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forgot to use it. Even us old folks.”
    I couldn’t see anything old about Miss Aurelia. She had no lines on her face, and her thick ash-brown hair had no sign of gray. I couldn’t remember back to when her Mr. Mercer was alive. What a shame she was widowed young. She was so lovely. I wonder why she never remarried.
    I dare not ask such personal questions. I’ll get Mama to tell me more when I go home.
    The clock over the hearth chimed, and I counted. Eight, nine, ten, eleven. “Will they arrive soon, do you think?”
    “Midnight, I’d guess. Let me show you where you’ll stay. I’ve given you the room right next door to me, so you can hear if this poor, sickly old woman takes a bad turn in the night. I’ve set out a nightgown, so you don’t have to sleep all gussied up.”
    She laughed again, and I did too. I’d expected hard work, but I hadn’t expected to feel so welcome and at home. I sent up a silent thanks that Jeremiah Strong had chosen me for this work. I had the feeling of stepping outside the ordinary, of embarking on the adventure of my life.
    Jeremiah Strong. He’s part of the adventure, too.
    I sit here fiddling with my pen and run my thumb across my lips where he kissed me. When I look at the hand he held, a fire rises to my cheeks. I take a breath and try to calm my tumbling thoughts. Bah! It won’t do for Miss Aurelia to catch me in such a mood. She’ll think I’ve sampled her whiskey.
    T UESDAY , J ANUARY 14, 1851
    Another day of hard work and gray skies. I’m not sure I remember what the sun looks like.
    Our visitors seem to have caught up with themselves at last. Saturday, Sunday, and Monday all they did was sleep and eat. Until today they had no time, nor energy, for conversation. No wonder, considering how thin andcold and ragged they looked when they arrived. But they have rested some.
    I wish I could say the same. My mind still whirls like a summer tornado. The visitors—six children, one baby, and two women—keep us busy enough to tire me out, cooking, washing up, and carrying. And then I have the barn chores. But between worry about the danger and excitement about the adventure, I still find it difficult to get a whole night’s sleep.
    Also, since the fugitives have been awake more today, I’ve begun to tie names to faces. There’s a woman named Emma. Now that she’s regained some strength, we’ve talked. I try to remember Papa’s rule and not ask questions, but Emma’s not shy.
    She was ready for conversation this morning when we carried up breakfast. “Ben, Shad, Naomi, Daniel, sit yourselves up straight,” she said to four little ones. “Say good morning to Miss Lucy.”
    The children looked at me and nodded but didn’t say anything.
    “Over there be Ruth and Mesha.” She pointed toward a small girl and a tiny boy. “They Cass’s babies. And this hungry gal, she my Lizzie.” She held a sturdy child to her breast.
    “You’re feeling better? Rested now?”
    “Some better. Can’t help but worry, though. My Abraham, he got himself caught to save the rest of us.”
    I didn’t know what to say to that. So I bit my lip and changed the subject. “Is Cass feeling better, too?” I looked toward the bed where she lay, still sleeping.
    Emma lifted the milk pitcher with her free hand. Shelooked at me over the children’s heads and shook her head.
    I worried about Cass. She looked terrible. She had medium brown skin, but behind the brown, her face looked gray and sickly. Pain lines furrowed her puffy skin.
    Seeing Cass brought back bad memories for me. It carried me back to those days last spring when Mama just lay there, still and quiet. Of course, she had her reasons. She’d lost a child in the birthing bed. But at times I wondered if she was lost to us as well. Thank the good Lord she came back. I’ll pray for Cass and ask God to heal her as He healed my mama. Surely He will hear me.
    W EDNESDAY , J ANUARY 15, 1851
    Bless Thomas! He and Will brought a few