Though Waters Roar (3 page)
“Thank you, sir. I’m much obliged,” the man said. He stood inside the doorway, drenched and shivering.
“What about your horse?” Henry asked, peering out at the drooping animal tethered to the hitching post.
“Well . . . allow me to state my errand quickly, Mr. Monroe. If you’re unable to assist me, I’ll need to ride on ahead to the next station.”
“You know my name—have we met?” Henry asked in surprise. He hadn’t bothered to light a lamp, relying on the intermittent flashes of lightning for illumination.
Hannah took a step forward. “I think . . . I think I know you, sir. You’re from Philadelphia, aren’t you? Didn’t you accompany that former slave who spoke at our society meeting last August?”
“That right, Mrs. Monroe. My name is . . . well, maybe it’s best if you just call me John Smith.” He removed his hat and a puddle of rainwater cascaded from the brim. “I’m glad you recognized me. It makes my request that much easier. You see, I have a . . . a package . . . that I need to deliver to one of the stations in this area. I understand that you are a stockholder in our railroad, Mrs. Monroe?”
Henry stared at Mr. Smith as if he regretted his decision to open the door. But Bebe, who was wide awake now, had attended enough anti-slavery meetings to know exactly what Mr. Smith was talking about. He must be a conductor on the so-called Underground Railroad. The “package” was an escaped slave who needed refuge in a safe house or “station” on the invisible line. Anyone who had contributed money or goods to the effort, as Hannah and her friends had, was known as a stockholder.
“Yes, that’s right, Mr. Smith. I am a stockholder,” Hannah said with a smile. “Henry, you’d better put our guest’s horse in the barn, out of the rain. This might take a while. I’ll light a fire and put on some coffee.”
Henry grabbed his overcoat and trudged outside with Mr. Smith. Bebe followed her mother into the kitchen and watched as she lit a lamp and gathered kindling and stoked the fire. Hannah didn’t seem to notice Bebe until she bumped into her on her way out of the pantry.
“Beatrice, dear, why don’t you go back to bed,” she said, stroking her hair. “The storm is over for the most part.”
Lightning still flashed even though the thunder was only a distant rumble among the hills. Bebe heard the rain hammering on the back porch roof and knew that her father was going to get soaked as he walked from the house to the barn. “I want to help, Mama.”
She meant that she wanted to help with the “package,” but her mother misunderstood. “Well . . . get out a bowl and some cups, then. Perhaps Mr. Smith would like a little soup to help him warm up.”
A fire blazed in the stove by the time the men returned. Hannah hung their coats behind it to dry, filling the kitchen with the sour smell of wet wool. Stripped of his bulky overcoat, Mr. Smith turned out to be a slightly built man, dressed in a city suit and fine leather shoes. He dropped onto a kitchen chair, looking as limp and pale as a plucked pullet. Bebe watched the color slowly return to his pallid skin as he gulped his coffee and ate a bowl of leftover soup. His yellow hair curled into delicate ringlets as it dried.
“What can you tell us about this package?” Hannah asked.
“When might it arrive?”
“Well, first I should explain that we don’t usually send packages to stations where young children live.” He glanced at Bebe. “Ever since the Fugitive Slave Law went into effect, this business has become much too dangerous to risk innocent young lives. If a package is discovered in your possession—”
“The Good Lord can protect my children and me,” Hannah interrupted. “We must obey God, not an unjust law. The Bible says we are to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and rescue the perishing.”
The stranger smiled slightly. “I’m glad you feel that way, Mrs. Monroe.” He wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup to warm them.
“What brings you out our way, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “I didn’t think the Underground Railroad passed through New Canaan.”
“It doesn’t, but we’re in a difficult situation. Bounty hunters have discovered our usual rail lines, and our safe houses simply aren’t safe anymore. We’ve been forced to expand the railroad into new territory, and we recalled what a faithful Chapter your local society has been in the past. I spoke with your pastor, and he felt that our package would be safer out here on your farm than in town, where the wrong person might accidentally see it. It’s so hard to know whom to trust, you see.”
“You may trust us completely,” Hannah said. “How can we help?”
“All that’s required is a temporary place to rest, eat, and hide until the way is clear to the next station. I don’t know how long that might be. We’re asking you to take an enormous risk, as you probably know. If you get caught you could be fined as much as one thousand dollars and face six months in jail. But if you’re willing to help, we would be very grateful. We simply must get our package to Canada. It has traveled so far already.”
“I’ll need to pray about it,” Henry Monroe said. He stood abruptly as if heading to the celestial throne room to consult with the Almighty. “Can you wait for my answer?”
“Certainly. I understand. I’ll wait.”
But Bebe wondered if the stranger really knew how long it usually took her father to pray about something and make up his mind. Mr. Smith might well be waiting until after the next litter of hogs were born, fattened, butchered, and turned into bacon.
“I’ll fix a bed for you, Mr. Smith,” Hannah offered. “You should try to get a little sleep. It will still be a few more hours until dawn.”
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
Hannah shook her head. “It’s no trouble at all.”
“Well, if you’re certain. I have been riding all night. . . .”
Hannah evicted William from his warm bed and tucked him in with James and Franklin to make room for the stranger. Bebe crawled back into her own bed, but she had trouble falling asleep. A real live escaped slave might be sent here to hide, in her very own house! She felt scared yet excited.
Bebe had first seen a person with black skin at one of her mother’s Anti-Slavery Society meetings. The man’s face and arms were the color of dark, rich molasses, and she thought he must have fallen into a vat of blackberries. Her mother told her that the color wouldn’t wash off, even if the man scrubbed and scrubbed with lye soap.
“People have made the Negro race into slaves, Beatrice, just because their skin is a different color than ours,” she had explained. “But the Bible says that God is no respecter of persons. Man looks at the outward things, but God looks at our hearts.”
“Is the man’s heart as black as his skin?”
“No, his heart isn’t black at all because he knows Jesus. Our sins are what turn our hearts black, but Jesus can wash each heart as white as snow.” The conversation left Bebe confused. She wondered why Jesus didn’t wash the slave’s skin white along with his heart, so he wouldn’t have to be a slave anymore. She had never forgotten the beautiful color of that man’s skin—and now a slave just like him was coming to her farm.
The next morning when Bebe peeked into her brothers’ room to see if Mr. Smith was still asleep, all of the beds were empty. He wasn’t downstairs in the kitchen, either. “Did Mr. Smith go—?”
Hannah shushed her. Her father and brothers were tramping indoors after their morning chores, bringing mud, fresh milk, and the scent of cows with them. “We’ll talk later,” Hannah said. “Sit down and eat your biscuits.”
The boys ate breakfast, too, then left for school. While Bebe helped her mother wash and dry the dishes, Hannah explained that Mr. Smith had left at dawn.
“Did Papa decide about the package?”
Hannah nodded. “It will arrive in a few days.”
The news astounded Bebe. She had never known her father to make up his mind so quickly. He always emphasized the need to “wait on the Lord” for any answers to prayer, and waiting usually took a very long time. The Lord must have let Henry go straight to the front of the line for an answer this time.
“But listen to me, Beatrice. This is very important.” Hannah crouched down so she could look right into Bebe’s eyes as she gripped her thin shoulders. “Your papa and I have decided not to tell your brothers about Mr. Smith or the package. The more people who know about it, the more dangerous it will be for that poor soul who is trying to escape. If one of your brothers should happen to have a slip of the tongue and accidentally tell someone at school, we could all be in danger. Do you understand?”
Bebe nodded soberly.
“Promise you won’t say a word? To anyone?”
“I promise.” No one had ever entrusted her with such an important secret before—and the fact that her brothers didn’t know about it made her smile on the inside.
“You aren’t frightened, are you, Beatrice?”
“No.”
Bebe was terrified.
The package arrived three days later in the middle of the night while Bebe slept. She had no idea it was there. The next morning she watched her mother prepare a second breakfast of bacon and eggs and biscuits after the boys left for school and wondered why. When Bebe asked her about it, Hannah smiled and said, “We have company.”
Bebe looked all around, wondering if the package was as invisible as the railroad. Hannah carefully tucked the plates of food inside a basket along with some cups, knives, and forks, then covered everything with a clean towel. She handed Bebe a container filled with fresh milk.
“Will you help me carry this, Beatrice? Be careful not to spill any.”
“Are we going down to the root cellar?” She was afraid that her mother had hidden the visitor underground, since that’s where the invisible railroad was. Bebe hated the damp, spidery cellar. It smelled like the graveyard on a rainy day, and the crumbling dirt walls always seemed to close in on her.
“No, we’re not going down to the root cellar.”
Bebe followed her mother upstairs instead, then watched as Hannah retrieved a chair from Bebe’s room and moved it into place below the opening to the attic. Hannah climbed up first, pushing the trapdoor aside and carefully lifting the basket up to the attiCfloor. She reached down to take the container of milk from Bebe and set it on the attiCfloor, too, then stood on tiptoes and hoisted herself up and out of sight. Bebe scrambled onto the chair to see where her mother had gone, but she was too short to see into the dark hole.
“Mama? Where are you?” she called, her voice quivering. Hannah’s face reappeared above her.
“Do you want to come up, Beatrice? Stretch out your arms, and I’ll pull you up.”
The thought of being hauled up into the unknown void frightened Bebe more than descending into the root cellar had. But she knew her mother was strong and completely trustworthy. Bebe raised her arms above her head and allowed Hannah to grip her wrists and pull her up into the cool, dusty attic.
Dried herbs hung from the rafters along with garlands of cobwebs. Discarded chairs, an old dresser, and a battered steamer trunk lay scattered across the floorboards. Bebe worried about spiders. And mice. And bats. In the middle of the floor lay a heap of bedding, covered with one of Hannah’s good winter quilts.
“Good morning,” Hannah called into the still, dead air. “I brought you some breakfast.”
Bebe’s heart raced as the lump beneath the quilt stirred and pushed the blanket aside. When the real live escaped slave sat up, Bebe gaped in surprise. It was a woman! Bebe never imagined that an escaped slave might be a woman. All the slaves she had seen at the society meetings had been men.
The quilt shifted again and a second figure sat up—another woman, younger than the first. The two “packages” who peered at Bebe with dark, frightened eyes were the most exotically beautiful people she had ever seen. With their dark brown skin and woolly black hair, they seemed like little more than shadows in the dusky attic.
“Don’t be afraid,” Hannah told the pair. “My daughter, Beatrice, and I brought you some food.”
Bebe stayed close beside her mother as she inched across the dusty floor on her hands and knees, dragging the basket. The attic was too cramped for Hannah to stand upright except in the very center beneath the ridge beam, but Bebe could easily stand.
“Beatrice, our new friend’s name is Mary,” Hannah told her.
“And her daughter’s name is Katie.”
Bebe knew it was rude to stare, but she couldn’t help it. The younger slave, Katie, was not much older than Bebe’s brother William, who was twelve. Mary looked much too young to be her mother. She smoothed back her sleep-tousled hair as if wanting to make a good impression.
“We appreciate your help,” she said softly. She started to crawl forward, but Hannah stopped her.
“No, sit still, Mary. I’ll bring it to you. I know you must be exhausted after walking all that way in the middle of the night.” Hannah spread the dishtowel on the floor like a little tablecloth, then removed the plates from the basket and placed them on it. She had even packed two napkins.
Tears glistened in young Katie’s eyes as she examined the bounty. “All this food for us?”
“Yes, it’s all for you,” Hannah replied. “We’ve already eaten our breakfast. And if you’re still hungry, let me know and I’ll fix more. We have plenty.”
Katie scrambled forward to grab her plate. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” Mary asked. Katie glanced at her mother, then set down the plate and folded her hands. Both women bowed their heads as Mary prayed. “Lord, we so grateful for these kind people and for all this food they fixing for us. Please bless them, Lord. This a good thing they doing. Amen.”
Bebe watched Katie gobble her food, shoveling it down the same way her brothers did after baling hay. If any mice did inhabit the attic, the women weren’t leaving them a crumb. When Mary and Katie finished eating, Hannah packed everything back into the basket.
“Please, ma’am . . . I need the privy,” Katie whispered.
“Of course,” Hannah replied. “Follow me downstairs and I’ll show you the way. And I have plenty of hot water if you’d like to wash up.”
“You don’t need to be waiting on us this-a-way,” Mary said. “But we surely do thank the Lord for your kindness.”