Endless Chain (31 page)

The man was undeterred. “We got word you might be keeping runaways,” he said. “We’ll just have a look around.”

“You’ve been led astray,” Jeremiah said. And truly, they have been, Amasa, since their mission strays far from God’s law.

“Don’t matter. We’re looking,” the man said.

Jeremiah might have protested, I suppose, but it was clear that these men would do as they intended no matter what we said to them. My brother took the wisest course and said nothing more, simply nodding and gesturing to the outbuildings. “See for yourself.”

They said they would check the house first. Jeremiah nodded to me, and I stepped aside. I’ll confess my heart pounded as if it would flee my chest. Clutching the Bible, I allowed them to pass, although I think the dogs would not have let them by if Jeremiah had not called them to his side.

I followed the men inside, as if to be certain they did no damage, and Jeremiah accompanied me. How sad it was to see these men pawing through our possessions. I believe they find pleasure in destruction. They touched everything, pausing often to see if we watched them, for I believe they were intent on stealing anything they could. Upstairs, the youngest lingered in my room, stroking my clothing, gazing in the silver hand mirror that was my mother’s wedding gift from her own mother.

One frightening moment came when he lifted the coverlet on my bed, exposing the side of the trundle. He knelt and looked beneath, but seemed satisfied no one was there. Perhaps he is too limited in intelligence to see that the bed was ready to be slept in. Or perhaps he knows nothing of the need to wash and air bedding when it is not in use? Whatever satisfied him, he left my room reluctantly, and later, as darkness fell, all three men left to continue their journey.

But I make this too easy, because before they rode away they lingered beside the shelves and wall that separated them from our terrified friend. They asked for water and I gave it to them. They asked for food, and I gave them that, as well. They remained there, Amasa, as if to torment us, as if they knew Dorie was only a cough, a sneeze, away from capture.

And then, at last, they disappeared into the night.

Jeremiah told me afterward that he believes the patrol’s arrival was his fault. Alas, our friend and neighbor Hiram Place was also in town that day when Jeremiah saw the handbill with her description. Upon seeing the announcement of Dorie’s escape, Jeremiah spoke his feelings out loud. “No person can own another,” Jeremiah told him. “How can this woman flee a condition which does not exist? She is free in God’s sight, and one day the law will see that she is free, as well.”

Mr. Place and his son butcher hogs with us each fall. His wife and daughters come to gather apples from our orchard and bring us sweet cherries each June. He has no slaves, but perhaps that is only because he cannot yet afford them.

Perhaps Mr. Place did not send the patrol to our doorstep. Perhaps they came on their own accord, searching every house along their route. But I will never again look at my neighbor without suspicion. What destruction slavery wreaks, even on those who do not practice it.

Dorie stayed the entire night in her secret room, and in the morning she stayed near to it, in case the patrol returned. But this evening, as we sat inside (no longer confident to sit on the porch) she told us she must leave immediately. She is afraid she has put us in harm’s way, for the penalties for harboring fugitives are steep.

She is not yet well or strong enough to travel. Jeremiah insisted she must remain a while longer. He has already made inquiries on her behalf in Maryland, through a minister there. He hopes to hear about her daughter’s fate in the coming weeks.

Dorie is torn, for she is now our friend and wishes us no trouble. Too, I suspect a rare kinship forming between her and my brother. Where once he spoke to Dorie only through me, now when I come upon them I often find them conversing.

She is both lovely and intelligent, a woman few men could ignore. Jeremiah seems to delight in their conversations. His scowl, which I had thought a permanent part of his face, has smoothed, and his eyes are no longer lifeless but filled with inquiry and even, at times, humor. If he is not the brother I once knew, he is more mature, a man who has survived a great loss and begun to move beyond it.

I am exhausted, my dearest Amasa. This will have to be the end for now, with one last thought. After the slave patrol rode away, I found I was still clutching our Bible against my chest. I opened it carefully to preserve your letter and found I had inserted the pages into Second Corinthians.

As I removed them, my eyes fell on this verse: “Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of bondage.”

Your prayers are needed, and you have mine, as always. But I believe with all my heart that God is with us here.

Always yours,

Sarah Miller

L
a Casa’
s volunteers tried to make Fridays special, so the children would end one week looking forward to the next. On Friday the twenty-first, with Thanksgiving just around the corner, the children were assembling arrangements of dried flowers, miniature pumpkins and small ceramic figurines of pilgrims and Indians to take home to their families. If some of the tableaus looked as if the Indians were hiding, waiting for the right moment to leap out and attack the interlopers, Sam could hardly—considering history—complain.

It was light jacket weather, and the younger children and older girls were happy working inside. But the older boys, led primarily by Miguel, had gone out to the basketball court, where Leon was informally coaching them. He was a regular volunteer now, an asset to the program. Everyone agreed Miguel had made a significant turnaround, at least partly due to Leon’s casual offer of friendship. Miguel was teaching Leon to speak Spanish, and Leon was working on the other boy’s English. No miracles. No transformations. Just two boys better off for their relationship.

Sam’s visit came at the afternoon’s end. Although he and Elisa had never discussed timing, they had made a silent pact. She spent the first hour after the children arrived helping with the program, then left to do other things. Most of the time Sam arrived after she was gone. They saw each other around the church, of course, and chatted informally for a moment or two, but for the most part they were careful to stay out of each other’s way. He didn’t know what she was frightened of, but
he
was frightened he would send her running. He said a silent prayer of gratitude every day when he saw she was still at the church, hard at work.

After admiring the centerpieces, Sam walked around back to watch the boys play. They had stripped off their jackets and were sweating from the exercise. After a few minutes he stole the ball, shot a few baskets himself, then relinquished it to start back toward his car. He had a dinner meeting to present his plan for either moving to three services next fall or expanding the sanctuary, and he needed to prepare. The two services at Community Church were overcrowded, and he didn’t want people to stop attending because there was no room to sit.

He got to his car just as George Jenkins pulled up in a company pickup. Sam watched as the deacon got out and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t need his training in counseling to see that Jenkins was angry, a condition that seemed natural to him.

“You look like you’re in a hurry, George.” Sam casually stationed himself in Jenkins’ path, so the older man couldn’t make an end run around him. “May I help you with something?”

“Where’s my boy?”

“He’s out back, playing basketball. He’s darned good, by the way. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes the high-school team.”

“Just what are you trying to pull?” George made a fist and emphasized the final word by punching the air.

Sam reviewed his week but couldn’t imagine exactly what he’d done this time. “I’m not trying to pull anything, not that I’m aware of. Want to be more specific?”

“You lured my boy over here against my wishes.”

“Leon came on his own initiative.”

“You set up this place to help those kids, and what’s the point, anyway? Nobody cares if they do well in school, because nobody wants them to stay. You’re spoon-feeding them, making them think they can call this their home.”

Sam struggled to keep his voice low and calm. “What threatens you so much, George? Give it some honest thought, for everybody’s sake, especially your son’s.”

“I can’t seem to do anything about this program of yours.” George swept his hand to encompass the house and grounds. “But I
can
do something about my son. I won’t have him being a party to this. Why is it up to us to help? Tell me that!”

Sam’s temper was fraying. Badly. “Do you want me to stand here and review the Golden Rule? It’s that simple. Do unto others—”

“Damn it, what I want to review is your contract! You’re up for one, you know, and I’m going to make damned sure it’s not renewed. We don’t need your kind.”

Whatever was left of Sam’s patience snapped. “My kind, their kind. What kind
do
you need? Angry white men who think they have a lock on what’s good and right for everybody?”

The moment he’d spoken, Sam knew he had gone too far. Not that he didn’t believe what he’d said, but there had been no point in saying it except to discharge frustration and gain the upper hand.

He took a deep breath, but he knew better than to apologize. “Think about this. Why are you turning your anger against the very people who are making you a rich man? What’s really pushing your buttons?”

“
You
push my buttons, Reverend. We don’t need some ex-con telling us how to live, and if I have my way, you won’t be around to push my buttons much longer.”

“Then somebody else will come in, somebody else will stand up in that pulpit and speak for what’s right, and you’ll make it your mission to get rid of him, too. And when does that stop? Do you want to force people to take sides, have endless accusatory meetings? Is that what a church family means to you?”

“I’m going to find my boy, and I’m going to take him home. Then I’m going to start making phone calls. I’ve had enough of you. I’ve had enough of
this.
”

“In your frame of mind, I don’t want you near the children. I’ll get Leon for you.”

George looked as if he wanted to argue with that, as well. “Don’t take all day, or I’ll come looking for him.”

They were spared the hunt. The basketball players were just coming around the house. Leon immediately caught sight of his father and said something to the others. They trooped inside, and once they were in, Leon walked down the driveway toward his father’s truck, donning his jacket.

“Dad.” He gave a slight nod. “What are you doing here?”

“What in the hell are
you
doing here? That’s the question. I told you to stay away from this place, didn’t I?”

Leon shrugged.

“Answer me, boy!”

“You said this place was no good and I sure didn’t need to be part of it. But they need me here, and I like helping. What’s the problem?”

“You want to work? I’ve got a million things you can do back at home.”

Sam considered trying to intervene. Although he smelled breath mints, not alcohol, he was fairly certain George had been drinking. He was not sure Leon was safe with his father.

Leon settled it by drawing himself up to his full height, which was level with his father’s. “I’ll come home later, when I’m done here. I can’t leave. I promised Miguel I’d help with his homework.”

“I don’t care if you promised Jesus Christ!”

Leon’s eyes were unwavering. “Well, I promised Him, too. I promised I’d try to make things right here, and that’s what I’m doing. That’s a promise I can’t go back on, not even for you.”

George clenched his fists. Sam tensed, waiting for George to go after his son, but to the man’s credit, he was able to control himself. He stood still for a long moment, as if deciding what to do next; then he shook his head, and his hands relaxed.

He turned to Sam. “This is
your
fault.”

Sam wondered if George was right. Knowing George’s prejudices, should he have questioned Leon more closely? Or had he been right when he decided it was his job to help Leon make amends? Do unto others? Or honor thy father?

“Maybe I should have checked with you,” he told George. “But I think being here’s good for Leon. He’s a wonderful young man. You and I don’t see eye to eye on much, but surely we agree on that? And you’ve raised him to be the young man he is.”

“Get in the truck,” George told Leon.

“I’ll be home at 5:30. I promise.” Leon turned, and without another word, walked back up the drive and up the front steps.

For a moment Sam thought George would follow and physically haul his son to the truck. But with an obvious effort, the man held himself back.

Sam lowered his voice. “Will you please look at how important this is to him? Can you see his commitment’s a good thing, even if you don’t agree with the cause?”

George’s eyes narrowed. “I can see that getting rid of you is more important than I thought. And you’d better believe I’m going to tell everybody who’ll listen how you’ve come between me and my boy. Folks ’round here want to raise their own kids without interference. Nobody’s kids are safe now. Start looking for a new church, Reverend.”

Sam was exhausted by the time his meeting ended. Resistance to change was normal, and there were some good reasons not to expand Sunday morning services or the sanctuary. By the time they had discussed every option over vegetarian lasagna at Daughter of the Stars, Sam was too tired to know what he thought.

On the way home, he tried to decide if he still had the stamina to take the dogs for a short walk before he went to bed. They’d been cooped up all evening, and he was afraid if they didn’t walk off some energy, they might keep him awake all night.

When he unlocked the door, he was surprised when the dogs didn’t run to greet him. More surprising was the sensual voice of Norah Jones coming from his stereo and the smell of coffee brewing. He stood with the door open behind him and listened. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Sam?” Christine appeared in the family room doorway. She wore a scooped-neck white sweater and matching pants. Her hair tumbled over a series of thin gold chains, and she looked delectable.

He moved forward to greet her. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Is that any way to say hello? You’re glad to see me, aren’t you?”

He nodded, although it wasn’t strictly true. The visit was a complete surprise, and besides being exhausted, he wasn’t prepared. He took her hands in his and leaned over to kiss her cheek. She slipped her arms around his neck, forcing him to release her hands. Her kiss was much more passionate than his had been.

She stepped away at last. “That’s more like it.” She smiled knowingly. “I thought you’d be glad I dropped by.”

“It’s a long way to drop. I could probably have changed tonight’s meeting if I’d known you were coming.”

“Oh, it was very last-minute. A friend was flying his plane to D.C. I went along for the ride, rented a car.”

“I didn’t see one outside.”

“I parked in the back so I wouldn’t give away my surprise.”

He wondered if the “friend” was the man she’d mentioned on his last trip to Atlanta. “What did you do with my dogs? Call the SPCA?”

“The big ones are in the run out back. They went willingly after I bribed them with something disgusting from your refrigerator. The little one’s asleep on your bed. If I have my way, we’ll have to move her a little later.”

He saw the raised brow, the slight smile, and knew he was being seduced.

If he’d had any doubts his relationship with Christine was over, his lack of reaction was proof enough. He didn’t want to go to bed with her; he simply wanted to go to bed. Not just because he was a minister who was trying to practice what he preached, because he was a man who was in love with another woman.

When he didn’t speak, she touched his cheek, her fingertips as soft as down. She trailed them to his chin. “Shall I pour you some wine? I took the liberty of opening a bottle I found in your cupboard. One step from rotgut, sweetie, but it serves its purpose.”

“I’ll pass. I’m so tired I’ll fall asleep after the first sip.”

She didn’t ask why he was tired. He imagined she knew it had to do with the church, and that was a subject that didn’t interest her. “Coffee, then,” she said. “I made a pot. Sit down and I’ll get you some.”

Coffee was a good idea. He doubted he could ask Christine to come back tomorrow when he was rested and ready to say the things he needed to. No matter how he felt, they had to put this behind them tonight.

He made his way into the family room and settled on the sofa, aware that if he sat in a chair by himself, the message would be all too clear. She arrived with mugs on a plastic tray and an unopened package of pecan sandies. She settled in beside him, curling her legs under her, and opened the package, offering him first choice.

He took one and set it on the tray, picking up his coffee instead. She filled in the silence as he sipped.

“Mother and Daddy send their greetings.”

“How are they?”

“Busy. They’re so disappointed you won’t be coming for Thanksgiving.”

“My family hasn’t been together for over a year. I can’t miss dinner with them.”

“Daddy’s had you on his mind.”

Sam waited. The lateness of the hour seemed to be working some unusual magic. Christine had a way of sliding slowly into a subject the same way she slid words together with her lovely, liquid drawl. Tonight she was getting straight to the point of coming here.

She picked up her mug and turned it in her hands. “He’s been talking to Pete Deaver. Pete tells Daddy that the Capital Chapel’s selection committee has asked you to come and preach so they can make a final decision, but you’re hedging. I told Daddy that couldn’t be true.”