Storm Clouds Rolling In Page 32

  “What did the doctor say to do?”

  Carrie shrugged. “Nothing,” she admitted flatly. That had been the hardest thing. The doctor had offered no word of hope, and given no clear instructions on what she could do to help her mother. He has simply shaken his head, closed his bag, and walked from the room. She had been so glad that her father hadn’t been there to see it. He still had hope. She was trying to.

  Rose could hear the low rumble of a wagon coming down the road when the group had almost reached the edge of the woods. Jamison, if it was Jamison, was right on time. She held her finger to her lip and crouched down behind the surrounding brush. Everyone followed her example. Not a sound betrayed their presence.

  Slowly, the wagon approached and then stopped. Rose peered out into the darkness. She would wait for the signal.

  “I am a friend.”

  Rose sighed with relief and moved out into the road. “Hello, Mr. Jamison.”

  “Hello, Rose. It’s good to see you again.” Jamison’s voice was calm, but his eyes never stopped moving.

  ”I have eight people waiting to join you.” Rose answered his next question before he asked it. “Adams is off on a drinking binge. It’s Saturday night. He won’t come near the Quarters until Monday morning. Mrs. Cromwell is sick. No one will be missed until Adams raises the alarm.”

  “Good!” Jamison jumped down from the wagon and turned to her. “Have you changed your mind, Rose? It’s not too late to join us.”

  Rose shook her head and managed a smile. “No, Mr. Jamison. I will be staying here.”

  Jamison frowned slightly and nodded. “I have no way of knowing how long it will take to get them to freedom. It is getting more difficult. As the number of escaping slaves increase, more and more effort is being made to stop it. It took us two months just to get a group from Blackwell to Philadelphia. Even then, one of them almost got caught. A young girl managed to delay the slave hunters long enough for us to get her away. They are on their way to Canada now. They should be free soon.”

  Rose smiled. “I’m glad,” she murmured.

  Jamison nodded and looked toward the woods. “Let’s go, everyone. We have to be at the next station before it starts to get light.” He waved his hand at the wagon piled high with sweet smelling hay. “Everyone under the hay.” He waited while the group of slaves filed silently from the woods, and smiled encouragingly at each one of them. “My job is to take you to freedom. Thank you for trusting me. I admire your courage.”

  The group nodded soberly and began to climb into the wagon. Rose knew that now that the moment was here they were overwhelmed with their fears of what could happen but there was no turning back. They had set their faces to freedom and nothing was going to make them turn away. She and Moses watched them silently.

  Jamison climbed into his seat and stared down at them. “If there is some way to let you know they made it, I will.” Then he picked up his reins, and clucked to his team.

  Rose watched as the wagon rumbled down the road. Long after it had disappeared she continued to stand, staring into the blackness.

  “Rose?” Moses’ gentle voice and soft touch on her shoulder broke the dam. Sobbing, she turned and pressed her face against his massive chest. He said nothing - just held her close and stroked her hair, staring into the darkness as she had done.

  “Manson back yet?” Ike Adams tipped his glass back and took another long gulp of whiskey. He grinned as the burning liquid flowed down his throat and numbed his mind.

  “Nah!” Jennings smirked. “He ain’t gonna find them niggers. Blackwell will probably give him the boot. Them slaves were worth thousands of dollars.”

  “It weren’t his fault them niggers got away!” Adams protested hotly. “You can’t be with them every second.” He scowled into his drink. “It’s them damn Yankees. They’re coming down here and taking our slaves. They need to come down here and fight like real men. Then we’d show ‘em.” He sounded tough, but the other man’s words had awakened an ever present fear. What would happen to his job if some of the Cromwell slaves managed to escape?

  “Manson’s had hunters after them slaves for two months now. I heard he even took off for Philadelphia himself. Something about them slaves maybe being there.” Jennings shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to be him if he has to come back and tell Blackwell he didn’t find them slaves.” Dramatically, he pulled an imaginary knife across his throat and grimaced.

  Adams jumped up and reached for the whiskey bottle. “It ain’t his fault I tell you!”

  Jennings shrugged. “Somebody going to carry the blame.” Then he squinted his eyes. “What about the Cromwell niggers, Adams? What you gonna do if some of them get away?”

  Adams slammed his glass down on the table. “That ain’t gonna happen!” But the fears had started spinning in his brain. Suddenly, there was nothing to do but go to the Quarters and satisfy his fears. It didn’t matter that it was after midnight. He threw his glass aside and smiled bitterly as he heard the tinkle of glass against the wall. Then he turned and stalked from the house.

  Moses and Rose had just reached the wooded edge of the Quarters when they heard the sound of a horse galloping in their direction.

  “Hurry, Moses. Get back to your cabin!” Rose was suddenly very afraid. The sound of a horse could mean nothing but trouble.

  Moses hesitated. “You’re going to be okay?”

  Rose nodded impatiently and gave him a push. “Hurry!”

  Moses looked down at her, and then turned and sprinted into the darkness.

  Moments later, Adams reigned in his horse and glared at the dark cabins. He scowled and reached behind his saddle, pulling out the whip he carried when Cromwell wasn’t around. He uncoiled it, gave it a mighty crack, and yelled, “All niggers out of the cabins!” The sound of the cracking whip filled the air as slaves stumbled from their beds, sleepy-eyed and confused.

  Horrified, Rose watched from her concealed spot. She should go before she was missed in the Big House, but her feet were rooted to the ground. What had brought Adams to the Quarters on his drinking night? She could do nothing but stare helplessly as Adams slid to the ground and began to inspect the slaves. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Moses’ massive shape line up with the rest of the men. He had made it back in time. Then she groaned softly. He still had his shoes on! The rest of the sleepy eyed men standing in line were all barefooted. God, please!

  Just then Moses looked down and then quickly back up. Adams was down at the other end of the line. Moving slowly, so as to not draw any attention, he carefully eased a shoe off with one big foot, and then pushed it back into the shadows of the cabin. He had just pushed the other shoe back into the protecting darkness when Adams broke into a stream of curses.

  Moving quickly now, Adams continued his count. Soon the air was thick with his curses and hollering. Rose watched as he grabbed her mama by the arm. “Where are all the niggers, old woman?”

  Sarah shook her head calmly. “I wouldn’t be knowing nothin’ ‘bout that.” Adams cursed again and shoved her away. A steadying arm reached out to keep her from falling.

  Adams’ glazed eyes focused on Moses. He seemed to grip his whip tighter as he stalked up to him. “Where are the niggers?” he demanded.

  Moses just shook his head.

  His silence only made Adams angrier. Pulling back his arm, he let fly with the whip. It barely missed Moses’ head. Moses closed his eyes briefly, but never flinched.

  Rose groaned. What would Adams do to Moses? She knew Moses’ heart was with the escaping slaves. The longer Adams stayed there, the farther away they could get.

  Somehow that thought must have pierced the befuddled fog of Adam’s brain. He cursed loudly, grabbed his whip, and jumped on his horse. “I’m gonna catch them niggers!” he yelled. “And when I do, they’re gonna be sorry they were ever born!” He kicked his horse savagely and disappeared down the road.

  Rose, wiping tears from her eyes, ran through the woods. She h
ad to get back to the house before they discovered she was gone. She ignored the cruel lash of branches as she flew down the path. She must hurry! Adams was stomping up the stairs when she reached the edge of the clearing. Rose groaned as the pounding of his heavy fist on the door rang through the night. All she could do was watch. She would surely be seen if she tried to cross the yard.

  “What in the world is going on?” Thomas Cromwell’s angry voice rang out clearly as he threw the massive door open. Carrie watched from the top of the stairs as her father looked with disgust at his overseer’s drunken condition. “What is it, Adams?” he asked again impatiently. “My wife is very ill! Your pounding has probably awakened her!”

  Adams stared at the angry man. Then he drew himself up to his full height. “Seven of your slaves are missing, Mr. Cromwell!”

  Thomas stared at him. He leaned his head against the doorjamb for a brief moment and then straightened. “Who is gone, Adams?” he asked sharply.

  “Seven of the field hands, sir. Sadie, Jasmine, Molly......”

  Thomas held up his hand. “Are they all field hands, Adams?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I would recommend that you check the house and barn slaves. We need to know who we are going after.”

  Thomas nodded his head wearily. The strain of worrying about his wife, combined with sleepless nights, looked as if it had taken its toll. “Sam?” he called sharply. He waited as Sam took what seemed to be much longer than normal to respond to his call.

  The old man’s face was impassive as he joined them at the door. “Yes, sir?”

  “I want you to call all the house and barn slaves. Tell them to line up on the porch.”

  “Yes sir, Marse Cromwell.” Sam turned and disappeared back into the house.

  Thomas rubbed his hand over his eyes. He glanced up the stairs once and saw Carrie staring down at him, but she made no move to join him. She needed to stay close enough to her mother to hear her call if she was needed.

  Adams fidgeted impatiently.

  One by one, the slaves filed onto the porch. Rose was the last one to take her place in line. Carrie, from her place on the landing, noticed the sheen of sweat and bright eyes.

  Thomas looked them over carefully. Suddenly his face tightened. “Where is Miles?”

  Carrie leaned into the support of the railing and stared down with wide eyes.

  Sam shrugged, his face still impassive. “He weren’t in his room over the barn, Marse Cromwell.” His tone was expressionless.

  Thomas shook his head in disbelief. “Miles ran away?” he asked faintly. Then he straightened. “All of you go back to your quarters,” he said sternly. Nothing was said as the porch emptied. Then he turned to Adams. “Gather some men and go after them. They can’t be far.” He stared at Adams, taking in his drunken state once more. “When was the last time you counted them Adams? How long have they been gone?” he asked sharply.

  “Just this afternoon, sir. They can’t be far...”

  “Unless?” Thomas peered at him.

  “Unless the Underground Railroad is helping them. The Blackwell slaves were taken off in a wagon. They ain’t been found yet.”

  “Well, get on it, man! I can’t leave. My wife needs me. Find whoever you can to help you. I’ll make sure they’re paid. Just bring them back!”

  Adams nodded, his mean features twisting with pleasure. “Yes, sir! I’ll have them niggers back soon!”

  Carrie shuddered at the thought of Adams catching the runaway slaves. She knew he would show no mercy.

  Thomas watched as his overseer strode down the steps and disappeared into the night on his horse. He stared out into the darkness for a long while. Then he turned, looked up at Carrie, and spoke in a low voice. “I don’t trust Adams. I should go after the escaped slaves myself.” He glanced up at the glowing window of his bedroom. “I can’t leave. I won’t leave! Abigail is my life. I have to be here for her if she needs me.” His voice caught in pain and then grew fierce. “All of my slaves could get up and leave. They mean nothing without her.” He turned to glare into the darkness again, his shoulders slumped with fatigue.

  Carrie had not moved from her place by the stair railing. It had come to Cromwell Plantation at last. Just as her mother had feared – slaves had run away. An image of Sadie, tossing with fever because of the cut on her foot, rose before her; Miles laughing up at her as he taught her to ride; Jasmine, as a little girl playing around Sarah until she had to go to the fields. Who else who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember was now gone? Her heart constricted, yet she felt relief. Harriet’s tear-streaked face floated back from Philadelphia to stare her in the eyes. “I just want to be free!” “Carrie…” Her mother’s weak voice reached out to call her back into the present. She turned quickly and hurried to her mother’s side, breathing a quick prayer that the slaves would make their way to freedom.

  Adams, thinking clearly now, knew he needed help. He leaned low over Ginger’s neck as she flew down the dark road. Adams was on his way to find Jennings and some of the other men. Jennings had dogs. The slaves couldn’t be far. Even if they were in a wagon, men on horses could catch up with them easily.

  He pulled up to the same house he had left so abruptly earlier that night, vaulted off Ginger, and ran up the stairs. “We got some niggers to catch!” he cried as soon as he entered the dark room reeking of alcohol.

  Jennings peered up at him with red-rimmed, bleary eyes. “Welcome back, Adams,” he slurred. “I saved a bottle for ya!” He lifted the almost empty bottle of whiskey, gave a hard laugh, and raised it to his lips.

  Before he could drain the remaining drops, Adams cursed and ripped the bottle from his hands. He slammed it on the table and turned back to the men in the room. “Didn’t you hear me?” he cried angrily. “We got niggers to catch. Eight of the Cromwell niggers have run away. They can’t be far.” He grabbed Jennings by the collar and tried to lift him from the chair. “We need your dogs, man! Get up!” But he knew even as he was yelling that his efforts were futile. The room was full of reeling, drunk men. They would be useless to him until they sobered up. Judging by the number of empty whiskey bottles littering the room that would take some time. Adams cursed and swung his arm through the remaining bottles on the table under the window. Crashing glass and oozing liquid attracted the room’s drunken attention as Adams turned and stormed from the room. He would have to go after the slaves himself. He patted his waistline; the hard metal of his pistol reassured him.

  Adams knew, even as he tore out onto the porch, that his mission was senseless without the dogs and without help. Why, he couldn’t even trace the slave’s escape route without the dogs. They could have gone in any direction through the woods. Common sense told him they would head north eventually, but there was no telling where they would go first. He slammed his fist against the heavy pillar holding the porch and glared helplessly back at the darkened room. He was angry, but he also knew he would be no good in the same circumstances. He had been on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk before Jennings’ words had sent him flying back to the Quarters. He sank down on the steps and tried to force himself to examine all his options.

  Just then, with a mighty clap of thunder, the bank of heavy clouds opened up to dump their cargo. Rain poured down from the sky in great sheets as the thunder rumbled and lightening flashed. Adams cursed again and shook his head. He knew the futility of even trying to follow the slaves in this weather. The rain would wash all scent away before the dogs would even get a chance to follow it. Slowly, he stood and climbed into his saddle. He couldn’t just do nothing. He turned Ginger south, then began to jog through the pouring rain. He was on his way to find some slave hunters.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Miss Carrie! There be a letter here for you.”

  Carrie looked at her mother to make sure she was still sleeping and then ran lightly down the stairs. “A letter, Sam?” Her heart pounded with excitement. Could it be from Robert? She hadn’t he
ard from him since he had written her a short note in Philadelphia saying he hoped her time with Matthew was beneficial. The note had arrived shortly before she had left to come home. There had been no opportunity to take thought of a reply since then.

  “Yes, Miss Carrie.” Sam smiled and handed the letter to her. Then he frowned. “You need to get out more, Miss Carrie.”

  Carrie patted his arm. “I’m fine.” He had already commented on her drawn, pale face. She knew he was worried. She had barely left her mother’s side since she had gotten home. Rose brought meals up to her which she would have ignored except for Rose’s insistence she eat. Her burden was compounded now by illness down in the Quarters. When she felt it was safe, she would slip away from the house to care for the sick slaves.

  Her mother had just dropped off to sleep, so Carrie took the letter and carried it out to the front porch. Carrie settled down on the porch swing and allowed her eyes to roam across the expansive lawn. It was nearing the end of August. She could hardly believe she had been home almost a month. She shook her head and tore open the thick envelope she was holding in her hand. “Aunt Abby!” she exclaimed. With a smile of delight she settled back against the swing.

  Dear Carrie,

  I received your letter with great dismay. I am so sorry to hear of your mother’s illness. I understand your deep concern for her. Please know my prayers are with you and that I anxiously await more news of how she is doing. I am so glad she has you there with her.

  My dear, I know your heart is there with your mother. I also know you must grieve your lost opportunity to visit Philadelphia. Please know it is not lost - for whatever reasons it has simply been postponed. You are always welcome here and I look forward to the day when you return. The time to spread your wings will come. God will use what you are going through now to prepare you for what lies ahead.