Read Online The Mapmaker's Children by Sarah McCoy - Free Book Online Page A

“May I presume you are Mrs. Brown?” He clicked his heels ever so slightly to Mary.
    She extended a hand. “Preacher Hill.”
    â€œCall me George. This is my son Frederick. Our pleasure to make your acquaintances.” He bowed to Mary, then to Annie and Sarah but made no indication of recognizing her. How could he, though, she thought, without giving away their vowed secrets. She nodded courteously and feigned demure interest in the floor.
    â€œGeorge and his family have been blessings to me in this place,” John explained. “He pastors New Charlestown Church—a brother in Christ and a
friend
.”
    They knew he meant more than a casual ally. Their father had no friends that did not share his beliefs absolutely. He didn’t see the point of befriending those who thought slavery right or, even worse, tolerable.
Because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spew thee out of my mouth
. That was one of his favorites, and when he quoted it, he always spat for emphasis.
    â€œThese officiated ministers of the court have shifty vision. I have no need of exoneration from the likes of them. But George is virtuous. A more trustworthy man, I know not in the entire state of Virginia.”
    Sarah knew that to be true.
    The guard tapered his eyes and adjusted the rifle at his side.
    Sarah took a reflexive step back. Yet unaccustomed to wearing the skirt cage in small spaces, she banged against the table and knocked a pencil to the floor. She attempted to retrieve it, but between the corset and the crinoline, that was a doomed endeavor. Frederick—Freddy, as her father had called him—saved her the strain.
    â€œThey roll faster than a waterwheel,” he said setting the pencil firmly back on the table. “Wiser to make them square so they don’t run away without meaning to.” He winked.
    Something in Sarah cinched tight as plaited hair. Did he know her secret—her work in drawing maps for the Underground?
    â€œMy two middle daughters,” John said, introducing them. “Annie and Sarah. My eldest, Ruth, remains with her family, and my youngest, Ellen, is in the care of friends. Too young for this wretched affair.”
    Both of the Hills dropped their heads to their chests in similar fashion.
    â€œIndeed,” said George. “Wretched.”
    Sarah looked up to fully appraise the men while their attention was diverted. Like her father, George wore a beard that concealed a majority of his face, but Freddy was clean-shaven. His cheeks were pale as churned buttermilk and round about the edges; his black hair was clipped short, with a hint of curl at the widow’s peak. Had they lived together in North Elba, she was sure he’d sit in a grade somewhere between herself and Annie.
    Her gaze moved up from his collar and met his squarely. Unlike her father’s steel-blue eyes, Freddy’s were intensely warm: hazel or brown—green, perhaps. She couldn’t tell. They changed with the flux of the candle’s light.
    â€œBest be on with the ladies, Preacher,” announced the guard. “Getting late.”
    Heat rose quickly to Sarah’s cheeks. She couldn’t leave yet. She hadn’t given her father the map. Her heart thudded too fast, but the air remained at her throat, obstructed from reaching her lungs by the blasted corset! She had to do something before it was too late. So she did the only thing she could: she let herself go…straight down to the floor.
    â€œSarah!” screamed Annie. She bent to her sister’s aid and fussed with the upturned skirt ruffles. “The stays are too tight. She’s not used to it.”
    That was somewhat true. An excellent smokescreen, in any case. The delicacy of a woman’s underthings flustered the guards and kept them from noticing while she slipped the muslin map to her father’s hand beneath the blanket.
    Her mother stammered, “She’s not been well.