Rebellious Heart (8 page)

“Maybe someday.” Phoebe sprang toward the bubbling pot on the hearth, stirring it before bounding over to the last bushel of apples and dumping them onto the chopping block. Susanna had never seen Phoebe walk. She always moved at top speed, never rested, never stopped working.

“You work more than anyone should have to.”

“I like my work. It’s good to work hard.” Phoebe sorted through the apples, rapidly setting aside the ones too bruised or wormy that she would later make into vinegar. “Besides, we’ve got to know which things we can change, and accept the things we can’t.”

Phoebe had been Mother’s slave forever, had grown up with Mother over at Mount Wollaston. And when Mother had married and moved to the Weymouth parsonage, Phoebe had come with.

After so many years, Susanna wished Mother would free Phoebe and pay her a fair wage like so many of their peers were beginning to do. At the very least, she’d asked Mother
to hire more help so that Phoebe didn’t need to shoulder so much of the work all the time.

But Mother had insisted she and Mary learn the chores and assist Phoebe so they would be well equipped to manage their own homes someday. Sometimes Susanna wondered if Mother used the work as one more excuse to keep her out of Father’s study and away from the books. After all, William didn’t have to do manual labor. Everyone assumed he’d have slaves and servants to do his work for him.

A light tap on the back door startled Susanna, and one of the books slipped from her pile and fell to the floor with a smack.

Her first thought was one of dread, that something had happened to the girls on the walk home.

She rushed back to the door and swung it open, letting the cold misty air hit her again.

A cloaked figure of a young woman hunched against the siding. Peering out from the shadows of the hood was the same lovely face of the young woman Susanna had met in the apple orchard the previous week, only this time she was thinner and more haggard, and her lips were blue from the cold.

“Miss,” the woman greeted her hesitantly. Her cloak was damp, and strands of her wet hair stuck to her neck. “I don’t know if you remember me. . . .”

“Of course I do.” Susanna opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

“Oh, I can’t, miss. I can’t—”

“Please.” Susanna had no doubt the woman was starving. “I insist.”

The young woman stared into the warm kitchen, the longing to come inside palpable.

“Only for a few minutes,” Susanna offered. “You don’t have to stay long if you don’t want to.”

The woman started to shake her head and shrink back, until she spotted the tarts on the worktable.

“I’m sure Phoebe will be able to find something for you to eat.”

Phoebe was already slicing more apples. The steady chopping of the knife against the cutting board didn’t slacken, even as the slave’s gaze flicked over the stranger. At the sight of the fine leather boots poking from beneath a mud-splattered hem, Phoebe’s eyes sparkled. “Miss Susie, I see I have a reason to be proud of you.”

Susanna nodded. “Yes, you do.”

“She needs a bowl of my corn chowder.” Phoebe set aside her apple slicing and wiped her hands on her apron.

Susanna grasped the young woman’s arm and tugged her inside. She was too tired and hungry to resist as Susanna settled her on a bench near the hearth. Phoebe put a tankard of hot cider into the woman’s hands, along with a bowl of chowder and a thick slice of bread slathered in the butter Susanna had helped churn only that morning.

“May I inquire after your name?” Susanna draped the woman’s wet cloak over another bench in front of the fire to help it dry, doing her best to pretend the young woman wasn’t devouring her food in large gulping bites.

“Everyone calls me Dotty.” The young woman swallowed her mouthful.

“And I’m Susanna.”

Dotty was slurping the chowder as though it would disappear if she didn’t eat it quickly enough.

Susanna fidgeted with the cloak, all the while peeking at Dotty. Her bodice was still ripped and in need of a washing.
Her muslin cap was askew and streaked with several days’ worth of grime. And the boots that had once been clean and tidy were now scratched and caked with mud.

“How are your feet?” Susanna asked gently, not wanting to frighten the woman with too much prying.

“Very well, miss. Very well. Thanks to you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Susanna moved to the table and began to cut another piece of bread. “I do hope you have a warm place to stay.”

“It’s not so bad, miss. Except that it’s turning a mite cold at night now.”

Susanna attempted to make a mental list of the places the young woman might be staying but could think of nowhere suitable. Was it possible Dotty was a vagrant and that she was living wherever she could find refuge?

“It most certainly
is
turning colder.” Susanna spread a thick layer of butter across the bread and handed the extra piece to Dotty. “It won’t be long now until a person could freeze to death if out in the cold all night.”

Dotty took the bread but only looked at it. A shadow fell across her delicate features. “Aye, freeze to death. That they could, miss. That they could.”

From the front of the house, the tinkling music of the spinet echoed a dismal tune, indicating that Mary had begun her daily practicing and was apparently choosing the music to reflect her mood. She’d been moping over Mr. Cranch’s absence all week long.

Dotty glanced at the interior kitchen door and fear flashed across her face—the same fear Susanna had seen on her face the day in the apple orchard. She stood and folded the extra piece of bread.

“You don’t have to leave yet,” Susanna said.

But Dotty was already gathering her cloak. “I can’t stay. I really can’t.”

“But you’re welcome to have more to eat. Surely you haven’t had enough. And your cloak is still damp. Can you stay until it’s dry?”

“Thank you, miss. You’re very kind. Very kind.” The young woman tossed her cape around her shoulders and strode to the door. “But I’ve already been here overlong, and I can’t chance anyone finding me.”

Susanna was tempted to run to the door and throw her body across it to force Dotty to stay, at least until she was warm and well fed. But the young woman was already skittish and didn’t need Susanna trapping her and adding to her fear. Dotty was obviously hiding from someone.

Was she a runaway?

Susanna wanted to ask, but if Dotty was indeed running away, Susanna’s prying would make her bolt from her for good.

Even if plenty of indentured servants and slaves attempted to leave their masters every year, running away wasn’t easy and was rarely successful.

“If you must leave so soon, then won’t you at the very least take the rest of this loaf with you?” Susanna glanced at Phoebe, silently pleading her forgiveness for giving away the entire loaf.

Still chopping apples, Phoebe nodded. “Give her several of the tarts too.”

Susanna wrapped as much as she could fit into a linen towel, tied it in a knot, and gave it to Dotty at the door.

“Please take it.” Susanna pushed it into Dotty’s arms. “And if you need anything else, I don’t want you to be afraid to come here and ask for me.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, miss.”

“You can thank me by promising to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, miss. Aye, that I will.” Dotty pulled up her hood, opened the door, and slipped through. After a darting glance around the fenced yard of the parsonage, she ducked her head and dashed toward the gate, limping only slightly on her injured feet.

“By the way,” Susanna called after her, “the barn door is never locked at night.”

Dotty didn’t stop to acknowledge that she’d heard. Instead she scrutinized the deserted yard, then let herself out the gate and sped toward the apple orchard.

Susanna watched her until she disappeared before finally turning back to the kitchen and closing the door.

“That girl’s in a heap of trouble.” Phoebe had laid aside her knife and apples and stood in front of the hearth. She swung the crane away from the fire and dipped a long wooden spoon into the kettle that hung from the trammel.

“Regrettably I must concur.” Susanna pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. “I wish I knew more about her troubles so that I could be of better assistance.”

“She’s a runaway.”

“Do you think so?”

“No doubt about it.”

“I had almost come to the same conclusion myself. But how can we be sure?”

“She’s got the look—the haunted look.” Phoebe took several quick slurps from the spoon. “’Sides, she’s hiding out and doesn’t want anyone to find her. If that ain’t a runaway, I don’t know what is.”

“You should have seen her feet when I met her the first time.” Susanna pushed away from the door and started
toward her discarded stack of books. “Her soles were cut and battered so badly she could hardly walk.”

Phoebe pursed her thin lips together and gave a curt shake of her head. “Then it’s a good thing she ran away from her master.”

Susanna wanted to agree with Phoebe, but something held her back.

If Dotty were indeed an indentured servant who was running away from her master, then she was most definitely in a
heap
of trouble. And Susanna would be too if anyone discovered she was helping the young woman.

The contract of the indentured servant was binding by law. The servant agreed to work for a specified number of years for someone in exchange for the cost of the ship passage to America. If the servant broke the agreement by running away, then she was disobeying the law and subject to stiff penalties, including additional years of indenture, whippings, brandings, and in some cases execution.

And the penalty for assisting or harboring runaways was often severe too.

“No doubt that girl’s got a reward out for her.” Phoebe started stirring the chowder again in swift, jerking motions. “That’s why she’s hiding. She knows if someone spots her, they’ll turn her in and get some money for it.”

Susanna had seen the advertisements in the
Spectator
, the notices of rewards for runaways.

If Dotty had run away, then she was also now a criminal. And Susanna had no business assisting her. Hadn’t she always believed God commanded them to obey the laws and leaders appointed to guide them?

She’d recently rebuked Mr. Ross for his subjective view of Scripture. And if she’d meant what she said, then surely she oughtn’t to twist God’s Word to fit her situation.

“What should we do, Phoebe? If she comes again, should I tell her to return to her master? Even if he’s deplorable, at least she’ll have a better chance of survival in a warm home than she will out here roaming the countryside.” Susanna stared at the blue flames of the burning hickory and pictured Dotty’s blue-cold lips.

“Don’t you think she’s already thought of returning?” Phoebe adjusted the crane, and the iron hook squeaked as she swung the kettle back over the low flames. “Seems like she’s chosen to die out here instead of having to go back and face whatever made her run in the first place.”

“Surely there are other recourses besides running away—”

Phoebe’s constant motion came to an abrupt halt. Her face grew rigid and her eyes stony. “We both know what happened to my sister.”

Susanna nodded solemnly. Even Mother had been grieved when she’d heard the news of Phoebe’s sister’s death at the hands of her master.

The fact was, Phoebe’s sister would have done better to run away. But she’d stayed, even when the conditions had become deplorable.

And in the end, she’d been brutally tortured and murdered.

“If she’d run, she might still be alive.” Anguish tightened the muscles in Phoebe’s face as she stared out the window to a different time and a different place.

Susanna didn’t know what to say. She never did when Phoebe talked of her sister. Susanna couldn’t imagine such cruelty, but she supposed Phoebe had witnessed it and had decided that compared to what her sister had lived through, she’d been blessed. Mother might be a demanding mistress, but she was still kind to Phoebe and Tom. Susanna guessed that was one of the reasons Phoebe never talked about running
away herself—even though if anyone could escape and survive, Phoebe was a likely candidate.

Phoebe spun back to the worktable, to the apples that still needed slicing, and resumed her chopping with sharp, even taps of the knife against the cutting board.

Susanna lifted the stack of books she’d used in her dame school and started to leave.

“Only one thing to be done for that runaway.” Phoebe didn’t miss a beat in the steady chops.

Susanna stopped.

“Help her.”

As frightening as that prospect was, Susanna didn’t know how she could possibly do anything less. “What shall I do?”

“Whatever you can.”

“But what if I get in trouble?”

“If we’re careful, no one will find out. And I’m sure Dotty won’t stay long before she decides to move on.”

Susanna tried to still her rapid pulse by telling herself there was nothing wrong with providing mercy and kindness to one so clearly in need, even if she was a criminal.

And if Dotty had been mistreated, perhaps there were legal recourses they could take to help her. Maybe they could press charges against her master and perhaps even win her freedom.

Susanna’s mind spun with the sudden possibilities. She knew she couldn’t tackle the problems herself. She’d need a good lawyer—one who was willing to help the less fortunate, one filled with compassion and mercy.

That ruled out Elbridge. Her cousin may have matured over the years. As a distant cousin and a Quincy, he was the kind of man who would meet Mother’s approval for a suitor. But she doubted he’d be willing to defend a poor woman like Dotty.

Susanna stood up straighter. What about Ben Ross?

He’d treated Hermit Crab Joe with such civility, even though the man was an outcast. If anyone could help Dotty, surely Ben would. If she sent him a secret letter and explained the situation without giving him all the details, he would be able to advise her.

“I know what I’ll do,” Susanna said. “I shall write a confidential letter to Mr. Ross.”