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A day and a half later, the small group huddled together at the far edge of Mrs. Ramshaw’s property.

Daniel had made a small, simple casket for the baby, Clara donned black.

Morrie clung to Jenny, her steady stream of weeping was carried to the heavens by the gusting winds that threatened to blow them away.

After Daniel spoke a few words and prayed, Jenny began to sing. Mrs. Ramshaw joined in. Clara had heard the song before many years ago.

“We are climbing Jacob’s ladder,

We are climbing higher, higher...”

Their words whisked upwards, higher and higher. Clara raised her face to the sky she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, arched over them in a canopy of light. God watched them, nay, God was with them. She was sure.

Her skirts flew about her ankles and her bonnet strings whipped sideways. Urgency pressed down hard. An uneasy certainty she couldn’t define. Kind of like when the sky had turned green and they’d run for cover when she was a child. Only the feeling wasn’t about the weather. It was about Morrie.

She absent-mindedly touched the engagement ring on her finger. Today. They needed to marry today, and not wait a moment longer. They needed to board the train, with Morrie in tow. By morning. Without wishfully waiting to see if Morrie would be given to her as a wedding gift .

A few hours later, she understood those feelings.

God knew when her heart was ready to listen and react.

Mrs. Ramshaw received a letter from her father.

He’d made port in North Carolina and would arrive within a few days after his letter.

If she was going to marry without his permission, it was paramount that the wedding take place immediately.

Getting Morrie out of his reach needed to happen now.

BY FOUR O’CLOCK THAT evening, an even smaller party stood by the hearth at the Baptist minister’s home. Documents signed, Daniel held Clara’s small hand in his own and vowed to meld his life to hers.

Mrs. Ramshaw had bedecked Clara in one of her elegant day gowns—a switch from grieving black to sunny cream. She’d tucked early crocuses amid the twists in her hair. His wife was beautiful. Stunning. He wished she could see his love for her in his eyes—wished her soul could swim in their depths.

She spoke her vows to him, taking her time. Her voice firm, but gentle. Certain, and full of love.

He kissed her then, in front of the minister and witnesses—including Mrs. Ramshaw. A warm blush crept to Clara’s cheeks.

Francine sniffed and lifted a handkerchief to her eyes. Daniel hugged her, ignoring the confusion in her eyes. She had no idea what was at stake. He’d kept her in the dark on purpose. Somehow, he knew that she mustn’t know the details.

The minister shook his hand, “Congratulations, Reverend Merrick. It’s been my honor to see you wed. God be with you both.”

Daniel tucked Clara’s hand within his arm. “We’ll be off to New York for a few weeks so that Clara may meet my family. We shall return soon.” This was the plan—and the public information for the community .

Daniel felt hot under his collar. To observers, such a hasty wedding meant only one thing.

And that one thing might ruin his reputation and spoil his work and future here.

He’d have to find another job. He squeezed Clara’s hand.

She was worth it. Morrie was worth it. If his good name suffered, so be it.

God would guide him to exactly where he needed to be.

He laughed under his breath. God had allowed the mishap in New York to lead him to this spot here and now.

“What is it?” Clara asked.

“I’ve a story to tell you—on the train.”

They left the minister’s home and walked back to Mrs. Ramshaw’s.

“Never let it be said that I couldn’t supply a proper celebration.” She’d sniffed. “We shall enjoy a small feast and have cake too. And then I must keep Clara tonight, Reverend. We have a great deal of packing to do. You understand.” The old woman had winked at him. Of all things.

How many times had he blushed that day? Glad Clara hadn’t seen him.

Francine broke into his thoughts. “I am to move in with Mrs. Ramshaw for the time being, and then, dear brother, I think I must find my own way.”

“Won’t you join us?” he tried.

“I cannot return to New York. Not yet.”

She turned to go to his parsonage.

“Aren’t you going to join us?”

“I’m so sorry, I fear I must lie down. Do forgive me.” She kissed Clara on the cheek. “Welcome to the family, sister. I hope that when you meet my rambunctious little brothers, they won’t make you regret marrying into our family.”

Daniel winced. There wasn’t time to send a message. He’d show up unexpectedly, with a bride and a slave in tow. Dr. Johnson lived in a mansion—they’d certainly have room. What would they do with his request?

He gave this worry to God along with everything else. Faith meant trusting His path, His plan. They’d have His help.

The next morning, the trio stood alone at the train station.

They’d said their goodbyes at Mrs. Ramshaw’s earlier.

A few of the abolitionists had tucked bills in his hand.

For Morrie. He’d been astounded. Four hundred dollars.

What they lacked in expertise and knowledge, they made up for generously in bills and coin.

Morrie would need to hide most of it in the hem of her skirts. Such a sum could be dangerous. He squeezed his eyes shut. Freedom could be more dangerous than her captivity, if she wasn’t careful.

Morrie stood with her head down, her arms empty, her shawl a poor substitute for the baby she’d lost. She’d have to play her part—in truth, she didn’t know any other role.

Clara had rejected the idea that she needed to be seen bossing Morrie around during their long trek to New York.

The train pulled into the station, and he felt a sense of relief and urgency all at once. Clara tightened her grip on his arm. “It is almost time,” she whispered.

Daniel observed the passengers getting off and stopped cold. Mr. Stanton stood several feet away. “Clara, Morrie,” he murmured, “turn around and follow me. Quickly.”

“What’s wrong?” Clara paled.

He shuffled them to the side of the platform where a partition separated them from the murky steam and passengers. “Your father.”

Morrie gripped her shawl and cringed.

“Has he seen us?”

“No.” His adrenaline surged. They would make it. Mr. Stanton stretched his arms and looked for his luggage. “Keep your head turned, Clara,” he whispered. He watched as Mr. Stanton ordered his slave to tote his satchels. And then, without a glance in their direction, left. “Thank God.”

They waited a few more minutes before boarding. And soon, the train pushed northward, to freedom.

CLARA FELT EVERY OUNCE of energy drained from her being.

While they’d traveled in a private compartment, it was small.

Her own darkness made it seem more compact.

And Morrie had wept silent tears the entire way.

Her new husband Daniel had remained a polite gentleman, his only endearments an occasional caress across her gloved hand or a whispered directive in her ear.

Their food basket had emptied a long time ago, and she was restless from the hours of travel. No scenes flashed by the window to help her pass the time. No books to read. In her haste, she left her knitting at Mrs. Ramshaw’s.

She admitted such aloud. “I should be doing something useful. Knitting at least. Or practicing Braille. Something.”

“You are doing something useful.” Daniel mused. “Wouldn’t you agree, Morrie?”

“Sir?” she sniffed.

“Miss Clara is being useful.” Daniel repeated.

“Miss Clara be saving my life. I reckon that’s useful to me.” Her soft voice pierced Clara’s heart.

Daniel draped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “We’re almost there.”

An hour later, Clara’s exhaustion had reached a breaking point. She nodded off in the cab that toted them to Dr. Johnson’s house—Daniel just about had to carry her in. She’d experienced his strong arms about her once before. Her senses awakened, stronger than ever. He was her husband.. .

Daniel led her by the hand into a parlor, Morrie followed. The pungent scent of cinnamon and lemon oil wafted through the air. Aromas of home. Still, she trembled at the sound of people approaching. Would they accept her?

“Daniel!” A woman’s voice—his mother? Floated towards them. “Daniel, my son. What is going on?”

“Forgive the late hour. I will explain all.” Daniel cleared his throat. “Dr. Johnson? Good to see you, sir.”

“My boy, you’ve come a long way—and with two young ladies, it seems.” His voice seemed controlled but kind.

Daniel continued, “Dr. Johnson, mother, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Clara.”

His mother gasped. “Wife?”

Clara’s cheeks burned as she offered a formal curtsey. His wife . The thought scarcely had time to sink in. One moment they’d been burying Morrie’s baby, the next, they’d been speaking their vows.

Dr. Johnson spoke first. “Clara? The Miss Clara Stanton you wrote to us about? How delightful.” He’d written about her? Of course...the Braille books...

“Son, I would have wished to attend...I...” His mother’s voice broke.

“We both married quite behind each other’s backs.

For my part, I do apologize for not telling you before you left.

” She rustled forward and took one of Clara’s hands.

“Welcome dear. You must be so tired from your journey. Who have you brought along?”

“This is Morrie.”

Dr. Johnson wasted no time. “You know how we feel about slavery—

“Which is why we are here.” Daniel answered. “We need your help.”

For the next hour, Daniel explained to Dr. Johnson and his mother the reasons for Morrie’s escape. His mother had shown Morrie to her room and sent up food. The poor girl had fallen fast asleep .