A Poor Plantation Owner Gave His 3 Beautiful Daughters To His Strongest Slave, Then This Happened
A poor plantation owner gave his three beautiful daughters to his strongest slave, setting in motion events that would shock everyone involved.
What happened next would forever alter the balance of power on the Caldwell plantation.
Thomas Caldwell wasn’t he just losing his family s legacy.
He was watching his daughter’s futures vanish before his eyes.
With creditors closing in, and only weeks before losing everything, Thomas made a choice so shocking it would ripple through the entire county.
But no one, especially Thomas, could have predicted how this desperate gamble would end.
Thomas Caldwell stood at the edge of his failing cotton fields.
The weight of three generations of family legacy crushing down on his shoulders.
The plantation that had once been the pride of Virginia now lay in ruins, its soil exhausted and its future bleak.
6 weeks, the banker had told him that morning, not even bothering to hide his satisfaction.
6 weeks before we take everything.
Thomas watched as his few remaining slaves worked the fields under the merciless sun.
Among them, Solomon stood out taller, stronger, and with an intelligence that Thomas both relied on and secretly feared.
Without Solomon managing the others, the plantation would have collapsed months ago.
Inside the once grand house, Thomas s three daughters represented everything he had left to lose.
Eleanor with her sharp mind and practical nature.
Margaret, fiery and defiant even in the face of their decline.
And Catherine, sweet and innocent, still believing her father could somehow save them all.
That night, as Thomas drank himself into oblivion, a neighboring plantation owner leaned in close, his breath wreaking of whiskey and cruelty.
“Your daughters are your only remaining assets,” he whispered.
And that slave of yours, Solomon, he’s worth 10 ordinary men.
Imagine the offspring.
Thomas recoiled.
But the seed had been planted.
As he stared into his empty glass, a terrible plan began to form.
What he didn’t he know was that Solomon had been watching, calculating, and waiting for exactly this moment of desperation.
But the true horror, wasn’t he what Thomas was considering? was how quickly his moral boundaries would collapse.
The next morning, Thomas summoned Solomon to his study, a room that had once showcased the Caldwell family s prosperity, but now held only empty decanters and unpaid bills.
Solomon, Thomas began, his voice steadier than it had been in weeks.
You know our situation.
Solomon stood tall, his face carefully composed into the mask of subservience he had perfected over years.
Yes, Master Caldwell.
I have a proposition, Thomas [clears throat] continued, unable to meet the other man.
A size, one that could save this plantation.
Save us all.
The proposition was laid out in stumbling, shameful words.
Thomas saughter Selenor, Margaret, and Catherine would be given to Solomon.
In return, Solomon would ensure the plantation s survival, using his strength and knowledge to restore its profitability.
“You want me to father children with your daughters?” Solomon stated flatly, his voice betraying nothing of the calculations happening behind his eyes.
Thomas flinched at the blunt assessment, but nodded.
“The neighboring plantations would pay handsomely for strong offspring.
It’s the only way.” What Thomas didn’t he see was the momentary flash of something dangerous in Solomon a size not just anger but a glimpse of a plan long in the making.
Later that afternoon, Thomas gathered his daughters in the parlor.
Eleanor, at 22, immediately sensed something terrible was coming.
Margaret, 19 and defiant, stood with arms crossed.
Catherine, barely 17, still wore the hopeful expression of youth not yet crushed by reality.
I’ve made arrangements, Thomas announced, the words falling like stones with Solomon.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Eleanor S’s face drained of color as understanding dawned.
Father, you cannot mean you reselling us.
Margaret S’s voice rose to a shout.
To a slave.
Catherine said nothing, tears streaming silently down her face.
Not selling, Thomas insisted weakly.
An arrangement for all our survival.
Margaret lunged at her father, her fists pounding against his chest until Eleanor pulled her away.
“You read drunk,” Eleanor said coldly.
“You’ve been drunk for months.
But this this is beyond forgiveness.” That night, after their father had passed out, the three sisters gathered in Elellanar S’s room, whispering plans and promises.
“We stick together,” Eleanor insisted.
No matter what happens, I I’ll kill him first.
Margaret hissed.
Solomon or father whichever tries to touch us.
Catherine simply cried, her innocence the most painful casualty of the day.
None of them noticed the shadow that passed briefly by the door Solomon.
Listening, planning, and waiting for the perfect moment to reveal that this unholy bargain was about to take a turn that none of the Caldwells could possibly anticipate.
Dawn broke over the plantation with an eerie quiet.
The sisters had barely slept, each lost in her own thoughts of escape, resistance, or resignation.
The plantation house, once a symbol of southern prosperity, now seemed more like a prison with its peeling paint and creaking floorboards of physical manifestation of their family s moral decay.
A soft knock at Elanor S.
door startled them.
Catherine clutched her sister s arm while Margaret reached for the letter opener on the bedside table, her knuckles white with determination.
Miss Elellanar Solomon s deep voice came through the door.
May I speak with you and your sisters alone? The sisters exchanged glances, a silent conversation born from years of shared secrets.
Eleanor nodded slowly and opened the door, positioning herself protectively in front of her younger siblings.
Solomon entered, his powerful frame seeming too large for the faded elegance of the room, his shoulders, broad from years of forced labor, nearly touched the door frame on either side.
But instead of the predatory stance they expected, he kept his distance and lowered himself to one knee, his eyes downcast in a gesture that seemed both practiced and painfully genuine.
I will never harm you,” he said simply, his voice barely above a whisper as he raised his gaze to meet Eleanor S.
with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“What your father proposed is an abomination.
I would rather die than participate in such cruelty.” Margaret scoffed, the sound harsh in the morning’s stillness.
“And yet you agreed.
We heard you.” “I agreed.” Solomon nodded, his expression revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath, because it gives us all an opportunity, one that may never come again.
Catherine, still trembling slightly, moved closer to Eleanor.
What do you mean, opportunity? For the next hour, Solomon revealed a truth that shattered the sister’s understanding of their world.
He wasn’t he just any slave.
He was educated in secret, taught by his mother, who had served in the Governor S mansion before being sold to the Caldwells as punishment for her intelligence.
She had passed on her knowledge to Solomon during stolen moments in the slave quarters by candle light so dim it had permanently strained his eyesight.
She taught me to read using scraps of newspaper and discarded books, Solomon explained, a hint of pride breaking through his careful composure.
By 12, I could recite Shakespeare.
By 15, I understood mathematics better than the overseer, and now I can read, write, and calculate better than most white men in the county.
Eleanor S eyes widened.
If anyone had discovered this, they would have cut out my tongue, or worse, Solomon finished matterofactly.
But knowledge was worth the risk, and for years that knowledge has helped me plan.
The morning light strengthened, casting long shadows across the faded carpet as Solomon revealed the existence of a network of abolitionists and freed slaves who helped others escape north to freedom.
There is a system, he explained quietly, his voice dropping even lower.
People helping slaves escape north stations they call them safe houses along a route.
I have been in contact with them for months through a free black man who delivers supplies to the plantation.
Eleanor s mind raced connecting pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t te known existed.
The occasional missing slave from neighboring plantations, the strange visitors to town asking seemingly innocent questions.
The growing paranoia among the plantation owners, the underground railroad, she breathed, recalling whispered conversations she dee overheard in town.
Solomon nodded, impressed by her knowledge.
Yes.
And now you understand why I want to use this situation to our advantage.
You want to escape, Margaret stated, her hostility giving way to grudging respect.
Not just me, Solomon replied, his gaze encompassing all three sisters.
All of us.
The proposition was as dangerous as it was audacious.
Solomon would appear to accept Thomas s offer, buying them time while secretly undermining the plantation owner s authority.
Meanwhile, they would systematically convert what assets remained into portable wealth jewelry, gold coins, anything that could be easily carried and exchanged for necessities during their journey north.
the first conductor that ss what they call the gyusis expecting a signal in two weeks.
Solomon explained sketching a rough map on a scrap of paper.
When the moment is right, we would flee north together not as master and slaves but as equals seeking freedom.
Freedom, Catherine repeated, the word sounding foreign on her tongue.
She’d been raised to believe her only path was marriage to a suitable man who would control her destiny.
The concept of charting her own course was simultaneously terrifying and exhilarating.
What about the other slaves? Eleanor asked, her practical nature asserting itself.
We can te leave them behind.
Solomon s expression darkened.
I have spoken with them.
Most are too afraid to run.
Some have family on other plantations they want to abandon, but three have agreed to join us.
Joshua, Mary, and old Bessie.
Bessie? Margaret questioned sharply.
She can barely walk some days.
She I’ll slow us down.
Solomon’s jaw tightened.
She raised me after my mother was sold away.
I one te leave her to die here.
The statement hung in the air, a testament to a loyalty the sisters were only beginning to understand bonds formed not through blood but through shared suffering and compassion.
Why would you help us? Catherine asked, speaking with more strength than before.
After what our father proposed, after how you’ve been treated, you could escape alone with much less risk.
Solomon s expression softened as he looked at the youngest sister.
Because no one deserves to be property, not me, not the others in the quarters, and not you three, sold by your own father in all but name.
He paused, considering his next words carefully.
and because I believe people can be more than what this cruel system has made them.
Margaret remained suspicious, pacing the small space between the bed and window.
And if we refuse, if we tell father what you were planning, then I will still try to help you, Solomon said without hesitation.
But our chances together are far better than apart.
And if you betray me, his voice hardened slightly.
I have nothing left to lose.
Your father has already sentenced me to a fate worse than death.
Eleanor studied Solomon Sface, searching for deceit and finding none.
In its place, she saw determination, intelligence, and something else humanity that had somehow survived.
Despite everything designed to crush it.
If we do this, she said slowly, weighing each word, there’s no coming back.
We did be runaways, fugitives, worse.
In the eyes of the South, I’d to be a race traitor.
We could be killed or captured,” Catherine whispered, her face pale.
“I’ve heard stories of what happens to captured runaway slaves, and to white women who help them,” Margaret added grimly.
Solomon nodded, his expression grave.
“And I would be hunted until my dying day for daring to help white women escape.
The risk is equal for all of us, perhaps greater for me.
A new silence fell over the room.
Not the silence of fear, but of consideration, of possibility.
The ticking of the mantel clock seemed unnaturally loud as each sister contemplated a future radically different from anything they had imagined.
Eleanor moved to the window, gazing out at the fields where she had spent her entire life.
The land that had once represented her birthright now seemed like a beautiful prison.
She turned back to Solomon, her decision made.
I need to know one thing, she finally said.
Why did my father really choose you for this arrangement out of all the men on the plantation? Solomon s expression changed subtly, a flicker of old pain crossing his features before he controlled it.
He stood slowly, reaching into his shirt to withdraw a small worn lockone Eleanor recognized with a shock of recognition.
because I am not just any slave to him,” Solomon said quietly, opening the locket to reveal a miniature portrait of a woman who looked startlingly like Eleanor herself.
“I am his son.
This was my mother s.
Your father gave it to her before he was forced to marry your mother for her family s money.” The revelation hit the sisters like a physical blow.
their father’s greatest shame, his darkest secret, standing before them, offering salvation, their halfb brotherther.
Catherine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
Margaret swore under her breath, a string of unladylike curses that would have earned her a switching in better days.
Eleanor simply stared, seeing for the first time the resemblance the same determined jaw, the same deep set eyes.
Did he? Did he know? Eleanor managed to ask when he proposed this arrangement.
Yes, Solomon replied, his voice devoid of emotion.
He’s always known.
It’s why he’s been harder on me than the others.
Why he can barely look at me, and why, in his desperation and drunkenness, he thought of me first for this task, his final revenge against a son he could never acknowledge.
The cruelty of it, the layers of betrayal settled over the room like a shroud.
Not just the betrayal of the daughters Thomas was willing to sacrifice, but the lifelong betrayal of the son he had kept in bondage, working his own flesh and blood to the bone in the fields.
“We leave in 2 weeks,” Elellanor decided, her voice stronger than it had been in months.
Not a day later, she extended her hand to Solomon, who looked at it in surprise before carefully taking it in his much larger one.
“We are family,” she said firmly.
All of us and family protects each other.
Margaret joined them, placing her hand to top theirs.
I still don trust easily, she warned Solomon.
But I’d rather take my chances with you than with a father who would sell his daughters.
Catherine completed the circle, her small hand trembling but determined.
Teach me what I need to know, she said to Solomon.
I want to be a burden.
What none of them knew was that Thomas Caldwell, consumed by shame and desperation, had his own plan already in motion, one that would bring slave catchers to the plantation within days.
Even now, a letter was making its way to Richmond, offering a substantial reward for the capture of a dangerous slave conspiring to abduct three young white women.
The clock on the mantle continued its relentless ticking, counting down the moments to a confrontation none of them could foresee.
The next three days passed in a careful dance of deception.
On the surface, life at the Caldwell Plantation continued its grim march toward financial ruin.
The once proud estate, with its column fod, and sprawling fields, now bore the unmistakable signs of neglect peeling paint, overgrown gardens, and fields that yielded less with each passing season.
The air itself seemed heavy with the scent of decay, both physical and moral, as though the very land was rejecting its masters.
Thomas drank more heavily than ever, alternating between Mlin self-pity and bursts of violent rage that sent the house servants scurrying for cover.
He would spend hours locked in his study, emerging only for meals or to bark orders before retreating again with a fresh bottle.
Sometimes in the dead of night, the sisters could hear him weeping or talking to himself, addressing someone named Elizabeth in tones that ranged from tender to accusatory.
The sisters maintained their routines with outward calm that belied their inner turmoil.
Eleanor managed the household accounts with increasing secrecy, carefully documenting which items could be sold or pawned without arousing suspicion.
She had already sewn several gold coins into the hem of her traveling dress and converted a pearl necklacer mother s wedding gift into cash through a discreet transaction with the widow who ran the millinary shop in town.
Margaret tended the kitchen garden with newfound purpose, harvesting not just the usual vegetables but also medicinal herbs that grew wild along the property sedge.
Her knowledge of plants, once dismissed as a frivolous hobby by her father, now represented the difference between life and death on their journey.
Each evening she carefully dried and prepared her botanical treasures, labeling each packet with its use and dosage.
Catherine, the youngest at 17, continued her needle work while listening carefully to conversations around her.
Her delicate fingers, once occupied with decorative embroidery for a truso she no longer expected to need, now worked on practical alterations, reinforcing seams, adding hidden pockets and modifying dresses to allow for easier movement.
The servants noticed her changed demeanor but attributed it to the shock of her father as disastrous proposal rather than any knowledge of escape plans.
Solomon, meanwhile, played his part with chilling precision.
He accepted Thomas s deg degrading instructions with downcast eyes and murmured, “Yes, master.” while maintaining the subservient posture expected of him.
If Thomas noticed that Solomon now met his gaze with a steady confidence that hadn’t he been there before, he attributed it to the new arrangement rather than any fundamental shift in their relationship.
In reality, Solomon was orchestrating their escape with the strategic brilliance of a military commander.
Each night, after the main house had fallen silent, and Thomas had drunk himself into oblivion, Solomon would slip away from the slave quarters to meet with the sisters in the old springousy small stone building, half hidden by overgrown wisteria vines near the eastern property line.
We all need to travel light but prepared,” he explained during one such meeting, spreading a crude map drawn on a piece of cloth that could be quickly eaten or destroyed if discovered.
The map created from memory and information gathered from the Underground Railroad contacts showed their route through Virginia and into Pennsylvania.
The first stretch will be the most dangerous 30 m through swampland to reach the first safe house.
The terrain works in our favor.
The slave catchers rarely venture deep into those wetlands because of the quicksand and cotton mouths.
Elellanor nodded, her practical mind already cataloging necessities as she studied the map by candlelight, her blonde hair usually arranged in elaborate curls as befitted a plantation daughter was now pulled back in a simple braid that emphasized the determined set of her jaw.
I’ve been converting Father S remaining silver into coin.
The sugar tongs, his monogram flask items he’s too drunk to notice are missing.
“We’ll have enough to bribe our way past any initial obstacles, and I be been collecting herbs,” Margaret added, her usual defiance tempered by purposeful focus.
“She opened a small leather pouch, releasing the mingled aromomas of dried plants.
Willow bark for pain and fever.
Yrow for wounds.
Box glove for heart troubles.
Though that one s dangerous if dosed incorrectly.
I’ve sewn them into the lining of my cloak along with instructions for each.
Margaret had always been the most spirited of the sisters with a sharp tongue and quicker temper that had earned her countless scoldings.
Now that fire was channeled into survival, making her perhaps the most dangerous of the three to underestimate.
Catherine had been the surprise, transforming from a frightened girl into a determined young woman almost overnight.
Where once she might have dissolved into tears at the slightest provocation, she now spoke with quiet certainty.
“I’ve altered three dresses,” she said, unfolding a garment to demonstrate.
“Cut them down to make them practical for travel and added hidden pockets here and here.” She pointed to nearly invisible slits in the seams.
Each can hold documents or small valuables and I vivive darkened the fabric with walnut stain so we one tea stand out as much.
Solomon looked at the sisters with something approaching pride.
In just days these women raised in privilege had adapted to the prospect of becoming fugitives with remarkable resourcefulness.
You’ve have adapted faster than I expected.
We’ve had practice adapting to father s whims.
Margaret replied darkly, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear.
This is just one more adjustment, though admittedly one with higher stakes.
Eleanor spread a small piece of paper on the rough wooden table that dominated the springhouse.
I’ve been working on our story.
If we restopped, we were a widowed woman traveling with her sisters and trusted servants to join family in Philadelphia.
I have morning clothes we can wear.
No one questions a widow s desire to travel quickly and quietly.
Solomon nodded appreciatively.
Good thinking.
The fewer questions we invite, the better.
Joshua has made contact with the conductor who l meet us at the first station.
He’s prepared to guide us through the swamp, but we’ll need to time our departure perfectly.
Their snow moon three nights from ideal conditions for slipping away unnoticed.
Their planning was interrupted by a sound outside a twig snapping underfoot, followed by the soft rustling of movement through the underbrush.
Solomon extinguished their small candle immediately, plunging the springhouse into darkness.
They froze, barely breathing, as footsteps approached, and then stopped just outside the door.
Eleanor felt for the small knife she now kept in her pocket, while Margaret positioned herself protectively in front of Catherine.
Miss Elellanar, came a whispered voice.
It’s Bessie.
I need to speak with you and Mr.
Solomon.
Relief flooded through them as Solomon reopened the door.
Bessie, her aged frame bent with years of labor, slipped inside.
The oldest slave on the plantation.
She had been born on this land 60 years earlier, and had served the Caldwell family her entire life.
Her face, normally composed into the mask of subservience required for survival, was tight with fear, the wrinkles deepening around her eyes and the dim light that filtered through the single small window.
“There is men coming,” she whispered, her voice trembling as Solomon reit the candle, overheard master talking to himself in his study.
He sent for slave catchers from Richmond.
“Said they d be here by weak s end?” The news hit Solomon like a physical blow.
His carefully constructed timeline collapsed in an instant.
“We don’t he have two weeks,” he said, his mind racing through alternatives.
“We need to leave now.
Tomorrow night at the latest,” Eleanor shook her head, her pragmatic nature asserting itself, even as anxiety tightened her chest.
“We were not ready.
The conductor isn’t te expecting us yet.
We don’t te have enough supplies.
The river might be too high to cross safely after yesterday s rain.
Better hungry than captured, Solomon countered grimly.
These aren’t t ordinary slave catchers.
They were Randall Smen.
The name sent a chill through the room.
Silus Randall s reputation for brutality was legendary throughout Virginia and beyond.
A former overseer who had established his own slave catching business, Randall employed men as ruthless as himself.
His specialty was recapturing runaway slaves, and he took particular pleasure in making examples of them returning them to their masters, maimed or permanently marked as a warning to others who might consider escape.
“There’s more,” Bessie continued, her voice dropping even lower as she glanced nervously at the door.
“Master S told them you planning to abduct his daughters.
Said they should shoot you on sight if necessary.” Catherine gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
He’s trying to have Solomon killed or providing himself an excuse if anything happens to us, Margaret said, her quick mind seeing the strategy beneath the cruelty.
If we disappear, he l claims Solomon took us by force.
No one would question why the slave catchers shot him, and no one would look for us as willing fugitives, Eleanor added.
The full implications becoming clear.
They d searched for three kidnapped white women instead.
Solomon s expression hardened, a muscle working in his jaw.
Your father is more cunning than I gave him credit for.
Even in his drunken state, he’s laying groundwork to protect himself.
Eleanor paced the small space, her skirts brushing against the rough stone walls as her mind worked furiously.
The springhouse, once used to keep dairy products cool in summer, smelled of damp earth and mildew.
The single candle cast elongated shadows that seemed to emphasize the gravity of their situation.
We need to accelerate everything, she finally declared, turning to face the others.
Catherine, finish those alterations tonight.
Margaret, pack only what we absolutely need.
Food, medicine, one change of clothes each.
Solomon.
She turned to her half-brother, seeing the tension in his powerful frame.
Can you get word to the conductor? Tell them we were coming early.
Solomon nodded slowly, calculating risks and possibilities.
Joshua was supposed to deliver a message tomorrow.
I can send him tonight instead, but it’s risky.
The patrols have been increased lately, and he have to cross Wilkins property if got those new dogs from Cuba.
Train to track humans specifically.
Do it, Elellanor decided after a moment.
S hesitation.
We leave tomorrow night after father is asleep.
If the conductor can to meet us, we’ll have to make our way to the safe house alone.
Bessie, who had been listening silently, spoke up.
Miss Eleanor, there’s something else you should know.
Your father, he ain’t been right these past few days, more than just the drinking.
He’s been talking about your mother like she’s still alive, having conversations with her.
And yesterday, I found him in the family cemetery, digging at her grave with his bare hands.
This new information cast their father s actions in an even more disturbing light.
Thomas Caldwell wasn’t te just desperate tea was unraveling completely.
“Has heard anyone?” Solomon asked sharply.
Bessie shook her head.
“Not yet.” “But he’s got that look in his eye, the same one he had before he beat young Jeremiah half to death last summer.” Like something’s broken inside him.
As they finalized their hasty plans, a new thought occurred to Catherine.
What about the other slaves? If father is called in Randall Smen, everyone will suffer.
They’ll be questioned.
Maybe worse.
Solomon s expression darkened.
I’ll warn them.
Those who want to take their chances with us can come.
The others, he shrugged, a gesture of helplessness unusual for his strong presence.
They’ll have to decide their own fates.
Some have family ties here they want tea abandon.
Others are too afraid of what awaits them if they recaught.
“What about Mary sb baby?” Margaret asked, referring to the infant born just two months earlier in the slave quarters.
“She can to possibly make such a journey.
” Solomon s face revealed the terrible calculations of survival.
Mary will have to decide.
A crying baby could doom us all.
But leaving her child behind, he didn’t he need to finish the thought.
They all understood the impossible choice.
As they prepared to disperse, Eleanor pulled Solomon aside, speaking in tones too low for the others to hear.
There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask.
Our father, did he ever acknowledge you, even privately? Did he ever show any kindness? Solomon’s face remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes and old pain so deeply buried that it had almost fossilized within him.
Once when I was 12, he was drunk, had lost heavily at cards, found me cleaning the stables, and just looked at me, said I had his mother s eyes, and that it was goddess crulest joke that his only son was born with black skin.
He paused, the memory clearly painful despite the years that had passed.
Then he whipped me for not working fast enough, never mentioned it again.
Elellanar reached out impulsively, touching his arm in a gesture that would have been unthinkable just days earlier.
We’ll make this right, Solomon.
Not everything we can undo a lifetime of wrongs.
But this one thing, we’ll get free, all of us.
Solomon looked down at her pale hand against his dark skin, then nodded once sharply.
Dawn after next, be ready to leave at first light.
Bring only what you can carry without tiring.
We yell rendevu at the old oak by the north pasture.
They separated then, each returning to their respective quarters by different paths to avoid arousing suspicion.
The night was unusually still, as though the very air was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.
Back at the main house, Thomas Caldwell sat in his study, a half empty bottle of whiskey on the desk before him.
The room, once a showcase of masculine refinement with its leatherbound books and hunting trophies, had deteriorated along with its owner.
Dust covered most surfaces, papers were strewn haphazardly across the floor, and the acrid smell of unwashed bodies and spilled alcohol permeated the space.
In his trembling hand, Thomas held a miniature portrait, the twin of the one in Solomon s locket, showing a beautiful young woman with dark, intelligent eyes.
Elizabeth Martin had been the daughter of a neighboring plantation owner.
Promised to Thomas in marriage until she had fallen in love with one of her father slaves.
The scandal had been hushed up.
The slave sold away to the deep south and Elizabeth married off to a cousin in Boston, but not before she had given birth to a sona child her father had sold to the Caldwells as the final humiliation.
On the desk lay a letter, its official seal broken, confirming that Randall and his men would arrive within 4 days.
The price quoted for their services was exorbitant, far more than Thomas could actually pay, but he had signed the agreement anyway.
Next to it lay a deed of sale the final parcels of Caldwell land signed over to cover his gambling debts.
“Forgive me, Elizabeth,” he whispered to the portrait, his words slurring slightly.
“I have failed our son, failed everyone.” With shaking hands, he opened a drawer and removed a small pistol, the silver inlay on its handle catching the lamplight.
For a long moment, he stared at it, turning it over in his hands as if considering its weight and purpose.
Then with a heavy sigh, he returned it to the drawer.
Not yet, he murmured.
One last chance to make things right.
What Thomas meant by making things right and whether it would help or hinder the escape plan remained his secret as the plantation finally settled into an uneasy silence for the night.
In the slave quarters, Solomon moved from cabin to cabin, speaking in hushed tones with those he trusted most.
Joshua, a young man of 20 who had been born on the plantation.
Mary, still recovering from childbirth.
Old Bessie and Cyrus, whose scarred back, testified to his previous escape attempts.
Each listened gravely to the plan, weighing their chances and considering what little they had to lose.
“I’ll come,” Joshua decided immediately.
“Been ready to run since I was old enough to understand what freedom meant.” Mary clutched her infant daughter to her chest, tears streaming down her face.
I can tea leave her and she can to make such a journey.
Bring her, Solomon urged.
We<unk>ll find a way.
Cyrus simply nodded, his decision made long ago.
Rather die running than live kneeling.
Bessie was the last to answer.
These old bones won’t te get far, she admitted.
But I will help you get away.
create a distraction if needed.
As Solomon finally returned to his own sparse quarters, more than a lean to attached to the stable, he allowed himself a moment of doubt.
The plan had been risky from the start, but with Randall Smen coming, and their timeline accelerated, the dangers had multiplied exponentially.
If they were caught, death might be the merciful outcome.
Outside, dark clouds gathered on the horizon, promising a storm that would either cover their escape or trap them in mud too deep to traverse.
A distant rumble of thunder echoed across the fields like a warning.
Either way, the next day would determine all their fates.
In her bedroom in the main house, Elellanor sat at her writing desk, composing a letter she wasn’t too sure would ever be read.
To whoever finds this, she wrote in her elegant hand.
know that we left of our own free will, seeking not just our freedom, but justice for those our family has wronged for generations.
If there is to be judgment, let it fall on those who perpetuate this evil system, not on those who flee it.” She sealed the letter with wax, but left it unsigned, placing it in the bottom drawer of her desk.
Then she lay down fully clothed on her bed, knowing sleep would elude her, but needing to conserve her strength for what lay ahead.
As the plantation descended into its nighttime rhythms, a solitary rider approached from the east a messenger traveling hard.
His horse lthered with sweat despite the cool evening.
He carried urgent news that would upend all their careful plans.
Randall sen had already departed Richmond, traveling faster than expected.
They would arrive not in 4 days, but two just hours after the fugitives planned to flee.
Dawn arrived with an ominous crimson glow that stained the eastern sky like blood.
The plantation stirred to life slowly, its rhythms unchanged.
Despite the momentous events about to unfold in the fields, slaves moved with practiced resignation, their bodies performing the familiar motions of labor while their minds remained elsewhere.
Among them, whispered conversations passed along Solomon s message.
Tonight, freedom or death.
Eleanor rose early after a fitful night of half-sleep filled with anxious dreams.
She dressed in her simplest gown, a dark blue cotton that wouldn’t tea attract attention, and began her final preparations.
Each item she packed had been carefully considered for its utility, a small sewing kit, a folding knife that had belonged to her grandfather, a miniature compass disguised as a locket, and the money she had painstakingly gathered.
She hid these items throughout her clothing, distributing the weight so nothing would bulge suspiciously.
In the adjoining room, Catherine was doing the same, though her hands trembled slightly as she worked.
The youngest sister had shown remarkable courage throughout their planning.
But now, with escape just hours away, fear threatened to overwhelm her.
“What if we were caught?” she whispered when Eleanor came to check on her progress.
“I keep thinking about stories I’ve heard about what happens to runaways.” Eleanor sat beside her on the narrow bed, taking her sister sold hands in her own.
“We might be caught,” she acknowledged, knowing that false reassurance would help no one.
But we will certainly be destroyed if we stay.
Father s debts, his drinking, his desperation.
It is only a matter of time before he sells us off in one way or another.
At least this way we choose our path.
Catherine nodded, drawing strength from her sister s certainty.
I am ready, she said, straightening her shoulders.
I one tea slow us down.
Downstairs, Margaret was in the kitchen, ostensibly preparing breakfast, but actually packing food for their journey hard biscuits, dried meat, and apples wrapped in cloth, and hidden inside a basket of mending she would carry out to the spring house later.
The household cook, Esther, watched with knowing eyes, but said nothing.
She had declined Solomon s invitation to join them, unwilling to leave her elderly mother, who remained on a neighboring plantation.
Miss Margaret, Esther finally said as she kneedeed dough with powerful hands.
You mind yourself on the road ahead.
There’s those who deh help and those who deharm and they dawn tea always look different from each other.
Margaret paused, a wedge of cheese in her hand.
You know then Esther continued her work, not meeting Margaret’s eyes.
I know enough and I’ll say nothing no matter what they threaten when they come looking.
Just promise you I’ll remember old Esther someday when you were free and settled.
I promise, Margaret replied, impulsively embracing the woman who had fed and often comforted her since childhood.
We<unk>ll send for you if we can.
Thomas Caldwell appeared at breakfast, looking worse than usual, his face ashen and his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his fork.
He had clearly been drinking already, though it was not yet .
He regarded his daughters with bloodshot eyes that seemed to look through rather than at them.
You girls look peaked, he observed, his words slightly slurred.
“Not sleeping well?” Eleanor maintained a neutral expression, though her heart raced.
“The storm kept me awake,” she replied, referring to the brief thunderher that had passed through before midnight.
“And Ivet had a headache.” Thomas grunted, seemingly losing interest.
He pushed his plate away untouched and poured himself more whiskey from the decanter he now carried with him constantly.
I’ll be riding to town today.
Business to attend to.
This unexpected announcement sent a jolt of alarm through Eleanor.
Their father rarely left the plantation anymore, preferring to conduct what little business remained through intermediaries.
“What business, father?” she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
Thomas fixed her with a stare that was surprisingly lucid given his inebriated state.
Nothing that need concern you, daughter.
Iel returned by nightfall.
After he left the dining room, the sisters exchanged worried glances.
Could he know? Catherine whispered.
About our plans.
Impossible, Margaret insisted.
We’ve been careful.
Elellanar wasn’t te so certain.
Their father might be a drunk, but he had once been a shrewd businessman and planter.
If he had noticed anything, Amis missing items, whispered conversations, unusual activity, she’s suspicions might have been aroused.
It doesn’t he change anything, she decided.
We proceed as planned, but we need to warn Solomon that father will be in town today.
He might hear something that puts him on alert.
Getting a message to Solomon proved more difficult than expected.
Thomas had ordered him to repair fencing in the north pasture, far from the main house and supervised by the overseer.
a brutish man named Hobbes, who delighted in finding reasons to use his whip.
It wasn’t tea until midafter afternoon that Eleanor managed to create a pretext to visit that part of the property, claiming she needed to check on a sick horse in the distance stable.
She found Solomon working alone, Hobbes having departed for his midday meal.
Even so, she maintained appearances, speaking to him with the casual indifference of mistress to slave, while conveying her warning.
Father s gone to town,” she murmured, pretending to examine the fence post he was setting.
He seemed different this morning, more alert.
Solomon continued working, his powerful shoulders tensing slightly at the news.
Did he say why? Only business, but I’m worried he might be meeting Randall Smen early.
Solomon drove the post deeper with a controlled blow that betrayed his concern.
It’s possible, or he could be arranging to sell more land.
Either way, we stick to the plan after dark north pasture oak.
Be ready to travel fast and light.
Elellanor nodded almost imperceptibly, then raised her voice for anyone who might be watching.
See that this fence is completed properly.
The last repair was shoddy work.
“Yes, Miss Eleanor,” Solomon replied in the differential tone he had perfected over years of survival, though his eyes held a different message entirely.
As Eleanor walked back toward the house, the sky darkened prematurely.
Another storm was approaching, larger than last night s brief shower.
The air felt heavy with moisture and the peculiar stillness that precedes severe weather.
In the distance, lightning flickered among the clouds.
“A bad omen,” whispered Mary, who was hanging laundry as Elellanar passed.
The young mother had decided to join them after all, unwilling to be separated from her infant daughter.
“My grandmother always said, “Storms on important days are spirits fighting.” “Ellanor paused, looking at the approaching weatherfront.
Or perhaps it is cover for our departure,” she suggested quietly.
“The rain will wash away our tracks.
” Mary nodded, though she looked unconvinced.
“I’ve packed what little I have.
Joshua says to tell you he’s secured extra provisions from the smokehouse.
No one will notice until we were long gone.
Back at the main house, final preparations continued with tense efficiency.
Catherine finished sewing a small pouch of coins into the hem of her cloak.
Margaret prepared a special tea for their father, laced with ldnum that would ensure he slept deeply through the night.
Eleanor reviewed their route one last time, committing the map to memory in case the cloth version was lost or damaged.
As dusk approached, bringing with it the first spattering of raindrops, a commotion at the front of the house drew their attention.
Thomas had returned from town earlier than expected, and he was not alone.
A second horse accompanied Heisa’s sleek black stallion, mounted by a stranger, whose very posture suggested danger.
From her bedroom window, Elellanar watched as the two men dismounted.
The stranger was tall and lean, dressed in expensive but practical clothing with a brace of pistols visible at his waist.
Even from a distance, there was something predatory about his movements, a lethal grace that marked him as a man accustomed to violence.
Randall, she breathed, recognizing the infamous slave catcher from descriptions she had heard.
He’s here already.
Catherine, who had joined her at the window, clutched her arm in panic.
What do we do? We can to possibly leave tonight with him here.
Elellanar watched as Thomas led Randall toward the house, her father s posture differential despite his usual pride.
We have no choice, she said grimly.
If anything, this makes our departure more urgent.
Go find Margaret and tell her to prepare Father ST immediately.
We need him and his guest insensible as soon as possible.
As Catherine hurried away, Eleanor composed herself, smoothing her dress and pinching color into her pale cheeks.
She would need to greet their unwelcome visitor with all the southern hospitality expected of a plantation.
Daughter, while betraying nothing of the fear and loathing he inspired downstairs, Thomas was showing Randall into the study when Eleanor appeared in the hallway.
“Ah, Eleanor,” her father called, his voice overly hearty.
“Come meet Mr.
Randall.
He’s a business associate who will be staying with us tonight.
Elellanar approached with practice grace, extending her hand as custom dictated.
Mr.
Randall, welcome to Caldwell Plantation.
Silus Randall took her hand, his grip lingering longer than propriety allowed.
His face was handsome in a harsh way, with a scar running from his right temple to his jaw and eyes the pale blue of winter ice.
“Miss Caldwell, your father speaks highly of you and your sisters.
You read too kind, Elellanar replied, withdrawing her hand as soon as politeness permitted.
Will you be staying long? Randall smiled, revealing teeth stained by tobacco.
Just until our business is concluded.
I have men joining me tomorrow, and then we’ll be on our way.
Thomas cleared his throat nervously.
Eleanor, have Esther prepare a suitable dinner for our guest and tell your sisters to join us.
Mr.
Randall should enjoy some feminine company after his journey.
Of course, Father.
Elellanar curtsied slightly and departed, her mind racing.
Randall s presence complicated everything, but it also confirmed their fears.
if his men were arriving tomorrow.
Their window for escape was closing rapidly.
In the kitchen, she found Margaret already preparing their father s special t Randall is here.
Elellanar whispered urgently.
Just him for now, but his men arrived tomorrow.
We need to adjust our plans.
Margaret s eyes widened, but she continued her work with steady hands.
How many cups should I prepare? Two, Elellanor decided.
One for father, one for our guest.
But be careful with the dosage.
We need them asleep, not suspicious or dead.
I know my craft, Margaret replied with quiet confidence.
They’ll sleep until well past dawn.
The storm broke in earnest as dinner was served in the formal dining room, a space rarely used in recent years.
Rain lashed against the windows, and thunder shook the house to its foundations.
Inside an equally dangerous tempest brewed as the Caldwell sisters dined with their father and the man hired to hunt them if they fled.
Conversation remained superficial with Thomas boasting about the plantation s former glory and Randall responding with calculated interest.
The sisters participated minimally, answering direct questions but volunteering nothing.
Throughout the meal, Eleanor was acutely aware of Randall Esgay’s returning to her repeatedly, assessing, and somehow knowing.
“You seem preoccupied, Miss Elellanar,” he observed during a lull in the conversation.
“Something troubling you?” Elellanar forced a smile.
“Just the storm, Mr.
Randall.
I’ve never been fond of thunder.” “Understandable,” he replied, though his expression suggested he didn’t te her.
Though in my line of work, storms can be useful.
They mask sounds, wash away tracks, create confusion.
He paused, his eyes never leaving hers.
Of course, they can also delay travel plans.
The implied threat hung in the air between them.
Eleanor felt certain in that moment that Randall knew or suspected their intentions.
Whether her father had told him or he had deduced it himself from their behavior was unclear, but the danger had increased exponentially.
Margaret intervened, offering the drug tea with innocent solicitude.
Father, Mr.
Randall, I prepared a special blend to ward off the chill of the evening.
An old family recipe, Thomas accepted gratefully, always eager for any form of alcohol or seditive.
Randall hesitated, studying Margaret with narrowed eyes before taking the cup.
How thoughtful, Miss Margaret.
Though I generally avoid stimulants or sedatives when working.
Professional necessity.
Eleanor S’s heart sank as she watched him pretend to sip the tea while actually consuming none.
Their plan was unraveling before it had even begun.
After dinner, Thomas insisted on returning to the study with Randall to continue their business discussion.
As soon as they were alone, the sisters gathered in Eleanor S’s bedroom, speaking in urgent whispers.
He knows, Catherine said, voicing what they all feared.
Or at least suspects.
Did you see how he watched us? Like a cat at a mouse hole.
Father didn’t tea drink enough of the tea, Margaret added.
He’ll be drowsy, but not insensible.
And Randall didn’t tea drink any at all.
Eleanor paced the room, her mind working furiously.
We need to warn Solomon.
if Randall has men watching the property already.
A soft knock interrupted them.
They froze, exchanging alarmed glances before Elellanar cautiously approached the door.
Who is it? Bessie, Miss Elellanar, I have urgent news.
Elellanar opened the door to admit the elderly slave, who was soaked from the rain and breathing heavily from exertion.
Joshua spotted riders, Bessie reported between gasps.
Six men approaching from the east road, moving slow in the storm, but definitely heading here.
Solomon says, “We must leave now before they surround the property.” The situation had deteriorated from dangerous to desperate.
“Tell Solomon we’ll meet him in 30 minutes,” Eleanor decided.
“Not at the Oakits, too exposed, the old tobacco barn instead.” Bessie nodded and slipped away, moving with surprising agility for her age.
The sisters immediately began their final preparations, dawning their darkest clothing and gathering their carefully hidden supplies.
“What about father?” Catherine asked as she tied her traveling boots.
“And Randall?” “They’ll raise the alarm as soon as they discover we were gone.” “Ellanor had been considering this problem.
We need a distraction.
Something that will occupy them long enough for us to get a head start.” Margaret’s expression turned grim.
I know what to do, but you won tea like it.
Before Eleanor could question her, a tremendous crash of thunder shook the house followed immediately by shouts of alarm from below.
The sisters rushed to the window to see flames leaping from the roof of the stable, clearly struck by lightning.
“God has provided our distraction,” Margaret observed, crossing herself.
Now we go.
Taking advantage of the chaos as slaves and household servants formed a bucket line to fight the fire.
The sisters slipped out through the kitchen door.
The rain had turned the yard to mud that sucked at their boots and drenched their clothing within moments, but it also provided cover as they made their way toward the tobacco barn.
They were halfway there when Eleanor spotted a figure moving parallel to them in the darkness.
A tall man walking with deliberate purpose despite the storm.
Randall had not been fooled by the fire or their absence.
He was tracking them.
“Run,” Eleanor hissed to her sisters, pushing them ahead as she dropped back slightly.
She had no weapon except the small knife in her pocket, useless against Randles pistols, but she would buy her sister’s time if necessary.
The tobacco barn loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the storm tossed sky.
As they approached, shadows separated from the building.
Solomon, Joshua, Mary with her infant, and Cyrus, all waiting with the grim determination of those with nothing left to lose.
Quickly, Solomon urged, helping Catherine and Margaret inside where horses waited.
“We have little time,” Elellanar glanced back, seeing no sign of Randall, but certain he was still pursuing them.
There is a slave catcher following us.
Randall himself, Solomon expression hardened.
I I’ll deal with him.
Get mounted and ready to ride.
No.
Elellanar caught his arm.
We leave together or not at all.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the scene, revealing Randall standing just 30 yards away.
A pistol raised and aimed directly at Solomon.
Step away from my property, boy.
Randall called, his voice carrying clearly despite the storm.
These women are coming back to the house.
You and the others can come peacefully or in chains.
Your choice.
Solomon pushed Eleanor behind him, shielding her with his body.
They were not property, and neither am I.
Randles laugh was cold as the rain that streamed down his face.
That’s where you were wrong.
Everything and everyone has a price.
Your master paid mine to bring you back, and that’s what I intend to do.
What happened next occurred with such speed that Eleanor would later struggle to recall the sequence of events.
Another lightning flash, a movement from the side of the barn, the crack of a pistol that might have been mistaken for thunder, except for the spray of mud at Randall S’s feet.
Thomas Caldwell emerged from the shadows, a smoking pistol in his trembling hand.
“Get away from my children,” he slurred, clearly affected by the drug tea, but still dangerous.
Randall turned in surprise, his own weapon shifting toward this new threat.
Caldwell.
What the hell are you doing? Making things right, Thomas replied, advancing unsteadily.
For once in my miserable life.
Elellanar watched in horror as her father and Randall faced each other.
Two predators with nothing in common and except their willingness to destroy lives for profit.
In that moment, she realized that whatever happened next would be beyond her control.
Father, come with us,” she called impulsively.
“Leave all this behind.
” Thomas glanced toward her, his expression softening momentarily.
In that instant of distraction, Randall fired.
Thomas staggered backward, a dark stain spreading across his chest.
“No!” Eleanor screamed, lunging forward, only to be restrained by Solomon’s powerful arms.
He’s gone,” Solomon said grimly as Thomas collapsed into the mud.
“And we will be too if we dawn tea leave now.” Randall was already reloading.
His movements practiced and efficient despite the rain.
From the direction of the main house, shouts indicated that the fire was under control and attention was turning to the commotion at the barn.
With one last look at her father s body, Eleanor allowed Solomon to help her onto a horse.
The small party of fugitives slipped away into the storm last night, leaving behind the only home they had ever known and the complicated legacy of Thomas Caldwell.
As they rode, the infant miraculously silent in its mother sarms, Eleanor found herself thinking of her father’s final words, making things right.
Had he intended to help them escape all along, or was his intervention simply one last act of possession? Unwilling to let Randall take what he considered his property, she would never know the answer.
The only certainty was the path ahead, dangerous, unknown, but chosen freely.
As the Caldwell plantation disappeared behind them, obscured by rain and darkness, Elellanar felt a weight lift from her shoulders, even as new burdens settled there.
They were fugitives now, hunted by law and custom with only their wits and each other to rely on.
But they were also for the first time in their lives free.
The storm continued to rage around them, both hindrance and help as they made their way toward the swamp land that marked the first stage of their journey north.
Behind them, the alarm was being raised.
And soon, Randall sen would begin their pursuit.
The real test of their courage and determination was just beginning.
The storm continued unabated as the fugitives pressed onward through the night.
They rode in silence, each lost in private thoughts about what they had witnessed and what lay ahead.
Elellanor kept replaying the image of her father falling, the look of surprise on his face as Randall S.
Bullet found its mark.
By dawn, they had covered nearly 15 miles.
The open farmland had given way to dense forest as they approached the great swamp that formed a natural barrier between plantations and wilderness.
beyond.
Solomon called a halt in a clearing sheltered by cypress trees.
We all rest briefly.
We have another hour s ride before we reach the swamp and then we continue on foot.
As they dismounted, their exhaustion became apparent.
All were soaked to the skin with Catherine s hands raw from gripping rains and Margaret wincing as she stretched unaccustomed legs.
“How far to the safe house?” Elellanar asked quietly.
If we maintain our pace, we should reach it by nightfall, Solomon replied, though his expression suggested less confidence.
But the swamp is dangerous even in good weather.
With all this rain, the paths will be treacherous.
And Randall smen, they’ll follow as soon as they can organize pursuit.
Randall himself may be delayed dealing with what happened, but his men are experienced trackers.
The rain will wash away our tracks, Elellanor observed hopefully.
Some of them, but they’ll know our direction.
and they’ll have dogs.
This last detail sent a chill through Elellanar that had nothing to do with her wet clothing.
They continued until reaching the swamp s edge where Solomon ordered them to dismount.
We continue on foot from here.
He announced Joshua see to the horses.
Joshua began removing their saddles.
What are you doing? Catherine asked in alarm.
We’ll need them.
Horses can te navigate the swamp.
Solomon explained.
They de found her in mud or break legs in sink holes.
but one te that tell the slave catchers which way we’ve have gone.
Margaret objected.
They already know we reheading for the swamp.
It’s the only logical route north.
But finding horses abandoned here might make them think we have taken a different path.
Entirely take only what you can carry comfortably.
Solomon instructed as they redistributed possessions.
The journey through the swamp will be demanding.
Catherine struggled to part with a small containing keepsake a portrait of their mother.
A book of poetry, letters from a childhood friend.
You can, Ted, bring those,” Eleanor told her gently.
“They’ll be ruined and the weight will exhaust you.” Tears welled in Catherine’s eyes.
“They are all I have left of our life.
Of who we were,” Solomon approached with unexpected gentleness.
“Who you were is still with you.
No one can take that away.
But who you will become at depends on surviving this journey.
” After hesitation, Catherine secured only the portrait and letters inside her bodice, leaving the rest behind.
They proceeded single file into the swamp, moving deeper into a primeval world.
Massive cypress trees rose from water.
Spanish moss hung in gray green curtains, and the air was thick with humidity and the rich smell of decay.
“Are there alligators?” Catherine whispered.
“Yes,” Solomon confirmed.
But they generally avoid humans unless provoked.
The water moccasins are a greater concern.
They had traveled for perhaps 2 hours when Solomon signaled them to stop.
For a moment, there was only the ambient noise of the swamp and Elellanor heard a distant baying that raised goose flesh on her arms.
“Dogs,” Joshua confirmed grimly.
“They’ve picked up our trail sooner than expected.
They increased pace.
No longer taking such care with footing, Margaret slipped kneedeep into murky water while Cyrus narrowly avoided stepping on a water moccasin.
Mary’s infant began to cry, sensing the tension.
She is hungry, Mary explained apologetically.
“We can tea stop,” Solomon decided.
“Can you feed her while walking?” By midday, exhaustion was evident in everyone.
Even Solomon moved with less certainty as the swamp seemed to stretch endlessly before them.
“Are we lost?” Margaret finally asked.
“No,” Solomon replied with slight hesitation.
“The landmarks are different with the high water, but we were still heading north.” As afternoon wore on, they entered the swamp as hard, where few humans ventured.
The silence was more complete, broken only by occasional distant thunder.
We need to rest, Elellanor announced, seeing Catherine stumble repeatedly.
Solomon led them to a small island, little more than a raised hummock of relatively dry land dominated by a massive oak.
They collapsed beneath it, grateful for any respit.
“How much farther?” Eleanor asked.
“Under normal conditions, we would reach the safe house by nightfall, but with high water and slower pace, it might be after midnight.
” A sudden crack of breaking vegetation silenced their discussion.
A massive black bear emerged, regarding them with apparent surprise.
Mary clutched her baby closer while Joshua reached for his knife.
The bear sniffed the air, considering them before amling away, apparently deciding they weren’t tea worth the trouble.
This encounter decided the question of whether to continue.
None wished to spend the night where such creatures roamed freely.
As darkness fell, Solomon produced a small lantern.
Stay closer together.
It’s easy to become separated in the dark.
They linked hands, forming a human chain as they tested each step before committing their weight.
The swamp transformed around them, becoming more threatening as sounds took on sinister qualities.
Hours passed with no sign of their destination.
Then Solomon stopped abruptly, extinguishing the lantern.
“Listen,” he commanded.
Elellanor strained to hear a faint, rhythmic splashing, like someone moving through water with deliberate care.
They huddled together on a small patch of solid ground surrounded by water.
Eleanor felt for her knife, knowing it would provide little protection.
A shape materialized from darkness moving directly toward them.
Solomon stepped forward protectively.
Who goes there? The figure stopped.
Friends of the railroad, came a woman-s voice, seeking passengers bound for freedom.
The tracks run north to Liberty, Solomon responded, completing the recognition code.
The woman introduced herself as Ruth, explaining that slave catchers were searching the swamp.
The safe house is just ahead, but we need to move quickly.
They soon reached a small cabin built on stilts.
Inside, an older man named Isaiah greeted them with food and dry clothes.
“The situation has become complicated,” Isaiah told them, spreading a map.
There’s been increased patrolling along usual routes north.
We need to get you to the coast.
A sympathetic ship captain can take you to Philadelphia.
The coast is east, not north, Solomon observed.
That means crossing more plantation territory.
True, Isaiah acknowledged.
But slave catchers will expect you to head directly north, and we have safe houses along the way.
How long to reach the ship? Elellanar asked.
3 days.
If all goes well, Ruth answered.
The captain sails with or without you on the third day.
Later, as others slept, Ruth joined Elellanar outside.
The slave catchers have specific orders regarding you and your sister Stow return you at all costs.
The story is that you were abducted.
Our father is dead, Elellanor said quietly.
Killed by Randall when he tried to help us escape.
That complicates matters.
Randall will be desperate to capture you to control the narrativo.
Make it appear Solomon abducted you and your father died trying to prevent it.
We won be taken alive.
Eleanor stated with quiet certainty.
As she finally drifted to sleep, Eleanor found herself thinking of her father’s final moments, wondering if he had found redemption or if his actions were simply another manifestation of control.
They were committed now to a path that would lead to either freedom or death.
