Storm Clouds Rolling In (50 page)

Just then, with a mighty clap of thunder, the bank of heavy clouds opened up to dump their cargo.
Rain poured down from the sky in great sheets as the thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. Adams cursed again and shook his head. He knew the futility of even
trying
to follow the slaves in this weather. The rain would wash away all scent before the dogs would even get a chance to follow it. Slowly, he stood and climbed into his saddle. He couldn’t just do nothing. He turned Ginger south, then began to jog through the pouring rain. He was on his way to find some slave hunters.

TWENTY-FOUR

“Miss Carrie!
There be a letter here for you.”

Carrie looked at her mother to make sure she was still sleeping and then ran lightly down the stairs.
“A letter, Sam?” Her heart pounded with excitement. Could it be from Robert? She hadn’t heard from him since he had written her a short note in Philadelphia saying he hoped her time with Matthew was beneficial. The note had arrived shortly before she left to come home. There had been no opportunity to think of a reply since then.

“Yes, Miss Carrie.”
Sam smiled and handed the letter to her. Then he frowned. “You need to get out more, Miss Carrie.”

Carrie patted his arm.
“I’m fine.” He had already commented on her drawn, pale face. She knew he was worried. She had barely left her mother’s side since she had gotten home. Rose brought meals up to her, which she would have ignored except for Rose’s insistence she eat. Her burden was compounded now by illness down in the quarters. When she felt it was safe, she would slip away from the house to care for the sick slaves.

Her mother had just dropped off to sleep, so Carrie took the letter and carried it out to the front porch.
Carrie settled down on the porch swing and allowed her eyes to roam across the expansive lawn. It was nearing the end of August. She could hardly believe she had been home almost a month. She shook her head and tore open the thick envelope she was holding in her hand.

“Aunt Abby!” she exclaimed.
With a smile of delight she settled back against the swing.

        
Dear Carrie,

I received your letter with great dismay.
I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s illness. I understand your deep concern for her. Please know my prayers are with you and that I anxiously await more news of how she is doing. I am so glad she has you there with her.

My dear, I know your heart is there with your mother.
I also know you must grieve your lost opportunity to visit Philadelphia. Please know it is not lost. For whatever reasons it has simply been postponed. You are always welcome here and I look forward to the day when you return. The time to spread your wings will come. God will use what you are going through now to prepare you for what lies ahead.

I am sending you some information I have recently acquired.
After careful inquiry, I have discovered the Pennsylvania School of Medicine is not open to women at this time. Don’t lose heart, however. There is another institution that would welcome you—the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania. I wish I had time to write the brave stories of women like Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, Dr. Emily Blackwell, and Dr. Harriet Hunt. Their pioneering efforts have begun to swing the doors of the medical profession open to women. True, it is still a mighty battle, but you have warriors who have gone before. It can be done. I know you have what it takes to add your name to the list of women who have fought for their dreams. From one dreamer to another, live each day as if you are making history. You probably are!

I fear what is happening in our country.
As the summer continues, the political battle rages hotter. I am almost certain Lincoln will win. Most Northerners are convinced the South’s threats to secede are nothing but empty words. I remember your words on the balcony and I fear you are right.

Circumstances keep us apart for now, but
, however slow the mail system, it is still a way to stay connected and in touch. I would love to know what is going on in your life—what you are thinking, feeling. Please feel free to write me.

God Bless You
,

Aunt Abby

Carrie raised a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. She tucked the brochure in her pocket to read later. The arrival of Aunt Abby’s letter couldn’t have been better timing. Her words were like fresh spring air to her assaulted senses. She had begun to lose sight of the fact that there was a whole world out there. Her very existence centered on her mother’s bedside. Today was the first day she had thought about the political situation in the country since she had arrived home. Abby’s letter was a hand of friendship reaching out to connect her to someone who believed in her.

Carrie stayed out on the porch for a long time.
Gradually, the time alone and the beauty of the day released her from the self-imposed prison she had erected. Slowly, it dawned on her that she had been laboring under the belief that her mother’s illness was her fault. If she had been at home being a good plantation owner’s daughter like she was supposed to be, she would have been here when her mother had gotten sick. She would have been able to control the fever and it would not have ravaged her mother’s body so severely. Abby’s words reached across the miles and somehow made her realize it was not her fault. It was no one’s fault. It had simply happened. Carrie leaned back with a sigh. She would do everything she could to make her mother well, but she would no longer do it with the burden of guilt.

“Can I get you something, Miss Carrie?”

Carrie looked up with a smile. “Yes, thank you, Sam. Could I please have some cold lemonade? Some bread and cold chicken would be wonderful, as well.”

Sam’s face almost split with his wide grin.
“You got the light back in your eyes, Miss Carrie. I sure be glad to see it. That must have been a real good letter.”

Carrie nodded.
“It was a good letter from a very good friend,” she said softly.

She was still moving gently in the swing when her father climbed heavily up the stairs to join her.
She moved over to make room for him.

“I’m glad to see you outside, Carrie.
How is your mother?”

“She’s resting.
Other than that, she is the same. She is still very weak and has very little appetite. It’s been days since her fever has been high, but she constantly runs a low fever, and she still says her head hurts.”

Thomas sighed.
“I know you’re doing everything you can.”

Carrie nodded.
“I’m going to go down and visit Sarah in the quarters. None of the medicines sent from the doctors in town seem to be doing any good.”

“You think old Sarah can help?”
Her father’s tone was skeptical.

Carrie shrugged.
“I don’t know, but I’m willing to try anything. Slaves know remedies that I’ve never heard of. Many of them work.” She tried to sound hopeful.

Thomas nodded and lapsed into deep thought.
His face was creased with deep lines as he stared out over the plantation. Carrie watched Granite grazing in the field. She had not been on him since she had been home. She hadn’t even been near him. It wasn’t just that she couldn’t get away to ride him. Being in the stables reminded her that Miles was no longer there. She missed the man who had taught her so much.

“Adams hasn’t found the escaped slaves,” her father said abruptly.
Carrie remained silent. “Those slaves are worth close to nine thousand dollars.” Thomas shook his head. “Slave hunters are on their trail, but they keep missing them,” he said bitterly. “I still can’t believe Miles ran away. Why, he’s lived here all his life. I thought he was happy running the stables. Horses have always been his life. Why would he run away?” His tone reflected his complete bewilderment.

Carrie looked at her father.
She had grown to accept that her father honestly thought slavery was the best thing for blacks. She couldn’t say she agreed with him, but her love for him had in no way diminished. “Maybe being free was more important to him,” she said softly.

Thomas shook his head. “What will freedom do for him?” he protested.
“He’ll probably never have another horse to care for. He’ll live somewhere barely scraping by and be looking over his shoulder for slave hunters the rest of his life.”

Carrie said nothing more.
She knew it would do no good. She just looked at her father.

“What’s wrong with you, Carrie?
Did you get hooked up with some of those abolitionists while you were in Philadelphia? You’ve been different ever since you got home. You don’t even seem sorry that Miles and the other slaves are gone,” he said angrily.

“I’m sorry you think I seem different, Father,” Carrie said softly.
“I miss Miles and the others very much. I
am
sorry they are gone.” She didn’t add that she hoped they wouldn’t be caught. She paused, trying to decide how to answer his other questions. Sam saved her.

“Miss Carrie.
Your mama be calling you.”

“Thank you, Sam.”
Rising, she breathed a sigh of relief and hurried into the house. Sooner or later she would have to decide completely where she stood, but not now. There was too much else going on.

Jamison opened the front door slightly and peered out into the night.
If all was as he hoped, this would be his last night on the road before he passed the slaves off to another conductor in Philadelphia. The last month was beginning to show on him. It had been full of close calls as Adams and his two hired slave hunters dogged their trail. He had managed to stay one step ahead of them, but he was tired and he was sure his business was suffering from his extended absence. He had known the risks when he started, but he would be glad to pass the slaves off to someone else. At the same time, he knew he would miss them. He had grown genuinely fond of his brave, uncomplaining charges—especially Miles. The man was thoughtful and intelligent. Time and time again he had helped put their suffering into perspective for the other slaves. He always ended with,
We gonna be free. Ain’t nothing mean more than that!
Many were the times it had bolstered Jamison’s spirits as well.

Satisfied no one lurked outside, he shut the door and turned to the only other inhabitant of the house.
“I’m moving them tonight.”

Cartwright nodded.
“You only have thirty more miles. I believe you can make it tonight if you push hard.” Anson Cartwright was used to these late-night moves. His house had been a station for the Underground Railroad for ten years. It was secluded enough that people rarely visited. His barn had housed hundreds of slaves making their way to freedom. By day he worked the lumber mill. By night he assisted slaves intent on escaping their tyranny.

Jamison moved over to the table where the other man stood.
“Thank you, Cartwright. You’ve been a godsend.” Jamison had planned on being at Cartwright’s house for just one night. They had been holed up here for six. Messages had been passed along warning of the presence of hostile men. He was sure they referred to Adams and whomever he had with him. He would not move the slaves until he was sure it was safe and word had come that day saying the men had moved on.

“You realize Adams and his men have probably gone on
to Philadelphia, don’t you?” Cartwright asked, puffing thoughtfully on a pipe.

Jamison shrugged
without a care. “
Getting
them to Philadelphia is my worry. Once I’m there, I’m not concerned. I know that city like the back of my hand. There are countless places to hide runaway slaves. Those country yokels don’t stand a chance.” He smiled as if he relished the idea of a good contest. Then he sobered. “Goodbye, Cartwright. I hope I see you again sometime.” He shook his hand firmly, opened the door, slipped out, and then stopped to listen for several long moments. When nothing but silence met his ears, he headed toward the barn.