Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt (36 page)

She thanked Hannah for helping her. The little girl nodded, lowered the lantern, and ran to her mother. While Liza comforted her daughters, Dorothea and Constance gathered the runaways’ bundles, then struggled to lift Old Dan onto the mare. He groaned, semiconscious, but did not struggle.

“We will have to proceed on foot,” said Dorothea to Constance as they loaded the bundles on the Wrights’ horse.

“At least we’re across the creek.”

“No thanks to me.”

“Hey, now. We both thought this would work.”

“We should have gone back to your farm and tried again another night. Those men would have eventually tired of their blockade—”

“Only if they’d moved on to searching houses. And where do you think they’d start? Liggett’s already got his eye on you folks, and Abel and I are suspicious just because we’re colored.”

Dorothea nodded, but silently she berated herself and her poor judgment. She tugged on the mare’s reins and ordered her forward, steadying Old Dan with her other hand. Constance walked behind her leading her own horse. Liza followed with the children.

With only the moon and a single lantern to light their way, they made slow progress through the forest. Dorothea led them in a wide arc to avoid the cleared acres and Mr. Liggett’s cabin. Old Dan drifted in and out of awareness. Hannah struggled bravely to keep up with the adults, but Liza, Dorothea, and Constance took turns carrying her younger sister.

Suddenly, Hannah piped, “Are we lost?”

“No,” said Dorothea emphatically. “Not in the least. This is not the way we intended to travel, but we will reach our destination nevertheless.”

She gave the child a reassuring grin and was rewarded with a flicker of a worried smile.

But the journey was long. Dorothea estimated that they would need the better part of two hours to cross Mr. Liggett’s land, and her heart sank with dismay, though she kept her true feelings hidden from those who followed her.

At long last, they left Liggett’s woods and emerged into a clearing, the border of Two Bears Farm. They climbed a fence and stepped out onto cultivated fields, wide and gently rolling terrain, but clear of underbrush. Their passage would be swifter, but their footprints would be easy to follow in the freshly plowed earth. The open field offered them no protection, no place to hide.

In the moonlight Dorothea studied the white house, alone on the hill. The two lights in the windows had been extinguished, and yet the house seemed a haven.

In a low voice meant for Constance’s ears alone, she said, “At this pace, we will not reach the station before daybreak.”

Constance indicated the forest with a jerk of her head. “Maybe we can build a fire, make a shelter with branches. Hide out ’til tomorrow night.”

“On Mr. Liggett’s land? What will we do if he comes home and finds the wagon tonight?”

Constance shuddered, and Dorothea knew she had thought of that. For all they knew Mr. Liggett had already discovered the scene of the accident. He might at that moment be in pursuit.

Dorothea nodded to the house. “We can seek shelter here.”

Constance shook her head. “This ain’t a station no more. The Carters are long gone.”

“Mr. Nelson will aid us.”

“I thought you hated that man!”

“I don’t. He—he’s not a friend, but he is an abolitionist. I do not believe he will turn us away.”

Constance halted, bringing the mare to a stop. She glanced back over her shoulder at Liza and the children, struggling several paces behind, exhausted. On the back of the mare, Old Dan slumped lifelessly. They would never make it to the Granger farm without rest.

“I reckon we don’t have much choice,” said Constance. “I guess … I guess we might as well pay a call on the schoolmaster.”

They waited for Liza and the girls to catch up, then informed them of the latest change in plans. Liza’s expression was haggard, but she nodded and passed her youngest daughter off to Constance. New hope quickened their pace, but Dorothea felt exposed and vulnerable in the open field. When they reached the road, she handed the reins to Liza, ran the last few yards to the porch stairs, and rapped upon the front door. She waited, listening, and knocked a second time, louder. She heard movement within, and after what seemed to be an interminable wait, the door swung open.

“Miss Granger?” Mr. Nelson, clad in trousers and an open shirt, fumbled to put on his glasses. “What on earth brings you here at this hour?”

“A desperate need for your help.” She stepped aside and allowed him to observe the party now gathered at the foot of the porch stairs. Constance had helped Old Dan down from the mare, and he mustered his strength to stand, grasping the porch railing for support.

Dorothea heard Mr. Nelson’s slow intake of breath. “Runaways, I presume.”

She nodded. “We lost our wagon, and as you can see, we have an injured man and children. We cannot go on.” Her voice faltered. “I would not ask it of you—of anyone—except I know what you have done elsewhere. I know what you suffered for your compassion.”

His expression was unreadable. “Then you know what I will suffer if I am caught helping you.”

She hesitated before nodding.

He opened the door and stepped out. Uncomprehending, she moved aside and watched as he descended the stairs. “Take them inside,” he told her. “I will return shortly.”

He took the horses’ reins and led them toward the barn.

Dorothea tore her gaze away from him and beckoned the others. “Inside. Quickly.”

D
OROTHEA SWIFTLY MADE A
fire in the front room fireplace while Constance helped Old Dan, groaning, to the sofa. Liza helped her daughters from their wraps and drew them closer to warm themselves by the fire. Constance dug into one of the bundles and passed around jerky and johnnycake while Dorothea went to the kitchen in search of water. She found a pan of milk and snatched it up as well. The kitchen window looked out upon the southwestern fields they had crossed; Dorothea spared one anxious glance outside before returning to the front room.

The children drank deeply of the milk and ate even the last crumbs Constance rationed out to them. Dorothea tended to Old Dan’s injuries as best she knew how. He did not appear to have any broken bones, his cuts and bruises appeared minor, but he had taken a hard fall, and she knew he might suffer from internal wounds. He refused to eat, but gulped the water only to cough most of it back up. She was encouraged by his responses to her questions about the whereabouts of his pain, not only so that she could tend to him but also because they proved the blow to his skull had not addled his mind.

Even so, Old Dan would need time to recover and more medical attention than she could provide. Jonathan would have known what to do for him, but Jonathan was hundreds of miles away.

Dorothea covered the injured man with a quilt folded over the back of the sofa and held his hand until he drifted off to sleep. By the time Mr. Nelson returned from the barn, the children, too, had fallen asleep, curled up under quilts on the floor near their mother. Without a word Mr. Nelson beckoned her from the doorway. She rose and followed him into the kitchen.

“I hardly know where to begin,” he said. He kept his voice low enough so that the others would not hear.

“If you mean to scold me, it is a little late for that.”

“It would not do any good, anyway.” He removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, sighing. “You had best tell me everything.”

She could not tell him everything, but she told him as much as she dared, including the events of that night. His eyebrows shot up when she described the blockade at the ferry, and she waited for a caustic remark about Cyrus Pearson, but none came. When she told him of the accident with the wagon, his expression darkened.

“How far off the main road is the wagon?” he asked.

“Ten yards, if that. But the gully provides some concealment, especially in the dark.”

“If a trail of broken branches does not lead Mr. Liggett right to it.”

She had thought of that, too, but it could not be helped. “We must put our trust in Providence—and our faith in Mr. Liggett’s foolishness.”

“Quite right. I would not peg him as a crack scout.” Mr. Nelson almost smiled. “Let us arrange it so that your friends are well out of harm’s way before he stumbles upon the latest wagon to overturn on his property.”

“Mr. Nelson—” She hardly knew what to say. “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.”

“That is true, so you need not bother trying.” He nodded toward the front room. “We should not disturb the old man now that he is asleep, but I will show the rest of you to more comfortable rooms upstairs.”

“I will remain below to stand watch.”

“Indeed you shall not. You need your rest if you are to lead your party onward tomorrow night.”

“But what if—”

“I will stand watch, Miss Granger.” He replaced his glasses, folded his arms, and regarded her with what she took to be weary tolerance. “I could not sleep a wink in any event. Not all of us are as accustomed to such excitement as you are.”

“No, I suppose not,” she murmured uncertainly. He sounded almost as if he were teasing her. “But there is another problem. My parents will worry if we do not arrive by daybreak.”

“Will they worry enough to come searching for you?”

“I told them not to.”

“But they may not obey their daughter. Very well. I will take word to them myself in the morning, but now I must insist that you rest.”

Perhaps it was her fatigue, but his didactic manner did not bother her as much as it once had. She made sure Old Dan was comfortable before gently picking up Hannah. Constance gathered the younger sister in her arms, and together they and Liza followed Mr. Nelson upstairs to simply furnished but comfortable rooms.

Dorothea had one small room to herself. After bidding Mr. Nelson good night, she went inside, undressed to her shift, and was about to climb into bed when she realized that the window faced the southwest.

She went to the window and looked out. The open fields that had so unnerved her as she and Constance led the runaways to the house now provided them protection; neither Mr. Liggett nor Cyrus nor any of their ilk could approach the house unseen. Beyond them, the woods stood dark and silent and still.

She closed the curtains and returned to bed, drawing the quilt over herself. She thought worry and the unfamiliar room would keep her awake, but fatigue soon overcame her and she sank into sleep.

T
HE ROOM WAS STILL
dark when a hand seized her shoulder and shook her awake. “Miss Granger.” Mr. Nelson’s voice was low and urgent. “Riders from the southwest.”

Immediately she threw back the covers and snatched up her dress from the bedside chair. Mr. Nelson disappeared into the hallway to rouse the others. Dorothea swiftly dressed and met him and Constance in the largest bedroom, where Liza was waking the children.

“Stay away from the windows and make no sound,” said Mr. Nelson. Just then a heavy fist pounded on the front door below. Hannah gasped. Her sister buried her face in her mother’s skirt.

“Nelson,” bellowed Mr. Liggett. “We know they’re inside.”

“Send ’em out and we won’t hold you accountable,” shouted another man, an unfamiliar voice. Dorothea wished she dared peer out a window to see if Cyrus was among the riders.