Indigo (8 page)

Everyone agreed.

It was dark outside when the meeting and the choir rehearsal came to a close. Branton Hubble walked with Hester to her buggy, which was parked beside the church. They'd always been special friends. He'd loved her Aunt Katherine from afar for most of Hester's life, yet he'd never acted upon his feelings out of respect for his wife, still in bondage in Kentucky.

"Hester, is the Black Daniel giving you any problems?"

"He did in the beginning, snarled at me the whole time. We're progressing a bit better now that's he healing."

"What type of man is he?"

"Stubborn."

Branton smiled. "Well, if you need anything, let me know."

"I will."

She picked up the reins, but Branton's voice stopped her. "Oh and Hester, be very careful if you're going to continue to move passengers. Shoe and his men seem to be particularly nasty."

"Don't worry. I doubt I'll do anything while the Black Daniel's here."

Hester slapped the reins and drove away.

Hester looked in on Galen when she returned. She'd expected him to be sleeping but was surprised to see him lying atop the cot, awake. He turned his face her way and smiled. "Good evening, Miss Wyatt."

"Good evening, Galen. I thought you'd be sleeping."

"I hoped you'd stop in to tell me about the meeting."

Hester noticed the chill in the room. "Aren't you cold in here?" She walked over to the stove and tossed in more wood.

"I've slept in colder places," he replied.

"We should move you up into the house. You will heal faster in warmer surroundings."

He smiled. "Are you trying to rush my recovery so I'll be out of your hair, Miss Wyatt?"

His teasing made her lower her eyes, then say, innocently, "I simply thought you might be more comfortable."

He laughed, the first time she'd heard him do so so robustly, and she liked the sound.

Galen said, "I'm fine here. In the house I may be seen."

"No one will see you. There isn't a house for miles. Besides, Shoe is holed up south of here, down in Monroe."

"It isn't Shoe I'm worried about—it's the good citizens of this town."

Hester shook her head at his continued harping on the trustworthiness of her neighbors. "The few good citizens who are aware of your presence here have vowed to keep you safe. Trust us."

When he didn't reply, Hester added, "Galen, I know we are strangers to you, but aren't you a stranger to the people you bring north?"

He nodded.

"So, if they can trust you, you should trust also. Believe me, you will heal better up in the house."

"And your reputation? Won't there be some old church biddies quacking about you being compromised?"

"I don't know where you're from originally Galen, but on the Road here, we women don't always have the luxury of worrying about our reputations when there's work to be done." She paused, then added, "Besides, the reverend from the church knows you're here, and even if he didn't, I'm of the opinion that slavery's reputation is far more sullied than mine will ever be."

Galen could see the flash of determination in her eyes. He sighed visibly in surrender. "All right, Miss Wyatt. You win."

Hester's smiled triumphantly.

The next day, Hester showed Galen up to the attic room. "This room was originally built by my great-grandfather Ellis," she explained. She crossed the portal and opened up the drapes and windows to let in fresh air and light. The morning sun revealed fine dark wood paneling the walls from floor to ceiling.

Galen looked around. There were large windows all the way around the big bedroom. The wood floors and walls gleamed with the care they'd been given. There was a big canopied four-poster bed. The four-poster, the largest bed Galen had seen in quite some time, would surely give him a more restful sleep than the thin pallet on the cot in the cellar room. There was a desk, a beautifully polished wardrobe, and a screened area that he assumed disguised the chamber facilities. "All this wood reminds me of a ship."

Hester agreed. "He apprenticed on a whaler as a young man. After the war, he came to Michigan and sailed the lakes on a merchant vessel. He loved the sea."

Galen's eyes swept over a big black bathing tub inlaid with mother of pearl. Its exotic beauty captured his attention. "Where did you acquire this?" he asked, walking over to view it more closely. The work was exquisite and the tub's circumference appeared large enough to accommodate a man his size quite comfortably.

"My grandfather brought it back from Arabia on one of his last sea voyages."

"Looks like it might have belonged to a sheik's harem."

"It certainly appears lavish enough," Hester said with a smile. "But I wouldn't know. Once you're healed, feel free to use it if you like. There's a drain beneath it, and a pipe which takes the water out of the house. You still have to haul the water up here however, so it hasn't been used on a regular basis in many years, though Aunt Katherine did use it occasionally."

Galen looked around the room again, then walked over to gaze out of the small, lead-paned windows at the world spread below. On the window seat he saw an eyeglass. He picked it up and, after lengthening it, held it to his eye. He was treated to a commanding view of the countryside. "That's quite a view," he told her. He swept the area a moment longer then set the glass back on the window seat.

"It's one of the reasons I want to put you up here. You can see the approach from any direction."

"The other reason?"

Hester walked over to the wall behind the big four poster bed. "This."

He watched as she touched the wall. A portion of it swung open without a sound. He came over to the opening and peered into the darkness.

Hester explained. "There's a wooden incline leading down to the tunnel below the house. Great-grandfather Ellis said one can run faster down an incline than a flight of stairs."

Galen agreed. He'd known many a man to break a limb running hell bent down a flight of stairs.

Hester then said, "Close your eyes."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Please?"

To her surprise he complied without argument. "Now, give me your hand." When he did, she gently moved his strong, warm hand over the grain of the panel. "Can you feel the slight roughness of the wood here, as opposed to here?"

He nodded yes.

"Now open your eyes." She then had him inspect the area, after which she showed him the place on the wood which sprung the opening. To the casual observer it appeared as just another whorl in the highly polished oak. "I have a similar panel in my room. My aunt Katherine made me practice until I could find the spring in the dark. You should probably do the same."

"How many other escapes in the house?"

"Not many more, but enough where we can always get a head start, hopefully," she added in a serious tone. "I can show them to you whenever you care to view them."

"How about now?"

Hester nodded, then led him from the room.

She showed him the secret panels in the three bedrooms which were oft times occupied by her passengers, and the tunnel entrance beneath the rocker in the study. He'd already seen the passage behind the kitchen leading to the room in the cellar.

When she finished the tour Galen asked, "Is that all of them?"

"Except for the one in my bedroom, yes."

"I need to see it also."

Hester blinked. She'd never had a man in her bedroom. "Why?"

"So I will know where it is."

She supposed the logic of the request made sense, however, she doubted he would ever need to escape from her bedroom, but rather than argue over the matter, Hester led him back upstairs.

Inside her room, Hester walked over to the paneled wall to the right of her wardrobe, and showed Galen what he wanted to see. As in the other rooms, the whorls of the wood camouflaged the spring. Her fingers pressed the spot and the panel swung open. Her expression asked,
Are you satisfied?

He nodded like a tall monarch pleased with a royal subject.

A touch and the opening was concealed again.

Galen took the opportunity to glance around her room. He no longer had to imagine where she slept at night. His gaze slid over her bed. Atop the mussed quilt and exposed sheet lay a nightgown which could have belonged to a Quaker woman. There were no ribbons or geegaws for a man to linger over. To his practiced eye the fabric appeared rough and uncomfortable.

Seeing his interest in her gown, Hester hastily retrieved it. His face held nothing that could be construed as lustful, but an embarrassed Hester opened a drawer on the wardrobe and threw the gown inside.

His eyebrow raised but he didn't speak. For a few seconds, they stood silent, observing one another. Hester couldn't imagine why her heart was racing so. As she'd reminded herself before, she was far past the age of being so affected by a man. Hester asked over her pounding heart, "I—have you seen all you need to see?"

Galen thought she looked far too innocent to be in this business. In his mind, she should be married to a good man having his babies, not risking her life every day for a cause which appeared to have no end. "No, Hester Wyatt, I have not, but we can leave now."

Hester blinked, put her heart back inside her ribs, and led the way.

Galen chastised himself for playing with her in such a fashion. He'd be willing to bet she did not possess the experience to do anything but flee in the face of his teasing, yet he found the play disturbingly stimulating.

Hester prepared his lunch and joined him at the dining room table. He asked, "Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'll eat later."

He studied her face a moment.

Hester added, "I ate a big breakfast, I'm not really hungry."

He nodded then began to eat. Between bites, he said, "Tell me about the area. How many families are there?"

"About fifty. Most have moved here in the past six or seven years."

"Are most runaways?"

"Yes. After the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law, many families fled to Ontario and are just returning."

Galen knew that many thousands fled to Canada immediately after the passage of the 1850 law. Major cities all over the North lost great percentages of their Black populations as a result of the terror evoked amongst all who'd escaped slavery.

Like its 1793 predecessor, the law forbade the escaping of slaves from one state to another. It also denied arrested fugitives the right to trial by jury and the right to take the stand in their own defense. Instead, Congress appointed special commissioners to try the cases.

If the commissioner decided in favor of the slave owner, the commissioner received ten dollars, but only five if the fugitive won. Abolitionists called the payments nothing more than glorified bribes, but Congress justified the discrepancy by saying the commissioners deserved the payments for the time spent processing all the documents needed to send a slave south.

The penalties for assisting or harboring an escaped slave were stiffened by the law, and any U.S. marshall or federal deputy who refused to help a slave owner reclaim his property faced a stiff thousand-dollar fine.

Given such carte blanche, slave owners and their slave hunters repeatedly abused the edict. They felt free to bring before the federal commissioners any individual of color, whether they'd legally owned them previously or not. In some cases they bypassed the law altogether and simply kidnapped the alleged fugitive and took them south.

"This kidnapper you spoke of last night after the meeting, Greer, how active is he?"

"Very."

"Does he know you're a station?"

"Yes. He had my aunt arrested several times. He was never able to produce the runaways in court though, so she was never tried."

"And have you ever been arrested?"

"At rallies, but never for station work. At least not yet." She paused, then asked, "What about you?"

"I spent three years in a Carolina prison."

His voice was so cold she didn't dare ask the particulars of his imprisonment. She could only assume it had to do with slave stealing.

After lunch he asked her, "Do you keep any weapons in the house?"

He expected her to have a pistol at best, not the small, well-stocked arsenal she showed him hidden in the false back of the kitchen sideboard. He took down a rifle and inspected it. He was pleased that the guns were well maintained. "Can you use any of these?"

"My aunt trained me on them all. I don't like firearms, but I know my life may depend upon my ability to use one, so I tolerate them."

"Are you any good?" he asked.

"With my aunt Katherine as a teacher, of course. With her you either did your very best, or listened to her lectures on doing your very best."

Galen rehung the rifle in its spot, then spent the next few moments inventorying the arms available. He took down an excellently weighted pistol.

"That one belonged to my father," Hester explained.