Storm Clouds Rolling In (49 page)

Adams slammed his glass down on the table.
“That ain’t gonna happen!” But the fears had started spinning in his brain. Suddenly, there was nothing to do but go to the quarters and satisfy his fears. It didn’t matter that it was after midnight. He threw his glass aside and smiled bitterly as he heard the tinkle of glass against the wall. Then he turned and stalked from the house.

Moses and Rose had just reached the wooded edge of the
quarters when they heard the sound of a horse galloping in their direction.

“Hurry, Moses.
Get back to your cabin.” Rose was suddenly very afraid. The sound of a horse could mean nothing but trouble.

Moses hesitated.
“You’re going to be okay?”

Rose nodded impatiently and gave him a push.
“Hurry!”

Moses looked down at her and then turned and sprinted into the darkness.

Moments later, Adams
reined in his horse and glared at the dark cabins. He scowled and reached behind his saddle, pulling out the whip he carried when Cromwell wasn’t around. He uncoiled it, gave it a mighty crack, and yelled, “All niggers out of the cabins!” The sound of the cracking whip filled the air as slaves stumbled from their beds, sleepy-eyed and confused.

Horrified, Rose watched from her concealed spot.
She should go before she was missed in the big house, but her feet were rooted to the ground. What had brought Adams to the quarters on his drinking night? She could do nothing but stare helplessly as Adams slid to the ground and began to inspect the slaves. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Moses’s massive shape line up with the rest of the men. He had made it back in time. Then she groaned softly. He still had his shoes on. The rest of the sleepy-eyed men standing in line were all barefoot.
God, please!

Just then
, Moses looked down and quickly back up. Adams was at the other end of the line. Moving slowly, so as to not draw any attention, Moses carefully eased a shoe off with one big foot, and pushed it back into the shadows of the cabin. He had just pushed the other shoe back into the protecting darkness when Adams broke into a stream of curses.

Moving quickly now, Adams continued his count.
Soon the air was thick with his curses and hollering. Rose watched as he grabbed her mama by the arm. “Where are all the niggers, old woman?”

Sarah shook her head calmly.
“I wouldn’t be knowing nothin’ ‘bout that.” Adams cursed again and shoved her away. A steadying arm reached out to keep her from falling.

Adams’
s glazed eyes focused on Moses. He seemed to grip his whip tighter as he stalked up to him. “Where are the niggers?” he demanded.

Moses just shook his head.

His silence only made Adams angrier. Pulling back his arm, he let fly with the whip. It barely missed Moses’s head. Moses closed his eyes briefly, but never flinched.

Rose groaned.
What would Adams do to Moses? She knew Moses’s heart was with the escaping slaves. The longer Adams stayed there, the farther away they could get.

Somehow that thought must have pierced the befuddled fog of
Adams’s brain. He cursed loudly, grabbed his whip, and jumped on his horse. “I’m gonna catch them niggers!” he yelled. “And when I do, they’re gonna be sorry they were ever born!” He kicked his horse savagely and disappeared down the road.

Rose, wiping tears from her eyes, ran through the woods.
She had to get back to the house before they discovered she was gone. She ignored the cruel lash of branches as she flew down the path. She must hurry! Adams was stomping up the stairs when she reached the edge of the clearing. Rose groaned as the pounding of his heavy fist on the door rang through the night. All she could do was watch. She would surely be seen if she tried to cross the yard.

“What in the world is going on?” Thomas Cromwell’s angry voice rang out clearly as he threw the massive door open. Carrie watched from the top of the stairs as her father looked with disgust at his overseer’s drunken condition. “What is it, Adams?” he asked again impatiently. “My wife is very ill! Your pounding has probably awakened her!”

Adams stared at the angry man.
Then he drew himself up to his full height. “Seven of your slaves are missing, Mr. Cromwell.”

Thomas stared at him.
He leaned his head against the doorjamb for a brief moment and then straightened. “Who is gone, Adams?” he asked sharply.

“Seven of the field hands, sir.
Sadie, Jasmine, Molly—”

Thomas held up his hand.
“Are they all field hands, Adams?”

“I don’t know, sir.
I would recommend that you check the house and barn slaves. We need to know who we are going after.”

Thomas nodded his head wearily.
The strain of worrying about his wife, combined with sleepless nights, had taken its toll. “Sam?” he called sharply. He waited as Sam took what seemed to be much longer than normal to respond to his call.

The old man’s face was impassive as he joined them at the door.
“Yes, sir?”

“I want you to call all the house and barn slaves.
Tell them to line up on the porch.”

“Yes sir, Marse Cromwell.”
Sam turned and disappeared back into the house.

Thomas rubbed his hand over his eyes.
He glanced up the stairs and saw Carrie staring down at him, but she made no move to join him. She needed to stay close enough to her mother to hear her call.

Adams fidgeted impatiently.

One by one, the slaves filed onto the porch. Rose was the last one to take her place in line. Carrie, from her place on the landing, noticed the sheen of sweat and her bright eyes.

Thomas looked them over carefully.
Suddenly his face tightened. “Where is Miles?”

Carrie leaned into the support of the railing and stared down with wide eyes.

Sam shrugged, his face still impassive.
“He weren’t in his room over the barn, Marse Cromwell.” His tone was expressionless.

Thomas shook his head in disbelief.
“Miles ran away?” he asked faintly. Then he straightened. “All of you go back to your quarters,” he said sternly. Nothing was said as the porch emptied. Then he turned to Adams. “Gather some men and go after them. They can’t be far.” He stared at Adams, taking in his drunken state once more. “When was the last time you counted them Adams? How long have they been gone?” he asked sharply.

“Just this afternoon, sir.
They can’t be far...”

“Unless?”
Thomas peered at him.
“Unless the Underground Railroad is helping them. The Blackwell slaves were taken off in a wagon. They ain’t been found yet.”

“Well, get on it, man!
I can’t leave. My wife needs me. Find whoever you can to help you. I’ll make sure they’re paid. Just bring them back.”

Adams nodded, his mean features twisting with pleasure.
“Yes, sir! I’ll have them niggers back soon!”

Carrie shuddered at the thought of Adams catching the runaway slaves.
She knew he would show no mercy.

Thomas watched as his overseer strode down the steps and disappeared into the night on his horse.
He stared out into the darkness for a long while. Then he turned, looked up at Carrie, and spoke in a low voice. “I don’t trust Adams. I should go after the escaped slaves myself.” He glanced up at the glowing window of his bedroom. “I can’t leave. I won’t leave! Abigail is my life. I have to be here for her if she needs me.” His voice caught in pain and then grew fierce. “
All
of my slaves could get up and leave. They mean nothing without her.” He turned to glare into the darkness again, his shoulders slumped with fatigue.

Carrie had not moved from her place by the stair railing.
It had come to Cromwell Plantation at last. Just as her mother had feared. Slaves had run away. An image of Sadie, tossing with fever because of the cut on her foot, rose before her. Miles laughing up at her as he taught her to ride. Jasmine, as a little girl playing around Sarah until she had to go to the fields. Who else who had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember was now gone? Her heart constricted, yet she felt relief. Harriet’s tear-streaked face floated back from Philadelphia to stare her in the eyes.
I just want to be free!
“Carrie…” Her mother’s weak voice reached out to call her back into the present. She turned quickly and hurried to her mother’s side, breathing a quick prayer that the slaves would make their way to freedom.

Adams, thinking clearly now, knew he needed help.
He leaned low over Ginger’s neck as she flew down the dark road. Adams was on his way to find Jennings and some of the other men. Jennings had dogs. The slaves couldn’t be far. Even if they were in a wagon, men on horses could catch up with them easily.

He pulled up to the same house he had left so abruptly earlier that night, vaulted off Ginger, and ran up the stairs.
“We got some niggers to catch!” he cried as soon as he entered the dark room that reeked of alcohol.

Jennings peered up at him with red-rimmed, bleary eyes.
“Welcome back, Adams,” he slurred. “I saved a bottle for ya.” He lifted the almost empty bottle of whiskey, gave a hard laugh, and raised it to his lips.

Before he could drain the remaining drops, Adams cursed and ripped the bottle from his hands.
He slammed it on the table and turned back to the men in the room. “Didn’t you hear me?” he cried angrily. “We got niggers to catch. Eight of the Cromwell niggers have run away. They can’t be far.” He grabbed Jennings by the collar and tried to lift him from the chair. “We need your dogs, man! Get up!” But he knew even as he was yelling that his efforts were futile. The room was full of reeling, drunk men. They would be useless to him until they sobered up. Judging by the number of empty whiskey bottles littering the room, that would take some time. Adams cursed and swung his arm through the remaining bottles on the table under the window. Crashing glass and oozing liquid attracted the room’s drunken attention as Adams turned and stormed from the room. He would have to go after the slaves himself. He patted his waistline. The hard metal of his pistol reassured him.

Adams knew, even as he tore out onto the porch, that his mission was senseless without the dogs and without help.
Why, he couldn’t even trace the slaves’ escape route without the dogs. They could have gone in any direction through the woods. Common sense told him they would head north eventually, but there was no telling where they would go first. He slammed his fist against the heavy pillar holding the porch and glared helplessly back at the darkened room. He was angry, but he knew he would be no good in the same circumstances. He had been on his way to getting rip-roaring drunk before Jennings’s words had sent him flying back to the quarters. He sank down on the steps and tried to force himself to examine all his options.