River of Mercy (7 page)

If the two of them would ever have a chance to be together, this would most likely be it. Should a new bishop approve his conversion, the door would be open to the possibility of their marriage. Beyond that…he refused to let himself speculate.

But the waiting was hard. And worrisome. Especially knowing that one of the men to be considered as bishop was Samuel Beiler.

He started to take another sip of coffee but found his cup empty. For a time he sat staring at the flickering lantern on the table, but finally he got up and headed for the shop.

While it was still dark, Mac sauntered into the shop and stood watching Gant as if waiting for their usual morning routine to begin.

“I suppose you want your breakfast,” Gant said without looking at him as he tightened the bench vise a little more.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the big hound's tail start wagging.

“All right, then,” he said after a moment. “We'll tend to you first. Then we need to get our visitors fed.”

He was almost finished planing Web Brighton's cabinet door, but he decided to feed Mac and the folks in the barn first. The door would wait. Hungry stomachs shouldn't have to.

“Okay, chum,” he said, wiping his hands. “Back to the kitchen.”

Later, Mac followed him to the barn, no doubt lured by the aroma of the fried ham and biscuits Gant had packed in the basket. “You just ate, you big oaf. Don't expect to filch any of this.”

The dog continued to press himself as close as possible to Gant, keeping a sharp eye on the food basket all the way. “And stop drooling. I told you, you've had your share. No more. These folks are hungry. You can't possibly be.”

The hour before sunup was cold with a heavy mist. Gant continued to dart glances toward the hillside at his left and the road in the distance to his right, carrying his lantern low and close. He was far enough removed from the road that he didn't worry much about anyone watching him. Even so, you never knew when there might be slave catchers in the area, keeping an eye out for runaways and those who harbored them. And the bobcat was never far from his mind.

At the barn, he set the basket down just long enough to unbolt the door.

“No,” he warned Mac when the dog brought his nose a bit too close.

The hound checked out his owner as if to make certain he meant business, and then he stood at attention until Gant picked up the basket and motioned Mac to follow.

Inside, the barn smelled of hay and leather harnesses. Flann, the big ginger-red gelding, roused and puffed at the sight of Gant and the dog. “I'll feed you in a minute, fella. Be patient.”

Gant started with the basket to the people at the far corner of the barn, glancing back once at Mac and the gelding, who stood watching each other. The two seemed to have struck up an odd kind of friendship in which no audible conversation was necessary. They clearly enjoyed each other's company. Even when Gant hung the lantern on a pole and set the basket of food on the log table he'd rigged for the runaways, Mac made no move to leave his station by Flann's stall. Apparently he'd finally accepted that there would be no seconds on breakfast this morning.

The family perched against the wall—a young black man called Nate, his wife, and their small son—had obviously been waiting for him. As soon as the lantern cast its light into the corner, they clambered to their feet.

The woman, named Mercy, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then helped Gant empty the contents of the food basket. “Oh, my, Cap'n Gant, this be a feast!” Immediately she put food in front of her little boy and helped him eat.

Her husband held back, his gaze intent on Gant rather than the food. “Any word yet, Cap'n?” he asked, rubbing his hands together as if they ached.

Gant shook his head. “Nothing yet. But don't worry. You're safe here for now. It won't be long until you'll be leaving. Just as soon as Asa gets back.”

“This Asa—he your overseer?”

Gant looked at him. “I don't have an overseer, Nate. There's no plantation, not even a farm. I'm just a carpenter with a shop, where I work. Asa is a friend and one of the men who'll be helping you on your trip north.”

Nate nodded, but Gant could see that he was still on edge, still concerned for his family's safety. And why wouldn't he be? If they should be captured, they would almost certainly be brutalized. At the least, he and his wife would be beaten. They might also be separated and sold downriver. Their child might even be taken away from them.

“Heard tell you used to be a river man, Cap'n. Folks talk a lot about you. Say you used to take runaways to the north on your boat.”

Folks talk too much.
Gant didn't acknowledge Nate's remark one way or the other. “You'd best have your breakfast,” he said. “You'll have to go down below before sunup.”

With Asa's help, Gant had dug a kind of root cellar beneath the barn where runaways could hide during daylight hours, supplying it with blankets and staples and what comforts he could. But he didn't like them spending nights that far below ground. Instead, he insisted on them staying in the barn at night, where it was warmer and dryer.

Nate regarded him with a searching look but said nothing more.

Gant didn't stay with them long. Mercy's almost servile gratitude made him feel awkward. He'd always hated being dependent on anyone for anything. That a man and his family were forced to depend on others, even for their very lives, just because of their skin color, smacked of degradation. He didn't want anyone feeling beholden to him for what was nothing more than simple human decency. It wasn't right.

He'd felt that same discomfort often, from his early days as a conductor transporting runaway slaves on his boat, right up to today. He detested being the recipient of another human being's feelings of indebtedness. So after another brief exchange of questions and answers, he left the barn.

By ten o'clock that morning Gant had finished Web Brighton's cabinet door and started the rocking chair Ben Roberts had ordered for his mother's birthday. He was in the back washing up a little when he heard the bell over the door chime.

Strange. Mac was in front but had made no sound. He usually alerted Gant to someone's entrance.

Still drying his hands, he walked into the shop to find Doc Sebastian standing just inside the entrance, his hat in hand and a broad grin on his face as he rubbed Mac's ears.

By now, Gant considered Doc as thoroughly “Amishized,” having converted and married Rachel's mother, Susan Kanagy, a few weeks past. These days he sported an Amish man's beard and the dark, plain clothing of the People.

Gant had finally grown accustomed to Doc's change in appearance, gradual as it had been. In fact, it seemed to suit him, just as most everything about the Amish lifestyle seemed to be a comfortable fit for his friend.

“Well, it seems I made fresh coffee just in time.” Gant motioned him toward the back of the shop and then told Mac to stay. “So how was your trip to Baltimore?”

“Couldn't have been any better,” Doc said, following Gant to the back room. “I particularly enjoyed Susan's reaction to the train.”

Gant poured Doc a cup of steaming coffee and another for himself. “That's right. You said she'd never ridden one before. What did she think of it?”

“She loved it.” Doc shrugged out of his coat and sat down at the small table where Gant usually ate his noon meal. “Oh, she was a little on edge at first, but that didn't last long. Her eyes were fairly popping most of the way. I think she enjoyed herself immensely.”

“And your family? Everyone doing well?” Gant sat down across from him.

Doc nodded. “The new baby arrived two days after we did. A little girl. Susan was beside herself. She'd been hoping all along we'd be there for the birth.”

“Did you deliver her?”

“I assisted. My daughter-in-law and Susan did most of the work without much help from me.” He took a sip of coffee. “Speaking of babies, how's the Sawyer infant coming along? Have you seen her?”

Gant smiled a little as the image of wee Naomi Fay came into his mind. “She seems to be thriving. Growing fast.”

“And Mrs. Sawyer? How is she?”

“Doing all right, I think. She stays busy in the restaurant and keeps the baby with her. You're going to call on them soon, I expect?”

Doc looked at him, and Gant said, “I forgot. You won't be doctoring anymore outside the community.”

“And even there, on a limited basis only,” Doc said, his expression sobering. “Nothing really too different about that, of course. A large number of my patients have always come from the People. But now it seems I'll be practicing primarily among the men and children.”

Gant frowned. “That's something new, isn't it?”

Doc Sebastian had been a friend and physician to the Amish for years, but after his conversion, Bishop Graber ruled that, although the doctor could continue his practice among the People, he would have to give up his patients in the outside world. The Amish would be his only patients.

Doc didn't seem to mind all that much. Gant supposed he would have given up just about anything to marry Susan.

Gant understood that feeling well enough. Had the bishop allowed him to convert and marry Rachel, he would have given up everything he owned. That hadn't changed. Unfortunately, neither had the prohibition against his conversion.

“Not really. I've been expecting it,” Doc said, drawing Gant back to his surroundings. “I'm perfectly fine with it, actually. Susan has assisted at a number of births and a few emergencies among the women over the years. If the situation warrants it and a woman prefers her to an
Englisch
doctor, why not? She's had plenty of experience. She's more than capable of helping out. And we may soon have a new doctor in town.”

“You've found someone?”

Doc had been sending out letters over the past few weeks in search of a doctor who might want to take over his
Englisch
practice. “I believe I've found just the fellow. I've invited him to come and look us over, so we'll see if he's interested. He's supposed to visit not long after Christmas.”

“Well, it didn't take you long to find someone.”

“Actually, if this fellow doesn't decide for us, it could take quite a while. Small town, fairly isolated…no one's going to get rich here.” He stopped. “Except for clever carpenters, of course.”

Gant ignored the jibe. “Sounds as though all that should work to his patients' advantage, if not his. At least it's a safe bet he wouldn't be setting up practice to make big money.”

“Quite.”

Doc spun his hat around on his index finger for a few seconds and then looked up. “So…any news since we've been away?”

Gant didn't have to think long. “Seems as though some of the vandalism might be moving closer into town.”

Doc frowned. “How so?”

“Fred Scott found two of his chickens dead outside the coop the other day. Somebody wrung their necks in the night.”

“You mean they just left them there?”

Gant nodded.

“Obviously not someone looking for food then. Just meanness. Sounds like youngsters to me.”