Midnight Rose (26 page)

On the way back to the hotel, Erin tried to make her voice casual as she asked once more when they might be going home.

“Soon,” Ryan said, sounding impatient himself.

Then, to her surprise, he recounted his conversation with Mr. Grudinger concerning transporting freed Negroes to Africa and asked if she shared his opinion that it would be hypocritical for him to invest in such a venture. At once, she was wary. Though their nights were tender and wonderful, there was still a feeling of apartness by day. At times, he regarded her with near contempt. So it came as quite a shock that he should ask her opinion on anything. “Since dinner at Mr. Tallmadge’s, I’ve decided that woman was right when she said it’s best to leave anything dealing with slavery to the menfolk. I have no opinion.”

He looked at her in wonder. “I’m surprised you let that bother you so much. You’re normally so outspoken. Besides, you were close to that runaway slave girl, too. Your mother told me your stepfather was taking her away to be sold. He didn’t feel it was proper.”

“That—that was different,” she stammered uneasily, fearing she might say too much. “We grew up together. Letty was bought, along with her mother, Rosa, the day after my mother married Zachary. I was a baby. Letty was about a year old, I think. It seems like I’ve known her all my life.”

“But you didn’t like the idea of her being a slave, did you? I mean, you were very upset that morning that he’d taken her away.”

“Of course, I was. Wouldn’t you be if someone you’d known your whole life was dragged out to be sold at auction, and you knew you’d never see her again? She…” Erin heard the hint of hysteria creeping into her voice and fell silent. Drawing a steadying breath, she said, “It’s over now. I just don’t want to think about it anymore.”

“Do you object to our having slaves?”

“As long as they aren’t mistreated. I’d never want you to beat them.”

“I never have.”

“Zachary does,” she said vehemently. “And they hate him. Every single one. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wound up one morning with a knife in his throat.”

Ryan studied her for a moment, then assured her, “You never have to worry about me mistreating my slaves. I never mistreat anyone, unless they give me cause.”

She caught the ominous note in his voice and fell silent. It was times like this, she thought, when his blue eyes grew so stormy, and he looked at her with such glaring suspicion, that she felt uneasy. As tender as he could be when he held her, she feared his wrath if ever she betrayed him. That was all the more reason never to let him know she was involved in any work to help the runaways. He would consider it a personal betrayal.

Still, she knew she had to do whatever she could, and if at all possible, before leaving Philadelphia, she intended to find Mother Bethel.

Chapter Sixteen

Erin quickly learned that it was difficult, if not impossible, to find out anything about an underground movement in the city of Philadelphia to aid runaway slaves. Even though she made up her mind to try, she could not seem to locate anyone willing to give her information.

First, she returned to the Quaker church, where the man had stared at her as though about to ask if he could be of assistance. She could not be sure it was the same one who answered when she knocked, but the moment she let it be known she was from Virginia, looking for a runaway slave, the door was quietly closed in her face. She never got the chance to ask if he knew who Mother Bethel was.

She went to several other churches, walking much of the time so as not to have to spend the money Ryan had given her for shopping or hiring a carriage. As a result, her feet were aching, but she plodded on.

Starting to feel all was hopeless, Erin received her first encouragement when a minister of a Protestant church invited her into his study. It was obvious he was reluctant to do so, for he’d stared at her thoughtfully for a long time before finally waving her in.

He got right to the point. “I hate to see you wasting your time, young lady. While I admire you for your devotion to your Negro friend, I think you’ve been misled as to how the majority of white Pennsylvanians feel about the plight of the slave in general.” He proceeded to tell her there was apathy, that most people did not care one way or the other. White churches, on the whole, did not give aid to fugitives and were sometimes even hostile on the subject.

“So you see,” he finished with a helpless smile, “you just can’t make the generalization that Pennsylvania is a haven for these people. The immense burden of antislavery work and fugitive aid is carried out by a very small group of citizens who, understandably, go about their work quietly and cautiously. I’m not one of them, or I’d be happy to direct you to where you might get some better information.”

Erin stood wearily, the blisters on her feet making her wince with pain. She hoped she could hide her anguish from Ryan, for he would begin to ask questions as to exactly why she was doing so much walking.

“Thank you,” she said, holding out her hand. “You’ve been most kind, and I appreciate your wanting to help. Perhaps…” she ventured, taking one more chance he would reveal the information if he knew it. “Can you tell me where I might find Mother Bethel? I was told to find her, and then…” She stopped talking as she realized he was laughing at her. “Is something funny?” she asked, annoyed, for she could find nothing amusing in any of it.

“I would say so. You see, my good woman, Mother Bethel is not a she. Mother Bethel is another name for the African Methodist Episcopal Church, and if someone told you to go there, then you might be headed in the right direction to find news of your friend. It has connection with the Free African Society, which was formed by the Negro community here over thirty years ago to give mutual aid to both freed slaves and fugitives. I’ll give you directions how to get there.”

Within an hour, Erin was sitting across the desk from Pastor Absalom Jones. His dark face grew even darker as she confided her reason for being there. He listened respectfully, and when she finished, gave her a pitying look and said, “Mrs. Youngblood, you are to be commended, and blessed, for caring about this poor girl you speak of, but you must understand I can’t tell you anything. Yes, I will admit to you that I have knowledge of people who do help fugitives, but I am not directly involved, so I wouldn’t know anything about individual cases.”

She had anticipated what he would say and was ready to make her plea. “Will you at least speak to the people you know and tell them I was here asking about a runaway slave girl from Virginia named Letty? If they do know anything at all about her, they could give her a message for me.”

Pastor Jones had to think about that. He did not like to agree to anything with a total stranger, particularly when it dealt with the matter of a runaway slave. Still, there was something about the lovely young woman sitting across from him that provoked trust. She seemed so intense, cinnamon eyes burning with desperation. With her light bronze skin, she might even have Negro heritage herself. He’d heard that once upon a time, slave traders had brought in a different branch of the Negro race called Mandingos, and they lived in South Carolina in great numbers. A child born of a Mandingo and a white parent had skin light enough to pass for white. There were no other racial characteristics, so these mixed bloods had no trouble passing, unlike the mulattoes.

He shook away the suspicion. This woman had said she was married to a wealthy and prominent Virginia plantation owner. It was doubtful she had ever been anywhere near South Carolina.

Sensing his reluctance, Erin persisted, “What harm can it do for you to try?”

Still skeptical, he probed, “What is the message you’re so desperate to get to her?”

“I want her to leave Pennsylvania,” she rushed to explain, desperate to keep his interest now that she had it. “I’ve heard terrible stories, how even freed blacks are kidnapped and sold back into slavery. And you don’t know my stepfather. He’s ruthless when it comes to tracking down runaways. Not because he can’t afford the financial loss. He has plenty of money. He just doesn’t want it said that a slave can ever get away from him, so he’ll never stop looking for her.

“I’ve heard”—she leaned across his desk, encouraged by the concern she saw in his face—“that there is a group that sends freed slaves back home to Africa.”

“Freed,” he acknowledged. “Not fugitives.”

She nodded vigorously. “I know. I know all about that, how the Constitution even sets a fine for anyone helping them, but I don’t care about that. If Letty can get on one of those ships sailing for Africa, she’ll be free.”

A smile touched his lips. “That’s one way to look at it and justify breaking the law, but, it takes money to send freed slaves back, and even more to buy illegal passage for a fugitive.”

She reached into her purse and drew out the roll of money she had taken from her hiding place that morning. Laying it on the table, seeing how Pastor Jones’s eyes widened at the sight of it, she bluntly asked, “Is this enough?”

He picked up the bundle, looked at it, then at her. “This is a lot of money, Mrs. Youngblood.”

“My husband is a generous man. He gives me money for shopping and doesn’t ask what I buy.”

He could not resist saying with a respectful nod, “And, no doubt, money for carriages and doesn’t ask why your feet hurt.”

“So you saw me limp in.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What does is whether or not you think that’s enough to buy Letty’s passage to Africa.”

For a moment, he could only stare at her in disbelief and shake his head slowly from side to side. Finally, incredulously, he cried, “You don’t even know if she made it out of the Dismal Swamp. You don’t even know if the Free African Society or the Free Soilers have contact with her.

“And most of all, you don’t even know
me,
Mrs. Youngblood.”

She met his piercing gaze with one of her own. “Let’s just say your position lends character without having to prove it. In short, Preacher, I’m going to trust you to do all you can to find her, and if you can’t, then I’d like for you to see the money go to help some other wretched soul.” She stood.

“Bless you,” he whispered as she made her way out. “And I promise I’ll do everything I can…”

But Erin was no longer listening, for she was in a hurry now. The day was drawing to a close, and so was her time in Philadelphia. She was anxious to get back to the hotel before Ryan did. He would want to know why she had not started packing, since they were leaving the next day. Her feet were burning with agony, and she longed for the comfort of a carriage ride back.

But there was no money.

She had given it all away.

And even though every step was torture, Erin had no regrets, not if it meant freedom, and a new life, for someone.

Maybe it would be Letty.

Zachary was determined not to return to Virginia without Letty. He and his men had backtracked to the area where she had escaped. There they contacted several informers who, for the right price, would tell which direction a runaway had gone. From one of them they’d learned Letty had made contact with someone, almost the very next day, and had headed for the coast. At Norfolk, Zachary had stood aside while Frank had beaten a Negro dock worker into admitting a Negro girl had been smuggled on board a boat heading north, toward Delaware.

Zachary had refused to give up, even though his men urged him to turn back.

“What’s one slave, more or less?” Frank had challenged. “Hell, you can take your pick the next time a ship sneaks in with a new load from Africa, and you know it.”

Zachary had growled that giving up set a bad example. “Let one get away and another will try. Word is already out, anyway, that my darkies are runnin’ away, even though I’ve tried to keep it hushed up.

“No,” he vehemently declared, “we got her trail, and we’re followin’ it.”

And he did so, all the way to Delaware, where he reached a dead end. Delaware was the only state in the South where a black person was considered free unless proved to be a slave. Any inquiries were met with a surly response, and no physical persuasion did he, or his men, dare try to use.

Doggedly, after nearly three weeks of searching, there had been nothing to do but turn back.

Zachary got home late one Saturday afternoon but stopped off at a tavern for a drink. He figured he might as well get it over with, all the taunting the men he caroused with would inflict over his unsuccessful hunt.

He listened to the jeers, tossing down one shot of whiskey after another, pretending not to care, but then something was said that got his attention hard and fast. He whirled on the man who had spoken and demanded hotly, “Say that again. I don’t think I heard you right.”

The man obliged, having nothing to fear, for he was telling the truth. “I said, at least you got one thing to be thankful for—marryin’ off your stepdaughter to a rich man like Ryan Youngblood.”

Zachary charged out of the tavern, shoving people out of his way, murder in his eyes. He rode his horse into a lather all the way home, while his blood was boiling with rage. He knew there could only be one reason why a wedding would take place so fast, especially with him gone. The little slut had gone and got herself pregnant. Oh, was he mad!

Ben, on his way to the slave quarters after closing up the stables at dark, heard a rider coming in. Hurrying up the path to take the horse of whoever was calling so late, he felt his heart slam into his chest as he saw Master Tremayne. Throwing caution to the wind, forgetting his place, he broke into a run, waving his arms.