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C lara didn’t hear about the latest news that had Mrs. Ramshaw and Daniel in a mild panic. For days, he’d stayed away, no doubt catching up on his duties. Mrs. Ramshaw had a few visitors while she’d stayed in her comfortable corner, knitting and thinking.

Word finally came that her family would return by springtime—for Lucy’s wedding. She needed to be ready. Someone knocked on the door. Jenny answered before Mrs. Ramshaw had a chance.

“Massah.” Jenny’s tone turned tight. Clara heard the fear.

Father? Clara trembled and stood, her ball of yarn rolled away.

Mrs. Ramshaw flew into the foyer. “What is it, Dawes?”

Clara grew weak in the knees. Ah. Only Dawes. The apprentice overseer.

“Mr. Stanton asked me to give you this. For Miss Clara’s surgery, he said. Here’s a letter that come along with it. For the miss.”

“Thank you, Dawes.”

“Ma’am.”

The door closed. “Well, Clara. It’s finally happened. I hold in my hands a vast sum of money for your surgery. What do you think of that?”

Mrs. Ramshaw pressed two envelopes into her hands, one thick with bills, the other, naught but a thin slip of a message. Both made her cringe .

“I have escaped, by the skin of my teeth. Will you put the money away for the time being?” Clara handed the bills back to her.

“Sure thing, girlie. It’ll be in a jar beneath your bed, if that sounds alright?”

“If that’s where you think it would be safe.”

She marched off with the money that would have cost her life.

She took a deep breath and ran her hands across the sealed letter from Father.

Her stomach clenched with sorrow. One’s father ought to be good, an example.

Could a man like Father ever repent for his crime?

Could he yet become good? In her mind, his sins forever marred him.

One question pricked like an unwanted thorn. Could she forgive him? Could Morrie? The thoughts twisted her morning’s peace with pain.

She set the letter on the table and wished never to see him again.

DANIEL SAT AROUND A table with three aging women and two men.

The single candle in the center of the table cast shifting shadows across their faces.

A youthful spark emanated from their eyes.

They’d done difficult things before. Fought and won against an unforgiving land.

They hadn’t flinched when he showed them the news article. Not a single one batted an eye.

“You mean to tell me,” Daniel swallowed, “that you’ve never helped a slave to safety? That this is your very first attempt on the Underground Railroad?” How could these frail old folks hope to succeed?

One of the men shook his head. “I gave a slave family shelter for the night, five years back.”

“And you have no other contacts except for each other?” The evening was cool, but Daniel began to sweat .

Mrs. Ramshaw grinned. “I prayed about it and knew you’d be our next contact as soon as I saw you.”

“But I live here. Don’t you need someone who lives outside of the community?” He looked each of them in the face. Good hearts bent on doing good deeds. Dangerous actions with irreparable consequences.

“Your family lives in New York, do they not?” Mrs. Ramshaw shook her head until her day cap strings wiggled beneath her chin.

Daniel’s stomach sank. Like a steamship on the river, gurgling to its death. The second time she hinted of using his family. “I absolutely cannot involve them. You must understand, if I decide to help, I will not put my family’s lives on the line.”

“Morrie can’t stay. You know she can’t.” Mrs. Ramshaw’s passionate voice trembled. Her friend wiped away tears.

Daniel ran his hand over the stubble that covered his chin.

The day had worn him down, a sermon had been slow coming, a visit to the sick and dying had left him melancholy.

Francine did her best to cheer him up, but since reading the newspaper the day they’d returned from Louisville. ..More nightmares.

Lord , he prayed, help me ...

Men and women died in the uprising, the shoot-out. The punishments had been dire and immediate. He grimaced. A mad dash to freedom could get them all killed.

Mrs. Ramshaw spoke up. “There is going to be a way to get that child out of here. It’s February now, she must leave by March. The Stanton’s are set to return by May for that fool wedding of Lucy’s.”

One of the men spoke up, “God will make a way for her. We will pray—all of us. And know by the end of the week what we are to do, or whom we are to meet.”

Daniel looked at him in surprise. Such faith! By the end of the week? Impossible. They weren’t prepared. How could they know how to do what none of them had ever done before? And what if they were caught? “Are you ready to pay the penalty for breaking the law?”

Five pairs of eyes unified in an unflinching glare.

The answer was clear.

CLARA EAVESDROPPED , a conundrum filled her ears. None of them knew how to send someone journeying on the Underground Railroad. Hadn’t the foggiest what they were doing. Though valiant of heart, they failed to make a plan for one young woman who needed to get away from her home—and her Father.

Clara slipped up the stairs and back into bed as visitors took leave of Mrs. Ramshaw.

Daniel was uncomfortable if not downright scared.

He’d been roped into helping, that much was plain.

She traced the quilt pattern with her fingers, seeking a path, seeking a safe way to freedom.

Knots in the way, at every turn. Knots, carefully planned.

They hadn’t asked the right people for help. Kentucky lost a good many slaves to the underground and Northern promises. The Fugitive Slave Act, a bane to those caught. Father hadn’t lost any yet. She wished now that he had.

Young Morrie’s rounded belly grew greater by the day. Did they really think she should travel so close to giving birth? Either way, her path was littered with obstacles.

Clara propped up and clutched her Bible out of habit. Here were the answers. The answer. It niggled in the back of her mind and wouldn’t let go. Somehow, she knew that out of her darkness, another would find freedom.

Her fingers found the leather grain and traced a new path. A story rose from the depths. A captive queen, a daring invitation...

“...for such a time as this...” she whispered.

BY MORNING, CLARA’S idea was ready to burst forth. A plan that released with every breath. If only she’d be brave enough to speak her thoughts aloud. To give them wheels to carry Morrie forward into a new life.

The answer was so simple. So easy, she laughed when she first thought of it. Her cheeks burned. Hadn’t he said, “I plan to keep what I have taken?” Her heart thumped against her chest.

Jenny removed her dirty dishes from the table. “You be alright, Miss Clara? You look like your heart done give out.”

Clara smiled wide. “I am well. And my heart has never been more alive.”

“Your eyes are sparklin’.”

She needed to see Daniel. Soon. Could she call upon Francine and wait for him there? Or should she bide her time in the parlor awaiting his return?

She thrummed her fingers on the table and bit her lip. This couldn’t wait, not even a moment. Not with Morrie due so soon. Her stomach flopped. What did she have to lose? This time, her bargain would have nothing to do with selfish half-crazed plans.

Clara pushed herself from the table and searched the house for Mrs. Ramshaw, who’d been on her hands and knees scrubbing shoe-molding in the dining room. The sound of splashing water and the scent of evergreen filled the air. She’d never done such a chore, but wouldn’t mind trying.

She held the doorway. “Mrs. Ramshaw, I need to speak with Reverend Merrick. It is urgent.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. She was really going to do this.

“Sure you don’t need the doctor instead, my dear?” A soft rustle swept to her side, the aged hand pressed against her brow. “No fever that I can tell.”

“I am well. Nonetheless, I need to speak with him. Now.”

“One can’t simply demand a person, Clara. ”

Clara smiled. “You don’t understand. It is urgent, but that doesn’t follow that my issue is dire.” She paused. “Or is it?”

“You speak in riddles, child. The man’s busy. Can’t I help?”

“This is a role only he can fill. Take me to him, Mrs. Ramshaw, or fetch him straightaway. I know you value Morrie—every slave—with the same love you have for me.” Unbidden tears built in her throat. She choked them away. “I know you are trying to help her escape. And I know how this can be done.”

Mrs. Ramshaw released a great breath. “You want to be involved? My dear, think of the consequences.”

“I’ve thought it through. I feel as though God has given me the answer.”

“Good night!” Mrs. Ramshaw put her hands on her arms. “I’ll do as you say, but mind me, Clara. You’ll not compromise yourself and you’ll not carry out any plan without the committee’s agreement.”

She nodded. Minutes later, Daniel came, completely out of breath. “Clara—she said it was urgent. To come to you immediately. Are you well? What has happened?”

“Are we alone?” Her voice shook.

Mrs. Ramshaw shuffled out of the room. Clara heard the door shut.

“Yes. We are now.”

Clara took a deep breath and held her stomach with one hand. Nothing quelled the swarming butterflies. “You said on the train to Louisville that you intended to keep what you have taken.”

Silence met her ears. He reached out to her and picked up her hand and held it between his. “And so I do.”

She needed to ask, before she committed herself to this idea, this promise. “Do you think you can...perhaps...love me?”

His voice grew hoarse. “I already do. Do you need to hear me say it?” His tone gentled, “I love you, Clara. ”

She opened her mouth to speak—how to tell him about her plan?

“This was so urgent, that you needed to hear? I confess, I’m flattered.” He laughed so softly, she wasn’t sure she could speak.

She shook her head. “I need you to know that I, also, cannot help loving you.”