Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt (16 page)

Mary took Dorothea into the other room, where other neighbors and friends surrounded Mrs. Schultz. Dorothea gave her Lorena’s letter and said, “My mother sends you her most sympathetic regards and offers her services in helping you obtain a lawyer.”

Mrs. Schultz managed a wan nod. “Thank you, my dear. Your mother is very kind, but we have already made arrangements.”

“The Marylanders have sent word already,” said another man, whom Dorothea recognized as the editor of the
Creek’s Crossing Informer
. “They have levied a fine and will release Mr. Schultz when it is paid.”

“How could they have so swiftly determined his guilt?” asked Dorothea. “They apprehended him mere hours ago.”

“There was no trial,” said Mrs. Schultz. “They are holding him for ransom, pure and simple.”

“They will take cash payment or the return of their slave,” another man said.

Dorothea shook her head. “This cannot be legal.”

“Slavecatchers live by their own laws,” said the newspaper editor. “Make no mistake, Schultz is not in the hands of legitimate authorities. It was sensible of Abner to accept Nelson’s offer to go along. He will help sort this out.”

“Mr. Nelson?” echoed Dorothea. “The younger Mr. Nelson?”

The others nodded and resumed their discussion, oblivious to her astonishment. Then she understood. Of course it made perfect sense to include Mr. Nelson; as a southern sympathizer he would not engender the Marylanders’ offense. He could speak to them in a language they understood. And naturally he would have no compunction against the return of the fugitive slave. Dorothea prayed the unfortunate man was far away in some safe haven.

He was, but not in the manner Dorothea had hoped.

The following week, as Dorothea and Cyrus crossed on the ferry, they spotted a knot of men on the opposite shore. As the ferry drew closer, Dorothea recognized the undertaker’s black carriage and saw the men reach for something tangled in the weeds on the riverbank.

“Dorothea, avert your eyes,” ordered Cyrus, but she did not. Transfixed by horror, she watched as they hauled the corpse from the creek, paused to rest, then loaded it into the undertaker’s carriage. The undertaker had driven off by the time Dorothea and Cyrus came ashore, but a few onlookers still lingered, and from their remarks, Dorothea was able to piece together what had happened. The body had been identified as that of the runaway slave. He had tried to cross the creek upstream at Widow’s Pining, but the ice had not held, and he had plunged into the frigid waters. Bone-chilling cold and treacherous currents had hastened his drowning.

“He can’t be returned to his owner now,” remarked Cyrus as they left the scene behind them. “That will be unhappy news for the Schultzes.”

Dorothea doubted they had ever had any intention of trading the runaway for Mr. Schultz. “It shall be unhappy news for this unfortunate man’s family, as well.”

“If they ever learn of it,” said Cyrus.

Dorothea did not reply. She could not disagree with him, but something in the lightness of his manner annoyed her. Almost always she enjoyed his perpetual good humor, but sometimes circumstances warranted more gravity. He did not seem to know this, or he was concealing his concern to spare her more worry. Either way, she did not care for it.

Before taking her to his mother’s house, Cyrus drove her to the post office so she could mail a letter to Jonathan. She had needed two pages to tell him of recent happenings in their once-quiet town. A letter awaited Dorothea, and when she saw the New York return address, she realized it must have come from one of her banned authors. She slipped it into her pocket to read later. Cyrus was certain to inquire if she opened it in the carriage, and he might feel obliged to inform his mother.

With Mary’s father gone, it was difficult to think of anything but his safe return. The library board meeting went on as usual, except that talk of Mr. Schultz’s captivity dominated the conversation. Everyone had some bit of news to report, though Dorothea wondered how much truth was in the rumors. Abner and Mr. Schultz’s brother had returned from Maryland to report that Mr. Schultz was in good spirits but concerned for his family, and he refused to declare whether he had knowingly helped the runaway or if the runaway had stolen aboard without his knowledge.

“Mr. Schultz’s silence is confession enough,” said Mrs. Engle with a trace of disapproval in her tone. “He surely helped the run-away.” Nevertheless, it was she who suggested they have the tickets for the opportunity quilt printed at Schultz’s, to give the family the commission in their hour of need. Dorothea would have been more impressed with her generosity if Mr. Schultz’s were not the only printer in town, the nearest rival ten miles away in Grangerville.

The Schultzes would need every penny. According to Mrs. Collins, the fine, or ransom, was five hundred dollars. Dorothea was aghast, knowing Mary’s family could never raise such an enormous sum without selling the printing press and sacrificing their livelihood. She suggested to the rest of the library board that they use the proceeds from the opportunity quilt to free Mr. Schultz. Her idea was met with laughter and scorn by all but Mrs. Claverton, who privately told Dorothea that her heart was in the right place, but the quilt was not even finished, would probably not raise five hundred dollars, and would not raise any amount as swiftly as Mr. Schultz needed. “Late is better than never,” retorted Dorothea, frustrated by the consensus opposing her. The others seemed to believe that Mary’s family should solve their problems unassisted. Mr. Schultz got himself into his present circumstance and ought to get himself out.

Dorothea complained about their lack of compassion to her mother that evening as they cleaned up after supper. “What happened to Mr. Schultz could have happened to any one of us.”

“Not to just anyone,” said Uncle Jacob, returning from an errand outdoors in time to hear. “Only folks who decide to help runaways.”

Dorothea snapped off her apron. “Are you saying Mr. Schultz should have ridden right past that poor man without stopping?”

“Not at all.” Uncle Jacob shrugged out of his coat. “I’m saying he should have hid him better.”

Dorothea, who had been expecting a different reply, opened her mouth and closed it again without a word.

“Mr. Schultz’s act of courage should not be mocked,” said Lorena.

“Helping runaways is a dangerous business and those who don’t know what they’re doing shouldn’t meddle in it.” Uncle Jacob settled into his usual chair and opened his Bible. “Schultz is a prisoner and the runaway is dead. If Schultz had left well enough alone—”

“The runaway might still be dead, or recaptured, but not likely any closer to freedom.” Dorothea gestured to the Bible in his hands. “Look up John 15:13 while you contemplate Mr. Schultz’s choices. Aunt Rebecca was a Quaker. What do you think she would have done?”

“Dorothea,” her father warned. “That’s enough.”

Deliberately, Uncle Jacob closed his Bible and set it on the table. “You did not know my wife,” said Uncle Jacob, his voice a quiet warning. “You have never risked your life for anyone. Without giving the matter any thought, you praise Schultz for his actions, but would you have done the same?”

Dorothea hesitated. “It is what I would have wanted to do.”

“But would you have?”

“I—I don’t know. I like to think I would have shown sufficient courage. I suppose I cannot know for certain, having never been confronted with such circumstances.”

“Well.” Uncle Jacob almost smiled, but no mirth touched his eyes. “An honest answer at last.”

“Leave her alone,” snapped Lorena. “At least she considers such actions, which is more than you have ever done for the abolitionist cause. Mr. Schultz is a better man than you by far.”

Uncle Jacob opened his Bible again. “Then you will be gratified to learn he is coming home.”

They all stared at him. “Coming home?” echoed Robert.

“Yes, I heard it from Abel Wright this afternoon. The ransom has been paid and Mr. Schultz was set free. He is on his way home if he is not there already.”

Dorothea and her mother exchanged a look of astonishment. “How did Mrs. Schultz obtain the money?” asked Lorena.

Uncle Jacob turned a page and drew the lamp closer. “It did not occur to me to ask such an intrusive question.”

Dorothea was too overcome to speak at first, but then she snapped, “You knew he had been released and yet you did not tell us. Instead you prolonged our worry and tormented us with this silly argument.”

“Such cruelty is beneath you, brother,” said Lorena in a softer tone. “What you did to your niece’s quilt was bad enough, and now this—”

“I needed a quilt to keep up at the sugar camp. I did not ask for finery.”

“You were very particular about every detail,” countered Lorena. “If you had told us your purpose I could have given you any number of suitable quilts. You did not need to mock my daughter’s efforts by treating the work of her hands so indifferently.”

“Take a lesson from Mr. Schultz,” growled Uncle Jacob. “Keep to your own affairs.”

Dorothea wanted to declare that the matter of the quilt
was
her affair, but when Lorena pressed her lips together and turned away, she knew the argument was over. She helped her mother finish cleaning the kitchen, then took her sewing basket to a chair by the fire. Only then did she remember the envelope she had received at the post office earlier that day. She retrieved it from her coat pocket and discovered inside a piece of muslin bearing the signature of William Lloyd Garrison. He had also enclosed a brief letter. “What an immense pleasure it is to assist in a benefit for the town that has recently become the home of a longtime acquaintance,” he had written. “Please give my regards to Mr. Thomas Nelson if you should meet him.”

Dorothea read the letter over, thunderstruck. How could it be that Mr. Nelson was acquainted with Mr. William Lloyd Garrison, newspaper editor and renowned abolitionist? She read the letter a second time, scrutinizing each line. Mr. Garrison had called him a “longtime acquaintance,” not a friend. Perhaps Mr. Garrison was a friend of Mr. Nelson’s more amiable father, and knew little of the son’s quite different inclinations. Or perhaps Mr. Garrison had indulged in a bit of sarcasm; after all, he did not say to give Mr. Nelson his “best regards” or “warmest regards.” The greeting could have been a taunt, mocking Mr. Nelson in his exile.

It did not matter, as Dorothea had no intention of delivering the message, should she be so unfortunate as to have the opportunity.

A
N EVENT
D
OROTHEA HAD
anticipated with almost as much eagerness as the quilt raffle fell upon the following Saturday: the Creek’s Crossing school annual exhibition. Last year she had directed the students in their recitations and various displays of their academic accomplishments, and was pleased to hear it declared a resounding success. She was determined to attend this year’s program and satisfy her curiosity regarding how her students fared under Mr. Nelson’s tutelage.

Like nearly everyone else in Creek’s Crossing, her parents also wanted to attend, but on the evening of the exhibition, Uncle Jacob found additional work for them that he insisted must be completed before morning. Robert accepted this without a word of complaint, but Lorena protested on her daughter’s behalf. Dorothea’s absence would be conspicuous since she was the former schoolteacher, and that would reflect badly upon the entire family. At first Uncle Jacob resisted, saying that even if he did not object to Dorothea driving into town at night alone, he needed the wagon himself, but Lorena convinced him to leave Dorothea at the schoolhouse before his errands and pick her up afterward.

Dorothea was reluctant to ride alone with her uncle, but since the alternative was to remain at home, she accepted the arrangement. They rode in silence until they had nearly reached the ferry, when her uncle said, “My sugar camp quilt washed up well.”

“Yes, Mother managed to rid it of nearly all the stains.” She could not help emphasizing
nearly all
.

“I told you to use scraps and serviceable colors.”

“You have reminded me of that already. You might be surprised to discover what beautiful works may be created from those same materials.”

They reached the ferry. Uncle Jacob drove the wagon on board, but Dorothea ignored his hand as he reached to help her down. He scowled at the rebuff, but followed her to the railing. “If I had known you and your mother would be so upset, I would have made my intentions more clear.”