Endless Chain (34 page)

June 15, 1853

Dear Amasa,

I am sick at heart and reluctant to burden you with my sorrow. I have read all your letters and fear there will be another soon that confirms the dream I had last week, that your father has slipped away at last.

If this be so, I fear not only this news but your decision to find a life in the west now that you are no longer tethered to Lynchburg. I know if you do leave to seek your fortune you intend to send for me one day, and that this is the only way we can hope to have land of our own. But, Amasa dear, I know in my heart if this transpires, I will never see you again. There will be too many miles and too much time passed.

Several nights ago Jeremiah told me yet again that he would welcome you to share this farm as my husband. I know your feeling, too, that there is not enough land to divide between two families and that it is not your right to create such a burden on my brother. Jeremiah says he will not marry again and bring up children on this land, but as you have said before, Jeremiah’s grief speaks for him and blocks his vision of a happier future.

Perhaps I am being morose, but when I tell you what has occurred, you will understand why tonight everything seems so bleak.

Yesterday Jeremiah received, at last, a response to his inquiry about Marie. As you know, there are good people everywhere, and some of them have helped us.

The news was not what we hoped it would be. Marie is not at the plantation on the Rhode River where Dorie believed her to have been taken, nor would anyone say what, if anything, happened to the child. We did learn there were floods in that area in early spring and reports of those illnesses that too often come in the wake of flood waters. I fear a motherless child would be the last to be cared for and the first to succumb to such an illness.

Jeremiah waited until evening to tell Dorie his news, afraid if he told her sooner she would disappear without a word. He promised he would continue his search, but Dorie understands the worst. It is likely Marie is lost to her forever, either by death or sale, and the chances Jeremiah will learn her daughter’s fate are slim indeed. There are so many slaves on the plantations of that region. Indeed, tobacco is a crop that depends on many hands. What overseer will remember the fate of one small child?

We are blessed in this part of the valley, I believe, that our soil does not happily support tobacco, and that we are not as tempted to force others to labor for our benefit.

Dorie did not weep, but I confess I wept for her. I believe the memory of her daughter’s tiny arms around her neck is what has carried her this far. Freedom has little value for her without Marie.

Late that night I was awakened by voices downstairs. I sat up with a start, afraid that the slave patrol had visited late at night in hopes of discovering their prey. They have not left the area, and Dorie has been forced to remain in the house at all times, because someone might be on a neighbor’s hillside watching from afar.

Dorie was no longer in her bed. At the head of the stairs I listened, only to realize that the voices I heard were hers and Jeremiah’s. My brother was attempting to persuade her to stay, promising he would do everything he could to determine the truth about Marie. Although I could not hear them well, I realized that despite everything that had happened, Dorie was uttering words of comfort. Deep in her own grief, she still found the strength to help my brother.

I know not what transpired next, for I left and returned to my bed. Before I fell asleep, I prayed she would stay, but I had heard enough to know this prayer would not be answered. Dorie knew she could not remain and continue to put us in danger.

She was gone when I awoke just before dawn. I crept down the stairs to find Jeremiah asleep and no sign of our friend. I woke him at once, and we searched the farm and our road in both directions, Jeremiah on horseback and I on foot. But Dorie has vanished.

I believe, as does Jeremiah, that our grieving young mother is slowly making her way to Maryland, to the plantation where her daughter was sent. Last night Dorie told him that she is certain the slaves there will know what happened to Marie.

I believe her own life no longer matters to her, and that if she can only determine Marie’s fate, she will gladly give up what little freedom she has found. I cannot bear to think what might happen to her if she is captured by the patrol on that journey, or what fate might await her at the hands of the man who claims to own her. Likely he will imprison her—or worse.

Jeremiah has spoken little today. Once again he is the silent, sorrowful man I had reluctantly come to know. I, too, find little about which I can be hopeful, Amasa.

I have devised a plan to offer Dorie what little assistance I can. Tomorrow I will ask Jeremiah to speak with Hiram Place about the evils of slavery. He should as much as confess we are hiding a slave somewhere on the farm with us. This, of course, will bring the patrol to our doorstep again, but if we are wrong about Hiram, perhaps Jeremiah will find another way to bring the hunters here.

In the days ahead we will tantalize them with Dorie’s presence and become openly secretive. I shall draw curtains during the day and scurry around the homestead after dark, as if I have something to hide. I will send pleading glances at Jeremiah when they arrive and tearfully beg them not to search.

I will, in short, do everything I must to convince them Dorie is still about. This will not fool them for long, but perhaps it will give our friend a chance to gain ground.

There is nothing more I can do. As the day has passed I have become resigned to the inevitable. I will never know if Dorie finds her daughter or a home away from bondage. I am resolved, however, that I can help others like her. In the days ahead, once the hunters are gone, I will seek out other sympathizers and tell them to send runaways to me. I will sew black squares on the quilt that Mama left me and hang it on our porch every night. I will laugh in the faces of the slave patrol or preach the gospel of Jesus to them. (I am afraid one will be as helpful to their souls as the other.)

Because Jeremiah has been loath to leave us, I have yet to receive a letter from you that addresses all I have told you of this business. In Lynchburg tonight you are doubtless thinking of me as I think of you now. But I feel in my heart that you approve of our actions and grieve at the outcome.

I ask only one thing of you, Amasa. Upon your father’s death, please come to me for one last visit. I long so desperately to see you. Come here and let me convince you that whatever the future holds, we must make our plans together. I beg you not to head west without letting me hold you again.

I will close now. You are my heart and my soul. I see your face at night before I close my eyes and on waking each morning. At least I have this much of you.

I wait for the news that I know will be coming shortly, and I pray I can bear it.

Your very own,

Sarah Miller

T
he flu arrived with the onset of cold weather. Elisa sailed through unscathed, but despite mandatory flu shots, her colleagues at the nursing home weren’t so fortunate. Over the Thanksgiving holidays and into December, she took as many shifts as she could so that the home had adequate coverage.

On the first Friday of the month, she was working the three-to-eleven shift to cover for an aide who had been stricken earlier in the week. The changes in regular personnel had affected the residents, who sensed turmoil behind the scenes. Many of their regular visitors were sick, as well, and their comforting routine had been altered. She lingered in rooms as she collected supper trays and helped with bedtime preparations, soothing fears and assuring those who could voice their worries that the changes were only temporary.

After the last tray was delivered to the kitchen and the last shower supervised, she leaned against a wall in a quiet hallway and closed her eyes.

The extra money was a godsend. Despite exhaustion, the extra work was, as well. She went from the church to the home with few breaks, and she rarely had time to nod hello to Sam. For his part, he was keeping a distance and living up to his part of their bargain, but both of them were acutely aware of the other’s presence at the edges of their lives.

She knew the situation was not sustainable. Sam’s patience would end. Her vigil in Toms Brook would end, as well. Unlike Dorie, she couldn’t disappear without a word, but soon enough she would need to move on. Judy’s phone call, the call that had given her such hope, had not borne fruit. Ramon had not appeared on her doorstep.

Her countrymen said, “
El amor todo lo puede.
” But unlike romantics everywhere, she did not believe love always found a way. She knew better.

“Elisa?”

She opened her eyes, ashamed she had been caught by the nurse on duty. Beth Crane was a matronly woman in her fifties, nurturing, professional, relaxed. Everyone liked her, but she was always very much in charge.

“A two-minute break, I swear,” Elisa said, managing a tired smile to go with the words.

“You’re dead on your feet.”

“Not quite.”

“Honey, you’re working here, working at the church. You can’t keep up the pace. We’re all worried about you.”

Elisa was sorry she’d drawn that much attention. “This is my last shift until my regular shift on Monday. I’ll sleep in tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”

“Why don’t you knock off early? It’s snowing. Things seem quiet. Jan lives nearby. I’ll call her and see if she can come in a little earlier than usual. She’ll want to beat the worst of the storm anyway, and you can get home before the roads get really bad.”

Elisa started to refuse, but an earlier bedtime was just too tempting. “What will you do until she gets here?”

“I’ll be available if anything comes up, and it won’t be that long.”

Elisa finally realized what Beth had said about the weather. “Snow?”

“Light now, but the forecast claims more’s heading our way. It’s too early for a storm. It doesn’t bode well for the season, does it?”

Elisa had never driven in snow. The thought of a maiden voyage driving Sam’s car clinched it. She didn’t want the Civic to end up in a ditch. “I’m going to take you up on this.”

“I wasn’t going to give you a choice. You skedaddle. And be careful.”

Elisa finished her paperwork, punched out and gathered her things, looking in on Martha first, but the old woman was soundly sleeping. Jan arrived as she was putting on her coat to go outside, and Elisa caught her up on what she’d done.

Snow was falling steadily. Just out the door she stopped and, like a small child, turned her face to the heavens, letting the flakes tickle her nose, cheeks and tongue. She had experienced snow in the highest mountain ranges of her own country, and she had seen it in her travels, too, but she had never taken it for granted.

She wished she could share this with Sam. Instinctively she knew he loved the season’s first snowfall, as well.

Her love affair with winter’s landscape lasted until the car slid sideways as she exited the parking lot. She remembered what little she knew about driving on ice and steered into the skid. The little car responded well, and she made it out of the lot and onto the road. Considering that Beth had called the snowfall “light,” it was piling up remarkably quickly, and there was no evidence a plow had come through. She wondered how long it would be before the county began to clear, and if the plows even ventured as far into the country as Fitch Crossing Road.

She crawled home at a speed one notch above a fast idle. SUVs and pickups passed her at a more daring clip, but even with the hatchback’s reliable front wheel drive, she slid off the road in town and narrowly avoided a mailbox closer to Helen’s house.

By the time she reached Helen’s driveway, she was sure the fault was not her driving. She had passed two cars abandoned at odd angles on the roadside, one with its front wheels in a ditch. The light rain that had fallen earlier in the evening had frozen into a layer of ice under the picturesque snowfall, and the roads were truly treacherous.

As she pulled up to the house, she was so busy avoiding disaster, it took her several moments to realize another car was already parked there, already deeply shrouded. Under the white blanket she recognized the car as Tessa’s and wondered what the other woman was doing at her grandmother’s house in the midst of a storm.

There was enough snow on the ground by now that she made it to the steps without incident. Slipping and sliding, she grasped the railing to pull herself up, hand over hand. The porch itself had a glaze of ice, and as she skated over it, ineffectually digging in her toes and spreading her arms for balance, she made a mental note to find rock salt to treat the porches and steps. Knowing Helen, she would make her way to the barn and the chicken coop first thing tomorrow to see how the pets-who-weren’t had fared. She did not want the older woman to slip and fall.

Inside, Helen and Tessa were sitting in front of the fireplace, where a fire crackled merrily. Nancy had sent a crew to repair and clean the chimney during one of Helen’s trips to Richmond. Although predictably Helen had fussed, Elisa suspected tonight she was glad she could use it without burning down her house.

The two women looked up when Elisa walked in. Elisa hadn’t seen Tessa in weeks, and in that time the pregnancy had clearly become a force to be reckoned with. Tessa was huge.

“It’s awful out there,” Elisa said. “The roads are terrible.”

“They were just starting to get icy when I drove in.” Tessa hauled herself out of an overstuffed chair. “Let me get you hot chocolate. I just made it.”

It was too late to wave her back to her seat. Tessa was already on her way to the kitchen.

Elisa glanced at Helen, who held up her hands. “Don’t look at me. Is it my fault she takes after the Stoneburners? Not a single one ever did what he was told unless that was what he wanted to do in the first place.”

“But what’s she doing here on a night like this?”

“Appears she and Nancy’ve been planning for weeks now to take me Christmas shopping. When she called I told her not to bother, but you can see what good it did me. Nancy’s supposed to come in the morning. Fat chance now.”

“Tessa’s not supposed to be driving any distance.”

“Mack drove most of the way. She dropped him in Strasburg for a weekend staff retreat at the old hotel there. She claims her doctor said it was fine to drive short distances, since she hasn’t had any more dizzy spells, and fine to visit me, since the baby’s not due for six more weeks and not showing signs of coming earlier. Does that sound sensible to you?”

Elisa doubted that the doctor had okayed driving on ice and snow, but the magnitude of this storm had surprised everybody. If Mack had known what was coming, no doubt he would have brought his wife straight to Helen’s himself or insisted she remain in Strasburg.

“The important thing is that she’s here and safe. And she won’t have to go out again until the storm is over.”

“I been through a lot of storms in my time. Mark my words, this is gonna be a doozy. But it’s too early for the ground to be frozen solid yet. When the snow’s done falling, maybe it’ll melt fast.”

Tessa returned with a mug of hot chocolate. Elisa was reaching for it when the lights flickered, then went out.

“Well, if that don’t beat all.” Helen was clearly annoyed.

Elisa felt for the chocolate and wrapped her fingers around the mug. In a moment her eyes began to adjust to the firelight. “Mrs. Henry, you have candles and flashlights somewhere. I know I’ve seen them.”

“Candles in the kitchen drawer closest to the outside door. I’ll light the lantern top of the fireplace. There are flashlights…” She paused. “Durn it all to heaven, Nancy probably moved them somewhere. Used to be down in the fruit cellar.”

“Now that was a great place to keep them,” Tessa said. “If somebody needed light in an emergency, they just had to navigate steep, narrow stairs into a pitch-black room with no windows.”

“You take after your mother more than you let on, Tessa,” Helen said with a sniff.

Elisa remembered where she’d seen the flashlights and silently blessed Nancy. “There’s an emergency kit in the closet under the stairs. I’ll get them.”

In a few minutes the lantern was lit, candles in hurricane lanterns adorned two side tables, and each woman was armed with a flashlight. The electricity seemed to be out for the count.

“Lights go off out here, sometimes takes ’em days to come back on,” Helen said. “Wish I still had the old potbellied stove. That and this fireplace’s all we had when I was a girl. My daddy could fill it up and bank it at night, and there were still plenty of coals to start a new fire of a morning.”

Not having light was an inconvenience. Not having heat was a real problem, and Elisa wasn’t sure if the fireplace was a help or a hindrance. Even though it provided a warm place to gather, she knew it probably sucked more heat from the house than it replaced.

“We got plenty of quilts,” Helen said, as if she could hear Elisa’s thoughts. “We’ll leave the faucets to drip so the pipes don’t freeze, then we’ll snuggle under as many quilts as we need. I been experimenting with wool bats, so I got a couple of quilts for you girls that can melt an igloo.” She got up and stretched, ending with her hands over her head. “I’m going to bed before my sheets get so cold I freeze solid getting into them. I’ll turn on the taps and put out a pile of quilts in the hallway. Don’t forget to put the screen across when you’re done with that fire.”

Everyone said good-night. Helen had gone upstairs before Tessa spoke again. “Want some cookies, or crackers and cheese?”

Elisa thought she was probably too tired to chew, but she hated to leave Tessa alone downstairs. “No, but I’d be happy to get you some.”

Tessa rested her hands on her sizeable belly and grimaced. “I’m not even sure the chocolate was a good idea. In fact, would you mind if I went up and went to bed? It’s been a tiring day, and Gram’s right. The bed will only get colder as the night goes on. I’m going to warm mine up right now.”

Elisa wasn’t sure Tessa was really tired or if she just sensed Elisa’s own exhaustion. Either way, she wasn’t going to argue. “I’ll scatter the coals and put the screen across. You go on up. And be careful. The flashlight beam doesn’t extend far.”

They chatted another minute, then Tessa lumbered upstairs. Elisa locked up, took care of the fire and followed.

By the time she undressed and finished her turn in the bathroom, she was too tired to worry about heat or lights. Her comfortable bed, now mounded high with quilts, beckoned. Crawling under them, she turned off the flashlight, turned on her side and fell sound asleep.

It was after two in the morning when Sam pulled up in front of the little duplex in Woodstock that his secretary Gracie called home and turned off his engine. Moments like these were the reason for driving a four-wheel-drive gas guzzler, and for once, he was glad to be in this particular vehicle.

“Now you’ll be nice and warm tonight,” he said.

The two women accompanying him made sounds that ranged from mild to moderate enthusiasm, depending, he supposed, on how tired they were. Dovey Lanning and Peony Greenway had not been happy to be uprooted from their homes to spend the remainder of it with Gracie, but both lived in a section of the county that had lost power early in the evening and knew they would be better off finishing the night in a heated house.

“Let me get you inside one at a time,” Sam said. “It looks slippery out there.”

“Was a time when Gracie wouldn’t have let a single snowflake get ahead of her,” Dovey said, “but then, all of us are getting up there in years.”

Sam got out and went around the car to help Peony first. As late as it was, he was glad to be doing something constructive. He was spending too many sleepless nights anyway, and his patience was at low ebb.

He helped Peony up the short walkway, and Gracie, in a flannel bathrobe, opened the door before they could knock. “I’ve got a bed all made up for you,” she said.

By the time he made it back to the house with Dovey, Gracie had already shown Peony to her room and helped her settle in.