“You are obstructing legitimate business.”
Sarah did not step aside.
“You are standing in a place of worship and demanding access without a warrant.”
He laughed.
“A warrant isn’t necessary for retrieving stolen property.”
“Then show me the proof of ownership.”
He produced a folded notice bearing Hawthorne’s seal.
Sarah glanced at it and returned the paper.
“That proves a man at Hawthorne wrote something.”
Pryce’s smile vanished.
He ordered his companions to search the yard, but the meetinghouse had already been emptied of anyone in danger.
Caleb and Amos watched from the far bank of the creek with Mercy, who had returned after warning Augusta.
Pryce found no one, but his men examined the narrow bridge and discovered a fresh set of wagon tracks leading north.
“We cannot stay here,” Amos whispered.
“I know,” Caleb replied.
They moved through a field of tall grass until they reached a barn owned by a farmer named Samuel Laird.
Samuel was a free Black man whose deed was kept in a wooden case near his bed because he had learned that documents could vanish when their owner needed them most.
He offered Caleb shelter for the night but refused to lie about the danger.
“They may search tomorrow,” he said.
“If they do, you’ll need somewhere beyond my land.”
Caleb told him about Ruth and Hester escaping from Hawthorne.
Samuel listened and glanced toward the northern road.
“A woman and a younger woman passed by after sundown,” he said.
“They were traveling with a flour merchant.”
Caleb gripped the edge of the table.
“Did one of them have a red scarf?”
“She did.”
Ruth had worn a red scarf every winter since their mother died.
It was the only bright thing she owned.
“Where did they go?” he asked.
“Toward the ferry.”
“Can we reach them?”
Samuel regarded the dark window.
“You can try if you’re prepared to travel before sunrise.”
Caleb looked at Amos.
“I have to go.”
Amos rose.
“Then we’d better get some rest while we still can.”
Chapter Eighteen: A Different Kind of Promise
Caleb found Ruth beneath the eaves of a blacksmith’s shop two miles beyond the ferry.
She was sitting beside Hester, holding a cup of milk and wearing the same red scarf he remembered.
For a moment neither moved.
Then Ruth dropped the cup and ran toward him.
He caught her so tightly that she laughed through her tears.
“You’re alive,” she said.
