Where Grace Abides (11 page)

Rachel stood just inside the door and watched him go, her heart aching to go with him. She pressed the palm of her hand against the screen, as if she could touch him and call him back.

Would it be easier to keep her heart from tripping over itself, to keep separate from him, if he were a different kind of man? His
gentleness, the kindness that flowed through him like a steadily flowing current only made it that much more difficult not to care about him. It was the very thing that never failed to warm her to him, that called to the deepest part of her and drew her to him.

If only he were a different kind of man…

But then he wouldn't be Jeremiah. And she might not have come to love him.

No, she wouldn't want him to be anything other than what he was, even though it meant that the knife in her heart was permanently embedded there. She would rather live with the pain of a love that could never be anything more than a careful friendship than to have him be less than the man he was.

But she must be always careful—very careful—to keep her feelings for him tightly capped and unseen by those piercing, intense eyes of his. If he should ever recognize how treacherously weak she was, how fragile her emotions really were where he was concerned, he might again attempt to convince her that there was hope for them—hope for a future together.

When in truth the only hope she dared to hold was that she could survive the future without him.

 
13
 
M
ORE
T
HAN
O
NE
S
URPRISE

God's own arm hath need of thine.

A
RTHUR
C
LEVELAND
C
OXE

O
nce Gant got back to Riverhaven, he had no time to savor Fannie's excited reaction to the pup. Fortunately there was also no time for the melancholy that had been brewing in him since his brief encounter with Rachel.

To his surprise Gideon showed up for supper. He'd invited the lad to eat with them a number of times, but he seldom accepted. This evening, though, he turned up, looking scrubbed and polished and in seeming high spirits.

The boy could be good company when he had a mind to, although of late that hadn't been the case. This evening, however, he seemed more himself, given to joining in the conversation as well as soaking up Gant's and Asa's tales of their travels.

“Don't you miss it, Captain?” he said now, having wolfed down the last bite of Asa's beef stew and biscuits. “Your life on the river?”

“Sometimes,” Gant said honestly. “It hasn't been my way to stay in one place for any length of time. But like most anything else, you get used to what you have to do, and eventually it becomes as natural as everything that went before.”

“I think it would be a swell life, living like that,” said Gideon, a faraway look in his eyes.

“No kind of life is without its problems,” Gant pointed out. “Most things usually look better from a distance.”

“Maybe so, but I wouldn't mind an adventure now and again.”

“That's your young blood,” Gant teased. “Even an adventurous life loses some of its luster after a time.”

They lingered at the kitchen table for a long time, Gideon plying them with questions about one thing or another and Asa clearly enjoying the boy's company. More than once, Gant sensed that the youth wanted to hear about their work with the runaway slaves, but he stopped just short of a direct question.

Gant was fairly certain the boy already knew more about their involvement with the Railroad than he let on, but he also figured that the less he actually did know, the safer it was for him. Thus, neither he nor Asa volunteered any information.

It was well after dark when Asa got up and started to wash the dishes. Gant pushed back from the table as well. “You cooked,” he told the other. “I'll do the dishes.”

Asa waved him off only to have Gideon stand and go to the sink. “I'll help,” he said.

Gant couldn't resist needling him a bit. “An Amish fellow doing dishes? Now there's a surprise.”

Gideon turned around with a grin. “Have to admit the first few times I cleaned up my own plates it felt mighty strange. I'm used to it now, but Mamm would probably faint if she could see me.”

“Amish men don't do dishes?” Asa said.

“Woman's work,” Gideon said, still grinning. “Men work outside the house. Women inside.” He paused. “
And
outside sometimes—in their gardens, taking care of the animals—that kind of thing.”

“So, your mamma probably would never expect to see you with your hands in dishwater?” said Asa.

Gideon started to reply, but a knock at the back door stopped him.

From his place behind the stove, Mac shot to his feet and barked.

Gant quieted him with a single command. When Asa cast a questioning look in his direction, Gant lifted a hand to indicate he would get the door.

It was late enough that he wasn't inclined to simply open up without knowing who might be there. “Who is it?”

At first his question met nothing but silence, so he asked the second time. “Who's there?”

A reply finally came. “A friend of friends.” Then a pause. “Captain Gant?”

Gant glanced at Gideon, not comfortable with the boy being privy to this, but there was nothing for it but to open the door.

The fellow standing just outside was a small, aging black man clad in dusty clothes that hung loosely on his nearly emaciated frame. He clutched a knit cap close to his chest, his eyes betraying a numbing fear that Gant had seen all too many times before.

“You the captain, suh?”

Gant nodded. “And you are?”

“William Bond is my name.” He hesitated, then went on. “Folks in Marietta told us to come here to you.”

The man's voice trembled. In truth his entire body appeared to be shaking.

Gant looked past him. Even in the cover of darkness, he was overwhelmed by the sight that met his eyes.

“How many
are
you?” he asked.

Bond lowered his gaze. “Thirteen of us, suh. Only three full-grown men. Mostly women and children. A few young boys not quite grown.”

He lifted his face then, and Gant saw clearly that he was expecting rejection.

“Can you help us, Captain? I know we's a lot of folks, but the women and the children, they is plain wore out. We need a place to rest and some directions on where to go next.”

Thirteen!
Did he dare to crowd that many into his barn along with the others already out there?

Children could be noisy. He'd be risking detection for certain. But what choice did he have? If the others were in as poor shape as the man standing at his door, they'd not get much farther before they collapsed.

He turned to look at Asa, who met his gaze straight-on but with an expression that revealed nothing.

He could easily be endangering the others already hiding in the barn by adding so many to their numbers. But he didn't have the heart to turn them away. They had already been through Marietta. He knew of no other conductors in this area. Malachi and Phoebe Esch ran a safe station, of course, but they couldn't possibly harbor so many.

“All right,” he said, not without a fair measure of reluctance. “You'll have to stay in the barn. No lanterns. And no talking—no noise of any kind. You follow Asa here—his lantern is all the light we can risk. I'll get some food together for you. Be sure you keep the children quiet.”

“You'll help us get away, then? To the North?” said Bond.

“We'll do what we can.”

Gant turned back to Asa. “Take them quickly and as quietly as possible. I'll keep watch.”

Without looking at Gideon, he started out the door.

“Captain—”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Gideon heading toward him.

“Maybe you can use an extra pair of eyes.”

Gant hesitated, then gave a nod.

The night was thick and black with no moon. It was the kind of night in which Asa liked to transport runaways, but obviously that was now out of the question. There were too many for one man. They would have to wait until they could get word to another conductor
for help. Besides, if the rest of the runaways in William Bond's group were in as poor condition as he was, they were going to have to have food and rest before they'd be able to go
anywhere.

Back inside the house, after getting the runaways settled in the barn with some food and blankets, Gant faced Gideon. “You weren't meant to see what you saw tonight. If you don't keep your silence about this, you could put Asa and me in jail—not to mention the trouble you'll bring on those people out there.”

The lad's gaze never wavered. “Captain, I've known for a long time that you and Asa are helping runaway slaves. I've never said a word. I won't start now.”

Something about Gideon Kanagy allowed Gant to believe he could trust him. Still, he took nothing for granted. “You say you've known. How so?”

The boy shrugged. “I overheard some things said between Mamm and Rachel—and between yourself and Dr. Sebastian.” He paused. “Besides, more than once I've seen the light from a lantern up here late at night. I might be young, Captain, but I'm not stupid.”

Gant knew that well enough. “And you've said nothing? Not to anyone?”

“I've not. And I won't.”

“Your hand on it? Your word?”

“You have my word.”

Gant searched his eyes for another moment. “That's good enough, I expect.”

Asa walked in just then. “You got any more hot coffee or tea ready, Captain? There wasn't quite enough to go around.”

“There's more on the stove. Should be plenty.”

“I'll take it out,” Gideon said before Asa could cross the room.

Asa looked at Gant, who gave a short nod. “It's all right. Let him go. You and I need to figure out a couple of things anyway.”

As soon as Gideon went out the door, Gant sat down at the table. Pain was shooting streaks of fire up his leg. He'd been on it more than usual throughout the day and was paying for it now.

Asa poured them each a cup of coffee and then sat down across from him. “So the boy knows what we're doing?”

“He does now,” Gant said dryly. “He claims he already knew. And he probably did. That one doesn't miss much.”

They talked for a time about their now precarious situation. Trying to hide even three or four runaways was always treacherous. Hiding fifteen of them—the new arrivals plus the two already waiting to leave—was beyond dangerous. It was downright foolhardy.

They bounced a few ideas back and forth but came up with no good solution. There seemed nothing for it but to wait.

“I'll send for help tomorrow,” said Gant. “At best, though, it will probably take a couple of days. We can't send just anyone with you. We need someone we can trust—and someone willing to take the risk.”

“Captain, we can't wait. There are too many. It could be two or three days—or even longer—before we can get someone here. We need to get food and supplies together as soon as possible, so I can take them out of here by tomorrow night. I can manage. I've traveled with as many as eight or nine before.”

“There's no way you'll do this alone! For one thing, you're going to need two wagons. You can't pack fifteen slaves into one wagon without asking for trouble.”

“Yes, we can. Most of them are women and young'uns. They won't take up that much room. Captain, we both know the longer we wait, the more chance of getting found out. All those people out there in the barn—you think you're going to be able to keep the children and the babies quiet?”

This was one of those times when Gant detested the shape he was in—hated being tied down, not only by his lame leg but by the
business that had to be managed. If he ever needed the freedom to just pick up and go, it was such a time as this.

“Maybe I could go,” he said, more to himself than to Asa. “Maybe I could leave Gideon to look after things here at the shop, and I could go with you.”

“No offense, Captain, but you wouldn't be much help if we have to travel on foot for any distance. And you know that's a possibility—wouldn't be the first time we've had to leave the wagon and make a run for it.”

“There's no reason
I
can't go.”

Both Gant and Asa snapped around to see Gideon standing just inside the door. So preoccupied had they been on trying to come up with a solution to their problem, they hadn't heard the boy come back inside.