Elm Creek Quilts [04] The Runaway Quilt (36 page)

“Do not be misled by this,” warned Jonathan. “Pearson’s cronies work in the shadows, but they are numerous, and they have powerful allies. We will have a fight on our hands, and you did break the law.”

“I would break it again in a heartbeat,” I heard myself say, thinking of Joanna. Dorothea squeezed my hand, eyes shining with pride and sympathy; Constance nodded solemnly but glanced back at the courthouse with misgivings, as if she could not bear to leave her husband and eldest son behind.

Jonathan had arrived that morning on horseback, not knowing we would be released, and so he had sent to the livery stable for a horse and carriage. None too soon for my liking, it carried us away from the throng, following the road out of town toward Elm Creek Farm.

Dorothea offered to stay with me until Hans came home or my injury ceased to pain me, but I told her there was no need.
Anneke will be there,
I almost said, and then my heart trembled. I could not bear to see her again. I thought of how she might greet me, with tears of remorse, with defiance, justifying her treachery, and I wished with all my remaining strength that I would return home to find her gone, the children placed in a neighbor’s safekeeping.

Three years we had lived together, and I had come to love her as a sister, and yet I must not have known her at all. I could not comprehend her betrayal. Was it as simple as spite? I had forced her into sheltering runaways by hanging that quilt upon the line week after week; Hans had forbidden her to continue work that she loved. Was that why she had confessed to Mr.
Pearson, to have her revenge upon us?

Beside me, Dorothea, Jonathan, and Constance talked of strategy for our defense, but I pondered the mystery that was Anneke. She had betrayed us, and yet it could be said that we Bergstroms had betrayed her time and time again, ever since our fateful meeting in New York. Hans had lied to her about what awaited us in Pennsylvania; I had shared her house instead of allowing her peace and privacy with her husband; we both had dismissed her fears that our clandestine activities would be discovered. And so they were at last, but only through her agency.

My heart swelled with anger, and silently I cursed the moment we rescued her from the bureaucrats in Immigration. How much better it would have been for all of us if we had left her there, alone. How well she had repaid us for our good intentions!

“Gerda?”

Dorothea’s gentle voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized the carriage had stopped at the front door of my home. My companions regarded me inquisitively, and Dorothea asked again if I would like her to stay. Once again I refused. Unless Anneke had indeed fled in shame, I would have to confront her eventually, and postponing the encounter would not make it easier.

But I was in no hurry. I remained outside and watched as the carriage drove off. Only when it had reached the bridge over Elm Creek did I realize why the livery horse had seemed so familiar. He was Castor, or perhaps Pollox—I never could tell them apart. He was older now, and less vigorous than he had been when Hans won him from Mr. L., but as proud and elegant a creature as he had ever been. As for me, I felt myself to be an entirely different woman from the one he had brought here three years before. How little that woman had known of what awaited her in this place.

Behind me, the door burst open. “Gerda!”

I stood frozen in place, eyes closed against my tears;
I could not even turn around. Suddenly Anneke was on the ground at my feet, clutching my skirt and weeping. “I am so sorry,” said she through her sobs. “It was never meant to happen this way.”

My voice was cold; I could not even look at her. “Where are the children?”

“Inside.”

I entered the house. Anneke had moved the cradle to the front room, beside her chair; in it, David and Stephen slept side by side. I cannot describe my relief upon seeing them safe and sound. As much as I had wanted to avoid seeing Anneke and wished her away, I had feared she would have taken the children with her or, worse yet, taken her own son and abandoned Joanna’s.

Anneke had followed me inside. “Where is Hans?” Her voice was muffled as she fought to control her tears.

I told her, abruptly. She asked me if Hans would soon be freed, and I told her I did not know. Then Stephen woke and began crying; I reached for him, but Anneke darted in front of me and picked him up. I watched her as she comforted him. Her face was bleak. “Please, Gerda, let me explain.”

I wanted to shut my ears to her voice, but my profound bewilderment at her betrayal needed an answer, so I listened. She told me how Mr. Pearson had frightened her with tales of the terrible punishments lawbreakers received in the American judicial system; he filled her with stories of the suffering of Abolitionists in Kansas. All the while she worked at Mrs. Engle’s shop he worried her thus, playing the role of a concerned friend, aware of the Abolitionists among her friends and family. After the baby was born, he doubled his efforts; she did not tell him about our secret activities, yet he suspected nonetheless. Since Anneke rarely went into town, he came to Elm Creek Farm when he knew Hans and I were away,
insisting that unlawful behavior of one member of the family would condemn the entire household. For her own safety, and for the safety of her son, Anneke needed to come forward with the truth. The burning of the cabin ought to be sign enough that we were under suspicion, and we would want the law on our side if angry neighbors continued to show their disapproval in such a frightening fashion. If Anneke confessed, she would avoid punishment and would ensure better treatment for Hans and me, much better than if we were discovered, which Mr. Pearson made seem a certainty.

So at last she told him. She had not meant to mention the Nelsons or the Wrights, but once she let the secret out, Pearson pounced on it and forced the rest from her. His manner changed entirely, and whereas she had only moments before thought him her benefactor, she now feared him. She begged him to tell no one and to forget everything she had confessed, but he insisted he could not, lest he be drawn into our guilty conspiracy. All he would promise was that although any runaways found on our land must be taken, we Bergstroms would be permitted to remain free.

As Anneke spoke, my heart, which had been filled with icy contempt for her, began to soften. Guileless Anneke cared for her family more than anything in the world, and knowing this, Mr. Pearson had deliberately preyed upon her feelings. Anyone subjected to that constant barrage of fear and threats might have succumbed in time; I might have myself, if I did not so despise Mr. Pearson and suspect his every word.

But just as I was about to tell her so, Anneke added, “You and Hans were never supposed to suffer. I would need a lifetime to tell you how sorry I am. Will you ever forgive me?”

I chose my words carefully, to be sure I understood her. “You regret betraying us?”

“With all my heart.”

“Because Hans and I were imprisoned.
”

“Yes,” said Anneke passionately, taking my arm. “Only Joanna was meant to be taken.”

My heart became like cold stone toward her again. “I cannot forgive you for what you did to Joanna. I cannot forgive you for what you have done to her son.” I tore my arm away from her. “As for what you have done to us, if Hans can bring himself to forgive you, so will I. But only then.”

And thus, I thought, I would never need to forgive her.

The next morning I went to Dorothea’s to consult with her about freeing the men from prison. My injured side pained me with every step the horse took and my mind was a tempest of anger and grief. By the time I reached the Nelson farm, a plan had coalesced: I would contact Josiah Chester and find Joanna. If he had sold her farther south, as she had always feared he would, I would make him tell me who had bought her. Then I would buy her freedom. If it took every cent I had, if it took Elm Creek Farm itself, I would not rest until I saw her free again, free and reunited with her son.

When I arrived at the Nelson farm, Dorothea, her parents, and their lawyer were engaged in an urgent discussion of our legal entanglements. Breathlessly I announced my plan to Dorothea; she kindly did not warn me of the difficulty of the task, but allowed me to believe I could accomplish it presently—after our immediate concerns were resolved. I agreed and sat down as the discussion resumed, but as the others debated and planned, I was feverish with eagerness to begin my search for Joanna. I composed a letter to Mr. Chester in my head, determined to send it off that day.

But by the time I returned home, my side throbbed and ached so that I had to grit my teeth to keep from moaning. I cared for the horse and stumbled into the house, where Anneke immediately perceived something afflicted me. I confessed
my broken rib, and although in my pride I wanted to disdain her help, when she hastened to assist me, I hurt too much to refuse.

I hardly stirred from my bed the next day; Anneke brought the babies in to keep me company, and I was so glad to see them I clung to them, sleeping and waking, barely allowing Anneke enough time to see they were kept with full bellies and clean diapers. Gradually my coldness toward Anneke thawed; she had
become a sister to me, and I was too heartsore to hate her as passionately as I once thought I could.

The next morning I moved downstairs to the front room, where I wrote to Mr. Chester and exacted a promise from Anneke that she would post my letter that very day. My mind somewhat more at ease, I played with the boys while Anneke worked in the kitchen garden. Then, suddenly, I heard a horse upon the road, and Anneke cry out. I hurried to the window and, to my glad astonishment, discovered the rider was Hans.

Anneke had run out to meet him; they exchanged words I could not discern, but Anneke’s impassioned plea for forgiveness was unmistakable. My brother replied tersely, stoic and unmoved by Anneke’s tears. On and on they went, Hans proud and angry high atop his horse, Anneke remorseful and ashamed, clinging to his leg and to the bridle as if she feared he might ride off. The boys began to grow restless and hungry, but I stood frozen at the window, my heart in my throat, wondering how it would end, if this would be the end of our family.

Then Hans slid down from his horse and embraced his wife.

I drew back from the window and hugged both babies to my chest, not knowing whether I was glad or disappointed. I loved Anneke, but whenever I thought of Joanna, my heart hardened and I knew a lifetime of apologies would never compensate for how Anneke had ruined her.

Together Hans and Anneke entered the house. They said nothing of what words or promises they had exchanged, but I knew eventually the chasm between them would close.

We entreated Hans to tell us how his release had been accomplished, for as recently as yesterday, the Nelsons’ lawyer had said we were in for a long, difficult struggle.

For months tempers around town and across the county had been growing hard and brittle like dry grass in a drought, and the news of our arrests had been the spark to set off the conflagration. Neighbors who had lived together peaceably enough despite their disagreements on the slavery question now argued outright, and everyone had been forced to account for his position. As word of the conflict spread, the city officials who had endorsed the raids on our homes had been denounced in one Northern newspaper and public forum after another. One man’s home had been burned to the ground; a second man had been badly injured when an argument turned into a brawl. One violent act sparked another, and as the ugliness grew and spread, one matter became clear: The faction approving of the arrests of the Creek’s Crossing Eight found themselves increasingly on the defensive, forced to justify their support of the Fugitive Slave Law, which every decent Pennsylvanian abhorred.

“Creek’s Crossing has earned the reputation of being populated with Southern sympathizers,” said Hans. “Pearson and his ilk are nervous and getting more so.”

My brother seemed righteously satisfied by this turn of events, but his face was gray with exhaustion and strain, and his voice was hoarse. Anneke insisted he go to bed immediately, and when he protested that he had to see to the farm, I added my voice to hers, and Hans had no choice but to comply.

By the next day he seemed nearly recovered from his physical ordeal, though an air of polite formality lingered between him and Anneke. Still, it was apparent he had forgiven her, but if Anneke remembered what I had said about extending my own forgiveness, she said nothing of it. Truly I wanted to forgive her, but Joanna’s face haunted me, and every time I held her son I thought of how his mother could not. I grew more fierce in my determination to find her, and, impatient for a reply, I sent off another letter to Josiah Chester.

Two days after Hans’s return, two men came riding up to the house while my brother worked in the fields. I needed only a moment to recognize them as the two men who had arrested us. If they were disturbed by the conflict Hans had spoken of, which seemed to me so distant from the peace of Elm Creek Farm that it was difficult to believe it was real, they gave no sign of it as they demanded entry to the house to search for evidence against us.

I knew nothing of whether I should or must let them enter, but saw no reason to hide in shame. They had found a runaway in our midst; if that was not evidence enough to convict us, nothing else they found would be.

I followed them as they poked about the front room, the kitchen, the dining room, and down into the cellar, making no effort to disguise my impatience. They ignored me and addressed only each other, carelessly handling our possessions and making rude remarks about “n—lovers.” I thought of what Hans had said, about theirs being a minority point of view, and held my temper in check. I would not do anything to worsen our position, not that I supposed it could have become much worse.

Their search took them upstairs, to Hans’s room, then to mine; they spent a scant few moments in the spare room and lingered longest in the sewing room, where they scrutinized the hidden alcove inside and out and exchanged pointed and gleeful remarks about how damning that evidence would be at the trial. As if they knew what I was thinking, they warned me sternly against destroying it, assuring me that would do me
no good whatsoever, since they were both witness to it.