”

She laughed again, and I did too. I’d expected hard work, but I hadn’t expected to feel so welcome and at home. I sent up a silent thanks that Jeremiah Strong had chosen me for this work. I had the feeling of stepping outside the ordinary, of embarking on the adventure of my life.

Jeremiah Strong. He’s part of the adventure, too.

I sit here fiddling with my pen and run my thumb across my lips where he kissed me. When I look at the hand he held, a fire rises to my cheeks. I take a breath and try to calm my tumbling thoughts. Bah! It won’t do for Miss Aurelia to catch me in such a mood. She’ll think I’ve sampled her whiskey.

T
UESDAY
, J
ANUARY
14, 1851

Another day of hard work and gray skies. I’m not sure I remember what the sun looks like.

Our visitors seem to have caught up with themselves at last. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday all they did was sleep and eat. Until today they had no time, nor energy, for conversation. No wonder, considering how thin and
cold and ragged they looked when they arrived. But they have rested some.

I wish I could say the same. My mind still whirls like a summer tornado. The visitors—six children, one baby, and two women—keep us busy enough to tire me out, cooking, washing up, and carrying. And then I have the barn chores. But between worry about the danger and excitement about the adventure, I still find it difficult to get a whole night’s sleep.

Also, since the fugitives have been awake more today, I’ve begun to tie names to faces. There’s a woman named Emma. Now that she’s regained some strength, we’ve talked. I try to remember Papa’s rule and not ask questions, but Emma’s not shy.

She was ready for conversation this morning when we carried up breakfast. “Ben, Shad, Naomi, Daniel, sit yourselves up straight,” she said to four little ones. “Say good morning to Miss Lucy.”

The children looked at me and nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Over there be Ruth and Mesha.” She pointed toward a small girl and a tiny boy. “They Cass’s babies. And this hungry gal, she my Lizzie.” She held a sturdy child to her breast.

“You’re feeling better? Rested now?”

“Some better. Can’t help but worry, though. My Abraham, he got himself caught to save the rest of us.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. So I bit my lip and changed the subject. “Is Cass feeling better, too?” I looked toward the bed where she lay, still sleeping.

Emma lifted the milk pitcher with her free hand. She
looked at me over the children’s heads and shook her head.

I worried about Cass. She looked terrible. She had medium brown skin, but behind the brown, her face looked gray and sickly. Pain lines furrowed her puffy skin.

Seeing Cass brought back bad memories for me. It carried me back to those days last spring when Mama just lay there, still and quiet. Of course, she had her reasons. She’d lost a child in the birthing bed. But at times I wondered if she was lost to us as well. Thank the good Lord she came back. I’ll pray for Cass and ask God to heal her as He healed my mama. Surely He will hear me.

W
EDNESDAY
, J
ANUARY
15, 1851

Bless Thomas! He and Will brought a few essentials for me on Saturday, but today he made another trip with his wagon piled high—more food, outgrown clothes Mama sent for the young guests, and the rest of my clothes, books, and sewing things in two big boxes. After unpacking all that, I feel I have moved into Miss Aurelia’s fine house. My clothes have never hung in such a beautiful walnut wardrobe.

Best of all, Tom brought me letters. I have read them three times each and will fold them into my journal to keep. And after reading them once more, I’ll have to find a safe place to hide my journal, for Papa’s words remind me of the caution I must always exercise. I have been lax. Dangerously so.

14
January

Dear Lucinda
,

Your brothers have told us more of Widow Mercer’s illness. Sadly, it is a spreading sickness that keeps you from your home for the coming days. You are a brave girl to fight against it until this terrible disease is cured. I thank God daily that my family is strong and in good health. I am proud of each one of you and the parts you play
.

I would take your place and care for Widow Mercer myself if I could, but that wouldn’t be seemly. I pray you will use extreme caution and not be caught by some stray contagion. Keep vigilant. Do not take the slightest chance. You carry life in your hands. Do not lose yourself in daydreaming, else you slip. I pray God will watch over you and your charge. You are in our hearts
.

Love
,
Papa

14
January

Darling Lucy
,

Your father and I are so proud of you. We miss you, of course. But we’ll have you back soon, and full of tales, if I’m not mistaken. You will miss some of the Reverend Cummings’s inspiring sermons, which I’m sure weighs down your heart. Don’t worry. He’ll let you read them if you but ask
.

Dear girl, take care of yourself and your charge. Be useful to Aurelia Mercer. She is a good woman, if a bit unusual. Your papa has written his cautions, so I won’t overburden you
with mine. Just know that we both send our love and our prayers your way.

With a hug and kiss
,
Mama

I read my parents’ letters yet again and I hold my arms close to my chest and hug myself. My eyes fill. Already I miss Mama’s hugs, her humor, her spirit. I’ve never been away from home before. How will I get along for a week without her?

And Papa. I’ve never heard him so serious, so fearsome. The fact that he writes in code sobers me. And he warns about being caught by some stray contagion. That word again.
Caught
. I can’t help but recall that stranger in church. Oh, how I wish I were home.

As I write this a tear dampens my cheek. I brush it away, ashamed. Here I sit only a few miles from my home and I feel lost. How much harder it must be for the families we shelter. They left everyone and everything behind. And one was captured. My family is whole and safe and nearby.

I’ll read Miranda’s words again. Surely they’ll cheer me.

Dear Lucy
,

Mama says she’ll write what I say. I want to come, too. I want to help with the measles
.

Mama says the measles are itchy and hot, but I don’t care
.

I miss you and miss you
.

I have a new friend. Reddie is a redbird and his wing is
hurt. We keep him in a box in the loft so Brutus won’t eat him for supper. Shame on Brutus. Bad cat
.

Reddie misses you, too. But he likes eating your corn bread
.

Mama says I must help Reddie get well while you help Widow Mercer get well. That’s what I will do
.

Come home soon, soon, soon
.

Love
,
Miranda

Miranda and her precious animals. She has a soft heart and a gentle hand. It won’t be long before she’ll help rescue people as well as wild animals. In another five years, perhaps …

But no. I don’t want to think so far ahead. Perhaps in five years there will no longer be a need for us to do this work. In five years I might be permanently gone from my home. I might be married and have children of my own. With that thought, I unfold the letter from Jonathan Clark. Drat it all, I am so confused.

11
January

My dear Lucinda
,

I’m sorry I got so upset last evening. I spent the whole night in thought about what happened and I still don’t understand. I’d come and speak with you, but Ma won’t allow it. She’s afraid I’ll get the measles. Sometimes Ma forgets that I’m a man, or nearly. She treats me like a child. Since I can’t come, I’ve decided to write. I hope your brother will deliver this promptly and that you will reply
.

As I said, I stayed up all night. Remember the hill at the far northeastern corner of our farm? Where the creek pools up below and we swim all summer? That’s my favorite place. There’s a big flat rock where I climb up and think about things. We picnicked there last summer, do you remember? I haven’t forgotten. It was the first time we kissed
.

Last night I took a couple of horse blankets and lay on the rock to study the stars and ponder
.

And here’s what I think: I haven’t made my feelings clear to you. I haven’t asked you to share yours
.

I care for you, Lucinda. I can’t imagine my life without you in the center. But since I haven’t been bold enough to tell you, perhaps you haven’t understood. Is that it? Did you allow that Quaker to kiss you because you didn’t know of my affection? Because you thought my kisses were only childish games? If so, I’ll forgive you. Indeed, I’ll need to forgive myself, for it is more my fault than yours. Know this, Lucinda. A man’s heart beats in my chest—it beats for you
.

Another thought came to me. Did you even allow the kiss I saw? If that Quaker forced you, just say the word and I’ll make him sorrier than he’s ever been. I’ve never thought much of those Quakers, with their silent services and stern faces. I think they keep secrets under those round hats
.

One more question I must ask, even if it hurts. Have I misjudged your feelings? Do you like him more than you like me? If so, and I pray it isn’t so, please write and tell me straight out. I will take as a man whatever comes
.

I hope my thoughts, jumbled as they are, haven’t overburdened you. I know you are an angel, caring for a sick
neighbor. It is one of the many reasons I cherish you, my dear Lucinda
.

Yours
,
Jonathan

A big sigh escapes as I finish reading. Every time I read this letter his words warm and trouble me. I do feel cherished, but confused, too.

If only Mama were here to tell me what to do. But she isn’t, so I must tuck all my letters into this journal and hide the whole business deep in my box of soiled clothing.

I don’t expect Miss Aurelia to snoop in my belongings, but if she somehow found my private thoughts, I’d be greatly embarrassed. And if somebody else found them, the wrong somebody, disaster would strike.

T
HURSDAY
, J
ANUARY
16, 1851

January is half gone and still no sign of the sun. And the clouds today seem grayer than ever. Is this possible? Of course it’s possible; winter in northern Ohio is bleak at best. Now I fear we are about to get its worst.

Dear Thomas. He’s such a good boy. Yesterday before he left he stacked all the new-cut wood for Miss Aurelia. He carried lots of it to the back porch for us, and a good thing, too. If those aren’t snow clouds I see piling up in the western sky, I’m a dappled mare.

And speaking of the mare, I must string a rope from the house to the barn so that if the snows do come, we
won’t lose our way when we feed the horses and do the milking. Just in case …

F
RIDAY
, J
ANUARY
17, 1851
V
ERY EARLY

I am no dappled mare.

Snow came in the night while we were sleeping. Up in the attic the baby cried, as she does some nights. It woke me and I listened, wondering if I’d be needed. I heard footsteps, her mother tending her, and then no more cries. No sounds at all, just a deep silence, as if I lay in a room filled with pillows. I crept from my bed and peered out. The clouds had emptied their treasures for us, billowing drifts of white diamonds. The first snow of the new year.

I tiptoed downstairs and made for the front door. I pushed it open to touch the snow, to taste the cold, sharp cleanness with my tongue. As I pushed, something fell from the door, as if wedged there. I bent to pick it up. A letter. I brushed snow off the paper before it could melt and cause the ink to run.

BOOK: North by Night
8.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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