Sweeter than Birdsong (19 page)

“Miss Winter,” Ben said. She started and looked over her shoulder to find him only a few yards behind, hurrying to catch her. She stopped, the hem of her skirt brushing the greenery.

“I will escort you back to the coach,” he said. “It’s getting dark—you might lose your way. And Frank knows what to do here for his family.” His dark eyes held hers, and he paused, then moved a step closer, sidelong, and raised his arm to invite her to take it.

It was not proper—they would not have a chaperone for the walk. Ben’s expressive face said all without words, his hesitance, a touch of mutiny against the rules, his desire to help and perhaps to be close to her. And above all, he did not want her to refuse.

She looked away, a shiver moving up her back, and slipped her arm through his. As they walked on, the song of the hermit thrush broke out again in its wild, unpredictable melody. It was the only sound other than the rustling of her skirt through the ferns. She was stirred by the warmth of his arm, but also a consciousness of his whole presence, the support of his physical being only inches from hers, and most of all, his thoughts resting on her and hers on him, more intimate in the walk than any words.

She did not want to leave the private, dusk-softened world under the trees, or let go of his arm. Ahead was the dim outline of the coach, and the figures of Mrs. Hanby and John Parker beside it as they tended to the horses.

Ben gently unlaced her arm and held her hand for the last few steps to be sure she did not stumble at the edge of the road. He released it just before they rounded the coach, and they greeted Mrs. Hanby and John as if nothing unusual had occurred. But it seemed to Kate their thoughts had not disentangled as easily as their hands.

Eighteen

T
HE TRIPLE-BEAT DRUMMING OF CANTERING HOOVES
rose above the crunch of the coach wheels. Ben snapped a glance over his shoulder as the reins vibrated in his hands from the bounce of the horses’ backs.

Good, it was only John cantering up from his post behind. But he was waving for Ben to stop. Ben tugged the reins and slowed the horses from a trot to a walk. “What is it?”

“We’re being followed.” John’s mount was in a full lather, its nostrils flaring with every breath.

“By whom?” Ben drew the coach horses to a full stop.

“A group of men on horses, perhaps three miles back. I caught a glimpse of them at the top of a hill and hid myself by the roadside to wait and see what I could discover.”

“How do you know they’re following us?”

“I heard them. They’re bounty hunters. Someone tipped them to the possibility of a prize. They’re looking for a coach, but they haven’t spotted you yet. But they’re making good time.”

“I can’t run the horses, not with four passengers inside. They would only last a mile or two.”

“I know. You’re going to have to give me the coach. I’ll lead the bounty hunters on a merry chase, and you must take the others onward by foot.”

“How far?”

“Washington is only five more miles, and if you cut through the trees it might only be three. Just keep heading northeast and you’ll find the road again when it swings back to meet you before the town. When you get there, look for the two-story house at the crossroads. They’ll be expecting you. And I must get back to Miranda now, but you’ll have help along the way to Westerville.”

The sun was dropping to the west in the late afternoon, so it would not be hard to keep direction by it.

“Very well,” Ben said. “We must hurry. Tell the ladies and Frank to come out.” He climbed down from the driver’s seat.

John turned his horse and rapped on the window of the coach. Ben’s mother opened the door. “Yes?”

Ben leaned around the coach lamp. “We must go by foot and John will take the coach. Quickly.”

Nelly, Frank, and the baby came out first, then his mother shut the coach door again. What was she doing? In three minutes, she and Miss Winter emerged, but changed. They had divested themselves of their cumbersome underskirts, it seemed, and his mother handed Miss Winter one of the tie-backs from the coach curtains. They knotted the makeshift belts around their waists and pulled the excess material of their dresses away from the ground.

Ingenious, and necessary, for who could walk miles through the forest in a dress like a balloon? Miss Winter looked trim and strong in the graceful Grecian drape of her altered attire. But he shouldn’t gawk at her like a rude farm boy.

“Let’s go,” he said, and led the little party off the road, checking the position of the sun. Behind them, John clucked to the horses and the coach rolled up the road.

“I wonder what they will think,” his mother said, stepping over some twigs, “if they stop John and find two discarded crinolines in his coach.”

“That he has some unusual tastes in his wardrobe,” Ben said.

Kate laughed softly behind him. He grinned without looking around. They had a long and dangerous journey still ahead, but better to face it with a strong heart and good humor.

The light was fading again by the time they saw the road ahead. Kate’s calves were tight and her shoes had rubbed blisters on her little toes. She limped on without complaint. Between her blisters, Ben’s still-wrapped foot, and Nelly’s turned ankle from the escape, Mrs. Hanby and Frank were the only members of the party with an even gait.

A hedge of bushes stood near the road.

“Wait here,” Ben said.

They all crouched down to rest for a moment while Ben peered ahead toward a crossroads. A handful of buildings stood at the four corners, some brown-planked, some whitewashed. “That’s Washington,” he said. “There’s a railroad track there too, but it goes east-west,” Ben said. “No use to us.”

The baby girl babbled, and the innocent sound set Kate’s stomach to fluttering. They had nothing with them to quiet the babe.

“We would never be able to hide on a train anyway,” Mrs. Hanby said to Ben.

“You might be surprised.” His brief abstracted gaze spoke of previous such hidings, perhaps on work with his father. “But it does us no good to go sideways on an east-west line. We need to go north. And we’ll start by going to that house.” He pointed to the only two-story building directly ahead of them and beyond the crossing. “After you, Mother.” His eyes glinted, though he seemed serious.

“You want me to go first?” Mrs. Hanby asked. In the dusk, her surprise made her look like a girl Kate’s age.

“You and Miss Winter. You’re least likely to be suspected. If all is well, wave to us so we can come to you,” he said.

Of course. That made sense. White women could walk together at dusk without exciting undue notice. Not so for those of darker complexion.

Mrs. Hanby rose, straightened her shoulders, and stepped out from behind the bush onto the road. Her skirt was dirty at the hem and bedraggled, but no one would notice that with the approach of nightfall. Kate scrambled after her, almost tripping on her own hem before she hitched it back up into her sash.

Heart racing, Kate walked beside Mrs. Hanby a few feet up the road and out into the crossing. Noises rose from the houses around them. Two voices wrangled in argument, something metal clinked. The shutters of the house on her right were closed, but the one on the left had its windows open to the crossing. She held her breath as a shadow flitted inside the house, outlined by the glow of light from the room. But no one came to watch.

They reached the door of the house that Ben had indicated. The paint flaked on the door and the doorknob hung askew in a hole too large for it. As long as the people inside were friendly to their cause, that was all that mattered. Kate turned back toward the place where Ben, Nelly, and Frank must be waiting for their signal. Should she and Mrs. Hanby wait for total darkness?

The door opened behind her. Kate flinched and tripped over some tools leaning against the wall of the house. Spades and rakes clattered to the ground, but Kate stayed on her feet.

A brown-skinned, stooped man with white hair and beard gestured to them. He carried no light. “Come in!” he whispered. “Bring them in!”

Turning back, Mrs. Hanby waved three times. Kate hoped Ben could still see her white-clad arm through the gloom.

After a few long minutes, Ben and Frank appeared, then Nelly with the baby on her shoulder. Thank goodness the little girl seemed to have fallen asleep. The three walked steadily through the crossing to the house. Mrs. Hanby stepped inside the door after the old man as Kate and the others crowded her. Ben was the last in and barred the door with a muted wooden thump.

The old man led them through the front room toward a flight of stairs. On the bare floor sat a little girl not older than five or six holding her finger to her lips. Mrs. Hanby smiled at her with a wistful expression. Perhaps she wanted to see her own little ones again.

Kate set her foot on the first step, which shifted under her weight. This household was in need of maintenance. But Mrs. Hanby had made it to the top of the stairs, so it must be safe enough.

Kate was halfway up when a loud knock came at the door. Kate glanced at Ben behind her; he pointed up with a firm hand. Mrs. Hanby flew across the upstairs hallway and into one of the open rooms. Kate followed as the old man pushed past the rest of them to get down the stairs to the door.

Kate heard him call, “Who is it?” but she had no time to listen to any more of his words. Frank and Ben were right on her heels and rushed into the small bedroom after her. But behind them, Nelly turned right and carried the baby into the second bedroom. Frank tried to get out and go with her, but Ben shoved him back and closed the bedroom door with care, in total silence.

A voice spoke from outside. Even through the walls, the words were all too clear.

“Federal officer! Open in the name of the law! Horace Abraham, open your door!”

Horace—for that must be the old man’s name—began to argue with them through the door. At the same time, Ben crossed the room and eased open the window’s shutters. He stuck his head out the window, looking up. The pounding on the front door increased; it sounded as if it would bring the house down. Ben pulled his head back inside and nodded at Frank. Ignoring the racket below, Ben boosted Frank up and out of sight through the window. Ben beckoned to Mrs. Hanby, who stepped in his laced fingers, grabbed the lip of the roof, and vanished upward as if an angel had flown by and plucked her away. Ben pointed to Kate.

They were about to be caught if she did not hide. There was no time for hesitation. She ran to Ben as she heard the officer and others coming in the front door. She placed her foot in his hands, grasped the upper edge of the window, and pivoted up and out with blind trust. Strong hands caught her, then Frank dragged her over the rough shingles of the steeply sloped roof.

She did not know how they managed to stay up there. Even a medium wind would blow them off.
God, help us
. If she had neglected prayer before, the sight of the ground far below and the shouting from the house were strong incentive.
God, save us from here, please. Don’t let us fall
.

She clung desperately to the shingles beneath her with white, cold fingers. Footsteps pounded up the stairs below, vibrating even through the roof.

Ben was still in the bedroom—had he gone to Nelly?

Just then he appeared, hauling himself over the slight lip of the roof. He slid across the shingles to where another window opened below him, into the room where Nelly was hiding. Ben reached down to the shutter and tapped on it quietly. Frank crouched just behind him, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes haunted.

Kate heard the door of one bedroom bang open underneath them. With frustrated curses, the voices moved to what must be the bedroom where Nelly was hiding with the baby.

“Not here!” said one.

Kate held her breath. They had hidden well.

“Blast it!” another said. “Carter swore they would be here!”

Who was this Carter who had known that they would come through Washington?

She could hear them still cursing Horace.

“Well, old man,” one of them said. “I guess we’ll have to do the next best thing.” After a pause, he said, “Because your name isn’t really Horace Abraham at all, is it? It’s Horace Campbell.”

Kate did not understand his meaning, but she saw the sickened expression on Ben’s face as he pressed flat against the roof. Something was going very wrong.

“That’s not my name!” the old man protested, but his objections were lost in the sounds of a struggle. The little girl screamed, “No! Grandpa!” and the old man shushed her. Then his voice rang out, “You can’t take her! She was born free!”

“How you gonna prove it?” the stranger’s voice said. “You’re a runaway these twenty years, and it’s back to Massa for both of you! I’m sure he’ll greet you with open arms,” he said. “Unless, of course, you want to tell us where the others went. We know they came here.”

“They wasn’t here.” Horace’s voice was firm and defiant.

The slap of a hand against a face made Kate wince. But the old man continued to speak to his abuser. “You ain’t a federal officer any more than I am. You don’t got no right—”