Elm Creek Quilts [07] The Sugar Camp Quilt (24 page)

Dorothea nodded and ran back to the house. The barking had grown louder, but the dog had not yet appeared. A dog running alone would have reached the house by that time. It must be leashed.

Dorothea hurried indoors and took off her wraps. In the front room, Jonathan had removed his coat and boots and was seated beside the fire, apparently engrossed in the
Creek’s Crossing Informer
. Lorena was rocking in her chair, her knitting needles clicking busily. Dorothea sat down across from her and snatched up her sewing basket. Her fingers trembled as she pieced together narrow strips of muslin for the sashing of the Authors’ Album quilt. She desperately wanted to know where Jonathan had concealed the runaway, but she dared not ask.

The dog sounded as if it were almost upon them, and all at once came a furious pounding on the kitchen door. “Granger,” a man yelled. “I know you’re in there. Open up!”

Dorothea and her mother stared at each other, shocked. The voice, though distorted by rage, was familiar.

The pounding on the door came again, more furious. “Granger!” shouted Mr. Liggett. “Open this door or I’ll break it down!”

Jonathan began to rise, but Lorena shook her head and stood. “No. Let me.”

Dorothea shot Jonathan a desperate look as they heard their mother greet Mr. Liggett, and then say, “If you wish to speak to my husband, he is in the barn.” They heard the strain in her voice and a scrabbling of the dog’s toenails on wood as if Mr. Liggett were trying to push past Lorena into the house. Jonathan bounded out of his chair and strode into the kitchen, Dorothea right behind. Their mother struggled to shut the door on Mr. Liggett’s dog as Mr. Liggett tried to shove it open. Dorothea snatched up the broom and swiped at the snarling cur until Jonathan shoved it outside with his foot.

“What’s the meaning of this, Liggett?” said Jonathan. His frame nearly filled the doorway, and Dorothea was suddenly aware of how much he had matured since she had last seen him, how much authority his manner now commanded.

Mr. Liggett’s face was red with fury, but he yanked on the dog’s chain and ordered him to heel. “You ’uns got a runaway in there. My dog tracked him here clear as anything all the way from my place. Got a piece of his leg, too.”

Dorothea swallowed and suppressed a shudder. “There’s no one here but us.”

He glared at her. “I’ll just see that for myself.”

“You are not bringing that dog into my house,” said Lorena. “Nor will you set one foot in it yourself. My brother told you to stay off his property, and though he’s gone, I’ll abide by his wishes.”

Before Mr. Liggett could retort, Robert emerged from the darkness behind him. “What’s going on here?”

The dog lunged at him, but Liggett held fast to the chain. Robert did not even flinch. “You ’uns are hiding runaways,” Liggett spat. “There’s a reward out for runaways and I mean to get this one.”

Robert shook his head, feigning puzzlement. “There aren’t any runaways here.”

“I saw him. I tracked him here.”

“You heard my father,” said Jonathan. “You’re obviously mistaken.”

“Or drunk,” said Lorena disdainfully. “Again.”

Mr. Liggett shifted his weight and cinched the dog’s chain. “I know what I saw. I saw tracks in the snow, and blood besides. There’s blood on the floor of that shack at the sugar camp. Then the tracks go here, and my dog led me right to your door.”

“Or perhaps you led the dog,” said Dorothea. “You were so certain of your destination.”

Robert held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We aren’t denying that there might be a runaway out there somewhere, but he isn’t hiding here. You’re welcome to search the farm if you like, but it’s a cold night. Why don’t you have a drink first?”

Mr. Liggett hesitated. “I saw tracks in the snow. Someone broke a trail.”

“I did,” said Jonathan. “My uncle was put to rest in the maple grove. I was out that way paying my respects right before you arrived. Perhaps my presence threw your dog off his original quarry.”

“He’s a better dog than that.” Mr. Liggett eyed him, then turned to Robert. “A drink, you say? What’re you pouring?”

“Whiskey.”

Dorothea almost started. Uncle Jacob forbade liquor. There had never been a drop of it on the farm except for that which was already in Mr. Liggett.

“Maybe I can stay for a minute,” Mr. Liggett said, jerking his head in a nod. He wrapped the dog’s chain around a tree branch and ordered the animal to sit. “I could use a drop for warmth.”

Jonathan lingered in the doorway, frowning, but after a warning look from his father, he stepped aside and allowed Mr. Liggett to enter. Lorena led their unwelcome guest to the front room, and to Dorothea’s astonishment, her father reached into Uncle Jacob’s desk and pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. She wondered if her parents had purchased it with Mr. Liggett in mind.

Dorothea knew she must endeavor to maintain appearances, so she resumed her seat and took up her sewing. In a moment her mother’s knitting needles were clicking away again, and though Jonathan sat scowling at the fire, Robert engaged Mr. Liggett in conversation. Mr. Liggett had little to say about crops or cattle, but he was eager to boast about a new horse he had procured and his plans to breed champions. He stayed much longer than a minute and took far more than a drop. The bottle was little more than a quarter full by the time Mr. Liggett hauled himself to his feet and declared that he needed to resume the hunt before the runaway fled too far. “I would be much obliged if your pretty daughter would see me to the door,” he slurred, his eyes red and bleary.

Lorena’s mouth tightened, but Robert gave a slow nod, so Dorothea folded the rows of quilt blocks and placed them on her chair. She escorted Mr. Liggett to the back door, opened it, and said, “Good evening.”

He smirked. “Good evening,” he echoed in a mincing tone. “Miss Granger, may I ask you a question?”

She nodded.

“Do you folks often leave a burning lantern in the sugarhouse?”

“Only on those evenings when we feel most melancholy for the loss of my uncle. You will recall, of course, that the sugar camp was his favorite place on the farm.”

He nodded, disappointed, his eyes searching her face, hungry for more. She kept her features smooth and impassive until he frowned, tugged on the brim of his hat, and left the house.

She shut the door behind him too quickly and stood with her hands pressed against it as if to block his return. She looked for him through the kitchen window, but it was too light inside for her to see more than her own panicked reflection in the glass. Surely Mr. Liggett knew they were hiding something.

Back in the front room, her parents and Jonathan were speaking in hushed voices. “He is a greedy fool,” Lorena was saying. “He will likely wake in the morning with a dreadful headache and no recollection of what passed this evening.”

Robert looked hopeful, but Dorothea shook her head. “He is a drunkard, but he is no fool.” She repeated his remark about the lantern.

Her mother blanched. Jonathan said, “He may have believed Dorothea’s excuse, but either way, we will have to be extremely cautious as long as that runaway remains beneath our roof.”

“Son,” said Robert, “we will have to be cautious longer than that.”

Jonathan searched his family’s faces until his expression began to shift into comprehension.

Lorena said, “We have much to tell you.”

“It will have to wait.” Jonathan glanced up. “Dorothea, I will need your assistance.”

She nodded and followed him upstairs. Inside the attic bedroom, he knelt beside Dorothea’s bed and said, “It’s all right. You can come out now.”

The runaway emerged from beneath the bed, his face wrenched in pain. Dorothea and Jonathan helped him onto the bed. Dorothea went to remove his shoes and saw that he had only wads of burlap wrapped around his feet and tied with twine. She left them as they were and waited while Jonathan dug into his black leather bag.

“That dog—” The runaway’s teeth were clenched in a grimace of pain. “He caught me in the woods, but ran off when I got to the creek—”

“He returned with his owner in tow,” said Jonathan, grim. “But now they’ve left.”

“They won’t be back.” Dorothea patted the man’s shoulder and tried to smile reassuringly. “You’re safe here.”

With a groan, the man fell back upon the pillow and let Jonathan tend to his wounds. The worst injuries were the deep gashes in his left calf where Mr. Liggett’s dog had sunk his teeth. As Jonathan washed the wounds, applied a salve, and bound them, Dorothea gently removed the burlap wrappings from the man’s feet. She washed and rubbed them to get the blood flowing, but the two smallest toes on his right foot looked shriveled and burned. Silently, Dorothea directed Jonathan’s attention to them. Her brother took one look and nodded in assent.

Shortly thereafter, Lorena brought a tray of food upstairs. They helped the man sit up and left him alone to eat and rest, retreating to the front room to discuss his condition. Jonathan asserted what Dorothea had feared: The frostbitten toes would have to come off.

“Perhaps when he reaches safety in Canada—” Lorena began.

“He cannot wait that long,” said Jonathan. “The putrefaction will spread. He will sicken and die if his injuries are allowed to fester.”

“Can you do it?” Robert asked his son.

“I assisted Dr. Bronson in an amputation once.” Jonathan hesitated. “I did none of the cutting myself, but—” He nodded.

At Jonathan’s request, Dorothea accompanied him upstairs to deliver the news. As the words sank in, the man began to tremble, but his eyes were angry rather than fearful as he said, “Ain’t nobody cutting off my toes. I need my feet if I’m going to run.”

“You cannot run in this condition,” said Dorothea gently.

“I made it this far.”

“It is a long way to Canada,” said Jonathan. “Perhaps you will not need to run. Perhaps we can contrive some other means to transport you. We have a wagon.”

The man shook his head. “No, sir. You’re not taking my toes.” Gingerly, wincing with pain, he began to rise from the bed. “Thank you for the food and the tending, but I think I best be going.”

“There’s a man out there hunting you,” said Dorothea, incredulous. “You’ll never make it to the next station.”

“I made it all this way from Alabama on my own two feet, and it’s the same way I’m crossing into freedom.”

“This is madness,” said Jonathan.

“No, you thinking I’m gonna let you take my toes is madness.”

Frustrated, Jonathan ran a hand through his unruly locks. “Very well. Stay. Rest here in safety until tomorrow night. I will not treat you if the alternative is to send you out to a certain death.”

The fugitive eyed him. “You swear?”

“You have my word.”

Satisfied, the fugitive climbed back into bed and drew the quilt over himself. Dorothea and Jonathan returned downstairs.

“You said ‘station,’” said Jonathan as they entered the front room. Their parents looked up expectantly. “Can I assume that you are not unaccustomed to events of this sort?”

They told him everything. Lorena even seemed apologetic about their clandestine activities, deferring to her son as the presumtive future master of the farm. He listened, shock and disbelief on his face, as they explained how they had discovered Uncle Jacob’s secret, how Dorothea had followed the clues in the quilt to the next station. How they had resolved to continue Uncle Jacob’s work.

When the tale had been told, Jonathan looked drained. “We have not satisfied Liggett’s suspicions. He will plague you continuously.”

“We will be vigilant,” said Dorothea. Her brother abhorred slavery. Why did he look so wary? Had so much time in Baltimore rendered him accustomed to slavery? Resigned to it?

“A man like Liggett would do anything for money,” said Jonathan. “Vigilance might not be enough.”

I
T WAS STILL DARK
when a hand on Dorothea’s shoulder woke her with a jolt. “Dorothea,” said her mother, shaking her gently. “It’s time to get up.”

Dorothea sat bolt upright.
Mr. Liggett has returned
, she thought.
The slavecatchers are here
. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing. All is well,” Lorena quickly assured her. “We need to make ready. The will. Remember?”