Home by Morning by Kaki Warner

let out a deep breath. “I will take the black skin to safety.”
    â€œThank y—”
    â€œThen I will take Lillian home to Heartbreak Creek.”
    Without me?
She realized she was twisting her hands, and forced herself to stop. She would worry about all that tomorrow. The important thing right now was to put Thomas and Lillie out of danger, and get through the next two days. “I’ll find out tomorrow where the safe house is.”
    He turned back to the window.
    Realizing he would say no more, she rose from the chair, her legs shaking beneath her. The distance between them seemed wider than ever. Unbridgeable.
    A panicky feeling pressed against the walls of her chest. “Thomas . . .”
    â€œGo, Prudence. Before
Katse’e
wakes and finds you gone.”
    *   *   *
    Things were still cool between them the next morning when they went downstairs to the dining room for breakfast. Thomas had reverted to his silent self, his face expressionless, his mouth a hard seam in his stern face. Even Lillie seemed subdued. Luckily neither the reverend nor Marsh was in the dining room.
    After a quiet meal, Pru suggested they take a walk through town.
    â€œI gets a peppermint stick?” Lillie asked.
    Pru glanced at Thomas, but he avoided her eyes. “We’ll see. Come along. Let’s get our coats.”
    The day was brisk, but sunny, and the breeze was gentle. With Lillie between them, Pru steered them toward Main Street and the shop where she had met Chester the previous day.
    It was through the bookstore that messages were exchanged between workers on the Underground Railroad. She had been there several times, but as far as she knew, had never met her contact.
    On an earlier trip to Indianapolis, after she had given a talk at a local church about her education initiative, a woman, who introduced herself as Wisteria Price, had stayed behind. They had spoken for some time, then, apparently feeling Pru was trustworthy, Wisteria had asked her if she wanted to help with the Underground Railroad.
    Delighted, Pru had quickly agreed. After explaining how Pru would be contacted through the bookstore, she left and Pru never saw her again. Since then, the only way she had communicated with anyone in the organization was through notes hidden inside one of the store’s more obscure books—
The History and Art of Phoenician Blown Glass During the Roman Period.
    When they neared the shop, Pru turned to Thomas. “Will you mind taking Lillie to the Sweet Shoppe while I look for a book I saw earlier?”
    He pointed to a bench in front of a store two doors down. “We will wait there.” The first full sentence he had spoken to her since the previous night.
    Pru nodded and stepped into the bookstore. With a smile to the proprietor—an older, bespectacled white man with a kind smile and the largest ears she had ever seen—she wandered idly along the narrow aisles between the tall bookcases at the back of the store. After leafing through several dusty tomes—happily finding one featuring watercolors of First Nation Indian tribes—she slipped her note into the glassworks history, then carried her art book up front.
    The proprietor smiled when she set it on the counter. “George Winter. One of our local artists, and very talented. A Christmas gift?”
    Pru nodded as she counted out her coins.
    â€œThen I’ll wrap it in colored paper.” He dug beneath the counter, then straightened with a sigh. “I’ll have to get more paper from the back. It might take a few minutes. Or, if you’d prefer, you can come back for the book later.”
    â€œLater will be fine. We still have shopping to do.”
    â€œSay, in about an hour?”
    â€œAn hour it is, then.”
    As she stepped outside, Pru looked around, wondering if her contact was watching. Perhaps the kindly proprietor was her contact. Or perhaps he didn’t even