Chasing the Sunset(17)

“Are you joking? Where do you think that I learned all of this?”

The two whooped with laughter and soon found themselves in the little cove, their feet plunged into the cold of the rushing water, splashing each other playfully as they sat back and enjoyed their extraordinary respite in the middle of the day. Maggie leaned forward to pat water on her face, careless of the fabric of her dress. It would dry quickly in this heat, and it was little more than a rag anymore. She needed new clothes. She sighed and imagined herself in silks and satins, reclining on her verandah, doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a glass of lemonade to her lips. She smiled and wet her handkerchief to lay on the back of her neck. Sounded appalling to her. She had sooner be shot than to lie around on her behind all day. She would go out of her mind without something to keep her busy.

“What is that grin all ‘bout?” Kathleen asked as she flopped backward, the shade from the drooping branch of a willow tree making flickering little pictures on her face. “I swear sometimes you are the most mysterious person, Maggie. I never know what you are thinking.”

“You will never guess, Kathleen.” Maggie rolled up on her side, her smile so big it was stretching her face. “I think my Uncle Ned’s got a sweetheart.”

A fine line appeared between Kathleen’s blond brows. Her blue eyes regarded Maggie solemnly.

“What makes you think that?” she asked slowly. “Old Ned is nice, but I have never seen him with a woman.”

“That is because he is sneaking around with her in the middle of the night. I saw them last night when I was looking out my window. It was so hot, and I was just ...”

“Did you mention this to anyone else?” Kathleen asked urgently, reaching out and gripping Maggie’s forearm. “Tell me you did not, Maggie, please!”

Maggie stared at her. “Of course not. Who would I tell? You are the only friend I have got.” She searched her friend’s freckled face intently. “What is it, Kathleen? Tell me what is wrong.”

A sudden thought rounded her eyes. “Kathleen, you are not . . . “

Kathleen’s face turned bright red as she let go of Maggie’s arm and giggled. “Lordy, no! Me and . . . and Ned! He is even older than my Papa!”

She sobered suddenly, and reached for Maggie’s hand to hold between both of hers. “I beg of you, Maggie, do not say anything about this. Do not mention it to anyone, even to Nick. I know he can be trusted, but I do not want to put him in a bad position. I probably should not tell you, but I know that I can trust you, and I so need to share it with someone.” She stared somberly into Maggie’s eyes, her normally merry face grave.

"Do you know how Missouri became a state, Maggie?" Kathleen asked her. Maggie shook her head in a negative. "They entered the union as a slave state, at the same time as Maine entered as a free state, in order to keep the division of slave states and free states equal. Many who live in Missouri felt that this so-called Missouri Compromise was a betrayal of their most deeply felt beliefs, and even though all this happened before I was even born, I am one of those people. Are you familiar with the Fugitive Slave Act that was passed through Congress two years ago? It requires all citizens to assist in the recovery of fugitive slaves or to be jailed. It denies a fugitive a right to a jury trial. Instead of a trial, cases are instead handled by special commissioners." Kathleen smiled, but there was no humor in the gesture.

"These commissioners are paid $5 for every fugitive whose fate they decide. They are paid $10 for every fugitive slave that they send back to their owners. Many free blacks have been captured by slave traders and taken before commissioners, and if the commissioner is a dishonest one, their fate is sealed. They are not allowed a trial by jury, and the commissioner who decides their fate has an incentive to declare them an escaped slave, so they often are."

Maggie sat and listened, engrossed at the story her friend told her. How she and Ned, and others who hated the institution of slavery contrived to smuggle men, women, and children out to Northern states and Canada at great risk to themselves and their families. How each person only

knew the next link in the chain of brave people who gambled with fate to do what was right. How she had stumbled onto Ned’s secret, how she had found a frightened man hidden in the stable several years ago when she had been only a child, and had threatened Ned with exposure unless he let her help. How Ned had blustered and grumbled and complained, but finally gave her small assignments, and how the assignments had gradually grown to larger, more dangerous ones as he came to trust her and her abilities. How last night was spent smuggling out a young woman who was owned by a neighboring farm, and that was who Maggie had seen in the night through her open window.

Maggie felt tears sitting in a big, sodden lump in the back of her throat, and she reached out impulsively to embrace her friend. Nick owned no slaves. He had told her once that his father and mother did not believe that the institution of slavery was moral, and he had come to agree with them. She was suddenly, fiercely glad that there were no slaves here, and she was glad that Kathleen was her friend. She squeezed Kathleen tightly, in the first female embrace she had enjoyed since the death of her mother.

“You are so brave,” she whispered, with her head pillowed on Kathleen’s comfortable shoulder. “I wish I were as brave as you.”

Kathleen rocked her in her plump, warm arms, patting Maggie soothingly. “I am not brave,” she said. “Just opinionated. I cannot bear it when anyone does something that I know is wrong, and I know that slavery is wrong.”

Maggie pushed away from Kathleen a little bit, and stared earnestly into her friend’s eyes. “I want to tell you something,” she said firmly, before she lost her nerve.

Maggie and Kathleen spent the afternoon at the river, underneath the willow tree, while Maggie told her the whole, sorry story of her marriage. Kathleen was saddened and often enraged by the details of the tale Maggie relayed to her. She reached out often to touch her friend, to wipe away a tear, to squeeze her shoulder or her hand, or just to pat her leg and reassure Maggie that she was still there, that she understood. Maggie told her the whole of it, too, not the edited version that Ned and Nick had received. Kathleen let her know in no uncertain terms that she had nothing to feel guilty over. She had been abused, and she had not meant to kill her husband. It had been a horrible accident, and leaving had been the best thing that she could have possibly done. The wrong had been done to her, not to her husband, and she should not be ashamed. The shame had been his, not hers.

Maggie felt the rest of her bitterness and fear fade away in that afternoon by the willow tree. She let the pain float away on the river that rushed by and made merry little noises as it went. Maggie felt so light, with the weight of her grief off of her soul, she felt as if she might float away. The anguish and the terror of her memories had no hold on her here, and the memories were losing their ability to hurt her so badly. Time and distance had conspired to dull the sting of those old sorrows, and Maggie felt that she was beginning to live again as a whole person, that a new, better person had been forged in the fire of her difficulties. She would never be the same innocent girl that she had once been, but she could be someone stronger, with just as much worth. She wanted to help Kathleen and Uncle Ned, and when she voiced that thought, she was told an emphatic no. It was too dangerous for her to sneak out of the house with Nick there. That was why Ned lived in his quarters over the stables. He had been asked to move into the house many times, and always gave the excuse that he wanted to be near the horses.

Afterwards, Kathleen regarded her with sorrow in her fine blue eyes. “I am almost sorry that I told you, Maggie. Secrecy can be a terrible thing. It is a commitment, and this secret must be kept from everyone. Husbands, children, friends . . . and parents.” The last word was whispered, and Maggie knew how very much it hurt her to keep this from her parents. Kathleen always spoke of her parents with love, and it must be hard to keep something of this magnitude from them. “Not only the safety of others depends on this secrecy, but your safety, too.” Her bright blue eyes hardened. “Many of the big farms depend upon slave labor, and you could be jailed or even hung if anyone suspected that you knew about the freeing of slaves. Not many in this part of the country would be sympathetic to your views, either. Missouri is divided in its views, but the further south you go, the more slavery sympathizers there are. Here, though there are plenty who do not own slaves, there are many who would just as soon lynch you as jail you if they thought that you were helping their servants escape, or even that you knew someone who was.”

“You can trust me, Kathleen,” Maggie said firmly. “I . . . I would never tell.”

Kathleen wiped her hands dry on the hem of her dress, her head down, the sun striking sparks off of her golden hair. “I know you would not,” she said softly. “I just want you to realize what this may cost you. Lies, even ones by omission, have a way of escalating.”

They started back towards the house, arms wrapped around each other, knowing without words that in each other they had found a steadfast friend, the kind that comes along only once or twice in a lifetime. They made a striking picture to Nick, who watched from the barn, where he was hidden from view. He felt his heart clench in his chest at the sight of them. They so obviously loved each other, and he wanted that with a fervor that approached lunacy. He wanted Maggie’s arm around his waist, wanted her to smile at him like that, only him. Christ, he was jealous of Kathleen! And he was hiding in the barn like a smitten child, spying on her. How much more unstable could he get? Next he would be jealous of the stable dog.