The Pattern of Her Heart (33 page)

Jasmine felt only moderately relieved at this thought. “Thank you so much.”

Nolan waved, and their small band walked away from the house with Alice Ann holding tightly to Jasmine’s hand. Henrietta and Prissy walked side by side. Spencer brought up the rear, listening for anyone advancing from that direction.

“I don’t like this,” Alice Ann whined as she tripped on a fallen branch.

“You’re fine. You didn’t fall. So long as you hold my hand, nothing will happen to you,” Jasmine said in a reassuring voice. “We’re on a great adventure, Alice Ann. One you can tell all your friends about once we get home.”

“I’m going to tell Winnie first thing,” she said.

“A horse can’t understand you,” Spencer told her.

“Shh!” Nolan warned. “Let’s keep our voices down. We’re close to Rodney, and there may be rowdies out and about in these woods.”

Alice squeezed Jasmine’s hand more tightly. “Is somebody going to hurt us?”

“No. Your papa won’t let anything happen to you, Alice Ann, but you must do as you’re told. Try to keep quiet unless it’s very important.”

They moved slowly, silently picking their way through the stand of woods that flourished not far from the banks of the Mississippi. The raw, fishy stench of the river mingled with the lapping sound of the water as it licked the dry riverbank—sounds and smells that directed their path when vision failed them. For a short time they floundered in the darkness, but their eyes quickly adjusted to the shadowy surroundings and they picked up their pace. All but Alice Ann, who was shifted to Nolan’s back while Henrietta and Jasmine took turns carrying Clara. There was little doubt this would be a grueling journey.

The night was filled with the sounds of croaking frogs and hooting owls while the distant moon cast eerie shadows in all directions. Giant tangles of Spanish moss hung from the trees like thick spider webs waiting to lure their prey. Jasmine swallowed her fear and followed closely behind Nolan as she wondered about the terror of all those runaway slaves who had stumbled through these woods before them. Runaways with dogs sniffing and yelping in the distance and then growing closer and closer, nipping at their heels until surely the bile of fear would rise in the throats of those slaves and nearly choke them. How did they manage to stop breathing and listen for the snap of a twig or the sound of a footstep on the forest floor when everything within them ached to run like the wind? How did they withstand the pure terror of being at the mercy of both the elements and their cruel captors? Though she feared for her family, her terror could be nothing compared to those brave slaves who dared to run for freedom.

“I think I hear something,” Spencer hissed.

Nolan quickly gathered them together behind a growth of bushes. “Don’t anyone say anything,” he whispered.

Jasmine’s heart hammered with the violence of pounding thunder on a stormy night as they hunkered behind the overgrowth. The voices were coming from the direction of the river—not from behind them, as Spencer had thought. Jasmine shrunk back as the voices grew louder.

“I’m not going any farther,” a man said. “If Rupert wants to chase after that colored girl, then let him come and get her.”

“He wants
all
of them—not just the darkie.”

“Says he wants to prove to them that they’ve got to show him proper respect.”

“This is mad. I’m not going to stay out here any longer just so Rupert can force someone to show him some respect. Besides, if they were headed north to Vicksburg, they would have been on the last boat. There’s another one due in the morning. I say we go back to Rodney and, come daybreak, wait at the dock to see who boards the boat.”

The other man grunted his agreement.

Nolan signaled them to remain where they were until long after the men could no longer be heard and then emitted a sigh. “I think it’s safe for us to continue now,” he whispered.

Jasmine clutched his arm. “From what those men said, I believe we’ll be safe once we arrive at Grand Gulf. Let’s pray we don’t have to continue on foot to Vicksburg. I don’t believe I could make it,” she said wearily as she again wondered how runaways had endured their flight to freedom under circumstances much harsher than the conditions she was now being forced to experience. Suddenly she felt dreadfully inadequate.

M
ARY
M
ARGARET
hoisted her skirts a few inches and made her way across Merrimack Street, carefully avoiding the pools of mud that were a vivid reminder of last week’s snow. She was thankful the weather had warmed a bit, yet the muddy remains made getting about perilous. Even the carriages were having difficulty navigating the streets.

“Careful. That mud is as slick as the snow preceding it.”

Mary Margaret looked up at the warning. “Paddy! What brings ya to town this evenin’?”

“I was attending a meetin’—we were havin’ discussions about the St. Patrick’s Day festivities,” he replied, taking a few steps closer.

“Truly? And were ya able to complete the plans?”

He laughed and shook his head, surprised by Mary Margaret’s conviviality. “ ’Twill take more than one meeting for this group ta make any decisions.”

“Bridgett tells me the decisions for the dance have already been made and the ladies have begun work already.”

“Aye—but it’s the women that have taken charge of the dance. Men are a wee bit slower in making arrangements for parades and such—they want to make sure everything is exactly correct.”

She laughed. “Get on with ya, Paddy. We all know it’s the women that are slow to make decisions but quick to set their hands ta work once they’ve a plan, while ’tis the men who are quick to decisions but slow to beginning their task. If ya ask me, the men were likely anxious to get out to the pub and tip an ale or two instead of makin’ plans for a parade that’s more than a month away.”

“Quick to pass judgment, are ya?”

“Just telling the truth about what I figure happened. Are ya tellin’ me I’m wrong?”

A faint smile crossed Paddy’s lips. “Sure and ya know exactly what happened. But they all agreed that we’d make our final decisions at the meeting next week,” he quickly added. “I was thinkin’ to walk over and see Bridgett and Cullen before headin’ back to the farm. Are ya off to do some shopping?”

“No, just wanted to leave the house for a while and get a breath of air. Another one of the girls in our boardinghouse lost her position at the mill today. Rather gloomy at the house, so I thought I’d take a walk.”

“Well, then, would ya be wantin’ to accompany me? If ya do na mind the walk, that is. The wagon is at the blacksmith having a new wheel put on, and I’m to pick it up later. But if ya do na mind traveling by foot, ya could visit Bridgett for a bit before returning home.”

There was a slight hesitation in his voice. Mary Margaret was unsure if he truly desired her company or if he was merely being polite. But no matter. Since learning more about Paddy from his sister, she was interested in becoming better acquainted, though she didn’t want to appear overly anxious.

“I’m not certain,” she tentatively began as she clicked open the small watch attached to her jacket and glanced at the time. “I do suppose I could, so long as I’m back to the boardinghouse by ten o’clock.”

“Aye. I’ll be sure ya’re home on time. So ya say one of the girls lost her job today. I hope you and Bridgett do na have to face such a terrible thing,” he said as they began walking.

“Bridgett should be safe unless the economy gets much worse. They’re terminatin’ by seniority, though they’ve made a few exceptions and let some girls go who they said didn’t turn out as much work,” she said. “That’s what happened to Helen today. She’s been with the Corporation longer than I have, but she’s sickly and can na work so fast. I’m hoping she will na be bearing a grudge toward me, for it was na my doing.”

“Did ya try discussin’ the matter with her?” Paddy asked.

“Aye, but she said she didn’t want to talk, so I left her to her thoughts. Mrs. Brighton said she could stay at the house, but there’s no tellin’ if she will. She’s a quiet girl that came to our house because she was ill-treated at the place she had lived before. Mrs. Brighton has been kind to her, though Helen seldom has a word to say. At supper Mrs. Brighton told Helen there might be work for her someplace other than the textile mills.”

“Does she have some other skills ta offer at one of the other companies?”

“I do na know, but Mrs. Brighton mentioned the company that’s begun manufacturing shuttles and bobbins. She said she’d heard there might be a few positions there. She also suggested Helen talk to the owners of some of the shops in town to see if they might be needin’ help, but I do na think there’s much of a chance for that. Helen’s na the type to be greeting customers in a dress shop or stationery store— she’s too fearful of approachin’ strangers.”

“Ya never know what hunger will do for a person,” Paddy said. “She may find she’s able to handle such a position if it’s all she can locate.”

“It’s a fact her family’s needin’ her money, so I do hope she finds work. Mrs. Brighton’s willing ta seek aid for her through the benevolent group at her church. She’s a kind woman, that one.”

“Aye, so I’ve been told.”

Mary Margaret took a deep breath to bolster her courage before speaking. “Are ya making plans to attend the St. Patrick’s Day dance?” she asked as they neared Cullen and Bridgett’s home.

Paddy turned to glance at Mary Margaret. “Sure and I always attend the dance. What good Irishman would remain at home on such a festive day?”

He didn’t give the answer she had hoped to elicit, but she wasn’t deterred. She would ask him again as they walked back to the boardinghouse. However, this time she would phrase her question a bit differently.

Paddy was certain he’d heard Bridgett whisper a remark about the St. Patrick’s Day parade to Mary Margaret and then giggle as they were preparing to depart.

“I’m wonderin’ why the two of them are discussing the parade when what they need to concern themselves with is the dance,” he said to Cullen. “Next thing ya know they’ll be tryin’ to take over the parade.”

“To be sure,” Cullen agreed. “Bridgett’s quite the organizer. She’ll be havin’ our work done for us if we leave ’er to it long enough.”

“Still, they needn’t be doin’ our job. Although I’m sure Bridgett would get the work done.”

Cullen gave a hearty laugh. “Aye, to be sure. But women would na be women if they did na put themselves in the center of all of our plans. Besides, if I know Bridgett, they’re likely discussing the latest fashions they’d like to be wearin’ rather than interfering into yar plans, Paddy. Do na worry— there will be plenty for ya to attend to before the seventeenth of March arrives.” The women moved closer to the front door. “Best be fetchin’ yar jacket. Looks like the lass is ready to leave.”

Mary Margaret had her cape fastened and her reticule in hand. She directed a warm smile in his direction, and for a moment Paddy wondered if there might be someone behind him for whom the smile was intended. After all, this lass had been nothing but agitated with him when they’d encountered each other in the past. He’d been taken aback when she agreed to spend time with him this evening; now she was smiling at him as though she’d missed being in his company. He was not a man given to second-guessing people’s motives, but Mary Margaret was indeed cut from a different cloth than were the lasses he’d encountered in the past. Why was she now so affable?

She appeared to listen intently as they walked home and Paddy talked of the farm and the horses that would soon be ready for their new owners at West Point and the Virginia Military Institute. He spoke of several of the animals that had been sick and the fact that he missed Mr. Houston’s presence at the farm, and he admitted he was sometimes overwhelmed making the many decisions needed in order to run such a fine operation as the Houston farm.

“I have little doubt but what ya’re doin’ a wonderful job. Mr. Houston has paid you a fine compliment by placin’ you in charge during his absence,” Mary Margaret said sweetly as she patted his arm.